When he was young, Castimir had read with wide-eyed interest of the barbarian tribes that lived east of Falador.
Now he had spent the day with Ebenezer and Gar’rth, exploring the village’s wooden huts and marvelling at the fine beauty of the pottery and metalwork. The barbarians offered the travellers food and ale in their great hall, an immense building with a thatched roof that stood so high that the beams were in perpetual shadow. Their belongings, left on Ebenezer’s wagon, were protected by the barbarian code of hospitality to the extent that they did not even need a guard. Truly their word was their bond.
“You are quiet tonight, Castimir,” Ebenezer remarked, readying his pipe.
The young wizard sighed and raised his eyes to look discreetly at the two barbarian women who stood several yards away. They dressed themselves in short fur skirts and leather brassieres that allowed the eager Castimir a good view of their midriffs. They adorned themselves with finely crafted jewellery, so subtly and intricately fashioned that Castimir could not recall seeing any finer. He examined the necklace of one of the women, the blue stone shining at its centre, and wondered how many years of practice it would take to craft something of such beauty.
He laughed quietly to himself when he recalled his first attempt to make even a simple ring while under the tutelage of his uncle. He had dropped the mould and the boiling metal had scalded him, ending his career as a craftsman that same day. Truly, he thought, the reputation of the barbarian women’s skill in the art of crafting, from fine pottery to cunningly-fashioned bracelets and necklaces, was well deserved.
One of the women returned his gaze, direct and unembarrassed. Castimir choked on his drink and looked away.
“You might have insulted her, averting your gaze like that,” Ebenezer chuckled.
“How did you know I was looking at her?” Castimir asked, for the alchemist was facing him across the table, his back to the two women.
“I may be old now, Castimir, but I was young once. Though I cannot remember when.”
Castimir didn’t respond. The journey from Taverley to the barbarian settlement had taken nearly three days. The entire way their minds were fraught with fear of the monster.
The young wizard glanced to his side and observed Gar’rth. The youth was trying hard at his lessons in the common tongue. He had mastered several dozen words that gave him a limited ability to communicate.
But his illness was getting worse. Castimir did not know what it was. It seemed as if Gar’rth sometimes became a different person. He would sweat profusely, his eyes staring at a fixed point whenever his ailment threatened to overwhelm him. Sometimes he would cry out for a minute or so, his hands clenched before him as he fought the dreadful influence of whatever it was that held him in its grip.
Years ago, when Castimir was a boy, a madman had wandered through their village. He’d had a wild look and would break into stretches of nonsensical dialogue with imaginary onlookers that only he could see, muttering about a fantastical realm called Zanaris which was ruled by a fairy queen. Castimir wondered if Gar’rth’s illness was something similar-a disease of the mind.
Gar’rth was in full control of himself now, however. He also sat opposite Ebenezer, drinking water. The alchemist never allowed him to drink any ale or wine, and he had instructed Castimir that Gar’rth should never be given such, for fear that it would contribute to his ailment.
Castimir risked another discreet look at the girl whose blonde hair fell loosely down her back. His spirits fired by the ale he had been drinking, he stood up resolutely, left his empty mug on the table, and marched toward the women.
“Oh dear,” Ebenezer whispered, smiling mischievously at Gar’rth.
The wizard was back in less than a minute, his face downcast and burning bright red.
“They don’t like mages, these barbarians” he muttered. “They don’t trust magic. I only introduced myself and asked them if they wished me to melt an iron dagger.” He looked furtively at the table, avoiding the stares of his friends. “But they weren’t interested.”
The two women glanced over at Castimir several times in the next few moments, their faces reflecting their distrust of the blue-robed sorcerer. Castimir found himself another drink and sat down with a resigned sigh. He had taken his first sip when he saw one of the women gesture to him.
“What now?” he mused as he stood up.
“Him!” She pointed at Gar’rth who sat quietly, unaware that he was the subject of their conversation. “Is he a mage?”
Castimir shook his head.
“No,” he said firmly.
“Good!” the woman said, before turning away and muttering in a hushed tone to her younger friend.
He watched as her friend smiled, and a pang of jealousy shot through him. What did Gar’rth have that he didn’t? he wondered, looking critically at the lanky youth.
Castimir returned to his seat, giving Gar’rth a long look as he sat down next to him. He took a draught of his ale.
It was going to be one of those nights.
Theodore was certain he knew where Kara was heading. He remembered his conversations with her, about Sulla and the Kinshra she had vowed to fight. And he knew the powerful anger which drove her on.
He and Doric had left Falador several hours before, stopping briefly to question those people they met on the road.
And Kara had been seen, travelling east, toward the barbarian tribes. It made sense to Theodore. She would need to find hospitality somewhere. Indeed, one of the city guards helping in the hunt told Theodore that he had recommended to her that she stop at the barbarian village to replenish her supplies.
“The Kinshra will surely kill her if we cannot intercept her Theodore” Doric shouted as they rode swiftly on.
“Then we will ride through the night” Theodore replied. “She can be no more than three hours ahead of us.”
As strong and skilled as Kara was, fighting enemies as vicious as the Kinshra warriors was a battle that could only end in her defeat. Hadn’t she already tried to do it? Hadn’t the Ring of Life spent its power in saving her from them?
She is too stubborn, Theodore thought, before wondering exactly how they were going to bring her back if she refused to come willingly.