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The old man frowned disagreement with him.
You look much like your father. Pray, tell me:
have you taken on his mantle?

“As best I may,” Loric replied. “I fear I have failed him in many respects, but I hope to do better for the memory of his name.”

An honorable goal, to be sure,
the book commended him.
Perhaps there is hope for the
kingdom, after all.

“May I ask how you knew my father?” Loric inquired.

Sir Palendar came to me in great need, long ago,
said the book.
He told me that Knights of
Beledon had betrayed him. I, detached from intrigues at court, as I am, did not hold his lie
against him. Moreover, I helped him hide. Then I became the first keeper of his secret. You must
dig between the two great north-facing roots of this tree to unearth what I keep. What you find
there will lead you to the second keeper.

Loric held onto his questions about his father’s lie for the time being, instead repeating,

“Second keeper?”

Dig for your answers, Loric,
advised the book.

With that door closing in his face, Loric knocked on another, begging, “Pray tell me: what lie did my father speak?” The son of Palendar studied the page in anticipation of his answer, but there was no writing there. He looked back to the old man, who only shook his head in reply.

“Please, won’t you tell me?” Loric pleaded.

Words scrolled onto the page, saying,
Why should I give you answers about your father’s
past when you could go to the source?

“I already told you,” Loric fired back angrily, “my father is dead!”

The wizened man nodded toward the book, where Loric read,
I think not.

A sense of hope unlooked for made Loric’s heart flutter. “How do you know this?” he

insisted.

It does not matter HOW I know, Loric of Taeglin,
answered the aged enchanter, through his ensorcelled medium,
what matters is THAT I know your father still walks the land of the living.

Loric felt a tingle in his spine. His host was unearthly creepy. Only his father’s written clues had brought him here and only his father’s knightly log kept him from leaving on the instant. If the old man really knew Sir Palendar was alive, when there was no natural way for Loric to know of it.... that was cause to feel troubled. If the old fellow only pretended to know, then he was insane.

“Who are you to know what you claim to know?” Loric demanded. “By what dark powers

do you hold knowledge of the living and the dead, far away in Taeglin?”

The old man had a hard edge to his eyes as he nodded toward the book. Loric glanced down and read,
I am Nimshar the Old. As for how I know this; that is of no matter to you or your
companions. You have passed my challenge of your noble worth. You may proceed to the second
keeper with my blessing. You are welcome to stay the night in my humble abode, under the
watchful Father of the Forest, who will keep you safe from terrors of Dimwood. Then you MUST

leave.

Loric sensed a coming farewell. He could not say why, but the countenance of Nimshar

bespoke it. Loric knew he had to ask his favor of the old sorcerer before he left, so he began,

“This boy-”

Nimshar pointed to the book before Loric could say more.
I know all about this boy! He is
dangerous, for he cannot control the spirit that has invaded his body.
Loric knocked his chair over in his attempt to lift the book from Kelvion’s view, for he did not know whether the lad could read.

“Hey!” Warnyck protested.

Loric shot the scout a condemning look, whereupon he folded his hands at his waist and smashed his lips together. Loric read on,
Only your bloodline protects you from the full wrath of
this abominable curse. In you, there is strength to overcome the evil nature of this poison. You
have the dragon eyes, as promised by scribes of old. I daresay you have acquired the dragon
senses and sorceries to adjoin your new look. You may yet hold to your sanity and do good,
against all of the evil nature that seeks to control you. This boy, however, is befouled by the taint
of the dragon water, with no such hope. He is destined to work wickedness, like the Spirit Men
inhabiting this wood. They too were once common folk, who craved legendary powers of
dragons. They drank of the Enchanted River to partake of its sorcery. Alas, they have found
power, but it rules over them with iron claws of torment. As it is with the Spirit Men, so shall it
be with this boy. Beware the Spirit Men, who lurk in these woods. Beware their spells. Most of
all, beware the boy!

Loric shivered despite the warmth of his anger. “Then you cannot help in this matter?” he questioned calmly, for Kelvion’s sake. “Or will you not help us?”

I will not help him,
scrolled onto the page.
My help would make the boy more powerful, and
so doom the world! He is perilous to everyone he meets. No good can come from this boy.

Loric was furious. He drew a deep breath to get control of his rage.
Nimshar is being
unreasonable. How could anyone, most especially a man of aged wisdom, write off the potential
of any young lad to affect his world in a positive way?
It was an unfair judgment, which led to unfair condemnation.

“Very well,” Loric responded. It took him a moment to calm his breathing. “Since it is up to me to help Kelvion, I will keep him with me and take him to squire.”

Kelvion cheered loudly.

The old man looked gravely concerned.
You risk much, Loric son of Palendar.

“This lad has much to offer the kingdom,” Loric stubbornly returned. “It is in the hands of lads like this that the future of Beledon rests, for good or ill. How can we hope for the former if we would readily discard him amongst the latter? It is my responsibility to this boy, and his father and mother, to show him the good he can do.”

Understood,
Nimshar wrote.
Be warned: you walk with danger. May goodness preserve you.

“Thank you for all that you have done for us,” Loric offered stiffly. He gently guided Kelvion toward the door as he went on, saying, “Now I must seek my answers and take leave of this place. My soul tires of this evil wood!”

Nimshar pointed to the book. Loric puffed a frustrated sigh and followed the words there written.
The Father of the Forest and I offer you sanctuary for the night, for Dimwood IS evil.

The cupboards are full. Help yourselves to what you find within them. This is the last help I can
give to you. I beg you; take it! Do not let bitter feelings stand in the way of what I freely offer
you. If you would be so rash, I fear I have erred as keeper and should oppose your quest.

Loric disliked the old sorcerer’s threatening tone. Furthermore, he was angry that Nimshar was right. Even though Loric wanted to dig up the secret and be on his way, it would be foolhardy for him to lead his party to another fretful night outdoors when they could enjoy a roof over their heads and food in their bellies.

The knight turned to his friends, hoping to justify his instinctive anger, but that was a vain hope. Warnyck and Barag were settled and content. Marblin seemed comfortable for the first time in days, seeing how Nimshar had not tried to eat his soul. “Must we leave?” Warnyck asked. “A night indoors would be welcome relief, if our host would have us,” he added hopefully.

Nimshar nodded a bow.

“It’s settled!” Barag thumped with his fist. “Food and four walls!” he cheered.

Loric offered his townsman a wry smile and turned to Nimshar to share his decision. He was gone.

“Where did he go?” Loric asked.

Warnyck shrugged, unconcerned. “What does it matter? Our host has given us leave to stay the night.”

“Let’s find the food!” Barag urged. “Racing through the woods, chopping vines every step of the way is hungry work.”

The companions searched the house. In a tall pantry in the dining area, they found a basket heaped with walnuts and another piled with sunflower seeds. They also discovered leaf-wrapped cakes and jugs of ale. There was plenty of firewood, and there was room enough for them to sleep comfortably. Those were excellent finds for hungry, tired men in barren woodlands.

Barag wanted to feast right away, but Loric insisted that they had come to this place with a purpose, which was to find the keeper’s secret. They had to unearth whatever was hidden beneath the two great north-facing roots of the tree. Out back, Warnyck spotted a spade, which he passed to Marblin.

The Moonwatcher frowned. “If only you had given me this before I ruined my sword....”

Warnyck slapped him on the arm and said, “I thought of you first.”

It only took Marblin a matter of minutes to strike something hard and metallic in the ground.

Loric brushed away loose dirt with his hands, until a blackened, rusted box was free. It was roughly ten inches by twelve, and six inches deep. It was also locked.

Loric puzzled over the lock for a minute, before Barag suggested bashing it open with a large stone or a fireplace log. Loric put up a hand to that idea. Warnyck was less kind, saying,

“You can’t do that, you big oaf! We don’t know what’s in there. Sure, you could easily break in with a rock, but you might destroy what’s inside.”

Marblin suggested, “It might be wise to pry it open with a sword point,” The idea did not seem nearly as good to him when he drew his sword and looked woefully at its broken tip. “If I had one, that is.”

In the end, Warnyck picked the lock with small tools from an inner pocket of his cloak. The scout resisted the urge to have the first look, instead handing the box to Loric, to whom it belonged by rights.

Loric opened the lid to a book bound in brown leather.
“The Complete Guide to

Knighthood,”
he read aloud. “What kind of secret is this?” he questioned for all to hear.

“Perhaps your father left more clues within,” Warnyck hinted.

“Open it, lad,” Marblin encouraged him anxiously.

Kelvion frowned at the book with his lips puckered, as by lemons.

“Good luck with your reading,” Barag told them, dismissing the idea “I’ll be at the table when you find out what we’re supposed to do next.”

Loric looked questioningly at Warnyck and Marblin, the latter of whom was gaping at food baskets, with his tongue pressed to his lower lip. “You two may as well join him,” Loric told them, as he resignedly cradled the manual in his forearm.

Marblin was quick to join Barag at feast, but Warnyck said, “I wouldn’t miss this for all the tavern’s ale!”

Loric shrugged and flipped back the front cover of the book. He drew a sharp breath. The interior of the pages was hollow. Lying within the manual was a rolled scroll of animal hide.

Loric let the volume rest on his knees, while he took that furled piece of stained leather between his fingers and spread it.

“What have we here?” Warnyck asked. Before Loric could clearly discern the meaning of hasty sketches and slanted handwriting on leather, the scout exclaimed, “Kings and queens! It’s a map.”

Marblin stopped in the doorway, his interest suddenly piqued. “A map to what?” he

wondered.

“Yes,” Barag agreed, making his way out to rejoin them. “A map to what?”

Loric ignored his companions, lost as he was in his own thoughts. Why had his father gone to such lengths to have Nimshar hide this map for him? What secret did it hold that he had felt the need to keep it from others? Loric never took his eyes from the crudely drawn sketch of Dimwood and the surrounding countryside as he reasoned,
Something of great value.
He thought his queries through again, this time gathering stray facts, like the knowledge that Knights of Beledon had hunted his father, almost to his death. They had done this because he had located something invaluable to the history, the present and the future of the shattered kingdom in which they lived. As the truth struck him, Loric excitedly shared, “This map must show where father hid the Dragon’s Eye, after he recovered it from the Wyrm Mountains.”

“Yes-s-s!”
Warnyck hissed. “That makes sense to me.” The scout moved closer to Loric’s worthy find, genuinely intrigued by its implications.

“The Dragon’s Eye?” Barag roared over Warnyck, causing the others to stab him with

dangerous eyes. He lowered his voice and grunted, “That is the stuff of legends and fairy tales.”

Loric was planning to share Aldric’s insight on legends with Barag, but Marblin was quicker to speak. “Say not legends, Barag, but the dreams upon which kingdoms are built,” the curly-haired Moonwatcher corrected, in an excited gasp.

“And rebuilt,” Loric added with fierce determination.

“There is a mark here,” Warnyck observed, lost in his study of the map. “It is labeled
Blood
of Logant,
whatever that means.”

“Blood of Logant?” Marblin questioned.

Loric growled, “The Blood of Logant is not a place! It is a line of knights--nothing more.”

“Do you think we will find knights there, Loric?” Kelvion questioned, with his eyes as large as saucers. “I hope so.” He giggled.

“The map disagrees with you, friend,” Warnyck argued. “For whatever reason, someone--I presume your father--named this place after your family line. It is up to us to find out why.”

“Strange,” Marblin remarked. “Very strange, indeed.”

“Whatever the meaning,” Loric decided, “we must go to this place.” He pried the parchment from Warnyck’s fingers, held it aloft and declared, “I firmly believe that this map will take us to the Dragon’s Eye, which we must recover. Once we have that precious gem in hand, we will quest for the sword in which it belongs.” Loric considered Nimshar’s outrageous claim that his father had in fact survived Captain Dundrick’s attack against Taeglin, but he could not allow himself to hold false hope.
If you spoke the truth....
he thought, but he held back the ending to his idea.