Chapter 1
They were riding by moonlight. The sun had set long ago, and the stars were twinkling in the night sky. Here and there a lone firefly ignited above the tall grass of the southern prairie. Before them, the gray terrain swept downward until it reached the coast of the South Sea. The elf pulled on his reins, bringing his stallion to a halt.
“Ozymandias,” said Trik, turning to his companion, a dark stranger riding a black charger.
Ozymandias flung back his hood, revealing a face scarred and worn by time. His hair was long and gray, and his right eye was covered by a leather patch. “I no longer go by that name,” he said, “not in many years.”
“Then what do I call you?” asked Trik.
“Oz,” he said. “Just Oz.”
“Oz,” said Trik, “tell me again how you learned of the crypt.”
“A man who called himself the Black Scourge of the Isles,” said Oz, “told me the tale of a great Elf Lord who dwelled in these parts before the world was changed.”
“Asrael,” said Trik.
“He did not use that name,” said Oz, “only mentioned that he had seen a crypt in the Finn Swamp.”
“Did you the see the crypt with your own eyes?” asked Trik.
“I did,” said Oz, “but only once.”
“After all these years,” said Trik, “you have not forgotten?”
“It is not something I can forget,” said Oz. “It is burned into my memory.”
“The crypt,” said Trik. “Take me there.”
“My lord,” said Oz, “it is deep within the swamp. There are many terrible things that dwell there in the dark.”
“Then we’ll rest here tonight,” said Trik. “In the morning, you will show me the way.” He tapped the flanks of his horse with his heels and rode down into the valley before them. At the valley floor was a copse of cypress trees watered by a little brook. Trik dismounted from his horse beside the brook.
“It would be better to find an inn,” said Oz, riding up to him.
“The closest inn is at Anoka,” said Trik, grabbing some things from the saddlebags of his horse. He laid them out on the ground.
“I’m an old man,” said Oz. “Too old for these things.”
Trik peered at Oz in the moonlight. “We’ll need firewood,” he said.
Oz dismounted awkwardly, nearly falling as his boots hit the ground. He walked toward Trik with a limp and halted. “You are paying me,” said Oz, “and I do not forget that. Yet do not command me. I am not a slave or a servant.”
“Nor am I,” said Trik, dropping a heavy blanket on the ground, “but if we do not start a fire, the night will be cold.”
“Yes, my lord,” said Oz, smiling a half-smile. He turned and limped toward the copse of trees.
By the time Oz returned with firewood, Trik had finished making camp. He had pitched a leather tent and placed two blankets inside. He had dug a pit for a fire, and had kindled a small flame in it. As Trik sat by the fire, Oz dropped a dozen pieces of dry timber by the pit.
Trik took two of the timbers and placed them in the flame. The flame caught the dry timber, and smoke swirled above the camp as the fire grew. Trik placed another piece of firewood in the flame. Then he positioned a metal pot over the firewood. There was water in the pot from the little brook and meat from a rabbit Trik had shot with his bow.
As the water in the pot began to boil, Trik dropped some vegetables and roots into it. Oz was sitting on the other side of the fire with his hands on his knees. “Tell me, my lord,” he said, “why do you seek this Asrael?”
Trik stirred the pot with a twig. “I am not a lord,” he said.
“You are rich like a lord,” said Oz.
“And you are a pirate,” said Trik, looking up at Oz.
Oz’s single eye widened in the firelight. “I never uttered such a thing,” he said.
“I have known for some time,” said Trik. “I discerned it from you at the market in Anoka.”
“You said nothing then,” said Oz.
“I’ll say nothing now,” said Trik. “I don’t judge a man for his past, nor will I accept judgment for mine.”
“Tell me,” said Oz, “why do you seek this crypt?”
Trik glanced at the moon in the sky. It was nearly full and quite bright. “I do not seek the crypt,” said Trik. “I seek what is in the crypt.”
“And that is?” asked Oz.
“A weapon,” said Trik. “The bow of Asrael. It is said that with his bow, Asrael vanquished armies and conquered nations. With it, he was invincible.”
Oz laughed.
“Why do you laugh?” asked Trik.
“If he was invincible,” said Oz, “then why is he dead?”
Trik did not answer. He looked at the pot on the fire. The water bubbled around the brown rabbit meat. “The stew is ready,” he said. He took the pot from the fire and placed it on a log.
