Fistandantilus Reborn - Douglas Niles [64]
“But why do you want to go there?” Danyal pressed. “I told you!”
Foryth seemed exasperated, though the lad could not remember hearing an answer to that question. “Fistandantilus!” “He’s there? But you said he was dead.” “He’s not there! But the leader of Loreloch is a man who claimed to worship the archmage, and this man doesn’t get any older! Naturally I want to find out why.” “If it’s a secret place, how will you find it?” Danyal finally asked. “Why, my book, of course. The Book of Learning,” Foryth explained, as if the lad should understand everything he was saying.
Danyal waited, hoping that the historian would say more. But then Foryth shook his head, discarding some private thought, and the lad wondered if there was still another reason the man had embarked on his journey.
The historian resumed his scribbling, muttering quietly to himself, as Danyal felt his eyelids growing heavy. He lay back, finding a smooth, rounded curl of root to serve as a pillow, and in moments he was asleep.
His dreams were filled with images of dragons and knights, of a tall fort on a mountaintop, and dark forests that were full of dangers. For a long time, he ran, cutting between the trees, gasping for breath, but he couldn’t escape.
The snapping of a twig was the sound that pulled Danyal up from the depths of his slumber – so abruptly that he wondered if he had just closed his eyes a second before. But, no, the fire had faded to a mound of coals, and Foryth, too, was asleep, leaning against the rock where he had been doing his writing.
“Wake up!” hissed Danyal, looking around worriedly. Through the memories of his sleep, he heard the echoes of the breaking stick and felt grimly certain that something – something large – was out there.
He blinked as the shadows moved, then found himself looking up into a handsome face that he vaguely recognized. Gray metal reflected the pale firelight, a crimson glow running up and down a blade of sharpened steel.
“And what prize is this?” declared the young, dapper bandit, his dark eyes flashing back and forth between Danyal and Foryth. “It seems that our poor net has caught us two birds!”
CHAPTER 23
The Master of Lorloch First Majetog, Reapember 374 AC Another bandit pressed forward, and Danyal caught his breath in sudden fear. The newcomer looked every bit the villainous wretch. One eye was missing, covered by a crusty black patch. A scruffy beard, tangled with mats, coated the man’s chin, and he opened his mouth to reveal numerous missing teeth. Dan recoiled from breath stinking of ale, garlic, and other, less readily identified odors.
“Let’s have yer purse, laddie,” growled the nearly toothless bandit, leering down at Danyal with an expression that churned the young man’s stomach into a roiling mess.
“I – I don’t have any money!” he stammered. He thought fleetingly of the silver belt buckle, nervously pulling down the front of his shirt to make sure the heirloom was covered.
“No money? Then I’ll have to take me booty from yer blood, I will!”
The leering bully pulled out a long, wickedly curved knife, the blade gleaming sharp on both sides as he extended one edge to press against Danyal’s neck.
“Hold a minute, Zack,” said the first bandit, the one with the handsome, beardless face of a young man. Despite his ragged garb, there was a sense of nobility, or at least an element of graciousness, in the way he stood regarding the two captives with an expression of vague distaste.
“Aw, Kelryn!” Zack complained. “We’ll get naught from these blighters. Let’s just stick ‘em and be on our merry way.”
“No,” declared the leader, studying Foryth Teel’s slender figure. “I’m curious. Why weren’t you frightened enough to go farther away? Instead, you build a fire that we can smell for a mile down the road! And what was all that about wanting to take notes?”
“I’m merely a humble researcher, attempting to conduct studies in the field.”
“Studies?” Kelryn stared curiously at Foryth Teel. “You’ve picked a rather strange place for your library, stranger.