2024, circa Year 10,233 Byd Hud
Artemis Rell sat cross-legged on his bedroll, cradling his throbbing head in his hands. It was like this every damn morning, after starting the same way every damn night. Rell would fall asleep after drinking or doing drugs and have the same dream. Every night. It had been going on so long that Rell was no longer sure whether his drinking caused the dream or whether the dream prompted his drinking.
Drugs didn’t help, and clearly the drinking didn’t either. They stopped his seizures but didn’t make a dent in the dream.
Every night he dreamed of flying above the Earth, which was delightful at the beginning. He soared over fields, lakes, hills and mountains, crossed an ocean, glided over rugged terrain, and plunged into a mountain lake, where the dream turned surreal. He flew through a confusing gray fog until he found himself in another world. At least, he believed it was another world.
The light and plants looked strange, and he saw creatures in the nearby woods that didn’t belong to his world, though some seemed familiar. He thought he saw a large, red dragon at one point, who roared as he flew by.
He flew over this world until he reached a city nestled in a forest. The buildings blended perfectly with the trees, making it hard to tell where they ended and the trees began. One ground-level building had a large open area.
A woman entered the open space, and he descended to walk beside her. This woman was a few inches shorter than his six feet. Her long silver hair streaked with auburn was intricately braided. Her ears swept back to a point like an elf’s. She had a slight build and tanned, olive skin. A gray cloak draped over her shoulders, and she carried a bow slung over her shoulder. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
She looked at him with large, brown eyes. Rell felt drawn into them, his head swimming as the strange, dreamlike state deepened. She reached out and took his hand. Her skin was warm, and the heat oddly relaxed his mind. The dream turned real all at once. He smelled things he had never noticed before. The sunlight felt different, yet it felt good on his skin. The floor beneath his feet felt solid.
He continued gazing into her eyes. “Why am I here?”
Her smile lit her face, and Rell felt it was the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. Her voice was soft and smooth. “Because my world needs you here. I need you here.” She reached up with her other hand and rested it against his cheek. The warmth of her hands was incredibly calming… Here, his dream always turned into a nightmare.
The world morphed and darkened into a blackness deeper than he’d ever known. His body felt as if it were being repeatedly turned inside out. The blackness took shape as a large, black dragon, then morphed into a woman. Her features were feminine, but while the elf was warm, this woman was cold-cold, cold. His skin felt as if millions of needles were stabbing him at once. His stomach twisted into a knot, and he dropped to his knees, nauseated.
Her voice was sibilant, as cold as her beauty. “You are nothing! You are weak and powerless, and I will tear you apart and destroy everything you love! I will take you apart, piece by piece, savoring each fragment as I slowly consume you!” She laughed then; a cruel laugh laced with malice and contempt. Rell felt his bowels and bladder release in terror. He huddled in fear and shame, feeling insignificant and weak in the presence of such evil. He awaited death.
A man appeared beside the woman. He had long black hair, a thin face with a long nose, a square chin, and a shadow along his jaw. His skin was pale, and his pale blue eyes stood out. He laughed cruelly at Rell’s state, his eyes showing no mirth. “When she is done, she will give you to me, and I will find out what makes you do what you do. You will not like the process!” He laughed again.
He felt a surge of warmth and looked up. The elf woman stood before him, her hand resting on his shoulder. The warmth from her hand began to drive the cold from his body. She helped him to his feet, then wrapped her arms around him. The heat radiating from her body chased away the chill from the rest of him. He couldn’t remember a hug feeling this wonderful.
She looked into his eyes, full of love. “I will always be with you. You won’t ever be alone again.” She kissed him, and all thoughts of the wicked woman and the man disappeared.
Rell woke alone, as he always did. He lay in his cot, the tent fabric inches from his face, a reminder of where he was. He tried to hold on to the wonderful feeling the woman created in him, but it faded fast. Rolling over, he sat on the edge of the cot, his face in his hands. Sweat slicked his skin, and dizziness lingered. His body felt empty and used up. The heat from the woman in his dream clung to his palms, but even that faded fast. He looked around his tent, with its sparse furnishings and clutter. Depression closed in on him like a crushing weight.
He screamed into his hands, a raw, full-throated, primal cry of despair. Lately, every morning felt the same. His dream hinted at a much better life than the one he lived, but he woke to this harsh reality. He saw no way to get from where he was to where his dream wanted him to be. He reached under his cot and searched for the bottle he kept there. He found it and pulled it out, but it was empty.
A scream escaped his lips again: “Fuck!” He hurled the empty bottle across the tent.
He reached under his cot once more and grabbed his handgun, a Glock 22. He sat there, staring at it. The hangover throbbed in his head like a diesel pile driver; he smelled like vomit, and the recurring dream was driving him crazy. His life was a big mess, and he was done with it.
He thought, not for the first time, that the easiest thing to do would be to end it. Who would even miss him, right? His gaze was fixed on the pistol. He always kept one chambered. He would press it against his temple and squeeze the trigger-a flash of light, and the pain would vanish. Easy. Or maybe under the jaw, so the shot would travel up through his head? He ran through other scenarios, all ending with him dying. The metal felt cold as he pressed the muzzle to his temple. He closed his eyes, feeling the pistol’s checkered grip in his right hand. He sensed the curve of the trigger.
Outside his tent, a cardinal began to sing, oddly reminding him of a moment from his childhood. There was a smoky smell of…bacon?
Rell’s eyes opened, and he lowered the pistol. A couple of sniffs confirmed it was bacon, and his stomach growled. He sat for a moment, listening to the bacon sizzle outside his tent. Someone softly sang a song he vaguely remembered from his childhood – Men of Harlech?
He went to the entrance and looked out. His tent was pitched in a small clearing at the edge of a state park in western Indiana, almost a wilderness. It was very isolated. Hardwood trees surrounded it, and the sound of a nearby stream was clearly audible, as were the songs of birds.
An elderly-looking man sat by a fire about ten feet from Rell’s tent. He had a cast-iron skillet over the flames, using a fork to stir the bacon. He wore a dark blue robe and had long white hair, a beard, and piercing golden eyes. He held a large white wooden staff, covered in runes, in the crook of his right arm. Rell wondered why Gandalf was in front of his tent, cooking breakfast.
Myrddin looked up as Rell stepped out of his tent. His face concealed his shock at the man before him. He was tall, about six feet, but gaunt, as if he had stopped eating. Dark circles rested under his blue eyes. He stood hunched, as if the weight of his head was too much to bear. His jeans were filthy, with holes at the knees. His white T-shirt was so dirty it looked gray. The arms protruding from the shirt looked like twigs, with the elbows sticking out like knobs. His skin was grimy and covered in sores. His brown hair and beard were wild, unkempt, and matted, and his eyes were red and rheumy.
Rell felt a jolt as the old man’s blue eyes locked onto his. In a deep voice with a strange accent that sounded almost British, the old man asked, “Are you Artemis Duke Rell?”
#
Warden Robena sat in the Warden Barracks, weaving her reddish-silver hair into a Warden Braid, tight enough that no vegetation could catch in it on patrol. Through the window, the royal palace rose above the rooftops of Caercartref, its five great trunks glowing faint gold even in daylight. Two years ago, she had slept behind those walls as the King’s eldest child. Now she slept in a barracks cot, and the distance between the two felt like more than a walk across town.
She felt a hand rest on the back of her neck and didn’t flinch – she was used to Dydd appearing out of nowhere. She looked up and smiled. “Good morning, Dydd!”
Dydd, who never smiled, nodded. “Good morning, cariad-love. Chieftain Rhys has ordered us to patrol the northeastern portion of the Coedwig Yr Elfiaid-The Elven Forest, along the Dwarven frontier. There are reports of Goblins.”
Robena grimaced. “So close? That is disturbing.”
Dydd nodded in agreement. “I just heard that Orcs attacked the Temple of Athena in Hyppolita, trying to kill Myrddin, who is now awake and heading this way. Reports from the borderlands say the Trolls are emerging from the mountains. All dark omens!”
Robena went still inside. Myrddin was awake – was… he… coming here? If so, then the object of her dream couldn’t be far behind. She felt her cheeks flush, and butterflies rise in her stomach. She clasped her hands so Dydd wouldn’t see them tremble.
Robena shook her head to clear it. “Is Noson ready to leave?”
Dydd was already gathering her bow and quiver. Her head tilted. “Yes,” she said, her face expressionless. “He says he’s waiting for us. He claims he always waits.”
Robena laughed. “Males!” She reached for her own bow and quiver, then paused, watching Dydd’s hands move through the familiar motions. Two years of this, and it still struck her sometimes – how Dydd and Noson always seemed to know the moment she needed them, day or night, awake or dreaming.
Her father had given her the bonded pair, Dydd and Noson, when she was four, sworn to protect her and no one else, and it was the only gift from him she still let herself be grateful for. She envied their special bond even as she appreciated the lesser bond she shared with them.
Robena spoke a thought she had. “Do you ever miss it? The four-elements-in-one-hand business? Not having to wait on a squad to shape earth and call fire and-“
“No,” Dydd said flatly, and slung the quiver over her shoulder. Robena grinned. That was fair. Wardens gave up plenty when they took the Grey – family, wealth, standing, in her own case a throne – but nobody who’d earned the Grey ever seemed to miss using four kinds of elemental magic at once. While they still could, it was enough to be trusted with a bow, a blade, and the King’s Law in the wilderness where the King’s soldiers didn’t go.
Robena slung her bow, quiver, and satchel over her shoulders. She and Dydd dressed alike for patrol – snug shirts under light chainmail, loose green overshirts, green pants strapped tight against snagging brush, and the gray cowled cloak that marked a Warden anywhere in Byd Hud.
They left the barracks and found Noson outside, surveying the town. He was tall for an elf, slender, his cloak mottled black, gray, and green instead of Dydd’s solid gray, his black hair and dappled face built for the deep woods rather than open patrol. Since this was the day, he remained visible, but he preferred to be camouflaged when he was visible.
Robena gave him a side hug and scanned the town alongside him, watching the elves move about below. “See any enemies?” she teased.
“Everywhere,” he said, deadpan. “But seriously, I hear your father has hired more assassins.”
Robena’s frown furrowed her brow. “For some reason, I scare him. I thought taking the Grey would prove I don’t seek retribution.”
Noson shot her a sidelong glance. “I believe that as much as you do, Princess. You pose a threat to his wicked ways as long as you’re alive. He needs you out of the way.”
“He has so much blood on his hands. With Myrddin awake now, perhaps something can be done about it.”
Noson glanced sharply at her but couldn’t read her expression. “Myrddin has not traditionally involved himself in Tylwyth Teg internal politics.”
Robena mused, “He needn’t involve himself directly.”
Noson waited for her to say more. When he realized Robena wouldn’t, he turned to Dydd and said, “Well, cariad, shall we?”
Dydd reached out and briefly held his hand. “Yes, fy nghariad-my love.” Dydd disappeared as she lifted her veil. Although Noson and Robena could still see her with their Sight, she was invisible to everyone else.
Noson and Robena walked briskly to the edge of town, then broke into a run.
#
Crwydryn placed Svava atop the sacred mountain Ben Dòchas. It was a treeless, wind-blown expanse, cold and shrouded in mist, with short, bristly heather. A small cairn stood at the summit. Svava looked around and saw numerous mountains, all as tall as hers, wrapped in mist. The only sound was the distant cry of an eagle.
Svava appeared as a Dwarven woman, mortal now, but with all her memories. She stood five feet tall with the squat, muscular build typical of her kind. Thick, wavy auburn hair fell freely over her shoulders. She had the silver eyes of a Seeker and a freckled face. She retained all her knowledge and was given the basic knowledge she needed for day-to-day living. She could speak nearly any language.
As an Honored Seeker of the Good God Dagda, she was welcome nearly everywhere, except in Orc lands. Seekers, as part of their order, could use their powers only in the defense of themselves or others. Svava wore layered fabric leggings wrapped in leather strips and finished with simple leather boots, along with a blouse and a leather jacket. Over everything, she donned the silver robe of a Seeker.
In the cold, she pulled the cloak tightly around herself. A chestnut staff, covered in runes and as tall as she was, rested in her left hand. A leather satchel hung over her shoulder, and a pouch at her waist seemed to hold coins. A long knife rested in a sheath at her right hip.
She touched her hand to her heart, then to her forehead, took the food from the cairn, and put it in her satchel. Several small figures gathered in the heather to look at her, no more than three or four inches tall, with colorful, darting wings. They had dark, sun-browned skin, elfin ears, and hair as red as embers, and most wore little scraps of clothing – leaf-cloth and vine belts, a few capped with what looked like acorn shells.
They circled her in a chattering cloud, letting out high-pitched squeaks she found she could understand. “A Seeker!” one said. “She’s huge!” said another.
Pixies, Svava thought, placing them. Earth, air, or fire in their blood, depending on the family, and never far from solid ground. She’d heard Sprites described the same way once – smaller still, pale and fair-haired, never straying far from water – but she saw none of those blue eyes or flaxen heads among this bunch. Land-folk only, out here on the mountain.
Svava reached out her hand to one who seemed calmer than the others, and he settled onto her palm. He lifted his right hand to his chest and squeaked.
Svava tilted her head as she listened. “Well, hello, Frylie! I am pleased to meet you as well! I need to find my way to Coldelton. Do you know where it is?”
Frylie squeaked, then flew over to a few other Pixies hovering nearby. They darted around each other, squeaking until Frylie returned and landed on Svava’s hand.
Frylie let out a series of squeaks, then pointed to Svava’s left. Svava pointed in the same direction. “It’s in that direction, eh? How far is it?”
Frylie flew back to his mates, and the darting confab resumed. He flew back over. Another string of squeaks told Svava the giants’ town was two suns away.
Svava smiled and bowed her head to Frylie. “Thank you, Frylie! May Dagda’s blessings be upon you and your family!”
Frylie returned to the group as Svava began walking down the mountain toward Coldelton. She had taken only a few steps when Frylie flew past her and hovered in front of her. He spoke briefly.
Svava’s face lit up as she worked to suppress a smile. “Why, yes, Frylie. I would enjoy some company on my travels, and I am honored by your offer of protection!” She continued her descent as Frylie followed.
At the base of the mountain, Svava found a road and walked along it just before sunset, reflecting on Crwydryn’s words from their last conversation.
“Svava, there is a lesson I need to teach you; for this, you will need to be mortal, unlike the other times you’ve served as a Seeker.”
Svava was startled, rocking backwards. “Why?”
Crwydryn was silent for a moment, then asked a seemingly unrelated question. “Svava, do you love me?”
Svava looked hurt. “Father, how could you ask such a question? You know I love you!”
Crwydryn’s lone eye fixed on Svava’s. “True love cannot exist without the risk of loss and only at the cost of sacrifice. You are immortal; what could you possibly lose by serving me?”
Svava was silent, thinking. Crwydryn reached out to pat her hand. “My dear Svava! Becoming mortal is not a punishment. If anything, I am giving you a great gift: the exercise of free will! When you become mortal, you can choose what to eat, drink, and wear, and which behaviors to engage in. Your senses and feelings will overwhelm you, and you must navigate them to learn the lesson.”
Svava stared at her hands. “What lesson is that?” she asked in a low voice.
“What true love is.”
Svava’s head dropped in thought. Crwydryn patted her hand again. “Don’t worry, my child! You will keep your memories and won’t have to learn about your body. You will feel hungry and know how to satisfy it. You will feel thirsty, but you will know how to quench it. But do be careful, dear! You can be hurt, and you can be killed! You will have the magic to heal, but you will cease to exist if you die. You will be gone forever!”
Over the next two days, as Svava and Frylie traveled to Coldelton, Svava pondered death. She had seen it in others but had never faced it. The concept troubled her.
The land she traveled through was dotted with peaks and valleys. The valleys were filled with short, stunted trees, while the summits remained barren. Thick heather blanketed the ground. The area buzzed with life that Svava could hear but not see, except for the occasional deer, foxes, birds, and pixies. The weather was cold and rainy. Mist cloaked the mountaintops and sometimes drifted onto the road Svava walked.
Frylie often flew ahead to talk with pixies and sprites but mostly stayed nearby. This gave Svava plenty of time to reflect. Svava stopped when she grew tired, eating some food she had taken from the cairn when she felt hungry. There were plenty of streams for water.
At night, she used magic to start a fire, and she and Frylie talked about what he knew about the area. He warned her of a nearby tribe of Wyvern, but they were wary of Dwarf patrols and were not often seen this close to a town. The food ran out on the second day. As the day wore on, her stomach began to grumble.
The mountains gave way to hills as Svava and Frylie approached Coldelton. Svava was lost in thought about Crwydryn’s question about what she had sacrificed for him when she walked straight into a signpost that read ‘Coldelton.’ She rubbed her forehead ruefully and looked around.
#
With the pistol in his right hand, Rell stepped out of his tent. As always when something unexpected happened, he was irritated to the point of anger. “Who the fuck are you?” He pointed at the stranger with his non-gun hand. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
The old man stood. He was a few inches taller than Rell and looked thin yet sturdily built for his age. He smiled, and the corners of his eyes crinkled.
He reached out with a large hand. “I’m Myrddin, lad! It’s a pleasure to meet you this fine, beautiful morning! I’m making you some breakfast!”
Placing his pistol in his pocket, Rell shook Myrddin’s hand with a bemused smile. “Yes, I’m Artemis Rell. People call me Rell.”
He glanced at the skillet as his stomach growled. “Why are you making me breakfast, Murthin?”
“Myrddin, not Murthin, my good lad! I have a wonderful Welsh name that can be tricky to pronounce. I’m making you breakfast because it’s the most important meal of the day, and today is a big day for you, so you’ll need some food! Plus, who doesn’t like bacon, beside the Hebrews and the Mohammedans?”
He looked Rell up and down with disapproval and added, “It seems you haven’t had a decent breakfast in quite some time!” He sniffed and scowled, “Nor a bath, I’d wager!”
Rell snorted, ignoring the last comment. “My breakfast is usually liquid.” Myrddin’s words sank in, and his brow furrowed. “Why is this a big day for me?”
A ripple of vibration ran behind Rell’s eyes as Myrddin handed him a cup of coffee. He looked down at the fire and saw a coffee pot next to the skillet. Where did that come from? He rubbed his forehead in irritation.
He took a sip. Wow! That was some great coffee! He took another sip. “So why is today a big day for me?”
Myrddin gestured behind Rell. “Please, have a seat. I’m happy to explain.”
Rell felt the vibration behind his eyes again and looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, a folding camp chair sat there. What was going on? Dazed, he sank into the camp chair rubbing his forehead, careful not to spill his excellent coffee. The scent of bacon was distracting.
Myrddin continued, “You are a remarkable man, Artemis, and today marks the start of you fulfilling your potential.”
Rell sipped his coffee still feeling irritated. “I am far from remarkable. What potential could I possibly have?”
“To take your place as The High King, the Ard Rí, of the world of the Fae, as foretold by prophecy!”
Rell spat out his coffee. “Now, look here, Murthin! It’s too early in the fucking morning for this bullshit!”
“It’s Myrddin, me lad. A soft ‘th,’ Myrddin, and it’s almost noon.”
Rell stared at Myrddin, then looked up through the leaves and realized Myrddin was right about the time. He felt a vibration behind his eyes. He rubbed his forehead, which was showing a red mark from the rubbing.
Looking down, he saw a small table with two place settings before him. A glass of orange juice sat beside a plate of eggs over easy, hash browns, buttered toast, and bacon.
Rell felt as if he’d lost control of the situation, which further irritated him. “Where did that come from, and how did you set it up so fast?”
Myrddin smiled and spread his arms wide. “Magic,” he replied.
Rell felt the vibration and looked for the camp chair, which had vanished. Instead, he sat in the chair at the table across from Myrddin.
Dazed and rubbing his forehead, he echoed Myrddin’s words. “Magic.”
Myrddin smiled, causing his eye to crinkle. “Aye, lad, magic.” He held out his palm. “Watch.”
Rell looked at Myrddin’s palm, waiting for something to happen.
Myrddin said, “Dân!” Rell felt a vibration behind his eyes, and a ball of flame appeared on Myrddin’s palm. Rell stared at the flame in disbelief. It hovered over Myrddin’s palm, not burning him. Rell looked around, trying to see how the trick was done.
Myrddin smiled at Rell’s cynicism, then spoke again. “Draig.” The ball of flame transformed into a small red dragon. The dragon snorted smoke from its nostrils, gave a tiny roar toward Rell, crawled around Myrddin’s palm, then curled up and fell asleep.
Rell opened his mouth several times, swallowed, and finally said, “How?”
Myrddin patiently repeated, “Magic. I say the word that describes what I want done, hold the shape of it in my mind, and magic makes it happen.” He nodded at the sleeping dragon. “Words matter less than most lads think. It’s the seeing that does the work, and I’ve had a lot of practice.”
He looked at Rell and said, “Robena fel Fulpa.” The vibration behind Rell’s eyes preceded the tiny dragon’s transformation into the woman from Rell’s dreams.
Rell jumped up, knocking his chair over. “What? How? Is that her name?”
Myrddin held his hands up top calm Rell as he continued. “Sit, please! Aye, that is her name. I can tell you about your dreams. You have the same dream every night, don’t you?”
Rell gaped at Myrddin as he righted his chair and sat back down. “How do you know about my dream?”
“It’s a dream shared by your ancestors, destined to wield Caledfwlch, the great Sword of Power,” Myrddin replied. “They dream of soaring across the world to find a beautiful woman.”
Rell sat stunned. The name Caledfwlch pressed on his chest, along with an incredible yearning to hold it.
Myrddin continued. “You seek her, find her, face an unspeakable evil, and her love rescues you. It’s called The Dream of Macsen Wledig. Does this match your dream?”
Rell nodded. His brow furrowed. “Who was Macsen Ooledig?”
Myrddin shook his head. “Wledig. More of an ‘ew’ sound.” He freshened Rell’s coffee. “Magnus Maximus, if you prefer Latin. A Roman emperor. Dreamed of a woman in Wales the way you have – flew straight to her, if the old accounts are honest. And since I wrote them…”
Rell snorted. “And?”
“And he found her and married her. Their blood runs down to a man named Uther Pendragon. Uther’s son was rather famous.” Myrddin let that sit a moment. “You’ll have heard of him. Arthur.”
Rell felt a thrill all over as he set down his fork. “You’re telling me I’m – what, descended from King Arthur?”
“I’m telling you the dream doesn’t pick strangers, lad.”
Rell looked down at the food, lost in thought.
Myrddin leaned forward. “Well, lad, we have food waiting for us! Now, pray with me,” Myrddin extended his hands across the table.
Still dazed, Rell reached out on reflex and grasped Myrddin’s hands. Myrddin clamped his hands tightly around Rell’s.
Fixing his gaze on Rell, he incanted, “Glanhewch y dyn hwn o bob amhuredd!” Rell felt a heavy vibration in his head and started to protest but was cut off by an overwhelming pressure that wrapped around his body, leaving him feeling like a wrung-out rag. He tried to speak but couldn’t draw a breath. A glowing sphere appeared before Rell, drawing his attention. Black liquid began to seep from his body, drifting into the sphere and swirling like a mass of worms. This went on for several moments until the black liquid stopped escaping from his arms. The sphere grew to the size of a volleyball.
Myrddin let go of Rell, who sagged into his chair, gasping. “What–the–fuck–did–you–do?”
Myrddin steepled his fingers before him. “I said, ‘Cleanse this man of all impurities,’ and channeled magic into you.” He gestured toward the sphere hovering before Rell. “This contains all the impurities in your body: alcohol, nicotine, recreational drugs, heavy metals, and quite a bit of junk from your liver.”
Rell stared at Myrddin, who gestured toward the sphere. The glowing ball shot into the fire and vanished with a pop and a flash of green light. A noxious odor wafted to the table and faded fast.
Myrddin handed him a cup to drink. Without thinking, Rell drained it. The liquid was slightly sweet, and Rell felt as refreshed as he had in a long time.
Myrddin had a small smile on his face. “How do you feel now?”
Rell assessed his condition. He felt no ache in his gut or stomach. The sores on his skin had vanished, and his constant headache was gone. His vision was clear, none of his joints ached, and he found he was extremely hungry. He looked at Myrddin and said, “What was in that drink? I feel better than I have in years!”
“That was a healing draught. It repaired any damage to your body after the toxins were removed. What else do you feel?”
Rell looked at the food. “I feel starved!”
Myrddin looked satisfied. “Well then, let’s tuck in.”
#
Coldelton seemed to be a large town. It was surrounded by a ten-foot wooden wall, with a double gate that opened onto the road. Through the opening, Svava could see hundreds of buildings. Smoke drifted lazily from many chimneys. Some buildings had signs out front and looked livelier, with loud voices and singing spilling out. In the distance, a lone piper played a farewell to the day. The gentle piping made Svava melancholy. A quick question to the guard standing in the entryway directed her to the Boar’s Head.
Crwydryn told her that the Dwarf she was seeking would be at that establishment. “You are looking for Ragnar mac Coldel at a tavern called the Boar’s Head. He does not know he is a Berserker. You must find a way to teach him to use his skills and make him a worthy champion!”
Svava raised her hands in frustration as she replied plaintively, “How am I to do that?”
To her frustration, Crwydryn had laughed. “You will figure it out! That’s the gift of Free Will!”
Svava followed the guard’s directions and ended up farther from the main road. It was growing dark, with no lights in sight. She felt conspicuous in her silver robe, and she wasn’t used to feeling exposed. During her service to Crwydryn, she had faced many nightmares in battle, but now she was acutely aware of her mortality. She was tired, hungry, and thirsty, and she longed for her immortality, with the attendant power.
A sign bearing a boar’s head emerged at last from the shadows. A faint lantern light filtered through the two wide windows beside the door. The scent of cooking drifted out, and her stomach growled. Svava frowned. That will take some getting used to, she thought.
She opened the Boar’s Head door, stepped inside, and paused to take in the scene. The interior was dimly lit. Lanterns hung from the high ceiling, casting intermittent light over the fifteen tables spread across the floor. Each table seated six or seven dwarves, and most were filled with dwarves dressed casually in shirts and kilts of various colors. Several dwarven women moved among the tables, delivering food and drinks and collecting empty dishes and mugs. Svava caught the scent of food cooking in a pot over the fire in the large hearth against the back wall. Her stomach growled again, loud enough that several nearby patrons glanced her way.
One of the female Dwarves saw Svava standing in the doorway and approached. She dropped into an awkward curtsy, then said in a friendly tone, “Welcome to the Boar’s ‘Ead, Honored Seeker! How cannae ‘elp ya?”
Svava’s stomach growled again, and her face grew hot. “I’m sorry,” she said.
The server smiled at her and said, “I can get ya food and ale for that?” Svava smiled back. “That would be appreciated, Honored Lady!” A few dwarves nearby snickered at that, making the server blush.
She turned, shushed them, then led Svava to an empty table by the hearth. “Don’t pay them no mind,” she told Svava. “They air uncouth and dinna ken ‘ow ta act!”
She went to get food and ale for Svava. As she passed a neighboring table, a Dwarf pawed her rear. She turned and slapped him. “Och, Earl mac Bachter, ya big oaf! Keep yer ‘ands to yerself if ye ken what’s good fer ya!”
Earl and the two Dwarves sitting with him laughed. Earl turned and looked at Svava. She looked away coolly and began to see whether she recognized the person she had come to see.
The server returned carrying a bowl of steaming food and a cup. She set them down, then turned to leave when Svava reached out and caught her hand. “Honored Lady, may I have your name?”
Startled, the server paused and turned toward her. “Mae name be Alina mac Angnow, Honored Seeker.”
“It’s an honor to meet you, Alina mac Angnow. My name is Svava, and I am one of Dagda’s Seekers. I am searching for Ragnar mac Coldel. Is he here?”
Alina looked nervous. “Och, Svava! We dinnae mention ‘is name too loudly ‘ere. ‘E’s a notional one and may cause trouble.” She leaned toward Svava and lowered her voice. “‘E sits on the other side o’ the fire. Please be careful, Honored Seeker! ‘E’s ought dangerous and may nae care aboot yer status!” She turned and walked away through the tavern.
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