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Warnyck had a severe bite on his back. His jerkin had not deterred the Floating Shadow that had marked him for prey, because the creature had chewed through protective leather and sunk its teeth into flesh. Marblin ripped and soaked a piece of cloth from Barag’s old cloak to apply to the wound. He held it firmly in place to stop the bleeding.

Loric had one injury similar to Warnyck’s and several smaller hurts besides. Those included an assortment of cuts, bumps and bruises from falling rocks. The first Floating Shadow wound was to his left calf. Barag simply treated that injury by wrapping a wide strip from his cloak snugly about his fellow townsman’s leg. The Floating Shadows had found chain mail tougher to digest than animal hide, but not impossible to pierce. In three different places, Barag had to pluck broken teeth from those tight interlocking ringlets covering Loric’s torso. He went to great pains to remove the fang-ridden armor shirt without gouging flesh, for those teeth were like thorns poking through the ever-shifting armor piece. Once Barag stripped Loric of his protective gear, numerous points of blood outlined a semi-elliptical pattern on Loric’s right shoulder, his left breast and his back, just above his waist. Inner rows of Floating Shadow teeth left increasingly less visible pricks in damaged skin as they drew nearer the center of the bite. Barag cleaned the wide outer circumference that set boundaries of those wounds and worked his way inward from there. Then he pressed cloth to puncture marks until they stopped bleeding.

Afterwards, Loric propped himself against the boulder beneath the boat and listened to sounds of the storm all around him. He noted unique tones of falling raindrops as they struck different surfaces, like the wooden craft above his head and the stony riverbank before him, the leaves of the lone tree towering above his makeshift shelter and alternating patches of grass and mud all around him. Then there was the dull roar of the river as it rumbled along its swift course.

Loric’s rush of excitement was passing. Fatigue was whispering a sleep spell upon him. The mystical chant of rain added power to the magic.

Barag nearly broke the spell’s hold, as he mused, “I guess those little critters aren’t used to chewing on steel animals, and that’s a good thing for you, my friend.”

Loric chuckled at his fellow townsman’s comforting humor. The smile that spread across his face did not fade until he reawakened in the realm of his subconscious. Once there, it vanished immediately, for his dreams were fearful and disturbing....

****

Loric found himself standing inside a chamber so large that the haze of dreams blurred its walls, making them as if they were neither there or absent. He forgot walls, as the centerpiece of the arena came into view. Loric drew a sharp breath. There was a massive statue standing upon a proportionately large platform before him. A fearsome dragon, cut with such precision and painted with such skill that it looked alive stood atop the base.

Suddenly the stony outer shell began crumbling away before Loric, until a living fire breather was standing over him. The dragon laughed at him. Then it sent a blast of fiery breath rushing out toward him. Loric tumbled away. Scorching flames set a heavy wooden altar ablaze at his heels. Billowing smoke off that gilded table from a time long forgotten choked him. Loric was unable to draw clean breaths. Meanwhile, the dragon was standing there, laughing at him....

****

Loric jerked upright in full daylight, coughing violently and flailing in panic.
No,
Loric decided,
laughter comes not from a dragon, but from Barag.
He blew a sigh of relief and slumped back into a relaxed position. From there, his nostrils fell into line with failing ashen gasps of a smoldering campfire. The rain had ended sometime during his rest, and Solari had since begun peering down upon the world below from Her place between puffy white clouds.

As Loric reoriented himself with his waking existence, he found that everything looked wrong to him. He tried to blink greenish tint from the color of his world, only to discover it was a lasting sensation. That sickly strange hue did not go away. It was like walking in dreamland, while he knew he was awake. Oddly, he felt heightened sense of awareness, which led him to conclude, this was the world as he was to know it henceforth.
My dreams are lifelike, and my life
is dreamlike.

“I was wondering when you were going to wake up,” Warnyck said to him in greeting.

Loric only grunted in return. His injuries were paining him, and he was in no mood for idle talk. He felt a burning sensation in his calf. The flare up triggered a vivid memory of the Floating Shadow that had clamped its jaws about his leg. Loric could still feel the creature pumping its body, as it had been doing when it had tried to feed upon his flesh. He had risked stabbing himself to kill the thing. Loric shuddered away that memory and forced himself to stand up, so he could work that muscle to forgetfulness.

“How many of those wretched little beasts did you have to slay in your escape?” Warnyck pried.

“I lost count,” Loric admitted. “A score at least,” he claimed, guessing below the number he believed he had hewn apart. He offered a wan smile and asked, “You did not think things as tiny and pathetic as those could end my life, did you?”

“I never doubted you for a moment,” Barag lied.

“Oh, the king’s privy!” exclaimed Marblin.

Warnyck challenged, “The wrath of dragons for your lies! Marblin had to drive you from the cavern at sword point to keep you from running to the rescue.”

Marblin snickered. “You too, Warnyck.”

Loric smiled. He was pleased to be in the company of friends like Marblin and Warnyck, who both fully believed in him, and Barag, who was willing to risk anything to save him, even listening to bantering from his fellows. Loric strode over to pat his red-faced townsman on the back. Then he joined him and the others for a share of mutton Kelivoras and Udelia had provided for them.

Kelvion was right by Loric’s side following the encounter with the Floating Shadows. “I wonder what other adventures we will find on the way to Dimwood,” he said excitedly, almost begging Loric to lead him into danger, as though the knight knew the quickest way to find it.

“It is hard to say,” Loric returned flatly. “Regardless of what we may find along our coming road, I want you here beside me through it all,” he admonished the boy. “Unless I give you permission to step out of my shadow, you will not leave my side again. Is that clear?”

Loric had to repeat himself three times before he received an answer. “Yes, Loric,” Kelvion muttered dejectedly.

The adventurers finished their midmorning meal, loaded their boat and journeyed on. Barag and Marblin handled the vessel, while Warnyck and Loric took rest for their injuries. The Enchanted River ushered them toward Dimwood Forest.

Unable to help his friends maneuver the boat downriver, for they would have none of it, Loric spent much of his day in restless thought. His encounter with the Floating Shadows had shaken his belief that he was invincible, for the horde of vermin that had attacked him while covering his companions had nearly brought him down. Even so, Loric’s curiosity remained a greater force upon his will than was his fear, so he secretly vowed to return to the cavern. He wanted to explore the remains of the underground city, but he had matters of greater importance to tend upon first. Besides, he would need many men to combat Floating Shadows there, which meant he needed Lord Aldric’s help.

Loric thought fondly of the Lord of Egolstadt. No matter their differing views about what was honorable, Aldric had shown Loric tremendous faith and kindness, elevating his standing in the eyes of other lords and men in the process. So far, Aldric had been true to his word. Loric could see a path to the Seat of Belgandost. The knight had given his all to the Lord of Egolstadt, and he was earning his place amongst nobles of his country. He did not want to disappoint the man who had made it possible.
I have not.
he thought with satisfaction. He knew that he had excelled in his role as knight and captain. That had clearly been the deciding element in Aldric’s decision to place him at the head of Lord Garrick’s army along the banks of the Enchanted River.

I have failed both lords, unless....

Images of King Hadregeon came to his mind, preceding thoughts of the battle that had gone awry. Loric regretted that he had not met Garrick’s deceptive adversary face-to-face. Alas, Hadregeon had escaped, leaving the son of Palendar with burning memories of his crooked smiles at the Feast of False Truce, as the companions had since labeled it. Loric thought of Turtioc kneeling before Garrick. He had sworn his oath to serve the Lord of Durbansdan, only to betray him at his greatest time of need. Warnyck had suggested that the two men might have been in league with one another. Loric had shot the idea down outright, but he suddenly considered,
It is likely those scheming kings had a go-between to help them arrange this double
betrayal. There could be an alliance between Landolstadt and Nindronburg. If not, their efforts
have been coordinated with the greatest possible luck for them.
The more Loric pondered the utter defeat of Durbansdan, the more he gave credence to Warnyck’s unfounded accusation.

There is something more to this matter of broken oaths than random dishonor,
Loric reasoned.

What is the nature of the alliance between Hadregeon and Turtioc?
he wondered.
Surely, they
vie for the same thing. They both seek the Throne of Beledon, which only seats one man.
Loric remembered the merriment in Turtioc’s lying eyes after the treacherous king swore his false fealty to Garrick. He remembered looking upon the barbarian King of Nindronburg as being unworthy of lordship in Beledon, as he feasted at Garrick’s table with his battered servant, Ne’te, beside him. Loric gritted his teeth and thought,
With your demise, Turtioc, your betrayal shall be
erased. If I am unable to bring judgment down on you.... If I cannot do this, I will have failed my
countrymen. Unless....

Then Loric saw inevitable, inescapable visions of Avalana, who was captive to Turtioc. His ladylove was in the clutches of a wicked man, and he had no way to keep her safe from harm. He was simply too far away, with too many enemy companies between him and the princess. Loric thought,
I have failed you, my dazzling princess, unless....

Can we find Nimshar?
Loric wondered.
Even so, how much help will he be able to offer us?

Surely, he cannot give us aid enough to make a difference in this war, or even to help me save
Avalana,
he decided. Were it not for his present affliction, which he shared in common with the shepherd boy, Kelvion, Loric would not trouble to look for the man. Marblin described the old conjurer as a witless blunderer turned spectral sorcerer, who now subsisted on men’s souls. Loric pushed doubts and despairs aside and whispered to himself, “I have failed Beledon, unless Nimshar can help me. He must help me find the Father of the Forest. For every man who is upright and just, and for every virtuous maiden, like fair Avalana, he must do this.”

Kelvion must have heard his nearly imperceptible words, for the lad reassured Loric, saying,

“Nimshar will help you, because he must.”

Loric stared into Kelvion’s unblinking pools of fire and wondered whether Nimshar could help the boy. As if reading his thoughts, Kelvey spoke his. “Nimshar is wise. When we find him, he will know what to do.”

Loric could not control his shiver. The son of Kelivoras was fully charged with powers of dragon sorcery, which were beyond comprehension.
Unless....

“Let us hope he does not feast on our life energies,” came Marblin’s shuddering opinion, to which all agreed, even if they only half-heartedly believed it.

Two steady pair of arms guided the boat between hazards as it bobbled along foamy water.

They floated for four-hour intervals, which they judged by the height of the sun. They stopped for brief rest between each session. By their second break, the landscape about them began changing in dramatic fashion. Giant hills had begun to lie down. This they did to make room for stout trees--which were only budding saplings prior to that point in the journey--to rise tall and ominous above them. Sensing that they were nearing Dimwood, the companions pressed on, ever watchful for danger.

Scenery slid past them on either side, until the Lost Hills were well behind them. Dimwood loomed dark and foreboding on the horizon. The look of it sent a chill down each man’s spine.

Tales often spoke of the grim forest, and seldom were they tales with pleasant endings.

Dimwood had an eerie, brooding manner about it, even under bright sunlight. Warmth

abandoned every member of the party, leaving deep shadows across their hearts.

As the current bore the companions closer to Dimwood Forest, trees therein came more

clearly into view beneath slanting rays of the sun. They were a twisted and gnarled collection of trunks and limbs that more closely resembled evil beasts out of myths and nightmares than actual trees. Branches creaked and groaned as they stirred in the wind, a wind that only touched their heights, for air did not stir below their bare, interwoven fingertips. No visible leaves adorned those twiggy fingers. In fact, most of the tall woods appeared dead to the naked eye. Although spring had come upon the rest of Beledon, there was no indication that new leaves were budding within Dimwood. Limbs rattled against one another, as if beating out a mysterious song from the time of their youth, ages past.

Worse than those trees, were endless lengths of twisted vines. They rose up from the

overgrown, leaf-matted floor of the forest, climbing skyward from there into the tallest branches, far above the companions. From those overhead limbs, they fell back to the ground, so that it was difficult to distinguish beginnings of those tendrils from their ends. Many of those unnatural cords grew in grotesquely knotted braids that clung to boles of trees. Long thorns jutted along the length of every vine. Many of those teeth were embedded in trees, where they gnawed at what life remained beneath crumbling bark. It was almost as if Dimwood Forest was a place of death without decay.