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“Yes,” Loric replied. “I dream, like all men do.”

The boy seemed unsure, simply saying, “Oh.” After brief contemplation on the matter, the lad added, “I see the future in my dreams. It’s pretty scary, most times.”

“Perhaps we will find Nimshar today,” Loric offered evasively, patting Kelvey on the back.

The boy’s face was pale, as he shared, “Sometimes, I don’t think I want to meet him.”

Barag placed his giant hand softly atop the lad’s head and assured him, “You have no

choice, little fellow. You can’t very well go to the battlefront with us.”

Loric reaffirmed Barag’s truths, to which Kelvey sullenly replied, “Oh.” The boy brightened a bit as he inquired, “Do I get to stay with you if we don’t find Nimshar?”

“We will see what happens soon enough,” Loric said, as he considered other matters.

“That means,
Yes!
” Kelvion exclaimed excitedly. “Now I know I don’t want to meet Nimshar.”

Loric did not hear the lad’s assessment, for he had abandoned thoughts of Nimshar to

consider the mysterious specter he had seen at his watch. He took a few steps toward the tree where the apparition had been the night before. He stopped and summoned courage to move closer to the spot, before he stood gazing into the depths of Dimwood Forest.

Warnyck asked him, “What are you doing?”

“I saw an apparition last night,” Loric answered absently.

“What?” Marblin demanded loudly. “An apparition?”

Loric had forgotten Marblin’s terror or he would never have mentioned the specter he had seen. He composed himself and calmly replied, “Yes. Although, it could as easily have been a dream, I saw an old man come to the edge of camp last night. I think he wanted me to follow him.”

“Like as not he did, lad,” Marblin assured him, wide-eyed with fright. “And good thing for you that you stayed here, or that creature would have taken you straight to whatever doom it had devised for you. I, for one, won’t follow any trail made by such like.”

Loric understood Marblin’s worries. He had weighed each of his own concerns during his lonely watch, but he had long-since decided that the spirit had come to aid him. In fact, he suspected that Nimshar had some part in the appearance of the old man who had come to visit him.

Loric disregarded his friend’s stubborn outburst. Instead, he pointed the way and shared, “I intend to obey its will in the matter of direction.”

“Perhaps you would like to wait for us,” Warnyck offered with a devilish grin.

“And have breakfast too,” Barag smacked between bites.

“Yes,” Loric agreed. “We can discuss the matter over breakfast.”

Loric had an easy time gaining support from Warnyck and Barag. Both of them were

relieved to have a clear path to follow through those wicked wilds in which they were lost, even if a ghostly old man had set them on that path. To them, anything was better than wandering aimlessly through merciless tangles of Dimwood. Marblin disagreed vehemently, even when his companions pointed out that his options were to go along with them or stay behind. There was no convincing him to go along, but Loric was not willing to leave his friend alone.

The companions continued to debate possible meanings of the specter’s visit, even after they finished their meal, but none of them could support their theories with anything more than instinctive feelings or tales of nursemaids. Two constants remained an hour later: Loric, Warnyck and Barag were set upon pursuing the apparition, and Marblin stubbornly refused to go with them on what he declared to be,
....a certain road to grief.

Loric quietly endured another of Marblin’s tirades against his chosen course, all the while considering ways to convert the guardsman’s terror into motivation. He soon summoned the answer he was seeking. He simply had to wait for his friend’s extemporaneous speech to grind to its end.

As Marblin’s oration finally reached its overdue conclusion, Loric grasped his moment to speak, saying, “Marblin, you are a dear friend to me, so I will confess that I am not lacking in reservations about taking this route. However, I must do this. Furthermore, Warnyck and Barag have chosen to go with me.” Loric maintained his momentum with an upraised finger against further rebuttals as he went on, “You do not have to go with us. You can stay here and wait for our return. We will know where to find you when we conclude our business with Nimshar.”

Loric intentionally paused before adding, “Unfortunately, the specter has been here before, so it too will know where to find you.”

Marblin worked his jaw in a fit of nervousness, before he gained control over it to counter,

“You can’t scare me into going.”

“Come on, Marblin!” Kelvion chirped.

Loric, Warnyck and Barag strapped on weapons and hoisted packs, while the obstinate

Moonwatcher muttered, as much to himself as to them, “I-I’ll w-wait r-right here, until you come back. That’s right! I’ll wait.” Loric patted him on the shoulder, bade him farewell and turned away. “You can find me right here,” came Marblin’s wavering good-bye. When Barag set his sword to vines to lead the party away, the old guardsman forced a thin laugh and feebly asked them, “Are you fellows sure you want to go?”

Warnyck wheeled menacingly and replied in a low, hushed voice, “What could we do to

help you against that man from otherworld anyway?”

Loric bit back a chuckle and encouraged haste from Barag, who attacked bitter tendrils of the forest with brutish force. “Oh, Great Donigan!” was all that the young knight needed to hear to know that his obstinate friend was tossing his belongings into his bag, so as not to be left behind. Marblin called after them, “W-Wait for me! I-I’ll only be a moment.”

Kelvion giggled, causing the men to snicker.

In his eagerness to rejoin his companions, Marblin raced up the path without noticing that Warnyck had knelt to prepare himself for a prank. The scout smeared mud on his face, poked leafy twigs into his braids and tucked a stick without bark between his nose and his upper lip.

The unwitting Moonwatcher fell on his behind and tossed nearly every item from his loosely secured pack when the scout turned on him, with his twisted mouth exploding,
“Boo!”

“Oh, very funny!” growled Marblin, whose companions burst into laughter around him.

With a growl, he pushed himself to his feet and collected everything he had lost from his pack.

Loric caught his friend muttering hours after the incident. In fact, he distinctly remembered Marblin saying, “Turnabout for you, jester scout.”

On that less-than solemn, less-than quest-like note, the group headed deep into Dimwood Forest. Barag led the way, hewing a path through sticky tendrils, with Loric following close behind him to watch for signs of the apparition. Kelvion marched directly behind Loric, deliberately keeping his body in the knight’s shadow at all times, and so, literally adhering to instructions his guardian had given him. Marblin was next in line and ever-alert Warnyck guarded the party from the rear. They proceeded further into the silent wood, with the steady
whack
of Barag’s blade against hard vines and the steady movements of their feet swishing through leaves the only noises to disrupt the sanctity of Dimwood’s utter quiet.

The companions had scarcely been underway for half-sands before uneasiness settled over them. Perhaps the irrational contrast of the forest’s nighttime and daytime voices brought on their sense of dread, for the place sang songs of torment through dark hours, while slanting rays of morning sun severed its vocal chords come dawn. In any case, they could not help but feel ominous dread of eyes upon them.

Loric checked on Marblin, who had been least willing to follow the specter’s trail. The Moonwatcher Guard had his left wrist pressed to his lips, which were fast moving. His wild eyes and fervent manner suggested he was mouthing a quiet prayer. Loric shuddered, somewhat unnerved by the reaction of his superstitious friend.

Loric looked to the scout’s calm, confident and self-assured face for support. That did not help him. Uncertainty had even eroded Warnyck’s cockiness. Loric could not escape the eerie sensation that had come upon him, like icy cold fingers tickling at his neck.

Barag hacked away in front of Loric. The big man’s motions were slow and methodical, as he blindly toiled forward, unaware of and unwatchful for, anything but vengeful vines barring his way. Barag was a rock, like the mountain stone from which giants of the Highlands were born in tales almost forgotten. That unshakable warrior served as the foundation upon which Loric built his personal fortress against the terror that was assailing him from every cubic inch of Dimwood.

Drawing upon Barag’s dutiful approach to the task before him, Loric mastered his anxiety and drew his sword with a challenging ring. That inspired the men behind him, because two more blades sang in echo to his own. Loric was reassured that Warnyck and Marblin had regained some of their old confidence as result of his action. He decided to let his shield slip from his shoulder to his forearm as well, while he mentally thanked Barag for his steady approach to this wicked forest out of time and legend.

The wood began whispering. The new voice of the forest made Loric’s hairs stand attention.

He closed his ears to that unnerving sound and continued forward behind his never-flinching townsman. Loric was unable to shut the noise out for long. It came to a crescendo of maddening hisses. The knight could not ignore it. Hushed voices assailed him from all sides. They were worse to listen to than whispers townsfolk of Taeglin had ever been. Temptation arose within Loric to run down the path to escape the sound, but he mastered his fear by the strength of his will.

The companions felt unseen eyes settle upon them as they progressed nearer the heart of Dimwood. Quiet verbalizations from the thick growth surrounding the party, along with the cold, dead stare of the wood itself, caused Loric a sudden chill. He saw movement to his left. He turned his head to track it. He saw nothing more. Nevertheless, the hand of Fear touched his shoulder.

Loric eyed each member of his party to discern who else might have seen the flitting

shadow. Barag was absorbed in the monotony off his task, rhythmically cleaving barb-bearing cords asunder. Marblin’s eyes were wild and unsettled, but that had been true throughout this leg of the journey. When Loric met Warnyck’s wary stare, the scout nodded affirmation of the fact that he too had seen something.

That did little to comfort Loric. A rush of adrenalin worked to heighten his sensory

perception, until he was certain there were humanoid figures skirting from shrub-to-tree and vice versa all along the flanks of the sword-hewn path. Loric nervously worked his hand about the hilt of his weapon in anticipation of impending attack, knowing that he and his friends were outnumbered more than twenty-to-one.

The son of Palendar did not like his party’s odds against those stealthy forest dwellers who were stalking them. Their terror tactics had Marblin cowed, so that Loric doubted the old guardsman would be useful in the coming fight. He and Warnyck were still suffering from wounds inflicted upon them by Floating Shadows, and Kelvion was a child. Barag was the only member of the group who was healthy and itching to fight, and he had already taxed the cleaving power of his thick right arm in his battle with cumbersome vines strewn across his path. Loric’s thin hope for victory by might of battle prowess all but left him.

Loric thought of Beledon free from war. He envisioned bright sunshine on grassy hilltops overlooking Moon River. In his mind, the greenest mound became the site of a picnic with Avalana. Thoughts like that calmed his fears, but then he became mired in the truth that he was unlikely to turn his daydream into reality. In times like this, when countless miles and innumerable foes separated Loric from the Princess of Regalsturn, despair was his most determined foe. Thankfully, a touch of his ladylove’s bracelet against his skin chased his dark thoughts away.

Loric awoke from his daydream when he bumped into Barag, who had come to a sudden

stop before him. The collision sent Barag tumbling. Loric landed on his face. The Sword of Logant flew from his grasp. The knight scrabbled after his weapon on all fours and wrapped his fingers about its hilt. When he made to rise, he heard his friends gasp as a collective. Loric felt ice upon his shoulder. He staggered back from the painful chill, ready to strike. He stopped himself before he could start his deadly steel in motion. An aged man stood before him.

The old fellow was small and thin. His bent posture further added to his undersized

appearance. He was clothed in a shabby brown robe that reminded Loric of those dead trees all around him, and the crooked, gnarled staff upon which he leaned seemed little different from branches above him. His gray eyes were bright and aware, but the sagging skin beneath them looked tired with age. A buzzard-like beak was fixed directly between those gray circles. Thin wisps of straight, white hair covered the crown of the old man’s head, but sparsely. Those snow-colored threads were denser around the sides of his head than up top, but he kept them trimmed shorter around his ears. The apparition that had appeared to Loric in the night had come to him in the flesh. Yet, the man’s touch was as cold as a corpse from a graveyard.

The aged man motioned Loric to rise with two upraised palms. Loric struggled to his feet.

Then the old man turned to walk away, leaving the back of his hand resting on his shoulder, from whence his index finger curled to coax the group on. Loric made to follow him, but Warnyck grabbed his arm in a painful grip.

“Wait a minute,” the scout protested.

The old man kept walking. Loric batted Warnyck’s hand away, saying, “I will follow this man, even unto my ending, friend scout. Follow if you will or stay here and look after Marblin.

That is your choice to make.” Without awaiting a reply, Loric brushed past Warnyck.

Barag followed hard after him.

Warnyck was silent. Marblin was thrashing in the leaves, blubbering and spluttering. The scout clapped his hand to the old Moonwatcher and said, “Come along, Marblin. We are all in this together. I sure hope this old fellow proves useful,” he muttered.