Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.
Chapter Five - The Ongoing Choice

By Aaran St Vines

Previous Chapter One - Mr. Ollivander Tells of Willen's Luck Chapter Two - "Accio Magik!" Chapter Three - "Mah-ghee-kahl!" Chapter Four - Dragonslayer? Who, Me? Chapter Five - The Ongoing Choice Chapter Six - The Wand Chose Him Chapter Seven - Final Battle and Epilogue Next

 Thanks go to my beta readers, Ninkenate and Ozma.

 

Chapter Five - The Ongoing Choice

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Harry watched as Mr. Ollivander accepted the seven Galleons from the hesitant Muggle parents of the first year girl. He knew he would see her sorted on September first. He imagined that the scene he had just witnessed might have been like the experiences of Hermione and her parents two summers before - except perhaps, for the mess of the inventory in progress.

A special guide from Muggle Relations at the Ministry of Magic had led them into the shop. "Here we are, Ollivanders. No other place that I would buy a wand. Mr. Ollivander is just smashing..."

"Hrmmph." Mr. Ollivander cleared his throat. When the guide had entered the shop, she had gathered in her charges and turned her back to the stacks of wands to continue her explanation. Mr. Ollivander and Harry had been kneeling on the floor right behind the counter. The wandmaster rose quickly and soundlessly approached the four. The guide was talking and, being the perfect gentleman, the proprietor had not initially interrupted her. He only cleared his throat because she was about to back into him.

Even though they saw Mr. Ollivander rise and come forward - a normally disconcerting sight the first time considering his bright silvery eyes - the fact that their guide jumped with fright when he "announced" his presence less than two feet behind her caused the three to be startled also. Realizing this, Harry's temporary employer immediately took steps to set the four visitors at ease, particularly the three family members. In moments they were calmer than they had been, and Mr. Ollivander had launched into his recitation of the pertinent facts leading up to a wand "choosing" its owner.

"Every Ollivander wand has the core of a powerful magical substance...."

When the seven Galleons had been placed in the appropriate drawer and Mr. Ollivander had turned back to him and the inventory, Harry decided to ask the question that had been begging to be asked all morning.

"Sir, thank you for telling me this story. It's most fascinating. If Professor Binns made history this interesting, I'd certainly pay more attention. But, sir, may I ask you a, erm, sort of a personal question?" He rushed to add, "I don't think it's too personal and you don't have to answer if you don't... I don't mean to be rude."

"Well, Mr. Potter, ask your question and I will judge its appropriateness for an answer."

There was on his face, the kindly smile that the elder wizard had used more and more with our young hero in the last twenty-four hours. This gave Harry the courage to ask the question that he was so irresolute to ask.

"That first day I came in here for my wand... I mean, I know you so much better now. You said, erm... now I know you've stood against..." Harry gulped and raced on. "That first day, when you told me my wand was the brother wand of... you told me that Voldemort did great things, terrible but great things. Why did you say it that way if...?"

"Harry." If there had been a shred of inattention in Harry at that moment, it vanished. Mr. Ollivander had never called him by his first name before - he never would again. "If you recall, we had spent a considerable amount of time trying a large number of wands before it occurred to me which wand would indeed choose you. With you I first tried wands similar to those of the greatest wizards of the ages. I then tried wands of similar composition to the wands of your parents and many of your Potter ancestors. I even tried wands like those owned by your father and mother's closest friends.

"Because of your heritage and your bravery at a young age, I assumed you would be a Gryffindor. As the possibility came to mind of what in fact would be your wand, I realized that you might have felt that you had much to prove to yourself and to our world. It also occurred to me that you might have had a slight "flavoring," so to speak, of You-Know-Who imparted into your make-up during your violent encounter. I realized then that you might have been destined for Slytherin House."

Harry almost gasped - almost. The Sorting Hat had considered that very house for him.

Mr. Ollivander's shining eyes pierced him. "I am a Slytherin, Mr. Potter." The wandmaker ignored Harry's widening eyes. "Though most Death Eaters have been of my house, most Slytherins throughout the centuries have not been followers of Dark Lords. I believe there is a value to pure blood, but there is also a value in mixed blood, and there is a particularly interesting worthiness in the Muggle-born, as I believe your friend Miss Granger has proven. We are all different, but there is no greater or lesser advantage in one's biological origins. There is, however, worth and merit in what one does with what he or she has been given through birth. That is an honorable sentiment that is a core part of all houses at Hogwarts, even Slytherin House. That it is deemed inapplicable to less than pureblood witches and wizards is a shame to all those who hold such opinions - regardless of house or heritage.

"I have sold the wands to all the Slytherins presently at Hogwarts; all of the Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and Gryffindors for that matter, for over one hundred and forty years. I usually have a, well a feeling regarding which house a new purchaser of one of my wands will go. I am not always correct, but I usually am. In my modest and hopefully subtle way I try to encourage each new wand owner. I told your friend, Miss Granger, that her wand would do well in Charms and Transfiguration work. She has proven me correct, I believe."

Harry nodded.

"I had no similar words for you. However, when I said 'great things' I wanted to encourage you in the great things we all expect from you. When I said, 'terrible, yes, but great' I hoped to give you the slightest warning and exhortation that even if you were to become a Slytherin, you could choose your destiny just like Willen is choosing his in our story. Regardless of house or family or history or situation, I wanted you to know you could choose Light instead of Darkness.

"I know you have made a good start as a fighter for what is right and true. Like Willen, you must have as much compassion as possible for all, even the unlovable, to ensure you stay on the path you have chosen. So must we all. Had you been placed in my old house, or any other house for that matter, it is the choices you make and the commitments you keep that determine the character of your very soul."

Mr. Ollivander's shining eyes watched Harry digest this uncharacteristic invocation.

"Well, Mr. Potter, we should finish this inventory before the business day ends. Just now, when the Summersbys entered this shop, we were at the point where a dragon, being ridden by a Druid, was about to attack our Willen. We must see whether he survives or not."

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The golden horn of the dragon glinted in the light of dawn. There were sparkles of this early light reflecting off the green scales on its body and wings.

The Druid riding on the dragon's back could be seen smiling as he flew towards the young man standing at the edge of the rock outcroppings. He wondered if this was the one who had attempted to slay his dragon and had killed his brother. No, this one was little older than a lad. He couldn't be a Slayer. In seconds he was much closer. No, this lad could not be a Slayer. The Dragonslayers would never take a lad with a lazy eye into their training academy.

And so our story continues.

"Willen, you have described a Golden Horn dragon, cleverly named because of its golden horn." Kwildas smiled at his own sense of humor, saw no reaction from Willen, saw that his great-grandson, Scall, had rolled his eyes in disbelief, and continued. "It likes to try to gore you with its horn on the first pass or two. If it had a rider, and we have the body to prove that, then it had to be raised from a young fledgling to allow a passenger. They may have trained goring out of him, which I doubt, but even if they have, you are its particular enemy. It's seen you before, and up close. It's smelled you. If this dragon makes it personal that it wants to kill you, it'll revert back to its primal nature and attempt to gore you at first. That's your opportunity. Other than that, you're dead. You should be dead already. I've told you that, haven't I?"

"Yes, Great-Grandfather, many times. You make it no easier on Willen by repeating it."

Willen thought that Scall was a likeable young man only a few years older than himself. Their friendship had been dampened when Kwildas had insisted that Willen face the dragon alone.

Scall had made it perfectly clear that he to wanted to kill this dragon. It would ensure his acceptance into the Dragonslayer Academy, and he fancied the idea of being a Slayer, not in title but in fact, before arriving for his first days of training. Kwildas insisted Willen go alone and Scall resented it.

The fate of the budding but challenged friendship between Willen and Scall was determined two days later in the northeastern most part of the Aldertani aceituna groves. The events of that day galvanized Willen's resolve. He was going to kill the dragon and stop the Druids and their warriors from taking the Aldertani Keep - and hopefully end all future attempts at this seizure by force.

That terrible morning a guard standing duty in the tower had seen something that might have been a dragon dipping and swooping in that northeastern direction. He had shouted his sighting and Aldini called for a mounted force to be formed, and to everyone's surprise, he had insisted Willen join them.

"You have proven yourself brave to the point of stupidity. You have somehow survived a match with a dragon, probably this very same dragon. You might be useful, yet. The worst that will occur is that you might die and save me the additional cost and effort to feed you until I kill you."

Willen had been helped into the saddle and had fallen out immediately. He was told how to sit a horse, helped up again, and fell out again.

"Help him mount behind me," the elder Aldertan shouted. "We cannot wait for him to learn to ride."

When they passed the hut of Kwildas, they found him mounting an old ass. Jackasses are much more surefooted when climbing mountains and rock formations than horses. "Scall headed in the direction of that screeching earlier this day. I'll catch up on this old nag when you reach the hills."

They never reached the hills. They found Scall's body lying right at the edge of the aceituna groves. There were no signs explaining how Scall had died, no marks on his body, he was just dead. Beside him lay an unknown lad of roughly fourteen or fifteen summers. He had been alive when they found him and Aldini wanted to kill him immediately.

"Don't kill him, he may prove useful." Willen had not meant to challenge the Keeper, but he had.

With a flash of the blade in the sunlight, Aldini's sword was at Willen's chest. "Trying to protect your brother Druid. You show your true allegiance." There was a frightening gleam in Aldini's eyes.

"This is not a Druid, my son," Aldertan spoke as he examined the boy. "He dresses like a local, not as a Druid, but this lad is not of our Keep. He must be from this general area based on the style of his leggings. This design has only become popular since the Seamstress from Poldoni's Keep created it a few cycles ago.

"If he is a local boy, he may have information we need, if we keep him alive long enough to tell us. His breath is ragged and his face is a horrible mess." The lad's face bore many small cuts, gouges, and dried and not quite dried blood. The older man pushed the boy's damaged eyelids back to see if his pupils had movement. Both eyes were gone from their sockets.

Aldertan expelled the remains of his morning meal, as did the guard looking on. Aldini and Willen were decidedly paled by the traumatic spectacle of the empty sockets.

"Aldini, whatever caused...whoever did this...." Willen was outraged into incomplete speech.

"Yes, Willen, it is barbaric." These were the first words of civility and agreement between the two.

Kwildas knelt in silence before his sole heir, now the end of his line. Though retired from his service as a Dragonslayer because of his infirmities, he refused help as he somehow gathered the strength and balance to lift his great grandson's body to his jackass. He heaved a sigh of physical relief and the first and only sob anyone ever heard. He turned to his kinsman and spoke, "We will do what we can to help this young man kill this dragon and its trainers. I will make my way to the Keep after the funeral pyre burns down."

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Conlander was a Metalsmith. He was not as talented as Torban - yet - he did not have Torban's many cycles of experience. Conlander had only seen twenty-two summers. He was tall, barely taller than Torban, and handsome. He had a flaxen mane of hair that most girls envied. He had the most distracting blue eyes, so thought all of the distracted young maidens. Every unmarried female between fourteen and thirty summers wanted to be his choice. Everyone except the one he wanted - not Constantia - Constantia's best friend, Naelly.

The two girls had first become friends when they were two small bundles sharing the same basket while their mothers washed clothes in the Tameas River. When Constantia matured before the number of her summers made it seem possible, Naelly remained on pace or actually slow for the typical schedule for maturity. Besides, Constantia was the beautiful one. Constantia drew everyone's attention. Constantia was tall, raven-haired, dark-eyed, and striking. Naelly rejoiced in her friend's attractiveness. Constantia was the one who lived under the threat of marriage to Bonderman. Naelly reveled in the lack of attention, but she had one secret she deeply regretted.

She loved Willen and could not help but hope he arrived back too late to save Constantia from being taken in marriage by that big pile of a reprehensible man. She hated herself for thinking this way. She tortured herself with guilt in the nighttime. She changed the subject of Willen whenever she could with Constantia, but that was often impossible. He was in her friend's thoughts and words almost always.

The celebration of Naelly's birthing day in her sixteenth summer, marking her passage to womanhood, came a few days after Constantia's. Naelly's maturation marking day was not as highly proclaimed as Constantia's, the daughter of the Loundons, but Naelly preferred her place in her friend's shadow.

Torban brought Conlander to Loundon's Towne because he knew they needed another forger and worker of metal. Conlander had no family, being the only child of two little, old, and relatively unattractive parents who had married very late in life. That he had been born at all had surprised them. His size and good looks surprised everyone. But he had his father's eyes.

Conlander had one imperfection, a slight limp he could not make imperceptible, regardless of his efforts. As a small and beautiful boy, he had been grabbed by a wolf, attempting to drag off an evening meal. Conlander had fought the wolf unsuccessfully until he had been pulled to the wood's edge. The boy had caught a young sapling trunk with one hand and held on long enough to dislodge a rock with his other. One swing of the sharp stone and Conlander had a wolf pelt to use as a small blanket. He also had a badly damaged left ankle.

Despite his parents' marriage of convenience, both of them eventually fell hard in love. Conlander watched them. He knew that love had to do with substance and mutual interests, not just beauty. Conlander wanted a love like his parents had. Torban had told him of his daughter, of her difficult betrothal to the self-proclaimed Keeper, and her nearly irrational insistence that a man long gone on an impossible mission would rescue her and Loundon's Towne.

Conlander walked off Stellan's boat with his tools and his new trade name, Metalsmith, or Smith as some shortened it. Torban had not liked the name from the start, but being a Loundon he would never be called by the name of his craft. The name "Smith," which Conlander liked, was so unusual, so different, and so new. No one had ever heard such a name before. Rather than making it difficult to identify his trade, Conlander used it as a way to explain what he did and why he was so unique.

Torban thought that Conlander could keep the name, it would never become popular.

The day that Stellan, Torban, and Conlander arrived in Loundon's Towne, Naelly was sick. Her nostrils felt as if silty wet cloths had been pushed up them and into her head. She was hacking up the greenness from her insides, and she felt as though a child of two summers was sitting on her chest. Her throat felt like she had swallowed sand and it would not go down or come up. Her eyes felt as though several insects had stung them.

Naelly did not realize that she was being closely watched as Constantia delivered her ultimatum to her father.

"Father. I am of age, now, and I will fight and die before Bonderman or Porto touches me. I will stand with Willen and we will defeat the enemies of our community." Constantia made her pronouncement and strode off with typical Loundon determination.

Dorgelt the Hunter stomped away in disgust when he had observed that Torban had not quelled his daughter's impertinence.

"Torban, who is this lovely young woman?" The voice was wonderfully rich. Naelly turned first to see which young woman was being discussed. She saw no one, so she looked for the owner of the voice to see who he was looking at.

The most handsome man she had ever seen was looking at her.

She thought that he had to be talking about someone else. Had he not seen Constantia?

"This is Naelly, Conlander."

She could hear the smile in Torban's voice but could only see the huge man that possessed such startling eyes.

"I look forward to knowing you better, beautiful Naelly. Please tell your parents that as soon as Torban explains to me this community's rituals of courtship, I will begin the process."

She said nothing, but ran right into the flock of geese trying to escape his stare. Their honking expressed her befuddlement.

All of the way to her hut and then to her bedding in its corner she thought only one thought, "But I love Willen."

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For all of the planning and for all of the efforts and discovery needed to arrange every detail of the attempt, the defeat of the dragon and its rider was really rather simple, and its execution took only seconds.

And the creation of a new spell.

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The blinded boy awoke from his unconscious state minutes after Kwildas arrived at the Aldertani Keep. The lad drew the attention of everyone concerned with his shouts. "No, NO! Don't hurt her. I will go back; I can go back at least one more time. Just don't send her! DON'T HURT..."

Haana had been there with him, tending his wounds. Her insistence on helping the boy had been stronger than her father's insistence that she shouldn't see such a horrible sight. Haana was the best person in Aldini's Keep at helping the wounded and sick. That this fact was known by all in the Keep, became apparent to Willen by the too soon acquiescence of her father and the immediate obedience by all present to her decisive commands for the boy's care.

Haana had ushered the men to an adjacent room so the boy would not be disturbed by their speculations about him. At the boy's shouts Aldini, Aldertan, Kwildas, and Willen rushed back to the room where the lad had awakened. In those few seconds Haana had worked her charms to ease the boy's immediate fears.

They heard her saying, "There now, you are safe from whoever did this... this to you. My father will protect you." Willen wondered if this girl of only fourteen summers had the Touch for healing or ministrations to the ill, if there was such a Touch.

"But Kailty, where is my sister, Kailty? They will kill her or worse. I can go back again. I can face them one more time. Just lead me to the mounds...."

"Lad, you've had a rough go and a brave fight. Your battle is over. I am Aldini, Keeper of the Aldertani Lands. If you will tell me who Kailty is and where to find her, I promise to do whatever I can to rescue her."

Willen was amazed by the kindness and compassion in Aldini's voice as he too attempted to soothe the traumatized youth. His next words were harsher but they also helped calm the lad's ill ease.

"If whoever did this to you and holds Kailty are the same ones that killed Scall and ride the dragon, they are the sworn enemies of all in this Keep and we will see them finished."

"But she's just a little slip of a girl, my sister, Kailty. They told me that as long as I went back to the mounds they wouldn't hurt her. Now that I'm no longer there..."

"We are a skilled band, and we have a Dragonslayer with us," said Aldertan. "If there is any way to save Kailty, we will do it. I know you are badly hurt, but you must tell us all that you know about those who hold your sister. The more we know, the sooner we can act effectively to save her. But here, the girl that helps you is my granddaughter, Haana. She has some cow's milk for you and a little food, if you desire. Drink and eat and then tell us all you can. Start with your name, lad."

"I am called Reldy, but I... oh, I am thirsty." The milk was gone in a moment and the bread soon followed. The lad ate like a ravenous fox.

"My sister and I are from a village nearly two days walk from here. It's called Jerpanni."

"I've heard of it," said Aldini with a tone attempting to encourage more.

"I have lost count but it could not have been five or six days ago that Grang flew over our village."

"Who is Grang, the dragon or its rider?"

"Grang is the dragon. Bordo and Bordan call it by that name and treat it like a pet. It is their pet, but it breathes fire at anyone else who is not careful when they approach it.

"Bordo flew over on Grang and shouted down his curses at us just as Bordan entered Jerpanni with his six warriors. The warriors appeared as you might think, large, strong and well armed, but as fearsome as they looked, they were terrified of Bordo and Bordan. Those two are no larger than I am, and I have only seen fifteen years, yet you would think them giants the way their men cringe at their presence.

"Too well they cringe. They each hold a stick, they call it an olive stick but it looked like a branch of aceituna wood stripped of its leaves and bark. When one of the warriors displeased him, Bordon pointed the olive stick at him and said something I could not understand. Then the man rolled around in agony for the longest time before Bordan released him. The screams were terrible." The boy cringed himself with the memory.

"Go on, Reldy, why did they take you and your sister?"

"They took Pilder also, but he's dead now. The little creatures blinded him, and when he could not go back to the mounds, they killed him." The sadness in the youth's voice was heart chilling. "Pilder was my older brother. We were the only children on the side of the village where they came in. The rest ran. We are only a small village and there aren't many of us, children or grown ones.

"Bordan told the grown ones that the dragon would burn the village and all of us in it if they tried to stop them from taking us. They promised they would bring us back, but I am pretty sure that was a lie." Hopelessness punctuated his story.

"They took us to the aceituna groves near where you probably found me. First they made Pilder run at a mound and jump on it. As he did, one of the warriors took an axe and chopped the branches of the nearest tree to that mound. These little stickmen swarmed out and attacked Pilder first. He started to scream and ran back to us as we watched. They were on his face, cutting at him. They headed towards the warrior next, and he dropped the branches he had cut and ran to us also. He had been watching Pilder and ran before the stickmen got to him. Pilder ran up and Bordo actually helped him clear the creatures off of his face. That's when Bordan took out his olive stick and caused the guard such pain. They are after the aceituna sticks. They used Pilder and now they use me to distract the stickmen, then the warriors bring back as many aceituna branches as they can before they are attacked."

"But, what do they want with the aceituna branches, Reldy?" Haana asked.

"The aceituna branches, that's what they call olive branches. Those branches are what they used to punish the guard. Bordan also used the aceituna branch, that is the olive stick to kill that man, what did you call him, Scall? All of this is to collect aceituna branches to use as weapons."

All in the room were thunder struck - but none more than Willen. He had been walking for half a moon past olive trees and had ended up here facing a dragon and more of Porto's evil brothers. In addition, he would eventually face a sword fight with a master swordsman - all because he had not discovered over a moon ago that the aceituna trees were olive trees.

Willen's Luck.

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Lindern had made Constantia's bow specifically for her. She needed a bow at the midpoint between the two standard bow designs they were producing for those with a talent for archery.

The man's sized bow was the correct length for someone of her height, or nearly enough, but most women do not have the same upper body strength that men do. Constantia was taller than all of the women in Loundon's Towne and as tall or taller than half of the men. She helped with the more physical labors that were the lot in life of the females - cleaning clothes, cleaning in general, cooking, caring for children - but these activities did not build strength in the arms and shoulders that men seemed to be able to develop more easily.

The bow designed for young lads and women was too small; her arms were too long. When she held the bow straight out and pulled back with an arrow, the bow attained maximum stretch at an uncomfortable position in her reach. Of course the force and distance of an arrow's flight is controlled by varying the distance an arrow is pulled back and the distance the bow hand is held forward - in addition to actual aiming - but there is still a proper bow size for the physical attributes of each person.

This was the logic that governed bow design in Loundon's Towne as they invented the concepts of citywide defense. One of the two different sizes fit everyone with inclination and talent towards archery in Loundon's Towne, except Constantia.

Not only had Dorgelt the Hunter refused to teach Constantia to use the bow, he had not seemed to know how to use one himself. Lindern had discovered during the time he and Vanch had developed the bow, that he was too small yet to use one in a fight. He still had a major growth coming, everyone said so, but with the age-old impatience of youth he felt as though it would never arrive. His growth would not arrive in time for him to fight in the battle of the coming harvest faire - as an archer.

Lindern felt sure he would be an archer one day, but they would not train him, so he watched and learned, and realized there was little he could learn from Dorgelt other than how not to use a bow. He felt it would have to work differently than the way the Hunter was instructing.

Next he turned to the other side of the field where Constantia was working with her bow. He knew she would make a fine archer. She had what appeared to him as a natural form with the bow and arrow, but was frustrated by the improper bow size. By this time she had started to forego parts of the typical dress of women of the community, but she had not settled on what she would one day call her "fighting attire." She still wore the outer shift all women wore, but she had taken a pair of her father's ruined breeches and cut them to fit her. No women wore belts over their outer clothing. Women wore no belting, men thought, for comfort's sake, but it had the additional advantage of hiding a degree of overeating.

Constantia had taken her father's oldest belt and cut it to where she could wear it over her robe and used it to help hold up her breeches as well.

When practicing with her bow, she drew her robe between her legs, pulled the backside up and tucked it into her belt. This stopped the typical flowing clothing from interfering with her aim. The few other women that were trying their hand at archery thought her daft, but they constantly had their aim thwarted by robes billowing in the wind and catching the edge of the bow.

Dorgelt had refused Constantia a pair of finger guards that morning. It wasn't that Dorgelt the Hunter thought it a bad idea to train women to fight - he did feel that way and told everyone, but Torban would not heed his warnings on that matter. No, to a degree Dorgelt had refused to help Constantia because he thought she was too young, but mostly because she was a Loundon. Only older women past the time of raising their children were coming forward in active defense of their community. It was understood that women with mothering responsibilities should find their primary place there. But Dorgelt just knew, and said as much, that Torban would not smile on the man who taught his daughter how to join this fight. Dorgelt told any and all that Constantia should not be allowed to be an archer.

Lindern hid one pair of leather finger guards and arm banding and brought them to Constantia when Dorgelt had finished for the day. She was still trying to use an improperly sized bow.

"I held a pair of finger guards back for you, Constantia. I just had a feeling.... Dorgelt really doesn't want you to be an archer, does he?"

She answered this question only with a half angry, half mirthful smile, causing Lindern to chuckle.

It was hot for this early in the summer, and Constantia's activities caused a great deal of perspiration. Her clothes were sticky on her frame and wet strands of her hair fell into her eyes.

Unsuccessfully blowing hairs out of her face she said, "I thank you, Master Bow Maker Lindern. Can you have Graller the Tanner make a hair guard to keep this out of my face?" She had grabbed the offending tresses and pushed them behind her left ear. They would stay in place for only two more sentences. "Ask him to make for me a leather skirt guard and you make me a smaller bow while you are at it."

She chuckled and expected him to join her. He had blushed furiously when she had first called him 'Master Bow Maker.' He had looked around with embarrassment and she had promised not to call him that in front of Vanch, his master in the Coopering trade.

She chuckled and made another comment, expecting him to join her in her jesting. One of the things she enjoyed and she thought he did too, was their sharp-tongued conversations. His quick mind was a perfect foil for her sarcastic tongue. When he did not join in, she looked up. "What? Have I split my clothing somewhere?"

"Would you like a bow made to fit you?"

"But both sizes are either too big or too small, Lindern."

"I am no Master Bow Maker as you jest, but who do you think makes most of the bows while Vanch supervises the cooperage? I make the two sizes that he has determined best suit most, but I can make one just to fit you. I will need to make it at night and I will have to have your help in fitting certain pieces and sizing certain parts of the bow."

For a week Torban wondered where their daughter was between supper and nightfall. Torban had not said anything to Constantia about her attempts with the bow, because Dorgelt had assured him time and again that she had no talent for it. Torban had been married long enough to a woman similar enough to Constantia in temperament to know that he need not waste what little attention she would pay him on a subject that would die through inadequacy.

Lindern worked on her bow. Constantia worked on Graller the Tanner. Graller was older than her father. He was a widower and knew he was too old, but the memory of being a young stallion caused him to make her leather fighting attire to her exact specifications.

The night they took her bow out for a test before coating and finishing, she arrived in her usual outer shift with the legs of a man's breeches underneath. Lindern had not looked closely enough to see they were not those she usually wore. Constantia had insisted on their first night of designing her bow that they keep everything in secret. So when she asked that they go to a more secluded place than the archery field, he did not consider the request for any reason other than the fact that Caedric the Fisher was back from his day on the river.

Lindern placed the quiver on the ground and started to hold out the bow to her. He felt sure he had the design just right and would be able to cook the flaxseed and soot coating for the bow later than evening.

Instead of stepping forward and taking his offered weapon, Constantia stepped back and whipped her outer shift over her head. While Lindern stood in open-mouthed disbelief, she placed the band around her head to hold back her hair. She held out her hand for the bow.

"Lindern. The bow, Lindern. Have you never seen a leather head band before?"

Still slack jawed, he handed her the bow. She drew the string back with her first arrow and released it. Three things became abundantly clear. Lindern had succeeded in making a bow for her size. Her leather fighting attire was perfect for archery.

And she was by far the finest archer in Loundon's Towne.

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Aldini asked Reldy, "Son, please tell us why you had to attack the mounds, and everything else you know about Bordo and Bordan."

When Reldy had revealed that "olive" and "aceituna" were different names for the same tree, Haana had insisted that they let Reldy rest for a while. The others had started to protest, but Willen had purposefully marched right out of the room. The other adults had been compelled to follow him.

The Aldertani Keep consisted of the main building with its courtyard, (the Keep itself), the village right around the Keep, outlying huts such as Kwildas', and fields for various farming activities. Far to the south was a small fishing village on the Middle Sea. Large numbers of aceituna/olive trees, arranged in groves, were to the north and east, but these types of trees were also scattered all over the Keep. There was one stately shade-providing olive tree in the courtyard. As the three men followed Willen out into that courtyard, Aldini first realized what Willen intended. As Willen raised his smaller blade to cut a low hanging branch, he heard the distinctive "szling' sound of Aldini drawing his sword.

"You will put down that aceitu-...olive branch, Willen, or I will run you through."

"Aldini, if you are too ox-like not to realize we are allies and even friends in this common fight, then I pity you."

The thought of pity caused Aldini's eyes to flare.

"But I have still not recovered and I am still under the demand of the Rights of Succor. I am your honored enemy, and we are under the bond of training partners. My honor requires me to not cause you any harm knowingly, and to try to aid and assist you in your troubles during the length of the time I am under your acceptance of my Demand.

"So either run me through and face the Druids without a Slayer or let me try to discover a weapon that should help us greatly in this fight."

"You are no Dragonslayer, Willen," stated Aldini.

"Neither am I a Druid or your enemy." And with that, he took the olive branch he had cut and began to prepare it for testing. Willen stripped it of its twigs, leaves, and the bark, the way the Druids apparently prepared theirs. He kicked a few dried leaves into a dirt patch, pointed the stick at it and cast, "Incendio!" Nothing happened.

Aldini had Willen's back sack and other possessions searched when he'd first been brought to the Keep. He had taken Torban's blade and the holly sticks. Willen had discovered he had not bothered the scrolls of parchment - particularly the one with the unicorn and veela hairs.

Willen drew the carving of Constantia from around his neck. He had wrapped a unicorn hair around the carving for just such a time as this. When he had first placed the hair around the bit of holly from Albion, it had spoken to him in simple greeting. He had never had a finished piece of wood, one that had reached its destiny, make contact with him. This piece of holly not only greeted him when he wrapped the wood with the hair, it now "seemed" a little disappointed when the hair was removed.

As he carefully wrapped the olive branch with the hair, he could hear Aldini saying, "I told you he was not as powerful as the others, he needs help."

Willen spoke "Incendio," after he stood with his combined power concentrator. The leaves burst into flame, accompanied by the onlookers' gasps of amazement. Willen stamped out the fire and looked up. Aldini's face went from fascination to cynicism.

Willen said, "Helped or not, I will use this hair and olive stick to fight these evil dragon riders and their ruffians."

"You will be able to kill with this hair and stick combination like they do?" Aldini asked.

"I refuse to kill with magik or with this olive stick. Eirran counseled me that I would probably have to kill Porto, but that I should never kill another human being using the Old Way or magik. I will kill with my blade, or my bare hands if need be, but not magik."

"We place our trust in a cowardly Dragonslayer," Aldini said, his voice dripping derision. "You will never face Porto, with your blade or without it. I will kill you when you have recovered your full strength and skill. It is your fate to die here, facing the Druids or facing me."

"I don't believe in fate. I believe in destiny." And with that pronouncement, Aldertan, Kwildas, and a blustering Aldini followed Willen back to the room housing Reldy.

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Conlander had never seen a blade able to maintain a sharpened edge as well as Torban's blades did. He was amazed. "You say that the secret to this edge is to add more of the powdered nickel and to heat it more than once and cool it quickly in cold water? Remarkable. This is the sharpest knife I have ever seen."

Torban closed the door to his forge and said, "I have told you of our problems with Porto the Olive Hand and Bonderman."

"Yes, these Olive Hands have not visited my old village as of yet, but they have threatened takeover at a community not far away. I would rather be in Loundon's Towne for this inevitable fight. Were it not for my damaged leg, I would have walked here before Stellan found me."

Torban pulled an object wrapped in oily fabric from behind a stack of forge coal. "I have been close enough to Bonderman and his underlings to observe the quality of their blades. Bonderman carries a blade of some distinction, the others carry poor metal, but none hold a blade to compare to this."

The blade Torban offered Conlander for inspection was dissimilar to any design, at this time, in what would eventually be known as Europe. It was a straight blade that was shorter than Bonderman's or those carried by any Celtic warrior, but not by much. It was roughly a hand longer than the famous Roman short sword design being developed in Etruria at this time. The truly unique part of this design was its handle.

It had a larger than usual guard to prevent an opponent's blade from slipping down and cutting the fingers. Its handle area was more than twice as long as the typical grip.

"But this is not like any other fighting blade I have seen."

"There is no force of law or man that says that a blade has to be like other blades. Take and feel."

Torban held the blade, grip forward, to Conlander. When the young MetalSmith, or Smith, took it they both felt the slightest surge of the Touch. "Conlander, do you have the Touch for metalworking?"

"No. No, I know of the Touch. In my village there was a Weaver and a Potter with the Touch. I often observed their extra skills beyond reason. I had hoped I would see the Touch in my work, but it has never happened. Do you have the Touch?"

"I believe I do. I have always felt it to one degree or another with each piece of metal I have worked. But I never felt it as powerfully as I did when I forged Willen's blade. It was the first of this design. I felt the metal 'tell me' exactly how to make every pound of the hammer. 'It' told me how many times to heat it and reheat it.

"All of the fighting blades I have crafted since then have let me know they were with me in manufacture, but none as strongly as that one. Step over here into this open area and swing it like you would in a fight."

In ten swings of the blade, Conlander demonstrated in form and execution ten excellent cuts, thrusts, and parries with a fighting blade.

"Who trained you in blade fighting? Why did you not tell me of your skill?"

There was confusion on Conlander's face. "I have never held a blade longer than one used in Tanning. What I just did, somehow... well, it just seemed the way to use such a blade."

Torban realized the second, and probably the most important reason why he had known he must persuade Conlander to join Loundon's Towne.

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Reldy came to the end of his explanation of the mounds, the stickmen, and the specific aceituna/olive trees.

"Reldy, this is Willen speaking."

"I recognize your voice, Willen."

"The little stickmen, do they look like they were put together with twigs and that they may be cute and friendly until you draw near those particular olive trees? Then, when the warrior starts cutting branches, the little creatures get really vicious and cut you with their two little fingers, is that what they do?"

"Yes," said the boy.

Aldertan said, "Willen, you know these vermin?"

"Yes, they are called bowtruckles in Albion. I don't know what the word is in Latin, or even if there is one. They guard particular trees for some reason I cannot fathom. You cannot see it, Reldy, but I have a scar on one of my fingers from one of their attacks over five summers ago. Bordo and Bordan, they do not want wood from any other olive trees but the four guarded by those mounds?"

"Yes, I heard them talking at night when they didn't know it. They've been here twice before and now they want to own the Aldertan Keep. Pilder tried to tell them of Aldini, the mean Keeper of this Land, the greatest swordsman around, but they laughed at his words. Erm, is Aldini here? I did not mean to insult you, sir. Pilder only wanted to increase their fear of you."

"Reldy, they want olive wood from only those four trees, did they say why?"

"It was never discussed and we feared to ask, but they acted as if the rest of the Keep was useless. They were talking about having me grab some of the creatures and take them to another tree to see if they would protect a new one. It must be important."

"I know how to solve the Druids' problem," said Willen.

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"Father, Dorgelt's a master with a spear, Conlander teaches use of the long blade better than any could have hoped. All archers in Loundon's Towne, except for me are hopeless. The purpose of the bow is to hit a target from far away. Why won't you let me teach them?"

"You are my little girl. Bonderman craves you. You saw his looks of desire when he arrived early during last winter to carry off as much tribute as he could. You are more appealing to men now than then, may I be blinded if it would make it untrue, but I retain my ability to see beauty."

"Father, you disbelieve Willen will bring back the olive sticks. Then why don't you at least share with me what I believe is our only hope, a strong overpowering defense. Porto has but three men including Bonderman. I may kill all four of them with my bow before any of them are near enough to use their blades or Porto his olive hand. If there were ten, half as accurate as I am, or twenty perhaps... What if there were twenty half as accurate and a few nearly as capable as I am, how could four men defeat us? Dorgelt trains his twenty. Conlander trains more than twenty. Is all of Lindern and Vanch's work to be for naught?"

The first half of Constantia's pleading efforts with her father had been earnest and sincere. The second half had been demanding. Meala moved to intercede between the two, but Torban raised his hand. This was the deciding moment.

"If I let you train your archers, would you consent to a plan of escape for you if the battle seems to turn against us? If it looks as though we will lose the fight, for whatever reason, will you promise me, give me your solemn word, you will escape?"

"But, Father..."

"Listen to me my child. I no longer call you a girl. I know you are not a child, but you will always be my child. I want your promise to escape when and if the battle turns against us. I will arrange the plan and buy the horse for your escape. You can train and engage in the fight, but as an archer only; you will stay away from the fighting when spear and blade meet. Look me in the eyes and swear."

Constantia looked him in the eyes with every intention of denying she would run. But the depth of expression she saw in her father's eyes showed her worry and concern that frightened her with its prescience.

All three Loundons were surprised when she said, "I promise, Da," in the same tone she had used as a small child.

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It took all morning and most of the afternoon to find wood lice, but late in the day, Willen approached the four olive trees. They all talked to him in Latin; the first time he had noticed tress speaking any language, Latin in particular, other than tree language. All four confirmed that the bad men who tortured the human saplings with the bowtruckles were worthy to be uprooted, but they had not been able to reason with the bowtruckles to stop their attacks. All four told Willen that the youngest human sapling had assaulted the mounds once, but they believed her screams had not been as loud as the others that had thrown themselves on the mounds before.

Willen was relieved. Kailty had probably not been hurt too badly. He turned and explained this to the others while he was looking down, preparing the wood lice. Just as he was about to walk forward with the lice, he noticed that the others were frozen in place and staring at him.

"What's the matter? Aren't you pleased that Kailty has not been severely hurt?"

The guards were backing away, turning to run. Kwildas was on his knees, muttering something about the spirit of the dragon protecting him. Aldini had his sword drawn and was backing away timidly.

Only Aldertan stood his ground, but he visibly and audibly trembled as he said, "You are my friend. You are not the Dreaded One who commands the very trees to bend to his will. I trust you. Please do not call down evil on me, oh Great Lord of the Forest." And with those words, he fell on his face.

Willen actually looked behind himself to see whom Aldertan had to be talking to. He realized for the first time, that when the trees bent over to have conversations with him, that others might not see that as normal. Most trees are a little hard of hearing so they leaned over to hear him better, that's all.

Then the realization struck him. "Are the Celts the ones that hold trees sacred?"

Aldertan answered, dread in his voice, "Great Lord of the Forest, I cannot speak for all Celts, beliefs vary and our family has been here nine generations without one from the Old Way to guide us. However, we have never worshiped trees, only the One who made the trees and all there is. That said, since trees are the biggest things in existence, they are a powerful symbol to us for the One who created all. It is ancient among Celts. We do not fear trees. We fear the One who bends trees to his will."

Willen realized this could change the balance in his relationship between all of those of the Aldertani Keep and probably his Druidic enemies here and in Albion. He could use this new fear to demand help and assistance, and homage if need be. He could gather the olive sticks he needed, not face the dragon, and be on his way in a day, perhaps less. He could demand horses and carts and a guard to protect him in his travels.

He considered the battle to come in Loundon's Towne. He could lure Porto and Bonderman near the forest and start up a conversation with a tree. They would run in fear or fall to their faces, and he could stop their efforts to take over Loundon's Towne. Perhaps the fear of him could spread and all of those from the Celtic lands coming to Albion would stay away. Eirran knew about his conversations with trees. Why hadn't he told of the power over men he could use...?

All of this passed through Willen's mind in the time it takes a leaf to fall from the top of a tree. He had been staring unseeing down at the woodlice in his hands. He looked back up to his friends and saw the stark trepidation in their eyes as they cowered before him.

His friends...

He thought of them as his friends and here he was planning to maintain them in these servile positions.

Willen had always thought that his biggest test to determine whether he would follow Darkness or follow Light would come when he faced Bonderman and Porto. Now he knew that this moment, in all probability, would be the bigger test - his first test.

Darkness or Light? Being served in fear or being a servant? His choice.

He knew it would be much easier to rule the fearful. He had been intimidated and dominated all of his life by those he felt more powerful than himself. He envisioned Caedric kneeling before him as he whimpered his puny request for his life.

Now he knew the reasons the darkness drew men to itself.

And Willen turned from Darkness and chose Light.

All of this realization had taken place in the time it would take for a second leaf to fall. He turned to the more difficult yet more honorable path of compassion and service. And remembering Eirran's words, Willen turned to the task of convincing his friends that they had nothing to fear from him.

"Please, Aldini, sheath your sword, you know you could kill me easily, and I do not want to die because that tree bent down to hear me better. It did not bow to me; it must have blight in its ears that makes understanding me difficult. Please do not kill me.

"My friend, Aldertan, for you are my friend, how could you confuse me, not much more than a lad, with your Great Lord of the Forest? Do not say it too loudly, because if that Lord is nearby, he will surely want to destroy me for the impertinence of being mistaken for him."

Aldini recovered slowly, but first. He did not want Willen to be the Great Lord of the Forest. The Keeper had not decided if he was going to kill Willen or not, probably not if Willen solved the Druid/dragon problem, but no one would survive a battle with the Tree Lord.

Aldini shouted, "Do not run away, you cowards. My guards must be braver than this, or I will kill you myself. Here, Father, let me help you up. Kwildas, finished your afternoon Slayer prayers? Willen, what assistance do you need to complete this task before night falls?"

Willen was grateful for the understanding. Yes, there was an understanding now between him and the Keeper, an understanding that left unstated that they were peers with powers and responsibilities as leaders with their own challenges.

Willen walked as close to the protected trees as he felt he could without being attacked. He shouted in his conversation and the trees seemed to understand his dilemma, or maybe it was just that he was loud enough to be understood without bending over. Quickly, he asked the questions he had and then turned to his uneasy companions. "This tree wants to be pruned a bit. The others have needs and have made suggestions about how I can help them, but that can wait for now. I am worried that Bordan will send Kailty back to the bowtruckle mounds tomorrow and she will be badly hurt. I will give the little savages this treat and cut a few branches for my use for now."

Back in the courtyard, Willen tested the olive branches. He now held in his hands the object of his quest, of his travels that had covered over nine seasons thus far. He spread a few leaves on the bare ground. "Incendio!" A small spark jumped from the olive wood and a leaf smoldered into flame. None of his companions said anything but Willen thought that they probably noticed this was not any more powerful than his previous stick and hair combination.

He drew out a unicorn hair from around his carving of Constantia. Once again, the two items seemed to him to be disappointed to be parted. He carefully knotted the hair and wrapped it around the olive branch. He had cut several branches from the tree and thought for a minute that trying another might improve his power, but he realized he had been wishing in the wind. The hair was secure around the olive branch.

"Incendio!" The leaves burst into the largest conflagration those in the Keep had seen Willen conjure. They cheered his actions. Willen smiled as they clapped him on the back and invited him into to dinner.

He put on a brave face and began hoping. Willen hoped that someone with the Touch in Loundon's Towne would be more powerful with the olive branches, or even an olive branch and unicorn hair. He knew that the power he felt while starting the fire would be insufficient to fight Porto, who did not have a unicorn hair to add to his concentrating power.

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Stellan left on the mission of finding a Fisher he could trust to bring back to join Loundon's Towne. He had a consignment of barrels and row makers for a merchant up the Albion coast, who traded with Gaul. Stellan knew finding a reliable Fisher would be a difficult assignment. Caedric had been correct, there were not that many Fishers Stellan would trust to bring back to join Loundon's Towne and all its secrets of resistance and industry.

Stellan needed a companion seagoing fishing ship. Even with Caedric's find of a very successful series of beds of river fish, the community needed more fish in their diet than the two could provide, even if his wasn't a goods transporting ship more than half the time. There had been a complaint of a fishy smell in the last barrels he had delivered. Those barrels had been in the bottom of the hold and had been sloshed by fish-littered bilge water. This load of barrels had been lashed to the deck and in the top of the hold. The ship's balance was a little precarious but not dangerous. If a major storm arose, he would cut them loose to float behind his seagoing boat.

Stellan, Torban, Baijan the House Builder, and Baijan's huge son, Trotan, had discussed for nearly a moon, the design of a seagoing fishing boat that was not a fishing boat at all. It would be built specifically to transport trade goods from the craftsmen of Loundon's Towne.

The first three times they'd sat around a fire discussing such a craft they had all stopped in frustration when they reached the same point in drawing the lines for such a boat in the dirt. The logical design would be just a man's length longer than two times the size of Stellan's present fishing boat. That was not the problem.

When a fishing boat arrived with its catch, it was low and heavy in the water and was run aground in order to be unloaded. Once the fish were removed, the boat was much lighter and sat easily on the water, barely touching the bottom. Then ropes were used to hold the boat in place so it would not float off before it was manned and ready to leave. But a boat transporting goods would leave Loundon's Towne in a manner opposite that of a fishing boat. It would be light and empty when it arrived (unless it was carrying goods from elsewhere), and heavy when it departed. A boat filled with trade goods sat low in the water, making it very difficult to launch. Mooring the boat out in deeper water did not help, the deep water made it difficult and time-consuming to carry the goods out to be placed on the ship.

Stellan's current boat only lowered an arm's length when it was loaded. Ropes and an anchor held the boat at a depth, which was not too deep to load by hand. But a boat built according to the proposed new design would drop too deep into the water for this practice to be used.

On the fourth night that the four men had sat discussing the design problem, Trotan, who had not been heard in previous discussions, finally spoke and said, "The problem is not bringing the boat to the shore. The problem is taking the shore to the boat."

The three others knew he was right and they knew just as well that he was a bit daft with his analysis. However, they quickly realized that he was brilliant.

" Stellan, you said this boat will drop just more than a man's length deeper into the water as it goes from empty to full."

"For a normal man," Stellan said with a wry smile in his voice and on his face. "It might not drop higher than from your shoulders down, Trotan."

The four chuckled and Trotan blushed at his size.

The youngest and largest of the four continued, undaunted by their ribbing. "If we build a platform on the land and anchor it deeply like the main beams of the Diagon, and then we build it to extend out over the water to a point where we can load and unload a goods transporting boat without it touching bottom, then we will solve the loading issue. The platform pieces that go under water will have to be designed to prevent it sinking into the muddy bottom. Perhaps we will need to place stones carefully under where it will rest. We construct it so it floats as we place these stones and position the platform. Then, when all is ready, we remove the flotation aids and actually place heavy boulders permanently on the platform to hold it in place on the stones in the riverbed. The beams and boards under water will have to be made with heartwood and perhaps even coated with some of Lindern and Vanch's bow coating concoction. When cooking it smells like old fish, dirty feet, and rotten cabbage all mixed together, but it should help protect from water rot."

This dissertation had been a longer speech than anyone, including his father, had ever heard from the gigantic young apprentice House Builder. But it was obvious in an instant that these well conceived ideas made all of their plans for a transporting vessel viable.

Stellan arrived back in Loundon's Towne with not one Fisher, but four brothers (none twins) who all fished and owned their own seagoing fishing vessels.

Each brother's boat had a log as round as a man and one and a half times a man's height tied to the tops of its mast. There were other limbs attached to the logs. The boats were a bit top heavy in appearance with these rigs, but they sailed true enough, though not quite as efficiently as they could have. Two sideboards had been added to each to maintain way with the top heaviness.

Caedric had been livid at their arrival because Torban had not forewarned him. Stellan told Caedric that the logs helped provide instant anchoring when needed and also helped place the nets farther out from the boats. They had arrived just as Caedric was going out and he did not want to miss this day's payment of the gold bit. He sailed off muttering to himself about madness arriving daily.

As he sailed around a bend in the Tameas River, Torban asked, "Stellan, what are the logs for?"

"Why, Torban, imagine a boatload of these invaders coming up to attack and confiscate your hold full of trade goods. Now imagine as the invaders' boat nearly touches the side of one of those boats, the log is released and the limbs guides it out over the invaders' craft where it drives straight through the deck and the craft's bottom, sinking it in less time than it takes to scramble back from our boat to theirs. These brothers tell me the invaders call themselves Celts, and none of them can swim it seems.

"Now I ask you, Torban, how long do you imagine it will take to find Fishers better than Ludno and his brothers to join us?"

That night everyone enjoyed the welcoming feast for the four brothers and their families, including Caedric. He and Dorgelt had had a verbal contest between them over which was worse -too many Fishers, or a woman teaching hunting and fighting skills. Caedric and Dorgelt had enjoyed the drunkenness they'd achieved, until the next morning.

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Reldy appeared to be in good shape physically, other than his eyes. He was a strong lad and told them he had been excellent with a sling. "I could usually hit anything not moving too fast farther away than two huts' length, and I could hit anything closer. I wish I had my sling."

The others looked at each other uncomfortably. Before they could say anything he continued, "I know I probably cannot hit anything but a nearby hut, but I would like to think that I could make some fight."

"Lad, I have a sling for you," said Kwildas. "It is made with dragon heartstrings and a piece of the soft stomach of the dragon. We Slayers carry this as a sign that we have conquered a dragon. It's unlikely we will meet another Slayer this far from the lands where dragons roam freely, but if you see someone riding in with a dragon hide cloak, you may not want to wave that thing.... Oh, Reldy, I'm sorry. I did not mean to mock your blindness."

Reldy actually laughed. "Sir, you are the first one to speak to me like I was normal. I know I'll never be the same again, but I appreciate you speaking that way, and I promise to hide the sling if you say to, and guard it as my own otherwise."

Kwildas handed the sling to the blind lad. The moment Reldy felt the dragon heartstrings, he said, "Is it supposed to be warm to the touch?"

"No, it has never been warmer than anything else." Kwildas took the sling back for a moment and shook his head. He silently offered it to Aldini and Aldertan who felt nothing unusual. Willen took it and held it for a moment, then with no comment he handed it to Haana.

"Oh, it feels very warm to me," she said.

"It did to me also," agreed Willen.

Haana handed it back to Reldy and by mutual silent consent no one mentioned this again.

Reldy had told them in their conversations that it was Bordan's custom to ride Grang around their encampment and then fly through the mountains to give the dragon its wings for a while.

Willen had been searching his scrolls and had developed the spell he needed to execute the plan he and Kwildas had conceived. The bowtruckle-guarded olive branch and unicorn hair combination gave him slightly more power than the odd holly and hair combination had. It would be enough - barely enough - he hoped.

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"So, you report my bride-to-be wears leather men's clothes now, yet you say she is more beautiful and now taller than when I first met..."

"Silence, you oaf! I still have not decided if you will have the girl or not. You have behaved yourself, but there is still nearly a season until the harvest faire." Porto had backhanded Bonderman. The would-be Keeper had not been seriously hurt but he had learned to fall when hit and act hurt. It usually prevented more serious actions on Porto's part.

"So, you say that they prepare for a fight, do they? If a few who are not Hunters carry bows, and a few carry knives too long for their craft, then these stupid towne's folks think they can fight us?"

"I can kill any three men with swords..." started Bonderman.

"I said 'Silence,' you large bag of bear droppings!" Porto's olive stick was in his hand and pointed at Bonderman's head. The big man fell to the floor quivering and pleading.

"SILENCE!"

Finally there was silence other than the rattling of bones in fear.

"You can fight any three but what if they are three and three, or thirty-three for that matter? You have the brains of a dead sow and smell like one as well." Porto lowered his olive stick. "We will have to surprise these Loundon's Towne fools. Perhaps it should be Porto Towne. We will visit them in roughly a moon."

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The golden horn of the dragon glinted in the light of dawn. There were sparkles of this early light reflecting off of the green scales on its body and wings.

The Druid riding on the dragon's back could be seen smiling as he flew towards the young man fidgeting, not knowing where to run, at the edge of the rocky outcroppings. He wondered if this was the one who had attempted to slay his dragon and had killed his brother. No, this one was little older than a lad. He couldn't be a Dragonslayer. In seconds he was much closer. No, this lad could not be a Slayer. The Dragonslayers would never take a lad with a lazy eye into their training academy.

_________________________

Willen stood there, acting like he was trying to run in two different directions at once. He wanted to look panicked but not go too far from the rope.

In spite of Bordan's commands, Grang resisted the command to breathe fire and lowered its head to gore Willen, the only human to ever survive one of its attacks and the one who had killed the master, Bordo.

Just like Kwildas had said that it would.

Just like it would have to for Willen's only slimmest of chances to survive the next few moments.

"Remulcumium Leviosa!"

It was the heaviest rope Willen could raise to the height of two men. The rope was not strong enough to hold a dragon, but Kwildas said that it did not have to hold but for a moment - just long enough.

The rope had been arranged in a slipknot and then stiffened with hoof glue to help maintain the shape of a loop while being levitated off of the ground.

The dragon noticed the looped rope just before its head went through it. This too helped our hero. The slightest change in direction slowed the beast a bit and cinched the slipknot around its head.

The rope snapped like a string just a moment after it tightened around the dragon's neck.

But the dragon's head was already folding over and down towards the rocks. Its horn caught between two boulders. Its neck broke instantly. Its body followed over and broke its spinal cord in several places on the rocks. Bordan was a dead skin-bag of broken bones a fraction of a moment later.

Willen's Luck must have been on a holiday. Willen stood watching the last faint quivers of the flying lizard's death rattles, and he was completely unscathed.

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Bordan had not come back from his morning ride on Grang. The two had never been gone this long. The six heavily armed warriors were uneasy. Actually, they were panicking. They had been collected by the two brothers as a part of this expedition because they were skilled fighters and unimaginative. Now that they had no leaders, their natural reaction was to ravage and kill everything in sight. Only Kailty was in sight.

The nominal leader, the one who could kill the others if he so chose, had always thought that this girl would be... well, would be worth his attentions.

Somehow Reldy had led his friends to the encampment. He moved by feeling the ground's height changes with his feet, and by listening to the sounds of the water from the nearby stream. Aldertan had heard of people who had been blinded, whose other senses, such as hearing, became extra acute, but Reldy's abilities were beyond the meaning of the word "extra."

With Haana's help, Reldy had led Aldini, Aldertan, Willen, and Kwildas up the creek to their enemies' camp. However, the other direction would be the natural avenue of escape, as the warriors saw it, because of the wooded valley in that direction. Reldy and Haana stayed where they were thought to be safe.

Aldini circled to the right. Aldertan and Willen went around to the left. Kwildas hobbled halfway around to the right in the time everyone else made it in place.

Aldini had been helping Willen recover the sword fighting skills he'd never had to begin with. Willen was now a decent swordsman, but he thought all six warriors should be better.

The plan had been that Aldini would stand and formally ask for their surrender once all of the rescuers were in place. While they were positioning themselves, a discussion was going on among the leaderless warriors. It finally stirred into an argument, which in moments became a shouting match.

"I want her!"

"No, let's kill her and be gone. If Bordan is dead or gone, and if we are discovered here, what will we do?"

Swords were drawn, and the one who wanted to kill Kailty afterwards, the largest and fiercest, faced the two others while he held the slip of a girl forcefully in one hand.

"No! Leave her alone!" The sound of the swords being drawn had startled Kailty's brother. Reldy had probably been correct that the drawn swords meant his sister would die in mere moments.

The largest, still holding the girl by the arm, made the first step towards Reldy and Haana. All of the would be liberators knew he would kill them easily. All felt a similar fear for the two youngsters, but Aldini spoke first.

"You are surrounded! I am Aldini, Keeper of this Land, and I offer to accept your surrender and will not harm you." He was desperate to save his daughter.

In moments Aldertan, Willen, and Kwildas had risen and shouted similar words of warning and challenge.

"Surrender" is not a word that Celts, particularly Celtic warriors, understand. Oh, they understand the meaning of the word. What they do not understand about it is that it is a condition they might accept.

Celts don't surrender.

The only thing shouting the word accomplished was to galvanize all of the warriors into action. They all advanced towards their enemies and began fighting. Almost all of them. Kwildas was the largest and most formidable looking of the band of rescuers. He also was the feeblest. Because he was positioned in the rocks where the least likely means of escape lay, none of the six advanced towards him. He slipped on a few loose pebbles and fell hard on his right hip. He would be able to walk back to the Keep in a few minutes, but he was now out of the ensuing action.

The least powerful warrior advanced towards Aldertan. Though he was old enough to relinquish his position as Keeper to Aldini, he was able to fight this one on even terms for the duration of the short battle. The best swordsman of the six headed towards Aldini. They were evenly matched, though Aldini soon won. However, such fights last a very short period of time that seems like a small eternity to those fighting it. Aldini's fight would consume all of his time in the fracas.

The three remaining unencumbered Celts headed towards Willen. The largest Celtic fighter had his booty from this battle, the girl, and headed towards the blinded boy and young girl. He viewed this direction as his avenue of easiest escape.

Kwildas unsuccessfully fought in nearly tearful frustration to rise with his hurt hip to intercede between Haana and Reldy and the warrior advancing on them. He had the best opportunity to give account of what happened.

Facing three warriors, Willen had no other choice. He stood between them and their best path of escape. He knew that they could bring back others from their homeland to the Aldertani Keep. That he would not allow. He drew Torban's blade.

Willen never truly understood that the sheer beauty and obvious quality of that blade marked him as the great swordsman that he was not. Thus, all three advanced on him instead of offering single combat as was common practice.

However, two seasons before, Willen had stood dully with stick and unicorn hair in hand as the three men who'd chased Phannel the veela had quickly dispatched him with two punches. That was not the Willen facing these three this day. When it came to using an axe to fell trees, the former wood gatherer had developed his chopping skills with both hands. So the left-handed Willen held his magnificent blade in his right hand, which the warriors expected, and he held his olive branch and unicorn hair in his left.

Barely blocking the first man's vicious swing, Willen brought up his power concentrator and said, "Petrificus Totalis!" Willen stepped around this frozen foe in time to block the swing of the next and cast, "Incendio!" This set the clothing of Willen's second assailant on fire.

Willen had thought long and hard about every confrontation he had ever faced and everyone he could imagine he might face. Because he often hesitated in a fight when some unexpected development occurred, he knew that he had been fortunate that no one had killed him thus far. Aldini's training had quickly gone from an attempt to recoup Willen's non-existent sword fighting skills to teaching him how to fight with a sword. "You must always imagine what you can do in the next few steps of a fight, Willen. But it is more important to imagine what your opponent can do in those same steps."

Willen and Aldini had discussed sword fighting and the variety of situations he might face in such fights. Later, by himself, Willen had thought through all of the scenarios he could imagine when he would need to use his magik to fight. He had also envisioned fighting with the combination of magik and sword. What if he had to face Porto and Bonderman at the same time? This concern focused his attention quite easily on thinking through possible methods of defense and attack.

After seeing one of his companions petrified and the other set on fire, the third attacker realized that Willen must be a Druid also, even though he wasn't dressed like one. He had an olive stick and he knew how to use it. Under normal circumstances this warrior would have cringed in fear before the wielder of such power, but his fighting fever was up, and he decided in an instant that he would never face the torturing curse again. He would kill this Druid before him or die in the attempt. Therefore, instead of cutting into Willen with the first chop of his sword, he cut the olive branch in half.

This saved Willen's life. And it reduced him to a man without magik, a man who thought himself a poor swordsman. But he was also a man of destiny and a man driven by the same battle lust as the men he faced.

Also, he was only a poor swordsman in comparison to Aldini, the finest swordsman within many days' ride.

The chop and swing was the primary method of fighting used by Celtic warriors. They carried a large heavy blade used to batter an opponent as much as cut. The blade Torban had given Willen had barely worked for cutting wood. Unknown even to Torban at the time of the blade's inception, the blade's design made for an excellent weapon.

Not having his olive stick anymore, Willen took the longer grip in both hands. The Celt he faced considered two hands on a sword a sign of inability and weakness. Aldini had refused to let Willen fight with two hands. Willen demonstrated over the next few seconds why two-handed swordplay held certain advantages. Willen had also not been allowed by Aldini to fight with his natural hand, his left hand, which was also strongest.

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"Porto, my old friend, it has been many cycles since I brought you to these shores. I hear that you have subdued perhaps the finest towne in this rainy miserable land."

The rain had been pouring for seven days straight and Wollo seemed to always pick the rainy days to land in Albion.

"Wollo, my much esteemed sea captain. I see you prosper from the efforts of our Celtic brothers reaping the dubious bounty available in this land. Is this a new boat? Where did you steal it?"

The nearly visible sarcasm and the looks in their eyes destroyed any appearance of friendship or esteem between the two. "What news do you bring from my brothers? I thought they would have been with you on this voyage. Do you know of any problems with their recruiting?"

"No, no. If anything your enticements have made recruiting too good. They have been able to gather more of our fine Celtic warriors and of a higher quality than they expected. Portan and Portag send their best wishes and ask that you be patient as they choose the finest fighters to join you on your quest for dominion. They also asked that I tell you that they will arrive with their first contingent in a fortnight, and the rest will be here by harvest time."

"Thank you for your kind assistance in relaying the message," said Porto as he placed a gold bit on the table and hid his purse back under his smock. He resented having to pay for information, but charged dearly for it when requested by others. "Good day, Captain Wollo." Porto resented even that title. He remembered that Wollo had gained the cushy position of boat's captain simply because he had not become ill and lost his last meal the first time they had launched in a boat. Now the big lump of a man was fat from sitting on his boat and charging others to travel back and forth between Albion and the coast of Gaul.

Well, his brothers would arrive with the first of his larger forces in time to visit Loundon's Towne a fortnight before the harvest faire. They would kill the ones he had in mind and then threaten the rest. He knew just which lives to extinguish that would not threaten the success of the faire, but would leave the people of Loundon's Towne docile and subservient. When the larger forces arrived they would enter Loundon's Towne at the faire's end and conquer the people for good. It would be his Keep and he would have four seasons to subdue these unruly and disrespectful natives of that community. The following harvest faire should not suffer from this transition.

He thought he should have Bonderman killed after the last fight, or maybe he would be killed during the fight to save the trouble of ending the life of the one who had been his Keeper designate. Anything could be arranged. And then the girl that Bonderman desired would be his, Porto's, to break as he pleased.

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The largest warrior raiding the Aldertani Keep, Klinfermin, had tired in moments of trying to drag the girl, his spoils of war, out of the battle. She screamed and he hit her with the hilt of his sword, knocking her into momentary passivity.

Kailty's scream had caused Reldy to stand and call her name. Klinfermin saw the lad and recognized him immediately. You saw few blind boys his age. The would-be ravager also saw the older girl stand and try to pull the blinded lad out of the way. She was more to his liking.

He decided to kill this girl in his hand, kill the blind boy - no real sport in that, and then drag away the older girl. He wanted both of the girls but one was proving tough enough. Better one bird in his arms than two slowing his escape. He raised his sword slowly, fighting her increasing struggles. He heard more screams from the direction of his escape. He looked to see, and sure enough, he would have to clout her into silence also.

He drew back his sword and realized that his head really hurt all of a sudden. He also realized he was having trouble holding up his sword. The last thing he realized was that he was having difficulties realizing anything.

In the eleven years he had remaining, Kwildas, the experienced Dragonslayer and traveler to the lands of dragons and giants, would relish telling again and again how Reldy the Sightless ManSlayer had stood up, pushed Haana into a safe place in the rocks, drew the dragon heartstring sling, and placed a stone in the center of the forehead of the ruffian about to kill his sister.

Aldini finally dispatched his opponent with a thrust-parry-thrust of the point of his sword. The point always beats the edge, and these Celts, though brutal warriors, lacked any finesse in fighting.

He looked and saw the man that had been approaching his daughter was down and on his back. He turned and saw his father winded, nursing a slight cut, but victorious. Finally he turned to see how Willen was faring.

These Celts may have all lacked finesse, but finesse was not needed when the odds were three to one. Aldini started to run to Willen's aid. He would not arrive in time to impact the fight unveiling before him.

Willen went from a right-handed swordsman to a two-handed swordsman favoring his left hand. This was very unfamiliar to the first Celt, the best with the blade facing our hero.

The Celt made three quick chops with his sword from right, left, and then right again. This order was familiar to Willen; Aldini favored it. Willen blocked it easily because of the flexibility and strength he had using two hands. Thus he almost matched the strength of the much larger man he faced. His lazy eye saw that another Celt was coming around to his left to join the fight. Willen started a left-right-left combination that was unfamiliar to the first warrior. The huge man had barely managed to block the first, blocked the second more readily, and prepared for the next left. Willen stopped at left-right- and drove the point through the man's throat.

Willen pulled his blade, received a generous coating of red, and faced the man still smoldering from being on fire.

This man was furious but cautious nonetheless. He moved in a half circle while he faced Willen. This placed the man Willen had petrified at the back of the inventor of magik. This second assailant, the tallest but not broadest of the six Celts, used his long arms to try to strike from out of Willen's reach. The distance made his swings take longer but each swing came in with more speed and force. The tall warrior saw his opponent shudder from the last impact so he reached back farther for a greater, more vicious swing.

Willen walked right into the man's fighting zone, interfered with his swinging arc, and thrust Torban's blade into the meat of his chest, right into his heart.

The huge muscles of this one grabbed Willen's blade in death. Willen struggled, hardly able to pull it out of the man's chest. He finally wrenched the blade from the dead man, a gruesome task, heard the loudest shout he had ever heard, and lunged to his left.

Willen's third attacker, the sole Celt still breathing, had recovered from his paralysis and was furious. His roar warned Willen. He came forward hoping to pierce our hero and keep running away. This last warrior knew another was running up behind him and he could not fight two at once.

Willen's lunge to the left prevented his death and converted the stab in his back to a painful and bloody cut under his right arm. Willen swung his whole body around to his right and embedded his blade in the neck of this last attacker. The blade stuck, the last man grabbed it in his death throes, and the dying man's forward momentum ripped the blade out of Willen's hands.

Willen had no idea how the others were progressing in their fights. Now swordless, Willen dropped to his knees and pulled a spare olive stick out of his cloak. He loosed the unicorn hair from around the carving of Constantia. She would forgive him later of his inattention to her at this moment. Willen had already created a slip-knot in one end to speed the process.

Willen's wound was serious; he was losing blood quickly. He was feeling faint. He could die from the loss if it was not stopped soon. No one realized this was so, except Haana, who had none of her healing tools with her.

Willen slumped to the ground in a near faint. Haana dropped to her knees beside him. Only then did the others understand the danger of his wound.

She took the olive stick and unicorn hair from his hand, tightened the hair, and held it like she had seen Willen hold it. "Willen, I have no tools to help you, how can I use magik for this?"

When Willen and Haana had been watching over the sleeping Reldy, they had discussed the possibility that she might have the Touch for healing. She'd thought he was moonstruck, but Willen had researched the Latin words that might be used for cuts, broken bones, and other maladies. Before this moment they had tried none of them and she had never considered attempting Willen's magik.

Willen spoke as if about to go to sleep, "Try 'Facia." for bandage "

She spoke the command with fear in her voice and nothing happened.

"Say it again, like you really mean it, Haana."

She tried again. "It didn't work, Willen."

"Try 'Percuro,' to cure completely." Willen felt like a nap would be wonderful but he couldn't because Haana was shouting.

"That didn't work either, Willen. Willen! Help me!"

"Say it like you truly believe."

"Nothing. Willen, don't leave me. I want you to go save Constantia!" Haana was nearly hysterical. The others looked on, dumbfounded. People either died in battle or they didn't, warriors knew little of healing an internal cut such as this.

Her name, Constantia, called Willen back to Haana.

"Haana, what is the word for that strip of leather you use to draw your bag of jewelry shut?"

"'Stricta,' I call it a stricta, Willen."

"Oh, well try 'Curatio Strictum.'"

She nodded and opened her mouth to speak but Willen continued.

"And, Haana, when you say it, say it like you're speaking to an older brother that you love dearly. And wake me when it's over." He passed out.

In that moment Haana realized she did love Willen like the older brother she'd never had but had always wanted. He had come to mean a lot to her in the moon and a half he had been living in the Aldertani Keep.

That day everyone present came to believe in magik.

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"Constantia. It's finished. The first bow worked fine but I thought you needed just a little more reach and a little more pull. But that's not the best part."

Every bow Lindern and Vanch made had a very similar color to that of the raw wood, only shinier from the cooked flaxseed oil. The soot was such a small part of the total volume of the coating that it changed the color of the bows little once dry.

Lindern held a bow out to Constantia that was almost as dark as the leather fighting attire Graller the Tanner had made for her. This bow had not only been made specifically for her, it had been made to go with her outfit. She placed an arrow in the bowstring guard and tested the bow's pull.

"It is similar but not quite. It just "feels" better. Thank you, Lindern. Let's see."

You could not improve her accuracy, but this arrow flew almost three huts farther than usual and hit the tree she had aimed for right in a knothole.

When they arrived back in Loundon's Towne, Lindern was still blushing from the kiss she had planted on his forehead.

Most compared Constantia and Lindern to big sisters and little brothers. Some thought the two looked like owner and pet puppy.

This day Caedric saw the two together and also saw the bow in her hand. One more sober confirmation that the fools in this towne were spoiling for a fight.

The fools!

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Willen had been gone from the Aldertani Keep for a number of days. His legs and arms were no longer screaming at him at the end of each day of dragging his carryall loaded with dragon hides and other dragon goods.

Kwildas had insisted that as the Slayer of the dragon, Willen had first rights to the bounty of his labor. Aldertan had a cloak made for Willen from the hides. Kwildas had told him that the hides could be cut when intended, but that clothing made from the hide of a dragon you had slain yourself, would form a protective layer for the wearer when in a fight. Under his right arm still ached a bit when he thought about fighting with a sword.

That had been two sword fights ago.

Because of the recuperative powers of the olive stick and unicorn hair in Haana's hand, Willen had been almost completely well from the dangerous wound in only two days. Kwildas had made sure that Willen ate dragon steaks at all three meals and he quickly recovered his strength and stamina.

Much to Willen's chagrin, Aldini insisted that they still had to duel. They spent a fortnight fighting through most of each day. Aldertan had temporarily taken over day-to-day management of the Keep so Aldini could continue preparing Willen for their battle. Aldini no longer insisted that Willen fight with one hand, only, and at that his right hand. He helped Willen discover many ways to battle with either or both hands.

The day of the duel arrived. The courtyard had been cleared. Only Aldini, Aldertan, Kwildas, Haana, Reldy, and Kailty were present.

Aldertan had stepped forward and announced the forthcoming duel as if the courtyard were full of noisy observers. "Aldini, keeper of the Aldertani Keep has challenged Willen the Dragonslayer to a duel. Willen has demanded and received the Right of Succor under our Celtic traditions. All of Willen's demands for assistance, in keeping with his status as an opponent of a Keeper of Land, have been met. There only remains the duel and the awarding of privileges of victory to the vanquisher."

Aldini had worn all black for this solemn occasion. Willen had not received his dragon skin cloak yet, and he would not have been allowed to wear it in the duel if he had. Therefore, Willen had worn the only clothes he had.

The two met in the center of the courtyard. Willen was nervous; Aldini showed no emotions whatsoever.

Willen hoped to put up a good fight, and if he was not wounded too badly, he hoped Aldini would show mercy and release him after his recovery. He stole a glance in Haana's direction and noticed the olive stick and unicorn hair he had given her were not in her hand. He hoped they were nearby.

At Aldertan's command, they raised their swords and touched blades. The older gent quickly raised his sword from underneath their touched swords. With the clashing metal sounds unique to swords, he had pushed their two blades apart. The duel began.

Willen decided to be aggressive and struck first.

Aldini immediately dropped his sword after no effort whatsoever.

Aldertan announced a little quieter, "Willen has defeated Aldini in a fierce battle that we will all speak of in hushed tones for generations to come."

A fly flew into Willen's wide-open mouth and flew out when the stunned victor exhaled.

"Willen the Dragonslayer and inventor of magik, precursor of the New Way to come, is victorious and is awarded the privileges of victory." This last proclamation had been spoken in a normal conversational tone. All present had gathered around the young victor. "So, Willen," Aldertan continued. "What are your demands?"

"I...," Willen gulped and hardly knew what to ask. He was too busy working out what to think. "I don't know. I... That is....Erm, what is the custom among the Celts for the privileges?"

"A victor can demand whatever he wants. Most victors demand the death of the vanquished, perhaps the death of all of his family, and all of his lands and wealth. I, for one, hope you will not be so demanding. How may we help you, my son?"

"How may I help you, my fellow Slayer?" said a smiling Kwildas.

"How may I help you, Willen, brother I have never had but have now?" Haana smiled through a few happy tears.

"Willen, I am useless for so many things, but you saved my sister," said Reldy. "She and I would gladly travel with you as your slaves if my bumbling would not slow your journey." Though Reldy still ran into objects in unfamiliar places, he hardly ever slowed anyone down. He had a quick pace and strode as though he saw his way.

Aldini spoke, "I knew if I released you from the duel you would want to leave for Albion immediately. Having seen you fight, I knew that one more fortnight of training would be very important to your future success. You are now twice the swordsman you were in our fight against the six, and I do believe quite my equal - one worthy to wield that magnificent blade of Torban's. So." Aldini took half a step back and proclaimed in his most officious tone, "Willen the DragonSlayer, Willen the Three Slayer, Willen, my brother in battle, how may I and all of Aldertani Keep help you?" Aldini's face showed his pride in his favorite student in arms.

___________________________________________________

Willen had bribed the bowtruckles with wood lice and the oldest of the olive trees had confessed it had a major limb that needed to be removed. The tree was two-thirds of its original size in foliage when the limb had been removed. Interestingly, the bowtruckles had swarmed to Reldy's feet when he had walked with Haana to the site of the cutting. She had walked away only for a few moments to fetch a water skin for the lad, and no one had seen the bowtruckles near him until it was too late to stop them - but there was nothing to stop. A dozen bowtruckles, the largest Willen had ever seen, had come to Reldy's feet and bowed before him. The boy seemed to know they were there and knelt down.

The largest bowtruckle jumped up into Reldy' arms. The creature was about as tall as a man's hand was long. It positioned itself in Reldy's hands so that he could snap the little creature's neck if he wanted. Reldy called, "Willen, I think this creature wants me to kill it. I do not want to, but if I do not what will happen? Do the trees know?

Willen asked, and the oldest olive tree assured Willen that nothing would happen either way.

"Reldy, the tree says that he is the king of bowtruckles in these parts. He apologizes for attacking you with his fellow bowtruckles and offers his life in atonement. They didn't know that you were my friend, the friend of the one who talks to trees, and were being forced to assault them."

"Do I have to kill him? I don't want to."

"No, you do not have to. I hope you don't. He makes the offer, but I am sure he would rather live."

Reldy pulled the bowtruckle up from that position and placed it on his knee. He felt for its two-fingered hand and shook it. The little creature jumped to Reldy's neck and hugged him. Then he jumped to Reldy's shoulder and appeared to be speaking into his ear. Reldy whispered to the little creature in turn. This conversation went on for the rest of the time it took to cut the large limb and prepare it for hauling back to the Keep.

Willen kept looking over at the two young people and the bowtruckles. They looked like older children playing with live dolls.

When they were walking back by the cart carrying the olive wood, and everything on the cart proved to be settled, Willen noticed there was a bowtruckle riding on Reldy's shoulder.

"Is that a pet, Reldy?"

"No they are my friends now. They are going to take turns riding on my shoulder and helping me see where I am going. I like Haana being with me... that is... well," the boy blushed, "I appreciate her help but she can't spend all of her time leading me around."

"But, Reldy, I don't mind..."

"No, Haana, your gift of magik and healing - somehow you must develop it, it's too important. I will be around when you're finished for the day to...er...talk, or go for walks." They both blushed.

The Keep had a part time board cutter and he helped Willen prepare the beams of the length and size needed for his carryall.

Willen also had a supply of olive wood cut into strips for experimentation, and a dozen, dozen sticks of the proper size. All of this wood in various forms combined together to look like it was part of the construction of the carryall if no one looked too closely.

The goods for sale he carried in his disguise as a peddler would be dragon hides and other dragon by-products. Willen had been very impressed with the dragon heartstring sling and Reldy's success with it. Willen still felt warmth when he held dragon heartstring. Reldy had been a good sling man before his blinding. With any other sling his aim was, well, was what you would expect from a blind man. However, with the dragon heartstring sling, Reldy was able to hit most still targets the size of a man if they weren't more than a hut away. Killing the warrior about to kill Kailty was still a miracle beyond the miracle of his abilities with Kwildas' special sling.

The amazing thing had been just how much heartstring there was in a dragon. Willen carried enough on reels of light-weight wood to stretch most of the way across the Loundon's Towne main square. There was plenty of dragon skin for Willen and still he donated more than half the skin harvested from Grang to the Aldertani Keep.

Willen and Aldini had an agreement. They both knew it was impossible for them to ever meet again. However, they both knew it was impossible for them to have met in the first place. Aldini agreed to take and use the dragon goods for the good of the Keep without payment to Willen. In return Aldini would store and protect from any harm the wood from the olive tree Willen could not carry with him. Perhaps, at some future time their grandchildren might meet, and they might need olive wood from these particular trees.

There was a sad but joyous parting feast.

There was a sad but joyous parting the next day.

No one's life would ever be the same.

______________________________________________________

Eight days after leaving Aldertani Keep, Willen rested at midday in the early summer sun. An owl flew nearby, circled, then swooped down and landed not a man's length away from where Willen sat. Our hero had been too stunned to move and knew not whether an owl could or would hurt him.

It kept raising one leg and pointing it towards Willen. He figured it might be hurt or something and moved slowly closer to examine a possible wound. There was a small piece of parchment tied to its leg and it had shifted around so that it was not visible until Willen made a closer inspection.

Making cooing noises he thought might comfort the bird, he untied the parchment. Once untied, the owl hooted in exasperation to inform Willen what the sound was that an owl made.

It was the thinnest and lightest parchment Willen had seen, but there was Latin written on it. He was startled when he realized his name appeared at the top of the writing.

Willen,

     I feel like a fool doing this but I would be a bigger
fool not to try, just for the possibility. If you are
reading this then my new pet owl might be a magikal
creature. (I made up the word 'magikal' just now
because I needed an adjective using the word magik.
Hope you don't mind.) If you are not reading this
then I have long ago torn up this parchment, hoping
no one saw me do this.

      I had written a message one day to send to a friend
on the other side of Remers. The lad I use for messages
- not too bright but dependable - had taken another
message elsewhere.

      Well, you probably won't believe this but I sometimes
talk to myself out loud. I set the message down and
said out loud to myself, "I need that to go to Slangen."
This new pet owl jumped off of its perch, grabbed
the note, and flew out of the opening in the wall I
have to allow sunshine in during the day. I thought
that note was gone for good and wrote another one.
Then I went to lunch. Slangen arrived in a hurry
just as I had finished eating. The owl had delivered
the note. We experimented and the owl only seems
to deliver to those with the Touch as you called it.
Slangen is younger than I and he walked at the start
of the day in a direction unknown to me.

      I released this owl (my youngest daughter calls
him Beemy, silly name) and Beemy flew to Slangen
with the note.

      So, I am too curious to not try a major test such as this.
If you receive this, please write a note back to me telling
of your journeys to date. If Beemy seems very tired,
do not write a note heavier than this one. As a matter
of fact, if he is tired please write a lighter one. I have
told him to wait for your reply and this seems to work
with others.

      I am getting so excited with the possibilities I cannot
stand still and write. I close now because it is early morning
and Beemy can fly to you sooner if I release him sooner.

      If you have read this far then this is a success and I am
near faint with the possibilities.

Best wishes for a safe return home and a fine destiny,

Eirran

Willen wrote as small as he could, and as neatly as he could so it could be read. He told of his experiences in clipped fashion and was fearful Beemy would fall out of the air if he wrote more. Beemy had seemed rested and in no way harmed by the long flight, so Willen wrote on a slightly larger piece of parchment. As it was, the reply covered a small fraction of what Willen had seen and done.

He rolled the note up tightly and then had an idea. He unrolled it and the scroll in his back sack hidden in the very bottom. He took a dozen unicorn hairs out of the mass still there and rolled them up in the note to Eirran after he penned an addendum explaining what they were. He had no room to tell how he had acquired them.

He tied the note to Beemy's leg. The owl had been helping itself to this and that of Willen's lunchtime meal.

"Fly back to Eirran. That's a good owl."

Beemy gave Willen a parting look of condescension and flew straight north.

Willen spent the rest of that day and many days to come of his travels wishing he had been able to write and tell more to his oldest and dearest friend and mentor. He also wondered where he might find a pet owl such as Beemy.

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Not quite a moon after leaving Aldertani Keep, Willen walked out of Cahors, a Celtic village of the Cadurci tribe, not too distant cousins to the Aldertani. He had been celebrated on his arrival when he told of his friendship with their cousins. He had eaten too big a meal the night before and had stayed up too late. He was leaving still a little early in the morning, but not as early has he usually liked to depart.

A number of the girls in Cahors had already gone out all over the forest trails hunting for mushrooms. He rarely left after this morning activity.

Willen found himself thinking once again about how wonderful it would be if he had an owl like Beemy. He longed to send a message to Constantia to tell of his progress, but he knew no one in Loundon's Towne could read or write and none had ever heard of Latin. How could he communicate with her and tell her at least that he was still alive?

The carved piece of holly around his neck hummed to him and vibrated. He took it out and looked at her face once again. He liked to move her face from one eye to the other. He liked the idea that they both could see her.

Around the next bend Willen had a strong impression that he should bear right instead of left. Left was more directly north but he felt like he needed to go right for some reason. Fearing Willen's Luck, he brought his sword out from under the dragon hides and made sure the unicorn hair was tight but not too tightly wound around an olive branch.

As he advanced he pondered once more the fact that the olive sticks that gave Porto so much power barely gave him a little more power than holly with a unicorn hair, even with a unicorn hair wrapped around the olive wood. He realized once again that Porto was probably stronger in the Old Way than he was in magik. But maybe some of those with the Touch in Loundon's Towne would be stronger with the magik he could teach them.

Willen was very glad he had trained with Aldini in the sword. If he was not a powerful one with magik, maybe he could be a part of his home's defense with Torban's blade. He would have to kill Porto without magik even if he was powerful in magik, so his training with the blade gave him another possible advantage. Something would work.

A flash of color caught the eye he was not pointing down the trail. He stopped and looked up and a bright scarlet and golden bird swooped right over him. He could have held up the blade and touched it; it had flown that close.

Several feathers fell from it. Willen picked them up to admire them. He transferred all but the largest feather to the hand holding his olive stick. He felt an amazing warmth flood that hand and a few sparks like those blown from a fire, only an unnaturally brighter red, shot from the end.

This startled Willen but he had little time to think of it. The bird swooped down again, flying like it was hurt and called to him with a song both wonderful and encouraging and a bit off key, something Willen thought impossible for a bird.

He started to run towards it. It circled and saw him following. Then it flew in a straight line, circling only to allow Willen to keep it in sight. Willen just knew something was wrong. He sped up and it was remarkable the distance he was covering while still dragging the carryall.

The bird barely cleared a small hill and did not fly up again. A moment later Willen heard a growl and a girl's scream, and several more growls. Dropping the poles to his carryall, Willen turned, drawing his large blade and his olive stick/unicorn hair combination. As he ran over the rise he saw Fiduena, a young lass from the village of Cahors.

Six wolves circled her.

They were a mere instant from pouncing on her and tearing into her flesh. She screamed again and Willen roared as loudly as he could to distract the deadly beasts from her.

Then he cast, "Petrificus Totalis!" and one wolf froze in mid leap, falling past Fiduena, a claw brushing her arm, drawing blood.

The next "Petrificus Totalis!" missed the wolf that swerved out of the path of the spell at the last moment. By this time Willen had run to the young woman, dropped his sword and olive stick combination, picked her, and threw her up into the branches of an oak.

"Do not come down until it is safe, regardless of what happens to me!" Willen looked into her eyes and saw abject fear. Her hysterical tears and cries, while shaking her head like she understood, convinced him she wouldn't do anything foolish.

"Foolish heroics are all mine," Willen thought.

He turned from the girl in the tree as a wolf struck the meaty muscle of his leg just below the knee. Willen wanted to scream but he did not want to give the girl any more reasons to be afraid. He almost laughed at this thought as the girl hysterically screamed louder than he had for someone to help.

He hit the wolf gnawing at his leg with his fist and it yelped, releasing him. Willen grabbed his sword and killed that wolf. He killed a second one with the blade but a third hit his right hand on the sword grip and ruined his two smallest fingers while badly tearing the flesh of the others on that hand. It had the sword in its jaws and dragged it away. Another wolf raced Willen to his olive stick. Fiduena's screams provided eerie background sounds for the battle. She was getting louder and yet shriller somehow. Willen and the wolf met at the olive branch. He stooped to reach for it and the beast launched most of its body weight behind a claw aimed at Willen's face.

His lazy eye exploded in light and fire and pain beyond all comparison. It hurt more than when the clothing on his shoulder had been on fire and the dragon had been squeezing the life out of him. He suffered more than all of the burns he had ever had working with fires - all put together in one hurt. He had a new definition of pain that he would never be able to express.

He knew he was now blinded in that eye and could not tell if he had lost the eyeball altogether or if it still was in the socket somehow.

Through all of the pain and the even louder, shriller screams of Fiduena, he knew he could not stop and console himself in his agony.

He picked up the olive branch. The unicorn hair was loose but he had no time, no thoughts, no love or compassion. He only had a cause - defeating the enemy and saving the girl. His whole life seemed to be about saving the girl. Somehow in the half sanity of his pain they all became and had all been Constantia. He muttered "I love you," and turned to face the wolves.

The one petrified by his first spell was still frozen, but Willen saw with his remaining functional eye that it was moving slightly. He looked over the head of the three he faced and saw the scarlet and gold bird, dropping feathers in a branch too high to be reached.

One less to be saved.

At that moment, Willen heard the trilling of that bird. The tuneless notes thrilled his heart and gave courage where none should endure. The wolves stopped in their tracks. Willen, giggling with delirium in his pain, fancied that he saw looks of confusion and fear on their faces.

"Incendio!" "Incendio!" "Incendio!"

It was the wolves' turn to howl in pain as they loped away on fire from head to tail.

Willen fell to his knees and then to his side from the wracking torture in his head, hand, and leg. Fiduena still screamed and he wondered why. He raised his head and saw the wolf that he had petrified coming slowly towards him. He could not see his olive branch; he had dropped it nearby but had no wherewithal to seek it out.

The wolf ripped a chunk of flesh from his neck. New blinding pain. Willen knew he would bleed to death soon. The girl was hoarsely still trying to scream. Willen hoped she would stay in the tree until the wolf had had its fill of him and left her safe.

"Oh, Constantia," he gurgled. He wanted her name to be the last word he spoke.

The wolf changed the tone of its growl to one of caution. His head still exploding in pain and his life slowly but surely flowing from his neck, Willen opened his one good eye in time to see the scarlet and gold bird crash onto his chest. Feathers dropped from it all around him, and Willen despaired that there would be another unnecessary death this day.

Willen heard the wolf advancing cautiously. The bird leaned over him and dropped several tears on his neck and on his eye. Somehow he did not hurt quite as much.

Then the bird exploded into flame! The wolf yelped and ran, never to return to this spot of dead and wounded wolves. The girl found new strength to scream.

And Willen heard none of it.

 

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Author's Historical Notes - -

Aceituna - Spanish for "olive."

Etruria - The name for the Italian Peninsula before the time of Romulus and Remus, the founders of Rome.

Curatio - from the Latin - "care , attention; especially medical attention, healing."

Strinxi -Strictum - from the Latin - "to tighten , to draw together."

"Curatio Strictum." - This is the oldest known Healing Spell in the history of magical medicine. In honor of the famous first healer of legend, this is the first medicinal spell taught at St. Mungo's Medical School.

"Remulcumium Leviosa!"- A spell to raise a rope into the air - remulcum - from the Latin - "a tow rope," and levo - from the Latin - "to raise up, levitate."

Cahors of the Cadurci - According to Madam Lupinia of the Institut d'Francais d'Gaulish Magikae, Cahors was a Celtic village that did exist in the summer of 382 B.C. Her Institut resides in that village in this day and time. Those of the Cadurci tribe were known for their great hospitality to travelers, their love of peddlers and all commercial venturers, and an irrational and absolute fascination with the Sunbird, dating from this period. Madam Lupinia was also kind enough to inform this researcher of the meaning of the following names, all of Gaulish origin, found in this chapter:

Fiduena - Gaulish for "of the forest."

Ludno - Gaulish name for "weapon."

The Drawing of Constantia the Warrior - Madam Lupinia also sketched Constantia in her leather fighting attire from the writings of this period.

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Disclaimer--- What belongs to J K Rowling is J K Rowling's. Everything left is mine, I guess, but remember the old adage: "There is nothing new under the sun."

However, that which is mine is copyright 2006 Aaran St Vines.
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Previous Chapter One - Mr. Ollivander Tells of Willen's Luck Chapter Two - "Accio Magik!" Chapter Three - "Mah-ghee-kahl!" Chapter Four - Dragonslayer? Who, Me? Chapter Five - The Ongoing Choice Chapter Six - The Wand Chose Him Chapter Seven - Final Battle and Epilogue Next