

                                    PERVORIN

                                by Jim Tomasello

                      Copyright 1987 - All Rights Reserved


    Awareness. Slowly  his  vision  cleared  enough to make him aware of his
 surroundings.  He way lying on his back in the  middle  of  an  open  field
 covered  with  sagegrass.   Moving  to a standing position, he expanded his
 vision further, viewing fields filled with endless grasslands teeming  with
 life.
    After an  unmeasurable time a brilliant shaft of green luminance stabbed
 down from the heavens, impaling him.  An aura of golden light encircled him
 completely.  He felt an awareness entering his  mind,  and  then  blackness
 claimed him.



                             Chapter One - Pervorin

    For a second time, awareness returned.  He was on a crude, makeshift bed
 which  seemed  to  be  stuffed with rocks.  At least, that is what his back
 seemed to be telling him.
    Slowly he rose until he was sitting on the edge  of  the  bed.   Looking
 around,  he found that he was in a small tent.  There was another small cot
 opposite him, with a travelling pack on top.
    As he took in his surroundings, he heard voices from outside  the  tent.
 Every  so  often  one  of the voices would raise above the others, as if in
 anger.  Then the voices would die again to a murmur.  I do not know if they
 are talking about me or not, he thought, but I am not sure I want  to  find
 out.   He  turned  and  started  looking  for  something  he could use as a
 weapon.  Finding nothing, he headed toward the other  cot  to  examine  the
 pack.  As he reached out for it, he heard a small noise behind him.
    A solitary  shaft of sunlight penetrated the interior of the tent as the
 flap was lifted.  A lone figure entered.  As the  flap  dropped  back  into
 place,  the  gloom  returned  with  more  force  than before.  Noticing his
 startled looks, the figure laughed and made a gesture  with  his  hand.   A
 soft  whit  glow  sprang  into  being  near  the  ceiling, illuminating the
 figure.  It showed a man of slight build, clothed in a simple  blue  smock,
 with  a  long  flowing  cape around his shoulders.  His eyes were what drew
 attention to himself.  They seemed to possess an inner fire of their own.
    "Well, you seem to be in much better condition than last  evening.   You
 were in pretty bad shape when we found you." the figure said.
    "Found me?"
    "Why, yes.   You  were  in the middle of the Plains of Jeah, just laying
 there staring into the sky.  We tried to rouse you, but you seemed to be in
 some sort of trance.  But  enough  of  that  for  now.   Let  me  intorduce
 myself.  I am called Gwindor by my friends.  By what name do you go by?"
    As the silence lengthened, Gwindor looked slightly puzzled.
    "You do have a name, do you not?"
    "I am  not  sure," he replied, slightly startled by the sound of his own
 voice.  It was as if he had never heard it before.  That gave him pause for
 thought.  The more he thought about it, the worse it  got.   He  could  not
 remember  anything  before  his  waking  inside the tent.  As the strain of
 thinking started to get to him, he relaxed his mind.  As  he  did,  a  name
 came  to  him  --  Pervorin.  Nothing else, just Pervorin.  Sighing, he sat
 back on the cot and told Gwindor this.
    "So you have no memory of  happenings  before  this  evening.   That  is
 interesting,  if  you  are telling the truth." Gwindor said the last with a
 note of hardness in his voice.
    As he looked at Pervorin, his eyes seemed to grow larger, until Pervorin
 could see nothing else.  He seemed to be drawn into them, and he felt as if
 he  was  being  absorbed.   Then,  as  suddenly  as the feeling started, it
 stopped.  The surroundings flooded back to him so quickly he felt dizzy.
    "What did you do to me?" he asked, shaking his head to clear it.
    Gwindor looked relieved.  "That was a  weak  type  of  mind  probe.   It
 allowed me to discover whether you were telling the truth or not.  Tell me,
 are you a sorcerer?"
    The  change  in subject threw Pervorin off balance.  "I do not know," he
 replied.  He suddenly  discovered  that  he  knew  the  names  of  everyday
 objects,  but, try as hard as he could, he could remember nothing about his
 background.
    "I understand," Gwindor replied.  Then, slapping his hand to  his  head,
 he said "What a terrible host I have become!  Here you have been asleep for
 a full day, and I haven't even offered you any food or drink.  Come, let us
 retire to the fire, where there is food and drink in plenty."
    As soon as Gwindor had mentioned food, Pervorin had discovered that he
 was ravenously hungry.  He turned and followed Gwindor out of the tent.
    Blinking, he  emerged  into the fading sunlight.  It came streaming over
 the treetops to strike the ground scant inches from the front of the  tent.
 Standing  still for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust, his ears detected
 something odd.  The normal sounds of the plains were missing.   There  were
 none  of  the  sounds  of the insects buzzing through the air, or the calls
 from the birds.  Something was gnawing at the inner portions of  his  mind,
 but he could not put it into words he could understand.
    With his  shoulders  slumped,  he  neared  the  campfire.  The blaze was
 cheerful enough, adding needed warmth to the chill air.  It  must  be  near
 Mid-Feast  time,  he  thought  to  himself  as he sat down beside the fire.
 Then,  jerking  his  head  upright  in  surprise,  he  wondered,  what   is
 Mid-Feast?  But no answer came to him.
    Just then  Gwindor  emerged  from  the  second  tent,  bearing two trays
 heaping with food, and a stoppered flask.  Sitting down beside Pervorin, he
 grasped the stopper with his teeth, pulling it out as  he  handed  Pervorin
 one  of the trays.  Lifting the flask to his mouth, he took a long draught.
 Emitting a relaxed sigh, he handed the flask over to Pervorin.
    "Carefully, my friend." Gwindor  said.   "That  is  Dragonmead  you  are
 drinking,  the best brewed in the land.  Take care, as too much could cause
 drastic side-effects."
    Pervorin soon discovered what Gwindor meant.  As he had taken his  first
 swallow, his sight had become almost blindingly clear, as if long-forgotten
 blinders  had  been removed from his eyes.  He saw Gwindor radiating a glow
 of health, and although he could not see into the second tent, he  detected
 two  more  auras  there.   As he took a second swallow of the Dragonmead, a
 tingling developed in his feet, and then advanced slowly until  his  entire
 body was affected.
    Suddenly he  felt  weightless.   A  feeling  of  incredible power slowly
 emerged from deep within him, bringing fragments of scenes to him.  A city,
 set aglow by towers of crystal, sunlight  seemingly  drawn  to  them,  then
 flung  back  to  the  skies.  A deep underground cavern, with endless water
 dripping.  Fragments of memory, familiar, yet unknown.  But from where?
    His vision clouded, then cleared.  He now seemed  to  be  floating  some
 distance  above the campfire.  He saw Gwindor sitting next to his own body,
 eating.
    Floating higher, at first all he could see was the plains.  Then, as his
 vision expanded, he saw several  small  villages  surrounding  the  plains.
 Slowly  turning  his  vision,  he  saw nothing that called to his attention
 until he faced south.  There too, he saw nothing unusual, but a  disturbing
 feeling  eminated from that direction.  He felt as if something was calling
 to him, beckoning him  southward.   He  had  unconsciously  started  moving
 towards  the south when he felt something tug at him.  A force seemed to be
 trying to return him to  the  campsite.   For  a  few  moments  the  forces
 counteracted one another, and then the force from the campsite won out, and
 he  found  himself  being  drawn  towards  it.   Slowly he floated back, to
 finally hover over his body, and just when it seemed that he was  about  to
 merge  back  into his body the force from the south returned, stronger this
 time.  He became aware of Gwindor franticly gesturing with his  hands,  all
 the while sinking to his knees, as if from some great effort.
    Suddenly one  of  Gwindor's  companions saw what was happening, and with
 one swift stride reached Gwindor's side, placing  his  hands  on  Gwindor's
 shoulders.
    The force  from  the  campsite  grew  stronger, and Pervorin again found
 himself over his body.  Then, with one final pull from the unseen force  he
 was back in his own body, sitting before the campfire.
    Gwindor groaned.   Pervorin now noticed that Gwindor looked as if he had
 been strained to his limits.  His face was ashen; his limbs hanging useless
 by his side.  Even as Pervorin watched, Gwindor collapsed onto the ground.
    Pervorin rose, moving to Gwindor's side.  As he did  so,  he  discovered
 that  he  was  very  weak,  as  if  he  had  been running hard over a great
 distance.
    He hardly seems alive, he thought.  Looking around, he saw the  man  who
 had  helped Gwindor lying on the ground several feet away, with another man
 bending over him.
    Turning his attention back to Gwindor, he found that Gwindor's body  was
 cold  to  the touch.  He started rubbing him, trying to rub the warmth back
 in.
    The other man had left his companion's side, and now knelt  down  beside
 Pervorin.
    "How is he?" he asked.
    "I do  not  know,"  Pervorin  replied.  "He is awfully cold, and nothing
 seems to be helping."
    The other man nodded.  "I have seen this before, though I am no  wizard.
 It  is  said  the  ones  who possess the powers are subject to this if they
 overextend their powers."
    "Is there nothing we can do for him?" Pervorin asked.
    "Another one of power could help, but Darin," indicating the  other  man
 on the ground, "seems to be in the same state." He paused for a moment.
    "I am afraid for them," he whispered.
    Pervorin was  frustrated.   Here, on the ground before him, was a man he
 hardly knew, and who knew even less  about  Pervorin.   Yet  he  had  found
 Pervorin  in the plains in need, and had helped him.  Now the situation was
 reversed, and there was nothing he seemed to be able to do.
    "If there was only something I could do to help them live!"  he  shouted
 to the skies.  "Anything!"
    Then his  mind  seemed  to  explode.   A surge of power erupted from the
 center of his being, springing into a golden aura that surrounded him.  The
 aura built in his hands until  he  could  no  longer  see  them.   He  felt
 helpless  before  this power he had unleashed.  He seemed not to be able to
 control it.  The pressure on his mind was overwhelming, and  he  seemed  to
 slowly be losing consciousness.
    A pure beam of golden light sprang from his hands to play over Gwindor's
 body.   As  it  continued to pour out of him, Pervorin felt himself growing
 weaker.  Then the beam moved to play  over  the  prone  figure  lying  near
 Gwindor.  Struggling to think through the force in his mind, he realised he
 must  stop  soon  or  destroy  himself.   Mustering  all  of  his remaining
 strength, he threw it all into a single command: STOP!
    The golden aura vanished.  The initial shock of finding himself free  of
 the  power  left  him  gasping.   Then,  motioning  to the man who had been
 watching with amazement and not a little fear, to come and help him.   They
 carried Gwindor and Darin into a tent, laying them on the cots inside.
    Leaving the tent, Pervorin hardly noticed the questions that were flying
 from  the  man who had helped him.  Shrugging him off, he stumbled into the
 other tent, collapsing onto a cot.  In a second he had fallen into  a  deep
 sleep.




                                    PERVORIN

                                   Chapter Two



        The  next morning found the group still asleep in their tents.  The
    fire  had  burned  down  through  the  night  until  only  dying embers
    remained.  There  were  several  fresh animal tracks on the ground, and
    the forgotten platters of food had been scattered over the campsite.
       Darin  woke  to  the  sounds  of birds calling to one another gaily.
    Rising  from  the  cot,  he  got  dressed and ventured out of the tent,
    trying  to be quiet so as not to wake the others.  Gathering some wood,
    he  stoked the fire back to life, bringing with it a cheerfulness which
    did  little  to lighten his mood.  He had found himself more frightened
    last  evening  when  he  had  helped Gwindor pull the stranger from the
    void  then  he  had  ever been before.  After, when he had expended all
    his   power,   he  had  found  himself  crossing  the  Great  Hills  of
    Nothingness.   If another with the power had not given up of some of it
    to  draw  him  back,  he  would  never have seen the land of the living
    again.

       As  he  finished preparing a hearty breakfast for himself out of the
    antelope  they  had  downed  yesterday,  along  with  some wild onions,
    Himmen emerged from the tent.
        "Ah,  I  see you still haven't lost your knack for awakening at the
    right  time,"  Darin  said, handing over a plate.  Turning to the fire,
    he ladled the food onto Himmen's plate, and then onto his own.
        Himmen  looked  over  at  his  friend, a vague look of worry on his
    face.  Darin seemed to have fully recovered from last evening's events,
    but he had never seen anyone recover so fast from being so near death.
       "How are you feeling this morning, Darin?  You and Gwindor had a
    pretty bad time of it." he asked.
        "Still a little weak," admitted Darin.  Glancing over at the second
    tent,  he sighed a bit. "Actually, I'm a little surprised that I'm here
    this  morning.   When  I was over the Hills, I had pretty much resigned
    myself  that  I  was leaving this world."  He stopped here for a minute
    in  thought.  Then,  taking  a  spoonful  of  the stew, he looked up at
    Himmen.
       "I shall have to thank Gwindor greatly for bringing be back."
        Himmen  laughed  softly.   "My  friend," he said, "it's not Gwindor
    that you need to thank."
        Darin looked over at Himmen, surprise on his face.  "If not Gwindor
    then who?  There was no one here except me, you, Gwindor, and..."
       "That's right." Himmen said. "The stranger."
       "He brought me back?  But how?"
        "Well,  after  you  and  Gwindor  collapsed, he shuddered, and then
    looked  up  to  see both of you lying there.  He was pretty upset about
    it,  talking  about  how  nice  Gwindor had been to him, and wanting to
    help  you  two.  Then he seemed to go into a waking trance, and started
    casting  a  spell.  A  healing  one,  I would imagine from the results.
    Afterwards  he  was  weak,  and  after we got you two onto the cots, he
    went and fell asleep himself."
        Just  then  a  tent  flap opened, and Gwindor emerged.  Rubbing his
    eyes,  he  made  his  way  over  to the fire, and sat down with a sigh.
    Rubbing  his  hands  close  to  the  fire,  he looked over at Darin and
    Himmen.
        "I feel like I haven't slept in a week," he said wearily.  Taking a
    plate,  he  filled  it  from  the pot of stew bubbling quietly over the
    fire,  attacking it with enthusiasm.  After finishing off about half of
    it, he stopped and looked up at Himmen.
        "I've  been going over what happened last night, and I keep drawing
    a blank after Darin merged his power with mine.  What happened?"
        Again  Himmen  recounted the happenings of last evening, as Gwindor
    quietly listened to him and finished his meal.
        Instructing  Himmen  and Darin to begin breaking camp, Gwindor went
    in  to  check  on Pervorin.  He found him still sleeping deeply, a look
    of utter exhaustion on his face.
        He sure is an interesting fellow, he thought to himself.  First the
    mind  probe,  which  had been reflected by one of the strongest thought
    shields  he  had  ever  encountered.   Then,  after he had drunk of the
    Dragonmead,  he  had gone easily into the far-vision state.  Too easily
    for one not acquainted with the arts.  And the astral travel!
        There  are  many  things  that I want to know about you, my friend.
    Many things.

        The sun had travelled halfway across the sky before Pervorin awoke.
    Attempted  to  sit  up,  he found that it was several minutes before he
    could  accomplish  this.   Finally  he  was able to get off the cot and
    make his way outside.
        As he emerged from the tent, he saw Himmen and Darin packing a tent
    into  one  of  the  packs lying on the ground.  He walked over to them,
    wanting to be of some help.
        "Good  morning.   Is  there  anything  I  can do to be of help?" he
    asked.
        Daring  looked  up from the pack.  "Good afternoon!" he said with a
    laugh  in his voice.  "No, I don't think there is anything that you can
    do right now.  Thanks anyway."
       "Don't worry about helping now," a voice said from behind him.
       Turning, he saw Gwindor standing there.
       "Come.   There  is food by the fire for you.  There is just time for
    you to eat before we must continue our journey."
       "Your  journey?   Where are you travelling to?" Pervorin asked as he
    sat by the fire.
       "My  friends  and  I are heading to my brother's home.  It is a good
    many  days journey from here, and we really must be getting back on the
    trail  again."  Gwindor took a drought from a wineskin, then offered it
    to Pervorin.  Noticing Pervorin's startled looks, he laughed.
       "Don't worry!  It's just water!"
        Pervorin grinned sheepishly as he took the proffered skin.  Lifting
    it  to  his  mouth, he found that it was indeed water, and took several
    deep swallows from it.
        "You  know,  Pervorin,"  Gwindor  said. "My brother is an expert in
    certain,  how  shall  I  say  it?...  fields.  I would like him to meet
    you."
        "Do  you  think  he  can help me with my not remembering who I am?"
    Pervorin asked.
        "It  could  be.  He is very knowledgeable.  If anyone can help you,
    he can."
        Pervorin  thought about that.  He would definitely like to find out
    who he was.  Having no identity to grab onto was disconcerting.
       "Yes, I believe that I would like to go with you."

        Two days later found Pervorin wishing he had stayed behind.  It had
    been  raining  for  a  full day, and nothing had avoided the relentless
    creepings  of  the  rainwater.   It  was in the food, the clothing, and
    worst  of  all, in his face.  He quickened his pace until he was beside
    Gwindor.
       "Does it always rain like this?" he asked.
        Gwindor  turned  to  look  at  Pervorin.   The  wet, sullen look on
    Pervorin's face caused him to burst out with laughter.
        "I'm  afraid  that it always rains at least once a week here.  That
    is one reason that our fields produce as well as they do."
        At this Pervorin just nodded, and plodded through the soggy ground.
    They  were  walking  over  a  plain,  and, from the little he could see
    through the rain, there wasn't much in the way of cover, anyway.

        Shortly before dark, Gwindor called a halt.  The rain had slowed to
    a  drizzle,  and  the  air  was still damp with moisture.  Pervorin saw
    Gwindor  looking  off  to  his  right,  and  he looked over to see what
    Gwindor  was  looking  at.  At  first  he  could see nothing, but after
    looking  for  a  minute he could make out the vague shape of a building
    of some sort.
       "Is that a building I see over there?" he said aloud.
        "Shhhh!"  whispered  Gwindor.   Pervorin,  startled, looked over at
    Himmen,  only  to find that neither he nor Darin were there.  He turned
    back  towards  Gwindor, opening his mouth to ask another question.  But
    at Gwindor's stern expression, he closed it quickly.
        A short time later a figure loomed out of the gloom, only to become
    Himmen as it got nearer.
        "The  place looks abandoned, Gwindor." He said.  "The roof's partly
    caved  in,  but  it  looks  like  we can shelter there and wait out the
    storm.  I  checked  around  a bit, but couldn't tell whether anyone, or
    anything for that matter, has been around lately.  Sorry."
        "Don't  worry  about  it,  Himmen." Gwindor said.  "This rain could
    hide  an army's trail. Come on, let's get out of this rain."  With that
    he started towards the building.
        I  couldn't  agree  with  him more, thought Pervorin as he followed
    Gwindor  towards  the  building.   As  they drew nearer, the could tell
    that  the  building  at  one time appeared to have been a small barn of
    sorts. There was no signs of a farmhouse, though.
        When Pervorin stepped through the broken door, the smell of wet and
    moldy  hay hit him with the forcefulness of a physical b, let's get out
    of this rain."

    With that he started towards the building.

        I  couldn't  agree  with  him more, thought Pervorin as he followed
    Gwindor  towards  the  building.   As  they drew nearer, the could tell
    that  the  building  at  one time appeared to have been a small barn of
    sorts. There was no signs of a farmhouse, though.
        When Pervorin stepped through the broken door, the smell of wet and
    moldy  hay hit him with the forcefulness of a physical be sky clear and
    blue. "Pervorin!" He heard a distant call, and  turned  to  locate  its
    source.   Looking down a small incline that he hadn't noticed the night
    before, he saw Himmen just coming out of a grove of trees. "I was  just
    coming  to wake you," Himmen said as he drew near.  "We have discovered
    a village just on the other side of the trees, and Gwindor wants us all
    there before we venture in." "Sounds  good  to  me,  Himmen."  Pervorin
    said  as he joined Himmen in the walk back towards the woods.  "I could
    use a good strong draft of ale right now!" "I wouldn't count  too  much
    on  that!   From  what I saw of the village before Gwindor sent me back
    for you, there doesn't appear  to  be  anyone  there."  No  one  there?
    thought  Pervorin  as  he  entered the woods behind Himmen.  Maybe it's
    abandoned just like the barn we slept in last night. They walked for  a
    short  time,  then  the  trees  thinned  again,  and Pervorin could see
    Gwindor and Darin standing at the top of a  low  rise.  When  they  saw
    Himmen and Pervorin approaching, Gwindor spoke up. "We've been watching
    the village since you left, Himmen, and haven't seen any signs of life.
    I think that this is worth investigating.  You can see by the condition
    of  the buildings that if the village is abandoned, then it hasn't been
    this way for  long.  Everything  has  been  too  well  maintained."  As
    Pervorin  climbed  up  beside  Gwindor and caught his first look at the
    village, he could see what Gwindor meant.  Although not a big  village,
    perhaps  a  dozen buildings, none of them was in the state of disrepair
    that one expects to find in abandoned buildings. "So what are we  going
    to  do?"  he asked. Gwindor turned to him with a grin on his face. "We,
    my friend," he said, indicating himself, Himman, and Darin, "are  going
    to  go  into the village and have a look about. You, on the other hand,
    are going to stay right here!" Pervorin opened his  mouth  to  protest,
    then  realized that Gwindor was right.  With his memory loss, he didn't
    even know if he could use a sword or bow, and if things  weren't  right
    down  there then he might even be in the way. "You're right, of course.
    I will wait here for you."

        Gwindor  glanced  back  to  where Pervorin stood.  They had covered
    half  the  distance between there and the village, and still they heard
    no  sounds  of anything that might be taken as unusual, except the lack
    of  the  normal  village  noises  themselves.  Giving Pervorin a nod of
    encouragement, he turned his attention back to the village.
        They  entered  the  village quietly.  Mud was everywhere, and water
    dripped  from the roofs of the buildings.  Nodding to Darin and Himmen,
    they  split  up,  each  searching a section of the village. Darin moved
    towards  the  end,  while Himmen went to the center. He himself entered
    the  nearest building, which turned out to be someone's home.  He found
    nothing  disturbed.   It  was  as if the owner had just left, and never
    returned.   There  was  even the remains of a meal, long overdue, which
    was sitting on a table.
        There  was only one other door in the place besides the one Gwindor
    entered  through,  and  he  headed  over  to  it.   As he neared it, he
    noticed  an odor, similar to that of rotting meat. Opening the door, he
    nearly  gagged  from  the  overpowering  stench  that came rolling out.
    Fighting the urge to become ill, he stuck his head in the door.
        What  he  found  inside  caused  him  to lose his control, and rush
    outside  to  become  sick.   When  he finished gagging, he took several
    deep  breaths  to  clear his head.  He didn't want to return there, but
    he  had  seen  something  that  he  needed  to  look at again. Steeling
    himself, he re-entered the cottage.
        The  bedroom  hadn't  changed  in  the short time he had been gone.
    There,  laying  on the bed, almost looking peaceful, were two children.
    They  couldn't  have  been over eight years old.  They looked like they
    were  sleeping.  It was only when one looked closer that one could tell
    that  the  sheets  weren't  red...  they  were covered with blood.  The
    bodies  had  been  hacked to pieces, then laid on the bed, with all the
    parts  touching where they should have normally been connected.  But it
    wasn't  the  bodies  that  interested  him  so much.  His attention was
    caught  on  what was leaning against the bottom of the bed.   A double-
    bladed  hand  axe  rested  there,  the  edges of the blades coated with
    blood.
        He  went over and bent down to take the weapon in hand, but, as his
    hand  closed  over  the  shaft, a cold chill seemed to emanate from it,
    immediately  causing  his  had  to  become  numb. Pulling his hand away
    quickly,  he  rubbed  it  until  the  feeling  came  back to it.  Then,
    reaching  into  his  pocket  and  pulling  out  the  strip  of cloth he
    sometimes  used  to  keep his hair out of his eyes, he wrapped his hand
    in it first, then again attempted to pick up the weapon.
        This  time  there  was no cold, and he lifted it easily.  Examining
    the  blade,  he shuddered as he recognized the runes inscribed into the
    metal.  Runes  of  power,  death,  and great evil.  The oaken haft also
    bristled with runes.
        Turning, he left the room and headed outside, both to see if Himmen
    or  Darin  had  found anything, and to get a better look at the axe. As
    he  went outside into the sunlight, he saw Darin approaching him.  Just
    as  he was about to hail him, he felt the axe in his hand give a little
    shake.
        Looking down at the weapon, he stared in astonishment as it twisted
    and  turned  in  his  hand, seemingly attempting to free itself.  Then,
    with  a  shriek  that  built  in  intensity in his head, he saw through
    watering  eyes  the  blade  melting  off  the  handle  to puddle on the
    ground, where it turned into a black powder.
        "Never  have  I  seen anything like that!" exclaimed Darin, who had
    also been watching in astonishment.  "What manor of weapon was that?"
        "I've never seen anything like it either," replied Gwindor.  "But I
    have  heard  my  brother  speak of such things, although the stories he
    told  me  are  of the distant past.  Do you have an empty flask?  Good.
    Collect  some  of  the  powder  into it. But don't touch any of it with
    your hands."
        Gwindor  stood  to one side, looking at the handle he still held as
    Darin  collected  some of the powder.  I must get back to my brother as
    soon as I can, he thought to himself.  He must be told of this.
        "Come,  friend."  he  said  to  Darin.   "Let us collect Himmen and
    Pervorin  and  depart  this  place.   I  feel  evil  here, and will not
    willing stay."





                                    PERVORIN

                          Chapter Three - The Crevice

   The party  walked  slowly along in the afternoon sunlight.  Everyone had
grown quite weary of travel.   Day  after  day  they  had  plodded  through
grassland  that  was at times up to their waists, until finally, after four
days of this, a line of trees appeared on the horizon.  Here Gwindor called
a halt.
  After setting camp, and a filling meal, Gwindor motioned that  he  wanted
to speak with the rest of the party.
   "I am  sure  you are all familiar with the wooded lands we must now pass
through, with the possible exception of Pervorin.  For his benefit, and  to
remind the two of you," he said, motioning towards Darin and Himmen, "these
wood that we face on the morrow are no ordinary wood.  It is said that long
ago  a  small  but  powerful  group  of  people  lived where the forest now
stands.  They were a just people, a people totally against  violence.   One
day a messenger approached their leader and demanded a tribute be paid to a
new  king  who  reigned  to  the south.  The messenger demanded one-half of
their crops as tribute, or the wrath of this new king would fall upon their
heads.  Of course, these people refused, being a very  independent  people.
They disarmed the messenger and sent him on his way."
   "A season  passed, and the people soon forgot about the warning they had
received.  The harvest arrived, and the people celebrated, as  the  harvest
was a good one."
   "Then, just  as  the  sun reached the center of the sky, a black boiling
cloud appeared on the southern horizon.  The people at first thought it was
a storm cloud, and so it was.  But not the type of storm they expected.  As
the storm's center passed over the cultivated fields,  a  fiery  rain  fell
from  the  cloud.  Everywhere it fell fires broke out, and soon every field
was burning.  They tried to put the fires out, but there were too  many  of
them.   The  people  then fled to an underground cavern they had discovered
nearby."
   "The fires burned for five days.  Some say the sun was not  seen  during
those  days due to the smoke.  Finally the fires burned themselves out, and
the ground cooled.  The people emerged from their  hiding,  and  stared  in
dismay  at the destruction the fires had caused.  There wasn't one building
in their small town that remained standing."
   "Well, the people rebuilt the best they could.  The winter  was  a  hard
one,  and  only about half the original survivors survived the hardships of
trying to survive the winter.  When planting season arrived,  they  planted
in  the wasted soil the best they could, but the crops grew poorly.  As the
time for harvest grew closer, the people left looked southward in anxiety."
   "Finally harvest day arrived.  The day was clear  and  the  sky  was  as
crystal  blue  as  a rare sapphire.  No dark cloud appeared, and as the sun
rose to full the people  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief.   The  harvest  was
gathered, and a feast was prepared."
   "As the  people  celebrated  into the evening, the moon rose.  It wasn't
the normal harvest moon.  It was a brilliant green which dazzled the  eyes.
As  the  people  started  at  it, they were transformed into the dark trees
which you see off in the distance."
   Here Gwindor paused, staring at the line of trees off in  the  distance.
After a few silent moments, he continued.
   "To travel  through  those  woods now is very dangerous.  The trees have
memories, and they do not like to be reminded of what they once  were.   So
they destroy any who travel their paths without their leave."
   With this,  Gwindor  stood  up  and adjusted the pack on his back, which
currently contained all of the remaining food supplies, meager though  they
were.
   "Now listen to me," he said.  "We will be lucky to make it to the center
of  the  forest by midnight, and that's just when I don't want to be there.
So the quicker we get started, the quicker we'll be through the woods.   So
on your feet, people, and let's get a move on!"
   The party  rose  to  their  feet,  shouldering  their own equipment, and
followed Gwindor toward the faint line of trees.

   Pervorin, much  by  happenchance  than  anything  else,  found   himself
bringing  up  the  read of the small party.  He was not happy about it, but
finally decided that it was better to follow those who knew the way than to
be in the front and not know where he was going.
   After an hour's walk, they approached the faint trail leading  into  the
wood.   Here  Gwindor called another halt.  Pervorin looked up and down the
line of trees, and found that as far as he could see, both to the north and
south, he could see a distinct line where the wood met the plains.
   "I see what you mean about having no choice but to  travel  through  the
woods, Gwindor." Pervorin said.
   Gwindor, who  was  staring intently into the woods, nodded.  "It is many
days journey to circle this.  We have no course except to  travel  through.
Now,  everyone  try to be as quiet as possible, and under NO account do any
damage, whether intentional or otherwise,  to  any  living  thing  once  we
enter."
   With that Gwindor turned and faced the wood again.
   "Here me,  people  of  the Wood.  We seek to pass through your forest in
safety.  We will cause no damage to  leaf,  twig,  or  tree.   In  this  I,
Gwindor Ka-rakis, do pledge my word."
   As Gwindor  finished speaking, the normal noises of the land around them
ceased.  It didn't trail off  to  a  silence,  it  just  ceased.   A  chill
surrounded  the  party,  a  deathly  chill.   Still Gwindor looked into the
forest.  Pervorin, after watching Gwindor for a few minutes, was  wondering
what he was looking for.  Just as his mind was starting to wander, he found
out.
   * We  have  heard  of  you,  Gwindor,  *  a  voice  boomed  in his head.
Startled, Pervorin looked around, but saw no one there but the party.
   * Long ago we parted with our flesh, and do not wish to be  reminded  of
what  were  once were.  For that reason, we do not allow the living to pass
through our boundaries.  Many have tried, and many have died.  However, you
are known to us.  For what you have done for us, we will allow you and your
party to pass in safety.  Be warned.  Destroy nothing.  *
   With that the voice trailed off into silence, the chill lifted, and  the
normal sounds returned.  Gwindor looked visibly shaken.
   "Well, I  had  no  idea I was so well known." he said with a wry grin on
his face.  "But we have their consent to travel through their domain, so  I
suggest we get on with it."
   Pervorin sighed,  adjusted  his  pack, and followed Gwindor as he headed
down the path into the woods.  As he entered  the  forest,  the  change  in
atmosphere  did  nothing  to  set him at ease.  The trees towered many feet
over his head, cutting off all but a trickle of  sunlight.   It  brought  a
shiver  of  trepidation to him.  At least the lack of sunlight has kept the
undergrowth to a minimum.  Then again,  he  thought,  glancing  up  at  the
trees,  maybe  it isn't the lack of sunlight that's achieving it.  Glancing
around again with a shiver, he hurried to catch up with  the  rest  of  the
party.

   Several hours  later  they  stopped  for  a  rest.   The  way had become
increasingly difficult the deeper they had travelled into the  forest,  and
now  they  found the trail, growing fainter all the while, had now vanished
completely.  In it's place loomed a chasm.  And what a  chasm  it  was;  it
appeared  to  be about forty feet across, with sheer walls that disappeared
down into murky depths.
   Gwindor looked long at the chasm.  It would delay them to  have  to  try
and walk around it, as looking he could see no ending to it.  He could also
tell that it was recent, as the land was still raw and unweathered.
   Himmen appeared at his elbow.  "It appears to be newly made."
   "Yes, it  does.   And  that's  what is worrying me.  I've been keeping a
good eye on the landscape as we've been  travelling,  and  everything  else
appears  normal.  Look over there," he said, pointing across the chasm, and
a bit to the left.  A towering structure of rock jutted from the ground.  A
large boulder sat on a promenade of rock, seemingly balanced  on  a  narrow
point.
   "There's Balancing  Rock.   I've never seen it, nor other human eyes for
centuries if the spirits of the wood are  to  be  believed.   And  I've  no
reason  to  doubt them.  Whatever created this chasm did not disturb it.  I
would have to believe that a natural earthquake would  have  unbalanced  it
into falling."
   Darin, having  walked  up  to them shortly after they had stopped, spoke
up.  "Whatever caused this must have been incredibly powerful."
   "I agree." said Gwindor.  "I believe the  easiest  way  across  will  be
found  over  there,"  he  said,  pointing  northward  to  a point where the
crumbling side of the crevice wall had partially collapsed.  "We had better
move if we want to see the other side before dark."
   The way was slow.  As they neared the edge, the ground turned loose  and
rocky  beneath  their  feet.   More  than once one of them slipped and slid
towards the edge, only to be stopped by the ropes that Gwindor had insisted
they tie around themselves.
   After picking their way through what seemed  like  miles  of  stone  and
shale,  the  group  found  themselves  standing  at the brink of the chasm.
Looking down, Pervorin paused.  There seemed to be no  bottom  to  it.   He
picked  up  a  stone  and tossed it out over the edge.  It quickly vanished
from sight.  Pervorin, after waiting a moment  or  two,  realized  that  he
wasn't going to hear it hit bottom.
   "Now how  are  we going to cross over onto those boulders and make it to
the other side?" Pervorin asked himself.
   "Don't worry.  We'll find a way," Darin said at his  elbow.   "Gwindor's
pretty good at figuring out ways to do things."
   They moved  to  Gwindor's  side,  where he and Himmen were examining the
boulders.
   "There's not enough room for one of us to try and jump  across,  barring
the fact that I doubt if we could jump that far in the first place," Himmen
was saying as they walked up.
   "Look on top, Himmen," Gwindor said.  "About fifty feet in."
   On top  of  the  vast  pile of rubble sat a large, pointed rock.  It was
laying with the point angling skyward.
   "Darin, you are the best aim among us.  Do you think you  could  loop  a
rope around that point?"
   Darin looked  up  at  the  rock.  "I don't know, but I'll sure give it a
try." With that, he took off his pack and removed a coil of rope.
   "Why don't you just use your powers to get us across, Gwindor?" Pervorin
asked.
   "I could do that, yes." admitted Gwindor.  "But  whatever  created  this
has  great  power.   I can feel its traces lingering even now.  If I use my
own, I fear this will alert it to our presence.  I don't think  I'm  up  to
matching that kind of power.  No, we will try to cross without resorting to
magical means."
   Darin had  taken a small grappling hook from his pack and attached it to
the rope.  Now, swinging the grapple in a circle over his head,  he  stared
at the point of rock.  Then, with a grunt, he let it fly.
   The grapple  flew out over the abyss, trailing the rope behind.  It flew
in a perfect arc towards the point.  Then, just as it  was  about  to  drop
over  it,  the  rope jerked tight, snapping the grappling hook back towards
Darin.  With a clang of metal against stone it hit the side of the crevice.
   "Didn't realize it was that far," Darin said, removing another  coil  of
rope from his pack.  Within a moment he had attached the ropes together and
was  again rising to swing the hook.  Staring steadily at his target, Darin
swung the grapple around and around, until he appeared  mesmerized  by  his
actions.   Then, with a yell, he released it.  Out it flew, to finally wrap
itself around the point, wedging itself firmly into a crack.
   Turning, Darin attached his end of the rope  to  a  large  boulder  near
him.  Now a rope stretched across to the other side.
   "Now to  cross,"  muttered  Darin as he tested the strength of the rope.
Slowly, so as not to add too great a strain, he eased himself out until  he
was hanging by his hands.  Swinging his legs, he caught his feet around the
rope, and proceeded to pull himself across to the other side.
   The others,  watching  anxiously,  let  out a sigh of relief when he was
across.
   "Pervorin, you're next." Gwindor motioned him over to the rope.
   Pervorin walked slowly towards the  rope,  sweat  suddenly  coating  his
hands.   As  he  neared  the  edge,  Gwindor smiled at him reassuringly and
helped him over to the rope.
   "New to this?" he asked lightly.
   Pervorin let out a small laugh.  "A bit." he replied.
   "Well, remember, whatever you do, do not look down.  Just loop your feet
around the rope, and let your arms pull you across.  Darin's there to  stop
you from running into the rock, so don't even worry about that."
   Nodding, he  decided  that he would never be more ready than he was now,
and grabbed the rope with both hands.  Slowly, hand  over  hand  he  pulled
himself  across.   All  the while, his eyes were locked on the rope hanging
inches from his eyes.  The distance seemed endless, and he was beginning to
think he'd never get there when he felt a hand clap him on  his  shoulders.
Looking over, he saw Darin standing next to him, grinning widely.
   Letting his feet down slowly, afraid he was still over the chasm, he let
out an audible sigh of relief when they touched ground.
   "You know,  I think I could tell you how many strands make up that rope,
Darin!" he admitted as he rubbed his sore hands.
   "That's the spirit, Perv!" Darin said, smiling.  "Here comes Gwindor."
   Pervorin looked up to see Gwindor almost  halfway  across.   He  glanced
over  to the other side, where Himmen was waiting by the rope for his turn.
He glanced again to Gwindor, who was now just reaching this  side.   As  he
reached  out  to  help  him  gain his footing, Pervorin caught a flicker of
movement out of the corner of his eye.  He stood,  peering  across  to  see
what might have caught his attention.
   A gasp  of  astonishment  escaped him.  There, not more than fifty yards
from Himmen, a group of creatures were making their  way  along  the  edge,
towards Himmen!
   "Himmen!  Look out!" he screamed, pointing.
   Himmen turned,  caught sight of the advancing creatures, and leaped onto
the rope, crossing as quick as he could.  He had  made  it  halfway  across
before the creatures reached that end of the rope.
   And creatures  they  were,  too.  Some walked on two legs, some on four,
and others ran on five or six.  Great fangs protruded at  all  angles  from
their  mouths, and oversized arms hung down to their feet.  The sounds they
emitted sounded like something in terrible agony,  sending  chills  up  and
down Pervorin's back.
   One of  the  creatures grabbed the rope, swung easily down, and began to
make its way across.  The rope sagged alarmingly with its added weight, and
sagged even further when a second creature joined the first on the rope.
   "Come on Himmen, you have to move!" shouted Gwindor, who was standing by
the rope with his sword out.  Pervorin could see the  muscles  in  Himmen's
arms and neck straining as he sped to cover the last few feet.
   Suddenly the  air was full of arrows!  They were being fired upon by the
creatures standing on the opposite side!  Gwindor let out a  yell  just  as
Himmen  scrambled  onto the rock, and sank from sight.  Himmen lay where he
had pulled away from the rope, pinned down by arrows.  Darin was  no  where
to be seen.
   Pervorin had taken shelter behind a rock.  Looking around it, he saw the
creatures  had  almost  made  it  across.   I've  got  to cut that rope, he
thought, and started to rise to run towards it.  But  as  he  did,  another
hail of arrows fell, pinning him back behind the rock again.
   They don't  want  us  to  cut  it!   Almost  in  despair  he watched the
creatures on the rope continue to get closer.  There was only  a  few  feet
remaining  before  they  would gain this side.  Then, as he watched, he saw
something fly from the second creature on the rope to strike a  rock  close
to  his  head.   He  ducked,  only to discover a small crude axe beside his
head.  Without even thinking, he reached  down,  picked  up  the  axe,  and
hurled it at the rope wrapped around the rock.  It struck squarely, but the
rope failed to part.
   Himmen rose  to  his feet as the first of the creatures crawled over the
edge, hitting it squarely  in  its  face  with  his  huge  fist.   It  fell
backwards  towards  the edge, hitting another creature that had just gotten
off the rope, knocking them both over the edge.  One grabbed for  the  rope
as  it  fell.   It was too much.  The rope parted with a loud snap, sending
the creatures plummeting down into the darkness.
   Pervorin crawled  over  to  where  he  thought  he  had   seen   Gwindor
disappear.   He  feared  his friend was hurt.  An arrow fell here and there
around him as the creatures on the other side tried to  get  at  them,  but
they were too far away to do anything but hope for a lucky hit.
   Rounding a  boulder,  Pervorin  was relieved to see Gwindor sitting with
his back against the other side.
   "Are you alright?" he asked.
   A low moan was all the answer that he got, so he crawled around until he
was beside Gwindor.  He noticed a cut on Gwindor's forehead, and  an  arrow
laying  beside  him.   It  had  caught him a glancing blow, and had stunned
him.  Even as Pervorin reached out towards him, he opened his eyes.
   "Thought I had  seen  my  last  sun,"  he  said  shakily,  rising  to  a
straighter  position.  "Let's find Himmen and Darin and get out of here.  I
don't think our friends over there will sit still for long."
   Pervorin glanced across the chasm.  The creatures, seeing that they were
now out of their reach, had vanished.  Helping Gwindor, they located  their
friends and their gear and turned east, back into the trees.



                                    PERVORIN

                                  Chapter Four

         Several days  later  found  the  group  considerably  east  of the
    crevice.  They had continued on their way, soon finding themselves back
    into dense forestland, though  not  with  the  malignant  spirits  that
    resided in the Wood.  Now, late at the end of the second day of travel,
    Pervorin  found  himself  bone  tired of tripping over roots and ground
    brush.  Sighing, he pushed away another branch that threatened to  slap
    him in his face and plodded on, following Himmen.  He had found that if
    he concentrated on Himmen's back, he could partially ignore the ache in
    his legs and back.
         Finally they  broke  through  the  forest  into  a small clearing.
    Pervorin's heart lightened as he looked around, his eyes widening  with
    the beauty of the glen.  It seemed to have a life of its own.  The late
    afternoon sunlight reflected off the lush greenery of the plant life,
    and  bounced  cheerfully  off  the  bubbling  brook that flowed happily
    through the center of the glen, nourishing the small  wildlife  of  the
    area.
         "I know  this  place!"  Gwindor  exclaimed, his face lighting with
    joy.  "My brother and I used to treat this place as our special  place.
    I  have  spent  many an hour sitting here upon the ground, watching him
    try and perfect his calling."
         Gwindor stopped, his vision transgressing the  years  as  he  lost
    himself in his memories.  The rest of the party lost no time in finding
    themselves a place to sit or lay down in the grass, and for a time they
    all lost themselves in the peace and tranquility.
         Gwindor came  to  himself  with a start, and grinned sheepishly at
    his friends.  Sitting down himself, he stretched  until  his  joints
    popped.
         "Feels good,  doesn't  it,  my friends.  Here we can rest and take
    comfort, as nothing of evil has ever entered  this  glade.   Enjoy  the
    night, as tomorrow we continue on to the Citadel."
         Pervorin, almost  dozing,  opened  his  eyes  at  the mention of a
    Citadel.  "A citadel?  What citadel?"
         "Well, that's what everyone  calls  it.   Actually  it  is  called
    Rasvan  Castle,  supposedly after a wizard of earlier times.  Gwindor's
    brother now calls it home.  From there it is said that  he  is  delving
    into  the  mysteries  of his power.  If anyone can help you regain your
    past, it is he.  Now rest, for we shall not stop again until  we  reach
    Rasvan."

         Pervorin could  still  feel  the  awe  that his first sight of the
    castle had aspired in him.  From out of a grassy plain  it  rose  to  a
    great height against the deepening blue of the evening sky.  The towers
    rose  above the rest of the castle, seemingly swaying gracefully in the
    wind.  In contrast, the outside wall  was  squat  and  formidable.   He
    supposed  an army might break its back on that wall and still not force
    an entry.
         As they had walked towards  the  bridge  spanning  the  moat,  the
    people working outside the walls had taken notice of them.  Several had
    stopped what they were doing and called out to Gwindor.
         "Hail and  well  met!" one of them cried.  "Kantar told us to keep
    an eye out for you today."
         Smiling, Gwindor advanced over the moat.  "Morgan,  it's  good  to
    see  you  again!"  He clasped his friend's arm heartily.  "It has been
    too long!  But what are you doing here?  I thought you were  garrisoned
    in Tralug."
         As Gwindor  and  Morgan  continued to talk, they moved through the
    gates into the castle, and Himmen, Darin, and Pervorin followed.  Their
    path followed the main street for a distance, and Pervorin marvelled at
    what he saw.  Buildings stretched in every direction, lining both sides
    of the street.  At the end of the  street,  just  within  eyesight,  he
    could  see  the entrance to the castle proper.  He noticed now that the
    castle walls, besides protecting the castle, surrounded the city,  thus
    providing protection for it as well.
         Following the  small  group,  Pervorin now noticed the aromas that
    were assailing him from every side; the smell of freshly  cooked  meat;
    the sweet smell of fresh flowers; the strong aroma of wine.
         And the  people!   Never  had  he  seen  so many in one place!  It
    seemed that for every one that disappeared into a  doorway  or  down  a
    side street, three more took their place.
         "Pervorin!  Come along!"
         Startled, he looked up.  The rest of the group was standing a good
    distance away, looking at him.  He hurried to catch up, a sheepish grin
    on his face.
         "All these  people  getting  to you?" Himmen asked as he caught up
    with them.
         "It all is a bit overwhelming," he admitted.  "Do they always  run
    about like that?"
         "No," laughed Himmen.  "We're in luck.  We have arrived in time to
    celebrate the Festival of Mid-Feast.  Everyone is preparing for it."
         Pervorin looked  at Himmen in surprise.  "You mean there really is
    a Mid-Feast time?"
         "Of course there is," replied Himmen.  "It's  the  time  when  the
    people  celebrate  the  successful  harvest,  and  eat, drink, and make
    merry.  For the planting and harvest seasons are hard ones here, as are
    the winter months.  In another month, they will begin preparations  for
    winter, so now they are living it up while they can."
         They had  continued  to  walk while they had been talking, and now
    Pervorin saw that they were entering a quieter  section  of  the  city.
    The  number  of  shops  they passed lessened, while the number of homes
    increased.  After passing numerous side  streets,  Gwindor  and  Morgan
    finally turned toward a house situated at the far end of the street.
         Walking up  onto  the porch, Pervorin caught the pleasant smell of
    cooking food wafting from an open window.  Gwindor  turned  and  looked
    questionly at Morgan.
         "I told  you  we  knew you were coming," he laughed.  "Sabrina has
    been inside all day readying your home for your return."
         "Sabrina!" Gwindor exclaimed, the joy in his  voice  unmistakable.
    "Long have I waited to hear her sweet voice again!"
         Opening the door, they entered into a large room.  The curtains on
    the windows had been tied back, allowing the sunlight to stream in.  At
    one end was a hearth, in which a fire blazed cheerfully.  Over the fire
    hung  a  cooking pot, from which the smell of food originated.  Several
    feet away a table occupied a corner, on which five  settings  had  been
    placed.  A couch and several stuffed chairs completed the room.
         "I have been waiting for you, my love." a soft voice said.
         Turning, Pervorin  saw  a  woman  standing in a doorway he had not
    noticed before.  She was dressed in a in a simple white dress, with her
    long flowing brown hair cascading around her shoulders.   Her  features
    appeared  plain,  not  especially attractive to him.  Then her eyes met
    Gwindor's, and her face lit up in a smile that seemed, to Pervorin,  to
    light  up  the  whole room.  At once she had gone from a plain woman to
    someone that armies would fight over.
         As Pervorin watched, Gwindor went over to her and enveloped her in
    his arms.  For a time they were lost in their own world,  oblivious  to
    their surroundings.
         Grinning, Himmen motioned for Pervorin to place his pack over in a
    corner,  where  he  was just leaving his own.  Darin followed suit, and
    then joined them at the table.  Morgan had found a pitcher of dark  ale
    and was pouring large mugs for all of them.  This completed, Morgan sat
    back  in  his  own  chair  and  proceeded  to drain his cup in one long
    drought.  Smiling with satisfaction, he  poured  himself  another,  and
    sipped contented at it.
         A few moments later Gwindor and Sabrina separated.  Gwindor turned
    towards the table and sat down.
         "Well, it has been a long time," he said sheepishly to the smiling
    faces around him.
         Laughing goodheartedly,  they  all  sat  down  to one of Sabrina's
    homecooked meals, which they all agree was the best thing  they'd  done
    in  months.   Pervorin, who had not realized how hungry he was until he
    had taken his first bite, was polishing off his plate with passion.
         "This is very good!" he exclaimed to no one in particular.   "It
    brings  to  mind some of the food I've had in..." Here is voice trailed
    off.  In where?  he thought.  At the first taste of  the  food  he  had
    remembered  a  similar meal.  There had been food as good as this, with
    wine and ale.  There were other people there too, but as he strived  to
    remember  it  slipped away, until the thought vanished as if smoke.  He
    looked up to find them all looking at him.
         "In where, Pervorin?"  Gwindor asked quietly.
         "In... In...  I can't remember!" Pervorin cried out with anguish.
         Gwindor settled back into his chair.  "I think that  we  shall  go
    see my brother today.  Perhaps he can help shed some light on your loss
    of  memory.   As  for now, finish your meal.  I feel that you will need
    your strength later."
         Later, after the  meal,  Gwindor  came  over  to  the  couch  were
    Pervorin was sitting off in thought.
         "I go  now  to  see  Zanath,  Pervorin.  If he agrees, I will send
    someone for you.  Agreed?"
         Nodding in agreement, Pervorin noticed the  concern  in  Gwindor's
    face,  and  he  realized how much he had come to depend on this man for
    guidance and friendship.
         "Thank you my friend," he said quietly as Gwindor clasped his arm.
         "Don't worry," Gwindor replied.  "If anyone can help  you,  Zanath
    can."





                                    PERVORIN

                          Chapter Five - Castle Rasvan


     Gwindor walked slowly along the street, stopping now and then to greet
 a friend.  Finally he made his way up to his brother's home, the Castle
 Rasvan.  Drawing up to the door, he took the huge knocker on the center of
 the door in both hands and lifted it, then let it fall.  Thrice he did
 this.  As the last echoes of the knocks faded away, the lion's head in the
 in the center of the door spoke.
     "Who comes knocking at the door of Rasvan's Castle?" it boomed hollowly.
     "It is I, Gwindor!" he replied.
     "Oh, it is you, brother! Come on in, you know the way."  The  voice
 had lost much of its timbre, and Gwindor smiled as the door swung
 open.  His brother had always had a taste for theatrics.
     The passageway behind the door led twisting and turning past many
 hallways and doors.  Gwindor's stride did not hesitate as he followed a path
 that he had travelled many times.  He headed up a flight of stairs, and
 then continued down the corridor.  At last he came to a small entranceway,
 similar to the many others he had passed.  It was a plain wooden door with
 iron hinges.  Turning the knob, he pushed the door open and entered the
 small room behind it.
     The room was nothing spectacular.  It was a small bedroom, with a single
 bed, small night table, and a dressing table.  It was dim inside, as the
 candles set along the wall were not lit, and there were no windows.  Reaching
 over to one of the candlabras set in the wall, he gave it a twist.  Silently
 a portion of the wall slid aside, to reveal a spiral staircase leading up.
 As Gwindor started up the staircase, he heard the secret panel close behind
 him.  The way was not dark, however, as there were lit candles along the
 walls.  Reaching the top, he stopped before another door and knocked.
     "Enter, brother!" a voice boomed out.
     Opening the door, Gwindor entered into what was obviously an elabrate
 workshop.  Various sizes of flasks sat in holders suspended over candles,
 bubbling furiously.  Running the entire length of one wall was a bookcase,
 crammed to overflowing with books, scrolls, and tomes.  A desk occupied the
 center of another wall, and there Gwindor saw his brother peering intently
 over a yellowed scroll.  He was older than Gwindor, with white streaks
 running through his coal black hair.  As he looked up, Gwindor noticed that
 his face had aged since he had last seen him.  His eyes still had that same
 sparkle in them, though.
     "Gwindor, it's good to see you again!" he exclaimed heartily as he
 rounded the desk.
     He embraced his brother, and then motioned Gwindor to one of the stuffed
 chairs that were near the desk.  Gwindor sank gratefully into it, just now
 realising how tired he was.
     "Did you get my message?"  Zanath asked.
     "Yes, I did," Gwindor replied.  "That is why I am here.  You were right
 in believing that something is brewing in the south.  I visited most of the
 villages that lay on the edge of the Great Waste, and found that most of them
 are deserted.  It appears that they have been attacked by unknown forces.  I
 found many tracks leading from the villages to the Waste, but I could not
 track them any further.  The winds that sweep the Waste obliterated any
 tracks long before I got there."
     He looked up at his brother.  "That's a lot of people that are missing."
     Zanath, whose expression had been getting grimmer and grimmer while
 Gwindor was speaking, rose and went over to the bookcase.  Rummaging through
 a large pile of scrolls, he finally withdrew two.  Bringing them over to the
 desk, he carefully unrolled them, motioning for Gwindor to come over and
 look. Gwindor rose and walked to stand beside his brother.  Looking down at
 the scrolls, he saw a map of Kultauren.  The language on the scroll was in
 the tongue of the Ancients, and now he blessed his brother for all the times
 he had made him study what he had thought was a useless tongue.
     "How old is this map?"  he asked.
     "Well, as near as I can make it, it is between two and three thousand
 years old.  Whoever drew this probably signed it, but as you can see, there
 is a section that has been torn away."
     Gwindor had noticed that the bottom right corner was missing, but had
 paid it no mind.  Now he took a closer look.  There appeared to be some
 writing, now partially missing.
     "Were you able to make anything out of this?" he asked.
     Zanath shook his head.  "There just isn't enough for me to go on."
     Gwindor looked back at the main portion of the map.  He could see the
 River Jarah, winding it's way down the mountains to feed the Great Swamps.
 The Great Waste was missing, though.  Instead, where the Waste is today,
 there was a large inland sea.  Scattered around the sea were several large
 towns, and from some of the descriptions given on the map a great deal of
 trade went on between them.
     "This is interesting," he said, "but I do not see what this has to do
     with what is going on today."
     "Look closer.  Down there," Zanath said, pointing down to the
 southernmost point of land.
     Looking, Gwindor saw a small notation.  It was written so small that he
 had trouble reading it.
     "I cannot make it out.  Have you been able to translate it?"
     "Yes.  Roughly, it says: Beware the Oblisk of Dread."
     "The Oblisk of Dread? Nothing else?"
     "Nothing else.  Just that."  With that Zanath turned and wandered over to
 his desk.  "After I translated it, I realised that I have recollections of
 that name somewhere before.  So I did some digging in the old books and
 scrolls that I keep lying around, and I came up with something.  In one of
 the scrolls of the ancient city of Charrew there is mention of the Oblisk of
 Dread.  It says that during the Age of Madness, a powerful user of the arts
 way trying to forceably proclaim his rulership over Kultauren.  After many
 battles the wizard was defeated, and his body was placed in the Oblisk.  It
 also said that a curse was placed upon the Oblisk, though of what manner of
 curse it does not say."
     "Do you think that this oblisk has something to dow with whatever is
 happening now?" asked Gwindor.
     "I don't know.  But it is a possibility that we dare not overlook.  The
 scroll also mentions that the wizard's possessions were sealed up with him,
 lest they fall into the hands of others.  Supposedly he had some powerful
 items in his possession.  If someone has entered the oblisk, then they may
 have taken what was inside.  That could bode ill for us all."
     "But to what purposes?  I mean, between the deserted villages, there must
 be close to a thousand people missing."
     Zanath said nothing at this, just stood shaking his head.  "We must find
 out what is happening down there.  We must also find out if the oblisk has
 been defiled.  If someone has gained access to the secrets there, and has the
 ability to use them..." he stopped and shuddered at the thought.
     After a  moment, Gwindor remembered the other reason he was here.
     "Brother, I believe that something else I ran into while on the Plains of
 Jeah you might be interested in."
     With that he explained finding Pervorin, and the events after.  After
 finishing, Gwindor sat back and sipped on the wine his brother had given him
 while he had been speaking.  As he had thought, Zanath was very interested in
 Pervorin.
     "Where is he now?" he asked.
     "He is at my home," replied Gwindor.  "I have told him that you may be
 able to help him regain his memory, which he is understandably anxious to
 recover.  He is waiting for me to summon him to meet you."
     "Well," said Zanath, rising, "let us not keep him waiting any further.
 We shall retire to the library, where we shall await his arrival."





                                    PERVORIN

                                  Chapter Six


     Pervorin lay on the couch in Gwindor's living room, enjoying the
feeling of having absolutely nothing to do.  He had helped Sabrina
clean up after the meal, and then had wandered into the living room,
starting a fire against the chill in the night air.  Now he relaxed
and stared into the flickering flames, thinking of nothing, letting
the dance of the firelight devour his thoughts.
     A knock at the door broke through his reverie, startling him.
Rising to his feet, he strode to the door.
     "Who is it?" he asked through the closed door.
     "The city guard," was the reply.
     Opening the door, Pervorin saw a group of four men standing in
the street.  Each was in chain armor, with light from the torches that
two of the men carried reflecting brightly off the polished metal.
Pervorin also noticed that they were armed with swords at their sides
and bows across their backs.
     "What can I do for you?" he asked politely.
     "We have come to escort you to Rasvan Castle, where Zanath awaits
you."
     "Ah, yes.  Well, would you wait a moment while I get myself
together?"
     "Of course.  But please hurry.  We were told to be prompt."
     "I'll be as quick as I can," replied Pervorin as he shut the
door.  Turning, he gathered up his cloak, tossing it around his
shoulders as he stepped into the kitchen to let Sabrina know that he
was leaving.  That finished, he stepped outside to join the guards
waiting for him and vanished with them into the dark streets.

     Several minutes later he found himself standing in front of the
great doors of the castle.  The guard who had spoken to him earlier
went up to the door and knocked.
     "Who knocks on the door of the Castle of Rasvan?" a booming voice
asked, seemingly emanating from the lion's head that was centered on
the door.
     "The City Guard.  We bring the one called Pervorin."
     "Good!" the voice replied.  "Escort him to the library."
     "As you command." the guard replied.  Turning, he dismissed the
other men, and then motioned for Pervorin to follow him as the
ponderous doors swung open.
     The guard led Pervorin through many passages and hallways,
getting him thoroughly lost.  Pervorin contented himself with looking
at the contents of the hallways they were travelling.  Along the walls
were numerous types of weapons.  Polearms, longswords, axes, there
seemed to be no end to the different styles.  The floor itself was as
quite to walk on as a grave, due mostly to the rug, which was so thick
that his boots made no sound at all as he walked.
     "In here," the guard said, motioning towards a door that he was
opening.  Stepping through, Pervorin saw Gwindor sitting in a chair
near a fireplace.  Sitting next to him was a man he had not seen
before.  They looked up as Pervorin entered.
     "Pervorin," Gwindor said after the guard had left, closing the
door, "come over here and meet Zanath, my brother."
     Pervorin walked over to Gwindor.  Turning, Gwindor looked at his
brother as he stood up.  Pervorin saw indeed that this must be
Gwindor's brother, as the resemblance was unmistakable.  He was older,
and looked more wise in the ways of the world than Gwindor.
     "Pleased to meet you, Pervorin." Zanath said, rising from his
chair and extending his hand.
     Pervorin shook hands, surprised at the strength of the other
man's grip.  His strength was more than his looks implied.
     "My brother has told me all about your little, hmmm, shall we
say, adventures?  since he met you.  As I understand it, you have no
recollection of the events that happened to you before you met
Gwindor?"
     "Yes, that's true," replied Pervorin.  "I cannot remember
anything that happened before the plains."
     "Perhaps I can help.  Gwindor has told me that he has spoken to
you about me, to the effect that I may be able to help you.  Perhaps I
can.  However, it will require your willingness to let me do things
that may appear strange to you.  Whatever I do, you must not do
anything that would interfere with the process.  You must trust me.
Nothing I do will bring harm to you.  Do you understand?"
     Pervorin thought a moment.  From what Gwindor had told him,
Zanath was a powerful user of the arts.  He wasn't sure if he wanted
to go through with this, but he would like to get his memory back, and
there doesn't seem to be any other option at the moment.  Finally he
nodded.
     "I will cooperate with you," he replied.
     "Good.  Very good."  Zanath said.  "Now, you do understand that
what we find out may not be to your liking?"
     "Not to my liking?"  Pervorin asked.  "What do you mean?"
     "Well, you could be a thief, or a cutthroat, or any number of
other things.  There's just no telling until your memory is restored."
     Pervorin thought about this for a few moments.  At last he
answered.
     "Yes, I am willing to take that risk.  At least, even if I find
out I am one of those types, I will know what I am.  That's better
than what I know now."
     "Very well," replied Zanath.  "We will begin immediately.
Gwindor, if you would, please take Pervorin up to my lab and make him
ready.  I will join you shortly."  With that Zanath turned and left
the library.
     "Well, come along Pervorin," Gwindor said with a sigh as he
rose from the chair and walked towards the door.
     Pervorin followed Gwindor as he left the library and headed down
the corridor.  He was wondering what Zanath had meant when he had
asked Gwindor to 'make him ready'.  Finally his curiosity got the
best of him, and he asked Gwindor.
     Gwindor laughed.  "That's Zanath's way of telling me to make sure
that you don't get into anything in his lab while he isn't there.  He
has things in there that, handled improperly, could do a lot more to
you than restore your memory, if you get my meaning."
     Pervorin got his meaning.  He resolved to keep his hands off of
anything in the lab.

     A few minutes later they entered Zanath's lab.  Pervorin stared
at all the strange items that seemed to fill the room from floor to
ceiling.  What caught his eye and held his attention after a moment
was a long table.  On top of the table were beakers and jars sitting
in a strange apparatus, over top of candles.  Inside liquids bubbled
and seethed.  He stared in fascination at them.  They seemed quite
familiar to him, but somehow strange.
     While Pervorin was looking around the room, Gwindor had taken a
chair and placed it in the center of the room, which was clear.  He
then took a lead-stoppered flask from one of the many shelves, opened
it, then proceeded to pour the contents in a circle around the chair,
at a distance of perhaps ten feet.  He did not close the circle,
leaving an opening a foot wide in front of the chair.
     "What are you doing that for?" Pervorin asked, Gwindor's
movements having caught his eye.
     "I am preparing a circle for you," was the reply.  "The forces
that Zanath will use need to be contained, or they could conceivably
destroy this castle and most of the area around it."
     "Do you mean to tell me that I am going to be sitting in that
chair while all these... forces will be in there, too?" Pervorin asked
nervously.
     "That about sums it up, yes." Gwindor said.  Seeing the look on
Pervorin's face, Gwindor smiled.  "You have no need to worry, my
friend.  Zanath will do nothing that will cause any harm to you.  You
have his word, and his word is good."
     Pervorin was relieved to hear that.  After the strange experience
he had had back at Gwindor's camp, he wasn't real sure about the
arcane.
     Just then the door opened, and Zanath entered.  He had changed,
and was now wearing a long dark blue robe.  The robe had silver runes
running the length of the hem and around the collar.  The necklace he
was wearing caught Pervorin's attention.  It was in the shape of two
moons, one smaller than the other.  He could see a faint glow
emanating from the smaller moon, and it seemed to be pulsating.
     Zanath walked over to them.  "I see you have made the
preparations, Gwindor.  Excellent.  Well Pervorin, are you ready to
begin?"
     "I guess so," Pervorin replied nervously.
     "Then please be seated," Zanath said, gesturing to the chair in
the center of the circle.
     Pervorin walked over and sat down in the chair.  Zanath went over
to a table, selected several beakers from what seemed an endless
supply, and mixed them together into a goblet.  Walking back over to
Pervorin, he handed him the cup.
     "Please drink this as fast as you can," he said.  Noticing
Pervorin's worried glance at the goblet, he smiled.  "It's nothing to
worry about.  It is just a sedative to make your mind more relaxed and
calm.  Now please, drink."
     Pervorin raised the goblet to his nose and sniffed at the bouquet
rising from it.  It was a pleasant smell, and seems to relax him a
bit.  Raising the glass again, he looked at Gwindor and Zanath.
     "To what we may find," he said, toasting them, and then he
drained it.  A warm feeling flowed through him as the liquid coursed
down his throat into his stomach.  He handed the empty goblet back to
Zanath.
     "That is some pretty good stuff you mixed up there, Zanath." he
said with a lazy smile on his face.
     Zanath returned the smile, then picked up the flask that Gwindor
had been using earlier.  Stooping, he used the remaining powder to
close the circle.  Then he turned and began to walk the circle,
careful not to step inside.  As he did so, he was gesturing and
muttering in a language that Pervorin did not understand.  Suddenly
the powder started to sputter and smoke, igniting by Zanath's feet as
he strode around the circle.  The smoke wafted towards Pervorin, who
could not help but inhale it.  It made him feel light-headed and dizzy.
     "Now we will see who you are!"


(c) 1987, 1988, 1989 Jim Tomasello.  Reprinted by permission.


