Dedicated to Chris,

without whom this book may have never been written

The idea for this book popped into my head in 1979 as a title, general concept and quickly sketched (on graph paper) map. Two things were hugely popular at the time: Dungeon and Dragons, and J.R.R. Tolkien�s The Lord of the Rings. And it was these two things that inspired me.

I never played the game beyond a few tentative times with "beginner" friends, but through the last two years of high school I watched obsessed friends and acquaintances play it endlessly. Every break between classes, expected study periods�anytime they could find they huddled in corners with graph paper (to map dungeons) and dice of numerous shapes, whispering and rolling and searching out dungeon levels. It was wild to see, and for those so totally obsessed with it, a little creepy, too� It was like the game had taken over their lives.

When it comes to The Lord of the Rings, a new box set of the trilogy, plus The Hobbit, was published, and I snapped it up. I read The Hobbit and The Fellowship of the Ring fairly quickly, but in my youth reading all that background material at the latter�s end was too much for me, ending my continuing of the series. It would be years later�a lot of growing up�before I completed the series. Be that as it may, what I read of J.R.R. Tolkien�s masterpiece at the time inspired my book idea.

I thought it would be hilarious to take a High Fantasy adventure and fill it with goofy characters and a touch of reality. Oh, I knew the idea was a good one, but time and again during its development I stumbled. Something was missing! And my full speed imagination simply could not create it. Believe me, I really tried, but I just was not up to the job. So the great idea, the High Fantasy comedy I felt certain would be a laugh riot floundered.

Then one day I visited my friend Chris�

What can I say about Chris? He is intelligent, creative and one of the funniest men I know. He could have you rolling on the floor laughing at the drop of a hat.

While I was developing a comic takeoff on the literary end of the two obsessions, Chris had been developing a comic takeoff on the game end. This came in the form of creating hilarious types of dwellers to fill his dungeons, and as he read them to me I laughed�and realized some of these just might fit in my book idea. I brought the idea up to him and he loved it, and thus a writing partnership was formed.

In one night he and I created a story from my general concept, inserting those of his creations that fit and adding a few new ones that came to us along the way. The question now was: How do we write it? It was decided each of us would write a version, which I would then unite into a single manuscript� Chris turned out to be a quicker writer than I, giving me his version before I had barely begun mine. There is no denying my writing pace at the time could have been left in the dust by a snail.

Little did either of us know at the time disaster awaited our partnership.

That disaster came in the form of a drunken teen driver who plowed into the side of my car one July night in 1980. I suffered a severe head injury, broken neck and right forearm, along with other cuts, bruises and abrasions that come with being thrown from a car and drug down the street�. The teen walked away unharmed.

I will not take you through the year plus of my time in the hospital after the Doctors who saved my life patted themselves on the back for their good deed done, with the addendum: "�but I�d hate to live the hell his life is going to be." Leave it to say, I was fortunate to recover fully from my head injury, yet I was left a quadriplegic facing a new life. And that life was far from the "hell" the Doctors predicted all because I had loving Parents who were determined to give me the best life they could. They sacrificed their lives for me�and that makes me forever grateful for their undying love and sorrowful for their loss of�well, freedom.

Anyway, when I finally came home from the hospital my Parents bought me a typewriter (this was a scant few years before the PC age), as I was a would-be writer and wanted�needed to write. One of the first things I wanted to write was this book. That was when I discovered the situation behind it had changed. Not only had Chris' version of the story been lost in moving boxes during my recovery, but my friend had moved on with his life, which took him beyond our co-writing endeavor. Yet he was enthusiastic for me to carry on with the project, offering me background material for creatures he brought into the story, and so I did.

It was a struggle to do it on a typewriter, but eventually I pounded out a draft of the story, which turned out to be novella length. I was not happy with its shortness. But I had finished it!

When I read a chapter or two to Chris and other friends they laughed, which made me happy. My idea, bolstered by Chris' invaluable input, was becoming what we dreamed it would be. Yet it was too short. It was supposed to be a book, not a novella. In my inexperience as a writer, I did not see the two things missing that would have lengthened it into a book, so I turned to another avenue to beef up the story into book length. Originally I had thought of making it a trilogy like what inspired it, and after we plotted the book out Chris and I had tossed around a few titles for future stories, including for the trilogy. Well, I took up the second title�The Baby�and developed it into a story, and I wrote it, adding a short entitled In Between to fill in what occurred between the two stories. The second story was a novella that put me closer to book length� Instead of taking up the third book of the trilogy, however, I was inspired to pound out a side story entitled The Strange Little Adventure of Tarl Bimbo, with plans to work on the final book of the trilogy after.

Sadly, it was not to be.

The silliest of things led to disaster. Remember, back in the era of typewriters prolific writing meant stacks upon stacks of paper. Well, I had my fair share of them�tall stacks indeed. And they resided on my "typing table," a place I thought safe for the future�. Then came the need to replace the carpet, which my wheelchair tires had done a bad number on, and that meant moving all the furniture out of the room. That also meant my stacks of papers needed to be put in a "safe place." I was not worried, though I should have been.

Upon refurnishing the room, all the furniture made it back safe and sound, but when it came to my stacks of stories, not all were found, and amongst the lost stories was The Strange Little Adventure of Tarl Bimbo. My heart was broken. My desire to continue working on this story and its sequel, which had been found, just was not there. I had so many stories, ideas and poems lost. Besides, I just was not up to writing much of anything for a while. Yet my Muse would not let me remain idle for long. After a few days of pouting, I started over again, and boy, did I! All types of new ideas flowed out of me so fast that I ended up creating even more stacks of incomplete stories. It was amazing.

Then in 1984 I joined the computer age when my Father introduced me to a Leading Edge PC and printer. A \$1,500 leap I nervously made, thinking how great it would be to write without creating stacks of paper. I also saw it as a blessing in my journey through The University of Alabama where I had to transcribe recorded notes from class, which I had been doing via the typewriter. I entered my studies in 1982 and completed them in 1988 with a degree in Communications emphasis on Film Production and minors in Human Resource Management and Creative writing. That is six years of writing term papers, etc., and yes, the PC was a blessing indeed.

My journey through college turned out to be bad luck when it came to rewriting this book. I was too busy transcribing recorded notes, writing short fiction for Creative Writing classes, motion picture scripts for Screenplay class and comic book scripts (as comic books were the rave at that time), the latter sadly all leading nowhere.

This book did make three what I would call positive emotional appearances: 1) During my first Creative Writing class I was quick to write my first of two required short stories, but was stumped on the second, which led me to ask if I could submit the first and last chapters of this story. Though he clearly stated that Science Fiction and Fantasy was not allowed, the Instructor allowed me to do so�. The reviews were quite positive and interest in the overall story was great. I was overwhelmed; 2) Not long after that I decided to submit the novella to The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, and received a form letter rejection, but my spirits were lifted by a note the Editor scribbled in the margin: "You have quite a story here;" 3) In one of my last Creative Writing Courses I asked an Instructor to give me his opinion of the two stories. Again, I received positive feedback�with a couple of good points about weaknesses in my storytelling. Good points I fully understood, though it would take a while for them to sink in.

Spring of 1988 saw me graduate from The University of Alabama and my brief search for employment in my field of study. I sent my resume to various Motion Picture Studios with fingers crossed and quickly learned disability need not apply. I was not surprised, but disappointed nonetheless.

Further employment searching left me in the hands of my Vocational Rehabilitation Services Counselor�a blue haired Country Club type who had informed me from day one she felt I should not receive VRS services�which did not give me high hopes. To her, a Communication degree equaled telephone operator at the VA Hospital. Sadly, the level of my disability ruled that job out. So she sent me back to college for a series of computer programming courses, introducing me to the Head of the Computer Department as "stupid in math." Not the best of introductions. Well, I took four computer courses and earned three A�s and a B, the latter due to a brain freeze on a programming line on the final. I really understood computers and this could have been a promising turn in my employment search if I had not slipped into a trap I subconsciously set for myself. The end result was I got booted from the system.

All right.

I was on my own.

What was I going to do to earn a living?

Why, I could write for publication!

And so as the 1980�s faded into the 1990�s I turned my attention to doing what I wanted to do for a living since elementary school: Writing. The pressure was on, which was not good creatively speaking, but I did my best�

I sputtered and spurted in my writing for far too long with little to show for it. Then a bell went off in my head and I returned to this book, realizing that to fill in the missing parts I would have to re-plot the story a bit. Rather than just dumping in the core characters at the beginning and sending them off to suffer their fates, I needed to spread a few of their introductions throughout the story. All was done in the name of better character development, which the Writing Instructor had said the story lacked.

The re-plotting went quickly, worked out superbly. I knew I was on to something good here. I started the rewrite and within a chapter and a half threw up my arms in defeat. While I knew inside what was needed, my writing style had not caught up to my ability to tell a story yet. Unfortunately, that would not happen 'til long after a dilemma placed this story in a box with what stories and story ideas I could save before everything was lost.

My dilemma came in the form of upgrading to a new computer, where I quickly learned my stories could not be transferred. Computer programming had advanced beyond DOS Command�. That left me to start from scratch writing-wise yet again. I did.

Throughout the 1990�s I focused on the short fiction market, mainly writing Horror stories in hopes of appearing in Weird Tales, which had returned to publication in 1988. I was obsessed with getting published in this legendary magazine, but I never made it. Oh, the rejection comment section grew more and more positive with each story, yet I was always close but no cigar.

I also submitted a story to a new magazine, Adventures of Sword and Sorcery. Writing a Sword and Sorcery story was a lifelong dream and the story, Barbarian Dream (later rewritten and retitled In the Shadow of Dreams) burst out of me rather quickly. It earned me a rejection that brought on two years plus of writer�s block. What did it was the Editor�s comment: "I had no sense of place." I had no idea what that meant and it took me a lot of research�reading to figure it out. Works by Robert E. Howard and Lester Dent opened my eyes, and my writing style advanced greatly toward my storytelling ability.

Then came 2001�the 21st Century!�and big changes in my life. My Parents were aging, getting to where caring for me was becoming too hard for them. In the fall of 2003 my Mother passed away, leaving my Father and me to forage on together, and his health was not good. First, he went through open heart surgery, followed by a knee replacement that nearly killed him. But he fought on to regain what health he could, despite the obstacles he faced. And he and I went on with our lives, aided by Providers to care for me.

At this time I decided to venture into self publishing my writing. My Father was my main support and Editor, and I do not think I could have done it without him.

Though my desire was to publish novels, time stress led me to publish a collection of short stories. Hey, I had enough of them lying around! So I put out a collection of Sword and Sorcery stories entitled BARBARIANS, More Than a Bloody Crown. Soon to follow was a collection of Horror stories, A Night�s Horror.

Once those were done I focused on writing a novel, only to flounder with one idea after another�. In 2012, I heard a whisper from my Muse and everything missing in this book fell into place. I pounded out the first chapter in a night. My Father read it and approved. I was thrilled. Yet by the second chapter I grew lost, frustrated and the story went to pieces. No matter how hard I tried it just would not work.

My Father�s health began a rapid decline, family rushed in, and my life became a fiasco.

Long story short: I was shipped to Texas just before Halloween 2012, as my Father faded, with clothes, a couple books and my laptop. And with the latter I had to get myself set up with homecare, etc.

Even with all this going on, and more, I was able to find time to write and, once my desktop got here, publish Web Captive Book 1: Captive. Publishing this, I knew, roped me in to writing book 2 and 3 of the trilogy, but alas, it was not to be�

In the summer of 2014 my Muse was whispering in my ear again, and I returned to this book�and page by page the complete story flowed out of me. I was amazed at how well it was going. My only complaint was how slow I was doing it, most days writing less than a page. Summer turned to fall, fall turned to winter. Then it was 2015, marking the 35th year since I began this book with Chris, and I was obsessively writing it. Winter slipped into spring, spring stormed its way to summer. And I finally pounded out the finale of this book. All that was left to do was write two introductions, then begin the editing for publication. I was thrilled. A book 35 years in the writing was complete!

Now that I have chronicled the curious history of this book�s creation, let me say a couple of things about it. J.R.R. Tolkien�s Lord of the Rings was based in "Middle Earth" and featured a map. Well, my first inclination was to base my story in "A Little Left of Center Earth" and feature a map as well. So I redrew my map properly in a sketch book and later redrew it again in a larger sketch book to fill out locations for future stories. As the years passed I rethought the name of the world, changing it a couple of times. None of them really worked for me, and when this final draft began I found it best to refer to the world as "the world." When it comes to the map, I�m afraid the sketch books are either packed away somewhere or lost. So, I am sorry to say, but no map.

Okay, folks. Now it is time to strap on your sword, slip into a pair of comfortable walking shoes and journey into adventure�

Night draped over Dwarf Road, a black tempered only by a sickle of moonlight and the crystal glare of stars. It was the first night of prime planting season and after a busy day clearing fields farmers were in bed asleep at this late hour. Even other businesses in the farm community were closed due to the time of year, so not many were aware of the perplexing feeling that drifted on the chill touched night breeze.

A light flickered in the window of a farmhouse. The simple white walled, thatched roofed house was not only the smallest in the community, it belonged to the smallest farm�one acre�on the road. Small though it was, the farm belonged to Orlon, the friendliest, most liked of farmers.

There were two sources of light in the farmhouse�s sparsely furnished front room, filling the room with eerily swaying shadows. A thick candle sat on the top corner of the cluttered desk by the window, its flame dancing with a draft coming through a crack in the window frame. The other was a small flame bouncing about like a nervous ballerina on the charred remains of a log in the fireplace.

Orlon lay on the divan before the fireplace, a fluffy pillow tucked behind his head and shoulders, a quilt over legs. He was not a tall man, even amongst his fellow Midgets, standing just under four feet. Nor was he muscular, yet there was strength enough in his wiry frame. Topped by short brown hair, his round face, though not the handsomest of faces, bore a friendliness that told of a kind heart.

Tonight his face was drawn and with good reason. All day he, his best friend and servant had worked hard preparing the farm�s one acre for planting in expectation of the biannual visit of the man known only to them as the Buyer. The death of their plow animal last season made their task all the harder and they paid for it physically, which sent him and his servant to bed early. But for reasons beyond him he could not sleep. So he came out to lay by the then blazing fire and read the book he bought from the Buyer a season back, in hopes of finding the illusive sleep he wanted�needed.

Not only did the Buyer buy their crops, he brought with him wagons filled with goods to sell. Be they tools, utensils, bolts of cloth, jewelry, whatever, he claimed them to be the finest and in some cases exotic items obtained from the farthest reaches of the world. But the farmers, who had never traveled beyond their simple community, were less interested in items' point of origin than whether they were needed, wanted, and came at a reasonable price.

Last season had been a good one for Orlon and with a few extra coins in his pouch he decided to splurge a little. That was when he noticed the shelf of books on a wagon, and the Buyer noticed him noticing. It was obvious by the dustiness of the books they were not big sellers, but he had read a book or two in his life and that made them worth a perusal. Well, the Buyer was right there to help him decide which it would be.

So he walked away with a thick leatherbound book he was eager to read.

According to the Buyer�s pitch the book was of a war between two northern kingdoms, Elifendale and Dwarfton. It started over an argument between the kings concerning boundaries across a vast lake between their kingdoms. The war lasted well over a year, leaving no part of the world untouched, and cost many a good man�s life. And his wild claims of truth to it had made the book irresistible.

He had read twenty chapters and found it interesting, exciting enough, yet he doubted the Buyer�s claims of its truth�. Even though he had vague childhood memories of his grandfather telling tales of men in armor passing along Dwarf Road in his own youth. This night, however, true or not, no matter how interesting, the book was bringing him what he wanted most from it, sleep.

His blue eyes struggled to follow the words dancing across the page as the flame danced across the charred log. Gradually his eyelids drifted shut. His head bobbed, finally coming to rest chin on chest, and the book slipped from limp fingers to lay open in his lap.

The front door burst open, letting a chill breeze whip into the room. It circled the room, dipping into the fireplace, nearly killing the flame, and crossed over the sleeping man. He snapped bolt upright, eyes wide, looked to see a cloaked, four feet two inch form rush in and slam the door behind. His eyes shrank in a roll as the form stripped off the cloak, revealing a pudgy, bushy brown haired man in simple gray work clothes. It was his best friend, Tarl Bimbo.

"Boy," he said, rubbing his plump red cheeks, "it�s cold out there."

"I don�t know why you went out anyway," Orlon said.

"I had a little business to take care of," he said with a wink and tug on his belt buckle.

Orlon rolled his eyes again.

"Hey, there are plenty of eligible women out there, buddy," Tarl said, flexing his fingers. "And you know how I am. I just can�t pass up a good thing when offered. Can you blame me?"

Brow furrowed, Orlon picked up his book and went back to reading.

With a shrug, Tarl rubbed his cold hands together and strolled to the fireplace to warm them. He held out his hands, immediately noticing an absence of warmth. When he looked into the fireplace he was momentarily fascinated by the desperate flame�s series of pirouettes across the charred log, before a dark cloud descended over his face.

"Why hasn�t Jujay refreshed this fire?"

"I sent him to bed early," Orlon said, not taking his eyes from the book.

"Well, I�ll just get him up to bring in some logs," he said on his way to the kitchen door.

"Don�t."

He stopped and looked over a shoulder, eyebrows raised.

"We worked him pretty hard today, so I sent him to bed early," Orlon said. "He isn�t as young as he used to be, you know."

From his earliest memory of Orlon�s family�s servant he did not remember him ever being young. That was fifteen years ago when he and Orlon, two energetic five-year-olds, met, and he had not expected Jujay to be around long. Yet here he was, loyally serving the son as he had served the son�s family. With a sigh, he pushed such thoughts aside.

"Suit yourself," he said, but with a glance at his best friend�s book could not leave it there, saying, "Maybe if you�d've bought a plow animal instead he wouldn�t have had to work so hard."

"I�m not clairvoyant," Orlon looked up from his book. "How was I to know our animal would die just days after season�s end. Besides, I wasn�t the only one to fritter away my extra money, was I?"

Feeling the heat of embarrassment crawl up his already red cheeks made him turn away. He remembered well the unlucky snake eyes that brought his winning streak to a disastrous end.

"We did work him hard," he said quietly. "Let him sleep."

Orlon resumed his reading.

Tarl walked over and sat at the desk. Whistling softly, he looked over the half written page centered on it and nodded in approval. He plucked the quill from the mound of wax around the candle�s base, popped open the ink well next to it. After another look over the page, he dipped the quill and began writing, the tip of his tongue slipping out the corner of his mouth.

In the turn of a page Orlon felt what he wanted most returning, the words beginning to dance on the page. His eyelids bobbed momentarily before drifting shut. His head settled chin on chest and the book slipped from limp fingers to lay open in his lap.

"I hope I finish this before the Buyer comes next season," Tarl said, placing the completed page on the tall, haphazardly stacked pages on the desktop corner opposite the candle.

Again Orlon snapped bolt upright, but this time his eyes were mere slits under knit brow when they turned on his best friend. He watched him procure a fresh page from the desk drawer and continue writing. It took a deep breath to calm his anger at this second interruption to his sleep. He looked at the book and flipped it closed as a lost cause in his quest. His attention was drawn to the stack of pages he watched Tarl struggle to create over the last six months.

"Do you really think anything will come of that?" he said.

"Sure," Tarl said, looking up. "Books are popular these days."

A thin smile creased Orlon�s face as he remembered the dusty shelf of books on the wagon.

"I mean," Tarl continued, "you�re reading one, aren�t you?"

"True," Orlon said and after considering his book, filled with strategy, intrigue, action and adventure, added: "But what do you know other than farming?"

"I�m using a great thing," he tapped his temple, "called imagination. That�s what they use to write fiction, you know. And books are fiction, right?"

The question set Orlon to pondering the Buyer�s assurances the book was a factual account of historical events. There was no denying his doubts about that. But there were also his vague memories of his grandfather�s tales� With a big yawn he brushed aside such pondering. It was late, he was tired and all he wanted to do was sleep�and under present circumstances there was only one way to achieve that. He slid out from under book and quilt, stretched and smoothed his nightshirt.

"I�m going to bed," he said.

A knock sounded on the front door.

They looked at each other, then the door.

A louder knock.

"Who could that be?" Orlon said.

An even louder knock.

"It�s probably for me," Tarl said, standing.

A much louder knock.

"It must be," Orlon said. "I certainly don�t know anyone who would call at this late hour."

An incredibly loud knock.

Tarl grabbed the knob, turned it and was thrown to the floor as the door burst open and a cloaked form stormed in. Orlon was pushed back on the divan as the form passed, coming to rest at the fireplace, a long fingered hand on the mantel. The door slammed shut.

Both Midgets gave the intruder a double-take, but only Orlon�s surprised expression turned to wonderment. Obviously a man, he stood six feet tall, his cloak a faded brown and separate hood a brilliant red. In his other hand was a staff his height and a foot, the sap of a pine�s youth dripping from it. Orlon recognized him being one of three mysterious men known as Parsons, who were identical in every way but the staff each carried, from his book. No one knew where they were from, just that they mysteriously appeared whenever needed. And he wondered if the book was true.

Further, he wondered why a Parson would come to his house.

"The snail slinks along the spine of a man paralyzed in fear! Why did you take so long to answer?" the man blurted, a curious twitching in his limbs.

Orlon and Tarl jumped at the outburst, looked at each other and back at the intruder. Orlon opened his mouth to reply�

"Is your want that of winters long past and those of futures that may be, to freeze?" The man spun around in a wild flailing of arms and legs to end in a wide-legged stance, his staff pointing back at the fireplace, where the struggling flame had given in and died. "We need warmth."

He spun back to the fireplace, producing something from a long, baggy sleeve and casting it onto the charred log. It erupted into a brilliant, warm flame.

"Is there something," Orlon said, "we can do for you?"

With a flailing of arms and legs, he turned and knelt before him, throwing back his hood. His face was thin, handsome in a peculiar way, framed in short beard and mustache and medium length brown hair, a circular bald spot on the crown. His eyes were deep brown, nose thin, the mouth made for talking�a lot. His expression was one of urgency.

"The burning orb and that which glows without flame pass the horizons and each other! The hound wanders in search of food, companionship, shelter! Long have I traveled in search of the One," he said, his wild arm and leg movements miraculously not affecting his stance. "A wave�s journey ends at shore! I need the One to end mine." He placed a hand on Orlon�s shoulder. "I have found the One."

"Are you sure you have the right house?" Orlon said.

"The needle points always to the magnetic pole! The salmon struggles to reach its spawning ground! I, Ty, the Parson, have journeyed long and hard to reach this house." The hand on Orlon�s shoulder shook him. "I have been drawn to the One, the only."

"Only what?" Orlon said.

"Only one to have a nut drop by," Tarl quietly commented.

Ty the Parson cast a glare on Tarl that made him flinch. "Night invades day! Evil invades our world as we speak. Evil in the name of Tibtarnitallimardarian," he said and returned his eyes to Orlon. "The scar faced one rules the underworld of crime! The turtle concealed in its chalky shell! In his mountainous lair he plots, schemes, spreads his tentacles of darkness across the land. He waits for the right moment to spring his trap, to envelop all that is good in his web of evil. The musclebound�s obsession with weights! Every day he grows stronger. If not stopped he will become invincible."

Orlon blinked.

"The eagle strikes its prey just inches beneath the water! The worm burrows ever onward! I, Ty, the Parson, have journeyed to the One in order to stop the evil quickly. The journey�s end, its beginning. A torch to the dark! The One with the ability is found. You, Orlon, the Pure, purest of the pure, are the One, the only, who can save the world."

"Me?" Orlon said. "Save the world? How?"

"The Pike," he came to his feet in a flail of limbs, ending in a wide-legged stance, his staff pointing at Orlon. "The Holy Pike is your only chance. The spoiled child�s toy! The talons of the hawk claw the whimpering rabbit! Only you, Orlon, the Pure, can wield the Pike. Only you can use it to slay the evil." He stormed to the door. "Butter to bread! Evil spreads across the land. The loose bowelled�s journey to outhouse! We must waste no time to begin our quest.

"The likeness of fraternal twins! Time to the tested! Twofold our quest will be, to locate the Holy Pike and vanquish the evil, and time will be short to accomplish both. The morrow, early, we must begin if we are to finish before it is too late. Pups to mother wolf�s bosoms! I, Ty, the Parson, and the Party will be here, eager to eat up the distances we must traverse." His staff jerked in emphasis before Orlon�s eyes. "Be ready, Orlon, the Pure. The morrow, early, I say. Be ready.

"The runner in the blocks! The quest begins tomorrow, early. Be ready." He threw open the door and bound into the night, his final warning still echoing.

The door slowly closed.

Orlon and Tarl looked at the door, but again it was Orlon�s astonished expression that turned to wonderment. The coming of this man�Ty the Parson�was a marvel to behold, and something that raised the hairs at his nape. This Ty the Parson put the thought in his mind the Buyer was not giving him just a sales pitch. It also meant his Grandfather�s tales were not just tales�. And that meant the likelihood of what he was saying tonight being true�

"Can you believe that guy?" Tarl said, getting to his feet.

Hearing this snapped Orlon bolt upright yet again. But when he turned to face his best friend he kept his wonder and worry hidden behind a mask of indifference.

"Crazy, wasn�t it?" he said. "All that talk of joining him on a quest."

"And he was so vehement about it, too," Tarl said, mimicking the man�s flailing limbs, "with his talk about evil spreading throughout the land, the need to stop it and�and that only you could do it." He snickered. "He called you Orlon the Pure."

Orlon frowned.

"Anyway," Tarl went on, "the goofiest part of it was the nonsense about a holy pike. I don�t see how a fish can be holy, or why only you could touch it. Why you would want to touch it. And how could you stop anything, especially some growing evil, with it?"

"He wasn�t talking about a fish, Tarl," Orlon said, eyes to the heavens. "He was talking about a weapon."

"A weapon?" Tarl looked confused.

"It�s a kind of spear," Orlon said. "Look�"

"Hey, wait a minute," Tarl said. "Didn�t Sleen Manibeen go through this a while go? Come on, you remember."

"I�" Orlon brought a finger to his chin, eyes staring back in time.

Yes, he remembered the incident. It happened three seasons back, when he and Tarl stepped out of the house on their way to the carpenter shop, and there was no way they could have missed it. Sleen, who lived across the road, had simultaneously opened his door to a bizarre visitor. But that incident was different! Sleen�s visitor was an old man in rusty armor, by all appearance touched by his age, raving about some quest from his youth. Their visitor was a learned man in robes, speaking of the here and now. He shook it off as too much for his tired mind to deal with.

"I am going to bed," he said and headed for the hall leading to the bedrooms.

"But he said he would be back in the morning, early," Tarl said, "and he was bringing people with him."

"I doubt he will be back," Orlon stopped at the hall doorway and looked back. "If he does, we�ll deal with it then. Goodnight."

"Too bad," Tarl said, watching his friend fade into the hall�s darkness. "It sounded like fun. Think about it. Finally having the chance to see more of the world than Dwarf Road, to meet new people, experience new things. Ah, the companionship, the camaraderie, the chance for adventure�"

"The chance to die in combat or worse," came Orlon�s voice from the darkness.

Tarl gave the darkness a double-take.

"Goodnight." The thump of Orlon�s bedroom door drew the conversation to a close.

With a turn, Tarl rubbed his hands together, unsure what to do next: go to bed or write a little more. His decision was made by a yawn that racked his body. He was more tired than he thought, but before he retired there was one thing he must do. His attention turned to the fireplace to find the blazing fire gone, and all that remained was the charred log. There was no sign of whatever Ty the Parson had tossed in it to cause the fire.

He frowned and went over to take a closer look, which revealed nothing. But his curiosity would not let him accept this anomaly so easily, making him take the poker from its hook and poke the log remains. A pop, a flash and a sickening odor that crinkled his nose, made him take a quick step back. In a quick step forward, he replaced the poker and backed up again.

"Definitely time for bed," he whispered.

After contorting with another yawn, he went to the desk and blew out the candle, sending the room into darkness. This did not bother Tarl Bimbo in the least, as a lot of his free time�activities tended to deal with moving�sneaking through the dark. Thus he did not even wait for his eyes to adjust before heading to his bedroom. He crossed the room, slipped into the hall and through his bedroom door, opposite that of Orlon�s, shutting it and leaning against it.

Tired though he was there was one thing he felt compelled to do which would keep him up a little longer. He went to his bed, knelt and retrieved a cloth bundle from beneath it. A thin smile crossed his plump face as he sat on the bed to unwrap it. Within was a leather-bound book. Orlon had been right about him knowing nothing more than farming. Sure, he used the imagination he smarted off about and it had been great, for twenty pages or so. Then it went dry, and in his desire to finish his book, he became desperate.

After weeks of struggling with it, he secretly obtained a book from a neighbor, who owed him a gambling debt, to "help" him. It had been a wise move in his mind. The book had great ideas, and when he considered what he was doing he felt no guilt. Besides, who would ever know?

There was a candle on the table by the bed he used to read by. But when he reached into a pocket for flint and steal, they were not there. He searched his other pockets to no avail, and it dawned on him where he lost them, in Mona Ik�s barn during their�time together. That meant there would be no reading tonight. With a shrug, he rewrapped the book, replaced it under the bed. He stripped and slipped into bed, and after a fleeting thought of tonight�s visitor, he fell fast asleep.

Despite his tiredness from a hard day�s work, his twice interrupted drift into sleep, Orlon lay in bed wide awake. While he had put up an air of indifference about it, he was deeply troubled by the arrival of Ty the Parson and what he said. Was he really one of the trio of Parsons mentioned in his book? Or was he a nut like the old man who visited Sleen Manibeen? And if the answer to the first question was yes, which he feared it was, what did that mean for him.

Parsons were said to only appear when needed, if important events were happening. He rolled onto his side, his mind focused on what the Parson said tonight. Evil was spreading throughout the land in preparation for a takeover. It was being orchestrated by Tibtarni�whatever, and only he, Orlon, the Pure, could stop him.

He rolled onto his other side, tense from head to foot. The very idea of it sounded impossible, crazy. How could he, a mere farmer, stop someone that powerful? True, Ty the Parson mentioned the Holy Pike, a weapon that would assist him in this deed. That meant this Pike must be special in some way, but he simply found it hard to believe he could perform such a task, special weapon or not. He did not want to believe this was real, yet he could not help but wonder.

The thought of a quest, of leaving hearth and home for an unknown length of time worried him greatly, especially this time of the season. He curled up in a fetal position and drifted off into a restless sleep, his last thought concern over what would happen to the crop if he went�

Orlon lay in bed fast asleep. Though the first part of the night had been restless, his sleep was now peaceful. Gone were the twitches, the thrashing about, and the dark dreams of wandering through mysterious places, the fear of dangers unseen yet palpable. He was lost in the void of slumber, so comfortable he wanted to wallow in it�forever. Tomorrow�s work could be delayed a while, maybe until the day after. Sure, what harm could one missed day do?

The question made him frown, knowing precisely what harm a missed day would do, as well as for a little while. They could survive the harm of a little while. He smiled in his sleep at his decision, snuggled into his pillow.

There began a pounding in his head, constant, demanding a response he did not want to give. He fought the urge to wake up, pressing his eyelids tightly together. The pounding only grew louder and louder, started shaking the very foundation of the little house, shaking the bed�him, and the more it shook the more he shook. He was shook right off the bed.

He landed on the floor with a resounding thump, yet he lay still, hoping the pain was nothing more than a new bad dream. But he knew otherwise. He allowed himself to wake up and opened an eye. A narrow beam of sunlight cut across the room from a crack in the window shutters. Looking at it told him it was morning, early morning, the crack of dawn! And the continued pounding was not in his head. Someone was pounding on the front door.

At first he wondered who it could be, and when the obvious answer popped into his mind it brought him to a sitting position. Could Ty the Parson have really returned? His expression was a mixture of disbelief and worry. The very idea of the Parson�s returning was absurd, if not for his book, his Grandfather�s tales, his own doubts� With a sigh, he knew there was only one way to find out, and he could not do that sitting here. He must answer the door, and by the ever increasing pounding he needed to do that quickly, before his house fell in.

Knowing there was no time to get dressed brought him to his feet and straight through his bedroom door at a fair clip. And he ran right into Tarl, who was hurrying out of his room, to land in a heap. They untangled themselves, coming to a sitting position side by side, and looked at each other. Both wore surprised expressions on their faces, but the continued pounding drew their attention back to matters at hand.

"Who do you think that could be?" Orlon said.

Tarl shrugged. "It must be for you," he said with a half smile. "I certainly don�t know anyone who would call at this early hour."

Orlon rolled his eyes, got up and headed down the hall.

"You don�t think it�s that nut from last night, do you?" Tar said, getting up to follow.

"I don�t know," Orlon said, though deep down he felt�feared he knew exactly who it was.

The mysterious pounding awoke the other resident of the house, and though nearer the front door, it took time to awaken him, too. On a mat by the back door in the kitchen slept Orlon�s servant, Jujay, and the reason for his slow response was obvious. Jujay was old. Once a sturdy six feet tall, he was now a hunched five feet nine inches, his muscular physique withered with his advancing years, leaving him a wrinkled bag of bones. Age had likewise affected his hearing.

Hence it took time, the eventual shaking before it dawned on him what was happening. When it did sink in, a deep crease formed between his bushy gray eyebrows where normally resided a thin wrinkle. A scowl added more creases to the wrinkled remains of what an epoch ago was a handsome face. He was reminded of a similar disturbance to his sleep last night�one he successfully fended off until it stopped�but this sound was louder, more demanding, telling him it was time to start the day.

He opened a tired gray eye to see the simple kitchen, focused on the rattling spoon in the bowl on the table. He had left it there after eating a snack last night, planning to be up early to clean it up before anyone else awakened. Well, he was up early now, but knew it would have to wait. His first duty as servant to the household was to answer the door.

Yet he paused, his attention turned to the doorway between kitchen and front room. There was no way to know how long the pounding had been going on, which made him wonder why no one had answered it like he presumed someone did last night. Further, he briefly wondered which of the two did. The answer was obvious! Orlon must have answered it over the objections of Tarl who thought such menial tasks should only be done by servants.

Just the thought of that man, Orlon�s best friend or not, put a scowl on his face, sent a crimson flush over his pallid skin. In his long life of servitude he had had a hard master or two, but not one treated him the way Tarl did. Not one showed such disrespect for his profession the way he did.

It had been irritating, mildly humorous when Tarl was a visiting child, playing with his friend some days. But he never thought one day the adult would become a resident, a spoiler of his dream. Dwarf Road had stuck in his mind all those years ago when he and his master marched with a troop of Elifendale mercenaries along it. The community looked so peaceful, its people so friendly�. A place he felt would be wonderful to spend his declining years in, in service to a farm family. And so he did when his years of service to warriors was up, finding a home with Orlon�s family.

Later, he asked leave of the family to serve the son, Orlon being such a kind, decent man�

The ever increasing intensity of the pounding snapped him from his reverie, reminded him of his duty. He really needed to answer that before it disturbed Orlon. With creaks and pops and groans and moans he got to his feet to repeat the serenade in a stretch. He crossed the kitchen with slow but determined shuffling feet. When he reached the door his eyes were drawn from the vibrating front door to the hall door just as Orlon and Tarl came through it, first looking at the door, then him.

"We�ve got it," Tarl waved him off with a flippant air of dismissal, "now."

Jujay gave him a halfhearted smile and turned back into the kitchen, but what he heard next gave him pause, widened his tired eyes.

"Hey, I got it last time," Tarl answered his best friend�s question before he could ask it.

Tarl actually answered the door last night? With a wonder if miracles would ever cease, Jujay disappeared into the kitchen, a gnarled hand scratching a disbelieving ear.

Meanwhile, Orlon approached the door slowly, his eyes on the knob and foremost in his mind what happened to Tarl last night. Well, there was going to be no knocking him down. He stopped a foot from it�and went into action! He grabbed the knob, turned it and leaped clear. The vibrating door swung open to reveal Ty the Parson standing on the front porch, a fist drawn back, ready to dart forward with resounding force.

Both Midgets' jaws sagged in disbelief at seeing him, and for Orlon there was a knot in his stomach as well. That the Parson returned, as he had said he would, meant all Orlon had doubted, the book and his grandfather�s tales, and had dreaded, the quest, were in fact true. And the implications of it all for him sent a chill along his spine.

"The waiting man�s hair grows white with age! Why in the name of planets that revolve around burning orbs as they do their own axes do you take so long to answer?" Ty the Parson said in a flail of arms and legs.

Orlon opened his mouth to answer�

"Rivers flow quickly to meet salt brothers! The mother screams long and loud before spewing a child! Time rushes over the distant horizon never to be regained. Our quest, delayed, must spring forth. Mature rapidly."

"So you really want us to go with you?" Orlon said quietly.

A wild spin brought him to a wide-legged stance, his staff�s sappy end just inches from the Midget�s face. "The aged one�s memory of recent events! The boy�s finger in the dike�s leak! Has what I told you last night been lost? You, Orlon, the Pure, purest of the pure, must stop the evil that threatens to flood, to consume the land," he said. "The dog reacts to thrown stick! You and I, Ty, the Parson, and the Party must first journey to retrieve the Holy Pike that you may succeed in your task.

"The sizzling fuse grows ever shorter! Hungry chicks clamor for mother bird�s offering of wiggly worms! Time slips away, and with its passing the evil grows ever nearer its goal. There is no time to waste, Orlon, the Pure. I, Ty, the Parson, and the Party await you, one and all eager to eat up the distances we must traverse."

With a flailing of limbs, he stepped in and drew the door shut, his final word heard just before its click: "Hurry."

Orlon and Tarl looked from the door to each other.

"Well, he came back," Tarl said. "Just like he said he would."

"Yeah, he did," Orlon said and gulped.

Everything the Parson said last night and this morning echoed in his mind, and what they meant for his future sickened him. He simply did not want to believe it. Yet he felt a responsibility in stopping this Tibtarni�whatever, as he presumably was the only one who could save the world from his evil plan�. His mind turned to memories of Tarl�s youthful fancies of one day breaking free of Dwarf Road to see what was out there in the world. Empty words recent events would give his best friend a chance to follow through on, which made him wonder why he was not the One.

For reasons he could not fathom the very thought of that made Orlon want to laugh.

"So," Tarl said, involuntarily rubbing his hands together, "what are we going to do?"

"What do you want to do?" Orlon countered, certain what his response would be.

"I think we should go," he said. "Like I said last night it might be fun."

Getting the expected response made him add: "And dangerous."

"You said that last night," Tarl said with a wave of a hand. "But I think you�re reading too much into this. Remember what else you said? This is crazy. So chances are we�ll be going nowhere important, but we�ll be getting a chance to break free of this place, to see a little of what�s out there. Come on, Orlon. Let�s do it."

Any other time Orlon would have found his best friend�s enthusiasm intoxicating. He would have jumped right in with him, but not this time. In his mind, Tarl was so na�ve for all his worldly boastings and all that roaming around nights for what he called activities�his looking at this opportunity only as a mere game to be played out for fun.

"But what if he is serious?" Orlon asked.

"Oh, come on," he said, running his eyes up and down his best friend�s short, wiry frame skeptically. "You�re not serious, are you? Tell me you�re not really buying this guy�s story. I thought we�d been over that last night. The only question was whether this nut would actually show up this morning, which he did! And, I might add, he brought people with him. A party, he calls it. What could be better for a pointless journey like this than people to party with?"

"He wasn�t talking about that type of party," Orlon�s eyes sought the heavens.

"He wasn�t?" Tarl looked confused.

"A party is a group of people brought together, in this case, to take a journey, and it consists mainly of warriors, soldiers and the like."

For a split second Tarl looked disappointed, dissolving into a sly smile. "So," he said, hands clasped together, "are we going?"

A moment of silence passed.

Orlon sighed. "Okay," he said. "Let�s do this."

With that, he headed to his bedroom to prepare. He was disappointed that his little trick to build up his enthusiasm through Tarl�s was a bust. And he knew why. He just could not shake his worrisome realization this whole thing was actually happening. That he might be the one on whose shoulders the world�s future rested upon. Not even his best friend�s last words as he entered his own room earned more than a roll of his eyes.

"Oh, boy," Tarl said. "This is going to be great."

The two closed their doors simultaneously.

Orlon stood with his back to the door, eyes drifting over the room. The Parson�s desire for quickness was foremost on his mind, but he did not want to start this day any differently than any other day. And the fact he would be away an indeterminate length of time added to his desire to perform his morning duties. They consisted of making his bed, performing his morning ablutions and getting dressed. Plus he was undecided what to wear when going on a journey. He sighed, knowing he would just have to do things faster than normal. He began.

Tarl stood before his washbasin, stripped of his undergarments, performing a cursory clean up. This consisted of a splash in the face, underarms and areas below, followed by a vigorous drying with a towel. He looked in the mirror on the wall before him and seeing his own smiling face broadened that smile. How could he not smile? A lifelong dream of one day leaving Dwarf Road was actually coming true for him.

His smile faltered, however, at the thought of how this opportunity came about. It all hinged on the ravings of that bizarre, spasmodic man who visited last night and returned as promised this morning. All his talk of a journey to save the world from a growing evil, an evil only Orlon�the Pure could stop sounded ridiculous. He started to laugh at that name, but it died when he thought of Orlon�s question as to if Ty the Parson was serious.

Into his mind popped memories of Orlon�s Grandfather�s stories about soldiers passing along Dwarf Road in his own youth. Stories the old man swore were true�. His thoughts turned to the book he had gotten to "help" with his writing effort�the neighbor�s claim of its historical truth as promised by the Buyer. For just a moment this all got him to wondering�

With a grunt, he bundled the towel and dropped it on the table by the washbasin, leaving with it his wondering.

There were times Tarl could be roped in by his best friend�s seriousness. He would see things in an entirely new light, but not this time. In his mind, Orlon was so na�ve for all his so called adult thinking about every little thing, like this crazy man�s talk. He was still a virgin for crying out loud!

"Orlon the Pure indeed," he murmured, the smile returning to his face and mind returning to matters at hand.

In quick fashion, he donned his undergarments, procured a fresh set of gray work clothes from the wardrobe and slipped into them. Stepping into his shoes finished the procedure, and patting his plump belly, he felt satisfied he had not wasted any time in preparing. Yet in truth he did not feel fully prepared. He looked around for anything else he might need on this trip. There was not a lot to choose from, but when his eyes fell on the money pouch on the table by his bed they stopped.

"Ah, just what I needed," he said, walking to it. "If there�s a party out there, be they warriors, soldiers, whatever, I might be able to get a game up."

He picked up the pouch, shook it. By the soft tinkle he estimated there were three, maybe four coins within. They were silvers, he believed, the remains of a very unprofitable night with the boys behind Stem Hatly�s shop. A smile touched his lips at memory of the only good thing about that terrible night, the hard cider. He sighed and pocketed the pouch. Not the best amount for a starter fund, but it would have to do.

That turned his mind to one other thing needed to get a game up: dice. These he retrieved from the table drawer, blowing on them before sticking them into a pocket. With these two items in tow, he felt fully prepared for this day�s journey, wherever it might lead. But the feeling faltered when his stomach grumbled, telling him of one other important thing they would need.

At this point, all he and his friend knew of the quest was they were going�somewhere. Why, they could be gone until lunch, for all they knew. Therefore, it would be wise to take along some food. So thinking made him think of Jujay and the likelihood he was preparing for the journey, including foodstuffs. And he blurted a laugh at this. How could that old man be? He was not there to hear about today�s plan�and even if he had been, he most likely would not have heard it anyway.

With the shake of his head, he headed out of his bedroom, aiming for the kitchen.

Jujay sat at the kitchen table, hunched over�a mug of hot chocolate. He could not believe they were up at the crack of dawn, as a normal day started a little thereafter. Further, he could not believe they were up because of a visitor of all things. This fact left him wondering who would call at such an hour. A thin smile added creases to his wrinkled face. The one thing he was certain of was whoever the caller might be was not here for Tarl.

Knowing this gave him pause, the mug drawn to his lips. He could not imagine someone calling for Orlon at this hour either. With a sigh, he shrugged it off and took a sip. Did it really matter who the caller was? By all evidence, after a brief conversation, the visitor had gone and Orlon and Tarl had retired to prepare for the new day.

Despite the hour and unexpected visitor, as well as his own aches and pains, he had not been idle on that point. Upon returning to the kitchen, he cleaned up last night�s mess�the bowl and spoon�and prepared for the day himself. This involved performing his morning ablutions and dressing in clean tunic and breeches, his other set drying on the line outback, and sandals. Then he prepared Orlon and Tarl�s breakfast of rolled oats, milk and apple, followed by fixing his usual mug of hot chocolate for a brief respite before the two were up to truly begin another day.

Thought of the deceased plow animal and the extra work that loss entailed made him groan�. Though with another sip of his soothing drink, he considered the fact the plowing was done yesterday, which meant today was planting day. He was not sure he could have survived another day of such strenuous labor as pulling a plow at his age. A day of carrying seed bags might not be too bad. He smiled. Besides, Orlon might give him the day off, if he played his cards right.

"Ah, you�re still up," Tarl said, hurrying into the kitchen. "Good."

He stopped at the table and his eyes dropped to the still steaming bowl of rolled oats, milk and apple. For a fraction of a second he considered it, eyes darting from the meal to the adjoining door and back again. Then he sat and began wolfing it down.

"We�re going on a trip," he told the servant between bites.

Jujay looked at him questioningly.

"The guy who came by last night�" he dropped the spoon into the empty bowl "�oh, but you wouldn�t know about that, would you."

Jujay quietly sighed, eyes briefly lifted to the heavens.

"Anyway, he went on and on about Orlon joining him on a trip�a quest or some such," he picked up the apple and between bites continued: "He said he would be back this morning, which we didn�t really believe, but�he�s here!

"So me and Orlon decided we would take him up on his offer."

Eyes closed, Jujay felt the hairs at his wrinkly nape stir. The idea of taking a trip with Orlon did not sound bad to him, as he could not imagine it being far, but Tarl�s addition of "a quest or some such" brought back too many bad memories. The only type of trips he took in servitude to warriors was quests. The type of thing he wished to escape in his declining years�. How could this have happened? Before his mind�s eye appeared the image of Orlon, smiling that friendly smile of his, eyes all innocent and pure, and he sighed. How could it not?

Oh, the legends he had heard of quests involving some innocent and pure fellow upon whose shoulders rested the fate of the world. The quests remembered wherein one master or another was finagled into joining to protect such fellows, dragging him along. But this was different! Such quests occurred in obvious times of conflict between good and evil, not a time of peace and tranquility as the world was in now.

With a final bite, Tarl dropped the apple core into the bowl, rattling the spoon. "Naturally we�ll need you to come along�" he downed the glass of milk in three quick gulps "�to carry things and such. Speaking of which�"

The scrape of chair legs on stone floor opened Jujay�s eyes to watch him get up and cross the kitchen to what he sneeringly referred to as the servant�s "work station." It consisted of a counter upon which Jujay prepared their meals, with two cabinets above and two drawers set above two cabinets below. Despite his misgivings about this whole affair, the servant could not help but be curious as to what the Midget had in mind.

"Let�s see," Tarl said softly. "I think we will need enough for a simple lunch, something to tide us over 'til we get home for supper. But first, we�ll need something to carry it in." He scratched his head with a finger, that finger suddenly pointing to the heavens, as he said, "Ah ha! If memory serves me�"

He opened the right upper cabinet and tried to look on the top shelf without luck. This failure did not daunt him. He stretched up a hand to reach it, fingers flexing just short, hopped to grab at whatever he found up there. What he came down with was a pair of leather bags joined by a two feet length of four inch wide leather strap Jujay knew well�and had no idea at all how Tarl knew of its whereabouts.

It was the carryall he had packed his meager belongings and food and water in to journey to Dwarf Road, leaving his long past of journeying behind him. Or so he had hoped, and still hoped.

"All rightie then," Tarl laid the bags on the counter, unstrapped and flipped back their cover flaps. "Now, something simple�"

There was a moment of thought before he sprang into action. From the breadbox on the counter he got a loaf of bread wrapped in a cloth, carefully put it into one of the bags. He opened the lower left cabinet, retrieved a covered platter from the second shelf and placed it on the counter. Lifting the lid, he found a small wheel of red wax covered cheese. This he carefully slid into the bag next to the bread, then strapped down the bag�s cover flap.

A smile showed his satisfaction with his choice of cheese sandwiches. Now, even simple meals needed liquid refreshment, and he knew exactly what Orlon would want. During planting season they kept a supply of small jugs filled with water to quench their thirst while working in the field. He plucked one of these from the right upper cabinet�s bottom shelf and slipped it into the empty bag.

When it came to liquid refreshment for himself, he paused, eyes darting to the left, then right. Water was fine and dandy for his best friend, but he felt a need to imbibe in something with a little more�spirit. Something he kept handy and secreted away just for himself, for those times he needed to relax a little, or to celebrate, or just wanted to forget his woes.

His eyes shrank to mere slits with the realization of the one drawback to his desire. To obtain his bottle of spirits meant revealing its hiding place to Jujay. But upon reflection he decided it did not matter. Finding another hiding place would be no big deal. So he opened the lower left cabinet, knelt and reached way back on the bottom shelf. He brought forth a corked bottle, and as he brought himself erect, he noticed a definite lightness to its weight. A close inspection of its contents showed him what should have been a finger�s width over half full bottle was now two under.

With a grunt, he cast an accusing eye on the servant, whose eyes found something of interest in a shadowy corner.

"It�ll do," he sighed and slid the bottle into the bag next to the jug, and tying the cover flap down, said: "This meal should do us just fine on this trip." He picked up the carryall by its leather strap. "Speaking of which�"

Carryall swinging in hand, he hurried back to and around the table. Jujay watched him warily for he knew not what. What he got was Tarl slinging it around his neck, the bags flopping onto his chest, causing a rippling of flabby flesh beneath his tunic. Despite his best effort to hold them up, the weight of the bags, though not overly much, was enough to add visibly to the servant�s hunch.

"Time�s a�wasting," Tarl turned toward the doorway to the front room. "Let�s go."

Jujay did not move a muscle. In spite of Tarl�s urging him to hurry, his only concern was for Orlon, the time of day and that his master enjoyed the meal he had prepared for him. His tired gray eyes looked at the bowl of the still steaming rolled oats, glass of milk and apple, and Tarl looked back to follow his look. He thought he fully understood the servant�s concern�and wholeheartedly agreed that food should never go to waste.

"Waste not, want not," he said, sat in Orlon�s chair and started wolfing down the rolled oats.

Jujay caught his jaw before it dropped, and his surprise at Tarl�s gall turned into disbelief he would do such a thing to Orlon, his so called best friend. His disbelief melted into outrage that culminated into a harsh glare in his eyes.

Swallowing the final spoonful of oats gave the Midget a very satisfied feeling of being full. He dropped the spoon into the bowl and threw back his head to gulp down the glass of milk. With the last swallow, he brought the glass down on the table, his head down to meet the servant eye to eye. The outrage he read in those eyes confused him�briefly. Upon realizing his mistake as to Jujay�s concern about the meal his crafty mind went to work to get himself out of this pickle.

"Hey, don�t take that attitude with me," he said and picked up the apple. "I saved him this."

The servant looked to the heavens.

"Now," Tarl brought himself to his feet, turning to the doorway to the front room. "We have people waiting on us. Let�s go."

This time Jujay reacted to his urging, but rather than follow him he stood and headed the other way. Despite his misgivings about this trip, be it a quest or not, he was certain of one thing. If he was going to walk any distance, he needed his walking staff. He retrieved it from where it leaned against the wall by the back door, a thin thread of cobweb stretching from its top as he turned to recross the kitchen. Within three steps the cobweb broke free from the staff and drifted away.

When he reached Tarl, the two headed through the doorway.

Completion of his final morning duty left Orlon concerned that his attempt to hurry in his morning duties had failed. The first two, making his bed and performing his morning ablutions, were done without a doubt in good time. It was in getting dressed he slowed down, and that was mainly due to his inability to decide what to wear. He had never been on a trip before and had no idea what was proper attire for such things.

After spending far too much time eyeing the clothes in his wardrobe, he had decided on wearing his "best." There was, after all, a Party accompanying him on this trip, and for reasons beyond him he wanted to make a good impression. His "best" consisted of a white shirt, brown coat, vest and breeches, and comfortable walking shoes. And he now stood before his mirror, giving the outfit a critical look over. Was this the right attire? Did he have time to change?

The sudden empty feeling in his stomach reminded him of a fourth duty: breakfast. Thought of the delicious meals Jujay prepared for them made him fret over even more time lost�. Wardrobe forgotten, he hurried out of his bedroom, drawing the door shut behind, mind focused on eating a delicious breakfast in record time.

Down the hall and into the front room he went, mouth watering, picking up speed with every step. He came to a bone-jarring halt as did Tarl and Jujay, coming through the kitchen doorway. Tarl looked his best friend up and down, whistled.

"My," he said, "aren�t you the fancy one."

Orlon felt the heat of embarrassment creeping up his cheeks, and he hurriedly asked, "Are you ready?"

"Yes," he said, then waved up and down his own wardrobe, saying, "Though I didn�t dress quite so fancifully.

"Oh," he thumbed back at Jujay, "but I did think ahead enough to pack us a lunch. Nothing special, mind you, just something light and tasty to tide us over 'til supper."

Orlon�s eyes followed his thumb to Jujay, noticed the carryall hung around his neck only in passing. There was something far more important to do than seeing a packed lunch upon seeing his servant at this time of day, and he promptly did it.

"Good morning, Jujay," he said, smiling. "I hope you�re up for a trip."

Jujay returned the smile and nodded.

"Now, speaking of tiding over�" Orlon rubbed his hands together, mind set on scarfing down a delicious breakfast prepared by his servant.

"No time for breakfast, buddy," Tarl said. "We were told to hurry, you know."

Orlon looked disappointed.

Jujay looked utterly outraged.

"But I did bring you something to put on your stomach," he went on, holding up the apple and then tossing it to his best friend.

"Thanks," Orlon said, catching it.

Yet he did not devour it. He could not. A sudden churning in his stomach brought on by the events of last night and this morning, and the fear this trip actually was a quest depending on him to save the world from evil Tibtarni�whatever warned him the chances of keeping anything down were minimal at best. Looking at the juicy, green skinned fruit, he sighed, hoped there would come a time when he could eat it later.

"You�re right, Tarl," he said and pocketed the apple. "We were told to hurry�. Well, no need to keep Ty the Parson waiting any longer."

With that, he headed toward the front door, and Tarl followed.

Jujay stood his ground, too stunned by his master�s mention of the name Ty the Parson to move. Well did he know of the three mysterious men known as Parsons, Ry, Sy and Ty by name, and of the three he knew of Ty the Parson most. While none of his masters had every personally dealt with him, many were the tales he heard from fellow servants of their masters being roped into long journeyed adventures by the verbose fellow in robes for one presumed glorious end or another� The very idea this man awaited them made him worry what they�what he was in for.

"Where do you think we�re headed?" Tarl said, catching up to Orlon.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Orlon opened the door and, hand held up to ward off the bright sunlight, walked out.

"I just hope�" Tarl stepped out onto the porch and turning to close the door saw Jujay unmoved. "Um, we�re leaving now," he said, eyeing the servant with disdain.

Jujay blinked, shook his head and noticed the absence of his master. Not giving Tarl the slightest bit of attention, he hurried with slow, shuffling feet across the room and out the door.

"I just hope," Tarl repeated, closing the door, and concluded, "we get back before dark."

"I wouldn�t bet on it if I were you," Orlon said absentmindedly, on his way across the lawn.

Tarl gave him a double-take, his astonishment quickly turning to disbelief. That Orlon was buying into this man�s�this Ty the Parson�s blather after all their discussion about it was just too much for him to believe. With a sigh and shake of his head, he was glad he was coming on this trip to keep an eye on him. Who knew what kind of trouble Orlon might get into without him. He hurried to catch up with his best friend, passing Jujay on the way.

Within three steps thereafter, he skidded to a stop, narrowly avoiding a collision with Orlon.

Despite his raised hand against the sunlight, its brightness made it impossible for Orlon to see clearly what lay ahead. And what lay ahead, who awaited them on Dwarf Road, was of utmost interest to him. He knew whatever he found there would determine his future. If the Party consisted of men like the man who visited Sleen Manibeen, elderly and touched by his years, he would be in for nothing more than an odd but nice trip. If they were not� He gulped.

Step by step his eyes adjusted more and more to the glare, letting him make out more of what awaited them. There were three distinct groups, one large and two small, standing in the road. The two small groups, he presumed, were curious farmers and their wives, and were of no interest to him. So he focused his attention on the large group.

When he reached the lawn�s edge the group came into full clarity�and brought him to a jaw sagging halt. He was so stunned by what he saw he did not even notice Tarl�s awkward stopping behind him. The make up of the Party solidified what he had feared the most. His jaw snapped shut as the churning in his stomach erupted, threatening to send its emptiness up.

Ty the Parson stood before a group of men, and a woman, who fit the Midget�s image of what a Party on a quest would look like. Each, but one, was dressed in warrior garb of one sort or another, swords prominently hung at hips, eyes warily looking up or down the road. The one not so attired was a plump man in white tunic and breeches, standing by a push cart sporting a cooking pot and cabinet of various sized drawers that must contain tools and supplies for the cooking trade.

What settled Orlon�s roiling stomach was catching sight of one warrior in particular.

He was dressed in well polished, heavily battle scarred armor with dome shaped helm. From his broad shoulders hung a limp, blood red cape, and from the worn girdle about his waist hung a fancifully hilted broadsword in bejeweled scabbard on right hip and fancifully hilted shortsword in bejeweled scabbard on left. From beneath the helm flowed curly gray locks, framing a square jawed face of wrinkled handsomeness accentuated by piercing blue eyes and gray handlebar mustache.

But for his advanced years, the man fit the description of a hero from Orlon�s book perfectly, which left him numb. He thought about his doubts of the Buyer�s claims the book was true, of his doubts about his grandfather�s tales� What the shattering of those doubts meant for his future!

Tarl went from a disapproving stare at his best friend�s back to looking over his shoulder at the group of men, and a woman, before them. He was amazed to see they were warriors and startled to find they ranged in age from young to old. And not one resembled Sleen Manibeen�s queer visitor. He shook his head. That this strange, spasmodic man in robes could convince so many apparently clear headed people to join him on this fool�s errand was too much for him to believe.

There was one positive thing he saw in having this Party along on the trip. With this many people the likelihood of getting up a game of dice was pretty good�. There was one bad thing as well. He could not help but worry about the effect they would have on Orlon, who had already showed signs of buying into the reality of what Ty the Parson said this trip was about.

All such concerns evaporated when his eyes fell upon the woman in the group. She was tall and shapely, and dressed in tight white shirt, short black breeches and knee high black boots. About her slim waist was a black belt from which hung a saber. She was a warrior! But he noticed this only in passing as he took her in from her exquisitely beautiful face, framed in long, wavy blonde-brown hair, to rounded shoulders, to her firm breast�s crested by erect nipples pressing into the shirt, to slim waist and shapely hips, to a glimpse of smooth leg between breeches and boots.

Letting his eyes continually run the circuit of her loveliness, his tongue traveled the full circle of his lips, twice. With this woman amongst them, he saw another positive prospect in having the Party along. He just hoped wherever this trip ended up there would be someplace discreet for such a prospect to occur. When his eyes returned to her face he saw her brow crease briefly, then she slowly turned to look his way, smiled. He blushed, looked down and cleared his throat.

She had seen Orlon.

When Jujay finally reached the lawn�s edge he stopped beside Orlon, looked over the group of warriors before them and scoffed. He had seen better. Then he gulped with the realization of what the presence of the warriors meant for their�his future. While looking them over again, his eyes shrank to mere slits. Something was not right here. There were�too few people in this group. And he had it! There were no servants.

This realization nearly made him blurt a "Ha!" Each warrior had a pack on the road next to him, and her, which meant they carried their own supplies. A half smile added wrinkles to his wrinkly face with the thought: My, how the mighty have fallen in stature during this time of peace and tranquility. He looked at the old warrior in well polished, battle scarred armor and a dim glimmer of recognition completed his smile. How the mighty have fallen indeed.

A twitch of shoulders preceded Ty the Parson turning his head to the three standing at the lawn�s edge. His eyes focused on Orlon. "The wounded messenger brings word from the front lines! You finally arrive," he said in a flail of limbs.

Not only did Orlon, Tarl and Jujay jump at the outburst, but to a man, and woman, the Party jumped as well. So too did the ignored two smaller groups. And all eyes turned to the trio, a move that made Orlon blush. He had never been under such scrutiny by so many people in his life.

A moment of silence gripped the scene.

"This," the old warrior said, looking the well dressed Midget up and down, "is the One you spoke of, Parson?"

"The man in the lineup is identified! He is indeed the One of whom I spoke," Ty the Parson said with a wild spin that ended in a wide-legged stance, dripping staff pointing at Orlon. "The vegetarian beast of a bygone age relies on its triple horns for protection while seeking sustenance! He is Orlon, the Pure, purest of the pure, who must rely on the Party to protect him on his journey to vanquish the evil that threatens the world."

"And these fellows are�?" the old warrior indicated those with Orlon with head bobs.

"I," Tarl stepped around Orlon, a hand on his chest and watching the lone warrior woman out of the corner of his eye, "am Tarl Bimbo, the One�s best friend and traveling companion, and he," he jerked a thumb at Jujay, "is our trusty servant, Jujay."

"Servant?" a short warrior with long black hair tied in a ponytail said.

All eyes turned to the servant, leaving Tarl a bit crestfallen. He had hoped to make a big impression on them, on the lone woman amongst them. After all, she did smile at him, did she not?

Unlike his master, Jujay did not blush under such scrutiny. Instead, he grew a shade paler. From the moment Tarl mentioned a visitor who wanted them to accompany him on a trip�a quest he had had an uneasy feeling. When Orlon mentioned the name Ty the Parson he wondered what they�he was in for. A long walk was one thing, but what he read in all those eyes sent a shiver of uncertain fear through him�. An uncertain fear that became icy certainty when he heard the short warrior say:

"Great! We need someone to bear our burdens on this quest."

Orlon opened his mouth to protest�

Tarl put a hand on his shoulder. "He is a servant, buddy," he said softly, "and servants have their duty."

Jujay cast a glare at the plump Midget, then turned his eyes to watch the warriors to a man, and woman, snatch up their supply bundles and approach him. In quick order they stacked and secured their burdens two wide and one atop the other upon his hunched back. The end result left him leaning heavily on his walking staff, braced legs trembling, to support a well secured stack five feet wide and ten feet high.

When he looked into his servant�s tired gray eyes Orlon read behind the obvious strain a sad resignation to his fate. And though it troubled him to see the old man put to such hard labor, he resigned himself to it, too�and thought how ironic it was that after yesterday�s hard labor he had planned to give Jujay the day off.

"The beaver�s mud and stick creation to quickly flowing stream! Our journey, twofold as it is, delayed, grows stagnant." Ty the Parson�s flailing limbs turned him to face down the road, staff pointing. "The bird�s yearly migratory flight! Heart contractions send blood coursing through arteries to sustain life! We must wait no longer to begin our journey to stop the ever growing evil that threatens to end�"

"Um. Excuse me."

All eyes turned up the road to the small group standing there and most eyes focused on he who spoke. The two sets of eyes that did not belonged to Orlon and Tarl, and their reactions to the group of farmers were quite different. Tarl sighed, positive whatever these farmers were up to would result in nothing more than an unneeded delay to this trip, his big chance to break free of this place, beginning. Orlon was simply surprised that his neighboring farmers would interrupt the proceedings.

Further, when his attention did turn to he who spoke Orlon could not believe his eyes. It was Sleen Manibeen! The string bean Midget stood before the farmers, eyes on Ty the Parson, a long fingered hand nervously stroking his thinning gray-brown hair. This made no sense at all to Orlon. What in the whole wide world would make Sleen, who had gone through his own visitor-calling-for-a-quest event, speak up, especially at this point?

A nudge from the farmers sent Sleen stumbling forward a step. "Are�are you," he cleared his throat, tugging at his collar, "going on a trip?"

Tarl looked to the heavens, jaw slack, at a question even his dim intellect deemed stupid.

Orlon caught his jaw before it dropped. It was the other farmers?

Ty the Parson did something that drew all eyes to him. "We journey," he stated flatly.

"Can we�um�come along?"

Tarl�s eyes bugged out as they came down to look at Sleen� Then he took in the group of farmers as a whole, a sly smile creasing his face. A hand gently patted the dice in his pocket. With them along he just might be able to recoup some recent losses.

Orlon�s jaw wagged, but no words came. The question from Sleen�these farmers made no sense to him. In all the talks they had had, especially after Sleen�s odd visitor, the farmers never sounded like they wanted to travel anywhere, ever. Why now?

After a quick head count, five farmers, Ty the Parson added it to the nine members of the Party who had accompanied him here, and a smile played at his lips.

"Wolf packs gather to hunt food! Bees swarm in dense clouds to protect the hive! The more to join, I, Ty, the Parson, and the Party to protect Orlon, the Pure, purest of the pure, on his twofold quest, first to obtain the Holy Pike and second, to use it to save us all from the ever growing evil that threatens to envelop the world, the better."

The farmers looked from him to Orlon and back again, and back again.

"Yes, I think," Orlon answered their questioning eyes.

"The wind blows ever onward! Moss gathers about the embedded stone! Time continues unabated, never to be recaptured. Our journey grows stagnant when it should be rolling onward," Ty the Parson�s limbs flailed dramatically. "Let us begin." In a wild spin, he turned down the road, staff pointing�and he started down the road at a fair clip.

To a man, and woman, the Party hitched their sword belts and followed him.

"Here we go," Tarl said, rubbing his hands together, as he and his best friend started after them. Orlon�s response to the quest�s beginning was relatively silent. He gulped.

Jujay fell in right behind them, for the first couple of steps, struggling as he was under the weight of his burden.

There was a moment�s hesitation with the farmers, murmurs of uncertainty between them as to whether they should go, if they were, in fact, invited to go. Sleen quieted them with a harsh word, followed by a murmured statement that made them frown, look at each other, then give him a shrug and a nod. Sleen looked quite pleased with himself, and they all turned to wave farewell to their wives before taking off after the verbose man in robes, the Party and their two young neighbor farmers.

Watching their husbands walk away, the group of wives moved into the road. Concern and anger played across their faces. They could not believe their husbands would even consider such a foolhardy thing as taking a trip at this time of the planting season.

"I just hope they�re back before dark," one said.

Within a short distance the early morning travelers adjusted their grouping a bit. Ty the Parson remained in the lead, the Party, to a man, close behind him, followed by Orlon and Tarl, and the woman, who had wordlessly dropped back to join the two, behind which came Jujay, leading the farmers.

The servant was grateful for the sunny day, a soft breeze blowing through now and again to take the edge off the growing heat. It was the warmth of the day that kept his aged limbs limber. But there was nothing to alleviate the pain that coursed through his already pain-racked body. Pain caused by the stack of supplies he carried, pain that grew excruciating every time he lifted his walking staff to advance it.

His worry over what he was in for if this so-called trip was a quest had proven to be far worse than he imagined�all thanks to Tarl Bimbo�s bravado. He shot the plump Midget a derisive glare and sighed. He had to accept his fate nonetheless. What else could a servant do? When he looked at Orlon, concern filled his tired gray eyes. Considering how his own fate turned out, he wondered how much worse his master�s might be, if his master was even aware of it.

Orlon walked next to the woman, oblivious to her presence. Nor was he aware of Tarl who walked on the other side of her, letting his eyes take in her beauty top to bottom again and again and again� Now that they were actually on this quest his mind was preoccupied by what it meant for him. He simply could not believe how his life had been turned upside-down.

Despite his earlier doubts, he had no choice but to admit it was true. It was all true. His Grandfather�s story about seeing soldiers in his own youth, the book he was reading, all true. And therefore, what Ty the Parson said last night as well as this morning must be true. A simple farmer�he�had become the hoped for savior of the world! The question was: Was he up to such a perilous task? A trickle of sweat ran down his cheek, and that put an end to his desire to find the answer to that question.

What he needed was some kind of diversion to take his mind off�everything.

That was when he not only took in the beautiful day, but the quickly passing surroundings. He had not been down this way since he was a child running around and playing games with Tarl and other children. A smile touched his lips. What better diversion was there than reminiscing?

He saw the Fromm farm and remembered childhood fears of old Chaad Fromm who disliked children in general. How the evil eyed little man used to bellow at them to "stay off�n my prop�ty." And he remembered the game of hide-and-go-seek when Tarl convinced him to hide in the Fromm wheat bin, assuring him no one would ever find him there, before scurrying off to hide elsewhere. How he had been found�by Chaad Fromm and got into real trouble for it.

His eyes darted across the road, focused on the Boncrib farm, and he smiled. The Boncribs were such a sweet young couple whose love for children radiated with their every word and action toward them. He thought of Marji Boncrib�s beautiful smile, her motherly tone, that delightful flowery scent that floated about her� How Tarl had played that nasty trick of leaving a burning bag of manure on their porch and knocking on the door, leaving him to somehow take the blame for it.

With a deep sigh, he closed his eyes, tried to shake off the unwanted feeling bubbling up within him. To swap his worries for outright anger was not a good thing to do.

Even so, when he opened his eyes they went straight to Tarl. His best friend flinched, then turned to meet him eye to eye�and he frowned. But his curiosity over Orlon�s venomous stare quickly evaporated, and he thumbed at the woman, mouthing, "Isn�t she a babe?" Orlon rolled his eyes and they landed on the woman in question, and Tarl�s past misdeeds were forgotten.

Involuntarily, his eyes looked the shapely woman up and down and up, stopped at her firm breast, erect nipples pressing into her tight white shirt. His eyes went wide, jumped to her exquisite face framed in long, wavy blonde-brown hair. There was no denying Tarl�s assertion: She was a babe�beautiful. And he realized something else. She was a potential wealth of knowledge he could tap into to learn about this quest, and other things. All he needed to do was get the ball rolling.

"But�how?" he said softly, eyes dropping to the road before him.

"Excuse me?"

Hearing her lilting voice drew his eyes up to meet, be captured by her wanting brown eyes. He felt the heat of embarrassment crawl up his cheeks, and to his utmost astonishment the answer to his question popped into his mind. All he needed to do was introduce himself and the ball would start rolling just fine. That was all. Just introduce himself�. He tugged his vest straight, ran a hand through his hair and swallowed.

"H-hello," he offered her his hand. "I am Orlon."

"The Pure, I know," she said and gently shook his hand. "I am Sharna of Dwarfton, warrior, wanderer of the world�hunter of men, and self proclaimed guardian of the One!"

Tarl gave her a double-take. She had not even noticed him from the beginning, and the whole time he thought she had, and understandably so in his opinion, she had had eyes�a luscious smile only for Orlon. He shook his head, unable to fathom how she could pick such a na�ve man like his best friend over a more worldly, experienced man like himself.

Orlon�s reaction to her introduction came twofold. He, too, gave her a double-take and he blushed at her final proclamation. But the latter reaction faded when the cause for the former took over his mind. She actually mentioned the name of a kingdom in his book. Yet another fact revealed that solidified the Buyer�s claim that the book was true.

"Dwarfton," he breathed.

"Yes," she said, brow knit. "It is the place of my birth. Do you know of it?"

Though his ears heard her question, he was so lost in thought he did not notice it. He had thought this woman could be a wealth of knowledge to tap about this quest, and other things. To learn she came from a kingdom from his book, which likely meant she had a richer wealth of knowledge than he ever dreamed possible, set his mind to reeling�. And when it stopped he thought of other things he would like to know�one specific thing he desperately wished to know about from the moment he laid eyes on the Party Ty the Parson brought with him.

"Do you know that man?" he pointed at the old warrior, who walked at the head of the Party, a pace behind the Parson.

"I do, though not personally," she said. "He is Grash by name, a warrior�hero of many a war and quest dating back many a year, an age, you might say, but most notably as a hero of a war fought not long ago, if generations can be considered not long ago."

"The Dacron Wars," he said absentmindedly.

Astonishment flooded her eyes as she looked at the well dressed Midget. "You�you know of this?" she said.

"Only what I have read in a book," he said with a smile.

Her astonishment was washed away by admiration. "You are a well read man then," she said.

"Oh, I�ve read a book or two in my time," he said with a nonchalant flip of a hand.

Tarl looked at him in utter disbelief. He had never seen Orlon be anything more than nervous, bashful�a babbling fool when confronted by a woman. When�how did Orlon become such a smooth operator in the women department?

"Quite the knowledgeable man you must be," she put words to her opinion of him.

"Of, I don�t know that much really," he laughed softly as he spoke.

"Well, perhaps you know enough to answer something for me."

"I�I�ll try," he said.

"We came to this farm community on Dwarf Road," she said, "yet I look around me and all I see are Midgets. Can you explain this anomaly?"

A deluge of overheard conversations, some quite heated, between farmers and farmers and passersby over that very question filled his mind. There were two basic theories of how the anomaly came to be. The first was simple: The gods had seen fit to make it so, period. The second stated that Dwarves in search of a life beyond the caves and tunnels where Dwarves are normally found settled the farm community and over time naturally grew in stature. In other words, they evolved due to the change in their environment. He puzzled over how to approach the subject, had it! He hoped.

Dramatically lifting a finger, he opened his mouth to reply�

Sharna silenced him with a firm hand on his shoulder, bringing them to a halt.

Tarl stumbled to a stop two steps ahead, looked back questioningly.

Orlon looked at her questioningly, followed her eyes to see those ahead of them had come to a stop. And he questioned why. Then he realized where they were, at the western end to the farm community, and his nape hairs stirred at the memory of what was there�. But by the turn of their heads they were looking north, which made him frown as what raised his fear was located on the south side of the road. He looked to the north and could not believe his eyes.

To the north of the road was a field of calf high grass, a breeze sending ripples along its surface like waves on a lake, and wading through it was a man. He was of average height, dressed in hooded gray robes and carried a staff his height and a foot. By the angle of his trajectory he would walk right up to them.

They waited.

"Who�?" Tarl started but Sharna shushed him.

Several minutes they waited and watched him casually stroll across the field. When he finally reached them his route had been so accurate he stopped directly in front of Ty the Parson. Up close, his staff was quite the eye catcher. Made of tan wood, it consisted of a smooth shaft of no more than an inch in diameter, topped by a perfectly spherical ball, its surface so highly polished it caught yet oddly did not blindingly reflect the sunlight.

"Ho," the man boomed a greeting, reaching up to pull back his hood. The freckly, pimple marked face framed in shoulder length oily brown hair revealed him not to be a man at all. He was at best a teenage boy.

"Ho," Ty the Parson returned the greeting with a twitch of his shoulders�and went into full limb flailing display, saying, "The lawyer seeks truth through endless questions! Bubbles rise to the water�s surface! Where does your journey take you?"

"That way," the boy pointed the way they had come. "Where go you?"

"The muscle-bound brute keeps the scrawny man away from lovely ladies sunbathing on the beach! Friends offer said scrawny man succor as he seeks a way to defeat said muscle-bound brute! Evil, growing ever stronger, seeks to shun all that is good in the world. I, Ty, the Parson, and the Party offer protection to the One as he seeks the instrument needed to defeat said evil." Ty the Parson performed a wild spin to point down the road in the opposite direction, stating flatly, "That way."

The boy looked the way indicated, which nearly corresponded to the way he had come, and back the way he intended to go, and met Ty the Parson eye to eye.

"I, Rae, will journey with you," he said.

"The overly promiscuous couple marvel at their ever growing brood! As our journey to save the world progresses through time and space so grows our number to protect the One, and I, Ty, the Parson say the more the better. Let our journey�"

"Um. Excuse me."

All eyes turned to the group of farmers who crowded behind Sleen Manibeen, who tugged at his collar. The moment held for two more collar tugs. A shove from the farmers sent him stumbling forward a step, to bring himself up to proper posture and tug at his collar yet again, stretching his neck to the left then right. He plastered a smile on his face and said:

"We have�um�enjoyed this walk down the road with you. Um. Are we going back now?"

"The river begins its long, winding overland wondering at tiny rock opening! The journey of I, Ty, the Parson, the Party and Orlon, the Pure, to vanquish the ever growing evil just begins."

They looked from him to Orlon and back again, and back again.

"No," Orlon said.

"Oh."

With that, the farmers turned and headed back to hearth and home.

"We really traveled a good distance," one farmer murmured. "If we�d have gone much further we might not have made it back before dark."

Watching the farmers leave gave Orlon and Tarl mixed feelings. Tarl was disappointed to see a sure thing at getting up a dice game walk away, and he was pleased to hear they were continuing this trip, giving him the chance to see what lie beyond the farm community�. He also had a creepy feeling this trip might actually be a quest. Orlon hated to see them go and was glad to see it as well. To have more familiar faces along than his best friend and servant had been comforting. Thought of the dangers they might have faced had they continued on this quest was troubling.

"The land, time itself ever advances with the planet�s rotation on axis! So must we."

And so the Parson and the Party and the Midgets and the servant did�for a single step. What stopped them was a loud creak from south of the road. Every eye turned to the south and all but two sets of those eyes were filled with curiosity. The two sets of eyes belonged to Orlon and Tarl, and they were filled with terror! They knew well the house�the old Winslo place�from which that creak had come, and they knew the story about it.

The Winslos were amongst the settlers who founded the farm community on Dwarf Road. They were a young couple, happy and friendly, and a bit na�ve, which was said to be the reason they built their dwelling so close to Dark Forest. At the time, the forest�s true evil nature was not known, but the oddity of it was enough to make the settlers fear it. Not so the Winslos, however, who found the forest tranquil in its utter silence.

With little help from their neighbors, they built themselves a pleasant cottage, the forest bordering its west and south sides, and tilled their fields to the east. And they lived happily there, though perhaps a little lonely, for a number of years, adding three children, two boys and a girl, to their family.

Then out of the blue, just five years after their last child was born, they disappeared.

No one knew what happened to them, nor could anyone hazard a guess as to where�how they had gone. And no one dared investigate why, as they found the doors to the house bolted tight and all the windows boarded over. The mystery of it created unease amongst the people, and with that unease came the inevitable rumors. Some said they were spirited away by demons of Dark Ages long ago. Others said creatures of the forest took them�

Whatever the truth, the cottage was shunned by the community, and as the years passed, the narrative that claimed the place was haunted grew into "reality." As the years passed, the old Winslo place became a curiosity for the children of the community.

A chill snaked up Orlon�s spine with the memory of the time Tarl dared him to touch it. How though filled with the fears of a nine-year-old boy he crept across the overgrown lawn and just as he was reaching out a finger to do so he was scared witless by an eerie moaning he later suspected was of Tarl�s doing, but could never prove it. Anger over this childhood prank welled up within him, but quickly subsided when another load creak brought him back to the here and now.

Framed on two sides by Dark Forest, the cottage remained as it had been all those years ago, and all those years had taken its toll. The white walls were gray with dust, stained brown along the bottom, and the thatched roof had grayed with age, sunken in here and there. Even the chimney could not escape time and the elements, leaning awkwardly now. The boards over the windows were gray and warped, yet the windows beneath remained unbroken. The door, though its paint faded, was solid in its frame. And it was here that every eye focused.

The door jiggled, pushed out and slammed back again and again, emitting puffs of dust, but its bolt held firm. A pause followed, then the jiggling, the pushing out and slamming back was repeated with the same end result. Another pause followed before the same actions were repeated a third time to end with the same result.

Orlon stepped back and a little behind the woman who had self-proclaimed herself to be "guardian of the One." Without conscious thought, he let his hand reach up to rest on the belt about her waist. She smiled at this. Seeing his opportunity, Tarl also stepped back and a little behind her, let a quivering hand brush against the smooth bare spot of her leg between breeches and boots. She frowned at this.

"The scout ant to the unattended picnic basket! Marcol, investigate."

At this command, the short warrior with a ponytail stepped forward to stand by Ty the Parson. And for the first time Orlon took account of the man who had caused his servant such undue misery. No more than five feet six inches in height, he was compactly muscled, dressed in crimson leather vest, black leather breeches and high strap sandals, and from the girdle about his waist hung a shortsword and three daggers. The midget was not overly impressed.

Oh, there was no denying his physique and dress designated him a warrior, and the scars on his arms and face showed combat experience. Even the set expression of his face, his smoldering black eyes showed he had the intensity of a warrior. Yet Orlon did not understand why he remained by the Parson instead of following through on the command. Could he be frightened?

The answer to his question came in a simple gesture and flamboyant response. Marcol held out a hand and Ty the Parson produced a bulging money pouch the same way he had produced the burning�object he cast in the fireplace, dropping it into the waiting hand. Marcol was a mercenary!

What happened next was�magic. The mercenary brought his hand back, somehow spiriting away the money pouch, on the way to drawing his shortsword.

Crouched, shortsword at the ready, he advanced to the overgrown, weed infested lawn�s edge, eyes seeking out the easiest way across it. The dirt path that led to the front door, though so overgrown with grass and weeds it was barely discernible, was by all evidence it. He looked to the heavens, and he started down the path cautiously, keeping an eye on his objective. The door continued its jiggling and dust cloud puffing outs and ins between pauses.

Step by step thorny weeds caught at his bare flesh as if attempting to hold him back, only to be torn free, leaving behind bloody scratches. He paid it no mind. All he was concerned with was that door, what he had been paid to investigate�. His final step to reach his objective consisted of tearing free of the thorny weeds last desperate attempt to stop him. He came to a crouched stance, on the balls of his feet, before the door and looked back at the Party, a sneer on his face.

When he turned back he was met by a billowing cloud of dust. He coughed. The smoldering in his eyes intensified, his sneer grew grim. He reached up, tossed back his ponytail� Before it hit his back, he leaped feet first at the door, ripping it from its bolt and hinges. Man and door and whatever was trying to open it flew into the house, landing on a sheet covered sofa, he flying over it.

"Ha ha," Marcol bellowed in triumph, hitting the floor beyond in a roll that brought him to his feet. He bound forward, casting aside the door, shortsword held high, ready to strike death�and he froze.

A cute, tow-headed boy of no more than six years old lay on the sofa, looking up at him with puppy dog eyes. He was dressed in rags that looked once to be nice clothes, a handkerchief, obviously a gag, tied around his head, worked down to his chin. Gnawed through ropes encircled his wrists and a rope encircled one ankle, a length trailing from it off onto the floor. The scene held for a minute�two before the boy half smiled, half frowned and said:

"I am Richtichtiare."

Marcol blinked, and all his intensity and grimness and triumph evaporated. Lowering his shortsword, he took in a deep breath, let it seep out.

"I," he finally got out after a half dozen jaw wags, "am sorry."

"Yes, you are."

Marcol gave the boy a double-take.

Ty the Parson, the Party, the Midgets and the servant gave the boy a double-take.

"The name fits," Richtichtiare stood and looked the mercenary up and down. "I�m just glad I wasn�t responsible for your mother�s pregnancy�at least in your case." He wiped his brow, looked him up and down once more. "Of course, I am sure you and your father were close�" he grabbed his butt with both hands "� real close, if you know what I mean."

And thus began an endless stream of insults and innuendoes cast upon the mercenary by the boy.

"Shut up, "Marcol screamed to no avail.

Tarl tugged on Orlon�s coat sleeve, not taking his eyes off the boy. "You don�t think he�s a Winslo, do you?" he said.

"He�s awful young to be a Winslo," Orlon replied, eyeing the boy curiously. "The Winslos were amongst the settlers of Dwarf Road and that happened a long time ago. If he was a Winslo he would have to be ancient, I�d think� What I would like to know is why anyone would tie him up and leave him in an abandoned building like that."

"Just listen to him," Sharna cut into their conversation. "He�s a loudmouthed brat. Just imagine having to listen to that day in and day out. If I had to, I�d have tied him up and left him, too. Wouldn�t you?"

"I would," Tarl quickly agreed with her.

Orlon frowned at his best friend and guardian, and said, "But he�s just a child�and he can�t keep that up forever. I mean, surely he�s got to stop sometime."

"Don�t bet on it," Sharna said.

"What do you mean?" Orlon said, utterly confused.

"What I mean is that is not a child," she said. "He�s a Grumpling, and Grumplings never shut up once you get them started."

"A Grumpling," the two Midgets said in unison. "What is that?"

"They were a pesky people who roamed the world years�ages ago," she said. "Legend has it they would latch on to any unsuspecting person who showed them the slightest kindness, or as in this case, ran into them in some untoward way and apologized, and follow that person, degrading them every minute of all the days thereafter. Never letting up, never giving quarter, never shutting up. Many times these�pests would drive a person�victim to the brink, to suicide.

"Legend has it the people eventually rose up to stop them, forming Death Parties to hunt them down wherever they might be. Never letting up, never giving quarter, never showing mercy." She watched the boy circling the mercenary, endlessly cutting him down, and sighed. "Obviously the belief the Grumplings had been totally eradicated was untrue, as we now bear witness."

"But if Grumblings are of legend and legends are old," Orlon said, bringing a finger to his chin, "then why is he a boy and not an old man?"

"He is a boy because Grumblings are boys," she said and as he opened his mouth to question this statement, quickly added, "They never grow up physically, or mentally for that matter. Oh, they can appear to be six years old, seven years old, an eight-, nine-, or ten-year-old, but they are forever boys� They simply are what they are."

"And what they are is something I hoped never to see again," Grash cut in. "The world was a far better place, better populated as well, when those little fiends were dealt with." He took the stance of a man ready to orate, one hand fisted on hip, the other twirling an end of his handlebar mustache. "Ah, I remember those days well. I, a young soldier in training, being assigned to one of the clean-up squads formed after the main work of the Death Parties had come to a close. They had done a good job, those Death Parties, but there were still a few�"

"The river escapes through tiny fissures in dams that have restrained its flow for time untold! We must escape this delay. Our journey must continue."

With that, Ty the Parson started down the road once more, followed by most of the Party.

Grash stood his ground, nonplussed at the interruption to his narrative, something he clearly liked giving whenever possible. Then he realized something else he liked was leaving him behind. The Party was walking away without his leadership at its head. That just would not do. He cleared his throat, adjusted his swords and, for a man of his age, took off at a swift clip to retake his "proper position" amongst them.

Orlon did not appreciate the interruption of Grash�s story one bit, too. There was nothing more thrilling to him than hearing an adventure of a character in his book told by that character� It was Sharna�s gentle push that sent him, with her close behind, after his fellow journeymen.

Close on their heels came Tarl, followed by Jujay. The former was glad to see the trip start again, as it was now taking him beyond the farm community�s boundary for the first time ever, and the latter was simply thankful to be moving again. If they would have remained stationary one minute longer, the servant was certain he would have collapsed under the weight of his burden.

Marcol slammed his shortsword back into its scabbard, planted his hands over his ears and stomped across the thorny weed filled lawn, Richtichtiare hot on his heels.

"Ooh, look out, ladies," the Grumpling said, hands on cheeks. "Just look at the swivel of those hips, will you. He�s definitely competition to catch a man�s eye, he is," he grabbed his butt with both hands, "and other things, if you get my meaning."

While Ty the Parson�s hurried pace through the farm community had been of little concern, his swiftness beyond it was much appreciated by Orlon, and Tarl. Dark Forest bordered the south side of Dwarf Road to its turn north and along its west side a fair piece up from there. The forest�s true evil, learned from rumors and stories, all fortified by the mysterious disappearance of the Winslos, had become "legend."

The Buyer�travelers, in general, were always seen to hug the north side of the road until entering the community. A fact that explained why Orlon worked his way around to walk on Sharna�s right ride and Tarl abandoned his desire to be near her, slipping nonchalantly around to walk on his best friend�s right side. Both felt safer with her between them and the forest. Though she did not care a bit about Tarl, she was glad to see Orlon wished her to provide protection for him.

Orlon eyed the Party curiously. To a man, they walked straight down the middle of the road, acting as if they did not have a care in the world. Yet it was plainly obvious to him they kept a wary eye on the forest. What else would explain the slight turn of their heads to the south every couple of steps?

Just as they rounded the turn north a firm feminine hand on his shoulder brought Orlon to a halt, oblivious of Tarl�s stumbling stop a couple of steps ahead.

Brow furrowed, Orlon looked from the stopped Party to Sharna and back again. This sudden stop set his nape hairs on end, drew his eyes, no matter how hard he tried to stop them, to the forest. Its surrounding trees were so tightly bunched together, their limbs intertwined yet not one hanging over the road, they made a glimpse within impossible, nor could any sound from within escape them. He scratched his head. With no evident danger coming from the forest, or, to be totally honest, no visible way for danger to come from it, he was left to wonder why�

"Who," Tarl said, eyes wide, "is that?"

Orlon looked at his best friend, watched him circle his lips with his tongue, and followed his wide eyes to answer his unspoken question: Who is who? And when he saw the answer he rolled his eyes in understanding of Tarl�s reaction.

Standing before a large green tent was a woman, and even fifteen feet away he could see that she was beautiful. She stood five feet four inches tall, her exquisitely shaped body housed in a red blouse with a neckline that dipped generously to reveal her ample cleavage and a ground length black skirt, a hip high slit revealing an attractive leg and petite foot. Framed in curly black hair, her oval face bore an inviting, seductive expression�yet he detected sadness there, too.

"H-hu-hu-h-h-hello!"

All eyes, but Tarl�s, shifted to the three people approaching them.

They walked down the center of the road, but only one showed an air of bravado, while keeping a wary eye on Dark Forest. He was tall and lanky, dressed in copper chainmail vest with gray undershirt, breeches and boots, a broadsword at hip and supply bundle slung over shoulder. The other two looked to be dim witted thirteen-year-old boys, dressed in brown tunics, breeches and boots, carrying crossbows, with overfilled bolt quiver at left hip and shortsword at right.

"The child wanders away from busily shopping mother! I, Ty, the Parson, and the Party, feared you three were lost, never to be found," Ty the Parson said with a flailing of limbs that somehow exuded deep concern.

"S-su-su-s-s-sorry abu-abu-about th-th-that," the man said, coming to a stop before him. "W-wu-wu-w-w-we hu-h-h-hu-had a-a l-lu-lu-l-little t-tru-t-t-tru-trouble f-fu-fu-f-finding ou-ou-our w-wu-wu-way." He bobbed his short brown haired head at his companions, who smiled stupidly.

"Hey," the bushy brown haired boy to his left said, frowning. "We�d've made it here in plenty of time if Telluspett hadn�t convinced Tarftenrott and me to take that left path. That threw our journey all out of whack."\`

"Don�t go trying to lay all the blame on me, Chitintiare," the flowing raven haired boy to his right said, frowning, too. "If you hadn�t convinced us to go north instead of south when we reached this here road�"

"S-su-su-s-s-see wu-wu-what I-I�ve h-h-hu-had t-tu-tu-to d-du-du-d-deal w-wu-wu-with," Tarftenrott butted in to cut off yet another argument he knew was coming between them, but looking from one to the other could not leave it there, saying, "I-I d-du-du-d-don�t s-su-su-s-s-see wu-wu-why w-wu-wu-w-we n-nu-nu-needed tu-tu-to b-bu-bu-b-bring a-a-along thu-thu-these d-du-du-d-d-Dorks a-a-anyway."

Eyes on the two blank faced boys, Orlon felt the confusion written on Tarftenrott�s rather ordinary looking face. Every other member of the Party, even the cook, made sense to him. By Ty the Parson�s own verbose reckoning this journey�this quest was not only going to be dangerous, but would grow ever more dangerous as time passed, as this Tibrarni�whatever grew ever more powerful. Warriors were a safeguard, and the cook guaranteed they were fed. So what would they need these two dullards, armed though they were, for?

"The half empty tea glass reacted to by passing waitress! The craftsman secures another brick to the fortress wall! The Party is nearly complete. I, Ty, the Parson, am overjoyed to see those brought here to protect the One grow in strength as the first part of our twofold quest grows ever nearer its conclusion, though far we must go, and will go as the second part unfolds before us."

Orlon�s eyes shifted to the Parson just as his flailing limbs grew calm, for the nonce, and he frowned. The Party was not complete, even with the new arrivals? That left him wondering who else might be awaiting them�. His mind turned to the "protection" the Party was meant to give him, and he gulped. He giggled with the thought of who he had been protected from thus far, eyes turning to Richtichtiare who stood, arms akimbo, looking Marcol up and down, and saying:

"With your incredible stature you must stand head and shoulders above your fellows�in the Lady�s Knitting Guild." He brought a finger to his chin, eyeing him up and down critically. "Then again�"

"The spotted feline bounds after the horned leaper! Our quest must make haste."

And so it did�for exactly fifteen feet!

This time the sudden stop did not catch Orlon off-guard, though it did his best friend who stumbled to a stop a couple of steps ahead, again. Orlon paid him no notice, as his mind was too wrapped up with the question of what had stopped them�. Then he realized where they had come to a standstill, and his attention turned to the woman standing before the tent.

First thing, he saw something he had not from fifteen feet away. To the left of her was a circle of rocks within which were stacked logs primed to light afire. He shrugged. A campfire did make sense, considering the unusual chill of the night before. His real interest was in the woman whom, he presumed, must be the cause of this new delay. Up close, she was young, no more than twenty five years old, and even more alluring in both pose and expression.

"How they do it is beyond me," Sharna breathed.

Orlon looked at her, was surprised to find such a mixture of emotions�amazement, disgust�pity�on her face. He looked at the Party to see all but three were looking at this mysterious, at least to him, woman in the same way. As for the three, they were young, cocky warriors whose reaction to her reminded him of�

"What�a�babe," Tarl said, fingers flexing.

He glanced at the pudgy Midget and looked to the heavens.

"The coin is flipped! One of two choices must be made, quickly," Ty the Parson said, arms and legs flying about.

All eyes focused on him.

"The lone eye witness is called forth to testify! The team�s captain has authority over the next play! There is only one amongst us who can make this choice. I, Ty, the Parson, speak of the One. Orlon, the Pure, purest of the pure, step forward to see your options."

"Huh?" Orlon said.

"Come," Sharna placed a hand on his back and urged him forward.

Tarl followed, curious as to what was up.

Walking through the crowd of warriors colored Orlon�s cheek a muted pink. Though he kept his eyes on the ground before him, he felt their eyes, to a man, on him, and it was the expectancy he knew was within their eyes that worried him. As if it was not bad enough the fate of the world had been placed on his shoulders, he was now expected to make key decisions on the quest itself�. He wondered what kind of choice he was expected to make.

A firm feminine hand on his shoulder stopped him, and he looked up to find he stood right in front of Ty the Parson. Their eyes met�briefly.

"The mighty python from the tip of its snout to its tail! The green garden snake from the tip of its snout to tip of its tail! Two directions we can take," Ty the Parson said in a flail of limbs that led to a wild spin, ending in a wide-legged stance, back to Midget, staff pointing on down the road. "The road around the forest. Long. Stealing away from us precious time never to be regained. Time lost to us forever at who knows what cost."

Orlon looked down the road. The road Y�ed at the forest�s edge fifteen feet ahead, sending another road looping around it.

"Or the path," another wild spin turned him to the forest, staff pointing at a narrow split in its wall of trees. "Shorter. Leaving before us precious time. Needed time to reach the first of our two goals, obtaining the Holy Pike, and to reach our second goal, wherein the One will use said weapon to defeat the evil seeking to take over our world."

When he saw the split between the trees Orlon felt a chill stiffen his muscles, goose pimples sprout all over his flesh. To see for the first time an opening into and out of Dark Forest� And to think just moments ago he had started to question the truth of the forest�s evil outreach, taking into account its presumed impenetrable "wall" of trees. Now he understood why travelers stuck to the opposite side of the road, and yet looking within he saw no looming evil seeking to escape the forest�s dark confines. All he saw was a path that disappeared into that darkness.

A final wild spin turned the Parson back to him, staff bobbing just inches from his round, friendly face. "The choice," he stated flatly, "is yours."

Orlon gulped. He looked down the road. It was a nice, sunny day and to travel that way looked quite inviting. He looked down the path. It appeared to be clear and open, fading into the darkness as any path would through dense tree cover. What Ty the Parson harped as most important in his decision pressed on his mind: time. The road would take time, the path less time. But the path went through the proclaimed evil forest. He gulped again. Which should he choose?

"I know the decision is yours, purest of the pure," Tarl whispered in his ear, "but if I were you, I�d choose the road. You know what awaits us if we enter that�forest, buddy. Trouble, that�s what. Nothing�but�trouble."

"If it was up to me," Grash sniffed, twisting an end of his mustache, "I would choose the path."

"Aye, the shorter the better," Marcol said.

"Funny," Richtichtiare said, "that sounds like something you�d tell your girlfriend."

With a sigh, Orlon glanced down the road before taking a closer look at the path. While it had looked clear and open at a cursory look, a closer look revealed something that sent the goose-pimply chill revisiting his flesh. Rows of thorn bushes, their limbs bent and twisted and dangerous looking, lined both sides of it. They made that direction look uninviting. Still, he could see if they stayed true to the path the thorny branches, none of which obstructed it, could be avoided.

"I choose�" he said absentmindedly.

His eyes bore more deeply into the forest�s depths, only to be thwarted by its darkness. He cocked an ear in hopes of hearing any sound from within it. And he heard�nothing. No sinister laughter from unseen demons, no snarls of salivating carnivores, no caws of flesh eating birds, no hiss of poisonous reptiles� Yet he did not find this discovery calming. To him the silence was far more terrifying in its uncertainty than any sound he might have heard.

"I choose�" he repeated just as absentmindedly.

Into his mind appeared the Party, warriors to a man, and woman, armed and sworn to protect him on this quest. The image wavered, grew unfocused and in its place, a tall, shapely and beautiful woman with long, wavy blonde-brown hair. The saber at her hip reassured him she meant what she proclaimed about being his guardian. A sense of security nearly calmed his nerves, as one concern remained. Would protection of him include Tarl and Jujay�s safety? Surely it would. He hoped.

"I choose," he brought his eyes to an expectantly waiting Ty the Parson, "the path."

Tarl gave him a double-take. "You wha�?" he gasped.

"It�s the shorter way," he said with a shrug. "And we are pressed for time, Tarl."

Tarl�s jaw went slack, and he looked his best friend up and down. There was no denying he had begun to think this trip just might be a quest himself, but Orlon had obviously bought into it fully. His jaw snapped shut with the realization Orlon used Ty the Parson�s urge for hurrying on him as he had used it in reverse about breakfast. But it was different! While Orlon used it to cover for a choice that would lead them into grave danger, the worst result of his covering for eating his best friend�s breakfast would be Orlon getting really hungry.

"The flipped coin is called! Our direction is chosen. The shorter it will be. Time will be saved to ensure the success of our quest." Ty the Parson grew still but for his eyes which took in all present with a wild sweep left to right, right to left. A leap straight up led him to a limb flailing escapade, saying, "The clock�s hands point skyward in unison! It is midday. The bell is rung to call in the farmhands! We will pause here for lunch."

Orlon looked to the sun to find it was midday�and realized just how empty his stomach was.

The Party moved into the field to prepare for mealtime, which included stripping Jujay of his burden supply bundle by supply bundle. The servant was thankful for this, his hunched stature becoming less per bundle removed until he stood hunched normally. Still, he continued to lean heavily on his walking staff, the exertion of carrying all those supplies having worn him out.

His master was relieved to see this happen for him, as well as concerned over his tired look. He gave him a reassuring smile, wanting to go speak with him, but when Sharna returned with her bundle she turned him around and guided him into the field. He looked back at Jujay, shrugged.

"The path," Tarl muttered to himself, following them. "I can�t believe he chose the path."

Sharna led him through the dispersing members of the Party to a hefty bush ten feet from the road. They took a seat before it, she laying her bundle next to herself. Tarl stood nearby, eyes on the ground, shaking his head at Orlon�s decision. All around them the Party, but for two, settled down in a haphazard semicircle.

"I hope Roxx fixes a tasty lunch," Sharna said.

"Lunch," Tarl said, looking up�and raised a finger in the air, adding, "I packed for that."

With that, he weaved his way through the Party and hurried on to Jujay, who had found a place to rest on the field�s edge not far from where he stood in the road. Tarl snatched the carryall from around his neck without acknowledging him at all and headed back. The servant did not appreciate his rudeness, but was thankful to have the last bit of his burden removed.

"I�m glad I thought of this," Tarl said, flopping down before them and unstrapping the bags' flaps.

"You�re not the only one who thought of it," Orlon pointed.

Following his pointing finger, Tarl espied a plump man with push cart he had not noticed before. He watched him, with the assistance of the stuttering newcomer, set up a cooking pot over a pile of logs in a circle of rocks. While the stutterer lit the logs, the man moved to the cart and pulled a hat from a drawer, popped it on his head. The head gear, white like the man�s clothing, reminded him of a chimney emitting a puff of smoke. He blinked. The man was a chef.

His attention was drawn to the way the two talked�the patience the chef had with his friend�s speech impediment. Friends did not fit them. It was obvious they were best friends� He thought of his own best friend, his quick thinking to pack a simple lunch, and how silly, in comparison to a chef�s meal, that looked now.

"Well, it seemed like a good idea," he said, crestfallen.

"Yes," Orlon piped up, not liking his best friend�s disappointment and getting an urging from his empty stomach, "yes, it was a good idea."

Tarl looked up, downturned lips trembling. "You think?" he said.

"Sure," Orlon said, wiping his moist lips. "I mean, how were you to know the Party would include a cook. How were you to know just how big a Party it would be? You didn�t pack enough for everyone, but I�m sure with a cook preparing them a tasty meal they won�t mind if we indulge. We�" he flinched with a stomach spasm "�we can use your lunch�Cheese sandwiches, wasn�t it?�as an appetizer.

"Yes, a cheese sandwich sounds just right for an appetizer to�" He sniffed the air, twice. "To a bowl of vegetable soup."

"Sounds good to me, too, buddy," Tarl said, smiling. "I�ll have them ready in a jiffy."

He carefully removed the cloth wrapped loaf of bread from the carryall and placed it before him, unwrapped the cloth to make a work area. Next, he pulled out the red wax covered cheese, placing it beside the bread. A moment passed. His eyes went from the bread to the cheese and back again, and back again. His hands patted his pockets, did so again and again. And he blushed with the realization of the one thing he forgot to pack.

"Does anyone have a kni�" he started to ask.

In the wink of an eye, Sharna drew a dagger from her boot and offered it to him.

"�knife?" he gulped, bulging eyes on the well honed blade held in palm, its ivory handle at the tip of his nose.

What he desperately wanted at that moment was a long pull on the bottle of spirits he had brought. Instead, he uttered a barely audible thanks, took the dagger in a shaky hand, wiped it off with a corner of the towel and began to make the sandwiches.

Orlon was experiencing something he had never experienced before. He was stuffed! Two cheese sandwiches and a healthy bowl of Roxx�s vegetable soup were the culprits. While he found it a better feeling than an empty stomach, it was not the best of feelings. He subdued a belch and rubbed his bloated belly, and decided he needed to do something to alleviate the problem. And he knew exactly what he needed to do.

"I," he said, getting to his feet, "am going to take a little walk."

Concern clouded Sharna�s face. "Is something wrong?" she said.

"Nothing beyond I over ate," he patted his stomach.

"I�m not sure�" she said.

"Don�t worry," Tarl interrupted her, bringing himself to his feet. "I�ll keep an eye on him."

She acquiesced with a bob of her head.

With Tarl at his side, Orlon strolled just beyond the Party and began walking back and forth at a distance of twenty feet between turns. To his relief, Tarl was not in a talkative mood. There was no doubt what he would want to talk about�his choice of the path�and he was not in the mood for that. So the walk was done in silence.

The exercise was having minimal effect on his discomfort, and he realized the continued quest would do him much good.

He made a turn in his walk and stopped, Tarl stumbling to a stop a step ahead. But he did not even notice him, his attention focused on the sun. By its position in the sky he gauged lunch had taken a little over an hour and a half, which meant they had at least five hours of daylight left. That Ty the Parson would let any more time escape them was unthinkable, and he turned his attention to him, finding the Parson standing not far away, eyes darting from the sun to the lazying Party to the forest and back again and back again� The Midget frowned.

"The law examines every angle of a case! A stone dropped into a lake! I, Ty, the Parson, have considered our options for further journeying this day," Ty the Parson said in a flail of limbs. "The burning orb sinks rapidly toward dusk. We will make camp and rest for the night, and cross the forest tomorrow. Early, our quest will resume. At the crack of dawn."

Orlon gave him a double-take. He wiggled a finger in each ear to make sure they were working right. With so much daylight left, why would he call for camp to be made now? But before he could reason out an answer to that question Tarl whispered to him:

"Can you believe this guy? We must hurry, hurry, hurry, he says. Time is short, he tells us. Disaster awaits us if we delay, he says. Over and over and over he spouts this to us. And now he calls for us to make camp�in the middle of the afternoon!" He sighed. "And to think I was beginning to take him seriously�. This guy must be a nut."

Hearing his best friend admit he was beginning to believe in this quest brightened his heart. To hear he doubted again made him determined to find out why they were stopping for the day. He turned to ask Ty the Parson pointblank, only to let his jaw drop at what he saw. The Parson sat cross-legged where he had stood, hood donned, staff across knees and arms straight down on both sides, palms flat on the ground. He was asleep.

Disappointed to find this avenue of enlightenment closed, he frowned, and he turned to the forest, eyes drawn to the narrow slit in tree wall allowing entrance to its dark depths. Into his mind appeared the thorn bush bordered path, and he thought he understood why. He looked at the sun, then the forest as a whole, thought of the numerous stories of its evilness, and nodded. Yes, he understood the reason indeed.

"Tell me," he turned to Tarl. "Do you have any idea how big Dark Forest is?"

"N-no," Tarl said, dumbfounded.

"Did you ever consider the fact the forest might be so big we couldn�t cross it in the time left to us today, and Ty the Parson knows it?"

"N-no."

Orlon planted his fists on hips. "I don�t know about you," he said, "but I certainly wouldn�t want to get caught in that forest at night, facing whatever creepy crawlies that inhabit it. It would be�will be much safer spending the night in this field, don�t you think?"

"Y-yes," Tarl admitted. "I guess I just didn�t think it through."

And hate it though he did he had to admit to himself his best friend, na�ve as he was, had outwitted him on this one, which meant he did not want to discuss it further. He turned his attention to the Party. Those he saw had retrieved sleep mats from their supply bundles and were preparing for the night. He inwardly smiled at the easy opportunity this allowed him to change the subject.

"I wish I�d've thought ahead enough to pack for a campout," he said.

"Hey, neither of us thought we�d be gone passed noon, remember?" Orlon said. "I�m sure we can survive sleeping one night outdoors, even if we have a cold snap like last night� My only concern is for Jujay. He�s not a young man anymore."

"Oh, I don�t think you need to worry about him," Tarl thumbed in the servant�s direction.

Orlon looked to see Jujay lying where he had settled after being stripped of his burden. He smiled. The servant was curled up like a feline and by all evidence sleeping peacefully.

"You must remember," Tarl went on, "he�s had a lot more experience with this sort of thing than you or I."

There was no denying what his best friend said was true. Orlon remembered well the "stories" of adventure Jujay used to tell him as a child on those rare occasions he was bored. He remembered the excitement of them, the servant�s excitement in telling them�and even to a child�s perception he remembered the faraway look in Jujay�s eyes, the slight upturn to the corners of his mouth that told him these were more than just made-up stories.

"Hey, I got it," Tarl said, raising a finger. "We could always walk home, get a good night�s rest in our beds and return in the morning."

Orlon turned to look at the farm community they had left this morning, a finger coming to rest on his chin. They had walked a fair distance, his farmhouse being on the community�s far side, and the walk back would certainly help relieve his stuffed feeling. Thought of sleeping in his own bed sure sounded more comfortable than a night on the hard ground, exposed to the weather. It was very tempting to say yes to the suggestion, but�

"I don�t think it�s a good idea," he said. "I mean, what if we didn�t get up in time and they had to come fetch us. Then we�d be right back here the same time tomorrow afternoon, camping out for the night so we could get an early start in the morning to cross Dark Forest. Considering how Ty the Parson presses us to hurry, it wouldn�t be good to lose a whole day, would it?"

Tarl shook his head, crestfallen.

"Sorry, Tarl," he said. "But we�re just going to have to make do�"

"Orlon, come and rest."

Both Midgets turned to Sharna, and what they saw surprised them. She lay seductively on her side on her sleep mat, which they noticed was about three feet short, leaving her legs on the grass. The three feet of missing sleep mat was laid out before hers.

"I have made you a place to sleep," she said, smiling, patting her handiwork.

Tarl elbowed his best friend and said out the corner of his mouth, "Looks like one of us will be cozy tonight."

Orlon frowned at him.

"Don�t just stand here," Tarl elbowed him again. "Go for it, buddy."

Orlon hesitated. "But�but what will you do for the night?" he gave voice to one of the two reasons for hesitating.

"Oh, don�t worry about me," Tarl said, flexing his fingers. "I�ll find some place to rest. Who knows, I might even find a little�action tonight as well."

The image of a beautiful oval face framed in curly black hair popped into Orlon�s mind. Her expression was inviting, seductive, and she winked at him, sending a jolt through him that blew the image into a million fragments. He quickly shook it off, and without acknowledging his best friend, he started across the field toward the awaiting warrior woman.

With each step he considered the layout before him. The makeshift sleep mat was no more than a finger�s width from hers, and that made him uncomfortable. Why were they so close together? Then he reasoned it out. Sharna had proclaimed herself "guardian of the One", which meant him, and therefore she wanted him as close as possible to insure his safety overnight�. Yes, that made perfect sense. Still, he felt a drop of sweat trickle down the back of his neck. He had never laid so close to a woman before. He had never laid by a woman, period.

He gulped, and a thought came to mind that eased his nervousness�a bit. Sharna, he earlier presumed, would be a wealth of knowledge he could tap in terms of the quest and other things, and she had proven him correct when he asked about Grash. He had learned a lot about him�and more. He glanced at the sun in the afternoon sky, a smile playing at his lips. There was still plenty of time left in the day for him to tap that wealth of knowledge again.

When he reached the makeshift sleep mat he stopped, eyes on the place he would sleep tonight. By his estimate of its length he, too, would have his legs on the grass. He could live with that. But what he would miss was a pillow to rest his head upon. The realization he had an easy solution to that problem put a smile on his face. He pulled off his coat, folded it on itself a couple of times and dropped it where his head would lie.

"Very clever," she said and patted the makeshift sleep mat. "Now lay here with me, so that I may�protect you in the night."

Instead, he sat down cross-legged on the mat, facing her, eyes downcast as he struggled to quell his nervousness. What he needed to do was get the ball rolling with her again, and he knew they were well passed the introduction gimmick. Several deep breaths expanded his lungs but did little to calm him. He looked up, met her wanting eyes, and swallowed.

"Want something?" she said.

Something in her voice set a tingling in his gut he had felt only once before, when through a trick by Tarl he found himself caught in close quarters with Mona Ik, whom he had foolishly told his best friend he kind of liked. He brushed aside the memory but not his anger over it.

"Uh," he said, subduing that anger, "yes. I wanted to ask you about a few things."

"Such as?"

"I�d like to know more about this quest," he said, quickly elaborating, "How Ty the Parson brought you all together, who the other members of the Party are, that sort of thing."

"Hm," she said softly. "I think I can fill you in on that, though you must keep in mind I don�t know most of the warriors on this quest personally, so I can only tell you what I know. Will that do?"

"That will be fine." He placed his elbows on knees and planted chin on fists, ready to listen.

She, in turn, brought herself up on a stiff arm and began to speak:

"The world has far too long been in a time of peace and tranquility. Not the best of times for soldiers, warriors, mercenaries and the like, whose ply and trade depends on unrest, turmoil�war! Many have become so desperate they�ve journeyed beyond our lands, some taking to cross the ocean in hopes of finding suitable conditions for their ply and trade. The rest, like myself, have waited for times to change, for a calling that our services are needed once again�

"When word came a Parson was active, that a quest was needed to combat some impending danger, we responded!

"From all over those who now comprise the Party converged on the Lake to met Ty the Parson, and his mercenary, Marcol, in the shadows of the Roglondale Trees. Long, time consuming and confusing at times the Parson spun his tale of evil in the name of Tibtarnitallimardarian plotting to take over the world. He told us of the One who could save us from that evil with the aid of the Holy Pike, and the need for us to join together to protect him 'til the deed was done."

Her wanting brown eyes captured his innocent blues. "When he mentioned the One, the Pure One, purest of the pure�you�I knew this calling was for me," she breathed. "I�desired nothing more than to protect you."

Orlon blushed.

"A-anyway," she broke eye contact with a blink. "That is how the Party came together. Now, as to who we are�"

In order to accomplish this "introduction," they had to readjust their positions. He rocked, wiggly-wormed himself around to face the Party. She brought herself up to her knees, resting back on her haunches, behind him. Placing her left hand on his shoulder, she used her right hand to point as she talked.

"You already know Ty the Parson, Marcol, Grash, Tarftenrott and Chitintiare and Telluspett, Roxx and myself," she said, her finger bobbing from the robed man to the mercenary, who lay on his sleep mat, hands over ears, eyes tightly closed, as Richtichtiare endlessly berated him, to the old warrior, who even lying down looked�heroic, to the stuttering warrior, lovingly wiping his sword�s blade with a cloth, to the Dorks, who sat together, playing, arguing over a card game, to the plump man busy as a bee at his push cart. A tender squeeze of his shoulder signified herself.

She pointed to a man dressed in copper chainmail with brown undershirt, brown breeches and black boots, a broadsword dangling from the girdle about his waist, saying, "We were fortunate to have Expendendale join our quest."

Orlon looked at the warrior and his brow knit. He was tall and thin, not overly muscular, which made him look physically far from a warrior of great repute. Framed in shoulder length, unkempt brown hair, his thin face bore a constant, agitated expression of unease, his big green eyes constantly darting this way and that�. All in all, he saw nothing that designated this man as someone fortunate to have on a quest.

"Then we have Jack, Carlo, and Frank," she pointed to the three young men who reminded him of Tarl, and who were right now talking to the woman before the tent, and beside a blazing campfire, rather than finding a place to rest in the field for the night. She sighed. "It seems every quest must endure some inexperienced members."

Orlon eyed them with some interest which went beyond learning they were new to questing. They were of average height, well built physically and wore the strangest clothes for warriors. Rather than armor of some sort, they wore fancily collared and cuffed white shirts, fanciful black coats and breeches, and flare top boots. Atop their heads were wide brimmed black hats, each sporting a feather, and about their waists were girdles sporting black sheathed rapiers.

He had never seen or heard of their like before� His eyes were drawn to Tarl, who was approaching them, hands in his pockets, and rolled.

"It will be interesting to see how they fare on this adventure," she said offhandedly, then pointed at the final member of the Party, saying, "And lastly, we have Crik-or."

Lying in a fetal position on the field of grass was another man like no other he had seen or heard of before. He was short and squarely built, a man of brute muscle, and dressed in an animal skin that reminded him of a nightshirt, if, that is, it was sleeveless. His black hair was cut as if guided by a bowl placed on his head, and his splotchily bearded face was thick of brow, largely nose and by the stretch of his lips, largely toothed as well. The only thing he carried with him was a medium sized rock, which he cradled to his chest.

"He is a throwback to a bygone age," Sharna continued, "and a race of people not seen in our world for quite some time, though rumors, claimed sightings from all around abound� We met him at the Alquintiare Trees on our journey to your farmhouse this morning and were pleased when he�told us he wished to join our quest." She grunted. "It is a wonder such men still exist�and survive using such a primitive weapon as a rock. But who am I to judge a man�s choice of weapons."

"And that, Orlon�" she placed her right hand on his shoulder, began massaging gently "�is the Party who have come together to protect you."

"Thank you," he said, letting his eyes drift over those before him. "It�s nice to put names to faces, to know who is who."

His eyes paused on Rae, whom she passed over completely, as he had just come to join them on the way here, and jumped to the woman by the tent. He remembered the sadness he detected in her expression�and the looks of amazement, disgust, and pity, most of the Party gave her. He remembered Sharna�s questioning how they do it. They who? Do what? Who was this woman?

"What can you tell me about her," he said, pointing at the woman, who was now warming her hands over the fire, chatting with Tarl and the three warriors.

"She," her voice was filled with disgust but mellowed to a tone of pity as she continued, "is a Campfire Girl."

"A Campfire Girl?" He frowned.

She stopped massaging his shoulders, her own brow creased. "You haven�t read about them in that book of yours?" she said.

"N-no," he said, suddenly wishing he had brought the book along. "I-I guess I haven�t gotten that far yet. They have something to do with the Dracron Wars?"

"Those wars were what brought them about," she grumbled.

The tone of her voice sent a shiver up his spine, but what she had said sparked his interest so greatly he quickly said: "Please, tell me about it."

A moment of silence passed�ended when she resumed massaging his shoulders.

"They came about near the end of the wars," she said, her massaging getting rougher as she spoke. "It was a time of peace between the kingdoms, both kings having troops stationed in each other�s kingdoms�and that was a bad time. Businesses ruined, homes demolished, people living in the streets, living with the uncertainty hostilities might erupt at any moment. And money? Ha! What money there was was in the hands of the kings, spent on soldiers, weapons, other war supplies.

"Few crops had been planted since the wars began, and what food there was, again, was in the hands of the kings, given mainly to the soldiers. What scraps were allotted to civilians were not enough�. Death; the awful smell of death loomed over the world.

"Young ladies, either desperate to feed themselves or their families, or forced into it by fathers or other dominant family members, started hanging around enemy barracks, selling their," she paused, searching for the right word to protect the One�s purity, had it, "favors for food, money, anything usable the soldiers might part with. Fall, winter and parts of spring can be cold, so these women began to build fires to keep warm, hence, the name."

"But," he yelped under the intense pressure of her kneading fingers. "But the Dacron Wars ended so long ago. We�ve�we�ve been in a time of peace and tranquility for so long. Surely there is no reason for young ladies to do this now�?"

"Sad to say," she said, easing up on her roughness in massaging him, "but times have little effect on what has become a�lifestyle, if you will, for them. But like soldiers, warriors and the like, it can have a negative effect on living." Something deep within told her it was time to change the subject and she said, "The hour grows late. Lie down, Orlon. You need to rest for the busy day we will have crossing the forest tomorrow."

Two things happened to the Midget with her change of subject: a chill goosepimpled his flesh and a yawn nearly popped his jaw. Reminder of entering evil Dark Forest in the morning, by his choice, was not something he wanted to think about. He might not be able to get any sleep if he did. He yawned again. And he decided her suggestion to lie down and rest was a good one, as he had walked a long distance today and was tired.

He stretched out on the sleep mat, his legs settling on the grassy field, head on folded coat�and he became aware of a lump in the makeshift pillow. It was the apple he pocketed this morning for eating later� He smiled. An apple sounded tasty. But the tightness of his still stuffed stomach told him the apple would just have to wait a little longer. With a sigh, he snuggled down and let his eyes drift shut.

Orlon�s rather abrupt departure went unnoticed by Tarl. Fingers flexing, he was too busy mentally formulating a plan that just might get him a little�action tonight. The dice were burning a hole in his pocket, and he was painfully aware of the meager starter funds in his money pouch. What he needed was an increase in those funds to help fulfill another bit of�action he desired tonight.

The image of his desire appeared in his mind. His mind�s eye took in the inviting, seductive expression on her beautiful oval face, framed in curly black hair, moved down her smooth neck and rounded shoulders to her ample cleavage, revealed in the low neckline of her red blouse, down her trim waist and curve of hips to her shapely leg, revealed in the slit of her black skirt, to her petite foot. Up and down, his mind�s eye went, again and again� There was no denying this woman was desirable.

An oath and dribble of drool escaped his lips as a tingling deep within began to intensify. Sucking in the drool, he reminded himself first things first. No money, no girl.

"Cheat," Chitintiare exclaimed. "Cheater! I saw you. You�re dealing from the middle of the deck."

Tarl looked up, turned his eyes on the Dorks.

"I am not," Telluspett countered, shaking the deck of cards under his brother�s nose. "I�ll have you know I�m playing you fair and square. I�m dealing from both the top and bottom of the deck."

Chitintiare looked from his brother to the shaking deck to his hand of thirteen cards and back again. "Oh," he said, scratching his head, "Okay. As long as you�re playing fair�"

Their game resumed.

Tarl smiled. Never before had he seen two more easy marks than these two�Dorks, he believed he heard them called. And when he took in the three piles of gold coins between them�Chitintiare�s small one, the bet�s medium one, Telluspett�s large one�he saw there was plenty of spoils to be had. He felt confident in a short time he would have more than enough money to insure a really good time with his second desired�activity.

A feminine giggle drew him around to see the object of his desire talking with three men. He looked the three up and down, finding their fanciful dress curious, and their presence a bother. But all he could do was accept their presence, as he knew with the business he presumed she was in those who moved quickly got ahead of slow pokes�. As for the woman, he had no problem when it came to getting a piece of the�action.

Then he considered the healthy money pouches dangling from the men�s belts and smiled. Perhaps there was another reason for them being there. He glanced at the sun. Yes, there was still a good bit of afternoon left, and with a little luck he could scrounge up a dice game with them that might earn him a little of what he would have earned had he got a game up with the Dorks.

One hand slipped into a pocket, grabbed hold of the dice, the other slipped into the other pocket, took hold of the paltry money pouch. His smile faltered just before he took it away, settling his features on a pleasant expression. Now he was ready to approach them, and so he did.

"Hello, lady," he said, coming to a stop at the campfire, "gentlemen."

When they turned to face him he was both pleased and uncertain of the expressions that met him. The woman smiled, and in her hazel eyes he registered that inviting, seductive expression he had seen before. The three men nodded their greeting, but their tight facial features, a glint in their eyes told him they were not happy to see him there. Nevertheless, he was not one to back down, especially if a woman was in the balance, and forged on.

"I�m Tarl Bimbo," he introduced himself, proffering a hand.

"Mishto Sharpaine," the woman delicately accepted his hand, shook it.

"I am Jack," the middle of the three men said with a smile and tossing an arm over each of his comrades' shoulders, said, "And these are my friends, Carlo and Frank."

Tarl was startled by the sudden attitude change, at least of one of them, and he much more preferred it to the others' still scowling faces. He found them to be an odd trio.

"Nice to meet you, miss," he said, with a slight bow to the woman, and to the gentlemen he gave a head bob, "and you as well."

A moment of silence slipped by�and Tarl decided to try his luck.

"Not wishing to exclude the lady," he said, bowing his head to her before turning his full attention on the three, "but with a fair bit of the afternoon left to us, I was wondering if perhaps you gentlemen might be interested in a little game of chance�?" He produced the dice from a pocket, holding them between thumb and forefinger. "Something entertaining to pass a little time before we get down to�activities tonight. What do you say?"

In answer, Jack, Carlo and Frank hemmed and hawed noncommittally.

Mishto, on the other hand, caught his eye, smiling, and something told him she knew about his lack of funds. He tugged at his collar, unsure what this meant for his future with her. She winked. He frowned.

"Sounds interesting to me," she said, squatting by the fire to warm her hands. "What do you say, gentlemen."

Tarl caught his jaw before it dropped. She was actually trying to help him! And his ego stepped up to brush aside any confusion he had about it. Of course she was helping him. He might not be as finely dressed as the three men were, but he knew it was not clothes that made the man, and he knew without a doubt he was a man ladies wanted. Why would not Mishto then?

"Well, uh, I�d be interested in a little game of chance," Jack spoke up and looked to his friend�s for support.

"Uh, yeah," Carlo said. "That sounds like it might be fun."

"Sure," Frank put in, "why not."

Tarl opened his mouth to speak�

"Before you begin," Mishto said. "Let�s retire to my tent for a little privacy, hm."

No one found anything untoward with her suggestion, and they followed her to the tent, where she lifted the entrance�s flap and waved them in. The last through was Tarl, and he paused when a whiff of something tasty drew his attention to the cook. Roxx stood at his push cart, slicing a slab of beef into strips to add to the pot, from which floated the tasty aroma. For a split second he wondered where the cook got his supplies, but he shrugged it off and entered the tent, followed by Mishto Sharpaine who let the flap drop behind her.

While the rest of the Party was settling down, Roxx was just getting wound up. He had cooked them vegetable soup for lunch and after cleaning pot and cooking implements set his mind to what he would prepare for supper�. A smile came to him. There was nothing better, to his way of thinking, than ending a long day�s journey with a nice bowl of beef stew and slice of fresh made bread.

So the afternoon became a busy time for him, preparing the planned meal, and at times like this he became lost in his own world�a world that revolved around the push cart. That is, when his best friend Tarftenrott was not along on the journey and quite talkative, as he had been while he was preparing lunch.

From drawer to drawer he went, retrieving implements and food stuffs he needed for his task. And he was always pleased with his cart. Small enough to be easily pushed, it looked like it could contain only minimal supplies. But he knew better. His push cart was special. It was magical!

He was the son of the son of the son of the son� of a wandering cook, and the push cart had been passed down generation to generation. No one was certain, but it was believed the cart dated back to his great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather who obtained it from a wizard for a price no one wished to disclose. All anyone cared about was that it afforded each who inherited it the chance to make outstanding meals.

Like his father and grandfathers before him there was nothing he liked more than journeying on a quest and supplying tasty meals for his fellow journeymen�

Just as the sun began to dip into the western horizon, he dipped a spoon into the pot�s simmering contents, gave the stew a taste test. He smiled. The stew came out as he hoped it would: delicious. He stepped back from the pot, letting his eyes drift to the stack of six fresh made loafs of bread on the push cart�s counter�and he came out of his own world.

"Okay, everybody," he called, turning his attention to those in the field. "Sup�" the smile dropped from his face "�per�s ready."

Everybody was asleep.

Daybreak found the Party sleeping peacefully. But for a soft snoring here and there, the buzz of an insect or two, the murmur of a passing breeze�the unending mumbled insults thrown at a cringing-in-his-sleep Marcol by Richtichtiare, silence reigned. Even Ty the Parson appeared to be in a peaceful slumber, having not moved a muscle since he had settled down in the field the afternoon before.

His eye snapped open. It scanned those sleeping in the field before it, came to rest on Orlon. The Midget lay on his belly, head nestled in his folded coat pillow, fast asleep. Sharna lay on her side just beyond him, a hand resting on his back and a smile on her face. The brow above the eye creased. The eye jumped to the long man shaped shadow stretching out before it, detecting its ever shortening length. The brow shot up, wrinkling the forehead.

"The submerged bouncy ball is released! The red liquid within the glass tube when applied to the sick child�s underarm! The sun rises quickly, as does the continued growth of the evil�s power over our world," he said in a bizarre flail of limbs that brought him up to a wide-legged stance, staff in hand. "Arise, arise all. Our quest must begin."

With his outburst, the Party stirred, got up and packed away their sleep mats, and Mishto Sharpaine, Tarl and the three fancily dressed warriors stepped out of her tent, yawning. But there was one who appeared to have heard nothing. Orlon did not move a muscle.

"Come on, Orlon," Sharna said, rubbing his back briskly. "It�s time to get up."

Orlon turned his head, pressed his eyes tightly closed. He did not know who had dared enter his house�his bedroom to trouble him at such an early hour, but he was not going to give�her the satisfaction of getting away with it. His brow furrowed. And everything about his life over the last day and night flooded into his mind, and filled him with dread� Recognition of the alluring voice dispersed the flood, and he felt a smile tug at his frowning lips. He opened his eyes and looked up into Sharna�s beautiful face, and his smile came.

"Holy cow," he said, pushing himself up to his knees. "For a second there, I thought I was back at home in bed, that all this hadn�t�" his smile faltered "�happened."

"Come on," she said with a half smile. "Get on up so I can pack your sleep mat."

After a bone-popping stretch, he got to his feet, taking his folded coat with him. While he slipped into it, he watched Sharna take the makeshift sleep mat, fold it and stuff it into her supply bundle.

"The overweight reduce their food intake carefully! The carnival�s hotdog eating contest! Our breakfast must be small in content and eaten quickly, that we do not lose any more time before we continue our quest."

All eyes turned to Roxx.

"I have last night�s beef stew ready," the cook said, waving a hand at the covered pot over glowing coals, and pulling the cloth cover off the stacked loafs, said, "And some bread."

Reaction to his offering was agreeable enough, and the Party began lining up to receive their shares of breakfast. Roxx produced a stack of bowls and handful of spoons from a drawer of the push cart and placed them next to the stack of bread. He then retrieved a knife to slice the bread and ladle to dish out the stew from another drawer. And thus began the serving of breakfast.

"I�ll get yours," Sharna stopped Orlon before his first step and headed to do so.

Slipping hands into pants pockets, he watched the line form, and his eyes focused on his servant, Jujay. To his surprise, the old man had moved quickly enough, quicker than the Midget ever imagined he could, to end up second in line. Then his attention was drawn to five who joined in the line�s middle. He got a wave and wink from Tarl, followed by a secret point at Mishto Sharpaine and brief tongue wag.

His eyes rolled, landed on Ty the Parson who approached Sharna. The two got into a very private and very serious and very brief conversation. He wondered what that was about.

Sharna ended up last in line, just beating out a hurrying-to-get-in-line Ty the Parson, or so she thought. He stopped right beside her, a hand gripping her arm so tightly the skin turned white around his fingers. Her protestation of such gruff treatment was silenced when their eyes met. They stood there, unmoved, for a full minute before Ty the Parson, spasmotic movement of his hand shaking her like a petulant child in the hand of an upset parent, whispered in her ear:

"The spider to the fly! The uncared for brass knob! You did not lure Orlon, the Pure, purest of the pure, into your web last night, did you? Tarnish his much needed purity to insure victory in our quest to combat the evil that tirelessly seeks to take over the world�?"

"Of course not," she hissed in a whisper, taken aback by this uncalled for questioning of her integrity. Then she thought of her well known reputation when it came to her insatiable lust for men�her undeniable attraction to Orlon and whispered, "It was tough, I admit, Parson, but I stayed my temptation in my loyalty to this quest."

Ty the Parson looked deeply into her eyes for a long moment before nodding, and he spun on his heels and marched off. She watched him go for a half dozen steps, turned to look at the man she had vowed to protect on this journey. He looked at her questioningly. The reason for that look was clear in her mind and she replied with raised hands and a shrug. She turned back to matters at hand, making up the couple of steps she had lost in line.

Beef stew and a slice of bread was not the ideal choice for a breakfast meal to Orlon�s way of thinking, but on second thought he had never been on a journey before, so� He placed his hands on his stomach, smiled. It was filling, right choice or not, though he was not happy with the speed they were expected to eat it. But he understood the need for such speed. Ty the Parson was always in a hurry, and now that Orlon believed this quest was for real, he agreed that time was of the essence.

All around him the Party were preparing to begin the quest again, and one part of their preparation captured his attention. One by one, they stacked their supply bundles on Jujay�s back. He still had qualms about this treatment of his servant, and when the last bundle�the Campfire Girl�s tent�was added, heightening Jujay�s burden from ten to thirteen feet, he was of a mind to protest.

"Remember, he is a servant, Orlon, ol' buddy."

Orlon turned to find Tarl Bimbo standing beside him, hands in pockets, rocking on his heels.

"So," his best friend went on, "howd last night go?"

Orlon looked at him questioningly.

"Oh, come on," he said, eyes to the heavens. "You, Sharna, the night and�and�?"

Eyes rolling, Orlon said, "And she and I had a good night�s sleep."

Tarl looked deeply into his innocent blue eyes and saw it was true, and laughed. "Ah, man," he said. "Leave it to you to blow it!" He brought his rocking to a stop, elbowed his best friend and shook a pocketed hand, receiving a healthy jingle that put a broad smile on his face. "While you were�sleeping, I had a busy and profitable afternoon with three fancy dressed gentlemen that led to," he winked, "a rather busy night to follow."

With his last statement, he nodded vigorously, drawing Orlon�s eyes to Mishto Sharpaine, who was chatting with Jack, Carlo and Frank. He noticed while she kept up with their conversation, from time to time her eyes darted to look at Tarl and that each time they did a slight pink touched her cheeks. He inwardly smiled. Tarl, he felt, had made himself a girlfriend.

"Well, Orlon," Tarl changed subjects, turning deathly serious, "are you ready to continue our trip with these folks? By your choice to enter Dark Forest and face whatever horrors await us."

The question�its bluntly stated clarification of what that meant they would be facing and why sent a jolt through Orlon. He had not really thought about what the continued trip entailed this morning, or the choices of direction Ty the Parson had laid out before him and which he chose� His eyes darted to the slit-between-tree-trunks entrance to the forest, into his mind appeared the thorny bush bordered path beyond it, and he swallowed. And he quickly reasoned that he had no other choice but the path, considering the time it would save them.

When his eyes darted back to meet Tarl�s accusing eyes, he swallowed again and remembered something that just might get him out of this pickle.

"Yes, I�m ready," he answered the question and to the clarifying statement answered, "And when it comes to entering Dark Forest� You�ve found the companionship, the camaraderie you expected on this trip. Now we�re�you�re going to experience the adventure you expected as well." He stuffed his hands in his pockets, rocked on his heels and winked, adding, "It�ll all be part of the fun you anticipated this trip would be, won�t it."

Tarl gave him a double-take. That his best friend would throw his own words back in his face like this was�was, he had to admit, something he deserved. A sly smile creased his face. If Orlon wanted to throw words about, well, he could to.

"Or it could be," he said and, doing his best imitation of his best friend, quoted: "The chance to die in combat or worse."

Orlon stopped rocking, remembering his own words from the night before. A chill crawled along his spine, but he shook it off, looking at the warriors around them, his eyes finally stopping on Sharna, who stood a ways off, watching him and his environs cautiously. A sly smile to match Tarl�s creased his face.

"And I stand by that statement," he said, "but you have to admit we stand a much better chance of getting through the forest unscathed with the protection of all these warriors."

"Who are sworn to a man, and woman, to protect the One, the Pure, purest of the pure," Tarl reminded him. "That means you. Not me or Jujay, or even Mishto."

Orlon blinked. "But you�re my best friend, Jujay�s my servant," he said. "Surely they�ll�"

"The rattle tailed serpent when its warning goes unheeded! The long distance runners line up at the white line! Everyone to me, Ty, the Parson, that we may begin our quest anew."

All eyes turned to the Parson, who stood in a wide-legged stance at the forest�s entrance, staff pointedly sweeping at them back and forth, back and forth� And two sets of those eyes sought each other out. Orlon and Tarl�s eyes met, and what each felt about this part of the quest was clearly communicated between them. The rumors, tales, legends they had heard about the forest unstoppably flashed through their minds. They were locked in a grip of fear!

While the Party started forward, the Midgets gulped, tried to subdue the fear that held them in place. Tarl knew if he did not follow them into the forest he would lose his chance to escape the farm community, to see what was out there beyond Dwarf Road. He did not move�. Orlon knew he had no choice but to follow them, believing it was important he see this quest through. He did not move�. What got them moving came as a surprise to Tarl, a thing to be thankful for to Orlon.

Tarl suddenly found himself surrounded by four people, hurrying him forward, and his resistance to them ended when he heard Mishto say, "You�re with us, Tarl."

Seeing this made Orlon think companionship and camaraderie was not a bad thing�and he suddenly found himself thrust forward by a hand on his back. "Let�s go," Sharna said. He smiled, feeling curiously safe with her nearby presence.

To a man, and women, now, the Party stopped in a rough semi-circle around Ty the Parson.

"The stick branches of the Uber Tree! The serpent�s body in motion! Twisting and turning and dangerous the path will be before us, yet we must traverse it quickly," the Parson said in a flail of arms and legs that ended with his staff pointing back at what lay beyond the forest�s entrance. "The late child hurries home before sundown curfew! Not only must we face dangers, but we must reach the forest�s other side before night falls.

"The catapult is sprung! Let us fly forth to do so." His staff jerked at the entrance.

No one moved.

"We must be off," he stated flatly.

No one moved.

"We have no time to delay," he shook his staff violently at the entrance.

No one moved.

When Ty the Parson�s fourth urging went unheeded, Orlon looked at the Party and was confused at what he saw. The warriors stood statuesque, waiting. His confusion increased tenfold when his eyes landed on the tall, thin warrior in copper chainmail, Expendendale, he remembered his name to be, who looked relieved, his big green eyes drifting to Chitintiare and Telluspett from time to time. The Dorks looked mildly restless. He knew something was up here, but try as he might, he could not reason it out.

"We must begin," Ty the Parson said, jerking his pointing staff frantically.

No one moved.

Into Orlon�s mind came Ty the Parson�s constant harping on the need to hurry, to save time. Though unsure what was happening, scared as he was, he felt somebody needed to do something or they would never get started�and that someone might as well be him. He looked at the path beyond the forest�s entrance, eyed the thorny bushes bordering it�. Eyes closed, he gulped down his fear and accepted his decision to do what he must do.

With a deep breath, he opened his eyes, straightened his posture and raised a foot to take a step, and balanced on one foot, a hand firmly on his shoulder stopping him. He looked into the beautiful face of that hand�s owner, a question on his lips. In answer, Sharna brought a finger to her puckered lips. Then it happened�

"Let�s go," Chitintiare and Telluspett said and ran into the forest.

Orlon watched opened mouth as the Dorks ran down the path until they were lost in the forest�s darkness. He looked at the Party, finding they watched as well. This made no sense to him. Why would they let two ignorant fellows run haphazardly into a dangerous place like Dark Forest? When he caught Tarl�s eye, his best friend shrugged. Finally, he turned to Sharna, ready to question her about this, but she quietly silenced him and pointed, drawing his attention back to the path.

And they waited.

They waited, and while they did, Orlon tried to reason it out. There was no doubt in his mind this was meant to happen. It did made sense to him to send someone into a presumed dangerous place to judge just how dangerous it was. But to think they would use such ignorant people as the Dorks� His eyes shifted to the warrior in copper chainmail, registered the relief in his eyes as he watched the path, and his brow creased.

Before he could think about that curiosity, Chitintiare and Telluspett reappeared. They stopped midway up the path and waited, looking around strangely�. That they were unharmed and appeared to be unthreatened filled him with relief and wonderment. Where was all the evil rumors, tales, legends claimed Dark Forest was full of? His wonderment, however, was overpowered by another sense of relief that the Dork�s wellbeing meant the quest would resume.

Yet no one moved.

Orlon turned his head to question Shana about this, only to receive a finger to the lips response. The crease in his brow deepened, and he looked at the Party�Ty the Parson, standing statuesque as before. His attention darted to the warrior in copper chainmail, who sighed, ran a hand through his unkempt brown hair.

"Oh, all right," Expendendale breathed, eyes to the heavens, and walked into the forest.

Step by begrudging step, he made his way down the path toward the Dorks, his head darting this way and that. Chitintiare and Telluspett watched him approach, dense expressions on their faces. When he reached them he turned around to face the Party, threw his hands wide and cocked his head.

"Satisfied?" he said, though to those outside the forest he only mouthed it.

"The captain studies choppy waters ahead through his spyglass! The way appears clear of danger," Ty the Parson said, limbs spasming. "Our quest must continue."

With that, he hurried into the forest.

"Ha," Grash boomed, with a twist of his handlebar mustache, and followed.

With an arrogant sniff, Marcol followed.

"You smell it, too," Richtichtiare said, holding his nose, hot on the mercenary�s heels. "I think you need a diaper change, pa�" He slipped into the forest.

Thus began a filing of the Party by Orlon and Sharna and into the forest, each looking around curiously upon entering. The last through were Jack, Carlo and Frank, with Mishto Sharpaine and Tarl Bimbo in tow. Tarl looked back at his best friend, winked and said:

"Here we go, buddy."

Orlon gave him a brief smile, was certain he had seen Tarl gulp before entering the forest.

"Let�s go," Sharna said, stepping by him to lead the way in.

He hesitated a moment, then followed her through the slit between tree trunks�and what caused those before him to look around so strangely hit him right in the ears! Roars, howls, growls and snarls of incredible volume assaulted him from�everywhere. But when he looked about he could find nothing of their source. He also noticed the intertwined limbs above allowed no sunlight to get through, yet there was light.

These mysteries had his mind reeling as he hurried after Sharna down the path.

The last standing on Dwarf Road, Jujay, leaning heavily on his staff under the weight of his burden, watched his master fast-walk down the path. He could not believe this was actually happening to him in his advanced years, then again� Orlon was such a nice, decent fellow�innocent as the day was long, he should have known it would happen eventually. A scowl darkened his face. He should have known a Parson would be behind it.

The thought if he had stayed with Orlon�s parents this quest would not have spoiled his retirement crossed his mind, and he ushered it on across and out of his mind.

Despite his disappointment at his own fate, he would not have passed it up if it meant he could not serve his master. He had been there from Orlon�s youngest years, had in his own small way helped raise him�had seen him grow into a fine young man. He had grown quite fond of him over those years and to this day. That this quest had come about was something he must accept, and he was determined to see it through for his master�s sake, for Orlon.

He sighed, brought his attention to the forest�s entrance. Formed by a curious bend in two tree trunks, it was not very tall or wide. In fact, those who went through it before had stepped high and bent low and twisted sideways to fit through. A smile played at the wrinkles around his mouth. Perhaps if he could not fit through it the warriors would have to return, break down his burden and carry their supply bundles through the forest themselves. The idea sounded quite pleasing to him, but he knew he would never know until he tried.

With a swift up and down motion he placed his walking staff through the entrance, followed it with a leg�and as was the mystifying mystery of such occurrences, he easily slipped through the entrance burden and all. He cursed his luck, but looking ahead, he saw the Party hustling down the path, and not wanting to get left behind hurried as best he could to catch up.

By his third step he found himself short of breath, but he pushed on nevertheless. He did not know what was causing the soft buzzing in his ears, and he did not want to find out alone. Sweat beaded on his forehead, soaked his hair, formed half circles under his arm pits and a "V" down the front and back of his tunic. Still, he pushed on�

Suddenly he stopped, arms and legs quivering, tightness in his chest leaving him gasping for breath. A sharp pain shot down his left arm. He collapsed under his burden.

"Jujay." The name sprang from Orlon�s lips for reasons he could not fathom. He stopped and looked back, and exclaimed: "Oh no! Jujay!"

So loud was his exclamation it brought all those ahead of him to a halt, their heads snapping around to see what was up. What they saw dropped their jaws. The tall stack of supply bundles lay flat on the ground. The only evidence of the servant who carried them was a wrinkly head jutting out from underneath it and two flabby arms thrust forward, arthritic hands clasping a walking staff held perfectly upright.

"E-gad," Marcol blurted. "We�ve lost our supplies. We must hurry even more now."

In answer, the Party spun on their heels and dashed down the path.

"But wait," Orlon said, looking from them to the stack of supplies�his fallen servant�and back again. "We can�t just leave him."

"I�m afraid we must," Sharna said, an urging hand pressed against his resistant back. "We must hurry."

"But�but�" he stumbled forward, continuing to resist, then gave in.

As they rushed after the others, he looked back, a tear in his eye, to bid Jujay a silent farewell, just before the servant and the supply stack that had crushed him were lost to sight when the path took a sharp southern turn.

From the turn the path went straight southward a fair distance, then looped around northward for a fair distance before looping back southward, then northward, and so on and so on� These bizarre direction shifts did not slow the Party�s breakneck speed one bit. With each tight loop, they simply checked their speed enough to insure no one brushed the bordering thorn bushes.

Tough though their pace was, all were able to keep up, even the Midgets with their short legs. All, that is, but one. Carlo, walking with Jack, Frank, Tarl and Mishto, suddenly felt funny. He felt�tired. A drop of sweat ran down his forehead, followed by many more drops. Try as he might, he was too fatigued to keep up, and step by step he began to drop behind his companions, who did not notice.

Feathered hat in hand, he wiped his forehead with a forearm, drying it only as long as it took him to replace his hat on head. He could not understand it. With each step, he grew more tired, weak. There was no denying he did not get a full night�s sleep the night before. How could he with a hot dice game going on and a hot female like Mishto in the mix? But this was not his first night of lost slumber, and he never felt this way before. He dropped behind Orlon and Sharna.

Orlon glanced at him as he passed, eyes shrinking to mere slits. He had noticed something funny about him. The man looked�ill. Concerned, he started to mention it to Sharna, but found that keeping up this breakneck speed left him no breath for anything else.

Putting every effort he could into keeping up gained Carlo no ground. He continued to lose ground! His eyes went from watching those ahead quickly leave him behind to his surroundings, his ears filled with the endless bestial snarling, and he did not want to be left alone in this forest�. He panicked, opened his mouth to call out�

His call transformed into a cry of agony when a huge snake-like creature zoomed out of the thorny bushes to sink inch long fang into his calf.

Both his cry and following pleas for help were so loud they brought all those ahead of him to a halt, turned their heads to see what was up. What they saw made the warriors to a man, and woman, draw their swords. Carlo writhed on the path, screaming, pleading eyes turned their way, hands clutching at his leg just above the serpent-like head, its scaly, tubular body running back to disappear amongst the thorn bushes.

"Carlo," Jack exclaimed and hurrying to his friend�s aid, shouted over a shoulder, "Come on, Frank."

Frank followed, at a fast walk.

As for the rest of the warriors, they found themselves trapped in a quandary, eyes moving from the tormented man to Orlon and back again and back again� Even Tarl, who held a frightened Mishto Sharpaine "protectively," looked from one to the other, then to the warriors, wondering why they hesitated. With a roll of her eyes, Sharna broke them free of their dilemma.

"I will safeguard the One," she said, urging Orlon behind her. "Go!"

To a man, but one, the warriors sprang into action, attacking the creature. The one, Grash, merely stepped up next to Sharna�and drew a wide-eyed look from Orlon. The Midget could not understand why this warrior, this hero of so many battles was not leading the assault on the bizarre creature that had attacked a fellow member of the Party. His wide eyes shrank to normal under knit brow when he saw despair etched on the old warrior�s face as he watched the episode before him. What could it mean? In search of an answer, he turned back to the attack.

Enraged yells battled with the forest�s noises. All along the creature�s scaly body the warriors hacked savagely with their swords, no one more determined than Jack, who focused his assault just below its head. Crik-or bounced his rock off the tubular body once, twice�a third time, before taking it up and smashing it repeatedly against the scaly hide. The result of this assault: no damage at all. Nevertheless, the attack continued undaunted.

In the blink of an eye, the creature released Carlo and slipped back into the thorny bushes.

Caught off guard, the warriors stumbled, checking whatever action they were taking, swords swinging up, swords swinging down.

Jack, on the other hand, burst into laughter. "Victorious," he bellowed, shaking his rapier in the air. "I am victorious. I did it. I did it."

Jaws dropped.

Frank rolled his eyes.

"I knew I could do it," Jack leaped to his friend�s motionless body. "I knew I would." He grabbed Carlo�s shoulder, rolled him over. "I knew I�d save�"

Carlo�s face, bloodless, frozen in an expression of abject terror, stole his thunder.

"Hopeless," Grash breathed, sheathing his broadsword. "It was hopeless, and yet one does hope. I fought many of those dastardly creatures in my time, during the wars." He raised his head nobly, eyes looking into the past. "Ah, I remember the first time as if it was yesterday. I was leading a troop�my first command, it was�into the Marshlands on a planned flank attack that would catch the enemy off guard when�"

"The transported prisoner is shackled wrists and feet! What delays our much needed, time saving speed?"

All eyes turned to the Parson, standing well ahead of them on the path. One set of those eyes shot daggers: Orlon did not appreciate yet another interruption to his chance to hear a war story from the hero�s own lips.

Grash, however, appeared to take this interruption in stride. "Merely a minor scuffle with a forest creature," he said with a flippant wave of a hand.

"Merely?" Jack looked up, slack jawed. "Minor?"

"The beetle scurries across the busy ant hill! We must be off, make haste to escape any more such dangers," Ty the Parson said in a flail of limbs that spun him around to start down the path.

"You heard him," Grash said with a definitive twist of his handlebar mustache. "We must be off." And he started down the path.

Swords were sheathed in unison, the sound of metal scraping hardened leather overpowering the forest�s endless roars, howls, growls and snarls in a brief, ear splitting way. Then the warriors, one by one, started down the path, and once everyone was moving they were in the same line-up they were in to begin with. Orlon and Sharna once again trailed behind Tarl, still "protectively" holding Mishto, with Jack on his left and Frank on his right. Carlo�s bloodless body was soon lost to sight in the path�s next looping turn.

Orlon walked beside Sharna, thinking about what had happened since they entered Dark Forest. He lost his servant�his friend, Jujay, and now Carlo lost his life to a frightful creature of this accursed place. These losses, and any that might follow, made him question if he had made the right choice in picking the journey�s direction the day before�. He brushed aside such questioning, telling himself if this quest was real, and he believed it was, the path was his only choice.

His mind turned to Jujay, and he sniffed back a tear. The servant had been with his parents and then with him so long he had become family. Now he was gone. It hurt him deeply�and he thought of the sorrow Carlo�s death must be causing his friends. Shaking off his melancholy, he looked first to Frank, was surprised to find him apparently unaffected by the loss. When he turned his attention to Jack he found a man devastated by the loss.

Shoulders slumped, head hanging, he trudged along, from time to time bringing a hand up to wipe his eyes, a sleeve to wipe his nose. Orlon�s heart went out to him, and he wanted to comfort him over his loss. But when he started to pick up speed to do so, Sharna stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Where do you think you�re going?" she said.

"I�m going to see if there is anything I can do for Jack," he said. "I lost Jujay, my servant and friend, and it hurts me deeply. Jack lost Carlo, a close friend, and knowing how he must feel�"

She looked into his eyes, repressed a beaming smile of admiration for what she saw within them. Never before had she met a man like him. So good, so kind, so innocent�so pure, everything Ty the Parson touted him to be. And with such a giving heart he was willing to offer a suffering soul succor without a thought to his own safety in this nightmare forest. How could she refuse him? She could not. But she could do something for her own peace of mind about it.

"Go ahead," she said, releasing his shoulder, and when he started off to perform his good deed, she followed at a discreet distance, just in case.

Two things made attaining his objective harder than he thought it would be: the breakneck speed the Party maintained was already taxing him to the limit and the cause of his overall problem with doing so, his short legs. Yet somehow he was able to reach Jack�s side, pumping his arms briskly. It was then he realized something else. He did not know Jack, at all.

What in the whole wide world should he say to him?

On they went, side by side, Sharna close behind, Jack unaware of them in his sorrow, and Orlon racking his brain in search of the right approach. Time and again, he grunted off an idea that at first sounded promising. He never imagined such a thing would be so tough. Then his finger drifted to his chin, his eyes twinkled. He had it! He reached up to tap Jack�s arm� Hair from Jack�s arm and head fell across his extended hand.

Horrified, Orlon looked up into his face, watched his skin turn light blue. What was happening here? Whatever it was he knew it was not good, but he found himself unable to respond to the inner warning to get out of there. Jack looked at him, his once blue eyes now pink. In those eyes Orlon read a wanting, but rather than alluring like he saw in Sharna�s eyes it was terrifying.

"Touch me," Jack said, reaching for him.

"Look out," Sharna yanked the Midget back by the collar.

Jack reached for her, saying, "Touch me."

"Warriors, to me," she called, stepping clear of his reach, drawing her saber. "Protect the One."

Those ahead looked back, were aghast at what they saw. Frank looked at his friend and breathed an oath. In quick order, swords were drawn and the light blue man found himself surrounded by sword wielding warriors. His pink eyes took them in, located a familiar face and, reaching out, he said:

"Touch me."

"Stay back," Frank blurted, and when his warning went unheeded, he hacked Jack with his rapier.

As if on cue, the others hacked away at Jack. Crik-or�s rock flew in, bouncing off the bald blue head and flying away, its thrower scurrying after it.

Sharna tried to shield Orlon from the carnage going on before them. He thankfully buried his face in her hip, but there was nothing he could do to stop hearing the horrible noise of it. Nearby, Tarl, "protectively" holding Mishto Sharpaine, saw this and followed suit with Mishto, even though he found the swordplay fascinating. Face buried in her hip, he breathed in the Campfire Girl�s enticing scent, smiled. If he had seen her face, he would have been confused. Rather than scared she looked sad, embarrassed, worried�strangely aware.

The circle of violence finally ceased, broke up, revealing all that remained of Jack was a puddle of pink streaked goo. The warriors held their goo dripping swords well away from themselves, disgust on their faces. They looked about for some way to clean the blades off, but only saw the thorn bushes which offered them nothing for that task. It was Tarftenrott who saw the leafy little tree close at hand. He ripped free a handful of leaves and wiped off his blade.

"Fool," Ty the Parson said, pointing his staff accusingly at him. "The child places a finger near the snapping turtle�s mouth! You, Tarftenrott, have placed our journey through this dark, dangerous forest in mortal jeopardy."

To a man, and woman, the warriors cast a disapproving glare on him.

"W-wu-wu-what d-du-du-did I du-d-du-du-do?" he said.

"The unwanted entrance of male organ to female organ! The tricked seeks reprisal on the trickster! You have defiled the Mighty Aurtauntin Tree. Do so and danger follows," Ty the Parson said in a flail of arms and legs. "The runner dramatically leans forward to rip the white tape! Now, I, Ty, the Parson, and those who follow on this quest must make even more haste if we wish to exit this forest successfully."

With that, he spun in a display of spasming limbs and hurried down the path.

"Quickly," Grash said, stepping forward authoritatively. "Clean your swords that we may be off."

Those with goo covered swords looked about for a solution to the task and finding none, shrugged, and began stabbing their blades into the thorny bushes. Eventually the blades were clean enough that after a shake or two, they reluctantly sheathed them. One by one, they started after the Parson, and as each warrior passed Tarftenrott, they cast a disgruntled look at him.

"H-hu-hu-how wu-wu-was I t-tu-tu-to nu-n-nu-nu-know?" he said, sheathed his perfectly clean sword and followed.

"Come on, Orlon," Sharna said and drove her saber home into its scabbard.

Falling in behind her gave him the opportunity to look at the "defiled" tree, and he scratched his head. No taller than he was, its thin trunk supported a web of even thinner limbs that struggled to hold up the only healthy looking part of the plant, its large, brilliant green leaves. He was amazed such a pitiful looking tree could wield such power�. He thought about what he was expected to do at this quest�s end and half smiled. Maybe big things could come in small packages. He gulped, and he hoped so, at least in his case.

Grash was pleased by how rapidly the others had responded to his order. He sheathed his broadsword, gave the scene of Jack�s demise a cursory final survey�and saw the primitive man was still there. Crik-or was on his hands and knees by a narrow ravine that skirted the thorny bushes, eyes scanning the ground before him diligently. The old warrior raised an eyebrow.

"Crik-or," he said commandingly, "come."

"Can�t find rock," Crik-or continued his search.

"Just grab any old rock," he said with a flip of a hand.

Crik-or froze, turned his head to face Grash, thick brow knit. "Want my rock," he said and went back to looking.

Grash�s raised his eyes to the heavens, and Crik-or lowered his to look in the ravine. He smiled and said, "Found it."

He reached into the ravine to retrieve it. A huge, leathery claw reached up out of the ravine, grabbed him and yanked him into it. Loud rips and tears and screams of anguish followed, loud enough to challenge the forest�s roars, growls, howls and snarls.

"IIIIIEEEEEYAAAA," Crik-or bellowed and pleaded, "Help me."

So loud was the primitive man�s ordeal those moving down the path stopped, looked back to see Grash coming quickly toward them.

"We have lost Crik-or to another dastardly creature of the forest," he said, passing them on his way to take his "rightful" place at the head of the Party.

They stood a moment, looking back. There was no sign of the primitive man, but his cries of agony and pleas for help were clearly heard. Then one by one they turned and put the mystery behind them. The last to turn was Orlon, who could not understand how a hero like Grash could leave a fellow warrior in such dire straits�. Into his mind came the notion Crik-or was dead, that the pleas for help were the creature�s base attempt at drawing in more victims.

What the truth of it was was soon lost in the Midget�s desire to get out of this dreaded forest before any more lost their lives. There was also his growing worry that somewhere along the way he would tucker out, would not be able to go on. Somehow the Party had found a way to go beyond breakneck speed. South loop, north loop, south loop, north loop� On they went down the path, and arms pumping, legs pistoning, he did his best to keep up.

A loud pop stopped them.

An acrid odor filled their nostrils, and they looked about for the culprit.

Frank�s bowels exploded!

Everyone scattered, as much as the thorny bushes allowed, trying to escape the flying�goo. Sharna raised one arm to shield herself, with the other pulled Orlon behind her. Tarl and Mishto were thrown stumbling by the blast, but did their best to keep clear of the splatter nonetheless.

And when the shock of it subsided, they heard a pitiful plea that drew their eyes to Frank�and nearly brought up their last meal. The warrior lay in a pile of his own reeking filth, hands clutching at his crotch, the last bit of flesh that held his legs to his torso. His face was a twisted map of pain, his wide eyes pools of misery, as they took in the Party member by member, and, again, he pleaded:

"Kill me."

To a man, and woman, the warriors found it hard to meet him eye to eye.

"Kill me."

Throats were cleared, collars tugged.

"Please, kill me."

Swords were hitched, feet shuffled.

"Kill me, please."

Frank�s eyes came to Chitintiare and Telluspett. The Dorks met him eye to eye and smiled.

"Kill me!"

A jolt went through them as if they had been goosed, and they blinked. Chitintiare looked at his brother, Telluspett met his eyes and for a moment the scene held. They blinked again, and if it was at all possible their ignorant expressions grew even more so. Then, eyes wide, forefingers shooting to the limb webbed sky, they turned on the pitiful man and smiled brightly.

"Okay," they said, unhooking their crossbows from their belts. "We�ll do it."

"Shouldn�t we be moving on," Sharna urgently said to Grash, giving him a dramatic eye roll that came to rest on Orlon.

The old warrior looked from her to him and back again. "Yes, uh, uh, yes," he said. "That we should, as our quest should be delayed as little as possible." He turned to the Dorks, who were busy loading bolts into their crossbows, and said, "You two do your�deed and hurry after us."

Chintiniare and Telluspett paused in loading their crossbows, gave him a thumbs up.

After giving his handlebar mustache a theatrical twist, Grash signaled no less theatrically for the Party to follow and strode down the path. One by one, they followed. Tarl, still "protectively" holding Mishto, and absent his three companions, fell in after them. Sharna urged Orlon along, and as they went down the path, he could not help but look back. A firm finger on his chin turned his head back to see Sharna shake her head. He understood.

Soon they followed another looping turn and those behind were lost to them.

Alone now, Chitintiare and Telluspett, both sporting loaded crossbows, and Frank, laying in agony upon his own pile of filth, faced each other. The plea they saw in Frank�s eyes brought a frown to the Dorks' blank faces. They scratched their heads�and alarm muscled its way into the warrior�s eyes. Could the dullards have already forgotten what they promised to do? Relief edged out his alarm when they looked at each other with an "oh yeah" expression on their faces.

They took aim and fired their crossbows.

"Oops," Telluspett said.

"Uh ho," Chitintiare said.

Frank cringed with the added pain of a bolt sticking in his hand and one in a foot. "Kill me," he begged.

They reloaded their crossbows, took careful aim and fired.

"Augh," Frank bellowed, a bolt now sticking in his forearm and one in a calf. "Please kill me," he urged.

Thus began a series of quick reloads, misfires and pleas for death. And with each misfire, Chitintiare and Telluspett grew more apologetic, and Frank more and more could not believe this was happening to him. Finally, the two reached to their quivers for another bolt and their hands closed on thin air once, twice, a third time�five rapid times. They looked at their target, cheeks red.

"Kill me," Frank, now a pin cushion in every nonvital body part, pleaded.

"Sorry," the Dorks said with a shrug. "We�re out of bolts."

They spun on their heels and, tossing aside their now useless crossbows, hurried down the path. Franks pleas for death were soon lost in the forest�s roars, growls, howls and snarls.

Despite his physical strain, Orlon wished they would pick up the pace even more. He wanted out of this forest. The rumors, tales, legends of Dark Forest he heard in his youth were upper most in his mind, along with the thought he had witnessed the truth of those rumors, tales, legends. True, he had only seen one monster and presumably heard another, but that was enough, considering all the suffering and death they had been through on this journey.

He simply wanted out of this place before he witnessed any more.

And his mind turned back to the last suffering he witnessed, which made him shudder and swallow back bile. The image of Frank laying there in his own filth filled his mind, and he heard the poor man�s pleas for death. Chitintiare and Telluspett had agreed to oblige his request�and they left them behind to do so. They left them behind in this forest of horror! That had been�what?�five looping turns ago. He wondered if they would ever see the Dorks again. He kept glancing back in hopes of seeing them scurrying up the path to rejoin them.

During a look back he felt Sharna�s hand grip his shoulder, stopping him in mid stride. He shot a questioning look her way, then looked ahead to discover he was one step away from bumping into Tarl and Mishto, who had been stopped by those ahead. He frowned at this unexpected slowdown, leaned around his best friend to learn what caused it. The path had taken a sharp turn west, and for some reason those ahead were slow in following it.

Those ahead disappeared around the turn one by one, and step by step Orlon wondered more and more what caused this slowdown. The last time the path had taken a sharp turn it led to the south and north looping way, so he wondered if this turn meant they had reached the forest�s other side. If that was true, why did they slow down rather than speed up to get out of here?

For what seemed an eternity he trudged forward one step at a time before finally reaching the turn, and when he rounded it two things happened: he could not believe his eyes and, again, Sharna caught him by the shoulder to stop him. The Party stood on the edge of a clearing, backs to the thorny bushes that bordered the inward side, and in the tree walled outer side was the forest�s exit, like the entrance formed by a curious twist in two tree trunks. Beyond it was a sunny day.

That they reached the exit filled Orlon with glee, and what he saw next to it answered his question about what had slowed them down. Next to the gleaming split between trees was a man who captured his attention so thoroughly he did not even notice Chitintiare and Telluspett stumble into the clearing behind him.

The man leaned against a tree, well muscled arms crossed over barrel chest, well muscled legs stretched out, one foot over the other. He wore a sleeveless, brass colored mess shirt, mid length brass colored breeches and high strap sandals. About his trim waist was a gray girdle from which hung a scabbardless broadsword. It was a well cared for weapon, its fanciful hilt wrapped with a sweat cloth, its solid gold quillon shaped like eagles wings that curved toward the magnificent blade.

But it was not the man�s incredible weapon that had captured Orlon�s attention. It was the jet black of his shoulder length hair, the yellowish tint of his skin. The Midget had never seen anyone like him before. He could not help but wonder who this man was�

"Slit-eyes," Marcol breathed, clasping a hand roughly over Richtichtiare�s mouth.

Orlon frowned at the mercenary, doubting that was the man�s proper name.

"Shing," Ty the Parson said.

Orlon looked at the Parson, smiled, thankful someone knew the man�s name.

Ty the Parson quick-stepped across the clearing, the man brought himself to his feet with an elbow shove to the tree, and they talked quietly together.

No one watched them more closely than Orlon. Try as he might, he could not hear a word between them, which struck him as odd. Despite the forest�s ear-splitting roars, howls, growls and snarls, he had been able to hear everything said since they entered Dark Forest. Then there was the fact the more he looked at the newcomer the more he felt he knew him from somewhere�. He had it! Just before Tarl rudely interrupted his reading the fateful night Ty the Parson arrived he was reading about a man�just like this man.

"Hm," he brought a finger to chin, eyes staring back in time.

If memory served him, the man in his book was referred to as an Oriental Ranger. Few still existed, he remembered the book saying, and their origin was unknown beyond they came from somewhere in the East. An Oriental Ranger was said to be strong, battle trained and honest. And like a Parson, they were known to simple appear when needed� That was about as far as he read, and now he wished he had been able to read more.

He focused on the man�s face in hopes of judging his character. The man�s square jawed face was smooth skinned, had high cheekbones, a small, wide, rounded nose and small, nearly full lipped mouth. His eyes were black orbs pressed into narrow oval slits, topped by straight, thin eyebrows. All in all, he judged that face to be open and honest, and handsome as well.

A lustful sigh brought his eyes to Sharna. She rocked on her heels, fingers of one hand at her smiling mouth, a finger of the other twirling a stand of her hair, eyes locked on the newcomer. Never before had she looked so seductive, if that was possible, never before had the wanting in her eyes been so intense, never before had her attention been total on someone other than him. He looked from her to him and back again. A frown darkened his face.

"Small mouse! Innocent lamb! Orlon, come."

A snicker rolled Orlon�s eyes to land on Tarl, smiling a smile he knew well�and never liked. "He called you innocent lamb," Tarl mouthed, snickering again� His eyes jumped beyond Orlon, went wide, and he ducked behind Mishto. Orlon looked from him to Sharna and for a split second he caught an expression, a sharp glint in her eyes that set his nape hairs on end. When her eyes lowered to him the glint was gone, a smile brightened her face.

"Come on, Orlon," she said, letting her eyes fall on Tarl again briefly.

They crossed the clearing side by side, he being bumped by her swaying hips. But before he could respond to that they came to a stop before Ty the Parson and the newcomer. He met the latter eye to eye, and in those dark orbs he read intellect, a universe of life experiences and�something that told him this man could be trusted.

"I am Orlon," he proffered a hand.

"The Pure," the newcomer shook his hand, "the One�savior of our world, I know." He brought a hand to his chest, said, "I, Shing, heard the call and came to serve you."

Hearing this made him blush. "Th-thank you," he said.

"Sharna," Shing said, taking her hand and kissing it. "It has been some time."

She giggled like a child.

A frown darkened the Midget�s face.

"Shouldn�t we be off?" Shing turned to the Parson.

With a severe twitch of shoulders, Ty the Parson nodded, opened his mouth to speak�

"Yeow," Marcol wailed, slinging Richtichtiare from him. He looked from the bloody teeth marks in his palm to the Grumpling, who smiled at him with blood stained teeth. "Why you�" He drew his shortsword, swung it over his head, ready to strike.

"Wait," Shing and Grash warned.

Marcol brought his shortsword arcing down, splitting Richtichtiare in half, head to crotch. No bloody sprayed, no entrails splattered. Instead, the two halves simply fell apart, and upon inspection it was discovered there was a clear membrane holding the innards within each half. The mercenary looked from half to half, shortsword held limply in hand, wondering what was going on here. What had he just done?

"That," Shing said, "is no way to get rid of a Grumpling."

Marcol looked at him questioningly.

That was when it happened! The Richtichtiare halves twitched, drawing everyone�s attention to them. And right before their eyes the halves began to each grow another half. The ordeal was both fascinating and sickening to witness�. In a short time that seemed much longer there before them was not one but two Rictichtiares. Marcol silently cursed his shortsword, slamming it home into its scabbard.

"Your youthful education must have been tough on your parents," one Richtichtiare sneered.

"Not hard to believe," the other Richtichtiare said and cocked his head, crossed his eyes, "considering how special he is, if you know what I mean."

The mercenary pressed his hands to his ears.

Orlon thought about where they ran into the Grumpling, tied up and gagged in the old Winslo place. He half smiled. That must be, he presumed, a right way to get rid of one.

"The sleeping flower opens its pedals at first light of day! Water poured on flat stone! Our journey must enter the light, spread rapidly over the land," Ty the Parson said in a flail of limbs, and he slipped through the exit into the sunlight beyond.

Shing followed.

There was no one more eager to get out of Dark Forest, aside from Tarl Bimbo, than Orlon. He was grateful to be so close to the exit when Ty the Parson made his verbose proclamation and went through it, Shing close behind. He started to follow� Tarftenrott and Roxx hurried by him to exit the forest. A frown creased his brow, and he started again� Expendendale and Rae hurried by him and out of the forest. Again, he started� Chitintiare and Telluspett hurried by and out. Again, he started� Grash and Marcol, followed by the twin Grumplings, went through the exit.

Fists on hips, Orlon watched after them, wondering whatever happened to the "protect the One" line he had heard so often. The desperate need to leave the forest overrode his wondering, and with a huff, he started yet again�

"Excuse us, buddy," Tarl, with Mishto Sharpaine in tow, edged by him and out of the forest.

Orlon watched them go and looked to the heavens.

"Let�s go," Sharna said, urging him through the exit and following close behind.

The feel of sunlight put a smile on his face. He breathed deeply of the fresh air, so happy to be free of the forest�s stuffiness. He looked up at the blue sky, a small cloud scudding by, and his smile broadened. And there was the silence! Other than the whoosh of a passing breeze that ruffled his hair it was�quiet. They had made it through a nightmare journey and found the other side of the forest a nice and pleasant place to be.

They had made it to�he frowned�where? He looked at the Party standing nearby, relaxing after their ordeal. He looked directly down to find he stood on a road, looked both ways not once but twice. The road ran north and south. He knelt and scooped up a handful of dirt, let it slip through his fingers. That there was a road here was unbelievable to him, until he remembered Ty the Parson had given him the choice of following the road around Dark Forest. But was this still Dwarf Road?

"Eltrondale Road."

Surprised, Orlon looked up to find Tarl standing beside him, hands stuffed in pockets, a smile on his plump face. He gave his best friend a questioning look.

"I�ve been talking around," Tarl admitted with a shrug.

"The corner to the fighter when the bell rings! The point man sent ahead by a squad�s leader! The journey through the forest was wearying on us all. Hurry, refresh yourselves. As you do, I, Ty, the Parson, will scout ahead," Ty the Parson said, limbs flailing.

Orlon watched him hurry down the road. "I wonder where it goes," he said offhandedly.

"So do I," Tarl said, and a big smile creased his face as he added: "And we�ll soon find out, too, buddy o' mine."

Orlon gave him a double-take. Then he felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. His best friend was not only right, but excited as well, and with good reason. This trip�this quest had given him the chance to do what he boasted about doing forever, breaking free of Dwarf Road and seeing what was out there. Further, it had gone, and would be going, much further than Tarl thought� He gulped. He just hoped Tarl was ready for what awaited them at its end.

"That we will," he said nonchalantly.

A loud, strangely feminine squeal drew everyone bolt upright. To a man, and woman, the warriors lay hands on hilts, and all looked to Dark Forest. Nothing moved, no other sound was heard. With a nervous giggle here, a snicker there, the warriors relaxed. That left Orlon, Tarl, Mishto and Roxx to feel uneasy about this queer event.

Tarl blurted a laugh. "I�ve always been afraid of that forest," he said, "and now that I�ve been through it�I�m still afraid of it." He shook his head. "And I guess I�m not the only one. Just look how we reacted to�to whatever that was."

There was a definite undertone of dislike for his last statement amongst the warriors.

"We paid a pretty price to get through Dark Forest," Orlon said sadly.

"That we did," Tarl agreed. "I�m sorry about Jujay, buddy."

"Thank you," Orlon said. "But we lost so much more. Carlo, Jack, Crik-or, Frank�"

Hearing the names of his recently acquired, and lost, companions put a frown on Tarl�s face. "I�ve been wondering about that," he said. "What happened to Jack, Carlo and Frank? Well, I know Carlo was killed by that�that forest creature�"

Orlon thought of the tired, sweaty expression he saw on Carlo�s face.

"�but the way Jack and Frank died," Tarl went on, shivering at the memory of it. "That couldn�t've been caused by the forest, could it?"

"Hardly," Grash said with a dramatic twist of his handlebar mustache.

"What then?" Tarl asked.

"What happened to those�fellows is what happens to anyone who catches a Campfire Girl at the wrong time of the month."

A frown touched Tarl�s features. He looked from the old warrior to Mishto, who smiled meekly, cheeks pink, and back again. Through his mind flashed the events of the night before. The dice game with the fancily dressed trio, where he had the best luck he had had in months, turning four silver coins into a hefty pouch of gold coins, the foreplay games, after coins exchanged, with Mishto that followed, and the�activities after�. If there was one thing he was definitely certain of, it was that last night was not that time of the month for her.

"I don�t understand," he said.

"It is simply," Grash said. "You see�"

"Let�s sit over here," Sharna said, urging Orlon toward the field side of the road.

Orlon did not appreciate being taken away before he heard the old warrior�s answer, yet he could not resist her.

"Tell me about your farm," she said in hopes of drowning out anything Grash might say that could damage the One�s purity,

"�if you play the game at the wrong time you�ve had it."

Confused, Tarl looked to Mishto. Her pink cheeks turned crimson.

"What?" he brought his eyes back to Grash.

"It is well known�" Grash looked the Midget up and down, sniffed "�at least to those of us experienced in the military trade, that over the years, with the amount of�services Campfire Girls perform with so many different men, they have developed a period, if you will, each month when they emit innumerable diseases to any customers they deal with."

Tarl�s face went blank, and it slowly sunk in. "Ah, nuts," he blurted and looked at Mishto.

"I think I�m over it now," she said sheepishly.

"Ah, nuts!"

He ran to the forest side of the road, yanked a handkerchief from a pocket and jerked down his pants, began frantically scrubbing his loins.

"Ooh."

The high pitched squeal brought his eyes up, what he saw sent a jolt through him. He stood at the forest�s edge, its tree wall heading straight away from him, and not five feet in front of him a man no bigger than a six month old baby fluttered on yellow butterfly wings, big blue eyes looking him up and down lustily.

"Hey, fellas," the man called, thumbing at Tarl. "Here�s a guy offering it up."

Tarl looked beyond him, saw a man dressed in dust colored farm clothes laying exhausted on the ground fifteen feet away, a small plow lying nearby. Above him fluttered two small men. One had brown moth wings, the other brightly spotted butterfly wings. Both looked at Tarl.

"Ooh, Brucey," they squealed in unison. "You lucky you, you."

With a scream, Tarl dropped his handkerchief, pawed up his pants, backing away.

Brucey swooped down and snatched up the handkerchief. Taking a sniff of it, he looked at Tarl, batted his long eyelashes. Tarl gagged and backed away even faster, nearly running over Mishto Sharpaine, as the winged man fluttered after him. She stopped him with hands on his shoulders, and he glanced back, hesitated, briefly contemplating which would be a worse fate, her or Brucey, then scurried around to hide behind her.

Upon reaching the road, Brucey snapped bolt upright, eyes wide. One by one, he took in the warriors, who mysteriously took no notice of him. They did, however, when he performed a series of in-place loop-the-loops, pointing at each and every one of them, squealing in delight.

"Look at all these men," he squealed, the handkerchief drifting from his hand, forgotten.

In answer, the two other winged men fluttered out, performed the same one by one take in of the warriors and did their own squealing loop-the-loops.

"What the�?" Marcol gasped, drawing his shortsword.

"Fairies," Shing and Grash answered and warned, "Stand your ground."

But their warning went unheeded.

Tarftenrott, Expendendale, Chitintiare and Telluspett drew their swords, spanned out to give themselves swordplay room, eyeing the Fairies warily. To a man, they were tense, ready to react.

"Yummy," Brucey swept around them, hands clasped at bosom. "There are just so many of them."

"And they�re all so strong," the moth winged man said. "So manly."

"Mm," the brightly spotted winged man said, fluttering before Shing. "Just look at this one. So manly. And look at that sexy skin color. Mm."

"Ooh," Brucey said, arms akimbo. "Stanley Boobicans. You can pick theeeeem."

"You can pick them, Stanley Boobkicans," the moth winged man agreed, fluttering close to Marcol, said, "But my choice isn�t ugly."

"Ooh," Stanley Boobicans said. "He is beautiful, Jonny Poo."

"Hm," one Richtichtiare said, looking at the mercenary�s back. "I wonder where his wings are."

"Probably keeps them hidden under that ponytail," the other Richtichtiare said.

Jonny Poo swept in, flipped Marcol�s ponytail with a finger. "Mm mm," he cooed. "That�s one of the sexiest things about him."

And thus began a bizarre "song and dance" routine.

Marcol slashed at the Fairy, who skillfully darted clear of danger and swooped back in to coo another seductive comment at him. Driven mad by this, the mercenary attacked again, only to be dodged and complimented again�

Jonny Poo�s Fairy partners were not idle. Brucey played a three way with Tarftenrott and Expendendale, fluttering and swooping around them, cooing at them and skillfully dodging sword slashes and thrusts� After several failed attempts to rile Shing, Stanley Boobicans looked at Grash and shook his head, took on Chitintiare ad Telluspett. The Dorks proved the easiest of victims, attacking the Fairy before he completed his first seductive taunt�

When Sharna urged him to walk away, Orlon was disappointed, wanting to hear what Grash had to say. He cocked an ear in hopes of hearing something despite their leaving. When she asked about his farm, he gave her a double-take, finding it hard to believe the warrior woman could possibly be interested in a farm. Then again, maybe it was not interest in a farm but interest in his farm�. Maybe it was interest in him. He cleared his throat, tugged at his collar.

She had asked him about his farm, that was all! He focused his mind on that.

"There," he began, struggling to gather his scattered thoughts on the subject into a coherent line, "there�s not much to tell, really. It�s a one acre farm with a small house." He laughed. "The smallest farm on Dwarf Road, I�ve been told numerous times by neighbors. A beginner�s farm, you might call it. I do. My dream is to one day build on to it. Buy more acres, enlarge the house, rear a family there�" He felt the heat of embarrassment creeping up his cheeks.

"Anyway," he hurriedly went on. "To do that I need to build up enough profit to afford my desires. That, I�m afraid, isn�t easy to do with one acre. I, Tarl and�Jujay have worked the land three years now, have raised successful crops and have little financially to show for it.

"And now that Jujay is gone�"

He took in a deep breath, the image of his old servant filling his mind. That he had died on this quest troubled him greatly. Whether it was his duty, as Tarl reminded him, or not, that the Party so easily�so thoughtlessly loaded him with their supply bundles also troubled him. Did they not see how old he was? He let the breath hiss out. Did they really have to leave his body on the path that way after?

"Let�s sit here," Sharna placed a hand gently on his shoulder.

With a blink, Orlon was brought back to the here and now, and he blinked again when he saw where they were. They had not only walked to the field side of the road, but down the road a good ten feet. He shrugged it off and did as she suggested, sitting down on the road�s edge. Sharna knelt on her haunches next to him.

She had asked him about his farm for two reasons: to drown out Grash and she was honestly interested in what he�the One�did for a living. She wanted to know all about him. There was no denying that she could be obsessive, and when she became obsessed she ran with it until it passed. Orlon was her present obsession, spurred by her desire to protect him on this quest and that he was different. He was a Midget. She looked at him, registered the sad expression on his face, and cursed herself. She should have known asking about his farm would remind him of his servant.

Silence griped the scene.

Eyes on the field, Orlon inwardly shook off the sadness of his servant�s demise, somewhat. Jujay was old, after all. He glanced at Sharna, who looked out into the field, and wanted to say something. He wanted to ask her about being a warrior. Surely, her story, whatever and wherever it might lead, would be far more exciting than his about farming. What he needed was an avenue to spark up a conversation. That was when he remembered the apple in his pocket.

He fished the it out of his pocket, smiled. Not only could he use the fruit as an avenue, he was hungry.

"Share this with me?" he asked, holding it up.

Her eyes went from his smiling face to the apple and back again. She smiled and nodded.

"Let me half that," she said, pulling the ivory handled dagger from her boot.

He handed her the apple. She halved it and gave the juicy blade a wipe on a breeches leg before returning the dagger to her boot. With a wink, she handed him a half, took a bite of her own. He began munching on his half.

Bite by bite, Orlon grew restless, angry with himself. Rather than as an avenue for further conversation, the apple led to nothing more than satisfying his hunger. He wanted to ask her about being a warrior, yet he just sat there, filling his gut. For some reason he was too nervous to speak to her. Taking a fourth bite, he admonished himself for being so silly�cowardly, told himself to go ahead and ask her. But when he turned to do so, she paused, the final bite of her half poised at her lips, cocked her ear away from him.

"Fairies?" she let the apple drop from her hand. "I�ve never had one of those before."

Orlon looked at her questioningly. The curious glint he registered in her wanting brown eyes creased his brow. He opened his mouth to speak�

"Stay here," she told him, "and do not look."

In quick response to her order, he did the first thing that came to mind, placing his hands over his eyes. And like a child, he split his fingers to peek. He watched Sharna rise to her feet, glance over her shoulder and the dreamy look on her face when she looked back confused him. She pulled off her shirt, revealing her firm breasts crested with hard, rose red nipples. His breath caught in his throat, deep down he felt�something he had never felt before. He closed his fingers.

"Come on, boys," she said, spinning around and starting back toward the Fairy pestered Party. "I�m willing."

Everyone froze. All eyes turned to the approaching woman. Not only did the "dance" cease, so did the "song". Even the Richtichtiares were caught speechless. Those warriors not involved�Shing and Grash�watched her calculatingly, wondering what she intended to do. Tarl grew stiff from top to bottom, and in-between, eyes so bugged they nearly fell out of their sockets. Mishto Sharpaine eyed her appraisingly, nervously shrugged her off as nothing special.

But Sharna did not notice them, having eyes only for the Fairies.

"She�she�s topless," Brucey gagged.

"Showing her breasts," Stanley Boobicans gagged.

"All naked like," Jonny Poo gagged.

"All for you," she said seductively. "Come on, boys. Let�s get it on."

"Eek!" they squealed in unison.

Thus began a "song and dance" routine of a different sort. Sharna chased the little winged men this way and that, grabbing at them with both hands. They proved just as skillful, if not more so, at dodging her as they were at dodging sword slashes and thrusts. While they did little more than a frantic squeal now and again, she repeatedly invited them to stop fleeing and "have some fun." They gagged at that.

"Let�s get out of here," Brucey finally squealed.

With a flit and a flutter, a swoop and a loop-the-loop, the Fairies dodged their ways around her until they were together, then fluttered north as fast as their wings could take them. Sharna gave one last valiant try at catching them�and her hand closed on Jonny Poo�s leg.

"Let go, let go, let go, let go, let go," the Fairy squealed, jerking his little leg and batting his moth wings into a brown blur.

The power of his struggle proved so great it pulled Sharna off balance. She stumbled, was forced to release him in order to flail her arms in hopes of catching her balance, which she did, just barely. Once secure in her stance, she straightened up and watched the trio wing their way north along the road.

"Shucks," she said, frowning at her missed opportunity, and she pulled her shirt back on.

"I thank you, Sharna," Shing said. "If you hadn�t arrived�"

"Yes, uh, uh, yes," Grash interrupted, twirling his mustache. "If you hadn�t arrived, those dastardly Fairies would have dealt our mission a terrible bow, wearing our warriors down, having their way with them and transforming those weak willed enough into�more Fairies."

"And I thank you all," the man Tarl had first seen being victimized by the Fairies crawled into the road, dragging a small plow behind him by a strap. "They had worn me down, were about to have their way with me, if you hadn�t distracted them."

"Who are you?" Shing said.

"I am Brak Dugan, wandering farmhand for hire," he said, struggling up to his feet and strapping the small plow to his back. "Who are you?"

"We," Grash stepped forward, cutting Shing�s response off, "are the Party, or more accurately what is left of it after a harrowing journey through this�this forest, brought together by Ty the Parson to protect the One on his quest to vanquish the evil Tibtarnitallimardarian who threatens all that is good and just in our world."

Brak Dugan frowned, blinked, smiled. "I will join you," he said. "It is the least I can do in repayment for saving me."

"Good," Shing said quickly. "I am sure Ty the Parson will appreciate your help in the matter. And speaking of Ty the Parson�"

"We have rested enough," Grash said. "The quest must continue."

With that, swords were sheathed and those victims of the Fairies tiredly made their way to Shing and Grash and the newcomer, Brak Dugan. Rae and Roxx, who had silent as ghosts watched the whole affair transpire from the field side of the road, joined them. Sharna joined them. Mishto started forward, paused and looked back at Tarl, still stiff top to bottom, and in-between, bugged eyes focused on Sharna. She cleared her throat once, twice�a loud third time. He blinked, looked at the Campfire Girl and joined her to join the others.

Grash looked at Shing, who looked to the heavens, and said, "Let us be off."

On the Party went down the road, quickly but not so much, as the victims of the Fairy assault were tuckered out. The march lasted fifteen feet, when Shing brought it to a halt, saying:

"Aren�t we forgetting something?"

They looked at him questioningly.

"Orlon," Tarl said, forefinger raised into the air.

They all looked back to see him where Sharna had left him, hands clasped over eyes.

"How could I, proclaimed guardian of the One, have been so absentminded?" Sharna said and silently admonished herself for letting her desire for Fairies overrun her duty to Orlon.

"Hey, Orlon," Tarl called. "We�re leaving, buddy."

Orlon dropped his hands, gave them a double-take. How did they get so far down the road? He looked where they had been standing, saw nothing out of the ordinary. What happened that made Sharna order him to cover his eyes? To his mind�s eye appeared the image of a shirtless Sharna when he peeked. He gulped, cheeks turning pink.

"Let�s go, Orlon," Sharna urged him.

He got up, hurried to them�her, and they started down the road.

"What did I miss?" he asked Sharna.

"A lot," Tarl said, but she silenced him with a glare and said, "I�ll tell you�later."

Something in the tone of her voice told him "later" would never come.

In comparison to the breakneck speed they went through Dark Forest the pace they went down Eltrondale Road was slow. Orlon looked from Ty the Parson, a small figure standing at the top of a hill ahead, to those around him and knew it would take time to span the distance between them. He knew Ty the Parson would not be happy about that. But when he took in the weariness of some of the warriors he knew they could not travel any quicker.

Their weariness turned his mind to the event he missed. Once he covered his eyes all he had had to rely on was his ears, which considering how Sharna led him as far out of earshot as possible, did not offer him much. He heard Tarl�s scream, followed by strangely high pitched voices�and not much more. Clear in his memory was Shing�s exclamation followed by Sharna�s questioning repeat: "Fairies?" Frowning, he wondered what a "Fairy" was�

Into his mind appeared an image that washed away his concerns over what had happened. Sharna stood there, shirtless, well formed breasts exposed. He had never seen such in his life. So beautiful�alluring. The sight and resight in his mind filled him with a tingling feeling.

He thought about that feeling. It was a feeling he could not identify�. He was reminded of his crush on Mona Ik, and he looked at the warrior woman through slit eyes. Could this feeling be a crush? She looked at him, smiled, a twinkle in her ever wanting eyes. He broke eye contact, turned away in hopes of hiding the crimson crawling up his cheeks.

She looked at him, eyes narrowed.

But before she could contemplate anything they reached the base of the hill and followed the road up it to Ty the Parson. When they reached him he paid them no mind, eyes focused on what lay ahead. All followed his eyes, and to a man, and women, they blinked. The road carried on down the hill and with a slight western bend made its way to two rivers, one blue and one green, flowing side by side east to west. Twin wooden bridges gave the road a turn due southward across them, and it was at the first bridge a man sat, back to them, legs dangling over the drop off.

This man was huge, tall and round�a butterball of fat�dressed in bizarrely spotted white tunic and breeches. By all evidence, especially the droop forward of his head, he was asleep.

"Who is that?" Orlon said quietly.

"I don�t know, but�" Sharna replied just as quietly, letting her voice trail off.

"But what?"

"The snake killer glides toward its slithery victim! The spider upon its web patiently awaits the vibration of ensnared bug! We must advance cautiously, quietly to escape possible entanglements that will endanger our quest�s completion," Ty the Parson said with a subdued voice, flail of limbs.

With that, he started down the hill without even a swish of his cloak. Orlon and Tarl watched him go, curious about the Parson�s cautionary reaction to the apparently sleeping man. The former not seeing how a man of such girth could be dangerous to them, the latter simply not wanting to find out what kind of nightmare the fat man might bring upon them.

"Hm," a Richtichtiare said, finger on chin, looking Marcol up and down. "I wonder why all this quiet is called for. A surprise party, perhaps�?"

"The kind he�d like, no doubt," the other Richtichtiare said and grabbing the seat of his pants, elaborated, "Featuring little party hats for all the little heads attending, if you get me."

To a man, and woman, the warriors frowned at the Grumplings, frowned at the mercenary. Marcol was no happier than they were about his loudmouthed tormenters' endless rant, but when it came to doing anything to silence them he still felt the sting of the bite on his palm. So all he could do in answer to their glare was shrug and smile lamely.

What happened next startled them all.

Again, to a man, and woman, the warriors turned their harsh glare on the Grumplings, whose taunts had slackened not in the least. Suddenly they did! First one, then the other Richtichtiare stopped in mid sentence, slowly swiveled their heads to cringe under the warriors' glare�. When they started up again their voices had not lost venom but came in a whisper.

Further glaring proved unfruitful, so they accepted what they could get from the Grumplings, and hands stilling swords, they hurried after the Parson, the rest close behind, just as cautiously quiet as those ahead of them.

The closer they got to the first bridge, the quieter they got, thankful the roar of the river�s rushing waters drowned out the Grumplings' whispered taunts. And the closer they got the huger the man got. He was nothing more than rolls and bulges of fat constrained by the stretched-to-the-limit seams of his clothing. Further, the closer they got the more he stank. He was dirty from his matted brown hair to the tips of his toes, the spots on his clothing food stains of various types.

His acrid odor burned their nostrils, brought tears to their eyes. They advanced nevertheless, restrained but eager to get beyond him and on their way.

Ty the Parson put a finger to his lips when they reached the man, the other hand signaling them on. He placed a foot on the bridge�and the man stirred. They stopped! The man grumbled and lifted an arm, scratched the smelly pit beneath. They watched, wide eyed. The man lifted his head, emitted a long and loud yawn. They swallowed quietly. With waves and rolls of fat the man worked his way up to his feet, back still toward them.

"Huh?" he said, round head rolling left and right on his round neck. He whipped around in amazing speed to face the Party.

Time ticked by. No one moved a muscle. They just stared at each other.

"Huh?" he repeated, scratching his head. He brought the plump hand down to wipe his thick lipped mouth. The act only moved around the filth about it, but for a crumb or two that fell to take up residence on his shirt. His inquisitive eyes looked them over inquisitively to the point it raised their nape hairs. His eyebrows furrowed, sending a speck or two of dirt to join the crumbs on his shirt. He yawned hugely, scratched his head again and said:

"Where you going?"

"The metal rod draws the lightning bolt! I, Ty, the Parson, and the Party guide the One to the layer of evil Tibtarnitallimardarian," Ty the Parson responded with a flail of arms and legs.

"Why?" the huge man cocked his head inquisitively.

"The pardon to one wrongfully condemned to execution! To save all that is good from an unjust fate."

"Why?"

Ty the Parson�s lips twitched, as did his limbs, but no words came.

Shing stepped forward and politely said, "We must go."

"Why?"

With a hand gesture behind his back Shing signaled the Party to go, and they started across the first bridge. Both Midgets glanced back at the huge man, shook their heads. For Tarl it was due to an odd disappointment that this apparent danger to them ended up being nothing more than a fat man asking silly questions. Orlon, on the other hand, was sorry and relieved. Sorry for the sad specimen the huge, dirty man turned out to be, relieved his biggest threat to them was asking questions in a most childlike manner.

"Got any food?"

Three steps onto the bridge, everyone stopped, slowly turned back to the huge man. Orlon noticed Roxx do the most curious thing. The cook swiftly angled his position directly between the huge man and his cart, head turned, whistling under his breath, eyes lost in the distance.

Again, Shing stepped forward, shaking his head, and opened his mouth to speak�

"I think I got some jerky," Chitintiare said, patting his pockets with both hands, and, patting his own pockets, Telluspett said, "Me, too."

"Wait," Shing and Grash warned.

First Chitintiare, then Telluspett beamed with joy, pulling a hefty pouch from a pocket and producing a strip of salty jerky from it. The huge man lumbered to them, licking his smiling lips. He snatched the jerky from them, gobbled it down and held out his plump hands for more. They obliged�and thus began a strip by strip feeding game.

"Dolts," Grash huffed at them. "Now we will never be rid of this Oaf."

"We�re Dorks, actually," Chitintiare informed him with a sneer. "Dolts are entirely different."

"Entirely," Telluspett affirmed, sneering. "Stupid little people, that�s what they are."

Both stuck their tongues out at him, then went back to feeding the Oaf.

Orlon looked from Grash to the Dorks and back again, shook his head and confronted what he did not understand. "What do you mean we�ll never get rid of him?" he asked.

"Ah," Grash said, settling in to answer the question, twisting an end of his handlebar mustache, "I have dealt with many of these�these Oafs in my time, during the wars, and seen the end result of their�deeds, if you will. Their infernal questioning, why this and why that, why, why, why� It is maddening! But that is not the worst of an Oaf. When they learn you have food, you need to worry. Oh, when they find out you have food�"

Out of the corner of an eye Orlon saw Roxx�s eyes bulge. The cook began to back his way across the bridge, pushing the cart behind him, casually and quietly as possible. And the Midget understood his motive for exiting the scene completely. If the Oaf found out about his cart, wherein appeared to be an endless food supply, they would never be rid of him, indeed.

"�they will proceed to eat everything. They will search through all the supplies 'til they have found every last morsel of food. Not leave a crumb behind�. Leave you to starve."

Orlon gulped, watching Chitintiare and Telluspett feed the Oaf strip after strip of jerky from their ever diminishing pouches. What lie ahead for them when those pouches were empty did not look good to him. What would they�what could they do to prevent disaster?

"Well, Orlon, buddy," Tarl said, watching the Dorks feed the Oaf, too. "It doesn�t look too good for our seeing much more of what�s out there, does it?"

There was no denying his best friend had a point. There was no denying their chances of seeing this quest through successfully did not look good either. He gulped.

"Blood spurts from severed artery! The bad dog flees from rolled up paper! Time flies away, draining away the chance of our quest�s success. Our quest must fly, too, to escape disaster," Ty the Parson said, arms and legs flailing,

He spun around, staff pointing the way, and started across the bridge

In quick order, the Party fell in behind him and quickly came face to face with a potential disaster of a different sort. It came when Chitintiare and Telluspett and the Oaf followed. With each step the huge man took, the bridge shook and swayed, and by the creaking and cracking of the wooden beams underfoot it was obvious the combined weight of the Party and the Oaf was too much for the bridge.

"Everyone, hurry," Shing took off at a sprint.

They followed his example, breaking into a sprint. And, surprisingly, so did the Oaf! This unexpected event led to a much more violent shaking and swaying of the bridge, nearly tossing members of the Party to its wooden beam surface, which was cracking and splintering swiftly. Even so, they made it safely across. All but the Dorks and Oaf looked back.

The bridge emitted an earsplitting moan, collapsed into the river�s rushing blue waters.

"Well," Tarl said, elbowing his best friend. "It looks like there�s no going back now, eh."

"Uh, yeah," Orlon said, not liking the sound of that one bit. "I guess so."

"The question is, gentlemen," Sharna said. "Will we make it across the next bridge?"

Orlon looked at Tarl, who met him eye to eye, then they looked at her. Then the three of them turned to face the bridge across the green river, which looked identical to the one they had just narrowly crossed. The Party faced their next obstacle as well. Roxx, still keeping his cart hidden behind him, waved at them from the other side. All looked from the bridge to the Oaf, still snatching and gobbling proffered strips of jerky from the Dorks, and back again.

"We will cross in groups," Shing announced, looking from the bridge to the Party and back again. "That should guarantee us safer passage over the river."

He quickly divided them into three warrior led groups: He, Ty the Parson, Grash, Tarftenrott and Expendendale; Sharna, Orlon, Tarl, Mishto, Rae and Brak Dugan; Marcol, the Grumplings, Chitintiare and Telluspett, and the Oaf.

"My group will cross first to test the bridge," he said, "then Sharna�s and lastly Marcol�s."

Thus the crossing began. Shing�s group stepped up to the bridge and�waited. Orlon frowned, remembering the same thing happening when they entered Dark Forest, and he remembered what they were waiting for then, which had him scratching his head. They waited for Chitintiare and Telluspett to enter first, presumably to make sure it was safe to enter the forest. But the Dorks were in the last group�. Then he remembered�

"All right," Expendendale sighed. "All right. Fine."

Grumbling under his breath, he cautiously took a step onto the bridge, a second step, and receiving nothing more worrisome than a soft creak, he strolled onto it. Midway across, a distance of twelve feet or so, he stopped, turned and looked expectantly at his group. Ty the Parson�s shoulders twitched, and he darted onto the bridge. Shing, Grash and Tarftenrott followed. The bridge creaked and groaned a little under their weight, but once they reunited with Expendendale, they spanned the remaining twelve feet without trouble.

They joined Roxx, and Shing signaled for the next group to proceed.

"Let�s go," Sharna said.

She and Orlon started across the bridge, Tarl and Mishto close behind, followed by Rae and Brak Dugan. Their pace was speedy but cautious, their ears aware of every creak and groan of the bridge. When they reached the halfway point it looked like crossing the bridge was going to be easy. That is when it happened! For reasons lost in the ignorant clouds that filled their minds, Chitintiare and Telluspett raced onto the bridge, the Oaf right behind them, snatching at offered jerky strips.

The bridge screamed under the pounding weight of the huge man�s dirty feet. Cracks shot through the bridge�s timber. Terrified, Tarl glanced back at the approaching behemoth and shoved past his best friend and protector, leaping to the safety of solid ground. Sharna regained her composure, snatched Orlon up under an arm and took off, Mishto Sharpaine clinging to her belt. Rae and Brak Dugan stumbled after them. And it was a race to the finish.

"Hurry," Shing called to Marcol and the twin Richtichtiares.

Marcol blinked, shook off the surprise that had turned his legs to stone. He took off across the crumbling bridge, the Grumplings hot on his heels.

First off the bridge, leaning forward, was Sharna with Orlon and Mishto in tow. Rae was close behind, Brak Dugan trailing along after. Then came the Dorks and Oaf, and when he stepped off the bridge the bridge collapsed as the first did. Hearing this spun those of the second group around, and what they saw dropped their jaws.

All that remained standing of the bridge was a splintered support beam swirling in a wide circle from the river�s center. On that beam, balanced precariously, was Marcol, a Grumpling clinging to each leg. The mercenary could not believe he let himself get caught in this position�that he had not expected those imbecilic Dorks not to follow instructions� That he let himself freeze in surprise when it happened.

With wild arm waves, he shifted his balance as best he was able, considering his twin burdens, as the beam swirled wider. Looking at them, he could not believe he would die with these loudmouthed tormentors instead of dying in battle like a good mercenary should. The thought of it was unbearable to him.

He would not let himself suffer that fate.

Around and around the beam swirled, wider and wider. He watched the bank get close, get far away, get close� The trick to saving himself was timing. If he missed the precise moment to jump, he was water bound, assuredly to drown. He watched and waited, and he knew time was not on his side. The beam might shatter at any moment. Around and around the beam swirled, wider and wider. All he needed to do was wait for it to reach a certain point and�

"Release me," he commanded, slapping the twin Richtichtiares away, and jumped.

A smile came to his face he could not get rid of as he flew free of beam and Grumplings. He landed face first in the dirt road, skidded a couple of feet.

Meanwhile, the Grumplings, having lost their support, clung to each other on the swirling beam. It swirled once, twice�and it disintegrated, sending them into the rushing green waters. They came up, sputtering, downstream a moment later.

"Your mamma does," they hollered and were swept away.

Orlon watched them bob up and down until they were lost to sight and had mixed feelings about it. There was no denying the loss of those loudmouths and their never-ending taunts aimed at Marcol was a good thing, but the thought of their demise coming in the horrible form of drowning saddened him, no matter his dislike for them�him from the start. A low, maniacal laugh drew his attention to the mercenary, sitting in the road now, dirt encrusted smile on his face.

"Free," he said between chuckles. "I am finally free of them�forever!" And when he looked down the river his maniacal laughter momentarily erupted loudly. "Bye, bye," he said, waving.

A different kind of laughter caught Orlon�s attention, raised the hairs at his nape. What he heard was a derisive snicker that turned his attention to his best friend and sure enough, there Tarl was, eyeing him, wearing the smile he disliked so much. Yet the heat of his anger at seeing it was tempered by a question. What was so funny? The answer came in Tarl mouthing, "Does�um need a diaper change?" He was still tucked under Sharna�s arm.

With a roll of his eyes, he looked up at her. She was staring off in the distance, obviously lost in some thought or other. He cleared his throat. Her brow knit briefly. She blinked, and she looked at him questioningly.

"Um, I think you can put me down now," he said with a smile.

"Uh, oh, yes," she stammered and set him on his feet. "Sorry about that."

"No problem," he wiggled his shoulders to get his coat back in place, jerked his vest straight.

The clearing of a throat and jingle of coins in a pouch drew Orlon, Sharna, Tarl, Mishto and Marcol to look up the road. Ty the Parson, money pouch in hand, and the rest of the Party stood there, waiting. Ty the Parson performed a wild spin that turned him around, staff pointing up the road, and he took off at a fair clip. Those with him followed.

Tarl looked at Mishto Sharpaine, who looked at him, and a pang hit his heart when he read the pain and sorrow in her eyes. Sure, she was cursed with a monthly�ailment caused by her profession, but hey, somehow he had been spared the deathly results of that ailment. And there was no denying she was beautiful. And there was no denying now that Jack, Caro and Frank were dead, she was alone. And there was no denying no sex would be involved if he did this, so he offered her his hand. She hesitated, finally smiled a dazzling smile and accepted it. They hurried after the others.

Sharna and Orlon followed them, and lastly, Marcol�the money pouch�s jingle fresh on his mind�jumped to his feet and followed, too. As the mercenary quick-footed by him, Orlon could not help but smile at the lightness he registered in his step, speeding as he was to regain his position at the head of the Party and, no doubt, to take possession of the money pouch. It was clear to the M idget Marcol was happy to be alone again, free of constant criticism.

Marcol forgotten, Orlon looked back at the rivers across which had been two bridges. Bridges that represented the only way back to Dwarf Road, the farm community�his cozy little farmhouse. He did not like it one bit when the first collapsed. Now that both bridges were gone he decided Tarl was right in that there was no going back now�. The thought he might not be coming back anyway, considering the evil being he was expected to defeat, popped into his head, and he quickly brushed it aside.

Turning his attention ahead again revealed to him they had reached the Party. Another thing was revealed to him, leading to a sniff that crinkled his nose. His eyes darted to the Oaf, still snatching jerky strips from the Dorks, and he quickly concluded the silence of the missing Grumplings was not a fair trade for the Oaf�s stench.

With a coughed sigh, he sought some avenue of escape from the odor�and he had it! He would do what he did to escape his anger at Tarl on Dwarf Road, by taking in his surroundings. The only difference this time was it would be an act of discovery rather than reminiscing.

To the west he saw open field as far as the eye could see. The grass was tall, weeds plentiful, proving the land beneath fertile. A smile played at the corners of his mouth. It looked like a nice place to settle down on, build a house, a barn, and plant crops, acres and acres of them. Yes, this looked like a nice place to return to after the quest. He frowned at the thought, shook it off. When the quest was over he would return to his home. There had to be a way back home, and he would find it.

He looked to the east, nearly stumbled to a stop. To this side was fertile field, but rather than open, in the far distance was the edge of a woods that grew thicker and ever closer the further south he looked. And he thought he could hear animal noises from those woods. He shivered. This side of the road did not look friendly, and it looked strangely familiar to him.

A firm feminine hand on his shoulder stopped him, brought his attention first to Sharna, then those ahead, who had suddenly stopped. All were startled.

Ty the Parson put a finger to lips and pointed his staff at what lay ahead.

Three hundred feet ahead stood two houses, one directly across the road from the other, and even at such a distance it was discernible something was not�right about them. They were white walled, thatched roofed structures, small, though a shade larger than Orlon�s house. Typical farmhouses they appeared to be, yet for something unusual about them. Beyond that, nothing appeared to be dangers about them.

With finger to lips, Ty the Parson signaled them to advance. They did so at his slow, wary pace, and the nearer they drew to the houses the clearer the oddity about them grew. Instead of normal house fronts with window bordered front door and porch, these houses offered passersby blank white walls.

And it was quiet�. Too quiet.

Despite no visible threat, this mysterious silence had them slow their pace even more, eyes alert. The warriors let hands hover over hilts.

No one, other than Tarl, who reflexively wrapped an arm around Mishto�s waist, found this whole thing more peculiar than Orlon. His nape hairs stirred. He edged closer to Sharna�she liked this�and took a hold of the belt about her trim waist, and he felt silly doing it. This situation was completely out of the ordinary, but he saw nothing to be afraid of. Yet he was. And he dreaded the fact he had no other option than to wait and see what happened, if anything.

They continued down the road, paused when they reached the houses, eyes moving from one to the other. The pause was brief. Quickening their step a little, they walked between the houses and walked unmolested�until they were directly between them. That was when they were bombarded by a shower of rocks coming from behind both houses. With yelps of pain, they scurried about, dodging the rocks.

Only Ty the Parson remained still, the rocks mysteriously missing him. "Protect the One," he commanded flatly.

Orlon was immediately surrounded by the warriors, taking the barrage of rocks without complaint. The Midget felt a pang of guilt not only for that, but for those left unprotected. Tarl did his best to protect Mishto, which was hampered by his shortness and that the rocks came from both sides. Roxx tried to use his cart as a shield, but the both-sides assault made that effort pointless. Rae danced about unharmed, using his staff to bat away rocks. The Oaf just stood there, rocks bouncing off him, as he snatched jerky from the rock-dodging Dorks.

The shower of rocks went on, unabated.

"AA--" Roxx�s scream was cut off abruptly.

All looked to find the cook lying by his cart, a stone embedded in his face.

"O-oh, n-nu-nu-no," Tarftenrott wailed his sorrow, "R-ru-ru-r-roxx!"

Not only did Orlon feel for the warrior�s loss of a friend, he felt sorry for the world as well. He saw no escape from this nightmare of raining rocks. Soon his protectors would be beaten down, killed by it, leaving him to suffer the same fate�. The quest would fail, and after such a long time of peace and tranquility the world would suffer at the hands of Tibtarni�whatever. He bit his lip, knowing when that happened he would have failed his fellow man.

The rock shower ceased.

It grew quiet again�. Too quiet.

And in that quiet the victims of the rock throwing remained unmoved but for their eyes that darted from house to house. Time passed. Not a word was spoken, not a moan of pain from the numerous bruises and cuts suffered was uttered. They waited.

"Truce, my lifelong enemy," a deep, gravelly voice boomed from the house on the right.

The Party jumped, looked to the right.

"Truce," boomed a deep, rumbling voice from the house on the left.

They jumped, looked to the left.

A tall, brawny man dressed in faded red shirt and blue breeches, a rock in hand, stepped from behind the house on the right. "Welcome to the house of Barlowe," he boomed.

They jumped, looked at him.

A hairy man twice his size, dressed in white shirt and brown breeches, a stone in hand, stepped from behind the house on the left. "Welcome to the house of Bobtart Towne," he boomed.

They jumped, looked at him.

""The mother dog reacts to threat to pups! The strongest of us should speak," Ty the Parson said softly, arms and legs twitching.

Grash sniffed knowingly, twirled an end to his handlebar mustache, started to step forward.

"Shing," the Parson continued, "speak for us."

Grash looked startled, disbelieving�crestfallen.

Shing nodded and stepped forward. "Greetings," he said.

"To who are you allied, him or me?" Barlowe demanded.

"We are just passing by and have no wish to become involved in your�quarrel," he said.

"To who are you allied?" Bobtart Towne demanded.

Shing looked from one to the other and back again, stepped back to the Party. "We have no choice," he said. "We must choose."

Hearing that a choice must be made filled Orlon with dread. When he saw everyone looking at him expectantly, he swallowed and looked to his best friend, but there was no succor to be found from Tarl Bimbo, who looked him up and down, wearing that smile.

"Don�t look at me, buddy o' mine," he said. "Remember, you�re the�" he fingered quotation marks in the air "�One."

Orlon looked to the heavens, to the expectant Party, and closed his eyes. The thought of what his last choice cost them in lives weighed heavily on his mind, to the point he did not want this burden, to suffer memory of this new choice�s end result. He took in a breath, held it, let it out� This choice was different. It was between two men, not the safety of the road against the danger of a path through an accursed forest. What was the worst that could happen as a result of this choice? An inward blurted laugh twitched the corners of his mouth. More rock throwing?

He opened his eyes and took in his two choices: Barlowe was a big, muscular man with coal black hair and a square jawed face that looked like it had been chiseled by an angry artist. Bobtart Towne was a big man of muscle, with shaggy brown hair, bushy beard and mustache, and a round, red cheeked face bearing a stern expression that might break into a laughing smile at the drop of a hat�. The choice appeared obvious to him, he hoped.

"Have you made a decision?" Shing asked.

Orlon�s eyes jumped to the Oriental Ranger. He nodded.

Smoothly, Shing knelt before him, cocked an ear into which Orlon whispered his choice.

"Well?" Barlowe and Bobtart Towne demanded in unison.

The Oriental Ranger smoothly brought himself to his feet, drawing his mighty sword, and, turning about, stepped forward, sword pointed downward. After a tense moment, he brought the sword up to point at Bobtart Towne, saying, "Him."

The rocks flew.

Bobtart Towne hurled his stone over Barlowe�s house. "Hurry," he urged his new allies and quick-stepped it around his own house.

"You heard the man," Shing said and took off after him, Ty the Parson close on his heels.

That the rocks were coming one way and were fewer in number was a relief. Still, those warriors protecting Orlon had their duty to perform. All, but one, formed a wall of bodies between him and the rock shower, and they started around the house. The one not with them, Tarftenrott, was passed by Tarl, Mishto and Rae, the Oaf and Dorks, on his way back to the road.

"Where is he going?" Tarl said with a shake of his head.

Where he was going, arm raised to protect his face, was to the battered cart and his fallen friend, Roxx, lying beside it. A hand placed lightly on the cook�s chest, he looked him over, focused on the stone embedded in his face and moaned his worry. He took him under the arms, tried to lift him�failed. He tried again, failed again. Desperate, he took him by his ankles and tried to drag him to safety, but the cook proved too heavy for him.

"H-hu-hu-hey," he called, yanking at his friend and getting nowhere, "w-wu-wu-w-w-we c-cu-cu-can�t l-lu-lu-l-leave hu-hu-him."

They stopped at the house�s back corner, looked back. Tarftenrott looked at them pleadingly as he yanked and tugged on his friend to no avail. They started on around the house.

"He�s right," Orlon said, stopping them. "We can�t leave Roxx behind."

"Come on, Orlon," Tarl said. "Can�t you see he�s�"

"The One has spoken," Ty the Parson stated flatly, produced a money pouch from a baggy sleeve and just as flatly ordered, "Marcol, assist him."

"Criminy," the mercenary muttered, accepted the money pouch and dashed into the rock rain.

Rocks bouncing off the ground around them, bouncing off them, Marcol took an ankle from Tarftenrott, and the two struggled to drag the cook after the others.

"They have got him," Shing said. "Let us go."

There was no need for further urging. They rounded the house and once there, free of thrown rocks, those protecting Orlon collapsed. The Midget, unscathed by the affair, watched them tenderly examine their wounds�cuts and bruises and abrasions�earned for their duty. He felt guilty at what he witnessed, felt a pang in his heart when he saw one warrior in particular, who had taken the worst of it. His self proclaimed guardian, Sharna, offered him a smile he tried to return, but his guilt would not let him.

So great was his guilt he could not even hold eye contact with her, and when he looked away what he saw did nothing to alleviate his guilt one bit. Tarl and Mishto had suffered greatly during the rock throwing ordeal, their expressions telling him exactly how painful their injuries were�. They suffered so badly because they were not protected like he had been. This turned his mind to the reason he was protected, the reason for this quest, what he was expected to do�

Not liking that train of thought, he shifted his eyes again, and what he saw led to his utter bewilderment. The Oaf stood there, snatching jerky strips from bruised and battered Chitintiare and Telluspett, totally uninjured. There was no denying he had to have suffered more than the others simply due to his immense size and slowness, yet he was uninjured. Perhaps it had something to do with his flabbiness, as well as the thick crust of dirt that covered him head to toe�?

Around the corner of the house came the stuttering warrior and the mercenary, Roxx in tow. Once clear of the rock shower, Marcol dropped his ankle, forcing Tarftenrott into a stumbling halt. The rude act did not matter to the latter, whose only concern was for his best friend.

"Th-th-thanks," he said, not even looking at Marcol, who walked away, rubbing his biceps, and tapping the stone, said: "D-du-du-don�t yu-yu-yu-you w-wu-wu-w-wu-worry, R-ru-ru-ru-roxx. I-I�ll h-h-hu-hu-have thu-thu-this o-off yu-yu-you i-in a-a fl-fl-flu-flash."

With that, he drew his broadsword, carefully jammed its point between the stone and the cook�s chin. Gripping the hilt with both hands, he placed a foot on Roxx�s chest and bore down on the hilt with all of his weight. His muscles bulged, sweat beaded all over his body, tears streamed from his tightly closed eyes.

The stone trembled.

The cook�s head bent back as far as possible.

Suddenly the stone popped free, followed by a gush of blood.

Roxx lay there, a flat faced corpse.

Disappointment and sorrow were etched on Tarftenrott�s face. "S-su-su-s-sorry, o-old p-p-p-pu-pal," he said. "I-I t-t-t-tru-tru-tried."

Orlon watched Tarftenrott sheath his broadsword, head down, sadness heavy on his face. He felt for the man�s loss of a friend. Though not quite the same, he thought he understood what the man was going through, since his own loss of Jujay, a friend as well as servant. It was a tough thing to endure, especially alone. Within him welled up a desire to go to the warrior, to comfort him in some way. Yes, that was exactly what he would do.

But, foot lifted to take the first step, he froze, remembering all too well what happened the last time he went to comfort a member of the Party. The feel of hair draping over his hand, the image of white skin turning blue, the stare of wanting pink eyes� An uncontrollable shiver passed through him. With a look Tarftenrott�s way, he let his foot drop, stuffed his hands into pants pockets and, rocking on his heels, looked the other way.

Out of the corner of his eye Orlon caught something that drew his attention away from his guilt. Bobtart Towne, Ty the Parson and Shing were huddled in conversation. He fought back an urge to giggle as he watched them, their talk being quite an unusual thing to witness. From time to time the Parson would flail in some verbose oration, leaving a confused crease in the big, hairy man�s bushy brow, which would be smoothed out by a word from the Oriental Ranger.

Several moments of conversation passed between them, and a crease formed in the Midget�s brow. He wondered what they were talking about� To his utmost astonishment, the answer came in short order.

In that curious way of his, Ty the Parson produced a small pouch from a baggy sleeve and handed it to Shing. He then had a word with Bobtart Towne, who eyed the pouch and nodded, and the two walked over to a well. Bobtart Towne drew a bucket of fresh water from the well�s depths and turned to the Party.

"My newly acquired allies," he boomed, drawing everyone�s attention. "Please, come and cleanse your wounds, some of which I humbly apologize for causing before I knew you were with me rather than that blackguard, Barlowe."

"Ty the Parson has offered us a healing agent," Shing held up the pouch. "This will�" he poured its powdery purple contents into the bucket "�speed up the healing process a might." He produced a handkerchief from some location on his person and dipping it into the bucket, stirred its contents. "Do come and partake," he said, stepping aside. He drew his sword to use its magnificent blade as a mirror and dabbed the soaked cloth at a bruised cheek.

This led to a lining up of the Party, each armed with a handkerchief, to do as advised. One by one, they dipped their cloths into the bucket, stepped aside and with drawn blades for mirrors, dabbed at their cuts, bruises and abrasions. Even Chitintiare and Telluspett found a way to dip a cloth and treat their wounds, while feeding the demanding Oaf. As for Tarl and Mishto, each dipped a handkerchief and moved off to treat each other�s wounds.

Sharna was last in line and after dipping her cloth, she returned to Orlon, hand on hilt, ready to draw her saber. But he stopped her by placing a hand on hers. She looked at him questioningly.

"Please," he said in a voice that sounded as confused by his action as she was, "let me do that for you."

"W-why, thank you," she said, handed him the damp handkerchief and squatted.

Every nerve was on edge when he accepted it. He gulped. Something made him jump to offer his assistance, but now his unease around women made him hesitate� Then he looked at the abrasion on her forehead, the cut on her cheek and his guilt eased his unsteady nerve�a bit. She had been harmed protecting him! Shakily but carefully, he dabbed the abrasion, hoping he was not hurting her. She showed no sign of discomfort. He inwardly smiled with the thought she was a warrior, not the type of person to show pain.

When he moved to the cut on her cheek, wiping away the blood around it, he cringed in sympathetic pain. The smile she gave him upon noticing him cringe put a pink tint to his cheeks. Less shakily and more carefully, he cleansed the wound, and he hoped it would not scare her beautiful face. He hoped Ty the Parson�s healing agent would prevent that.

Once he completed his attendance to her cheek, pleased to see the cut was already looking better, he started to offer her her handkerchief, only to be stopped by her offering him the arm she used to shield herself. His eyes went wide. All along her forearm were cuts, abrasions and bruises aplenty, and blood. His guilt reached new heights, almost as high as his desire to treat those wounds. He went to work carefully, gently, thoroughly�

Treating her forearm took time, but he got it done. And he was pleased at how well the wounds looked after treatment. Why, even the ones on her face looked better than before. Ty the Parson�s healing agent actually worked�miraculously.

"Here you are," he offered her her handkerchief back.

"I do have one more," she said, reaching down to lift her shirt. "It�s�"

"Something I think you should handle yourself," he said quickly, averting his eyes.

She smiled at his shyness, the wanting in her eyes increasing dramatically, and taking the cloth from him, she quickly looked down at the large, nasty bruise on her ribcage. For a moment she breathed softly to calm herself. Then, a little less carefully and gently than Orlon but just as thoroughly, she treated the wound.

While Orlon looked away, there was one set of eyes that darted right to Sharna. Tarl, treating a nasty bruise on Mishto Sharpaine�s ribcage, froze. There was no denying his disappointment that the warrior woman only lifted her shirt up to her nicely formed breasts, but to see her firm, flat belly with its sexy button was enough to make him swallow back drool.

Mishto�s eyes snapped open when the painful-yet-pleasant treatment of her wound ceased. She looked down to see the Midget�s hand with dripping handkerchief poised a half inch from her bruised flesh, followed his eyes to Sharna busy treating her own belly wound. A sad smile touched her lips. Then she brought her attention back to him. She cleared her throat once, more forcefully twice.

Tarl blinked, brought his eyes around to meet Mishto�s eyes, and he smiled lamely. He resumed dabbing her bruised flesh. His attention focused on her less firm, flat belly with sexy navel. Such a beautiful midriff belonging to such a beautiful woman�. Into his mind appeared the images of Jack and Frank�memory of their fate front and center. Such a beautiful midriff belonging to such a beautiful woman cursed to periodically kill by her profession. He sighed sadly.

Upon averting his eyes, Orlon looked at the woods bordering the farmhouse�s backyard. The woods were much thicker here and the animal noises he thought he heard from the road were quite clearly heard here. A finger came to his chin. There was something so familiar about those woods.

"I want more."

"But I don�"

Everyone turned to the Oaf, jaws dropped. The huge man held Chitintiare up by an arm, the empty jerky pouch floating to the ground, his other plump hand patting him down roughly. Once he was certain the Dork had no more food, which took a while, he tossed him over a shoulder, to land in a heap several yards away. And the Oaf turned to Telluspett, standing there, clearly empty pouch in hand, and said:

"I want more."

"But I don�"

The Oaf snatched him up by an arm and performed a rough pat-down search for more jerky. Once certain he was not going to find anything eatable, he tossed him over a shoulder, to land on Chitintiare, who had just gotten to his feet. They collapsed in a heap. Dorks forgotten, he stood there, eyes blank, scratching his head with a plump finger. Scraping through his matted hair, it sounded more like a finger scratching a dirt mound, dislodged specks raining down onto his shoulders added to the effect.

With a blink, he looked at Bobtart Towne, who smiled at him. He scratched his head again and frowned a moment before saying, "Got any food?"

"Why, ye�" Bobtart Towne started.

"You know," Orlon piped up, looking from the Oaf to the woods and back again. He hurried to the huge man, smiling pleasantly. "You know�" he took him by the forearm, fingers breaking through the crust, sinking into the flabby flesh beneath "�um, I didn�t catch your name�?"

After a blink, the Oaf said, "Obnoxium Dronus�. You know what?"

"I hear, Obnoxium," the Midget said, gently guiding him toward the woods, "there�s a house in these woods." He bobbed his eyebrows. "A big house."

Obnoxium Dronus looked from him to the woods and back again, face blank.

"I hear," he went on, "it�s made of�gingerbread."

"Oh boy!" the Oaf clapped his hands together, and he ran into the woods.

"Hark," Marcol said, stepping close to Shing. "Will the telling of such an untruth tarnish the One�s purity?"

"Is it an untruth?" Shing replied calmly and walked away.

Marcol gave him a double-take, and he frowned.

"As I was about to say," Bobtart Towne said, bowing, and drawing their attention to his home with a sweep of a hand, he quoted, "Why, yes, we have plenty of food and, it being lunchtime, would be honored to share it with our newfound allies."

Now that their wounds and woes concerning the rock throwing were taken care of, the Party willingly let their attention be drawn to the house. The jolt that hit the lot of them was audible. The back of the house looked like the front of a house! There was a door in the center, bordered on each side by a window, and a one step porch spanned the house�s length. But rather than flower pots or a swing or outdoor furniture, two large piles of rocks filled the porch.

At the door stood a muscle-bound woman and three muscle-bound boys, each with a rock in hand. The woman stood no taller than five feet five inches, her shapely-for-all-the-muscles body fit snuggly into plain brown dress, petite feet in slippers. Her square face was attractive beneath the harsh lines of its hard expression and framed in curly brown hair. The boys ranged in age from six to thirteen and wore dirt brown tunics and breeches, their feet bare. The thick mops of brown hair atop their heads and peach-fuzzy faces marked them the sons of their gracious host.

Bobtart Towne went to them, and they huddled on the porch to talk.

Orlon looked at them, shook his head in disbelief that those five could be responsible for the deluge of rocks thrown from behind this house� The thought they could throw with both hands popped into his head, but he quickly dismissed it. If that was true, they would have a rock in each hand, would they not? Then his interest shifted from this mystery to another. What were they talking about?

They talked so softly he was left to watch their expressions in hopes of gauging reaction to whatever might be the topic. Yet he quickly learned with Bobtart Towne�s stern-yet-waiting-to-bust-out-smiling expression and the woman�s and boys' hard expressions that was impossible. By chance, he looked at the woman' hazel eyes�and found the key. Never before had he seen such emotional expressive eyes in his life!

And what emotions he read in her eyes stunned him. Anger, disbelief, frustration, dislike� Not the type of emotions that bode well for the Party�s future. Then he read resignation in those eyes, and after a few more words the huddle broke, and all five turned to face their guests.

"I and my wife, Bretta, and our boys welcome you to our home," Bobtart Towne said, placing a hand on the woman�s shoulder. "Do come in and enjoy what meager comforts we have to offer."

Bretta glanced at him with disgruntled eyes. "Please do," she said, a smile cracking her hard-set features.

With that, she spun around and, urging her children ahead of her, entered the house.

Bobtart Towne remained at the door, signaling his newfound allies in with a hand wave.

First to take up the invitation was Ty the Parson who strolled into the house. Grash was close on his heels, followed not so closely by Shing. Thus like metal shards to a magnet, the Party began straggling in after them. Sharna was the last to reach the door, where she paused, aware of Orlon�s absence. She looked back just as Tarl, followed by Mishto, reached her charge.

"That was some story you fed that fatso," Tarl said, elbowing his best friend. "But where in the whole wide world did you come up with that gingerbread house bit?"

"I didn�t come up with anything," Orlon said a little testily.

"Oh, come on, buddy o' mine," Tarl looked at him dubiously. "You had to come up with it. I mean, how could you possibly know what is in those woods?"

Orlon shrugged. "I must�ve read it in a book," he hazarded a guess.

Tarl gave him a double-take.

"Come on, Orlon," Sharna called.

He hurried to join her, Tarl and Mishto close behind, and the three followed the warrior woman by Bobtart Towne and into the house. They walked down a short hall, passing a doorway to the left. Orlon peeked in to find a small kitchen beyond. Bretta stood at a counter, stirring something in a bowl, a pile of sliced vegetables and platter of meat chunks nearby. The three boys were busy lighting a fire in the stove.

The short hall led into a big room where they found the Party crowded onto a circular rug in its center. They joined them, squeezed in to get on the carpet, and all waited quietly for whatever came next.

Orlon took the time to look about the room in hopes of getting an insight to their big host and his petite wife and their brood. In general, he found nothing unusual. To the right wall was a rust colored sofa with coffee table and end tables. Beside these was a closed door that must lead to bedrooms. On the left wall was a fireplace, a fire blazing within, and haphazardly stacked logs awaiting use in a box nearby. By the hall door was a table surrounded by five chairs.

There were two curious items, however, he knew told the insight he sought. On the mantel above the fireplace were three rows of neatly lined rocks. The front wall, plain wall on the outside, was covered by a dusty blanket inside. While the others milled about, eyes noncommittally on this and that and nothing at all, he looked back and forth between the curiosities in wonderment. Yes, both did tell a tale, but he could not fathom either.

Bobtart Towne entered, was taken aback to find them standing there like that. "My home is yours," he said. "Please, make yourselves comfortable."

"We thank you," Shing and Grash said simultaneously, and the latter frowned at the former.

By everyone�s reaction it was obvious the One�Orlon�would profit before the rest. In this case that meant he was afforded the sofa to get comfortable on, which meant his self proclaimed guardian, Sharna, gained the same comfort. The sofa was big enough to give Ty the Parson, Grash and Shing a seat as well. The rest of the Party settled on the floor round them.

"I hope you are hungry, my newfound allies," Bobtart Towne said, smiling. "Bretta has fixed a fine meal of meat and mush. Enough for all, I�d say, and then some."

As if on cue, his wife and three boys entered, precariously carrying enough bowls of meat and mush for all between them. They quickly passed the bowls out and ended up at the table where the final five bowls were placed before the chairs. Bretta then returned to the kitchen, emerged with a tray of filled-to-the-rim glasses, which she passed out. Once this was done, the Towne family gathered around the table and sat.

"Enjoy," Bobtart Towne said to his guests, and he and family began eating.

Hungry, the Party followed suit and to a man, and women, found the meal quite tasty.

Orlon had not been sure he could eat his entire overflowing bowl of meat and mush, but after the first bite, he dug in! He paused for a drink, frowned at the glass' dark brown contents. Was it tea? He took a sip. Yes, it was tea�sweet tea, and it was not only nicely cool, it was delicious�. On he ate and drank heartily, and was soon finished, both stuffed and satisfied.

When all were done eating, Bretta and her sons gathered the bowls and glasses, and took them to the kitchen. Bobtart Towne strolled to the fireplace, rested an arm on the mantel and smiled at his guests.

"We don�t get many visitors," he said.

"Gee, I wonder why," Tarl, who sat on the floor next to Orlon, murmured.

Orlon shot him a frown.

"Where are you going?" Bobtart Towne went on.

"The cork of the vintage wine bottle released! Powder applied to the flea infested dog! I, Ty, the Parson, and the Party have sprung forth to protect the One on his quest to rid our world of the ever multiplying threat spreading forth from the mountainous lair of evil Tibtarnitallimardarian," Ty the Parson said, his flailing limbs not only battering Sharna and Grash but rocking the sofa to bang repeatedly into the wall.

A frown creased Bobtart Towne�s brow. "O-kay," he said. "So when will you be leaving?"

"We would leave in the morning," Shing quickly said, quieting the Parson. "That is, if we may spend the night in your humble abode."

"We�d love it," Bobtart Towne smiled, then looked a trifle downcast and said, "Though we don�t have the accommodations to offer you more than this room to rest in."

"That will be fine," Shing said. "We thank you."

Bobtart Towne bowed his head and looked at the rocks on the mantel, lost in thought.

The moment of tense silence that followed was broken when Orlon gave voice to the question that had burned within them all since they entered the house.

"Why do you and the Barlowes throw rocks at each other?" he asked.

To a man, and women, the Party cocked an ear.

"Ah, little one," Bobtart Towne said, bringing his eyes to the Midget, "that is a battle that has gone on since the Townes and gutless Barlowes settled on this land generations ago� Why, we were friends�traveling partners when we journeyed here." He picked up a silver streaked rock from the mantel, eyed it. "Then the first rock was thrown."

"Is that it?" Orlon asked.

"No," Bobtart Towne said flatly. "This is the rock that brought down Bartart Towne, my second greatest Grandfather. He was the first of the Towne family to die in our feud with the witless Barlowes." He reverently placed the rock back in its spot on the mantel and picked up the smooth gray rock beside it. "This," he passed a hand over it, "is the rock that brought down his wife in her effort to protect the family."

After replacing the rock, he went to the blanket covered wall, ripped the blanket away. What it concealed sent a jolt through them. The inside wall mirrored the outside rear wall, with door framed by windows. But one thing told the tale of why it did not match the outside of the rear wall as well. The window panes, one of which was no more than a circle of jagged shards, masked plaster�. The dust and cobwebs that covered windows, door and wall showed the plastering of the outside wall had happened long ago.

"Bartart was hit while standing in the window," he continued, "and his wife died while plastering that window." He sighed. "Many a Towne was severely injured to complete the task." He smiled. "Many a Barlowe paid a price for that as well."

A moment of silent contemplation passed.

"So�so the Barlowes started it?" Orlon scratched his head.

"Who knows," Bobtart Towne said with a shrug.

He secured the blanket back in place, strolled to the mantel and, again, was lost in thought.

A confused silence followed.

"Since we are telling tales of rock throwers," Grash said, bringing himself to his feet, fingers twirling an end of his handlebar mustache, "I will share one."

Everyone jumped, eyes darting to the aged warrior.

"I was leader of a squad of twenty brave young soldiers," he continued. "We were ordered on a little mop-up operation after a victorious battle won mere hours before. Undoubtedly a simple task, we thought, having fought in that battle and sure the enemy was totally destroyed�. You can imagine our surprise when we stumbled onto a squad of five enemy swordsmen and fifteen rock throwers trying to refortify a devastated fortification."

While Orlon�s eyes brightened with the tale�s beginning�even Tarl appeared minorly interested�the Party sighed and looked away, some tapping their fingers softly on the floor where they sat. Grash took no notice of this as he went on:

"I saw that they were no more in number than us and that only a fourth of their number were swordsmen, and I skillfully devised a cunning plan to end this confrontation quickly. The battle was fierce. The enemy swordsmen put up as valiant a fight as their army had before them�and they fell just as their army fell before them, too.

"As for the cowardly rock throwers, they took cover in the fortification, and it was with them we found ourselves in a bit of trouble. Oh, the hail of rocks laid down on us was incredible. So many injuries were incurred as we faced those cowards hiding behind cover�. It was with great cunning I devised a plan to bring those scoundrels to bear for their action, and my men busted through the fortification in good order and struck those rock throwers down." He gave a definitive twirl to his mustache. "And the area was secured!"

Silence followed his exclamation.

Thrilling as Grash�s story was to Orlon, it also left him wondering. He felt certain it mirrored a story he had skimmed through while thumbing through his book before starting chapter one. Yet the just told tale differed from the just remembered tale. By his recollection the leader of the mop-up operation in the book led his squad to victory through sheer clumsiness and dumb luck more than skill and cunning�

"Which reminds me of another tale," Grash suddenly said. "I was�"

"Farewells when long unseen relatives leave! The fighter sits in the corner between bells to recoup his strength! The time for telling tales has come and passed for this day. Now is the time to recuperate from today�s ordeals so that we may begin our quest anew, fresh and rested and ready at daybreak," Ty the Parson said, battering those sitting beside him with restless arms and legs.

He rose in a dance of limbs to face Bobtart Towne, stated flatly, "We thank you for use of the room to rest overnight."

"You are more than welcome," Bobtart Towne beamed.

Orlon looked from Grash to Ty the Parson to Bobtart Towne and back again and back again and back again� And each time he did he grew more upset. He had wanted to hear another tale from the aged warrior. There was time for it. It was only mid afternoon, for crying out loud.

Into his mind popped the memory of retiring early the day before�and the nightmare of crossing through Dark Forest the next morning, haunted by the fear of being stuck in the forest overnight. He shivered. Who knew what horrible places they might pass through tomorrow, the way this trip had gone thus far. Better to face them in daylight than the darkness of night, that was for sure. He gulped and brushed aside any more thoughts of the future.

"Are you going to retire now?" Bobtart Towne said, bushy brow knit. "I mean, it�s still daylight."

"We must," Orlon quickly said, as astonished at himself as was Tarl who darted a wide eyed look his way. "We�we�ve," he went on, "traveled a long distance, had some harrowing experiences along the way and are weary."

The big man pondered this, eyes to the heavens, then nodded noncommittally.

"The One shall rest on the sofa," Sharna announced, "and I, his protector, will stay with him."

Ty the Parson spun on her, casting a concerned eye upon her.

"Fear not," she assured him. "I am in control of myself."

Ty the Parson studied her a moment, then nodded.

Orlon looked from her to him and back again, wondering what that was all about.

But his wondering was interrupted when Shing suddenly rose and stepped away, and Sharna slid all the way across the sofa. He blinked.

"Stretch out and lay your head in my lap," she said, smiling.

He hesitated, remembering well his unease the night before when he had lain beside her. He had never been that close to a woman, much less laid by a woman before. Now she wanted him to pillow his head in her lap! A trembling hand ran through his hair and he swallowed and a likewise trembling smile creased his face�. What broke his hesitation was a startlingly wide-mouthed yawn. There was no denying he was simple too tired to worry himself about it.

After a subdued second yawn, he stretched out on the sofa, his head coming to rest on her quite comfortable lap. She placed a hand on his shoulder, which gave him a safe feeling, and he settled down to sleep, letting his eyes watch the others settle down for the mid afternoon and night. This basically consisted of each lying were he sat, but for Ty the Parson who sat cross-legged, hands flat on the floor at his sides, staff across his knees.

His interest was drawn to a brief conversation between his best friend and Mishto Sharpaine, both out of his line of sight.

"You can lay your head in my lap, Tarl," she offered sweetly.

"No!" Tarl said, then more nicely: "No, thank you."

Mishto walked forlornly into Orlon�s line of sight, and he followed her to the fireplace, where she laid down, resting her head on her arms. The sad, rejected expression on her face put a pang in his heart�and a bad taste for his best friend in his mouth.

A mumbled conversation drew his attention to Bobtart Towne and Bretta. They stood at the door. While the big man�s face was genial, his wife�s eyes, set in the hard expression of her face, and hand gestures told the Midget she was confused and unhappy about something. By her pointing at the door, through which came dim mid afternoon sunlight, and her eyes scanning the room, he presumed she was asking her husband what they were up to. When she apparently understood, she did not look happy�

He fell asleep.

Ty the Parson�s eye popped open, swept over those of the Party sleeping before him. It stopped on Orlon and Sharna. He lay on the sofa with his head in her lap, her hand on his shoulder, sleeping peacefully. She sat with her head tipped back, mouth agape, sleeping. The eye darted to the door through which seeped early morning sunlight. Its partner eye popped open, and he rose to his feet. He weaved his way through the slumberers and slipped through the door.

Down the short hall he went and out the back door, which stood open. Standing just without was Bobtart Towne, a smile on his face and a tray of biscuits in his hand. The smile on his face faltered and the joyful morning greeting died in his throat when he realized the Parson was alone. Ty the Parson eyed the tray of biscuits questioningly.

"While you slept Bretta fixed a little something for you to snack on, on your way," he said, smile broadening. "I was given the honor of passing them out this morning."

Ty the Parson nodded, whirled around and marched back into the house. "Sun rays focused through the magnifying lens! Ants move rapidly over a carcass! The sun rises quickly, burning away precious time. Arise, arise all. We must begin our journey, eat away the distances ahead of us before any more time escapes us," he said, coming to a limb flailing halt in the doorway to the room where the Party slumbered.

The outburst sent a jolt through the sleepers, and all but one lifted their heads, rubbing an eye, and looked at Ty the Parson, standing in the door, framed in early morning sunlight. Some mumbled, some grumbled, but they began to arise and prepare themselves for the journey ahead.

As for the one, Orlon was startled by Ty the Parson�s outburst, but did not lift his head or open an eye. Instead, he nestled down into his "pillow" and sighed. He was simply too comfortable to want to get up right now. After such an eventful yesterday that proved more tiring than he thought and finding a nice, warm indoor locale for the night, he desired to continue sleeping for just a little while longer.

Sharna looked at him, sympathizing with his apparent wish to resist awakening yet knowing he�they could not afford to delay restarting their quest a moment longer.

"Time to get up, Orlon," she shook his shoulder.

"Come on, buddy," Tarl said, wiggling his best friend�s foot. "Remember, you�re the one�oh, excuse me, the�" he fingered quotation marks in the air "�One this whole trip is about."

Realizing he had no choice but to wake up put a frown on his face. Yet he acquiesced to his protector�s and best friend�s request. He opened his eyes to see the Party up and ready to go, and all eyes were upon him. A nervous smile played at the corners of his mouth, and he sat up, involuntarily emitted a wide-mouthed yawn. When he opened his eyes again he found all eyes were still upon him. He blushed.

"The slowpoke runner wins no trophy! The doctor arrives late to an emergency call! Make haste, oh, Orlon, the Pure, that I, Ty, the Parson, and the Party may escort you on the double-fold quest, first to obtain the Holy Pike, and second that you might use it upon Tibtarnitallimardarian to save the world from his evil clutches. Make haste, oh, Orlon, the Pure, purest of the pure, before it is too late," Ty the Parson said in a dance of limbs, whirled and hurried back through the door.

"We will await you outside," Shing said. "Do not dally too long."

"I�I won�t" Orlon said.

With a nod, he turned and went through the door, followed by the Party.

Last through the door, following a dejected Mishto Sharpaine, Tarl stabbed a finger at him and said, "Get a move on, man." He blurted a laugh before slipping through the door.

What followed startled Orlon. As the Party exited the house they were greeted with a booming, "Good morning!" Then came a sorrowful, "Only one per customer." There was no question that the speaker was Bobtart Towne. But what he meant by his last statement baffled the Midget. His desire to learn the answer to that was given pause by a subdued yawn that racked his body.

"Let�s go," Sharna said, standing.

"You go ahead," Orlon yawned. "I�ll be along in a minute."

She hesitated.

"Don�t worry," he said and assured her, "There�s no danger to me here. Go on, go on."

Reluctantly she did�and was greeted boomingly without and received the warning, "Only one per customer."

Orlon stood and stretched, and shook away his sleepiness. He looked around the room with its relicts and blanket covered wall that left him with a mystery he knew he would never solve� He shrugged it off and turned his mind to a mystery he would learn the answer to.

"Thank you for a wonderful night�s rest," he said to the sofa and headed through the door.

Down the short hall and out of the house he went, stumbling to a stop before a smiling Bobtart Towne, who greeted him and offered him the last biscuit on the tray.

"Thank you," Orlon said with a smile at the mystery solved, and after an awkward moment headed around the house, saying, "Farewell, Bobtart Towne."

"Good luck, little one," Bobtart Towne said, watching him go.

Orlon came around the house at a fair clip�came to a bone jarring halt, narrowly avoiding a collision with the Party. Brow knit, he wondered why they had stopped here, then, seeing how they looked nervously at the road ahead, he remembered what happened the day before. The idea of walking into another rock storm was far from desirable. But considering the time of day he thought the chances of such an event were slight.

Surely the Barlowes would not be up at such an early hour.

After all, the Townes, but for Bobtart, were still in bed.

Ty the Parson put a finger to his lips and signaled an advance. They did so, slowly, silently as requested. Within four cautiously placed steps the road between the houses came into view, as did Roxx�s push cart, still where it had been left the day before. A choked sob brought them to a halt. All eyes darted to Tarftenrott, whose eyes looked mistily at his dearly departed best friend�s cart. He blinked, became aware of the attention on him and smiled meekly, shrugged at them.

"S-su-su-s-s-sorry," he mouthed.

With a signal from Ty the Parson, the Party started forward again, even more slowly and, if possible, silently� They hesitated at the house�s corner, eyes on the Barlowe house.

All was quiet�. Too quiet.

If luck was with them, they would escape this ordeal unscathed. After a thrice repeated signal from Ty the Parson, they stepped into the road.

Luck, however, was not with them. The sky was clouded with a hail storm of rocks from the Barlowe house. But they were fortunate in the direction they were headed, as it led them away from rather than into that storm, and they ran for it. They ran on down the road a goodly distance, too, before Ty the Parson stopped them. Out of breath, they took stock of their situation, the results of their brief period under the rock shower, and were pleased to find only a few had been struck but none were badly injured.

"Those people are n-u-t-s," Tarl said, gently rubbing a bruised bicep.

There was a general murmur of agreement amongst the Party.

Any further thought of the Barlowes and Townes vanished when Ty the Parson wordlessly started down the road again, followed by Grash and Shing, who hollered over their shoulders:

"Come on."

They hurried after the trio, and just as they caught up to them, Ty the Parson brought them all to a stumbling stop. Confused looks were cast upon him. In answer, he performed a wild, limb flailing spin that left him in a wide-legged stance, staff pointing down the road.

Fifty yards ahead they saw four hills, the road crossing directly over two of them, the other two set directly across the road from each other. That meant the road dipped into a "bowl" between them all. It looked simple enough to traverse, nothing untoward about it, which made them wonder why the Parson had stopped them to point it out. Then they heard something odd coming from those hills. It sounded like�music!

Drifting on a soft breeze were the sweet notes to a merry little song played on a�flute. The notes swirled around them, penetrated their ears in a way that should have put a smile on their faces. Instead, to a man, and woman, the warriors tensed, suspicion of this pleasant melody evident on their faces. And Orlon met their reaction with a frown. He could not understand such a reaction to this wonderful song, no matter how mysterious its origin might be.

He noticed Sharna begin to tap her toe, the others begin to sway to the music. Chitintiare and Telluspet snapped their fingers, stomped their feet totally out of rhythm. He saw Tarl and Mishto Sharpaine began to dance together, and he found himself doing a little jig. What was going on here? What possible danger could this merry melody mean for them?

Like a conductor with a baton, Ty the Parson signaled with his staff for the Party to advance, and they did with a bounce in their step. The closer they got to the hills, the more they gave in to the music inspired desire to dance, and but for the rhythmless Dorks, it was obvious that the warriors knew a thing or two about the art of the dance.

Orlon became more and more frightened by the music�s hypnotic power over them, drawing them ever onward, and what the end result might be. Never before would he have thought such a beautiful melody could mean danger, but considering the horrors he had witnessed on this trip thus far, how could he think anything else? He wanted to stop them before they reached the hills, before it was too late. He knew he, who was proclaimed the One, could do so simply by speaking up. Yet all he did was put a finger on his head and do a fanciful spin as he danced on.

They reached the foot of the hill.

The music grew more entrancing.

They danced up the hill.

The music grew even more entrancing.

They reached the top of the hill�and stopped.

Before them the road dipped into and crossed the flat bottom of the "bowl" and went up and over the other hill. In the center of the bottom a small tree stood by the road, and seated under it was the music maker. He was a harmless enough looking fellow in green doublet and leggings, and pointy toed shoes, a triangular hat with long feather perched on his head, sitting with back to trunk, legs crossed. Long fingered hands floated along the flute held just below puckered lips.

Across the road from him was a bushy blonde haired boy who did not look harmless at all. Dressed in red tunic, green breeches and red boots, a sling shot and bag of rocks secured to belt, he had a spear in hand, and despite his dance, more a rhythmic series of battle moves with his spear, he looked quite dangerous indeed.

Orlon watched him jab, block and thrust with his spear, feet gliding him back and forth in perfect time to the music, and gulped. Could this boy be the danger they faced? His eyes shrank to mere slits. And if so, how much danger did he really pose in comparison to the sword wielding warriors of the Party? The answer to that question�not much�did not ease his fears one bit. There was something so violently alarming in the boy�s big blue eyes it set his nape hairs on end.

Ty the Parson studied the situation carefully, eyes darting from the music maker to the boy. After a moment of this, he nodded and signaled the Party to follow before starting down the hill himself. They followed, swaying to the music, yet keeping a wary eye on the armed boy. When they were between the two, Ty the Parson stopped them, feet shuffling to the music beneath his cloak. The Party found their own feet moving to the music as well.

Even so, Sharna did not forget her vow to protect the One. Keeping an eye on the boy, she eased between him and Orlon, a hand on the hilt of her saber. The boy continued his "dance" unabated, giving them a glance and nothing more.

"Greetings," the flutist said without breaking a note of his song.

"Greetings," Ty the Parson responded flatly.

He waved the Party to continue. In answer, they danced where they stood.

"The parched man crawls through the desert in hopes of finding water! We must continue to our quest�s end before it is too late," Ty the Parson said, the flailing of his limbs in time to the music.

"I don�t see what harm there is in pausing to enjoy the music," Orlon found himself saying.

"The child behind the mask on the night of candy giving! This may be a minion of evil, an innocent duped and sent here to stop us," Ty the Parson said confidentially, arms and legs twitching.

Orlon blinked, and when what the Parson implied sank in, he stopped dancing. He looked at the music maker, who merrily winked at him. The man did not look evil�. Then again, would he, if he were duped by Tibtarni�whatever. And he thought of the music�s mysterious hypnotic power, literally making them want to stay here and dance. He blinked again. Ty the Parson just might have a point.

"We�d better go," he said.

Ty the Parson opened his mouth to proclaim�

"We know, we know," Tarl said with an eye roll. "The One has spoken."

Ty the Parson gave him a curt nod and stated down the road. Led by Shing and Grash, and Marcol, the Party followed. And the music followed them in a way none would have suspected. The flutist arose without breaking a note of his song and followed them. Close on his heels was the boy, his "dance" reduced to a skip in his step and sweeps of his spear.

They reached the next hill, walked up it and stopped at its peak. All turned a questioning eye on the music man.

He, in turn, brought his song to a flourishing end and, after running a tongue over his lips, smiled and said, "Got any musical instruments you wish played? Maps you want interpreted? Books you wish translated?"

"We lost our supplies," Marcol shrugged. "All we have with us is�us."

"Oh." The flutist turned and headed back to the tree, instrument at lips, new song begun.

All turned a questioning eye on the boy. The warriors kept hands near hilts.

The boy leaned on his spear and said, "Where you going?"

"We journey to stop a growing evil that threatens our world," Shing said.

"Will there be any fighting?"

"There might," Shing said.

"Then I, Shibtarr, will go with you," the boy said, bringing his spear to his shoulder.

"Muscles of the long bedbound redevelop strength through time consuming therapy! Highly active scavenger hunters pause to catch their collective breath! Our number, our strength needed to protect the One in the quest to combat the evil that threatens the world, reduced through ill fate, gains in number and strength by one. Desperately needed time to accomplish our goal escapes us through inactivity. We must begin our journey anew. Immediately."

With that limb flailing proclamation, Ty the Parson pointed his staff ahead and started down the hill, and all but one followed.

That one was Orlon. He stood on the hilltop, looking back at the flutist, who had resumed his place under the tree, playing away. The Midget smiled with the thought the music maker turned out not to be a minion of evil, duped or not, as Ty the Parson intimated. The man�s music had been entrancing only because he was a great musician. His smile faltered with the sad realization they would be leaving the music behind when they continued their journey� His toe began to tap.

"Orlon!"

Snapped from his reverie, he looked around to find himself alone on the hill and looked down the hill to find Sharna, arms akimbo, at its bottom. His smile rejuvenated itself in the form of a sheepish grin, accentuated by the crimson crawling up his cheeks. He shrugged in answer to her questioning look before hurrying to join her, and they hurried after the others.

Music forgotten, Orlon turned his attention to what lay ahead. They were within a few paces of catching up to the fast moving Party, and beyond them he saw the road ran due south for a couple dozen yards before plunging into some woods, wherein it could be seen to turn west. To the east of the road before the woods stood a building, to the west were woods overshadowed by a mountain. But what lay to the west went unnoticed in lieu of that to the east.

There was no mistaking what the white walled, thatched roofed building was: an inn. An iron pole, jutting from the wall above its entrance, supported a wooden sign upon which was carved an image distance made impossible to make out. That was of little importance to them, as the sight of an inn reminded them of Bretta�s biscuits, which led them to thinking how nice it would be to have a drink to wash them down with.

While the thought of liquid refreshment crossed Orlon�s mind, he also contemplated what an inn meant in terms of drinks available. Inns offered "hard" drinks to all who could pay. Or so he had been warned by his parents when it came to the Plow Share Inn of his own community, which was why he avoided it. Liquor clouded the mind, so he did not partake of it�. He just hoped this inn offered something he could drink, if they did stop there.

Tarl, on the other hand, thought a good stiff drink would be perfect to wash down his biscuit. He scratched his head when another thought struck him about the inn before them, and he gave voice to his wonderment.

"Who in their right mind would build an inn out here in the middle of nowhere?" he said.

His question went unanswered�unnoticed, as simultaneously Ty the Parson had signaled them to follow and started down the road. The Party hurried after him, all hoping the Parson intended to stop at the inn. As they grew closer, the image on the sign grew clear to them. It portrayed a frothing dog on its hind legs, a spoon in its forepaws, stirring the contents of a pot over a blazing fire.

The Stirring Dog Inn.

When they reached the inn, Ty the Parson stopped at its entrance, grew statuesque, lost in thought. The Party looked from him to the entrance, barred only by batwing doors, and back again. And they looked from Ty the Parson to Orlon and back again and back again. Orlon flinched under their stare, knowing what they waited for. Would the One want to stop here? In fact, he was awaiting Ty the Parson�s verbose inquiry on that very topic�

Without a word, Ty the Parson shot through the batwing doors, leaving them to frantically flap like their namesake in flight.

This caught everyone off guard. They stared after him with wide eyes.

"Let us refresh ourselves," Shing said.

"Let�s," Grash nodded.

Each stilled a flapping door, and they entered the inn shoulder to shoulder. The rest followed in ones and twos.

Last to enter, Orlon and Tarl were brought up short to avoid colliding with those before them. The batwing doors swung in, slapping their behinds. They absentmindedly rubbed the offended part of their anatomy, both upset at the situation. Orlon could not help but be eager to check out something he had never seen before. Tarl just wanted to check out the barmaids. Yet all they could see was their fellow travelers' backsides�though Tarl did not mind eyeing Sharna�s backside on bit.

Shing and Grash searched the dimly lit common room for Ty the Parson, spotted him seated in the front left hand corner booth. "This way," they said in unison.

They followed the two warriors to the booth, giving the Midgets their chance to look around the inn. They did not. Their attention, like the rest, was captured by their destination, the normally flailing and verbose man sitting there, statuesque, lost in thought. The Party seated themselves around the booth, apparently unnoticed by the Parson.

A moment of silence passed.

And Orlon took that moment to take in the common room. It was lighted by an eight candle wheel-shaped chandelier hanging from the ceiling�s center by three stout chains. There were four tables surrounded by four chairs each below the chandelier and a booth in each corner. On each side wall hung a crimson, gray and black drape, and along the back wall, framed by doorways, were three shelves lined with bottles of various shapes filled with what must be the "hard" drinks he had been told about. Set before these shelves was a long counter he seemed to remember was called a "bar".

"What�ll ya 'ave?"

The question startled them, drew every eye around to take in she who spoke it.

Before them stood an elderly woman, her shapely-though-sagging body in the white blouse and red skirt of a barmaid. Her gray hair was pulled back into a tight bun, smoothing the outer edge of the web of wrinkles that marred what once was a beautiful face, a gray toothed smile deepening the inner wrinkles. In her bony hands were a pad and writing instrument, and in her cloudy blue eyes the question just asked.

Tarl cringed at the sight of her. Seeing such an old barmaid did not bode well for the other barmaids looking any better�. Though he had to admit there was�something attractive about her despite the ravages of the years. He blinked and shook off the thought. He was not that desperate. Besides, he did not think they would be here long enough for him get any�action going, anyway.

"Ale," Ty the Parson suddenly said flatly in answer to her question.

Thus began a string of "hard" drink orders from the Party. The barmaid scribbled them down as fast as she could. When the ordering came to Chitintiare and Telluspett, the latter ordered a tankard of mead and the former huffed, rose and strode toward the bar. Telluspett looked from his departing brother to his forgotten biscuit on the table. He quietly reached over and slid it over to join his own, eyes to the heavens, silently whistling.

Finally she looked to Orlon, writing instrument poised�

"Um," he said, bringing a finger to his chin. He contemplated what would go well with the biscuit Bretta made them. And his mind turned back to the tasty meal of meat and mush the day before and what went with it. "Tea, please," he said.

"Tea?" she said, eyes darting from her pad, filled with liquor orders, to him and back again and back again.

"Yes, please," he smiled.

Shaking her head, she scribbled it down and hobbled off to fill the orders.

Orlon took the time for the orders to be filled to quench his curiosity about what made up an inn�s clientele. In the front booth across the entrance sat a tall, long limbed man dressed in tattered black shirt, breeches and shoes, a dark blue coat hung on his shoulders. Atop his head was a floppy brimmed hat that hid his face. From the way he sat hunched over his drink the Midget presumed he was snoozing.

His eyes moved to the back corner booth across from the odd man. There sat a well muscled, fair haired man drinking heartily from a tankard. He wore a light mail shirt, leather breeches and high topped boots. About his waist was a wide belt from which hung a saber in black scabbard to the left and iron ring to the right. From the ring a chain ran down through the metal loops around the necks of kindly faced boys huddled at his feet, a big padlock securing the chain to the last boy�s ring.

Orlon frowned, wondering why they were chained so. One of the boys looked up, met him eye to eye�and smiled. A smile touched his face, but the image bothered him so much he looked away�

His eyes came to rest on Chitintiare, who stood at the bar, both arms resting on it, awaiting the bartender�s attention. He looked from the Dork to the bartender in question and frowned. The tubby man, dressed in dirty white shirt, breeches and apron, rocked on his heels at the end of the bar, polishing a glass with a dirty rag, eyes closed.

A loud laugh snapped Orlon�s eyes to the giant, muscle-bound man leaning on the bar next to Chitintiare, talking to a small crowd of men. He was dressed in copper chainmail, a broadsword in scabbard at his hip, and surrounded by six smaller men likewise clad and armed. The giant boasted of his greatness in character and deed to the men, who nervously smiled and nodded in agreement to everything he said.

"Bartender," Chitintiare barked, banging the bar with an open hand.

The giant stopped his boasting, mouth open. He cast an eye on the Dork.

Orlon feared this meant trouble.

A tap on his arm brought Orlon�s attention to his best friend.

"So?" Tarl said, eyebrows bobbing. "This is your first time in an inn. What do you think?"

"It�s�okay," he said. "I�m just glad they have something other than hard drink available."

Tarl rolled his eyes. "Yeah, me, too," he said, then turned to something that had been itching at the back of his mind ever since they sat down, saying, "You don�t think this is where this trip ends, do you?"

"No, Tarl, I don�t think it ends here," he said. "We still have a ways to go, I think."

"I�m glad to hear that," Tarl said. "I have to admit I thought it might be the end, considering how stoic Ty the Parson has become� You know how these things can turn out, after all, traveling to nowhere despite all the fanciful talk beforehand." Into his mind appeared the image of the elderly barmaid and he shivered, adding, "I wouldn�t even want to stop here for the night. I mean, inns can offer prospects for overnight�companionship, if you get me. But this inn�" He shivered again.

Orlon rolled his eye.

"Oh, well," Tarl went on. "No matter where we end up, we�ve seen more of the world than we ever dreamed we would, haven�t we?"

"Yes, we have," Orlon agreed�and he shivered with the thought of what lie ahead of them, what all Ty the Parson�s "fanciful talk" beforehand implied this quest was for.

Just then the barmaid returned, precariously carrying a tray laden with drinks. To their utmost surprise, she was able, through a miraculous shift and balance act, to distribute the drinks as per ordered without spilling a drop. The last order she placed was Orlon�s glass of tea, and as she placed it on the table before him she gave him a curious look.

He smiled at her, took a sip and said, "Mm. Thank you."

She half smiled back and hobbled away.

Now that they had refreshment to go with their biscuits the meal began, and it was a struggle for them not to proclaim the deliciousness of the biscuits. And with each bite, washed down with a sip, they found the biscuits quite filling as well. This fact led them to eat their meals slowly� When the last morels were popped into mouths, chewed and swallowed, and washed down, all wore a smile on their faces.

All, that was, but for Telluspett. One biscuit had proved filling, two�stuffing! He drank the last of his mead, placed the mug on the table and leaned back, hands on bloated belly, misery on his face. He belched.

"The mighty feline crouches, watchful, near its prey! The loving mother warns her children to be careful before sending them out to play! Our quest grows ever nearer its first goal, ever nearer the lair of the evil we seek to stop. I, Ty, the Parson, must warn you the closer we get to our first goal, the evil Tibtarnitallimardarian�s lair, the greater his strength will become. The more danger we will face," Ty the Parson said, flailing limbs banging the seat and table of the booth.

"And the greater the danger the greater our challenge to protect the One," Shing said.

"I shall protect the One with my life," Sharna vowed, placing a hand on Orlon�s shoulder.

Orlon blushed.

Tarl elbowed him, silently smacked him a kiss, thumbing at Sharna.

Orlon rolled his eyes to land on his self proclaimed guardian, and he felt a pang in his heart that confused him. All he knew was he was honored to have someone so dedicated to his safety, but it had been emotionally tough enough to have witnessed the death of those likewise dedicated thus far. The last thing he wanted was more deaths�her death to come because of him. He frowned, lost in a whirlwind of emotional confusion�

"You need me," the man in tattered clothes announced.

All turned to look at him, still sitting hunched over his drink. For some reason they were not impressed.

"If the danger is as great as you claim," he said, "I, Majestus Sinobe, am definitely needed."

"And what can you do that we need so?" Shing said.

The man flinched. He raised his head, revealing a thin face with hooked nose, thin lips and bright blue eyes that shone in the shadow of his hat�s brim. "Watch and be amazed," he said.

He rose to his full ten feet height, a haughty figure in his floppy brimmed hat, tattered clothes and dark blue coat. For a moment he looked down his nose at them, then stepped away from the booth, producing an orange from his tattered pocket. He held it up for their inspection�they glanced at it�before rolling it to the center of the room.

"Ball rise!" he commanded, arms raised, wrists bent, fingers crookedly pointing at the fruit.

The orange rose six feet into the air, hovered a moment and fell.

Majestus Sinobe looked upon them, head held high.

They were not amazed.

"Oh yeah," Chitintiare barked, backing away from the bar.

"You, little one, you think you are tougher than I, Bechendorf," the giant in copper chainmail said, brushing his six frightened companions aside with a forearm to pursue the Dork. "I, mighty warrior of many battles, past, present and future. You! Tougher? Ha!"

"Bring in on," Chitintiare dared, drawing his shortsword.

Laughing, Bechendorf drew his battle scarred broadsword and swung it two-handed over his head. The Dork stood ready. Bechendorf brought his sword arching down upon him. Chitintiare swung his blade arcing up to deflect the descending blade. The blades met�Tink!�and the larger blade continued down to split the Dork in half. Unlike the Grumpling, the Dork�s two halves fell in a grotesque puddle of blood and innards.

"Hey," Telluspett barked with a blink. "That was my brother."

He wiggled his way out of the booth, drew his shortsword and, yelling his outrage, charged the giant, blade first. Still laughing, Bechendorf swung his broadsword up for a repeat stroke� In his mad attack, the Dork slipped in his brother�s gore, flew forward, blade piercing the giant�s heart.

Bechendorf froze, turned stone gray, surprise ever etched on his face.

Telluspett hung from his shortsword, a dumb expression on his face,

Ty the Parson downed his drink, produced a pouch of gold from a baggy sleeve with a flourish of his arm and dropped it on the table. Everyone jumped at the jingling bang, spun their heads to gaze at him questioningly.

"The straight horned jumper pauses at water hole! We have refreshed ourselves and must spring forth. Make haste," he said, the flail of his limbs bringing him to his feet.

In a wild spine that ended in a wide-legged stance, he shot his staff forward to point at the inn�s entrance. He darted across the room, passing the man in tattered clothes without notice, and out of the inn, the batwing doors flapping frantically in his wake. A word from Shing, and Grash, brought the Party to their feet. They downed their drinks and hurried out of the inn.

"You need me," Majestus Sinobe proclaimed and quick-stepped it after them.

Telluspett hung from the hilt, watching them go over the heads of the giant�s six companions, who circled the statue of the man that had frightened them so. Around and around they went, amazement and relief growing on their faces. Finally, they stopped before the Dork, eyeing him closely.

One whistled. "I never thought I�d see the day," he said.

"The mighty Bechendorf has fallen," another said. "Long live�uh� Who are you?"

"Telluspett," the Dork said, sparing them a glance.

"Long live Telluspett," the six saluted him.

But the Dork barely noticed their accolades, lost in thought, though not in an intelligent way, before the quest that he was a part of drifted through the fog of his mind to take center stage. He blinked. The quest he was on�with the Party he just saw leave in a rush�. He blinked again. If they left in a rush, that meant�? He scratched his head, and a dim light flicked in his eyes. Oh. Yeah. That meant he had better get a move on before they left him behind.

He let go the hilt, landing almost off balance, and carefully walked through the crowd of men, who slapped him admirably on the back, and his brother�s innards. After a moment�s glance at his empty sheath, he picked up his brother�s sword and ran out of the inn, leaving behind him six men with fists in the air, cheering his name.

When the Party rushed out of the inn they stumbled to a stop, narrowly avoiding bumping into Ty the Parson, who stood just without, eyes on what lay directly across the road. They followed his gaze and were so startled by what they saw, none took the slightest notice, beyond recovering their balance, of Telluspett hurrying out of the inn and colliding with them.

The woods and overshadowing mountain they had ignored in lieu of the inn earlier was quite a foreboding sight.

Crowding the roadside were gnarly trunked, crooked limbed trees infested with stringy moss and cobwebs, and filled with eerie shadows. A narrow, crooked path offered passage through the nightmarish woods' depths to the base of the mountain. From there the path zigzagged its way up the craggy mountainside to a plateau just beneath black storm clouds, emitting thunderless streaks of lightning, which surround the mountain�s peak. And on the plateau stood�a castle! A monstrosity of stonework that no matter how hard they tried, they could not tear their eyes away from.

Made of deep gray stone, the castle�s round roof atop twin black windows, within which flickered dim lights, round topped entrance with fang-like portcullis and twin pointed corner towers gave it the look of a demon�s head. A wind sweeping through its openings gave off a growling moan of challenge for them to come�

It set their nape hairs on end, and no one�s nape hairs were more on end than the Midget�s.

Tarl was caught in a whirlwind of mixed emotions. Since Ty the Parson�s arrival at their farmhouse, not unlike Sleen Manibeen�s visitor, spouting the need for a mad quest, he had seen it as an avenue to break free of Dwarf Road and see the world. His thought they would travel a ways that ended up�nowhere of import, like the inn just exited�. Then Orlon assured him they still had a ways to go.

He cast a sideways glance at his best friend. Not only was Orlon�s assurance off�by all appearances their quest�s end was right across the road�it appeared to be, as at one point he had began to think it might be, for real!

Orlon did not even notice his best friend�s look, his mind caught in a quandary over what he saw before him. To his mind, that castle could only represent the end of their quest� What better place for evil Tibtarni�whatever to hold up in than that monstrosity of stonework? Which led him to question if such a castle on a mountain plateau, no matter how evil that mountain and its surrounding woods appeared, truly fit Ty the Parson�s description of the evil one�s abode being a "lair."

Yet that was not his only quandary. Clear in his mind was Ty the Parson�s proclamation the quest was twofold: first, to retrieve the Holy Pike, and second, to use said weapon to stop evil from taking over the world. He simply could not believe the castle represented anything other than the quest�s end. There was no way such an item as a Holy Pike would be found there. Surely such an item would be kept in a holy locale. Surely it would.

That led him to look at the creepily treed woods. A shiver danced along his spine as he watched its eerily swaying shadows, looked along its narrow crooked path. Nor would such an item be found there.

He gulped at what all this meant for the future. If they had reached the evil�s lair ahead of finding the Holy Pike, what did that mean for them�him? A drop of sweat snaked down the back of his neck. If their quest failed, what did that mean for the world�s fate? He looked from the castle to the woods to Ty the Parson and back again and back again and back again, and his stomach filled with butterflies�

"Boy, am I glad we�re not going there," Sharna said.

Before Orlon, and Tarl, had the chance to give Sharna a double-take, Ty the Parson started down Eltrondale Road. The Party followed, and the sight that had transfixed them a moment ago was left behind without a glance. And what they saw before them slowed them a pace or two. The road plunged into woods, and though the trees were not close knit or gnarled or crooked of limb, all remembered the last time they had entered a grouping of trees.

None, however, felt the unease over it Orlon and Tarl did. The Midgets had been raised on horror stories of Dark Forest, and having traveled through the forest, with its fearsome noises, and having witnessed its horrors�the loss of life in doing so were something neither wished to repeat. Add to that the terrifying woods of twisted trees they had just faced and the two were shaking in their shoes.

Then there was the utter silence of the woods ahead, so reminiscent of Dark Forest�

Yet there was one difference that kept them advancing. Rather than entering and traversing the woods by a narrow path, they would be doing so via the road they were on. The very road, presumably, that was leading them to their quest�s two goals. The fact they saw the turn west within the woods, leaving what lay ahead a mystery, filled them with minor worry nonetheless.

When they entered the woods earsplitting noises assaulted them, just as happened in Dark Forest. But this was different! Instead of howls and growls and snarls, they heard clinks and clanks and jingles of�armor.

They stopped just five paces from the road�s turn. To a man, and woman, the warriors laid hands on hilts. The clinks and clanks and jingles grew ever louder.

"What is that?" Orlon shouted.

"Sh," Sharna said.

They advanced cautiously to the road�s turn, followed it one step at a time, and when they rounded the turn, they stopped. The clinks and clanks and jingles stopped�. Ten feet in front of them had stopped a huge army. Spanning the width of the road�eight broad shouldered men standing side by side�and stretching westward to the horizon were men in plate armor, armed to the teeth, and then some. To a man, the soldiers looked as startled as the Party, briefly, before each grew resolute, taking on one threatening pose after another, hands at this weapon�s hilt or that.

Orlon was so unnerved he stepped closer to and slightly behind his self proclaimed guardian, placed a hand on her belt. She smiled.

"M-maybe we should�run away," Tarl whispered.

"Sh," Sharna frowned at him.

He gulped, unsure which threat was more dangerous, Sharna or the army before them.

Silence, but for the soft clinks and clanks and jingles of armor, gripped the scene.

Orlon looked at Sharna, startled to find she stood at ease, sword hand fisted at hip. He looked at the other warriors, caught his jaw. They, too, stood at ease. This was far from what he expected, considering they faced an army of incredible strength and by all evidence eminent threat to their wellbeing. He looked from them to the army and back again and back again, and looking at the army, each soldier striking threatening poses, he was at a loss. Where they in danger? Or not?

From the army stepped forward a soldier�and he struck a threatening pose. "Step aside," he demanded.

The booming voice nearly made Orlon, and Tarl, jump out of their skin. While his best friend found himself rooted to the ground, trembling, Orlon raised a foot to do as ordered. Sharna stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder. He looked at her questioningly. In answer, she put a finger to her lips. He looked at Tarl, who cocked his head and shrugged.

A moment passed.

With a flamboyant gesture, Ty the Parson produced a pouch of gold from a sleeve and held it out. Marcol placed a hand under it. The Parson dropped it into the awaiting hand. In a flamboyant gesture of his own, the mercenary secured it on his person�somewhere and stepped forward. He watched the soldier strike one threatening pose after another for a moment, then slowly reached up and tossed his ponytail over a shoulder.

"You step aside," he said.

With a jump back, the soldiers gripped their weapons menacingly.

"You step side," their spokesman demanded.

"You!" Marcol countered.

"You!" The soldier drew a sword just enough to reveal its well honed blade.

And thus began a back and forth of yelling, "You!"

Orlon was at a total loss as to what was going on here. He looked from the mercenary and soldier yelling at each other to the warriors of the Party. Not one appeared the least bit concerned about it. He scratched his head. He so much wanted to ask Sharna what this was all about, but knew she would only shush him. Well then, she would just have to, because he could stand this confusion no longer. He opened his mouth to inquire�

Silence!

The sudden lack of yelling startled the Midget, and he looked at the verbal combatants in time to see Marcol spit.

"Enough of this," the mercenary groused, drawing his shortsword and lunging at the soldier.

In the wink of an eye, the soldier�the army disappeared in a rattle and clank. All that was left behind were piles of armor and weaponry� Marcol tripped over the armor pile of the soldier that was his target and flipped into the sea of armor beyond.

Orlon and Tarl felt their jaws go slack, and they looked about them. In the surrounding woods they caught glimpses of wide eyes watching them from the shadows.

"What happened?" Tarl gave voice to their confusion.

"What happens whenever you are confronted by Whelps," Sharna said nonchalantly.

"Whelps?" Orlon and Tarl said in unison.

"Never will you find a more armored and armed, and more full of bluster�coward than a Whelp," Grash said with a twist of his mustache.

Orlon and Tarl turned to the elderly warrior, but before they could ask more Ty the Parson plunged into the sea of armor filling the road. The Party followed. Marcol surfaced, sheathed his shortsword and hurried after them. Last to follow were Orlon and Tarl, still lost in confusion. But it was the latter who swept aside his confusion when something amongst the armor piles sparked his interest. He snatched up a well polished girdle from which hung a fancily hilted shortsword in well polished scabbard.

"Hey," a faint protest of the theft came from the woods.

Tarl strapped the girdle about his plump waist�and somehow it felt�right. He had never used a sword before, but if the quest turned out to be real� He drew the blade and tested its balance.

"I christen thee Wasp," he said, smiling, and slammed the shortsword home in its scabbard.

Orlon rolled his eyes.

Wading through a sea was slow work with the drag of its water and struggle with its currents. Wadding through a sea of armor was slow work as well, dodging and weaving through the numerous closely spaced piles to avoid sharp edges that could rend clothing, cut the delicate flesh beneath. Yet the Party found their speed hastened uncomfortably to keep up with Ty the Parson, who appeared to be a master at dodging and weaving.

Soon they came out of the woods into the bright day, and they halted, momentarily blinded by the glare. Fast blinking and shading hands helped them recover their sight�. And what they saw ahead was a continued sea of armor to the horizon�and on the grassy southern bank was a building that captured their attention, and for Orlon and Tarl, left them with mixed emotions.

Sixty yards or so ahead, the white walled, thatched roofed building was long in length and two stories high, and each story was lined with windows. There was no sign on a pole to designate what business the owner or owners was in, but there was a man standing at the entrance. The man, rocking on his heels, hands in pockets, and the building�s overall look told the Midgets that this building was a hotel.

Into their minds returned tales of mad men calling for quests that ended up nowhere, and they both thought if Ty the Parson led them to the hotel�it was over.

With a hand white knuckled on the hilt of his newly acquired shortsword, Tarl scowled, inwardly cursing himself for beginning to think this might really be a world saving quest. His knuckles gradually regained their color, his lips eased into a noncommittal smile. Then again, he had been given the opportunity to live out a dream, to see some of the world, and if this hotel marked the end of the journey, at least they would have a comfortable place to spend the night.

His smile became committed with the thought of the plump pouch of gold he had won in the dice game with Jack, Carlo and Frank. That pouch guaranteed he would have a very comfortable room for the night. And he might even afford the same comfort for his best friend.

Orlon was caught in such a rush of emotions over the thought the hotel signified the quest�s end he felt sick at the stomach. Oh, he had had his doubts this journey was for real, but proven fact after fact since Ty the Parson arrived at his home that night had led him to believe it was for real more and more, until not long after the quest began he bought into its reality hook, line and sinker� He had even convinced himself the fate of the world rested on his shoulders, that he actually was "the One" Ty the Parson endlessly referred to him as being.

Thought of the results of his buying into being the One filled his heart with sorrow. As the One, decisions had been left up to him, and the one decision he had made that cost them dearly in lives was foremost in his mind. If he had chosen to go around Dark Forest instead of through it, all in the name of saving precious time, Jack, Carlo and Frank, and Crik-or would still be with them. He caught a sob in his throat. If he had made a different decision, Jujay would still be with him.

Again without forewarning, Ty the Parson waded into the sea of armor. The Party followed. Weaving this way and that, they trailed him down the road�right to the hotel! And the Parson stopped them, right before the gravel walkway that led to the hotel�s entrance and the man standing there.

Orlon and Tarl looked at each other, shrugged.

A moment passed.

Ty the Parson suddenly darted down the walkway, followed by the Party, stopping them right before the man.

The man was of medium height, thin but for a round belly, and dressed in fancifully collared and cuffed white shirt, red vest, green breeches and red shoes. His face was small, with big green eyes, hooked nose and thin lipped mouth. A horseshoe of gray touched black hair circled his head from big ear to big ear, a few strands draped over his bald crown. Hands in pockets, rocking on his heels, he watched them approach, and when they stopped before him, he eyed them over quickly.

"Room for you gents, and ladies," he said, smiling a big toothed smile. "Talbortale�s hotel is ready to serve."

"The warrior�s want of enemy blade in his flesh! The falling man grabs the dangling rope to save his life! Rooms are not our want. I, Ty, the Parson, and the Party have guided the One here in search of the Holy Pike," Ty the Parson said in a flail of limbs.

Orlon and Tarl, and the man gave him a double-take.

Tarl had mixed feelings, happy with the realization Ty the Parson�s statement meant the hotel did not mean the journey�s end, and dumbfounded to realize the quest was real.

Orlon�s feelings were mixed as well, even more so. He was both relieved and terrified that the quest was for real, and startled to think the weapon, holy as it was proclaimed to be, they sought would be found in a hotel of all places.

As for the man, his smile faltered. "Pike?" he said. "You mean that thing in the attic?"

Ty the Parson gave him a single nod.

"It�s yours," the man said, thumbing over a shoulder. "That is, if you�"

A buxom, blonde and naked woman bound out of the hotel, full lips puckered and arms opened wide. Her target: Orlon. Before Sharna had a chance to react, Tarl was in between the woman and his best friend, meeting her lips with a passionate kiss of his own. Her eyes bulged at this unexpected interruption, but her arms closed around him anyway. He wrapped his arms around her, and tasting her sweet kiss, he realized he had just done his part for the cause by protecting Orlon�s purity�and he was going to get a piece of action to boot.

"I�ll handle this," he said out the corner of his mouth and led her around the hotel.

Orlon watched them go, wide eyed.

Mishto watched them, too, a tear in her eye.

"�can get it," the man concluded.

With a twitch of his shoulders, Ty the Parson turned his head to look at Orlon, who met him eye to eye, and wondered what he wanted. Signaling with a finger wag for the Midget to follow, he entered the hotel. Orlon followed, Sharna close behind. All but Shibtarr followed. The tow-headed boy spat, gripped his spear in both hands and leaned against the wall to await their return.

Through the entrance they found themselves in a large room. A counter stood to the left, behind which was a closed door. In the center of the back wall was a doorway leading to the hotel�s first floor rooms, and a steep stairway along the wall led to a landing at the doorway that gave access to the second floor rooms. A row of five chairs stood in the room�s center, and it was at these Ty the Parson stopped.

He looked up, as did those behind him, to see a rope dangling from the center of the ceiling. It served as the "handle" to the attic door. With arms outstretched at his sides, he urged the Party and the brightly dressed man back a few steps, before stepping up onto the central chair. He stretched to his fullest length to reach the rope, his long fingers just inches short of its knotted end.

The man opened his mouth to speak�

A hop spanned the distance and Ty the Parson took hold of the rope�and he came down, splintering the chair and landing on his backside� He quickly scurried backward on hands and feet, dividing the Party and narrowly escaping the rapidly descending ladder to the attic. Its base crashed to the floor at the tips of his booted toes.

"I do have a stepladder for that," the man said, too late now, eyes on the chair�s remains.

Ty the Parson got to his feet, leapt onto the ladder and looked back at Orlon. "Come," he said and climbed up it.

Though his first thought was to obey the command, Orlon hesitated, eyes following the Parson up the ladder and into the attic. Within the attic was the first goal of their twofold quest�the Holy Pike�which was needed to insure success of the quest�s second goal. The weapon only he could wield to end the evil that threatened the world. Yet he did not move, hearing in his mind the brightly dressed man�s statement, "That is, if you can get it." What did he mean by that?

"Let�s go, Orlon," Sharna urged him forward with a hand on his back, "let�s go."

He stepped up to the ladder, eyes on the attic entrance, and he slowly started up it. Sharna was close behind him, and as space allowed one member of the Party after the next mounted the ladder, which creaked under the ever increasing weight. Orlon did his best not to let that sound worry him, keeping his mind focused on reaching the entrance.

Once he reached it, he advanced into the attic�s darkness no further than his head and shoulders to let his eyes adjust. The darkness was not as deep as it had appeared, tempered by thin streaks of sunlight coming through cracks in the walls. Still, with all the stacks of crates and boxes and old furnishings, the attic was filled with eerie shadows. Scattered dust and cobwebs added to the eeriness and gave the damp air a smothering mustiness.

His examination was interrupted by a shove from behind, propelling him up and stumbling into the attic. In quick succession, the Party made their way into the attic to stand behind him. All sought out the whereabouts of Ty the Parson.

He was not hard to find. At the end of the crooked avenue between stacks before them, he stood in a circle of dim brilliance. The source of the brilliance was a long, narrow item covered by a tan quilt�that floated a foot off the ground! His eyes held a glimmer of the brilliance as he looked from the covered item to Orlon and back again and back again�

While Ty the Parson�s back-and-forth look unnerved Orlon, the hands urging him forward put him into a panic. Right up to the very edge of the brilliance they pushed him before halting� Orlon found being up close to the Parson�s back-and-forth look even more troubling, but he also found his curiosity over whatever was beneath that quit enhanced to the breaking point.

"Is�is that what we�re here for?" Orlon asked.

In answer, Ty the Parson�s eyes bobbed up and down, and with a dramatic step back, he ripped the quilt away. The circle of brilliance intensified so much they were forced to raise a hand to shade their eyes. And the Holy Pike was revealed to be a shaft of light wood upon which were carved lines of some ancient language, with a long, silver blade, a halo encircling its point. Tiny cherubs fluttered about frantically before escaping through a slit in the wall.

"Ooh," the Campfire Girl said, approaching the weapon. "How beautiful it is."

She reached out and touched the pike.

Upon contact, she writhed, screaming in agony.

Flames burst from her eyes, ears, nose and mouth.

Swiftly, she was reduced to a skeleton outlined in flames.

The skeleton disintegrated, the fire went out and Mishto Sharpaine was gone.

A pleasant odor lingered on the air.

"The content of the rich man�s safe! The newborn takes mother�s nipple! You, Orlon, the Pure, purest of the pure, must step up to take this valuable weapon so that you may confront the evil that threatened the world," Ty the Parson said, arms and legs flailing. He spun to a wide-legged stance, staff pointing at the Midget, long finger at the floating marvel. "You, Orlon, the Pure, you must take the Holy Pike."

"Oh, no I don�t," Orlon said, Mishto�s horrific demise after touching it replaying in his mind, and hands raised, he stepped back, saying, ""If you think I�m going to touch that thing, you�re crazy."

"The gladiator chooses weapon before entering battle in the arena! You, Orlon, the Pure, have no choice but to take up the pike, if you wish to successfully combat Tibtarnitallimardarian before it is too late."

Hands still raised, he tried to step back further. "Hey," he gasped as hands shoved him forward to trip over an extended foot.

One hand clasped over his eyes, the other outstretched before him, Orlon stumbled forward. Fate stepped in. His outstretched hand closed around the Holy Pike�s shaft, just before he slammed into the wall, bounced back a step and dropped onto his rump. He sat there, hand still over eyes, the other hand still about the pike�s shaft, and he wondered why he had not burst into flames�. He slid an index finger along the carved lettering�and felt power surge through his finger to consume his entire body. And he did not understand what just happened.

Despite his dread of a longwinded answer, he knew the only explanation he could get was from Ty the Parson. But when he dropped his hand from his eyes and looked to where Ty the Parson had been, he was gone. He spun his head around to find the Party gone, too, which meant he was�alone. The man who had talked him into this quest, the warriors he brought with him, who to a man, and woman, vowed to protect the One with their very lives, had left him here, alone.

His eyes darted about the dimly lit attic, catching sight of every mysteriously shifting shadow, swaying cobweb, every drifting dust particle. It came to mind the attic was not as well lighted as it had been, which drew his eyes to the Holy Pike. He blinked. The weapon�s brilliance was gone, as was its halo. Why, it appeared to be nothing more than an every day, run of the mill pike now.

That was when he felt eyes watching him.

Slowly, he turned back to the wall, his attention drawn straight to the slit the cherubs had escaped through. Along it he saw tiny eyes staring at him. Within those eyes he read fright, despair, uncertainty and anger. He looked from them to the Holy Pike and back again, and gulped. Their mix of emotions was understandable. He had taken away their pike. He gulped again. There was no telling what an angry cherub might do, and he did not want to find out.

Careful with the Holy Pike, he heeled himself away from the wall�those eyes�and when he deemed it far enough, he flipped over, got to his feet and hoofed it to the attic entrance. Again, careful with the Holy Pike, he descended the ladder without giving the attic a glance. With four rungs to go, he hopped to the ground, careful with the Holy Pike, and spun to find himself alone in the room but for the brightly dressed man standing behind the counter.

The man looked at the Midget, saw what he held and his eyes went wide, briefly. A smile touched his lips.

Orlon did not notice his reaction, however, his mind swirling with the thought they had left him, they had actually left him. He started across the room toward the entrance, hoping beyond hope he would find his traveling companions, Sharna awaiting him outside.

"So you did get it, eh," the man said, watching him pass.

"Yes," Orlon answered mechanically.

"Good for you," he said and taking one last look at the Holy Pike, breathed, "And good riddance to that thing."

When Orlon came out of the hotel he was relieved to find the Party there and startled at their reaction to his arrival. They milled about, all but one, not even sparing him a glance. Their attention was on Ty the Parson who stood at the edge of the sea of armor. He spared the Parson and his antics no more than a glance, his only desire being to locate Sharna. She stood not ten feet away.

As he sought to span the distance between them, the one who looked his way sought to join him. Shibtarr had given the Midget a thoughtless glance when he came out of the hotel�and his eyes were drawn to the Holy Pike. Plain though the pike appeared to be, the boy sensed something special about it, and he was drawn to it by that sense of specialty�. The boy caught up to him just as he reached Sharna.

"Nice pike," he said, eyes on the weapon.

Before Orlon could reply, Sharna said, "Sh."

Shibtarr dropped back a step, spear held at the ready, eyes on the warrior woman. The fact she returned her attention to Ty the Parson barely eased his defensiveness.

Orlon looked from Shibtarr to Sharna, and he could not help but wonder why her call for silence, which led him to look at Ty the Parson in hopes of finding an answer.

Standing straight backed, sap dripping staff held at side, Ty the Parson studied the situation in the most curious of ways. With quick snaps of his hooded head he looked first to the sun, now midway across the afternoon sky, to the field across the armor filled road, to a mountain looming over a forest on the horizon, to the Party, to the hotel and back to the sun to repeat the process over and over and over again�

Ty the Parson�s repeated head snaps not only gave Orlon a sympathetic neck cramp, they told him exactly what was going on. But before he could think on it further, out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Shibtarr, big blue eyes filled with awe, reaching out to touch the Holy Pike�and into his mind flashed the fate of the Campfire Girl when her own wonderment compelled her to touch the pike.

"Don�t touch that," he warned, carefully shifting the pike to left hand, away from the boy.

"Sh," Sharna said.

Hit with two verbal assaults set Shibtarr back two steps, spear in white knuckled hands moving back and forth with his eyes, one to the other. Sharna must have felt the threatening gesture, as she cast a warning glare upon him to deflect it. It did, but not without a macho show. The boy backed away, spear held at the ready, face fierce but for a glimmer of uncertainty in his eyes. Once he felt a safe distance away, he swung the spear over a shoulder, snapped his fingers at her and turned his back on her, quick-stepping away casually.

Orlon noticed the boy�s dramatics in passing, his attention back on Ty the Parson. There was no doubt in his mind his antics dealt with what their next move would be: spend the night at the hotel or carry on with the quest. He could not help but believe he knew what choice that would be. The lateness of the hour and past experience were strong indicators.

Yet there was an added element that told him circumstances might be different this time.

That added element was the mountain looming over the forest on the horizon. Though not as foreboding as the mountain they had seen this morning, he felt a shiver crept up his spine as he looked at it. He gulped. That mountain could represent their journey�s final destination.

His stomach grumbled, and he inwardly giggled at the thought that was one sound Sharna could not shush. It also reminded him they had missed lunch. Further, he realized the stuffed feeling gained by Bretta�s biscuit was gone. And watching Ty the Parson go through his repeated head snapping examination of the situation, pausing more and more on the mountain each time, gave him the feeling they would not be stopping at the hotel for the night.

Suddenly it dawned on him he just might have a say in the matter. Since the quest began choices had been left up to the One�him�and what the One said went. Well, he was hungry! Sure, the world was depending on him to save it, even more so now that he had the Holy Pike, and sure, it was apparent they were near the mountainous lair of the evil threat he was to combat, but just as surely, the hotel had a dining room and�he was hungry�. If he was going to decide their next move, he was ready to do so now. Finger raised, he opened his mouth to give voice to his choice�

"Funny thing," Tarl Bimbo said, rounding the hotel corner, buckling his pants belt, sword belt over a shoulder. "There we were going in for our third�uh, good time�" he shot Orlon a wink and jiggled his belt buckle "�and out of the blue, she ran away."

Orlon looked to the heavens.

Ty the Parson, on the other hand, froze for a split second before he spun on Tarl, eyes ablaze. "The teen�s lover escapes the outraged father�s grasp! Which direction did she flee?" he said in a flail of limbs.

"That way," Tarl pointed to the field across the sea of armor.

The distant mountain darkened.

"As I feared," Ty the Parson said, leaping into the air, arms and legs flailing wildly. He landed in a wide-legged stance, staff sweeping back and forth pointedly at the Party. "The unexpected sibling drops after doctor declares twins! Germs invade the healthy body! Here at the waning hours of our second day, the day that saw the successful conclusion of the first part of our twofold quest, a spy has penetrated the Party via a weak link."

All eyes turned on Tarl, and the intensity of their disapproval made him flinch.

"The gangster�s moll sits behind his gambling opponent! The pearl diver dares the depths in search of the irritated clam! We are so close to the final goal of our twofold quest, yet as we delay here, a spy hurries to inform the evil Tibtarnitallimardarian, whom we seek to prevent taking over the world, of our approach. We must brave the evils of the night in hopes of attaining our goal before it is too late." Ty the Parson performed a wild about-face and stormed across the sea of armor.

In quick order, the Party followed, Sharna urging Orlon along after. Last in line was Tarl, who upon reaching the field hurried to walk alongside his best friend. That was when he became aware someone was missing, and a quick look about told him who it was.

"Where�s Mishto?" he asked.

Orlon briefly told him of her fiery demise in the attic.

"Hm," Tarl said and seeing her beautiful face in his mind, sighed, "Too bad."

Step by hurried step, the Party followed Ty the Parson across the field. They looked first to the nearing forest and mountain beyond, then the setting sun, and it was apparent to one and all that despite their speed they would never span the distance between them and the mountain before night fell. Yet they were going to do their best no matter how impossible the task appeared to be.

Their best proved too much for Orlon, who was not only hungry to the point of cramps but sleepy to the point of drooping eyelids. He found it strangely interesting how the pain of the former helped him battle the droop of the latter. But there was nothing within him to help combat the pain in his leg muscles, as he struggled to keep up the pace, hampered as he was with the weight of the Holy Pike, which grew heavier and heavier with each step he took.

Yet somehow he found within himself the resolve to keep in step with his fellow travelers.

To a man, and woman, the warriors watched their shadows lengthen further and further to the east and the distance they must traverse grow shorter and shorter, though not as quickly as their shadows lengthened, or so it seemed. So, too, did the Midgets watch and compare shadow length to distance gained, and they, too, were not happy with the apparent difference in speed of one to the other.

At the same time the two were not thrilled with the idea of reaching their destination�ever. Both looked at the mountain ahead, and they gulped. Tarl was unnerved by the thought they were actually traveling to a real confrontation with something that lived in such a spooky place. Orlon, on the other hand, was terrified with the thought he was the One expected to face and defeat evil Tibtarni�whatever, and that he would have to do it in the darkness of night� The weight of his chosen weapon for the deed grew to the point his arm trembled carrying it.

Night fell! Darkness consumed the land�and the Party, which halted. The moonless sky offered them no succor. They looked up. Not even the stars offered a twinkle of help against the pitch black night.

"Now what are we going to do?" Orlon said.

"Without our supplies," Marcol said, "we have no means of making torches."

"I, Rae, will lead the way."

All turned to the sound of the robed youth�s voice. Just then the highly polished, perfectly spherical ball atop his staff burst into light, forcing them to raise a protective hand before their eyes. When the light settled down, it formed a brilliant globe about the ball, in the glow of which they could see Rae�s freckly, pimple marked face. The oiliness of his shoulder length brown hair glistened from the unusually intense light.

"Follow me," he said and took off across the field.

Ty the Parson fell in behind him, followed by Shing and Grash, and Marcol, and the rest fell in behind them. And in the light the warriors, hands hovering over sword hilts, searched the outer darkness in hopes of detecting any evil threat before it struck. Orlon, the Holy Pike held carefully away from any possible contact with anyone, was drawn closer to Sharna by a firm hand on his shoulder

Hour stretched into hour as they followed the teenage boy, and Orlon felt the pain of his hunger begin to lose against the droop of his eyelids. The darkness and the late hour were becoming too much for his overtaxed system� He thought about leaning on the Holy Pike for support, but something deep within warned him to abolish the notion.

Rae suddenly stopped, the Party stumbling to a stop behind him, narrowly avoiding bumping into each other. They wondered what was up. Just an inch before the boy�s nose was a tree. They had reached the forest.

"The worm tunnels into gravel filled earth! The blind man without tapping stick! Our way has become complicated. Too complicated for us to traverse, even with the aid of Rae�s light. I, Ty, the Parson, see we have no choice but to stop for the night," Ty the Parson said, the flail of his limbs heard with the ruffling of his cloak. "The farmer awaits the rooster�s crow! Rest quickly, that we may begin our quest anew at daybreak."

And so saying, he dropped to sit cross-legged, staff across knees, hands flat on the ground at sides, where he stood.

And in response, the Party but for one sat where they stood. That one was the One, and Orlon watched them, including his self proclaimed guardian, prepare to curl up for the night. He sighed. How tired he was, yet feeling the way he did, he could not even think of sleep�and he wondered how they, who must feel the same way, could ignore it so easily. Well, he would just have to give voice to that overwhelming feeling, saying:

"I am hungry."

"We lost our cook," Marcol said, "so�"

"I know that," Orlon said. "I thought�"

"I-I h-hu-hu-h-h-have s-su-su-s-s-some ju-ju-j-j-jerky" Tarftenrott said, and as all turned to see him holding up a hefty pouch of jerky, he explained, "W-w-wu-w-when yu-yu-you t-t-tu-tu-tru-travel w-w-wu-wu-w-with d-du-du-d-Dorks," he shrugged, "i-it�s a-always w-w-wu-w-wise t-tu-tu-to b-b-bu-b-b-be p-pu-p-p-pu-pru-p-prepared, j-j-ju-j-just i-in c-c-cu-c-case."

"Hey," Telluspett put up an injured protest.

No one paid the Dork notice, their attention captured by the pouch of jerky, saliva glands working overtime. Orlon had been right that the others were hungry, too, and were as grateful as he was to discover something edible on hand. Tarftenrott passed the pouch around, and each was able to take two jerky strips and still leave the pouch fairly full when it was returned to its owner. The stuttering warrior took two jerky strips himself before securing the pouch back to his belt.

"Thank you," Orlon said�and the others murmured their thanks, before all partook of the offering

Two strips of jerky was not a lot, but it proved enough to ease their hunger, making the idea of turning in for the night more palatable to them one and all. So they began to curl up where they sat to sleep.

"Come, Orlon," Sharna said, patting the ground before her. "Lay close, that I may�better protect you."

Orlon looked at the attractive warrior woman, lying on her side, and let his eyes drop to the ground she patted before her. It was close, indeed. But it was not the closeness that troubled him as much as the weapon he now carried. He feared that if she came in contact with the Holy Pike, she would suffer the same fate as Mishto Sharpaine�. And it was having this fear which made him feel guilty, which he did not quite understand.

"Come, Orlon," She said. "We need to rest."

He did as she requested, curling up before her, careful to keep the pike at arm�s length from her. The only contact she made was putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

The brilliant globe of light winked out.

"The lifeless fish floats belly up! The morning flower unfolds its petals to greet the sun�s rays! Arise, arise all. The day begins. Our quest�s final leg awaits us."

With a sigh, Orlon opened an eye. It was daybreak, the sun�s rays turning the pitch black of night blue-gray. He became aware of the absence of Sharna�s hand on his shoulder, which drew his eye first to the shapely shadow�Sharna�s, he knew�that crossed over him from behind, then to the Holy Pike, still carefully held an arm�s length away, as he had placed it last night. He opened his other eye, lifted his head and looked around to find everybody else was up, watching him.

He got to his feet, careful of the weapon in hand, and stretched away the tightness of his sleep, what little he got of it. What little he got was revealed by a nearly jaw popping yawn that racked his body. Upon recovering, he turned his attention to what had stopped them the night before, the forest, and he blinked hard, not believing his eyes.

After crossing terrifying Dark Forest to begin the quest, then seeing the eerie woods before the Dark Mountain across the road from the Stirring Dog Inn, to see what they faced here, at the "final leg" of the quest was�disappointing. The forest stretched east and west as far as the eye could see and its depths were rather light and airy, and not creepy in any way. There was something troubling about the forest, however, and that was the mountain looming over it.

When he looked at the mountain, what must be their destination, the lair of Tibtarnitalli�whatever, he gave it a double-take. Up close, it was evident from its flat top it was volcanic, and the likelihood of it erupting appeared to be the only threatening thing about it. Yet the likelihood of that appeared very unlikely to him. Why, there was not even a tendril of smoke rising from its top, which from memory of something he read somewhere meant the volcano was active.

His thoughts were interrupted by what happened next: Ty the Parson plunged into the forest, followed by the Party, zigzagging through the trees, as there was no path, crooked or otherwise, leading into it.

"Let�s go, Orlon," Sharna said, a hand on his back urging him forward.

There was no hesitation in his response to her urging, and they followed the others into the forest, joined by Tarl Bimbo, who had held back to see what his best friend would do.

They had not gotten far into the forest when the faint sounds of a river ahead came to them. The sounds grew louder rapidly, and within a few steps they found themselves on the bank of a wide river, facing a distant, thickly treed bank. And Orlon was positive this was one of the two rivers they had narrowly crossed at the bridges. A crease formed in his brow. He was certain it was�and yet this river flowed westward instead of eastward.

Looking up and down the river revealed to him no bridge, feeble or otherwise, to cross it. He looked at the far bank, spotted a tiny path leading into the thick tree line. It was good to see as it represented a way to travel once they crossed the river, and yet was a curiosity, considering its unusual narrowness. But he saw no way to reach it� Little did he know his best friend, standing beside him, fists on hips, was eyeing the same conundrum, until, that is, he gave voice to it.

"So," Tarl said. "If we must cross this river, I ask: How?"

Silently, Shing stepped forward, drawing his magnificent broadsword, sunlight glinting off its well honed blade. His narrow eyes darted from tree to tree, judging each by height and thickness, and with a nod, he settled on a twenty plus feet tall, sparsely limbed tree. This he chopped down with five easy strokes, sending it crashing to the bank. In quick order, he chopped it into seven even pieces, and with the tip of his sword, drilled holes in each end of each piece.

He then searched through the discarded limbs to find two stout ones, which he cleared of leaves. With these in one hand, his sword in the other, he returned to the seven logs, turned his eyes on the Party.

"I cannot do this all alone," he said quietly.

Grash, Sharna, Tarftenrott and Expendendale stepped up, the first two taking up a log, the last two taking up another, and one by one they lined them up side by side. Tarftenrott and Expendendale put the last log in place. The drilled holes in each end lined up perfectly, and Shing thrust a limb through each set. The limbs fit snuggly, securing the logs together. Thus a raft was built!

Shing returned to the scattered limbs, from which he picked a long, sturdier one. This he cleared of leaves, then sheathed his sword and returned to the raft, makeshift push-pole in hand.

"Shall we?" he said to the four warriors.

The four took up the raft and carried it to the river�s edge, where Grash and Sharna dropped their end into the water. Tarftenrott and Expendendale hurried forward, putting the craft fully into the river� Great waves welled up, crashed about a magnificent monstrosity, with beady eyes and huge, fang filled mouth agape, rising from the river�s depths. Up, up it went, arched to come down on the raft, crushing the craft in its mighty maw.

And it was gone.

Wide eyed, Orlon and Tarl gulped.

"What was that?" they said in unison.

No answer was offered, the Party being just as startled by the occurrence as the Midgets were. But there were two who took the event in stride. Ty the Parson and Shing stood at the river�s edge, examining the flowing waters from which the monstrosity had come. It was obvious by their intensity they sought understanding�a solution, and the longer they stood there contemplating, the more uneasy the rest became.

"The shark detects prey by thrashing water! I, Ty, the Parson, can see only one way to safely cross. A bridge," Ty the Parson said in a flail of arms and legs.

With a nod, the Oriental Ranger looked for a proper tree for the purpose. This he found in quick order. The tree was tall, bare of limbs but its very top, the trunk thick enough to offer decent footing. Six mighty strokes of his sword set the tree swaying, creaking in protest, then with an earsplitting snap it fell across the river without disturbing the rushing waters, its top crashing through the trees lining the opposite bank� Waves welled and crashed about the coming monstrosity. It arched, coming down to smash the tree to pulp in its fang filled jowls.

And it was gone.

Shing looked at Ty the Parson, who shrugged, and the two looked back at the river, lost in thought. The Party looked from the river to them and back again, lost in their own thoughts about this predicament. It appeared to them insurmountable.

Well Orlon remembered the Parson�s warning of greater dangers the closer they came to the evil one�s lair, but he never expected anything like this river monster. If raft and bridge could not offer them safe access to the other bank, he saw no way past it�. A feeling of relief this obstacle prevented him from facing and if possible destroying the evil being swept over him, immediately followed with guilt�

If he did not fulfill his part of the quest that meant evil would prevail and the world would suffer for his failure. The thought of how the people he knew and loved would suffer angered him.

He looked at the Holy Pike, so plain and ordinary looking now, but once aglow, a halo about its point and watched over by cherubs, and sadness gripped him. If he was unable to use the weapon as intended, of what use would it be? His sadness deepened with the thought of the cherubs, their eyes seen through the slit in the wall, and that he might have taken their charge away from them for nothing.

Tarl was simply glad an insurmountable obstacle stopped them from carrying out such a mad scheme as confronting some evil being of great power. Sure, the world would suffer for their�Orlon�s failure, but such bad times would not last forever. Surely not. The important thing was that he had finally got to see some of the great big world.

A hand brushed the hilt of his newly acquired shortsword and to his surprise his delighted mood darkened. If they faced no more danger, his weapon, "Wasp," would see no action. He looked at the scabbarded blade with furrowed brow, wondering where that thought came from. His right hand took told of the hilt, white knuckled in its intensity, but he stopped it before it drew the weapon. With great effort, he forced his hand to release it, and he frowned at said hand.

Stuffing it into a pocket wrapped its fingers around the hefty money pouch and turned his mind to another thought. If no solution was found and they turned back soon, they could reach the hotel, where they could take rooms, by nightfall. And with his funds he could rent himself the best of rooms. Yes, if there was no solution to their predicament, he would spend a night in luxury.

The possible solution came from a most unlikely place.

"A rope," Marcol said, finger in the air.

All eyes turned to the mercenary, brows knit. None were more knit than those of Ty the Parson and Shing. They looked at each other questioningly. Shing shrugged a "might as well." Ty the Parson nodded with a twitch of his shoulders, and with a flamboyant arm gesture he produced a coil of rope from a sleeve. Knotted to one end was a pouch of gold. He extended the rope to Marcol, who took it and in no less a flamboyant arm gesture untied the gold pouch, secreted it away who-knew-where on his person.

"Telluspett," the mercenary called.

The Dork ran up to him, smiling.

"Here," Marcol handed him an end of the rope. "Cross the river and tie this to a tree."

"Okay," Telluspett said and darted across the river, its rushing waters splashing about his ankles, to the opposite bank. He turned and waved the rope end, still smiling.

Orlon caught his jaw, but Tarl let his drop.

Ty the Parson and Shing stared, eyebrows nearly up to hairlines.

As for the rest of the Party, they blinked.

Marcol, however, saw red. "Tie�it�to�a�tree," he screamed.

Telluspett frowned, looked from the mercenary to the rope to the tree line behind him and back again and back again and back again. Then a dim light flared briefly in his eyes, and he spun around to the trees, arms akimbo, head swinging side to side in search of the right tree. Time ticked away� His head swung back and forth, back and forth�and stopped! Nodding, he tied the rope to a sapling.

"Okay," he said, turning and waving, and thumbing over a shoulder, he added, "Done."

With eyes to the heavens, Marcol swung the rope around the small of his back, holding the rope tightly in hands, and said, "Everyone across."

One by one, starting with Ty the Parson, they crossed the river, holding onto the rope for security against its swift current. Tarl started across, followed closely by his best friend and his best friend�s guardian. Both Midgets looked into the rushing waters to see a rock strewn river bottom that stretched as far as the eye could see both ways, and they were lost for an explanation as to how this was possible.

When the three were safely on the opposite bank, Marcol let the rope loose from the small of his back and, coiling it as he went, made his way across the river. He reached the bank, and after looking at the Dork�s convoluted knot, he sighed, drew his shortsword and chopped the rope free.

Ty the Parson signaled, as wildly as the narrow bank allowed him to, for the Party to follow. He then went along the bank to the small path leading into the forest Orlon had seen earlier. Though curiously two inches wide, the trees bordering were just wide enough for him to take a deep breath and squeeze through. Fortunately the flora beyond did not crowd the path too tightly, allowing him to stand sideways upon it and sidestep his way down it to let the Party follow.

So they did, one by one, each sucking in a breath to do so, until the path was lined with men, and a woman, all standing sideways. With a signal from Ty the Parson, they advanced along the meandering path, awkwardly and slowly, and thankful that this forest offered no apparent dangers to them, nor were there earsplitting noises to stir the nape hairs�. Yet there was one troubling thing about it: the volcanic mountain looming over it.

No one was more unnerved by that than Orlon. Every time the volcano came into view amongst the intertwined limbs above he glanced at it, shivered. Oh, there was nothing overtly terrifying about the sight, but it affected him anyway, perhaps, he presumed, due to his knowing somewhere within its rocky depths lurked the evil being they had come to stop. He was just glad the forest offered them no threat.

That was when they stumbled to a halt in a small clearing.

While it was nice to be free of the path�s tight confines, they found themselves crowded to one side of the clearing by a steep hill that divided it in half. The small path went around the other side of the hill and came out the other side ahead to reenter the forest. With no evident threat present, they paused to catch their breath�

"Greetings," said a twelve inch tall man, smiling, as he stepped up to the hilltop.

"Evil," Marcol raved, ripping his shortsword from its scabbard. "Kill it."

"Wait!" the little man said�right before the mercenary�s blade sliced him in two.

"This is a freebie," the mercenary shot at Ty the Parson and leaped to the hilltop, followed by Tarftenrott and Shibtarr.

On the other side of the hill was a farm village of twelve inch tall people, who were startled and horrified by the weapon brandishing warriors. Panic sent the villagers scattering. The warriors leapt into the middle of the village, smashing buildings underfoot, and the slaughter began.

Everyone else was taken aback by this unexpected turn of events, none more so than Sharna. Would the sight and sound of the slaughter tarnish her charge�s purity? She looked upon Orlon and felt a great sense of relief sweep over her. He stood there, rigid, eyes closed tightly and hands clamped over his ears, and from the flapping of his tongue it was obvious he la-la�ed to himself to drown out any noises that might slip by his hands.

Her relief was swept aside by a more familiar feeling when she spied a little man round the hill, seeking to escape the massacre. She let her tongue round her full lips. Despite his fear, he was clearly handsome, and his physique filled out his brown tunic and breeches to muscular perfection. And before he had a chance to flee, she quick-stepped over and snatched him up. She looked upon him, admiring his physique. He opened his mouth to plea for mercy.

A finger to her lips and wink silenced him.

"Fear not," she said dreamily and tucked him in between her breasts.

He cringed as she did so, but once he was surrounded by the warm softness of her bosoms, he relaxed, a dreamy smile playing across his face. There was no way of knowing his fate, but as long as he was where he was, he did not mind the wait to find out.

Tarl Bimbo captured a fleeing woman rounding the other side of the hill. She was shorter than the other little people�seven inches at his best guess�and gorgeous with shoulder length curly blonde hair and a curvy body that would put many a regular sized women to shame. She wore a shoulderless white blouse and red skirt. Her fear was great as she watched the giant�Midget run his eyes over her lustily. He gently rubbed her ample bosoms with a thumb, smiling dreamily, but the sound of the ongoing slaughter brought him back to reality.

"Later," he whispered with a wink and carefully put her in a hip pocket.

A victorious "Ha!" marked the end of the massacre. He who blurted it, Marcol, and his two cohorts, stood in the middle of the smashed and scattered remains of the farm village, surrounded by hundreds of little bodies lying in pools of blood. It was a gruesome sight.

Looking around at his deed, the mercenary laughed a laugh of delight, which died in his throat when the words he had said to Ty the Parson echoed in his mind. He moaned softly with the realization he had done this for no financial recompense.

Shibtarr stood in a wide-legged stance, on the balls of his feet, bloody tipped spear held at the ready, sweat soaked blonde hair whipping back and forth as he looked about for more victims. His face was twisted in pleased rage, eyes afire. He was captured by a fighting frenzy that demanded an outlet for release�. Disappointment gradually seeped into him with the realization the battle was over, truly over.

Tarftenrott held his sword limply in hand, eyes taking in the slaughter about him. "G-g-gu-gu-good g-g-gu-god," he breathed. "W-wu-wu-w-what h-h-hu-have I-I d-d-d-done?"

He looked in horror at the gore on his sword. All the stuttering warrior wanted to do was to clean away the evidence�the memory of what he had just done to these simple little farm folk. His hand absently reached out to tear some leaves from a tree, stopped at the thought of what happened the last time he did that. With a casual whistle, eyes to the heavens, he cleaned the blade on a pant leg and sheathed it.

Meanwhile on the other side of the hill, when the squishy sounds of slaughter intermingled with agonizing screams and pleas for mercy ended, the only sound that filled the air was a loud: "La la la la la�" And all eyes turned to Orlon, standing there with eyes closed, hands clasped over ears and totally unaware of the massacre�s end.

"La la la la la," he went on.

All but one turned to Sharna, and she understood why. As his self proclaimed guardian, all things appertaining to Orlon were left up to her. But before she could do anything that one, Tarl Bimbo, stepped up to him, eyes rolling.

"Yo, Orlon," he shook his best friend�s shoulder. "Snap out of it, buddy. The slaughter�s over."

Orlon opened his eyes, frantically recaptured the Holy Pike, which nearly slipped from his feeble grip. To do that meant releasing an ear. When he heard nothing beyond his own verbalization, he fell silent�and becoming aware every eye was upon him, his cheeks turned a bright pink. He looked from those around him to the hill and wondered just how long ago the massacre had stopped� If any of those poor little people survived.

"The birthday boy forewarned of impending surprise party! The student delays home lessons! Evil knows of our coming. We must not dally a moment more."

With that, Ty the Parson squeezed onto the path through the forest on the other side of the clearing and hurriedly sidestepped along its weaving way. The Party followed. Tarftenrott and Shibtarr, who cared not to remove evidence of such a glorious battle from his spear, were quick to join them. Marcol cleansed his blade by running it through the grass on the hill before ramming it home in scabbard and following. Last to join them were Tarl, followed by Sharna and Orlon.

The journey through the forest was taken at such a swift pace Orlon had no time for anything beyond watching his footing. Still, he was aware of the looming volcanic mountain ahead and who, presumably, lurked within its depths, waiting. He also was aware of the Holy Pike, held carefully in hand, which grew heavier and heavier with each sidestep forward. And he was aware of a growing unease within himself.

Suddenly Ty the Parson burst free of the forest, stopped to face the narrow bank of a second river, and he was almost pushed into its rushing waters by those behind him. Once the Party came to a complete stumbling, bumping-into-each-other halt, they followed the Parson out of the forest and onto the bank, forming a line along the water�s edge.

To a man, and woman, they looked at the swift, deep current and remembered what happened the last time they tried to cross a river. They looked from Ty the Parson and Shing to Marcol, who had successfully got them across.

"Telluspett," Marcol called, shaking the coil of rope from a shoulder.

"Yeah?" the Dork said, carefully making his way down the line to him.

"Cross the river," he gave him a rope end, "and tie this to a tree."

With a smile and nod, Telluspett started across this river as he did the last. On his second step he disappeared into the river�s depths and was swept westward by its rapid current. The rope was yanked coil by coil from the mercenary�s hand� The Dork surfaced several yards downstream, dogpaddling frantically but being swept away by the current nonetheless.

"Hang on," Marcol screamed and started reeling in the rope. "Hang�on."

Telluspett frowned at the yelled command, then, feeling the tug on the rope, understood the command only as a Dork could. He smiled, waved the rope end and let it go, and was swept away.

"Great," Tarl said, hands flung into the air. "Just great. Now what�re we going to do?"

Orlon gave his best friend a double-take. The very thought of Tarl Bimbo being upset over the obstruction of a way leading to danger was inconceivable to him. He wondered when and how Tarl had grown a backbone, which made him think of the sword�"Wasp," he had named it�he now wore at his hip. Yes, he wondered about that�

"The false start is repeated! Shing, fell a tree to form a bridge," Ty the Parson said, arms and legs flailing.

With a nod, the Oriental Ranger drew his magnificent blade and looked for a twin to the tree he chopped down to bridge the first river. It stood not five paces from him. Six swift strokes of the keen blade set the tree to swaying, a seventh sent it falling over the river, its top crashing through the tree line of the opposite bank and�nothing! Everyone looked from the newly formed tree bridge to the rushing waters and back again and back again and back again, waiting for�nothing.

"We cross," Ty the Parson stated flatly�and he did so.

In single file the Party followed, step by cautious step, eyes ever darting to the rapid current around them, unable to subdue the fear some monstrosity lurked within those depths, waiting to spring forth and devour them. But no such monster interrupted their progress and soon enough they stood safely on the other bank, facing more forest to trek through.

And looming above it all was the volcanic mountain.

The forest was not as thick on this side of the river, promising easy access and advancement without a path. Yet there was a path nearby. It was not small like the one they had sidestepped along earlier. No. This path offered wide and easy access, its way through the trees not crooked or overly weaving. No, again. It looked comfortable�welcoming but for one thing: its final destination. The volcanic mountain ominously awaited them in the distance.

Sight of the mountain made the Party uneasy. And no one was more uneasy than Orlon, his eyes captured by the sight of it. Into his mind returned the comparison of what they now faced to the Dark Mountain. The volcanic mountain looked menacing in no way, as it might have with signs of life, the threat of eruption, yet there was something troubling about it�. The weight of the Holy Pike made his arm tremble. He gulped.

Tarl stood by him, looking from the volcanic mountain to his best friend and back again and back again. When he spotted and followed a drop of sweat make its way down the side of Orlon�s face, he smiled, for one second. The unease he felt deep down began to surface, and with his eyes on their destination, he let a hand rest on the hilt of his shortsword. He gulped.

Without a word, Ty the Parson started down the path before them, staff pointing the way. Shing followed, as did Grash, the path�s width allowing them to walk shoulder to shoulder. The rest followed, as always with Tarl at the rear, Sharna and Orlon close behind him.

Keeping up a brisk pace not only strained the Midgets' endurance but step by step led them from a healthy forest to a sickly forest. All around them the trees grew thinner, shorter, less robust, with pale leafage where leafage could be found. Then they burst free of the forest and started across a field of brittle grass, which soon gave way to a rocky stretch, where Ty the Parson led them up a porous pathway that weaved its way to the mountain�s sheer wall, ending at a steaming hole in the mountainside.

But no one showed any concern about the pathway�s origin, their attention on the volcanic mountain wall. The Party eyed the wall surface in search of access to climb it.

Orlon and Tarl, on the other hand, looked at the obstacle before them with wide eyes. Both could make out plenty of jutting rocks, cracks and ledges to make the climb possible, even for people of their short stature�and they saw the incredible height they must climb to reach the mountaintop. They looked at each other and back at the mountainside.

Tarl was a little awed by the thought of making such a climb. As a child he had done plenty of climbing wherever it was possible on Dwarf Road, but climbing to a rooftop, be it house or barn, or to a treetop was one thing. Climbing to a mountaintop was another. With a sniff, he hitched his girdle and told himself this was nothing more than another thing they must overcome on their journey. He was determined to see it through, if for no other reason than to see what was up there.

Orlon, however, was totally awed by the thought of making this climb. Oh, he had been on a number of his best friend�s climbing jaunts, but he was never comfortable with heights, which earned him a taunt or two or three or� He brushed aside such thoughts, focusing on the enormity of the climb before him now and the fact he had no choice but to make it. A shiver danced up his spine, and he feared he just could not do it.

Then he felt the weight of the Holy Pike, held carefully in hand, and remembered his obligation to Ty the Parson and the others, which meant he must make this climb. The fate of the world was on his shoulders! He gulped. But what if he fell? Or during the ascent lost his grip on the weapon needed to complete his task?

"We cannot risk the life of the One on such a dangerous climb," Grash said with a twist of an end of his handlebar mustache. "Marcol, Tarftenrott�" he waved a finger at the two offhandedly "�carry Orlon the Pure."

Marcol held out a hand, palm up. When no pouch of gold was produced and placed in it, he simply looked away as if unaware anything was said.

"N-nu -n-nu-not m-m-mu-m-me," Tarftenrott half flexed a scrawny looking arm. "I-I�m t-t-tu-too wu-w-wu-weak."

"I will carry�" Sharna spoke up.

"No," Orlon cut her off.

She shot him a hurt look, and he felt a flush of guilt crawl up his cheeks, as well as a pang in his heart. How could he explain to her his concern over her coming in contact with the pike�his fear she would suffer the same fiery demise as the Campfire Girl? He brought a finger to his chin. How could he explain to himself why he felt that way?

"I will carry the One," Shing said and knelt before the Midget.

Orlon mounted his back, wrapping an arm about his neck and legs about waist, careful to keep the Holy Pike from touching the Oriental Ranger.

Shing rose to his feet easily and began the ascent of the sheer wall of the volcanic mountain. Due to the need to locate good hand- and foot-holds, progress was not only slow but led to swings this way and that so wild at times Orlon�s heart was in his throat. He dared one look down, seeing Tarl start up after them, followed closely by Sharna, the rest starting up to the left and right, before a swing spanning a dizzying distance to reach a narrow ledge closed his eyes tightly.

With his eyes closed, his sense of hearing was enhanced, and the first thing he heard was a rumbling he, at first, thought came from his stomach. A slight trembling felt through Shing�s rock solid muscles, which had to come from the volcano, told him it was not as dead as it appeared. That realization filled him with panic they might be washed away by erupting molten rock. His grip on Shing tightened, and he breathed deeply in an attempt to waylay that panic. He quietly told himself repeatedly they would reach the mountaintop safely�

There was a curious motion of Shing�s shoulders, a rush upward, followed by a swing up of his right leg and another rush upward. Orlon held on tightly, refusing to open his eyes, and he feared they might fall�and thought how sad that would be. To think they traveled all this way, faced all they had faced, only to reach this point of the quest and lose the one they had brought to save the world from an age of evil by a fall. It would be�tragic.

"We are here," Shing announced and knelt.

Orlon�s brow furrowed. He slowly opened his eyes, saw nothing but blue sky and a scudding cloud or two. He blinked. They had made it! Careful of the weapon in hand, he climbed off the Oriental Ranger�s back to stand on the rim of the volcanic mountain. A breeze rustled his hair, reminding him where he was, how high up he was. He looked over the rim edge to see the ground so far below. Startled, he hopped back, into the arms of quick thinking Tarl.

"Watch it, buddy o' mine," he said. "I�d hate to see you�d made it all the way up here only to see you fall into the pit."

Frowning, Orlon looked at his best friend, who jerked his head to urge him to look behind himself, and he did. If his shock had not frozen him in place, he would have jumped away from the sight to plunge to his death, Tarl�s restraining arms notwithstanding.

While to a man, and woman, they successfully surmounted the volcanic mountain�s dizzying heights, to continue their journey meant another climb down into the pit. And this new climb�despite its heading in the right direction to Orlon�s way of thinking�looked quite dangerous indeed. The sun�s early afternoon position in the sky cast the lower half of the inner sheer wall into darkness.

Not even the fact Ty the Parson, in as dramatic a fashion as the narrow rim allowed, pointed out the walkable ledge circling down into the pit alleviated their insecurity over the descent. No one liked the idea of traveling any part of such a precarious ledge in the dark. What guarantee did they have the ledge continued uninterrupted to the pit bottom? Their worries were eased somewhat when Rae announced:

"I, Rae, will lead the way."

His position amongst them was not best for him to do as he pronounced. It forced him to pass each and every member of the Party to take the lead at the ledge, and to do so on the rim�s little more than two foot surface proved risky in its own right, especially squeezing by plump Tarl Bimbo. But he reached his goal nonetheless�. When he stepped to the forefront he held up his staff. The globe of light popped into dim existence around the perfect crystal ball at its top.

Rae�s first step onto the ledge was cautious, testing its solidity. Once satisfied it was safe, he began the downward journey, one careful step at a time. Ty the Parson followed and close behind him were Shing, Grash and Marcol. Expendendale started down next, with Tarftenrott, Shibtarr and Majestus Sinobe hot on his heels. Brak Dugan was next, followed by Tarl. Sharna and Orlon, as always, brought up the rear.

Round and round and round they went along the ledge, ever downward, ever nearing the darkness that enveloped the pit bottom. And as they worked their way down, the darkness worked its way up as the sun drifted down the afternoon sky.

When they and the darkness met, Rae slowed even more, brought his staff in closer. He descended into it, and with each step the globe of light grew brighter� Yet when he and his staff were engulfed in darkness that bright globe of light allowed him vision no more than two feet ahead. He continued anyway, stretching out a hand to slide against the stone wall.

Down and down and down he led them, and the further they went the hotter the air became, the more musty its scent.

The ledge ended at the pit bottom, bringing Rae and those behind him to a halt. He lifted his staff, thrust it forward to examine what lay ahead with what light the globe allowed, which really was not much. The pit bottom looked smooth but solid enough, and the wall continued on. That was it. After a glance backward, he stepped off the ledge, hand sliding along the wall, and found the smooth floor safe enough. He continued slowly along the wall, the Party close behind him.

Within ten paces the wall disappeared�and stopped the teenage boy so quickly Ty the Parson bumped into him, as Shing bumped into the Parson, as Grash bumped into the Oriental Ranger, as� When stillness finally prevailed, he felt up and down the edge. They had reached either a doorway or a tunnel. He brought his staff in close and, the Party bunched behind him, rounded the corner.

A long, sharp toothed snout crowned with beady red eyes came into the light.

"Eunuchs!" A juicy crunch punctuated Rae�s frantic warning.

The staff fell from limp fingers to roll a fair distance before bursting into flames.

Rae collapsed where he stood, revealing torn cloth and gore where once resided his genitals.

But his tragedy only earned him a glance by his fellow questers.

To a man, and woman, their attention was captured by what the burning staff�s light disclosed about their location. They stood in one of ten sizeable doorways spread equal distance around a large circular cave. Cut into the wall between doorways directly across it was a stairway leading up to a narrow doorway. All this was noticed in no more than a glance as well, their eyes drawn to what was in the cave with them.

Every doorway but their own and the one at the top of the stairs was filled with nude, gray scaly looking skinned, bipedal�creatures. Oh, they were human-like in body shape, but their sharp toothed snouts, beady red eyed faces were something else. And not a one had genitalia.

A moment passed, with every beady red eye on the Party�. The Eunuchs attacked.

"Sharna," Ty the Parson screamed above the snapping of innumerable jowls, leaping free of the doorway, a short length of noosed rope appearing in his hand, "protect the One."

"I will," she responded, stepping clear of the doorway along the wall, pulling Orlon along behind her, and drawing her saber, told him: "Hold on tight to me."

He wrapped an arm around her waist, the other behind his back, the Holy Pike carefully held in hand, body pressed against her silky pivot leg. With swift saber action, she met the attack of the creatures.

Quickly, the warriors leapt away from the doorway, swords in hand, to meet the endless stream of Eunuchs pouring through the other doorways. The sound of snapping jowls grew deafening�the close calls of losing genitals uncountable. Nearly lost in the cacophony was the sound of heads being sliced off in the nick of time.

There was one other threat they had to be wary of. It came in the form of a sword wielding Midget farmer.

Copying the warriors around him brought Tarl Bimbo clear of the doorway with a yell, his newly acquired sword in hand. And in pure amateur fashion, he met the Eunuch onslaught with wild sweeps of the blade he had christened "Wasp," that time and again not only saved his bacon but endangered his comrades-in-arms around him. To his fellow swordsmen his handling of the weapon made him more the threat of a swarm of wasps.

Shibtarr leaped into the thick of the creatures with a triumphant roar. He used his spear to skewer two or three Eunuchs at a time, shaking them off to meet more without trouble, but his tendency to seek out the biggest crowds of them led him away from the others�and into overwhelming forces. He held up his own, for a moment, before they overran and swept him through a doorway.

Orlon held on tightly to his protector, bouncing up and down on her pivot leg as she met the attack. Time after time Eunuchs snapped at her crotch in search of the male genitalia they sought, only to snap on thin air, startled confusion in their red eyes as her saber sent their heads flying from their bodies. Other than gagging at the blasts of urine, crotch rot breath, he slowly grew less and less aware of the horrid faces or action. With each bounce, his mind became clouded by a new sensation surging up from his inner gut. A smile played at his lips.

And his surging sensation did not go unnoticed by Sharna. Oh, she was well aware of what pressed against her pivot leg, and it began to affect her. Her eyes filled with wanting. Sweat beaded her forehead. She spared a glance at the innocent man clinging to her, the man she had desired since first she laid eyes on him. A desire that had grown with each moment she spent with him on this journey. Her mouth parted enough to let her tongue run the length of her top lip�

"Sharna," Ty the Parson warned, releasing a dead Eunuch from the noose just in time to snare and snap the neck of another. "Control yourself."

She blinked, her mouth snapped shut and she shook her head�her saber slashed away yet another jowl snapping head from its lunging body�and she blinked again. From then on her battle became twofold. Within she fought to suppress her desire, bolstered by the thought if she gave in to it, the quest would be in ruins. Without she battled for the security of the One, whose very life insured the quest�s success, or so they hoped.

But Sharna also knew that if this battle went on much longer, she was destined to lose her inner struggle.

"The seaman swims against the ocean�s tide to reach floating ship wreckage! The flood victim seeks higher ground! Make for the stairs before we are overrun," Ty the Parson said in a flail of limbs that snapped the neck of a noosed Eunuch, brought his staff down to crack the head of another and a foot up to catch a third under the chin, sending it flipping head over heels.

All eyes looked to the stairs, which were Eunuch free, but were drawn back to the ever increasing crowd of jowl snapping creatures between them and what appeared to be their only avenue of escape. All but one saw no way to reach the stairs through such massive opposition. That one was Brak Dugan, who used the blade of his small plow like a sword to fend off the attack, and when he looked from the stairs to the problem reaching them, he smiled.

"To me," he called, "to me."

Everyone turned to see the wandering farmhand turn his small plow over to its usual angle and plow into the crowd of Eunuchs. The Party quickly fell in behind him, using their swords to keep the creatures at bay�and in fairly short order they reached the stairs, where Brak Dugan took one side, Shing the other, to ward off the Eunuchs while the rest, led by Ty the Parson, hurried up the steps and through the narrow doorway at the top.

Sharna and Orlon were the last to head up the stairs and through the doorway, and the wandering Farmer and Shing were hot on their heels.

Not a Eunuch followed them�. What did follow them was a load, many throated howl of disappointment, punctuated by the scraping of clawed feet as the creatures scurried out of the cave through its many other doorways. The staff of Rae burned to ash.

Beyond the narrow doorway was darkness so deep it brought the Party to a stumbling halt. When the light offered by Rae�s staff winked out they found themselves utterly blind, which in this location, this circumstance was not very comforting. And no one was more on edge than the pair of Midgets.

Tarl Bimbo, who had found elation in his first experience with swordplay, as well as relief he had not faced an actual swordsman, was still riding an adrenalin rush. Yet behind his elation and relief was an unease with the full realization this trip�his long awaited chance to see the world beyond Dwarf Road come true�was in fact a quest�and his best friend really was the One on whose shoulders rested the fate of the world. He swallowed. That they were in total darkness where might lurk other dangers such as they just escaped had him trembling.

Gone was the surging sensation that had had Orlon lost to the world. It had taken a blow with the run to the stairs and a fatal whack upon entering the dark tunnel. What first took its place was embarrassment that it happened at all, touched with relief they were in the dark. He would have hated to face Sharna in the full light of day. The heat of shame crawled up his cheeks, but faded with the chill of fear that crept up his spine.

There was no denying his part in the quest was to save the world from a horrific fate at the hands of Tibtarni�whatever. There was no denying they were now in the lair of the evil being he was expected to confront�to defeat with the Holy Pike! He gulped. And he could not deny the attack of the Eunuchs showed the evil being was well protected, though he could not fathom why that attack had ceased at the stairs.

"Why didn�t those�those Eunuchs follow us?" he gave voice to his wonderment.

"The trapper returns only when fur quota is accomplished! The child reacts to fire after fingers have been burned! The Eunuchs have not only failed to stop us, but fear the evil master they serve," Ty the Parson said, spasming in the dark. "The it of the hide-and-seek game nears the hiding place of the victim he searches for! We must be near the evil being we have traveled so far, faced such adversity to stop."

There was a general uneasy stir amongst the Party.

Orlon gave the direction of Ty the Parson�s voice a double-take. While he was glad to have his question answered, the answer made him truly thankful for the darkness around them. He was certain he just turned white as a ghost. To know what was expected of him on this quest was one thing. To know how close he was to having to perform that deed was another. He gulped�and did his best to stiffen a spine turned to jelly.

"Lovers on a moonlight stroll! Join hands that we may continue to our goal."

Two things made the Parson�s request hard to accomplish: The pitch black about them and to a man, and woman, the warriors had weapons drawn. Still, with great care, none more so than Orlon with the Holy Pike, they were able to achieve the task without injury and formed a line of hand-to-hand, hand-to-wrist grips.

With the tip of his sappy staff against the wall, and a hand wrapped around Marcol�s wrist, Ty the Parson started down the tunnel one careful step at a time, pulling along the Party behind him.

The tunnel gradually curved to the left, and within twenty or so steps a dim light flickered in the distance ahead, slowing their advance. But advance they did, eyes ever on the light, the warriors tense with the thought it might be a foe with a torch. Brighter and brighter it became, tenser and tenser grew the warriors� When they were finally able to identify its source, they breathed a sigh of relief, though the warriors' tension remained unabated.

Before and to the left of them was a doorway through which the light came. Instinctively, the warriors flattened against the wall, yanking Ty the Parson, Orlon, Tarl, Majestus Sinobe and Brak Dugan into the same position. Ty the Parson shot a stern look back at them before starting forward again with soundless steps, pulling the Party train along just as silently. He stopped at the doorway�s edge, darted a single eye peek within�and what he saw was imprinted on his brain.

Beyond the doorway was a long, narrow cave with rocks of various sizes strewn about. A thick candle flickered on a shelf on a side wall and centered on the back wall was an arched door, three faces, representing anger, fear and sorrow, carved in the stone above it.

Standing before the door was a guard. He was huge, both in height and muscularity, and covered with thin black hair. About his waist was a loincloth and girdle that supported a silver hilted broadsword at each hip. Atop his shaggily maned head was a three horned helm, pulled low to his bushy brow, beneath which twinkled twin red orbs. His homely face wore a sneer to match his arrogant stance, tree trunk arms crossed over barrel chest.

In the glow of the doorway the Party could see Ty the Parson was considering�something. The warriors fidgeted, mainly in the form of fingers flexing on sword hilts, with the uncertainty of what the Parson had seen. Those not of warrior stock, but for Tarl, who found himself flexing his pudgy fingers on the hilt of "Wasp," reaction to the stressful situation came in the form of sweat beading on foreheads.

What the Parson did next set each and every one of them back a step.

"Hiho," he leaped into the doorway, staff held high, other arm thrust forward, finger stabbing at the guard. "Let us pass."

Red orbs shrunk to slits, the guard looked him up and down, and his sneer broadened. He lowered his arms, crossed over his torso, thickly corded hands wrapped around the silver hilts, and he shook his head.

A smile played at Ty the Parson�s lips.

His eyes shifted to the left, then right.

A faint giggle escaped his quivering lips.

He reversed his leap.

A flashy move of his arm produced a pouch of gold from his baggy sleeve which he held up, dropped. Marcol soundlessly caught it and in a flashy move of his own spirited away the pouch somewhere upon his person. A tug led to Grash releasing his hand, allowing the mercenary to step by the Parson and into the doorway.

There Marcol remained for only the amount of time it took him to take in what he was paid to deal with. And the time it took was no more than a minute. From the half smile that creased his face, the slight shack of his head, he was not impressed by what he saw. If those watching him had seen what he saw�a huge, hairy guard in loincloth, who met the mercenary eyes to eye, sneer broadening even more, hands flexing on the silver hilts of broadswords�they would have thought him mad for such a reaction.

Marcol reached up, flipped his ponytail over a shoulder. Before it landed, he launched himself at the guard, shortsword raised. The guard brought his broadswords forth with blinding speed and awaited the mercenary to span the long cave. When the time came he met him with a cross-swing of his blades. One caught him under the arms, the other at the waist. In a spray of blood, entrails and gold coins, Marcol flew in three directions.

Reaction to the slicing, splattering and tinkling noises from those in the dark tunnel was soundless. To a man, and woman, they cringed.

"Ha!" burst from the guard�s lips.

Ty the Parson looked through the doorway�and his eyes bulged. The guard was charging across the cave, broadswords at the ready. But before the Parson could give warning of approaching danger, Majestus Sinobe leapt by him and into the cave. Landing in a wide-legged stance, dark blue coat swirling about him, he shot his arms up, wrists bent, fingers crookedly pointing.

"Ball rise!" he commanded.

A sizeable rock shot straight up into the air before the guard, and his red orbs followed it, but he did not slow his pace. When he stepped under it, head tilted, still looking at it, the rock dropped, smashing his face flat. With his next step he came crashing down, dead.

The sound of his collapse brought everyone in the dark tunnel to the doorway in search of an explanation. With an arrogant sniff, Majestus Sinobe turned to accept their applause� What he got was ignored. They looked at the dead guard, then what lay beyond. With a signal from Ty the Parson they walked by the man in tattered clothes, edged around the dead guard and continued on to the door the guard had protected.

Majestus Sinobe was crestfallen at their lack of recognition of his deed, momentarily. He hurried after them.

Crowded around the door, they were drawn to look at the three faces carved above it. Anger, fear and sorrow stared back at them, and to a man, and woman, they felt a chill run up their spines. And they brought their attention to the door. It was made of solid oak, an iron ring in its center serving as handle, but there would be no opening it with that. A chain looped through it and an iron ring secured to the wall, and a big padlock held the chain together.

They looked to Ty the Parson, who shrugged, and all turned their gaze to Majestus Sinobe. The man in tattered clothes looked away, hands stuffed in pockets, whistling.

Shing stepped forward and knelt to examine the lock. He drew his dagger and carefully jabbed it into the keyhole, worked it up and down, this way and that. The end result: it remained locked. Brow furrowed, the Oriental Ranger sheathed his dagger, brought himself to his feet and drew his magnificent broadsword. Taking aim by placing the blade edge on the lock, he then swung the broadsword over his head�only to be stopped by a long fingered hand on his shoulder.

"The bite snake rattles its tail before striking! The thief walks on eggshells! Noise will warn he whom we seek to stop. Silence is preferred," Ty the Parson breathed.

Orlon and Tarl thought of the battle with the Eunuchs and the guard, and wondered if it was too late to worry about that now�

With a half smile, Shing shook off the Parson�s hand, brought his blade down on the padlock�Tink!�and right through it. The chain fell away to hang from the ring on the wall. He sheathed his broadsword and reached for the ring to open the door�only to be stopped by a long fingered hand on his shoulder.

"The spy desires to be unseen! The glow-tail poison bug alerts potential victims! We must not allow any warning. I, Ty, the Parson, will extinguish any concerns about that," Ty the Parson said.

He went to the candle and blew it out. The flame burst back into life. He blew it out again. The flame bust back into life again. A third time he blew it out only to have the flame return. After a moment of thought, he performed a flamboyant arm gesture, caught the dirty rag that fell from his baggy sleeve. This he draped over the candle. Darkness! And in that darkness he made his way back to the door, taking the ring handle from Shing, who stepped aside.

A soft creak told of the Parson�s pulling the door open, as did a cold breeze that whipped through their hair and chilled them to the bone. Beyond the door was a long hallway that ended at a wall on which was ensconced a flickering torch. They entered in single file, led by Ty the Parson, his staff tip scraping along the wall as a guide�. Though they walked toward it, the torch remained the same distance from them.

His staff slid smoothly along the wall for thirty steps, then dripped into and out of a narrow crevice, stopping him, and those behind him with minimal bumping into each other. He investigated the crevice up and down, three feet forward and up and down. It was a door.

Once he identified the door, Ty the Parson sought its handle. This he found in the form of an iron ring in its center. He gently pulled it. The door did not budge. He pulled it again. The door did not budge. He yanked, he jerked, he pulled with all of his might, and the door did not budge�. He gently pushed the door and it opened a crack, emitting a thin line of crimson light that shot across the hall, a wisp of vapor that snaked its way toward the ceiling.

He peeked through the crack, his face twisted in fear, then joy. Cautiously, he eased the door closed. His joyous expression grew serious.

"The child in the womb! He is there," Ty the Parson whispered over his shoulder, arms and legs twitching.

Hearing this sent a wave of nervous tension through the Party, but no one�s wave was bigger than Orlon�s. He grew stiff as a board, swayed, eyes wide, jaw slack, hand carefully holding the Holy Pike sweaty palmed. Fear of dropping the precious item forced him to take hold of it with his other hand.

Through the Midget�s mind swirled the events of the last three days: The night Ty the Parson dropped by with confusing talk of a quest to save the world in which he was the one�the One�who must stop the evil being seeking to destroy it. How his doubts were weakened when Ty the Parson returned, as promised, the next morning, with the Party� One by one appeared images of the men who lost their lives to insure the quest reach its conclusion, including his trusty servant, Jujay. There flashed the image of Mishto Sharpaine, her innocent mistake that led to a fiery demise.

And now they were here, at the quest�s final destination, facing a door beyond which lurked Tibtarni�whatever! The evil being he was expected to defeat, to kill. He gulped. His fingers flexed on the shaft of the Holy Pike, felt the archaic lettering carved upon it, and a tiny bit of strength welled up beneath his feeling of utter weakness. Was he, a simple farmer, truly strong enough to successfully stand against such a powerful being?

"The found object cast noisily across the room to distract attention! Tricks played to weaken an opponent! A distraction is called for. Some way to weaken the evil one, as he is far too powerful for the One to handle alone," Ty the Parson said in a flail of limbs.

Expendendale moaned miserably.

Grash and Tarftenrott scooped up the gangly warrior by armpit and knee, and hurried toward the door. The Parson opened it to let them toss him in and quietly drew the door closed. If they could have seen him after, they would have been�proud. Once he caught his footing, after he recovered from his initial shock over the horror before him, Expendendale drew himself bolt upright, taking his fate like a man, and drew his sword�

All ears were cocked toward the door, waiting to hear anything that might indicate what was going on within. A deathly silence unnerved them for one minute, two. Then there was a terrifying scream, followed by a sickening splatter.

Ty the Parson peeked in, cringed, and quietly drew the door closed. "Strawberry jam to bread," he reported, arm and legs flailing.

"I will handle this," Majestus Sinobe announced.

Ty the Parson opened the door long enough to let him storm into the room beyond. When the door closed, all ears were cocked to catch any sound that might indicate what was going on. What they head surprised them�and left them wishing they were witnessing whatever was occurring on the other side of the door. After a loud "Ha!" from their egocentric fellow journeyman there was an array of pops, snaps, zings, whizzes and yes, thunder.

None would have denied Majestus Sinobe put on quite a show.

Upon stopping, he had an instance of startlement at what he faced, before bringing himself up to his full ten feet height, a haughty visage in his tattered clothes and dark blue coat, his bright blue eyes gleaming from beneath his floppy brimmed hat. Both arms shot up, wrists bent, fingers crookedly pointing, and after his exclamation began a whirling and swirling of those arms. Lights flashed, spiraled, zigzagged and danced about each other, and him, and from time to time lightning claws streaked. Yes, it was an impressive sight indeed. Yet it did not impress the one it was meant to.

Those waiting in the hall jumped back a step when a crunching boom set the volcanic mountain to trembling. When it settled down what followed was�silence! And that left them wondering what just happened, though deep down each and every one had a sickening feeling they already knew. Still, they looked to Ty the Parson, who took a peek.

"Pecan after nutcracker," he whispered over a shoulder, letting the door close.

With a sigh, Sharna turned from the others, pulled the little man from her cleavage. He was limp, mostly, in her hand, a big smile on his face, eyes dreamy. She shook him gently. He blinked, looked around to see darkness everywhere but the distant torch, and he remembered the slaughter of his village and where he was�and why. In his mind�s eye appeared the lusty promise in her eyes, leaving him to wonder if now was the time. What he heard next took the smile off his face.

"Maybe another time," she breathed as she put him on the ground. "Be careful, little one."

He felt as much regret about the missed opportunity as she did, as well as curious as to what had gotten in the way�. With a shake of his head he came fully out of the clouds being placed between her breasts had lost him in. Past events�the Eunuch battle flashed across his mind, and he realized where he was. Eyes wide, he looked about in search of escape. Of his two choices, one dark, the other lighted by a distant torch, the right direction was obvious to him He ran toward the torch.

Turning back to her fellow journeymen, Sharna said, "I�ll handle this."

Orlon gave her direction a double-take. Not only was he startled by her proclamation, but after what happened to Expendendale and Majestus Sinobe, he could not imagine what she could do that they did not. And he feared for her life, feared losing her.

Sharna unbuckled her belt and handed it and her saber to Shing on her way to the door. Ty the Parson opened it, spotlighting her in the crimson light from within, revealing she was pulling off her shirt on her way through the doorway. Orlon noticed her disrobing only in passing, his main concern that she did not have her sword. Before he could lodge a protest, however, Ty the Parson closed the door behind her.

They waited, listened. Minutes slipped into hours. Not a sound.

No one was more worried over that than Orlon, or more confused. He could not quite grasp why his concern for her wellbeing was greater than for anyone else�s, or understand the ever churning feelings about her within him. Suddenly the mountain rumbled and shook violently, casting the Party to the ground. And it was over. Tarl gave voice to what everyone, especially Orlon, was thinking at that moment:

"What in the whole wide world was that? Do you think Sharna�s okay?"

The door opened, bringing the warriors, and to his own surprise, Tarl, to their feet, swords at the ready. Orlon came to his feet as well, backing a step, looking wide eyed from the Holy Pike he held at the ready to the door and back again and back again and back again and back again.

But what they saw framed in the doorway both calmed them and answered Tarl�s second question as well as gave a pretty good idea to all but Orlon the answer to his first. Sharna stood there, panting, her hair disheveled, pulling on her shirt.

"He�s all yours," she informed them.

In a wild display of flailing limbs, Ty the Parson brought himself up to a wide-legged stance. His long finger pointed at Orlon, fingertip less than an inch from his nose, his staff pointing back at the doorway, its sappy end less than an inch from Sharna�s nose. Their eyes met, sending a jolt through the Midget. The pointing finger flipped and began to curl and uncurl�and Ty the Parson spun around, stormed through the doorway, Orlon in his wake.

Sharna sidestepped to avoid a collision with them and the Party, who were close on their heels. Shing passed her her belt and saber on his way by, and she turned to follow him which only lasted two steps before his arm caught her in a halt that narrowly avoided a collision with those ahead of them. All eyes were on what lay before them.

No more than five paces ahead was a one step platform, a huge stone pot on each side, from which belched crimson flame. But they noticed the sources of light only in passing, their attention captured by what was in the platform�s center. Beneath two poles jutting from the back wall, what would have borne flags in a king�s chamber, stood a golden throne, and upon this sat what�who they had traveled so far to stop, or more accurately, to guarantee the One reached this lair to stop�. To a man, they were amazed at his condition.

Tibtarnitallimardarian sat limply on the throne, thickly muscled arms draped over armrest, clawed hands open, well muscled legs outstretched, clawed feet angled out. His barrel chest and muscular belly heaved in great breaths, his fur loincloth slightly askew. His head rested chin on chest, corners of beak-like mouth edged up, black eyes, set beneath thick brow sporting four crooked horns, were half lidded, dull as if from sleep.

Orlon stood paralyzed at the sight, nape hairs on end. Yes, he had come to believe the quest was for real. Yes, with each step, each danger faced, each death, the obtaining of the Holy Pike, he knew they were ever nearing its end. Yes, he knew when they entered the mountain the weight of the world�s fate rested squarely on his shoulders. Yes, yes, yes� And yes, he wondered how weaponless, without the knack for magic, Sharna had gotten Tibtarnitallimardarian to be so sedate�

"The farmer�s wife assigns her children chores! The captured mouse scurries every which way in hopes of escaping the cat! The Holy Pike calls upon you Orlon, the pure, purest of the pure, to perform what is expected of you. And you must hurry in doing so before we find ourselves trapped in the clutches of Tibtarnitallimardarian."

Orlon glanced at Ty the Parson, at the weapon held carefully in his hand, at the staid monster before him, then his eyes were locked on the Holy Pike. Somehow the rough shaft felt comfortable in his hand. The silver point glowed softly, and its glow beckoned him forward.

Slowly, he made the short walk to the platform, stepped up onto it and stopped directly before the evil being seated on the golden throne. The glow of the pike�s silver point reflected off the half closed eyes, yet the creature did not react. Orlon gulped and looked back at the Party, all waiting expectantly, none more so than Tarl Bimbo, who mouthed, "What are you waiting for?" When he turned back, he reset his feet, hefted the pike over his head.

Eyes closed, he plunged it into Tibtarni�whatever�s forehead.

Tibtarnitallimardarian went�limper.

The half closed eyes glazed over.

Dark blood overran the face.

An unbelievably strong force blew the Midget back.

Orlon landed in front of the Party�hard. Nevertheless, he got to his feet, eyes on the Holy Pike, and what he witnessed shook him to his very foundation. Smoke seeped from between the shaft and the now dull silver point. The carved letters along the shaft melted away to be replaced by new letters� In the blink of an eye the shaft turned black.

Ty the Parson knelt before him, pulled back his hood and placed a hand on his shoulder. Orlon braced himself for a shaking.

"The baby in womb is met by wire hook! The condemned man receives last minute reprieve from the king! You have removed the evil, Orlon, and freed the world from its grasp," Ty the Parson said, a smile on his busy lips. Then in a flail of limbs that brought him up to a wide-legged stance, staff pointing at door, he said, "The occupants crawl beneath smoke to escape the burning house before being consumed! We must escape this place before its evil stench invades our very s�"

"Victorious!" The weak declaration turned all eyes to the crumpled heap that was Majestus Sinobe. "I was victorious. But I am broken in twenty places."

Shing went to and examined him. "We will need a stretcher," he concluded.

A look around brought his slit eyes to the poles above the throne. He edged around it and its occupant, and two strokes of his magnificent sword freed the poles from the wall. These he brought back and laid parallel to each other. With no other cloth handy, he procured the magic man�s coat, draped it over the poles and with quick cuts along each side produced a series of tie strips, which he tied around the poles. He and Tarftenrott lifted the crumpled heap and placed it on the stretcher.

"Oh. Oh!" Majestus Sinobe moaned during the transfer. "Careful with me, please. Oh, oh. Oh!"

They lifted the stretcher to a chorus of his moans and pleas for carefulness.

"We must go," Ty the Parson stated flatly and started toward the door.

"Wait," Brak Dugan said. "We�re forgetting this." He wrenched the pike from the forehead of Tibtarnitallimardarian.

"He touched the evil," Grash declared.

Blades bit deeply into the wandering farmhand�s flesh again and again, soon reducing him to a pile of gore, beside which lay a small plow.

"We must go," Ty the Parson repeated just as flatly, but with more urgency.

"Don�t leave me."

The weak appeal turned them to a splatter on the wall, beneath which lay a twisted mass of flesh and copper chainmail. Atop this rested a battered head, watery eyes looking at them pleadingly.

Shing transferred his end of the stretcher to Tarl�Majestus Sinobe moaned and pleaded for care all the way, and after�and went to examine Expendendale. Tibtarnitallimardarian had done a brutal job on him, he found, leaving no bone unbroken, at least twice. A string of entrails trailed from the splatter on the wall to a gash in his side.

"I will need a sack," the Oriental Ranger said, and in answer, Ty the Parson produced a sack with straps from a sleeve and passed it to him.

With care, Shing scraped the entrails from the wall into the sack, followed them down to the pile, which he carefully placed in the bag, head on top. He donned the sack, ready to go.

Yet again Ty the Parson stated flatly, urgently they must leave, and this time they followed him out the door�to skid to a halt in the hall beyond. The doorway was aglow! They looked from it to each other, uncertain. Ty the Parson, however, hurried on down the hall, leaving the Party trying to catch up to him. When he went through the doorway he twisted and bound aside. There was a loud snap�

A Eunuch flew by Ty the Parson�s crotch into the noose that appeared in the twisting, bounding man�s hand. A yank both tightened and jerked the noose, snapping the creature�s neck. The noose mystically released the dead Eunuch in time to catch and snap the neck of another as the Parson landed and dodged the bite that would have done him in. And so it went nonstop. The room was rapidly filling with the loin seeking creatures.

Try as he might to reach the other doorway, Ty the Parson was met by such an onrush of Eunuchs he was pushed back, his noose barely saving him from so many snapping jowls.

"Orlon, cling to me," Sharna ordered as she lunged forward to meet the wave of creatures.

Orlon�s reaction to her order earned him a confused, then disgusted look from Tarl Bimbo. He not only hesitated, he blushed. Memory of his physical reaction to clinging to her during the first Eunuch attack embarrassed and confused him and filled him with fear she had noticed�. Memory of the red eyed, fang tooth snouted nightmares�the gruesome fate of Rae, however, set him into motion. He jumped forward, wrapping an arm around her waist, letting his other hand come to rest on her silky leg to keep a distance.

Close behind him came Shing and Grash, taking up positions to either side of her, forming an arrowhead, her saber swishing and swirling and decapitating Eunuchs, their swords serving as guard against any who might get through her onslaught. Tarl and Tarftenrott, and their ever moaning and pleading for care burden, took up position behind them. Ty the Parson took up the rear, darting back and forth as the battle surged and ebbed.

So the battle went, forward and backward, forward and backward, forward and backward� Minutes slipped into an hour, two� More and more scaly, bipedal and headless bodies littered the floor, to be stomped on and mashed by the combatants with each advance and retreat. And with each sway of the conflict the three warriors knew by their ever tiring sword arms it would not be long before they and those they defended would be overrun.

Ty the Parson yelped when a drop of hot wax landed on his bald spot.

He looked up to find he stood under the shelf with the burning candle�and more! Firstly, the cloth he had placed over it had burned completely away. Secondly, there was a split between shelf and wall, and despite the hardened wax filling most of it, that the shelf was connected to the wall by a pipe. A drop of wax landed on his cheek, but he paid it no mind. In fact, he smiled.

This discovery might mean something. He dug deep into the harden wax, broke it away. Then he grabbed the shelf and rotated it to the side. A five by five feet section of the wall slid back and to the side, revealing a dark passage beyond.

"The way is revealed," Ty the Parson dove through the opening.

Next through was Tarl, struggling with his hold on the stretcher, which slid in after him, giving Tarftenrott a chance to struggle with his hold on their burden getting through.

"Oh, oh. Oh!" Majestus Sinobe articulated his feelings during the procedure. "Oh, please. Please! You. You there. In the front. Carefully. Carefully! Oh my, oh my, oh my. Oh my! How dark it is� You! In the back, please. Easy, easy now. Easy, please! Oh my, please. Take care not to harm my broken body any more than it already has been. Please!"

Once they were through, Grash took his turn, followed by Shing, who peeled Orlon free from his self proclaimed protector to help through the opening ahead of him.

That left Sharna alone to combat the room full of loin seeking, jowl snapping monstrosities. Tired though her sword arm was, she did an admirable job of it, too, but bravely as she stood against them, lopping heads off to the left, right and center, she wanted desperately to make her own escape. But just as she prepared to leap through the opening after the Party, a yellow hand stopped her, pointed up.

"Get the candle," the Oriental Ranger said.

To do as requested demanded a mighty feat from the battle worn warrior, but never let it be said Sharna evaded a challenge. With a frightful scream and back-and-forth sweep of her saber, she drove the Eunuchs back a step. Their startled hesitation gave her what she needed, time. Precious little of it, she knew, and she did not waste a second of it.

Sharna grabbed the sideways candle and yanked.

The flame flickered, but the candle remained secured to the shelf.

With an oath, she yanked even harder.

Reward for her second effort was the shelf righting itself.

The soft grind of the opening closing followed.

"Oh, for the love of�" she breathed, eyes rolling.

Urged by the snap of a snout, she kept hold of the candle and cut it free of the shelf with her saber. Two things put wings to her feet: the snapping of more jowls and the ever shrinking opening. In quick order, she screamed and swept her sword to hold the creatures back a little longer, sent the blade slamming home into scabbard and dove through the opening. The opening clanked shut right after her feet passed through and in time to crush the head of a lunging Eunuch.

Her dive sent her across the dark tunnel beyond to smack into a slimy wall and fall to the slime covered floor. The double impact jarred the candle from her hand. It hit the floor with a splash and the flame went out�for good.

"Sorry," she said into the surrounding darkness.

"What I want to know is�" there was a chorus of splishes as everyone jumped when Tarl Bimbo�s voice broke the silence following Sharna�s apology "�why those critters dared to come up the stairs?"

"It is simple," Shing said. "When the threat of their evil master disappeared there was nothing to stop them."

"And," Grash put in, "well the Eunuchs knew we, who served them a devastating blow, were there. Never will those dastardly creatures let a victim escape, and we were ripe victims that escaped them once. And now twice." A pause followed wherein each and every one of them pictured the old warrior twirling an end of his handlebar mustache. "Ah, I am reminded of a time when�"

Hating to interrupt a story as he did, a sniff of the slimy tunnel�s stench forced Orlon to do so. "What I want to know is," he said, "how we are going to get out of here?"

Silence followed his question for a second, two, three, four�

"The children form a chain behind the adult during an outing! Join hands that I, Ty, the Parson, may lead the way."

In a series of splishes and splashes the Party sought to do as the Parson requested. The chain was finally formed as followed: Ty the Parson, Shing, Grash, Sharna and Orlon, who linked to Tarl by a handful of his shirt, thus linking Tarftenrott to them all through the stretcher he and the Midget bore between them, upon which lay Majestus Sinobe, a man that let his bearers hear of every uncomfortable move they made with him, along with appeals for care.

With the chain now complete, Ty the Parson put the tip of his staff to the wall, sinking it through the slime until it hit solid stone, and they started forward through the darkness.

So they trudged through the slime for mile upon mile, or so it seemed, following the tunnel�s winding, turning and curving ways. To add to their difficulties were inclines, both shallow and steep, they slipped and slide up�and all the while listening to the magic man�s endless bellowing.

"Oh my, oh my, oh my. Oh my! You�re tipping me. You! You in the back lift me, up. Lift me up, please. Up, up! Oh, the pain. Do remember my invaluable contribution to the quest�s success. Oh, oh. Oh! Careful, please."

And with each step, Orlon did not want to believe this was how his first, and hopefully last ever, quest would end. Oh, in a book or two he read there were quests involved, and they always ended with a glorious return home, with at least some hometown folk welcoming the journeymen home� and a new period of peace and tranquility followed�. Was this quest�his quest truly going to end with them lost in these dark and smelly tunnels, struggling on and on until they died of thirst and hunger?

Tarl had his own qualms about their present situation, but on quite a different line of thought. When they found themselves trapped by the Eunuchs he was disappointed and angry that he was stuck lugging the injured loudmouth instead of partaking in their defense with his trusty sword "Wasp." He huffed. To think his first journey beyond Dwarf Road, a quest of all things, would end with them walking blindly, endlessly through this smelly tunnel sickened him.

This was no way for his first journey to end, yet he could see it ending no other way.

A clank, then disappearance of the wall stopped Ty the Parson, Shing bumping into him, Grash bumping into the Oriental Ranger and so on� Once all were stopped, Ty the Parson pulled his staff back. It hit the wall, slid into the slime. He advanced a step, stretching out his staff. It hit the wall again, slid into slime, some three feet ahead. It was a doorway!

He turned his head to see a distant rectangle of daylight and smiled. Without a verbose or flatly stated explanation, he entered the doorway and started up the tunnel beyond, dragging in those behind him. The trek up the tunnel proved tough due to their slime covered feet and the tunnel�s incline. But they refused to let it stop them, all eyes on the rectangle of light, which represented their way out of their predicament, out of the volcanic mountain.

Torchlight flared before them, bringing them to a slippery halt. From a doorway stepped the lost Shibtarr, a torch in his hand, its flame spotlighting his youthful, stern face.

"Thank goodness," Orlon pushed his way past those ahead of him, hand proffered. "I�m so glad you survi�"

The torch dropped from the boy�s hand, illuminating his lower extremities. The crotch of his breeches was torn away, jagged edges blood stained, and his genitalia�gone. Before their eyes a transformation occurred. Shibtarr�s clothing fell away, as did his blonde hair. His skin grew grayish, scaly, his hands and feet clawed. His jowls creaked and popped as they expanded into a fang toothed mouth, the eyes above becoming red, beady.

"E-gad," Sharna blurted, lunging forward. "Orlon, look out."

What had once been Shibtarr snapped its jowls on thin air, as Sharna pulled the Midget clear and stumbling back into Ty the Parson. In the next few seconds she performed a fantastic feat for such close quarters. She drew her saber and lopped off the creature�s head, and stooped to take up the torch, but before she could rejoin her compatriots, a horde of Eunuchs swarmed through the doorway, separating her from the others.

Shing jumped forward, meeting the wave of loinless creatures with wall-to-wall sweeps of his magnificent sword. Despite the number of Eunuchs losing their heads to broadsword or saber, the nonstop inflow of the creatures pushed Sharna and the Party farther and farther apart.

"Here," she said and tossed the torch to the Oriental Ranger.

Back, back and back they were pushed down the tunnel, Shing�s sweeping broadsword the only thing between them and disaster. And Orlon had eyes only for Sharna, seen over the writhing, shoving and snapping Eunuchs, saving herself from danger with swings of her saber, so far away and growing farther and farther� Then Tarftenrott splished into the slimy hall�and Sharna fell through the rectangle of daylight, her scream fading as she fell.

"Sharna," Orlon gasped in agony.

Suddenly his attention shifted to their present problem, when he nearly fell back into the slime coated tunnel.

"The thief quickly exits the scene of the crime when the law arrives! We must run," Ty the Parson said, limbs flailing, "now!"

Led by the Parson, they took off down the tunnel as fast as the slime allowed, leaving the Oriental Ranger alone to face the pressing danger of the Eunuchs in the side tunnel. The light of the torch gave them a view of the green slime that caked the roof, walls and floor of their avenue of escape. The curve of the tunnel soon took the light away from them. Ty the Parson brought them to a stop in the darkness, and they waited.

Shing stood in the doorway, swinging sword in one hand, torch in the other. He shot a glance over his shoulder before splashing back a couple of steps into the tunnel. The battle was a lost cause, and he knew his only choice to escape it was to do something dramatic, and run.

That dramatic act turned out to be a swap from broadsword to torch as his weapon. The surprise of this dramatic act not only affected the loinless creatures, but Shing as well. He swept the torch from door frame to door frame, and when the wavy flame touched the slime, it ignited. With an oath, he threw the torch at the base of the doorway, causing a burst of fire that burned the faces of the lunging Eunuchs. He ran.

Hot on his heels, the fire followed him.

Hearing Shing�s oath did not concern those waiting in the darkness much. What else could be expected when facing so many loin seeking creatures? Hearing the splish, splash of his running feet and seeing the approaching light did not concern them much either. Again, what else could be expected? What did concern them was Expendendale�s panic filled screaming, "Hot, hot, hot�" And behind his screaming, a roaring that reminded them of an out of control fire.

As the Oriental Ranger came hot footing it around the curve, followed by the quickly igniting slime, the Party, to a man, dropped their jaws, eyes bugging.

"Run," Shing yelled. "Run!"

They did, and they ran as much from Shing as the fire that trailed him by no more than two feet. The tunnel turned this way and that, twice offering them a choice of going left or right, both times their choice to go right. A turn left them facing a steep incline which they took to with gusto, slipping and sliding in the slime. Half way up it, Shing caught up with them, as did the fire behind him.

"Hot, hot, hot," continued Expendendale�s panicked screaming.

"Oh my! Oh my, oh my, oh my. The heat. The heat!" Majestus Sinobe added the chasing fire to his repertoire of concerns over his wellbeing in the hands of those carrying him. "Oh, oh. Oh! All the jigging, the tilting, the bouncing�the pain! Careful. Careful. And hurry. Hurry, please! I�m burning up. Oh my! Hurry before I burn up."

With cries of relief, they reached the incline�s top and took off along a curving length of the tunnel, the fire right behind them.

Orlon was a mixed bag of emotions. He marveled at the way Expendendale and Majestus Sinobe were able to keep up their endless chatter. It was hard enough for him simply to take in a breath of the stinky air, much more so to gasp it in as his great physical effort required him to do, without upchucking. How they could keep it up was beyond him, though upon reconsidering the broken warrior�s situation, he might could see how in his case.

Then there was his fear of their present situation. Suddenly the idea of wandering lost through these tunnels until starvation overtook them did not sound so bad, in comparison to burning alive�. His mind turned back to Sharna dropping the ever burning candle into the slime when she jumped through the opening. How it had gone out! He shrugged the thought off. All he knew was he would rather starve to death than burn. What child had not learned the agony of fire? Memory of the irresistible-to-five-year-old-eyes pot over the fire made him suck on his right hand fingers.

He was worried he would not be able to keep up this pace much longer. All that walking to the volcanic mountain had taken its toll on him. And though he was carried up the mountain by Shing�though he was not involved in the battle with the Eunuchs, it had all proved physically draining in more ways than one. Even the wait outside Tibtarnitallimardarian�s door had worn him out, as had performing his duty to save the world from the evil being�s clutches after.

So, too, he found his sorrow over his self proclaimed protector�s demise weighed heavily on his weary shoulders. The pang he felt in his heart was so intense he was surprised it continued to beat�and such a feeling left him utterly confused.

A confusing feeling he had no time to contemplate when a memory and wish brought him a flash of guilt. He remembered how Sharna snatched him up and ran, saving him from the crumbling bridge. Oh, how he wished she were here to snatch him up and run now� That he would think of something she could do to benefit him after her death was unconscionable. His mind turned to his best friend, lugging his own burden, and his guilt increased tenfold.

Tarl felt two things: thankfulness and exasperation.

There was no denying he was thankful for Tarftenrott�s assistance with the stretcher, but he was most thankful the warrior carried the back end, putting a stretcher length between the Midget and the pursuing fire. Plus, their positions gave him an alarm, stuttering or not, to impending danger, and he knew if danger came he could drop the stretcher and run like the wind. Pudgy though he was, he had always been known as a good runner.

His exasperation came twofold. First, he was exasperated that he had been stuck lugging the injured loudmouth around when the Eunuchs cut off their escape from this stinking tunnel. If he had been able to arm himself with his trusty sword "Wasp," he might have assisted in breaking through the horde of loin seeking critters. Second, there was the ear aching fact Majestus Sinobe�s complaints never stopped.

"Will you shut up," he hollered over his shoulder, and when he brought his attention back to what lay ahead his jaw dropped.

One by one those in front of him dropped out of sight�and just as he realized why, before he could give warning to Tarftenrott, he slipped over the drop off. That it was not a vertical drop was a blessing, but the steep slope he quick-stepped, slipped and slid down proved worry enough. The stretcher jammed into his back did not help in his struggle to keep himself on his feet.

"Oh!" Majestus Sinobe blurted upon going over. "Oh, oh. Oh my! You! You there in the front, up. Up, please! Oh, the angle. Oh, oh, the pain. Oh my, oh my, oh my. Do remember my invaluable part in the success of this quest. Careful! Careful, please."

Down the slope the Party went, desperately trying to keep on their feet despite the slime underfoot. To a man, they were successful, and glances over shoulders revealed to them a positive sign. While their speed was forcibly increased by their steep trajectory, the pursuing fire�s was not, which meant they were pulling away from it.

Happy as this discovery made them, their smiles faltered with the thought of reaching the slope�s bottom. At their ever increasing speed and the slipperiness of the floor, could they stay on their feet? Could they recover from the impact in time to keep the fire at a safe distance? With these questions in mind, they tried to slow themselves by back-peddling, but quickly realized it was a lost cause. The slime would not allow it.

The bottom came faster than expected, sending them stumbling, slipping and sliding along its flat surface. To their amazement, no one fell. Instead, they brought themselves to a stop in order to recapture their equilibrium. But they did not forget the approaching fire. Glancing back, they saw it was just a little over half way down the slope, which thrilled them and made them determined to maintain as much of the gained distance between them and it as possible.

So motivated, they quick-stepped in place numerous times before their feet caught traction, and they shot forward as fast as the slime would allow. Within a dozen steps they reached an incline not as steep as the slope, but steep enough. All looked back to see the fire reach the slope�s bottom and start across the flat ground toward them. They gulped, started up the incline.

Up three steps and back two steps, up three steps and back two steps they went, the fire blazing ever closer and closer� Oaths were breathed by some, prayers made to gods by others�and to their astonishment they reached the top safely, the fire still feet behind them. And more!

Not quite four yards ahead of them was a doorway dimly limned by daylight.

Ty the Parson did the quickest wild spin to a wide-legged stance, staff pointing ahead, they had ever seen, then he took off at a fair clip. The Party was right behind him, nonetheless, and a good thing they were, too. He plunged through the doorway and would have plunged into the pit beyond if Grash had not grabbed a fistful of his cloak, stopping him, a foot outstretched over the abyss� They had no time to give thanks he was saved, or utter their amazement at where they appeared to be. The approaching fire would not allow it.

They hurried through the doorway and along the ledge beyond�Ty the Parson, Grash and Orlon to the right, Tarl and Tarftenrott and their burden, and Shing and his burden to the left�just in time. With an earsplitting roar, the fire burst through the doorway in a great fireball. As quickly as it appeared the fireball was reduced to a frame of crackling fire around the doorway.

All but two gave silent thanks for being saved from a fiery demise.

"Oor shmooshong moo fooce," Expendendale said out the side of his mouth.

"Sorry," Shing said and relaxed his back-flush-to-the-wall, arms-outstretched stance.

"Oh, woe is me," Majestus Sinobe moaned. "Such terrible treatment of one whose invaluable contribution led to the quest�s success. Oh, oh. Oh! The tilt! The tilt is too much. The pain. The pain! You there, you there, up. Up, please. Oh, woe is me."

Tarl looked over his shoulder at Tarftenrott, and the mirror scowls on their faces told them they were of one mind. They tossed their burden off the ledge.

Everyone watched him fall, and Orlon alone was aghast at such an event.

Right before the magic man disappeared in the pool of darkness below he shot a long arm up, long finger pointing, and commanded, "Embarrassment!"

To a man, the Party lost control of their bladders.

Majestus Sinobe�s final command received the results it pronounced. Every cheek of those on the ledge was tinted red, and they averted their eyes from each other. Throats were cleared and collars tugged, and no one breathed too deeply, fearing of what they might smell in evidence of their uncontrolled deed. And for Tarl Bimbo it led to an exclamation:

"E-gad!"

What brought this extra reaction from him was memory of the inches tall girl stuffed in his pocket during the slaughter of the little people. That he wet his pants was embarrassing enough, but that he had subjected her to such a soaking was humiliating. He reached into his pocket�and his hand went straight through to his damp thigh. He blinked. By the feel of it she had bitten through the pocket threads and escaped down his leg somewhere along the way.

He was relieved she escaped this humiliating incident, sad at the loss of opportunity for a little�action with her and disgusted at the dampness his hand had been subjected to. With a quietly stated "E-yuck;" he pulled his hand from his pocket and wiped it front and back on his shirt. Then he felt the eyes upon him, brought on, he knew, by his exclamation. Feeling his cheeks heat up, he met their stare with a crooked smile and nervous giggle.

"I�I don�t remember," he said, indicating the fire framed doorway with his just-wiped-off hand, "passing this doorway on the way down this ledge."

Thankful as he was to draw their attention away from himself, he had no idea how thankful they were to have their attention drawn away not only from him but their own ill at ease situation. They were reminded of what the chasing fire had taken away, their chance to consider upon reaching the ledge. They looked around to find they were, in fact, on the ledge they had followed into the volcanic mountain, and no one remembered passing a doorway either.

A question popped into their heads. Could the turning of the candle shelf have opened this doorway as well? This question led to another. If that was true, why had it not closed like the other when the candle righted itself? But they had no time to seek answers to these questions.

"Race horses round the final turn to the home stretch! The late night walker�s eerie feeling he is being followed! We have reached the final expanse we must traverse to leave this mountain. There is no time to waste if we wish to escape the evil lurking within its dark places," Ty the Parson said in a flail of limbs, and he started up the ledge.

Grash and Orlon took off after him. Shing, Tarl and Tarftenrott skirted the fire framed doorway and hurried after them.

Round and round and round they went up the ledge and walking into the light rather than into darkness filled them with enthusiasm. No matter how uplifted their spirits, however, they could not deny the weariness of their limbs. Of all the ordeals they suffered within the mountain, the most tiring was trudging�running for their lives through the slimy tunnels. The upward slant of the ledge was enough to cramp their aching leg muscles, but the increasing daylight and corresponding warmth kept them moving.

There was no one more grateful to be exiting the volcanic mountain than Orlon. He wanted to see the whole wide world again, to witness the results of his having saved it from the clutches of evil Tibtarni�whatever. He caught his breath in anticipation�. What wonders would his eyes see in reward for his harrowing deed?

Up they walked, up and up. Round and round they went, and with each go-round the brighter and warmer it got. It was obvious the daylight they entered was of the very late afternoon variety, which left them wondering just how far they could get away from the mountain before darkness consumed them. The thought of spending a night sleeping on the ground did not sound good to them. To a man, the image of Talbortale�s Hotel popped into their minds.

Quickly as the image popped into their minds, it popped out. All they were concerned with at this point was getting out of the mountain.

Reaching the pit�s rim gave them a great sense of relief. They basked in the sunlight, breathed deeply of the fresh air, tainted though it was by the stink of their slimy, urine soaked clothing. They were simply overjoyed by what freshness they could get out of it.

Orlon made a point of looking about, turning around once, twice, and what he discovered was�an ordinary, everyday evening. His shoulders slumped, the brightness of expectation left his face shadowed in disappointment. With a sigh, he brushed off his disappointment at finding nothing spectacular to represent his world saving deed and took account of the day itself. The sun hovered over the western horizon, setting its uneven surface aglow in crimson� All he knew was he wanted to get as far away from the volcanic mountain as he could before night fell.

"We had better get moving, don�t you think?" Shing said.

The statement sent a jolt through Orlon. In order to "get moving," they would have to climb down the mountainside he had been carried up by the Oriental Ranger. He looked at him, aware of his burden�Expendendale�which ruled out a repeat of his assistance. His eyes drifted to Grash, too old, then Tarftenrott, who proclaimed himself too weak for the task earlier.

Into his mind appeared the image of the one person he had denied the chance to carry him up the sheer wall, Sharna. For reasons beyond him, he had feared her coming in contact with the Holy Pike. Well, he did not have the weapon now, and he did not have his self proclaimed protector either. With the latter thought he felt strangely listless, not really caring whether he made it safely off the mountain or not.

"Looks like the almighty One is all on his own this time," Tarl said, a giggle in his voice, as he stepped by him to join the others who had started the descent. Just before his head dipped below the rim, he paused to say, "Get a move on, buddy."

Orlon took in a deep breath, held it a moment before letting it out in a whoosh. A corner of his mouth twitched up with memory of an old quote: "My, how the mighty have fallen." His best friend had been right about him being on his own now. Once the deed was done, the quest concluded, the One became no more than Orlon�the Pure. He sighed. Well, if he was on his own, so be it.

He gulped and stepped up to the rim�s edge, looked down. His blue eyes went from Tarl, just feet below him, to those beyond, and grew wider and wider as they continued to the ground far, far below. He would have jumped back, startled, if not for memory of the pit behind him, knowing no one was there to catch him this time. Instead, he froze in place, and he knew that would not do. What he needed to do was break the ice that gripped him�and fast.

If not, the Party would leave him behind.

To break the freeze, he took several rapid breaths, worked his hands into shaking, a shaking that worked up his arms, engulfed his entire body. It stopped. Eyes closed, he told himself he could do this, ignored the quivering of his inner voice.

When he opened his eyes he felt�a little less unnerved about the climb before him. The first thing he did was sit on the rim�s edge, feet dangling, heart in throat. No matter how hard he swallowed he could not get it back into his chest where it belonged. He swung himself around and off the edge, hanging by his hands, feet seeking purchase. Once found in the form of a jutting rock and narrow creased, his descent began.

Hand- and foothold to hand- and foothold he crept down the mountainside.

More and more he precariously paused to wipe off sweaty palms.

All the while he kept his eyes on the sheer wall before him.

All the while he told himself with each hand- and foothold the lower he got.

All he desired was to feel solid ground beneath his feet once more.

Suddenly the Midget found no catch for his feet, no matter how he stretched his less than four feet frame in search. There simply was nothing for either foot to rest upon. His palms grew even more sweaty, and he feared he would fall. One foot recaptured its earlier purchase, giving him a moment�s sense of relief. Fear took that relief away with the realization he must look down if he ever hoped to reach the bottom. He did�and found he was only five feet off the ground.

A giggle drew his eyes to Tarl Bimbo, standing before the Party, arms crossed over chest, head shaking, a sneer accompanying his giggle. The others simply watched him.

Orlon�s cheeks reddened, a nervous giggle escaped his tense lips. Releasing his hold allowed him to drop to the ground. A blessed feeling swept over him. He wiped the sweat from his palms on his coat, took in a few breaths and composed himself before turning to face his best friend and the Party, smiling amiably.

Tarl gave him a wink and a thumbs-up, but Orlon could see the sarcasm behind his "good job" gesture�. The roll of his eyes was pre-empted by Ty the Parson, who, now that all were safely on solid ground, spun and sped down the porous pathway they had followed to reach the mountain. The Party turned their heads to watch him hurrying away.

In quick order, they took off after him, Tarl giving his best friend a shrug before following. Not wanting to be left behind, Orlon took off after them, and tired though his legs were, he caught up to them quickly, falling in step behind Tarl.

From porous path to rocky stretch to field of brittle grass, they went, and on into sickly forest, into healthy forest. Each stage of growing life in nature symbolized the distances they were attaining from vanquished Tibtarnitallimardarian�s lair and whatever evil�essence Ty the Parson proclaimed remained, yet that did not ease their frayed nerves one bit. Along with their worries about what lay behind them were concerns over what lay ahead. Would their avenue�the tree felled by Shing�across the river still be there?

They hurried down the wide, welcoming path through the forest, ears cocked, eyes eagerly looking ahead. Soon they heard and saw the rushing waters of the river beyond the path�s wide, welcoming entrance. This put more speed into their advancement, at a cost of pain in their aching legs, but none minded the price. To a man, they wanted not only to see if the felled tree remained, but to get across the river no matter how they had to accomplish it.

Upon reaching the path�s entrance, they lined up on the bank, and they breathed a sigh of relief. The felled tree still bridged the river. Staff pointing, Ty the Parson went to and crossed the tree bridge. The Party followed, with Tarl then Orlon bringing up the rear as usual� Orlon could not help but look at the water passing beneath the felled tree. What he saw stopped him, brought on a double-take. Just below the rushing water�s surface was the river�s pebble strewn bottom.

He looked from it to those ahead and back again, and back again! The fact his fellow travelers were leaving him behind far outweighed his startlement over seeing the river�s bottom. He hurried after them, and when he stepped onto the narrow bank, he looked back to see the river�s waters running swift, running deep. But there was no time for him to contemplate or question this mystery.

Ty the Parson led them swiftly to and along the narrow path through the forest on this side of the river. Sidestepping though they must, they moved quickly along its weaving way. Yet there was hesitation in their step, all remembering where the path led them, what had happened there. And there was no one more affected by the memory than Tarftenrott, the only living member of the Party who had been involved in the act of horror.

Bursting into the clearing brought them face to face with a group of twelve inch tall men pulling a wagon full of branches, twigs and pebbles. They halted, the little people halted, and they looked at each other, wide eyed. Then the little men spotted the stuttering warrior, and they scattered. Within seconds all that were left in the clearing were the Party and the supply wagon.

One by one they looked at Tarftenrott. Aware of their disapproving attention, he looked into the distance, his cheeks tinted pink.

The uncomfortable moment ended with a wild spin by Ty the Parson, resulting in a wide-legged stance, staff pointing at the entrance to the path through the forest ahead. He hurried toward it, skirting the hill beyond which lay the slaughtered village of little people, and the Party followed. The Parson squeezed through the entrance, Shing and Crash right behind him. Tarftenrott paused and looked back, over the heads of the frowning Midgets, to see a couple of the little men watching him, and said:

"S-s-su-su-s-sorry. W-wu-w-wu-with thu-thu-the qu-qu-quest a-and a-all th-thu-the t-t-t-talk o-of du-d-du-du-danger, e-evil�"

He shrugged, went through the entrance, Tarl and Orlon on his heels.

Down the winding path they went in good time and soon enough found themselves lined on the bank of the second river. All looked from the river to the far bank. Top most in their minds was how easily Telluspett carried the rope across the swift current, as the river turned out to be only calf deep, but they also remembered the destruction of the raft and felled tree-bridge by the river monstrosity. They gulped.

"The chosen is cast into the ceremonial fire pit! The way is scouted by the man on point! Who will cross the river to secure the way across the river?" Ty the Parson said with a flail of arms that ended with a flamboyant arm gesture, a coil of rope dropping into his hand.

"I�ll do it," Tarl Bimbo said.

Orlon gave his best friend a double-take. Never in his wildest dreams would he have believed Tarl would willingly volunteer to do anything chancy�dangerous.

"Telluspett did it," Tarl answered Orlon�s reaction, shrugging. "Hey, remember the river is only inches deep, pal o' mine. Nothing to it."

With that, he took an end of the rope and started across the river. By his second step he disappeared into the rushing water�s depths. The rope in Ty the Parson�s hand uncoiled once, twice, a third, fourth, fifth time� Tarl surfaced several feet downstream, dogpaddling frantically against the swift current. Climbing was his forte, no doubt, but swimming, not so much.

Yet there was one thing that lent fins to his limbs, memory of the horrific creature that had thwarted their first two attempts to cross the river. His efforts focused more on reaching the other side than fighting the current, costing Ty the Parson several more coils of rope before the Midget finally reached and pulled himself onto the bank, where he rolled onto his back, took in great gulps of air to catch his breath.

A smile came to his pudgy face with the thought of the one positive aspect to this unexpected plunge into the river. The rushing waters had cleaned the slime and urine stains from his clothing. Crimson crept up his cheeks with the further thought of how the rushing waters had swept away the fresh urine released upon his thinking of the river monstrosity. He blurted a laugh. Now if he could just combat the chill of being soaking wet.

"Tie the rope to a tree," Shing hollered.

Tarl blinked, sat up and looked upstream at his traveling comrades.

"Tie it as high as you can," the Oriental Ranger added.

Tarl blinked again�and his eyes dropped to the rope in hand. When the reason he crossed the river returned to his mind, he smiled and gave them a thumbs-up. He got to his feet and quick-stepped it back toward them, eyeing the smattering of trees along the bank for the right one. He found it! And it was nearly directly across from the others, too. Stretching his four feet two inch frame to the limit, he tied the rope around the trunk a good five and a half feet up.

"Okay," he said, turning in a wide step to clear the way.

With the briefest of nods, Ty the Parson looped his end of the rope about a sturdy tree, pulled out all the slack and tied it secure. He then leaned on the rope with all his weight to test its strength. It held. A nod revealed his satisfaction, and he hung from the rope, swung his legs up to wrap around it and proceeded to pull himself hand-over-hand over the river. Once safely on the far bank, he stepped aside to await the others with Tarl.

Shing was next to pull himself along the rope to the other side, followed by Grash and then Tarftenrott. Each joined the others upon reaching the bank, and shortly they all stood together, looking at the last person on the far bank.

"It�s all up to you, Orlon," Tarl said with a big grin.

A frown touched Orlon�s face. There was no need for his best friend�s comment, or his obviously sarcastic grin.

He looked at the rope above him, and he swallowed. To reach it would be easy, just a simple jump, but it was what was expected of him after that worried him. Not only were his legs tired, his arms were weak from the strain of reaching this point as well. Did he have the strength to pull himself over the river? What if he fell into that swift current? He inwardly chuckled at the latter question. If there was one thing he had over Tarl Bimbo, it was that he could swim. Maybe he was not great at it, but he could swim.

"It�s all up to me," he breathed,

The simple jump to reach the rope proved successful. With great effort he was able to get his legs up and wrapped around it. He hung there. The weariness of his limbs was evident in their trembling, but he bit his lip, began to pull himself hand over hand over hand� Try though he might not to, he glanced at the rushing waters beneath him once, twice, a third time. Just as many times he gulped back bile. Nevertheless, he did not stop.

It was on his fourth glance down that he saw the edge of the bank, which renewed his waning strength. One pull, two pulls, a third and a fourth, and he was safely across the river. He let go his legs, then hands and dropped to solid ground. Upon remastering his balance, he turned to his fellow travelers, a proud smile on his face.

Reaction to his achievement took the smile right off his face.

Sappy staff pointing, Ty the Parson started through the forest, the Party right behind him. Tarl gave his best friend a shrug and followed.

A bit crestfallen, Orlon wiped his sweaty palms on his vest and took off after them.

Traversing the forest�s light and airy interior was quick and pleasant, even though the lengthy shadows that foretold of day�s end dimmed its light aspect more and more. They were not so concerned about the growing darkness, as they had been going the other way, and the fading of the river�s roaring current filled them with relief. The quest was over. They were heading�home.

No one, not even Tarl Bimbo, was more excited with the idea of going home, and the mundane life that awaited him there, than Orlon. A simple farmer, a happy farmer, he had been shanghaied on this quest to "save the world from the clutches of evil," and he had done it. To his way of thinking nothing would be better than to return to his simple, happy farm life in a continued time of peace and tranquility guaranteed by his deed. His only concern at the moment was getting there.

It was not so much that Tarl was unhappy with the thought of going home as it was a bit of a letdown for him. His dream of breaking free from Dwarf Road to see what lie beyond the farm community had come true�and he even exceeded his dream. He had had an adventure! And in that adventure he gained possession of and used his trusty sword, "Wasp." Oh, the experience had been exciting, exhilarating, as well as frightening beyond words. It had also exhausted him to the point he was amazed he was able to keep going.

So while returning to his humdrum life at home was on his mind, he thought of one other thing, too. Where would this leg of the journey end? Tired though he was, the idea of spending the night on the cold, hard ground did not appeal to him much. A nice night in a bed in a hotel room sounded better, but at this late hour he wondered if that was possible.

When they burst out of the forest they stopped, eyes turned westward. The sun had begun its dip beyond the horizon. Their eyes turned back to the plain they crossed yesterday afternoon and into the night, aided by Rae�s glowing staff. Well, they would not have the aid of that glowing staff this night, but the comforting thought of sleeping in a cozy bed at Talbortale�s hotel made the idea of crossing the plain in the dark of night sound not so bad.

They started off at a fair clip, thoughts of sleeping a night indoors dancing in their heads. On, they went, on and on despite their weariness. All the while they glanced at the sun which set more and more with each step they took�. Thoughts of partaking in a cooked meal before settling down in a cozy bed for the night added endurance to their weary limbs.

Night consumed them, but it was not as total as the night before. Clear skies allowed a full moon and surrounding stars to offer some relief to the darkness. They were thankful for that�and more. In the distance flickered a light they assumed must be a torch outside Talbortale�s Hotel.

With that light for guidance they had something more to keep their minds off their aches and pains.

Upon reaching Eltrondale Road they stumbled to a stop brought on by Orlon�s outcry.

"Hey," he voiced his astonishment of seeing the sea of armor was gone, and he asked, "What happened to all that armor?"

Tarl looked up and down the road, twice, just as astonished by the absence of armor as his best friend. The Party, however, looked from the road to Orlon and back again, smiling at the Midget�s naivety.

"No doubt it�s all back on the yellow striped backs of the Whelps," Grash said with a dismissive sniff and twirl of a mustache end.

"Huh?" Orlon and Tarl looked at him questioningly.

"Once they feel the threat is over after a confrontation," Shing quickly stepped in to explain without derision, "they return to reclaim their armor�" he cast a slant eye on Tarl "�or at least what has not been stolen of it. Cowards they are, and the armor and weapons they wear to mask that fact are very important to them. Be it minutes, hours or days later they will always recover their property. They cannot live without it."

Before Orlon could inquire further on the subject Ty the Parson shot across the road and down the gravel path to the hotel door, by which a flickering torch was ensconced. They hurried after him to and through the door, where they came to a halt. The big room was well lighted�and devoid of people. Their eyes went from the five chairs in the room�s center to the counter to the left, upon which sat a bell with a sign behind it that read: "Ring for Service".

The Party moved to the counter as a block, and Ty the Parson rang the bell. Instantly, the door behind the counter opened just enough to allow a head wearing a bright red nightcap through. And they recognized the big green eyed, hook nosed, thin lipped face as the man they met outside the hotel yesterday.

Brow furrowed, the man looked at them with sleepy eyes a moment before the thought "Customers!" popped into his head. "Room for you ge�" he started, then crinkled his nose as he took in their slimy, urine stained state, concluding with a disgusted expression, "�nts?"

All but Tarl blushed with the realization for the man�s reaction to them. Tarl simply smiled with thanks for his unexpected dip in the river.

"Yes," Shing stepped up to answer the question.

"And perhaps a bath and clothes cleaning as well?" he suggested, stepping through the door to reveal his bright red night shirt and slippers.

"Yes," Shing said.

"And a meal," Orlon put in, adding when the man looked at him, "Uh, if it�s not too late�?"

"No," he stepped up to the counter. "No, no, no, no, no. It�s never too late at Talbortale�s Hotel. We are here to serve the weary traveler no matter how late the hour. I�ll wake Mother to warm up the stove, my sisters to warm up some bath water.

"But first things first. How many rooms, sir?"

Shing took a head count and said, "Six."

"Six it is," the man said, producing six numbered keys from beneath the counter, but before handing them over, asked, "And your means of payment?"

Ty the Parson raised a finger to draw the man�s attention, then performed an elaborate arm gesture, as he had whenever Marcol�s services were required, and�nothing dropped into his hand. He frowned. Once again he performed the gesture. Same result. His frown deepened, and he looked at his sleeve. A third time the elaborate gesture brought the same negative result. Baffled, he looked at the man and shrugged, turned and shrugged to his fellow travelers.

"I�ll pay," Tarl said, stepping up to the counter and pulling his hefty money pouch from a pocket.

Orlon gave him a double-take. He could not believe his ears, could not remember his best friend being so generous�ever.

In fact, Tarl could not believe his own ears. What had brought this sudden surge of generosity upon him was a mystery. Never pay if a sucker can be found to foot the bill had been his motto�right up to this very moment. And seeing the man eye his money pouch hungrily made him hesitate for a split second before shrugging off his worry over the expenditure. He would recoup the cost soon enough. How exactly he did not know, but he felt certain he would.

"So," he said, opening his pouch. "What�s the damage?"

"Let�s see," the man said, eyes to the heavens, tapping his right index finger on his left index finger. "That�s six rooms, six baths, six meals, and I�m sure you�ll want breakfast as well, which makes it� Oh, let�s call it eight gold coins even."

"Sounds fair," Tarl said.

He counted eight gold coins from the pouch, gave them to the man, who dipped behind the counter and after a soft clink-clank, came up, smiling.

"If you gentlemen will go to your rooms," he passed out the keys, "undress�there are robes available�and get yourselves settled in, someone will be up shortly to collect your clothing to be washed and escort you to the baths. By the time you are nice and clean, your meals will be ready, and then it�s off to bed with you."

With nods of thanks, the Party headed up the steep stairway to the second floor.

Orlon lay in bed fast asleep. The kind of sleep brought on by a warm bath, warm meal and the warmth of a blanket on a cozy, despite a lump or two, hotel bed. Oh, he had had spits and spurts of troubled sleep caused by dreams of his ordeal in the volcanic mountain, and mournful tosses and turns with dreams of his lost self proclaimed protector. The latter were the worse for him, especially memory of her fall�

"Sharna," he had called softly into the night. "Sharna, no."

But those troubled and mournful periods were eventually overrun by his utter weariness, sending him into his present state of slumber. What gave his weariness the strength to do so was his deep desire to awaken in the morning fully rested for the journey home, as well as to have clear, alert eyes to witness any results of his deed to save the world done. Surely after a day there would be some sign of the good deed somewhere.

To his ear came a tapping, a rap, rap, rapping on his chamber door. He tightened his eyelids, not wanting to acknowledge it. Tap, tap, tap, it came a second time with urgency, rap, rap, rap. With a roll onto his other side he tried to drive away this interruption to his sleep, and he might have been successful, too, if between the tapping and rap, rap, rapping he had not heard:

"Mr. Orlon, sir."

Hearing that voice�that lovely, lilting voice sent a jolt through him, popped his eyes wide open. Teri, her name was. She collected his filthy clothing to wash, as well as guided him to the baths, last night. She was not a Midget, though she stood four feet eleven inches in height, her shapely body in crimson blouse and white skirt. Framed in flowing brown hair, her round face was cute with full lips, dimpled cheeks and big blue eyes. He gulped. Well he remembered those big blue eyes, looking so wantingly at him when they met. He swallowed.

"Mr. Orlon," she said more urgently. "I have your clothes, all clean and ready, and a message from that talkative fellow in cloak." She took in a breath and hazarded her guess, "He said you need to hurry as the day is slipping away."

Orlon stifled a laugh. Yeah, that certainly sounded like Ty the Parson.

With a yawn, he looked to the window where the dim light of daybreak slipped through a slit in the curtains, and he yawned again. And the time of day for such a message from the Parson was right as well�. Yet he paused in asking her to enter, his mind on the expression he had seen in her eyes, so remindful of Sharna. Confused as he was about the whole man/woman attraction thing, as attracted as he might feel toward her, his heart just was not into it.

He sighed and made sure he was properly covered. "Come in," he said.

Even through the door he heard her nervous giggle before the door opened and she stepped into the room. She beamed as brightly as the coming day and as lovely to his eyes as the night before, dressed in a blue blouse and green skirt, his clothes draped over an arm, shoes in hand. His white shirt, brown coat, vest and breeches, and undergarments looked brand new. Even his neatly polished shoes looked purchased that very day.

"All clean and ready, Mr. Orlon," she said, placing the clothes on a nearby chair, dropping the shoes in front of it. She faced him and smiled, adding, "I used a little of my brother�s cologne to take out the�uh, to make 'em smell pretty."

Meeting her eye to eye made him blush with the thought of how awful his cloths smelt�and one of the reasons they smelt that way: Majestus Sinobe�s final spell. But the thought was lost when he realized his eyes had been captured by her eyes, and the desire he saw within her eyes sent a trickle of sweat snaking down his nape. It took a gulp, clenched fists and a hard blink to break his eyes free.

"Th-thank you, Teri," he said, eyes averted. "Now, if you wouldn�t mind� I do need to get dressed and catch up with my friends."

"Uh, okay," she said, disappointment in her voice. "All right."

When the door closed behind her he breathed a sigh of relief, felt a pang of guilt. A pang that was overwhelmed by his need to quickly perform his morning ablutions, get dressed and get a move on. He not only had the Party waiting on him, but a journey home to begin and some sort of result of his good deed to witness.

Orlon slid out of bed and went to the table beneath the mirror on a side wall. Atop the table were a pan, pitcher of water and wash towels. In quick order, he used these to perform his morning ablutions, lastly using his fingers to comb down his damp hair. After a last glance in the mirror, he made his way to the chair where awaited his clothes and dressed. Each stitch of clothing donned brought a marveled sigh to his lips. They were so comfortable! Teri had truly done an outstanding job. Even their smell, brought on by her brother�s cologne, was pleasing.

He looked around to make sure he had not left anything behind, found nothing, then left the room. The walk down the hall was a good stretch of the legs, as he was given the key to the room farthest from the stairs. Stopping at the top of the stairs, he found the big room empty but for the man in fancily collared and cuffed white shirt, with blue vest, black breeches and presumed blue shoes. Something wrapped in a napkin sat on the counter before him.

"Ah, the one they await for outside arrives at last," he gave Orlon a big toothed smile, which dropped into a slight frown, his brow furrowed. "Wait a minute," he said, wagging a finger at the Midget. "I know you�" he shot a thumb over a shoulder at the entrance "�them." His smile returned. "You�re the ones who came looking for that�that thing in the attic."

"The Holy Pike," Orlon said, descending the stairs. "That was us."

"Ha! I thought I recognized you last night under all that filth, but there were fewer of you, so I wasn�t sure." A hand reached up to tug on a big ear. "Tell me, what happened to you guys? To that�that pike?"

Orlon was brought to a halt at the foot of the stairs by the man�s questions. Oh, the story he could tell in answer to them, of the harrowing events in their trek to and into the volcanic mountain, of how with a thrust of the Holy Pike he saved the whole wide world from the clutches of evil Tibtarni�whatever. He sighed. Yet he knew with his fellow travelers awaiting him he did not have time for all that storytelling.

"Let�s just say we had quite an adventure�a costly one in lives�and the pike served its part in defeating a great evil that threatened our world�s wellbeing," he said briskly as he made his way toward the door. "Now, if you�ll excuse me, people are waiting�"

"Hold on there."

Orlon paused at the counter, looking at him questioningly.

"The old soldier said you all didn�t have time for breakfast," he said, holding out the napkin wrapped object, "so my Mother fixed each of you a little something to go. Here."

"Thank you," Orlon accepted the proffered wrapped meal. "Now, I must be off."

"Fare-thee-well," the man said to his departing customer and looking up at the attic entrance, breathed, "Huh. I wonder what other objects of�value might be spirited away up there."

Upon exiting the hotel, Orlon came to a wide-legged stance, arms akimbo, eyes scanning the world before him from west to east. Over the Party, awaiting him at the road edge, his eyes swept without notice, and again without notice on the return trip westward. What he found was�an ordinary, every day morning. His hands dropped from his hips, the napkin wrapped meal nearly slipping from hand, and his shoulders slouched�

Before the disappointment at yet again finding no evident result of his good deed darkened his face a thought came to mind. Perhaps not finding any great change in the world was a positive sign. Suppose it represented that the time of peace and tranquility continued unabated because of the quest�s successful conclusion. He smiled. Yes, that made sense. The world continued as before because he had stopped the evil threatening it. That made perfect sense.

"Victorious soldiers journey home after their enemy�s surrender! Home and hearth, family and friends are a well deserved prize! I, Ty, the Parson, and the Party must escort the savior of the world home. The concerned parent seeks out succor for ill child! And we must do it swiftly so that we can get assistance for he whose sacrifice helped insure our quest�s success. Let us begin."

Expendendale smiled in appreciation for the consideration.

By the time Orlon brought his attention to Ty the Parson his spasmodic episode and wild spine to a wide-legged stance, staff pointing down Eltrondale Road, were done with. The Parson took off down the road. Close on his heels were the Party.

"Come on, slowpoke," Tarl said over his shoulder. "We�re heading�home."

Orlon was startled by his best friend�s disappointed tone when he said "home," but he had no time to contemplate it. His own desire not to be left behind, to get home as soon as possible had him thinking only of catching up. He hurried after them.

There was speed to the Party�s pace, but it was not as fast as when they were going the other way, even with the hassle of zigzagging through a sea of armor. Yet their quickness was enough to make the Midgets work hard to keep up�. Soon enough they reached the point where the road entered the woods. Into them they plunged and were met by�silence! No clinks and clanks and jingles of armor stopped them. Therefore, they followed the turn of the road and came out of the woods without delay.

What stopped them was Ty the Parson, who halted at the entrance to the Stirring Dog Inn. The Party looked at him, but did not look at Orlon, which both vexed him and filled him with a sense of relief. His time as decision maker for them all was truly over. Then again, the decision whether to enter the inn or not was not his the first time either. All he knew was he wanted to stop in this time to get a drink to accompany his mystery meal.

Little did he know but the same thought was on his companions' minds as well.

Ty the Parson looked from the inn to the road to his napkin enwrapped meal and back again and back again and back again. Then he looked to the heavens, lost in thought a moment, looked at the Party, catching each by the eye briefly, then looked at the inn, brow furrowed in deep thought for what seemed an eternity to his traveling partners� Without a word, he plunged through the entrance, sending the batwing doors flapping frantically.

This caught everyone off guard, as it had the first time, but they did not look after him wide eyed this time. Instead, they smiled, and they followed him, stopping just within. Orlon and Tarl protected their posteriors from the in-swinging batwing doors with a hand. Locating Ty the Parson was ease�he sat in the same front left hand booth as before�and in quick order, they made their way there, seated themselves and awaited service.

While they waited, Orlon took a look-see around the inn. The last time he had seen some interesting and some disturbing people. This time he spotted no one amongst the few people there of interest, and his eyes were drawn to the room�s showpiece: Bechendorf, or to state it more accurately, the statue that once was Bechendorf.

The warrior stood where he had frozen when Telluspett�s stumbling-through-his-brother�s-innards thrust pierced his heart. Huge, looming, he stood there in gray, broadsword heaved above his head, ready for a downward death stroke, surprise etched on his face, and the Dork�s sword sheathed in his heart�. It was a sight to see, and the inn�s owner took advantage of it. From the sword in the giant�s chest hung a placard upon which were written the day�s specials.

"What�ll ya 'ave?"

All eyes, including Orlon�s, swung to the elderly barmaid who served them the first time they were here. She was dressed in white blouse and red skirt, and had her hair in a bun, as before, and in her cloudy blue eyes was the identical startlement she registered in their eyes�a startlement that was short-lived on both counts. The Party took this chance meeting simply as this booth was assigned to her. She, in turn, was fairly certain she had served these gents before, but there were more of them, including a couple of women�? Yes, she was fairly certain she remembered them.

But her mind reverted back to business, her question awaiting an answer. Her pencil wielding hand poised over pad to scribble orders down and her eyes focused on Ty the Parson. Thus began a series of orders for liquor of one sort or another from him on down the line. When she finally reached Orlon and he opened his mouth to speak she silenced him with a raised finger.

"Tea," she declared, smiling at her spot on memory, and began to write, but he stopped her with his own raised finger.

"No," he said and after a glance at his napkin wrapped�breakfast, it had to be, said, "Milk."

"Milk?" the barmaid gave him a double-take.

"Yes, please."

Shaking her head, she scribbled it down and hobbled off to fill the order.

Their wait for her return did not give Orlon a chance for a second look around, or to chat with his best friend. He was not concerned about either option, having seen nothing of interest the first time, and he had nothing in particular to say. Instead, he let his eyes linger on the napkin wrapped meal, hoped it would be as filling as Bretta�s biscuit� When the barmaid returned he watched her pass out the drinks, lastly placing a nice, cold glass of milk before him.

He took no notice of her curious expression upon serving him. "Thank you," he said, giving her an appreciative smile.

She half smiled and hobbled away.

Now that they had liquid refreshment, they carefully opened their napkin wrapped meals to discover egg sandwiches within. Each took a bite and found to his delight the sandwiches included bacon strips.

Hunger made them consume their sandwiches quickly, Orlon being the last to pop a final bite into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed and downed the rest of his milk, leaving himself with a milk mustache. This he removed with a lick of his tongue, followed by a sweep of a forearm. He looked at his companions to find them looking at Tarl Bimbo, his head was thrown back, downing the last of his ale.

Tarl�s head came down, preceded by his hand to place the mug on the table, and he met his fellow travelers' stare. He immediately knew their intentions. With meal and drink done, and Ty the Parson out of gold pouches, someone needed to pay the bill. Since he had paid for the hotel� His eyes rolled to land on Orlon, whose confused expression made them look to the heavens.

"All right," he sighed, pulling his money pouch from a pocket. "I�ll pay."

With a nod, presumably of appreciation, Ty the Parson sprang to his feet, pointing his sappy staff at the entrance, and bolted toward it. The Party gave the pudgy Midget nods of thanks and followed him. Only Orlon remained seated.

"Go on with them," Tarl urged his best friend.

"I just thought�" Orlon started.

"I don�t need a babysitter," he said, frowning. "Go on. I�ll catch up. Go on, go on."

"Okay," Orlon said and went after the others.

Ty the Parson and the Party came out of the inn and headed up the road at a restrained hurried pace to allow Tarl time to catch up. Orlon, on the other hand, stepped out of the inn and stopped, eyes cast downward. Upon reaching the volcanic mountain�s rim, he sought a sign of his good deed done, only to find an ordinary, everyday evening. When he exited the hotel in hopes of finding a sign of his world saving deed he faced an ordinary, every day morning. And he surmised that must be the sign he was seeking, that things were unchanged, the time of peace and tranquility continued unabated.

When he stepped out of the inn, he thought of one place he just might find a sign of his evil destroying deed: the Dark Mountain. The creepy woods crowded about its base, traversed by a crooked path, the demon head castle on the plateau high above, the silently raging storm cloud encircled peak he remembered well, a chill dancing along his spine. Maybe, just maybe, what he accomplished in the bowels of the volcanic mountain had had an effect on it.

He gulped and crossed his fingers and looked up. His nape hairs stood on end, his breath caught in his throat�and a frown descended on his face. The mountain, its surroundings looked as foreboding as the first time he laid eyes on them. He gulped again, and into his mind came the thought some places were simply corrupted by evil and it would take another quest, a harrowing good deed to free the Dark Mountain of whatever was corrupting it.

With a wipe of his brow, he breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that he had had his quest, had done his good deed of a lifetime.

"Leave it to you to be lagging behind," Tarl said, passing him on his way up the road, and glancing over a shoulder, added, "Come on, you dawdler, you."

Quick-stepping caught Orlon up to Tarl, and they quick-stepped it up to the Party. And the Midgets quickly discovered they needed to speed up even more just to stay up, as their fellow journeymen let go the restraint of their hurried pace.

Ahead of them were the four hills within which they met the musician and Shibtarr. Ah, they remembered the music that entranced them as they approached the hills then. The memory was so vivid it put a hop and a skip to their step�a hop and a skip that brought them to a halt with the realization there was no music on the air this time. To a man, they frowned a moment, disenchanted.

And the moment passed.

They walked to and up the hill, where they stopped. Before them was the "bowl" nestled within the four hills, the road swooping into it and up the hill ahead, and there in the center of the flat was the tree, but no flutist in green doublet and leggings and pointy red shoes sat beneath it, musical instrument poised at lips. With a wave of his staff, Ty the Parson led them down the hill, across the flat and up the next hill.

Just as they crested the hill, Orlon glanced back at the tree and sighed. It would have been nice to have the little man play them a song. Memory of how hypnotic the music had been, how it slowed them down darkened the thought. He was heading home and did not want anything to delay that. A smile touched his face, a skip in his step came and went, and he turned back to the road before him, the way home.

Down the hill they went, on up the road they traveled down a couple of days ago. Their pace was hurried, as before, yet there was a hesitation to their step. All remembered where this road led. A fair distance ahead where two houses directly across the road from each other, one owned by Bobtart Towne, one by Barlowe, and the two men�their families�were feuding.

And well they remembered these families choice of combat weapons. They threw rocks! To a man, the warriors cringed with the memory of the rock shower they suffered between the houses.

The Midgets shivered at the memory. Tarl Bimbo let a hand come to rest on the hilt of his sword for comfort, even though he knew a sword offered little protection from a rock bombardment. Orlon had suffered little injury during the rock shower days ago, the warriors physically shielding him from it. But at that time he was "the One" needed to defend the world against evil Tibtarni�whatever. Well, the quest was completed. The evil defeated. He was no longer "the One" which meant if rocks were thrown he would have to face it alone.

He sniffed, bit back a tear with a sorrowful thought that nearly brushed aside the dreadful memory. With the loss of his self proclaimed protector, whom he felt certain would have still defended him against any threat, he truly was alone�. Another thought helped him push away both emotional thought and memory. Since they befriended Bobtart Towne that meant the rock bombardment would only be coming from one side, from the Barlowes.

Thinking of that befriending turned his mind to Bretta�s biscuits. They were not only tasty, they had been quite filling as well. He thought them the perfect snack while working on the farm. He would have to ask her for the recipe.

When the two houses came into view, so did something that drew them up short. In the road between the houses was Roxx�s push cart. Tarftenrott was just as startled by the discovery as his fellow travelers, and he was also relieved by the sight.

"B-bu-bu-b-boy, a-am I-I g-gu-gu-glad t-tu-tu-to s-su-su-see thu-thu-that," he said, smiling. "I-I c-cu-cu-c-can r-ru-ru-return i-it t-tu-tu-to h-hu-hu-his f-fu-fu-f-f-family."

The stuttering warrior hurried forward, passing Ty the Parson and the rest. They hurried to catch up�

Upon reaching his goal, Tarftenrott took hold of its handle, overjoyed�for a split second. What spoiled it for him, as well as the mood for those behind him, was the bombardment of rocks�from both houses. They ducked and dodged and side-stepped and jumped this way and that, and they suffered the sting of being hit repeatedly anyway.

"Bobtart Towne," Shing, who had been their spokesman before, called. "Bobtart Towne, cease and desist. We are your friends�allies from two days ago, stopping by on our return trip home."

Response to his plea was a redoubling of the rock shower. No one said it, but everyone heard it in their heads: "Let�s get out of here!" And so they did.

They escaped the rock bombardment, ran on a fair distance before stopping to examine what injuries they received. It turned out they suffered only minor cuts and bruises. Still, those wounds hurt, some incredibly so, and to a man, they thought of the healing agent Ty the Parson produced from a baggy sleeve the last time and the fact they had no bucket of water to dissolve it in. Therefore, they resigned themselves to cleansing their injuries with dry handkerchiefs.

Tarl, however, was thinking of more than his aches and pains. A hand rested on the hilt of his sword, and he inwardly grumbled at how useless "Wasp" was in combating the rock shower. And his mind turned to what reaching the houses of Bobtart Towne and Barlowe meant in terms of their journey. It was nearing its end, which he regretted. Then he remembered�

Orlon had more on his mind, too, remembering his cleansing of Sharna�s wounds. He gulped, yet a smile played at his lips, briefly, before a deep sadness draped over him. She was�gone now, and he quickly sought a distraction from his sorrow. What he found was the field he had considered a nice place to build a house on after the quest�. No! He would be returning to his home. Then he remembered�

Both Midgets looked to the twin rivers ahead�and their jaws dropped. Where the bridges spanning those rivers had nearly collapsed beneath them, and did soon after they crossed them, were two bridges. Bridges that looked identical to those offering access to the other side before.

"How�?" Orlon and Tarl pointed.

"One should not question one�s good fortune," Shing advised, as he passed them, following Ty the Parson, who, after a spin and wide-legged stance, staff pointing, started up the road.

"Never look a gift horse in the mouth," Grash put in, following the Oriental Ranger.

Tarftenrott pushed the cart by them, shaking his head.

Orlon and Tarl looked at each other, shrugged and took off after them.

Oh, they quick-stepped it to the first bridge, but halted at its brink. The bridge did look like its predecessor, all the way down to its fragileness. No word needed to be spoken. Ty the Parson started across it with carefully placed steps, Shing giving him a few paces led before stepping onto the bridge himself, and so it went before Grash began, Tarftenrott began, and Orlon and Tarl began to cross the bridge. It creaked and groaned beneath them, and to a man, they were grateful for one thing: the Oaf was no longer with them.

Safely on the other side, they eyed the second bridge with more confidence, yet when they crossed it they did so just as cautiously as they did the first. Once back on solid ground again, they continued up the road without looking back.

There was no reason for caution now and Ty the Parson took advantage of it, increasing their pace to previous levels. Up and over the hill they went, on up Eltrondale Road at such a speed they reached Dark Forest in good time. And it was here he brought them to a bone-jarring halt�at the spot where they had exited the forest days earlier. Everyone, no one more so than Orlon, eyed him questioningly, but it was obvious the Parson had something other than which way to go on his mind.

Rather than at the forest, or up the road, he looked from Tarftenrott to Roxx�s cart and back again and back again and back again� The stuttering warrior frowned under this confusing attention. It did not help matters that all other eyes were soon upon him, too. He tugged at his collar.

"The picnic is lost in an unexpected hail storm! The newborn wails for mother�s nipple in the wee hours of the morning! Our chance for a midday meal ended with Bobtart Towne�s forgetting our established alliance with him. The hour grows ever more late for said meal," Ty the Parson said in a flail of limbs that led into a wild spin, ending in a wide-legged stance, staff pointing to the sun, which dipped into the early afternoon sky.

"The overflowing pot of sparkly coins at rainbow�s end! Bosom buddies know intimate details of one another�s lives! We lucked into finding Roxx�s cart. With you and he being such close friends, you surely know how to arrange a meal," he said in a flurry of limbs that brought him around to face Tarftenrott.

"Hu-h-h-hu-hey, R-ru-ru-roxx a-and I-I w-wu-w-w-were f-fu-f-friends, s-s-su-su-sure, b-bu-b-b-but thu-thu-that du-d-du-du-doesn�t m-mu-mu-mean�" Tarftenrott�s denial was interrupted by a loud grumble from his own stomach. He frowned, looked from his stomach to his fellow travelers and turned to the cart, saying, "I-I�ll s-su-su-see whu-whu-what I-I c-c-cu-cu-c-can d-d-du-do."

What he did was grope through the cart�s drawers and cabinets, and what he found, rather quickly, was fine fare for lunch. From a cabinet he located a chilled hunk of roasted pork and jug of apple juice, from a drawer came a loaf of bread and from a neighboring drawer cutlery to make sandwiches, and lastly from another cabinet he brought forth glasses for the drink. Each item found he placed on the cart�s counter, and as everyone approached, he went to work.

In quick order, everyone held a ham sandwich and glass of apple juice. They moved off to find a comfortable spot to settle down and eat.

Orlon and Tarl Bimbo took a seat on the opposite side of the road from the forest. Nothing was said between them, as each was lost in his own thoughts. And the way their eyes wandered back and forth between the opening into the forest and the road going around it revealed both were thinking about which direction the Party would take from here�. One time their eyes met, and they quickly looked away.

Nearing the end of his meal, Tarl chanced a glance at his best friend and inwardly smiled. The last time they had the choice of following the road around or the path through this accursed forest Ty the Parson proclaimed it could only be decided by Orlon. Well, that had been at this journey�s beginning, and now they were closing in on its end. Orlon was not the big wig anymore. Therefore, the choice of which direction to go should be anybody�s to make.

Tarl had a definite opinion on that choice this time.

That opinion was to take the road around the forest. Oh, it was not that he was afraid of Dark Forest�he let a hand come to rest on the hilt of his trustworthy sword "Wasp"�as it was he wanted to lengthen the trip, just to see a little more of the world before reaching home. To see whatever was along the road around the forest would be�something to see, and he was determined to speak up when the time came.

With each bite of his sandwich, Orlon considered their options of continuing the journey home. He was relieved the decision was not solely up to him this time, and yet he was concerned about it. Not only had the quest been a long one for him, there was an unattended crop awaiting him when he got home. He needed to get home as soon as possible.

His eyes focused on the opening into the forest. He gulped, shivered. The problem with his desire to get home quickly was the quickest away was the dangerous way.

Then into his mind came a name: Jujay! With that name came a catch in his throat, a tear in his eye. His trusty old servant had died in Dark Forest. Died and been left behind all in the name of their need to hurry.

He popped the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth, chewed it contemplatively. Memory of the servant he had known his entire life, the man who served his family and later him so loyally, put him in a different state of mind in terms of getting home quickly. The idea of facing the horrors of the forest, pausing long enough to perform a burial did not thrill him much, but he could not imagine leaving Jujay to rot in there, forgotten.

When everyone had swallowed their last bite, washed it down with a final drink of apple juice, they gathered around the cart and placed their glasses on its counter. Tarftenrott was not sure what to do with them, or the utensils, then remembered something he had seen Roxx do with dirty dishes and the like. The stuttering warrior placed them in a lower cabinet, where they fit nicely, and closed its door.

There followed a moment of awkward silence, filled with fidgeting and glances amongst the Party. And it was clear to Tarl what their unease was about. A decision as to which way to go must be made, and they all were awaiting Ty the Parson to begin the conversation. He kept his eye on the Parson with plans of his own�. A twitch of the cloaked shoulders told him the verbose man was about to start his oration�and Tarl opened his mouth to cut him off�

"I think we should take the path through Dark Forest again," Orlon said.

"What?" Tarl gave his best friend a double-take.

"We left Jujay in there, Tarl," he answered the double-take, "and I think it only right we find his body and offer him a proper burial."

Mumblings amongst the Party told Tarl they were in agreement with Orlon�s reasoning, and to be honest, he found he could not dispute his reasoning either. Jujay may have been nothing more than a bothersome old servant to him, but there was no denying Orlon�s love and affection for the old coot. The feel of his sword at hip gave him both the confidence to face the forest�s dangers and the thoughtfulness to put aside his desire to lengthen the journey a little more. He looked up the road, sighed and turned back to his best friend.

"Jujay was a good servant�man, buddy," he said, and he turned to the others to say, "I say we do as Orlon requests."

Another moment of awkward silence descended on the scene. It ended with a twitch of Ty the Parson�s shoulders, followed by a wild spin into a wide-legged stance, his sappy staff pointing at the opening into the forest.

Without a word, he darted through it. One by one, starting with Shing, they followed him.

Roars, howls, growls and snarls assaulted their ears, yet beyond an initial cringe they did not react to the ear-splitting noise. They well remembered it from their first trip through Dark Forest. Still, they did stop. What stopped them was memory of when they entered this small clearing before. It was here they met the Oriental Ranger, an imposing figure indeed, and the disastrous splitting of the Grumpling by Marcol occurred, leaving two Richtichtiares to belabor the mercenary with insults.

They looked to the split in the thorny bushes across the clearing, the path just visible beyond, and their minds turned to the losses they suffered when they crossed the forest four days ago. Five members of the Party had lost their lives.

No one was more affected by this thought than Tarl, who remembered Jack, Frank and Carlo, three friends he made on this trip only to lose them along the path. When images of their gruesome�gross demises came to his mind he was far from the desire to offer them decent burial like Orlon wished to give Jujay. In fact, he did not even want to see their remains�

His thoughts shifted to the person responsible for his friendship with the three swordsmen. Mishto Sharpaine had been awaiting them before a tent on Dwarf Road, right where the Party ended up camping for the night. While her inviting smile was ignored by most, Jack, Carlo and Frank were drawn right to her. Once Orlon was settling in for the night with Sharna, Tarl, having nowhere else to go, was drawn to her, too, along with hopes of striking up a dice game in the mix.

Thus the friendship between the men was born, and something a little more. Yes, he had been drawn to her, knowing what her business was, and yet he found something about her to be�special.

Mishto Sharpaine was beautiful.

A smile played at his lips.

No, she was gorgeous.

The smile faltered into a frown.

She had been a Campfire Girl.

And she was, according to members of the Party, the reason for the death of Jack and Frank, at least, as Carlo was killed by the bloodsucking monstrosity�. Despite the talk of her curse, her wrong time of the month, he still felt a pang in his heart for her, sorrow for her curious death upon touching the Holy Pike.

Without a word, or wild spin, or point of his staff, Ty the Parson bound across the clearing and through the split in the thorny bushes. The Party followed, skidded to a halt on the path beyond, narrowly avoiding a collision with the Parson. Their angry reaction to this unexpected stop was short lived, as was their angry glares. All eyes turned to the path before them, went wide.

The path before them was�different! Rather than looping north and south, it ran straight ahead of them into the forest. They looked from it to each other and shrugged. How the path could have suddenly changed made no sense, but at the same time this mystery filled them with a great sense of relief. If the path ran straight all the way through the forest, that meant they would pass through this nightmarish place all the quicker.

Orlon was just as relieved, and mystified, about the path as the rest, but he also felt a deep remorse. A different path meant not finding Jujay�s remains, which meant no chance to offer his beloved servant a proper burial. Another thought, however, overpowered his feelings about Jujay. He could not help but wonder if perhaps this change in the evil forest�s path might be a sign of his good deed done�?

Yet he had no time to contemplate this thought.

Again, without a word, or wild spin, or point of his staff, Ty the Parson started down the path at a fair clip, and they took off after him.

Following a straight path proved a good thing in another way: a direct route meant avoiding the thorny bushes bordering each side of it was much easier. Yet that easy avenue ended quicker than they expected when the path abruptly turned north, and from there it became a frustrating series of sharp turns and loops that made their journey much, much longer. A sudden turn to the east brought them to a stop, to emit a sigh of relief. Before them was a line of close knit trees and at the path�s end was a split between two trees. Beyond was Dwarf Road.

There was no need for a speech, as to a man, they wanted out of Dark Forest, and Ty the Parson did not disappoint them by giving one. He did, however, perform a wild spin, ending in a wide-legged stance, staff pointing at their way out. He darted through the split in the trees. They were close behind him� A skidding halt brought them up short by less than an inch from running into the sappy staff thrust out before them.

Confused, angered eyes turned to find Ty the Parson eyeing them warningly, a long finger pressed to his shushing lips. The eyes followed that long finger as it stretched the length of a long, baggy sleeved arm, pointing. And when the eyes saw the subject of that point, they blinked.

Near the bush where Orlon settled for the night with his self proclaimed protector when the Party camped in the field across the road lay a man in voluminous shirt and breeches, a floppy brimmed hat obscuring his facial features in shadow. Above him fluttered three Fairies, which all but Orlon recognized. They were in a hand-clapping, "ooh" and "ah" frenzy, big eyes on the bulge visible despite the man�s baggy pants.

Hands valiantly went to sword hilts, but not a warrior made a move to save the man. Oh, how strong was the urge to bound into action within them�why, even Tarl Bimbo held tight the hilt of his newly acquired sword�yet they stood firm. Not only did they wish to avoid the sappy staff barring their way, they knew their fate if they drew the attention to themselves by daring to intervene.

To a man, they were set back a step by what happened next.

"Wanna check out the equipment?" the man said, grabbing suggestively at his crotch.

"Ooh," the Fairies squealed, flying loop-the-loops about each other. "Do we!"

Pearly smiles beaming, they drew themselves up, shoulder to shoulder to shoulder, wings flapping in unison, hands clasped at chests, eyes on the target. They zoomed in�and all became chaos! The man leaped up, grabbing at them, and the Fairies screamed in terror, trying frantically to dodge his clutching hands, which utterly confused the audience to this fiasco. Yellow and brightly spotted butterfly wings, brown moth wings beat furiously, legs kicking, hands slapping in a desperate attempt to escape him.

Then the man�s hand closed around the ankle of the moth winged Fairy. He jerked his leg, kicked and pushed with his free foot, hands flailing about wildly, wings beating the air, and he was pulled down, down, down into the man�s inescapable clutches. They fell to the ground and rolled behind the bush� The bush began to shake violently.

"Help me," the captured Fairy pleaded between grunts and groans and moans. "Oh, please, help me."

His fellow Fairies flitted and fluttered above the bush, gasping and gagging, and holding out their hands to repel what they witnessed going on behind it.

"Ee-yuck," they squealed and squawked, "Gross, gross, gross."

This whole turn of events left those on the road, especially those knowledgeable of Fairies, bewildered. Never before had they seen or heard of a victim of the dastardly critters offering it up willingly. Never ever in their wildest dreams did they imagine a Fairy would refuse such an offer.

The bush stopped shaking.

The commotion above the bush stopped.

A moment passed wherein the two little winged men�s eyes were captured by what lay behind the bush, and the audience on the road looked at the bush.

From behind it came the moth winged Fairy, and what a sight he was. His wings were withered, flapping a little out of sync, body limp, his head barely held up by a trembling neck, and his droopy eyes looked to his fellow little winged men imploringly. They looked down upon him, eyes filled with stern reproach and sickness.

"Brucey�Stanley Boobicans�" he reached out to them.

With a sniff, the yellow winged Fairy turned his head away.

Eyes to the heavens, the brightly spotted winged Fairy huffed.

"Jonny Poo," they said in unified disgust. "You and�and a woman. Ee-yuck!"

They spun and flew away.

"Fellas, please," Jonny Poo pleaded, fluttering after them. "She�I�we� She raped me."

But those on the road had lost interest in the Fairies after hearing the word "woman." Their eyes darted to the bush upon its utterance. The big shirt flipped over it, followed by the voluminous breeches, and lastly a rather large cucumber. All of this was a prelude to a woman standing with her back to them, in the midst of pulling a tight white shirt on over her head. When her head popped through the neck of the shirt, revealing wavy blonde-brown hair, those watching blinked, frowned.

When she turned around, revealing an exquisitely beautiful face, wearing a rather-pleased-with-herself grin, to a man, they blurted:

"Sharna!"

No one was more surprised, and pleased, to discover she survived her fall from the mountain than Orlon. A smile brightened his face. And when she saw them�the Midget, she smiled, too. Their eyes met, and he felt a pang in his heart he could not quite comprehend. As for Sharna, her smile broadened, and she started across the field, arms open wide.

Seeing her approach that way made Tarl smile, as well as gave him a pang in a lower region of his anatomy. Either they were in for a group hug, or a series of individual hugs. There was no question he preferred the latter, the idea of close contact with such a gorgeous creature, but he could live with the former. Hey, any contact with her was better than nothing�. He watched her run straight to his best friend, scoop him up and they embraced.

Tarl caught his jaw before it dropped, turned away, hands stuffed in pockets. "Lucky stiff," he mumbled, kicking at the road.

"I missed you," Sharna said, holding Orlon tight, then she looked at the others, blushed, and quickly said, "All. I missed you all."

"I thought you were dead," Orlon said, oblivious to anything but the two of them.

"So did I," she brought her eyes back to him.

"How�?" he stumbled over the question on everyone�s mind.

"I landed in a lake."

Orlon, and everyone but Tarl, who still brooded over missing out on a hug, gave her a double-take. They had crossed the twin rivers, but no one remembered even seeing a sign of a lake around Tibtarnitallimardarian�s mountainous lair. Then again, it was a mountain and they were only on one side of it, so�

"I fell a long way," she went on, "bracing myself for a fatal landing amongst stone and earth, when I hit the lake�s icy waters. I didn�t even get a chance to take in a breath before I sank deep beneath the surface, and I feared I was done for. But I refused to give up, fought against a swift undercurrent to reach the surface. My chest ached, my lungs desperately pleading for air, but I refused to give in, to take in the breath that would surely mean my end.

"When I finally surfaced I found myself being swept away on a river that snaked its way through a forest. My first concern was to reach a bank, which the swift current made hard to achieve, but I did it.

"I lay there on the bank, weak as a kitten, sucking in air. Twilight came before I arose to look around me, my only concern whether you�all survived the Eunuchs. My only desire was to rejoin you�all, if you had. With no idea how far the river had swept me away from the mountain, I had to decide whether I should try to get back it, or find my way back to Dwarf Road in hopes of running into you�all. I decided on the latter, obviously, and I am glad I did." She brought her attention back to Orlon, smiling. "That I found you."

"I am, too," Orlon said.

"Yeah, I bet you are," Tarl groused over a shoulder, kicked at the road again.

"We are all glad to see you still live," Shing said, after the briefest of glances at the pudgy Midget. "That you are with us to�"

"�escort our charge, Orlon, here, home in conclusion of our long ordeal to save the world from evil�s clutches," Grash cut in to finish.

"Sh-shu-shu-shu-shall w-wu-wu-w-w-we thu-thu-then," Tarftenrott rolled his eyes.

With that, they started down Dwarf Road toward the farm community Orlon and Tarl Bimbo called home�and within just a few steps a cleared throat stopped them. The Party looked at Orlon, still nestled in Sharna�s arms. She brought her eyes down to meet his.

"Um, I think you can put me down now," he said.

"Uh, oh, yes," she stammered and set him on his feet. "Sorry about that."

"No problem," he assured her with a smile.

Tarl grumbled under his breath, stuffed his hands further into his pockets, which meant one hand went straight through the gnawed open pocket. That surprise, and reminder of a lost opportunity with the little woman, as well as his other hand pressing into his depleted money pouch, did not help his mood one bit.

And they renewed their journey down the road.

His bad mood kept Tarl shuffling along behind his fellow travelers, hands still stuffed in pockets, eyes on the road. When he glanced up he saw the farm community that had been his lifelong home ahead. He sighed. Seeing it signified the end of the quest, his opportunity to see what was out there. He spat. The very idea of returning to a drab life on the farm put a bad taste in his mouth. The crease in his brow depended even more as he began to wonder why�

A shift in those ahead of him drew his attention. To a man, and woman, the Party began to whistle, eyes to the heavens, which confused him, briefly. His eyes darted southward, to the old Winslo place, and he gulped. The house looked as they left it with front door broken in, revealing its dark interior�. Was that a whispered call from within its dark confines? A tuneless whistle burst from his lips, his eyes averted.

Orlon, on the other hand, felt his spirits lifted upon seeing the farm community he called home. His neighbor farmers were out and about on late afternoon business, and seeing them made him smile. But when he eyed their healthy, four-days-in-the-growing crops he felt a little sick at the stomach. He had figured they could handle the damage of a crop neglected for a little while. Four days was not a little while, and with Jujay�s death they would be shorthanded in trying to make up for all that neglect.

Concern over the abandoned acre on his farm was lost in startlement when they reached the old Winslo place. He fought to subdue both his unease and a desire to look at the accursed house. His success in accomplishing the latter only led to his startlement growing into spine tingling fear, as he watched the farmers point at them, conversing excitedly, then gather on the road and approach them in a mumbling-amongst-themselves mob.

The two groups met, and the mob fell silent. They eyed each other questioningly, and no one was more filled with question than Orlon and Tarl. The two Midgets wondered why their fellow farmers would accost them so. And the answer to that came in an outburst of questions from the famers concerning where they had gotten off to.

Listening to them brought Tarl Bimbo out of his bad mood�and right into a greedy mood.

While funding the return trip, he figured he would recoup his expenditure once he got home. Two options had been on his mind to accomplish this task. A lucky run with his dice could win it back for him, or he could use the quest to expand the book he was writing. Yet he was aware of the flaw with both ways: with his usual luck gambling the former was very chancy at best and the latter would take too much time not only in completing but selling the manuscript.

A smile creased his pudgy face. Out of the blue a sure fire moneymaker had been handed to him on a silver platter. The story could be told�for a price.

He rubbed his hands together, a sly grin on his face. Yes, that was a marvelous idea, if the price was reasonable. Then he froze when a small problem that might very well ruin the scheme popped into his head. The story could only be told by one person�he cast a judgmental eye on his best friend�and he wondered if Orlon would be willing to do it.

With an inward giggle he brushed such silliness away, reminding himself just how gullible his best friend was. Convincing him to do this would be a carefully worded walk in the park. A twitch of Ty the Parson�s shoulders drew his attention, and the Parson opened his mouth to speak�

"Gentlemen, and ladies," Tarl stepped forward, raising his hands to quiet the mob. "So many questions to answer, and we�d love to answer them all for you, but we have traveled a long way over the last four days�"

"How far did you go?" Sleen Manibeen asked.

"Oh," Tarl said, bringing a finger to his chin," we must�ve traveled a mile�"

"Ooh."

"�or two�"

"Ah."

"�or even three."

"Oh my!"

Tarl felt like a fisherman toying with a catch. All he had to do was await the right moment, sink the hook home and reel it in. That moment came quickly.

"Tell us about it, please."

"I�ll catch up," he said over a shoulder, then spread his arms wide and began herding the farmers off the road. "I�ll tell you," he said to them, "what I�m going to do�"

Orlon watched his best friend usher the mob clear of the road. Though he could not hear what Tarl, whose voice had dropped to a whisper, said, it did not really matter. His nape hairs were astir and he knew why. Oh, he had noticed the judgmental cast of eyes upon him earlier�had presumed what it meant. The pudgy Midget was up to one of his schemes and the cast of his eyes meant he expected Orlon to be a part of it�. Well, he was no longer a gullible child to be easily talked into anything, so Tarl would have his work cut out for him when the time came.

"Orlon, come."

Snapped from his reverie, he turned to find the Party was heading down the road without him. Sharna was at the line�s end, looking back over a shoulder, waving a hand for him to follow. He did as requested, quick-stepping his way to her side, and on down the road they went.

With each step Orlon felt happier and happier to be home after his journey. He looked from farm to farm, now occupied by wives and children busy with chores, and smiled. Not even the healthy crops troubled him this time, although disgruntled glances from the wives, first at him then the neglectful farmers and back again, did send a chill along his spine. Still, it was so nice to be around so much familiarity.

Why, he was so thankful to be home he breathed deeply, reveling in the sweet scents of the farmland. A coughing fit gripped him, yet his smile did not waver. Even the foulness of farmland air was a pleasure�this time around.

Then he saw his four-days-unattended acre�and he stumbled over his own feet.

A little rainfall during his absence had had its effect on the plowed acre, and its biggest effect was filling the acre with weeds. He grumbled under his breath. What he saw was a whole lot of work in the coming days for him and Tarl Bimbo, who was not the best of workers. What he felt was a tingling fear they might have no crop to offer the Buyer at season�s end, leaving them with no income for the future.

He jerked his eyes away from the acre, and all the hard labor it represented, and let them come to rest on the simple white walled, thatched roofed farmhouse he called home. After being away so long, he was so happy to see it he smiled brightly. Sure, he noticed the lawn needed trimmed and weeded, but that did not matter to him at the moment. He was home!

They stopped on the road before Orlon�s house, and he stepped up into the yard, turned to face his traveling companions. He opened his mouth to speak�

"The kidnapped is returned after ransom is paid! The caterpillar after metamorphosis! I, Ty, the Parson, and the Party have brought you home safely after your triumphant deed led to a new era of peace and tranquility free of the grip of evil," Ty the Parson said in a flail of arms. "The kicker who scores the game winning goal! We owe you gratitude, Orlon, the pure, for what you have done to save the world."

Crimson crawled up Orlon�s cheeks and he clasped his hands behind his back, stretched a toe out to brush through the grass. "Gosh, I�" he started.

"The son finds himself on porch, bags in hand, door striking his bottom, on his eighteenth birthday! The seed pod flies free from mother plant! Now that our quest is at its end, I, Ty, the Parson, must be off to seek out places to give birth to new quests performing good deeds."

And with that, he was off down the road.

"It was an honor serving with you," Grash said with a salute.

Orlon found himself caught in a web of uncertainty. The quest was over, he was home and it was time for goodbyes, yet� Here was a character�a man from the book he was reading. Already he had heard him tell a story or two�well, parts of a story or two, as each was interrupted in the name of the quest. This was his one chance to hear a full story or two, or more, if he could coax the old warrior to stay a while.

Before he could make up his mind what to do Grash was gone, hot on the heels of the Parson.

"Farewell, little one," Shing said and was off as well.

Though he lost the opportunity to bid the Oriental Ranger goodbye, he did get the chance to wave farewell to the battered and broken warrior he carried in a sack on his back. Expendendale gave him a crooked smile and somehow found a way to work an index finger up to return the wave.

"S-su-su-s-s-su-so l-lu-lu-l-l-lu-long," Tarftenrott spun and pushed the cart after the others.

Since his hand was already up, Orlon pointlessly waved farewell to the stuttering warrior�s back. He blinked. Now that all his surviving male traveling companions had departed, that left only his self proclaimed protector�a woman�to go. He gulped. His lifelong bashfulness when it came to the opposite sex sent a quiver through him.

Then he thought of the experience in the tunnel of Tibtarni�whatever�s lair, when he watched her fall to her apparent death while trying to protect him� He remembered the elation he felt when he discovered she had survived that fall� With a pang in his heart, and a bit of confusion over that pang, he realized he would momentarily be losing her again. He tried to console himself with the thought he knew all along they would part ways at quest�s end. It did not help much.

He turned to face her, felt a blast of heat course through his body. Sharna was so beautiful standing there in her tight white shirt, short black breeches and knee high black boots. Framed in long, wavy blonde-brown hair, her face was exquisite. He looked into her wanting brown eyes and saw in them the sorrow he felt at the idea of parting. And he did not know how to say goodbye to her. She apparently had no problem putting it into words, saying:

"See you later."

"S-see you," he found himself saying as he watched her hurry after the others.

Once she�the Party was beyond sight Orlon sighed and felt weariness bear down on him like a ton of stones. Not only the day�s walk, but the harrowing events of the last four days had worn him to a frazzle. He sagged, weak at the knees, rallied back with a reminder of where he was. There would be no sleeping outdoors this night. He stood on the front lawn of his own property, just a short stroll from the comfort of his own bed.

First, he looked west to find the sun kissing the horizon in a splendor of crimson, and he thought of the just-departed Party. Would it not have been wiser for them to have taken rooms at an inn or tavern until morning? Remembering their lack of funds answered that question, as well as made him wish he had asked them to stay at his house. He shrugged. Oh, well. They were, after all, journeymen, and -woman, so they must like camping out.

Then he looked at Tarl, who still talked animatedly to the mob of farmers. His eyes went to the heavens. Whatever scheme his best friend was cooking up must be a big one. Well, he had no intention to wait for him to finish, and he about-faced, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

The little farmhouse looked like paradise to the Midget, despite its unattended surroundings. With half-lidded eyes, he walked toward it, aware of the tall grass brushing against his legs, the weed infested acre in his peripheral vision, but he did not care about that.

He stepped onto the porch, took hold of the door knob, and a sigh escaped his lips. When he stepped through the door it would signify the true end of a journey he never imagined he would have taken. That sure sounded good to him. He opened the door and stepped in, shutting it behind him. Once his eyes adjusted to the inner dimness, he groaned. What he saw before him was even more work in the form of a four day layer of dust that covered everything.

"Tomorrow," he murmured. "I�ll deal with it all tomorrow."

And his eyes landed on the book, still nestled in the quilt where he left it the perplexing night of Ty the Parson�s initial visit. Behind his eyes was a mind filled with the image of Grash in full storytelling stance, surrounded by echoing stories partially told by the old warrior, and a desire to read, read, read� Yet that desire was met by an irresistible force. Orlon yawned a wide mouthed, back bowing, arm stretching yawn. He was tired!

From the book his eyes shifted to the doorway leading to his and Tarl Bimbo�s bedrooms. Rubbing an eye, he shuffled across the room, through the doorway and down the short hall to stop before his bedroom door. Joy filled his weary heart with the thought he was within mere steps of his bed. Another yawn racked his body, but he fought it enough to enter his bedroom. He shut the door with a thump, leaned back against it.

Before him was his bedroom as he left it, neat and tidy, everything in its place and a place for everything�but now covered in a four day layer of dust. With a shake of his head, he shuffled across the room to stand at his bed. He looked at the dusty bedspread, sighed.

"I�ll deal with it tomorrow," he huffed.

He threw back the bedspread, blowing up such a cloud of dust it brought on a resounding sneeze. After wiping his nose, he looked from the inviting bed to his dressed body and back again and back again. Did he want to get into his nightshirt or not? The answer to that question came after he slipped out of his coat and vest, which he draped over the footboard, and kicked off his shoes. That was close enough. He slipped into bed, rolled from left to right side before settling in.

A smack of his lips, a yawn, and he was asleep. But he did not find the refreshing slumber he sought. No, he twitched and thrashed about, dreaming dark dreams of the quest, wandering through mysterious places, the fear of dangers ever so real, and the tragedy of loss repelled him. Yet he could not break free from it no matter how hard he tried�

Then he grew calm.

A little smile came to his lips.

He felt strangely�protected from his own nightmare.

Into his dream had stepped a tall, shapely warrior woman with long, wavy blonde-brown hair.

My Father was a born poet. He was a master of rhyme and rhythm, and during the early "Space Race" he had a poem selected and printed in the Huntsville news paper. Yet most of his poems were written for fun. We had a binder full of them, and in the 1980�s I collected them in a book I entitled Poems and Thoughts by Gerald G. Jones, copies of which were given to family members.

I wanted to self publish the book for him when I started publishing my works, but somehow misplaced the original manuscript, so I could not in time�

In the 1960�s, he had a hankering to write prose, taking a writing correspondence course. There was a binder full of his exercises, etc., like his poetry. Unfortunately, I never took full advantage to read them through, but what I do remember reading impressed me. Yet I do not think in the end his heart was really into it.

Flash forward to the 1990�s. During my writing slump I sought inspiration through a Creative Writing course at the community college, Shelton State. The class turned out to be for Senior Citizens, so I was a man in my 30�s surrounded by 70 and 80 year olds, and it turned out each and every one of them was sharp on the subject of writing. I was quite pleased�I was inspired!�and one class led into another and another and another.

It was with my final class that my Father decided to join me. Something had inspired him to try writing prose again, and I could not have been happier, though I made a deal with him that neither of us would comment on the other�s work�. My Father�s favorite writer was Louis L�Amour, which meant he wrote a Western.

Flash forward to the 2010�s. I have self published two collections of short stories by this time, moved them from hardcopy to kindle. Well, my Father found his Western and asked if I could "kindle-ize" it.

While kindle does offer short fiction for 99 cents, it is of or near novella length. His story was too short. I suggested he write an additional story or two to beef it up, but his heart just was not into doing that. We compromised with me promising to submit his story to The Saturday Evening Post.

Sadly, I procrastinated too long, leading into my life becoming a fiasco, and my Father passing away in 2013.

All his passing did was make me more determined to get his story in print. I promised him. But how? I thought of writing a Western of my own, but not only did I doubt my ability to write well in that genre, a story just was not there for me. Then the answer came to me in a snap! What better place to feature his once-in-a-lifetime story than with this book�the book 35 years in the completing showed I was destined to write. True, the genres are worlds apart, but they fit together. Two stories of destiny (in more ways than one) joined together in one volume.

Okay, folks. Now it is time to don your Stetson, strap on a six-shooter, yank on a pair of boots, spurs a�jinglin', mount your Appaloosa and ride into the Wild West�

The sun was hot in the afternoon sky as John Harris rode over the crest of the hill, his sweating horse gasping for breath as it labored down the hillside toward the ranch-house half hidden among the cottonwoods. As his horse limped up to the corral John spurred him around back of the barn. Without looking back John threw himself from the saddle, drew his rifle from the saddle scabbard and dropped behind the corral fence.

Within minutes the dust cloud that followed his trail down the hillside revealed a posse hot on his trial. As the posse pulled up a hundred yards from the ranch-house, John fired. The shot landed just in front of the lead horseman. As the horse reared, John moved to the other side of the barn and fired another shot.

The posse quickly dropped back and hid their horses among the trees. Dismounting, they fanned out across the hillside and began to pepper the barn and corral. When there was no return fire they stopped shooting and the Sheriff called to them to drop back in the trees for a confab.

"Looks like he�s gone to ground," said Sheriff Holmes. "I suppose we better spread out and see if we can flush him out."

"You want him dead or alive, Bob?" asked his deputy.

"We�ll take him alive if possible, Jim," said the Sheriff."Just don�t take any chances. I don�t want anybody hurt over this guy."

As his men sought vantage points where they could cover the barn and ranch house the sheriff tried to reason with the fugitive, "John. John Harris Can you hear me?"

"I can hear you, Bob. What do you want?"

"I don�t want any bloodshed, John. Give yourself up and I�ll guarantee you a fair trial. Otherwise we�ll have to blast you out."

"Well now, Bob, that will surely take a lot of that bloodshed you don�t want. You know I can�t give myself up for a hanging. And you know that�s what it�ll come to. Those people in Cottondale aren�t nearly as forgiving as you are."

"I know, John, but I don�t want to lose any of my men and I don�t think you want to kill any of them. It�s just that we have to bring you in. I�d find it awful hard to explain what happened if we don�t."

John didn�t answer for a few minutes. He was busy studying his surroundings. He was well hid for the moment but if any of those deputies got up on the low ridge behind him he would be exposed to direct fire and in grave danger. As he considered a solution to this problem he re-started his chatter with the sheriff.

"Bob, don�t you think we can work something out without anyone getting killed?"

"I don�t see how, unless you are willing to give up and come back with us. I can�t just walk away. You know I am just doing my duty, my job."

"I know that Bob. I�m just looking for a way out for us all. You guys know I didn�t kill that man in cold blood. In fact he had the drop on me and I just got lucky. If he hadn�t pushed it no one would have got hurt at all."

"Maybe so, John. But all I have to go on is your word for that. If you can prove it you don�t have anything to worry about. I can�t just take your word and turn you loose, can I?"

As they were talking the black clouds were building up over the mountains behind the hiding posse. It was just about time for the usual evening shower. But this one didn�t look like it was going to be just a shower. Those clouds appeared to be blacker than John had seen for quite a while. This might be what he was looking for.

"I suppose not, Bob. I just thought two old friends might be able to work something out. It ain�t like I robbed the bank and put the town out of business."

"I know that, John, but some folks pitied old Tom. I know he wasn�t much but he seemed like a harmless old guy and some folks won�t buy your story."

As the conversation wound its leisurely way around the topic of John�s guilt or innocence he was busy gathering his gear together. He took his poncho and bedroll from his saddle, took down the saddle bags and removed the food he had in there. Precious little at that. Some beef jerky, some stale biscuits and a little packet of salt were about it. These and his canteen and weapons were all he could carry on foot.

Glancing around the abandoned ranch he had chosen for his stand, John could see that there was no way he could hold the posse off until dark. If they worked their way around to the ridge behind him he would then be subject to direct fire which would surely result in his death or capture. At the same time if he tried to hide in the barn or old broken down ranch-house he could be trapped.

Continuing the conversation with the Sheriff, he looked over the ground around him. There was a swale starting about twenty five yards from the barn that dropped sharply to disappear over the rim less than two hundreds yard away. If he could get into that he might have a chance to get away. If he could only hold them off until dark or the storm hit?

"Bob, you still there?"

"Yes, I�m still here and so are my boys. We aren�t going to let you off the hook, John. It just won�t happen." replied the Sheriff. "Why don�t you just give up and let us get in out of this heat?"

"Now, Bob, you know with my reputation I don�t have a chance. Those folks back there in town never did like having me around and they liked old Tom. Where does that leave me?"

The Sheriff was taking it easy under a big cottonwood tree, waiting for the heat and pressure of being hunted to take its toll on John. He knew even a tough old hand like John would begin to feel the effects before too long. He wasn�t watching the sky behind him.

"Well. John, you�ll just have to take your chances. Maybe they won�t think a noose is the answer. Maybe they�ll just ask for few years in Yuma. I�ll do my best to convince them you were forced into it. After all, old Tom could be mean when he was drinking."

"You know that, Bob, and I know that but I don�t think the people of Cottondale are going to be interested in letting me go just because old Tom had a temper. They all think I�m a bad guy they�d be better off without."

Just then the first roll of thunder sounded over the mountains. John gathered his gear into a single pack he could carry in his left hand with the rifle in the right so he could defend himself. He scanned the ridge line but didn�t see any movement. He knew he would have only a short time to make the rim before they would realize what he had done.

The storm moved in swiftly, the wind quickly rose to almost gale proportions and the dust began to fill the air until John could hardly see the tree line where the Sheriff and his men were holed up. He grabbed his pack and rifle and darted for the swale. Just as he dropped almost out of sight the Sheriff must have got suspicious. The rifle fire started again, spraying the barnyard and house with bullets which would surely have caused John much discomfort if he had still been there.

When he didn�t get any answer to his fire he ordered the men to mount and rush the barnyard. Much to his chagrin they found their quarry had skipped.

"Damn. I knew he was slick but I didn�t think he could get out of there without us seeing him. Spread out and see if you can find his tracks." The Sheriff was really disgusted with himself for letting John pull one on him. He didn�t care much if John got away. It was just that he didn�t take kindly to being outsmarted.

The rain started and Bob was afraid they were too late to find any tracks but shortly there was a shout from one of his Deputies.

"Over here Sheriff. He went down this swale. Looks like he had time to get away."

The Sheriff rushed over and looked down the swale. Sure enough he could see John�s tracks in the dirt. It was lucky we found them when we did, he thought. In this rain a few more minutes and we wouldn�t have known where he went.

"All right. Let�s wrap it up and get back to town. No sense staying around here." The Sheriff sounded angry and no one really wanted to question his decision but they wondered why they weren�t going to follow.

"But Sheriff, aren�t we going after him? He can�t get very far in this rain." One of them got up enough nerve to ask.

"You don�t know this country, do you?" asked the Sheriff.

"No Sir, I don�t."

"Neither did John," sighed the Sheriff. "Too bad, too. He wasn�t really a bad man. Just a little too quick with a gun now and then. But it looks like he took his last ride. That swale leads into an arroyo that will be a torrent in the next ten minutes. It will sweep everything from here to the desert. Unfortunately for John there is no place for him to climb out once he drops over that rim down there."

Wheeling his horse around, he hollered above the rising wind, "Let�s go home."