changed to a beast. Because I was now an animal, the only thing that I must have considered doing once I found you was to kill you.” Haranio’s expression stiffened with irony. “Most shamifs never have a chance of regaining their humanity once they are lost to a shape. There are those who have become eagles, dolphins, or any number of forms, and they will remain that way forever. But sometimes, if they see something that was of extreme importance to their previous lives – in my case Avalon’s Heart – it can be enough to jar the memories of the natural conscience.” Haranio smiled kindly at Tyler. “I should thank you for saving my life.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You did enough. I hope now that you know enough to trust me, for I would like to hear something of my own explained. You say that Hargill never mentioned me at all. I’m sorry, but I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s Tyler Finch, and to tell the truth, Hargill never told me anything about you. He never said a word – until the end that is, when he made me promise to travel to Ithrim and seek you out. It’s a long story.”
“And you think we do not have the time?”
“Why should we tell you anything, old man?” Varkon growled. “I have a feeling that we have not even begun to scratch the surface of your deeper motives, your history. We don’t know anything about you.”
“I believe Haranio is telling the truth. Honestly, what more could he say to earn our trust?” said Tyler, and with that he launched straight into his saga, from the moment Innor and his cart burst through the great oak doors of his town hall to when he and Varkon were shoved into the hidden arena of the imps. He showed Haranio the tattoos on his wrist and neck, and he let him examine the spider-rock. The only time the shamif reacted during the tale was when he heard about the spider and how it had bitten him; at this he sat up more attentively but said nothing.
Varkon sat silently in the darkness. He didn’t stop Tyler, but it was easy to tell he was furious that a stranger was being told so much.
Finally Tyler had explained everything he knew, and his mind bubbled with questions. He half expected Haranio to answer some of them as he spoke, but the old man had kept his peace, waiting for Tyler to finish.
“I am amazed that you were told so little of the outside world, Tyler,” the old man finally said when Tyler was done. “I wonder what Hargill’s reasons were.”
“Can you tell me everything you know, Haranio?” asked Tyler eagerly.
“Everything?” Haranio chuckled. “Although I may not be able to that, child, I will do my best to tell you what you need to understand.” And with that, Haranio began to recount his own story. His words were simple, and he paused often, as though remembering far back into the past. Even Varkon sat up and took interest.
“Where to begin? I think at Ithrim, the city of the free, as some call it. This was true long, long ago; now, I am not so certain. Ithrim was – and is – a council area for most of the major races of the world: men, nÿmphs, gronts, dwarves, and scills. Today it still exists, but its purpose is different: the races work together not so much for peace, but to ensure that prosperity is maintained. Some fools think that the Alliance continues for the good of unity, and although this might still be the main purpose of the nÿmphs and scills, the other races most certainly have their own agendas. It is more a question of price and wealth than peace and freedom. It was not always so. For the first thousand years of the Alliance, there were genuine intentions of virtue and well-being. The fight for the higher cause of justice was in the forefront of most minds. But times have changed. Corruption has seeped through the high, white walls of Ithrim far more effectively than even Her black wave, which destroyed much of the inner city so long ago.” Haranio shook his head sorrowfully.
“But
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You did enough. I hope now that you know enough to trust me, for I would like to hear something of my own explained. You say that Hargill never mentioned me at all. I’m sorry, but I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s Tyler Finch, and to tell the truth, Hargill never told me anything about you. He never said a word – until the end that is, when he made me promise to travel to Ithrim and seek you out. It’s a long story.”
“And you think we do not have the time?”
“Why should we tell you anything, old man?” Varkon growled. “I have a feeling that we have not even begun to scratch the surface of your deeper motives, your history. We don’t know anything about you.”
“I believe Haranio is telling the truth. Honestly, what more could he say to earn our trust?” said Tyler, and with that he launched straight into his saga, from the moment Innor and his cart burst through the great oak doors of his town hall to when he and Varkon were shoved into the hidden arena of the imps. He showed Haranio the tattoos on his wrist and neck, and he let him examine the spider-rock. The only time the shamif reacted during the tale was when he heard about the spider and how it had bitten him; at this he sat up more attentively but said nothing.
Varkon sat silently in the darkness. He didn’t stop Tyler, but it was easy to tell he was furious that a stranger was being told so much.
Finally Tyler had explained everything he knew, and his mind bubbled with questions. He half expected Haranio to answer some of them as he spoke, but the old man had kept his peace, waiting for Tyler to finish.
“I am amazed that you were told so little of the outside world, Tyler,” the old man finally said when Tyler was done. “I wonder what Hargill’s reasons were.”
“Can you tell me everything you know, Haranio?” asked Tyler eagerly.
“Everything?” Haranio chuckled. “Although I may not be able to that, child, I will do my best to tell you what you need to understand.” And with that, Haranio began to recount his own story. His words were simple, and he paused often, as though remembering far back into the past. Even Varkon sat up and took interest.
“Where to begin? I think at Ithrim, the city of the free, as some call it. This was true long, long ago; now, I am not so certain. Ithrim was – and is – a council area for most of the major races of the world: men, nÿmphs, gronts, dwarves, and scills. Today it still exists, but its purpose is different: the races work together not so much for peace, but to ensure that prosperity is maintained. Some fools think that the Alliance continues for the good of unity, and although this might still be the main purpose of the nÿmphs and scills, the other races most certainly have their own agendas. It is more a question of price and wealth than peace and freedom. It was not always so. For the first thousand years of the Alliance, there were genuine intentions of virtue and well-being. The fight for the higher cause of justice was in the forefront of most minds. But times have changed. Corruption has seeped through the high, white walls of Ithrim far more effectively than even Her black wave, which destroyed much of the inner city so long ago.” Haranio shook his head sorrowfully.
“But
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