Chapter 11

“Galinda!” the druid cried joyfully as he nearly tossed the small cleric into the air with the exuberance of his embrace. Then he put her down and took a knee to be able to look her in the face. “How long has it been?” he asked. “Thirty years?”

With a long, searching look, he added, “And you haven't aged a day.” He sounded genuinely mystified to Shalhara.

“Brendolar,” Galinda sighed, placing a small hand on his shoulder to give it a squeeze. “It has been far too long.” Then she added in a teasing voice, “I might not have aged a day, but you look at least fifty.” Then in a quieter voice she asked, “How is Marda?”

“I have not seen Marda in almost twenty-five years,” Brendolar replied sadly. He shook his head and rose to his feet.

“I am sorry for that, you know that I am,” Galinda replied sympathetically. Then she too shook herself and stated, “But we'll have time to catch up later. Right now I must apologize for breaking your protective circle. Our gargoyle friend, Garrolaithe, couldn't pass through for some reason.”

Shalhara noticed that Galinda did not say anything about her. She was glad. Shalhara had no idea why the circle rejected her, and she didn't want any questions. Not yet. Tijs already knew too much about her.

Fortunately, the conversation between the adults turned from the boundary circle to the attacks they'd endured on the road.

“It is getting worse every day,” Brendolar sighed angrily. “The demons of Dunwood are finding their courage. Any minute now, I expect to hear that they've managed to reopen the gates of the Mucklestones, and we will be overrun.”

The big druid looked down the road and gestured at the large boundary stone in the distance. “That is why the circle has been strengthened. We can take no chances that a demon or monster under their control will slip through.”

“How would demons be controlling the Mucklestones?” Garrolaithe asked. “Aren't they set deep within the heart of Lethyr?”

“They were,” Brendolar replied, “until the demons found a way to divert their migration to Dun-Tharos. Took two of the guard with them as well—who knows what manner of death met them there.”

“What makes you think the guards are dead?” Shalhara asked in a voice full of terror she could not help but feel.

“They were in the hands of demons. Demons thrive on suffering and death,” Brendolar began.

Then Galinda interrupted him. “But there's no way to know for sure what happened to them,” she said in a gentle voice.

“We know for sure about one of them, at least,” Brendolar interrupted sadly. “A troop of orcs returned his head to us a few days ago. A gift from Eschar—the balor who claims the Dunwood as his new domain.”

“Was the head an elf's?” Shalhara asked, tears of panic running down her face. “Was it an elf?”

“No, sweetheart,” the big druid answered, his deep voice going soft as he realized that this young moon elf must have some connection to the guards. He bent down and placed a hand on her shoulder. “It was a human. Some of the fellows in town recognized him. His name was Dolfus. He had a farm not too far from here.”

Dolfus. Her father had told her about Dolfus—that he was nice, if a bit suspicious of the stones. This Dolfus had been her father's friend. Now he was dead.

Somehow Shalhara managed to bite back the tears and the grief she felt for this farmer she'd never even met. She tried to remember the last time she'd felt the familiar touch of her father's mind. How many days ago had it been since she'd last known that he was alive?

Just then, Gylfin ricocheted through the doors of the inn, clearly angry. “Line up the wagons in the alleyway there,” he called to the drivers. “Then you,” he pointed at Tijs, “help them get the horses settled in the livery stable. We're going to be here a while.”

Tijs ran to help the drivers get the horses settled. He was surprised to see that the livery stable was full. Apparently, the inn had a number of guests already. Once the tired horses were fed and brushed down, Tijs rejoined the group in the inn.

They were gathered around a large wooden table, finishing off their breakfast. Gylfin grabbed a plate and tossed it at Tijs as he approached. “Eat, boy,” he said gruffly. “You've earned it. I hate that I can't keep you on to Narfell. You've done a fine job.”

Tijs blushed a little at the praise, then he realized he was out of work. “We aren't going to Narfell?” he stammered. “What about the rest of the trip?”

“Keep what I paid you, but this job is over. I'm not going another step down this miserable road,” the dwarf grunted.

“Why not?” Vanemyn asked.

“The innkeeper said the road is eat up with demons from here to Narfell, boy!” Gylfin exclaimed furiously. “Word is, they're running unhampered through the Great Dale like it's now part of the Dunwood.” Then the red-bearded dwarf stamped a booted foot in frustration. “So much for this year's profit,” he declared.

“Don't worry about a few demons,” Vanemyn began with an easy laugh as he leaned back in his chair and popped a berry into his mouth. “Garrolaithe and I can take 'em.”

Gylfin looked over at the tall human with a cold eye. “You're a complete nutter, aren't you?” the dwarf decided. “All your years on the road have driven you out of your mind.” Then the merchant shivered. “I've been face to face with a hezrou and lived. I'm not taking another chance. In fact, I'll be surprised if I ever manage another night's sleep without seeing his slobbering face in my dreams.”

“Speaking of sleep,” Galinda rose from the table in an effort to defuse the situation. “We all need to get some rest, no matter what we do next. Did they have rooms?”

“Aye,” Gylfin grunted. “You've all got rooms for the next three days. That's the least I can do for you. Boy, you'll bunk with Vanemyn.” He pointed at Tijs.

“Good luck resting,” Garrolaithe commented lightly as they walked past her and up the stairs. “Vanemyn snores like a minotaur with a head cold.”

As Tijs followed Vanemyn upstairs, he was so tired he could barely put one foot in front of the other. No one had slept during their overnight journey to the town. Every sound, every movement in the darkness beside the road had made the group jerk back to alertness.

Now, however, Tijs felt sure that the minute his head hit the pillow—a real pillow, not just his arm on a bedroll—he just knew the minute his head hit the pillow that he would fall asleep.

To his surprise, the instant he closed his eyes, visions of the leaping dretch and the charging hezrou darted into his consciousness instead. The terror—the overwhelming sense of panic that had run through him during the encounters surged back through his system, making his heart pound and his skin crawl.

He tried to fill his mind instead with happy images—visions of his home, of his family, of Dolly. But the demons somehow infiltrated those as well. In his mind's eye, he could see the hezrou's gigantic clawed paw ripping at Dolly. He could see dretches creeping up the walls of his house and into the windows. He could hear his family screaming inside.

At last he sat up, his chest heaving, his eyes stinging. There was a soft knock at the door.

He went to open it, aware that Vanemyn was indeed snoring like a minotaur. Shalhara stood there in the hallway, her usually smooth hair mussed and tangled, her eyes wide.

“You aren't sleeping,” she whispered in accusation. Tijs had no idea that his vivid daydreams were keeping her awake as well, their horror just adding to the fearful imaginings in her own mind.

“No,” Tijs answered, then picked up his boots and swordbelt—he'd chosen not to remove his mail shirt. For one thing, its weight seemed to reassure him. For another, it was difficult to take off by himself and Vanemyn had collapsed on the bed asleep the minute they'd walked into the room.

He joined Shalhara in the corridor and closed the door softly behind him. Then he slipped his boots back on his feet and they went quietly down the stairs to the inn's common room.

As they approached the large fireplace, burned down to glowing embers, they noticed Galinda in deep conversation with the big druid, Brendolar, on the cushioned bench that faced the hearth.

“So Lanmallen finally convinced you to marry him,” the druid was saying. “What's he up to these days?”

“He was killed by a soulgrinder when Artemis was four,” Galinda replied with a sigh. “I wasn't there, but his companions said he took the creature with him.” She shivered. The children watched as Brendolar placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“And who is Artemis?” the druid asked softly.

“Our son. He's twenty-eight now and training with his grandfather at the temple of Amaunator. My father is determined that he will be the greatest paladin Faerûn has ever seen. He certainly works him hard enough on the blade,” Galinda added with a laugh.

The two children looked at each other. “How can she have a twenty-eight year old son?” Tijs asked in whispered disbelief. “She doesn't look old enough.”

There was a noise at the fire as Galinda stood. The two ducked behind a table, but she still spotted them. “What are you children doing down here?” came her stern voice. “You are both supposed to be resting.”

“We couldn't sleep,” said Shalhara as she stepped out to stand in front of Tijs, whose face was red with embarrassment at having been caught eavesdropping again.

“Come here,” Galinda commanded. The two walked sheepishly toward her, but instead of giving them a reprimand, she laid a gentle hand on each of their heads.

“There's too much violence inside your minds,” she whispered, her eyes closed. “You've seen too much--done too much. And there's no help for it. The days are evil, and evil prowls about freely, seeking to destroy everything we love.”

Then her hands shifted to their cheeks, and she opened her eyes to look at them again. “But there is hope. There is truth, and there is good. You have to trust that good will overcome evil. Evil seems more powerful, but in the end, good will always win,” she said softly, and her hands were gentle and warm.

“Good didn't win when your husband was killed,” Shalhara whispered, almost ashamed to say it. But she was afraid, so very afraid.

Galinda's hand went very still against her face, then the small cleric replied, “This world is a battlefield, and we are all soldiers in the struggle. Some battles are lost here, but are won in the bigger scheme. The soulgrinder was destroyed, and Lanmallen was only lost to me temporarily. Our god holds him safe for me until it is my time to join him.”

“What can we do?” Tijs asked, the visions of demons attacking his home still fresh in his mind.

Galinda moved her hands to their shoulders and took a deep breath. “I did not want you to fight, but the fight has come to you. I don't know what plans the gods have for you, but I know they are good ones. When the time comes for you to act, you will know it.”

She took Shalhara's head in her hands and kissed her lightly on the forehead. Then she did the same for Tijs. “Now go upstairs and go to sleep, children,” the cleric instructed gently.

They walked back up the stairs quietly. Out of nowhere, Tijs yawned. Then Shalhara gave a huge yawn herself. Without a word, they both went to their rooms and lay down. Tijs didn't even bother to remove his boots.

And before their heads touched the pillow, both fell asleep—a sound, peaceful sleep, full of good dreams and refreshment.

Downstairs, Galinda watched as the two returned to bed, glad to have been able to ease their minds a bit with her blessing. She breathed a prayer of thanks for the gift. Then she offered up a request for protection for the two young people who'd come into her life, aware that more danger, rather than less, lay in their paths.

“Brendolar, it isn't right that children so young should be called upon to do dangerous things,” she commented as she returned to her seat beside him.

“They can stay here in Bezentil, Galinda,” the druid offered. “We will care for them until it is safe for them to return home again.”

“No, I am afraid that not even Bezentil will be safe for much longer,” Galinda replied. “And these two have a destiny laid on them. I get the sense of a bright future, but one that follows dark uncertainty and danger.”

“And is that any different for any of us?” Brendolar asked gently. “No one knows where the road will take us.”

“I just wish their road had been laid in happier times, my friend,” she sighed. Then she turned up to the big man and gave him a smile that held at least a hint of her customary merriment. “But I have faith. The night may be dark, but daylight always vanquishes the darkness.”

And like a beacon, a morning sunbeam pierced the window, shedding its golden light into the room.