

### The Adventures of Jecosan Tarres

### Book 1: The Journey

### Laura Lond

Published by Laura Lond at Smashwords

Copyright 2010 Laura Lond, Second Edition

Cover design by Steena Holmes

This book is also available in print at most online retailers

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Sneak Peek of Book 2, The Palace

####  Chapter 1

######

Jeco was making his way along a barely visible path in the woods, parting the thick grass ahead of him with a long stick as he went. In some places the grass was still wet of the morning dew, though the sun was rising higher and higher, its warm rays penetrating the green cover of tree leaves. Birds sang joyfully from all directions. Some of them would pause for a moment, noticing the boy, then resume their careless chirping.

Jeco stepped into a wide clearing with three old birch trees towering in the middle. He walked around them, heading toward the south side, bathed in sunlight, and found what he was looking for: five big mushrooms were sticking out of the grass, those commonly known as brown-caps. Jeco pulled out a small knife, carefully cut the mushrooms off and placed them in his basket. The basket was already full and the biggest mushroom wouldn't fit, so the boy had to cut it in half.

Jeco looked back and whistled. "Gart!" he called out.

Loud, powerful barking came in response, echoing all over the forest. It was getting closer and closer, until the underbush parted and a huge, beautiful dog bounded onto the clearing, his rich golden coat shining in the sun. He barked once more and froze, waiting for orders.

Jeco handed the basket to him. "Here. Would you carry this home?"

The dog carefully picked up the handle.

"You got it?" Jeco asked, still holding the basket. "Home!"

The dog growled, offended, and pulled on the handle. Jeco smiled, patting his head.

"I know, I know. You don't need to be told twice, you're a smart boy. Well, go now. I'll be waiting for you here."

The dog crossed the clearing with just a couple of huge leaps and disappeared in the bushes.

Jeco lowered himself on the ground, leaned against one of the birch trees and closed his eyes. He was getting tired; he had already sent home his third basket today. I'll need to look around here some more, the boy thought. This is a good spot, there's got to be more brown-caps here. And after that I could go check the grove at the river. I haven't been there for a while, long enough for new mushrooms to grow.

He felt at home in the forest, and he was an expert at mushrooms and berries. That's how he supported himself; these skills had helped him to survive four years ago when he had to learn living on his own. Later on, Dalian the blacksmith had hired him, and the boy's life changed for the better, but at first it was tough. He still remembered those days very well. Not only he had to feed himself, he needed to store up supplies to make it through winter—lots of them. He'd wander in the woods all day long, throughout summer and fall, trying to pick as much as he could. He didn't have Gart back then, so he had to go back home each time he'd fill up the basket, empty it there and go to the forest again. By the evening Jeco would be exhausted, but there was still a lot to do. He often worked way past midnight sorting, cleaning mushrooms, hanging them up on long strings to dry.

The forest around Chegmer was full of mushrooms and berries, and everything would have been fine if it wasn't for frequent losses. Neighbors kept stealing strings of mushrooms Jeco had drying outside; the king's soldiers would often stop the boy on his way home and check his baskets for berries and hazelnuts. If he had any, they'd take them all. With time, Jeco had learned to avoid it by figuring out the soldiers' routes and staying away from them. He had also discovered that he could sell some of his products at the market. That was risky, of course—the market was one of the places the soldiers visited quite regularly, taking whatever they liked from the merchants. But on a good day Jeco would manage to sell everything and make some money; then he could buy bread, milk and potatoes.

It was at the market that Jeco had first met Dalian the blacksmith.

"Hey, young merchant!" somebody's deep voice once thundered over Jeco's head.

The boy looked up and marveled at the man's height and huge shoulders.

"Call your mother," the big guy went on. "I want to buy hazelnuts."

Jeco averted his eyes. Being reminded of his mother still caused pain. He wished he could call her...

"Go ahead, sir," he said. "My mother is not here, I'm on my own."

"Are you, really?" the blacksmith asked in surprise. "You mean you know how to count money?"

"Of course I do."

The man reached for his leather pouch. "You're a brave fellow. People can be pretty mean around here, I won't be surprised if they mistreat someone like you."

"That sure happens," Jeco said with a knowing smirk.

"Then why does your mother send you here alone?"

This time Jeco was somewhat prepared and did not look away. "She died."

The man's broad smile faded. "Oh, my. Sorry, lad... When?"

"Last spring."

"I'm sorry," the blacksmith said again. "So you're helping your dad?"

"My father was killed in the war."

The blacksmith was silent for a few moments, gazing at the boy.

"Whom do you live with, then?"

"Alone."

"And nobody's taking care of you?"

"I wouldn't say that. Shaledan helps me a lot, the priest. He even asked me to come and live in his house, but I refused. He's struggling himself. I didn't want him to starve in order to feed me."

"That was nice of him... And you did good, too, not wishing to become a burden for the old man. So how did you survive through the winter?"

"I'd made some supplies—mushrooms, nuts, jelly. Bought some bread and dried meat. I made it just fine, thanks to the heavens."

"Thanks to the heavens, you say," the blacksmith repeated. "Well, I can understand—you've got nobody else to count on." He grew silent again, bouncing the pouch on his palm, thinking about something.

"So, uh... You said you were going to buy some hazelnuts, sir?" Jeco reminded.

"Oh, yes, of course." The blacksmith handed his hat to him. "Put them in here."

Jeco filled the hat with hazelnuts. The blacksmith paid with a silver coin and refused to take his change.

"You know what?" he said after a short pause. "Come to my place tomorrow."

"Why?" Jeco asked, surprised. The invitation was rather unexpected.

"Well, I—I've got an idea. Some business to talk about. Come around lunch time, all right? I live over there," he pointed. "Ask for the smithy, or Dalian the blacksmith, everybody will show you the way."

On the next day Jeco went to the blacksmith's. He had quickly found the smithy—a low building made of thick logs, its chimney puffing clouds of black smoke, roof shaking with each powerful blow of the blacksmith's sledgehammer. Right next to it stood a well built house. A small white-haired lady came out to the porch.

Jeco greeted her and asked whether Dalian the blacksmith lived here.

"Here is our dear guest," she smiled. "Come in, son, you've come to the right place. Dalian's been expecting you since the morning. Come into the house and have a seat. I'll go call him in, and we will all have lunch."

Jeco was somewhat confused by such hospitality.

"Thank you, but, uh... Are you sure you're not mistaking me for someone else?" he asked, stepping through the doorway. "I wasn't invited for lunch, Dalian wanted to talk to me about some business."

The old lady gently pushed the boy toward the table. "At two in the afternoon lunch is the most important business. What's your name? Jeco? That's a nice name. I am grandma Shanita. Everyone calls me that, and you may call me so, too. Dalian is my son. Have a seat. I'll go get him."

She left. Soon the heavy sledgehammer blows stopped, and in a few moments Dalian showed up, his white teeth shining on his soot-covered face.

Dalian washed his hands and face, and they all sat around the table. Grandma Shanita served some amazing soup spreading warm waves of aroma, some of it quite familiar and some of it not. Jeco remembered that his mother also knew all kinds of spices and seasonings, and that she used to add them in her soups, too. He liked the kind old lady even more because of this, even though she did not look like his mother at all.

Dalian began asking the boy about his life—his trade, selling at the market, as well as his encounters with the king's soldiers. Jeco didn't mind, so he shared some of his adventures, wondering what kind of a business it was that the blacksmith wanted to discuss with him and when he would get to the subject.

"Well, what do you think, mother?" Dalian suddenly asked.

"Oh, dear!" The old lady quickly brought her hands together. "Why are you asking me now? We've already decided. Tell him!"

Dalian put aside his spoon, then picked it up again, not knowing what he should start with.

"You know what, uh... How about working for me? I need some help in the smithy. No beatings, don't you worry about that. I'm not that kind of a person. And we'd like you to live in our house with us. My mother and I—well, we'll be like your family now."

Thus Jeco had become the blacksmith's apprentice. His whole life changed: now he was free all morning, and after lunch he would work in the smithy, learning the craft. Dalian did not overload him with work. The boy quickly figured that the blacksmith didn't really mean to hire him—he'd just decided to take him into the family. Jeco was grateful, but he didn't want to live off of someone's kindness, so he continued to go to the forest every day. Grandma Shanita was happy to take care of his mushrooms, she would clean them and cook all kinds of delicious meals, or carry full baskets to the market and make a nice profit. She was perfectly safe there; no one would dare to take anything from her—everybody knew what kind of a son this little old lady had raised.

Jeco felt much safer as well. The word had spread fast that he was either adopted or hired by Dalian the blacksmith, and people started treating him with cautious respect. Nobody wanted to mess with the blacksmith, especially after he'd set the record straight with the king's soldiers. He did that on a bright sunny day when one of them had stopped by the smithy, wishing to reshoe his horse. Dalian came out, wiped his hands and called for Jeco.

"You know this boy?" the blacksmith calmly asked, placing his heavy hand on the man's shoulder.

"Yeah... I saw him at the market several times," the soldier muttered. He was a head shorter than Dalian, and even with his shoulder plates seemed to be skinny and small comparing to him.

"Well," Dalian went on, just as peacefully. "Remember this and tell it to your friends. If I ever hear that any of you laid a finger on him, I'm gonna beat you in the ground up to your ears. I don't care that you've got the king's crest on your chest."

Chegmerians were smart; they figured that if Dalian threatened the king's soldiers, those without the crest had better watch out.

Dalian, grandma Shanita and Jeco were getting along great. At first, neighbors only shook their heads, unable to understand why Dalian took this boy into his house, but soon enough they were shaking their heads for a different reason. Seeing Jeco work each day in the smithy, fetch water from the well, chop wood and bring full baskets of best mushrooms and berries, pragmatic Chegmerians had realized that the boy was probably making Dalian more money than he cost him. Many were jealous, wishing they'd hired him themselves. Neighbors were right: perhaps Jeco hadn't made Dalian rich, but he was a big help to the family. Later on, when he'd gotten Gart and trained him to carry baskets, his contribution had become even more considerable.

Gart was a true gift of the heavens. Two years ago Jeco had ventured too far in the forest, picking firewood on a cold winter day, and gotten lost. He'd wandered around for hours trying to find his way home when he came across a rather strange trail. At first Jeco thought it was made by wolves, he could clearly see their big paw prints in the snow, lots of them, left by what had to be a large pack. But after a closer look he'd discovered with much relief that the paw prints were different from those of a wolf. They looked more like dogs' paws, although they were huge, bigger than any dog Jeco could think of. It was a good sign; the boy assumed that the trail must have been left by a large group of hunters, so it should take him to some village or settlement sooner or later. Jeco started walking along the path, looking carefully for human footprints which would have confirmed his guess, but he did not find any. Instead, among those enormously big dog paw prints he noticed some other ones, very small, that looked totally unfamiliar. There were not many of them, much less than those of the dogs, yet they were there all the way. Puzzled, Jeco kept searching the trail, wondering what a bunch of dogs could be doing so far in the woods accompanied by some unknown little creatures—when he heard a weak, muffled whimper. Jeco went in its direction and soon saw a small yellow hairball laying in the snow, not very far from the trail. Jeco picked it up. It was a puppy, almost frozen to death.

Not knowing what to do, Jeco pulled off his mittens and started rubbing the puppy, but his hands soon went numb with cold. He then unbuttoned his coat and shirt and tucked the puppy in, right to his chest. The touch of the cold little body made the boy shudder; he'd pressed the puppy close and ran, trying to warm up. It was hard to run in the deep snow, he'd quickly gotten out of breath, but Jeco wouldn't allow himself to stop. "It's all right, it's all right," he talked to the puppy. "We're going to make it. Now I know why the heavens let me get lost in the forest—to save you. But now we're going to find the way home, you'll see."

He was right. Soon he saw a big crooked pine tree that he'd recognized right away, realizing where he was. It was very, very far from home, but now he knew which way to go. He'd made it to the road Chegmerians used when they went for firewood and headed home. Some time later Adrash overtook him, the hired hand of Karlop the tavern keeper; Adrash was riding in the sledge loaded with firewood. He'd picked Jeco up and brought him home.

At the gates they met Dalian; he was on his way to the forest, looking for Jeco.

"Jeco!" Dalian called out, seeing the boy holding onto his chest with both hands. "Are you all right?! What happened?!"

"I got lost, but I'm fine now," Jeco replied, getting off the sledge. "And I've got company. Look."

He unbuttoned his coat. The puppy jumped at the sight of the huge, bearded man looking down at him, but quickly regained his courage and barked in a hoarse, yet unexpectedly strong voice, "Gart!"

That was how they named him. Little Gart had joined the family, although at first Dalian had his doubts about that. The puppy's big paws were a sure sign that he was going to grow into a very large dog; Dalian did not think Jeco would manage to feed him. He'd even asked Priest Shaledan to talk to the boy and convince him to give the puppy away. But the priest had a different opinion.

"Do not take away the gift sent by the heavens, Dalian," he said. "The heavens had placed that little life in Jeco's hands for a reason. Don't take away this simple joy and comfort from the poor orphan. People forget their own sorrow when they are taking care of someone else."

Dalian gave in, even though he didn't find all that "heavens" talk very convincing. Jeco was happy. He did his best trying to nurse the puppy back to health, despite being very sick himself—he'd caught a severe cold that night in the forest. The boy had spent almost two weeks in bed, half-conscious, exhausted by fever. Grandma Shanita sat by his side, changing wet towels on his forehead and giving him her special herbal tea. According to Dalian, that tea was the best cold treatment known. It must have been true: Jeco felt better after drinking it, and so did the puppy, with whom he would share each cup. Priest Shaledan came to visit and brought a bottle of dark, sweet-smelling salve that he rubbed into Jeco's chest—after he'd promised to save some for Gart. Jeco used the rest of the salve for the next several days, spreading it over the puppy's little body, gently massaging it in and wrapping Gart into an old wool jacket afterwards.

Such diligent care brought its results, the puppy had soon recovered. With time, Gart turned into a strong, beautiful dog of a frightening size and became the object of jealousy of the whole village. He would have been stolen a long time ago if such a thing was possible, but Gart made it clear that no one could touch him without Jeco's permission. His love and loyalty to Jeco knew no bounds, he followed the boy everywhere and tried to help him in every way. Gart had quickly learned to carry baskets, which made Jeco's work much easier. Now he didn't have to go back home each time his basket was full—he could send Gart instead. Grandma Shanita would take the basket and empty it, and Gart would head back to the forest. He'd easily find Jeco, return the empty basket to him and get back to work. Gart knew how to find mushrooms perfectly well, never mistaking inedible ones for good ones. Mushrooms were one of Gart's favourite dishes; this dog of a remarkable size had even more remarkable taste—he didn't like meat. As if trying to shame Dalian for thinking that the puppy would be too expensive to feed, Gart preferred porridge, vegetables and especially potatoes.

As to the strange events of that night in the forest when Jeco had found the puppy, they remained a mystery. No one, not even old Shaledan, could think of why that pack of dogs was so far in the woods, where it was heading, and whom those peculiar little paw prints belonged.

######

***

######

Jeco opened his eyes and looked around. He thought Gart was back. But the dog wasn't there; besides, it wasn't like Gart to stand quietly nearby—he wouldn't miss such a chance to jump at the boy's chest and lick him in the face. Yet Jeco clearly felt that someone was here. Very close.

The boy rose to his feet, walked to the middle of the clearing and looked around again. He didn't see anyone, only birds kept carelessly flying around—and birds would have given a clear warning if someone tried to sneak up on him. Jeco sat back down on his spot under the tree and tried to think. He'd never been afraid of the woods, and he'd never experienced anything like this before. Today was a strange day. Since the early morning Jeco had this bizarre, inexplicable feeling. Somehow he knew that something very unusual and important was coming, something that never happened before and could change his whole life. The feeling would fade from time to time, but then it would wash over him again, so strong that Jeco would even glance around as he did now, expecting to see what had been haunting him since the morning.

There came a crash in the underbush, startled birds shrieked; now someone was coming here, getting closer each moment. Jeco spotted a big golden shadow hopping among the trees. Gart leapt onto the clearing, the empty basket in his mouth, but for some reason he didn't give it to Jeco. Instead, he put it down a short distance away and wagged his tail, looking slyly at his master.

"What have you got in there?" the boy asked. "Let me see."

He rose and wanted to look into the basket, but Gart quickly grabbed it and jumped away. Jeco knew what it meant. He didn't mind some play.

"Oh, you trickster!" he shouted. "I'm gonna get you!"

The dog dropped the basket in the grass and threw himself to the defense, barking in delight. Making false moves, charging and retreating with unbelievable speed, he easily kept Jeco at bay. Gart loved such games and he always won, even though Jeco also was quick and strong enough. He won this time, too.

"All right, I give up!" Jeco announced, breathing hard. "I suggest peace."

Gart accepted the offer, picked up the basket and brought it to Jeco's feet, indicating that now they could see what was in it. Jeco looked inside and found a loaf of bread, two big boiled potatoes and a jar of milk. Grandma Shanita, caring as always, saw that Jeco was being late for lunch and sent him some food. She'd even put in a bowl for Gart, knowing that Jeco would share the meal with his friend.

That he did. He poured some milk in the bowl, crumbled up one potato and a half of the loaf, mixed it all and gave the bowl to Gart. In the very bottom of the basket Jeco found some salt wrapped in a piece of paper; he sprinkled some on the remaining potato, still pleasantly warm in his hands, and took a big bite. He appreciated this simple food, still remembering the times when it would take him all day to make enough money for a jar of milk like this one, several potatoes and some bread. The boy smiled and thanked the heavens once again for giving him a new family.

Suddenly Jeco stopped eating and turned his head. There it was again. That strange feeling, as if... He couldn't tell what it was. As if that something that was supposed to happen today had come very near.

"Gart," Jeco called in a quiet voice. "Do you see anything?"

Gart looked around, wagged his tail and went back to his meal. He didn't seem to notice or feel anything unusual.

I've got to go see Shaledan, Jeco decided. Perhaps the heavens are trying to warn me about something.

He finished his lunch and put the milk jar and Gart's empty bowl back in the basket.

"Let's go, buddy. We've got to visit Priest Shaledan, and then the tavern keeper."

Gart picked up the basket and headed north. He knew the way to Shaledan's house very well; Jeco would often send him there with some kind of a gift—a small basket of raspberries, mushrooms, or something else. This was very convenient. Shaledan lived far away, and Jeco, busy as he was, often did not have time to go visit him. Gart was always happy to go, making it there and back fast and never losing anything he carried. Sending him also had another advantage. Shaledan could refuse to accept those gifts from Jeco, knowing how much the boy needed them himself; Gart, on the other hand, was hard to argue with: he would bring the basket, put it down before the priest and sit there until he'd get the empty basket back. However, the basket still never returned completely empty; Shaledan would put in there a few pieces of comb honey, some of his famous strawberries, or books.

Jeco had learned how to read from his mother, and he'd fallen in love with books at an early age. Seeing that, Shaledan started giving him books and offered to educate him. The lessons went well, but they had to be cancelled when Jeco's mother died and the boy had to work day and night to provide for himself. However, he loved books so much that even then he managed to find some time for them. Now that his life had changed so much for the better and he could afford working a little less—now he spent all his spare time reading, worrying only about one thing: that one day Shaledan would run out of books. Trying to delay that day, Jeco kept reading the same books over and over again, asking for new ones only when he'd have the ones he read almost memorized. Yet he could still feel the sad day coming...

The boy ran up the hill, stopped and looked down. From here, he could see the chapel, the apiery next to it, the garden, and the small house of old Shaledan. Shaledan lived alone, he made his living from the apiery and the vegetable garden and took care of the chapel. Nobody helped him except for Jeco. Chegmerians were more interested in their earthly life than in the heavens and rarely visited the priest—unless an unexpected disaster befell them, or their conscience was too guilty to bear. Yet even in those cases many preferred to go to another village, although the priest there would simply take the offering and let you go while Shaledan was always willing to pray and talk. But that was exactly what Chegmerians didn't like: if you listened to him, it turned out that you had too much to think about, too much to change in yourself and in your life. Why bother? It was much easier to give an offering and forget the whole thing.

Jeco spotted Shaledan's tall figure. The old man was doing something in the apiery, leaning over one of the beehives. He straightened up, turned and looked at the hill where Jeco stood. He must have noticed the boy—despite his age, Shaledan still had good eyes. Jeco waved to him, but for some reason the priest didn't respond as he normally would have; he just kept looking, holding his hand up against the sun. Jeco's heart quickened. Did Shaledan know something? Was he expecting him? The boy hurried down the hillside.

He was out of breath when he reached the small white gate. Shaledan was already there, waiting for him.

"Good morning, Priest Shaledan," Jeco said.

The old man looked at him intently. "Good morning, son. What happened?"

"Nothing," the boy said, his anxiety growing. "Why do you ask?"

"Not yet, huh," the old man muttered. "Come in, come on in."

He turned around and headed to the house.

Unable to constrain himself any longer, Jeco ran after him and touched his hand. "Not yet? Did you say not yet, Priest Shaledan? So something is going to happen?"

"And I see that you already feel it coming," Shaledan nodded, taking the boy by the shoulder as he walked. "Do you?"

They entered the house. Shaledan offered Jeco a chair and sat in front of him, his keen gray eyes studying the boy.

"I do... I mean—I do feel something, but I don't know what it is," Jeco tried to explain. "All day I've been having this strange impression that something unusual is about to take place... Unusual and important. I first thought it was just my imagination, and it would go away. But it didn't; it's only getting stronger. So I decided to come and see you. I thought, perhaps you know something, or maybe you have a word for me from the heavens."

Jeco grew quiet and almost stopped breathing, eager for the priest's response.

Shaledan remained silent. The boy couldn't tell whether he was thinking through what he'd just heard or trying to find a better way to say something.

"I do not have a word for you," the old man spoke at last.

He was about to proceed, but Jeco was too excited to wait.

"You don't?" he interrupted. "But you've just said it yourself that something is going to happen! Right?"

"Right," Shaledan nodded. "But I am not the one to reveal it to you."

Jeco looked at him, puzzled. "Then who will reveal it? There's nobody else in the whole area who can hear the voice of the heavens. Please, Shaledan—maybe you could tell me just a little?"

Shaledan shook his head. "I would be happy to, son, but it is hidden from me. As to the voice of the heavens—the heavens will find a way to make their will known; think of the heroes of the past. Now, try to be patient and listen to me. Do you remember how we had first met? Do you remember our first conversation?"

Jeco smiled. "Yes, I remember that day. My mother had brought me close to you and said something, but I couldn't hear it—I was just looking at you, everything else forgotten, looking at the man who hears from the heavens... This is what I remember. But I don't recall what we talked about. I was only three back then, maybe just a little older."

"Well, my memories are clearer than yours," Shaledan said, looking serious. "I asked you whether you wanted to become a king. You started thinking, and just that alone had told me a lot about you. You see, children are very selfish. Not only children, of course, all people are—but children especially. Their selfishness is unconscious, naive and open—that is, until they learn to put on faces and hide their true feelings, which, by the way, happens quickly enough. But before it has happened, you can easily take a look into a child's heart—and that's exactly what I've always been trying to do when people would bring children to me. Normally, it doesn't take me long to see whether the parents take any efforts to restrain the child's inborn selfishness, and how wise and successful they are in this struggle.

"So as people grow up, they begin to think about others around them and more or less consider their interests; but children see the world through the prism of their own desires. That's why most children would love to be kings—to live in a palace, have riches and servants, give out orders and see all their wishes immediately fulfilled. They are attracted to the privileges of a king, and of course they don't give a thought to his duties. I've done that experiment many times, asking many children this question. All of them were quick to reply that they would certainly wish to become a king, but as soon as I'd tell them about the arduous duties of a monarch, they would at once abdicate the crown, terribly disappointed. I'm afraid I had thus ruined a cherished dream for some of those children; but I'd also saved them from the seed of a dangerous disease—thoughtless jealousy that torments some people for all their life.

"Now you can understand how curious I became when I saw a three-year-old boy who took a moment to think about it and then told me that he didn't want to be a king. I questioned you more and saw that you didn't just say it—you meant it, because you understood certain things. You weren't thinking only about yourself. You did understand that being a king meant being responsible for the whole country. At that moment, I already knew that the heavens had prepared a special destiny for you, and later on, watching you growing up, I saw it clearer each day that I was right."

Shaledan paused, letting the boy take it in. Jeco said nothing.

"I do not know what awaits you," the priest spoke again, his voice firm and solemn, "but I can—and I must—prepare you for it. Your time is coming, son, your hour is near. As I've already said, I have always known that your time would come early, and that the mission the heavens would call you to was going to be special. You know the truth, your heart is filled with the Light, your mind is firm, and your spirit is strong and tested. The heavens have generously endowed you. I am not afraid to tell you this; I know it will not feed your pride but make you think: for he who is given much..."

"...will be required much," Jeco completed. He remembered that phrase from the Book of Light very well.

"Right," Shaledan nodded. "So accept my blessing, son, and go with peace. Know that the time has come to fulfill the will of the heavens, and be ready to have much required from you."

Jeco listened, thrilled, fascinated. Shaledan was putting into words the very thing he'd been feeling today since the morning. Now it seemed like he already knew all this, and Shaledan had simply reminded him, pieced it together and clarified. Yes, that was exactly what he felt! He knew something important was coming; he knew his time had arrived to accomplish what he lived for!

He wanted to say something but found himself too overwhelmed with emotion, so he just bowed his head to receive the blessing.

Shaledan rose from his chair and placed his hands on the boy's head.

"May the Lord of the heavens show you the way, son, may he strengthen you and protect you. May he reveal his will to you and help you to understand, to accept, and to fulfill it."

The old man didn't withdraw his hands for another moment; perhaps he offered a short silent prayer as well. Jeco looked up in his face. Shaledan's gaze was still serious, thoughtful, as if he was trying to read what was going on in the boy's heart. Then the old man's expression softened, and he smiled with his usual, peaceful smile.

"Go with peace, son. I would invite you to stay for a meal, but I see that you'd rather spend some time alone now."

"Yes... You are right," Jeco nodded. He did need to be alone for a while, to think about what he'd just heard. "Thank you, Priest Shaledan... I think I'll go."

Shaledan walked him to the door. Gart, who'd been patiently waiting in the yard, rose and picked up his basket.

"Let's go, Gart," Jeco called him.

"Don't forget to come and see me when you find out what it is," the old man said.

"I will come right away."

Jeco closed the gate behind him and headed back to the woods. Gart strolled along, casting questioning glances at the boy, wondering what was wrong. He saw that his master was preoccupied with something—too preoccupied, judging by the fact that he'd just overlooked a brown-cap right on the side of the path they walked.

They entered the forest. Gart, displeased with his master's strange inattention, let the boy go first to make sure he wouldn't miss anything else. Jeco did not even notice. Still deep in thought, he was going through Shaledan's words over and over again. So the heavens had spoken to the priest and told him that Jeco was to accomplish something, but did not reveal what it was. Shaledan had stated it several times and said that Jeco would find out in some other way. The heavens will find a way to make their will known, Jeco recalled, Think of the heroes of the past.

Jeco knew all the stories described in the Book of Light; those about ancient heroes were his favorites. The heavens used different ways to tell their will to the mortals. Most of the time it was being done through a priest, but in Jeco's situation it obviously wasn't the case. Other stories mentioned elgurs appearing to people. This would have been wonderful, but Jeco knew that he didn't deserve such an honor: it was being saved only for the best, the strongest and the most faithful. The mortals had lost the ability to communicate with the spirits when they chose the way of the evil; they stopped seeing and hearing elgurs. Elgurs, of course, still could become visible and talk to people, but they did so on rare occasions, only when the need was great, and only for the most worthy. This was a blessing Jeco would not even dare to pray for. Sometimes elgurs would also speak to one in a dream. In some other cases they'd take on a human form, not wishing to cause fear and confusion, and come as humans to offer help or give a warning.

There was, for example, a well-known story of Elidor the carpenter who had his doubts about taking an order from evil Lord Shagur. The carpenter asked the heavens to show him the right decision. At first, he had received his answer in a dream—Elidor saw an elgur who told him that he could accept the work and do it well. The carpenter was not sure, he thought he could have had such a dream simply because he'd been thinking a lot about it, and the dream might not be the answer from the heavens. He then went to his priest, and the priest had confirmed that Elidor could do the work offered by Lord Shagur since there was nothing evil in the work itself: Shagur wanted three big tables for his kitchen. Elidor did a good job, and soon he received a new order. The lord now asked for long, solid poles. Elidor took it, but this time it was a mistake. Since the priest was away from the village, the heavens had sent an elgur to warn the carpenter. The elgur came disguised as a pilgrim and told Elidor why Shagur wanted those polls: he was going to use them to make spears for new warriors he'd hired to attack a nearby village. Being an honest man, Elidor went to Lord Shagur right away and refused to do the work. "I can't take part in the making of the weapon that is going to be used to shed innocent blood," he said. Shagur was terrified: he hadn't yet shared his plans with anyone, and no one except for himself could know why he had ordered the poles...

Gart's sudden barking startled Jeco.

"What's the matter, Gart?" the boy asked, turning around.

But he already saw what the matter was. The dog stood near three big brown-caps, stout and round-sided. The mushrooms grew on an open spot, and yet, distracted as he was, Jeco had missed them. Certainly, Gart couldn't allow that to happen.

"Wow, Gart," the boy said, smiling at his indignation. "These are nice brown-caps! Good boy."

Gart gave him a meaningful look too clear to misread. At least one of us keeps his eyes open, that look said.

"Well, I guess you're right," Jeco admitted, patting the dog's golden head. "We'd better get back to work. And when the time comes, we'll see what it's all about. Right?"

The dog barked in agreement and pulled the basket closer to Jeco.

Brown-caps were known to enjoy company, they usually gathered in groups, not too close to each other but still in the same area. When you found one, all you had to do was to look for another. Jeco and Gart knew that, and they quickly filled the basket with fine big mushrooms.

"Good," Jeco said, covering the basket with a large burdock leaf. "Now, let's go to the tavern keeper. Come on, don't give me that look. I promised him."

But Gart did not like Karlop, the tavern keeper, so he kept frowning. Jeco was not very fond of the man either. Before he had moved to live with Dalian, he used to be happy when the tavern keeper would order a basket of mushrooms—that way he'd get his money right away rather than spend hours at the market, risking to lose everything should the king's soldiers show up. Mr. Karlop knew Jeco's difficult situation and took advantage of it mercilessly, paying him half the price. Still, it was better than taking chances at the market, so Jeco kept selling to him. But when Dalian had hired him, the tavern keeper's orders lost their value: grandma Shanita would now do the selling and get a good price. Jeco quit working for Mr. Karlop, and the man found himself losing money: his customers kept asking for fried mushrooms they grew to like. Hiring other boys didn't work very well—they didn't care to separate good mushrooms from old and rotten ones. Now the tavern keeper would go out of his way trying to talk Jeco into working for him, each time promising good pay. Jeco had agreed twice, but Mr. Karlop hadn't kept his word. Today, the boy went to him for the last time, only because he still owed the man a basket of mushrooms, according to their agreement. He was aware, of course, that most people would not bother, thinking that they had every right to break their part of the deal since Karlop had broken his—but Jeco was different than most people.

Jeco and Gart came out of the forest onto the dusty road. Still unable to fully dismiss what he'd learned from Shaledan, Jeco kept looking around, half-expecting to see a tall figure approach—who knows, maybe the heavens would send an elgur to him, after all, disguised as a pilgrim or a traveling merchant?... But the road was empty.

They reached the tavern, a large old building with a low roof that needed some painting. The signboard, old as well, almost all washed away from weathering read, Eagle's Nest. In the yard Jeco saw Adrash, the worker, chopping wood. He straightened his back, noticing the boy.

"Hey! Your Honor! Long time, no see. How are you doing?"

Chegmerians had been teasing Jeco Your Honor for a long time, making fun of his manners which they found inappropriate for every day use. From their perspective, staying cool and refraining from cursing made sense only when talking to authorities. Jeco couldn't remember who had first called him that. The name didn't bother him.

"Hi, Adrash," he said. "I'm doing fine, thanks. Is Mr. Karlop home?"

"He's busy, he said you'd have to wait." Adrash looked at Gart and clicked his tongue. "That's one fine dog." His eyes narrowed enviously. "If I only knew what you were hiding under your coat that night..."

Jeco didn't say anything and looked away so that Adrash would not see his expression. He didn't like that talk, and it wasn't the first time Adrash started it.

One of the tavern windows opened and a stern round-faced lady looked out.

"That was enough of a break, Adrash!" she shouted. "Get back to work now! And you come inside, Jeco, you can wait here!"

This was Mrs. Tolla, the tavern keeper's wife. Adrash picked up his axe, but he was in no hurry to do what he was told. He waited for his master's wife to walk away from the window, made quite a remarkable face to her back, cursed, spat, and only after that lazily picked up the next piece of wood.

"You'd better go now," he said to Jeco. "Don't get me in trouble."

Jeco took the basket from Gart and went into the tavern. As always, the large dining hall smelled of all kinds of food, but for some reason there were no customers at the moment. Mrs. Tolla was busy wiping empty tables.

"Sit here and wait," she told Jeco. "My husband will be here soon, he'll take your stuff and pay you."

"Maybe you could take it, Mrs. Tolla?" Jeco asked. "I'm late for lunch, so I'd appreciate it if you—"

"I said sit here and wait!" she snapped, irritated, and left.

Having nothing else to do, Jeco started looking at the old paintings decorating the tavern walls. Mr. Karlop was very proud of these pieces of art crudely daubed on yellowed cardboard that he'd bought cheap at some fair. Right in front of Jeco hung the biggest one of the pictures, portraying a man in a helmet who was swinging his sword at a mean looking creature with three horns on its head. There was an inscription under the painting that said, Brave Valduk defeats a horner. On a smaller picture next to it two people were running from ugly hairy dwarfs. The inscription below explained, Brave Valduk and his friend Agan flee from poisonous lezgits. On the next picture one of the friends was falling, his right leg up in the air with a dwarf biting into it. Agan dies of a lezgit's poisonous bite, the caption read. And the last painting of the series showed Valduk using his sword again, killing the dwarfs left and right. Brave Valduk takes his revenge on the ugly lezgits for his friends' death, said the caption.

Jeco did not like these pictures, just as he didn't like tales about brave Valduk, full of fibs and silly superstitions. The Book of Light was telling a totally different story. It said that Tirganians, disdainfully referred to as horners in folk tales and portrayed evil and ugly, were a fine, noble race. They had fought for the Light on earth longer than other nations, and when the battle was lost and the Light was gone, they were the first ones who learned how to rekindle it in their hearts and started teaching the others. Even farther from the truth were tales about lezgits, a small, harmless nation that had migrated to the dark forests of the north a long time ago, unable to protect its lands from bigger races, and lived there ever since. No one here in Chegmer had ever seen neither Tirganians nor lezgits. People believed in them like they did in ghosts, feared them and made up all kinds of stories, especially about lezgits, ascribing to them poisonous teeth, huge claws, or something else. For some reason the legend about poisonous teeth was the most popular.

The door squeaked, and Mr. Karlop showed up, short and fat, his scowl well matching that of his wife. He carried some thick books under arm, probably money records; like most Chegmerians, Mr. Karlop was not into reading.

"Ah! You're here," he said, throwing the books on a table and ignoring the boy's greeting. "Good. Let me see what you've got."

Jeco opened his basket. Mr. Karlop never praised the goods he was buying, but this time he couldn't help letting out a satisfied grunt: the full basket of fine brown-caps looked impressive. The man's grim face lightened up a little.

"Well, that's not bad... Here's your money. Four coppers."

He reached into his pocket and handed the boy four coins.

Jeco made no move to accept them.

"If I'm not mistaken, a basket of big brown-caps costs six coppers," he said.

"You are mistaken!" Karlop cut off, frowning again. "It's four, and it's always been four. Take your money and go, I've got work to do."

The tavern keeper threw the coins on the table and placed his hands on his hips, glaring at the boy.

Jeco looked him right in the eye. Yes, this would be the last basket he sells here.

"As you wish, sir."

With the same calm dignity he picked up the coins, emptied his basket and left, not saying another word.

Mr. Karlop followed him to the porch, pulled out a pipe and shoved it into his mouth, watching the boy and his dog quickly walk away. Mrs. Tolla joined her husband and looked up the road, too.

"Did you underpay him again?" she asked.

"I sure did," the tavern keeper replied with a satisfied grin.

"And what did he say?"

"Same thing he always says, in that royal manner of his. 'As you wish, sir.'"

"Not even tried to argue?"

"Nope." The tavern keeper turned to his wife. "Why do you think he is acting this way? He knows perfectly well that I don't pay him enough, and yet he never yells, never fights for the rest."

"Maybe he's afraid of you," his wife suggested.

"Yeah, right! You should see that look he gave me."

"Then I guess he just doesn't want to waste his breath."

"That's exactly what I don't understand!" Karlop exclaimed. "I mean, it's money! His money! Did you see how those other brats scream when I lower their pay for bad mushrooms they mix with the good?"

"That reminds me. I wanted to talk to you about those guys. They do bring a lot of junk, old and rotten stuff. When I'm done sorting, there's just a handful left out of a whole basket—and I'm tired of it! Why don't you fire them all and start paying well to this one instead?"

"No way!" Karlop sneered. "The heavens don't send me such fools very often whom I can rip off so easily. I'd be a fool myself to miss such a chance!

"I suppose that's true," Mrs. Tolla agreed.

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Gart spent the last twenty minutes or so trying get a hold of the empty basket which Jeco wouldn't let him take, holding it up high or tossing from hand to hand as he walked. Persistent as always, Gart succeeded at last when they were just a short distance from home. Having celebrated his victory with a complicated series of jumps and leaps, he darted off. What a tireless creature, Jeco thought, smiling. Runs around all day, carries baskets back and forth, and yet he's still ready to jump and play as long as you wish...

When he got home, Gart was already there, sitting proudly on the porch, happy that he made it so much faster.

Dalian and grandma Shanita were finishing their tea.

"Ah!" Dalian smiled, seeing the boy. "There you are!"

"Have a seat, have a seat." Grandma Shanita was already getting a plate out for him. "We've got plenty of food left. You must be so hungry!"

"Not really," Jeco replied, washing his hands. "I ate the lunch you sent back with Gart, so I'll just have some tea with you."

He went to the table. Grandma Shanita handed him a hot cup.

"Tea alone won't make you strong," she recited one of her lines, serving him a huge piece of apple pie as well.

Jeco laughed, shaking his head. "I can't eat that much."

Used to measuring her food servings according to Dalian's voracious appetite, grandma Shanita kept forgetting that a twelve-year-old boy needed much less.

"Oh my, I forgot again!" She chuckled. "But it's all right, you can share with Gartie. He loves pies."

Gartie was already here, casting eloquent looks at the table, indicating that he heard it and now wouldn't leave without some pie.

"What took you so long today?" Dalian asked.

"I went to see Shaledan, and then to the tavern," Jeco replied, cutting his slice of apple pie into smaller pieces.

"So that's why Gart returned with the basket empty." Dalian paused, as if considering whether he should ask it or not. "What is it about the tavern keeper? Why did you agree to work for him again?"

Jeco knew he would disapprove. "I didn't. I just owed him a basket of mushrooms. I'd promised that one a long time ago."

"But why?" Dalian insisted. "Don't tell me that you believed him and thought he wouldn't cheat on your pay this time!"

"Well, I can't say I believed him, but I thought I'd give him a chance. Sometimes people change, you know."

Dalian sneered. "Oh yeah, sure they do! But not to the better. I bet he did it again!"

"Of course."

The blacksmith frowned and shook his head. "Looks like I've got to pay this guy a visit and have a little talk with him."

"No, Dalian," the boy protested. "I know that you want to help, and I thank you—but, please, don't. That's my business."

Dalian put his cup aside. This wasn't the first time Jeco refused his help.

"The business is sure yours, but I'm afraid you're not handling it well. Why do you put up with being treated like that? Can you explain it to me? I've told you many times: if he cheats on your pay, quit working for him—or tell him to pay you well, and stand your ground! And if you can't take care of yourself, let me do it. Trust me, I'd make him behave in no time."

"You know it's not that. I can take care of myself when I have to. I've just got my rules."

"I know your rules—no fighting, no cheating and that kind of stuff. All that is nice and good, but if the tavern keeper lies and doesn't keep his word, why should you keep yours?"

Jeco breathed a heavy sigh. He loved Dalian and didn't want to argue with him, but he couldn't agree with what he was saying, either. Dalian was a kind and honest man who tried to do good, but, not knowing the Light, he had his own understanding of good.

"I've already told you, Dalian. The tavern keeper has nothing to do with it. If he cheats or lies, he is the one responsible for it before the Lord of the heavens. And I am responsible for what I do, so I want to do everything right—or at least try to. The Book of Light says it doesn't matter what kind of a person you gave your word to, good or bad, honest or not. If you have promised something, you've got to do it."

"Oh, Jeco, when are you going to grow up?" Dalian moaned. "Don't you understand, you can't live like that! The Book of Light is a good book and it talks about good stuff—but things are totally different in life! I love you like a brother, and I want all the best for you. You know what most of our people are like, they're crooked and mean, and they don't even open your Book of Light. So will you still be good to everyone while they treat you the way they want? They're gonna eat you alive!"

"No, they're not."

Dalian shook his head with a hopeless expression. "All right. Go get some rest. I don't need you in the smithy today, I am going to Chilvan."

Jeco gave Gart the last piece of the pie, thanked grandma Shanita and left. Dalian remained sitting at the table, deep in thought, tapping his cup with his fingertips.

"I can't figure him out, mother," he said. "I just can't. Sometimes I look at him—he's just a boy, so quiet, so helpless. And I can't help thinking, how is he going to make it in life?... But then I see him at some other time, and he's hard as a rock, strong, fearless, and he'll stand his ground up to the end."

"I think he is stronger than you and I, Dalian," replied grandma Shanita who was here all the time silently washing dishes, listening to the talk but not cutting in. "Do not look at his quiet ways; let me tell you, it's not because he is weak and helpless. This boy understands something that you and I don't. Just remember what he's been through. Lost his parents at such a young age, yet he never turned into a thief or beggar; he managed to survive on his own, and even to keep a good heart. Maybe he owes it to this book you are scolding him for."

"I don't know, mother," Dalian sighed. "I just don't know..." He thought some more and then rose, dismissing the subject. "Well, I think I'll go now. I'll be back late at night, or tomorrow morning."

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#### Chapter 2

[Back to Table of Contents]

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Jeco went up to the attic where he would stay in the summer. He'd cleared a nice little corner near the window and made two straw pallets, one for himself and another one for Gart. A wooden box served him as a table, big enough to hold a book and a lamp, and a roof beam worked well as a shelf for a bottle of ink, a quill, and a fine hunting knife that used to belong to Jeco's father. It was a nice little room, a peaceful haven where Jeco had spent many happy hours reading, dreaming, or just sitting at the small window and gazing at the bright green meadow and the road meandering through the hills.

The boy sat down on his pallet and opened the Book of Light. Gart, who had no problem climbing the attic ladder, was already here as well, stretched on the floor. Jeco went through the story of Elidor the carpenter once again. He was about to flip several pages and find its short follow-up telling more about Lord Shagur—when that same, already familiar odd feeling that hadn't bothered the boy since he'd talked to Shaledan, washed over him again. This time, the sense of someone's invisible presence was so strong that Jeco could even tell where it was coming from. Its source was over there, in the dark corner right in front of him where stood the old wooden chest with a broken lock.

Gart looked that direction and made a slight movement with his tail.

"Gart?" Jeco whispered. "Can you feel it, too? Who is there, Gart?"

The dog glanced at him, somewhat surprised, and turned his head back to the corner, wagging his tail faster. Jeco put down the book. Suddenly, the dark corner in front of him was illuminated with a soft light. Pure white radiance coming from nowhere was getting stronger and brighter; Jeco couldn't help holding out his hand to shield himself, although the powerful light was at the same time very gentle and did not hurt the eyes.

It was an awesome, breathtaking sight. The burst of white light just stood there, shining gloriously yet not flooding the whole attic, its contours distinct. Already nearly impossible to bear, it was still growing stronger, at the same time somewhat condensing, thickening in the middle. Jeco first thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, but the more he looked the clearer he saw that dense spot in the very center of the glowing cloud. The spot pulsated and throbbed, changing beautifully, until it formed a human-like shape.

"An elgur!" Jeco gasped in disbelief.

"Greetings, young brother!" came a rich, powerful voice.

It took Jeco some time to find words.

"...Hello, messenger of the heavens."

The shining cloud of light surrounding the spirit prevented from seeing him well. Jeco still saw just a blurred shape, even though he was doing his best not to avert his eyes, hoping to get used to the light and see more. That proved to be impossible; the mighty stream of light was too hard to endure. It felt like it shone right through you, penetrating the soul and reaching into its deepest, secret corners.

"I have come to confirm the words of Shaledan, the faithful servant of the Light," the elgur spoke again. "Your time has come, my young brother. The heavens have chosen you for a special mission. A lot depends on it. Are you ready to hear the will of the Lord of the heavens? Will you do what he asks of you?"

Jeco knew that the answer was not no be given lightly, but he was afraid that if he took too long the elgur might think he was hesitant. I'll just say what I feel, he decided.

"I'll be honest with you, spirit of Light," he said. "I have always wanted to do something great, but now it frightens me... I don't know whether I will be able to accomplish this mission. But I can promise one thing—I will do my best."

The elgur shone even brighter—apparently, he was smiling.

"This is a good answer, just like I expected. Hear the will of the heavens, young brother, and try to remember my words well. You must go to the capital city, to the king's palace, and enter the king's service."

"Me?!"

"Yes, my friend—you. At the palace, you will find the Unarmed Warrior, the Unlit Fire; you will light that fire and give a sword to the warrior, and he will start helping you. Together, you should stop the coming war. The heavens will be assisting and protecting you, but I also have to warn you: the journey will not be all bright and rosy. As you understand, if this journey pleases the heavens, it displeases someone else. Therefore, be very careful and be ready for the unexpected. You have two weeks to prepare for the trip; you may leave earlier than that if you'd like, but not later. That is all I was sent to tell you. Now you can ask me questions; I will answer them, if it will be within my power."

The elgur went silent.

A whirlwind of thoughts spun in Jeco's head; he tried to concentrate.

"How can I stop the war? What should I do?"

"You will know," the elgur replied. "First, do what I told you. Go to the palace."

"All right, but, uh... Whom should I speak to and what should I say when I get there? Will they even let me in?"

"Tell me, who will dare to stop the man sent by the heavens?" the spirit demanded, and the white glow around him obtained severe metallic shades, quickly reminding the boy that elgurs were not only messengers but mighty warriors as well.

"Forgive me, I guess that was a silly thing to say," Jeco said.

Steely flashes disappeared and the elgur smiled again. "It's all right. Humans are prone to doubt. Try to always remember who gave you this task, and you will be fine. What else are you worried about?"

"Dalian. It's going to be very hard to explain it to him. He'll never believe that I spoke to an elgur, and he will not want to let me go. What if he decides to go with me?"

The elgur took some time coming up with the answer. "Dalian is a dangerous companion..." he said at last.

"Dalian?!" Jeco exclaimed, unable to believe what he heard. "He'll do anything for me! He's so good and kind—don't you know him?"

"I do know him, and I know him well. We elgurs are not distracted with a man's appearance, we see the heart, read thoughts and observe the soul. Yes, Dalian has a kind heart. But the heart that does not know the Light is weak and easily misled. That's why I said that Dalian is a dangerous companion: dangerous for the task you are called to accomplish. Do you understand?"

Jeco sighed and nodded. Unfortunately, the elgur was absolutely right.

"But the journey can be good for Dalian," the spirit continued. "Remember this if you'll have to decide whether to take him with you."

"I will..."

Jeco felt something heavy and soft touch his knees—it was Gart who had laid his golden head on the boy's lap. Still stretched on the floor next to him, the dog was peacefully wagging his tail, shifting his gaze from Jeco to the elgur and back as if there was nothing unusual about their conversation. Jeco noticed that Gart had no difficulty looking at the spirit, he did not even squint; the unbearable radiance didn't seem to bother him.

"May I take Gart with me?" Jeco asked.

"Of course," the elgur replied.

Knowing that his friend will be with him gave Jeco some confidence. He put his arm around the dog's strong neck and patted his shoulder.

"When will we come back?"

"I cannot tell you that. I can only say that most likely it will be a long journey." The elgur paused. "It is time for me to go, young brother. You have asked me your questions, and I have explained to you everything I could."

This grieved the boy terribly. "Please, wait," he asked, desperate to hold the unusual visitor a little longer. "Tell me something else—you approached me before, didn't you? In the forest?"

"More than once," the elgur smiled.

"I didn't see you, but I could feel it."

"I know. It was needed to have you prepared."

"Please, don't disappear! Stay some more. Let me show you to Dalian—that'll make him stop doubting the Book of Light and refusing to believe in the power of the heavens!"

The elgur laughed, which made him shine so bright that the boy couldn't take it and closed his eyes.

"I do need to leave now, young brother," the elgur said, and Jeco caught a sad note in his deep voice. "It was a great pleasure to visit you. May the heavens be with you. Farewell, my friend."

"Good bye, messenger of the heavens," Jeco whispered.

He tried to gather up his strength and look in the elgur's face, but his face shone so vigorously that it was impossible. Jeco squeezed his eyes shut again, and when he opened them the elgur had already turned back into a throbbing piece of light, quickly dissolving in the air.

Jeco leaned back on the pallet and drew in a deep breath. He needed some time to come to his senses; what had just happened was too incredible. He'd seen an elgur with his own eyes!... Even more incredible was what the elgur had told him. He, Jeco, should go to the royal palace?...

The boy jumped up, terrified that he forgot the rest. He'd better go through it and memorize it well; elgurs do not speak idle words. So let's see. He must to leave no later than in two weeks from now. What else? Ah! The Unarmed Warrior, the Unlit Fire. Who in the world was that? And how was he to be recognized?... Oh, that's what he should have asked about! Why didn't he think of that?!

Well, he couldn't really blame himself: there's no way to think of everything when there's an elgur blazing in a bolt of light just a few steps away. Besides, if the elgur could say it more clearly, he would have certainly done so. That's the way it should be, then; Jeco must find this Warrior on his own.

He moved one of the boxes aside and pulled out of a secret hiding place a small metal can. In that can he stored all his money he managed to save. Jeco poured the coins onto his lap. When he looked at money he would often remembered his mother; he could still hear her voice teaching him, "This coin is one copper, and that one is five. This is one silver talg, it is worth twenty coppers; and if you have a hundred of coppers, that would be one golden shemmel..."

The boy counted his coppers; he didn't have any silver or gold. Altogether, there was a little more than one shemmel. Not much for such a journey... Jeco sighed. It would take about two weeks to get to Kanavar, the capital city. He'd have to pay for food and inns, and besides, he had to buy some new clothes—he couldn't show up at the palace wearing this old stuff.

"I'll need to make as much money as possible during these last days," he decided.

Jeco sighed. He had to face a rather difficult talk with Dalian, but right now he didn't have the energy for it. He remembered with some relief that Dalian had said he was going to Chilvan. Had he already left? It was getting dark in the attic—or perhaps it only seemed so after the dazzling heavenly light. The boy looked out of the small attic window. To his great surprise, he saw twilight deepening outside as well. Where did the time go? he wondered. He spoke to the elgur just for a few minutes... So Shaledan was right when he'd once said that time may go differently when a human is visited by an elgur!

This meant that Dalian had left a long time ago, and most likely he had not yet returned. Good. Jeco would talk to him tomorrow.

The boy lay down again, still overwhelmed by the miracle he'd just witnessed. He couldn't sleep for several long hours, thinking about the great Lord of the heavens who ruled over natural forces, time and space, who had mighty elgurs serving him and yet, for some reason, decided to entrust such a serious task to him, a simple village boy.

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***

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Gart woke Jeco up early in the morning, pulling on his shirt. The boy opened his eyes.

"What?" he asked. "Hey, let go! You're gonna tear it with those huge teeth of yours."

Gart released the shirt, jumped to the attic window, looked out and turned to his master.

Jeco came up to the window as well. "What's out there?"

Karlop, the tavern keeper, was trotting along the empty road. That alone was rather strange: he rarely left his tavern, especially so early in the morning. But even more out of the ordinary was Mr. Karlop's appearance: always so slow and haughty, he was almost running now, pressing one hand to his chest and nervously looking around.

"I wonder where he is going at this hour," Jeco said, surprised. "Hey, it seems like he's heading here!"

To Gart's great displeasure, Jeco was right: the tavern keeper stopped at their gate and cautiously looked into the yard, as if hesitant to enter.

"What's wrong with him?" Jeco muttered, looking at Mr. Karlop's pale, frightened face.

The tavern keeper did not see the boy. He stood near the gate for some time, leaning against the fence, breathing hard, then he decided to knock.

Gart frowned, growling.

"Gart, you are impolite," Jeco chided. "It's not nice to growl at your guests."

The dog stopped, but gave him a hard look that said better than words that if it was up to him, he'd deal with such guests in his own way.

Grandma Shanita heard the knock and went outside, looking rather surprised by this unusual visit as well.

"Good morning, Mr. Karlop," she greeted the tavern keeper. "Can I help you?"

The man nodded, squeezing himself through the gate.

"Good morning, Mrs. Shanita," he spoke in a quick, hasty manner. "I am sorry for bothering you at this early hour and, uh... and coming uninvited... I'd never do that if—if it wasn't for a very pressing matter."

"What happened, Mr. Karlop?" Grandma Shanita was getting worried. "Come in, come into the house!"

But the tavern keeper was still holding onto the fence. "Oh, no, no... I'll wait here, if you don't mind... Is Mr. Jecosan home?"

At first, Jeco did not even realize that the man was talking about him. The tavern keeper never called him by his full name; in fact, he never used his name at all, referring to the boy just as "lad" when he was in a good mood or snapping "you" when he was mad. Did he just say Mr. Jecosan?!

Jeco nudged Gart with his elbow. "Did you hear that? Let's hurry. I have no idea what it's all about, but it looks pretty serious."

The boy went down the ladder and to the backyard. He quickly splashed some water on his face from the big wooden barrel that stood there and hurried to the gate. Turning around the house, he bumped into grandma Shanita.

"Here you are!" Alarmed by Mr. Karlop's strange behavior, the old lady was relieved to find Jeco. "I've been looking for you. Mr. Karlop, the tavern keeper..." She halted, gazing at the boy. "What did you do?"

He looked down at his hands and clothes, but didn't see anything unusual. "Nothing. Why?"

"Your face is so, uh... bright. And your eyes."

"That must be because of the cold water," Jeco smiled. "I've just washed my face."

"Something happened to Mr. Karlop," grandma Shanita continued, pointing toward the gate.

"I know, I was watching from the attic. I'll go see him. Gart, you wait here."

When he reached the gate, Jeco barely recognized Mr. Karlop. The tavern keeper was pale, he breathed hard and seemed to barely hold himself upright. Jeco invited him into the house, but the man refused again, mumbling something incoherent, looking at the boy in fear, bowing and calling him Mr. Jecosan. Jeco would have thought he was making fun of him if it wasn't for Mr. Karlop's distraught appearance.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Karlop, but I can't understand anything," he said after trying to listen for a while. "Would you please have a seat and try to calm down, and then tell me what's going on."

The tavern keeper grew silent, pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead with a trembling hand. His other hand was still firmly pressed to his chest. Jeco patiently waited.

"I—I owe money to you," the man said at last.

"What money?"

"For your work, uh... For the mushrooms. You were right, I did pay you less than I should..." He finally withdrew his hand from his chest and held it out. "Here, take it."

Jeco accepted the money; five of six silver talgs lay heavily on his palm, along with some smaller coins.

"But there's more than a shemmel here!" he exclaimed, stunned. "This can't be right, Mr. Karlop."

He handed the coins back, but the tavern keeper recoiled, as if terrified with the possibility that Jeco wouldn't take the money.

"No, no, take it, it's yours! That's for the whole time."

"What do you mean?"

"For the whole time you've been working for me. This is all the money I owe you."

"Are you sure? It can't be that much."

"No, it is the correct amount. It adds up, you know... It's been several years. I've got it all written down in here." The tavern keeper reached into his pocket and pulled out an old worn out notepad. "See? What I bought, when, from whom, and how much I had paid. I've counted it all up, and I owe you one hundred and thirty five coppers—here, you can check it if you'd like."

Jeco looked into the notepad. Each page was divided into columns, one for the date, another for sellers names, and another one for the products bought and the price paid. Jeco saw his name right away—it was underlined everywhere with a red pencil. The price figures that stood next to it were almost twice less than those of the other sellers. With that same red pencil, those numbers were all corrected—the tavern-keeper did re-calculate them meticulously.

Jeco did not know what to think.

"Tell me something, Mr. Karlop... Why have you decided to pay all this money back to me?"

The question seemed to frighten the tavern keeper.

"Oh, that's the way it should be, that's the way it should be," he quickly spoke. "The money's yours, and, uh... Forgive me, but—but I didn't know that you..." He didn't finish.

"That I what?"

"Well, that you—that you're not just a boy..."

"Why is that?"

"Well, you know that yourself." Mr. Karlop averted his eyes and stepped back to the gate.

"No, I don't."

"Very well, you don't, if that's what you're saying," the man promptly agreed, nodding. "I hope you don't have any hard feelings about this whole, uh... incident?

"Of course not."

"Thanks a lot, Mr. Jecosan. I will go, then."

The boy still had no idea what was happening. Then it dawned on him.

"Tell me, Mr. Karlop—did Dalian stop by the tavern, by any chance?"

"Dalian? No."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I am! You don't think I would lie to you, do you?... Well, I will go now. Have a nice day, Mr. Jecosan."

"You too, Mr. Karlop. Thank you."

"No need to thank me, no need. The money is rightfully yours. I just paid what I owed you."

The tavern keeper bowed once again and hurried away. Jeco remained standing at the gate, gazing at the handful of silver coins. Whatever it was that brought such a change, it had to be much scarier than Dalian...

Grandma Shanita walked up to the boy.

"What happened? What did he want?"

Jeco showed her the coins. "He brought this money. He's counted up what he owed me for all these years, and paid it back."

"Is that so?" The old lady looked at the coins and shook her head. "Oh, my, that's quite a lot! I guess Dalian did have a word with him, huh?"

"That's what I thought, too," Jeco said. "But Mr. Karlop says, no, he hasn't seen Dalian."

"Dalian must have told him to say so. I'll ask him when he returns. Well, let's go have breakfast."

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***

######

Jeco hurried to Shaledan right after breakfast. Memories of the miracle he'd experienced yesterday made him forget the encounter with the tavern keeper, and Jeco ran as fast as he could, racing with Gart, eager to tell the priest about the elgur. He was out of breath when he reached the familiar white gate, but he had to wait: Shaledan was busy talking with someone in the chapel.

Jeco went to a wooden bench near the porch and sat down. A small gray kitten was lying in the grass right next to it, enjoying the sunshine.

"Hi," Jeco said to him. "Who are you? I've never seen you here before."

The kitten stretched, purring. Jeco picked up a twig and ran it along the bench. That instantly got the little fellow's attention; in a moment the kitten was already on the bench, trying to catch the twig. Gart jumped up to him, ready to join the game, but the kitten misunderstood his intentions and darted off. Gart stepped back to the gate, insulted. He never chased cats and could not understand why they were always afraid of him.

A young man walked out of the chapel. Jeco knew him, he worked at the windmill and was a frequent visitor of the tavern. The man's expression was serious, focused; he appeared to be deep in thought. Shaledan followed him. The priest glanced at Jeco, nodded to him and went to see his guest to the gate.

When he returned, Jeco leapt to his feet and ran to him. "Priest Shaledan, I—"

But the old man stopped him, holding up his hand. "Wait, do not tell me anything. I guess I already know what had happened to you." He looked into the boy's face and smiled. "It's been a while since I last saw this radiance... You talked to an elgur, son?"

"How do you know?!"

"How do I know? Well, take a look at that."

Shaledan led the boy into the house and brought him to the mirror. Jeco looked at his own reflection. He saw nothing unusual—same tanned face, same fair hair slightly discolored by the sun, same brown eyes. But then... What was that?! Deep, deep in his eyes, in the very center of the pupils he caught a tiny glimpse of white.

Could that be real?! Jeco looked intently, trying not to blink. In a few moments the same sparkle of white, very much like the light he saw yesterday, showed up again and at once disappeared.

"What is it?" Jeco whispered, glued to the mirror.

Shaledan patted the boy's head. "Did you see it? It's hiding because you are looking at it."

Jeco turned away from the mirror, facing the priest. "What about now?"

"Now I can see it better."

The boy swung around and caught the white glimpse again.

"It will soon go away," Shaledan said. "It's a reflection of the heavenly light you saw."

"But why is it hiding when I'm trying to see it?"

"Didn't you notice the same thing when you looked at the elgur?"

"I did! The harder I tried to look at him, the worse I could see. If I turned away, I'd start seeing him better out of the corner of my eye, but as soon as I'd look straight at him, he would immediately turn into a shining pillar of light."

They took their chairs and Jeco started his story. It wasn't easy to find words to describe the elgur, his voice, his speech and especially that amazing light, but Shaledan seemed to know exactly what Jeco was trying to say.

"This is a most unusual light," the boy spoke. "So pure and bright... It strikes you and draws you, you just want to come close to it and admire it forever... But at the same time it is kind of scary... No, 'scary' is not the right word. There's no threat or danger in this light, but, uh..."

"...but it still scares you because it penetrates your innermost being. You see yourself as you are, and you do not dare to come near," Shaledan finished for him.

"Exactly!" Jeco happily agreed. "That's why it's just impossible to look at it. I've been thinking about it later, trying to understand why—it doesn't even hurt your eyes..."

"The light of the heavens hurts the soul, not the eyes, son. And the more evil there is in the soul, the more it hurts."

The boy thought about it. "So that's why elgurs don't come very often?"

"That's one of the reasons."

"I see... I also thought elgurs only come to the worthiest, and I certainly never considered myself to be one!"

Shaledan smiled. "I'd suggest that you leave it up to the Lord of the heavens to decide whom to send elgurs to and which ones of us mortals deserve to see them. I do not consider myself deserving it either, but I will tell you that I've been honored to speak to an elgur four times."

"Four times?!" Jeco was astonished, but then he remembered that he was talking to a priest. "Well, you're a different story—you serve the heavens."

Shaledan shook his head. "I'm just an ordinary man, son. Yes, I serve the heavens, but that doesn't make me perfect."

Jeco had a different opinion on that. He'd always thought Shaledan was one of the greatest, like those ancient heroes described in the Book of Light. But, knowing that the best sons of Light never think high of themselves, the boy did not argue and changed the subject.

"You know what else I find strange? Gart had no problem looking at the elgur, the light didn't bother him at all!"

"That's because animals are not corrupted by evil," Shaledan nodded. "It was us, people, who had disobeyed the Lord of the heavens and turned to the way of the wickedness, as you remember from the Book of Light. The consequences had affected animals as well; that's why they have to suffer. But their inner nature is not depraved by the evil."

"Indeed," Jeco agreed. "I don't recall ever seeing two cats conspiring to rob the third."

The old man chuckled at that. Jeco pictured two mean looking cats plotting a scheme and laughed, too.

Shaledan made tea, but the boy barely touched his cup; he had so much to share. He told the priest about the assignment the elgur had given him, as well as about his concerns.

"First, I need to talk to Dalian, and I just have no idea of how to approach him with this. I'm afraid he will not understand. Then the palace..." He sighed. "Not that I'm not happy about it—it's a great honor, and I've always wanted to see Kanavar... Yet it scares me. What if I fail? I mean, it's serious! I don't want a war to start because of some silly mistake of mine!"

"Yes, the task is not easy," Shaledan mused, stirring his tea. "But it was to be expected. I warned you that you'd be required much."

"I remember."

"However, the Lord of the heavens would not have chosen you if he didn't think you could do it. Think of that."

"I hope you are right, Priest Shaledan."

"Well, let's see how I can help you. Do you want me to come over so that we can talk to Dalian together?"

Jeco took a moment to think. "No. Thank you, but I shouldn't be hiding behind your back." He smiled and added, "Though I'd really like to, to be honest."

Shaledan smiled in return. "You do well not looking for an easy way from the very beginning. If you keep it like that, everything will be fine."

Jeco looked at the clock. "Well, I think I'll go. Dalian must be back by now."

Shaledan followed the boy to the door.

"Go with peace, son, and know that my prayers are going to be with you always."

"I couldn't wish for a better companion," Jeco replied.

He went outside. Gart had somehow managed to gain the gray kitten's trust: hugging the dog's huge paw, the little fellow was wrestling with it, clearly trying to bring Gart down, not at all intimidated by his size. Gart stood still, watching those heroic efforts.

Jeco approached and picked the kitten up. "I'm afraid you won't be able to wrestle Gart down," he told him. "But don't be too upset: no one can do it—not me, not even Dalian."

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***

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Jeco and Gart returned home shortly after Dalian did. They saw him at the gate unharnessing the horse, talking to her in a quiet voice, which normally indicated that he was in a good mood. Jeco decided to take advantage of it and speak to him about leaving to Kanavar without delay.

"Hi, Dalian."

"Hi guys!" The blacksmith messed up the boy's hair, patting Gart's head with the other hand. "How's everything going here without me?"

"Everything's fine," Jeco said, "only unusually quiet: no one's making noise in the smithy."

Dalian chuckled. "I'll take care of that, just let me unload the cart."

Jeco gathered his courage to say what he needed to say, but another thought distracted him.

"Tell me something, Dalian. Did you stop by the tavern yesterday?"

"Tavern?" Dalian sneered, picking up some heavy sacks and throwing them off the cart. "As if I've got nothing else to do! Why?"

"Well, it looks like someone had a talk with Mr. Karlop. Scared him real bad. He came here to apologize and brought all the money he owed me."

Dalian stopped his work and stared at the boy. Jeco saw it right away that the blacksmith had nothing to do with it: his bewilderment and disbelief were genuine. I guess I was right, he noted. Whatever it was, it's far worse than Dalian's big fists...

"Are you serious?" Dalian asked.

"I am. Grandma Shanita can tell you, too, she was there and saw how frightened he was. He refused to explain anything, but, well, we thought it was you."

"I'm telling you, I haven't laid a finger on your tavern keeper. I haven't even seen him for over two weeks!"

Grandma Shanita came out, joined them, and asked her son about the same thing. Now Jeco didn't see a good way to raise the subject of Kanavar. He decided to talk to Dalian later—and caught himself being glad and relieved.

No, buddy, he said to himself. Putting it off will not do. You WILL tell Dalian. Today.

He went to the smithy right after lunch. Dalian was getting ready to work; having tied his hair back, he was now putting on his big leather apron.

Jeco stepped through the door, drew in a deep breath and forced himself to speak.

"Dalian..."

"What?"

The boy did not know how to start.

"What?" the blacksmith repeated. Still not getting an answer, he looked at Jeco and frowned. "No, I won't let you work with the sledgehammer, don't even ask! I told you, you're too young for that."

"No, that's not it," Jeco smiled.

Dalian's expression softened. "It's not? Good. I don't want to hear about it for another couple of years. So what are you up to, then?"

"I, uh... I need to leave, Dalian."

The blacksmith shrugged. "That's fine. Go if you need to. Why are you suddenly asking for my permission? I've never said you should, have I?"

"No, you haven't. But I need to leave for quite a long time. I'm talking about taking a trip."

Dalian picked up a large bundle of firewood sitting near the door and carried it to the furnace. "A trip? Where?"

"To Kanavar."

Dalian halted, the bundle still in his hands. "To Kanavar? Wait a minute... I don't get it. What for?"

Jeco thought it best to tell him everything at once. "I know you're probably not going to believe it, Dalian, but it is true. I saw an elgur yesterday—saw him with my own eyes and talked to him. He told me to join the king's service."

The blacksmith slowly lowered the farewood and stood there, gazing at the boy. Then he stepped up to him and reached to touch his forehead.

Jeco moved away, avoiding Dalian's hand. "I don't have a fever. I'm not sick."

"Well, it sure doesn't look like it." Dalian sighed. "Let's have a seat."

He made Jeco sit down on the wide bench at the door and lowered himself next to him.

"All right, tell me what it's all about."

Carefully choosing words, Jeco described the elgur's visit, trying to make it sound as truthful as possible, but he saw by the expression of disbelief deepening on Dalian's face that he wasn't doing very well.

"I see..." the blacksmith said after the boy had finished. "Listen, uh... Are you sure it wasn't a dream?"

Jeco let out a heavy sigh. He knew it!

He looked Dalian right in the eye. "Yes, I am sure."

The blacksmith shook his head. "So what are you going to do?"

"Save some money and go."

"All the way to the capital city?"

"That's right."

Dalian paused, thinking. "All right. And how do you picture that? Suppose you've made it to the royal palace. Then what? 'Let me in, I'm sent by an elgur?' Is that what you're going to say?"

"I don't know, Dalian. I have not thought that far. My job is to do what I'm told to; the heavens will take care of the rest."

The blacksmith looked away and grew silent again, this time for several minutes, obviously coming up with a decision. Watching his eyebrows draw together, Jeco could tell that the decision was not going to be in his favor.

"Well, here's the deal," Dalian said at last. "I'm not gonna let you go."

Jeco was ready for that. He replied quietly, but with firm resolve. "I'm sorry, Dalian, but you can't stop me."

The blacksmith jerked up his chin, ready to object, but for some reason the objection never came out. He looked away, rubbing his jaw. "You're right, I suppose. I'm not your father or brother, I have no authority over you... But you're a smart lad, you've got to understand! Just think about it! Where are you going?!"

Jeco said nothing. He didn't want to start it all over again.

"Tell me... And don't be afraid to hurt my feelings or anything. Is there something you dislike about living here with us?" Dalian asked.

The question hit Jeco right in the heart.

"Do you think I've made it all up just to get away from you?!" he snapped, a bit more harshly than he intended.

"No, of course not. I'm sorry."

Jeco looked away. He wasn't mad at Dalian, but this was hard.

"I'm sorry," the blacksmith repeated, placing his hand on the boy's shoulder. "I said that without thinking. I'm just trying to understand... What did you expect, telling me such a thing out of the blue? Who wouldn't be surprised?"

"I understand," Jeco said. "I know you care."

"Thank you for knowing that." Dalian rose from the bench. "All right. Go now, give me some time to think. I'll get back to you later with it."

Jeco walked out of the smithy, made his way to the garden and lowered himself on the grass, feeling exhausted. The conversation had worn him out.

"Boy, was that hard..." He sighed. "But now it's over."

And then it was as if some quiet voice whispered into his ear.

No, buddy. It's just the beginning.

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####  Chapter 3

[Back to Table of Contents]

######

On the next day Jeco started preparing for the trip. Dalian, confused and upset, had done everything he could to talk him out of it. He even went to Shaledan, but the priest crushed his last hope when he said that he couldn't "get the lad's head straight" because he'd already blessed the lad for the journey. Shocked and indignant at first, Dalian fumed about the old man approving of such a crazy idea; however, he appeared to have given it some thought later on. He respected the priest, even though he didn't quite understand how one could take those old legends so seriously.

When Jeco saw Dalian waiting for him at the gate as he and Gart were returning from the forest, he knew right away that the blacksmith was ready to "get back to him with it" and say his final word. He clearly wished to speak outside, so that his mother would not overhear. There was only one subject he'd want to hide from her.

Jeco was right.

"Here's the deal," the blacksmith said without long introductions. "We'll go to Kanavar together. I hope you don't mind?"

Dalian is a dangerous companion, Jeco recalled, but the journey can be good for him. So be it.

"What about grandma Shanita?" he only asked. "And the smithy?"

"I'll write to my brother. Tell him that I've decided to try my luck in Kanavar, see if I can get a job over there. I'll ask him to come and live here, or to take mother to his place."

Dalian had an older brother who lived in another village. His name was Ramet, and he was also a blacksmith. Seeing that Dalian could perfectly manage alone, he had decided to start his own smithy and moved away. Ramet was married and had two sons. Jeco had met them once, when he went with Dalian to the fair. Dalian and Ramet looked somewhat alike, though they seemed to be different in everything: Ramet wasn't so tall and big, his hair was lighter, his face always serious and calm. His sons were like him—quiet, fair-haired, slim yet strong. Both helped in the smithy almost since they were kids. They were older than Jeco and showed no interest in getting to know him, which Dalian had found very rude. "You'd think they grew up in the woods," he had commented.

"Have you already told grandma Shanita?" Jeco asked.

"Not yet." Dalian sighed. "I'll tell her today."

The boy saw how difficult it was going to be for his friend to leave his mother and the work he loved.

"Listen, Dalian... You don't have to go with me. I know it's hard for you, so—"

"Yeah, right!" the blacksmith interrupted. "So that we'd be worrying sick about you here, wondering where you are and whether you're still alive!"

"I would write to you."

"And what if your letter gets lost? Or if something happens to you, and you won't be able to write? What am I gonna do, where would I look for you? No, buddy, we'll go together, end of story. It's all right. It wouldn't hurt to go make some money. I hear they value good blacksmiths there in Kanavar."

Ramet's reply came very soon. He wrote that he would be glad to come back to Chegmer, he wasn't doing that well at his place. Another blacksmith showed up in his neighborhood who was doing lousy work but charging less, so people went to him—and Ramet was getting tired of waiting for them to learn that it's better to pay more for something that wouldn't break in a week.

Grandma Shanita was taken aback when she found out about the journey, so sudden and unexpected. Dalian told her the same story he'd put together for Ramet, and though she agreed that trying to get a job at the capital city was generally a good idea, she couldn't quite understand why Dalian and Jeco had to leave so soon. However, she didn't protest, loving them both too much to get in their way and spoil their plans. She found comfort in the fact that she would soon see Ramet and her two grandsons who hadn't visited for a long time.

Jeco worked as much as he could. He had no doubts the heavens were helping him: mushrooms and berries were uncommonly easy to find, they seemed to be waiting for him to enter the forest, showing up everywhere he looked. Gart had no rest. He'd take the full basket home, make it back and find yet another heap of mushrooms waiting to be carried.

Selling went just as great, Jeco couldn't remember ever earning so much before. He spent the money to equip himself for the journey. First, he bought a traveling bag, large enough to hold everything he was planning to take with him. The bag had several straps, so you could carry it behind your back or over your shoulder. His next purchase was a set of clothes which he decided not to wear until he'd get to the palace. He wanted it to be new when he'd present himself before the king's gate-keepers. Jeco did not know what people wore in Kanavar; he first thought to buy clothes over there so that he wouldn't be laughed at, but Dalian said that everything was much more expensive in the capital city, and the boy was not sure whether he'd have enough money. Even with the good earnings, he had a hard time buying some items. One such purchase was a pair of fine leather boots. Jeco loved them the moment he saw them—just the right size, well made and stout, yet at the same time soft and comfortable, decorated with a simple ornament. The wonderful boots cost forty five coppers. This was a lot, more than he'd ever paid for clothes. Jeco walked away and returned several times before he made up his mind, telling himself that he wasn't buying these boots to show off—he was going to the king's palace, no less, and had to be dressed well.

Feeling now more prepared and therefore happy, he brought his purchases home and showed them to Dalian. Dalian picked up one of the boots.

"Nice work," he commented, running his finger over the sole. "How much did you pay for them?"

Jeco sighed. "Quite a lot. Forty five."

"Forty five?!" Dalian shook his head. "Looks like I'm gonna have to teach you shopping."

"You mean I got ripped off? I don't think so. That's just the way prices are. I've looked through all kinds of boots—they're all expensive, you won't find anything cheaper than that. I did see a pair for thirty eight, but those were too large for me, and not very strong, as far as I could tell."

"That's right, good boots cost good money," Dalian nodded. "Yet if you know how to shop you can get a good deal. Take a look at this."

He pulled a big sack from under the table, opened it and took out a pair of huge boots made of shining dark leather, richly decorated all over and with iron calks on the heels.

Jeco's mouth dropped. "Wow!"

"How much do you think I paid for them?"

"I'd say at least seventy five."

Dalian gave a sly smile. "Nope."

"Seventy?"

"Nope. Thirty, my friend."

"Thirty?!" Jeco couldn't believe it. "But it can't be! I've looked through all of them boots—there's no such price!"

"I take it you looked only in the shoemaker's shop?"

"Well, mostly. Who else sells boots? Where did you buy yours?"

"From a traveling merchant."

"And he sold them so cheap?"

"Not right away, but after some bargaining he did."

"Thirty coppers... Why would he do that?" Jeco wondered. "Even fifty would be too good of a deal. Hey—these boots must have been stolen!"

Dalian shrugged. "So what?"

Jeco gaped at him. "What do you mean, 'so what'?!"

"I didn't steal them, I bought them. Paid my hard earned money."

"But don't you understand? You can't buy stolen stuff!"

Dalian frowned, annoyed. "Oh, come on. We don't know for sure they are."

"But we do. With a price like that, they've got to be."

"All right—and what do I do now? Return them?"

"I think that would be the right thing to do," Jeco said.

Now Dalian gaped at him as if he was crazy. "...Are you serious?"

"I am," the boy nodded. "You'd better return them."

"But the merchant must have already left! Am I supposed to go look for him or what?!"

Jeco saw that he was crossing the line. "I'll tell you what I think, Dalian, and what you do is your choice. You shouldn't have bought these boots, you saw that the price was suspicious. If you ask me, I say you need to give them back. Yes, go to the market and find that guy, and if he's already gone, then we should tell everything to the soldiers."

"Soldiers!" Dalian burst out laughing. "You should know better than anyone else what our soldiers are like!... All right, enough of that."

He shoved the boots back into the sack and pushed it under the table. Jeco shrugged, saying nothing.

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***

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Time flew, so fast that it was somewhat unnerving. Jeco was given two weeks, and before he knew it there was only one left, and then only three days... It filled him with strange, conflicting emotions. He'd never left Chegmer before, except for going to the fair several times, and now it was hard to imagine that he'd have to leave everything behind—everything he was accustomed to. But, on the other hand, Jeco had always wanted to travel somewhere far away. When he was little he dreamed about finding a wonderful, happy land and staying there forever. He used to think that Tirgan was such a land, the mysterious ancient country he'd read so much about. As he grew, he had realized that the long battle of the Light and the Darkness was taking place everywhere, even in Tirgan where kings knew the Light and people were truthful and wise. The only nation that chose a scroll for their national emblem instead of a sword—the scroll representing the very first Book of Light that elgurs had written and destroyed later on, after the mortals made copies of it—Tirgan was not immune to evil, either.

The last day came, and flew by just as quickly. Jeco went to say good bye to Priest Shaledan. They talked, and talked, and talked. The old man seemed to be unwilling to let the boy go. He smiled with a touch of sadness and kept looking into his face, as if trying to remember it well. Jeco suddenly realized that there was no telling how everything was going to turn out and when he would come back, if he would at all. There was a chance that he'd never see Shaledan again. His heart ached at the thought, and instead of a respectful farewell bow he ran up to the priest and threw his arms around him. Shaledan gently touched the boy's head, giving the blessing as he did so many times before, only today his hand was slightly shaking.

"Do not let the Light be quenched in your heart," Shaledan said in a very quiet voice, almost whispered.

"I won't," Jeco whispered back.

In the evening he packed his bag. It didn't take long: he only took the Book of Light, his father's hunting knife, money, two pencils, some paper, and the new clothes he was going to wear to the palace.

He sat at the small attic window, gazing at the old birch tree near the gate, the empty street and wide fields behind it—everything so familiar and dear to his heart. Sad, heavy thoughts crept up on him. Where are you going?... To the royal palace, huh? Who do you think you are? What do you know? What do you have? Nothing—absolutely nothing. How are you going to live in the huge, unknown city? You've got just a little money, you will quickly run out of it. Your clothes are pathetic, you won't be allowed near the palace—what are you going to do then?...

Gart stood right next to him, looking excited. He seemed to feel the upcoming changes and welcome them.

Jeco stroked the dog's head. "You've got it easy. You must be thinking it's fun."

Gart pushed him with his head and looked him in the eye, as if trying to ask, And what are you thinking?

"Something I shouldn't be." Jeco smiled, shaking the burden off. "Everything is fine. I haven't made it up, the journey is not my idea. The Lord of the heavens is sending me—that means the heavens will help me, and I've got nothing to worry about."

######

***

######

Ramet arrived early in the morning. He came alone, bringing some of his things with him in a small wagon. Jeco watched through the window how Dalian went out to greet his brother and offered to help him unload, but Ramet waved it off.

"Don't worry about it, I'll do it myself later."

The brothers went into the house. Grandma Shanita served breakfast, so large that it looked more like dinner. It seemed that she intended to feed Dalian and Jeco well enough to make it all the way to Kanavar without stopping for food. A big platter with loaves of freshly baked bread took almost half of the table, right next to it stood a steaming pot of beef and barley stew; fried eggs hissed on the stove.

They ate in silence, only Ramet and Dalian would exchange a few words once in a while.

"How long are you going to stay there?"

"We'll see."

"Are you taking the lad with you?"

"Yeah."

Jeco smiled at that, wondering what Ramet would say if he knew that it was the other way around—he, Jeco, was actually taking Dalian with him. He watched the two brothers, so different and yet so much alike. They spoke and behaved as if they never parted and ate together like this every day. Ramet would give a shy smile to his mother each time he caught her looking at him.

He seems to be a good man, Jeco thought. He should be able to replace Dalian. Grandma Shanita will be fine living with him.

The breakfast was over. It was time to go. Jeco brought his bag; Dalian put on his jacket and the new boots—needless to say, he did not take them back to the market.

Grandma Shanita handed him a large basket. "Here, take this. I've made something for you to take with."

Dalian accepted the basket. "Thanks, mother. You didn't have to cook so much. We'll buy our food on the way."

"You won't buy this kind of food," she protested. "And it's not much, not at all. Here is something else..."

Another basket appeared from under the table, even bigger than the first one. Ramet looked away, chuckling.

Dalian threw up his hands. "Oh, come on, mother, really! What are we gonna do with it?! It'll get spoiled!"

"No, it won't!" the old lady insisted. "You're not hungry now because you just ate, but you will be, and soon, when you're on the road."

Gently but firmly Dalian kept refusing to take "something else." Jeco felt sorry for grandma Shanita who had put all her love into these baskets, as if wishing to send it with them to the journey. He nudged Gart. The dog did not need a spoken order, he already knew what was expected of him. He came up to grandma Shanita and took the basket from her.

No need to argue, his eyes said. I'll carry this.

"Oh, Gartie, what a good boy!" she rejoiced. "That's right, don't listen to Dalian. You know what to do yourself, don't you?"

Gart put the basket down and modestly looked away. Of course he knew what to do, and he wasn't going to listen to Dalian.

Ramet laughed; Dalian only shook his head. The brothers hugged and gave each other a good slap on the shoulder.

"Well... Good luck to you," Ramet said.

"Thanks," Dalian replied. "Take good care of mother."

Grandma Shanita was doing her best to hold back tears. She kissed Dalian and Jeco in both cheeks—with the same warm affection, as if they both were her sons. Gart stood next in the line, ready to receive the same kind of farewell.

"Oh, come on!" The old lady laughed, but then kissed him as well.

"Keep an eye on him for me, would you?" she whispered to Jeco, nodding at Dalian. "He's a good fellow, but he can be stubborn and short-tempered."

"I'll look after him," Jeco promised. "And if he starts causing trouble, I'll tell Gart to wrestle him down. He's done it before."

Grandma Shanita smiled through her tears. "Don't forget to write. And come back soon!"

Dalian picked up his heavy sack and the basket with food.

"Well... Shall we go?"

Jeco took his bag, too, putting the strap over the shoulder. "Let's go."

######

***

#### Chapter 4

[Back to Table of Contents]

######

Jeco, Dalian, and Gart left through the small backyard gate to avoid nosy neighbors and headed along the old road no one used anymore. They had carefully planned their journey. First, they would walk to Kelim and stay there for the night; on the next morning they'd get a ride with someone going toward Uphills. They should reach Uphills in a day and a half or so, and then their way would go right down the river, so they could hire a boat. They'd go down to the city of Gver—the first large city on their way. It should be much faster by boat, so they expected to make it there within three days. That was going to be the easy part. Dalian said that after Gver traveling was going to get much more expensive, and they'd probably have to walk.

Jeco stopped several times to wave to Ramet and grandma Shanita who were still standing at the gate. Dalian waved to them once or twice, too. Soon Ramet's white shirt blended with a group of young birch trees growing on the side of the road; then the birch trees got out of sight, and the garden, and the house roof. The road turned, and the whole village of Chegmer disappeared from view.

Gart walked by the boy's side, proudly carrying the basket with food. Jeco noticed that his basket was bigger than Dalian's and made them switch.

"I see how it works," the blacksmith commented. "He's the one you worry about, not me."

"He carries it in his mouth. It's heavier that way."

"Yeah, sure."

"Well, try it yourself if you don't believe me."

Dalian chuckled and messed up the boy's hair.

"Hey!" Jeco ducked, but it was too late. "Listen, Gart, why is he doing this to us all the time? Let's do something to him, too!"

Gart loved the idea. He put down his basket and, before Dalian could think of anything to defend himself, charged and pushed him off the road. Dalian barely managed to keep his balance.

"Oh, you wanna fight, big guy?" he challenged, dropping his sack. "Come on!"

Jeco smiled, watching the battle unfold. Knowing that Dalian followed him to Kanavar somewhat against his will, he felt bad about it all morning, and now he was happy to see his friend in such a good mood.

The wrestling was soon over with Gart's mighty paws firmly pressing Dalian to the ground.

"All right, all right, I give up," the blacksmith announced. "Take your beast away from me!" he shouted to Jeco, seeing that Gart showed to intention of letting him go.

"Come here, beast," the boy called.

Gart stepped back. Dalian got to his feet, grumbling good-naturedly.

"You yellow monster..."

The yellow monster gave him a condescending look of a winner and picked up his basket. They continued the journey. The sun was getting hot, so they moved to the right side of the road, under the shadow of the thin forest. On the left side lay a wide meadow; grasshoppers chirped, hidden in the thick of the grass, large dragonflies zoomed above. Gart glanced at them with contempt: he was no longer that silly puppy who used to chase those flying things, wondering why he couldn't stay up in the air like they did.

Several hours later they stopped for a snack. The bread was still warm, and it tasted so good with strawberry jelly and milk. Grandma Shanita was right: they were hungry, Dalian's basket was quickly emptied. They didn't feel tired yet, so they kept walking. Dalian started telling Jeco about Uphills, a big, rich village where noble folk would occasionally show up. Once the blacksmith had seen a lord with his lady there; they were riding by in a splendid carriage escorted by two soldiers on white horses. Some reckless fellow yelled from the crowd, "Hey, look, the lord's under arrest!" One of the soldiers instantly spurred his horse and dashed to the crowd, searching for the guy, but never found him.

"That stuff the lord had on him is worth a fortune, I'm telling you," Dalian talked. "Golden rings on each finger, a huge silver medallion on his chest... And his cloak was decorated with fur, even though it was warm outside. Just to show off, you see? Very short, silver fur, I'd never seen such before."

"What about the lady?" Jeco asked. "Was she beautiful?"

"She was. She had, you know, that big-eared hat—"

"She had what?!"

"Hey, what are you laughing at? Nothing funny. Rich ladies wear those special hats. Shaped like—well, as if they've got ears."

"In front or on the back?"

Dalian found Jeco's amusement highly inappropriate. "Stop it, will you?! Knock it off, or I'm not telling no more."

"All, right, all right." The boy did his best to look serious. "I'm not laughing. Go on."

"Well," Dalian continued, "the lady also had a pearl necklace, and of course I bet those were real pearls. And she wore a fancy dark blue dress with such a large tail—"

Jeco couldn't help it. "Oh my, what kind of a lady was that—big-eared and with a tail?!"

Dalian nearly dropped his sack. "That's it, I'm not saying another word! Don't even bother to ask!"

Jeco walked away to a safe distance and addressed Gart from there. "See what kind of women Dalian likes? He says she was beautiful!"

The blacksmith fiercely looked around. "I wish I had something to throw at you!"

######

***

######

So far, the journey was fun. They walked until twilight, chatting and laughing, gazing at peaceful green hills—the scenery hadn't changed all day.

"There's Kelim," Dalian pointed. "Do you see the lights?"

Jeco looked and saw vague shapes of houses, their windows beginning to light up with warm yellow glow.

"I didn't think we'd get there so fast," he said.

"Well, it wasn't that fast, really," Dalian observed. "We've been walking all day, and it's already getting dark."

They entered the village in a half an hour, passed several streets and stopped at a large two-story building with a wide porch. A big sign above the door featured a white horse.

"White Stallion," Jeco read.

Dalian knocked.

"Do you have a room for two, just for one night?" he asked the gray-haired tavern keeper.

The man gave them a quick once-over. "Come in. The room is ten coppers, dinner not included." He noticed Gart. "I can place the dog in the barn for the night, or in the basement, whatever you prefer."

Jeco was about to ask whether he could stay in the barn with Gart, too, but Dalian spoke first.

"If possible, we'd like to take the dog to the room with us," he said. "He's a very smart dog, he won't ruin your furniture or anything like that. How much would that cost?"

The tavern keeper frowned, but as soon as he heard that they were willing to pay extra his expression softened.

"Two more coppers. That'll be twelve altogether. Well, and if he breaks anything—"

"Then we'll pay for it, too," Dalian nodded, stepping through the door. "Take us to our room. We're not going to order dinner, we've got our own food."

They followed the tavern keeper up the stairs to the second floor, passing a large dining hall where several dozen customers ate and drank, mostly men. Five or six serving boys wearing clean white aprons scurried about the tables, delivering food and picking up empty dishes.

"Tell me something, are any of your guests going to Uphills tomorrow, by any chance?" Dalian asked.

"Uphills?" The tavern keeper thought for a moment. "Let's see... The potter is leaving tomorrow. I believe he' from Sagat—that's on the way. You need a ride?"

"Yes, if he won't charge too much."

"All right, I'll go ask him. Here's your room."

Dalian thanked the tavern keeper, stepped into the room and lowered his heavy sack. Jeco took his bag off his shoulder, looking around. The room was small, but nice and clean. Two beds covered by red and blue quilts were taking most of the space; a simple wooden table with a candle on it stood near the window.

Dalian was watching the boy. "Well, how do you like this place?"

"Much better than Eagle's Nest," Jeco said. "Isn't that right, Gart?"

Gart turned his head. At least the owner is nicer and doesn't tempt me to use my teeth, his look said.

"When I come to Kelim, I usually stay in a different tavern, in Maple Leaf," Dalian spoke, taking what was left of their food out of the basket. "The owner knows me well. That's why I've decided to spend the night here—to avoid all the questions. 'Where are you going, why, and what for...' I don't want any of that."

"I wouldn't want that, either," Jeco agreed.

They hadn't talked about the purpose of their journey since the day Dalian announced that was going as well. Both had been avoiding the subject, acting as if it was the way they'd told everyone—Dalian wanted to make some money in Kanavar, Jeco was going with him; the king's palace was not being mentioned. That was fine with Jeco. He feared that talking about it would turn into arguing again. Besides, he'd decided to keep his mission to himself. No one needed to know—especially about the elgur.

They ate the rest of their food. Jeco was about to go to bed when the tavern keeper knocked and said that the potter was willing to give them a ride; he wasn't going to charge a lot—only three coppers.

######

***

######

On the next morning Jeco woke up early, as he normally did. Dalian, on the contrary, was sound asleep. After a few useless attempts to wake him Jeco turned to Gart for help. Together, they managed to get Dalian on his feet.

The food grandma Shanita had prepared for them was gone, so Jeco and Dalian went to the dining hall, leaving Gart in the room to guard their belongings. Dalian ordered roasted meat, Jeco bought eggs, milk and bread. He took Gart's bowl with and saved for him half of his meal.

After breakfast they picked up their belongings, paid for the room and went out to the yard. The potter, a skinny young man wearing an unusually long coat, was already waiting for them. He sat on a huge old cart with enormously big wheels, twisted in a funny way.

"The cart is old but stout, and it rolls well," he hurried to inform, looking uneasy, obviously trying to prevent sarcastic remarks.

Dalian gave him a pat on the shoulder. "No big deal. We don't care whether it's new or old, we just need to get there."

The potter's sunburned face brightened. "That you will! My horse is strong and well rested, and the cart is really good, though it looks kind of ugly. Get on!"

Dalian and Jeco loaded their bags and climbed into the cart. The inside was covered with clean straw, so it was soft and comfortable.

"Gart, get up here!" Jeco called.

The dog jumped in. The potter picked up the reins, pulled on them, and the cart slowly began to roll.

People of Kelim followed them with suspicious, unfriendly looks. Leaving? the looks seemed to say. Good. It was no different back home; Chegmerians gawked at strangers in the same manner, with open hostility, as if travelers were the cause of all trouble. As far as Jeco could tell, they didn't even consider it rude. However, when Chegmerians happened to travel themselves, they would always complain about how mean people were in other places, glaring at them.

Jeco sighed. Ah, people... We're always the same. Quick to judge, slow to change.

The potter was talking to Dalian about his craft, telling him that he'd brought some of his pottery to Kelim, sold it here and now was heading home.

"I heard folks say that they pay a good price for pottery here in Kelim. Well, I thought I'd give it a shot. Got here, went to the market. It turned out they lied, of course. Prices weren't nearly as great as they said. But still better than in my place, in Sagat, so I stayed and sold everything. I don't think I'll come here again though. It's a long way, a day and a half, and my stuff is fragile, you know, breaks easily. That's why I ride this ugly thing, because it rolls so smoothly and doesn't jolt."

Dalian grinned. "Oh, so that's why. I thought you were trying to scare away highwaymen with it."

"Highwaymen, huh?" The potter chuckled. "Nah, I'm not worried about them. There aren't any around, thank goodness. Now, tell me something. Who is this lad you've got? Your son?"

"No. He works for me. Helps in the smithy."

"And how is it going? Is he working well?"

"Yeah, he's a good boy... Why? I'm not giving him away, don't even think about it!"

"No, that's not why I asked. See, I tried to hire them boys, too. Thought they'd help me around, and I'd teach them the craft... Waste of money and time. Those brats don't want to work, all they do is cheat and steal."

"You didn't beat them, did you?"

"I sure did. But they steal anyway."

Dalian laughed. "They steal because you're mean to them, don't you get it? They're paying you back."

"Yeah, right. They start stealing first, then I go thrash them. No, buddy: if yours doesn't steal and works well, that's just because you got lucky. Beating's got nothing to do with it."

"I disagree. Just try it. Find yourself a good lad and treat him well. You'll see."

Jeco curled up in the straw and started dozing off. He dreamed that he was laying on a soft cloud that soared above forests, fields, rivers, and lakes, slightly swaying from side to side and for some reason squeaking.

A nudge in the shoulder woke him up, followed by Dalian's cheerful voice. "Hey, you! Are you still sleeping? Come here, it's dinner time!"

Gart gave a short warning growl; he didn't like his master being pushed like that.

"You hear me? Get up before your beast bites my hand off!"

Jeco couldn't believe it that he slept so long. "Come on," he said, trying to see whether Dalian was joking. "Dinner time? It can't be that late..."

The blacksmith laughed. "See for yourself. It's almost three!"

Jeco looked up at the sun. It was high in the sky, already beginning to move down to the west. The sun wouldn't lie; it had to be somewhere around three, or even later than that. The boy stretched and set up.

Dalian handed him a piece of bread with a thick slice of ham on it. "Here you go."

"Wow! Where did you get that?"

"I see you were totally out! Didn't you hear us stop? We passed a village and bought some food at the market."

Jeco ate his sandwich, leaning against the cart side, watching skylarks fly above. Then he decided to stretch his legs, so he climbed out of the cart and walked next to it. Gart did the same. They traveled like that for the rest of the day. Dalian chatted with the potter, much amused with his fears that if they wouldn't make it to the next village before dark they'd have to sleep in the open air.

"I thought you said there were no highwaymen here?" Dalian asked, winking to Jeco.

"Well, you never know," the potter frowned. "It's safe in the daylight, but night time is robbers' time. You never know when they can show up."

"But how can they show up if they're not around?" Dalian pressed on.

The poor guy couldn't take it any longer. "Would you please stop talking about them?! Don't you know it's a bad sign? You talk about robbers at night, you draw them!"

Dalian grew tired of teasing him. "Don't you worry. If they do come, Gart will teach them a lesson they won't soon forget."

That calmed the potter down a little, and he agreed to stop for the night in a young grove.

His fears did not come true. The night went by, quiet and peaceful; no one disturbed the sleeping travellers. Even Gart who at first listened keenly to every noise had finally decided that everything was all right and he could take a nap.

Jeco was first to wake up in the morning. Gart heard him move and immediately jumped up as well, wagging his tail and glancing at Dalian who slept under the cart. If you need my help again, I'm ready!

"No, don't wake him up," Jeco said. "Let's go get some wood and start a fire."

That sounded good, too; Gart headed for the grove.

"Wait—we need to leave them a note so that they know where we are."

The dog didn't have a clear understanding of what notes were and how they worked, but he decided that his master knew what he was doing, so he sat down to wait. Jeco took his bag, pulled out a small notepad and a pencil and wrote, Gone to get firewood, I'll be back shortly. Jeco. He tore the page off and pinned it to Dalian's sack. Now they were set to go.

The grove was young, with no dead branches to pick. Jeco went farther in, where the wood seemed to thicken, but soon he saw an open space ahead of him again.

That's strange... Is there a field out there or what?

He kept walking ahead, and his guess proved true. The grove ended; behind it, as far as the eye could see, lay yellow fields.

"Looks like we're out of luck, buddy," Jeco said to Gart. "Let's try and go over there."

He turned left, toward larger trees. There were some dead branches here, but not many. Gart saw that Jeco did not need his help and set about to investigate some holes in the ground.

The sound of distant hoofbeats and voices came from the field. Jeco looked and saw a group of horsemen galloping on gorgeous, purebred stallions, their long manes flying away in the wind. The horsemen were not soldiers; soldiers would be easy to recognize by their short dark purple cloaks and metal breastplates.

The horsemen crossed the field and disappeared behind a hill, but not for long; soon they showed up again, now heading in the opposite direction. They seemed to be racing for a while, then they lined up all together. To all appearances, these were some rich folks having fun.

The riders got closer, and Jeco spotted a young boy among them, probably around his own age. The boy seemed to be an excellent rider, just like the rest. He sat straight in the saddle of his snow-white stallion, galloping fearlessly, sometimes even leaving the others far behind. I wish I could ride horses like that, Jeco thought, admiring the little horseman. Jeco did have some riding experience, but not much, and of course he'd never saddled such a wonderful horse.

Two of the horsemen dismounted and started putting something up on the ground. They were much closer now, Jeco could see their fine clothes and even the rich silver harnesses of the horses. The two men had set up a high wooden barrier; the rest of the riders moved a short distance away. The young boy was first to plunge forward. Holding his breath, Jeco watched him fly on his beautiful stallion, leaning down to its neck, getting closer and closer... In the very last moment, when the crash seemed unavoidable, the horse flew up in the air like a huge white bird and easily took the hurdle. The other horsemen cheered and applauded. The boy gave a curt nod, accepting the praise as if he didn't care much for it, and rode aside.

One after another the horses flew up, carrying their fearless riders over the barrier. Jeco stood there and watched, thrilled, mesmerized.

"Hey, you!" he suddenly heard.

Jeco turned around. It was the boy he'd admired moments ago. The young rider stood right behind him. Up close, both him and his wonderful horse looked even more splendid, as if they'd come down from a colorful book cover. The wound-up stallion did not want to stand still, impatiently pawing the ground, but the boy managed to hold him, pulling the reins tight, and stared down at Jeco, his expression not friendly at all.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Nothing. I was just looking at the horsemen."

The boy's frown deepened. "Those are my horsemen," he snapped, "and you've got no business looking at them!"

"Very well, I won't," Jeco shrugged. "I did not know that I wasn't supposed to."

He turned around and started walking away.

"Hold it!" the little horseman ordered. "I don't recall allowing you to leave!"

Jeco stopped and looked back, confused. What did this guy want from him?...

"How dare you?!" the boy continued. "Do you have any idea of whom you are talking to?! I am Lord Veres!"

Jeco silently bowed his head, recognizing the title, and looked up at boy again.

Something about his behaviour had to be very different from what the young noblemen was used to, for his eyes widened in anger—and astonishment. Perhaps he expected an apology, but Jeco didn't think he did anything wrong, so he offered none.

"How dare you to be rude to me?!" Veres shouted.

"Rude? What did I say?"

The young lord jumped in his saddle as if he'd heard a terrible insult. "You little tramp! Will you talk back?! I'll show you! Seize him!"

Before Jeco could blink, one of the horsemen grabbed his shirt collar.

"What will your orders be, my lord?"

"Tie him well and take him to the castle! Tell my father that he insulted me, and I wish him locked up in the tower. We'll see if a week on bread and water helps him to learn some manners!"

Jeco grew cold. A week! No way—I'll be late to the palace!

He bolted with all his might, broke free and ran.

"Seize him! Now!" Veres yelled.

Jeco heard hoofbeats behind him, somebody's hand almost grabbed him again. He ducked, turned to a different direction and ran even faster—but how could he compete with so many strong horses?... Laughing and hollering, the riders were closing up on him both from the left and from the right, trying to cut him off the grove he was heading for. Jeco saw that he wasn't going to make it: he'd be either caught or run over.

"Gart!" he shouted. "Gart, come here!"

The dog came running from under a bush, happily wagging his tail, but when he saw what was going on he was transformed in an instant: the fur on his back rose, eyes flared up with rage, huge fangs bared. He charged with a furious roar, heading the horsemen off. Their stallions panicked and darted away in all directions, prancing and kicking.

"Catch him! Catch him!!" the young lord screamed at the top of his lungs.

His men were struggling to regain control of their horses. Gart kept throwing himself in their way, attacking, retreating faster than the riders could raise their whips, and attacking again, his rumbling growl terrifying the horses.

"Shoot that darn dog!!" Veres yelled.

Jeco's heart dropped. He halted, ready to turn back. "Gart! Follow me! Run to the woods!"

But the lord's men couldn't follow the order—they had no weapons. Gart sent three more horses running wild, including the snow-white stallion, and in a few huge leaps caught up with Jeco; together, they dashed to the grove, now so close.

They dodged among the trees, heading to where the grove seemed to thicken so that the horsemen would not be able to pursue them. More than likely, the young lord was not going to leave it like that, he would continue the chase as soon as he'd manage to gather his people.

They got lucky: the grove did grow thick and turned into real forest. Jeco saw low, bushy nutwood and headed that way—horses would never tear through it. When he felt they got far enough, Jeco stopped, panting, and lowered himself to the soft moss.

Gart looked into his face, worried. How are you?

The boy hugged his friend. "Thank you," he whispered into his golden ear. "If it wasn't for you—can you imagine what could have happened?"

Gart shook his head—he didn't really like being whispered to—and licked the boy's cheek.

"I was so scared that they'd kill you," Jeco said, burying his face in Gart's fur. "Thanks to the heavens that they didn't have any weapons!"

It was very quiet in here, only some bird twittered gently right above their heads. There was no sound of pursuers. Jeco took some time to catch his breath and rose to his feet.

"Let's go. They might start combing the forest on foot. And Dalian must be getting worried." He thought for a moment. "We're not going to tell him anything. There's no need, right?"

Absolutely no need, Gart silently agreed.

Jeco looked up at the sky, considered the position of the sun and quickly determined which way he should go to get back to the road—his experience of wandering in the woods made that an easy task for him. Let's hope that His Lordship will not think of looking for me on the road, he thought, coming out of the forest and cautiously glancing around.

The road was empty. Dalian and the potter were nowhere in sight—it turned out that Jeco had run very far—but he knew they should be somewhere on the left, so he headed that way. Soon he saw them. The potter was watering his horse, Dalian sat on the cart, taking out of his sack leftovers of yesterday's food.

"Hey!" he shouted, noticing Jeco and Gart and waving to them. "No firewood, huh?"

"No," Jeco said, approaching. "The forest is young, no dead branches at all."

"I couldn't find any, either," Dalian nodded. "No big deal, we don't really need a fire that bad. Sagat is not far, we'll eat there. For now, we'll just have a snack with what's left. Get up here."

Jeco climbed in the cart and took a boiled potato, but he didn't feel like eating at all.

"When are we gonna get going?"

"Pretty soon. Why? Are you in a hurry?"

The boy did not know what to say. "I'm scared of them highwaymen," he joked.

"Oh, come on!" Dalian laughed and gave him a push in the shoulder. "Eat your food."

The potter harnessed the horse, and they continued their journey. Jeco lay in the cart, trying to bury himself as deep in the straw as he could—who knows, Lord Veres still might send one or two of his men to check the road.

The well-rested horse happily trotted along, the cart was rolling fast. Jeco held the cold potato in his hand, deep in thought, trying to figure out what had just happened. His mission was almost ruined! Suddenly, unexpectedly, just in a matter of seconds, it was endangered—and he'd barely saved it. Had he not managed to run away, he'd spend a week in the tower, perhaps even longer than that. He would not make it to the palace in time... Oh, he shouldn't have been so careless, shouldn't have taken such risks!

But was he being careless? What did he do wrong? Nothing. He bumped into a young nobleman who was in a bad mood. True, it wouldn't have happened if he never left the cart, but how was he supposed to know? He only wanted to bring some firewood...

Suddenly, the elgur's words came back to him, so clearly as if he'd heard them again. The journey will not be all bright and rosy. As you understand, if this journey pleases the heavens, it displeases someone else.

Jeco caught his breath. Was that what it's all about?!

What else could it be? There was the Light, yes, but there was also the Darkness—a strong, rebellious force that wanted to rule and dominate and control the world in its own way. This was how all the trouble had started in the ancient days, and that's why no living thing on earth had peace ever since... So if the Lord of the heavens wanted Jeco to get to the palace, then of course the Kingdom of Darkness was against it; if the Lord of the heavens needed him to be there at a certain time, then the master of the dark abyss would fight to accomplish the opposite!

Jeco clutched his head. How could he let that slip out of his mind?! Of course, it was hard to imagine that such powerful forces were struggling because of him, a mere human, a twelve-year-old boy... But wasn't that what the elgur had warned him about? Be very careful and be ready for the unexpected, he'd said.

Jeco gave his potato to Gart who'd been glancing at it for a long time. This was serious. He certainly had to keep his eyes open. Always.

######

***

#### Chapter 5

[Back to Table of Contents]

######

Two hours later they entered Sagat. Dalian and Jeco paid the potter, bade him farewell and after a good lunch in the local tavern hit the road again, this time on foot. By the evening they'd reached Uphills. It was indeed a large and rich village, Jeco even noticed several houses made of gray stone, not very nice looking but still impressive.

They found an inn and stayed there for the night. A room for two was fifteen coppers.

"Ten in Kelim, fifteen here," Dalian observed. "I guess we have to get used to them prices. It's going to be even worse in Gver, not to mention the capital city."

After dinner Jeco got quills, paper and a bottle of ink, and together with Dalian they sat down to write letters home. It took some persuasion; tired from all the walking, the blacksmith wanted nothing but sleep.

"Oh, come on! We'll write them from Kanavar. We haven't been gone that long."

"It only seems so to you," Jeco told him, "but I bet they already miss us and can't wait to hear from us. Write just a couple of phrases, that'll be enough to make them happy."

Dalian agreed and spent a great deal of time sitting over a piece of paper, thinking, struggling with the unwieldy quill, his hand more used to the sledgehammer and other heavy tools.

"Here, look," he said at last, handing Jeco his paper. "I don't know what else to write about."

Jeco took the letter and read:

######

"Dear Mother,

Greetings from Uphills. We got here just fine, and we are doing well. Tomorrow we'll hire a boat and go down the river to the city of Gver.

Say hello to Ramet and his family. Tell him to keep the smithy clean, and not to throw anything out.

######

Your son Dalian"

######

"Well, not bad for the first time," Jeco commented, hiding his smile. "Maybe just a little too short."

"Well, go ahead and add something. I don't know what else to say."

Jeco picked up the quill.

######

"Dalian and Gart behave well, they don't bite or fight.

Jeco"

######

Dalian chuckled when he read it. "That'll do. Let her have a little laugh."

In his letter to Shaledan Jeco was going to share the encounter with the young lord, but then he thought better of it, remembering that the king's secret police could open any letter they wanted; you never know what they do if they read such a story. So he just thanked the priest for his prayers and asked to continue them, saying that they'd already helped him out once. Shaledan was a wise man, he'd understand that something had happened, of such nature that Jeco didn't want to entrust it to paper.

They mailed their letters first thing in the morning and went to the river. It took a while to find a boatman ready to take such a long trip.

"You mean all the way down to Gver?" boatmen would ask over and over again. "It's a three day journey!"

At last one of them agreed, a young fellow probably just about three years older than Jeco. He asked for twenty coppers, but then changed his mind, glancing cautiously at Dalian's broad shoulders, and lowered the price to fifteen. Dalian and Jeco went to the market to buy some food, then came back and loaded their bags in the boat. Gart was the last one to jump in, he had to make sure nothing was forgotten. The boatman took one of his oars, pushed away from the wharf, and the river picked the boat up and carried it down the stream.

######

***

######

Three days of sailing were quiet and uneventful, except Gart pushing Dalian out of the boat, twice. The first time Dalian began wrestling with the dog and soon found himself in the water. When he climbed back on board, Jeco and the boatman were laughing their heads off. Dalian found it extremely impolite and thought they deserved to go for a little swim, too. Gart had no objections regarding the boatman, but of course he wouldn't allow anything like that to be done to Jeco; thus Dalian ended up in the water for the second time.

In the evening of the third day they stopped at the high city wall surrounding Gver.

"Are you sure you're not going back?" the boatman asked. "I could wait for a day or two."

Jeco shook his head. "Thanks, but we've got to move on."

"That's too bad... You're fun to travel with. Well, farewell then."

"Farewell, river wolf," Dalian replied.

They picked up their baskets and bags and headed for the gates, walking along the huge wall, obviously very old, its lower part all covered with moss.

"Where are you, Gart?" Dalian asked, looking back. "Hurry on! We've got to get in before they lock the gates for the night."

The wide city gates were not closed yet, still letting in a long string of carts, wagons, carriages, horsemen, and walking travelers. Soldiers guarding the gates talked lazily, leaning against the wall, straightening their backs only when they'd see a rich carriage, especially one with a crest on its side. Jeco noticed that the uniform of the local soldiers was slightly different from what he'd seen before: their breastplates were larger and their cloaks a lot longer.

Dalian and Jeco went through the gates and found themselves in the big city commotion. Streets were full of people: travelers hurrying to find a tavern or inn, locals walking home from work, merchants returning from the market with empty baskets and carts. Dark purple cloaks of soldiers doing their evening routes seemed to be everywhere.

"It's kind of crowded here," Dalian observed. "Well, let's join the crowd. We need to find a place to stay."

They followed the throng. It took them to a spacious square with a large stone building in the middle, its nicely decorated windows alight. What kind of a palace is that? Jeco wondered. The palace turned out to be just an inn, and not even one of the biggest here in Gver. The owner asked twenty coppers for a room. Dalian paid, casting at Jeco a what-did-I-tell-you glance.

They left their bags in the room and went down to the dining hall. There were even two dining halls here, one for simple folks and the other one for the rich, with a fancy interior, better dishes, and therefore higher prices. Dalian and Jeco headed to the first one, and quickly discovered that even here a meal would be rather expensive.

"Oh well," Dalian sighed. "Go find a table, I'll buy something to eat."

Jeco took a small table in a corner and told Gart to sit next to him. A group of ragged fellows looking pretty much like vagrants ate and drank at the table across. Jeco saw one of them notice him and Gart, nudge the man next to him and whisper something into his ear. The other man looked up from his beer mug and gave a quiet whistle.

That's not a good sign, Jeco thought. I'd better keep an eye on those guys.

One of the guys, a big man wearing a filthy old jacket torn in several places, rose from his chair and stepped over.

"Hi there."

So far, there seemed to be no reason to worry, so Jeco replied, "Hi."

"That's a fine dog you've got," the ragged fellow continued. "Whose dog is it?"

"Mine."

The man narrowed his eyes. "Come on, buddy. Don't give me that."

"Why would I lie?" Jeco shrugged. "This is my dog."

The uninvited guest was about to sit down next to him, but Gart gave a short warning rumble, and he backed off.

"Wow! Is he always so mean?"

"He's not mean, he's just guarding me," Jeco explained, stroking the dog's head.

"Where'd you get him?" the big man kept questioning.

Jeco didn't like this conversation at all. "Why?"

"Well, see, I want a dog like this, too," the man confided. "Always wanted. Listen, uh... Why don't you sell him to me?"

Jeco shook his head. "He's not for sale."

"Wait, buddy. Listen to me. I'll give you a good price. How about fifty coppers?"

"This is my friend, and he is not for sale," Jeco repeated.

"Hey, come on." The man wouldn't give up. "If that's not enough, I can offer more, I'm a generous guy. You have no idea how long I've been dreaming about this kind of a dog. I'll give you a whole golden shemmel!"

Jeco was getting annoyed, and his suspicion grew. This drunk vagabond certainly did not look like someone who'd dream about a dog. Whatever he had in mind, it was no good.

"I will not sell him," the boy firmly said. "No matter how much you offer. Sorry. That's my last word—and would you please leave us alone."

At once, the man's friendliness disappeared. "You little brat!" he yelled, slamming his fist at the table.

Gart had reacted in a flash, bolting forward with a mighty growl, fangs bare. The man jumped away; customers at the other tables got quiet and turned to look.

"What's going on here?!" thundered Dalian's voice. "Who's yelling at my lad?! You?! Big mistake, fellow! See this?" he stuck his fist right under the guy's nose. "It hits once, and you won't remember your mama!"

People around them laughed.

"Hey, hey, I was just kidding," the ragged guy spoke, holding his hands up. Standing next to Dalian, he turned out to be not so big as it first seemed. "So that's your lad? My, is he stubborn! I asked him to sell the dog, offered good money—but, no, he won't even listen. 'Not for sale,' he says, and that's it."

"That's right!" Dalian nodded. "You've got a problem with that?"

"No. No problem at all," the man assured, all smiles, stepping back a little just in case. "Listen, guys, I didn't mean no trouble; I'm sorry it has turned out this way. You know what? Let me make it up to you. How about a drink? They've got great wine here!"

Not waiting for an answer, he dashed to his table and grabbed a couple of bottles.

"Here, try this. My name's Keren. What's yours?"

"Dalian," the blacksmith reluctantly said, still frowning. "Well, all right. Have a seat, if you mean it."

The man gladly accepted the invitation and started pouring the wine into glasses. Jeco silently watched him, holding back Gart with his hand. He didn't trust this guy; didn't trust his sudden desire to reconcile and especially his fake smile.

A serving boy wearing a white cap came to their table, carrying several plates.

"Your supper, sir. Eggs and bacon."

Dalian paid, and they started eating. Keren handed Jeco a full glass of wine. The boy took it, but only sipped a little.

"I had no idea that you love this dog so much," Keren kept chattering. "How would I know? I really liked it, so I thought maybe you'd sell it to me. You say no—so be it. No problem at all. Let's have another drink."

Jeco saw that he poured in Dalian's glass much more than he did in his own. He also saw those quick glances the other vagrants were casting at them from their table.

Jeco pulled on the blacksmith's sleeve. "Dalian, don't drink anymore."

"Hey, what's wrong, lad?" Keren asked in surprise. He turned to Dalian. "Why's he telling you not to drink? Look at him, he ain't drinking himself, either! Are you afraid that I'm gonna poison you or what? Look, I'm drinking from the same bottle myself!"

"He's not afraid of nothing," Dalian grunted, taking his glass. "Leave him alone."

"Oh, that's fine. I don't mean to force him. If he doesn't like wine, that's fine with me—it only means that there's going to be more left for us," Keren talked good-naturedly, minding to keep Dalian's glass full.

The bottles went empty. Keren turned to his table, and his friends passed him several more.

"Dalian, don't drink anymore!" Jeco insisted, his suspicions growing.

Keren laughed. "Is he always telling you what to do?"

Dalian gave the boy a hard look. Jeco saw that Keren had pulled just the right string: Dalian would never let anyone push him around. He wouldn't tolerate being laughed at, either.

"I'm not telling you what to do, I'm just asking—please, stop!"

"And why would that be?" Keren cut in, filling the glasses. "What is a bottle or two for such a big guy? Or maybe you're sick or something?"

"Sick yourself!" Dalian barked, snatching the glass. "I can drink as much as I want!"

Jeco knew it was said to him, too, although Dalian was looking at Keren. Soon the bottles were emptied once more. Keren turned to his friends again, but they didn't have any left, either.

"No big deal, I'll go buy some more. I'll be right back!"

As soon as he left, Jeco grabbed his friend's arm. "Dalian, please, let's get out of here!" he whispered. "Don't you see they're up to something? They're trying to get you drunk!"

Slowly, Dalian raised his eyes at the boy, his gaze heavy and blurred.

"Listen, buddy. You're too young to teach me. Go to bed."

Jeco didn't know what to do. Dalian never got drunk back home, he wouldn't even go near the tavern. Sometimes he would open a bottle of red wine at dinner, not nearly as strong as what they had now, and he'd always have just one small glass.

Jeco decided to try again. "Let's go together, Dalian. It's late."

But the blacksmith stubbornly shook his head. "I haven't finished my supper. I will come later."

"Then I'll stay here with you, too."

Dalian stared at him the way he never did before, his expression hard, angry. "I said go back to the room! I don't want our stuff to get stolen."

Jeco saw that there was no use to insist. "Please, come soon," he said quietly, rising from the table. "I'll leave Gart with you. Gart, you stay here, keep a good eye on him."

The dog set up, accepting the assignment. Jeco scratched him behind the ear and left the dining hall. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Keren come back, carrying several bottles; but he failed to notice something else: one of the vagrants slipped out of the table, caught a serving boy running by and placed a coin into his hand.

"Tomorrow morning, you're gonna tell everybody that we went up north. Got it? You'll say that you heard us talking about it. If you do that, I'll pay you more on our way back," he quickly said, then released the boy go and went back to his table.

Jeco came to the room and checked their bags; they were all in place. He blew out the candle and sat at the desk to wait. He decided not to go to bed until Dalian returned. Oh, Dalian! What's wrong with him? He can't stand drunks! Why did he start partying with that guy? Keren is trying to get him drunk, no doubt. Those vagrants... What have they got in mind? Good thing that Gart is there.

An hour had passed; Dalian wasn't back. Jeco couldn't wait any longer and decided to go see what was going on there. He left the room and took a few quiet steps down the stairs, staying close to the wall. He didn't want to be noticed. Soon he could see the open door of the dining hall and hear drunk voices and laughter. Jeco leaned over the handrail, trying to see the table where he had left Dalian. The blacksmith was still there, his head resting on his arms folded in front of him on the table. The ragged company moved to his table and continued drinking. Gart watched their every move, sitting right next to Dalian.

This doesn't look good, Jeco thought, going back to the room. Dalian's drunk, and those guys are still there. Gart is the only hope, he'll be guarding him as long as it takes. Poor dog! He is tired, too, he needs some sleep...

Jeco sat down at the desk again. It was dark outside, he could hardly see anything through the window. Stars shone in the black sky; the thin crescent showed up from behind a cloud, glowing with soft yellow light. Jeco looked at the stars and the crescent, and it seemed to him that they were slowly moving, rotating, blending together in a misty blur... Before he knew it, he was asleep.

######

***

######

A bright sunbeam fell on Jeco's face, getting through his closed eyelids, waking him up. The boy opened his eyes. It was daylight, he could hear voices from the busy street outside. He looked around; Dalian was not in the room. Jeco jumped up, splashed some water on his face and hurried down the stairs.

The dining hall was full of people. Customers were having their breakfast, serving boys ran back and forth delivering steaming plates. There was no sign of Dalian, or his yesterday's buddies. Jeco kept searching the tables—maybe they'd moved to a different place? Or went to the other hall, the fancy one? You never know what gets in a drunk head; perhaps they wanted to impress each other and play rich.

Jeco went to the other hall. Everything was different here: no loud talks, no clattering dishes, no serving boys dashing around. Nicely dressed guests quietly enjoyed their meals served by courteous waiters in green uniform. One of the waiters came up to Jeco, took one look at him and quickly determined his social status.

"What do you want?"

"I'm looking for someone. A friend of mine."

"I don't think you can have any friends over here," the waiter sneered. "Get out."

Jeco turned around and left, not saying another word. He was getting worried. The waiter was right: a bunch of tramps would never be allowed in here. But where were they? Where was Dalian?

The boy returned to the first dining hall. It seemed even more noisy and busy than before; no one paid any attention to Jeco. He saw a worker carrying two buckets of water and stepped up to him.

"Excuse me, sir... I am looking for my friend, and I thought maybe you saw him. He was here yesterday. He's tall—"

"I've got no time to gaze around, lad," the man interrupted. However, he stopped and even put down his buckets. "You see, I'm a poor man, I've got to work and make money..."

Jeco got the hint and handed him a half-copper. The man gave a satisfied nod, took the coin and tucked it into his pocket.

"Tall, you say?"

"Yes, a big guy, with broad shoulders... He sat at that table," Jeco pointed. "Dark-haired, with a beard and moustache. He wore a gray jacket. And he had a big dog with him."

"Ah, that one! Sure, I remember him. He'd been drinking all night with his buddies, and the dog sat right next to him."

"That's right! Where did they go?"

The worker's lips twisted in a scornful grin. "Go look in the stable. That friend of yours was drunk as a skunk, couldn't hold himself upright. So he was taken there to sleep. Nobody knew what room he was from."

"What about the dog?"

"The dog went there with him. Wouldn't leave him for a second."

"Thank you. How do I find the stable?"

"Go to the yard, then turn right."

Jeco thanked the worker again and hurried outside. The stable was close, he saw it right away. The wide gate was open, and he could hear the horses' nervous snorts. Jeco went inside. On the right he saw a long row of stalls with horses of all colors looking out. There was no sign of Dalian.

"Dalian?" Jeco called. "Gart? Are you here?"

There was no answer. The boy's heart sunk. Something was wrong. Dalian might be still asleep—but Gart?... There was no way he wouldn't respond to Jeco's voice. It never happened before.

"Gart!" Jeco called loudly, hoping that the dog just didn't hear him for the first time, but now he'd leap out of somewhere, barking happily...

But nothing happened. Slowly, Jeco started walking along the stalls, his anxiety growing. The horses seemed tense and uneasy, many would jump as he approached. Jeco knew horses and knew that it wasn't normal after a peaceful night in a warm stall. Something had happened here. Something had scared them... Troubled, Jeco walked faster and faster until he almost ran. The corridor ended. He turned to the left and froze: the floor in front of him was dashed with blood.

Jeco stared at those dark red stains, unable to move, his heart pounding like a sledgehammer, so heavily that there seemed to be two of them, one in the chest and one in the head...

"Dalian! Gart!" Jeco shouted.

An aged stableman showed up in the end of the long corridor. "What do you want, lad? What's the yelling about?"

Jeco ran up to him. "I am looking for my friend and my dog, have you seen them? I was told that they spent the night here. My friend, uh... he was drunk, and he was brought here. He's a big guy with a beard and moustache. He wore a gray jacket, and there was a dog with him, also very big, golden yellow..."

The old man scratched his head. "Oh, my... You're out of luck, lad. They took your dog."

"What?! What do you mean?... Who?"

This was inconceivable. Take Gart? No way. No one could do that.

"Those tramps," the stableman said. "Those who—"

"I know," Jeco interrupted, breathing hard. "What did they do to him?"

"To the dog? Nothing. Tied it up with ropes and carried away."

"Tied him up?! That's not possible! I know my dog: there's no way they could do it, he'd never let them!"

"That's right, he wouldn't," the old man nodded. "They had a huge fight here. Terrible fight. Just take a look at all that blood around! I thought that dog was gonna tear them all to pieces."

Jeco tried to calm down. "Would you please tell me how it all happened."

"Well, they brought your friend in here, late at night," the stableman began. "The one who was drunk. Asked if he could sleep here. I didn't mind, they're always brought in here—those who don't know when they should stop. Drunk fellows, I mean. I've even got a special place for them, over there. So I said it was fine, and showed them where to put him. He wasn't alone, there was a bunch of tramps with him, pretty drunk, too, but at least they could stand on their feet. And the dog. The dog wouldn't leave his side.

"Well, they seemed to be getting ready to sleep, so I left. Then in a few moments I hear them fight—you know, yelling, screaming, cursing. This kind of stuff happens all the time, so I grabbed a whip and came running here—I don't need no one killed in my stable. So I come back here and see them tramps trying to catch the dog. And the dog—oh, my, was it furious! Fangs bare, roaring so hard the walls were shaking! Horses, of course, all got scared, started prancing and kicking...

"I yell to them guys—what are you doing?! Stop it now! If the horses break free and run away, we're all gonna be in trouble!... They shout back to me, 'The dog went mad and we're trying to catch it.' They were all bleeding by then, the dog got its teeth on each one, I think. I asked, hey, do you want me to call for help? But they didn't want that. 'No, no, we'll take care of it...' Well, then they jumped at that dog all together, seized it and tied it up. There were about ten of them, if not more. I went to get our physician, and when I returned, they were gone. Well, then I'd realized that the dog wasn't mad, and they simply stole it. If it was mad, why would they try to catch it? You've got to be a fool to mess with a mad dog and let it bite you... They would've just killed it. So I thought, no, that's not what it is; they must have gotten that guy drunk, and stole his dog. That's what I figured."

Jeco listened in silence. He could vividly picture it all—too vividly. He could see poor Gart bravely defending himself and Dalian, fighting one against ten; he could see him growing tired, surrounded, and seized. And he, Jeco, was sleeping in his room and didn't even hear anything!

"Did you see where they went?" he asked in a quiet voice.

The old man shrugged. "How could I? I'm telling you, I left for the physician. They were gone when I came back."

"When was that?"

"Late. Like three in the morning."

Jeco lowered his head. They must be too far already. Besides, how could he run after them if he didn't even know which way they went?...

"So you say the dog was yours?" the stableman asked.

Jeco nodded; he did not have the energy to speak. The sledgehammer pounding in his chest stopped, and now he felt emptiness there—dark, aching emptiness...

"Bad luck, lad," the old man sighed. "Bad luck..."

"What about my friend?" Jeco managed to ask.

"He's fine—slept through the whole thing. Must've sobered up by now. You want to go see him? I'll show you where he is."

The boy shook his head. He wasn't up to telling Dalian what had happened because of him.

"No. Thanks." He turned around and walked away.

"So what should I tell him?" the stableman asked. "Hey!"

But Jeco didn't respond and quickened his pace. His eyes burned with tears, his throat tightened, making breathing hard, choking him. Running up the porch stairs, he bumped into someone; the man swore and pushed him hard in the shoulder.

"Are you blind or what?!"

"Sorry," Jeco returned, not even looking up, his voice hoarse and dry.

The man grunted something else, but Jeco did not hear him, as he didn't feel the pain from being pushed—the other pain, the one that stung on the inside, was much stronger. He slipped through the door and ran up the stairs to the room. Slamming the door behind him, he jerked the latch down and threw himself on the bed.

He hardly ever cried, he thought that a man must know how to control his emotions, and normally he was good at it. But now, hard as he tried, he couldn't suppress the sobs rising in his chest. The thought of losing his dear friend was unbearable, and tears were seeping through his shut eyelids. Burying his face in the pillow, Jeco gave in to the tears, pain, and anger, only one thought throbbing in his mind: I'm going to find them, and if they did something to him—I will kill them! I'll find them and kill them, find them and kill them!!

A thin ray of light came through the window, softly illuminating the room. Had Jeco raised his head, he would have instantly recognized this light—quiet and gentle, yet at the same time so bright that it made regular sunbeams fade... But he didn't look up and did not see how that thin little ray began to grow and turned into a shining cloud, which then condensed in the middle and formed the same humanlike silhouette. This time the elgur could be seen much more clearly—probably because no one was looking at him. The cloud of light surrounding the spirit did not hide his tall, magnificent figure; even his face was showing up through the white radiance, its perfect features expressing deep sorrow.

The elgur approached the boy and placed his transparent hand on his shoulder. Jeco did not feel the touch; he only felt the bitter pain subside, and dark despair beginning to loosen its grip. Tears still flowed, but now they were bringing relief, as if grief itself was pouring out with them.

Jeco silently wept, his face still pressed hard to the pillow. The elgur stood next to him, gently holding his shoulder, saying nothing, until the boy's body stopped shuddering and his sobs ceased. Then the spirit withdrew his hand, stepped back and dissolved in the air.

In a few minutes Jeco set up on the bed. He had regained the ability to think, and he was beginning to understand what was going on. The war continued; things were getting serious. This time, demons of the darkness had planned their move well: they took away his dearly beloved friend. And they did it through Dalian—exactly what the elgur had warned about. Dalian is a dangerous companion, Jeco recalled. The heart that does not know the Light is weak and easily misled...

Exactly. This is why it all happened. Dalian does not believe in the heavens and elgurs, he doesn't understand the importance of this journey to Kanavar. To him, all this is just a strange whim, nothing else. He probably still hopes that Jeco would not dare to go to the palace—and if he would, he'd come back to reality after getting kicked out of there, and agree to go home.

He shouldn't have left Dalian. So what if the bags would get stolen—he'd rather lose them than Gart!

With sudden determination Jeco rose to his feet and wiped away tears. Fine. We'll see who's going to win. Dark spirits are strong and mean, but I've got the Lord of the heavens himself standing behind me—so we'll see!

Heavy footsteps sounded in the corridor. Someone tried to open the door, then gave a quiet knock.

"Jeco?" he heard Dalian's hesitant voice.

Jeco went to the door and lifted the latch. Dalian stepped in, pale, miserable, his eyes red. Seeing the boy's tear-stained face, he hit himself in the forehead and spoke, his voice shaking with emotion.

"Jeco—forgive me, if you can. I'm sorry, brother, I... Oh, I'm such a pig! I don't understand it myself how I could get so drunk yesterday! I don't drink—you know I don't. I have no idea how I could let those crooks fool me like that!"

Jeco looked away. "Oh well... It's my fault, too. I shouldn't have left you with them."

"No, it's not. I'd sent you away—stupid idiot!... Drunk as I was, I remember that."

"Oh well," Jeco repeated. "Nothing we can do about it now..."

Dalian grabbed him by the shoulders. "Yes, we can! We're gonna go after them, we'll find them! You hear me?! I'm gonna rip their heads off! We'll go right now and catch those thieves! I know where they went: I've asked around, and one of the serving boys says he heard them talk about going north!"

But Jeco shook his head. "North... That means back to Chegmer. No, we can't go there."

Dalian withdrew his hands, bewildered. "Wait a minute... What do you mean we can't go? Why?"

Jeco looked him in the eye. "Don't you remember where I must go?"

Dalian stepped back, staring at him in disbelief. "What?! Are you saying that you're not going to give up this idea of yours? Not even for Gart's sake?!" He paused. "I thought you loved him."

Those last words lashed like a whip at Jeco's aching heart. It took all his willpower to suppress a powerful burst of anger.

"Would you please listen to me and remember it well," he spoke slowly, his voice quiet and dry. "If it was an 'idea of mine,' as you call it, I wouldn't be standing here now. I would've dropped everything and run after them, searching, questioning the local folk, looking for any clue, any hint, any little footprint they possibly left. I'd turn the whole area upside down and get no rest until I found Gart. But the 'idea' is not mine. The Lord of the heavens has sent me on this journey, and I must be at the palace at a certain time. I know you don't believe in all that—well, that's your choice."

Dalian was silent for a few moments, obviously baffled by such a severe tone, then he stubbornly shook his head. "Here's what I'd like to know, then: where was your Lord of the heavens this night, when they took Gart?! Why didn't he do something, if he does exist and if he's so powerful as you say?!"

Jeco took his time to reply as well, not because he didn't know what to say but because saying it was not easy. "Because he had entrusted Gart to you. You are smart and strong enough to count on. So don't blame the heavens for your own mistakes."

Dalian bit his lip and looked away. Indeed, the heavens had nothing to do with it...

"So you want to keep on going?"

"I must keep on going," Jeco corrected.

"Well... All right. I'll go call for the soldiers. Not that I put much hope in them, but it's their job to look for those accursed thieves. And we'll have to stick around here for some time anyway... They stole all my money." Dalian lowered his head, then suddenly turned around and slammed his fist at the wall. "Oh, I'm such a fool!!"

Jeco felt sorry for his friend who now felt he was the cause of all trouble. The boy came up to him and touched his arm. "Come on, stop beating yourself up. There's nothing we can do about it. I've got some money. It should be enough."

"No, I'm not spending yours! Do you think I've got no conscience at all?! It was my fault, and I'm the one to take care of it. We'll stay here for a while, I'll make some money, and then we'll get going again."

"We can't stay, that's the thing." Jeco sighed. "We've got no time. It's all right. I've got enough money. Go get the soldiers, and let's pack."

######

***

#### Chapter 6

[Back to Table of Contents]

######

Dalian left. While he was gone, Jeco paid for the room and took their bags outside. Soon the blacksmith returned, followed by a captain and two soldiers. Their bored, disinterested faces clearly indicated that they were tired of such calls, and there was little hope of the thieves being caught. Nevertheless, dealing with the soldiers took much longer than one would think. Dalian and Jeco had to retell what had happened several times, answer all kinds of questions, describe the thieves and show the table they occupied yesterday. The captain lazily examined the inn and the stable, then he started questioning workers, stablemen, and serving boys. But nobody wanted to mess with the king's soldiers; everyone claimed that they didn't see anything, only the old stableman had honestly repeated what he'd already told Jeco, and one of the serving boys confirmed that he heard the thieves talk among themselves and, according to what they said, they were going to head north.

"Well, things don't look good for you," the captain summed it up. "How are we supposed to find them? Ragged tramps, nobody remembers what they looked like, no distinguishing features..."

"There is one—our dog!" Dalian snapped, irritated by their lack of enthusiasm. "You won't find another one like that!"

"Noticeable dog, huh?"

"You bet! A huge golden-yellow beauty—not something you can easily hide!"

The captain shook his head. "Then they'll try to get rid of it as soon as they can. They're gonna sell it, or simply kill it and skin it. You said it's got a nice coat?"

Jeco caught his breath, getting dizzy.

"Well, catch them before they do!!" Dalian yelled.

The captain only grinned at that. "Easier said than done, fellow."

Meanwhile, one of the soldiers kept staring at Dalian's boots. Jeco followed his gaze and got a bad feeling that their troubles weren't over yet.

It turned out to be true. The soldier nudged his partner and pointed at the boots. "Check it out, Samat, aren't those the boots we've been trying to find?"

Samat turned, and his eyes narrowed. "It sure looks like it!"

"What are you talking about, guys?" Dalian frowned. "I bought these boots over two weeks ago, miles and miles away—in Chegmer!"

"We can check that," the captain said, getting interested. "Who's got the description?"

"I do," Samat replied, pulling a stack of papers out of his leather bag. "Let me find it here..."

He flipped through the pages and handed one of them to the captain. The captain took it and read. "A pair of high boots made of fine Bergalian leather, tops decorated with ornament in the form of intertwined plants and stitched with silver threads; double soles, heeled with iron calks..."

Jeco listened, looking down at Dalian's boots and seeing with weary indifference that they matched the description completely.

"Special mark: the calk of the right boot is stamped with the number 34." The captain finished reading and gave Dalian a stern look. "Take off your right boot, buddy."

"What's going on?!" Dalian demanded, indignant. "Can you explain it to me?!"

The captain grinned again. "Sure we can. But how you will explain it if the number is there, that's a big question. The boots described in our papers were stolen a month ago during a robbery. Take that boot off!"

Dalian jerked off his right boot and hurled it to the soldiers. "Here, look! There's nothing on it, these are my boots!"

The soldiers turned the boot over, checked the calk and exchanged looks.

"We've got the winner," the captain smirked. "So you're saying you bought them, huh?"

Dalian stepped closer. "Let me see!"

"Back off!" both soldiers yelled, drawing their swords.

"Are you crazy?..." Dalian backed away, perplexed. "I just wanted to take a look!"

The captain nodded to the soldier named Samat. "Show him."

Samat approached and handed the boot to Dalian. Jeco looked at the calk, too. Right in the middle, he saw the number stamped: 34.

"Well? What are you gonna say now?"

"Can't this number be on another pair like that?..." Dalian muttered.

The captain laughed. "No, buddy. There's only one pair, and it was custom ordered. That's why they're marked this way. You didn't know that? Of course not—if you did, you wouldn't have messed with these boots. All right, enough talking to you. Put your hands behind your back, you're under arrest."

"Hey, what for?!" Dalian protested. "I'm telling you, I bought these in Chegmer, I had no idea that they were stolen!"

The captain turned to his soldiers. "What are you waiting for? Don't you know what you're supposed to do?"

The soldiers snatched their swords again, and Dalian gave in. Both his and Jeco's hands were quickly tied behind their backs.

"The boy's got nothing to do with it!" Dalian tried to interfere.

"Shut up!" the soldier barked. "The judge will see who's got to do with what. Now, move!"

Followed by curious looks of the inn workers and guests, Dalian and Jeco were escorted out through the gate. Jeco could barely comprehend what was going on around him. His mind and emotions were unable to catch up with the fast-turning events, they were still stuck on the words kill it and skin it. The boy didn't remember how they were led along the street, then told to stop at a barred door in some stone wall. One of the soldiers knocked at that door and told someone who looked out through the bars that they had caught thieves.

"Thief yourself!" Dalian retorted.

The soldier punched him. Dalian charged back, the ropes on his wrists cracking at his powerful efforts to break free. In the next moment all the three swords were at his throat.

"Don't you even think about running away," the captain said through his teeth.

"Why would I run, I'm not guilty! I just wanted to teach this fellow a lesson. And I will!" Dalian promised, his face dark with anger.

"Shut up!" the soldier yelled, ready to hit him again, but the barred door opened and someone's hoarse voice invited them to come in.

Dalian and Jeco entered the scantily lit, damp place with low ceilings. This was the prison of the city of Gver. From the small chamber right behind the door went a long, dark corridor; they could hear heavy footsteps of guards walking back and forth in there and occasional jingling of keys. In the chamber, an old gray-haired registrar and a soldier sat at the desk buried under papers. The soldier jumped to his feet, saluting the captain.

"Check in these two," the captain said. "Lock them up for now. I'll bring my report for the judge in a half hour."

The registrar picked up his quill. "What are their names? What have they done?"

"Dalian Veligor and Jecosan Tarres. They are suspected of robbery."

"That's garbage!" Dalian immediately reacted. "We got robbed ourselves!"

The old man stopped writing, raising his head in surprise. "Oh? A rowdy one, huh?"

"Yeah, he's a rough fellow," the captain agreed, not without some pride. "And quite a big one, too, as you can see. You'd better keep a good eye on him here. And tell the judge that I have arrested him personally."

Dalian sneered. "Yeah, right, 'arrested personally!' Three against one, with them swords and all—and I'd called for you myself to begin with! Big deal!"

The registrar cleared his throat, trying to hide a smile; the soldiers chuckled.

"Lock them up. Now!" the captain ordered.

"One moment, sir." The old man hurried to proceed, marking something in his papers. "Let's see... All right, Veligor—cell number eight, Tarres—number fourteen."

"Hey, we go to the same cell!" Dalian demanded.

The soldier grabbed him by the elbow and pushed him to the corridor. "This is no inn, buddy, so you don't get to choose the room. Move it!"

Dalian struggled back; the soldier called for help. Four guards came running, their swords ready.

"Stop it, Dalian," Jeco said, knowing that nothing good was going to come out of it. "Don't argue with them. We've had enough trouble already."

Dalian glanced at the boy and, quite unexpectedly, did what he said; dropping all resistance, the blacksmith walked into the corridor. The captain and the soldiers exchanged puzzled looks.

Jeco heard a cell door squeak somewhere in there, turning on rusty hinges, opening and then closing behind Dalian. The guard came back for the boy. Following him along many cells, Jeco was almost glad that he was going to be locked in one—he wished to be left alone so that he could take some time to calm down, think, take in everything that had happened and talk to the Lord of the heavens. First of all, he'd ask him to save Gart, then to help them to get out of here...

But as soon as he stepped into the cell, Jeco knew that it wasn't going to happen: on the straw covered floor sat a dozen of ragged, filthy boys. They all turned their heads when the door opened and stared at him with live curiosity. The guard untied Jeco's hands, pushed him into the cell and locked the door.

One of the boys rose to his feet and stepped forward. It was a big red-haired guy, probably two years older than Jeco, with a crooked grin, dressed in a rather remarkable way: he wore short pants barely covering his knees, no shirt and a black strap of cloth around his neck which, apparently, served as a necktie.

"Hi there," the redhead spoke in a half-serious, half-mocking manner, studying Jeco.

"Hi."

"What's your name?"

"Tarres," Jeco said, for some reason not wishing to tell him his first name. "And yours?"

"Where are you from?" the redhead went on, ignoring the question.

"From Chegmer."

"Where's that?"

"Up north from here. North-west from Uphills."

But the redhead wasn't good at geography, so he frowned. "Uphills? What kinda rubbish is that?"

"I heard about that village," one of the boys said, rather hesitantly. "It's far up the river."

"Don't yap when you're not asked!" the redhead snapped and turned to Jeco again. "Well, Tarres, have a seat and tell us about yourself. What you do, how you got caught."

Jeco lowered himself on the straw. He didn't want to talk, but he had no choice. These guys were bored, and they saw in him a new entertainment. He knew they wouldn't leave him alone.

"Got caught over a stupid thing," he said.

"Always happens that way," the redhead nodded. "Tell me."

"My friend and I were on our way to Kanavar. We got robbed here in Gver..."

The guys started chuckling.

"Now I've seen it all!" the redhead laughed. "What kind of a thief are you if you got robbed yourself?!"

"I'm not a thief," Jeco said.

"Oh? Who are you, then?"

"I used to work in a smithy."

This was met with a burst of laughter, as if it was the funniest thing they ever heard.

"You're a funny guy," the redhead grinned. "I like that. But now I want to hear the truth."

"I am telling the truth. What are you laughing at? I was a blacksmith's apprentice."

"So you are trying to say that you're an honest, hard-working fellow?" The redhead narrowed his eyes. "How did you get here, then?"

Jeco knew that his every word was going to be mocked, so he decided to cut the story short. "My friend bought something. It turned out to be stolen, and we got arrested. That's all."

"Turned out to be stolen, turned out to be stolen!" the boys taunted in delight.

"You're good at making up stories, Tarres," the redhead smirked. "But I don't get it why you are doing that—just for fun, or maybe you're afraid that we'll tell on you? Don't worry about that, we've got no spies here. So you could've just said it as it is—that you don't steal yourself, only buy and move stolen stuff. We're not stupid, you know, we've already figured it out. You've got good clothes on, even a pouch on your belt. Which makes sense: a fence needs to look decent and cause no suspicion. No need to tell us stories about some friend of yours..." He stretched and concluded, "So, if you just want to be funny, that's one thing—but don't you think you can fool me. You're not that good of a liar."

"You don't believe me, fine," Jeco shrugged. "But I'm not lying or making anything up."

The redhead stopped grinning. "And where's your friend, then? What happened to him?"

"They'd put him in a different cell."

"Which one? Or are you going to say that you didn't see?"

"I did—cell number eight."

"Ha! Liar, liar. They don't put kids in number eight!"

"Did I say he was a kid?" Jeco asked, getting tired of this. "He's twenty eight, and his name is Dalian Veligor—you can check if there's such a man in the eighth cell."

"And we will, don't you worry about that. You think we can't? That's where you are wrong." The redhead turned to the boys and pointed at one of them. "You! Take care of that."

The skinny dark-haired boy searched in the straw and pulled out a small stone. Holding it firm in his hand, he tapped quietly at the wall, stopped, knocked once more, and then pressed his ear to the wall to listen. Apparently, he was getting no response; he waited some more, and then started tapping again.

"It will take time," the redhead said. "Let's play dice while he's working on it. You seem to be a rich guy, Tarres, I'm sure you've got some money to spend."

Jeco shook his head. "Sorry, I don't play for money."

"What do you mean you don't play? Everybody plays here, and you will, too! Or maybe you just want to give your money away to us?" The redhead gave a sly wink. "We're gonna take it anyway, so I suggest that you better play. It's much more fun this way. Come on."

"I will not play," Jeco said.

The redhead stared at him for a while, then suddenly dashed forward, aiming to grab his pouch. Jeco jerked away just in time and leapt to his feet. The redhead rose, too, grinning.

"Not bad, Tarres... You're fast."

Jeco watched him, ready for another attack. But he was attacked from behind. Two or three guys snuck up on him and charged all at once, silently—grabbed his arms, knocked him down, snatched the pouch off his belt and immediately retreated. Jeco climbed to his feet, shook off pieces of straw that stuck to his clothes. The boys stood around him, smirking, waiting for his reaction. The redhead crossed his arms on his chest, clearly enjoying it.

Jeco looked him in the eye. "Give it back to me."

"What do I have to do with it?" the guy asked in exaggerated surprise. "I didn't take it from you, I ain't got it!"

"So tell them to give it back."

"Tell them yourself. Or find it and take it back."

The guys cheered, anticipating the fun. Jeco knew this cruel game very well, he'd saved younger kids from it more than once: a crowd of idiots would take away someone's hat or toy and start tossing it from one to another as the poor owner would run after it in useless attempts to get his thing back...

Jeco smiled and said just as calmly, not raising his voice, "No. I will not give you that pleasure."

He walked away to a corner and sat on the straw. The guys murmured, puzzled and disappointed.

"Wow, Tarres," the redhead stepped forward. "So you are a rich fellow, you don't even care for your money!"

Jeco saw no need to respond. The guys teased him some more, laughing, mocking, shouting all kinds of silly stuff. He ignored that. They grew tired of it and sat down on the floor again. Jeco saw one of them pass his pouch to the redhead. The redhead went to a corner, counted the money and glanced at Jeco, stunned. Jeco suppressed a heavy sigh; yes, there was a lot in there—all his savings for several years. The redhead was wrong: Jeco did care for that money. He worked hard for it, and he needed it to continue his journey. However, he felt at peace; he knew that he did the right thing.

Sons of the Light shouldn't lose their dignity because of money, he thought, sitting in his corner. It's all right. There will be a way. I'll continue my journey on foot if I have to; the heavens will not abandon me. There are all kinds of simple jobs I can do on the way to get food—chopping wood, or pulling out weeds in people's gardens. Everything will be fine.

The boys were getting bored again, and the redhead turned to Jeco.

"Hey, Tarres—make us laugh, lie some more. You're good at it."

"I'm not a clown," Jeco said, getting ready to defend himself—but the easily-gotten money seemed to have brightened the redhead's mood, and he didn't get mad.

"Oh, come on!" he replied peacefully. "Or maybe you are kind of upset about your money, after all? It's all right, you'll earn some more, if you're such a hard worker!"

The other guys laughed.

"I will, don't you worry," Jeco returned.

The redhead rose, stretching. "Maybe. Maybe you will. But I'm afraid it's going to be a while before you can get back to your work. The judge hates thieves, and especially those helping them to sell stuff. He's gonna lock you up, mark my word... Do you have any idea for how long? Want me to tell you?"

"No, thanks. I prefer to hear that from the judge."

"Ah, you don't wanna know, you're scared!" The redhead chuckled. "Well, I'm going to tell anyway: he'll throw you in jail for a year, or send you to the mines. There you'll sure have a chance to work hard—but for free!"

Boys were rolling on the floor, laughing. Jeco didn't respond.

"Unless the judge decides to impose a fine," the redhead went on. "It happens. They give you a choice: you either pay or go to jail. But, as I understand, you're short of cash at the moment?"

Jeco kept looking him in the eye without saying a word. He could tell the redhead did not know what to think of it.

"What? You don't believe me? You'll see. I know the rules here. They'll set a fine, and if you can't pay they will lock you up. Unless your mom and dad pay for you... Who are your parents? Are they rich?"

"I don't have parents," Jeco said, hoping that the redhead would have enough decency not to make fun of that. "My father was killed in the war, and my mother died."

"There you go, lying again," the redhead nodded, satisfied. "'Killed, died!'" he teased. "I bet they're just the same kind of drunks like the rest of us got..."

Jeco did not know how it all happened. Before he could think, he was on his feet, and the red-haired guy lay on the floor holding his jaw. Other boys got quiet at once, their eyes wide with fear. The redhead looked at his hand. When he saw blood he jumped up, swearing furiously, and threw himself at Jeco.

Jeco met him with another blow that turned out to be even heavier than the first one. He normally tried to avoid fights, but he had strong arms, well exercised with hard labor. This time, the redhead went flying to the wall. He hit it hard with his back, collapsed and remained on the floor, motionless. Jeco caught his breath and glanced at the others—but they were not going to fight for their defeated leader. They just watched, tense, apprehensive, looking very much like a bunch of cornered rats, and seemed to be waiting for something.

Jeco went back to his corner. The boys kept watching his every move, exchanging quick looks and whispers. At last, one of them ventured to ask the question that was obviously bothering them all.

"Aren't you going to take your money from him?"

"No," Jeco said. "I want him to give it back to me himself."

The kid cautiously approached the redhead and looked into his face. "That was a good blow... And he deserved it. He's such a jerk, you don't even know. He's the worst one in here."

Jeco cringed at such a quick betrayal. "Doesn't seem any worse than the rest of you," he snapped.

The guys didn't object. They were used to obeying the strongest, and now were ready to put up with whatever Jeco said or did, as they had been putting up with the redhead before.

"Why didn't you fight before, Tarres?" another boy asked. "You should've let him know you're a tough guy right away. He'd never touch you."

"I don't use my fists unless I have to," Jeco said. His anger subsided, and now, looking at the redhead still lying limp on the floor, he wondered if he'd hit him too hard.

"Is there a physician here?" Jeco asked.

"There is," nodded one of the boys.

"How do I call him?"

"What for?" the kid asked, genuinely surprised.

"Because your buddy is unconscious. He might need help."

"If the guards see it, we'll be in trouble," the boy warned. "They'll be all over us until they find out who hit him."

"Don't you worry, I'm not going to blame it on you," Jeco smirked, rising to his feet, and banged at the door.

"What do you want?" he heard the guard's irritated voice.

"I'd like to call for the physician," Jeco said.

The guard started jingling his keys. "What happened? Mugged the new guy again?"

"I'm afraid it's the other way around this time."

The heavy door opened, the soldier stepped in the cell and looked it over, suspicious.

"Hey, you! If you're faking it, I'm gonna lock you up in the basement, so you'd better get up!"

Getting no response, he called for another soldier. They entered the cell together and stooped over the unconscious guy. The other guard gave a quiet whistle.

"I guess we do need the physician here," he said to the first one and turned to the boys. "You're gonna pay for it, little brats. All of you, if you don't tell me now who did it. Well?"

Jeco stepped forward. "I did."

"You?!" the soldier looked him over from head to foot as if a most unusual thing. "I see you make a pair with that buddy of yours!"

Dalian! Of course—already got in trouble as well!

"What did he do?"

But the soldier didn't respond and kept studying the boy, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Soon the physician arrived, a somber, tight-lipped man who seemed to have seen it all and showed no emotion at the sight of the prostrate body. The other soldier followed him.

"Guess who did it?" the first guard said, pointing at Jeco. "This one, the kid who was arrested today with Veligor—you know, the big guy I just took to the basement."

"The one who started that fight in number eight?"

"That's right. Mugged five other fellows, and would've done more had we not stopped him."

"I see," the soldier grinned, regarding Jeco. "So this one's of the same stripe."

"That's what I said—they make a pair!"

"We'll need to tell the judge."

Meanwhile, the physician had finished examining the red-haired guy and turned to the soldiers. "Nothing serious, no broken bones. He'll come around in a couple of hours."

"What did they do to him?" one of the soldiers asked.

"He got hit in the head. Very hard." The physician looked at Jeco. "What did you hit him with?"

"Do you really think he's gonna tell you?" the soldier cut in. "We'll search the cell."

"I don't have anything," Jeco said. "I hit him with my fist."

"You've got a good fist if you're not lying... And I guess your friend has taught you a thing or two."

"The captain was right, you are dangerous fellows," the other soldier observed. "And we've got a very special place just for you. Put your hands behind your back and go!"

Jeco obeyed. He figured that he was probably being taken to the basement, and he didn't care. The soldier led him through the gloomy long corridor and then down spiral stairs. They stopped at a large wooden door; the guard unlocked it and pushed Jeco into the cold, damp darkness.

"Cool down a little!"

The door slammed shut. Jeco stood there for a while, waiting for his eyes to adjust, but the darkness was pitch black—no holes, no cracks for the tiniest gleam of light to get in. Dalian must be here somewhere, Jeco remembered. They said they'd put him in the basement as well...

"Is anybody in here? Dalian?" he called.

He heard no reply, only a quick rustling noise of a mouse or a rat hurrying away. Obviously, there were different cells in the basement, and Dalian was somewhere else. Jeco stretched out his hand and searched in the darkness; soon his hand touched the wall, rough and cold. Jeco leaned against it, having decided to remain on his feet until the guard comes to get him—however long that would be.

He couldn't tell how much time he had spent in the icy basement—two hours, three, or more. The cold was becoming unbearable. Jeco turned up the collar of his light summer jacket, hid his hands in the sleeves and hugged himself, trying to stay warm, but it didn't help much. At last he heard heavy footsteps, then keys clinking and turning in the lock. Jeco forced himself to straighten his back and stop shivering, not wishing to appear before the guard frozen and miserable.

"Tarres! Come out!" the soldier shouted.

Jeco walked out to the corridor that seemed to be flooded with light after the darkness of the basement. The guard looked him over.

"How did you like that?"

"It's all right."

"Want some more?"

"As you wish."

But the soldier had different orders. He locked the door and pushed the boy to the stairs, grumbling, "Move it! The judge is waiting!"

Jeco was taken to a spacious hall with many high, pointed windows. At the opposite wall he saw a huge oak table covered with a long purple cloth with the king's crest embroidered on it. A massive chair stood behind the table, its tall back also decorated with the crest. That must be the judge's chair, Jeco thought.

"Jeco! How are you?" he suddenly heard Dalian's excited voice.

"Shut up!" a soldier's angry shout immediately followed. "Sit down!"

Jeco looked around. Dalian stood at a small bench in the corner; he must have risen when he saw the boy come in.

"I said sit down! Both of you!" the soldier barked again.

"We're not deaf. No need to yell," Dalian returned, and only after that lowered himself on the bench.

Jeco approached and sat next to him.

"How are you?" the blacksmith repeated, looking him over, hurrying to make sure he was all right.

"I'm fine." Jeco noticed a short wave of shivers run across his friend's shoulders, as if he was chilly. "I see you got cold in the basement?"

"You know already?" Dalian asked in surprise. "How come?"

"The word has gotten around about your feat of arms. They say you've beaten up five guys?"

"I wish," the blacksmith grunted, frowning. "Only whacked those who asked for it. The others backed off right away—chickens. Then the guards broke in."

"How did it start?" Jeco asked. He knew that Dalian, short-tempered as he was, still wouldn't get in a fight for no reason.

"Well, they liked my jacket, you see." Dalian smirked in disdain. "One of them comes up to me, says, 'take your jacket off.' Just like that, as if I owe it to him. I explained that this kind of a tone does not work with me. And told him what will happen if he tries again. He didn't believe me. Called two other fellows—three against one. That got me. You know I hate it—if you want to fight, fight like a man!... So I whacked them, sent those two flying, one to the left, another one to the right. And the first one—the one who'd started it—got away and tried to sneak up on me from behind. Well, you know me: I can't stand such things. If I was just a little angry before, now he made me mad. So I let him think that I didn't see him, and when he was about to jump at me, turned around and knocked him down. I guess that was the only good blow, I mean, the real one. The guy went over his head, hit the floor, and spat out two teeth. The rest of them fellows figured they'd better stay away. I turned to them; 'Well? Who else has got extra teeth? Come here, I'll take them all out for you, free of charge!'"

Jeco couldn't hold back a smile—even here in jail Dalian still spoke in his original manner. The soldier standing at the door chuckled as well.

"But, no, none of them wanted to mess with me anymore," Dalian continued. "Then, as I said, the guards broke in, and that was the end of it." He paused, sighed and looked at the boy. "I know you'll disapprove... Well, maybe you're right, maybe I should've kept myself in check. But I had to teach them a lesson!"

"This time, we're both guilty," Jeco said, grinning. "I got in a fight, too. And then into the basement."

Dalian jumped at that. "You?!"

"Yes, me... Well, what are you staring at? Yes, I got in a fight. Even had to call for the physician later—hit one fellow too hard."

"You?!" Dalian repeated, unable to find any other words.

They heard footsteps in the corridor.

"Quiet! On your feet!" the soldier barked and saluted.

Dalian and Jeco rose from their bench. Two men silently entered the hall. One of them wore a long black and white mantle that gave him a strict, formal look. The judge, Jeco thought.

Confirming his guess, the man in the mantle proceeded to the table and lowered himself into the tall chair. The other man, carrying a stack of papers and a quill, took his place at a small desk Jeco hadn't noticed before.

For a few moments the judge silently studied Dalian and Jeco from the height of his chair, probably comparing his first impression with what he'd just read in the captain's report; or perhaps he was just taking some time to let them feel his power. Jeco was looking into the judge's impenetrable face, trying to determine what they could expect from this man who now held their fate in his hands. Will he search for the truth? Is he going to let them speak for themselves? Will he listen to them and believe their explanation? Jeco knew circumstances were against them and there was little hope of things turning out well, but still...

"Well, Tarres and Veligor," the judge spoke at last, his voice cold and formal just like his appearance. "Your case seems rather clear to me, even though at first it might look somewhat complicated."

"We're not guilty," Dalian cut in.

The judge smirked at that. "Of course not. That's the first thing you normally say—all of you who get here. I've been dealing with one fellow not long ago, he'd killed two people in front of a dozen witnesses; imagine that, he also told me he wasn't guilty."

"But it's true!" Dalian insisted. "I can explain everything—"

"You will have a chance to speak," the judge nodded, "But not now. First, I would like to ask our clerk to read the report provided by the captain who had arrested you."

The clerk rose and unfolded the paper he held ready.

"Dalian Veligor, age 28, and Jecosan Tarres, age 12, were arrested today, on July 24th, at two in the afternoon, at the inn called 'Traveler's Rest' under the following circumstances. Above mentioned Veligor had contacted the fourth army unit of the city of Gver with a complaint. He claimed that he got robbed last night at the inn by a group of unknown vagrants. During the inspection of the crime scene and witness interrogation, a pair of expensive leather boots was found in Veligor's possession, stolen a month ago from a merchant named Tagaran during a robbery (a copy of the description and confiscated boots attached). The explanation provided by Veligor was usual for such cases—he claimed that he had bought the boots at some market, not knowing that they were stolen. As Veligor did not have any proof of that, both him and Tarres were immediately arrested and taken to the central prison of the city of Gver as suspects in robbery or trading stolen goods. During the arrest, Veligor's behavior was extremely disrespectful and aggressive. He showed resistance repeatedly all the way to the prison, forcing the soldiers to have their weapon ready."

The clerk finished reading.

"Half of it is not true!" Dalian declared.

"Really?" The judge's eyes narrowed. "Which one? Keep in mind, I can invite here the captain and both soldiers and verify anything you tell me."

"Get them in here, let's see what they say! 'Showed resistance'—that's a lie. Had I shown resistance, I wouldn't be standing here! As to the soldiers, they did grab their swords all the time, but that's because they kept yelling at me, and I didn't want to put up with that!"

"I see... I guess that confirms the 'extremely disrespectful and aggressive' part."

"No, it doesn't!" Dalian stubbornly shook his head. "Them soldiers were disrespectful and aggressive, and I was just getting back at them!"

Oh, Dalian, Dalian! You're gonna cause trouble again! Jeco thought, getting worried.

He decided to interfere. "Excuse me, Your Honor, may I say something?"

"Wait, Tarres!" the judge ordered, not even looking at him. "Well, Veligor," he continued, "are you going to hold on to your pathetic story that you didn't know anything and bought those boots at the market?"

"Yes, I am, because it's no story, it's the truth!"

"That's strange. I thought you'd use the time you spent here to make up a better one. Well, since you haven't, listen to me carefully and think well. You got caught, and things do not look good for you. The only way you can help yourself is to confess. So you'd better tell me yourself how it all had happened, and name your accomplices."

Dalian squared his shoulders. "I don't have any accomplices! I am no thief, I'm an honest blacksmith—and if you don't like this truth, I don't have any other!"

"Don't you forget where you are!" the judge raised his voice. "Behave, if you don't want to rot in jail for the rest of your life! What are you hoping for? You think you can fool me with this childish story of yours? I've dealt with hundreds of criminals, much smarter than you, and I see right through it: you're new in this robbery business, and you've messed up because of your lack of experience. If you knew that most stolen goods have a detailed description, you wouldn't touch those boots, or you'd try to get rid of the special marking. But, no, you had no idea—that's why you got caught!"

"Baloney!" Dalian shouted, indignant.

Oh, what is he doing?! Jeco grabbed his friend's arm. Dalian shook his hand off, irritated, but didn't say anything else. Jeco saw the judge's face redden with anger, and he thought it was over—they crossed the line, made the judge mad; now he'll stop the questioning and sentence them to the worst thing he can find in his books...

But for some reason the judge didn't.

"Well-well..." he spoke slowly, staring them down. "I see you can't wait to go behind bars, Veligor. And you will get what you deserve, don't you worry." The judge turned to Jeco. "Now, speak, Tarres. Let's see what you have to say."

Jeco stepped forward.

"First of all, Your Honor, I would like to apologize for my friend's emotional tone," he spoke, carefully weighing his every word, "caused, no doubt, by all the pressure of what we have been through and where we find ourselves now. Our situation is difficult, and we understand it well. The circumstances are against us, both before and after the arrest. We did buy those boots, having no idea that they were stolen, but we can't prove it because we bought them very far away, in Chegmer, and the proof, if any, is all there. After the arrest, during our short stay in prison, we both managed to get in a fight, which I assume Your Honor is already informed about and which doesn't serve us well, either.

"Therefore, I would like to ask Your Honor to take a closer look at our case and consider one thing that can serve as an indirect, yet significant proof of our innocence: we had called for the soldiers ourselves. I don't think we would do that if we had committed a crime. Moreover, I don't think my friend would wear those boots and let the soldiers see them."

As he spoke, Jeco watched the judge's eyebrows go up, and the clerk's jaw go down. The boy did not know what to think of it and only hoped that he hadn't said anything he wasn't supposed to—but the judge was not interrupting him, so Jeco continued.

"If I was allowed to give recommendations, I would suggest that Your Honor invites here the captain and asks him for more specific details of the arrest—particularly, how Dalian Veligor acted when the boots were found. I am sure the captain would remember that Dalian gave the boots to the soldiers himself, willingly, certain that it wasn't the stolen pair. He wanted the soldiers to check the boots out; he had no doubt that they did not have the markings."

Jeco finished and glanced at Dalian; the blacksmith was looking at him with proud admiration.

It seemed that the speech had made a similar impression upon the judge as well.

"This is most unusual!" he exclaimed, forgetting his harsh, unfriendly manner. "Where did you learn to speak so well?"

Jeco smiled. "Thank you, Your Honor. I owe my modest education to my mother, one close friend of mine, and his books."

"What kind of books?" the judge asked, looking interested.

"All kinds, sir. He had a big library, it would take too much time to go through all the titles. I will only say that my favorite books to read were adventure and traveling stories—like the famous Traveler's Notes by Gallius. I liked books on history, too; of those, I most enjoyed Knights Lives and Legends. The library also had all kinds of ancient chronicles and geographical descriptions; many of those I found interesting as well. Poetry is probably the only genre that was in short supply—my teacher thought that poetry was getting too shallow nowadays. But he still owned some of the classics, and I spent many hours studying Reflections of Belleran."

The judge listened intently, the expression of astonishment deepening on his face; yet a sparkle of disbelief flashed in his eyes at Jeco's last words.

"How could you read Belleran? His poetry is in Bergalian, and none of it has been translated so far."

"I have to admit it was difficult," Jeco nodded, "especially when I first started. I'm not that good at Bergalian. But Shaledan, my teacher, said that poetry helps a lot to improve your understanding of a foreign language—and he was right."

The judge exchanged looks with his clerk. "I'd like to hear it, Tarres. Recite something for me."

I should've known, Jeco thought, kicking himself for mentioning Belleran. He never made it a point to memorize poetry.

He tried to concentrate; bits and pieces of Bergalian phrases span in his head, slipping away and refusing to come together. He knew well that if he now failed to remember at least a couple of lines, the judge would think he lied to him—and then nothing would save their case... Fortunately, one of his favorite passages had finally come to his mind.

######

What is our life? A song of many verses,

Each song is different, yet the end is same...

But is it truly end—the end we are aware of?

What is behind the grave? What kind of song or game?

######

Having finished the passage, Jeco looked at the judge. The man gazed at him, totally perplexed, slowly rubbing his chin with his hand.

"Well, Tarres..." He didn't finish, thinking.

"Come on now, that's enough playing school!" Dalian cut in impatiently. "Let's get back to our case!"

The judge cast an irritated look at him.

"I just don't understand, Tarres, how you could get involved with this brute."

And then, in a second, Dalian ruined everything Jeco worked so hard to achieve—the judge's softened attitude, the first glimpse of trust on his part, perhaps even some sympathy...

"Brute yourself!" Dalian yelled.

The judge jumped up from his chair, furious.

"What?! Guards! Take them out of here, now! Leave Tarres to wait in the corridor, but this one—this one belongs in the basement!"

Soldiers ran into the hall, grabbed both prisoners and dragged them away. Jeco was thrown on some stool in the corridor as Dalian, shouting and fighting back, was being pushed further, to the stairs. The boy wearily leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. He sat like that for a long time, his head and heart empty, infrequent prison sounds barely getting through to him—a squeak of a door, someone's hoarse voice, heavy footsteps of the guards... Then somebody shook him by the shoulder.

"Hey, you! Are you sleeping or what? Get up."

Jeco was taken to the court hall again; Dalian, his face dark and grim, was already there. Jeco saw that his hands were tied behind his back—Dalian must have kept causing trouble. The judge was still in his chair; not looking up at the prisoners, he nodded to the clerk.

"Announce the verdict."

The clerk rose and cleared his throat. "Dalian Veligor, age 28, and Jecosan Tarres, age 12, are found guilty of being involved in robbery..."

"What?!" Dalian yelled. "And how do you prove that?!"

"Stop it, Veligor!" the judge ordered.

But Dalian was mad, and he wasn't going to stop. "You don't have the right!" he raged. "Where's the evidence?! Witnesses?! Victims?!"

The judge motioned to the guards; the soldiers seized Dalian and made him sit down.

"Shut up if you want to live!" one of them hissed. "You're not a suspect anymore, you're a convict, and your life isn't worth half a copper!"

"Read on," the judge ordered.

The clerk straightened his glasses and continued. "Dalian Veligor, as obvious instigator, is sentenced to six months of work in the iron mines of Gver. Taking into consideration some mitigating circumstances, Jecosan Tarres is sentenced to one month of work in the same mines."

Dalian ignored the warning and started shouting again; the soldiers snatched their swords, the scowls on their faces leaving no doubts that they would not hesitate to use them.

"Take them away!" the judge snapped, irritated, clearly hurrying to get it over with.

Looks like they did manage to stop me... Jeco thought hopelessly.

A soldier's rough hand grabbed the back of his collar. Feeling a sudden burst of anger, Jeco broke free and looked the guard straight in the eye.

"Thank you, but I can walk on my own."

That baffled the soldier, so much that he neither yelled nor punched the boy. Jeco headed to the door. Before he stepped out of the hall, he glanced back and caught the judge looking at him—but the judge quickly averted his eyes.

Back in the cell number fourteen Jeco was met with timid, respectful silence. His blows seemed to have impressed these guys; besides, no one questioned Dalian's existence anymore, as his violent temper had already become the primary subject of talks of both guards and prisoners.

The red-haired guy had come to his senses; his face was swollen, the split lip still bled. To Jeco, it felt strange and unpleasant to know that he was the one who did it, his hand caused all this pain and blood. When he saw Jeco, the redhead slowly climbed to his feet and approached, leaning against the wall for balance.

"Sorry for the trouble," he grunted, his eyes full of hate, and handed Jeco his pouch.

Jeco took it and put it back on his belt. "I'm sorry, too. I didn't mean to hit you so hard. I don't fight very often."

The redhead glanced at him with disbelief and even more hate, but said nothing.

Jeco went to the corner and lowered himself on the straw. No one dared to bother him till the morning.

######

***

#### Chapter 7

[Back to Table of Contents]

######

Two brawny soldiers were assigned to escort Dalian and Jeco to the Gverian mines. Dalian's hands were tied behind his back again—he now had a strong reputation as a dangerous rebel. The prisoners waited at the barred door as the old registrar was marking something in his books and papers.

Having caught a moment when the soldiers were not looking, Dalian turned to Jeco

"Listen carefully," he said in a quick whisper, "we've got to run, and we've got to do it now, on the way there. There won't be another chance. Everyone says there's no escape from the mines. They've got far more guards over there than here in prison."

Oh, what a reckless fellow! Jeco thought, shaking his head.

"We can't run away," he said, "don't even think about it."

"Why is that?!" Dalian demanded. "We're not guilty!"

Jeco looked him in the face. "You know why. Going against the king's authority is a crime."

"But why should we serve the term we did nothing to deserve?!" Dalian insisted. "Can you explain that to me?"

Jeco sighed. He knew that Dalian had his own concept of justice, and it was always difficult to explain things to him.

But the blacksmith would not let it go. "Why?" he demanded again.

"If nothing else, because as runaway prisoners we won't be allowed near the palace," Jeco replied.

That only made Dalian angrier. "There goes your palace again! They won't let you come near it anyway, don't you understand?! You're a convict, you're charged with robbery!"

The soldiers heard something. "Hey, you two—be quiet! No whispering!"

Dalian grew silent and looked away, irritated.

The old registrar was finally done with his papers. The guards unlocked the door and ordered Dalian and Jeco to go outside. In the yard, one of the soldiers regarded Dalian's impressive figure and drew out his sword.

"Try running away and you're dead. Got it?"

Dalian didn't respond, only looked him over with open contempt. The soldier, who seemed to fear the big prisoner even with his hands tied, did not repeat his question. Having replaced his sword, he turned to Jeco and pushed him with his fist.

"That applies to you as well."

Dalian dashed forward and almost knocked the soldier over with his wide chest. "Don't you touch him!"

The soldier's face twisted with rage as he grabbed his sword again. "Shut up!"

Jeco stepped forward and stood between the two of them. "I won't run away," he said, looking in the guard's face.

"You better not," the soldier snarled, sheathing his sword.

They passed the prison gate—first one of the soldiers, then Dalian, then Jeco, and then the other soldier—and in that order started walking down the street. City folk stopped to gawk at the prisoners, pointing and whispering among themselves. Some attempted to find out from the guards what they were arrested for, others laughed and mocked—but not for long: one hard look from Dalian was enough to cut the laughing short.

Jeco did not see much of it. He walked along looking straight ahead—he had nothing to be ashamed of and no reason to hold his head down—but saw little of what was around him, thinking only about two things, over and over again: where was poor Gart, and what was going to happen to the mission the heavens had sent him to. The elgur had given him only two weeks for a reason. You can leave earlier than that, if you wish, he had said, but not later. Under normal circumstances, the way from Chegmer to the capital city would have taken about two weeks as well; so one month after he spoke to the elgur Jeco was supposed to be at the palace... And now he was getting stuck in the mines for another month. This was bad, very bad. All kinds of things can happen during that time.

The way to the Gverian mines turned out to be very short. They left the city and soon stopped at a deep canyon on the right side of the road. Down below, they could see piles of rock, countless shafts and pits and a few long barracks, all that surrounded by high walls. The sound of numerous picks and hammers crushing stone was coming out of the shafts, filling the air with hollow rumble.

"You go first," one of the soldiers ordered to Dalian, stepping aside.

Dalian started making his way down the narrow path, carefully choosing each step.

"Would you please untie him, sir?" Jeco asked. "It's hard for him to keep his balance."

"Yeah, right!" the soldier sneered. "So that he'd slit our throats and take off!"

"We won't run away, I give you my word."

"His word!" the soldier burst into laughter. "Did you hear that? He gives us his word!"

The other soldier laughed Jeco in the face, too. The boy realized that he had to use a different approach.

"What if he falls and gets killed?" he asked. "The mines overseer will not be happy about losing such a strong worker. He will complain to the prison warden, and perhaps to the judge."

That got the soldiers' attention and put an end to their amusement.

"The brat's right," one of them grumbled. "Go untie him."

"Go yourself!" the other returned. "Why me?"

The first soldier grinned. "Scared?"

"Scared yourself!... Let the kid do it."

Taking that as permission, Jeco ran up to Dalian and grabbed the rope on his wrists.

"Now, don't do anything stupid—I gave my word," he whispered.

"Hey, you!" one of the soldiers shouted, drawing his sword. "You'll be untied so that you can make your way down. But you better think twice before you play any tricks! You hear me?"

"I do hear you," Dalian replied, scoffing. "Can I borrow your sword to cut the ropes?"

"Is that all you want?" the soldier smirked. "Or maybe you also want me to bow my head for you, so that you'd chop it off easier?"

"No need for that. I'd manage without your help."

"What?!" Furious, the soldier started toward Dalian, but at that moment Jeco had prevailed over the tight knot and jerked the rope off.

"Boo!" Dalian yelled, throwing his arms up.

The brave soldier dashed away, tripped and tumbled down on the dusty road. His sword quietly slid down the slope and stopped right at Jeco's feet.

In the first second, neither Dalian nor the soldier realized what had happened. Dalian laughed, the soldier floundered about, entangled in his cloak, trying to get up.

"You idiot!" the older soldier yelled, backing off. He stood higher than the rest of them and saw everything.

Jeco picked up the sword and came up to the fallen soldier, still on the ground and still oblivious to having lost his weapon. When he heard his partner's panicking shout, the soldier quickly looked up—and saw Jeco standing over him with the sword in his hand. The soldier's face turned white with horror.

Jeco handed the blade to him. "Your sword, sir."

The soldier stared at the boy, his eyes wild, and did not dare to take the sword, suspecting a trick. Jeco laid it down on the ground and stepped aside. From behind, he'd heard Dalian's agitated whisper, "Oh, why did you do that?! Who would have dreamed of a better—"

The blacksmith didn't finish.

"Hey! What's going on down there?" someone's bold voice came from the road.

Jeco looked up. A captain of the king's guard stood there, hands on his hips. One after another, a dozen soldiers joined him.

Dalian gave a quiet whistle.

"That fool dropped his sword, and the lad here picked it up and gave it back to him!" the other soldier shouted back.

"How did you drop your sword, you sluggard?" the captain demanded.

"That big fellow scared the daylights out of him!" the soldier readily explained, pointing at Dalian. "He goes—'Boo!' —so this one freaked out, and lost the sword!"

That brought a gale of laughter from the patrol squad.

Ashamed, the other soldier glared at Dalian and at his partner, but said nothing.

"Quiet!" the captain ordered, trying to hide his own smile and obviously intending to continue the questioning.

But his men couldn't help it, they were doubling over with laughter, pushing each other and pointing at the unfortunate soldier and at Dalian.

Hoofbeats sounded from the road, barely audible through all this noise, and a beautiful carriage drove out from behind the curve, carried by four purebred yellow horses. The carriage stopped, a richly dressed servant jumped off the footboard and courteously opened the door. The laughter broke off abruptly as everyone noticed a crest on the side of the carriage.

The captain barked out an order, and soldiers snapped to attention.

Leaning on a walking stick, a fine white-haired gentleman stepped out of the carriage, wearing an elegant traveling suit and a rather simple cloak that did not have much decoration—unlike the servant's coat, embroidered in gold all over. Yet, one look at the two and you knew who was the lord and the master.

This was the second time Jeco saw a lord face to face, counting young Veres, and now he knew that Veres had a long way to go to grow up to his title. He played with it as if with another expensive toy—but this was a true lord, his very posture full of unquestionable dignity, the dignity that comes from within and speaks for itself, needing no other proof.

The lord regarded the scene in front of him. "What is going on here, officer?"

The captain bowed. "I have been just trying to find that out, Your Lordship. My squad and I were on our way back to town, and we heard shouting. Sometimes prisoners who are being taken to the mines attempt to run away here at this spot, so I decided to go and check. It turns out that these two soldiers, indeed, were escorting prisoners, and what they are telling me is rather confusing. According to them, one of the prisoners—that one over there—had suddenly yelled at the soldier and scared him so much that the soldier fell down and dropped his sword. And the other one, the boy, picked up that sword and returned it." The captain turned to the first soldier. "Is that right?"

"Yes, sir," the soldier confirmed. "Exactly."

"This is most interesting," the lord mused, shifting his keen gaze to Dalian and Jeco. "And the prisoners do not seem to have any objections. I take it you are in agreement? Is that the way it all happened?"

"Yes, Your Lordship," Dalian nodded.

"And why did you attack the soldier?" the lord addressed him. "Did you want to escape?"

"No, sir," Dalian replied. "I didn't attack, I just wanted to teach him a lesson. You see, he kept yelling at us, all the time. Punched the boy for no reason at all. But I saw that he's afraid of me, even with my hands tied back! So I booed him when I was untied. I didn't know that he's such a jumpy fellow, without a sense of humor."

Other soldiers started choking with laughter again, barely holding it back in the lord's presence.

"Who untied him and why?" the nobleman kept questioning.

"I did, Your Lordship," Jeco said. "So that he could keep his balance when going down. "I asked for permission first, and the guard had allowed me."

The lord looked at the first soldier as if asking for confirmation.

"That's right, sir," the soldier nodded.

The lord's eyes turned to Jeco again. "Come here, young man."

Jeco climbed up the slope and onto the road.

"What is your name?" the lord asked.

"Jecosan Tarres, Your Lordship."

"So you picked up the sword?"

"Yes. It slid down the trail right to me."

"You got very lucky. Why didn't you use such a chance and returned the sword instead of hitting the soldier and running away?"

"Because I am not a killer or robber, Your Lordship," Jeco replied.

"Is that so? And what did you get arrested for?"

"Robbery, sir!" the soldier cut in, laughing.

Other soldiers found that very funny as well and joined him.

Jeco was not a bit embarrassed. He turned to the soldiers, waited for the laughter to subside and calmly said, "I believe His Lordship's question was addressed to me."

The nobleman raised his eyebrows. "Hm! Bravo, Jecosan Tarres; this was a commendable way to respond. Well, answer my question now, if you will."

"We were indeed charged with robbery, Your Lordship, because a pair of stolen boots was found in our possession. The judge did not believe us that we had bought those boots at the market."

"And did you really buy them?"

"I bought them, sir." Dalian sighed. "Foolishly. I did see that they were too cheap, and yet... It's all my fault. The boy tried to talk me out of it, but I didn't listen."

"I see he's a fine boy," the lord noted. "How are you two related?"

"We're almost brothers," Dalian replied after some thought.

"What do you mean by 'almost'?"

"He's an orphan, Your Lordship. I hired him about three years ago to help me in the smithy—I'm a blacksmith. Well, and now we're like family."

"A blacksmith, you say? Do you live here in the area?"

"No, sir. We are from Chegmer."

"Chegmer! That's a long way off. What are you doing here?"

"We were on our way to Kanavar, I wanted to get a job over there. Stopped at that inn for a night and got robbed. I called for soldiers... well, then those accursed boots turned up."

The lord was thinking about something, his hand resting on the carriage door.

"Well, gentlemen," he spoke quietly, still in thought. "I wish I knew that you're telling the truth..."

No one heard these words except for Jeco who stood right next to the lord. But the boy didn't say anything; he could not prove that he wasn't lying.

Suddenly, the lord bent toward him and looked him straight in the eye. "Now tell me something: didn't you return the sword because you saw the patrol squad coming and realized that you had no chances to run away?"

"No, Your Lordship," Jeco firmly replied. "I did not see the squad. I gave the sword back, and then the captain showed up and called for us from the road."

"Is that so?" the lord inquired, glancing at the captain.

"Yes, Your Lordship," the captain confirmed. "When I came up to look, the soldier already had his sword back."

The lord thought some more. "Let me see the verdict."

One of the soldiers escorting Dalian and Jeco opened his small leather bag and pulled out a folded paper. The lord opened it.

"Let's see here. '...found guilty of being involved in robbery...' Hm, that's a rather strange definition... All right... 'sentenced to six months of work in the iron mines... mitigating circumstances... sentenced to one month...' Very interesting."

He folded the paper and returned it to the soldier. "Well, Jecosan Tarres. It is not in my power to release you. Besides, I will not stay here for long, I am leaving tonight. I can promise you only one thing: I will send my servant to investigate your case, and then have him come to the mines and check on you. If you work and behave well, then after the month you are sentenced to my servant will take you from here and bring you to my house; I should be in Kanavar at that time. Then we shall talk some more. What do you say to that?"

Jeco gave a respectful bow. "Thank you, Your Lordship. Your generous offer is a great honor for me. But, if I may ask, what about Dalian?"

The lord smiled. "Your vociferous friend will have to serve his term as well. But good blacksmiths are always in demand, especially in the capital city." He turned to Dalian. "So if you are indeed a good blacksmith, I believe we will find you some work. Come to Kanavar when you are released and find me there. My name is Agassar Dallin. But, please, don't you scare me like that: I'm an old man, and my nerves are not so good as they used to be."

Soldiers burst out laughing again. Embarrassed, Dalian did not find any words and thanked the lord with a deep bow.

"That seems to be all for now," Lord Agassar said. "Farewell, gentlemen."

He returned into his carriage. The servant, who remained silent and motionless all this time standing at his master's side, closed the door for him and quickly climbed back on the footstep.

"Let's go," the lord ordered, and the carriage rolled away.

For a few moments Jeco, Dalian, and soldiers just stood there, following it with their eyes.

"Well, fellows," the captain spoke when the carriage had disappeared behind the turn. "You got lucky today, very lucky. Lord Agassar Dallin himself has taken interest in you!... Do you have any idea of who this man is?"

Dalian and Jeco exchanged looks. They never heard the name before.

"No, sir," Jeco replied.

"Of course not, that's what I thought." The captain sighed, shaking his head. "Will anyone tell me why good fortune always chooses fools?... All right, I'll tell you, since you're so lucky today. Lord Agassar selects people for the king's service. To the palace, you hear me?"

Jeco jumped at the words. "The king's palace?!"

The captain laughed good-naturedly. "Now you're talking!... Yes, I have to admit I envy you to a certain extent."

"That can be helped, officer," Dalian smiled. "I am ready to trade places with you and let you have my six months of work in the mines."

At some other time the captain might have considered such boldness insulting, but now he only laughed again. "Thanks a lot! That's very kind of you. Yet, I don't relish the prospect of spending half a year in the mines under Mr. Shmag's gentle care—even with the hope of possibly getting to the palace added to it. Rather weak hope, I must say—Lord Agassar can easily forget about you. However, I still wish you luck."

The captain ordered his squad to fall in and, having jokingly saluted Jeco, headed to town. One of the soldiers looked back and shouted, "Hey! Don't you drop your sword again! The lad can change his mind, you know, he won't give it back again!"

Roaring laughter came from the patrol squad marching away. The soldier to whom the remark was addressed bit his lip, but didn't say anything.

Dalian and Jeco started making their way down the trail. Soldiers followed in silence, not hurrying them and not even trying to stop their quiet talk.

"Wow, buddy!" Dalian whispered. "I'd never believe this kind of things can happen! As if—as if indeed the heavens themselves had arranged it all! When you gave that sword back to him, I almost yelled at you—what are you doing, there won't be such a chance again!... And then in the next moment the whole squad shows up. You know I am no coward, but my heart sank when I saw them. Had we run... We both would be dead now. And then, when the lord's carriage stopped—that was just a miracle!"

"Now, think for yourself," Jeco said, "whether all this was just a coincidence or not."

"I'll be honest with you: I don't know what to think," Dalian replied, shaking his head. "I'm almost ready to believe in your elgurs."

######

***

######

They went down to the canyon and approached the huge metal gate. One of the soldiers knocked, and a small window opened through which the gate-keeper peered before letting them in. Just like in prison, Jeco thought.

Once beyond the gate, Jeco saw long rows of barracks, and further away numerous shaft openings. Hundreds of workers bustled around them, some operating a winch, hoisting large, heavy iron boxes filled with ore, others carrying rocks. Here and there stood watchful guards wearing dark-gray uniforms and wide red belts. Each one of them had a horse whip in hand and a sword hanging on their belt. Jeco saw one of the workers throw down a full basket of rocks, refusing to carry it. A guard jumped up to him right away, the whip swished in the air; the worker jerked in pain and started picking the scattered rocks.

"It seems to me that these red belts are going to be hard to get along with," Dalian observed.

The soldiers took Dalian and Jeco to a small low building that stood near the gate. The prisoners stepped through the door and found themselves in a tiny room with a wide table taking half of the space. Several red-belts, as Jeco had already nicknamed them following Dalian's example, sat at the table playing dice.

"Is Mr. Shmag here?" one of the soldiers asked.

The men put aside their dice and looked the two prisoners over.

"Yes, he is," one of them said. "Come in. Brought us some new guys, huh?"

The soldier nodded and headed to the next room, but Mr. Shmag must have heard them—he came out of the door before the soldier could reach it. The mines overseer was a man of a low stature, but probably of remarkable physical strength, judging by his big shoulders and huge burly arms that suggested their possessor might have started his career in one of the shafts.

He gave Dalian and Jeco a quick, evaluating glance and frowned, clearly displeased. "Why on earth did they send me a kid? Don't they know what kind of people we need here?"

"That was the judge's decision," the soldier replied, pulling out the verdict.

"This one is fine, no problem," Mr. Shmag continued, pointing at Dalian. "But what am I supposed to do with the kid? Why should I waste food on him?!"

Jeco felt that Dalian was about to blurt something out, and hurried to step in.

"I'm not afraid of work," he said.

Mr. Shmag regarded him as if he didn't expect that the prisoners could talk. "Would you look at that!" He turned to the red-belts. "Did you hear?"

They chuckled, shaking their heads.

"Our work will kill you just in a couple of days!" Shmag continued. "Do you have any idea how much a pick or a hammer weighs? Or a basket of ore?"

"I used to be a blacksmith's apprentice," Jeco replied. "I haven't yet worked with a big sledgehammer, but if you have a smaller one, I'll handle it. I could carry ore, too."

The mines overseer looked puzzled. This had to be the first time he saw a prisoner who expressed a desire to work...

"Was he really a blacksmith's apprentice?" Mr. Shmag asked the soldiers.

"Yes," Dalian cut in. "He worked for me for three years."

Mr. Shmag regarded Dalian's athletic figure. "Yeah, you do look like a blacksmith. That's good—that means you're used to hard work."

He unfolded the verdict and started reading—with obvious difficulty, silently moving his lips. Suddenly, he burst out laughing. "Robbery! So you got tired of sweating in the smithy and decided to try something different! Not bad!"

"We're not proved guilty," Dalian said, scowling.

"That I don't care about," Mr. Shmag replied with a wide grin. "That's none of my business. My job is to keep you here and get the most out of you—which I'll do. So, here are the rules: work well and obey the guards if you don't want to taste their whips or go without food. Also, I would suggest that you waste no time thinking about escape—even if you do manage to get over the wall, we'll go after you and bring you back. Is everything clear?"

Mr. Shmag folded the verdict and tucked it into his pocket. "You can go now," he said to the soldiers.

They nodded and left. The one whose sword Jeco picked up stopped for a second and gave the boy a quick pat on the shoulder. Jeco looked around, but the soldier had already disappeared behind the door.

The mines overseer turned to the red-belts. "Stop playing your stupid game and get back to work! Take these fellows to Pit Five, show them what to do. Give a pick to the blacksmith, and let the kid carry ore. Find a smaller basket for him so that he wouldn't overstrain himself—I need him alive and well. I'll come and check when I'm done with the paperwork."

Two guards rose from the table and picked up their whips.

"What will their numbers be, sir?" one of them asked.

Mr. Shmag picked up a thick notebook, opened it and marked something with a pencil. "The blacksmith is forty-five, the kid's forty-six."

"Forty-five and forty-six, follow me!" the guard ordered, and they left the building.

Pit Five was one of the closest shafts. On the outside, it looked like a small cave, but when they entered it, Dalian and Jeco saw that the cave went far into the rocky hillside, expanding and getting deeper, with many tunnels branching out, poorly illuminated by the dim light of torches attached to the walls. All this brought to Jeco's mind stories he'd read about dark caverns with some kind of a treasure hidden in them. He sighed. Maybe pretending that he was in one of those stories would help him to serve his term...

The guards stopped at thick metal bars built into the stone walls at the entrance to one of the tunnels.

"Hey, Torbin!" the guard shouted, knocking at the bars with his whip handle. "I need uniforms and tools for these new fellows!"

Shuffling footsteps sounded from the other side, and Jeco saw a small man with a bunch of keys who unlocked the huge bolt, moved it and asked in an unexpectedly strong, deep voice, "How many?"

"Two," the guard replied. "Get me the biggest and the smallest size. As to the tools, bring a pick and a basket. Get several different baskets, I'll choose one myself."

Torbin nodded and, limping heavily, disappeared in his dark chamber. Having taken a closer look, Jeco noticed that it wasn't exactly a tunnel but more of a hall, obviously used as a storehouse.

Soon Torbin was back, carrying three baskets, a pick and a pile of clothes.

"Try this on."

He handed Jeco crude sackcloth pants and a shirt. Both turned out to be a little too big.

"Roll up your sleeves and pants," Torbin advised, looking him over. "I don't have anything smaller."

Dalian, on the contrary, barely managed to pull on the shirt, way too small for him, and tore it on the back as soon as he moved his shoulders.

"Where did you get these guys?!" Torbin exclaimed. "One is little, and the other is huge as a bull! How am I supposed to find clothes for them? Only if... Let's see, wait here for a minute."

The small man left, having remembered something. He returned in a few moments and handed Dalian a neatly folded shirt. "Here you go."

Dalian easily put the shirt on and moved his arms. "Just the right size."

"What kind of a shirt is that, Torbin?" one of the guards asked, seeing that the shirt was different from the regular uniform issued to workers. "Where did you get it?"

Torbin was silent for a moment, then smirked with a strange, bitter expression. "It's mine."

Dalian regarded the little man in disbelief. "Yours?"

"Yes, buddy," Torbin quietly said. "I used to have big shoulders, too."

He gave that painful smirk again and disappeared behind the bars.

"Hey! Torbin!" the guard yelled. "Where do you think you're going, you limping troll?! Who's gonna sew on the numbers?!"

The little man showed up again. "Take your shirts off," he said in a low voice, not looking up. "I need to stitch your numbers to them."

Something about this sudden change of his tone tugged at Jeco's heart. At that moment, Torbin reminded him of a tied beast, strong but helpless, who strains all his willpower to hold his rage, seeing that there is nothing he can do...

The guard took the shirts from the prisoners and threw them to Torbin. "Here. Their numbers are forty-five and forty-six. The kid's forty-six."

"Thanks, Torbin," Dalian said.

The little man who already started hobbling away turned around. "What for?" he scoffed. "For them numbers that will now replace your names?"

"No. For the shirt."

"Never mind," Torbin waved it off, "as you see, I don't need it anymore."

"That's enough of a chitchat!" the guard snapped impatiently. "Take your tools and follow me!"

He showed the basket to Jeco and motioned to the prisoners to proceed.

"What happened to that Torbin guy?" Dalian asked.

"Questions are not allowed here," the other guard cut off. "Keep your mouth shut."

Dalian and Jeco were taken to the very heart of the shaft where several dozen workers were crushing stone under the watchful eye of just as many red-belts. The unceasing din here was so great that in a couple of minutes Jeco felt like his head was swelling.

The two prisoners were separated: Dalian was sent to work deep in a tunnel, and Jeco joined other carriers after getting brief instructions from the guard.

"See this?" the red-belt asked, pointing at a huge pile of iron ore. "All that needs to be taken out of here. Go ahead."

Jeco started loading his basket with pieces of ore that looked very much like dark rocks, but had soft metallic gleam which Jeco found fascinating—he'd never seen ore before. He filled the basket, put his arms through the straps as he saw other men do and lifted it to his shoulders. The basket didn't seem to be much heavier than those he used to carry back home, in Chegmer. Jeco decided that he was going to make it and followed other carriers who walked in a lengthy line, slowly, laboriously moving their feet, bending under the heavy load. One after another they would disappear in a smaller tunnel on the right and then return with their baskets empty.

Jeco, too, headed to that smaller tunnel. It turned out to be rather long, and at the other end of it the boy spotted a glimpse of sunlight. It got brighter as he went; soon Jeco saw that there was a hole in the ceiling through which a big iron box was being lowered from the outside, hanging on thick chains. Carriers emptied their baskets into that box, and when the box got full it was pulled back up. Jeco approached, too, took the basket off his back and poured the ore into the iron box.

"Hey, you! Where's your number?" one of the red-belts shouted, noticing him.

"It's being stitched on, sir," Jeco replied.

"I wonder when Torbin learns to get his job done in time," the guard grumbled. "He's gonna answer me for this. What's your number?"

"Forty-six. But it's not Torbin's fault—I am new, I just got here."

The whip cracked right at Jeco's feet. The boy didn't flinch, only looked at the small cloud of dust raised by the lash.

"Next time for real," the guard warned. "I did not ask you whose fault it was. And unless you are asked to speak, you'd better hold your tongue. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

Jeco picked up his basket and went back to the shaft. There he filled it again, lifted up and carried through the tunnel. Having reached the iron box, he poured the ore out once more and returned to the shaft again. Soon he had lost count of it and was no longer able to tell how many times he had made that trip and how many baskets he fetched.

Some time later Torbin found him. He brought the shirt with Jeco's number stitched both to front and back, made out of white strips of cloth. There was more light here in the shaft than near the storeroom, and Jeco got a better look of the little man. In fact, Torbin turned out to be not that little; his legs were crooked and his body bent to the right side which made him look smaller, but one could see that he used to be well-built and still had bigger arms and hands than someone of a medium stature. If straightened up, indeed, he would have been not much shorter than Dalian. Jeco tried not to stare, yet he wanted to see the man's face—but Torbin kept looking down. Jeco couldn't tell whether he did that on purpose or because his deformed shoulder would not allow him to lift his head.

"Nobody intercedes here for others, forty-six," Torbin quietly said as the boy was putting the shirt on. "It only makes it worse, both for yourself and for the other guy. Do you understand?"

Jeco looked at him, refusing to believe. "What?... Did I get you in trouble with what I said?"

"Not too much of trouble..." Torbin rolled up his sleeve and showed a fresh red mark on his arm. "Just so that you know how it works here."

"He whipped you!" Jeco gasped. "I'm sorry, Torbin! I had no idea—"

"It's all right," Torbin said, putting the sleeve down. "No big deal."

"You need to bandage it up. Do you have a clean piece of cloth?"

"Bandage up!" Torbin scoffed. "I've got no time to treat every scratch."

He looked away, and Jeco saw a deep scar on his cheek.

A guard was approaching them. Torbin took the boy by the shoulder, turned him around and straightened the shirt on his back, pretending to be checking the number. The guard gave them a stern look and passed by.

"What's your name, forty-six?" Torbin quietly asked.

"Jeco."

"Oh, buddy..." the man shook his head. "How in the world did you wind up here?... Well, get back to work now. Be careful with those shoulder straps: put them on a different spot each time if you don't want to ruin your shoulders."

He turned around and hobbled away. Jeco stood there, watching him leave, until he got yelled at by one of the red-belts. The boy filled his basket and joined the line of carriers again.

######

***

#### Chapter 8

[Back to Table of Contents]

######

Thus began Jeco's life in Gverian mines. Each morning he was brought to the shaft with the rest of the workers, and, to the amazement of red-belts and Mr. Shmag, he carried his basket just like any other man, without stumbling or falling or giving the guards any reasons to use their whips. The work was hard and monotonous, but Jeco was doing well, and although by the end of the day he was exhausted he did his best to hide it. On the second day the basket straps started cutting into his shoulders. Following Torbin's advice, Jeco tried not to wear them on the same place, moving them closer to the neck or setting far apart each time he would get a new load, but this wasn't doing much good, and after a while his shoulders were hurting no matter where the straps were. Unexpectedly, Torbin helped again: having caught a moment when red-belts were not around, he quickly approached and stuck into Jeco's hands a wide piece of leather with a half-circle cutout in the middle.

"Put it on, under your shirt, so that nobody can see. If other guys see it, they'll want to know where you got it—or they'll just tell the guards, and then you know how it's going to end."

That leather collar saved the boy's shoulders. Now they were well protected and did not feel the straps, which even made the basket seem lighter.

Dalian worked in the very depths of the shaft, and Jeco did not get to see him much. Out of precaution they were placed to live in different barracks, so they would only meet at lunch, and if they managed to sit next to each other they could have a short talk. Dalian got whipped on the very first day—exactly what Jeco was afraid of, knowing his rampant temper. Strong and fearless, Dalian did not want to put up with the rude guards. Shortly after he was assigned to his place of work he started wrangling with them, and when he got lashed for that he hurled aside his pick and threw himself at the guards. Before anyone could blink he knocked two of them down, but other red-belts came running to their aid; they all pounced on Dalian and seized him. After more whipping Dalian was put in irons. Now he went to work dragging heavy leg chains.

"Dalian, please, try to control yourself!" Jeco pleaded when he saw him. "I don't want them to beat you!"

"Let them try!" Dalian replied with a dark smirk.

"They've got swords," Jeco reminded.

"And I've got my pick! Which I am going to use next time..."

"Dalian, they can kill you. I heard that it happens here. If you don't care what happens to you, then would you please think about me and grandma Shanita? Do you want me to have to tell her that her son was killed in the mines?"

Dalian looked away and said nothing.

As time went by, Jeco learned more about the rules and the life here. There were two kinds of workers in the mines: hired men and convicts sent from the prison, with not much of a difference between the two. Hired workers lived in a separate barrack and wore black numbers; they were being paid for their work, but the guards treated them no better than convicts, watching their every step and whipping them mercilessly for every little fault. These workers were being hired for a certain time, and they had no right to quit before it was over. Sometimes they couldn't take it any longer and tried to run away; in that case, they were pursued, caught and punished just like escaped prisoners, and then, shackled with leg chains, forced to work for the rest of their term.

Both types of workers treated Dalian and Jeco with caution. Anything that happened in the mines would somehow immediately make its way to all barracks and shafts and become known both to workers and Mr. Shmag with his red-belts. Thus, on the very first day everybody knew that the two newcomers were here for robbery, that forty-six dared to speak up for Torbin, and forty-five had attacked the guards. Dalian and Jeco got the reputation as dangerous, reckless fellows. On the one hand, it served them well—other convicts, pretty rough guys for the most part, did not want to mess with them; but, on the other hand, the red-belts watched them vigilantly.

Everyone in the mines feared Mr. Shmag. He had the absolute power here and did whatever he pleased; even the red-belts did not dare to disagree with him. The overseer daily checked all the shafts, showing up unexpectedly here and there and using his huge fists without much hesitation. So far, Jeco was fortunate not to incur his anger; forty-six was working well, and Mr. Shmag received no complaints about him.

With time, Jeco found out from other workers how Torbin got maimed. He used to be one of the best hammerers, but several years ago one of the shafts had collapsed; Torbin was in the shaft, and he had almost every bone broken. He survived, but he couldn't handle a hammer or pick anymore, so he now worked at the storehouse for a miserable pay. He lived in a tiny room next to it, and he'd only leave the shaft late in the evening or at night. Jeco figured why: the poor cripple did not want to be seen in the daylight. His tragic story wouldn't leave Jeco's mind; the boy pitied Torbin and wished there was something he could do for him, apart from asking the heavens to heal his body and soul.

######

***

######

Lord Agassar Dallin did not forget his promise. Two weeks later, when Jeco had already served half of his term, a splendid young man dressed in a green velvet coat with high collar, the kind that servants of noble homes often wear, knocked at the gate of the mines. The gateman, as usual, peered through his little window. The visitor solemnly announced that he arrived on the instruction of Lord Agassar Dallin and wished to speak to the mines overseer. The name of Lord Agassar threw the heavy gate open; the important guest was immediately taken to Mr. Shmag's. A few minutes later two red-belts rushed out of the office building and ran to Pit Five, looking for forty-six. Within moments, Jeco was found and delivered.

"Here he is, your Jecosan Tarres," Mr. Shmag said with unusual kindness when the boy stepped in. "Safe and sound. He works well and breaks no rules. You can relay that to His Lordship."

Jeco knew right away what it was all about, and his heart quickened.

The elegant young man looked him over with lively interest. "Good morning, Tarres. My name is Lagran, I have the honor of serving Lord Agassar Dallin."

"Good morning, Mr. Lagran. It is nice to meet you."

Jeco studied the lord's servant with just as much curiosity. He was young, almost too young to be called a man. To all appearances, he was recently hired by the lord and was still thrilled with his high position as well as his new velvet coat. For that reason he held his back remarkably straight and spoke with a special dignity, in a rather amusing way resembling his master, whom he obviously admired and unconsciously copied.

"I would like to talk to Mr. Tarres in private, if possible," Lagran said to the mines overseer.

Mr. Shmag scowled at that, but said nothing and left the room.

"Lord Agassar has assigned me to look into your case," Lagran continued. "I have met with the judge, talked to the captain who had arrested you, and visited the inn where you stayed—in other words, I've performed a thorough investigation and found out everything I could. From what I have learned, I conclude you are innocent, Tarres, in which case I am instructed to take you to Lord Agassar. Not right away though: it would take weeks, if not months, to officially prove your innocence and get you out of here. Since your sentence is not that big, I would suggest that you serve the rest of it, and then I will come and pick you up. When does your term end?"

"In two weeks and one day."

"That is, on the twenty-fifth," Lagran specified. "Do you know what time you will be released?"

"I think in the morning."

"Very well. So, on August twenty-fifth, at twelve in the afternoon, I will come here for you."

All this was hard to believe. Jeco was most amazed at the fact that this exquisite young man serving one of the most influential lords of the kingdom had done all that work because of him, an unknown convict, and was now talking to him in such a polite, respectful manner, as if he did not see the striking contrast between the two of them...

"Thank you, Mr. Lagran," the boy said. "I appreciate what you have done for me."

Lagran smiled. "I am only carrying out my lord's order."

"I still appreciate it. And would you please convey my sincere gratitude to Lord Agassar."

"I'd be happy to, but he is already in Kanavar. You will thank him yourself when we get there. So, I will see you on the twenty-fifth, at noon."

Lagran left, and right after he closed the door Mr. Shmag stormed in, furious.

"What kinda business have you got with Lord Agassar Dallin?!" he roared. "I will not tolerate any secrets!"

"I've got no secrets, Mr. Shmag," Jeco replied. "Lord Agassar is kindly helping me, that's all."

"Why is that?! How does he know about you?!"

"We accidentally met on the road when I was being taken here."

The overseer grabbed the boy's shirt collar and pulled him close. "Mind, forty-six: I'm going to check it all out."

Jeco endured his sharp, piercing stare. "Please, do, sir. I'm not in the habit of lying, and I don't want you to suspect me of something."

The answer seemed to satisfy Mr. Shmag, at least for the moment. He grumbled something else and let the boy go.

Jeco went back to work, thanking the heavens all the way to the shaft. Lord Agassar had not forgotten about him! This could turn things around. Yes, he had lost a month, but now the lord's carriage would take him to Kanavar in no time, and then—who knows?—perhaps Lord Agassar would give him a recommendation and help him to get to the palace.

######

***

######

The two remaining weeks dragged on slowly, but the work went easier—partly because Jeco had gotten used to it, partly because the thought of the soon-to-come release was strengthening him. The boy counted the days left until the twenty-fifth, celebrating each new day as another step toward freedom. He decided that he would go to the storeroom to say good-bye to Torbin, and try to find out if there was anything he could do for him: maybe find some friends of his, or get him some medicine—Torbin occasionally suffered from severe pain in his bones. Also, Jeco wanted to ask Torbin to look after Dalian. The boy was worried about his friend, whose temper did not get any softer. Dalian was getting more stiff and withdrawn each day, his eyes flashing angrily at the guards. Jeco was afraid that he had something on his mind, and most of all he feared that Dalian would follow his threat and attack the red-belts with the pick. This would be certain death for him. Jeco, of course, was aware that, should things go bad, poor crippled Torbin wouldn't be able to do much, but there was nobody else he could approach with such a request.

Finally, the twenty-fourth came—the last day before the release. Jeco left the barrack in the morning thrilled with the special feeling of having to go through all this routine for the last time. This is the last time he goes to breakfast and gets his regular share of tasteless porridge; he never figured what it was made of. Then he is brought to the shaft, and he carries his basket back and forth, again and again. Time crawls, as usual, and it seems that lunch hour will never come—but today, this never-ending work is not so exhausting, because it is happening for the last time. Then they are finally called to the dining hall, and the thought that this is his last lunch here makes it close to enjoyable. It is always easier to work after lunch, and time goes faster. Soon the long-awaited evening would come, and then Jeco would leave the shaft—forever. Tomorrow Lagran is going to come for him. Tomorrow he will be free. He should have enough time before noon to speak with Torbin; also, he had to see Dalian somehow. The red-belts most certainly wouldn't let them talk and bid farewell in a proper way, but at least he should wave to his friend, maybe shout something to him if he'd only see him from a distance...

Occupied with these thoughts, Jeco had missed the guard's shout. "Forty-six! Forty-six, I'm talking to you!"

The guard came close and pressed his whip handle to the boy's chest. "Are you deaf or what?! Go to Mr. Shmag's office, now!"

Jeco figured he was being summoned to get the paperwork ready for his release, so he ran to the office as fast as he could.

Mr. Shmag sat at his desk, with papers laid out in front of him. Jeco recognized his verdict among them.

"Forty-six here, sir!" he reported. "Did you call for me?"

"You wouldn't be here if I didn't," the overseer replied. He placed his incredibly huge fists on the desk and stared at the boy for a few moments without saying anything.

Jeco patiently waited.

"Here's the deal, forty-six," Mr. Shmag spoke at last. "Your term is over tomorrow. You have been working well, and I suggest you to stay as a hired man. Say, for another month or two, and then we'll see. I will transfer you to the other hired workers and give you a good pay. You'll be getting around one shemmel per week, plus food. How about that?"

Jeco didn't expect such a turn of events, and he felt some unclear danger. Mr. Shmag noticed his confusion and curved his lips in a contemptuous grin, obviously thinking that the boy was shocked by the sum.

"Thank you for the generous offer, Mr. Shmag," Jeco cautiously started, "but, unfortunately, I can't accept it. I've got one very important thing to take care of, and I must go to Kanavar as soon as I am released."

The overseer stopped grinning and now looked at the boy with suspicion and disbelief. "You're a sneaky fellow, forty-six... I see you've already checked the rates? And one shemmel a week isn't enough for you?" He slammed his fist at the table and yelled, "I bet you've never made that much in your life!"

Three guards rushed in from the other room, hearing him shout.

"Get out!" Shmag barked at them.

They backed away.

"You are right, Mr. Shmag, I've never made a whole shemmel per week before," Jeco said. "But it's not about money. I just can't stay."

"All right. I'll be paying you two shemmels."

"I really can't stay, sir," Jeco repeated, hoping the overseer would get it this time. "I'm sorry."

Mr. Shmag did get it. He frowned, narrowing his eyes, and then slowly said, "Well... If you don't wanna play nice, we're gonna play mean. Guards!"

Before Jeco could realize what the words meant he was in the guards' firm grip.

"Tie him well and don't take your eyes off him!" Mr. Shmag ordered.

"What are you doing?" Jeco muttered, refusing to believe it. "I have served my term!"

Shmag leaned forward and gave a sinister smile. "Yes, you have. And I'm going to send all the paperwork back to the judge, stating so. And you—you'll stay here and work, and nobody's ever going to know about it. Got it? Remember this well: I'm the boss here. Everything's being done my way."

He motioned to the guards, and they dragged Jeco away.

"Let me go!" the boy shouted, struggling to break free.

"After we find a nice rope for you. Now, be still!"

The red-belts brought him back to the shaft. Jeco stopped resisting, having decided to see what happens and think about his situation. The guards got a thick rope and tied it around Jeco's waist; one of them took the other end and looped it three times over his wrist. Then they found a place where the length of the rope would allow Jeco to work and handed the basket to him.

"Go ahead. Fill it up here—empty over there. Move it!"

Jeco started picking ore pieces. Well, he'd have to work for the rest of the day anyway—his term was not over until tomorrow. But it looked like tomorrow they were going to tie him again... He'd been working well, and Shmag decided to keep him here. What a nice reward! Yes, it's illegal—but what can he do? Nobody knows about it; the judge will be informed that the prisoner named Tarres has been released after serving his sentence... But Shmag doesn't know that tomorrow Lagran is coming for Jeco. Shmag would have no choice. Holding a poor unknown boy is one thing, but refusing to release someone wanted by Lord Agassar Dallin would be a totally different story... No, Shmag wouldn't dare.

So Jeco continued his work, comforted with the thought, smiling silently at what a big surprise was awaiting Mr. Shmag tomorrow. But the boy underestimated the man's pride and menace.

######

***

######

Soon the working day was over; Jeco was untied and taken to the dining hall with the rest of the workers. The boy saw that Dalian wanted to sit closer to him, but the red-belts did not let him, obviously afraid that Jeco would tell everything to his friend. That was a needless precaution; he was not going to do that. What's the use? Dalian would get mad, start raging again—only to get another whipping.

Sitting at the different ends of the large dining hall, Dalian and Jeco looked at each other. Dalian knew that the boy was being released tomorrow, and he also knew there wouldn't be another chance to say good-bye. They were not going to see each other for half a year, maybe even longer.

The supper was over. Dalian waved to Jeco as he got up. Jeco wanted to wave back, but other workers had blocked his view as they rose from their tables, and when they parted the blacksmith was not there, apparently taken away by the guards.

On the next morning Jeco was brought to the shaft and tied again—in the same manner, with one end of the rope tight around his waist and the other in the guard's hand. It's all right—it is only till noon, he thought as he picked up his basket. Time dragged; trying to get his mind off it, Jeco started counting pieces of ore he was putting into the basket. The guard watched him closely at first, making sure the basket was being filled well, but then, seeing that the boy was not cheating, left him alone and sat down. Jeco kept working. He had no idea how long it was until twelve; at times it seemed that he had been toiling for hours and hours, but he knew that this feeling was deceiving. It was always hard to keep track of time here in the mines. He expected the red-belts come running for him any minute, as they had before, when Lagran first arrived—but time went by, and nothing was happening.

Suddenly, the kitchen bell sounded from the outside; it was loud enough to be heard in the shafts.

"Lunch! Lunch!" the guards started calling out, summoning workers.

Jeco dropped his basket. Lunch?! So it was already two o'clock—way past noon! What happened?... Lagran never came? Or did Shmag lie to him?

Confused, Jeco followed the other workers heading toward the exit, but the guard pulled on his rope.

"Hold it, forty-six! You will eat here."

Jeco obeyed and leaned against the wall in a careless manner, trying to hide his anxiety. What's going on? What did they say to Lagran? And what was he to expect now? How long was Shmag going to keep him here?

A man from the kitchen brought Jeco a bowl of soup. Jeco sat on a rock and started eating, holding the bowl on his lap. Some time later the familiar hobbling figure showed up from one of the tunnels; Torbin approached and, having notified the guard that Mr. Shmag ordered to change the number, told Jeco to take off his shirt. The boy pulled it off. Torbin sat down on the ground nearby and started working, once in a while stealing a look at Jeco. His expression was hard, almost angry, but at the same time somewhat compassionate when he'd cast those quick glances. Obviously, this number change meant something, and Torbin knew what it was... Suddenly, Jeco knew it too: the overseer was covering his tracks. He was going to give this old number to a new worker, and now, should someone decide to look for the prisoner Tarres listed in the books as forty-six, Shmag would tell them that Tarres had been released, and his number given to a different person—go ahead and check if you'd like!

Torbin finished sewing, returned the shirt to Jeco and disappeared in the tunnel without saying a word. Jeco looked at the number: sixty-three. He could bet this number was not listed anywhere...

I've got to do something, he thought. Lagran must have left to Kanavar alone. There was no telling what kind of a story Shmag offered him, but since Lagran failed to get Jeco out he must have bought whatever story it was, so there's no use to count on him anymore. Jeco had to get out of here on his own.

Well, I have served my term, he reckoned. I have honestly worked for the month I was sentenced to. Now I've got the right to escape.

Jeco made his decision, but he had no idea of how to carry it out. Not many dared to run from the mines, and all were caught—quickly, sometimes right away. Gverian mines were packed with watchful guards; in most cases the runaways would not even make it beyond the wall. Only a few had managed to do that, and one, rumors said, had even reached the city. But the red-belts were not only good as guards, they were also experts at chasing down and ambushing. When caught, the runaways were severely punished, and right after that, beaten and bruised, sent back to work—so that the others could look at them and learn the lesson.

Jeco set the empty bowl aside and went back to work. The guard kept a close eye on him, firmly holding his end of the rope; there seemed to be no way of escape. Maybe at night? No, night time was even worse: the barracks were being locked and guarded. Jeco sighed. He had no other choice but to wait for a chance, for some kind of convenient circumstance. He could try to untie himself—but then what? How would he make it out of the shaft without being noticed? Jeco pondered the idea of getting rid of the rope and running to the storehouse; Torbin would not report him, he didn't look like a traitor... But the red-belts would raise the alarm and start searching—everywhere. More than likely they'd check Torbin's place... No, this was not going to work.

Jeco carried his basket and kept thinking, but the plan of escape wouldn't come together.

Another day passed, then another one, and another. Jeco worked deeper in the shaft, and the guard kept moving him to different places, probably following Shmag's instructions. Jeco tried to use that to his advantage and looked for some kind of a secluded nook or an empty tunnel where he could hide. Nothing seemed safe enough. The red-belts knew the shaft much better than he did, and this was not an encouraging thought. He needed help, or at least some good advice. The more he thought of it the clearer he saw that Torbin was his only choice. Torbin had been here for a long time, he knew all the ins and outs; maybe he would agree to help. As much as Jeco hated to get Torbin involved in such a dangerous thing, after much struggle he decided to talk to him. For that, he somehow had to get to the storeroom.

Jeco came up with a simple plan. Having examined the bottom of his basket, he found a few thin, worn out rods, and started putting the biggest and sharpest pieces of ore on them, each time pressing hard. By noon he succeeded: the bottom of the heavily loaded basket came off with a loud crash. The guard swore and dragged the boy to the storehouse.

"Don't you think that you're gonna rest now! You'll get a new basket and go back to work!"

Torbin came out of his dark chamber and checked the damaged basket. Under the guard's piercing gaze Jeco could not let him know that he wanted to talk to him; he could only hope that Torbin would figure it out.

"I don't have another basket like that," Torbin said. "So I'll have to fix this one."

"What's the difference?" the guard grunted. "Any basket will do!"

Torbin shook his head. "I don't need no trouble. Mr. Shmag said not to give big baskets to the kid."

"All right... Go fix it."

"Come with me," Torbin said to the boy.

"What for?" the guard asked, suspicious.

"He'll be helping me. He broke it, why should I fix it alone?"

The guard found that convincing enough and didn't object. Torbin opened the bars. Jeco stepped into the pitch-black tunnel, feeling the wall with his hand as he went. Torbin followed. The guard closed the bars behind them and sat down to wait outside.

Jeco was slowly making his way down the lengthy corridor in almost complete darkness. He couldn't see a thing, and wondered how in the world Torbin was getting around here. At last some weak, shaky light showed up ahead, the narrow walls of the corridor parted, and Jeco found himself in a large hall poorly illuminated with one tiny candle. The place was cluttered with baskets, chains, boxes, and all kinds of tools.

"What, buddy? Got trapped?" Torbin whispered.

"I've served my term, but Shmag is not letting me go," Jeco whispered back.

"Dirty crook!" Torbin snapped, and Jeco was surprised at the intensity of sudden hate he heard in this strangled shout.

"He offered me to stay as a hired worker," the boy explained. "Even offered good pay. But when I refused, he forced me to stay."

Torbin shoved the basket to him and said in a loud voice, "Hold it like this while I'm fixing!" Then he spoke in a furious whisper, "Old scumbag! I know his tricks... But mark my word, lad: someday he'll pay me for everything! Mark my word."

Jeco looked in his face, puzzled. Burning hate twisting this scarred face was too clear to miss, even in the weak candlelight.

"Are you all right, Torbin?" Jeco asked.

Torbin didn't reply right away, obviously trying to restrain his emotions.

"I'm fine... It's just that I've got my own bill to present to this guy. All right now, listen to me. If he decided to keep you here, he won't give up. That's not the first time he has done it. So don't resist—don't get yourself under the whip. Work well, as you did before. Some time later he'll call for you and ask whether you've changed your mind. You'd better tell him that you have. You will become a hired man, and things will go easier for you. You've got no other choice."

Jeco gathered his courage. "I think I do. I want to run away."

Torbin jerked his head up and grabbed the boy's arm. "Don't you even think about that!"

Again, Jeco didn't expect such a strong reaction. "I know it's dangerous," he said, "and hard, almost impossible. But I really don't have any other option. And, uh... I wanted to ask you—"

"I'm not gonna help you!" Torbin interrupted. "Don't even ask! And forget about running away! You hear me?!"

Jeco did not know what to think of his passion. Was it just fear? Or was there something else to it?

"No, Torbin—I wasn't going to drag you into it. I'll do everything myself. I only wanted to ask if you know of any safe corner where I could hide and wait. Something narrow and small—maybe an old tunnel no one remembers about... I give you my word: if I get caught, I will not mention you."

"Now, turn it like this and hold firm!" Torbin loudly said, and then continued in a hushed, agitated whisper. "You won't mention me, huh? You think that's what it's all about? You think there's nothing but fear left in me?! If there was any way to escape from here, I would've arranged it for you long ago! But there is no way. Many tried and failed—and so will you."

"Then I will try again," Jeco said with determination.

"Don't you dare!" Torbin almost cried out and grabbed his arm again, squeezing it so hard that it hurt. "You hear me?! Don't you even think about it if—if you don't want to become the way I am!"

He let go of the boy's arm and sharply turned away. Jeco looked at him, puzzled.

"Forgive me, Torbin... But I don't understand what that has to do with... I heard that it was an accident? A shaft had collapsed, and—"

Torbin let out a short, bitter laugh. "An accident!..."

He paused, pacing nervously, then took pliers and a hunk of wire and started patching up the basket.

"All right, listen to me. I will tell you my tale; it seems like there's no other way to stop you. So you were told that the shaft had collapsed... It was my brain that collapsed when I'd decided to make some money in these cursed mines! Yes, imagine that, I came here myself, out of my own free will—what a fool!... I was a lumberman, a big, strong, healthy guy, much like that friend of yours to whom I gave my shirt. I met a nice girl... Wanted to marry her. But I was poor; lumbermen were making next to nothing in our place, and no matter how hard I tried I couldn't save any money.

"So I'd decided to go somewhere else, to try getting a different job. I asked around and found out that here, in the mines, workers were being paid more than anywhere else. So I got hired for half a year as a hammerer. I worked well, Shmag was pleased with me and paid me accurately each week. I was happy and counted the days till the wedding... And then—the same story that happened to you. I had finished my half a year, wanted to leave, and Shmag offered me to stay. 'You're a good worker,' he said, 'I need people like you.' Promised to raise my pay. But I didn't care for that, I had already saved what I wanted, and my fiancée was waiting for me back home. So, I refused. Only to find out that I didn't have much of a choice...

"I was a hot-headed fellow, and I didn't take it well. The guards quickly calmed me down. Shmag warned: 'I'm the boss here, I can do with you anything I want, so you'd better behave.' I didn't listen; on that very night tried to escape. I thought it was no big deal for such a strong guy like me, I didn't even plan it well—just broke the barrack door, whacked the guard and took off. Other guards heard the noise, of course, and raised the alarm. Several dozen of them rushed after me. They caught me and brought me back. I got whipped again. Shmag said, 'Watch out, fellow. I'll beat you to death if I have to, but I will have my way.' But I wasn't someone easy to scare. I waited for several days, and then ran again. This time, I gave it some thinking: on the way back from work I knocked out a guard, dragged him into a dark tunnel, stripped him and put on his uniform. Then walked out of the pit and went to the gate. The gateman asked for a password. I hit him in the head, took his keys, unlocked the smaller gate door and got out..."

Torbin paused, frantically thrusting the wire into the basket. He obviously needed time to gather himself up to continue his story.

"But I didn't get far. They caught me on the next morning... I guess I could be proud of how I fought with them, even though I had lost, but I don't care now. Them guards chopped me well. They had swords, and I only had a pole I jerked out of someone's fence. Had I been any smarter I would've bought an axe right away—I was good with it... But who would have known?! I didn't expect them to chase me that far; I thought, since I made it all the way to the city they wouldn't be looking for me. I wasn't a prisoner, after all, I was a free man!... Well, to make a long story short, they carried me back; I couldn't walk on my own, I was wounded all over. And then Shmag had arranged that 'accident': dragged me to an old shaft and threw me in there—himself. 'I warned you,' he said. 'If you prefer death—that's what you get.' So he threw me in, and then ordered his dogs to knock out the shores..."

Torbin paused again, this time not for long; his eyes flared up with hatred again, lips twisted in a frightening grin.

"Only I didn't die, as you see! And someday this scumbag is going to be very sorry about it... Mark my word, lad: someday I will bump him off!"

Jeco said nothing, shocked with what he had heard. So this is what's going on here! Shmag, indeed, does whatever he wants! He enslaves people, tortures and kills them... He obeys no laws, does not care for the authorities because the authorities are too far away, and none of the workers held here will ever reach them or prove anything. The papers are always in order, the production is good—of course, with the means he uses!—and no one would even think of coming here to check what's really going on.

"Do you understand now what kind of a place it is?!" Torbin whispered. He shoved the basket to Jeco again and said out loud, "Now turn it around and hold like this!"

"Hey, are you done there or not?" the guard called out from the bars.

"No, I'm not!" Torbin shouted back, sounding irritated. "I've got to make sure I've fixed it well. If it breaks again, I'll be the one to blame, and I don't need none of that!"

"So what happened to you after that?" Jeco quietly asked.

Torbin kept working, not looking at him. "Nothing. On the next day they pulled me out from under the rocks—I happened to be still alive. Spent almost a year in the sick quarters; left it looking like this. When Shmag first saw me, he said, 'Hey, it turned out even better than I planned!' Well, someday I'll show him. Someday he's going to wish he'd killed me... And for the meantime, I work here in the storehouse. That's the story, lad."

"So Shmag never lets anyone out of here?"

"He does. Many are released, having no idea that this kind of stuff happens here... Shmag only keeps the best workers whose labor he needs the most. Increasing the production is the only thing he cares for. I, for example, am of no use to him anymore, so I can hit the road whenever I wish."

"Then why are you staying here?!" Jeco exclaimed.

Torbin looked up at him, his gaze hard. "And where do you suggest that I go? What shall I do? Be a beggar? No, thanks! At least I'm supporting myself here."

"But what about your family? And... your bride? Do they know what happened to you?"

"No—and I don't want them to!"

"But they—"

"That's enough!" Torbin cut off. "Do you really think that I'd let them see me like that?! They're better off thinking I'm dead. And that's enough of that talk!"

He picked up the pliers again, broke off the last piece of wire and threw the hunk aside.

"Listen to me. We don't have much time, I've almost got it all fixed. I didn't tell you all this just for fun, you know? I want you to stay alive—and intact. Do you understand? So get that thing out of your mind, and do not think that I have refused to help you because I'm such a coward."

Jeco sighed heavily. "I understand, Torbin. Thank you. But I'll try anyway. I can't stay here, there's something very important I must do. It can't wait."

Torbin rose, took him by the shoulder and turned to the light. In the shaky light of the candle he seemed to be trying to see whether the boy had indeed understood the meaning of what he just shared, and whether he realized all the danger.

"Do you have any idea of what you are risking?"

"Yes," Jeco firmly said. "But I have to do it."

Torbin looked away, thinking. "All right. We can try, but don't blame me if it doesn't work."

He tapped the basket with his hand and said loudly, "Do this part yourself! If you break it again, you'll be the one to fix it!" Then he leaned to the boy and started whispering into his ear. "Listen to me and remember it well. There's a side tunnel right next to the big hoist, a dark one that nobody ever goes to—do you know which one I am talking about?"

Jeco nodded.

"They used to carry ore through it as well, but it had collapsed in the middle, so it's now empty," Torbin went on. "If you get to the place where it crumpled, you can climb those rocks and make it to the upper level. This won't be easy—it's very dark in there, but you can do it. When you get up there, fill up the passage with rocks. Nobody's worked at the upper lever for a long time, and no one will find you there. That was a good idea to hide and wait, probably the only thing that can work. Wait there for three days or so. Let them think that you made it out of the mines, let them send men after you. I'll bring there some water and bread, so that you wouldn't starve. I'll do it beforehand, tonight—because when you turn out missing they will be watching me as well; they're smart, they'll remember how much time we spent fixing this basket, and figure that we could've plotted something. So you will have to get out on your own, lad—sorry, but this is all I can do. You will find the water and bread by the light: there's a crack in one place, and sunlight gets through it—you'll see it right away. Look behind the rocks where it points.

"During those three days find the way out from the upper lever. It's a long, narrow corridor that starts at the other end of the big hall where you will be. Walk down that corridor several times, get familiar with it, see where it leads—but be very careful, and don't show yourself outside. You will see that the corridor ends almost right at the outer wall, which is very convenient. Study the wall and the guard posts, find a place that you think would be the easiest to climb over. You will run at night. After three days they should decide that you're not in the mines, and call off the additional guards. If not, wait some more, until they are gone. Do not risk it. Also, remember this: at night time, guards patrol that area every hour. So, when you see them pass (that'll be easy since they've got torches), you've got exactly one hour to climb over the wall. Do not hurry, be careful; try not to make any noise. If you get out safely... Flee, what else can I say? I don't know what to advise to you at that point: they can catch you anywhere—on the road, on the river, or in town. Most importantly, get away from this accursed place, as fast and as far as you can. And get rid of this shirt with the number on it."

Torbin grew silent.

"Thank you, Torbin," Jeco said.

"Don't forget anything. I'll fetch water and bread tonight; tomorrow you can run. Good luck to you." He tapped the basket again and announced, raising his voice, "That's it! Now I can be sure it'll last! Let's go."

Jeco grabbed his arm and whispered, "Torbin, if everything turns out all right... Is there anything I can do for you? When I'm free?"

Torbin smiled bitterly. "What can you do!... Take care of yourself."

"Well, maybe—maybe get you some medicine?"

But Torbin waved it off without saying anything and hobbled to the bars.

The guard, weary of waiting and irritated, got to his feet. "Let me see."

Jeco handed the basket to him. Torbin patched it up well; the bottom and the lower part were securely held together with the wire.

"Good enough," the guard approved. "Let's go."

Jeco kept thinking about Torbin's terrible fate for the rest of the day. Even more terrible was the fact that he saw Dalian's possible lot in it. Dalian, just like Torbin, was a good and strong worker; Shmag could easily pick him as one he wished to keep. And just like Torbin, Dalian was not going to tolerate that. He is independent and proud, he'll never be a slave. He'd fight, and more than likely attempt to escape... And then the same thing can happen to him that happened to poor Torbin!

Jeco had to get out of here and do something. Maybe when he is free, he could reach the authorities and help Dalian... He prayed that the plan would work.

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#### Chapter 9

[Back to Table of Contents]

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On the next day Jeco started looking for a chance to slip away, silently going through the instructions he had received from Torbin. He decided not to hurry and wait for the best opportunity; meanwhile he tried to behave as usual and not to draw suspicion. The guard tied him again, making sure the rope was long enough to allow him to work, and soon weakened his attention somewhat—he already knew that former forty-six, now sixty-three, was calm and quiet and did not cause any trouble.

In the morning Jeco worked in a dark niche. It was a good spot to try to get rid of the rope, but the niche was too far from the empty tunnel through which he was supposed to climb to the upper level. He saw that his absence was going to be noticed before he would make it there. By noon he'd carried all the ore out of the niche, and the guard took him to a different place. It was a flat, open area, easily seen from all directions. This one's even worse, Jeco noted. There was a lot of work here; he carried his basket again and again, and the pile of ore did not seem to get any smaller. After lunch two more carriers were sent to help. Jeco was much amused with the cautious, apprehensive glances they cast at him—must be a dangerous fellow since he is tied up... Together, they finally got all the ore out. Jeco was transferred again, this time all the way to the hoist.

As he worked, he could see that side tunnel. There were no torches anywhere near it, so the way to the opening was dark—just what he needed. He'd sneak along the wall and quickly slip into the tunnel; no one would see him. Now he had to untie himself. Jeco made sure the guard wasn't looking and pulled on the knot at his waist. It didn't take him long to figure that it was easier said than done: the knot was tight and firm, skillfully made and requiring a skillful hand to untie. Jeco had no idea how to do it.

He continued his work, watching the guard out of the corner of his eye. The red-belt, as usual, had the other end of the rope looped over his wrist. He sat at the wall, having picked a spot from which he could see all Jeco's route. Did he really see all of it? Jeco checked that. No! Right here, where the path turns, the guard loses sight of him for a few moments. Getting slightly nervous, Jeco looked around as he passed that place. The place was perfect: there were no other workers anywhere close, and a huge pile of ore would conceal him from the other guards' watchful eyes.

Filling his basket, Jeco found a sharp-edged piece of ore and placed it on top. On the way to the hoist he dropped that piece on the ground behind the turn, and when he went back with the empty basket he grabbed it and started rubbing the rope against the sharp edge, as hard as he could. The rope was new, thick and strong. Jeco pushed it with all of his might, but it wouldn't come apart. The boy caught his breath and wiped his forehead, his heart pounding hard. The guard could suspect something any moment and come here to check. Jeco saw that he wouldn't be able to do it at once. He pushed several more times, dropped the ore piece, picked up his basket and came out. He had to be patient and do it all over again: load the basket, carry it, empty, and on the way back snatch a few more seconds to fight with the rope. He did just that; this time, the rope gave in a little. On the third time he advanced more, and on the forth the task was almost completed.

Jeco walked out from behind the turn, trying not to show his anxiety. His next trip was going to be the last one. He'd get done with the rope and slip along the wall to the tunnel. It wasn't far, he should make it there before the guard would realize he's missing. He just had to be quick and careful; climb up the rocks and, as Torbin taught, block the passage behind him...

"What's this?!" someone suddenly yelled, and Jeco felt his rope being jerked.

The boy swung around, and his heart sank. It was the guard. He held the rope in his hand, staring at the rubbed spot.

In a moment, two red-belts were dragging Jeco to the office.

When Mr. Shmag heard what happened he jumped from his desk, furious.

"What is this?!" he yelled, sticking the rope in the boy's face. "What is this about?!"

Jeco said nothing. On the way here, he managed to pull himself together and decided to take his defeat as a man, no matter what.

"Don't you dare ignore me when I'm talking to you!" Shmag raged. "Answer me! Did you want to escape?!"

"Yes, I did," Jeco said plainly.

A strong blow in the face knocked him down. His cheek stung, and he tasted blood in his mouth. Overcoming slight dizziness, Jeco climbed to his feet and wiped away the blood with the back of his hand.

"Hope it will help you learn!" Shmag barked. "There's no escape from here, just as I said before!"

"You won't be able to hold me here," Jeco replied.

Shmag gasped at such audacity, then that same evil grin Jeco already saw before showed up on his face.

"Really? Any who's going to stop me? Maybe that lord of yours? Is that what you're hoping for? Forget it, my friend. For your information, that fancy-looking showoff, Mr. Lagran, had already been here—and he'd left empty-handed! You wanna know what I told him? That you got released early in the morning and left. And didn't say where you went. And left no message. And I am terribly sorry, but I cannot help dear Mr. Lagran!" Shmag grabbed Jeco's shirt collar. "I am the only lord and king here! Do you get it or not?!"

"You still won't be able to hold me here," Jeco repeated.

"What?!" Shmag shook him so hard that the shirt tore. "Watch me!"

He shoved the boy to the guards.

"Take him to the dungeon and chain him!"

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***

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The red-belts quickly carried out the order. Jeco was brought to what they called the dungeon—an old pit used as a prison, deep, dark and stuffy. Iron shackles closed on the boy's ankles, with a long chain dragging to a large iron ring built into the wall.

The guards left, having locked the heavy door and taken the torch with them. Jeco was left alone in the dark, with only a tiny glimpse of dim, distant light coming through the narrow crack under the door.

Well, I've seen worse, the boy thought, looking around and trying to cheer himself up. At least there's some light here, and it's not cold. And no rats.

But it was a poor consolation. His escape failed, and there was no way to get out of this place. Now what?

Jeco took a few steps, his irons jingling. The length of the chain would only allow him to get so far, and because of the darkness he couldn't tell how big the dungeon was. He checked the iron ring—it sat firm in the wall, there was no way he could jerk it out. But even if he could, what's the use?

Jeco touched his bruised face. His cheek was still burning, but the bleeding seemed to stop. In a way, he got lucky: Shmag could have easily smashed his head with those fists of his...

Torbin must be thinking that Jeco was already free—unless he saw him being dragged to the office, and then here. Ah, Torbin... You were right: it didn't work.

Jeco knelt wearily and whispered, "Please, Lord of the heavens... I've done all I could. I wanted to accomplish what you told me... I tried to do my best, to be strong and not give up... But everything went wrong. Please, help me, because I just don't know what to do now..."

A burst of white light suddenly illuminated the dungeon. The boy jumped to his feet, his heart quickening—he recognized this light! Can it be true?! The heavens were sending an elgur to him again!

The cloud of light grew and widened. Just like the last time, resisting the urge to shield himself and close his eyes, Jeco watched the shining cloud thicken in the middle and form a blurred silhouette... But what was that?! The silhouette was getting clearer and clearer, growing firm, obtaining a solid shape!... And the white glow around it seemed to fade and evaporate...

The last glimmer of white was gone. A tall man dressed in black stood before Jeco—a real man he could see and probably touch, radiating no light. He wore a very long cloak almost reaching the floor, and what Jeco first thought was a helmet. After a closer look the boy saw that it was more like a mask, made of cloth, that covered his whole head, leaving only a narrow slit for the eyes—and the eyes that looked through it were striking.

The man just stood there for a while, silent and motionless, obviously giving the boy some time to get used to his presence. Then his eyes smiled, and he said in a soft, quiet voice, "Greetings, Jeco."

"Good heavens..." the boy whispered. "I've just seen an elgur take on a human form!"

A humorous sparkle flashed in the elgur's deep eyes. "I hope you are not disappointed?"

But Jeco had not yet fully come to his senses to talk to him just like that, freely and easily. He slowly approached the man and touched his arm above the elbow, half-expecting his finger to go through it. But it didn't; he felt the firm flesh. Jeco touched again, making sure, then felt the cloak. The elgur patiently waited.

At last Jeco remembered that elgurs do not come for no reason and asked, "What are the heavens commanding me to do?"

"I have brought no orders," the elgur replied. "I am sent to help you."

He bent his knee and easily tore apart Jeco's chains as if they were mere threads. Stunned, Jeco gazed at the broken shackles and chain pieces. Not giving him any time to take it in, the elgur stepped to the wall and pressed on it with his hand—with no visible effort, as if he was trying to open an unlocked door. The stone cracked and collapsed, leaving a wide opening.

"Let's go," the elgur called.

Hardly able to believe what was happening, Jeco followed the elgur through the broken wall. There was a tunnel behind it, to all appearances abandoned a long time ago—it was littered with broken tools and old baskets. The elgur walked forward, his stride firm and confident. He seemed to know the place perfectly well. The tunnel turned to the right, then to the left, and ended with a brick wall blocking the way out. Having crushed that wall just as easily, the elgur led the boy out of the pit.

It was already dark outside, and Jeco could not figure where they were—he hadn't yet been to this part of the mines.

"This way," the elgur pointed. "To the gate."

"The gate-keeper will ask for the password," Jeco said, as if the spirit needed that warning.

The elgur's deep eyes smiled through the slit of his mask. "He won't. He is asleep."

Indeed, the gate-keeper was sound asleep in his booth. The elgur approached the small door in the gate, usually locked, and opened it using no key. A cool, refreshing breeze came from the outside. Jeco drew in a deep breath, enjoying it. He couldn't believe it that he was free at last. What seemed to be impossible just five minutes ago had happened so quickly and easily...

"What about Dalian?" Jeco asked.

"It is not in my power to help him," the elgur said, quietly but firmly.

Jeco stood there some more, silently saying good-bye to his friend. Farewell, Dalian. Please, don't get in trouble—and may the heavens keep you...

The elgur did not make him hurry. Jeco nodded, letting the spirit know that he was ready to go, and followed him through the door.

They passed the waste ground surrounding the mines and approached the canyon slope. The elgur handed Jeco the edge of his cloak.

"Hold on to this. It will help you."

Jeco grabbed the cloak, and they started climbing up the steep and narrow trail. Black clouds covered the sky, hiding the moon and the stars. Jeco could barely see the path. He staggered forward, feeling his way with one hand, trusting the elgur completely, sometimes almost hanging down on his cloak; had this been a human, they both would have fallen a long time ago. The Book of Light mentioned that elgurs could see in the dark just as well as at daytime, and Jeco now observed that it was true. His companion advanced quickly and confidently, never stumbling, and not one little rock slipped from under his feet.

At last they made it out of the canyon and stepped onto the road. There was a vague shape in the dark; as they approached, Jeco noticed a slight movement and heard a horse snort. Suddenly, a lantern lit up in the elgur's hand. The darkness parted, and the boy saw a carriage with two beautiful stallions. The elgur fixed the lantern on the carriage roof and opened the door, inviting Jeco in.

"It's yours?!" the boy asked, astonished.

The elgur's eyes smiled again. "Ours."

Jeco climbed into the carriage. The elgur sat next to him and picked up the reins.

"Hyah," he said to the horses.

The stallions plunged forward, and the carriage darted off, away from the mines.

Jeco gazed at his masked deliverer, still unable to get used to the thought who this man was—a walking miracle, a piece of the heavens that took earthly shape! Was all this real? Was it really happening?... The elgur seemed to understand how the boy felt and remained silent, giving him time. He held the reins in his hand but barely used them—the stallions ran on their own, as if obeying some invisible force, willingly and happily.

"I'd never think that elgurs can ride in a carriage," Jeco said, still watching him.

"Why not?" the elgur replied. "It is not hard to learn. You people do it all the time."

Jeco laughed; he was beginning to enjoy his humor. "Of course we do—but to you, it must be terribly inconvenient and slow. You're used to flying!"

"That's right," the elgur agreed. "But while we are on earth, we are trying to use earthly ways and means."

"Why? To avoid drawing attention?"

"That is one of the reasons. Another one is not to spoil people. You see, you do something unusual for a man just once, and he starts always expecting it."

Jeco was silent for a few moments. He wanted to ask a thousand questions, and just didn't know what to start with.

"Why is your face covered?"

"People should not see it."

"Do elgurs always come wearing a mask?"

"No. But normally we take on a human form for a short time, and people have no idea whom they are dealing with. My assignment might be different; there is a possibility that I will have to stay here longer. Someone could figure me out."

"And what would that do?"

"People lack wisdom and strength. Someone will draw the image they saw—false image, as you understand, because I could have taken on any face, picked any hair and eye color. But the mortal will draw what he saw, and think that he has portrayed an elgur. Before you know it, others will start worshipping that false image—instead of serving the Lord of the heavens."

Jeco thought about that. This must be why elgurs shine so brightly that it's just impossible to see them, he figured.

"That's also why I am wearing these clothes," the elgur continued. "Long black cloaks are common in this part of the country. I need to blend in." He paused for a few moments. "You need to decide what you will do now."

"Me?" Jeco was puzzled. "I thought you would tell me?"

The elgur shook his head. "As I already said, I have not brought any orders. I was sent to set you free—which I did. Then, it is up to you."

"But wait a minute... What about my mission—to go to the palace? Is it too late now? Is it cancelled?"

"No, it's not. The situation grew difficult, but it is not too late."

"Then what's to think about?" Jeco shrugged. "I will go there."

"I like that," the elgur nodded. "The reason I asked is because the Lord of the heavens never forces his will on anyone; he tells it, but never forces it. The man is free to accomplish it and free to go against it."

"Even if that will bring a disaster?"

"Alas, yes. The heavens would warn and admonish, but if the person still decides to go his way—he's got that right."

"That's a dangerous right..."

"Very dangerous—but indisputable." The elgur took off his cloak and handed it to the boy. "You need to get some rest. It's very late. Get under my cloak and sleep."

"Do you think I'll sleep while you're here?!" Jeco exclaimed. "No, sir! I don't go for a ride with an elgur that often!"

The spirit smiled. "Such attention is very flattering, but don't you worry, you'll have enough time to look at me. I will not disappear. Since you have chosen to continue your journey, I'll be with you until you get to the palace."

Jeco gaped at him, stunned. The elgur would stay with him for several days?! What did he do to deserve such an honor?...

"Get some sleep," the elgur said again, covering the boy with his cloak. "Unlike me, you do need to sleep and rest."

Jeco had no idea how much this long, stressful day wore him out. As soon as he leaned back in his seat and felt the pleasant warmth of the cloak, his eyes closed, and all the sounds faded. He slept, and the carriage rolled on, jolting on the bumpy road, its remarkable driver still barely moving the reins and looking into the night through the slit of his mask.

######

***

#### Chapter 10

[Back to Table of Contents]

######

Chirping birds woke Jeco up. He first thought that he was still dreaming, and he just lay quietly for a while, not opening his eyes and enjoying the sound. Suddenly, he remembered it all—the burst of light, the man in black cloak, the incredible escape from the mines, the carriage and two stallions...

Jeco lifted his head and saw that he was lying in the soft grass of a forest clearing, under a nutwood bush, its leaves beautifully lit with sunbeams. He felt something warm and heavy covering him. It was the elgur's cloak. Jeco set up and looked around, hoping that the spirit was here, too.

He was. He sat on the ground nearby, leaning against an old birch tree. Two squirrels were carelessly running around him, jumping on and off his shoulder or knee, playing and chasing each other. In the daylight, the elgur looked just like an ordinary man, even his mask did not seem so unusual. After all, there were traveling monks who would also conceal their faces. Yet his eyes were somewhat betraying him: Jeco had never seen such a striking, unspeakable power in the eyes of a human.

The elgur turned to the boy, and those amazing eyes smiled.

"Good morning, Jeco."

"Good morning," Jeco replied, suddenly realizing that he didn't know how to call him. "I don't even know your name... I'm sorry, I should have asked."

"Elgurs are not allowed to reveal their names to the mortals. You'll have to give me a name—any name you like."

Jeco thought about it. "May I call you Telm? It is one of a few words I know in old Parsian."

"Sunray? Very well. I like it."

This reminded Jeco that every time elgurs appeared to people in the Book of Light, they spoke those people's language, no matter what nation it was.

"Hey—you can speak any language!" he exclaimed. "Isn't that right? You know them all!"

"I can't take credit for that," Telm replied. "I didn't have to learn them the way people do."

He rose from the ground. The squirrels would not leave him alone, running up and down his legs and arms.

"How come they are not afraid of you?" Jeco asked.

"Because they know who I am. Come, let me show you the river."

Jeco got out from under the cloak and just now realized how he looked: crude, worn out pants, a shirt with the number on it, torn in several places and white with stone dust. And his face must be bruised...

"Don't worry about that," Telm laughed. "Trust me, I have seen worse."

Jeco handed his cloak to him. Telm put it over the shoulders and fastened it on his chest. The squirrels took that as a new game opportunity and hung on the cloak, swinging happily. Jeco wanted to pet one of them, but it dashed away.

"Don't be afraid of my young brother," Telm said—and in the next moment both squirrels were on Jeco's shoulder.

Jeco followed Telm through the bushes of nutwood and onto another clearing where he saw a small river, fast and clean. Jeco leaned over the stream and splashed some water over his face.

"Too bad the river's not deep enough," he said. "I'd love to go for a swim."

"That can be arranged," Telm replied, picking up a large fallen tree that lay nearby.

He easily moved the tree to the river and blocked the stream, creating a little pond. Jeco took off his shirt and sat on the grass, waiting for more water to gather.

"Here," Telm said. "I guess you will want to change your clothes."

Jeco turned to look. Telm was handing his bag to him.

"My bag! I'd left it in prison! How did you get it?"

"I took it from there. I thought you would need your things," Telm simply said, as if there was nothing to it, and walked away giving no further explanation.

Jeco opened the bag. Everything was in place: the Book of Light, a plate and a spoon, the knife, pencils, paper, a towel, his new boots and the set of clothes he was going to wear in Kanavar. The sight of his belongings brought the memories of how he'd bought all that, getting ready for the journey, how he packed the bag... That seemed to be ages ago. He couldn't even imagine back then what was awaiting him.

Jeco entered the water and washed off all that stone dust. Then he dried himself and put on the new clothes. The clothes fit him well, feeling luxurious after the rough uniform of a prisoner. When Jeco returned to the clearing, he found Telm sitting at a small campfire that crackled joyfully as its bright flames devoured a heap of dry branches. On a white cloth spread on the ground stood a jar of milk and a platter of fresh bread. Jeco had caught himself just in time and did not ask where all that came from; he figured questions like that were not appropriate in his situation.

Telm held a long stick with a slice of bread on its end which he was roasting in the fire.

"Breakfast is served," he said, extending the stick to the boy.

Jeco used to fry bread like that back home, in Chegmer, and he loved this simple dish. He carefully took the hot slice off the stick. Telm picked up another piece and started roasting it.

"Have some milk," he offered, moving the jar closer to Jeco.

"What about you? Would you like anything?"

Telm smiled. "Thank you. I do not need food."

Jeco bit into the crunchy, smoky bread and took a sip of cold milk. It was delicious. He hadn't eaten anything that good for a long time.

"Tell me about the heavens, Telm," he asked.

"The heavens are beautiful," the elgur replied, somewhat reluctantly.

"I know that. I want to know how beautiful they are, and what's up there. It must be so different from earth, and so hard to describe... Are there gardens in there? Or houses?"

But Telm shook his head. "I can't tell you more than what is already said in the Book of Light."

"But it doesn't say much about it!"

"Alas. The mortals are not allowed to know more while they still live on earth. They have to wait until they get to the heavens and see everything with their own eyes."

"If they get to the heavens," Jeco corrected.

"Right. But that depends on them."

Jeco remembered about the squirrels and looked around. Where did they go? They were jumping along the river while he swam, but then disappeared...

"Here they are," Telm said, lifting the edge of his cloak. Under the cloak, two red hairballs lay curled up in the grass.

Jeco felt uneasy. He knew, of course, that elgurs could read thoughts, but it was still somewhat scary to experience it just like that.

Telm saw it. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to embarrass you."

"It's all right," Jeco smiled. "I just haven't gotten used to it yet."

He reached out and picked one of the hairballs. The squirrel didn't get scared. Jeco scratched it behind the ear, and the squirrel closed its eyes blissfully, just like a kitten. The other one immediately jumped to the boy, also demanding attention. Jeco petted it, too.

"They are so nice."

"You can ask them to do something for you," Telm said. "They'll be happy to."

Jeco gave him a doubtful look.

"Is that right, guys?" Telm asked the squirrels.

They started jumping up and down, looking impatiently, as if waiting for orders. Jeco decided to try.

"Would you bring me some nuts?"

The squirrels darted away, racing with one another, and soon returned, each one holding a large hazelnut. Jeco couldn't believe his eyes.

"Is this—is this some special kind of squirrels? Are they trained?"

"No," Telm replied. "But in my presence they behave in their natural way—I mean, what used to be natural before people allowed evil to enter this world."

"Oh, yes," Jeco recalled. "I read in the Book of Light that animals used to be different, they weren't afraid of people before that."

"Now you can see what it was like."

Jeco thought about it, petting the squirrels who had already curled up on his lap. These friendly little fellows reminded him of his Gart. Where was he? Was he even alive?... Jeco's heart quickened as it dawned on him: Telm had to know!

The boy quickly turned to him. "Do you know what happened to Gart and where he is now?"

Telm was silent for a few moments—long, difficult moments Jeco spent desperately trying to read something in the all-knowing eyes that looked at him through the mask, but those eyes had become impenetrable. Then Telm spoke in a very quiet voice.

"Jeco... You've got to understand. My right to interfere in the earthly events is limited. Unless I have a special permission, I cannot tell you things you wouldn't have found out without me."

Jeco looked away. The hope that just flickered died too fast, having reopened his still unhealed wound.

"Can you at least tell me whether he's still alive?"

"All right," Telm replied cautiously. "I will tell you that, but do not ask any further questions. He is alive."

But Jeco couldn't help it. "Where is he?! What happened to him?!"

Telm averted his eyes and said, his voice barely audible, "Please, Jeco... Do not torture me."

Jeco finished his breakfast in silence. Well... At least he knew now that Gart was alive. If the heavens were not willing to tell him more, there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn't blame Telm for it. He couldn't expect Telm to solve all his problems and work miracle after miracle.

"Thank you for understanding that," the elgur quietly responded to that thought.

"There's another thing I've been wondering about though," Jeco said, changing the subject. "I hope you can help me with that one. Mr. Karlop—the tavern-keeper. Something tells me that you would know what had caused his sudden turnaround... I suspect you were somehow involved. Am I right?"

A hint of a smile in Telm's eyes told Jeco that this time he would get an answer.

"Yes, you are," the elgur said. "I have to admit that."

"What did you do?!"

Telm modestly lowered his gaze. "I had a word with him."

"You?! With Mr. Karlop?! You mean you appeared to him?"

"Yes, and it was no fun at all. I don't like to be perceived as a ghost, you know... Also, I don't appreciate having to drag those I am sent to from under the table."

Jeco doubled over with laughter. He vividly pictured that, and the sight was just impossible to bear. He fell in the grass, laughing, unable to stop until tears came to his eyes.

"Drag... drag from under... oh, my!"

Telm rose to his feet. "Would you please pick it all up while I harness the horses. I'll also need to move that tree back—we don't want to flood the forest."

He left. Jeco tried to pull himself together. Poor Mr. Karlop! So that's what had scared the daylights out of him!... Still chuckling, Jeco wrapped food leftovers in the cloth and put them into his bag. Then he took the empty milk jar, went to the river for water and put out the fire. The two squirrels followed him, jumping around and trying to get his attention. They seemed to feel that it was time to part.

"Oh well, guys," Jeco sighed. "I wish I could take you with me, but I can't. Only the Lord of the heavens knows what else is going to happen to me..."

He picked up his bag and went to the carriage. It stood behind thick bushes, hidden from the road. The stallions were already harnessed and impatiently pawed the ground. They were truly magnificent; Jeco didn't have a chance to take a good look at them yesterday, and now he could probably stand there for hours, admiring their strong, shapely bodies and beautiful manes. These horses were even better than those young Lord Veres rode with his men.

Telm took the reins, getting ready to lead the stallions onto the road.

"May I do that?" Jeco asked.

"Sure you may," Telm smiled and gave him the reins.

Jeco started walking around the bushes; the stallions followed him.

"Wait," Telm suddenly said, placing his hand on Jeco's shoulder.

The boy looked at him, puzzled. Telm's eyes were fixed on the empty road. In a minute, Jeco heard hoofbeats, and three horsemen showed up. They were quickly approaching, talking among themselves and not seeing Jeco and Telm. One of these three looked somewhat familiar.

"Who are they?" Jeco whispered.

"Our pursuers," Telm calmly replied.

"Shmag's people! He traced us?!"

"No. But that smart gentleman didn't forget you telling him that you wanted to go to Kanavar, so he sent these three to intercept you. They think they are far ahead of you, and they'll be waiting for you at the city gates."

The horsemen passed them and disappeared.

"Let's go," Telm said, as if nothing happened.

They got into the carriage and set off. Soon they overtook Shmag's men; Jeco suppressed the mischievous urge to look out and wave to them.

######

***

######

Days flew one after another. Kanavar was getting closer, and Jeco had to admit that it made him sad. He grew attached to his remarkable companion, got used to his tirelessness, his ability to read thoughts, and to his mask, which, as it turned out, did not make communicating with him at all difficult. Even when Telm was silent, his deep blue eyes spoke more than any face could express, and soon Jeco would not even notice the mask. The boy learned to follow the simple rule—not to attempt to find out more than what Telm had the right to share—and now enjoyed long conversations with him. To his great surprise, Jeco noticed that the elgur enjoyed talking to him as well, and he kept wondering about it. What new could he possibly tell to someone who'd lived thousands of years and saw the creation of the earth, the sun and the stars?! Nevertheless, Telm never cut their conversations short, as if they were just as fascinating for him as they were for the boy.

"There's nothing to be surprised about," Telm explained when Jeco asked him about it. "It was in the original plan of the Lord of the heavens that the spirits and the mortals would communicate and enjoy fellowship. And it used to be this way—before people chose the way of the evil. Oh, that was a wonderful time... We elgurs miss it no less than you do. Perhaps even more, since you only heard about it, but we remember how it was."

They still travelled in the carriage, stopping for the night in the woods when the weather was good and staying in a tavern when it rained. In those cases, Telm would always take a room with two beds, not wishing to draw suspicion, but he never used his. Just like he said, he had no need of sleep, so he'd stand all night at the door, as if guarding it. He always paid for the room himself, and talked to the inn-keepers and nosy servants having his large hood on, so that they wouldn't see the mask.

At last, one morning they saw city walls far ahead, with high, magnificent towers shaped as dragon heads.

"There it is—Kanavar, the ancient capital of Meoria," Telm said.

Jeco looked at those walls, mixed feelings of joy and uncertainty rising in his heart. Somewhere behind them stood the king's palace—the goal of his journey. He was so close now. Today, at the latest tomorrow, he was going to see it.

But first, Jeco wanted to find Lord Agassar. He was aware that the lord probably wasn't expecting him anymore, and most likely would not offer help, but he still wished to see him—at least to explain to him what had happened.

"Do you know where Lord Agassar Dallin lives?" Jeco asked.

"Lord Agassar is now in his summer castle," Telm replied. "It is outside of the city, and that's where we are going."

The carriage turned to a side road. Jeco saw a squad of soldiers, on horseback, quickly approaching. Telm put his hood on, which happened to be just in time—the captain raised his hand, ordering the carriage to stop.

"Who are you? Where are you going?" the officer asked sharply, leaning down from his horse to peer inside the carriage.

Telm handed some paper to him and replied, his tone urgent and confident, "To His Lordship Agassar Dallin, on a pressing and confidential business."

The captain glanced at the paper and hurried to salute. "I do not dare to detain you, sir. But, uh..." he paused, hesitant. "In case if you're not yet informed, His Lordship is facing a rather difficult time—his son is missing..."

"I know that."

"I do not dare to detain you, then," the captain repeated. "Have a nice trip, sir."

Telm moved the reins, and the carriage rolled on.

Jeco could barely wait to get far enough from the squad. "What happened to his son?!"

"A gang of robbers has been causing trouble in Kosh," Telm replied. "The young lord went there with a dozen soldiers. He was supposed to be back several days ago."

"And? What happened? Is he alive?"

"I will tell you," Telm nodded. "But you shouldn't say that to the lord. His son Dalamir is captured. He didn't take enough men with him."

"Why didn't you tell me about it earlier? I shouldn't bother Lord Agassar at such a time! He's got enough on his mind."

But Telm shook his head. "Things are not that simple. You see, the battle of the Light against Darkness goes according to certain rules. The heavens are willing to help Lord Agassar. And through you, he is being given a chance to get his son back. Everything is going to depend on how he treats you, whether he finds enough strength to put aside his own grief and keep the promise he gave to you."

"You mean, the heavens will help him if he helps me?"

"Simply put, yes."

"But isn't that—isn't that too much to expect of him? Sometimes people are so devastated by their grief that they don't want to think about anything else."

"And that is where they are wrong. The person who has managed to help someone else despite their own sorrow will never be left without help and support from the heavens."

Jeco was silent for a while, deep in thought. That was a very interesting connection... If you're having a hard time, try not to forget about others around you—and then you'll get help, too. But if you just pity yourself, whine and cry and don't want to see anybody or do anything—that way you are cutting yourself off from the aid of the heavens. Subconsciously, he'd always felt this connection. Many times when he felt too distressed, he would tell himself—well, at least I can make somebody else happier—and start doing something for people. And indeed, his own sorrow would somehow pass...

A gentle touch on the shoulder brought him back to reality.

"We have arrived," Telm said. "That is the lord's castle. Remember, you shouldn't tell anyone what you know about the young lord. Go now. I will wait for you here."

Jeco got out of the carriage and entered the castle gate, for some reason wide open. He saw no gateman, so he crossed the large, well-kept yard and, feeling a little nervous, approached the arched door. Right next to it a small hammer hung on a string; Jeco reached for it and knocked.

In a few moments, the door opened. A tall, imposing butler regarded the boy and asked coldly, "Can I help you, young man?"

"Good afternoon, sir," Jeco said. "I would like to see His Lordship Agassar Dallin. My name is Jecosan Tarres."

"I am sorry, but this name does not tell me anything," the butler replied. "Do you have an appointment?"

"Well, yes, in a way. I was supposed to come here with Mr. Lagran, but we failed to meet."

The butler softened a little. "I remember now Lagran saying something about that. However, I am afraid that Lord Agassar cannot receive you now. His Lordship has suffered a personal loss, and we had to cancel many visits."

"I certainly understand that, sir," Jeco nodded. "Would you be so kind as to convey my condolences to Lord Agassar, and if he can't see me today, I will come at some other time."

His courtesy seemed to have disarmed the man.

"I will do that," he said. "Would you please wait here."

He stepped aside, inviting the boy to come in. Jeco entered a spacious hall, luxuriously decorated with carpets, hunting trophies, and bronze figurines. The butler offered him a wide oak armchair and disappeared behind one of the doors.

Jeco looked around, wondering how it felt to live in such a home. Was the king's palace even more splendid?... He noticed some old portraits on the opposite wall and thought about moving closer to take a look, but before he decided whether that would be nosy or not the butler was back.

"Come in, please," he called. "Lord Agassar is waiting for you."

Jeco followed him to what must have been a study room, judging by numerous bookshelves and maps on the walls. Lord Agassar sat at a fireplace; he looked pale, tired, and old. Jeco felt terrible about having to bother him in a time like this. Yet, the lord smiled when he saw the boy.

"Jecosan Tarres, the one and only!" he exclaimed. "Come in, come in. I must say you made me wonder about your mysterious disappearance."

Jeco bowed. "Good afternoon, Your Lordship. I will gladly disclose the mystery, but before I do that, allow me to express my condolences to you. I have just found out that this is not the best time for a visit, and I apologize. Would you please accept my deepest sympathy."

A shadow flew over the lord's face. "Thank you." He averted his eyes for a moment, but then looked at the boy again and continued, obviously not wishing to stay on the painful subject. "So where did you go? Lagran returned utterly confused. He told me that he had investigated your case and decided to bring you here since it was his conclusion that you were innocent—of which he informed you. Yet, when he came for you on the day of your release, as he had previously agreed with you, he found out that you already left! I questioned him in great detail, and I have to admit I did not know what to think of it, either. I trust you had a good reason for changing your mind?"

"I did not change my mind, Your Lordship," Jeco said. "And I did not leave the mines. The overseer had lied to Mr. Lagran."

The lord raised his eyebrows. "Is that so?"

"Yes, Your Lordship. I don't like to accuse someone of being a liar, especially when the person is not present, but, unfortunately, it is true. When I had served my term, the mines overseer offered me to continue working as a hired man. And when I refused, he forced me to stay."

"What do you mean by 'forced'?"

"I was tied."

"So you were there when Lagran came?"

"Yes, Your Lordship. I was working in the shaft."

"And the mines overseer had the audacity to tell him that you got released and left?"

"That's right," Jeco nodded. "He himself told me that later, so that I wouldn't expect any help from you."

The lord leaned back in his chair. "I see... Now I understand. Lagran's own honesty did him a bad service: he is a man of high integrity, and I assume he simply could not imagine that he was being deceived so blatantly."

"I have no doubt about that, Your Lordship. I couldn't believe it myself that the mines overseer dared to lie to a man representing you."

"That gentleman seems to have forgotten his place..." Lord Agassar mused, his expression suggesting that he had all the power to refresh Mr. Shmag's memory. "But why would he want to hold you there?"

"I'm afraid that my answer to this will sound too much like bragging," Jeco smiled, "but I have found out that he often holds good workers to increase production."

"So this was not the first case?"

"Far from it, Your Lordship. I had talked to one old worker there, and he told me that it has been going on for a long time."

"And it looks like the authorities have no idea about it," the lord noted. "That tells you something about them... How did you manage to get away?"

"I escaped."

"Escaped? As far as I know, Gverian mines are being guarded so well that running away from there is nearly impossible."

"This is true," Jeco nodded. "My escape was a miracle. The heavens themselves helped me."

The lord gave him a long, thoughtful look. "You believe in the power of the heavens?"

Jeco suppressed a smile. The question seemed funny to him. How was it possible that he wouldn't believe in the power of the heavens after what he had been through, with an elgur waiting for him at the gate?!

"No, Your Lordship," he said, "I don't believe in it—I know that power, because I have experienced it more than once."

Lord Agassar was silent for a few moments, looking away. Then he spoke in a quiet voice. "I envy you, Jecosan Tarres. I wish I had your kind of faith... I need it so much now."

"My faith is at your service, Your Lordship," the boy replied just as quietly.

The lord glanced up at him. "What do you mean by that?"

"I would be more than happy to pray with you, should Your Lordship grant me that honor."

Emotion and pain showed on Lord Agassar's pale face. He looked at the boy, hesitating, struggling over a decision. "No..." he said at last. "Thank you, but—no. Your prayer can give me a new hope... which is going to kill me if it doesn't come true."

Jeco's heart ached for this old man. He wanted to run up to him, grab his hand and shout, "Your son is alive! And the heavens will bring him safely home if..." If—what? If you help me? That would sound silly and cruel. And Telm told him not to say anything.

Lord Agassar pulled himself together and asked, returning to the previous subject, "What about your loud friend—the blacksmith, if I remember it right?"

"He is still serving his term," Jeco said. "And I'm worried about him."

"You fear that the overseer would hold him as well?"

"Yes, Your Lordship. Dalian is a very good and strong worker."

The lord rose from his chair and took a few steps, thinking. "Well... The matter is rather serious. I believe I should take care of it."

He picked up a small silver bell from his desk and rang it. Almost immediately, the door opened, and Lagran stepped in. He saw Jeco and halted, looking at him with wide eyes.

"Tarres! Why did you..." But then he caught himself, remembering his duty, and bowed to the lord. "Forgive me, Your Lordship. How can I serve you?"

"It's all right, Lagran," Lord Agassar smiled. "Your reaction is quite understandable. You will now see what had happened. Would you please mark something in my calendar."

"One moment, my lord."

The young man proceeded to the desk, opened a large notepad in a red velvet cover and picked up a quill. "I am ready."

"Write it down, please: Gverian mines. What's the name of the chief overseer, Tarres?"

"Mr. Shmag," Jeco said.

"Mr. Shmag," the lord continued, "is reported to be exceeding his commission and illegally holding prisoners who have served their sentence and therefore should be released."

"Not only prisoners, Your Lordship," Jeco corrected. "Hired workers are being held as well."

The lord frowned. "Hm... This is indeed serious. Are there any witnesses there who can be trusted?"

"Yes, Your Lordship," the boy replied. "There's a man named Torbin, he is a living proof of Shmag's crimes. He works in the storehouse of Pit Five. And, uh... if I am allowed to make a suggestion, I'd say that whatever steps Your Lordship is planning to take, they need to be taken quick—or Shmag will get rid of the witnesses and cover his tracks. This man is smart and dangerous."

"Well, you know him better than I do," the lord said. "So I'll take your word for it. Mark it down, Lagran: Torbin, a witness, Pit Five. Actions to be taken quick... Done?"

"Yes, my lord," Lagran nodded.

"Now you know the truth. Tarres did not run away from you—he was restrained and forced to stay in the mines."

"I—I just can't believe it, Your Lordship," the young servant commented. "This simply doesn't fit into my head."

"Yes, Lagran, our heads seem to be different from Mr. Shmag's. His appears to hold things even far less conceivable. Thank you, Lagran. You are dismissed."

The young man bowed and left. Lord Agassar turned to the boy.

"Well, Tarres. I thank you for this valuable information—and for your sincere sympathy as well. You are a fine young man; the kind that is extremely rare nowadays." He paused and added, "Exactly the kind that would be of a very good use at the king's service. What do you think about that?"

This came so unexpected that Jeco had to catch his breath. "I would be happy to serve in the palace, Your Lordship... But is it possible now when I've got a criminal record of being charged with robbery, put in prison and sent to the mines?"

"None of which is deserved, as I understand. Even the judge had admitted that his conscience was not at peace. He is afraid that he had convicted an innocent man, and he is ready to comply with the second investigation and sign all the necessary papers."

"The judge?" Jeco asked in surprise.

"Oh yes—the one you had impressed so much by quoting Belleran."

Jeco felt slightly embarrassed. "You know even that, Your Lordship..."

"That and much more," the lord smiled. "Have a seat and give me a few minutes; I will write a letter of recommendation for you to Lord Vargos, the court administrator."

Jeco was speechless for a moment or two. "Oh, Your Lordship... How can I ever thank you?"

"By honestly serving your king and your country."

The lord went to his desk, took a sheet of paper, dipped the quill into the ink bottle and started writing.

His Lordship knew quite a lot indeed. The young prisoner with an honest face and fine manners he met on the road had stirred his curiosity, and the lord ordered Lagran to conduct a thorough investigation—which the diligent servant did as best as he could. He went to the Gverian prison and met with the judge. The judge was scared. He remembered Jecosan Tarres perfectly well—that boy who presented himself so good that the judge even thought for a moment he was some runaway nobility kid looking for adventures, and whom he had sentenced to a month at the mines in a burst of anger, even though he felt that the boy was not guilty. And now Lord Agassar Dallin himself was interested in him! Fearing the lord's wrath, the judge did his best to help Lagran and arranged for him to speak with the captain, some of the soldiers and even the boys from cell number fourteen. After comparing their stories and separating lies and exaggerations from the truth, Lagran got quite a clear picture of what had happened. He'd found out all he could about the arrest and how Jeco behaved in prison; he learned about the fight in the cell, and even the reason of it. Lagran was especially touched by the fact that Jeco had silently endured all the mocking, didn't flinch at the loss of his money—but when he heard his dead parents insulted, he replied with a couple of quick, smashing blows. All of these details Lagran had relayed to his master. Lord Agassar was very impressed with the report, he couldn't figure why that remarkable boy had suddenly left, breaking his promise. He was even thinking about sending men to search for him—but then his own son disappeared, and that had overshadowed everything else.

Lord Agassar put down his quill, skimmed through the letter, waiting for the ink to dry, and sealed it. Then he took a ring off his left hand, a big golden ring with a sparkling gemstone.

"I personally do not have any doubts about your honesty, but I will still have to test it. Serving at the king's palace is a serious thing, and I am responsible for everyone I recommend. I am giving this ring to you. It costs more than you will be paid for a whole year at the king's service, so, should you decide to run away with it, you could live carelessly for several years. You will give this ring to Lord Vargos together with my recommendation letter. If you deliver the letter and the ring, it will be the best proof of your honesty and your sincere desire to serve the king; and if you run away—well, then I was wrong about you, and that would be the cost of it."

With a deep bow Jeco accepted the costly ring and the letter—even more precious to him.

"I won't run away, Your Lordship. You will not regret what you have done for me."

"I hope so," the lord smiled. "And in that case I believe I will see you again—I happen to be in the court once in a while." He pulled out a desk drawer, got a small leather tag on a chain and handed it to the boy. "Take this. It will be your pass to the palace."

Jeco accepted the tag. It was a round piece of dark leather with a silver star in the middle. The boy put the chain around his neck, hid the tag under his shirt and bowed to the lord again.

"Thank you, Your Lordship. May the heavens bless you."

Jeco ran out of the castle gate, pressing the priceless letter hard to his chest. Telm stood at the carriage, his eyes shining with such joy that Jeco even stopped for a moment, not realizing at first that the elgur already knew how it went.

"Long live Lord Agassar Dallin!" Telm proclaimed.

"Long live the lord!" Jeco joined in happily. "Will the heavens now save his son?"

"Two of my brothers are already on the way to his rescue, and tomorrow Dalamir Dallin will return home, safe and sound."

"Hurray!!" Jeco shouted and, overjoyed, ran into Telm and pushed him—just like he used to push Dalian when they would wrestle.

Telm laughed and slightly pushed him back, which almost knocked the boy down. Jeco regained his balance, laughing, and attacked again. Telm stepped back, raising his hands.

"I give up!"

That reminded Jeco of the small gray kitten in Shaledan's yard bravely wrestling with huge, strong Gart.

"I must be looking like that funny kitten," the boy smiled. "Am I?"

Telm's blue eyes smiled in return. "A little."

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The fast stallions quickly delivered them to the city gate. Telm stopped the carriage.

"I will let you go here. You will make the rest of the way alone. The king's palace is very close: you will enter the central square and see it right away."

Jeco suppressed a heavy sigh. Here it was—his destination. He looked at the dragon-headed towers of Kanavar, the red-and-blue banners over them, the thick ancient walls he once longed to see. It was for this moment that he'd made such a difficult journey and endured so much. But now he wasn't happy about it—because it meant it was time to part with Telm.

"What about you?" Jeco asked. "You will go back to the heavens?"

"Not yet. You might still need me. I will be close—but you should not look for me, nor even mention me. I will find you myself if my help is needed."

"So I will see you again?"

Telm smiled. "Most likely."

Jeco still hesitated. He knew that he had to go, but somehow he couldn't bring himself up to it.

"Come on, brother," Telm cheered him up. "What are you afraid of?"

"Everything," the boy confessed. "The king and the courtiers, and the rules that are unknown to me... What if I can't make it?"

"The heavens do not choose those who can't make it. Remember what Shaledan told you: do not let the Light be quenched in your heart. The rest is our concern."

Jeco got out of the carriage. "Farewell, Telm. Wish me luck."

"Luck?? Don't tell me you believe in luck—or need it."

"You are right, I don't," Jeco smiled. "I believe in the Light, and that's more than enough for me. Thank you for everything, Telm."

Telm extended his hand to him. "You are most welcome, my friend. May the heavens be with you."

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***

####  Take a peek into _The Palace_ ,
#### Book 2 of The Adventures of Jecosan Tarres trilogy:

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#### Chapter 1

[Back to Table of Contents]

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Jeco passed the huge city gates and followed the crowd of other travelers along the large street, looking around him with wide-open eyes. The city of Kanavar stunned him. Luxurious mansions, busy streets, all kinds of colorful signboards, beautiful carriages with crests on their sides and richly dressed, pompous drivers who stared down at passersby and often made them step aside without even saying a word; heralds hurrying somewhere on lathery horses, the continuous buzz of the throng, loud circus music...

Jeco made it to the central square and saw the king's palace right in front of him. The magnificent ancient castle towered proudly over all other buildings that seemed to part and bow before it in reverence. The palace was surrounded by a low, yet stout stone wall. Two stalwart soldiers stood motionless at the gates. They wore uniforms of Meorian state colors, red and blue, long red cloaks and gilded helmets with plumes. Jeco had never seen this kind of a uniform before. He figured these were not mere soldiers, they were warriors of the king's guard.

The boy came closer and stopped, hesitant, gazing at the guards' impressive figures.

One of the big men gave him a contemptuous look over.

"What do you want?"

"Good morning, sir," Jeco greeted him. "I need to get into the palace."

"Ha!" The soldier grinned. "Really? Is that all you want?"

"Stop it, Elidor," the other guard said, his tone somewhat weary.

But the first one ignored him and went on, staring down at the boy.

"So you think any tramp can get in here? All you need to do is ask?"

"I said stop it!" the other soldier insisted.

Elidor frowned, annoyed. The second guard turned to Jeco.

"You can't come into the palace just like that. lad. You need a special pass."

"I do have it," Jeco nodded, pulling out his leather tag.

The guards leaned forward to look. As soon as they saw the small silver star they both stepped back and saluted, Elidor turning pale. The second soldier gave him a hard, I-warned-you look and addressed Jeco with a respectful bow.

"I hope the young gentleman has not taken offence at the silly jokes of a bored soldier?"

"I apologize, sir," Elidor muttered. "If the young gentleman has reasons to dress up as a commoner, uh... I hope he would understand my mistake, and will not hold me responsible for failing to treat him appropriately..."

Jeco was somewhat confused with such a quick change. He studied Elidor's face, trying to see whether the soldier really meant it or continued to make fun of him. Yes, the big guard appeared to be genuinely scared, and now he almost trembled under Jeco's firm gaze.

Looks like my silver star means something here, the boy thought.

"Allow me to reassure you: I didn't dress up as a commoner, I am one. Whether that justifies your behavior or not," he replied, putting the tag away. "May I pass?"

The guards hurried to step aside. "Certainly, sir."

Jeco walked through the gates.

"You idiot!" he heard the second soldier lash out at Elidor. "Do you have any idea whom you've insulted?!"

"Don't start," Elidor moaned. "I'm already shaking in my boots! He must be the king's page... They love playing tricks. All he needs to do is whisper a word into the king's ear—and Elidor goes bye-bye!"

"And how many times did I tell you to watch your mouth? What if this was some kind of a secret inspection?!"

Leaving the guards to worry and argue, Jeco entered the inner yard. The yard behind the palace wall turned out to be much larger than it seemed from the outside. In the middle of it lay a parade-ground with several dozens soldiers marching around under the watchful eye of their captain. On the left Jeco saw a beautiful garden with statues and fountains, and on the right stood stables and barns.

But the boy didn't have time to look at all that. He walked around the parade-ground, approached the wide palace doors with a bronze lion at each side and stopped, feeling slightly intimidated. A short, busy looking gentleman carrying a stack of papers overtook Jeco and entered the doors with confidence, as if there was nothing to it. Jeco drew in a deep breath and followed him.

He found himself in a spacious hall, probably a waiting room, judging by the long row of soft arm chairs at the wall. The boy glanced around, looking for someone he could ask how to find Lord Vargos, but the hall was empty; the gentleman with papers had disappeared. Jeco adjusted his traveling bag on his shoulder and made a few steps that resounded with a loud echo.

"Good morning, sir. What can I do for you?" somebody asked in a very polite tone.

Jeco turned to the voice and saw a man wearing a white wig, a splendid long livery with gold and silver galloons, and white gloves. It took a few seconds to realize that this was a servant, not a nobleman. As if not noticing the boy's modest clothes, clean, but probably still inappropriate for the royal palace, the servant was looking at him without a hint of disdain, waiting patiently for the answer.

"Good morning," Jeco replied. "I am looking for Lord Vargos, the court administrator."

The servant bowed and made an inviting gesture. "Allow me to show you the way to his office."

The boy felt uncomfortable to take this excellent courtier's time.

"Thank you, sir. I do not wish to trouble you, I can find it myself if you would kindly tell me where to go."

But he didn't yet know how strict the palace rules were, and how thoroughly everyone followed them.

"No trouble at all," the servant said. "I am only doing my humble duty. Would you please follow me."

Jeco learned something: no one got here by accident, so if you made it this far, you would be treated with all due respect, no matter how you look.

The man led him through several corridors and handed him over to another servant, just as splendid and just as polite. Standing next to these people, Jeco felt like a small gray mouse.

"To His Lordship Vargos," the first servant reported.

"How should I introduce you, sir?" bowed the other one.

"Jecosan Tarres," Jeco said and added, knowing that his name alone would not mean anything, "By recommendation of Lord Agassar Dallin."

The servant bowed again. "Would you please wait here." He disappeared behind a door and soon returned. "Come in, please."

The court administrator Lord Vargos turned out to be a middle-aged man with curly brown hair and serious, thoughtful eyes. Smiling amiably, he offered Jeco a chair.

"Good morning, young man. So you are being recommended by Lord Agassar Dallin?"

"Yes, Your Lordship." Jeco reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the letter and the ring, wrapped carefully in a clean piece of cloth. "Here is a letter from Lord Agassar. Also, he has commissioned me to deliver this to you."

Lord Vargos handed the letter to the servant. "Please, read this, Gams."

The servant carefully broke the seal and unfolded the paper. Meanwhile, the court administrator unwrapped the cloth and took out the ring with the sparkling gemstone. His eyebrows flew up—he obviously knew the cost of such things.

"Dear Lord Vargos," Gams started reading. "Allow me to recommend to you Jecosan Tarres, a man of young age but great maturity, keen mind and outstanding integrity—the virtue ever in short supply, as you had once pointed out. Wishing to demonstrate how trustworthy I find this young man, I am asking him to take to you my ring, the value of which he is aware of. I am sending him to the palace alone, with no escort of any kind, knowing that the ring will be safely delivered. Beside the already mentioned qualities, I also would like to note Mr. Tarres' firm resolve and exceptional diligence. I hope that such a fine combination will find a good use at the king's service. Sincerely Yours, Agassar Dallin."

The servant finished reading, folded the letter and returned it to his master.

Jeco silently thanked Lord Agassar—he hadn't even mentioned his criminal record!

Lord Vargos leaned back in his chair, his keen eyes studying the boy.

"Very well, young man. Recommendation of Agassar Dallin means a lot. I will find you a position at the palace."

Jeco bowed. "Thank you, Your Lordship."

"What are you good at, and what kind of service would you prefer to do?"

"I do not shun any physical work, and I can read and write. As to the service, I would leave it up to Your Lordship to see where I am needed the most."

Lord Vargos smiled; he seemed to like the answer.

"As a rule, we give newcomers some simple tasks at first and see how they manage. Even with good recommendations, such a test is still necessary. What do you say if I offer you a position at the king's kitchen, for a start?"

"I'll be honored, Your Lordship. What will my work be like?"

"Chopping wood, keeping the fire going in the ovens, and other things like that. The chief cook will explain your responsibilities to you. The work is rather monotonous, but I hope that the generous pay will help you to cope with it."

"I guess I can say that I'm used to monotonous work," Jeco smiled. "I even like it, to some extent, because it gives one time to think."

"Good," Lord Vargos concluded. "Gams, take Mr. Tarres to the kitchen and introduce him to the chief cook. I will sign all the papers within the next hour."

Jeco thanked the court administrator once again and left, followed by the servant.

"Something tells me that this boy will soon show his worth," Lord Vargos mused, tapping the desk with his fingertips. "I wonder where Agassar finds this kind of people?"

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**About the author:** Laura Lond is an internationally published author of several novels and a collection of short stories. She has a Bachelor of Arts degree in history. Having worked for 2 years at a literary museum, Laura entered the world of business, working for large corporations like Xerox Ltd. and Fluor Daniel. After moving from Europe to the United States, she has been self-employed as a freelancer.

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Laura's other works:

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_The Palace_ , Book 2 of _The Adventures of Jecosan Tarres_ trilogy

_The Battle_ , Book 3 of _The Adventures of Jecosan Tarres_ trilogy

_The Adventures of Jecosan Tarres_ trilogy, books 1-3 (Omnibus Edition)

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_My Sparkling Misfortune_ , Book 1 of _The Lakeland Knight_ series

_My Royal Pain Quest_ , Book 2 of _The Lakeland Knight_ series

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_A Merman's Kiss_ , a novella

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_Side Effect_ , a supernatural thriller

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_The Magic Bracelet_ , a short story

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_Fair Price_ , a collection of two short stories

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[Back to Table of Contents]

