The Shadow's Spear

26 Lothorine

Termon glanced one more time at the scrap of paper in his hand.

At the start of spring, meet at the Shimmering Pool tavern in the city of Lothorine.

“Excuse me, sir. Are you a musician?

The man seemed uncomfortable. “Yes.”

“Will you sing us a song, tonight?”

“No, not tonight. Even these instruments need a rest, now and again.”

Months of living the life of his dreams were wearing on him. He had been to too many inns and too many cities, and he was tired of it. He, Termon, was tired of performing. He’d loved the return of his carefree days at first, but it had gotten old, quickly. Every city, every inn, every travelling companion seemed the same. Ordinary people living ordinary lives. He had trouble pretending to be one of them. The sword at his side burned.

“You’re late,” said a voice from across the room. “But I’m not surprised.”

The bard stood up, knocking over his chair. “Pelan! Kohal! Anoran!”

He dashed towards them. The four of them ended up on the floor in a pile, the result of an embrace gone awry.

For hours they spoke of the Valley and their new lives. Of the things that had been revealed and of the words Falas gave to each of them. Of all the times they remembered together, this was the best. No curse, no doubts, no mysteries. Just friendship.

“Pelan, where are you going after this?” Termon asked.

“I’m leading a company of the Prophets for a tour of this nation of Lothorine, as Falas commands. We’re the first out of the valley; we’ll see how we are received.”

“And the men of Wildgrass?” Termon asked.

“After nineteen years together, it seems our ways part,” Anoran said.

“I’ve sent a letter to Kiola,” Kohal said. “We’ll meet in Galin in a few months. From there, we're going to flee to Inrava, which should be far enough away from Maeva to be safe. That is, if she trusts me enough to leave our old home.”

“And if not?” Termon asked.

“I go to Wildgrass. Whatever happens, I’ll restore what was broken between us.”

“You’re on the wrong side of the mountains,” Termon said. “What brought you here, first?”

“To say goodbye to a friend. Well, and to avoid Maeva.”

Termon smiled. “Thank you. And Anoran?”

“I’m not sure, right now. I’m torn between two things.”

“They are?”

“To the valley or to go with you.”

“With me?” Termon was surprised. “The Valley seems to suit you a little better. You know how I live. Carefree. Performing wherever the winds take me. Poor but unburdened.” The words seemed a little empty.

“Perhaps, but that life is also not the life for you. At least, according to Falas.” He pulled a small pendant: a silver wire with a dangling black sphere. “Falas has a mission for you, son of Fuellion.”

**********

It so happened that I sat in that very same tavern, not far from the four of them. What was said much peaked my interest, especially when they claimed to have seen the Valley. So, despite the rudeness, I eavesdropped. Most of their words confused me, but in the end I could tell they were four important characters that I needed to concern myself with for the completeness of my work. So, somewhere around that point, I interrupted them and asked to hear the full story. It took some doing, but I finally convinced them to tell me their tale. I have a way of doing that.

And so I spent some time with these heroes, whose names shall be known in time. And I have recorded an account as must be known. So here, here is the tale of Anoran of Wildgrass, such as has been written thus far in Kanel.

~Tevaren, Wandering Historian

Spring, 2221

This concludes the main story! Hope you enjoyed it. Expect a few epilogue sections.

Also, please check out my upcoming urban fantasy novel, The Knights of San Luis, at jtstoll.com/books. It's the the story of four California friends fighting an evil wizard prince while trying to not let it ruin their senior year of high school.