Shadowlands: The Temple of Shadow

"There was a time that I thought evil did not exist. I believed evil to be an illusion, a myth. Humans certainly had humanity as a common condition, a moral certainty… I was wrong." - R. L. Indish

The night was heavy with frost as the Autumn morning approached. The day began well before sunrise with the promise of a rewarding hunt. For the second consecutive day, Aaron’s young charges broke camp in total darkness to wait in ambush for a passing deer herd. Aaron himself remained behind to meditate and remember. He sat cross-legged on his bedroll with his gray woolen blanket draped loosely over his wide shoulders. He held a deep metal cup of hot broth which he rolled unconsciously in his palms. Before him, the fire crackled and danced sending yellowish-orange beams flickering through the forest about him. The warmth of the broth and the well-tended fire sent waves of comfortable pleasure through his languid body.

The long night was beginning to lose its daily bout with dawn and Aaron felt most alive witnessing these remarkable displays of nature. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the day came; creeping fingers of morning seeking out and smothering the last shadow remnants of the long night; brightness rising as the shadows receded into whatever holes shadows hide to await the next coronation. As if by some grand magic the forest appeared before him; strong limbs of maple and oak clothed in a Queenly raiment of red and bronze, crowned in a majestic gold and trimmed in the blue and green of spruce and pine. A canvas of black nothingness and on it splashed the colors and textures of pure harmonic perfection. Nothing on earth appeared more mystical to Aaron than this silent passage of night to day.

Aaron took a deep quaff of the rich broth then closed his eyes as his hands resumed their rolling motion on the smooth metal cup. At first he thought nothing at all, concentrating on wiping his mind clean. Then he planted the words... Balance, Harmony, Simplicity; all of which flowed purely and naturally in all things... save creatures of thought. The world moved in perfect concentric rhythm. Season follows season ahead to the beginning, day follows night, night follows day. Good and evil, one cannot exist without the other. Only creatures of thought have the power, or the desire to disrupt the delicate balance.

Yet these creatures alone possess the power to appreciate and enjoy.

Nature, without thought, finds balance easily, man must hone his mind as well as his body or balance is unattainable.

Aaron opened his eyes and stared into the fire. As he watched the thin streams of gray smoke rising from the flames other thoughts came. Visions of youth in the great city of the West.

The strength that was his father, the love that was his mother, the trusted friend and ally that was his brother, and the endless ambition of his sister. He remembered the war, the great shadow from the south; the pride he felt riding to battle as the youngest lieutenant of the King’s Grand Knights. He remembered too the terrible fear, the sting of battle, the euphoria of victory, and the pain of defeat. The smoke swirled in the morning breeze catching him full in the face, but Aaron didn’t flinch.

Darker thoughts were upon him. The humiliation of the trial, the injustice. The tears in his mother’s eyes as the pronouncement of exile was cast upon him; the shame reflected by his father’s bowed head as he was bound and escorted into the wilderness. Furiously the bitter thoughts drowned his consciousness... pushing him to the edge of despair. Aaron closed his eyes tight as though the ghosts could be exorcised by the simple lack of sight, but the pain only grew, transforming itself into anger and rage. Then he remembered the lesson…

“Balance..” he muttered, “Balance.”

The sound of his own tormented voice surprised him.

“Balance.” He said again, this time surer, stronger. His eyes opened and again he was flooded by the beauty of the season and there was balance. Even in the midst of the pain and injustice, there was balance. The past was behind him, the future ahead, and though someday he knew the two would meet, today must provide the point at which they must balance.

Aaron became aware of the sounds. Tiny sounds at first; flocks of small birds flitting through the branches chattering in endless excitement. A pair of gray squirrels merrily at play. Little sounds made the Autumn morning complete, and Aaron felt content just to sit and enjoy the feast.

Then he heard his own name, faint, nearly inaudible on the cool breeze. At first, he dismissed it as a trick of the mind then he heard it again and rose to his feet letting the blanket slip easily from his shoulders and, still holding the cup, strained his senses to the northwest from where it seemed to originate. The next time he heard his name it was much clearer and accompanied by the crashing sounds of what could only be Finnian, a lad of tremendous proportions, strong as any three men physically, yet so clumsy, childlike and gentle that Aaron could only wonder if he could make even an adequate Soldier of the Guard.

When Aaron first caught sight of him it was the full head of flaxen hair he saw darting this way and that from north to south missing the camp by a good 500 paces and Aaron could only smile to himself for he knew that Finn was once again hopelessly lost.

“Finn!”, Aaron yelled, “This way lad!”

Finnian stopped then answered breathlessly, “Aaron, is that you, where are you? Something’s happened, William needs you!” “This way lad!” Aaron called “Look for the smoke of the fire and calm yourself, I’m right here!”

The forest was quiet for a few moments as Finn caught his bearings then he exploded into a graceless, stumbling run through the heaviest brush. Finn knew his best path anywhere was always the straight one and if that meant taking a few trees out on the way, well, so be it. Aaron watched in amazement, stoic on the outside, the mirth rising on the inside. The ground seemed to shake with every footfall and Aaron remembered whole regiments of heavy knights on horse exuding less thunder. Then Finn burst into the clearing. Attempting a great leap over one last tree-fall, his right, overly large, foot caught just at the top and sent him

sprawling in a complete somersault. Flat on his broad back he landed, what was left of his breath leaving him in a rush, as his bow, which had been stretched to breaking over his massive chest, exploded into kindling and string. The earth shook. A log from the fire fell sending sparks rising in a shower on the stirred heat.

Aaron could not hold back the laughter. It came in waves so hard that he lost his breath even as he dropped his cup and ran to Finn’s side. Standing over the prostrate giant Aaron looked down upon a boyishly round face with a frozen look of astonishment set in his deep blue eyes.... eyes that were busily searching the sky for his rudely separated spirit. Aaron knelt, his laughter subsiding at the possibility of real injury, and slid his right hand under Finn’s head, rising it slightly as his left hand rested on Finn’s chest.

“Are you alright son?” Aaron worriedly asked.

Finn just stared, his mouth opened slightly, as his great round cheeks turned ashen gray.

Quickly Aaron stood then squatted at Finn’s gigantic feet and grabbing his ankles pushed his knees hard up into his stomach.

“uuuuuunnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!” The wind whistled as Finn sucked in massive gulps of air. At that same instant, he straightened his thick legs with the force of a bull and sent Aaron hard to his backside. From his position on the seat of his buckskins Aaron could only watch as Finn struggled to sit.

Pushing himself up on his huge arms, still gulping in the life-giving air. Finn looked at Aaron and smiled as the color came rushing back into his cheeks. The smile was like that of a child caught red-handed in some petty mischief and, catching Aaron by surprise, sent him into another fit of uncontrollable laughter. As Aaron’s laughter subsided, he found that tears had come to his own eyes and that even more color flushed the boy’s face.

When the laughter subsided Aaron helped Finn to his feet and led him the rest of the way to the camp. Finn plopped himself down with his back against an oak and his great feet stretched out before him. He laid his head back against the trunk and closed his eyes. Aaron rinsed his cup and filled it from his water-skin then walked over to Finn and knelt beside him. At first he just stared at this giant hulk of man-boy, then gave him a not so gentle shake.

“Here lad, take this and drink.”

Finn’s eyes blinked rapidly then steadied as he lolled his head in half a circle stopping as he looked straight into Aaron’s face. He took the cup in one big paw and downed the cool liquid in a single drought.

“Tell me now lad, what is it that brought you after me in such a frenzy? Does the hunt go well or poorly?”

“The hunt,” Finn answered “no, not the hunt.” Finn thought a moment casting his gaze down inside the cup. “I was lost and.... I was coming back...” it took him a few moments to remember…

“William!” he straightened up excited, “William sent me. He told me to run and get Aaron.... that there is something wrong. Get Aaron, er, the Captain and bring him back quick.”

“Calm yourself Finnian, now, what is wrong?” asked Aaron

“I don’t know, William said only that there was, and come back quick. He said my shadow would lead me back to the camp if I but kept it behind me, but it was barely light when I left and I couldn’t see my shadow in the forest ... I got lost I’m afraid.” Finn’s words came excitedly now. “I’m sorry Captain.”

“No Finn, there is no ill done. Look,” he said pointing to the Eastern sky, “the sun has not yet shown itself. You have done well by William’s trust, and given me a needed laugh in the bargain.” Finn bowed his head, again flushed by embarrassment.

“Now let’s be off and see what this trouble might be.” Aaron leapt to his feet, donned his short sword and scabbard then gathered his much larger broadsword from it’s place of concealment in his bedding and, strapping it to his back, started west at a brisk pace.

“Wait!”, yelled Finn, up on his feet and following, “How will you know the way?”

“If William said keep your shadow behind you then all we need do is follow ours and trust our luck.”

“Luck, Captain? Do you not mean the Gods?”

“Luck is a God, lad, the God of all soldiers. He smiles on those in victory, and weeps for those in defeat.”

Finn knew that the casual way in which Aaron spoke of Gods that did not exist would be considered blasphemy by the priests. He could not understand why the Captain had no fear of the priests or the Gods they represented. As Finn pulled up alongside the Captain he spoke again...

“But Aaron the priests forbade....”

“Finn,” Aaron interrupted, “enough of the priests. Tell me more of this trouble William has found.”

“We came to the edge of the forest well before light and William bade me wait as a sentry to our rear as he and the rest were to take up positions at the edge of a clearing.”

“Very wise, indeed... a sentry to protect the rear of the hunting party....” Aaron knew that William was only interested in increasing the stealth of his party as Finn was a noisy liability whenever it came to wary game. Aaron was genuinely pleased with the cleverness and compassion of his newly promoted Lieutenant.

“And then..?”

“That’s all Captain. The rest I have already told. William came back with the dawn and sent me after you saying there was trouble and come quick.”

“Had you heard anything before that with the sound of trouble?” “No sir... “ Finn thought a moment, “nothing, I’m sure of it.” “Very well then, it is haste we will make then, but keep a sharp ear for grim sounds ahead.”

The rest of the journey was barely more than a dozen minutes as Aaron picked the pace up to a steady trot.. his own steps quick and graceful, soft leather buskins disturbing not a leaf, while Finn’s left none untouched.

Aaron came upon the company at the base of a shallow rise at the edge of the forest as it opened up and out into a wide meadow.

“Hail Captain!” barked Urens, and all snapped to attention, save William who stepped a quick pace ahead, smartly snapping his closed left fist, palm inward, to his breast in a quick salute.

William looked worried, or simply confused, Aaron could not tell which, but as he approached he saw his expression change to one of relief.

“William,” said Aaron, “I count but twelve in your party, where are the others?”

“I have posted four along the top of the ridge,” William paused as he pointed up the shallow rise. “There has been a terrible carnage across the meadow beyond and I have chosen to remain here until you had been summoned.”

“There are no casualties then?” asked Aaron.

“None sir.” William replied.

All watched as Finn made the last few yards to the company, gasping breathlessly as he stopped, leaning forward with his hands grasping just above his knees heaving in near convulsions from the effort of keeping his huge body moving at the pace Aaron had set.

Turning again to William, Aaron said “Well done then, William, show me what you have found.”

As Aaron and William, followed by the rest of the party crested the sparsely wooded rise they came upon a shallow depression many hundreds of yards across. Through the center of the clearing, running the length of the almost barren valley, was a rarely used path lying North-South. The far side of the valley rose in varying degrees to rock-covered hills stretching into the base of the Grey Mountains. A single ridge wound it’s way into the depression ending in a point just short of the path. At the place where the ridge met the path Aaron could make out what appeared to be many bodies strewn about. At the center of the tangle of corpses sat what looked to be a single figure cloaked in dark gray.

The valley itself was shrouded in a fine mist which, illuminated by the rising sun, granted the site a chilling surrealistic quality.

“That is the scene as it was revealed to us by the dawn.” William offered as he pointed to the carnage. “We heard nothing in the darkness before that.”

Aaron took a moment to ponder the events, unconsciously crossing his arms left to right as was his posture of thought. The pause seemed endless.

“Gather ’round!” shouted Aaron, breaking the silence. “Urens, Baccus, take positions on this spot. Should anything, and I mean anything go amiss,” his voice rising with authority as he stressed the urgency of the situation, “run swiftly, as swiftly as you may and see to it that Aragan is warned.” Aaron paused a moment studying the men about him. Young eyes did he see, excited, fearless, eager for battle, coiled reflexive courage; eyes which would never again look so young should battle come.

“William.” Aaron called.

“Yes, Captain.”

“William, you have studied well the soldier’s art, in you I have much confidence.... I charge you now, choose one man whom you would trust with your life and leave for Aragan now. Immediately upon your return you must take charge of the town, prepare it’s defenses, and do nothing to compromise it’s safety.”

“Aye Captain, but for the Mayor..” I

“The Mayor is a fool!” interrupted Aaron. “And I fear his foolishness more than any enemy. Foolishness that would bring disaster on your homes and families. As to the priests, offer them the security of the town but offer them only once. When the gates have been closed they are not to be opened for single stragglers.” Taking William with a firm hand on the shoulder Aaron led him a few paces toward the carnage. “What is it that you see there?” he asked as he pointed toward the grizzly scene.

“The ghosts of battle, sir, only that.”

“Ah,” said Aaron, “That is the difference between youth and experience, William, for what you see could well be the beginning of a malignant darkness on this land. Those are Orc soldiers that lay slain.” He could hear the swallowed gasps of the men behind.

“Orc Men-at-arms under the standard of the Black Hand. I would guess one hundred lie, perhaps all of an advance party fallen to some unknown friend, or maybe they ran into something even darker and more terrible than themselves. Or, perhaps they are only a small portion of the party which did battle here, in which case we, and Aragan are in grave danger.” .

“Yes, Captain, I will do as you bid with all the haste I may summon.”

“Good, good,” said Aaron, his voice again calm and persuasive, “Of your courage I have no doubt, but it is wisdom and leadership that will be greatly tested. Understand this also, do not fall to the temptation of sending search parties after us. We will make our way back in our own good time or not at all. Allow none to usurp your authority even one wavering moment, for many lives may hang in the balance.” He paused looking deep into William’s eyes, “Look again across the field and tell me what you see.” “I see the fallen Orcs, and..” William thought for a moment then offered “A gray man appears to sit among the dead.” “Aye, a gray man, a man clad in gray that is not Elfin for it is much too dark a shade. In the Great library of Talisor there are ancient myths written on crumbling parchment that tell of Gray Monks. Men, though some say spirits, belonging to a secret Order known only as “Penumbrae.” Monks of the Temple of Shadow that lies between total light and total darkness.” Aaron glanced back at his young soldiers who were, to a man, transfixed by the chilling scene across the field. Aaron knew that he may not have time for the wasting, so he turned again to William.

“Of this William, we may speak later. Know you well what you must do?”

“Aye, Captain. Aragan will be safe by your return, I swear it by the blood of my fathers.” and again William snapping smartly to attention more of respect than soldierly discipline. For most of the six years since Aaron’s arrival William had great respect for his military abilities but until now he had not seen the Captain’s calm decisiveness, nor had he experienced the intellectual wisdom the man obviously possessed. Until this moment William did not know how much he admired the Captain.

“Then choose your companion, quickly.” said Aaron, his voice artificially urgent.

“I select Philip of Breybuck.” William did not hesitate.

“Good choice, now off with you.” commanded Aaron “Find the balance between swift and silent, do not delay nor be delayed, and get you back to Aragan.”

“Aye!” Said William, then turning, motioned to Philip who nervously shouldered his longbow and sprinted after the already speeding William.

When William and Philip disappeared into the forest, Aaron turned again to the scene of carnage. For long moments he just stared deep in thought. When the orders finally came they were sure and decisive.

“Form up! Split into 2 lines, one left of me, one right. Bows at the ready.” The men instantly formed two even strength lines to the right and left of Aaron. “Finn!”

“Aye sir!” said Finn.

“Since your bow will no longer serve take this.” Aaron drew his own huge broadsword meant for the wielding of two strong hands, and tossed it to Finn’s one massive paw. The fit was perfect as Finn held it aloft admiring the twin edged blade, gleaming resplendently in the morning sun.

“It is called “Amrun Bas” in the old language for it is the bane of the Amrun, the Knights of the Skull. Many great knights of old have wielded it mercilessly in battle with the Black Knights, yet never have I seen it so well fit to a warrior. Do well by it and the sword will be your own and all to whom you would bequeath it even as it came to me from my own fathers.”

Finn could say nothing but “Aye, Captain.”, still standing admiring it’s brilliance even after Aaron turned and the party headed across the field.

At fifty paces from the first line of corpses Aaron stopped, halting the party with a wave of his arms. It had been a very long time since he had last seen Orcs slain in battle. The distinctive, sulfurous odor washed over him. Waves of nausea, that he had thought himself immune to long ago, crept back into the pit of his stomach. Orcs with their leathery hides, eyes glowing almost red and set to the sides of over-sized heads, mouths filled with sharp teeth flanked by twin sets of fangs capable of rending and tearing a man’s flesh. More than an enemy, these hideous creatures were sinewy and terrible, given the tools of a natural predator, then twisted into an unnatural and brutally efficient soldier capable of killing for pure pleasure and living off the flesh of it’s victims.

As repugnant as that sounded, that very fact made for a very efficient marauding army. Aaron thought nothing of the lack of dead soldiers from an opposing force, had the Orcs prevailed there would be none. Their own dead were always left behind. As easy as it was to know immense revulsion and hatred toward these monsters, it was far easier to fear them.

“All stand here, watch for any movement among the fallen and let fly your bolts should there be any Orcs posing with the dead!” Aaron shouted to more than the spread out party. “Finn, to my side lad.”

Aaron and Finn started toward the gray figure at the far edge of the horror. Finn’s face was stone hard with the look of one trying mightily to hide any hint of fear. As they passed one corpse after another Aaron began to notice a pattern. All the wounds that he could identify were definitely Orc inflicted; more than a few were even gnawed by fellow Orcs, which was, at the very least improbable since Orc flesh was deadly poisonous even to other Orcs.

Aaron’s focus now turned almost completely to the seated gray figure now only seventy-five paces ahead. At 20 paces there were no more bodies and Aaron had Finn stand while he went on alone. When he at last reached the seated figure Aaron knelt before it and folded his arms leaning on his knee.

“Sar Mangin?” He asked, “is that you under that hood? What mischief is this?”

“Will the bolts fly if I were to move my hood back, just a little?” the answer came in a hollow voice as if from another world.

“I should think not, old friend,” as Aaron signaled to stand at ease, “I do not think they would risk piercing their own Captain at this range.”

The monk slowly raised his hands, long and agile they were, with a look of iron about them and the unmistakable Ring of the Temple on the middle finger of the left. The monk pulled the hood back as he raised his head revealing a shaven head covered in part by a silver skullcap which started at a point in the middle of his forehead and came back around the ears, meeting in a flair about the neck. The monk’s features were hard, chiseled, with a strong beardless jaw, deep brown eyes that were not small yet not overly large, olive skin, and on his face was the warm smile of an old friend.

“Mangin, it is good to see you again, but how is it that I find you dozing among this foul carrion? What unfortunate battle is this that I find you so casually among the ghosts?”

“So many questions, Aaron. But that is how I remember you, always questions... more even than there were answers. Ah, but is that not how it always is?”

“Answer this at least, how long have you been wearing the Silver? It was the cloak only the last time I shared your company.” “It has been three years since I have completed The Test. I have learned much since that pleasant time.”

“It is well deserved I am sure, but still I see no staff, have you neglected to bring it or have you lost it in this very battle?” “You are clever still, friend Aaron, and not a little devious, I have taught you well have I not?” Mangin was positively beaming now, “the ways of the Temple are still remembered then.” Aaron caught the twinkle in Mangin’s dark brown eyes. His friend and brother was truly well and commanding a staff at so young an age.

“The Master of the Temple has chosen well. How old are you now my brother?” asked Aaron.

“Ah, a difficult question, let’s see ....” Mangin thought a moment, “as near as I can figure, and not one for the ciphering art as you know, I may only guess at one hundred and twenty.. perhaps twenty- four.” Mangin motioned to the ground before him. “Sit Aaron, sit, I do have some grave news and there is much to discuss of concern to you and the child.”

Aaron sat in the same cross-legged style as Mangin and both men leaned in slightly.

Mangin began. “Is that the child?” he said as he motioned toward Finn. “I believe he would be quite large by now, judging by his ancestry.”

“Large he is, quite large in fact, though not nearly as large as Finn, of whom you speak.” Aaron answered.

“Finn is it,” Mangin thought a moment, “a very small name for such a large man. Is he your best knight then?”

“He is the strongest, but alas, not nearly the swiftest afoot nor the nimblest of mind, and his heart is as large as his figure and not easily hardened to the ways of a fighting man.”

“A warrior’s heart need not be hardened, brother Aaron, tempered only. What purpose would it serve to win the field only to return home and live out one’s days with a heart of stone? The true warrior must prevail in peace as well as war.”

It was a lessen Aaron had known, wisdom that had never escaped him, though he had not yet mastered its application.

“It is of balance then that you speak.” Aaron answered.

“Balance, aye, may your life truly find the fulcrum even in these uncertain times.” for a moment Mangin’s eyes mellowed as they sought understanding in Aaron.

“And yours, brother Mangin, no finer or wiser friend could any man hope to have in this life.” The two reached across and sealed again an old friendship by the sign of the Temple.

“Well then brother, is it not time to recall your staff? Have my men not gazed long enough upon this foul vision of yours?” Aaron asked as he tipped his head and threw a knowing grin at the monk.

Mangin laughed, “So, you have guessed my little trick then!”

“Almost from the beginning,” Aaron paused, turning his head toward the scene and sniffing the air, “It was the scent which most confused me, although I must confess that I have not seen such wounds as those inflicted on this Orc host. How is it that your abilities may fill the senses so completely?”

“Of your party, only you would smell the vileness of these creatures for I am only able to provide the vision. Only you have the true experience from which to draw, your own mind provided the balance. As to the wounds, well, a party of these foul creatures met their fate in just this way only a few days ago and only a few leagues south of here.” Mangin said with a devious grin, “It was only for me to remember.”

With that Mangin raised his hands and clapped once, spreading his hands palms up as a smooth, though plain, staff appeared suddenly in them accompanied by a faint whistling sound. In the same instant the gruesome vision departed as well. “We have much still to discuss Aaron. Send your party back now so that none may share of this knowledge or look upon my uncovered face as is the custom.” When Aaron had passed the orders on to return to camp and wait for him there were many questions in their young and bewildered eyes but all turned and obeyed without voicing them. Only Finn looked back as the company made it’s way into the forest. When Aaron returned He noticed that Mangin had not moved other than to lay the staff in his lap.

The moment Aaron sat Mangin began. “How is the child, is it yet anonymous and safe?”

“He is, and most well cared for.”

“Does it know or suspect?”

“I do not believe that, forgive me, he, not it,” Aaron spoke with a bit of good natured jest at Mangin’s genderless reference to the child, “could possibly know though what he suspects lies beyond my knowledge.”

“Yes, of course, he.” Mangin thought for a moment, closing his eyes and tilting his head back slightly. “There is much evil festering in the land. The black arm of the south grows longer and more powerful with each passing month. The Black King has consolidated his conquests and even the Grand Army of Talisor is hard pressed to hold back the hordes which are ever upon them. The dwarves easily hold the pass at Gajda, but only in defense of their sacred mountains. Still they refuse to send an army west to join the men of Talisor, or to mount their own advance. Elves of the wood are content to sit upon their own defenses which consist mainly of the fear the Orcs have of them and few other men of the North and East have found the courage to lend aid. Only the Temple and the Wolveshead Mountains stand between the Black Hand and the soft eastern flanks of the Great City, yet even now the Black Hand sends scouting parties this way to probe for a pass through to the wilderness and onto that flank.”

“Was the vision that of the end of one such party?” Aaron asked, though he already knew the answer.

The beginning of a smile seemed to appear on Mangin’s face but he did not answer.

“Do you have news of my family?”

“Only that your father has taken up the sword once again to fight along side your brother in the south. Whether or not they � survive,” Mangin added with sadness, “I cannot say, the battle is terrible.”

“That is dire news indeed, my heart tells me that I must leave this land then and give what aid I may to my own home and family.” “It is not time, Aaron. As long as the kindreds of elves, dwarves and men remain separate all hope is lost. What could one sword, even one as great as your own, hope to accomplish against such odds. No, dear brother, “and with that Mangin reached out and gripped Aaron’s forearm in understanding, “your task remains here, no matter the pain you bear or the call of your noble heart there is much of great consequence yet to do here.”

“What more urgent call might be answered than that to defend all that I still love.”

“The child,” Sar Mangin whispered now, “the child of the Ancients'.

Have you forgotten the prophecies? The King of the three kindreds and the White Captain at his side?”

“Old dead legends, Mangin. Talisor is in dire need of it’s sons now. Already it seems I have dallied far too long in this exile,” as Aaron spoke anger began to salt his words, “My sword grows heavy by disuse and my own hands ache to wield it against my enemies.

Much would I prefer a valiant end than this unconscionable wasting away in this land.” Aaron jumped to his feet and with one swift motion drew his sword and held it in both hands before him. “I swear by this sword of The Temple, Talisor shall not fall while there is breath yet in this body!” The blood now pounding hot in his veins. “Tell me not, Mangin, your tales of hope against hope and old dead legends when it is known well by your own teachings that it is steel only which will balance steel!” The anger Aaron felt began turning to rage.

For the first time Mangin rose. “There are many forms of steel my brother.” he said calmly, then raising his staff struck it to the earth and tipped it’s rounded end toward Aaron who stood hard before him.

“There is steel as it is tempered by the fire,” Mangin’s voice seemed to originate inside Aaron’s own mind.

Instantly the sword boiled in Aaron’s hands and the blade glowed orange and bent toward the earth before he let it go with a sickening thud, the smell of burning flesh choking him. He looked at his hands and they were horribly blistered, skin and muscle blackened, hanging from the bone. The pain leapt up his arms and he grimaced at the agony and fell to his knees holding his ravaged hands curled at his chest yet making no sound.

“There is the steel before the fire.”

The sword suddenly shattered into a hundred pieces of formless ore.

Aaron watched in amazement at the display while fighting to push his own pain and onrushing nausea out of his mind.

“And finally.....”

Mangin bent at the knees and reached toward the pile of useless rocks, the ore came together and seemed to leap by it’s own power into his outstretched hand transforming itself into a blade grander even than the original forged by the Temple. Mangin then offered the remade sword, hilt first, to Aaron who held his severely burned hands out to receive it. The pain was almost beyond his endurance as he laid his ravaged fingers on the gold inlay of the hilt. The instant of the first touch brought relief and Aaron felt a wave of new strength rush up his arms and throughout his being. The nausea disappeared and within moments his once horrible wounds were healed.

“There is the steel that can be found only in the strength and resolve, the mind and heart, the steel spine of men such as you, my brother.”

“Is this..” Aaron said incredulously, his voice weak from the ordeal, “is this another trick Mangin?”

“No trick, Aaron. This is the sword that has been forged by the fire of your own soul. It was your own fire which consumed you and your own fire which healed you, I was the catalyst only. All that you are and have become is in it’s metal. To one side of the white linen bound handle is the Dragon of Talisor and the Eagle Crest of your family inlaid in the purest gold, and on the other the Silver Crescent and Fulcrum of the Temple.”

Aaron held the sword before him, cradling the hilt in his right hand as his left examined the flawless edge of the blade. On the hilt were letters that caught his eye and seemed to dance with fire in the morning sun.

“The letters Mangin, what are the letters in the hilt?” “Runes. Runes in the ancient language.”

“And the meaning, Mangin? What do the runes say?” “In the old language “Detrim Votia Detrim Moxus”,” Mangin paused for a moment searching for the most accurate translation. “There is no true translation though “He that slays also heals” or “One who slays, one who heals” or more simply “Slayer*Healer.” “The sword which slays yet also heals? Does the sword possess a healing power then?” Aaron gazed at Mangin with bewilderment.

“The sword has no power other than that which came from you, friend. The sword is merely an extension of the soul from which it was forged. The answers to your questions are within you and no other. I am afraid that only time and your own experience may tell.”

“Is the sword a blessing for my journey home, Mangin, or simply a gift to bend me to your will?”

“Ah, Aaron,” Mangin’s voice was showing the ragged edge of frustration. “brother in all that is yet fair in the world, if the sword is a gift it is one from you unto yourself, even as the choice you must make is yours alone. I ask only that you sit once more and suppress the fire in your heart long enough to consider the truth that I am charged to deliver. If after we speak it is still your desire to journey to the Great City then I will accompany you myself to the edge of the wilderness.” For several moments Aaron pondered his options as he inspected every inch of the flawless blade. Never had he seen such workmanship; His own reflection staring back at him from it’s mirror-like surface; age was creeping up on him, he could see it in the pale green of his eyes, the brown weathered look of his face, and the silver flecks of his once dark brown hair. His life had indeed been hard. As his thoughts drifted into the past he suddenly realized that the bulk of it had been spent in either the preparation for battle or battle itself. He had not known of love, or of children, and the realization brought a sadness that was a stranger to him. He was a warrior and from youth had wanted nothing more than to excel at the warrior’s trade, yet he could not honestly remember a time that he had ever enjoyed plying it. He longed for a time when weapons such as this might be hung over the mantle-piece in some humble abode merely admired for it’s workmanship. A sword called “Slayer”, the same called “Healer”, what could it mean? Slaying he knew all too much of, but healing? As he laid the sword gently across his knees the anger in him subsided and with it the mistrust of Mangin that had overtaken him.

Perhaps it would be well to hear, at least, all that his friend had traveled so far to tell him. He lifted his eyes to meet Mangin’s and in them saw the painful understanding of an old friend.

“Very well, brother, let it not be said that Aaron, son of Euric lacked the wisdom to make use of learned council.”

The sun climbed past noon and then well into the evening as the Monk and the Warrior fell deep into conversation.

“He’s dead I say!” Urens shouted at the others. “Am I the only one who saw the evil that surrounded that wicked little monk?” Urens was pacing nervously now as dusk settled over the camp.

“Sit down, Urens, you’re disturbing my rest.” barked Havron as he rolled even tighter into his woolen blanket.

“You heard the Captain, Urens. He charged us all to come here and wait, that all was well and he would return when he could.” Baccus added.

“And what if he doesn’t return? Are we to just sit here waiting for more of those creatures to waylay us in the dark? We who have not even thought to bring proper armor or swords?” Questioned Urens in a steadily rising and shaky voice.

“Those creatures were Orcs, Urens, dead Orcs, and no one has ever seen a live Orc in this country. We are probably the first even to see a dead Orc, and I’m not so sure that what we saw was real anyway. Now sit down and stop acting like an old woman or by the Gods I’ll waylay you myself for the sake of peace and quiet!” Havron’s angry voice rose from his cocoon sending Urens back to his own bedding where he sat in silence, fuming.

“We shouldn’t have left him.” A worried voice came from the far side of a giant oak at the western edge of the camp.

“Do you hear anything out there Finn?” Cedrick asked, concerned.

“Nothing.” came Finn’s weak reply.

“The Captain will be fine, Finn, did he not say that the monk was an old friend? Come on back to camp and bring a few sticks for the fire. You’ll be no good to anyone without rest.” William offered.

Finn didn’t answer. He sat, back up against the oak, holding the broadsword he had received from Aaron and just staring out into the settling darkness. He was concerned for Aaron but in his mind he couldn’t be sure if what he felt was simply fear. Fear for Aaron, or fear for himself, he could not decide which. The further time took him from the events of the day the more fear and even terror seemed to fill him. Those hideous dead creatures shocked him more than any bad dream he ever had and he had plenty of bad dreams.

The way they just vanished when that strange cloaked man simply clapped his hands. And the sword that Aaron had given him. “Do well by it”, he said. He looked at he sword once again and wondered why Aaron would give such a gift to someone like him.

Wondered if he could ever earn the right to truly call it his own.

“Finn..?”

A voice came softly through the gathering gloom in front of him and Finn looked up straining to see where the voice came from.

He heard not a step but suddenly, out of the darkness and illuminated by the weak flickering light of the campfire, came the figure of Aaron.

“Aaron, it’s you!” Finn jumped to his feet so excited and relieved that he lost his grip on the sword and dropped it clanging to the ground. Aaron calmly bent and picked up the huge broadsword then, running the blade swiftly between his knees to brush it clean, held it out to Finn. For the third time in a single day Finn’s face flushed to a bright red.

“Do well by it, lad.” Was all he said as he headed up into the camp. Though Finn knew that he had not been chastised, he bowed his head with a deep sense of unworthiness, before shuffling after Aaron.

When Aaron stepped into the full light of the campfire all the company saw him but none spoke for there was an aura about him.

His face seemed to glow with a strange radiance. He seemed younger somehow, with a sense of purpose that did not go unnoticed.. except by the sleeping Havron. Baccus gave him a kick to wake him but Havron just grunted and rolled over. Aaron made his way to his ′ place by the fire as Urens leapt to his feet and shouted, “Hail Captain!” the company rose as one except for Havron whose sleep remained uninterrupted. Aaron drew his sword then flipped it so that his grip was as that used with a dagger then thrust it into the ground at his feet. The company watched incredulously as Aaron then sat on his heels in front of the magnificent sword which rose from the ground between him and the fire. Aaron sat for long moments studying the hilt, hands resting limp on his knees, and seemingly no consciousness of the company rigidly standing about him. After a time he stood. Grasping the sword by it’s exquisite pommel he withdrew it from the earth then walked over to the sleeping Havron as all watched. Slowly he brushed the earth off the tip of the blade and examined it for any signs of scratches.

There were none. Then swiftly he brought the flat of the blade down on the backside of Havron. “Thwack!” The blade sang as it made contact. Havron let out a yelp as he shot out from under the blankets, scrambling a few paces on his hands and knees before turning to see Aaron standing with his arms folded and the sword already sheathed.

“You would do well to keep one eye open, at least, with the enemy about.” he said calmly as Havron jumped to his feet rubbing the sting from his backside while the flush of his cheeks betrayed a deeper injury.

“Ca.. Captain?” Havron was unnerved and confused at the indignity, “Surely there is a gentler way....”

“An Orc would be gently gnawing at your bones by now, Havron, thank the stars you felt only the flat of a friendly blade and not the black steel of the enemy.” Aaron’s look was hard and unyielding.

“Aye sir.” Havron answered sheepishly, still rubbing his bruised backside with his head bowed not wanting to see the faces of his comrades. .

Aaron turned and walked back to the fire where he sat then motioned for all to gather around him.

“Tomorrow,” he began, “we’re traveling some leagues to the south.

We are no longer a party of men hunting game but a company of soldiers hunting Orcs.” He studied the men as he spoke, noting the anxiety in most, the fear in some, and the pure excitement in others. “To the people of Aragan, your people, Black Kings and Skull Riders, evil Mages and Orcs, are but myths that make for good ghost stories to frighten children. Only you have seen Orcs and, even in death, know how terrible they are. This I must tell you, there are far worse foes than Orcs, and if my friend is correct, they are massing south of the Greenway Pass along the Great River Drakona as it is called in the south, known to you as Alurion. We have need of first hand knowledge of their movements. There may be large forces building along the river for a push up along the Gray Mountains, which would bring them within a few days of Aragan, and well within range of foraging parties which would bring torture, death, and horrors that I will not speak of here.”

“Were the Orcs we saw this morning real?” asked Baccus.

“No, I cannot say that they were real, as such. If you were to have touched them or in any way disturbed them they would have vanished before your eyes.” Aaron paused for a moment searching the young eyes of the company and seeing some of the tension dissipate. “What you saw this morning was a vision of the aftermath of a battle that was all too real only days ago and just 5 leagues south of here.

The vision was recreated for your experience only so that you might know what enemy will be upon you.”

“The Grey Man, is he one of the Monks of which you spoke?” Havron asked finding himself no longer suffering from his ordeal.

“He is that, and more besides.” Aaron answered. “Of the Monks, little may I tell you by sacred oath, but this you may know, the Monks of the Temple were the cause of the Orc’s destruction. The Monks will be at the side of any who would oppose the Armies of Krakume, the Black King and Tatorgus, the Black Hand, his servant.”

“The sword, Captain, how did you come by such a prize?” Urens spoke with a tone that Aaron thought capable of great deceit. Aaron knew that Urens served only Urens. There had been many like him in his life and Aaron held little trust in him.

“The sword” Aaron said as he once again withdrew it with a liquid smooth motion and pointed it toward Urens. “is a gift of the purest sort...” the blade gleamed in the firelight and Aaron gazed down the length sternly into Urens eyes. “and the bane of my enemies wherever they might hide.” Urens did not turn his head but neither did his eyes look straight into Aaron’s, but rather turned this way and that until the sword was again sheathed.

“But how will we fight these Orcs with only bows, a few swords, and simple wool and leather for armor?” Havron asked motioning with his hands toward his clothing.

“We are not going to fight, our only desire is knowledge. Our need is for stealth. The hide of the deer is not easily seen in these autumn forests and the bow makes for a very stealthy weapon if need be.” Aaron looked around at the young men who had closed tight around him then added, “Come morning I will send two of you back to William in Aragan with this message,” he reached into the open front of his buckskin shirt and produced a rolled parchment tied with a leather thong. “Any of you who wish to return with them will be free to go. All who wish to go with the company are welcome though of those I will chose in the morning.” Aaron looked around once more as he slid the parchment back into his shirt, “Whatever choice you will make may be spoken then. For now we will all require rest no matter the path that is chosen. Havron, post three sentries, yourself among them, and have them relieved at regular intervals throughout the night.”

“Aye, sir.” Replied Havron, quickly jumping to his feet motioning for Oren and Yary to follow. The three gathered bows and quivers and started the watch. The rest fell to their own places and into their own thoughts.

Aaron sat staring into the fire. The flames, he thought, do possess a hypnotic quality . . . . . much as war does when viewed at a distance. After a time, when all the others were asleep, Aaron himself settled in for a much needed rest; he only hoped that he would not cry out when the dreams began.

When the morning broke, the choices were made. Aaron and 4 others were to accompany him, Havron for his calm, Cedrick for his speed, Yury for his stealth, and Faegan for his marksmanship.

The rest, including Finn began the trek east. Aaron gave the parchment to Finn with instructions to guard it with his life and see that it is given to William the moment he arrives. He also gave a copy to Urick, just in case.