Episode 1: A Journey Begins

* * *

The night came quickly after they had arranged the tents and put together a fire, a reminder that the fall was approaching, and that Winter would return, too. They crowded around the fire, drying out, munching on some of the bread and cheese that they found packed for them.

The area was indeed a good one. It had obviously once been part of the riverbed, Abigail guessed, based on the flatness and the abundance of small, round stones.

She wondered aloud if it flooded this much anymore, but Ioan dismissed her worries. "The river hasn't been that large for a long time, and even those rains would not swell it that much," he assured her.

Still thought Abigail, something doesn't seem right about this place. Something was stirring in her memory, but it was a phantom on the edge of her thoughts. She found things there occasionally, memories that she could not find a source for, things almost inevitably linked to knowledge of magick in some way.

There was a hole in her mind of almost six months, a time almost three years ago that neither she nor anyone she had spoken to of it could account for. She had gone missing, and the search to find her had turned up no leads. If they had given me one of those family rings, they could have used the Heartstone! she realized, suddenly. She felt the gem, now, tucked tighly against her chest for safekeeping. It was heavy, like her own heart, and made her think of her brother again.

Over on the other side of the fire, MacGregor was asking Uther about his war stories. "Tell me of the great battles you've been in, friend dwarf, and the great fights you've fought," he prodded.

Uther considered the question over a long draught from his mug. "The battles may be large, but they ain't great," he answered, heavily. "People tend to die in 'em."

A log in the fire crackled loudly. MacGregor persisted. "But you are obviously a long-lived and great soldier! Some say you even fought alongside the Lord Underwood's grandfather in the great battle on the Epicurean Plains... Is that true?"

Uther took another long drink and eyed his young counterpart. He's so young, he thought. Was I ever that young? Was I ever that eager? Uther grunted to himself. Was I ever that foolish?

Finally, he answered. "Aye, lad, I was there. And aye, I fought alongside Allen O'Malley -- and I nearly died. In fact, it were that same Allen what saved my life. He was a good man, but a bit of a troublemaker. You see, there was this time..." Uther told MacGregor of a particularly embarassing trick that Allen pulled once on a member of one of the other houses -- long before he had become Lord of the House of Green, he assured MacGregor, so it wasn't like he broke protocol. Let him remember this, thought Uther, rather than wars of days gone by. He'll find out for himself what battle really is, probably sooner rather than later.

Another loud crack came from the fire, and out toppled a rather large stone, flames licking its sides. Abby broke from her reverie to look at its strange behaviour, for quite unlike most stones, this one continued to roll around, the flames tamped out by its motion. Something again stirred in her memory, something stronger this time, and she glanced around the field. The flickering firelight illuminated the plain, reflected now off the dozens of large stones which now littered it. "They've gotten bigger!" she gasped. The stones now grew visibly, until in just a few seconds passing they had doubled in size. Each of the group had now looked toward them, and as one they saw the fire's light dance across the now glistening stones -- and suddenly reflected in the dozens of pairs of eyes that had broken out of the surface of the rock!

"Goblins!" remembered Abby, and then louder: "This area is infested with goblins! Everyone, look out!"

Dozens of the stones had burst open, limbs stretching out of the once immobile rocks. Foul, ugly little creatures with broad, wickedly teethed jaws and long, sharp claws scrabbled on the ground in front of them, turning up an assortment of rusty knives, axes and maces.

MacGregor stepped in front of Abigail, taking up a defensive stance and yelling over his shoulder for her to stay behind him. Abigail allowed herself a little smile at her gallent friend, and then began to chant the words of her spell.

Uther drew out his heavy hammer and looked at the advancing horde for opportunities. "Goblins," he snorted. "I hate goblins."

Ioan began to move rhthymically, a song drawing forth his spell's magick. He had heard of goblins, but he had never seen them. The strange little creatures' intentions were clear, as he saw one looking for its opportunity to strike him.

Rikkard reached out to the ether with his mind, grasping the forms that exist there as potentials. "Time to even the odds," said Rikkard, and he pulled with his mind. Shadowy forms took shape around him, solidifying into three soldiers.

"Sir?" they asked as one.

"Get rid of those pests," answered Rikkard, waving at the goblins. His servants drew forth their shadow-weapons and went to the task as Rikkard unsheathed his own straight, foreign blade, flexing his sword arm.

Sister Isobel closed her eyes and focussed on the Guardian Spirit. Give us your protection, O Guardian, so that we may prevail in this battle. She smiled as she felt the familiar, strong, comforting spirit was over and through her, and new that her prayer had been answered.

A tense moment passed, and then all of the goblins charged at once, hissing and snapping as their battle cry. A blast of water erupted from Ioan's fingertips, drowning one of them; fire from Abigail's hands, sent tearing through the monsters. Rikkard carved through many with his light blade, but he was clumsier than he would have liked to have been. One lunged for Abigail's throat, and MacGregor dove after it, striking it down mere inches from her. Isobel kicked and thrashed at the foul beasts, sending them flying.

Only Uther seemed to be at ease. These small creatures were no match for his mighty hammer, and each swing sent them reeling.

As each goblin fell they turned into a rubble of stones. Soon, the field was again littered with stone, although more than before. As their numbers dwindled the remaining creatures sensed defeat. One, and then another of the goblins let out a cry of frustration and anger, and they turned and faded away into the darkness.

"Well, that was unpleasant," commented MacGregor, breathing heavily.

Uther sat down heavily and grabbed his ale skin. "Goblins ain't much trouble, 'less they catch you sleepin'."

A bit of movement near the back of one of the tents caught Ioan's eye, and he dashed around behind it. One of the goblins was shuffling away, Urqhart's map in its grasp.

"Oh, no. you. don't!" he said, and conjured a jet of water to pelt the creature. It screamed and ran away, dropping the mask. Ioan walked over and picked up the slightly sodden parchment. "Rather annoying little brutes, aren't you?" he asked after the fleeing goblin. Although it was dim, he thought he saw it turn and give him a rude gesture.

"Is anyone hurt?" Sister Isobel walked around and used the Guardian's gift of healing to salve over the minor scratches the goblins had dealt. No one was seriously wounded, the worst being MacGregor, whose leg had been nicked by one of the axes. "Hold still," said Isobel patiently. She laid her hand gently on the wound and closed her eyes. "Please, good Guardian, grant me the strength to soften this warrior's pain," she whispered, and was granted with the warm flush that seeped from the top of her head and out through her hand. MacGregor flinched at the odd sensation, and looked down at his leg. The wound had sealed over, and was nearly healed.

"Wow!" he exclaimed. "Thanks!" MacGregor looked down at Isobel and noticed just how beautiful she was -- and that in this dim light, her face was so radiant that it actually glowed. Isobel blushed slightly under the gaze, and quickly moved on to the next patient, leaving the boy to stare after her.

"So, I guess now we take watches," muttered Uther.

"We'll take first watch," offered one of Rikkard's shadow warriors. Before anyone could answer, however, he and his companions vanished.

Rikkard simply shrugged. "Anyway -- are all your lands infested with these, these... vermin?" he asked.

"No, not usually," answered MacGregor sarcastically. "They usually don't come down along this way, unless..." His voiced trailed off.

"Unless what?" asked Rikkard.

MacGregor looked at the Northerner sternly. "Unless they think that there is easy prey," he answered.

"Yup. Definitely going to take watches," muttered Uther.

---