Delver Magic
Book I

Sanctum's Breach


Jeff Inlo








All rights Reserved.     



Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31

Preface

     Countless seasons pass.
     I... exist.
     Time continues.
     I... am alone.
     The world outside moves on, changes.
     The light bends, reflects back to me.
     More seasons pass.
     No. There is more beyond this. I am trapped.
     People are born, they live, they die. The cycle continues on and on.
     I have power. I will be free.

     A burst of power shreds the silver lined reflective mirrors. It scatters the shadows that surround it just as it shatters through the diamond hard reinforced ceiling. It bends upward through another cavern searching for an outer wall.  It tunnels through the rock side of an imposing mountain until it is finally free.
     Magic has returned.


Chapter 1

     Near the town of Connel, the flatlands in the distance trembled as if a great wave crested just beneath its surface. Like distant thunder, a growing rumble swept forward and broke the peace and serenity of the farmlands. The grinding roar gave only short notice as the wave of convulsion rolled forward with uniform power. 
     The people of this region were not accustomed to earthquakes, though some had experienced a small vibration perhaps once in their lifetimes. This, however, was no slight tremor, nor was it a massive quake that people of the west have often spoke of... an all encompassing upheaval that spreads like ripples on disturbed water. This was power unleashed yet also confined at the same time. The quake took the pure form of a single rolling tremor, an unbroken line of disturbance stretching north to south, its ends out of sight. The land in front and behind the convulsion remained calm and steady, but the ground at the point of the crest lifted up as if it were being pushed away by a thousand angry souls long-buried in the soil. 
     The fury of the disturbance lashed out upon all in its path. The few trees which spotted the landscape as markers for farmers resisted the tremor, but as the upheaval rolled past their roots, a few shifted to lean at slight angles from the ground. Fence posts bolted into the air like thrown javelins. Shepherd dogs howled, and the panicked livestock wandering the fields raced in every direction. Fortunately, the ground did not split beneath them. Though the tremor tussled them, threw them to and fro, no true injury befell a single animal.
     The distress of the animals caught the attention of the farmers. As they peered out among their vast stretches of land, they witnessed the on-coming tremor. They stared with dumbfounded shock. They had faced storms, draughts and floods. They had endured swarms of crop eating insects and diseases which threatened their livestock. They had suffered through all of this with perseverance, with a belief that these were simply challenges to overcome. Never before had they encountered the land itself rising up against them. They looked to the tremor with abhorrence, as well as panic. 
     As the quake rumbled onward, its path was unmistakable. It would first surge below their own barns and houses before heading toward the very center of town. The potential jeopardy broke the incapacitating shock, and farmers hastened to action. Neighbors needed to be warned, animals tended. 
     The alarm spread from the furthest limits inward to the more populated areas of Connel. From the farmlands, calls went out from neighbor to neighbor. A single word of "Quake!" brought disbelief first, frenzy second as the never ending rumble washed away any doubts.
     In the town, bells rang to alert the public. Shouts raged from the confusion, and soon, the entire town raised an ear to the commotion. At Connel's heart, merchants and citizens alike stumbled about with a near dazed sense of confusion. As of yet, they could not see the tremor, but the word spread of it like fire on alcohol. When the distant rumble caught their ears, they believed, and they feared what was to come. 
     The farmhouses to the far west were the first to feel the surging power. Strong men and women raced quickly to their animals, to free them from barns which they feared might collapse. Horses and mules kicked at their stalls as farmers fought against time and panic to open each barn door. They loosed their teams to the open fields, knowing there they would be safe. They did not feel as secure about themselves or their homes. 
     They braced themselves over open ground as the rumbling bore down upon them. The dirt rose beneath their feet, sending many of them sprawling. The surging disturbance raised the ground above the height of a tall man's knees. Again, the soil did not break. As quickly as it rose, it fell back, leveling out as if nothing had happened. 
     The tremor rolled apathetically beneath barns and farmhouses alike. The structures quivered with the upheaval. They shook and rattled, they danced and moved. Dilapidated shacks crumbled into muddled piles of wood and debris, but the sturdier buildings withstood the barrage of force, sustaining only minor damage. 
     Farmers took back to their feet. With a heavy breath of relief for their own safety, they watched with concern as the ripple now raced toward Connel's center. 
     The next obstacle in the path of the tremor was an ancient stonewall which surrounded most of the town. Built generations ago, it stood as one of the oldest landmarks of Connel. Only the Night Watch Inn, the Church of Godson, and two private homes could boast of a longer existence. Many other older buildings had long since been torn down and replaced with more modern structures.
     The wall's age did not bring it any glory or respect. Its purpose or any battles fought at its base had long been forgotten. The townspeople merely ignored it these days, or viewed it as a nuisance when roads needed to be built extending beyond its limits. 
     The wall was wider than it was tall. Its height barely reached the shoulders of an average man, but its stout thickness made it difficult to remove. Its substance of heavy stone and mortar allowed it to survive these long ages with little wear. Breaking through a section was a mighty task. Even the most skilled engineers marveled at its intrinsic strength. More often than not, the soil was built up around the wall, and any construction went over rather than through it. Fortunately, though the wall encircled the entire town, it enclosed a wide expanse of land. For whatever reason it was built, it far exceeded the original outskirts of Connel's earlier size. Connel expanded many times over the centuries, and only now did it just begin to spill beyond some sections of the wall.
     As the tremor rolled in from the farmlands, the alerted townspeople looked toward this barrier to gauge the strength of the rolling upheaval. The wave of energy would strike the foundation of the wall before reaching any significant portion of the town. Fearing more for their homes than for the existence of the ancient barrier, many hoped the stone construction would bare the full brunt of the tremor, thus saving their shops, offices, and homes. 
     The tremor rolled forward, ready to greet the wall with the full fury of its power. When it struck, the barrier did not give. It did not shake, or for that matter react in anyway whatsoever to the violence underneath it. Dirt and dust flew into the air, a brown haze that followed the tremor like an obedient dog. It obscured the clash only for a moment. As the dust settled, the true victor was obvious. The wall remained in place; firm, strong and silent. 
     Strangely, after passing beneath the ancient bulwark, the disturbance appeared smaller and weaker. While it jostled the onlookers, it did not throw them with the same force which bore upon the farmers. While large structures shook and trembled, they did not rise from the ground or twist with great disorder. At the two points where the tremor remained in contact with the ancient wall, the disturbance was almost imperceptible. To the relief of the townspeople, the tremor moved through Connel as if in weary retreat. 
     After passing through the heart of the town and beyond the eastern limits, the rolling quake reared up for one more massive head-on confrontation with the stone barrier. The quake disappeared underneath the barrier which remained silent and unmoving. When the tremor resurfaced, it cleared all contact with the wall. It appeared to return to its original strength, and it rolled through the clearings of the east with renewed power. 
     As the danger passed, so too did the concern of the townspeople. The frenzy of the event dissipated. The shouts and alarms ceased and the confusion disappeared. Slowly but steadily, the people returned to their homes, thankful for the reprieve and ready to discuss the excitement throughout the day. Inspectors and engineers were dispatched to assess the damage, which was nearly nonexistent. A single work crew set out to repair a few roads and one bridge. 
     As the day wore on, most Connel residents quickly returned to their daily activities. Markets opened as usual and people walked the streets with hardly a care. The land remained calm from both the west and the east. With so little damage, the tremor turned to nothing more than an oddity for idle chat. 
     To some, however, the quake presented opportunity. The town council, consisting of four men and one woman, all with business concerns and political aspirations, met that same day to discuss the tremor. 
     They gathered in the conference room of the town hall, a building of fairly recent construction. The room was large but uninviting. Portraits of previous council members adorned the walls. The faces in these paintings tried diligently to portray an air of dignified importance. The current members carried themselves with the same ingenuous attitude. They sat around an oblong oak meeting table. Stacks of paper waited patiently for their review. The mayor, Edward Consprite, brought the meeting to order. 
     "The first thing we should do," he said with a deep voice, "is read the initial damage reports into the record." 
     He placed a pair of reading glasses upon the bridge of his pudgy nose and picked up the engineer's preliminary report. He spoke clearly and firmly as he read the findings aloud. His voice reaffirmed the overwhelming arrogance which exuded from his person like the smell of day old fish. When finished, he waved the papers pompously in front of him. 
     "I realize that this report tells us nothing we don't already know," he exclaimed. "I'm sure the rest of you did as I did and took a look around before coming here. I saw nothing which would indicate that anyone received any true damage. I do expect, however, that we will have to look out for those hoping to make false claims. I'm sure there are more than a few undesirables that may see this as a chance to gain access to public funds. You know what I mean, some poor slob thinks his house is starting to wear down and will come to us saying the quake damaged his home. He'll expect we use town funds to repair problems that existed seasons ago. We simply can't allow that." 
     Consprite paused for a moment and reflected upon his own devious thoughts. He shuffled papers about as if looking for a particular report. "We also, however, should not be so unsympathetic as to refuse funds to those that truly suffered damage. After all, an earthquake is an act of God, so to speak. We have to help the truly deserving members of our community in these trying times. I did notice some small damage to some of the local establishments very near here. They only appeared as small cracks in the foundation, but we can't let these things go without quick repair. Some of these establishments serve every member on this board. In order to show our gratitude, uh excuse me, our understanding to their plight, I suggest we set aside ten percent of the town funds to refurbish these local enterprises. Any objections?" 
     Samuel Cofort spoke quickly and with an edge to his voice. "I will not object as long as another two percent of the fund is apportioned for repairs to the town hall. I'm sure this very meeting room, as well of some of the offices, might need repairs. For all we know, the very chairs we are sitting on may have received some unseen damage. It would be wise to correct such problems before anyone gets hurt. I think it would also be a good idea to replace the older furniture in our personal offices." 
     Consprite nodded his head in knowing approval. "I agree, Samuel. Forgive me for being so shortsighted as not to recognize such a splendid idea myself." He turned his head to the others around the table. "Any other suggestions?" 
     "I have a question," Elizabeth Bent exclaimed with a challenging tone. Her position as the only woman upon the council gave her status in the community, but she thirsted for more. "Who will decide which establishments receive funds and how much?" 
     Consprite did not hesitate in responding. "We shall form a committee of two. As mayor, I shall take one seat and, since you raised the concern, you will have the other. The committee shall be responsible for distributing funds. Does this suit your approval?" 
     "Yes it does," she replied with a guarded smile. 
     The final two council members were about to object but Consprite, as was his way, spoke quickly to make the situation quite clear. "Fine, with your support as well as Samuel's, we already have the necessary three votes to approve the measure. Although any opposition may be viewed as hostile toward the town in a time of need, I will now ask any council member opposed to speak for the record." 
     The room remained quiet. 
     Consprite did not allow the silence to prevail for long. "Now that we have quickly and judiciously met the immediate needs created by this incident, I open the floor to other suggestions on how we may best serve the town." 
     The councilwoman again seized the opportunity to take the initiative. "I suggest we send out investigators to the east and west. I think it may serve us well if we identify how other areas fared against this small quake. Other towns may not have been as fortunate as our own. There may be a need for labor and materials of which we might be able to supply, for a fee of course." 
     "I see," Consprite grunted as he placed a hand to his smoothly shaven chin. 
     The councilwoman proceeded as the mayor continued to solemnly reflect upon the suggestion. 
     "I know of many shopkeepers with a surplus of certain goods. I'm sure they would be grateful if they found an immediate market for their items. There are also a few artisans available that I'm sure would be willing to extend their talents to out of town opportunities, especially if the price is right. While our town is growing, there are still carpenters and masons eager to find new jobs. This quake may have created such an opportunity." 
     "An interesting proposal," Consprite hummed with an equally guarded tone. The prospect seemed inviting, but he found it distasteful that the idea was presented by Bent. He knew of her secret desires to unseat him as mayor. It was his gift to see through the charade of others, to understand the motivations, the aspirations, and the desires of both his friends and foes. He would only allow Bent to take his place if he was able to move up the political ladder, not down. Thus, he dealt with most of her proposals with great care. "And how should we proceed with such an initiative?"
     "I suggest we send someone who will investigate and send us word of the situation before we get involved. That way, we appear concerned with our neighbors but not foolhardy. I suggest we hire delvers. They will move across the countryside far faster than any of us. They can assess the situation and make first contact with those needing the greatest help." 
     "Yes, yes," Consprite said quickly. He turned a pen in his fingers. "This is very true. We would not waste time or effort in the less lucrative areas. Any delver worth his salt would surely give us a great advantage." He looked up with a nod of acceptance. "I heartily approve." 
     "I oppose the measure," Cofort said sullenly. "I do not trust delvers. They always require large payments and no one can ever really tell if they do what they say they do. No one can follow them, no one can check up on them." 
     "I realize that delvers are expensive," Consprite admitted candidly, "but that's because no one can do the job they can do. I realize that it is difficult to check on them, but just imagine if we sent out regular men. They would need a weeks worth of supplies and equipment. Surely, that more than offsets the larger payment for the services of a delver." 
     "But we don't know that the damage to other towns was any worse than it was here," Cofort insisted. "If so, we will have paid a delver for nothing." 
     "True, but it's also just as possible that villages east and west of here may require a good deal of our supplies and labor. I'm not willing to miss that opportunity." 
     Cofort heaved a heavy sigh. He would not, however, give up his complaint so easily. "I still say we can't trust them." 
     "I don't really trust anyone," Consprite admitted in a cold voice. "And I don't really care for delvers all that much, either. But they are, as I said before, the best suited for this task. We're not asking them to guard our funds, we're asking them to scout out territory, and that is what they do. Now, I don't want to hear anymore about not wanting to hire delvers. We've done it before, and they have come in most useful. I move that we enlist two delvers, one to go due west and another to explore east. Who will second?" 
     "I second the motion," the councilwoman said brusquely while she glared at Cofort. 
     "Fine. If there is no other opposition, the measure is passed." 
     The final two council members remained silent. 
     Consprite now detected a chance to drop a potentially difficult problem into the councilwoman's lap. Seeking out delvers was not always a favorable activity. Their skills made them great spies and the ignorant often identified them with treachery. It would certainly not do well for any of the council members if they were seen cavorting with delvers and perhaps making secret deals. He clasped his hands together and spoke almost innocently, as if that were possible, about the prospect. 
     "It seems all we have to do now is find and hire delvers for the job. I think Elizabeth should handle this, seeing it was her idea." He looked to her almost defying her to protest, but she did not. He continued with a calculating tone. "I take it that means you accept. Since this is a delicate matter, I suggest you find two of the better delvers. Send them off immediately. You can pay them up to half of their fee before they leave. I'll leave the negotiations to you. I would suggest you send the more trustworthy you find to explore the west. It is there where the quake originated. I have a feeling that they'll find something important, and I've learned to trust these feelings. They've got me where I am now."
                               #
     The town council was not alone in its interest over the quake. Members of the Church of Godson also could not simply forget the earlier tremor. Their attention, however, seemed edged more out of concern, almost fear. While its attendants were few, confusion and alarm prevailed through their numbers hours after the quake passed. The followers gathered all that day. Many came out at frequent intervals, stood upon the tall stone steps, and looked out to the west with a grim burden. The church's leader, an inconspicuous gentleman, continuously appeared at the door to calm the members and guide them back inside. He himself, however, could not avoid glancing out to the west with an equally pained expression. 
     This anxiety was noticed by those who passed the church, but it was discounted. Town residents simply shrugged or shook their heads. They considered what they knew of these zealots, and rumor and gossip constantly quipped at the very sanity of the Godson sect. 
     On the whole, the church and its small group of followers appeared gripped by legends of nonsense, legends which included such bizarre creatures that anyone of rational thought must dismiss as pure fable. If this church spoke of powerful mages and sorcerers, where were such wizards today?  And what of these strange races which supposedly coexisted with humans? It was all obvious madness. Yet, rumors raced wildly that this was the postulate of the church's beliefs. 
     The distaste for the Church of Godson was almost understandable, for Connel was populated solely by humans. Of all the wild creatures rumored as part of the church's text, only the delver existed within the realm of the humans. Certainly, that was not enough to substantiate the presence of other strange races, and no where near sufficient to bring any credence to the followers of Godson. Thus, the attendants were usually ridiculed or ignored, as they were ignored this day.
                               #
     Ryson Acumen, a purebred delver, moved quickly on foot toward the setting sun. The soles of his boots barely grazed the surface of the road, creating just enough impact to propel him forward. The soft step reduced the chance of leaving a trail as well as lessening the amount of friction which might slow him. The striking of foot against ground conceived the lightest of sounds, nearly inaudible until he was upon you. How strange this sight was; pumping legs moving like pistons at break neck speed, yet with near silence and total control. He moved like most delvers moved, as if blessed with the grace of an angel flying among the clouds. 
     While it appeared this delver was running swiftly, in truth, Ryson was merely setting a comfortable scouting pace. His face revealed his ease with the stride. His mouth shut, breathing through his nose, he showed no signs of physical exertion. He might as well have been resting upon a soft, feather bed. It was the gift of the delver. He could keep this step for many hours without any discomfort. 
     Ryson's physical presentation included a trim, fit body; from his narrow shoulders down through his long legs. His arms, also long but not to the point of gangly, draped gracefully from his shoulders. His movements were always smooth and precise. His face was only slightly narrower than most, and his features maintained the balance. A crop of short, well-kept hair rode the top of his head. He grew his hair longer once, but the rustling behind his ears interfered with his keen hearing.
     Still, with his physical stature as it was, he needed only to act as the common man, and no one would ever identify his delver heritage.    But Ryson ran through the town at this particular moment because his delver soul was filled with much too much anticipation. Even as he pressed onward, his mind filled with memories of the quake. The rumble of the tremor echoed as clearly in his mind as if it were still passing under foot. It was not so much the tremor itself which thrilled him, but the results which it may have left behind. It constituted the opportunity for new exploration. It was this, as well as his meeting with Elizabeth Bent, that drove him with eager anticipation. 
     As he moved toward Connel's town square, he considered his earlier conversation with the councilwoman. While he believed the quake would create an opportunity for his skills, he never believed she would agree to pay so much. He blessed his own luck as he considered his task, a task perfect for a delver. A task he might have set out to complete on his own had he not found a willing employer. 
     Quakes were rare in this part of the world. In fact, Ryson never experienced one before this morning. He did know that they carried the power to change the land, land which he scouted many times before. After watching the quake roll past Connel, Ryson actually felt something call to him. The very air accented changes somewhere beyond the horizon. A deep instinct awakened and the desire to scout the land emerged with great force. It pressed upon his senses to strike out and investigate. Deep within him, he realized that what he had once examined and had placed into his great memory was no longer the same. Perhaps the entire land of Uton had been altered, and it was his fortune to determine how. So strong was his instincts, he felt the need to leave immediately. 
     With no family in town, Ryson did not hesitate to begin his scout. As for equipment, a delver needed little. That which was most important, he carried with him always. It included a knife, a short rope, and a spyscope. Everything else, such as food and shelter, could be found along the journey. 
     Thus, the able-bodied delver departed with no further delay. With half of a sizeable payment already in his pouch, he moved westward to the beckoning lands with euphoria. So great was his anticipation over what he might find, he moved passed Connel's citizens with barely a notice, until someone called for his attention. 
     "Delver!" A voice called out. It held a strong tone, yet concern was also evident. 
     Ryson brought himself to an immediate halt. Amazingly, the delver showed no sign of imbalance at such an instantaneous stop. 
     He faced the origin of the voice which called to him. He was already well aware of his exact location, for he always kept his bearings when moving. With but a subtle glance of familiar territory, a delver could reveal more about his surroundings than an ordinary man could recite even after taking hours to study. He stood at the steps of the Church of Godson and the leader of the church waited just outside the front door. 
     The leader, dressed just as any other man of town, took a few steps downward and motioned for Ryson to meet him halfway. 
     Ryson acknowledged with a nod and slowly proceeded upward, one step at a time. He stopped two steps below the church leader, yet high enough to command a strategic view of the surrounding area. 
     "Yes sir?" Ryson said reflecting a tone of politeness as well as respect. 
     "I am Reader Matthew," the middle-aged man said plainly. If he was proud of his position in his small church, it did not show in his tempered speech. He bowed slightly at Ryson. 
     "I know, sir," Ryson bowed in return. 
     Matthew showed little emotion other than concern to a distant problem. 
     "And I am aware that you are Ryson Acumen, full-blood delver." 
     "I am." 
     While Ryson continued to feel a great urge to move quickly upon his quest, he curbed his impatience. He waited respectfully for Reader Matthew to continue. 
     Matthew acknowledged Ryson's honor with a thankful smile before returning a weary gaze to the west. 
     "You are no doubt setting out on a mission of exploration," the reader stated succinctly. "You are moving west. It pleases me to see this. May I ask you of your objectives?" 
     "Certainly," Ryson responded without hesitation. Councilwoman Bent said nothing about maintaining secrecy over the matter; otherwise he would have kept a measure of discretion. Instead, she made it plain that the entire town council had asked for the delver's assistance. In fact, she was not at all cautious when making her request. She had spoke as if she wanted everyone in the tavern to hear, thus he treated the request as if it were public knowledge. "I'm to explore the lands and towns west of Connel. After I've investigated how our neighbors have fared against this morning's quake, I'll send reports back to the town council by courier. I'm to report as to damage and the need for labor and materials." 
     "How far are you commissioned to travel?" 
     Ryson considered the question for a moment before replying. "To Burbon and Pinesway. That appeared to be the greatest concern. There's not much beyond that that I think the council might be interested in." 
     "What are your own personal objectives?" Matthew asked with a delicate tone. 
     Again Ryson answered without hesitation, but he glanced over his shoulder as he spoke. "I want to know more about this tremor, what it might have done."
     Matthew nodded his head. "That is good. I have a charge for you. I hope you will accept it." 
     Ryson did not speak. He waited for the reader to announce his request. 
     Matthew exhaled deeply before continuing. "I need to know what has happened. I need to know where this quake came from. And I also need to know how the land has changed. I can offer you no payment. I can only hope that you will include me in your reports. I will also hope that you continue your journey even if it means venturing far beyond the limits of your original employer's wishes. I ask that you continue west until you find the source of this quake, if of course that's possible." 
     "I doubt finding the source would be difficult," Ryson responded with certainty. It was not with arrogance he spoke, but with calm confidence in understanding the land. "All I have to do is find the area of greatest upheaval. That should indicate where the quake began." 
     "Then will you do this for me?" 
     Ryson reflected upon the proposal with obvious hesitation. 
     His silence brought anxiety to the reader. Not wishing to be turned down, the reader hoped to entice the delver further. "If it is payment you need, I may be able to scrape something together. We are a poor church, but this is of ..." 
     Ryson politely interrupted. "It's not that. I've already been hired and I don't see a conflict in sending you reports. I would also be more than happy to inform you of what I find beyond my work for the council." 
     Hopeful expectation blanketed the face of the reader. "Then you'll do it?" 
     "I don't know if I can," Ryson responded with all honesty. He did not wish to dampen the spirits of the reader, but he also felt the need not to misguide him. "I'm not just dismissing your request, but I don't know what I'm going to find out there. Right now the source of the quake interests my instincts enough so I want to know more, but that could change quickly depending on what I find. It would be hard to follow a trail of dust if I come across something of greater interest. Do you understand?" 
     "I do, but I don't think that will be a problem," Matthew reflected. His expression still held hope, yet it also included deep deliberation. He appeared to be placing the limits of logic upon his own dilemma. With a satisfied nod of his head, he continued. "If the quake does hold importance, for me as well as for you, it will continue to pull upon you. If it does not, then my own anxieties over the matter will be eased just as well. You are a delver with keen insights. I simply have to trust your instincts." 
     Ryson kept his eyes upon the reader, but he chose his words and tone carefully. He did not wish to insult the reader, but Matthew's request, if not his concern, created questions of his own. "If you don't mind, what is it that's bothering you?  I haven't had much contact with people of your faith, but I've never known any of them to show such concern. Your own admission has me thinking about what I might find." 
     "The truth is, I have no idea what you will find," the reader stated plainly, the gleam in his eyes gave way to the resurgence of that which disturbed him. "That is what truly bothers me. It has been some time since I have had to deal with the unknown. I must admit, I do not like it." 
     "We all deal with the unknown," Ryson commented with skepticism. "Forgive me for saying so, but I still don't understand why it's upsetting you so much. I have seen the people of your church face much more serious problems without showing the same concern. Truthfully, I have always admired that. Because I want to help you find what it is you're looking for, I have to ask again, what makes this quake so distressing?" 
     Matthew smiled upon the delver. "You honor your people. If that has not been said to you before, it is long overdue. You show respect with honesty. I shall try to do the same. The truth is that we do not face the unknown as the rest of the town. We are blessed with knowledge of things to come. People of this church follow the Book of Godson. It contains many prophesies, but it describes them in elaborate fashion. An ordinary follower or reader, including myself, has a difficult time understanding the true meaning. Roughly ten cycles ago, however, we were blessed by a visit from a believer with a great power of understanding. I will not reveal his name out of respect for his own wishes. During his stay, he revealed to us the meaning of many of the prophesies. He explained them clearly and in our own language, and he actually told us what to expect over the many cycles to come. Amazingly, each and every one of his interpretations occurred just as he explained. We studied his work and soon we were prepared for every major event which would affect this land before it would even happen. When we heard rumors, we knew which were true and which were not. The interpretations have guided us in that respect and we have relied on them ever since. 
     "To the people of this church, the interpretations have become a great source of strength and hope. They project great things for those that hold to the works of Godson. The interpreter told us of a time when this land would become a place of peace. While I can not reveal to you his work, I can tell you that many of the prophesies have not occurred and are not scheduled to occur for many cycles." 
     "I really don't see what the problem is," Ryson admitted. 
     "The problem is that this quake was not prophesied to us. The translator made no mention of such an event in any of his writings. Yet, we have grown accustomed to knowing such events before they occur. Unfortunately, this morning we faced the quake just as the rest of the town, with no warning and no idea that it was coming. For us, this is most unusual. It is also most discomforting. Some of our members are wondering if the interpretations are now in danger of failing. This would be a terrible event, for we have grown to base all of our hopes on these same interpretations." 
     "What has the translator to say of this?" 
     "We can not ask him. His stay with us was only for a few seasons. Such was his way. He would stay temporarily at each church explaining the meaning of the prophesies before moving on to the next. If he were here, he might be able to explain what is wrong, but he is not." 
     Ryson considered the tale, scratched the side of his face as he offered his own explanation. "Could he have just missed this one? Or maybe it wasn't even in the prophecies." 
     The reader shook his head. "Every major event has been prophesied and translated for us. I can't believe he missed it." 
     "What if it wasn't a major event?" Ryson offered. "Maybe this was just a minor incident?" 
     "Is that what you really think?" the reader eyed him questioningly. 
     The delver raised an eyebrow and sniffed the air around him. To his senses, he already noticed subtle alterations. "I'm not sure. I sense changes, something in the air. But how important..., I just don't know." 
     "I'm sure you can sense things which are beyond my reckoning," the reader allowed and once again his focus shifted to the lands to the west, "but what about the tremor itself? Wouldn't you consider experiencing a quake in these parts as out of the ordinary? I'm not even sure of when the last recorded tremor came upon these lands." 
     "I would have to agree. The actual quake was a unique event. But who knows how important it really was?" Ryson kicked lightly at the stone steps of the ancient church. "From what I've seen so far, the quake has done little to leave its mark. There's hardly a damaged building to be found. Maybe that's why your prophet failed to alert you to its coming." 
     "I have thought of this myself," the reader allowed. "It is what I'm saying to comfort the others. It is not, however, making any of us rest easier. We have spent much of the day going over the work of the translator in hopes of finding something we might have missed. We have even gone as far as attempting to interpret prophesies in different ways. We have not done this since the translator made his visit. But our attempts have been useless. It's a daunting task and we have not been able to find any reference to this strange tremor. It continues to disturb us all, and as I look upon you, my doubts become even heavier." 
     Ryson looked thoughtfully at the reader. "Why is that? Have I said anything which bothered you?" 
     "No, no!" Matthew said apologetically. "It is not in what you have said. Instead, it is in the heightened excitement I sense within you. Your natural instincts are driving you to explore the lands and investigate what has happened. I can see that and that is precisely what worries me. I think your powerful senses might be telling us that there is something important out there." 
     Ryson shook his head doubtfully. "I wouldn't be so certain. I admit my urge is strong, but I've never been able to rely upon that with any certainty. There may be nothing more to see than a few cracks in the land or a broken road. I simply won't be able to tell what's out there until I make my exploration." 
     Matthew nodded in agreement. "That is why I have made this request of you. If you report to us that the quake left little mark on our world, than we will all sleep easier." 
     Ryson held out his hand in friendly reassurance. "Then, I'll ask you to relax, for now. I'll include you in my reports, and I'll let you know if there is anything to worry about only when I find it. Due to the nature of your concerns, I will limit my reports to include only the changes I find and not to those seeking supplies or building materials," Ryson smiled broadly in hopes of breaking the tension which gripped the reader. 
     The reader chuckled. "Thank you. I doubt we could offer any real help. Leave that to the council." 
     "I will," Ryson replied with a continued smile, "but I will tell you what I see and what I find. I'll let you interpret this as you see fit. As to finding the source of the quake, I'll make every attempt to find it, but if I do break off my search, I will send you word." 
     "That is all I can ask, even more." The reader placed his hand upon Ryson's shoulder. "Go now and do not hesitate to report any of your findings. I need to know the bad as well as the good."
 

Chapter 2

     At its infancy, Connel sat nestled on the edge of the largest pine forest in the land of Uton. The trees stretched to the south, west and northwest for untold lengths until giving way to rocky ground or mountains. Hills abounded beyond the reaches of the forest as gateways to other landscapes. A scorching desert waited past rocky ravines to the southwest, and hundreds of snow-capped mountains towered over the horizon in the north. A few scattered peaks stood directly west; forming a jagged boundary between the eastern flatland prairies and the western coastlands. 
     As Connel became more populated, pioneers moved further beyond its limits. Dark Spruce began to shrink steadily as thousands of trees were cleared to create the outlying farmlands. Two new western outposts were also developed, though in much more recent history. The settling of these towns and the increase in farming eventually removed the forest from Connel's sight. While Dark Spruce remained a large stretch of woodland to the south and southwest, the vein which strove northward was reduced to a narrow band. This thin extension served as a small border between the newly colonized towns and the western mountains. 
     At the outset of his exploration, Ryson scoured the countryside to the immediate west of Connel. He concentrated first on the pastures and farmlands. Moving on foot at speeds defying human understanding, he covered wide areas while the sun barely moved overhead. His eyes scanned the wide-open lands. He stopped only momentarily to speak with farmers in the field or merchants on the road. To his satisfaction, these outlying lands received little damage. 
     Finding only traces of the quake's path in the farmlands, he turned his attention to the neighboring outposts, Burbon and Pinesway. Each received more damage than Connel, but nothing which could not be repaired within a season or two. A few buildings had suffered structural impairment and more than one road had crumbled, but the lasting consequences of the tremor were insignificant. Like nothing more than a strong storm passing through the night, the quake had come and gone. The damage was merely temporary as no lives were lost and no permanent alterations in the land could be found. 
     Ryson's investigations within the towns took greater time than his explorations over the open flatlands. Most of those he met were not accustomed to his pace, and the delver slowed to match their needs. Days passed as he made several contacts with people of both towns. He promised them additional supplies and labor from Connel at prices to be negotiated with a second representative, probably councilwoman Bent. 
     During this time, he dispatched messages to the council and to Reader Matthew. He detailed his findings, described the degree of all damage. He continued his investigation until he assessed all prospective sites that would be of interest to the council. He sent a final message appraising them of everything he had discovered. He advised one member to make the journey to represent Connel and offered his own estimates of needed supplies. With his duty to the council fulfilled, he turned his attention back to the path of the quake. He sent word to the reader that following the quake's path would lead him into the dense tree-covered regions of Dark Spruce. The lack of any villages within the forest would create a lag before he could send his next communication. He ended his note by promising to forward another message as soon as possible. 
     Ryson moved westward without further delay. After passing beyond the limits of Pinesway, he soon entered the vast forest. At his point of entry into the woodlands, no road broke through the trees and no footpath existed for travel. A staggered multitude of tree trunks filled the landscape, created a broken labyrinth of infinite paths. While underbrush was light, due to the dense shade of the evergreens, the ground remained uneven and rocky. Large roots jutted up from the soil, creating even more obstacles. Ryson glided over such hindrances as if they did not exist.
     He carried nothing which might impede his progress. Even as he advanced into pure wilderness, he ignored thoughts of extra rations of food or water. He brought nothing more than his basic supplies. The forest itself would provide Ryson with everything he needed. Food and shelter were plentiful. He would eat the seeds, nuts, and succulent fruits of all the indigenous trees. He would drink from streams or dig below the roots for ground water. He would sleep within the pines, using the thick branches for shelter and security. 
     As for getting lost in such a dense forest, that remained a human calamity. Humans saw the forest as an obstacle between two points. They conceived themselves lost when they could no longer determine the correct path toward their destination or back to their point of departure. A delver, however, was never lost, for a delver did not think in terms of which was the correct path. Even a forest as large as Dark Spruce was viewed in whole. Being lost meant being unable to find a way. For someone with Ryson's skills, there was always a way to travel, a path to cross. 
     Ryson explored Dark Spruce on previous occasions. The largest and closest forest to his adopted home of Connel often enticed him. Pioneers looking for new lands to conquer would also employ him for such missions. In his first trips to the northern branch, he actually began his investigations with great anticipation. Such an immense area must have held untold secrets. To his disappointment, he never found anything more than the legion of ancient trees. Large sturdy trunks growing boldly to the sky filled the landscape with a universal sameness. The number of branches remained somewhat stunted at ground level, but they increased as one looked skyward. They created a complete blanket of green which could block out the sun with ease. Ryson's eyes faced little difficulty, for they could adjust to even greater darkness, but for his own desires, the forest held little for him to see. 
     As the delver entered Dark Spruce upon this day, he did so with only slight arousal. The forest held out no special enticement. It only offered the trail of the quake; slightly uprooted trees and shifted broken soil. The traces of the disturbance granted only a slight distraction from the monotony of Dark Spruce, and he walked and climbed for half the morning before he found anything of true interest. 
     As the sounds of Pinesway faded from his acute hearing, he began to pick up the faint traces of a pungent odor. As he raced onward, he discovered larger pockets of the objectionable scent lingering about. It piqued his curiosity, called for his attention. The smell hung heavy in the air. It smelled of rot. The decay, however, was out of place. It was not the decomposition of the forest which created this odor. It was simply too powerful to be the emanation of rotting leaves or grass. 
     As the stench became more prevalent, so did the delver's curiosity. Ryson stopped. He paused to take a greater sample of the air through his nose. His nostrils flared. He turned about to sniff the light breeze which filtered through the branches overhead. Part of the rank odor became unmistakable. It held the ghastly smell of rotting flesh. Perhaps an animal, a large animal like a deer, died somewhere nearby. Yet, the smell also contained traces of another scent, an odor which separated itself from the decay. Unique in its properties, Ryson could only liken it to the static smell of a summer lightning storm. Even the very air which contained the stench seemed charged. 
     Unable to distinguish anything more from the odor, Ryson pushed forward, but he moved with a mind to this new mystery. His concentration shifted away from the quake, and the instincts which are his as a delver began to guide him. The secret behind the stench became his mission. 
     As he stepped forward, the scent did not always become noticeably stronger. In certain places, it remained constant and Ryson found it difficult to choose a direction. More than once, he circled about his current position before selecting a path. To the delver's satisfaction, the smell did not dissipate. It continued to beckon him and overpowered anything else which might call to his attention. 
     With thoughts of the quake almost extinct, the delver began to break in a southern direction. With his nose in the air, he paid little attention to the growing thickness of the trees. Greater coverage of branches overhead blocked more and more of the sunlight. The ground stretched out before him, etched with crusty, bark covered trunks and obscured in shady darkness. He continued to move with the fluid grace befitting a true delver. His stride carried him faster than the running of a frightened rabbit, and his ability to step lightly over uneven ground kept him from stumbling upon the bulging roots. 
     With Ryson's attention fixed solely upon what his nose revealed to him, he relied little upon his sight. His vision simply aided him in crossing the forest, until it revealed to him the object of his search. 
     Ryson stopped immediately. His senses erupted as the unimaginable stood before him. The stench leaped in potency, at least tenfold, and there was no doubt that it was indeed the outpouring of rotting flesh. But this, this was no deer. It was a man, or what was left of one. 
     The degree of decay was staggering. The flesh cracked and shriveled, split and oozed. The stench and the puss attracted insects of all sizes. Flies, big and small, buzzed about like a shifting, black cloud. They landed on loose flesh and scurried about exposed bone. Hundreds of fluttering insect wings created a crescendo of a hissing sizzle. 
     This lonely traveler, pioneer or scout, must have been dead for weeks, maybe even months, such was the indication of the decay. Yet, it stood. It stood like a frozen ice sculpture or a stone statue. It stood and gazed at Ryson with one lifeless eye. The other had rotted completely away. Ryson could see into the empty socket, and he could look upon the edges of the skull which surrounded it. The left side of the body apparently decomposed faster than the other. Upon the same side as the vacant eye socket, most of the flesh around the arm was missing. Much of the left forearm bone stood revealed. The oozing flesh also hung loosely about the left hand. 
     In the other hand, which remained more or less intact, the fingers grasped a long thick branch. Its tip had been shaved into a fine point. Though the spear-like weapon remained firmly in the grip of this half-corpse, half-skeleton, it hung suspended in the air and offered no explanation as to what allowed the corpse to remain upright. The dead sentinel stood of its own accord, upon its own two decaying feet. 
     Ryson turned his disbelieving eyes back upon the face. He noticed the lips had rotted clean away, revealing a ghastly grin. The sight was too much, and the delver forced himself to turn away. 
     As he did, his ears caught the sound of unsteady footsteps. Ryson lifted his head, and noted the flash of movement coming his way. With great speed and balance, he jumped aside before understanding his plight. As the breeze of a slashing stick passed over his shoulder, he refocused his attention, though he could not fathom his dilemma. It was the spear of the corpse which slashed at him, and it remained in the same rotting hand. 
     "Godson!" The delver exclaimed in shock. He took retreating steps as the corpse turned itself slowly. Ryson watched in horror and disbelief. The decaying body was moving. 
     The corpse, however, defied logic, defied reality. It redirected itself back at Ryson and again swung its shaft with malice. It voiced no sound. Only the crackling turn of exposed bone echoed from its figure, and that was nearly drowned out by the hum of flies which followed in a dancing swarm. 
     Ryson's speed again helped him escape the attack, but little helped his mind escape the horror. Even as he stepped out of harm's way, he could not truly comprehend what he was seeing. He moved out of instinct. It saved his life, but it did not restore the hold of his senses. 
     As this living corpse turned and faced Ryson once more, the delver made every attempt to rationalize his predicament. Perhaps this thing was not yet dead, perhaps by some miracle it held onto the smallest spark of life. How else could it move toward him?  How else could it attack, unless it somehow remained alive? But this was impossible. There was no blood flowing from the open wounds, there was no sign of breathing through those sinister teeth. Nothing like this could live, yet still it moved. 
     Before the corpse could make another attempt at the delver's life, Ryson finally gained greater control of his own movements. He began to step away and use the surrounding trees as cover. He scurried about like a lost child while he assessed this preposterous situation and questions steamrolled through his mind. 
     "Who are you?" he demanded with only a hint of panic in his voice. 
     The creature did not respond. It only circled about the trees hoping to get a clear shot at its prey. 
     Ryson tried to maintain his composure. He checked his fear as he continued to move, using his speed to his advantage. He kept a safe distance and at least two trees between himself and the corpse as he watched the creature carefully. The more he watched the more confused he became. With muscle and tissue missing from many parts of its body, movement should have been impossible. But apparently, these facts held little meaning. The creature continued its prodding, unyielding attack. It proved its ability to turn, move, and fight even as rotting flesh dropped off its visible bones. 
     Unable to find any understanding in what he witnessed, Ryson made another attempt to communicate with this atrocity. 
     "What are you? What are you doing?" 
     The creature made no sound. No words or even groans escaped its rotted mouth. It offered no explanation for its existence, extended no reason for its attack. 
     Ryson inhaled deeply, hoping to ease his growing terror. His lungs filled with the stench polluted air, and he coughed it out vigorously. His eyes watered as he fought off the sickness which filled him. 
     In this moment, the corpse moved with a swiftness it previously hid. It darted from behind one tree and found a position within two body lengths of its target. Nothing but open space stood between it and the delver. It veered back before hurling its pointed shaft with deadly intentions. 
     Ryson, still choking out the foul air, dropped to the ground instinctively. The spear grazed his hair before gliding well out of reach. His hand flew to the top of his head to check for injury. After brushing his fingers through his hair, he pulled his hand to the front of his face. No blood. 
     Sprawled over the hard ground and protruding roots, Ryson remained vulnerable. He tried to roll backwards away from the last known position of the corpse. He barely turned at all when his motion was brought to a dead halt. His back hit a solid tree trunk with a resounding thud. He gulped back a sting of pain. His eyes widened in panic as he realized he was prone and backed against a tree, hardly an enviable position to avoid further attack. 
     With a swirl of his head, he picked up sight of the corpse. It made no attempt to retrieve its spear. Instead, it moved unerringly towards him, apparently ready to block any attempt of escape. 
     The delver bit back his own terror. Using his great agility, he swung his legs about and came to his knees. He was about to spring to his feet with the intention of climbing the great tree behind him when the corpse unexpectedly leapt forward. 
     The creature actually flew across the air with a powerful bound. The impact was heavy. It sent the delver back into the trunk. Upon contact, the corpse immediately took hold of its quarry. Even as the two combatants deflected off the tree and went rolling, the frightful attacker maintained a grip on its intended victim. The cloud of flies now swarmed over both the corpse and the delver as the two became a united mass of flailing limbs. 
     Ryson used the momentum of impact to continue rolling to an area of open ground. He dug his knees, elbows and feet fiercely into the dirt and propelled himself with all his strength. He pounded a free hand into the midsection of this thing and dropped a heavy shoulder into its chest. 
     The energized carcass showed no sign of pain. It hung tightly, and it slowly moved its grasp closer and closer to Ryson's throat. 
     The delver felt the pointed, hard bones of the creature's left hand. They dug first into his side and then into his chest. His mind ached with panic. He whipped his own hand to his belt. His fingers opened his pouch deftly and reached inside. He pulled his dagger free and jabbed it into the center of the corpse. He pushed forward with all his might until every inch of the blade buried itself deep within the rotting skin. 
     The creature had no reaction. It did not slow its own deliberate assault. Within a heartbeat, it had its putrid hands about the delver's neck. The hard finger bones began to clamp down. 
     "No!" Ryson screamed before the thing could crush his windpipe. He released his hold on his dagger. With unbridled fury, stoked by the will to live, Ryson threw his arms upward. His forearms crashed into the wrists of the corpse. Such was the force of contact, that the boney left wrist snapped, and the creature's hand went sailing into the brush. The hold was broken, and Ryson scampered off to a safe distance. 
     The corpse showed no sign of distress over losing its hand. It also showed no sign of tiring. It moved to its feet, brought its focus back upon Ryson, and again, it moved forward. 
     The delver's shoulders drooped in disbelief. Mental fatigue, more then physical weariness, hung upon him even as he moved carefully away. As he waved the buzzing insects from his face, he considered turning and running for safety. Even as tired as he was, he believed he could quickly outdistance this thing. He condemned the thought, for it offered no answers, but it appeared his only option. With no other weapon, he had no way of stopping it. 
     Just as he made his decision, a call from the tree above him held him in place. 
     "Hold your ground!" an order called out. 
     Unthinkingly, Ryson's gaze flew upward. 
     The corpse ignored the call and saw yet another opportunity to reach its prey. It again moved with great speed and an extended right arm. 
     Before the arm could reach its target, another form dropped into the fray. A strange man landed upon the ground directly between Ryson and the attacking creature. He was slightly taller than Ryson, but not by much. He was also thinner, yet his muscles were more defined. 
     With grace and speed that even a delver might envy, the man drew a gleaming sword. The blade was as long as his arm, but only as wide as two of his fingers pressed together. It gleamed with razor sharpness on both its edges. With one quick stroke, the blade sliced through the air as well as the upper portion of the creature's right arm. 
     The arm fell to the ground, and for the first time, the corpse paused in its attack. It stood motionless. It stared at the lifeless arm upon the ground as if contemplating its meaning. The flies also faced indecision. They buzzed back and forth from the amputated arm to the main body of the corpse. 
     The newly arrived stranger did not show any such hesitation. He leaned to one side, and with a great sweeping motion, sent his blade flashing towards the legs of the cadaver. The stranger stepped into his swing, doubling the force of the blow as it struck at the knees. Both legs snapped in half and the corpse folded to the ground. 
     Ryson stared at the crumpled figure, his gaze fixed upon the heap of bones and rotting flesh. Just as he exhaled with relief, he thought he noticed a light blue glow fizzle about the remains. No further movement occurred, other than the swarming flies which now appeared content to buzz about the motionless remains. The delver found his voice to mumble a confused question. 
     "Is it dead?" 
     "It has been dead for many days," the stranger said sadly, revealing some greater concern. 
     "What are you talking about?!" The delver's eyes widened as he turned his stare upon the stranger. His outlandish confrontation still fresh in his mind, Ryson failed to question the appearance of the newcomer, and instead, his thoughts remained fixed upon the corpse. Confusion swirled in his brain. 
     "How can you say that?" Ryson gasped. "If it were dead, how could it move? You must have seen it for yourself. Didn't you see it trying to attack me?" 
     "That I did." The stranger looked thoughtfully at Ryson. "To perhaps all our dismay, it seems the dead can now be brought back to a sense of life. I loath to call it that, for it is not life at all. Animation. Forced energy. Nothing more." 
     The delver's bewilderment only increased. 
     "What?" It was all he could manage to blurt out. 
     "Magic, I'm afraid," the stranger said distressfully. "It only proves what I already know. The sphere must be free. That is the only answer. It must be. It would explain all that has happened. I could not fathom as to who has gained possession. The thought is too difficult to bear." 
     The delver found only puzzles in the words of the stranger. He clasped his hands in great torment. His voice held the tone of unreasoning bewilderment. "What... what are you talking about? I don't understand what's going on. None of this makes any sense!" 
     "It makes all too much sense. Try to clam yourself and I will try to explain. This will not be easy to accept. It's not easy for me, yet it does not surprise me. You were attacked by the undead, sprung from magic long absent from Uton. I would guess that loosened energies are sailing in every direction even as we talk. The remnants of a spell captured long ago, now released, must have found this half-rotten corpse of some wayward traveler. The magic found its home and animated the body. You were simply unfortunate enough to come across its path." 
     Ryson shook his head vehemently. "That's not possible. What you're saying is simply not possible." 
     "Isn't it?" the stranger said firmly. "Speak of possibilities and explain to me what you yourself have witnessed. Perhaps many days ago it was not possible, but it appears that this is no longer the case. I tell you the magic is free, and we now face everything that goes with it." 
     Ryson was aghast. "So you're telling me the dead will start rising all over?" 
     "No. There will be others, that is for sure, but the magic will take different paths. It depends on many things. Unfortunately, I lack information." 
     Ryson stared back at the now lifeless heap of rotting flesh. Fatigue, confusion, even despair, crashed upon his every thought. He fought to seize shreds of logic, answers to this unthinkable puzzle. He found nothing but greater turmoil. 
     "You are human?" the stranger's voice questioned firmly. There was little sign of compassion for the delver's confusion. 
     Ryson finally forced his gaze completely from the broken mass which previously hoped to kill him. He focused upon the face of the man that came to his aid and now stood before him. The stranger had brown, thin hair that hung straight down and clung to his head and neck. It covered his ears fully before ending at the tops of his shoulders. Over which, he wore a heavy wooden long bow and a quiver of arrows. His face looked as ordinary as anyone's, except for the nose which appeared small and slightly pointed. 
     "I'm a delver," Ryson finally answered. The question brought some sense of hard reality. Stating a simple fact seemed to reassure his troubled thoughts. Finding momentary sanctuary in such feelings, he focused upon the question. "Why do you ask?" 
     The stranger revealed a hint of hopefulness at Ryson's response. 
     "Truly? You are a delver? Full-bred?" 
     "Yes. Again, why do you ask?" 
     The stranger ignored the question as he reflected upon his own thoughts. "A delver," he mumbled to himself. "Perhaps a blessing. Difficult to say without more information." 
     "What are you talking about?" Ryson demanded. His confusion grew into annoyance. "First, you tell me about the undead and strange magic. Then, you say there might be more. You ask if I'm human, but you stand there talking to yourself when you find out I'm a delver. Are we in danger or not?" 
     "Relax. You are safe for now. Perhaps safer than I. I asked if you were human because I watched you fight. You moved with great speed and agility. I could not believe you were an ordinary human. I thought you might be half-bred. Although they are scarce, they do exist. I myself have never seen one." 
     "You mean half-delver, half-human? You haven't seen one before? I've met hundreds." 
     "No. I mean half-human, half-elf." 
     "Elf?"! 
     Again, Ryson Acumen's eyes widened in disbelief. He now stared angrily at the brown haired man. The word burned in his mind. This was too much. His despair blossomed into near rage. Was it not enough for him to have dealt with the atrocity of the undead?  Would he now have to listen to this stranger cast stories about ancient legends?  The explanation of magic animating this pile of rotted flesh and bones was enough to stir his anger, but this, this was too much to handle. Rage took hold of his thoughts, a burning spark ignited into a roaring flame and Ryson snapped with a harangue directed at the stranger's apparent disregard for ancient folklore. 
     "That's enough! I'm not going to listen to anymore of this. I don't know who you are, but that's enough. You might think I'm fool enough to believe your story about magic, but I won't stand here and listen to anymore! You want to try and make a fool of me by talking about magic, well that's fine, but when you talk about elves you're talking about things you probably don't even understand. You're speaking about legends, myths I may not believe but there are others who do. Who in the name of Godson are you to make light of such things?!" 
     At first the interloper watched in wide-eyed wonder at the delver's outburst. He was certainly not prepared for such a tongue-lashing and he gaped at Ryson for the first few lines of the angry lecture. Finally, he made an attempt to explain. "Please hold your anger. I assure you I am not making light of the legends. Nothing could be further from my mind." 
     Ryson's anger barely subsided. "Then, why are you questioning me about elves?" he demanded in a strained tone. 
     For the first time the stranger showed a gleam of compassion for the delver. He spoke softer and with greater warmth. He sheathed his sword and put his arms behind his back. "First allow me to introduce myself. I am Lief Woodson. I am happy to see you defend what you call myths so vigorously, but I assure you, they are not myths. The teachings in which you refer are based on a reality of long ago. It is a reality, however, which all may have to accept once more." 
     Ryson finally checked his anger. While the words of the stranger held no more clarity than before, at least his own outburst released the strain of his encounter with the living dead. "I still don't know what you're talking about, but I want to make one thing clear. I know about the legends. I was taught long ago to respect them. That means if you're going to try and make up lies, I won't stand here listening to you. I'll go my own way and find out what I can on my own. I'm not ungrateful to you for saving me, but your words are disrespectful. Not to me, but to others." 
     Lief Woodson smiled broadly. He even allowed himself to laugh lightly, but only for a scant moment. "You must indeed be a delver, for no human would treat the legends with such respect. Forgive me for laughing, I do not laugh at you. I have witnessed many disconcerting things these past few days. To listen to you sparks a hope deep within me. But let me assure you, I do not abuse those things which you call myths. They are, however, not myths. They were, are, and always shall be reality. I am part of the legends themselves. As you are purebred delver, I am full-bred elf." 
     Lief pulled his hair back and away from the sides of his head and he exposed his ears for Ryson to witness the pointed tips. 
     "It is the one true physical characteristic which parts us clearly from the humans," Lief said. "The other differences are not so visible." 
     "You're an elf!" Ryson exclaimed. 
     The delver stared at each pointed ear until Lief released his hair and covered them once more. The delver dropped his gaze to the ground and brought his own hand to his forehead. 
     "What am I saying?" the delver moaned. "How was I to know that elves exist? They're not supposed to exist. And the dead aren't supposed to rise. And magic is something for sideshow illusionists and fairy tales. What's happening here?! What's happening to me?!" 
     Lief spoke slowly and reassuringly to the delver. "I will tell you all I can. I will tell you of things you may refuse to believe, for I will almost assuredly destroy your previous outlook of this world." 
     "I don't know what to believe anymore," Ryson groaned with all honesty. His thoughts were a whirlwind. Logic failed to bring light to his scattered mind. He could not erase the image of the walking dead, as he could not avoid casting disbelieving glance after disbelieving glance at his new found companion. The elf's words were no more than a buzzing in his ear which he strained to hear. 
     "I don't know exactly how much you know of the legends," Lief Woodson continued. "Perhaps what you have heard is only the barest reference to the past." 
     Ryson kicked at the ground slowly. Seizing upon something he could answer with certainty, he spoke of his own knowledge on the subject. "I've probably heard more than most," he admitted. "My parents wanted me to be acquainted with the legends, not so I would believe them, but so I would be aware of what others thought. I guess it's part of being a delver." 
     "You may wish to thank your parents for that some day. If it is true, you may well be better prepared for what I see as inevitable." 
     The delver brought his focus back to the face of the elf. He stared deeply into Lief's eyes. "Tell me the truth, what's happening? What in the name of Godson is going on?" 
     Lief attempted to show even greater compassion. His own distress, however, became growingly apparent. 
     "I believe I know," the elf stated, "though others in my camp continue to reject the idea. The existence of the undead, however, confirms my theory. The only question which remains is how it has occurred. The Sphere of Ingar is free from its containment. It is the only answer." 
     "Ingar's sphere?" 
     "You know of it?" 
     "Of course I know of it," Ryson replied. "It's the most important of the legends. It's supposed to explain how the world rid itself of magic and the dark creatures." 
     Lief nodded to the pile of broken bones and flesh before them. "As you saw for yourself, the dark creatures have returned. Magic is also loose in the land. The blue glow which left the corpse, that was spell remnants. Magic. Perhaps, dark sorcery. Nothing else can explain it." 
     "But the Sphere of Ingar? Come on! Do you really expect me to believe that?" 
     "I expect nothing," Lief frowned 
     "But you're telling me these things. You must be hoping to convince me of them." 
     "What would you have me do?" the elf questioned with a tone of harshness. "You have asked me what is happening. I am telling you what I believe to be true. Should I tell you that I am not an elf and that this corpse did not come to life? What is it you expect of me?" 
     Ryson sighed heavily. He did not know what he wanted. If these were the true answers to his questions, they left only more puzzles. "You have to forgive me, but I need a moment to sort this out. What you're saying defies all logic." 
     "I understand," the elf grumbled grudgingly. "Take a moment to gather yourself, but be warned, I can not totally disregard time. I must return to my camp to warn them of this. The elves are in great peril." 
     Ryson did not ask for further explanation on that point. Enough confusing, contradictory thoughts bounded through his mind as it was. The last thing he needed was to hear of more outlandish tales. Still, if Lief was right, he had to consider the outlandish; the myths and the legends. His mind rolled back to the tales he learned as a child. 
     The image of his mother came firmly into mind. He could see her in the kitchen at the holidays. He remembered being young and eager to learn everything. He listened with great intent as she began her teachings of the old stories. He could almost smell the baking of bread and hear her reassuring voice as he reflected upon elf tales and the legend of Ingar. 
     His mind then shifted to the strong hands of his father on his shoulders who taught him how to use his abilities. In the forests and the mountains, he showed him how to leap and climb. He also told him everything he knew from ancient lore, such as the Book of Godson. He spoke of massive creatures called cliff behemoths that lived solely upon these words. 
     Cliff behemoths! Could such creatures rally exist?! Yet, here stood an elf before him. If an elf existed, why not a cliff behemoth? Why not an algor for that matter?  Tailless lizards could be no more difficult to believe than the dead walking and raising arms against him. What was the explanation that caused this? Magic? Real magic, not fake tricks? The Sphere of Ingar was supposed to contain all the magical energy. But according to the legends, the sphere was entombed long ago. If there is indeed such a talisman, then there must also be sorcerers and wizards. 
     Such disquieting thoughts continued to cloud his mind. He walked about, circling the pines nearby. He mumbled to himself over and over. This was too much for any one man to accept, even a delver. However, he could not deny the simple facts before him. A corpse attacked him. Something which should have been unable to even move had shown the ability to carry and throw a crude spear, to chase and even choke him. There also stood before him what looked like, for all intents and purposes, an elf. Lief Woodson appeared honest and forthright, and had pointed ears. 
     Ryson eventually found himself standing once more by the side of the elf. He also found himself retracing the same thoughts over and over again. Finally, he spoke with forced determination. 
     "I don't know what's going on. That's the unfortunate answer. I have no idea whatsoever. Either I'm mad or you're right. Since I don't want to believe I've lost my mind, I have to hope to find another answer. You may be right, but it's a little much for me to just accept. Maybe it's best for me to be just what I am, a delver, and look for the answers." 
     Lief nodded in pensive approval. "I hope that also means that you may be willing to assist me. I have said before I lack knowledge. A delver's assistance would help me greatly. It will also serve your own purposes for it will bring you greater information. Dare I say you will see things you never expected to see in your life." 
     "That's already happened. I look at you now. I never expected to see an elf, let alone talk to one." 
     Lief allowed himself to laugh once more. He spoke with a smile through his momentary chuckle. "I suppose that means you really believe I am an elf. I'm glad I will not have to argue that point any further. Actually, I doubt you really know what to make of me at all. You should have seen your face when I showed you my ears." 
     "It's just that I never expected this," Ryson admitted while revealing a hint of embarrassment. 
     "It will be new to us all," Lief stated. "The last contact between elf and human occurred so long ago that I can't even remember. It looks as if now we have no choice. Elves will have to come out into the open once more. But enough of that. Will you assist me?" 
     Ryson considered the request carefully. "Assist you? How?"
     "As I have said, I need information. I need to know what you've seen and heard, and why you are here." The elf stated pointedly.
     "I'll do what I can." 
     "And I will help you. I will prepare you for what I expect to find. By the way, if we are to assist one another, what shall I call you?" 
     The delver was taken slightly aback. He never could have expected he would be introducing himself to a being he thought existed only in fantasy. "I'm sorry. I'm Ryson Acumen. I should have told you much sooner. 
     "It's more than understandable. Think nothing more of it. Now, we have important business to attend to." Lief's congeniality faded into dark seriousness. Bleakness stretched across his face, his words dropped from his mouth like dead anchors. "I must ask you now what you were doing in this part of the forest. It is not a passage and there are no towns about. Are the humans thinking again of expanding their territory? Were you investigating the lands for them?" 
     "No, not really." Ryson struggled to maintain an even flow of thought. So much had occurred in recent moments; he found it difficult to latch upon those events which brought him to Dark Spruce in the first place. Laboriously, he summed up the reasons for his exploration. "It was the quake, a tremor that rolled through Connel a few days ago." In truth, he wasn't sure how long ago the tremor disturbed the grounds surrounding Connel. He continued as if trying to pull thoughts one by one from his head. "I wanted to see what affect it had on the land. The town council also wanted an exploration. At first, I was sent to inspect damage to some neighboring towns. I've completed that. I left Pinesway this morning to follow the tremor, and that led me into the forest. I'm still trying to see how things have changed. I'm also seeking the origin of the quake." 
     Lief considered the explanation with apparent confusion. "I do not mean to question you, but when I first spotted you, you were traveling south. You were not following the path of the tremor. That leads to the west" 
     "Yes. I have to admit I lost my focus," Ryson responded with greater certainty. The reason for his change in direction was the undead attacker, and that memory could not be washed from his mind. "I noticed a smell. It was so strange and new, it pulled at me. Sometimes that's the price of being a delver. We never know how our instincts will guide us. It guided me to this." He nodded to the corpse. The sight now revolted him. "But it is my intention to return to the path of the tremor. By the way, were you aware of the quake?" 
     The question brought further anguish to Lief's demeanor, graveness painted his face even darker. He looked to the west, as if he could see through the thicket of trees which surrounded them. "I'm all too aware of the disturbance which passed. It is that same tremor which preceded incidents of great magnitude. It is why I have the fears which I do." 
     "You mean about the Sphere of Ingar?" 
     "Indeed. While the quake did little damage to our camp, I feel it signified something more. Within hours of the tremor, my people experienced many amazing things. Older elves found themselves rejuvenated with youthful vitality. Younger elves showed an uncanny ability to foretell events and see into the minds of others. As the day passed, it soon became apparent that the members of my camp were becoming filled with a power long since vanished. Many took it as a blessing, a sign that the elves would return to their place in the land's order. I did not look at it in such a favorable light. 
     "My fears truly became heightened when a very gifted youngster turned invisible at his own will. At that point, I spoke up. I declared that something was very wrong, that the only answer was that the magic long trapped in the sphere was now being released. With no surprise, my announcement created great fear. There were those that refused to believe me. They wished to believe it a blessing and not a curse. Yet, within a day, the more sensitive of my people found themselves feeling ill at ease. 
     "Again, I spoke up and again I was refuted. This time, however, there were others which spoke with me. Even my harshest critics could not ignore the fact that magic was again free in the air. They persisted, however, that the magic was not from the sphere. They concluded that the magic was freed from the land itself, freed by the quake." 
     "But you don't think so, do you?" Ryson asked inquisitively. Finally, he found a moment of freedom from the anguish in his mind. The chance to ask questions, to listen and learn of such things as elves and their conversations, to hear of things as foreign as Elvin camps; such things invoked his delver instincts. 
     Lief shook his head sternly. "I did not then, and I certainly do not now. The dead has been raised. That is not a blessing. This is serious magic, magic that could only have been held by the sphere. Magic caught within the land would not hold the ability or the intention to create undead warriors. If it was not from the sphere, it would be pure and hold no such order. No, I'm afraid the magic must have been corrupted by a powerful sorcerer long ago. All of that energy was captured in the sphere." 
     "It sounds as if you're convinced," Ryson noted. "I don't know enough to argue the point. I know what I've seen and it does defy all sanity. You're obviously out in the forest for a reason, I assume to help support your theory. That being the case, what is it you want to do?" 
     "We must travel to Sanctum Mountain. We must learn what we can." 
     Ryson contemplated the proposal. His face revealed slight hesitancy. 
     "What troubles you, delver?" Lief asked. 
     Ryson grimaced. "I must admit that I'm not just following the quake for myself. I promised Reader Matthew I would include him on what I found. If I agree to go with you to Sanctum, it means I'm giving up. I'd rather not do that." 
     "Who is this Reader Matthew?" Lief requested, perturbed by the thought that something might detract from him obtaining the help of the delver. 
     "I guess you would call him the spiritual leader for the Church of Godson at Connel," Ryson responded simply. 
     Surprise filled the elf. He reared his head back as he could not refrain from blurting out a hasty question. "A reader of Godson is concerned about the quake?  Did he tell you why?" 
     "He did. He spoke of the prophesies of Godson. Apparently, they were translated with great accuracy for them by some interpreter. But this tremor wasn't mentioned by the translator. Matthew found this difficult to accept. He wants to know more of the quake, where it came from and what it's done to the land." 
     "So their prophecies include nothing about the quake, either?" The fact appeared to strike Lief more personally than it should have, almost as if the translated prophecies meant as much to him as they did to Matthew and his followers. 
     The elf's reaction was not lost upon the delver, and Ryson watched with greater interest as he made his simple response. "Apparently not." 
     Lief shook his head in tired frustration. "Yet, another factor which now weighs upon me. How do I deal with this? Elflore says nothing about this and now I find the Book of Godson is also lacking. Fire upon the prophecies for not warning us of this. Must we face this without the slightest reference of what might be? How are we to act, what should we do?" 
     Ryson remained quiet for long moments. He longed to ask about elflore and how it impacted Lief's theories. But the elf remained in deep deliberation, and Ryson let his companion weigh this new information without interruption. He would find another time to ask about such things. 
     The elf grimaced with uncertainty before turning his attention back to the delver. When he spoke, he said nothing of elflore or the Book of Godson. 
     "So, the reader wishes you to send word as to what you find. I think we can continue to accommodate that. I do not believe it will be a conflict at all. He wishes you to follow the path of the quake. If I am not mistaken, the path will lead us directly to Sanctum Mountain. I would also go as far as to guess that the reader would also be quite interested in the fate of the sphere. I believe the Book of Godson refers to the sphere and its history." 
     "I'm not sure about that. While I've been told the legends, I've never received teachings direct from the book. I'm not sure which story comes from where. I would have to agree, though, that Matthew would be interested in knowing of the sphere, if indeed such a sphere exists." 
     "Free yourself from your doubts, delver. I understand them, but they will only make things more difficult for you. There is a sphere and I am now quite sure that it is responsible for the happenings of the past few days. You must expect to see things you would previously never believed possible. Very simply, the magic is free. How or why it's free is of great concern to me. It is what we must determine. Remember the legends. Keep them in your mind, hold to them, and believe them. They will help you, and perhaps keep you from madness. They may also save your life." 
     The elf paused and nodded to the decaying remains upon the ground before them. "You've already faced the undead today. There is no telling what else awaits us." 
     Ryson looked upon the now lifeless corpse for the last time, a stark reminder of the madness he might face. He noticed the handle of his dagger protruding out of its chest. He fought off his own repugnance and bent over to retrieve it. He wiped the blade on the ground several times. He examined it carefully before returning it to his belt, making sure not the slightest stain remained. 
     "Speaking of such," Ryson spoke with an edge, "what happens if we face another one of these? What do I have to do to stop it?" 
     "You must remember it is an undead warrior. It is no longer a living thing. It is a lifeless hulk, animated by dark magic. You can't expect to kill it by thrusting a blade into its heart. It won't be effective, for the heart is no longer important. It also won't feel pain. And it won't feel regret or remorse at attacking. There are only two ways to stop such a creature. You must remove the magic which gives it life, or inflict enough damage so that it is no longer a threat. It takes powerful spells to forcibly remove the energy, so unless you are willing to become a sorcerer, that option is not open to you. That leaves the second. That is what I did. The undead are strong, but their bodies are not very resilient. Decay will do that. If you damage the body to a point where it can no longer hurt you, the magic will leave of its own accord. When I struck the legs of the creature, it was no longer capable of movement. The energy could no longer force the corpse to attack, so it left." 
     "I see. But I'm not equipped for such a battle. This knife is all I carry." 
     "Then, you might consider altering that decision. Your only other option is to flee. Don't worry about that now. We go to Sanctum Mountain together. If we face the undead, I shall dispatch it, unless they're in great numbers." 
     "Then I'll rely upon you as well as my own senses," Ryson acknowledged. "Hopefully, I can warn us of another such monster." 
     "Warnings are always advantageous. Now let us move on. I would, though, make one request. Let us move through the trees. Passing from branch to branch, crossing the forest above the ground, it is how I travel." 
     "That will slow me down," Ryson admitted. 
     "I know, but it will allow me to keep pace with you. It is the quickest way for me. It is a fairly short trip to Sanctum. We might reach its base before nightfall, but if you are as gifted as the stories reveal about delvers, there is no way I can match your speed upon the ground. I have seen you move as you battled the undead; of this I'm already sure." 
     "If you think it's best." 
     "It is indeed. The forest will take us to the edge of Sanctum. At that point we can examine the area and adjust our travel. For now, simply follow your instincts. Return your attention to the quake and its path. It will lead us westward and that is where I wish to go. Follow it as you see fit. I believe it will lead us to the mountain. If you sense anything else which calls for your attention, please inform me." 
     "Certainly," Ryson agreed without hesitation. Millions of questions assaulted him, questions without answers. He would not find those answers by remaining here; they waited elsewhere, perhaps within Sanctum Mountain. He could not deny what had happened to him, could not shove it into the recesses of his mind. As a delver, he needed answers, no matter how incredible. He took to the journey with no less hesitation then when he first left Connel. Without further word, the two nimble figures grasped branches overhead and disappeared into the trees.
 

Chapter 3

     The elf and the delver moved westward. They scaled the trees with ease. They leapt from branch to branch, swung from tree to tree, and trotted deep within the pine needles and leaves. Even among the thickest grove of cedars, their pace far exceeded the normal walking speed of a human. 
     As they carried themselves closer to the sky, their path earned them greater sunlight. The trees themselves were full of life. Early season cherries were already ripening and berries on taller bushes waited within arms reach. The two travelers paused on several occasions to re-energize with the beckoning gifts. 
     As they moved about the sturdy branches, small animals appeared to enjoy their company. Birds and squirrels danced along with them. Every now and then, the delver whistled out a bird call or a chirp to a nearby chipmunk. He would smile broadly with every musical response. The sunlight, the animals, the green of Dark Spruce; all served to lift the gloom from the delver. He found the excursion invigorating, and he found his natural abilities more than capable in handling the task. He ducked in and out of the trees with amazing grace and balance. He slipped through dense clusters of branches by navigating through twisting passages. While he could have moved much faster upon the ground, he was satisfied with their pace. He was also pleased to hone his climbing skills. Indeed, he made a mental note to travel this way more often. If nothing else, it kept many of his abilities sharp. 
     The elf moved with similar ease, but he failed to show the same eager enthusiasm. This was no new or unique experience. Traveling within the trees was as normal to him as breathing. It was how all woodland elves traveled. There was never a need to cut a path through dense underbrush as long as the trees formed a forest. Thick branches cast the framework for both their paths and their bridges. There was not a stream in Dark Spruce that could not be crossed by leaping from one tree to another. As easily as squirrels crossed great distances while never placing a single step upon the ground, the elves moved in similar fashion, and Lief was please with the speed in which they crossed Dark Spruce. 
     With each step, from one tree to the next, the delver became more engrossed with following the path of the quake. Traveling upon the branches became routine. His attention focused squarely upon the quest, and his instincts took greater control of his movements. 
     The elf followed behind the delver. He allowed Ryson to choose the direction and path. Only occasionally would he lift his head to get his own bearings. To both his distress and satisfaction, he noted their westward movement, movement that carried them in the general direction of Sanctum.
     The delver made his decisions based on the signs of the ground below. Once again, his senses focused upon the trail of the tremor. He peered downward often to assess the mark of the quake. Disheveled ground and uplifted roots gave clear indications of the path. The signs of damage became clearer and more extensive with every step. In places, the soil appeared freshly turned. Actual breaks in the ground, cracks and crevices, appeared more regularly. He also noted greater damage to the trees. He found more than one completely uprooted. Tree branches were covered with dust and debris, fallout from the upheaval of the quake. 
     As they moved onward, they took fewer and fewer breaks. Ryson rushed forward, the trail beckoning him with greater influence. Even as the path became clearer, something in the distance called out to his instincts, something akin to a faint echo. He could not seize the true fabric of this call, but he was certain something of great importance waited for his discovery. He wondered if it would hold the answer to his questions or only create more mysteries, but whatever the case, he wished to find it. Such was the strength of his pursuit that he nearly forgot about his companion. 
     The elf kept pace, although it proved to be a struggle. As accustomed as Lief was to this form of travel, he was not prepared for the great speed of a delver. He called upon his own natural skills to keep up. He considered calling out to Ryson to slow his travel, but changed his mind as he saw the outline of Sanctum Mountain. 
     It was just as he thought, even as he feared. Following the path of the tremor continued to lead them to his personal objective, the sight of entombment for the Sphere of Ingar. Even as he mulled the seriousness of this sign in his mind, he still could not guess what the final outcome might be. Again, he cursed the lore and the prophecies. Not a word about this existed, not a prophecy, not even a warning. Nothing. 
     The elf gritted his teeth as he smelled the late afternoon air. It was heavy with magic, power that should not exist. Such energy was captured long ago, captured by the sphere, which was in turn buried deep within Sanctum. Yet, the magic was strongly prevalent here. More proof that the sphere's centuries long entombment had ended. Powerful thoughts as well as fears filled the elf with despair and confusion. Lief became so consumed, he almost passed by the delver. 
     Ryson had come to a complete halt within a broad leafed maple. He stood rigid upon a heavy bough. He looked off to the north. His nose sniffed the air as he remained motionless. Only the elf's continued movement caused him to react. As Lief stepped forward to Ryson's side, the delver put out an arm and grabbed the elf's shoulder. He made it very clear that he wanted silence. 
     The elf complied completely. He crouched slightly but then remained perfectly still. He peered in the same northern direction. His sharp eyes caught glimpses of movement within a shout's distance away, but branches, leaves and pine needles blocked clear sight of the ground based commotion. 
     Ryson moved his head near the elf's ear. 
     "What do you see?" he whispered. 
     Lief stared for a moment more. He answered in a whispered but sturdy voice. "My vision is blocked, but I make out the movement of a least three. There may be more out of sight. I have caught the glint of steel in the sunlight, normally a sign of weapons or armor, but I can not say what they carry. I also can not determine who they are. It is hard to say for sure, but they appear short in size. They might be nothing more than human children, though I can not explain the existence of steel if they were. Perhaps, they are soldiers that are crouching." 
     Ryson shook his head. "I don't think so. What do you hear?" 
     The elf brushed the hair away from the side of his head, again revealing one pointed ear. He listened for a moment and grimaced before explaining. "It is strange, a grumbling of strangely pitched voices. It reverberates with a strange echo, as if they were talking in a cave. I can not make out any words." 
     Ryson did not respond. He sniffed the air again, and then put a hand to his chin. He crouched deep in thought as he considered their findings. 
     The elf turned his gaze upon the delver. "You are confused. What's wrong?" 
     "The smell," Ryson acknowledged. "It's strange to me." 
     "It was the smell that made you uncover the undead, was it not?" 
     "Yes, but this is different. This isn't decay. This is something totally new." 
     The elf took a moment to cast a glance at the outline of Sanctum. "If I am right about the sphere," he whispered, "and now I believe I am certain, there is magic in the air. That may be what affects your smell." 
     "The scent is coming from that group," Ryson insisted. "They're the source." 
     "More evil," Lief mumbled as he turned his attention back to the unidentified strangers. "I see another. I'm sure there are now at least four. They wear thick breast plates. I believe they are warriors of some type." 
     "Perhaps, but they're not human," Ryson said with great certainty. 
     "They may be dwarves," Lief interjected. "That would explain their apparent size. It would explain the chest plates, although they only wear armor in times of battle. I wish I could see their faces." 
     Ryson blinked at the thought. "Dwarves?" 
     The elf quickly reminded Ryson of the situation he faced. "Remember your legends, delver. You see before you an elf, and you have faced the undead. Take my word for what it is. Dwarves still live in this world." 
     "I guess it's possible." 
     "But still confusing," Lief added. "Dwarves do not make a practice of mulling about in the woods, even close to a mountain. They live in the comfort and security of tunnel caves. Daylight is not kind to their eyes. I can not understand why they might be here." 
     The elf paused a second before offering his own theory. "Perhaps they are also aware of the freed magic. They might be here to inspect the tomb. It would explain much." 
     Ryson made it clear he wanted more than just a plausible theory before they disregarded this encounter. "How can we be sure?" 
     Lief responded with quick certainty. "We need to get a better look at them. Dwarves are unmistakable in feature. All are stout and powerful. They are shorter than the average human. Their faces are much like yours or mine except stern, as if chiseled. The men wear long beards, and most let their hair grow full and long. They wield axe, mace, and broadsword." 
     "Excellent," Ryson exclaimed. "Let me go and have a look at them. I'll come back and tell you if your description fits." 
     Lief's voice grew stern and demanding. "You do not intend to go alone? I shall accompany you!" 
     The delver shook his head. "No. I'll move easier if I only have to worry about myself." 
     "But that is not all you have to worry about," Lief responded adamantly. "You face many things you know little of. I can not let you blunder mindlessly into such a thing." 
     "I have no intention of blundering into anything. I fully intend on being as careful as possible." 
     "You will take greater care if I am with you."
     "I don't think so," Ryson whispered. "This is what I do. You've seen me move, do you really question my abilities?  I can investigate without being seen or heard, but to do it well, I have to move alone." 
     Lief considered what he had already learned watching the delver upon this day. He could not deny the skills which were inherently the delver's. He accepted the situation, although reluctantly. "Very well, but take heed. Dwarves are known to be dangerous. They are strong and deadly with their weapons. If you arouse them, they might attack. If you are spotted, I suggest you flee. It is your best chance. I can tell you truly, no dwarf could match you in speed and agility." 
     "I'll remember that. I'll be back in a moment. This shouldn't take very long." 
     Ryson looked about quickly before leaping to a higher branch. He continued climbing, barley making a sound or even disturbing a single leaf. As soon he was several lengths above his previous position, he moved toward the unidentified persons. High in the trees, the delver used the cover of the branches and leaves to his every advantage. He became less a shadow and more a part of the trees themselves. He made his way to a better vantage point before dropping down several branches. He quickly obtained a position which allowed a clear view of the group below. He pulled the spyscope from his pouch and gained close view of his quarry. He found the spectacle most surprising. The characteristics he spotted did not come close to matching the description given by the elf. Except for the short stature, these creatures looked nothing like dwarves. 
     Closer to the group, he counted seven in all. They were odd looking, actually disgusting creatures. They had round, balloon-like heads, with a grayish tint, maybe even a hint of purple. Thick heavy skin, apparently layers and layers, swelled around the cheeks and eyes. It made their faces look puffy and swollen. Thin lips outlined very wide mouths. Within these mouths, Ryson saw long disorganized rows of small, square teeth. Thin wisps of wiry gray and black hair dotted their round heads. Their noses were different and unique from creature to creature. Some had short, round noses. Others had long pointed ones. One had no true nose at all, only two nostril openings at the center of its face. 
     As for their weapons, they carried small crossbows draped over their backs, and they wore short swords at their sides. They wore thick plates covering their chests. It was their only protection. 
     Ryson listened as the creatures continued to mull about the ground. They spoke in muffled grumblings. The delver could not decipher a single word. 
     Before leaving his position, he peered about looking for any stragglers or guards. With careful eyes, the delver quickly spotted a single creature hiding up in the branches over the others. This guard cradled a crossbow in its arms.
     Secure that he was aware of all the potential hazards, Ryson silently returned to Lief's side. He whispered his report hoping to gain comprehension from the elf's viewpoint. 
     "Goblins!" the elf whispered with a heavy sign. "As if I needed another sign to accept the dark truth of what we now face." 
     "Goblins?" Ryson exclaimed in a weary voice, yet another surprise, another unexpected twist to this mind-boggling experience. 
     "Yes, goblins. It's further proof that the sphere is free from imprisonment. Goblins can not survive without magic, not in this plane of existence. They are creatures of the dark. Some say they come up from the underground with the help of magic, but the dwarves never agreed with that theory. They contend they fall from trees, like overripe fruit. I don't know where they come from, but I know the last was seen long ago. They did not last long after the war over the sphere. I have never seen one. My father fought one of the last groups in a suicide battle, but that was long, long ago. Apparently, they are back." 
     "So what do we do?" 
     The elf quickly considered the available options. "How many did you see?" 
     "There are seven on the ground. There is one in the tree over their heads. I assume he is there to protect the others. He has his crossbow drawn and loaded." 
     "Puny numbers," Lief said indignantly. "The true threat of the goblin lies in their numbers. I have heard stories of them attacking in hundreds of thousands. They darken the land and fill the sky with their arrows. I also know that they are not the bravest of creatures. Such a small group, they must be very worried. A single guard in a tree will give them little protection." 
     Ryson recalled other factors and revealed them to Lief. "They mumbled a lot, but I couldn't understand what they were saying. They seemed to be looking around, almost as if they were waiting for something." 
     "They are probably waiting for their numbers to swell, hiding in the trees until they feel more comfortable with the size of their group. We won't give them a chance." 
     Ryson noted the belligerent tone in the elf's voice. "What do you intend to do?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. 
     "I intend to break up their party before they grow into a threatening herd," Lief answered with a cold chill tainting his words. He could not hide his animosity, and did not wish to. "I seek answers. These cretins may hold such answers. It is a perfect opportunity. Doubtless, they are unaware of our presence. We can take them with little difficulty. I doubt they will do little more than run." 
     As if there was to be no discussion, Lief gave his orders. "I want you to approach the guard. Knock him to the ground. When you strike, I will move from lower within the trees. I intend to take at least one out with an arrow. Then, I will swoop down upon them. They will flee, but I will capture one." 
     "You're going to kill one of them?" Great reluctance became very evident in the face of the delver.
     "I can't kill anything." 
     Lief's eyes narrowed, his loathing more apparent. "I will take care of that, not you." 
     "But I won't be a part of it, either." 
     The elf bit back a flash of anger. He looked almost scornfully at the delver. His own hate and dispassion for the race of goblins exploded like a flare. "Very well, I will go alone." 
     "I'll warn them," Ryson stated firmly, revealing he had no intention of backing down. 
     Lief's anger doubled, tripled. He was about to condemn the delver with every curse known to the elves, but his anger soon gave way to understanding. He saw compassion in the eyes of the delver. It was not fear which spurred Ryson to refuse the plan, it was a respect for life. 
     "I see," the elf grumbled. "Is there any way to convince you that what you protect is unworthy of such lofty standards?" 
     "No," Ryson responded simply. 
     "Very well." Lief gave one final glance at the outline of Sanctum in the distance. Under ordinary circumstances, he would have staunchly argued the lowly worthlessness of the goblin. Their renewed existence in the land filled him with malevolence and disgust, but it also underscored the nature of his worst fears. Great magic is needed to allow goblins to pass upon the land, this was undeniable, magic which could only be found in the Sphere of Ingar. The thought hammered at him, and the growing importance of the sphere left little time to debate the issue. 
     "You give me no choice. I will not press you to change your mind at this time. I will only tell you that you may eventually be forced into a position where such high standards become impossible. I do not think you understand the severity of the situation you face. One day a horde of these creatures may attack your home. They will not think twice about killing every inhabitant." 
     "That may be," Ryson allowed, "but that is not yet the case. I won't be part of unnecessary killing." 
     "Like I said before, I won't attempt to change your mind at this time. Will you accept my plan if I promise I will not hit any of the loathsome creatures with my arrow?  Instead, I will send several that will miss the mark. That will serve to create confusion and force the goblins to flee. I will then capture one." 
     "I'll take your word for that," Ryson acknowledged. "And I accept it." 
     "Very good. Let us move now. Each moment we delay, the goblins entertain the chance for increasing their numbers. I will go this way." The elf pointed to a low path within the branches to his left. "I will stop roughly forty paces from their position. When I see the guard tumble from the tree, I will shoot four or five arrows over their heads. After you take out the guard, remain within the branches. If you drop to close to the goblins, they might strike out at you in the confusion. They will not regard your life with the same high standard you afford them." 
     "I understand." 
     "Go now!" the elf commanded before moving off in his afore designated direction. 
     The delver paused for but a moment, then followed a different path back toward the goblins. He gritted his teeth to fight back his growing anxieties over the danger he now faced. While he remained in control of his movements, his thoughts swelled over the image of facing hundreds of goblins, no less hundreds of thousands. 
     What was happening to the world he lived upon? He fought the undead, traveled with an elf, and now planned to attack goblins. If not for the seriousness with which his parents told him of the legends, he would have believed himself insane. Yet now, the legends were revealing themselves to him, revealing themselves in a way which he could not simply dismiss as illusion or dream. 
     In such instances of distraction, Ryson focused upon the task at hand. It was time to force the maddening puzzles from his consciousness and allow the deepest of his instincts to control his movements. He stalked the goblins from above. He glided from branch to branch with such diligence that the guard had no warning of his approach. 
     The delver gained a position high above the guard, then moved downward. Spiraling around the trunk, Ryson used branches and leaves to cover his advance. He gained a position within arms reach before the goblin even knew of his existence. 
     The goblin shifted its head at the sign of a disturbance. It growled in surprise and fear as a shadowy figure moved swiftly toward it. 
     Before the puffy face turned completely about, the delver pulled the crossbow from out of its hands. He thew it aside. It crashed through the branches and fell harmlessly to the ground. Ryson quickly grabbed the heavy chest plate of the goblin. He twisted and pulled until the goblin became displaced from the thick bough it clung to. 
     As Ryson held the goblin aloft in mid-air, the creature looked up and snarled. Foamed spit cascaded from its angry mouth. 
     The creature weighed barely more than a small child, and Ryson had no difficulty in maintaining his grip. He saw the distance to the ground and decided not to simply drop the goblin. Instead, he hoped to lower it before releasing his hold, thus reducing the risk of injury to the creature. 
     The goblin, however, did not care about the possibility of falling. It remained far more concerned about being in the grip of a trespasser. It continued to snarl and spit as it waved its hands in the air. Suddenly, it found its balance and quickly brought its right arm to its side. The goblin grasped the hilt of a short sword and pulled the blade from its sheath. 
     The disturbance in the tree alerted the other goblins below. More snarls and growls erupted. The goblins raced about and around the tree. They pulled their crossbows from their backs and began pulling bolts from pouches attached to their waistbands. 
     Before any of the ground level goblins could load their crossbows, long powerful arrows sizzled through the air just above their heads. Four shafts whistled by with great force and plunged into the surrounding tree trunks. 
     The goblins fell into disarray. Their concern over their comrade above vanished instantly. Panic divided them. Without great numbers, they knew of their extreme vulnerability. They scattered without a second thought. 
     Ryson ignored the commotion below him. He concentrated on keeping his grip on the goblin as he lowered himself down the tree. He shook the goblin with all the force he could muster to keep the creature from striking at him. 
     The goblin fought against its capture. It made two attempts to strike at Ryson's arm, but each time it failed. Just as it lifted its hand to swing, it was jostled with great force, and the blade struck empty air. It seemed ambivalent to the distance to the ground as it continued to strive for a clean strike. Such a chance opened when the goblin gained hold of another branch with its free hand. Suddenly steadied, the goblin resisted the shaking of the delver. Gleeful fury filled its eyes as it prepared to amputate Ryson's arm. 
     Only the skill and quickness of being a delver allowed Ryson to avoid the blow. He released hold of the goblin and pulled his arm back. The blade of the short sword passed harmlessly through the air. 
     The goblin, no longer supported by the delver, found itself unprepared to maintain its grip on the branch. It could not hold its own weight and it plummeted to the ground. It landed with a perplexing bounce, almost as if its body were made of rubber. The creature appeared no worse for wear and scrambled to its feet. In but a mere instant, it was quickly scurrying off into thicker cover. 
     At that same moment, Lief jumped into the clearing once occupied by the goblins. He swirled his head about. His eyes darted over the different paths of the departing creatures. 
     With barely a delay, he seized upon one trail. He leapt after the scurrying goblin with stone-like determination. Over rocky and rooted soil, he raced through the forest keeping his eyes locked upon the fleeing creature. He slapped branches away from his path as he continued to pursue. 
     The goblin made chase difficult. It used its size to its advantage, choosing narrow paths under low lying branches. It jumped through thick brush whenever possible. It also turned frequently as it used its greater mobility to out distance the elf. 
     Lief continued to follow relentlessly even as the distance between the two increased. He ignored the stinging pain to his face as pine needles brushed against his cheeks. Eventually, however, he realized the futility of his chase. He pulled to a halt and quickly drew an arrow from his quiver. He placed it upon the string of his bow, but before he could draw, the delver called to him. 
     "Don't shoot it!" Ryson commanded. The delver darted past the elf almost as a blur. Such was the speed he moved past Lief, the elf felt a small breeze. 
     Ryson took up the chase where Lief left off, but the delver moved at far greater speed. He cut through each barrier of the forest as if it were nothing more than tissue paper. He turned with pinpoint accuracy and quickly cut the distance between himself and the goblin. In mere moments, he reached out and grabbed the back of the goblin's neck. 
     This time, the delver would take no chances in losing control of the creature. His hand darted to the goblin's belt and beat the creature to the handle of the short sword. He drew it away from the creature but held it threateningly. 
     The goblin eyed first the point of its own sword and then the delver. It hissed once, then became still, as if accepting its fate. 
     Ryson carried the goblin to a clearing in the forest. He dropped it to the ground but made it clear the goblin was not to move. He kept his eyes on the creature as he called for the elf. 
     Lief arrived quickly. As he stepped nearer to the goblin, he examined it sternly. He folded his arms across his chest and looked down on the goblin with great contempt. 
     "Why have you returned to these lands?!" The elf spoke with a cold demanding voice. 
     At first the goblin did not answer. 
     "Do not try my patience," Lief advised sternly. "You were captured by a delver, a full-bred delver. He can capture another one with the same ease he caught you. If you do not speak, I will dispose of you and we will bring another captive to your lifeless body. I am sure the next will be more willing to talk." 
     The goblin snarled at the elf before casting a weary eye upon Ryson. The creature looked him over carefully. 
     "You are delver?" the creature finally spoke. Its lips snarled as the voice carried with a low-toned whisper. 
     "Yes," Ryson managed. He felt ill at ease actually speaking to such a diminutive monster. 
     "What is your name?" 
     Ryson did not answer. 
     "Your name?!" the creature demanded. 
     "Tell him," the elf advised while keeping a cold stare upon the goblin. 
     "My name is Ryson Acumen." 
     The goblin paused. It stood stoic as if going through long past memories in its head. With a nod of futility, the goblin turned its attention back to the elf. 
     "If I tell you what you ask, will you release me?" 
     "I make no promises," Lief responded coldly. 
     "Then neither do I. I shall tell you nothing unless you give me your word for freedom. Otherwise, threaten me all you wish." 
     "I will release you only if you speak the truth," the elf conceded. "If I sense a shred of lies in your answers, I will deal with you harshly. Answer me without lies and I will release you to the forest, but I will not return your weapons. That is my word." 
     "No weapon?! I will be defenseless!" the goblin protested vehemently. 
     "Find your friends. They shall have to assist you." 
     "I may not find them in time." 
     "Enough!" Lief roared. "Your time is up. Take my word now or we shall begin our hunt for another. What is your answer?!" 
     "I agree to accept your word," the goblin stated wearily. "What are your questions?" 
     The elf sneered at the goblin. "Why are you here?" 
     "The magic allows us to be here," the goblin replied shortly. 
     "The magic of the sphere?" 
     "If you speak of the orb created by Ingar, I can not say." 
     The elf's eyes narrowed in anger and distrust. "Do not forget my word. I will only release you if you speak the truth." 
     "I speak the truth," the creature stated dispassionately. "I know not where the magic comes from. All I know is its presence. It is here and I am here." 
     "What has happened to the sphere?" the elf demanded. 
     "I do not know." 
     "Have your kind seized it?!" 
     "I do not know." 
     The elf boiled over with anger. He rose an arm to strike out at the goblin. 
     The goblin hissed, but veered away. It crouched down spitting and snarling in a defensive position. 
     Lief moved forward but Ryson cut between him and the goblin. 
     "That won't help," the delver protested. 
     "I grow tired of listening to these ridiculous replies!" Lief growled. "It states the magic lets it be here, yet it refuses to tell me where the magic comes from. This creature must be taught that I will not tolerate such things!" 
     Ryson continued to block the elf's path to the goblin. "But what if it's telling the truth?" 
     The elf did not respond. He stared angrily at the goblin, but made not further attempt to move forward. 
     "Maybe it really doesn't know," Ryson suggested. He then turned his attention to the goblin. He spoke softly but sternly. 
     "Do you know where the magic is coming from?" 
     The goblin eyed the delver carefully before answering. "No, but I would guess it is from the orb." 
     "Why?" 
     "Not since the orb was encased in the mountain have we been able to walk these lands. But now, we can do so again." 
     "Where do you come from?" 
     "Another place." 
     "How does the magic help you here?" 
     "It opens the door, unlocks the gate and lets us through. For ages we have been unable to break through, but now the door is open once more." 
     Ryson considered the goblin's answer before continuing. "Do you know what might have happened to allow this?" 
     "No," the goblin stated flatly. 
     "Do you know what has happened to the sphere." 
     "No." 
     Ryson turned to his companion with a questioning glance. "Does any of this help answer your questions?" 
     "Not at all. All I can be sure of is that the sphere is free from containment. This creature might say the goblins have nothing to do with that, but its presence so close to the mountain casts much doubt. I would not be surprised if we have heard nothing but lies." 
     "I have not lied!" the goblin objected vigorously. "I have not lied in order to hold you to your bargain. You are an elf, you have given your word. I have done everything that will force you to hold to that word. You must release me!" 
     "I will keep to my word," Lief stated coldly. "You will finish answering my questions first. Why are you here, at Sanctum Mountain?" 
     "It is where the door leads us," the goblin answered through a sneer. 
     "How many have entered the land so far?" 
     "More than I know." 
     "Where are they now?  We only counted seven besides you." 
     "They are scouting the lands in small parties. We stayed behind to await others that will cross over." 
     "What are your plans in this land." 
     The goblin spoke forcibly and defiantly. "What they have always been. We are here to conquer. We will take our rightful place as leader of this land. Our numbers will swell until we are as the ocean. We will sweep across every territory, we will ..." 
     "Enough!" Lief ordered. He mulled over the goblin's words for but a moment. He proposed one final question. "Do you know how to close this door which lets the goblins enter this land?" 
     "If I did, I would not tell you even if it meant my life," the goblin stated scornfully. "Even if it allowed you to back away from your bargain, I would not tell you. The truth remains that I do not know how to open or close the door. It is the magic which does so. Thus, I have answered truthfully. I hold you to your bargain, elf!" 
     "Very well. Leave my sight! But heed this warning. The elves are now aware of your presence. If the age old war must resume, we shall be ready. Your numbers have never turned a single battle in history. Also be warned, my bargain stands for this moment alone. If we meet again, you will not survive." 
     The goblin responded with angry spit at the feet of the elf. It turned and raced into the forest. 
     The delver and elf stood beside each other and watched the creature disappear into the thickening woods. Lief turned his head and motioned to the short sword which remained in the hand of the delver. 
     "It seems you now have a trophy of your capture." 
     Ryson held the sword aloft as he inspected it carefully. It was a crude weapon, hardly a fine piece of handcraft. The blade was sharp and sturdy, but it lacked any true dignity or style. It held no proud etchings, nor did it shine with any degree of polish. The handle remained plain and functional. No stones or jewels decorated its base. The sword served its ultimate purpose as a weapon, nothing more. 
     "Hardly a thing to look at," Ryson admitted. 
     "True enough," Lief agreed. "A goblin's short sword is practical. It will, however, assist you in battle greater than your own dagger. I suggest you hang on to it for now." 
     The mention of battle reminded Ryson of the final words of the goblin and the elf. The bitterness between the two and the mention of war weighed heavily upon him. He could not help but pose a question. "How many goblins will end up here?" 
     "If the magic is truly free, more than we will ever count." 
     "That's a frightening thought." 
     "There are more frightening aspects of what we face. The goblins are pawns, pawns to the magic, pawns to other more powerful and more evil creatures. They are probably the least of our worries." 
     "You're kidding?" 
     "Unfortunately, no. The Sphere of Ingar is the most powerful and dangerous talisman ever created. Its freedom means the return of more than just goblins. Elflore tells of many monsters which disappeared after the encasing of the sphere. Its freedom may mean the return of all of them. River rouges, vampires, mountain shags, endless undead warriors; all may be walking upon our land as we speak." 
     Ryson did not respond. He looked vacantly out into the forest and beyond to the shadows of Sanctum Mountain. 
     "All of these creatures in themselves are dangerous," the elf continued, "but they pale in comparison to the release of the magic. It is the magic that truly threatens the elves. I wonder how many of my camp are already falling ill. No, the goblins are the least of our worries. We must concentrate upon the fate of the sphere." 
     That was the second time Lief mentioned possible suffering of the elves. Ryson wished further clarification, but even with the great pull of his curiosity, he knew this was not the time or place for such discussions. He took a chance to survey the area. He looked through the trees in order to gain a perspective of the sun. It was fully behind Sanctum Mountain which was just ahead of them to the west. 
     "We can probably reach a clearing on the side of the mountain before dark," the delver stated, "but I don't think that's advisable. We should camp here for the night. The trees can offer us greater protection." 
     "I agree," Lief said with a nod of acceptance. He loathed to allow time to pass through his fingers, but he could not deny the circumstances of the moment. If goblin scouting parties moved about, it would not do well to be caught in the open without cover. "Let me suggest, though, that we do not choose a site so close to the spot where the goblins made their own camp. They may return in the dark. We should move south of here and find a secure place high in the trees." 
     "That sounds good to me." 
     The two moved off quickly and quietly and found a suitable perch with many paths for escape. They rested comfortably in the trees as the dark of night began to spread.
 

Chapter 4

     In the dark of night, during the peace of rest in high branches of an elderly oak, the delver had much to consider. A full day, a day of revelations was laid to rest before him. Encounters a delver might wish for in a lifetime was his in but one passing of the sun overhead. 
     Each moment of discovery printed itself indelibly upon his mind. There would be no forgetting. In his last days upon the land, he would recall this chain of events which ushered in a greater knowledge. His world had changed so drastically. Everything he knew, or thought he knew, was challenged. Everything he believed he understood was now confused. The land of Uton was forever changed, and him with it. 
     With so much passing through his mind, Ryson turned to the elf. He sought insight on what might be the mitigating force behind all that was happening. 
     "Tell me what you know about the sphere," Ryson asked as he picked at a pine cone. 
     "What is it you wish to know exactly?" Lief replied complacently. 
     Ryson answered with all honesty. "I want to know everything." 
     "That would take all the night and most of the next day," Lief countered. "Besides, it seems you know of it already. It is clear to me that you have an understanding of the legends. Is there something in particular that confuses you?" 
     "Right now everything confuses me. You seem to believe that the sphere is at the heart of whatever is going on. I can't argue that point, and I don't wish to, but if the sphere is the reason behind this, I'd like to know more about it. I'd also like to know why you talk about it with such distress." 
     "It is very dangerous," the elf stated simply. "That is why it was encased so long ago." 
     "I realize that, but we've already run into things I have to consider more dangerous than anything else I've ever faced in my life. You keep worrying about the sphere. I've heard the legends, but I've never heard of elflore until you mentioned it. Maybe your story is different than mine." 
     Lief hesitated before speaking. He folded his hands across his chest, but did not make an immediate reply. 
     "You don't want to tell me?" Ryson asked curiously but without sounding offended. 
     "No, that is not what concerns me," Lief replied wearily. "It is just that it is difficult to imagine how fast things have happened. The tremor, the magic. Now I sit in a tree with a delver who wishes to know about elflore and what we might face. I will not deny you that knowledge. Based on what you have already done, it is your right to know. If I'm to ask you to continue our journey, it is my obligation to tell you. It is just that less than a season ago, I would have considered such a thing as impossible." 
     "You don't have to tell me that," Ryson responded with a knowing glance. "Think how I feel. At least you knew that humans and delvers existed. I couldn't have guessed that any of the legends were actually true." 
     "Now you know differently," the elf said sternly. 
     Ryson eyed the elf and spoke with a careful tone. "Can I ask you a question before you tell me about the sphere?" 
     "You may." 
     Ryson tried not to hesitate, but he also wished to choose his words carefully. "Are all elves like you? I mean, in the short time I've known you, you've shown an interesting range of emotions. I don't mean any offense by this. Maybe I shouldn't even ask at all, but I've noticed how you react to certain things. I've seen you laugh and smile a few times, but you're a rather grim individual. I don't want to say you're impatient, because that's not true, but you seem to get annoyed easily. You really got angry when we were dealing with the goblins. Even when you and I talk, sometimes you sound as if you're annoyed with me." 
     "So you think I am perhaps too quick to anger?" 
     Ryson shook his head. "No, I wouldn't say that. It's just that you seem to have a low tolerance for some things. I don't think that saying you're angry would explain it. It's more like I said before. You get annoyed." 
     "Don't concern yourself with insulting me," Lief replied simply. "What you tell me now I have heard before." 
     "Really?" 
     "Of course. My own kind have pointed it out to me. They say I am quite opinionated and that I become quickly upset. They also say my outlook is much too grim. They say I will always find that which is bleak, even in the best of times. I guess that is why no one wished to believe me when I first spoke of the sphere." 
     "The other elves say this? Does that mean you're different from the others?" 
     Lief raised an eyebrow. "Does that surprise you?" 
     "I don't know," Ryson admitted. "I'm just curious as to what elves are like." 
     "Let me answer your question by asking you a similar one. What are delvers like? Are they all like you?" 
     "No, I couldn't say that. We're all different." 
     "The same applies to the elves. We all have our different personalities. While there are some things you can perceive about elves through contact with just one, it is not correct to make sweeping assumptions. While I might get easily annoyed, there is certainly another elf that would hardly ever show such dissat