Relics and Wonders: Lombard's Amulet

Prologue:

Everything happened so quickly, exactly as the kidnapper intended. There were few creatures on this planet capable of infiltrating a palace full of elves without drawing attention to themselves; gnomes were one of them, and of all the gnomes who walked this earth, Zull was the most infamous. With no remorse and even a twinge of satisfaction, the gnome crept past the two guards posted outside the room of his intended victim. With a flash of light they fell to the ground dead. After removing their bodies from the elaborately decorated hallway, he unlocked the door they were protecting and found a thirteen year old girl asleep in her bed. There she lay, alone and defenseless, or so the world was meant to believe. He knew otherwise. She was dangerous. Deadly. And one day soon, she would be used to unleash the next wave of destruction against the Northern Lands. Zull knew this to be the true intentions of her master, the Dark Elf of Aisilin, or Mahgus as he was known to the world.

The young girl’s life was a sad tale of abuse and neglect. She was a slave and lived as such. But that was not Zull’s concern, for gnomes were creatures incapable of empathy. It was no secret that after the girl was weaned from her mother, Mahgus would beat her anytime she dared look him in the eye. As she grew older his cruelty increased. Fear and pain were his methods of control over her. The child never spoke owing to a promise that Mahgus would personally remove her tongue if he ever heard a sound out of her. Many, if they knew of his actions, would judge Mahgus as heartless and evil, but not Zull. He was one of the few who knew the truth. Mahgus was not torturing a defenseless child; he was perfecting a weapon.

The gnome etched toward the girl. His eyes quickly fell upon a shining blue pendant worn around her neck. To most it would seem a simple decoration, much like the fine silk draped across the windows of her room. However, Zull was the world’s leading authority in alchemy, potions, and charmed objects. He also spent several years under Mahgus’s employ and therefore knew his enemy well. Gifts of beautifully crafted jewelry would do no good to a slave whose will the Dark Elf needed to crush. The necklace served an ulterior motive. Like every method tactically devised against the girl, the pendant was designed to implement a level of control over her, and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Mahgus would slaughter her if she ever took it off.

Zull’s hand reached inside his pocket and his fingers wrapped around a glass vial. Now was not the time to kill the girl; rather than halting the Dark Elf’s plans it could very well accelerate them. Instead, he would take her away. Only after he studied her and learned the secrets of her great power would he kill her. And not just any death would suffice, for that was not Zull’s style. He preferred to be creative with how he disposed of his enemies.

The cork popped off the top of the vial and the young girl awoke with a fright. Her eyes widened as she saw the face of her intruder standing nearby. Zull grinned menacingly. Due to Mahgus’s conditioning, she was helpless. The young slave possessed the power to destroy him, but feared her master’s retribution over saving herself. If she screamed, Mahgus would cut out her tongue. If she tried to defend herself, the Dark Elf would know she took off the necklace, and she would be put to death.

Don’t worry, my dear, said Zull. Your nightmare is soon to be over. The gnome tossed the contents of the vial in her face. Her eyes shut tight and she began to cough. A few seconds later she drifted back to sleep. Unfortunately for you, little girl, something far worse is about to begin.

Zull tossed the vial on her bed along with a sealed parchment containing a fake ransom note. Unless Mahgus was a complete fool, he would suspect it as a decoy. Regardless, the gnome had what he came to get and it was time to leave.

From inside his lapel, the gnome retrieved a necklace of his own, although his was a simpler design with a ruby as the center. Clutching the girl in his arms, Zull softly whispered an incantation. Light from the relic surrounded the two and with a flash that awoke the rest of the palace they disappeared.

Seconds later, two figures charged into the young slave’s room. Darkness shrouded their appearance, but could not mask their anger.

She’s gone, my lord. How can this be?

The second figure walked into the streaming moonlight that invaded the girl’s room from a window next to her bed, revealing his gray skin. His Elvin eyes quickly locked with both the parchment and the vial. Zull, he sneered.

The gnome? Your former servant?

Yes, the Dark Elf replied. He opened the parchment and read Zull’s demands. It appears we have a month to give in to his wishes or he will kill her.

How do we handle this, sire?

We’ll just have to send someone to look for her, said Mahgus.

Who, my lord?

Find me a tracker, the Dark Elf ordered. And make sure he’s a human.

No human will be able to track the gnome within a month. Why not use of one our own brethren? They are far more capable.

Because Zull will not be looking for a human, reasoned Mahgus. This ransom is meaningless. There’s something else he wants.

As you wish, sire. And what of the missing relics? First the alchemist’s cloak and now his necklace.

My first concern is finding the girl, replied Mahgus. "The necklace will be with her. As far as the cloak is concerned, I’ll let Korin take care of that thief. The two of them have history together."

Yes, my lord. It will be done.

The Dark Elf crumbled Zull’s parchment and tossed it to the floor. He admired his opponent’s craftiness, but unfortunately for the gnome, his efforts were in vain. Nothing could stop what the Dark Elf had planned for this world. Not Zull. Not Arslon, the Elvin King. No one.

The humans were doomed, and the elves would take their rightful place as the true rulers of this world once again.

1. The Traveler

The village of Lombard was a place many in Drifter’s land feared. Residents of the town clung to their memories of war, hatred, and attempted enslavement from those who practiced magical arts. These dismal reflections fueled an intense mistrust toward non-humans, with only one exception—their town founder, a great sorcerer who betrayed his own kind to ensure the village remained free from those who might threaten the lives of the innocent mortals he cared for so dearly.

Though unaware of how, the townsfolk were thankful that the village inflicted swift death to any magical being who dared trespass near its borders. Some suggested the sorcerer placed a powerful spell upon the very soil of which they lived; others believed his ghost haunted the nearby woods. To most, all that mattered was one simple thing—for thirty years their village had been a safe haven for humans, and not a single practitioner of magical arts, whether man or beast, was clever enough to break through their perfect hedge of protection.

* * *

The moonlight flickered through the tall trees of the Nameless Forest. The hour was late and most of the villagers returned to their cottages. Torch lamps positioned throughout the town gave light to those who wandered the streets by night.

A tall, thin man walked along the broken stone path that led out of the surrounding woods and into Lombard. His long traveler’s cloak, thick and scaly as if made from the hide of a creature one may come across in the woods, concealed his face from recognition. Clasped tightly in his left hand was a wooden staff, the bottom of which he covered with his cloak. His journey through the woods had been long and tiring. Surprisingly, only one thing came across his path during the four day travel from Willowton, a ferocious grizzly bear unaccustomed to visitors in its domain; its carcass lay in pieces six miles back.

Ten years had passed since his last visit, and undoubtedly the town was a different place. He wished his return was under different circumstances, but unfortunately leisure had not beckoned him to Lombard. There was a matter of great importance that required his presence, and no one must know of the true reason for his visit, not even the man he summoned to meet him tomorrow morning. Knowing there would likely be disastrous consequences for what he planned to do, he continued forward.

Near the western entrance to the village sat a brick building the locals complained clashed with the stone road. The cloaked traveler approached and noticed an oak door upon which he knocked. He waited patiently until a tiny hole opened in the door’s center and a raspy voice spoke over the crowd within.

Ah’ve never seen the likes of yeh around here, lad, said the voice, his face hidden from view. Don’ ya know that ya came to a tavern? Yeh don’ have to knock if ya don’ wanna’. What is it that ya want?

A drink, and possibly a room for the night, replied the traveler.

"A drink eh! Well why didn’ ya say so, lad. Ah gots just the thing to cure what ‘ales’ ya," chuckled the man from the other side of the opening.

The door opened and the traveler entered. Light filled the room from a series of candle-lit chandeliers. He passed through several rows of handcrafted oak tables, each with the carving of a different animal in the center. The traveler headed to the bar top where he found a display of glass bottles, above which hung a wooden sign:

-Sissy Pansy Elf Wines-

A short, stocky man with a thick red beard stood behind the bar. Though small in stature, he was quite brawny. Judging from the man’s appearance, as well as the sign that blatantly insulted the Elvin race, the traveler deduced the bartender was likely a dwarf from one of the non-magical clans. There were not many left, although in his journeys he had encountered a few.

After scanning the tavern, he took a seat at one of the chairs surrounding the bar top and waited patiently to be served. He noticed a large painting on the far wall displaying a dwarf, who bore a striking resemblance to the bartender, smiling proudly in front of a slain dragon.

Tha’s an interesten’ cloak ya got there, lad, said the dwarf. "Haven’t seen anythen like that in a while. No’ in this town anyway."

The traveler shifted slightly in his seat and pointed to a bottle of Elvin wine. After placing a goblet in front of the traveler, the dwarf poured him a generous serving.

An older man smoking a wooden pipe sat at a table close by and stared crossly at the traveler. He was dressed in common peasant clothing aside from an extravagant pair of leather boots. His long, thinning hair matched his unshaven face and the glaze of his eyes hinted that he was not on his first round of drinks.

Never seen you around here before, wheezed the old man. You must be new in town.

The traveler ignored the old man’s comment.

Local men like meself get used to seeing unfamiliar people, continued the old man. To be quite honest, I don’t even bother looking at their faces. Mostly just their clothes; seems to be the easiest way to spot an outsider. Strange though, I ain’t never met anyone with a cloak like that. Might I ask where you acquired such a unique addition to your wardrobe?

He paused to scratch his scraggly face and continued to glare at the traveler with great interest. Again, the traveler gave no response.

Oh well, never hurts to ask, said the old man. He continued puffing on his pipe, refilling the chamber whenever it extinguished.

The tavern slowly began to empty. After noticing the only patrons remaining were the traveler and the old man, the dwarf left the room to replenish the empty barrels. Noting the absence of the bartender, the old man rose from his table and stumbled upon an open seat next to the traveler.

Perhaps we could try this again, now that no one else is around, said the old man. Oh forgive me, where are my manners? The name’s Gerard, he said stretching out his hand. The traveler continued to look forward, ignoring the gesture.

As I told you earlier, I’ve lived in this town for a while, but can’t recall ever seeing anyone with a getup like you’ve got. I could be mistaken, but I’d reckon a thing like that could sell for quite a bit of gold, especially if you know where the right shops are, said Gerard.

The traveler remained silent, sipping his drink. The old man’s patience began to thin.

To be quite honest, Gerard’s voice trailed into a pause. I think that you don’t deserve it. Clearly, a treasure like that must be earned.

His attempts of soliciting a response had been in vain, for the traveler said nothing. A faint grunt from the back room indicated the dwarf was still occupied with his duties.

Well, now you’ve gone and offended me, lad, said Gerard.

Metal clinked from within his tattered garments as he retrieved with his right hand a large dagger made of solid silver. He gripped the handle in a threatening manner.

I consider meself a decent man, so I’ll give you an easy choice, he said. Either hand over the cloak and walk out of here unblemished or get cut to pieces and tossed back into the forest.

The traveler said nothing, as if not hearing a word of the old man’s threat.

Fine. Option two it is, lad! he exclaimed and lunged the dagger toward the traveler’s back.

His blade was inches from its target when the traveler’s mercenary agility revealed a crescent shaped blade attached to the bottom of his staff. With a mighty swipe, Gerard’s hand fell to the floor—his fingers still tightly gripped around the dagger’s handle.

Gerard stood motionless for several seconds, staring at the stump he now possessed instead of a hand. Suddenly, he came to his senses and stormed out of the tavern, leaving the dagger-clutched limb on the floor.

The slam of the door brought the dwarf back to the front; his eyes quickly spotted the lifeless hand and the traveler’s scythe.

Thanks fer not making too big of a mess, said the dwarf in his thick accent.

The traveler took the final sip of his drink and returned the goblet to its owner.

Well lad, as ya can see Ah’m closing up fer the night, said the bartender, still eyeing the severed hand. Nice trick o’ yours, he added, noticing not a drop of blood had spilled.

I grew tired of the constant cleaning. Dragon blood can be near impossible to remove if it dries, stated the traveler, his eyes darting quickly to the dwarf’s painting.

Oh, so yeh’ve been killin’ the kitties have ya? Yeh’ll not see too many round these parts, said the dwarf. "The name’s Prodegy, but everyone seems ter call me Prod."

The talk of dragons seemed to peak the dwarf’s interest as he no longer appeared in such a hurry to rush his guest out the door. He quickly prepared a platter of food that he presented to the traveler along with a shiny golden goblet. The traveler welcomed the gesture by finally removing his cloak, revealing tousled black hair and a handsome face no older than twenty-two. His attire was dark, complemented by an unmarked, sleeveless tabard that fell past his waist almost reaching his knees. His pants were tucked into his boots. Both his footwear and gloves were fastened by the fangs of an unknown beast. Around his waist he wore a purple belt with three pouches which clinked slightly as his cloak no longer muffled the sound.

This is quite unique, said the traveler, admiring the goblet after resting his scythe against the bar top.

Aye, tha’s a present from the old King, tha’ is, said Prodegy.

When the traveler finished eating, the dwarf filled his goblet with the contents of a brown jug with no markings. Prodegy smirked at the traveler and poured himself an equal amount of the mysterious liquid.

If yer wanting ter stay with yer sissy, pansy elf wine, spat the dwarf after inhaling his goblet in one quick gulp, tha’s fine by me. But ya dun know what yer missin.

The dwarf grinned as the ale appeared to produce an immediate effect. After refilling his own goblet three more times, Prodegy began to entertain the traveler with the story of Peylog, the only dwarf in history born without a beard.

"So then e’ says ter the wizard, what must Ah do ter grow a beard?"

The traveler listened as the dwarf rambled, cleverly exchanging goblets with him anytime he turned his head and tricking Prodegy into drinking the lot. Prodegy poured more of the unknown liquid into both his and the golden goblet, draining one after the other. The trick worked as the dwarf was evidently under the belief that the traveler was drinking as much as him.

Ya musta’ had a dwarf for a mother. Ain’t ne’er seen a man hold me ale like ya do. Ne’er seen a woman do it either! said the dwarf with a roaring laugh.

Prodegy filled the goblets once more and toasted his new friend. After finishing both his and the traveler’s goblet for the sixth time, he collapsed to the floor next to the thief’s severed hand. Within seconds he was asleep and the traveler was utterly perplexed by what he saw next. As the dwarf snored away noisily on the ground, a soft flame emitted from his mouth every time he exhaled, as if Prodegy shared in the mysterious power of the dragons themselves. This destroyed the theory that Prodegy was a dwarf of the non-magical clans, meaning Lombard was not as void of magic as the rest of Drifter’s Kingdom would have them believe.

The traveler replaced his cloak and walked toward the door. Upon exiting, he headed down the broken stone path just over a mile, passing several rows of cottages and small shops until the path veered to the right and led him to a fountain in the village square.

A life-size marble statue of a man riding atop a Pegasus rested in the center of the fountain. Crystal clear water trickled out of the mouth of the Pegasus into a large, circular stone wall below, forming a shallow pool that glistened in the moonlight beneath the statue.

Slowly, he stepped inside, his boots submerged in the cool water. A blue light began to glow from inside the mouth of the Pegasus. He reached toward the light and retrieved the source, a vibrant blue amulet the size of his fist set in a weaving pattern of solid gold. The traveler immediately placed the relic within his cloak, suppressing his fear that he was leaving the village unprotected. His instincts told him he was doing the right thing, for if he did not take it, then someone else would, and there was not a soul on this earth who he trusted with such a powerful artifact.

His plan was executed flawlessly. Aside from the moronic thief, he doubted whether anyone would remember his visit. All that remained was for his accomplice to arrive, and that was not until the morning. His thoughts shifted back to the dwarf, a magical being, within the presence of the amulet. The only logical conclusion was either that Prodegy possessed some form of protection against the relic, or that the dwarf’s tavern was far enough away to not be affected by the artifact’s power. He would of course have to test the amulet’s limitations, but not here, and certainly not in the presence of his accomplice who, being a resident of a foreign land, must never know of the relic’s existence.

He stood contemplating what would transpire over the days to come when he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps from one of the small cottages behind him. The traveler peered into the darkness.

Slowly, a lavish pair of leather boots stepped into the light. The old man from the tavern returned, armed with a large broad sword he could barely wield with only one hand.

You’re gunna pay for that, mate, he said, his bloodshot eyes pulsing with fury as he raised the stump at the end of his right arm.

Two more men no older than the traveler stepped out of the shadows, both armed. The new arrivals appeared somewhat nervous and did not beam with the confidence of skilled warriors. One was tall and lanky, the other, shorter and muscular. Together, the three men surrounded the traveler.

Doesn’t look like you’ve got your stick to help you this time, laughed the old man.

The traveler, remembering he left his scythe in the bar, did not flinch.

Thieves like you must be stopped! yelled Gerard. Look what he did to me when I wouldn’t give him my cloak! he added, brandishing his wounded arm. Infuriated, the murderous thief charged, his sword positioned to strike.

The traveler confidently glanced to the night sky. A large hawk swooped from the darkness, its sights set on the thief. Gerard let out a painful howl as the bird’s razor-sharp talons sunk deep into the old thief’s hand. His sword fell to the ground and within seconds, the hawk’s beak had latched on to Gerard’s left eye.

Help! he screamed.

The taller of the companions awkwardly ran to his aid. A terrible squawk echoed into the night. The hawk relinquished its hold from the old man and fell to the ground with a hard thump, the companion’s sword buried deep under its wing.

With the bird out of commission, the taller companion charged. After dodging several poorly aimed strikes, the traveler held up his hand. A small wave of blue energy flickered momentarily and exploded from the traveler’s fingertips, hitting the young attacker square in his chest. The force of the blast launched the man across the village square where he landed next to Gerard.

Astounded, the shorter companion stared at the old man, as if pondering what his next course of action would be.

The traveler eyed his would-be attacker. His plans of entering and leaving the village unnoticed were no longer of any consequence. Nevertheless, he did not have the indulgence of wasting time with these fools. A simple spell would end this.

He held out his hands and flame appeared from nowhere.

Without hesitation, the companion dropped his sword and fled, leaving Gerard and his unconscious friend to the mercy of the traveler.

The traveler curled his fingers over the flame and the spell vanished. He stepped out of the fountain and walked toward the lifeless bird that died defending its master. A faint green glow surrounded the bird as he crouched and placed his right hand over the creature’s wound. Slowly, the hawk dissipated, leaving no traces of its existence behind.

From nearby, the traveler heard a low groan. Sprawled upon the ground whimpering and holding what remained of his left eye was Gerard; his companion was still unconscious.

The traveler began to walk in his direction.

Don’t kill me! he begged. The old thief cowered, covering his head in anticipation of a death that never came. When he rustled the courage to raise his good eye, the traveler already passed and returned to the road that led back to the tavern. As quickly as he could, Gerard stood and stumbled away from the village square leaving his wounded companion alone and defenseless.

The traveler reentered Prodegy’s tavern, finding the dwarf still sound asleep. The door had not been shut for ten seconds when there was a knock. Using the small hole in the center of the door, he gazed upon the shadowy silhouette of a man. After recognizing the individual he permitted him to enter. The late caller said nothing as he passed the sorcerer, completely ignoring the dwarf, and found a seat in one of the far corners of the tavern. He too wore a long, hooded cloak that covered his face, though his was made from simple fabric.

Reaching behind the bar, the traveler found two silver goblets next to the wooden rack of Elvin wines. Casually, he approached the newcomer and sat next to him, holding both goblets and one of the sealed bottles.

Was all of this really necessary? asked the late caller.

You’re early, replied the traveler. My letter did not request your presence until tomorrow morning.

You still have much to learn when it comes to secrecy, Zekiel, proclaimed the late caller while lowering his hood, revealing a smug grin with his shadowy features.

His hair was dark and beginning to thin near the back. He sat a few inches taller than Zekiel, was noticeably heavier, and definitely a few years older. His eyes were pure black, matching his apparel without the slightest difference of shade. A horrific scar began above his right eye and ran to the middle of his neck where it ended in a circular pattern—it gave the distinct appearance of being self-inflicted.

Silence filled the room for several moments. The scarred man peered intently into Zekiel’s eyes. The sorcerer raised his goblet in salute and took a sip of wine.

Why have we come here, Zekiel? asked the late caller. Your letter indicated an urgent matter and I had no intention on waiting.

Patience, Ness, replied Zekiel, turning his focus away from the man. Where is your creature?

Hunting at the moment, replied Ness.

I wish I could explain everything in full detail, but unfortunately, time is of the essence, said Zekiel.

Meaning what exactly?

There was an incident tonight and we need to be on the move, urged Zekiel.

"What do you mean an incident?" asked Ness.

I had hoped to stay here the night and leave when you arrived tomorrow, said Zekiel. Now, owing to an encounter I had with an idiotic thief, it is crucial we leave as soon as possible.

Why is it crucial? Did you not dispose of him?

"The problem does not lie with him, but two of the locals who came to his aid under the assumption that I was the thief, and he the victim," said Zekiel.

You are indeed a fool, declared Ness.

Might I ask how you would have handled the situation? responded Zekiel, annoyed with his companion.

All challengers are dealt with the same, replied Ness with a vile smirk. Swiftly and with no remorse.

Zekiel was removed from the conversation by a shiver of cold. He peered down to see his own eyes gazing back at him from the reflection of a jagged dagger held at his throat by a slimy, green spotted hand.

It’s okay, said Ness, smiling as he spoke to the creature holding the dagger. Remember, he is a friend. And soon, he will realize the brilliance of my abilities.

The creature, evidently distraught that it would not be killing Zekiel, removed the blade from the sorcerer’s throat and joined its master’s side. It had greasy, greenish brown skin with feet that appeared far too big for its body. All of its teeth were wood-like and chipped, but dangerously sharp. It wore a helmet forged from the skeleton of what appeared to be a cat. Zekiel was of the opinion it served more of a decorative than protective purpose.

I grow tired of this! exclaimed Ness. Why are we here?

There is a bounty on our heads, revealed Zekiel.

A bounty?

Rumors have reached my ears that we are wanted for murder, said Zekiel. And the one who never fails to find those he hunts has his eyes set upon us.

So this is the urgent matter you wrote of, stated Ness. Since when is murder illegal in Drif…

Zekiel’s hand shot up quickly. "Do not dare speak his name in his land. Do you not remember the consequences?"

He lowered his hand, only to receive a cold stare from Ness.

You still have not answered the question as to why we are here. Why this village, when there are so many others? asked Ness.

This particular village was chosen because our kind has not been seen here for many years.

I must admit, it does seem rather primitive, said Ness.

For decades this village has been inhabited by non-magic wielding humans alone, explained Zekiel.

But now, no doubt to your recent little encounter, the whole town will know a sorcerer has been here! pronounced Ness, wrapping his cloak around his creature.

That is why we must leave immediately, said Zekiel.

Leave?

Given our current status as hunted men, I would think someone wise, such as you, would be concerned first and foremost with survival. Hiding in the open, where our kind are plentiful, will give us the advantage.

Ness’s mouth widened like a growling wolf. He did not have an immediate response, which Zekiel knew to mean he lacked a better suggestion.

A week’s journey north will lead us to the Fortress of Orestes, said Zekiel. I recommend we leave at once.

The sorcerer stood. Walking to the bar top, he left two gold coins for Prodegy, who was stirring in his sleep as if about to wake. After retrieving his scythe, he headed for the door where Ness waited with an eager look. Together, the two left the tavern and began walking down the path that led past the fountain.

As they exited the village through the northern entrance, a shabby looking man appeared from the shadows, his face and hands heavily wrapped in bloody cloths. He watched as the two men disappeared into the darkness, wondering who they were and more important, if they would be returning.

The old thief reflected on the many years he spent wandering through this village and was convinced not once had he ever seen a sorcerer pass through. In fact, to his knowledge, he never encountered a soul who was anything other than human.

2. The Bounty Hunter

The next day, Gerard cleverly spun together a grand tale of his encounter with the mysterious traveler, proclaiming it was he alone who saved the town from certain doom. "Attacked me with some kinda dark magic!" he claimed, displaying the wounds he sustained as proof of his self-sacrifice.

The villagers listened attentively to the old thief’s story, gasping when they heard such words as sorcerer and spells. One woman began sobbing uncontrollably when Gerard suggested the traveler may return. Many acknowledged his misfortune, yet were dissuaded in the idea of the traveler being anything greater than a man.

Magical folk can’t come through here. Everyone knows that, said a villager.

My wife and I live about a quarter mile south of the square, said another. We had no idea what was happening. Thought we heard a coupla yells and thuds. And then nothing.

Be thankful you stayed indoors, said Gerard. He might have killed you and raided your home.

Within a short time, the majority of the village praised the old thief as a hero. Several of the town’s women made a habit of baking him pastries and cakes. A wealthy farmer offered him a portion of his profits for the remainder of the year. Even the local magistrate paid him a visit, inviting Gerard to walk him through the scene of the crime.

You said the blacksmith brothers were involved as well? asked the magistrate.

Aye. Wherever they are, my thoughts and prayers are with them, said Gerard, who had not seen either of them since the night of their encounter with the sorcerer.

The old man continued