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“Of course you won’t, silly,” was the boy’s matter-of-fact reply. “Everyone knows those stories about poisonous water are a big fat myth. Only a dragon poop would believe that nonsense.”

“I suppose I feel a bit like dragon poop,” Loric agreed, “but I think there is some correlation between that feeling and me swallowing dragon water. Am I right?”

“Well, yeah!” huffed the boy. “You wouldn’t drink dragon blood, would you?”

“You are quite right again,” Loric admitted. He then sought after information that might prove more useful to his party. “Do you live around here?” he asked.

“Of course I do,” the boy answered, laughing. “You four are funny! What kind of question is that?”

“Do your parents often turn you out into the wild to torment passersby?” Barag asked

gruffly. “It seems to me....”

Loric and his friends heard the faint bleating of sheep and a man’s voice carrying over great distance, calling, “Kelvey? Kelvion! Where are you, boy?”

“See you later!” shouted Kelvion. “That’s my pappy.” The boy had scarcely turned away, before he cried back, “Pappy, I’m over here talking to the man who drank river water and thought he was going to die!”

Loric felt silly, but the pain in his belly and his head caused him to look upon the Soul Snatcher as a welcome friend. Sick though he was; he was amused and distracted by Kelvion’s honest-until-it-annoys-you approach to life. The boy was completely without care. That quality made him most endearing to the son of Palendar. Even as Loric conceived that thought, sleep tugged him into the land of dreams....

****

Loric was in a dream, but it was so vivid.... it seemed real. It had the distant quality of a foretelling. He was climbing an ice-covered rock face in the mountains. A terrible snowstorm was blowing all around him, with flakes as big as his ear twisting all directions in the swirl. They came down in their multitudes, with great rapidity. Howling wind snatched at those icy crystals, ripped at Loric’s cloak, threatening to blow him from his less than reliable handholds. He struggled the twenty remaining feet to the top of a treacherous precipice and remained there on his chest, heaving from biting pain in his lungs. He stared down into what seemed a never-ending series of snowcapped cliffs, all of them insurmountable replicas of the one upon which he was resting.

Finding shelter from the elements was paramount in Loric’s mind. With the sudden warmth that came over him and the lessening of the wind’s painful gnaw at his skin; a growing sense of alarm overtook him. Every moment he wasted caused comfortable numbness to settle into his being, until it seemed natural to feel like he was next to a fire instead of stranded in the midst of a furious blizzard that had conquered mountains for miles all around him.

“The cave,” Loric groaned, without achieving his own desired sense of self-motivation. “I must find the cave,” he winced weakly. He despaired, saying, “I will never make it without help.”

Loric turned his eyes to the descent before him and gazed longingly at the place where shelter and aid he desperately needed awaited him. He saw a luminous glow out in the snowy gloom ahead. It gathered strength, until it took on the life of the sun. Loric watched as fluttering snow turned to icy rain. Then amazingly, rain thawed and took on characteristics of a warm summer shower. As those water droplets spattered Loric’s body, they started to counteract effects of hostile cold. Loric was just beginning to realize he was not hallucinating, when a young man shouted to him from afar.

“Loric?” questioned the lad. “I have searched for you, all of these accursed mountains over.

Finally, I have found you at last.”

The light dimmed, allowing Loric to see the speaker. He was a sword’s flat under six feet tall and his narrow frame could not have accounted for more than eleven stone. His skin was pale white. A short strand of frosty hair nearly hung into his eyes. Yet, those eyes were mesmerizing.

They were like fire.

****

Loric awoke with those molten lamps peering curiously into his own. The childish features surrounding those visual organs were somewhat deceiving, but there was no doubt in Loric’s mind that many years from now the boy before him would grow into the young man from his unusual dream. The conjuring of Loric’s subconscious disturbed him. After all, he had only heard--but never actually seen--the lad before him, until his lids popped open. Loric bit back a natural cry of alarm.

Loric assessed his condition, in part as a distraction from those uncanny eyes looking back at him. His lightheadedness had passed. His nausea was gone. Moreover, he was hungry enough to eat a whole ham by himself. He made to wipe sleep from his eyes, but he slung water from his fingertips, giving him pause to consider how that had come to pass, which in turn required him to examine his surroundings in full detail. He was lying naked in a boat full of warm water. His makeshift tub was sitting in the umbrage of a rickety old woodshed. The structure that was sheltering him from the highland breeze sat directly to his left. Off to his right, there was a modest cottage of stone. Sparse patches of grass interspersed between bare chunks of limestone hinted to Loric that he was in the upper regions of the Lost Hills.

The thatch-roofed dwelling to Loric’s right stirred memories of his father’s cottage in Taeglin. He recalled every detail of his boyhood home, right down to the least morning glory. In his mind, he envisioned that delicate flower withering as gluttonous flames devoured the split-rail fence. He mourned the loss of his family and his home, but he set his wrath aside to admire the good fortunes of others.

“You gave us quite a scare, Loric son of Palen,” said a voice beside him. He easily identified the speaker as Warnyck.

The fiery-eyed boy rattled an empty pail as he shifted and opened his mouth to speak. He smiled and proposed, “Dragon water doesn’t kill ya’, but it sure makes ya’ feel yucky, huh?”

Loric nodded as he remembered nauseating waves that had tossed his stomach about like an unwelcome rider on Sunset’s back. “What happened?” he inquired. “Where are we?”

“You dropped into the river,” Marblin reminded him. “Don’t you remember, lad?” Marblin shrugged, “In answer to your second question, we are at the house of Kelivoras,” he added, motioning toward a thin-lipped, weather-faced man seated on a wide tree stump nearby. “It is he who prepared this ice bath for you.”

That statement did not agree with the water temperature. “Ice bath?” Loric questioned.

“We ascended the heights to collect ice, so you wouldn’t burn up,” Warnyck told him. “We were worried about your fever. But for Kelivoras, we would have lost you.”

“Our deepest thanks for your help, Kelivoras,” Loric said with an earnest nod. He extended his hand, asking, “How did we come to be your guests?”

“Kelvey told me of your plight, so I suffered your friends to bring you here,” answered the shepherd, accepting the handshake and afterward drying his wet hand on his pants.

“We will not stay overlong, for we not only have urgent matters to which we must attend, but we also have no wish to bring ill will of our enemies here to disturb the tranquility in which you live,” Loric assured his host.

Kelivoras rose and said, “I greatly appreciate that.” He shifted his eyes to his boy and summoned him, “Come along, Kelvey. Let us see how mother is doing with dinner.”

The boy looked back at his father with pleading eyes, “Oh pappy, do I have to come with you? I want to stay here with these soldiers.”

Kelivoras was stern, “Kelvion, leave our guests alone awhile. They have had a full day, without you bothering them.”

“Alright,” was his frustrated response. The boy’s eyes lit with excitement as he asked, “But I get to tell them when dinner is ready, right?”

“We will see,” was all the father would yield.

Kelvey glanced back at Loric and his friends and snickered, saying, “That means,
Yes
. See ya’ later.”

Once their hosts left them, Loric tried to catch up on everything he had missed. “What of the battle?” he asked. Before anyone could appease him, he inquired, “What of Lords Aldric and Garrick?”

“We were soundly beaten,” Warnyck admitted. He went on, “Of our leaders we have little knowledge, because you fell into the river and we were forced to fight off the riders who caused you to topple. We met them and turned them back. They that fled will long have something to remember us by, for they did not depart unscathed.”

“I have information about Lord Garrick,” Marblin chimed in. “I saw Gradlin helping him to rejoin Aldric’s Men of Egolstadt. Shortly after you went down, your lieutenants arrived on the scene. They crossed the entire field in but a moment’s time upon seeing their captain in danger.”

The Moonwatcher paused in an effort to remember details of the battle. Finally, he added, “The last I saw of them, they were trying to rally Garrick and his men to make an orderly withdrawal from the fight. I am sure they fared better than we have.”

“What would make you say such a thing?” Loric asked.

Warnyck reviewed their status, “We are now half a day’s journey from the battlefield, our horses are lost and Hadregeon’s scouts are roving all about the plains surrounding these heights.

To top all of that, we are already a good distance into the Lost Hills, with no choice but to wander further into them. I would be willing to say we may never rejoin our countrymen while they yet live.” To lighten the mood he added in jest, “That is the good news.”

No one laughed.

Loric considered the grim reality of their situation, hoping to think of a way to link up with Lord Garrick and his army. It was unlikely they would ever regroup with the main host. He and his companions were in desperate need of help. The four of them could not fight their own separate battle against Hadregeon’s army and they had no way to help Garrick’s men in their struggle either. Loric almost succumbed to despair once more.

“Where do we go from here?” he asked.

“As our leader, we had hoped you would tell us,” Warnyck returned.

“Understood,” Loric replied. He felt three sets of eyes upon him, as he secretly commanded himself,
Think, Loric. Think!
“We can’t head back toward the Army of Landolstadt. At least, not until we find some way to rejoin the main body of Garrick’s forces.”

“Agreed,” Marblin said heartily.

Warnyck and Barag nodded. The scout added, “That rules out any southward or westward

heading.”

Loric nodded. “So what lies to the north and east?”

“We cannot go to the north!” Marblin shared in near panic. “The dragons own Highland

Home now. We must avoid that region like the pox.”

“What to the east?” Loric questioned.

“Dimwood Forest,” Warnyck answered casually.

“We cannot go there!” Marblin hastily informed them.

The nature of their stranding was beginning to agitate Loric, but he checked his irritation to ask kindly, “Why not?”

“There are spirits in that wood, lord. It is haunted!” Marblin assured his leader. “Dark specters prowl that grim woodland. Those as serve the Father of the Forest....”

Marblin continued about his ravings, but Loric only half-heard him. Had he been listening, he would have heard Barag boom his exact sentiments, bursting, “We cannot go south! We cannot go west--nor north or east!”

“Yet, we would do Kelivoras and his family great disservice by staying here any longer than we must,” Warnyck reminded them.

Loric suggested, “Marblin, tell me about this
Father of the Forest
.”

The Moonwatcher swallowed something unfavorable, because it did not look like it went down easily. His face appeared as haunted as that belonging to an inhabitant of Dimwood Forest might look, as he stammered, “Uh, w-well, l-lord.... n-no one rightly knows much about the Father of the Forest--aside from the fact that he is said to haunt Dimwood Forest.”

“So we could find him in Dimwood Forest?” Loric questioned.

“Uh, w-well.... uh, I suppose so,” Marblin answered. “Not that anyone would be so foolish as to seek this spirit out,” he added, chuckling nervously afterward. His brow crinkled as he asked, “You don’t mean to look for him, do you?”

“I must do this, Marblin,” Loric asserted. “I had planned to put off my quest until our fight with Hadregeon ended, and so it has for now. I intend to seek out the Father of the Forest, for he is said to hold a keeper and the keeper holds a secret.”

Warnyck was looking at him knowingly. “I am with you, my friend. What you seek is dear to my heart. I would have you succeed in your noble quest.”

Marblin looked shocked. “Keepers and secrets!” he cursed.
“Bah!
Someone explain this madness to me.”

“Keepers and secrets aside, I too would follow you, Loric,” Barag assured him. “I am not for all of this foolishness about spirits, but where else can we go? We cannot fight armies or dragons in our present state, and I have never been troubled by specters, so Dimwood is the least of many evils by my reckoning. That is where we must go.”

Marblin looked hurt. “You would all leave me for this folly?” he asked.

“You could come with us,” Warnyck offered.

“No thanks,” Marblin rejected him.

“I did not ask you to come with me,” Loric informed them. “Far from it, friends. I would send the three of you back to Garrick by scouts’ paths to learn the disposition of enemy forces and report them to the lords we serve. I may be going on a fool’s errand.”

“I doubt that,” Warnyck remarked confidently. “It would be foolish not to complete your quest.”

“This is no sure thing,” Loric reminded the scout.

“You clearly think it worthwhile to go or you would not do so,” Warnyck observed. He then craftily made his point, suggesting, “If you deem this quest to be worth gambling away your life on it, we will suffer the risk and reward with you. After all, what good are three more swords and snatches of information to Lord Garrick now?”

“Two!” Barag barked.
“Two
swords,” he reiterated.

“Two swords?” Warnyck inquired, turning a distrusting eye on the larger man. “Whatever do you mean,
friend
Barag?”