Bearers of the Black Staff

But still he goes and still he looks, and this time he finds her.

Once again, it happens by accident. He arrives in Glensk Wood not long after sunrise, having set out while it was still dark in order to make the most of his day. He is just passing through the cottages at the north end, not even really looking for her yet, just making his way toward the center of the village, and suddenly there she is. She is standing in a garden digging rows in the freshly hoed earth and planting seedlings for her flowers. He stops at the edge of the stone pathway leading to her doorway and watches, not sure what he should do next.

After a moment, without looking up from her work, she says, “Do you prefer azaleas or sweet peas?”

He hesitates. “Azaleas are the more hardy, sweet peas the more fragrant.”

He cannot believe he has just said this. He knows almost nothing about flowers and does not have strong feelings one way or the other about most of them. He admires them but has seldom voiced any kind of opinion on the matter, even to his mother, who adores them.

“Do you have a garden?” she asks.

“My mother does.”

“Your mother. Where do you live?”

“North of here, just below the snow line.”

“Cold, hard country up there. What brings you to Glensk Wood?”

He hesitates once more. “Errands.”

“Errands,” she repeats, and now she looks up. She has long, honey-blond hair, startling green eyes, and fine strong features. “Is it possible that I am mistaken about you? Are you really come here only for the purpose of running errands?”

He swallows what he is feeling and smiles bravely. “No. I was hoping to find you.”

She smiles. “That’s a much better answer. It is best to be direct with me. Anyway, I saw it in your eyes that time we met on the trail. So you don’t need to pretend.”

He shakes his head, confused and embarrassed. “I wasn’t … wasn’t really …”

She stands now. She is tall, almost as tall as he is. “To be here at this hour, you must have left your home very early. Would you like to come inside and have something to eat and drink? My parents aren’t home. We could talk.”

She stares right at him as she waits for his answer. Bold and challenging. He finds that there is nothing he wants more than to accept her invitation, but he is not sure he should do that.

“We could talk out here,” he says, trying to hold her gaze.

She studies him a moment, perhaps wondering if he is worth the effort. Then she marches across to where he stands and takes him by the arm.

“We could,” she says. “But we aren’t going to.”

He allows himself to be steered toward the cottage. He is surprised to discover that her grip on his arm is very strong.

“Are you afraid of me?” she asks him suddenly.

He shrugs and manages a quick grin. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

She returns the grin. “You’re right. I do.”



SIDER AMENT REGAINED AWARENESS SLOWLY. He rose out of his slumber in a lethargic waking that seemed to take forever. But the pain and his memories of what had brought him to this state helped speed his efforts, and mustering what strength of body and will he could, he dragged himself back into consciousness.

He opened his eyes and looked around.

The first thing he saw was the corpse of his attacker, head thrown back and body blown open and bloodied. He stared at it a moment, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, to imagine what sort of weapon could do such damage.

Then he noticed the splints and bandages that wrapped various parts of his own body. His tattered gray robes had been cut away in several places, exposing part of his torso and his damaged left arm. The bulk of his pain seemed centered on those two places in particular, but the rest of him had not been spared.

His pack lay to one side, untouched.

His right hand still gripped his black staff.

“Awake at last, are you?” a voice boomed. “Welcome back to the land of the living!”

A man moved into view from behind him. He was big and powerfully built, face bronzed by sun and wind, his features crosshatched with scars and his hands missing several fingers. It was difficult to determine his age, but he had clearly seen the years of his youth come and go a while back. He was dressed in black, his clothing a mix of thick leather and heavy metal fastenings, the material as scarred and beaten as he was.

He smiled cheerfully at Sider and knelt down next to him, tangled black hair falling down about his face. “I thought maybe you wouldn’t wake up. I thought maybe my bandaging job wasn’t enough to save you.”

Sider wet his lips. “Good enough, thanks. Do you have any water?”

The big man rose and walked back to where the other couldn’t see him, then returned carrying a soft leather pouch. He held it up to Sider’s lips and let the water trickle down his throat. “Just a little,” he said. “Until I’m sure your injuries aren’t worse than what they seem, we don’t want to rush things.”