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“My loyalty is to Loric, not to your liege lord!” Barag declared. “I will not fight for Garrick.

Neither will I raise my sword against him; unless it is proven that he ordered my village burned.

Besides, Loric expressed no objections to me joining him in his quest, so I will go with him to the bitter end.”

“I cannot stop you from joining me, Barag,” Loric stated. “But the two of you....” he said, his orbs moving from Warnyck to Marblin in alternating turns, “...you must find his lordship and aid him in whatever way you may.”

“I will go with you!” Warnyck said forcefully. “You cannot stop me.”

“If everyone else insists on going, count me with you,” Marblin said resignedly.

“It is your sworn duty to serve your liege lord,” Loric argued. “You were placed at my disposal; now I command you to do your duty. You must follow my orders.”

“Do not speak to me of duty!” Warnyck retorted. “You have the duty to lead us. And lead us you shall.” His stern face displayed a vulpine smile, as he slyly added, “Besides, you cannot chase us away without this.” Warnyck knelt to scoop the Sword of Logant from the ground beside him.

Loric opened his mouth to protest, but he could see it was no use. These men were set on helping him find the Father of the Forest. Any further debate on the subject would be a waste of breath.

About that time, a loud
clack
diverted attention to the cottage from which young Kelvey had just come. The lad was racing toward his traveling guests as quickly as his little legs could carry him. He shouted to them as he ran, but none of them could clearly determine the message he was trying to convey to them. Kelvion stumbled once in his excitement, but his limbs were all nonstop motions, which instantly righted his body and delivered it unto the companions.

“Ma says dinner’s ready,” the boy reported. He frowned at Loric and told him, “You should put clothes on before you go in the house, though.”

“That is only proper,” Loric agreed. The knight grasped the sides of his tub and pulled himself into an upright position. He searched the ground around him before asking, “Kelvion, do you have my clothes?”

“Oh, yeah,” the boy began, his eyes lighting with sudden remembrance. “I forgot to bring them out. I’ll be right back.”

Kelvion sped toward the cottage as hurriedly as he had come from it. In less than a minute, he re-emerged from his home, bearing with him a stack of freshly laundered clothes for Loric.

“Here!” he chirped. The boy then beckoned them on with a wildly waving arm, saying, “Come on! Ma’s made stew!”

Loric quickly dressed. Then he held out an open palm to Warnyck, saying, “I will have the sword, if you please.”

Warnyck extended the weapon hilt first toward Loric. As the knight stretched his fingers to grasp its handle, the scout playfully moved it away and grinned. The other men chuckled. When Warnyck again tried to toy with his friend, Loric did not reach for the hilt. He feinted as though he was after the pommel, but with the swiftness of a striking panther, he caught his companion under the elbow with one hand and about the wrist with the other. A subtle application of pressure informed Warnyck that the game was up, so he yielded the blade over to Loric. Barag and Marblin laughed aloud at Warnyck’s squawk of discomfort, while they praised their shrewd leader.

Loric smiled, clapped his friend on the back and said, “Come. Our hosts have invited us to join them for what promises to be a good hot meal.”

Marblin and Barag heartily agreed. So did Kelvion, who grabbed Loric’s arm and tugged him toward the cottage. Warnyck rubbed his elbow with a grimace as he followed them. Marblin and Barag walked along close behind the scout, still chuckling over the scout’s forced surrender.

Loric caught the savory smell of lamb stew before he stepped into the house. The room he entered was in fact the kitchen. A large kettle was hanging in the stone fireplace along the far wall, its rising steam cruelly taunting his empty belly. To the right of the fireplace, there was a sturdy rectangular table, and to the left, a doorway opened onto another warmly furnished room.

The shepherd, Kelivoras, was present. At this, their second meeting, Loric took more care getting to know the man’s face. He had tightly drawn tan skin, with narrow lips that seldom smiled. Those worry lines on his countenance seemed significant to Loric. The knight tucked his observation away in his mind while he continued his study of Kelivoras. He had brown eyes and dark hair to match his eyes, which were set about a wide, overly large nose. Beneath that mildly crooked olfactory organ was a pair of thin mustaches that extended down to meet a short-cropped goatee.

Loric’s attention strayed to the woman of the house, who motioned for him to take a bowl from the table. He let her fill it with stew while he took in her features. Kelvion had two perfectly normal parents, while he himself was nothing less than extraordinary. His mother was five foot six and slight of build. Her long black hair was drawn up atop her head, but several strands hung wildly about her face. A fair face it was, with a lovely, but transparent smile. It seemed to Loric that the woman put on a false facade to hide great misfortune in her life. It was as if she wished to show teeth enough to display happiness for her and her husband. Loric’s curiosity about the host family increased tenfold.

Loric let mystery dangle in his mind and graciously accepted hot stew. Soon he and his companions sat around the table with Kelvion, Kelivoras and the shepherd’s wife, Udelia. All was quiet following welcomes and introductions, as four hungry warriors gulped down their first fine meal in five days.

Kelvion broke the silence in amazing fashion, asking, “How long until you are King of Beledon?”

Loric peered up at the boy, bewildered by his question. The knight could not deny that those fiery red lamps were staring back at him. He was dumbfounded. He did not know how to

respond to the boy’s query. The hollow
clunk
of spoons against wooden bowls stopped.

Everyone was staring in disbelief at the six-year-old.

Suddenly Kelivoras chuckled. Then he laughed in earnest and sighed, “Ah, the mind of a child. Kelvey has an imagination that never rests.”

The boy seemed distressed by his father’s words. He started, “But I saw-”

“You saw an opportunity to make us laugh and it worked,” Kelivoras interrupted firmly.

“That is enough. I’ve told you....”

I’ve told you....
ran through Loric’s mind. It could have been an oft-repeated warning that did not need to be finished for the boy to understand it, but the tone indicated there was meaning behind it. Perhaps the shepherd did not wish to conclude his statement and reveal the unspeakable and unnamable unknown to everyone present. Loric let his eyes shift from father, to mother, to child several times over. Kelivoras swallowed a bite of stew, but it looked like a bone going down. Udelia was horrible combination of nervousness, embarrassment and anger. The boy beside Loric was on the verge of tears. The family was hiding something. Loric suspected two adults were concealing a secret about their unusual child, Kelvion.

The boy began to cry. His father raised his arms defensively. “Please don’t, Kelvey!” he pleaded in panic.

“Kelvey, no!” his mother shrieked.

Their petitions went unanswered. Kelvey began to bawl. Loric placed a comforting hand on the lad’s shoulder. The knight felt something unlike anything he had ever felt before. He forgot the only thing comparable to it as a surge of energy raced through his palm. It spread through the rest of his body, causing his hair to stand on end. Kelvey’s skin simultaneously burned Loric, who withdrew his hand with a yelp. His palm was seared to blisters. As pain registered in his mind, there was a clap like thunder.

Kelivoras and his wife reeled backwards to the floor. Then slowly, ever so cautiously, they lowered their protective arms. Udelia moved uneasily toward her child, who now lay

unconscious on the floor. Meanwhile, the shepherd strode over to the kitchen window, looking desperately for some unnamed thing. “Great Donigan!” he cried. “The shed is on fire.”

Chapter Nineteen

Lost and Found

Loric looked to his companions for understanding of what had happened, only to find that they were as surprised as he was. At first, Loric feared that Hadregeon’s men had followed them to the shepherd’s home, bringing with them fire and death. Kelivoras rushed across the room, jerked open the door and sprinted into failing daylight, while everyone else was sorting out the meaning of this new calamity. Loric reached for the Sword of Logant and hastened after the distressed shepherd, ignoring the pain in his tingling hand.

As Loric stepped outside, he saw that the shed was on fire. It was not natural fire. At least, it was not the kind of burning set by common soldiers of Landolstadt. There was something uncanny about the flames--an ensorcelled something--for they included miniscule arcs of white lightning that shot through fiery tongues and smoke to regenerate into burning embers.

Kelivoras snatched up a pail from beside the cottage door and sprinted over to the boat that had served as Loric’s ice tub. Loric understood the man’s intentions, but he also sensed danger beyond his reckoning, so he outraced Kelivoras to the little craft. Loric firmly planted himself between the shepherd and the boat, giving the shepherd cause to reconsider challenging an armed soldier with only a bucket in hand. The truth struck him full in the face. He could do no more than watch the little shed blacken and shrivel in its vain attempt to escape the all-consuming blaze.

Kelivoras slumped to his knees, weeping. His fingers tightened around his brown locks and pulled. His fists continued clenching and unclenching amidst his curls for a slow twenty count.

The shepherd rocked back and forth. He tugged at his hair and moaned. At length Kelivoras shook his fist at the sky and cried out, “Anomaktildor, why have you cursed my household? Oh, how I long to join you in the realm of spirits, so I can split your wicked skull with an axe! Laugh at the mischief your death has caused, foul dragon, but one day we will meet.”

Loric cautiously moved beside his host and extended his hand to him. Kelivoras accepted the comforting palm, clutching it as tightly as a lifeline. Loric tried not to wince for his blisters, as the shepherd pulled himself to shaky feet and locked eyes with the knight. He had a wild and threatening look about him as he asked, “Will you please take my boy away with you?”

Kelivoras dropped back to his knees, as he became more desperate in his plea. “You go to Dimwood Forest, correct? I have heard an old sorcerer lives in those woods. He is called Nimshar the Old.” The shepherd’s voice was trembling as he ventured, “Mayhap the old man can cure my Kelvey of his dark magic fits. Maybe he can teach him to control his black powers before anyone else can come to harm from them.”

Loric was uncertain how to respond. Kelivoras’ previous outburst and his present request prompted several new questions to enter the knight’s mind. The first was,
How did the dragon
Anomaktildor curse Kelvion?
In a related query, and of greater importance, he wondered,
Whom
did the boy hurt with his powers?
Of less relevance, but of concern to Loric nevertheless,
Why
are you crushing my sore hand when you seek a favor from me?

Loric chose to start with the most intriguing matter to enter his thoughts, “Who said my companions and I make for Dimwood Forest?”

“Five days ago Kelvion told me,
Four travelers are coming to visit us and their leader will
quest for a mighty sword,
” answered Kelivoras. “He went on to say,
Nimshar the Old can help
the knight find the sword, and he will find it. He’ll wear it at court one day, where he will sit as
King of Beledon.
”

“Impossible!” Warnyck protested.

Kelivoras waved toward his burning shed and argued, “Ten minutes ago you would have

said the same thing of Kelvey’s fire, but you believe it now, don’t you?”

Loric conceded the point and asked, “Assuming the boy guesses correctly, what makes you think Nimshar can help him?”

“Kelvey
guesses
not!” snapped Kelivoras. With his eyes wide, he corrected, “He
knows!
He sees things in his dreams and they
always
come to pass.”

Loric felt connected to this lad. He had born the curse of foretelling dreams all his life. Loric wanted to know, as much for himself as for the boy, “What makes you think Nimshar could help him?”

“The old sorcerer is rumored to be wise,” Kelivoras responded. His eyes lit with excitement.

“The legend of his power came to my father, Keldirias, through a quest knight. My father believed the knight’s tale for the truth of the Great King. If any living man can cure my boy, it is he. Please, take Kelvey with you.”

Keldirias?
thought Loric.
Could it be same shepherd from
The Knightly Log of Sir Palendar
? If so, I owe this man this favor, but....
“My road is too dangerous,” Loric flatly refused the shepherd. “We may not survive our journey into Dimwood-”

Kelivoras was angry as he fired back, “You’ve seen the boy’s magic! He has no control over it! He’s a danger to himself.... and to us,” he admitted

“And you believe he should endanger someone else--like us?” Warnyck proposed, his

hackles rising.

“The danger already walks with you, Chief Scout of Egolstadt,” Kelivoras responded, warily eyeing Loric.

“Explain yourself!” Warnyck demanded, baring steel.

“Peace, Warnyck,” Loric commanded, waving him down. To Kelivoras, he offered, “My

apologies, good shepherd, but we lack understanding. What do you mean?”

“When Great King Donigan slew Anomaktildor, the dragon fell into the Enchanted River, forever poisoning its waters,” Kelivoras explained. “My boy drank from the river,” he choked. “I only lost sight of Kelvey for a moment.... and.... by the time I found him, the curse was upon him--within him.”

“I too bear this curse,” Loric murmured.