All was silent in the smoke filled tavern common room. Two sets of eyes battled from opposite ends of a table. One man’s breath came and went quickly, the other’s came slowly, smoothly. On the table between them lay a combined pot of more than a thousand dollars in gold and other items of value. The smaller of the two men, seated against a wall, watched his opponent warily, from time to time glancing to the bystanders and the other players who had long ago folded their hands. His opponent, sweat beading on his brow, a professional gambler, held three kings in his hand. He was confident of the win, not much could beat his hand, but somehow he grew nervous as the man across him had just raised the pot by several hundred dollars. He had already thrown too much money into the pot to back out now, but he had no cash money left on him.

The smaller man, called Fehlan by most, appeared to be a man naturally shy and reserved. He talked very little throughout the entire game, and as the tension mounted between the two players in this last hand, he didn’t talk at all. The professional gambler looked at the pot and then at Fehlan, obviously flustered by his bold move. Slowly he moved his hand to a pouch on the traveling belt that draped over the back of a chair nearby. Slowly, ever so slowly, he withdrew a simple ring. Holding it before his face, he turned it over again and again, mentally weighing the risk involved in what he was about to do. Suddenly he tossed the ring into the stack of coins and other jewelry that was the pot. Bowing his head, he combed his finger’s through his hair and muttered, “Call.”

In response his opponent muttered a few words in a language he did not understand. Of course, he had no idea where this man came from, and grumbling in one’s own language was not unheard of. Trying to make himself look confident and assured, the gambler, whose name was Camro, carefully placed his three kings on the pile of money, mustering a satisfied smile. Fehlan closed his eyes at the sight, and with a sigh of relief the gambler started to reach for the pot. Suddenly, his fore arm was held in place lightly, yet firmly. He looked up to watch, in horror, as the smaller man placed three aces over top of his own hand. Staring in unbelief, the gambler’s mouth fell open as a wave of whispered exclamations resounded throughout the room.

As the astonished man fell back into his seat, looking as if he was on the verge of tears, Fehlan quickly and quietly swept the cards into his hand and subtly riffled them through the rest of the deck. The dumbfounded gambler didn’t seem to notice this odd maneuver, yet another large man, a half-orc by the look of things, looked at Fehlan in curiosity. Fehlan paid him no mind as he gathered up the pot into a pouch which he carried suspended around his body.

Saying nothing, he stood and walked noiselessly to the door. As he left, the half-orc wound his way through the crowd and followed him.

“That was a nasty trick you pulled on that guy, I thought he was gonna faint,” The half-orc had caught up with Fehlan outside. They now stood conversing in a shadowed alleyway. “The last time I saw your hand, you only had two aces. I guess illusions come in handy in other places than battle. Good thing for you he was too caught up in the moment to hear you talk in the magick speech.”

“Yes, I know it was cruel and illegal, but I had half our treasury staked in that pot.”

The half-orc frowned, “yeah . . . and I think we oughta hit the road quick-like,” the hulking brute’s deep voice and thick accent quieted, “that gambler may not have figured out what you are, but I’m pretty sure the slinky bloke in the corner was watching enough to realize what happened. If he talks, that entire room full of people will bring this whole town around our ears and a coupla’ nooses to our necks.”

“Grak, my friend, don’t tell me that after all we’ve been through you’re going to worry about a few drunken gamblers?” Fehlan’s smile was broad, and Grak could see his pearly white teeth even in the deep shadows. “But you’re right, we can’t make this town hostile, we might need to return someday. Let us find the others and head for the Forest.”

2

When the dawn brightened the sky, pushing away the chill of night, Fehlan and Grak, as well as two others, found themselves resting beneath the mighty limbs of the Vallorwoods of the Great Forest. As the rest awoke and prepared themselves for the day, Grak sat beside the small fire he had made for breakfast, thinking of their traveling plans and the route to be taken. Orcs in general are labeled as unthinking savages who plunder and pillage for the sake of destruction, but this stereotype is actually quite absurd. Granted, orcs are not sentimental or romantic, thinking about little but the task at hand, which is usually some form of evil or another, but orcs are nonetheless thinking, even cunning creatures.

Being only half-orc, Grak was more in tune with the normal thoughts of the average human. He enjoyed sunsets, took time to think about his future, and such, and was entirely more able to be motivated by such things. This morning he thought about his friends, the three brothers he had guarded during his usual watch just before the dawn. They were, of course, not biological brothers, for Fehlan was pure human, as well as Talon, and Jonathan was an elf, nothing farther from an orc could be found.

Fehlan was their leader. A small man, weaker of body than the rest, for his studies kept him from much of the lifestyle that left ordinary men with strong grips and a swift blade, he was certainly stronger of mind and will. Fehlan was Grak’s oldest friend, and many times they had saved each other’s lives. While distrusting the essence of magic itself, Grak’s greater trust of Fehlan eased his concerns, and many times he stared in wonder as Fehlan displayed his abilities. Suddenly, Grak remembered the ring that Fehlan had won the night before. Not willing to bring the subject to discussion, he put it to the back of his mind and turned his attention to Talon.

Talon was the man that Grak could most identify with. Even though human, Talon rivaled Grak in size and brute strength. Both fighters, they worked with each other, sparring when given the chance, teaching each other old tricks, then practicing them on each other to familiarize themselves with it so that it became muscle memory.

Talon had a glib mouth and a soothing voice. Nothing else in the world could Grak ever envy. While Talon sweet talked the barmaids, Grak averted his eyes and replied weakly and awkwardly if spoken to. Ashamed of his ancestry, Grak found it very hard to talk to a human female, let alone a pretty one. Nor could he squelch the longing for the feel of a soft and loving woman in his arms given him by his human ancestry. His body build and face certainly resembled those of a human, excepting that he was massive compared to the average human, but the orc in him left him with a darker tint to his skin, slightly more pronounced and pointed teeth, and a deep gruff voice. Grak did not hold Talon’s ability with women against him, but he sincerely longed for such ability himself.

Sighing, Grak turned and watched Jonathan tightly roll his bedroll and lash it to the top of his pack with thick leather straps. Jonathan was the essence of elf-hood. He had delicate facial features, fair skin, and long blond hair that reached the middle of his back, as well as the pointed ears so common to elves. Grak smiled as he watched his elven friend. The elf never seemed to stop smiling. In elf years, Jonathan was the youngest of the group, yet if his life was measured according to the seasons marking most humanoid’s calendars, he would be considered almost a hundred years older than Fehlan, the oldest mortal of the group.

Elves at this point in history, long before they and most other races simply seemed to disappear, were considered by most to be immortal, living forever unless taken by violent death or disease. Not one elf had ever been recorded as having died from old age. Of course, one would think this would lead to a world full of very old and very bored elves. On the contrary, most elves simply vanish from knowledge in their ancientness. Some say they are caught up into a better world by the gods of the elves. Others say that they hide themselves using the great magical power that elves seem to obtain through the ages. Still others say that they simply get so bored with life that they go on one adventure after another until they meet a bloody end. Most mortals, and a great deal of the elves themselves, did not know which of these hypothesis were true, if any of them.

As Grak thought about this mystical aspect of his friend and brother, as odd as it would seem for a half-orc and an elf to feel a kinship, he laughed aloud as Jonathan pulled a set of finely made lock picks from his belt to polish them.

“What’re you laughing at, you big oaf?” Jonathan smiled at the warrior.

Jonathan was always cleaning and polishing and inspecting his lock picks. Of the finest quality, they had certainly served their purpose in the past, leading the group to much wealth, and even saving their hides in a few different situations.

“Absolutely nothing, thief,” Grak smiled back and turned as Talon handed him a plate of grub.

3

Later that day, as dusk began to fall and the last remnants of a beautiful sunset turned the tree tops golden, the company made camp a short distance from where it spent the night before. Talon inspected and cleaned his blade while Fehlan studied his mage books. Grak was scouting the surrounding area, looking for possible campsites to use in the future and altogether making himself aware of anything that might pose a problem in the night. Jonathan had gone back to the town during the day to catch up on any gossip they might have missed during their visit and to see if anyone suspected anything of the poker game.

Watching out of the corner of his pale blue eyes, Talon noticed that Fehlan seemed to be having a hard time concentrating on his spells. He had never dabbled in magic himself, and Fehlan hardly ever talked of his abilities or the method in which he attained them. He did know, however, that magic was very much a skill of the mind and that total concentration was required. Little else did he know concerning the nature of magic.

Watching closely as he inspected the rest of his armor and gear, Talon saw Fehlan quietly close his book and reach into his pocket. From his pocket he withdrew the ring he had won the previous night. Not having been at the tavern, Talon did not know what the ring looked like, but he assumed this was it.

The ring itself did not look very much out of the ordinary. It was made of polished silver and it seemed quite small, perhaps intended to be worn on one’s smallest finger. Fehlan, on the other hand, who was inspecting it at a much closer distance, saw something altogether different from his companion sitting across the fire. Careful not to actually put the ring on his finger, he turned it over and over and looked at it, first from one angle, then another. He turned it to the light and examined the inside of the ring, then felt along the outside for any cracks or inscriptions. It was indeed smooth to the touch, but something almost unperceivable nagged at his consciousness. Holding the ring very close to his face, he stared at it for quite some time, then he saw it. Once it had been seen for the first time, Fehlan could look away and look back and it was still be there. What he saw was movement. He had at first seen a silvery color to the metal. He now saw that there were many colors of the spectrum contained in the ring and that they were all swirling together in a beautiful rainbow of mixture.

“What is it that you see?” Talon asked, aware of the mage’s discovery by the smile that slowly crept into his face.

“I do not know for sure. I do not know what it is, but it is truly beautiful,” pausing briefly, Fehlan asked, “What color does this ring look to you?”

Talon curiously walked over and looked at the ring intently in the fading daylight. Slowly, he answered, “It sure looks like silver to me, am I wrong.?”

“No, I don’t think you are,” Fehlan could not hide his delight, “But I don’t think that this ring really is made of silver. It is magical. How it is magical, what it does, I do not know. But if you concentrate on the surface of the ring itself, gazing intently upon it, almost into the rings depths, the ring becomes a myriad of colors all swirling into and around each other. It is quite breathtaking.”

“No kidding?” Talon’s curiosity was piqued. “May I try to see?”

“Of course,” Fehlan handed the ring to his large friend, yet when he placed it in Talon’s massive palm, the ring promptly slid from his hand and fell to the ground. When Talon bent to pick it up, he could not get a hold of it, his fingers kept slipping from the ring’s sides. Frustrated, the big warrior simply got down on his knees and pounced upon the ring with both hands, clenching the ring and a wad of earth in his clasped hands. Opening his hands to see if he indeed had caught the ring, it shot from the opening to land at Fehlan’s feet. Laughing, the mage simply reached down and plucked the ring from the twigs and leaves of the forest floor.

“I - I don’t understand,” Talon was obviously baffled.

Chuckling gently, Fehlan explained, “I have a feeling that this ring, however powerful, potent, or perhaps useless it might be, has a mind of its own. It belongs to whom it wants to belong to, and if someone tries to take it, it simply does not go. Very interesting, wouldn’t you agree?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Talon muttered under his breath at the ring. “So are you going to wear it or not?”

Fehlan did not answer for a moment, apparently thinking about the question, “No, not yet, I do not know what it does, and it is very dangerous to wear an obviously magical item without knowing what it does. It could be cursed.”

“What could be?” Grak had come back from his scouting and had only heard the last portion of the conversation. Fehlan held the ring up in the light so that Grak could see what he was talking about. “Oh,” he continued, “So you don’t know what it is or does?”

“No, not yet. When will Jonathan be returning to us?”

“Right about now,” Jonathan spoke from behind them as he entered their camp, smiling as always. “And I’m afraid we’ve got some trouble heading our way.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, someone figured out your little trick in our business venture last night. The guy who lost all that money and his ring, not to mention the other players, is pretty steamed. They are trying to talk the chief constable into hunting you down and putting an end to your gambling days. Unfortunately for the gambler, a gent by the name of Camro, he is not well liked by the authorities in town. But he’s pretty mad and I think that at the very least he will lead the other players in trying to get you. They might even hire some men to join them.”

Fehlan’s face was grave as he spoke, “Well, I suppose we’d better move on quickly then.”

“Tonight? The sun is almost gone and the moon won’t rise until late,” Grak was obviously concerned about moving at night in the dark. The big warrior was in no way afraid of the dark, but to move around in the woods at night with no moon or starlight in a strange forest is a recipe for disaster.

“I see no other way,” Fehlan looked up apologetically, “If what Jonathan says is true, Camro and his friends will not wait long before coming after us and we took no precaution to mask our movements as we left town. Our trail is quite fresh and easily followed. We must at least be able to find a more secluded campsite a few miles more away.”

Grak perked up as he mused out loud, “Well, I did find a place while I was scouting that might be suitable. Its only a few miles further along the way, and we might be able to reach it before the light fades completely.”

Quickly, the group gathered their meager belongings, doused the fire, and tried to remove as much of their presence as possible from the remains of their campsite. Leading the way, Grak strode purposefully down a thin trail leading deeper into the forest.

4

Some little while later, Grak halted the small company, motioning for silence. It was now fully dark, and progress had become slower. Crouching, he peered into the darkness ahead of him. Unsure of what had caught the warrior’s attention, the others also crouched close to the ground, straining their eyes to see what the source of their halt was.

Now one orcish trait that was not washed away by Grak’s human blood was a heightened sense of smell. Grak had successfully lead the party to his destination, but something was much different than the first time he had visited the hiding place. Before the company lay a massive vallorwood tree, uprooted by some unknown force. The roots of the gigantic tree created a wall that was complimented by the fact that a great depression was dug from the earth where the roots should have been sinking into the soil. Along with the uprooted base of the tree itself, this depression was sheltered by many bushes and a pile of brush along side the ridge down into the hollow. This hollow was more than adequate to accommodate the adventurers with comfort and camouflage from prying eyes around.

Although Grak could not see anything that appeared wrong or different from the first time he’d seen the spot, he could detect a very subtle, yet very distinct scent about the place that didn’t belong. Peering around at his confused friends, he silently pointed to his nose, sniffed inaudibly, and pointed to the hollow. Understanding immediately, the others readied themselves for the unexpected. Catching his eye, Jonathan used some basic hand signals to ask if Grak thought he should sneak up and see what was in their future campsite. Just at that time, however, a gentle sob was heard emanating from the hollow. Lifting their heads in surprise, the men looked at each other questioningly. Talon leaned forward and whispered, “If that wasn’t a girl crying then I’m a druid.” Leave it to Talon and his masterful knowledge of female weeping, Grak thought.

Nodding in agreement, Fehlan motioned for Jonathan to move in and see if he could find the source of the crying. Silently gliding to the fallen trunk, Jonathan followed it to the edge of the depression, peering between great vallorwood roots. It was pitch black in the hollow, yet Jonathan was able to sense a subtle red glow emanating from the deepest part of the depression. Thanking his lucky stars for his elven infravision, Jonathan studied the glow. It was roughly the size of a young humanoid creature, and judging from the soft sobs that could once again be heard, Jonathan determined that he was looking at the body heat of a young human girl. Why she was deep in the forest was beyond any reason he could come up with.

Slowly, Jonathan stretched his left hand out into the darkness toward to the girl, leaning over the edge of the hollow, holding onto a root with his right hand. Softly, the elf whispered a few lines in a magick tongue and motioned to the girl with his outstretched hand. Immediately the gentle sobs died away and were replaced by deep, regular breathing. Motioning back to the others to follow quietly, Jonathan stepped silently into the hollow, kneeling next to the now sleeping girl.

“What did you do to her?” Grak knelt next to the thief.

“I used an old elvish lullaby to put her to sleep,” the elf smiled at his big friend.

“When will she awaken?”

Jonathan answered by putting a finger to his lips, “The spell causes her to sleep, but the spell itself only induces sleep, it doesn’t maintain it. Speak softly, she could wake up naturally or by being disturbed by sound or touch. But seeing how she was crying, if we leave her be, she will probably sleep the night through.”

“Oh,” Grak sat back in the soft earth, watching the girl, for he was gifted with infravision as well. He felt sorry for his human friends who could not see the soft glow of the girl’s slender figure, the heat light rising and falling with each measured breath.

Silently, the group made a protective perimeter around the sleeping girl.

5

With dawn approaching, Grak sat once again during the final watch. Shivering with cold, covered in the dew that had fallen in the coldest hour of the night just before dawn, Grak watched the sleeping girl who he had covered in his own cloak and blankets while he was on his watch. He had noticed that even though he was the last to stand watch, none of the others had covered the girl in the cool night. Because of this, the girl was shivering quite consistently, and not wanting the girl to awaken or get ill from cold, the warrior gently covered her in his own blankets.

As the early morning light filtered down through the tree canopy, Grak was surprised to realize that the girl was much older than what he had at first surmised. She was certainly old enough to marry, obviously not the child the group had thought she was. This certainly shed some new light on the situation, Grak mused.

Even though her face was smudged with dirt and tears, Grak could tell that she had lovely features, highlighted by strands of silky hair that fluttered in the gentle breeze. When the girl turned in her sleep and sighed, Grak looked fearfully to his companions. He did not wish to be the one closest to the girl when she woke up; he did not want to frighten her or cause her to scream. Quickly, Grak prodded Fehlan awake and hastily whispered his concerns. Nodding groggily in agreement, Fehlan knelt next to the girl. Once again speaking in that mysterious language of magick, Fehlan closed his eyes and reached forward, touching the girl lightly on the shoulder as she slept. Opening his eyes, he withdrew his hand and the girl’s breathing once again became very even and deep.

“Did you put her asleep like Jonathan did?” Grak whispered.

“Yes,” Fehlan said aloud, not worrying about waking the girl, “but not exactly in the same manner.” Plopping once more to the ground next to the girl, he continued, yawning, “Remember how Jonathan said his spell only induces sleep, but didn’t sustain it?” Grak nodded as Fehlan smacked Jonathan’s sleeping form, “Well, my spell was the real thing. We can’t treat her like a sack of potatoes, but she will be magically asleep until sometime late this afternoon.”

Sitting up and smiling, Jonathan rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he laughed, “Sure, you’ve always got to out do me, huh, mage?”

Smiling, Fehlan turned back to Grak, “Now the only question is transportation. She can’t walk until she wakes up, obviously, but I do believe we should be on the move.”

“So what do we do?” Talon said as he glanced over the brush that concealed the group’s position. “I think we’re still in the clear. I don’t see or hear anything; nothing seems to have been disturbed in the night, either.”

“Well, we’re going to have to carry her,” Fehlan admitted. Falling silent, everyone turned their attentions to the sleeping girl. Only Jonathan, who could never quite figure out what human males found so attractive about human females, could stop from thinking about how beautiful she seemed. She was just laying there, breathing evenly and deeply. In sharp contrast to her dirty tear stained cheeks, her face was one full of bliss and peace.

As Grak sat there, lost in his own thought, the others all got up and quietly began to gather their bedrolls and other equipment. As he watched, Talon looked at him as he picked up Grak’s pack and slung it over his own shoulder. “We can’t have you pulling double duty,” he said with a grin. Recognizing what that meant, Grak’s eyes grew wide.

“But, are you sure...?” The others stopped and looked at him, “What if she wakes up? She’ll scream, and anyone following us will be aware...” Grak did not want the responsibility of carrying the beautiful girl. No, he would not be comfortable with it. He had only once before even touched a human woman, and that only when she had tripped on a broken board in a town long ago. He had stooped and offered his hand. She took it to help herself up, then looked up at Grak’s face. Trying not to show her disgust, yet failing miserably, the girl backed away quickly and continued her journey down the street. Grak was all too familiar with such reactions.

No one spoke, but they all smiled as they continued gathering there gear, Talon taking the bulk of Grak’s equipment upon himself. As the others stood, now ready to go, Grak swallowed hard, wiped his hands on his trousers, and knelt once more next to the girl. Wondering what would be the best and most comfortable way to carry the girl, Grak suddenly wondered what her name was. Turning abruptly to his friends, he asked, “What’s her name?”

“How are we supposed to know? We’ll find out tonight.”

“Oh.” So much for stalling. Carefully, gently, Grak slid his hands under the girls knees and back. Don’t get too attached, he told himself, and lifted.

The girl’s dead weight was more than he expected, causing him to grunt slightly as he lifted, drawing a chorus of chuckles from his friends. Stiffly, Grak drew the girl upward and nestled her in his arms, one cupped under her knees, the other supporting her shoulders and back. Loosely, her head fell against Grak’s shoulder. Swallowing hard once more, Grak looked pleadingly at his friends. Suddenly the girl shifted in her sleep, nuzzling her face into Grak’s burly frame and drawing her arm up and around his massive neck. Talon and Jonathan laughed outright as Grak’s face blushed a deep red.

“Let us depart,” Fehlan said as he lead the way from their encampment.

6

“So how long is this girl gonna sleep?”

Fehlan looked at Talon, slight irritation crept into his eyes. The girl had slept all the day through. It was now nearing nightfall and they had made camp early, anticipation the girl’s awakening. Fehlan replied, “I do not know, she should have awakened hours ago, especially,” Fehlan squinted with a smile at Grak, “With Grak throwing her around like he did.” Grak blushed, but everyone knew that the big warrior had been admiringly gentle with the girl.

Repeatedly as the party had journeyed throughout the day the girl had squirmed slightly in Grak’s arms, heaving a sigh, sometimes tightening her grip around Grak’s massive neck. Such actions would never fail to make Grak’s face redden in embarrassment, even if no one else noticed it. And when they stopped for a mid day meal, Grak had demanded his friends put their cloaks spread on the ground for the girl to lay upon. Ever so gently placing her upon the ground, she would promptly curl up and bury herself within the thick fur of the cloaks.

Now that they had stopped for the night, Grak mused about the day’s venture. They had traveled many miles away from the town and felt more comfortable in their surroundings. While they were still in the forest, the trees grew further apart, allowing light to more readily find its way to the forest floor. As night approached now, Grak sat back against a tree, looking up between the limbs at an evening star that had appeared in the growing darkness. The others were busy gathering firewood or scouting around the camp, and Fehlan sat quietly to one side, studying his mage books.

Looking down from the sky above, Grak lowered his gaze to the girl who once again lay upon multiple fur cloaks. Suddenly he realized that even though she was laying quite still upon the cloaks, her eyes were open, and they were looking at him. Trapped in her gaze, Grak’s breath caught in his throat.

“Who are you?” The girl’s voice was soft.

Grak could not speak, so after a moment Fehlan answered for him, “We are travelers. We found you sleeping in a hollow and there were evil men about. We feared for your safety, so we took you with us to protect you, for it was certainly not safe to stay where we were.”

The girl either didn’t hear Fehlan or chose not to respond. Her eyes were still upon Grak, and it was to him she spoke again, “Were you the one who carried me here?”

Grak answered gruffly, his voice cracking slightly, “Y- Yes.”

“Yes, I remember you now,” The girl shifted her gaze to the ground in front of her as if thinking to herself. “You were very gentle with me . . . I woke up once, but not all the way. I remember you were singing very softly. I liked it, but then sleep took me again.”

“Singing, Grak?” Fehlan asked with a smile.

Grak once more turned red, lowering his voice, “Yes, I was singing. It was a lullaby I learned many years ago. . . I do not know where I learned it.”

The girl sat up, pulling a cloak about her as she did so. She still had looked at no one but Grak. “It was a very beautiful song, I would like you to sing it to me again, sometime. My name is Alisa Tue Theuhen, what is yours?”

“My name is Grak,” the shy warrior mumbled, ashamed of such a simple name.

Alisa’s eyes never departed from Grak’s face, studying him, his rough features, his darker complexion. “It is a very suitable name, Grak. Do you know what it means?”

Grak was not aware that his name meant anything, so he answered, “No.”

“Your name means ‘humbled man’. Did you know that?”

Grak shook his head slowly.

“Who are you?” Alisa suddenly shifted to Talon and Fehlan who had been whispering and smiling among themselves. Caught off guard, Talon faltered, but then replied.

“We are Grak’s friends, my name is Talon. This is Fehlan, our leader.” Fehlan nodded his greeting.

“Are there more of you?”

“Yes, there is,” Talon replied, “One more, his name is Jonathan. He is out scouting before full darkness falls upon us.”

“Oh,” the girl replied, the least articulate thing she had said yet. “Do you not wonder who I am or how I came to be in The Forest alone?”

“Yes, we do wonder those things,” said Fehlan, “But we were willing to let you tell us in your own time.”

“Good,” Alisa smiled. It was a very beautiful smile. “Then I will tell you in the morning. Grak, will you once again watch over me and guard me in the night?”

Startled at such a question, Grak could only swallow once more and nod his head in affirmation. The girl smiled again and lay back upon the cloaks, curling herself into them, and appeared to fall into sleep almost at once.

Just at this time Jonathan walked in to camp and started to speak but was silenced by three hisses to be quiet. “She awoke and spoke to us, primarily to Grak,” Fehlan whispered. “She seems to be very in control of herself. She was very calm, and did not appear to be afraid at all. I wonder even more now who she is, that she would be so unafraid after finding herself in the company of strange men in The Forest.”

“Grak’s lullaby might have had something to do with it,” Talon interjected, winking at his big friend.

Jonathan turned to Grak in amazement, “You sang a lullaby to her?”

For a reason he could not explain, Jonathan could not sleep that night. He lay upon his bedroll looking at the stars through the tree boughs above him and he was troubled. The fact that he was troubled troubled him even more because generally nothing troubled him in his life. He and his friends had fought and survived the Wars of Dorgoth together, yet throughout the wretchedness of war he had not been troubled. He knew his place; knew his reason for being there, so it had not troubled him. He had left his homelands so long ago, before he had met his friends, his present family. He left everything he knew, everything that he was familiar with, the timelessness of Elven-Home, the stars that rotated in their cycles ever so slowly, the ages that flowed smoothly along in a soothing course. Leaving did not trouble him . . .

But when he entered the mortal’s world, all was different. He remained the same but he saw the world as it was: aging, dying, living, birthing, loving, hating, caring, and despising. Yet throughout all this change, his heart remained untroubled. He lived. He ate and slept. He laughed and He loved. He had his friends, he needed little else.

The elf thought of his father. His noble father; the elegant, the caring, the virtuous. He had been his father, and at the same time his ancestor. Frowning on the thought of his leaving, his father told him that the world would only hold pain for him. His father had warned him that he would watch his friends live and die, while he would but live. But the days and nights passed and Jonathan was happy. He loved his friends. Fehlan, Grak, Talon; these people were his brothers, his very family. He tilted his head and looked at Grak, sitting awake, watching over the girl in the night.

Watching his half-orc brother intently, he thought back on his father’s warning. The orc- man sat against a tree stump, alert to the night signs. He looked not into the night, but rather he trusted his orcish sense of smell and hearing to alert him of danger. Instead, he watched the girl sleep, fulfilling his promise to watch over her and protect her in the night. As Jonathan watched his warrior-friend, he thought about the day he met him. How small a span of time between then and now. Yet Grak was different now. The big man was quiet as ever, as jovial in his own way among his friends as he had always been, yet once again something gnawed at Jonathan’s mind. He then realized what he saw. He saw pain in the creases of the half-orc’s darkened skin. He saw rejection in the depths of his eyes. And in the very depths of Grak’s existence, he saw humiliation and submission.

Jonathan thought back on Alisa’s words concerning Grak’s name as told him by Fehlan. Had the girl seen this about Grak, too, then? Had she seen the pain in his life, the aging of a young body, the submission to a cruel world? Grak truly was a humble man, had he been so when Jonathan first met him? Yes, he believed so, but now that he watched closely, Jonathan realized that the humility, the pain and rejection, had only deepened with the passage of what Jonathan would consider a few short years. How long this time must seem to his friend, this time when the world beat upon him from all sides, hating him, despising him, rejecting him.

But then again Jonathan watched closer and saw something else in his friend’s eyes. He saw warmth. He saw love, compassion, loyalty, desire, ambition, and courage. How many times had Grak displayed such qualities to his friends? Many times, surely. And as the elf examined the way Grak looked at the girl he protected, he saw a special warmth, a special joy, a hope that not all in the world was against him. Jonathan had been told how the girl had spoken only to Grak at first, and how she had not been afraid of him or disgusted by his semi-orcish appearance. He had been told how the girl had asked him to sing to her again, and he himself saw the way that she had held him, even as he held her in her sleep.

And it was such things, the pain and struggle of his friends, that caused Jonathan’s heart to be troubled, yet he never allowed such feelings to surface so that his friends might intercept them. No, he was happy and he loved his friends, his brothers. He would not weigh them with this burden. He would wait, and he, with his brothers, would live.

Morning dawned bright in The Forest the next morning. A warm breeze blew under the boughs and tossled Alisa’s silky hair as she stood gazing into the deep blue sky above her. She breathed deep the air of that morning, and in her heart she breathed the air of freedom. She also smelled the smell of venison frying in a pan, cooked by her new friends, and it smelled good.

That morning she was introduced more formally to each member of the group. She thanked each one individually for protecting her, speaking to each in turn and smiling, especially at Fehlan who put her to sleep so readily. She was told how the entire exchange had played out and how Grak had protested but taken the responsibility of carrying her. At hearing this, Alisa did something that Grak would never forget for the rest of his life. She walked straight to him, threw her arms about his neck, and hugged him tightly, pulling herself off the ground in order to do so.

Smiling to herself as she thought of this, Alisa turned to the cookfire, watching as Talon prepared the meat and some herbs and roots Jonathan had found in the woods the night before. Sitting down on the soft forest floor across from Talon, she noticed that Grak sat some distance away, once again his back against a tree trunk, his massive forearms upon his knees in front of him. He was resting his head against the tree trunk; his eyes were closed, yet sometimes fluttering slightly.

“Talon?”

The human looked up from his work, “What can I help you with, m’lady?”

“What is Grak doing?”

Turning, Talon looked at the half-orc for a moment. He then slowly spoke in reply, “He is thinking.”

“Thinking?”

“Yes, thinking. He actually does that quite often. I believe it is a past-time of his,” Talon smiled devilishly at the girl.

Laughing, Alisa watched Grak some more, then said, “Yes, he is thinking. But I think that he prays as well.” Startled by the statement, Talon glanced up at the girl, saying nothing.

After the group had eaten and Grak had returned from a short patrol of the surrounding forest, the men sat around the fire, listening to Alisa’s story. She spoke softly and slowly, taking moments to recall details here and there. She said, “I am glad that you found me two nights ago. When I awoke you told me that there were evil men about.” She paused, looking at Fehlan, who nodded. She continued, “You do not know how true that statement was. When I awoke and saw you all sitting around, I knew that you were not those evil men, and I could remember a little of what happened while I was under your magical sleep.” Fehlan nodded again, revealing to the others that it was normal for subjects of such a spell to retain some memory of what happened while they slept. “So I knew that you were my friends, or at least you were friendly and were potential friends.”

Changing her tone, Alisa sighed slightly and continued, “I am running away from my father, and I will tell you why:

“I used to live in Florthan. My father is the master of a large estate along the Fain River, his name is Theuhen. Now my father was not always master of his present estate. Before my mother died in childbirth with one of my brothers, she told me a little of my father’s past.

“Apparently my father used to be an out-and-out brigand; but at some point, maybe when he felt he was getting too old to live by the sword, he decided to move his life to a more appropriate clime.

“My mother told me that he somehow befriended the master of his present estate and swindled it out from underneath him. How he did so my mother did not know, and so she was unable to pass such information on to me. This is unfortunate but cannot be helped.

“Then, not many weeks ago, the relatives of the man whom my father had swindled, whose name was Asuthan, came to my father at night. They told him that if he did not turn over the estate to them they would burn it down.”

“What happened to Asuthan himself?” Talon interrupted.

“I do not know,” Alisa sighed, “I was not told and can only surmise that my father had him killed to prevent his intervention after the land had legally become his.

“At any rate, the relatives of Asuthan threatened my father, and he was very afraid. Yet in the blackness of his heart, he surmised that his land and accumulated wealth was worth more than his only daughter, nothing but a woman alone among five strong sons. A simple woman, but perhaps viewed as valuable to his enemies.”

Grak spoke quietly, but the fullness of his anger and contempt could not be masked, “He would hand you over to such men? As payment for his land?”

Alisa nodded, lowering her gaze to the forest floor.

“So now we know why you were alone in the woods. You simply fled your father’s lands,” Fehlan mused aloud.

“Yes, and my father is looking for me, as are Asuthan’s relatives. They are led by a man called Korth.”

Instantly Grak’s head snapped up to look at the girl, but he said nothing. Noticing his reaction, Alisa watched the warrior curiously. Unable to catch his eye, she then looked to the others, none of whom would return her gaze.

“At any rate,” Fehlan broke the awkward silence, “you have had your stomach filled after your extended sleep, which I apologize for,” the mage smiled bashfully. “So we should really be on our way. We shall figure out what our plan of action will be as we put further distance between us and our friends from town.”

“What friends from town?” Alisa looked at Fehlan questioningly.

“We’ll tell you on the way, lets go.”

As the company of travelers walked through the woods, Fehlan told Alisa of what had happened in the town and how they, too, were doing their best to avoid unwanted attention. Alisa wanted to ask where they were headed to, but it had been agreed that she would travel with them until she decided to leave, and at the time it did not matter much where she went, as long as it was not back toward home. And while most of the time the girl talked with Fehlan about what she felt she should do, she was ever at Grak’s side. This pleased Grak tremendously, but it also made him nervous. He walked a little more awkwardly, hoping to match his larger stride to her’s. Every once in a while their arms would brush as they walked, causing Grak to look quickly to Alisa, who apparently did not notice.

As they traveled, the group noticed The Forest had begun to dissipate. Soon enough they were standing on the very edge of the Great Forest, looking out upon the plains of Neriah. About the third hour into the afternoon, they stopped and made a cook fire along the edge of the Forest. There they openly discussed their plans for the rest of their journey.

Drawing the countryside around them in the ground, Fehlan showed them approximately where they were and where they could ford the River of Neriah. The river originated in the Fyre Mountains far to the north, winding its way through the gentle hills and knolls of the Plains. It flowed strongly and had but few places where it could be crossed in safety. The most common ford was called the Ford of Duin, where Duin, the mighty Elder Dwarf of the Fyre Mountains, and his armies had come and protected the Eastern Lands from the orcs of the Great Forest. The battle was mighty and fierce, with its most pitched contests many times taking place in the river itself. Duin himself slew the great Orc, Talgog, in the very center of the river as the orcs made one final offensive. Seeing their leader fall under Duin’s wrath, the rest of the Orcish armies and their human mercenaries fell back into the Forest, where Duin and his dwarves followed and annihilated the evil presence from the Great Forest. In honor of the victory, the ford where Duin had killed Talgog was named for him. From this ford, Fehlan surmised it to be only two days’ journey to the nearest town, where they would resupply themselves and conclude further what they would do about Alisa’s situation.

Later that day, as they plodded through the sometimes waist-high grass of the Plains, Alisa noticed that Grak had not looked at her in some time. He had not talked much except when spoken to, as usual, but his demeanor had changed. Instead of attentive and energetic, Grak now plodded on, his head bowed slightly. From the way he gazed downward, unblinking, Alisa knew that he was in deep thought, and probably knew not even what direction he was facing.

Alisa touched Grak’s arm lightly, “Grak?”

Startled, Grak looked at the girl’s hand on his arm.

“Grak, are you ok?”

Mustering a sheepish smile, Grak cleared his throat and replied, “Yes, I’m fine. I was just trying to remember the rest of the tune to the lullaby.”

“Oh,” Alisa brightened, “There is more? Will you sing it to me?”

Grak glanced around at his friends. Jonathan had apparently overheard Alisa’s question and was smiling broadly, awaiting Grak’s reply. “I’m sorry . . . not now, tomorrow, perhaps.”

“Ok, tomorrow,” Alisa laughed, “It’s a promise, then, right?”

Grak did not really want to sing it again, and he was not sure why he had said what he had, but aware of Jonathan’s expectant look and crooked grin, he finally sighed and answered, “Ok.”

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, but they did not make a fire for an evening meal, for a fire would be visible for miles upon the open plain. The next morning the group continued on, Jonathan ranging far ahead at times, his light elf’s step carrying him far and wide to scout. Most times Talon and Fehlan walked together, talking of the journey and the possibilities that lay at hand. But always Alisa walked at Grak’s side. Sometimes they would talk; sometimes they would walk silently. At one point Talon turned to Fehlan, whispering, “She is a lovely woman. My heart is glad for Grak.” Fehlan smiled and nodded, and they continued on.