“We found it in a vault beneath the streets of Shamsake,” said Ing.
“And Hector LaBelle III holds the other piece,” said Erste with a sigh.
“How did you know?” Ing asked.
“Tidings have come to me from my friend that I spoke of before. The man who summoned me that night at the inn in Garlie. I’m not trying to scare you Ing, but war is mounting. Many things are about to change within a short matter of time.”
“The two pieces must not be reunited,” he continued. “They cannot fall into Slithzalien’s hands. You must retrieve the other piece from Hector LaBelle. Now he’s not a killer, but he is reckless and unpredictable. I have long known the LaBelle’s since Hector LaBelle I.”
“Wait, what was that noise?” said Erste, looking around cautiously. He motioned for the two to be quiet.
The sound of a horse was heard and Ing, Alma, and Erste rushed outside of the cave.
“One of Slithzalien’s followers,” said Erste in a raised voice. A ragged looking man was atop the steed that was as back as the night. It had crimson eyes that burned with hatred and rage. It was a foul beast from the dark, bred for war. The man's grey eyes were filled with malice. His clothing was simple enough: a roughs-spun brown tunic, leather breeches, and gold-flecked greaves. In his hand was a curved blade with a serpent etched upon its surface, signifying it was made in the darkness of Akram to kill in the name of its master. Many of these blades were made in the dark days of Bolsee and had been kept by the second Dark Lord in his plotting for the return of the darkness.
“You cannot hide it from me,” he spat. “I know what you carry with you. I watched you from afar as you slipped the Rod inside your quiver. It will return to the master where it belongs. Then you will obey him. Or you shall suffer. It is for him to decide your fates. There is only one man who controls Bolsee's Rod. You have stained it with your hands.”
His vision must be impressive if he saw me from that far off. I did not see a person in sight. Alma pulled an arrow from the quiver upon her back and gently raised it to her bow. She couldn’t get a good shot at the man and so she took aim at the fleeing horse and let loose; she didn’t want to kill the animal, but she had no choice. Her arrow slammed into the horse and the man went flying off.
“You’re not an Illusionist,” Erste said in a puzzled voice once the three companions had reached their enemy. Ing was surprised because his uncle seemed to know much about the ways of Slithzalien. “No, I know who you are. Or what you are. You are one of the bandits from Akram.”
“My master’s followers are everywhere,” said the man. He pulled a vial of green liquid—that hurt Ing's nose—out of his pocket and gulped it down.
Within moments, his eyes rolled back, and he let out a painful gurgle. Poison, thought Ing.
Alma hurried over to check his pulse. “He’s dead,” she said with a sigh.
“Hold no regret, Alma,” said Erste. “We wouldn’t have been able to get any information from him anyway. The bandits of Akram walk in the shadows.”
“You don’t know that,” she replied, refusing to share his view.
“Slithzalien’s followers are notoriously stubborn, Alma. He would have sooner taken his own life than commit treason against his master, as you just witnessed. Even still, this is worse than I thought. Slithzalien’s dark influence seems to be growing faster than expected--spreading rapidly far and wide. You two must hurry and find Hector LaBelle. As long as the other Rod piece is in his hands, we are not safe. Meanwhile, we should return to the cave and rest for the night. Come.”
Chapter 9: The Forgotten One
Ing was the first one to awake in the damp, dimly lit cave. It was not the most comfortable place in the world to sleep. Sleeping on the hard surface of rock had caused him to wake with sore muscles. Pulling on his boots, he got ready for the day.
He looked inside Alma’s quiver because he wanted to make sure the Rod was safe. It constantly filled his mind with worry. He wished they had gotten some other trinket to give to the witch.
He reached inside the quiver fearfully, only hoping that it still rested inside. His hand felt no rod. It had to be inside there somewhere. Nothing—just arrows.
Ing looked around the cave. He couldn’t help feeling some presence nearby. They had to hurry and find the Rod. It was too dangerous to be out of their grasp. It had been safe underneath the streets of Shamsake, but now they had gone and lost it. Forgive me, Lord Dhoulus, Lady Helena. I have gone and lost your most precious of treasures. It cannot fall into the wrong hands. Has Hector been here in the night and taken us unawares? Curse him if he holds both pieces to the Rod.
“Wake up,” said Ing, as he walked toward where Alma was propped against a boulder.
“What is it?” asked Alma, rousing from her sleep. “Why do you wake me so early? What time is it? Certainly it can't be later than eight.”
“The Rod is gone,” he replied. “It is not in your quiver. Someone has set on us while we were asleep.”
Erste rubbed his eyes.
