Dusk was stealing across the evening sky. A full array of fiery yellow, orange, and red tones engulfed the castle towers, leaving only the development of deep, dark shadows in their fading. The courtyards and gardens were all empty. A solemn silence swept through the still stone structures. Great billows of smoke filled the air, rolling into blinding billows that blotted out the vision, leaving its viewer in complete darkness. A loud voice that seemed to shake the whole earth rose from the darkness and said, “Awake and remember!”
Then, all of a sudden, another fire was shown to him. It seemed to be the glowing white hot coals of the fire of a blacksmith. Metal was heated in a large crucible and poured out into a mold. After the metal cooled, it was taken by the blacksmith and then folded and forged into a blade with great pummeling blows of the skilled artisan. At length, a blade came forth that was unimpressive by the looks of it, but when wielded, it smashed a gorgeously jeweled and shiny blade.
A young, recently freed slave awoke from his dream in a cold sweat. He slowly opened his eyes and looked up at the multitude of stars that were so bright that they seemed to dangle just out of reach above him. He tried again to think as to why the dream had such great emotions attached to it. There was also the growing curiosity to know why the dream had changed this time. It had always been exactly the same every time before, except for the addition of one or more items, such as the swords.
Suddenly, Alban remembered that he had left consciousness inside of the wagon (Ryan’s wagon, to be more precise). Now that he had found it out under the dark desert sky, he wondered as to why . . . again. He felt his back to see how things were holding up. Someone had bandaged the area quite nicely. He had to wonder if it had been Joan that had done this handiwork. If it were she, then she had been improving in leaps and bounds, because the bandage was good and tight. Alban had not wanted to complain about it before, but the previous applications of bandages were lacking in compressive strength. Alban knew that it was probably due to the fact that she had not wanted to cause further pain to her patient. Upon that recollection, Alban decided that it was most likely not Joan’s work, but that of a professional, unless she were still sore about the slip of his tongue regarding her noble pedigree.
“I done that job for ye!” he heard a voice say with great pride. “I served some time in the Effulgian army. They teached us . . . we needed know how to treat wounds so we help friends when they get hurt.”
“Quite so!” agreed Alban in Effulgian. Then he added in the dialect of the thieves (which was something very close to Goff, though he could not remember the name of the language), “I do speak the dialect of the thieves.”
“I not use those words!” explained the voice, notably upset.
“I do apologize.” Alban tried in Effulgian. “To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”
“Ye not know my’s voice? Ye not remember you old friend Garrve? We fight many times in battles!”
“Did you say Garrve?”
“Yes, now ye remembers!”
“No, I not . . . I do not remember. I simply remember that the old leader of the clan mentioned your name. He said that you and OoftHall were competitors for leadership within the two factions. You see, I received a blow to the head a while back. I can only remember as far back as a few days . . . well maybe a couple of weeks ago, depending on today’s date . . . and the date of the day that I can remember. Oh, that makes no sense!”
“It make sense to me! I know mans that have same prollem. Two mans! The git hit on head, not remember nothings. Iss hard for them remember. One remember after time, other never know who iss.”
“Well, I do hope to get back all of my memory. It seems as though I remember the back gate . . . well, I remember one thing.”
“Ah! Ye prolly git memories back! That man remembers after times, he remembers one thing, and then other, then it all comes back!”
“You say that we are old friends?”
“Yes. We knows eachothers two years. Ye make great chief before. We so glad you is back! Ye teach us many things. We grow strong with ye as leader, not weak like with last chief. Ye . . .You teach us build homes, have family, be strong for them. You give us hope for good. The last chief say, ‘Kill, take, destroy!’ I not like him.”
“Wafflestonks said those things?”
“Who? Wafflesgonks?”
“Your leader that I defeated, what do you call him?”
“We calls him Ailman. He comes to us drunk like fishes! We call him Ailman because. I do not talk of him. We know him a little time. I talk . . . I am speaking of the chief before. He was no good. He did not like us speak Effulgian. We from Effulgian army were treated bad.”
“I cannot place that accent of yours, where are you from?”
“I? I come from far across the oceans. I live . . . have lived in this continent for five years. I learned a very small bit Darvanian, but more know Effulgian. Soon ye, I mean, soon you . . . will remember.”
“I hope so. Though, it has forced me to develop my sense of conscious a bit — to detect other’s motives and such. It has actually been a luxury. I have to wonder if I should have been so keen in my feeling out the truth if I had full use of my memory. I must believe that, because of my recent experiences, I have had to rely on inner senses more than others do. I may be able to spot a lie much more easily because I am not emotionally tied to previous experiences. You should try losing your memory! Tell me, how is it that I left this band if I was your leader? Why would I do such a thing?”
“Iss trap! I mean, it was a trap. They said you have to go help your friend from Effulgia or he will die.”
“Wait! Who said that?”
“Who say . . . said what?”
“That I had to go help my friend?”
“The man who went with you did say that!”
“Go on.”
“Go on what?”
“Please continue with your story.”
“Ah, yes. Well, you go . . . went with that man and he said . . . “
“It was OoftHall, was it not?”
“It was . . . not . . . Uhhhh . . . He go with you.”
“Yes or no was it OoftHall that went with you, I mean, with me?”
“Yes! I say he went with you.”
“Was he the one that told me of my friend?”
“Yes. And he was the one who went with you to find a friend. How do you know? You remember?”
“No. He just has . . . had become famous for hiding in wait and trying to kill someone when his back was turned. He tried to kill me twice before he finally died.”
“I saw him try and kill you before. He tried again? It seems like him.” Garrve replied with much improving Effulgian. “Anyway, he goes . . . went with you to help your friend. He come back and told us that you was . . . were dead. I am sorry about my Effulgian . . . I have not practiced it much until a few days ago. Old . . . the old leader not . . . would not let us speak it. I know that you have taught me much about the language.”
“Wait! How long ago did I leave you? It must have been quite some time if you are so unpracticed in Effulgian.”
“It has . . . been almost two years. I knew you for two and a half before . . .”
“Before my apparent betrayal.”
“Yes.”
“I am trying to think for the life of me . . . how could I have trusted someone like OoftHall?”
“You did not. You just have . . . had no choice. You told me that same thing. I believed you. You would not have gone if you did not think that there was a chance to help your friend.”
“Did this friend of mine have a name?”
“I am sure that he did, but you did not mention it. Well, you did not say what the name of the man was, exactly, but you did . . . mentioned that word that you used . . . Waffles . . .”
“Wafflestonks?”
“The same!”
“Now that is information tha
t I can use. Thank you.”
“Wait. There is more. OoftHall pronounced it wrong. He said . . .”
“Wafflesgonks?”
“Yes.”
“So that is why he was eager to kill me! At the very least, it added fuel to the fire.”
“Sir?”
“Do you know if OoftHall knew the other man that he called Wafflesgonks?”
“He must know him. He is . . . used particulars that no one else knew about Wafflesgonks.”
“I am sorry. I believe that you are under the impression that OoftHall is still alive; he is not. He tried to fall on me from behind . . .”
“And at last possible second ye . . . you stab . . . stabbed him without turning around?!”
“Yes! That is remarkable! How did you know?”
“How did I know? How did I know? I teached . . . taught you that move!” Garrve laughed a bit too loudly for Alban’s taste.
“Well, then I have you to thank for that one. I am in your debt,” smiled Alban.
“No! I still owe ye . . . you for many times that you saved my life. You have taught me much about the art of battle. Our peoples use similar practices, but you have seen much war as of late. We enjoy peace in my homeland. We have enjoyed it for nearly a century. We have a saying . . . well, it’s a motto, really, that goes: ‘Paze dan dían si ganari’ It means . . .”
“It means ‘Peace to the day is earned’, literally, but its overall meaning would be better conveyed by saying, ‘Give peace to the day by earning it’,” Alban stated.
“You speak the Living Words!” gasped Garrve in amazement and then embarrassment from having used the name of the language which was only to be used on certain occasions. “Effulgian is loosely based on them, but I have never known a man on this continent that has understood a single word when I use them, let alone the literal and corrected translation of them. You never used them before! Why did you never speak to me in those words?”
“Why do you speak such fluid Effulgian now, when only seconds ago it was broken to pieces?”
“I suppose that, remembering the language of my homeland gave me great hope!”
“I suppose that it should! I remember small bits and pieces of my homeland. Actually, I remember one small bit. I remember a gate which I have been told is the back gate of the castle at Effulgia City, and its towers were ablaze as I was carted away, nothing more.”
“Remembering my homeland fills me with hope and comfort, but also with a longing for things that are passed by and gone. Those are feelings that we can share.”
“When one rends the bitter airs, it is also passed and then gone!” Alban joked. “Though, it does linger about if there is no wind to blow it away!”
Both laughed a good chuckle. Garrve’s eyes shone with a glow of friendship. It was the kind that only men that had fought and bled together could share. Alban noticed the look and wished that he could return the same.
“You seem to be the same as before. I mean you do not act any differently.” Garrve stated matter-of-fact-ly.
“I feel things that I cannot explain. I have feelings attached to certain things but have no idea why. I can fight well enough, but I do not know how it is that I came to be so well trained.”
“I may be able to help you with that. Ye . . . you told me that in Effulgia you had relative peace for the space of twenty or thirty years. There was only the occasional skirmish with the raiding parties from various nearby kingdoms. You had some practice as the head of your defensive parties . . . or troops would be a better word. According to your own stories, you came to . . .”
“Chief!” yelled a voice.
“Go on, Garrve, I am listening.” Alban urged.
“Do you not think that ye . . . you should see what your clansman need . . . needs?”
“Chief!” came the voice again.
“Oh! Right! I forgot that I am the . . . Yes, what is wanted?”
“Well, the men are getting anxious. They wish to know what they should do to the prisoner.”
“Of what prisoner do you speak?”
“Of Ailman, of course. What is his punishment?”
“And Ailman is . . ?”
“The old leader of the clan that you beat in mortal combat.”
“I hardly know what to call the man. First, it’s Cefús, then he calls himself Wafflestonks, now I am told that his name is Ailman. For what do you wish to punish him, anyway?”
“He . . . well, we just don’t like him.”
“What is the usual penalty for not being liked?”
“Well, OoftHall said . . .”
“Speaking of unlikeable characters, has OoftHall ever been your leader? Did he make the skies to thunder or the earth to quake while he was alive? He is dead! Think on that for a while. However, should there be a real crime that this Ailman has committed, let his accuser or accusers, as the case may be, come forth.”
“He has accused you of not having your wits about you, running with the slaver company that has left us here with no horses, and consorting with the company owner’s daughter!”
“They have gone?” Alban asked in noted washes of woe. He then continued, “Parts of what you say that he says are true, I would say . . .”
“I have said no such things!” growled Wafflestonks as he approached. “I merely stated that he had lost his memory, that he had been traveling with the slavers, and that he was simply protecting the young lady when we attacked him. I only mentioned it because you were going on about how he had cut his own men to shreds as if he had done some great evil to his own men!”
“There is still one problem with all of this!” sputtered the man, whose name had not been given to Alban. “How can he be the Chieftain of our clan if he has not slain the old leader, Ailman?”
“You shall call me Cefús, or Wafflestonks, as it is my last name! I was not drunk when I came to you, as I have explained. I had a fever from being bit by a large puff spider. They have been known to kill grown men from time to time. I was lucky to have survived. Look, I still have the scars to prove it.”
Wafflestonks lifted his pant leg and exposed his left shin. Running up the leg were the telltale signs of a puff spider attack. You see, when they attack, there is no prolonged bite as with some species, but a long line of small “nibbles” as it were. The venom is spread in a large line affecting larger amounts of tissue as the poison spreads, if untreated. His scars only ran about three inches, which was rare, as the spider got its name by being so quick, that at times, all that is seen of them is the puff of dust that they leave behind as they sprint out of sight. For that reason, once attacked, it was very difficult for the victim to stop the assault until well after major amounts of damage were done.
“I was lucky enough that I was trying to close my pant leg, just as the spider shot up my leg. Otherwise, I could have lost it to nerve damage.” Wafflestonks explained.
“Quit changing the cripey subject!” the accuser interrupted. “There must be blood for the passage of rights for the chief of the clan!”
“I did let out quite a bit of his blood!” exclaimed Alban.
“Not enough!” yelled the man. “The old leader must die for another to take his place!”
“Yes, and what of the law that speaks of inciting discordance among the clan?” Alban half gloated.
Most of the men (for a good many had gathered to see what was going on at this late hour) stood looking at each other as if Alban had spoken to them in some foreign tongue. Some just nodded as if they understood. When asked what Alban had meant, they just looked about as if to find the solution elsewhere.
“Fighting! Brawls! Rioting! What do your laws say about that? If one man tries to stir up the cause for bloodshed, what happens to him?” Alban expounded.
“Bawheed, you have played the goad for suffering too many times!” Garrve began in the thieves’ language, which Alban then remembered to be Goffs’arn. “I
believe that you have also tangled with the wrong man, for if you tangle with the old chief, you tangle with us all!”
“I thought that you didn’t even like this Ailm . . . Wafflesgonks!” Bawheed bellowed back, just starting to taste the smack of doom growing in his mouth.
“I never said that I do not like him. I said that I was withholding judgment of him until such time that we should know where he stands on things. Besides, I was talking about the old chief that you have come to accuse. This is the same man before you that OoftHall lead away to his capture. I do not know if OoftHall left him for dead, or if he profited by the selling him into slavery. I do know, however, that this is the same chief that had command of our clan until . . . what was the old leader’s name?”
“Ail . . . Wafflesgonks?” a few of the men asked in nearly complete synchronicity.
“No! The one before him . . . anyway, this man here was the chief before him! This is the one that OoftHall tricked into following him into a trap, and came back with a story that a boarve had gotten him. Well, just look at him!”
The men all gathered in more closely in order to do just that. One by one they came forward to stare him in the eyes and then pass by that the others could have a look.
A few different theories were offered like, “There is something different about this man.” or, “I mean, he looks like the leader, but his nose is too straight.”, and, “He has a beard, too. The other leader didn’t!”
“It is the old leader, I tell you! Bring a torch so that you can see him better.” bellowed Garrve.
As the torch was being fetched, there were still other cries of such things like, “This man is much too big to be the old leader!” and the like. When the torch finally arrived and the men could see Alban’s eyes, there was a big gasp that arose from a small majority of the men as if they had seen a man’s ghost or, perhaps, a man who had been raised from the dead. Still, others demanded more proof.
One man pleaded, “If this be the man that was our chief before, then he will definitely bear the markings on his back where he was whipped as a slave! I saw him once without his shirt, and he had scars all over his back. If this be him, let him show us his back!”
“I personally dressed the wound on his lower back. I can assure you that he wears the marks. I, too, was put off by the straight nose. Maybe someone has broken it in a fashion so as to fix it straight again, I do not know. But I can tell you that he has the same eyes and the scars of a slave that has been whipped!”
Alban turned so that the men could see his back. They gasped again but in greater volume and number.
Convinced of the inevitable truth of the evidence shown, the men asked what he thought that they should do, now that the sun was down and they had been left stranded. Alban thought for a moment, said a quick prayer in his heart that he should know what to do and that they be delivered from their hardship, and then an idea came to him. He got a gleam in his eye and asked if they had any weapons left among them. They referred him to the hidden stash that they had found in the basin. They were outdated and dilapidated, but would work in a dire situation. They had decided to keep the weapons hidden outside the gates, where any former owners should not be able to find them and use them against the thieves, and on the off chance that they should be overrun or left to die in the desert.
Garrve informed Alban, “We do not have any means of transportation, though.”
Alban asked, “How long ago did the slavers leave?”
“They left about an hour ago, just before dark.” Garrve offered.
“Then they cannot have gotten far!” Alban exclaimed. “Decebal is a creature of comfort. He will not have wanted to ride at night without the moonlight to guide him. If we hurry, we may be able to catch up with them and regain our horses, and maybe even capture the whole caravan!”
“Are you thinking of the whole, or just yourself?” asked Bawheed. “I know that you are after that young lady that they have traveling with them!”
“Well, I must admit that I should like to have her along for the ride, but we will be without transportation, rations, and even water, as it stands. We could also receive needed strength from some of the slaves if they should like to join us. Should the Effulgians overtake us, we will need their strength!”
“The Effulgians!? Why should they bother us? We have done nothing to them!” whined a small, young thief.
“It has come to my attention that there has been an Effulgian detail sent to trap us — possibly to take us back to the gallows or offer us up as a present to the Emperor of Darvania. I should hate to be here when they arrive, but if I am, I should take some comfort in the fact that we have a few more men to fight them.”
Garrve stood up with a sword in his hand that he had hidden in the green sand in the bottom of the basin, and yelled, “Who is with us?!”
Most cheered until they realized that they were still penned in at the bottom of the basin. They lost heart for a moment, but Alban was soon scaling a large crack that led up the side wall and up onto the path that led to the front of the gate. He found a rope ladder that had been left there after the OoftHall incident and tied one end to the trunk of a tree that overlooked the basin. He let down the ladder, and soon men were climbing up the wall and locating the weapons that would be needed for the assault.
Alban began to worry that in taking back their horses the thieves might take things a bit too far. He thought of Joan and how he could not stomach the casual thought that anything should happen to her. He also puzzled on exactly what should be done with the slaver company upon reaching them. Should he set the slaves free, what consequences should that hold in store for the thieves and for him? He told himself, “I guess that I shall have to find such things out as the plot may unfold.”
“I should like that you hurry if you wish to survive this ordeal! They will only make camp until just before dawn, and then they will be quit of these parts. Our only hope is to get to their camp before then, or we shall burn up in the desert sun.” Alban said in Effulgian.
“All who speak Effulgian know this.” Garrve rebutted. “It was we that decided to go this journey into this abominable desert. The others have scarce traveled through these parts — many of them never before!”
“I do say that your grammar improves by the minute!” Alban responded.
“Yes, the rust is coming off quite nicely, but our situation, as you have pointed out is not.”
“Quite so. Well, we had better get going. I hope that we are not too late!”
“Indeed.”
Chapter Fourteen - Legend Begins