Chapter Three
The first rays of the early morning suns were creeping into the valley, elves all around were setting about to do the day's work. Wyrmwood had crept into the hut where Kryzzl was still snoring to search for his ring. He looked through the man's pack, found only papers, fruit, and hard bread. He reached into a pocket of the pack, pulled out two scraps of parchment. On one was the rubbing of Lisann's pendant, the other a reddish-brown drop of blood. “She lives, thank the gods, else the bastard would o' taken the whole pendant” he thought, and quietly returned the parchment to its place.
“I have to find me ring,” he thought to himself. The sunlight was now shining though the small doorway of the hut, and Kryzzl stopped snoring. Wyrmwood quickly and quietly returned the pack to its place. The man looked up and found his new dwarf friend standing above him, as if patiently waiting for the man to wake up.
“ Tis late in the morn' fer a young man like yerself to be rising,” the dwarf said with false impatience. “I must find Jak an' get some answers an' supplies, ye get yerself ready for the day. Boar sausage an' cheese are by the hearth.”
“Thank you,” the man said as he pulled his tan shirt over his hairless chest. Wyrmwood then saw it.
“Me ring,” he thought. “I'll get it back soon, even if'n I have to chop his finger off with me axe.”
“He cannot be trusted, he speaks of the death of your brother, yet our scouts report otherwise.” Jak was sitting on a fallen tree far enough away from the huts that he could not be heard by anyone but the dwarf standing before him. “The man holds papers, obviously forged, and the coat of arms of King Tystyl's father. He claims to be from Jire, but we both know that's a lie.”
“Aye. So what is he about, can ye read his thoughts?” asked Wyrmwood, puzzled.
“A strange magic surrounds him, no, his thoughts are not to be read. I believe he may have an Elder Ring,” answered Jak.
“Aye, he holds me own ring,” Wyrmwood said regretfully, “an' he will give it up, one way or the other. I'll take him to Gumlor, to let him die by the hands o' the stinkin' orcs,” the dwarf said grimly. He stood up and walked back to Jak's hut to find Kryzzl finishing his breakfast, already dressed in his brown trousers, tan shirt, and green coat. His pack was laying on the dirt floor beside him.
“Are we ready to head out? It is very important that I find Sir Wyrmwood this day,” Kryzzl said politely.
“Aye, but I fear ye won't find him this day. We'll set out. The elves have offered ponies for us to ride,” said the dwarf as they left the hut, “ 'tis a hard road from here, an' we need all the help we can get.”
As they mounted the ponies, Wyrmwood said to Jak, “Take care, me friend.”
“May your gods go with you 'William',” replied Jak, “we will keep watch over you until you reach the mountain pass.”
“Thank you for your hospitality, it is much appreciated,” Kryzzl said.
Nodding, Jak swept a hand out in front of them as if showing them the way.
*******
Peering into the large crystal in the center of the room, the ancient wizard was softly uttering the words of a continuous spell. He was pleased with what he saw. He had seen what transpired the night before, that his new lackey had done the deed.
“It played out beautifully,” Fael thought to himself, “Now all there is to do is get his ring, and find that damned dwarf, and I shall have all the Elder Rings I need. Nobody will be able to stop me then...”
What he did not see in the crystal was what happened after Omarus and his crew rode off. Lisann had gotten news from a squirrel that a man was in danger on the road. She had hurried of to find him, and to help any way she could. The night sky was beginning to open up in a full rain by then, and visibility was low. After an hour of searching, she finally found the man, and seeing who it was, her heart sank deep into her chest.
“Tystyl...” she whispered. Her king was already dead. She rolled his lifeless body onto his large shield and dragged him to a nearby chapel to get him out of the rain.
The woman stood over the broken man on the altar. Her light brown hair curled around her ears and down into her deep green eyes. She stood straight and beautiful, tears welling up as she performed the ceremony of last rites for her fallen king, before preparing his body for public display. When she had finished with her ceremony, she bent over him and softly cried, “Oh, my king, my king. My dear, sweet Tystyl. First I lose my dearest friend Wyrmwood, now his adopted son, the kindest soul anyone could meet. You saved this great kingdom, and built your city back up from the ashes. My dear Tystyl, may all the gods be sad this day, for their realm has lost the greatest king it has ever known.”
As she spoke, tears fell like a water fall. A teardrop landed on Tystyl's hand, running along his finger until it reached his ring. It was a plain gold ring with an emerald set deep into the gold. When the tear touched the ring, the emerald began to shimmer. Within an instant, lights of all colors shot forth from the ring and darted about in the air like hummingbirds. The lights swarmed about the fallen Tystyl as flies would swarm around a honey pot. She watched in awe as his chest began to move, ever so slightly, up. His chest then fell with a jerk. The lights vanished. Her heart sank once more.
After a few moments, Tystyl's arms and legs began to jerk, a light twitch at first, but after a minute or so, his entire body was convulsing violently. She rushed to get a cushion under his head to prevent further damage to the king's skull. A minute later, the convulsing stopped. He breathed.
He breathed!
She was ecstatic, hurrying to hold him in her arms. As he drew another ragged breath, she gave him a soft kiss on the forehead and laid him back down so he could sleep.
Lisann sat by the stone altar all night, and when morning came, Tystyl woke up to find he was looking at the familiar vaulted ceiling of an old chapel near Lightwood. “Good morning, my king,” Lisann's voice might as well have been that of an angel. He looked deep into her green eyes, then threw his arms around her in a weakened, loving embrace.
“I live?” the king questioned. “I was in a place of great darkness, then lights of so many colors surrounded me, entered my soul. I have never had so much pain.”
“You caught a crossbow bolt in your neck, I fear it was poisoned.” She told him to rest this day, and she would take him back to her cottage in the morning. “I will stay with you as much as I can, dear Tystyl. You must need food, so I will go out and gather some fruit, unless you would prefer a hare or some stew...”
“No, I will be fine,” said he in a weakened voice, “I must find Father before Omarus and the rest of my men do.”
“You mean?” she asked him with hope in her eyes.
“Yes, he is alive, but I fear we will lose him forever if my knights find him. Fael has put a price upon his head. I was a fool to trust that damned mage. Now he has my own men rising against me. I must reach Strungvali by the morrow.”
“Rest today, young king, and in the morning I will send you to the valley. The elves should know where Sir Wyrmwood is, and aid you in finding him,” Before she finished her half-whispered sentence, Tystyl had fallen fast asleep.
All that night, Lisann prayed over his wounds, healing him with her powerful magic. When morning came, her king was almost as good as new. She was growing weary, having not slept in almost three days, when Tystyl finally woke up. “Take this,” she said as she poured a vial of potion into his mouth, “it should help with the pain from that bolt.”
“I thank you, Lady Lisann,” Tystyl said once he swallowed the bitter elixir, “I owe you my life. Anything you desire from the kingdom is yours,” said the king.
“All I desire is that you find our dear Wyrmwood and bring him home.” She then added, “When you are ready, come outside so that I can send you to the valley.”
Tystyl quickly pulled his boots on, fastened his armor, and walked outside to his weapons. He strapped the axe across his back, and buckled his sword belt tightly. Standing in front of the chapel, Lisann quietly began the words of a spell. She reached into a pouch around her neck, taking a pinch of the fine powder within, sprinkling it over the king. She knew her spell was working when he closed his eyes, mist swirling about him, and started to fade out of the material plane. A moment later, Tystyl was gone.