Marakion noticed the young boy watching his deliberation.
'Go on,' the man said harshly to the ogre. 'I gave you one chance. This is your second. You won't get a third.'
The emaciated ogre finally made it to its feet. Its unswollen eye gave one final, hungry look at Gylar, then it turned and limped slowly into the woods from which it had come, blood drops dotting its tracks.
Marakion's brow furrowed. Sheathing Glint, he turned to face the boy.
'What's your name?' Marakion asked harshly.
The boy looked dazed, still recovering from shock and fright. 'Uh, Gylar, sir. I… Thanks,' he tacked on lamely.
'You shouldn't be out here alone. Ogres might not be the worst you'll find. I hear there's a dangerous band of brigands in these hills.'
Marakion watched for some reaction. Gylar's face gave no telltale signs of anything but relief.
'I–I'm on a quest, and… Who are you?' Gylar couldn't contain his curiosity any longer. 'What are you doing up on the mountain here? My village is the only one for miles.'
Marakion noted the honest innocence in the boy's face, and he cursed again, silently.
'I do a bit of traveling. Just passing through, really.' He paused and looked at Gylar closely once more. He began to doubt again. The boy might be a cunning liar.
'Tell you what, kid. Looks like we both need to rest a little.' He touched his raked side gingerly. 'What do you say to putting your quest on hold and setting up camp? I saw a cave, over there a ways… When we get a good fire going, you can tell me all about it.'
Gylar smiled and nodded.
'I went with Lutha. I knew she wasn't supposed to go in there. Mom had told me about the evil in the new marsh, and Lutha's parents had told the same thing to her. But Lutha wasn't afraid. You see, there was something we'd put in an old tree before the marsh came, before the Cataclysm and Mount Phineous. A couple of necklaces we made out of leather and wooden disks.' Gylar's mouth became a straight line, and his brow furrowed.
The warm fire popped and crackled, illuminating Marakion's intent face and the makeshift bandages that he was wrapping slowly around his middle.
Gylar sighed and continued, 'She was always doing stuff like that. Anyway, the marsh wasn't really scary, just wet and mucky. The only thing that happened was that Lutha fell down in the water once.
'But Mom was real mad when I got back. She knew where we'd been. I guess the smell of the marsh and my wet boots gave us away. Anyway, I snuck out of the house later, when Mom was down at the stream washing and Dad was chopping wood. I went to see Lutha.
'I didn't knock at the door, because her parents were probably just as mad at her as mine were at me. Instead, I went around back and looked in the bedroom window. Lutha was in there and she was shivering real bad. And her face was real red. That was the first time I saw the sickness on somebody. Lutha was the first…'
Gylar tossed a twig into the fire. 'I didn't see Lutha again.' He wiped his nose. 'The day after that, it was the talk of the village. Lutha had died of a strange sickness. Then her parents died. No one knew how to stop the sickness. Everybody went into their houses and didn't come out, but it didn't matter. I'm not sure who died after that, because Dad closed us up in our house, too. When Rahf died, my little brother, Mom said it didn't matter anymore that we stayed in the house.'
Gylar sighed again. 'It was awful. Hardly anyone was alive in the village when we came out. We went from door to door, looking for people. Everyone was in their beds, shaking with the fever or already dead. I wanted to leave. Since we hadn't caught it yet, I told Mom we should run away from it. She shook her head and didn't answer me. We helped those who had it. We took care of them, but it didn't matter, just like staying in the house didn't matter anymore. They were going to die, but Mom said we could help them. I know now she didn't mean help them live, but help them to die better. I guess…
'Then Dad died.' Gylar's voice was subdued. He shook his head; his cheeks were wet. 'He went just like everyone else, shivering but so hot. I didn't want…'
His eyes focused again on Marakion. 'He was one of the last ones to go, then it was my mother. When she died, I felt so alone, so alone and numb. I could touch something, like the blanket, or — or her hand, and I wouldn't really feel it. I had to go. I had to get out.'
Gylar looked intently at Marakion. 'Why did the gods do it, sir? I just don't understand. Why did they have to kill so many people? It doesn't make sense. We didn't do anything! We just lived. We worshiped Paladine. But Krynn was still cracked, and then the new marsh rose and Lutha caught the sickness and now everyone… everyone I ever knew is dead.' He bowed his head.
Then his mouth set defiantly and his brows came together in anger. 'And so I'm going to ask them. I want them to answer just one question. Why? Why did they do it to everyone? What did we do wrong?'
Marakion smiled. 'Supposing the gods even respond, they might drop another mountain on you.'
'I don't care,' Gylar said petulantly, gathering his blanket around him and resting his head on his pack. 'I don't care if they do. If they do, they don't care about us and it won't matter. But… but I will ask.' He yawned. 'I will ask HIM… Paladine.'
Gylar fell asleep. Marakion gazed at the young face. The flame's light played off the round, boyish features that would not fade for several years yet. Marakion sighed aloud this time. Watching the boy tell his story, the knight had realized Gylar was indeed no marauder's lackey. He actually was what he claimed: a simple country boy in search of divine answers.
Gylar's story made Marakion think of all the things he'd lost because of the Cataclysm. If the gods had not dropped the fiery mountain, his home would not have been attacked.
'You're right, Gylar,' he said to the sleeping boy. 'Paladine should be confronted, asked…' Marakion's iron doors creaked open. 'So much like Tagor,' he said to himself. 'A victim, like Tagor. I wonder what will happen to you?'
Flames and smoke danced in the fire inside his head. Very much like Tagor. What will happen to you?
Screams. Clanging Steel. the sounds of battle.
The cry of his younger brother.
'I'm coming, Tagor!' Marakion shouted from Marissa's destroyed bedroom.
The yell had sounded from down the hall.
Marakion propelled himself toward it. the library!
Tagor was trapped in the library.
Marakion slammed through the door with the force of a battering ram. he knocked one of the
Invaders to the floor. his sword took out another.
Five more waited. Tagor stood on top of a table
In the comer, fighting off the men who were harassing him. The teasing grins they wore turned to scowls when Marakion entered.
'The knight! Keep him there!' A thick-bearded man yelled. 'I'll finish this young one off.'
Marakion shoved his fallen foe away and slammed into the next, trying desperately to come to the aid of his younger brother, but his new opponent was a skilled swordsman, not a brawler.
Marakion slashed insanely at the man's guard,trying at the same time to see Tagor.
Perched on the studying table, wielding their father's sword, Tagor delivered a wicked slash to the bearded man, opening up his forehead. He was holding his own momentarily, but that wouldn't last long. Although Tagor was a fine swordsman for fifteen, he was no match for the brigands'
Strength, or their numbers.
Marakion let out a roar. 'Bastards! Leave him alone! fight me!'
Tagor twisted sideways, screamed. A sword slashed through his leg. He stumbled to the edge of the table and lost his footing, crashed to the floor below.
Marakion bashed through the swordsman's guard, sent the man's hand spinning from his wrist in a trail of blood.
Marakion ran forward. There were three left.
Two charged him and kept him from his brother.
The third… the third was clubbing… clubbing a body on the floor.
