“That song,” said Roan, “is called The Three Heroes (although the word hero is used lightly in the case of the Magician) and tells the tale of the three characters of legend that are etched upon my rings: the Warrior, the Blacksmith, and the Magician. The Magician was a dark priest, very powerful, who waged war upon us in days gone by. In his defeat he lay broken in his fastness in the Dark Realm to the east. Time passed by and Slithzalien took his place to trouble us. In those ancient times the Warrior and the Blacksmith forged an alliance and built a tower in the northwest of Eclestia called the Storm Tower to protect against the Magician's forces. It still stands to this day although it has been inhabited by others in days gone by and few remember its true purpose or origins. As of now the Tower is abandoned and I have not seen it for many a year, Ing. But I do not doubt that it still retains its former glory.”
Ing and Roan made their way to a tavern. Inside were candles that gave off little light. The place looked to be constructed out of brown wood. A few lone townsfolk sat within at various tables, engaged in whatever conversations they were discussing. Ing didn’t really see reason to pay them any mind.
“Let me handle this,” Roan said under his breath. Ing nodded. He thought it was best to keep quiet in this unfamiliar place. Surely, Roan knew it better than he, even if his mind seemed to wander a bit during the riddle.
Ing noticed a man sitting at a table, dressed in a black robe. The cloth was finely woven, a product of slave labor in the north. The man’s face was not visible—or, at least, he thought it was a man. There was something disconcerting about the robed figure, sitting alone amidst the other townsfolk. It seemed that he was keeping to himself and not uttering a word.
“We need a place to stay for the night.” Roan winked at the tavern keeper.
“Of course,” the man said. His eyes looked over Ing, making him feel uncomfortable. He had a rough face and a haggard look—somewhat similar to Roan, but there was something menacing in his face; even if Roan did wink at him and they seemed to know each other. Black eyes sat beneath that gaze and a rough scar could be seen curling down his neck into the depths of his shirt to be lost somewhere underneath, leaving Ing to wonder how far it stretched down and where he had gotten it. That man's skin had a yellow tinge to it as if he had become sickly and his hands seemed to fidget at nothing. The man's skin was as hairy as he was large. “You'll find a room that will be suitable for the two of you. It will be that last one on the left. Have a good night.”
Ing lay down on the bed on the second floor that was in the room at the end of the hall. A strange worry that Roan might abandon him lay over his mind like a dark cloud, but he was too weary to try and think about it. His eyes closed as he drifted into a deep sleep.
When Ing awoke the next morning, he looked around the room for Roan. A state of panic struck him; Roan was nowhere in sight. Unbeknownst to him, his companion had left in the early predawn hours of morning while the birds were still sleeping. He had been trying to decipher a letter that was addressed to him by one of the people of the north and once he had it figured out it was clear that he had to abandon Ing for the time being for more urgent matters.
The letter had read thus:
Roan the Wanderer, the Old Cave, Koridge in Lableck
Dear Roan,
Ill news has come to me here. You know the place I speak of though I dare not write it in this letter for fear of eyes other than yours looking upon it. This letter is meant for you and you alone. We need your aid as soon as can be. You had better find the boy soon and from there make your way back to the area surrounding the cave. I have seen strange folk there recently and I believe them to be none other than Slithzalien's servants, the foul Illusionists which we have been tracking. It is your duty to head that way and scout out the area for the Illusionists so that you may put an end to them. That should make Ing's journey safer. And I have no doubt that you surely saw our correspondent at the inn where the two of you will be staying in Garlie. She is an old friend of yours and knows of your arrival with the boy. Leave him for now and you can begin your training with him later. The girl will train him as she can and help him to reach the Lady of the Lake.
Sincerely,
B. Faith
P.S. If it happens that the girl is not at the inn when you arrive you must postpone your search for the Illusionists until her arrival. That is all, my friend. I hope your journeys fare well and the night does not press too close.
“I wonder where he went,” Ing said to himself. He headed down the stairs, and thought about asking the tavern keeper about Roan, but there was something strange about that man. Besides, he was talking to that man in the robe, which was even more of a reason to be careful.
As Ing proceeded to head out, a voice called, “Hold on a second.” Ing looked around, nervously. The man in the dark robe was facing him. He slowly removed his hood. It was not a man
