Quest for Knowledge (Volume 1 of the FirstWorld Saga) by Christopher Jackson-Ash (ebook reader wifi TXT) 📕

“He said that his servants would seek me out and collect any information I had. I thought that the wargs were doing that. I’m sorry for what I did. Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

“I will talk to the others. I will tell them only what they need to know. I think that you should continue your new profession as a bard. There will be many stories yet to be told before this war is over. I would be pleased to have you along to record them. You were correct when you called this a quest for knowledge. Every snippet that I learn fills in more of the gaps. It would appear that Weylyn is behind much of our troubles. How he became corrupted, I do not know. I wish I knew where Dammar fits into all of this, if indeed he still lives. What am I supposed to do about Ubadah? There are so many questions still to answer and problems to solve. I see that there is goodness in you, Kris. I also feel, without any real justification, that you were sent to us for a purpose and that you will have an important role to play before all of this is done. I have done my best to remove the evil that Frisa planted. There will be echoes of it for the rest of your life. You have the power now to resist them. The choice of your future is yours. Will you join us?”

Kris was very emotional. There were tears in his eyes and his voice wobbled. “Thank you, Manfred. I will be forever in your debt. I would like to continue with you and become the official Bard of Elannort, should I prove worthy. Consider me a sort of apprentice in the meantime. I have been working on a short piece concerning the journey so far. Would you care to hear a little of it?”

Manfred agreed and settled back in anticipation. I hope he’s not too bad; otherwise, it will be difficult to convince the others. Kris spoke in a loud, confident voice, which modulated well and expressed the emotion he was trying to convey.

The wargs attacked in waves,

Snarling and gnashing their jaws.

The firelight flickered in the hut

Burning the last of the splintered doors.

Two warriors stood tall,

Blades flashing in the firelight’s glow.

Two wargs fell dead at the door

Yet their vicious attack was not slowed.

Again and again, the wargs attacked,

Two heroes fought as one.

As on the floor the wizard slept,

Spent from the work he’d done.

Harder and harder, the beasts pressed forward,

Still the two blades powered.

While deep in the dark at the back of the hut

The bard in craven fear cowered.

No mercy would the wargs provide,

Injured now, the two men wearied.

Death stared them all in the face,

Each their own god they queried.

When all seemed lost, the wizard woke,

From the depths in which he’d slumbered.

From in his cloak, withdrew his staff

And to the doorway lumbered.

In voice so strong, he bade them leave,

Or feel his wrath be vented.

The wargs just laughed to hear such words,

And for the kill presented.

But wargs it was who died that day,

From wizard’s fire intended,

Blue fury from his staff did flow,

And pelts of wargs incended.

For Manfred he did save the day,

And wargs were killed or banished.

For when they saw the wizard’s wrath,

Into the mountains vanished.

A great victory was won that day,

In a mountain hut so cold.

Two men, a coward, and a wizard true

The craven and the bold.

Manfred was pleased and relieved; it still needed a lot of work, but it wasn’t complete rubbish. I’m not sure incended is actually a word.

Two days later, a group of travellers left Tamarlan. There were still four of them, but Ubadah had replaced Gamying. The Heir-Regent was remaining at home to help his father prepare for the likely upcoming attacks. Gamying had again tried to convince Aglaral to stay and take up service in the Tamarlan army. Manfred was pleased that he chose to stay with them. Aglaral had readily agreed that Kris remain with them when he heard the wizard’s explanation. Gamying had not been so forgiving. Ubadah didn’t seem to care much either way. That one seems to look down on anyone who is not as noble or powerful as he is.

They left on horseback, heading due east, skirting the foothills of the Mountains of Death. Manfred’s plan was to find New Hope Pass and cross the mountains by that route, meeting up with the Doom River. They carried small one-man boats in their luggage and Manfred planned to ride the spring thaw down the River Doom as far as Two Rivers. It would then be a short, easy trek to Elannort. This route also had the benefit, or risk depending on your point of view, of maybe finding the elusive New Delve. Manfred had a feeling that there was important information to be found there, perhaps even knowledge of what had happened to David son of Dwahir son of Davit and his followers.

The journey east took three days, but was uneventful. First the Devil Mountains and then the Mountains of Death rose on their right, like impenetrable black walls. The mountain peaks, high in the distance, were white with snow and Manfred did not look forward to the chill of the high places again. There were no paths leading into the mountains and no sign of any passes by which to cross the dense barrier. A few times, they noticed dark shapes away in the distance, seeming to track their progress. The wargs will follow us, but I doubt they’ll want to risk another encounter. Close to Tamarlan, the countryside was pleasant farmland, bathed in warm spring sunshine and bursting with new growth. As they moved further east the land began to change, becoming less green and productive until it became a barren landscape of broken rocks, dotted with patches of snow and ice. Eventually they were riding on solid ice and had to slow their progress to protect the horses.

At night they pitched a tent, made from tanned animal hides, and slept two at a time, huddled together for warmth. They made no fire, because there was nothing to burn. Manfred found the close contact interesting. He was able to read much in the minds of his companions. Kris was much happier now. He didn’t even show much fear for the wargs tracking them. He was enthusiastic about his new role as writer and bard. Manfred was amused by the clumsy attempts at rhyming that were constantly in his head. Aglaral continued to worry about his family and debate whether he should have taken up Gamying’s offer to stay in Tamarlan. Manfred was pleased to note that the debate always ended with his desire to serve the Balance and his loyalty to the old wizard winning through. Ubadah was something else. His mind was full of constant grumbles that sometimes would surface enough for him to gripe about. It was too cold; the food was not adequate; he didn’t like sharing accommodation, especially with lower class persons such as soldiers and bards; he shouldn’t have to carry his own luggage; he wasn’t shown enough respect and deference; people should ask his permission to speak or do things; and so it went on. Manfred felt depressed by it all. Ubadah is going to be trouble, I feel it in my old bones.

They saw no living things during their journey, other than the ever-present wargs. On the afternoon of the third day, their horses tired and hungry, they came upon a track leading up into the hills. It was no more than a goat track. Manfred had hoped it would be good enough to ride the horses further, but that was not going to be the case. They hobbled the horses and prepared for another cold night. Manfred and Aglaral took the first watch, while Ubadah complained about having to share a tent with a commoner. The sky was clear and a half-moon gave just enough light to make it impossible for someone to creep up on them unnoticed. The wizard and the warrior sat in silence, each seemingly lost in their own thoughts. Manfred was thinking about his last hot meal and pint of ale. Much more of this dry tack and I’ll begin to fancy roast warg. He was roused from his thoughts as Aglaral jumped up and drew his sword. No more than five yards away, Manfred could see a pair of red eyes, shining out of the darkness like brake lights in the fog. The horses whinnied and struggled against their restraints. A single warg approached and stopped three feet from them. Manfred held a hand on Aglaral’s leg to signal no action. In his head, he heard a single word over and over. Parley.

The warg observed them. Manfred smelled the unmistakeable stench and, despite himself, a shiver ran up his spine. He resisted the temptation to reveal his staff. The warg spoke. “Master comes soon. Destroy you he will. We let you pass. Hungry. Horses for safe passage.”

Manfred had been worrying about the horses throughout the journey. He hadn’t brought a groom from Tamarlan to take them home because he knew that the wargs would attack and without his magic, they would have no chance. He had become resigned to losing them. He stood up and the warg took an involuntary step backwards. That’s good, nice to see a bit of respect for singed fur.

“Tell your master that Manfred the Magician will be waiting for him at Elannort, with a few tricks that he’s not expecting.” I hope I can think of something. “Tell him that he is a traitor to the Balance and that he will pay for his crimes. Tell him that the time for atonement will soon be upon him. Tell your friends, that if I see any of you again on our journey you shall feel the wrath of my staff.” He withdrew his staff from inside his cloak and showed it to the warg, which took another step back. “We accept your offer, not out of fear but out of practicality. Have the decency to wait until we are out of sight and earshot. Be gone!” The warg growled, turned on its heels, and disappeared into the night. A message was left in Manfred’s mind. Next time your throat. Manfred shivered and it wasn’t from the cold.

“I wish there were another way, Aglaral, but we have no way of protecting the horses and we cannot take them with us. I will at least cut them loose to give them a slim chance and make the wargs work for their meal.”

The rest of the night passed peaceably and next morning, after more cold tack they prepared for their climb. Ubadah was in full complaint mode. “I am a king. I do not carry my own luggage. It is unheard of.”

“It will be heard of,” Manfred said, “because the story will be faithfully told by our bard, including your whingeing and whining about it. It’s quite simple really; we each have a small boat, which we’ll need to descend the other side. If you don’t carry one, you’ll not have one when you need it. Equally, if you don’t carry food and water, you’ll not eat and drink. Is that clear?” Manfred had finally had enough.

“How dare you talk to me like that?” Ubadah demanded. “I will have you flogged!”

Manfred sighed and cast his eyes upwards in disbelief. “I should have taken you over my knee and given you a good spanking when you were a child. You are