Friday, June 16, 2006

Episode 16: Lost in the Dark

"Where are we?" Gundar's companion moaned. "It is devilish cold."

"Come to the fire and warm yourself," Gundar said. He made no attempt to answer the question, because he knew no more than the one who asked it. The road had narrowed and turned to a trail of dirt that came to an inexplicable end in a rocky valley with coarse grass and stunted trees. By that time, night was too near to turn around and re-trace the journey. Gundar had unhitched the horses, watered them at the little brook that flowed nearby, and staked them out. Then he set to the task of gathering firewood and cutting soft cedar branches for a bed. When Gundar rummaged in his sack for food and extra garments, Scaramouche roused from his stupor long enough to relieve himself before crawling back into his nest to resume his sleep.

The other man climbed groggily from his perch and stopped to retch before lowering himself onto a flat rock near Gundar. "Where are we?" he asked again. "And who are you?"

"We are in the dark," Gundar said. "I believe you mistook your road."

"That I did not," the other riposted, "for I knew not whither I was going. The open road called me to adventure, and I answered."

"Will not the owner of this rig object?" Gundar asked.

"The rig is mine," the man said with obvious pride. "A beauty, is she not?"

"A beauty indeed, but hardly suitable for such a journey. Where are your provisions?"

"Ah!" the man said, "I acted without thinking. I expected to buy whatever I needed along the way."

That makes two of us, Gundar thought balefully, staring at the fire. And here we are, lost in the dark together. His fine adventure had turned to dust. He was no closer to finding out what had happened to Lexa than when he set out. As for the news of the dastardly Pier Drost -- that was a burden he would rather not carry. How could he tell Marcelle the truth without forever souring her sweet and trusting nature?

"My name is Eric Langedore," the other man said, interrupting Gundar's dark brooding. "I am in your debt."

"Gundar Baldursson," Gundar grunted. "I was on my way to the king's palace to inquire after a friend -- at least, so I thought."

"No sign of a palace here," Eric said, looking around.

"No sign of anything at all," Gundar said. "The road ended in the midst of nowhere."

Eric sighed. "'Twill be a long night for us. I dreamed of sporting on a feather bed with some soft and willing serving wench, and instead, I am here. I might as well have stayed home."

"Where is your home?" Gundar asked.

"The blacksmith shop at the eastern side of Calligena. I am the first-born of my father, and bear his name."

"But you decided to find your fortune elsewhere?"

"I have found my fortune already," Eric said. "What I seek is a pleasant place to enjoy it."

"An inheritance, perhaps?" Gundar asked.

Eric smiled mysteriously in the firelight. "Something better."

"Nothing against the law, I hope," Gundar said. "I have no desire to be implicated in anything that might lead me to the hangman's noose."

"Never fear!" Eric said. "No angel am I, but no thief either."

Gundar decided to keep his peace on this subject and turn to other matters. "What is it that you seek?" he asked.

"Happiness and freedom. Wine, women and song. An adventure or two. When I have tasted and toasted, perhaps I will settle down with a pretty wife in a mansion somewhere, and become a pillar of society."

"Will you be a blacksmith again? Every village needs a blacksmith."

"Bother that! 'Tis hot, backbreaking work."

"So how do you propose to keep your children fed and your wife in furs and jewels?"

Eric looked around furtively, as if he expected to see spying eyes in the dark. "By means of a great treasure that has come my way." He pulled out a leather sac with a mystic silver monogram on it.

Gundar bit his lip to keep from exclaiming. This was Netheniel's sack -- the very one Gundar had abandoned by the side of the road to avoid detection.

"I had just delivered a newly-repaired wagon to a farmer," Netheniel recounted, "and was on my way home when a raven flew over my head with this sack in his beak. I threw him a piece of bread, and he dropped the sack to take his prize. I scooped it up. I put my money in it -- coppers, mostly, and two pieces of silver. When I got home, I opened it again. Can you imagine my astonishment? The coppers had become silver pieces, and my two silver pieces were pure gold. And so it is with every coin I put in it. All I have to do is pull the string shut and open it again."

A magical sack! Gundar thought. Can such a thing really be? Netheniel will be livid!

"Take care not to flash that around," Gundar advised. "The owner may slay you for having taken it."

"What owner?" Eric asked, eyes wide and innocent. "I told you -- I had it from a raven. Finders keepers."

"And you think no one will come looking for such a treasure?"

Eric frowned. "I had not thought of that." He turned towards Gundar. "Will you travel with me? I see that I have need of a more prudent head than mine."

"I have business at the palace," Gundar said, "and I must return home afterwards."

"Pity," Eric said. "But I will gladly give you a ride to your destination. One road is the same as another to me, and I would like to see this palace you speak of. The largest building I have ever seen is the great church on the town square."

"Thank you," Gundar said. "We will see what the morrow brings. Would you care for some bread and cheese?"

"Not yet," Eric answered. "My guts are still queasy. Do you have a little wine, perhaps, to settle them?"

"Hallooo," a man's voice called out in the dark nearby. "Who's there?"

Gundar jumped to his feet, groping for his dagger. Lantern light shone a few feet away, lighting up the silhouette of tall man in a cloak. "Show yourself!" Gundar commanded. "Be you friend or foe?"