“Good morning,” Ing said, as the signs of morning began to show through the window.
“We must hurry,” replied Alma. “The Lake of Promises is getting closer.” She was already awake, in some sort of state of mind that looked of deep concentration—the concentration of a warrior.
“Are you feeling better?” asked Ing, concerned.
“The wound was not fatal. We will talk of it no more. I will not allow it to distract me from my quest.”
“Our quest. We’re in this together.” Ing knew she was underplaying her injury, but his attempts at searching for her true feelings had so far been in vain. With this knowledge, he let her be.
“I suppose we are.”
Ing and Alma headed down the stairs of the tavern. They were greeted by a tall man wearing a purple, velvet bonnet atop his head, a deeply colored purple cape with gold lining, brown boots, and white gloves; a dagger lay in a small sheath to the left of his waist. Two burly men and one thin, agile-bodied man were at his side. They didn’t look like the friendliest people in the world; Ing thought it was best not to get in their way.
“Well, well, well,” the man said, “what have we got here? Two companions on their way to see the Lady of the Lake, no doubt.” The man rubbed his hands together.
“What would give you that idea?” asked Alma with a piercing stare.
“Call it intuition, dearest.”
The two parties observed each other for several passing seconds until Alma asked, “Who are you?”
“Forgive me for not introducing myself. My name is Hector LaBelle III. Surely, you have heard of my family.”
This ushered no response from Alma or Ing.
“These are my companions: Brutus Iksta, Rashek Bitra and Hamilton Sythil--named after the great thief, Hamilton, of old. Say hi, boys.”
“How do you do? said Brutus.”
“Hello,” said Rashek.
“A pleasure,” uttered the thief named Hamilton.
Hector continued. “How exactly do you plan on winning over the Lady of the Lake? I see nothing of worth on either of you.” Hector smiled.
“Not yet,” Alma said coldly.
“Well, it just so happens we have found our gift already,” Hector said, and Ing could feel Alma’s anger growing. “It happens to be of unparalleled value. Hamilton,” said Hector, snapping his fingers.
The thin companion of Hector’s stepped forward, and pulled out something from his leather satchel that was attached to his waist.
“It is the Rod that was used by Bolsee in the Great War. A rare find, indeed.” Arrogance filled Hector’s voice.
Ing stared at the Rod in amazement. It was made of wood, the likes of which Ing had never before laid eyes upon; running down along it was a Serpent, finely etched upon its surface. Hamilton put the Rod away, or rather, the Rod fragment, which was all that remained. It was clearly missing part of it for Ing noticed that it looked incomplete; the Serpent was only half a Serpent.
“I’m somewhat of a collector,” Hector said, “but I’m afraid I’ll have to be letting it go; a shame isn’t it, boys?”
“Yes, sir,” they said in unison.
Hector went on. “I’m afraid I can’t let you two reach the Lady of the Lake.” It sounded like a statement more than a threat.
The man that Hector had referred to as Brutus came at Ing, and threw him onto a round table made of wood; it busted into pieces, and Ing’s back seared with pain.
“Don’t hurt the girl,” Hector said.
Ing struggled to get up, and, as he did, he pulled out his sword.
“I don’t want any trouble,” he said. Brutus looked at the sword, and stopped advancing.
“It looks as if we have reached a stalemate. You have not seen the last of Hector LaBelle.” And with that, the four were off.
“Hector’s right,” Ing said to Alma, shoving his sword back in the sheath. “We have nothing for the Lady of the Lake.”
“We’ll worry about that when the time comes,” Alma said. “Let’s go.”
Once outside, Alma spoke. “We must make our way to Shamsake. It lies to the north. We will rest there, and then resume our journey.”
Chapter 7: The Lord and Lady of Shamsake
The two companions traveled for several days, seldom stopping to rest. At dawn, on the fifth day, they were met with relief; they had arrived. Ing and Alma looked at the large wall surrounding the city Alma had called Shamsake. A guard was posted at the entry gates, garbed in chain mail, brandishing a thick spear.
Still a reasonable distance from the guard, Alma spoke to Ing. “The spear he wields is a weapon fit for a hunter who goes after dangerous game. We need to be more careful here than we were in Garlie and Alanhom.”
“I understand,” said Ing.
Several more yards brought them to the gate.
“What business do you have in Shamsake?” the guard barked.
“We only seek to rest,” Alma said calmly.
The guard looked as if he was considering this a likely possibility before uttering the words, “I suppose you two are harmless enough.” His grip on the spear loosened and he stood aside, granting them entrance.
Inside, the city was full of people wandering the bazaar. A stone fountain was at the center,
