Chapter 2
At its infancy, Connel sat nestled on the edge of the largest pine forest in the land of Uton. The trees stretched to the south, west and northwest for untold lengths until giving way to rocky ground or mountains. Hills abounded beyond the reaches of the forest as gateways to other landscapes. A scorching desert waited past rocky ravines to the southwest, and hundreds of snow-capped mountains towered over the horizon in the north. A few scattered peaks stood directly west; forming a jagged boundary between the eastern flatland prairies and the western coastlands.
As Connel became more populated, pioneers moved further beyond its limits. Dark Spruce began to shrink steadily as thousands of trees were cleared to create the outlying farmlands. Two new western outposts were also developed, though in much more recent history. The settling of these towns and the increase in farming eventually removed the forest from Connel's sight. While Dark Spruce remained a large stretch of woodland to the south and southwest, the vein which strove northward was reduced to a narrow band. This thin extension served as a small border between the newly colonized towns and the western mountains.
At the outset of his exploration, Ryson scoured the countryside to the immediate west of Connel. He concentrated first on the pastures and farmlands. Moving on foot at speeds defying human understanding, he covered wide areas while the sun barely moved overhead. His eyes scanned the wide-open lands. He stopped only momentarily to speak with farmers in the field or merchants on the road. To his satisfaction, these outlying lands received little damage.
Finding only traces of the quake's path in the farmlands, he turned his attention to the neighboring outposts, Burbon and Pinesway. Each received more damage than Connel, but nothing which could not be repaired within a season or two. A few buildings had suffered structural impairment and more than one road had crumbled, but the lasting consequences of the tremor were insignificant. Like nothing more than a strong storm passing through the night, the quake had come and gone. The damage was merely temporary as no lives were lost and no permanent alterations in the land could be found.
Ryson's investigations within the towns took greater time than his explorations over the open flatlands. Most of those he met were not accustomed to his pace, and the delver slowed to match their needs. Days passed as he made several contacts with people of both towns. He promised them additional supplies and labor from Connel at prices to be negotiated with a second representative, probably councilwoman Bent.
During this time, he dispatched messages to the council and to Reader Matthew. He detailed his findings, described the degree of all damage. He continued his investigation until he assessed all prospective sites that would be of interest to the council. He sent a final message appraising them of everything he had discovered. He advised one member to make the journey to represent Connel and offered his own estimates of needed supplies. With his duty to the council fulfilled, he turned his attention back to the path of the quake. He sent word to the reader that following the quake's path would lead him into the dense tree-covered regions of Dark Spruce. The lack of any villages within the forest would create a lag before he could send his next communication. He ended his note by promising to forward another message as soon as possible.
Ryson moved westward without further delay. After passing beyond the limits of Pinesway, he soon entered the vast forest. At his point of entry into the woodlands, no road broke through the trees and no footpath existed for travel. A staggered multitude of tree trunks filled the landscape, created a broken labyrinth of infinite paths. While underbrush was light, due to the dense shade of the evergreens, the ground remained uneven and rocky. Large roots jutted up from the soil, creating even more obstacles. Ryson glided over such hindrances as if they did not exist.
He carried nothing which might impede his progress. Even as he advanced into pure wilderness, he ignored thoughts of extra rations of food or water. He brought nothing more than his basic supplies. The forest itself would provide Ryson with everything he needed. Food and shelter were plentiful. He would eat the seeds, nuts, and succulent fruits of all the indigenous trees. He would drink from streams or dig below the roots for ground water. He would sleep within the pines, using the thick branches for shelter and security.
As for getting lost in such a dense forest, that remained a human calamity. Humans saw the forest as an obstacle between two points. They conceived themselves lost when they could no longer determine the correct path toward their destination or back to their point of departure. A delver, however, was never lost, for a delver did not think in terms of which was the correct path. Even a forest as large as Dark Spruce was viewed in whole. Being lost meant being unable to find a way. For someone with Ryson's skills, there was always a way to travel, a path to cross.
Ryson explored Dark Spruce on previous occasions. The largest and closest forest to his adopted home of Connel often enticed him. Pioneers looking for new lands to conquer would also employ him for such missions. In his first trips to the northern branch, he actually began his investigations with great anticipation. Such an immense area must have held untold secrets. To his disappointment, he never found anything more than the legion of ancient trees. Large sturdy trunks growing boldly to the sky filled the landscape with a universal sameness. The number of branches remained somewhat stunted at ground level, but they increased as one looked skyward. They created a complete blanket of green which could block out the sun with ease. Ryson's eyes faced little difficulty, for they could adjust to even greater darkness, but for his own desires, the forest held little for him to see.
As the delver entered Dark Spruce upon this day, he did so with only slight arousal. The forest held out no special enticement. It only offered the trail of the quake; slightly uprooted trees and shifted broken soil. The traces of the disturbance granted only a slight distraction from the monotony of Dark Spruce, and he walked and climbed for half the morning before he found anything of true interest.
As the sounds of Pinesway faded from his acute hearing, he began to pick up the faint traces of a pungent odor. As he raced onward, he discovered larger pockets of the objectionable scent lingering about. It piqued his curiosity, called for his attention. The smell hung heavy in the air. It smelled of rot. The decay, however, was out of place. It was not the decomposition of the forest which created this odor. It was simply too powerful to be the emanation of rotting leaves or grass.
As the stench became more prevalent, so did the delver's curiosity. Ryson stopped. He paused to take a greater sample of the air through his nose. His nostrils flared. He turned about to sniff the light breeze which filtered through the branches overhead. Part of the rank odor became unmistakable. It held the ghastly smell of rotting flesh. Perhaps an animal, a large animal like a deer, died somewhere nearby. Yet, the smell also contained traces of another scent, an odor which separated itself from the decay. Unique in its properties, Ryson could only liken it to the static smell of a summer lightning storm. Even the very air which contained the stench seemed charged.
Unable to distinguish anything more from the odor, Ryson pushed forward, but he moved with a mind to this new mystery. His concentration shifted away from the quake, and the instincts which were his as a delver began to guide him. The secret behind the stench became his mission.
As he stepped forward, the scent did not always become noticeably stronger. In certain places, it remained constant and Ryson found it difficult to choose a direction. More than once, he circled about his current position before selecting a path. To the delver's satisfaction, the smell did not dissipate. It continued to beckon him and overpowered anything else which might call to his attention.
With thoughts of the quake almost extinct, the delver began to break in a southern direction. With his nose in the air, he paid little attention to the growing thickness of the trees. Greater coverage of branches overhead blocked more and more of the sunlight. The ground stretched out before him, etched with crusty, bark covered trunks and obs
cured in shady darkness. He continued to move with the fluid grace befitting a true delver. His stride carried him faster than the running of a frightened rabbit, and his ability to step lightly over uneven ground kept him from stumbling upon the bulging roots.
With Ryson's attention fixed solely upon what his nose revealed to him, he relied little upon his sight. His vision simply aided him in crossing the forest, until it revealed to him the object of his search.
Ryson stopped immediately. His senses erupted as the unimaginable stood before him. The stench leaped in potency, at least tenfold, and there was no doubt that it was indeed the outpouring of rotting flesh. But this, this was no deer. It was a man, or what was left of one.
The degree of decay was staggering. The flesh cracked and shriveled, split and oozed. The stench and the pus attracted insects of all sizes. Flies, big and small, buzzed about like a shifting, black cloud. They landed on loose flesh and scurried about exposed bone. Hundreds of fluttering insect wings created a crescendo of a hissing sizzle.
This lonely traveler, pioneer or scout, must have been dead for weeks, maybe even months, such was the indication of the decay. Yet, it stood. It stood like a frozen ice sculpture or a stone statue. It stood and gazed at Ryson with one lifeless eye. The other had rotted completely away. Ryson could see into the empty socket, and he could look upon the edges of the skull which surrounded it. The left side of the body apparently decomposed faster than the other. Upon the same side as the vacant eye socket, most of the flesh around the arm was missing. Much of the left forearm bone stood revealed. The oozing flesh also hung loosely about the left hand.
In the other hand, which remained more or less intact, the fingers grasped a long thick branch. Its tip had been shaved into a fine point. Though the spear-like weapon remained firmly in the grip of this half-corpse, half-skeleton, it hung suspended in the air and offered no explanation as to what allowed the corpse to remain upright. The dead sentinel stood of its own accord, upon its own two decaying feet.
Ryson turned his disbelieving eyes back upon the face. He noticed the lips had rotted clean away, revealing a ghastly grin. The sight was too much, and the delver forced himself to turn away.
As he did, his ears caught the sound of unsteady footsteps. Ryson lifted his head, and noted the flash of movement coming his way. With great speed and balance, he jumped aside before understanding his plight. As the breeze of a slashing stick passed over his shoulder, he refocused his attention, though he could not fathom his dilemma. It was the spear of the corpse which slashed at him, and it remained in the same rotting hand.
"Godson!" the delver exclaimed in shock. He took retreating steps as the corpse turned itself slowly. Ryson watched in horror and disbelief. The decaying body was moving.
The corpse, however, defied logic, defied reality. It redirected itself back at Ryson and again swung its shaft with malice. It voiced no sound. Only the crackling turn of exposed bone echoed from its figure, and that was nearly drowned out by the hum of flies which followed in a dancing swarm.
Ryson's speed again helped him escape the attack, but little helped his mind escape the horror. Even as he stepped out of harm's way, he could not truly comprehend what he was seeing. He moved out of instinct. It saved his life, but it did not restore the hold of his senses.
As this living corpse turned and faced Ryson once more, the delver made every attempt to rationalize his predicament. Perhaps this thing was not yet dead, perhaps by some miracle it held onto the smallest spark of life. How else could it move toward him? How else could it attack, unless it somehow remained alive? But this was impossible. There was no blood flowing from the open wounds, there was no sign of breathing through those sinister teeth. Nothing like this could live, yet still it moved.
Before the corpse could make another attempt at the delver's life, Ryson finally gained greater control of his own movements. He began to step away and use the surrounding trees as cover. He scurried about like a lost child while he assessed this preposterous situation and questions steamrolled through his mind.
"Who are you?" he demanded with only a hint of panic in his voice.
The creature did not respond. It only circled about the trees hoping to get a clear shot at its prey.
Ryson tried to maintain his composure. He checked his fear as he continued to move, using his speed to his advantage. He kept a safe distance and at least two trees between himself and the corpse as he watched the creature carefully. The more he watched the more confused he became. With muscle and tissue missing from many parts of its body, movement should have been impossible. But apparently, these facts held little meaning. The creature continued its prodding, unyielding attack. It proved its ability to turn, move, and fight even as rotting flesh dropped off its visible bones.
Unable to find any understanding in what he witnessed, Ryson made another attempt to communicate with this atrocity.
"What are you? What are you doing?"
The creature made no sound. No words or even groans escaped its rotted mouth. It offered no explanation for its existence, extended no reason for its attack.
Ryson inhaled deeply, hoping to ease his growing terror. His lungs filled with the stench polluted air, and he coughed it out vigorously. His eyes watered as he fought off the sickness which filled him.
At that moment, the corpse moved with a swiftness it previously hid. It darted from behind one tree and found a position within two body lengths of its target. Nothing but open space stood between it and the delver. It veered back before hurling its pointed shaft with deadly intentions.
Ryson, still choking out the foul air, dropped to the ground instinctively. The spear grazed his hair before gliding well out of reach. His hand flew to the top of his head to check for injury. After brushing his fingers through his hair, he pulled his hand to the front of his face. No blood.
Sprawled over the hard ground and protruding roots, Ryson remained vulnerable. He tried to roll backwards away from the last known position of the corpse. He barely turned at all when his motion was brought to a dead halt. His back hit a solid tree trunk with a resounding thud. He gulped back a sting of pain. His eyes widened in panic as he realized he was prone and backed against a tree, hardly an enviable position to avoid further attack.
With a swirl of his head, he picked up sight of the corpse. It made no attempt to retrieve its spear. Instead, it moved unerringly towards him, apparently ready to block any attempt of escape.
The delver bit back his own terror. Using his great agility, he swung his legs about and came to his knees. He was about to spring to his feet with the intention of climbing the great tree behind him when the corpse unexpectedly leapt forward.
The creature actually flew across the air with a powerful bound. The impact was heavy. It sent the delver back into the trunk. Upon contact, the corpse immediately took hold of its quarry. Even as the two combatants deflected off the tree and went rolling, the frightful attacker maintained a grip on its intended victim. The cloud of flies now swarmed over both the corpse and the delver as the two became a united mass of flailing limbs.
Ryson used the momentum of impact to continue rolling to an area of open ground. He dug his knees, elbows and feet fiercely into the dirt and propelled himself with all his strength. He pounded a free hand into the midsection of his attacker and dropped a heavy shoulder into its chest.
The energized carcass showed no sign of pain. It hung tightly, and it slowly moved its grasp closer and closer to Ryson's throat.
The delver felt the pointed, hard bones of the creature's left hand. They dug first into his side and then into his chest. His mind ached with panic. He whipped his own hand to his belt. His fingers opened his pouch deftly and reached inside. He pulled his dagger free and jabbed it into the center of the corpse. He pushed forward with all his might until every inch of the blade buried itself deep within the rotting skin.
The creature had no reaction. It did not slow its own deliberate
assault. Within a heartbeat, it had its putrid hands about the delver's neck. The hard finger bones began to clamp down.
"No!" Ryson screamed before the thing could crush his windpipe. He released his hold on his dagger. With unbridled fury, stoked by the will to live, Ryson threw his arms upward. His forearms crashed into the wrists of the corpse. Such was the force of contact, that the boney left wrist snapped, and the creature's hand went sailing into the brush. The hold was broken, and Ryson scampered off to a safe distance.
The corpse showed no sign of distress over losing its hand. It also showed no sign of tiring. It moved to its feet, brought its focus back upon Ryson, and again, it moved forward.
The delver's shoulders drooped in disbelief. Mental fatigue, more then physical weariness, hung upon him even as he moved carefully away. As he waved the buzzing insects from his face, he considered turning and running for safety. Even as tired as he was, he believed he could quickly outdistance his foe. He condemned the thought, for it offered no answers, but it appeared his only option. With no other weapon, he had no way of stopping it.
Just as he made his decision, a call from the tree above him held him in place.
"Hold your ground!" an order called out.
Unthinkingly, Ryson's gaze flew upward.
The corpse ignored the call and saw yet another opportunity to reach its prey. It again moved with great speed and an extended right arm.
Before the arm could reach its target, another form dropped into the fray. A strange man landed upon the ground directly between Ryson and the attacking creature. He was slightly taller than Ryson, but not by much. He was also thinner, yet his muscles were more defined.
With grace and speed that even a delver might envy, the man drew a gleaming sword. The blade was as long as his arm, but only as wide as two of his fingers pressed together. It gleamed with razor sharpness on both its edges. With one quick stroke, the blade sliced through the air as well as the upper portion of the creature's right arm.
The arm fell to the ground, and for the first time, the corpse paused in its attack. It stood motionless. It stared at the lifeless arm upon the ground as if contemplating its meaning. The flies also faced indecision. They buzzed back and forth from the amputated arm to the main body of the corpse.
The newly arrived stranger did not show any such hesitation. He leaned to one side, and with a great sweeping motion, sent his blade flashing towards the legs of the cadaver. The stranger stepped into his swing, doubling the force of the blow as it struck at the knees. Both legs snapped in half and the corpse folded to the ground.
Ryson stared at the crumpled figure, his gaze fixed upon the heap of bones and rotting flesh. Just as he exhaled with relief, he thought he noticed a light blue glow fizzle about the remains. No further movement occurred, other than the swarming flies which now appeared content to buzz about the motionless remains. The delver found his voice to mumble a confused question.
"Is it dead?"
"It has been dead for many days," the stranger said sadly, revealing some greater concern.
"What are you talking about?!" The delver's eyes widened as he turned his stare upon the stranger.
His outlandish confrontation still fresh in his mind, Ryson failed to question the appearance of the newcomer, and instead, his thoughts remained fixed upon the corpse. Confusion swirled in his brain.
"How can you say that?" Ryson gasped. "If it were dead, how could it move? You must have seen it for yourself. Didn't you see it trying to attack me?"
"That I did." The stranger looked thoughtfully at Ryson. "To perhaps all our dismay, it seems the dead can now be brought back to a sense of life. I despise calling it that, for it is not life at all. Animation. Forced energy. Nothing more."
The delver's bewilderment only increased.
"What?" It was all he could manage to blurt out.
"Magic, I'm afraid," the stranger said distressfully. "It only proves what I already know. The sphere must be free. That is the only answer. It must be. It would explain all that has happened. I could not fathom as to who has gained possession. The thought is too difficult to bear."
The delver found only puzzles in the words of the stranger. He clasped his hands in great torment. His voice held the tone of unreasoning bewilderment. "What… what are you talking about? I don't understand what's going on. None of this makes any sense!"
"It makes all too much sense. Try to calm yourself and I will try to explain. This will not be easy to accept. It's not easy for me, yet it does not surprise me. You were attacked by the undead, sprung from magic long absent from Uton. I would guess that loosened energies are sailing in every direction even as we talk. The remnants of a spell captured long ago, now released, must have found this half-rotten corpse of some wayward traveler. The magic found its home and animated the body. You were simply unfortunate enough to come across its path."
Ryson shook his head vehemently. "That's not possible. What you're saying is simply not possible."
"Isn't it?" the stranger said firmly. "Speak of possibilities and explain to me what you yourself have witnessed. Perhaps many days ago it was not possible, but it appears that this is no longer the case. I tell you the magic is free, and we now face everything that goes with it."
Ryson was aghast. "So you're telling me the dead will start rising all over?"
"No. There will be others, that is for sure, but the magic will take different paths. It depends on many things. Unfortunately, I lack information."
Ryson stared back at the now lifeless heap of rotting flesh. Fatigue, confusion, even despair, crashed upon his every thought. He fought to seize shreds of logic, answers to this unthinkable puzzle. He found nothing but greater turmoil.
"You are human?" the stranger's voice questioned firmly. There was little sign of compassion for the delver's confusion.
Ryson finally forced his gaze completely from the broken mass which previously hoped to kill him. He focused upon the face of the man that came to his aid and now stood before him. The stranger had brown, thin hair that hung straight down and clung to his head and neck. It covered his ears fully before ending at the tops of his shoulders. Over which, he wore a heavy wooden long bow and a quiver of arrows. His face looked as ordinary as anyone's, except for the nose which appeared small and slightly pointed.
"I'm a delver," Ryson finally answered. The question brought some sense of hard reality. Stating a simple fact seemed to reassure his troubled thoughts. Finding momentary sanctuary in such feelings, he focused upon the question. "Why do you ask?"
The stranger revealed a hint of hopefulness at Ryson's response.
"Truly? You are a delver? Full-bred?"
"Yes. Again, why do you ask?"
The stranger ignored the question as he reflected upon his own thoughts. "A delver," he mumbled to himself. "Perhaps a blessing. Difficult to say without more information."
"What are you talking about?" Ryson demanded. His confusion grew into annoyance. "First, you tell me about the undead and strange magic. Then, you say there might be more. You ask if I'm human, but you stand there talking to yourself when you find out I'm a delver. Are we in danger or not?"
"Relax. You are safe for now. Perhaps safer than I. I asked if you were human because I watched you fight. You moved with great speed and agility. I could not believe you were an ordinary human. I thought you might be half-bred. Although they are scarce, they do exist. I myself have never seen one."
"You mean half-delver, half-human? You haven't seen one before? I've met hundreds."
"No. I mean half-human, half-elf."
“Elf?!”
Again, Ryson Acumen's eyes widened in disbelief. He now stared angrily at the brown haired man. The word burned in his mind. This was too much. His despair blossomed into near rage. Was it not enough for him to have dealt with the atrocity of the undead? Would he now have to listen to this stranger cast stories about ancient legends? The explanation of magic an
imating this pile of rotted flesh and bones was enough to stir his anger, but this, this was too much to handle. Rage took hold of his thoughts, a burning spark ignited into a roaring flame and Ryson snapped with a harangue directed at the stranger's apparent disregard for ancient folklore.
"That's enough! I’m not going to listen to anymore of this. I don’t know who you are, but that’s enough. You might think I'm fool enough to believe your story about magic, but I won't stand here and listen to anymore! You want to try and make a fool of me by talking about magic, well that's fine, but when you talk about elves you're talking about things you probably don't even understand. You're speaking about legends, myths I may not believe but there are others who do. Who in the name of Godson are you to make light of such things?!"
At first the interloper watched in wide-eyed wonder at the delver's outburst. He was certainly not prepared for such a tongue-lashing and he gaped at Ryson for the first few lines of the angry lecture. Finally, he made an attempt to explain. "Please hold your anger. I assure you I am not making light of the legends. Nothing could be further from my mind."
Ryson's anger barely subsided. "Then, why are you questioning me about elves?" he demanded in a strained tone.
For the first time the stranger showed a gleam of compassion for the delver. He spoke softer and with greater warmth. He sheathed his sword and put his arms behind his back. "First allow me to introduce myself. I am Lief Woodson. I am happy to see you defend what you call myths so vigorously, but I assure you, they are not myths. The teachings to which you refer are based on a reality of long ago. It is a reality, however, which all may have to accept once more."
Ryson finally checked his anger. While the words of the stranger held no more clarity than before, at least his own outburst released the strain of his encounter with the living dead. "I still don't know what you're talking about, but I want to make one thing clear. I know about the legends. I was taught long ago to respect them. That means if you're going to try and make up lies, I won't stand here listening to you. I'll go my own way and find out what I can on my own. I'm not ungrateful to you for saving me, but your words are disrespectful. Not to me, but to others."
Lief Woodson smiled broadly. He even allowed himself to laugh lightly, but only for a scant moment. "You must indeed be a delver, for no human would treat the legends with such respect. Forgive me for laughing, I do not laugh at you. I have witnessed many disconcerting things these past few days. To listen to you sparks a hope deep within me. But let me assure you, I do not abuse those things which you call myths. They are, however, not myths. They were, are, and always shall be reality. I am part of the legends themselves. As you are purebred delver, I am full-bred elf."
Lief pulled his hair back and away from the sides of his head and he exposed his ears for Ryson to witness the pointed tips.
"It is the one true physical characteristic which parts us clearly from the humans," Lief said. "The other differences are not so visible."
"You're an elf!" Ryson exclaimed.
The delver stared at each pointed ear until Lief released his hair and covered them once more. The delver dropped his gaze to the ground and brought his own hand to his forehead.
"What am I saying?" the delver moaned. "How was I to know that elves exist? They're not supposed to exist. And the dead aren't supposed to rise. And magic is something for sideshow illusionists and fairy tales. What's happening here?! What's happening to me?!"
Lief spoke slowly and reassuringly to the delver. "I will tell you all I can. I will tell you of things you may refuse to believe, for I will almost assuredly destroy your previous outlook of this world."
"I don't know what to believe anymore," Ryson groaned with all honesty. His thoughts were a whirlwind. Logic failed to bring light to his scattered mind. He could not erase the image of the walking dead, as he could not avoid casting disbelieving glance after disbelieving glance at his new found companion. The elf's words were no more than a buzzing in his ear which he strained to hear.
"I don't know exactly how much you know of the legends," Lief Woodson continued. "Perhaps what you have heard is only the barest reference to the past."
Ryson kicked at the ground slowly. Seizing upon something he could answer with certainty, he spoke of his own knowledge on the subject. "I've probably heard more than most," he admitted. "My parents wanted me to be acquainted with the legends, not so I would believe them, but so I would be aware of what others thought. I guess it's part of being a delver."
"You may wish to thank your parents for that some day. If it is true, you may well be better prepared for what I see as inevitable."
The delver brought his focus back to the face of the elf. He stared deeply into Lief's eyes. "Tell me the truth, what's happening? What in the name of Godson is going on?"
Lief attempted to show even greater compassion. His own distress, however, became growingly apparent.
"I believe I know," the elf stated, "though others in my camp continue to reject the idea. The existence of the undead, however, confirms my theory. The only question which remains is how it has occurred. The Sphere of Ingar is free from its containment. It is the only answer."
"Ingar's sphere?"
"You know of it?"
"Of course I know of it,” Ryson replied. “It's the most important of the legends. It’s supposed to explain how the world rid itself of magic and the dark creatures."
Lief nodded to the pile of broken bones and flesh before them. "As you saw for yourself, the dark creatures have returned. Magic is also loose in the land. The blue glow which left the corpse, that was spell remnants. Magic. Perhaps, dark sorcery. Nothing else can explain it."
"But the Sphere of Ingar? Come on! Do you really expect me to believe that?"
"I expect nothing," Lief frowned
"But you're telling me these things. You must be hoping to convince me of them."
"What would you have me do?" the elf questioned with a tone of harshness. "You have asked me what is happening. I am telling you what I believe to be true. Should I tell you that I am not an elf and that this corpse did not come to life? What is it you expect of me?"
Ryson sighed heavily. He did not know what he wanted. If these were the true answers to his questions, they left only more puzzles. "You have to forgive me, but I need a moment to sort this out. What you're saying defies all logic."
"I understand," the elf grumbled grudgingly. "Take a moment to gather yourself, but be warned, I can not totally disregard time. I must return to my camp to warn them of this. The elves are in great peril."
Ryson did not ask for further explanation on that point. Enough confusing, contradictory thoughts bounded through his mind as it was. The last thing he needed was to hear of more outlandish tales. Still, if Lief was right, he had to consider the outlandish; the myths and the legends. His mind rolled back to the tales he learned as a child.
The image of his mother came firmly into mind. He could see her in the kitchen at the holidays. He remembered being young and eager to learn everything. He listened with great intent as she began her teachings of the old stories. He could almost smell the baking of bread and hear her reassuring voice as he reflected upon elf tales and the legend of Ingar.
His mind then shifted to an image of his father who taught him how to use his abilities. In the forests and the mountains, he showed him how to leap and climb. He also told him everything he knew from ancient lore, such as the Book of Godson. He spoke of massive creatures called cliff behemoths that lived solely upon these words.
Cliff behemoths! Could such creatures rally exist?! Yet, here stood an elf before him. If an elf existed, why not a cliff behemoth? Why not an algor for that matter? Tailless lizards could be no more difficult to believe than the dead walking and raising arms against him. What was the explanation that caused this? Magic? Real magic, not fake tricks? The Sphere of Ingar was supposed to contain all the magical energy. But according to the legends, the sph
ere was entombed long ago. If there was indeed such a talisman, then there must also be sorcerers and wizards.
Such disquieting thoughts continued to cloud his mind. He walked about, circling the pines nearby. He mumbled to himself over and over. This was too much for any one man to accept, even a delver. However, he could not deny the simple facts before him. A corpse attacked him. Something which should have been unable to even move had shown the ability to carry and throw a crude spear, to chase and even choke him. There also stood before him what looked like, for all intents and purposes, an elf. Lief Woodson appeared honest and forthright, and had pointed ears.
Ryson eventually found himself standing once more by the side of the elf. He also found himself retracing the same thoughts over and over again. Finally, he spoke with forced determination.
"I don't know what's going on. That's the unfortunate answer. I have no idea whatsoever. Either I'm mad or you're right. Since I don't want to believe I've lost my mind, I have to hope to find another answer. You may be right, but it's a little much for me to just accept. Maybe it's best for me to be just what I am, a delver, and look for the answers."
Lief nodded in pensive approval. "I hope that also means that you may be willing to assist me. I have said before I lack knowledge. A delver's assistance would help me greatly. It will also serve your own purposes for it will bring you greater information. You will see things you never expected to see in your life."
"That's already happened. I look at you now. I never expected to see an elf, let alone talk to one."
Lief allowed himself to laugh once more. He spoke with a smile through his momentary chuckle. "I suppose that means you really believe I am an elf. I'm glad I will not have to argue that point any further. Actually, I doubt you really know what to make of me at all. You should have seen your face when I showed you my ears."
"It's just that I never expected this," Ryson admitted while revealing a hint of embarrassment.
"It will be new to us all," Lief stated. "The last contact between elf and human occurred so long ago that I can't even remember. It looks as if now we have no choice. Elves will have to come out into the open once more. But enough of that. Will you assist me?"
Ryson considered the request carefully. “Assist you? How?”
“As I have said, I need information. I need to know what you’ve seen and heard, and why you are here.” The elf stated this pointedly.
"I'll do what I can."
"And I will help you. I will prepare you for what I expect to find. By the way, if we are to assist one another, what shall I call you?"
The delver was taken slightly aback. He never could have expected he would be introducing himself to a being he thought existed only in fantasy. "I'm sorry. I'm Ryson Acumen. I should have told you much sooner.
"It's more than understandable. Think nothing more of it. Now, we have important business to attend to." Lief's congeniality faded into dark seriousness. Bleakness stretched across his face, his words dropped from his mouth like dead anchors. "I must ask you now what you were doing in this part of the forest. It is not a passage and there are no towns about. Are the humans thinking again of expanding their territory? Were you investigating the lands for them?"
"No, not really." Ryson struggled to maintain an even flow of thought. So much had occurred in recent moments, he found it difficult to latch upon those events which brought him to Dark Spruce in the first place. Laboriously, he summed up the reasons for his exploration. "It was the quake, a tremor that rolled through Connel a few days ago." In truth, he wasn't sure how long ago the tremor disturbed the grounds surrounding Connel. He continued as if trying to pull thoughts one by one from his head. "I wanted to see what effect it had on the land. The town council also wanted an exploration. At first, I was sent to inspect damage to some neighboring towns. I've completed that. I left Pinesway this morning to follow the tremor, and that led me into the forest. I'm still trying to see how things have changed. I'm also seeking the origin of the quake."
Lief considered the explanation with apparent confusion. "I do not mean to question you, but when I first spotted you, you were traveling south. You were not following the path of the tremor. That leads to the west"
"Yes. I have to admit I lost my focus," Ryson responded with greater certainty. The reason for his change in direction was the undead attacker, and that memory could not be washed from his mind. "I noticed a smell. It was so strange and new, it pulled at me. Sometimes that's the price of being a delver. We never know how our instincts will guide us. It guided me to this." He nodded to the corpse. The sight now revolted him. "But it is my intention to return to the path of the tremor. By the way, were you aware of the quake?"
The question brought further anguish to Lief's demeanor, graveness painted his face even darker. He looked to the west, as if he could see through the thicket of trees which surrounded them. "I'm all too aware of the disturbance which passed. It is that same tremor which preceded incidents of great magnitude. It is why I have the fears which I do."
"You mean about the Sphere of Ingar?"
"Indeed. While the quake did little damage to our camp, I feel it signified something more. Within hours of the tremor, my people experienced many amazing things. Older elves found themselves rejuvenated with youthful vitality. Younger elves showed an uncanny ability to foretell events and see into the minds of others. As the day passed, it soon became apparent that the members of my camp were becoming filled with a power long since vanished. Many took it as a blessing, a sign that the elves would return to their place in the land's order. I did not look at it in such a favorable light.
"My fears truly became heightened when a very gifted youngster turned invisible at his own will. At that point, I spoke up. I declared that something was very wrong, that the only answer was that the magic long trapped in the sphere was now being released. With no surprise, my announcement created great fear. There were those that refused to believe me. They wished to believe it a blessing and not a curse. Yet, within a day, the more sensitive of my people found themselves feeling ill at ease.
"Again, I spoke up and again I was refuted. This time, however, there were others which spoke with me. Even my harshest critics could not ignore the fact that magic was again free in the air. They persisted, however, that the magic was not from the sphere. They concluded that the magic was freed from the land itself, freed by the quake."
"But you don't think so, do you?" Ryson asked inquisitively. Finally, he found a moment of freedom from the anguish in his mind. The chance to ask questions, to listen and learn of such things as elves and their conversations, to hear of things as foreign as Elf camps; such things invoked his delver curiosity.
Lief shook his head sternly. "I did not then, and I certainly do not now. The dead has been raised. That is not a blessing. This is serious magic, magic that could only have been held by the sphere. Magic caught within the land would not hold the ability or the intention to create undead warriors. If it was not from the sphere, it would be pure and hold no such order. No, I'm afraid the magic must have been corrupted by a powerful sorcerer long ago. All of that energy was captured in the sphere."
"It sounds as if you're convinced," Ryson noted. "I don't know enough to argue the point. I know what I've seen and it does defy all sanity. You're obviously out in the forest for a reason, I assume to help support your theory. That being the case, what is it you want to do?"
"We must travel to Sanctum Mountain. We must learn what we can."
Ryson contemplated the proposal. His face revealed slight hesitancy.
"What troubles you, delver?" Lief asked.
Ryson grimaced. "I must admit that I'm not just following the quake for myself. I promised Reader Matthew I would include him on what I found. If I agree to go with you to Sanctum, it means I'm giving up. I'd rather not do that."
"Who is this Reader Matthew?" Lief requested, perturbed by the thought that something might detract from him obtain
ing the help of the delver.
"I guess you would call him the spiritual leader for the Church of Godson at Connel," Ryson responded simply.
Surprise filled the elf. He reared his head back as he could not refrain from blurting out a hasty question. "A reader of Godson is concerned about the quake? Did he tell you why?"
"He did. He spoke of the prophesies of Godson. Apparently, they were translated with great accuracy for them by some interpreter. But this tremor wasn't mentioned by the translator. Matthew found this difficult to accept. He wants to know more of the quake, where it came from and what it's done to the land."
"So their prophecies include nothing about the quake, either?" The fact appeared to strike Lief more personally than it should have, almost as if the translated prophecies meant as much to him as they did to Matthew and his followers.
The elf's reaction was not lost upon the delver, and Ryson watched with greater interest as he made his simple response. "Apparently not."
Lief shook his head in tired frustration. "Yet, another factor which now weighs upon me. How do I deal with this? Elflore says nothing about this and now I find the Book of Godson is also lacking. Fire upon the prophecies for not warning us of this. Must we face this without the slightest reference of what might be? How are we to act, what should we do?"
Ryson remained quiet for long moments. He longed to ask about elflore and how it impacted Lief's theories. But the elf remained in deep deliberation, and Ryson let his companion weigh this new information without interruption. He would find another time to ask about such things.
The elf grimaced with uncertainty before turning his attention back to the delver. When he spoke, he said nothing of elflore or the Book of Godson.
"So, the reader wishes you to send word as to what you find. I think we can continue to accommodate that. I do not believe it will be a conflict at all. He wishes you to follow the path of the quake. If I am not mistaken, the path will lead us directly to Sanctum Mountain. I would also go as far as to guess that the reader would also be quite interested in the fate of the sphere. I believe the Book of Godson refers to the sphere and its history."
"I'm not sure about that. While I've been told the legends, I've never received teachings direct from the book. I'm not sure which story comes from where. I would have to agree, though, that Matthew would be interested in knowing of the sphere, if indeed such a sphere exists."
"Free yourself from your doubts, delver. I understand them, but they will only make things more difficult for you. There is a sphere and I am now quite sure that it is responsible for the happenings of the past few days. You must expect to see things you would previously never have believed possible. Very simply, the magic is free. How or why it's free is of great concern to me. It is what we must determine. Remember the legends. Keep them in your mind, hold to them, and believe them. They will help you, and perhaps keep you from madness. They may also save your life."
The elf paused and nodded to the decaying remains upon the ground before them. "You've already faced the undead today. There is no telling what else awaits us."
Ryson looked upon the now lifeless corpse for the last time, a stark reminder of the madness he might face. He noticed the handle of his dagger protruding out of its chest. He fought off his own repugnance and bent over to retrieve it. He wiped the blade on the ground several times. He examined it carefully before returning it to his belt, making sure not the slightest stain remained.
"Speaking of such," Ryson spoke with an edge, "what happens if we face another one of these? What do I have to do to stop it?"
"You must remember it is an undead warrior. It is no longer a living thing. It is a lifeless hulk, animated by dark magic. You can't expect to kill it by thrusting a blade into its heart. It won't be effective, for the heart is no longer important. It also won't feel pain. And it won't feel regret or remorse at attacking. There are only two ways to stop such a creature. You must remove the magic which gives it life, or inflict enough damage so that it is no longer a threat. It takes powerful spells to forcibly remove the energy, so unless you are willing to become a sorcerer, that option is not open to you. That leaves the second. That is what I did. The undead are strong, but their bodies are not very resilient. Decay will do that. If you damage the body to a point where it can no longer hurt you, the magic will leave of its own accord. When I struck the legs of the creature, it was no longer capable of movement. The energy could no longer force the corpse to attack, so it left."
"I see. But I'm not equipped for such a battle. This knife is all I carry."
"Then, you might consider altering that decision. Your only other option is to flee. Don't worry about that now. We go to Sanctum Mountain together. If we face the undead, I shall dispatch it, unless they're in great numbers."
"Then I'll rely upon you as well as my own senses," Ryson acknowledged. "Hopefully, I can warn us of another such monster."
"Warnings are always advantageous. Now let us move on. I would, though, make one request. Let us move through the trees. Passing from branch to branch, crossing the forest above the ground, it is how I travel."
"That will slow me down," Ryson admitted.
"I know, but it will allow me to keep pace with you. It is the quickest way for me. It is a fairly short trip to Sanctum. We might reach its base before nightfall, but if you are as gifted as the stories reveal about delvers, there is no way I can match your speed upon the ground. I have seen you move as you battled the undead; of this I'm already sure."
"If you think it’s best."
"It is indeed. The forest will take us to the edge of Sanctum. At that point we can examine the area and adjust our travel. For now, simply follow your instincts. Return your attention to the quake and its path. It will lead us westward and that is where I wish to go. Follow it as you see fit. I believe it will lead us to the mountain. If you sense anything else which calls for your attention, please inform me."
"Certainly," Ryson agreed without hesitation. Millions of questions assaulted him, questions without answers. He would not find those answers by remaining here; they waited elsewhere, perhaps within Sanctum Mountain. He could not deny what had happened to him, could not shove it into the recesses of his mind. As a delver, he needed answers, no matter how incredible. He took to the journey with no less hesitation then when he first left Connel. Without further word, the two nimble figures grasped branches overhead and disappeared into the trees.