Darkin A Journey East - By Joseph A. Turkot Page 0,42

oblige guests, and friends to Remtall,” said the keeper. Remtall had wandered off momentarily, frantically looking for a chair big enough for Slowin; the giant golem had been pulled aside by some strangers who knew him, and alone at the table sat Flaer, Adacon, and Erguile. They each drank greedily and quickly poured seconds.

“This is a bizarre place, magnificent too, of course,” throated Erguile as he tore through his second tankard.

“It is—I wish I could meet some of these folks, what I could learn,” Adacon said. Flaer smiled and patted Adacon and Erguile on their shoulders.

“Good to have you with us man,” retorted Erguile, gripping Flaer’s shoulder in turn.

“Yea, Krem spoke very highly of you. We are every bit comforted at your presence,” Adacon spoke in between gulps. “After all, the best swordsman in all of Darkin!”

“That bit is contrived, but tonight I shall honor your skill just the same—a toast!” Erguile said cockily, then raised his glass, and so then did the others. They drank healthily the first pitcher to completion by the time Slowin returned to the table at last, toting an enormous stool. He sat on the fringe of the table and looked for his ale. Quickly he drank it and looked to refill, finding the pitcher empty.

“A powerful company of drinkers, I dare say,” Slowin laughed. Just then Remtall reappeared, new pitcher in hand.

“Sorry to keep you all waiting,” he said, placing the new pitcher down and finding a seat next to Flaer, opposite Adacon and Erguile. “I had to call a guard to remain at my post. Even in peaceful refuge such as Rislind we must never become complacent when Grelion is alive and seeking spoils.”

“And I sorrow to bring news worse, Remtall, as we are again in Vesleathren’s wake,” Slowin said.

“I can’t bear to think of that—it is too wretched; and this news of yours Adacon? My heart dreads to know of your tale, but please. . .” Remtall pleaded, engaging his tankard again.

“Remtall was the name of my friend in the slave camp. He was my only friend before I deserted the farm and met Krem in the Desert. He was murdered, hanged for defiance by the Guard,” Adacon told. At that Remtall wept openly, and he trembled. Slowin tried to comfort the tiny man.

“What is it?” Erguile questioned.

“Was this Remtall of fair golden hair, with eyes of aquamarine?” cried Remtall.

“Indeed he was—but how can you know that?” Adacon resounded.

“Remtall Olter’Fane was my son—and I am the father of your lost friend,” burst Remtall, falling into tears and drinking deep of his ale.

“But how can it be so? You are a gnome; that boy was a tall and mature man,” questioned Erguile. Remtall did not respond, but looked pitifully into Slowin’s eyes.

“Forgive them, for they are slaves and know not of the world. Erguile, Remtall’s late wife was human, and can the height of a human or a gnome be created by such a union,” Slowin explained. Remtall continued to cry and drink, and the others drank in turn while hearing the tale of how his son was stolen with other children of Rislind seventeen years prior.

“It was Zesm the Rancor! That dirty rogue, allied to all who might pay him well with black magic. I shall have his head yet,” an enraged Remtall blasted. Many in the tavern turned to look at the scene, but only briefly; Flaer turned toward the gawkers to reflect their poor manners with a fiery glare of anger. Momentarily his sword glowed, bright enough for every patron to see soft light rising above the table. Startled by the Brigun Autilus, the patrons went back to their own affairs, and the light disappeared.

“You cannot be certain it was Zesm, can you? He was in hiding for the longest time after Krem defeated him in battle,” Slowin recalled.

“There were many children taken that night, and one witness alone; and Zesm’s hunched figure is unmistakable,” said Remtall.

“Who witnessed it?” asked Erguile.

“‘It was me! And I ran after him and his carriage, through to the edge of the foothills; it was dark and I lost him there—aided he was by something magic and unseen,” Remtall said. “How any horse-drawn carriage could make a way through the Rislind Pass I do not know, lest black magic worked in it.”

“Zesm is now allied with Vesleathren, and his power is returned stronger than ever; he is hunched no more,” Slowin mournfully admitted. “This I learned of late from Krem, just after he learned from