The Sword and the Flame: The Forging

Chapter 5

Nothing! Not a damn thing! Berek sat back on his haunches, fighting the urge to throw something. Even though he didn't expect to find anything, he couldn't let his ambitious dream get the better of him. This was only a minor setback; there had to be an opening somewhere around them. History proved rumors were based on factual events. He took a deep breath and covered his face with his hands to help clear his head. A small part of him began wondering if it'd be easier to kill Renard. Of course, there was the main reason he hadn't done so yet: his pet gargoyle Fech. Without the might of that gruesome creature he doubted Renard would've lasted a fortnight with his company. Berek let out his breath in thought. There had to be another spot.

Gilliam watched his nephew in silence and tried to imagine what the young man was thinking. He could see the frustration on the fighter's face after they finished their search within the grove. For anyone else, the cleric would've offered some words of encouragement, but he knew it would be wasted on Berek. His nephew was too proud to accept any token like that. He reminded Gilliam of Berek's father, his brother, in that way. Neither of them would ever ask for help, nor accept a show of sympathy. He was about to say something when the sound of a large object crashing through the brush caught their attention.

Gilliam rested his hand on mace's handle, straining his hearing for another sound. After a few seconds the cleric's patience was rewarded when voices drifted through the night air towards them. He glanced at his nephew and was pleased to see he heard the voices as well. Any further questions would have to wait as the fighter leapt to his feet and headed for the sound that had begun to sound like a scuffle. Gilliam said a quick prayer to Fallor before lifting his mace in preparation for the upcoming fight.

They could hear the shrill voice of one of the group ahead. A child, judging from its pitch. No, she was a Halfling. Berek could tell by the sight of her seconds before one of the men made a joke about Halflings. If it'd been another time and place, he would've congratulated himself on identifying her; it was by no means a simple task to do so. Instead, he concentrated on reaching the pair being held. There were only four bandits, but he doubted they could reach them in time without allowing his uncle to learn of his ability.

Gilliam sat crouched next to his nephew, waiting for what, he prayed, would be the appropriate time to intervene. While he lacked the ability to see at night, like Berek claimed he could, his hearing was excellent. After hearing the bandit's leader talk of killing the magic user — nothing wrong with that in his mind — he tensed. Like most clerics, he didn't trust magic users. In fact, he hated and feared them. A cleric's power came from their deity — they were nothing more than a conduit for the power they could yield. Mages, warlocks, druids, and other magic users took their power from the world around them and sought to be like the Gods. Indeed, he was certain that was their ambition despite what claims they made to the contrary.

Sensing the time to act was nearly upon them, Gilliam glanced at his nephew to see if Berek could sense it as well. It was the first time the cleric ever saw his nephew's face when he was using his night vision. The surprise at the sight of Berek's eyes forced a gasp from the well traveled cleric. "By Fallor... Your eyes..." He leaned backwards, away from the soft glowing emptiness of the fighter's eyes. The bush couldn't hold the cleric's weight, resulting in a chorus of breaking twigs, branches, and a dull thump on the soft ground.

Berek watched his uncle for a moment, this wasn't how he wanted him to find out and neither of them were ready. He wanted to say something, anything to calm the terrified look on Gilliam's face, but the sound of the bush gave away their location. Without wasting another second, Berek raised his hand and mumbled a strange word. Five balls of light, no larger than an insect launched from each of his finger tips towards the form farthest from them. The Halfling's attack was hidden from him by the positioning of the bandit he attacked. At least, it was well timed, he thought, rushing through the brush towards the remaining two.