"Chapter One - A Journey Begins" by Jonathan D. Moore

            Jekkar felt like he was in a staring contest rather than a fighting exercise.  He stared his friend in the eyes, slowly moving in a circle.  He felt his body tense for a lunge.  He slowly crouched and saw Whilat do the same.  He shifted his stance, and jumped at Whilat.  With a fury of wooden swords, Jekkar leaped back.  Whilat was without a sword.  He looked around, and found the sword five feet away on the ground.  Whilat spread his arms wide.

            “You win.”  He wiped his brow with his forearm.  He looked at his hand and could already see the bruise forming.  “Oh well” he thought, “at least he didn’t get me in the head like last time I lost.”  He picked up his shirt and went to get some water.

            “No time for dat.”  Came a voice from behind him.  He immediately recognized the voice and groaned as he turned around.

            “What do you want now, Ban?”  He looked down.  He realized just how much he towers over the short dwarf.  His red beard was full of wine and meat.  He was obviously eating.  “Do you ever go an hour without eating?”

            “Aye, what are ye saying?  I’m fat?” Banaheir asked with a sneer.  He despised being called fat, even though he was.  “I need de food to keep me goin’” he grinned while making crude sexual gestures.

            “So what did you want to talk to us about?” Whilat asked as he approached the dwarf.  Banaheir looked up into his eyes.

            “Ye elves are too damn tall.  Anyways, I was asked to send me two best warriors to Trinsic.  Aye, and as much as it pains me…”

            “To send us on our way.” Jekkar interrupted.  Whilat laughed.

            “Nay, to call ye two idiots me best.  But ‘tis true, ye’re me best.”  Jekkar and Whilat looked at each other in disbelief.  They were the best.  They could have almost hugged Banaheir.  “Now don’t ye gets any ideas, ye hear?  I still think ye two are also me dumbest warriors.  And you, Whilat Silverblade, keep ye’re thieving hands in yer pockets.  Ye hear?”  With that, Banaheir turned around and left the two staring at his back.

            “We’re the BEST!” Whilat almost cried out.  “Can you believe it?  We’re the best fighters in Decania!”

            “I think we’re the best because we’re still alive.  Warriors such as us don’t get to live very long in this hell hole.” Jekkar said, looking at a fight beginning to start.

            “Not ALL people here are bad.”  The two men were now beyond shouting at each other.  The larger of the two started pushing the other.  The smaller one decided to throw a punch.  Now it was a wrestling match.  The fight was quickly broken up by three of the city’s guards.

            “True, but there are always the rivalries between guilds and factions.  Unfortunately, it’s always the fighters and the honest people who get caught in the middle of it all.”  Jekkar began to go to his room.

            “When do we leave?”  Whilat was now walking with Jekkar.

            “Whenever we wake up I suppose.”  With that, he went to his room.  He entered his room, nothing spectacular, and closed the door.  His bed was in the far corner, with a desk and a chair on the opposite side.  Beside the desk were a washstand and a mirror.  He went to his closet and opened the door.  He picked up his pack and his saddlebags.  He then proceeded to pack only that which he would absolutely need.  He set his saddlebags down, and donned his armour and his weapons.

            “Were do ye think ye’re goin’,” Banaheir asked.  Jekkar jumped in surprise.  He didn’t even hear the door open.  He turned to look at the one who opened it, and realized who it was.

            “Going to the Weaponsmith and perhaps the armouries.”

            “Aye, what do ye think ye’re doin’ wit de weapons?  I think ye’re up t’somethin’.  I think ye’ve got an ‘outside’ job.  I should gut ye like the pig ye are for somethin’ like dat.”  Banaheir pulled out a knife in the blink of an eye.  Jekkar, on the other hand, laughed hysterically.  The dwarf looked and realized to his horror that he pulled out a butter knife.  He laughed and put it away.

            “I’m going to fix my armour, sharpen my blades, and see if there’s anything of use I could buy.  Besides, the streets are dangerous for warriors.  I could be torn to shreds out there.”

            “Aye, ‘tis true.  Move along.  Go!”  Jekkar stepped out of the “Ironfist Sword Bearers”, the only fighter’s guild in Decania.  They weren’t really fighters though, they were mercenaries.  But it came up to the same thing.  He stepped out onto the street and met an extreme heat, and an almost unbearable stench.  He looked up towards the sun.  It wasn’t even midday and the blistering heat had just begun.  He hated this area of town, the smell of the sewage would travel for miles with the wind to here.  He despised it.  He decided to go to the weaponsmith since it was closest place from here, yet furthest away from the smell.

            “If I’ve told ye once, I’ve told ye a thousand times, do not come see me until ye’ve seen Barlog.  Ye smell like ye’ve fallen in yer own shit.  Ye reek.  Ah well, what can I do fer ye?”  Gruff Stronghammer was a tall dwarf, but compared to Jekkar, was quite short.  He had a mess of hair, which was colored blond, as well as an even bigger mess of a beard.  He was filthy.  A quick look around the smithy helped Jekkar conclude that Gruff must be cleaning.

            “I’ve been told to go to Trinsic.  I need my weapons fixed, and perhaps some weapons that could be of some help on my journey.  What do you know of that place?”  Jekkar handed his weapons to Gruff.

            “Aye, I will not lie to ye, I’ve no knowledge of Trinsic other den it’s a nice place.  Ask some other peoples what it’s like dere.”

            “You’re being strangely honest today.  Are you okay?”

            “I’m fine.  I just realized how much ye and ye’re thieving friend have helped me.  Dats all.”  That being said, Gruff retreated to continue his cleaning.  Jekkar placed his weapons on the counter and wondered were he could get some info about Trinsic as he walked back out onto the street.  He thought about going to see Wrill, the mapmaker, but all he does is make maps.  But he had no other ideas so he decided to try there.

            The Map Shoppe was on the other side of town, and he would have to cross the Black Streets.  The Black Streets were the worse area of town to be in.  People rarely ventured in there unless they had a specific reason to do so.  Even the city guards were wary of entering the Black Streets.  Stories were told of groups of guards, going into the black streets to find someone, or something, never to return.  Jekkar never believed those stories, but still was wary of going through the Black Streets.  They were once the centre of the town’s economy.  The old town square is still visible from some entrances to the forbidding place.  No one knows for sure exactly when or why the town square became the worse place to go.  But most people agree that a thief’s guild was created near it.  Maybe because it would be easier to rob the wealthiest people were they all met on a daily basis?  No one knows.  Soon afterwards, an assassin’s guild was created near the thief’s guild.  The assassins would murder people in broad daylight, scaring off many of the townsfolk.  This created much hatred for the assassins from the thief’s guild.  A war started between the two, scaring the rest of the people away the town square.  The only people that you will ever see there are thieves, assassins, mercenaries, and the very stupid.  Jekkar wasn’t either of those, so he chose the long way to Wrill’s, around the Black Streets.  As he passed one of the many, foreboding entrances, he heard a loud, almost inhuman scream.  He shuddered and tried to block it out of his mind as the scream died to a drowning gurgle.

            Whilat was facing a dark figure.  He was still wondering how he got here in the first place.  He was walking around, looking for a good, rich looking person.  He saw a rich looking man who was wearing all white, and an armband that fell to his waist.  The people of Sidu wore armbands to indicate their rank in society.  The armband would be their family colours.  It would start at the elbow, and would be of the ranking length.  The longer it was, the higher you were in society.  Although most peasants never wore one except for special occasions, the high-ranking officials sometimes did not wear one when they walked around in the city.  The one that Whilat saw was orange and blue.  He was either lying, or he actually was part of the royal family.  Either way, he looked like he had a fair sum of money.  The moment he touched the money purse, he blacked out.  He awoke, facing the dark figure he now faces.  Not a word has been said.  He had been sitting here for at least half an hour, and not a single word has been said.  He was starting to feel uncomfortable.

            “Whilat Silverblade, I assume.”  The silence had been broken by a deep, rumbling voice.  He tried to study the figures face, but a dark hood concealed it.  The lighting from behind the figure wasn’t helping him either.

            “Tis he.”  Whilat was wondering what this figure would want with him.  He looked around, and for the first time, he noticed that there were no visible walls.  And the light was not of a natural sort either.  This was far from normal.

            “I would like to employ your…  Services, shall we say?”  The figure pressed his fingertips together a formed a tent.  “I need you to understand, what I’m asking of you is not the legal sort of employment.”

            “Naturally, none of my jobs are of the legal type.”  Whilat was beginning to put some pieces of this odd puzzle together, but he still has no idea what the big picture is.

            “Excellent.  Well then.  As I have come to understand, you are on your way to Trinsic, correct?  There have been a number of people there who have brought new information to me.  This has brought upon…  Unforeseen events.  I would have you and your companion accompany me to Trinsic.  150 gold each should be more than enough for the troubles.”

            Whilat stared at the figure silently.  Too good to be true, he thought.  There seems to be more than he’s telling me.  “What shall the troubles be?”

            “There are those that wish me great harm.  Should they discover that I am leaving Decania, they may act upon their wishes.  You and your friend shall help protect me.”  With that said, the figure started to fade away, into nothingness.

            “Wait!  How will I find you?”  Whilat cried to fading, almost non-existent figure.

            “Don’t bother trying,” came the voice that belonged to the figure, but it was almost as if the voice was inside his head.  “I’ll find you with much more ease.”  Whilat was now alone, in a room with no walls, a table, and two chairs.  He began feeling tired, very tired.

            “Witchcraft!”  Whilat screamed as he arose from his chair, fighting the sleep that was slowly taking over his body.  He blindly grabbed the chair and flung it at the unknown light source.  Groggily, Whilat tried to find a wall, all the time screaming “Witchcraft!  Damned witchcraft taking over my body.  Can’t find any damned door if there’s no damned walls.”  What would people think when they found him, if they ever did?  They would surely think he was mad.  Was this his destiny, to be the crazy old man that wanders around town mumbling incoherently while eyeing all people suspiciously?  Was he going to be the crazy man that terrifies children in their feverish sleep?  Would he be an old-wives tale used to scare children into eating their vegetables and staying out of the sweets cabinet and staying inside the house late at night?  Crazed thoughts raced through Whilat’s mind as he slowly gave up his search for a wall, and fell asleep surrounded by blackness.  He heard the voice from the person earlier in hid head; the voice was echoing, “This never happened, if you’re asked.”  He awoke, feeling cold.  He was not sure where he was, but he immediately knew he wasn’t in the blackness.  He tried to open his eyes, to no avail.  He tried to move, but he was too physically tired to do anything.  He started thinking of nothing, blackness was all that Whilat thought of, and welcoming sleep overcame him very quickly.

            Jekkar found the Map Shoppe with ease; this wouldn’t be the first time he’s been there.  He approached the store, and began to wonder if Wrill really would be able to help him.  Where else could he go?  There was nowhere that he could think of.  He pushed the door, and was greeted by a disaster.  There were maps all over the place.  The counter was messily covered, the shelves were in complete disarray, the walls even, were covered with tacked maps.  None of it had any order at all.

            “Sorry for the mess, how can I help you?”  Came a small voice from the back of the store.  A small man emerged from the scattered papers, his large glasses almost seemed comical, but a look into his eyes shows the wisdom that this old man possessed.

            “What do you know of Trinsic?”  The elf asked, looking down at the small human.

            “Trinsic?  As in our capital?”  Wrill asked as he started rummaging through the many maps on the counter.

            “Aye.”  Jekkar wondered if there could be a different Trinsic somewhere in the world.  He lifted the edge of a map to help look for the map of Trinsic.  Wrill quickly slapped his hand, and with a harsh glare said, “Don’t be touching me maps, I’ll find it.”  And he then returned to looking for his map.  He looked over the entire counter, to no avail.  He searched the shelves, the walls, and even the upper storage area.  Nothing.

            “You know, it’s funny.  Another fella walked in and asked the same quistion.  I found the map for ‘im, and I can’t remimber where I put it.”  He lowered his head in thought, and looked at Jekkar in surprise.  “I found it.”  Wrill embarrassedly said as he bent over.  He picked up a large piece of paper, dusted it off, and placed it on top of the counter over the rest of the maps.  On the top of the page “Trinsic” was written in large, black lettering.  Wrill flipped the map over, and revealed what was on the other side of the map.  None of the lettering made any sense to Jekkar, the letters themselves made no sense.  He tried to read it, but he could not make out any of the foreign symbols.  As Wrill held up the map to search for something, Jekkar looked at the map itself.  The lettering was the same foreign symbols as the side Wrill was reading.  The only thing that made any sense to Jekkar was the word Trinsic at the top of the map.

            “I know nothing more than the average traveler, such as yourself.”  Wrill claimed as he put his map down and looked at Jekkar right in the eyes.

            “I’m no traveler,” Jekkar replied with a chuckle.  “But I would like a copy of your map.  How much would that be?  I would also like what’s on the back of the map.”

            “It would be 15 gold, and half a day of work.  What is your language of preference?”

            “Well, the common tongue is easy enough.  Could I pay ye at sundown?”

            “Aye, I don’t do that often, but come after sundown, and I’ll have your map written in the common tongue ready for you.”

            “Thank ye, good day.”

            “Good day to you young sir.”

            Whilat felt consciousness slowly creep upon his tired body.  He regained the feeling in his face, then ever so slowly in his chest and back, slowly down his arms to his fingertips.  His stomach was grumbling, he could now feel it, and slowly down his legs to the soles of his feet.  This odd feeling was nothing like he had ever felt in his life.  He tried to open his eyes, but it seemed as though his eyes were frozen shut.  Using his hands, he pried his eyes open, to be greeted by blackness.

            “NO!” He screamed.  He scrambled backwards, away from the dark, even though he knew deep in his mind that it was behind him as well.  He scrambled to his feet and ran away from the darkness.  As he turned his head to see where he was running he hit something hard.  When his head hit, he found out that the hard thing he hit was made of wood.  His head made a hollow thud, and he slumped to the floor, unconscious.

            Hours later, he opened his eyes to look at two identical multi-colored hair men.  They were identical right down to the where the color changed.  Their hair was green, red, yellow, blue, pink, white, brown, orange, black, silver, bronze, and gold.  Even their beards were colored.  This was a clear indication that the two men were amusemen, the primary source of entertainment.  They are usually found in large cities where there are many people and lots of money to be made entertaining them.  The two slowly melded into one, and Whilat’s vision returned to normal.  There was only one man looking at him worriedly.  His forehead hurt.

            “Don’t touch it,” the man said pulling Whilat’s hand away.  “You sure hit that door pretty hard.  It’ll take a while to heal, and it’ll leave a nice mark for a while longer, but I don’t think there’ll be a scar.”

            “Where am I?  Who are you?  How did I get here?”  The rest of his questions remained unasked.

            “I found you on the streets.  You were out cold.  At first I thought you were drunk, but I heard you mumbling about the dark.  I went to see if I could wake you up, but your sleep was brought upon by something unnatural.  I brought you here to sleep it over, and you woke up.  By the way, the name’s Koldt, amuseman.”  Whilat examined the man holding his hand out to help him up.  The lines on the man’s face opposed the boyish attitude; this man was clearly in his 40s.  Whilat accepted the Koldt’s hand.  The grip was strong, and he was quickly lifted to his feet by stronger arms.

            “You sure you’re O.K.?”  Whilat saw genuine concern in his eyes.  He wanted to say yes, and be on his way back to the guild, and have Koldt no longer care for him.  He wanted to say no, he didn’t really feel over the sleep he had.  He wasn’t sure what to say, he wanted to leave, he wanted to stay, he wanted to go home, he wanted to remain secure in a stranger’s house.  He was really confused.  Almost against his will, he heard his voice say, “I’m fine.”

            “You don’t convince me.  I know, I’ll help you get back to your residence.  Where do you live?”  Koldt grabbed his cloak and an extra one for Whilat.  He handed it to Whilat and led him to the door.  Whilat looked to the sky as he donned the warm black cloak, it was far darker than he could ever expect.  It wasn’t even mid-day when he left the guild, now it was way past nightfall.  He must have been sleeping for almost twelve hours in all.  Even with all of this sleep, he felt exhausted.  The old amuseman was right, Whilat thought to himself.   The more he walked, the more he became convinced that the sleep was brought on by magic.  And the man from God-knows-where.  Who was that person?  Was it real, or did he dream it up?  The list of questions he wanted to ask continued, and he had no answers.  He stopped thinking about it as he was led back to the guild.

            Jekkar wondered where Whilat was.  He had searched the entire guild, top to bottom, and there was no sign of him.  He walked around town, searching all the areas that Whilat is typically hanging around.  He recognized some of the people he found as Whilat’s confidents, but none of them had seen Whilat for a while, not today anyways.  It was getting dark, and he was becoming less and less hopeful of finding Whilat on his own.  Besides, Whilat could take care of himself; he has a lot more street sense than Jekkar could ever hope to have.  He wasn’t too worried about his friend.  He decided to give up his search for Whilat and go back to the guild to get some much needed sleep.  He chose a less used way to get to the guild, passing by the wizard’s guild.  He always wondered what it would be like to be a wizard.  The ability to create fire in mid-air, to light all the torches in a room by simply entering it, to levitate light objects.  He looked at the oddly shaped building looming before him.  It was old.  Older than the city itself he’s been told.  He knew, as all others, this was the only place that wizard’s may be found because they were hated for the all that were killed by wizards before them.  He was about to turn around and continue on his way when he felt a little pull on his shirt.  He turned to look at what tugged at him, and saw nothing.  He turned to leave, and felt the same little tug.  He faced the wizard’s guild, and felt a tug again, and again, and again.  Almost as if someone was urging him to go to the guild’s entrance.  He decided to follow the tugging towards the main entrance of the guild.  As he approached the door, the tugging suddenly stopped.  He looked up and down the street, seeing nobody, he pushed the door open and entered.           

            He was greeted by darkness.  It was so dark he couldn’t see his hands in front of him.  He saw a small flicker of light ahead of him.  He couldn’t tell if it was a candle across a room, or a torch from hundreds of feet.  All was silent in this room, the only thing he could hear was the breath escaping from his lips.

            “Hello?” he called into the darkness.

            “Hello?” was the response.  His echo continued for was seemed and eternity.  When his echo had faded from the walls and his mind, he heard whispers.  There were many different voices, all saying different things, and Jekkar could not discern any individual voices or words.  There were so many all at once.  The whispers slowly became louder and louder, until he could almost not bear it any longer, and they ceased suddenly with a bright flash of light.  Almost light lightning.  From flash to flash, what he saw with his own eyes changed each time.  From the glorious inside of a king’s chamber, a homely hillside farm, a dark foreboding castle, a chilling cave, and lastly, a terrifying torture chamber soaked in blood.  He wanted to run from this place.  He wished he had not entered the wizard’s guild.  Just as he fell to his knees to scream, the room was illuminated by a myriad of candles and torches.  A semi-circle of men dressed in robes was facing him.  Some were young, maybe a little older than Jekkar’s 25 years of age, and some were old, with long graying beards and hair.  All of them had staves of various kinds.  Some had staves of wood, others of metal, some crudely made, others were marvelously crafted.  But all had a small crystal affixed to the top. 

            “Jekkar, Welcome to wizard’s guild” said the eldest of the wizards.  His beard fell to his hips, and his hair was long and disheveled.  All the hair visible was gray, with the exception of two black streaks of hair that grew from the corners of his jaw.

            “Is this how you welcome all your guests?” Jekkar asked rising to his feet.

            “We summoned you here for two reasons...”

            “YOU summoned ME here?” Jekkar interrupted.  “No, no, no.  I came through that door of my own free will, with no letter of summoning.”  The wizard raised an eyebrow.

            “Really?”  He asked with feigned interest.  Jekkar felt the same little tug he felt when he was in front of the wizard’s guild.  He felt it again, and again.  Then he felt many little tugs, they almost pulled him off his feet.  They suddenly stopped when the wizard tapped his staff on the marble floor.

            “Really…” The wizard said as he turned to walk off.  “One of my assistants will tell you what I was saying.”  And he left the room without saying another word.

            “We need your help.” said on wizard.

            “You must go to Trinsic,” said another.

            “You must follow your plan,” said a third.

            Jekkar felt that this was almost as bad as the whispering.  “Why me?” he asked the wizards.  “What do you want me to do?”

            “You are a wizard.”

            “He knows who we are.”

            “He doesn’t know you.”

            Jekkar stopped them.  “You mean to tell me that I’m a wizard?”

            “Yes”

            “Yes”

            “Yes, powerful.”

            “More so than I.”

            “And myself.”

            “As well as myself.”

            “And maybe more so than the leader.”

            “Maybe.”

            “Perhaps.”

            “Maybe not.”

            “We know not.”

            “We shall only know…”

            “… when his gift is developed.”

            Jekkar stopped them once again.  “You are telling me that I’m a wizard, a potentially powerful wizard.  And you want me to go to Trinsic for you, and what you want me to do there involves a man that knows all of, and scares you.  Right?”

            “He is smart.”

            “He has the making…”

            “… of a great wizard.”

            “Yes”

            “You are correct”

            “He is Torrean.”

            “Torrean Nemaric.”

            “He is a necromancer.”

            “A practitioner of dark magic.”

             “Servant of evil.”

            “Powerful?”

            “Maybe.”

            “Maybe not.”

            “But more so than I.”

            “And I.”

            “And myself.”

            “More powerful than the boy?”

            “Perhaps.”

            “Perhaps not.”

            “His gift is not fully developed.”

            “We shall see.”

            “Soon enough.”

            Jekkar halted their talking for a third time.  “Where is he, and what do you want me to do with him?”

            “He’s in Trinsic.”

            “We think.”

            “We believe. ”

            “We can’t be sure.”

            “He’ll be easy to find…”

            “… in such a place. ”

            “But shall become of him? ”

            “What if he were to die? ”

            “What if he were to live? ”

            “Death? ”

            “Too easy. ”

            “Torture? ”

            “Too kind. ”

            “A spell perhaps? ”

            “Yes, a spell. ”

            “Of whose design? ”

            “Ours perhaps? ”

            “Or mayhap the leader? ”

            “A collaboration!? ”

            “That would be best. ”

            “Yes, better than us. ”

            “Better than the leader. ”

            Jekkar looked at the three men.  One at a time.  He was expecting more talking, but was meant only with silence.

            “We shall find you…”

            “… before you leave. ”

            “Then we shall give…”

            “… further instructions. ”

            “We shall meet again…” The three voices said in unison.  The light illuminating the room slowly faded until all was black.  Jekkar turned around, and saw the door open for him.  He stepped outside and looked for the moon.  It seemed as though he had only been in the guild for mere minutes, instead of the hours that it felt.  He decided that it was time enough to go to bed.

            A sharp pain in the side of his face awakened Whilat.  He rubbed his face and fell back asleep.  He felt the same pain, in his ribs, but he just rolled over and went back to sleep.  Jekkar was tiring of this game.  He gave up poking Whilat with a stick, and instead opted to simply to jump on him.

“Good morning!” Jekkar yelled in mid-air.  He landed on his friend with an “Oomph” escaping Whilat’s mouth.  He turned to look at his brother-in-arms in the face.

            “I hate you.” Whilat said with all seriousness.

            “I know.  That’s why I do this.” Jekkar knew he was joking.  Whilat began to laugh, and Whilat’s laughter infected Jekkar.  Soon enough, they were both laughing like madmen, wrestling each other on the floor.

            “Why did ye wake me so early anyways?” Whilat asked when he finally had Jekkar in a hold where he couldn’t move.

            “We must be on our way to Trinsic.  We were supposed to leave at sunrise.  The sun rose a good two or three hours ago.  We’re late as it is.”  With that Whilat let go of Jekkar and started getting dressed.

            “Are ye packed and ready to go Whilat?  Or did you once again forget to do that?”  Jekkar was eying his friend’s progress.

            “I dunno,” Whilat said as he tossed his saddlebags to Jekkar.  “You tell me.”  Jekkar could quite easily tell that the bags were full and ready to go.  He looked up from the bags, and saw that Whilat was ready to go.

            “We must stop at the armory before we leave.  I must pick up my swords.” Jekkar left Whilat in his room with his saddlebags.  Thinking of weapons, Whilat checked to be sure he had all of his.  Two longswords, strapped in a criss-cross fashion across his back, two shortswords strapped to his hips, two more shortswords strapped to his lower leg, the ends in the top of his boots, two daggers strapped to his forearms, two more on his upper arms, and a dozen throwing knives on his chest.  He grabbed his black cloak and canister of weaponblack, and left his room for the stables.

            Jekkar wondered what Trinsic would be like, when his thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.  He opened the door to be faced by the eldest wizard he had met last night.

            “What…” Jekkar never got to finish his question.  His words were unheard, however spoken.

            “I am here to produce to you a gem.  This gem is far from a gift.  It has a magical spell imbedded upon it.  Once you pronounce the final word of the spell, the necromancer will forever be trapped in it.”  The wizard then pulled out a crystal.  It was of a blood red color, and was perfectly shaped like an egg.  It was definitely too big for a pendant, but would probably do quite well as a decoration for a sword.

            “You may use this gem however you wish, but you must return it to me when you return to Decania.  The rewards will be more than you will be able to reap.  I wish you luck and speed.”  With that, the old man walked away, and slowly disappeared.  Jekkar wanted to ask the wizard what the final word of the spell may be, but he was only able to speak once the wizard had completely vanished.  Jekkar studied the gem.  It was probably more valuable than any other gem he had even seen, even if it had a flaw.  The flaw was a sphere of blue in the middle of the gem.  It was almost as if the blue gem had been placed inside the red one.  He tossed the gem straight into the air, caught it, and put it in an empty pouch at his belt.  He turned around and picked up his saddlebags, and left for the stables.  He locked his room behind him, and placed his key in the same pouch that contained the gem.

            He arrived at the stables at the same time as Whilat.  He told the stableman he wanted his horse, Lightning, and Whilat asked for his, Bolt. 

            “A quick stop at the weapon shop, and we’re outta here.”  Jekkar led his horse out of the grounds gate, Whilat following close behind.

            “How far away is Trinsic anyway?” Whilat asked.  He wondered if there was going to be a need for a packhorse.

            “I’m not really sure.  But we’ve got enough food to last us until Sol, we’ll get more info there.  Besides, we’re too far from the capital, no one ever comes here.”  Which was partially true.  The last person who had been to Decania from the capital, was a tax collector.  The many assassins and mercenaries in the city quickly killed him.  For that sole reason, the king never decided to never a tax collector to that confounded city.  The small amount of money he would receive was far from worth his time.  What wasn’t true about Jekkar’s statement was that there were many people arriving from Trinsic.  The only reason they weren’t seen was because they had a price attached to the return of their heads. 

            They left the guild’s grounds without any hassle, and quickly made their way to the weapon shop where Jekkar’s sharpened weapons were waiting for him.  Upon arrival, Jekkar entered to be met by a troop of HellSpawn.  The city guards turned around to face him.

            “What is your business here, peasant?” The commander gruffly asked.

            “I’m simply here to pick up my weapons that were supposed to be sharpened and repaired.”  Jekkar had the uneasy feeling that something was terribly wrong.  The commander turned to look at the shopkeeper.

            “Is this ruffian telling the truth?”

            “Yes.  Dat’s Jekkar.  Jekkar Milean.  ‘E dropped off his weapons here yesterday.  I…  I have dem here.”  There was a shuffle of feet, followed by the sound of metal objects being picked up.

            “What’s going on here anyways?  Is there something that I should be worried about?”  Jekkar was beginning to be a little bit afraid.

            “No, no, no…  ‘Ere is yer weapons.  No charge.  It’s on da house.”  Jekkar took all of his weapons, strapping them all on, one at a time.  He had a good number of throwing knives concealed about his person, 24 in all.  His shortswords quickly returned to their home by his sides.  He picked up his two unstrung bows, flexed them, and placed the strings in his pockets.  His two quivers of arrows were strapped to his back, and were quickly filled.  Jekkar took a good look at Gruff.  He looked like he was pretty badly beaten.

            “This place has been robbed of all money, and the owner was beaten by a gang of thieves.  We have no clues, or any idea of who or why this crime took place.  We’re looking into it, but we cannot promise an arrest.  I trust that if you have any ideas, or hear anything, you will let me now.”  With that, the HellSpawn commander left the shop.

            “Aye, where did ye say that ye was going to?  ‘Tis over here.  I’ve nothing left, ‘cept for me weapons and armor.  If ye would have me, I would like to go wit’ ye’s.”  Gruff was looking up at Jekkar with all sincerity.  Jekkar pondered his choices for a very short time.  He looked back through the window at his waiting friend.  Whilat seemed to have heard the entire conversation, because he nodded yes.

            “Well we haven’t got much time my short friend.  We must be far from here ‘fore the sun falls.  We have a long way before us.”  Jekkar left the dwarf to pick up the items he will bring along.

            “I think a cart would be in order.  It would really simplify things.  There is a stable, not far from here that may sell us a cart.  We would get there faster than by walking at the same speed as our short companion.”  He kicked his horse and was off.  “I’m sure you can follow me.”  He cried over his shoulder.

            “Where be yer theivin’ friend off to now?”  Gruff asked as he left his shop.

            “He’s getting us a cart, I know how dwarves hate riding.  I thought we’d be nice.  Come now my friend, let us be off after our third companion.”  Jekkar had an uncanny ability to follow people anywhere.  It’s been said that he could track last weeks wind over barren rock.  Although he was good, he didn’t think it was possible to do that.  He followed the clear tracks to his friend.  The stable looked up kept, but the people running were far from it.  It looked like the workers were plucked off the streets at a last moment.  Gruff saw Whilat having a heated discussion with what seemed to be the head proprietor.  Whilat was pointing and waving his hands wildly, while the other man seemed to be defending himself from absurd accusations.  After a good five minutes of this, the proprietor looked like he finally gave in.  Whilat handed the man a small bag of gold, and started off towards Gruff and Jekkar.

            “Well my friends, it looks like we’ll be on our way shortly.  As soon as they hitch the horses anyways.”  Whilat took the reins from Jekkar and headed back towards the stable.  Shortly there afterwards, Whilat was sitting atop a fairly nice cart, with a cover, and was driving the two horses. 

            “We’ve just got to wait near the city gates.  I told someone we would accompany them to Trinsic for the small price of 150 gold.  Ye don’t mind now, do ye?”

            “Whilat my friend.  Anything for gold in my pocket.”