“You give your companions last name, but not your own? Curious. But luckily, I know the name, Ing. I am Bartock Faith. Dharma is my village. We have lived here for many years in peace and I do not intend for that to change. If you are to come inside, you must relinquish your weapons—even if Alma did send you here.”
Ing thought about this for a moment. He didn’t want to be separated from his sword. Do I have he a choice? he wondered. Then he thought, If these people are friends with Alma then they are friends of Horwin and they will not let harm come to my sword.
“Very well,” said Ing after a moment’s contemplation.
“Guards, search him,” Bartock said.
Several of the camouflaged guards withdrew from their posts and went over and searched Ing. “He has but one weapon, chief--a sword.” One of the guards proceeded to give the sword to the chief.
“Follow me,” Bartock said to Ing after he retrieved the weapon.
Ing followed him up the pathway and through the door at the face of the rocky incline. The two of them went through a small tunnel within the mountainside, its cavernous walls illuminated by a green glow. Ing stared in wonder at the strange rocks which it radiated from.
“It’s a rare kind of ore that grows within the Horda Mountains,” explained the chief.
“It’s beautiful.”
Soon, the chief and Ing were outside the tunnel and back into the warmth of the sunlight, which shone down brightly from above. They had arrived in a vast opening that stretched for miles. An extensive perimeter formed by the Horda Mountains walled them in, barring all entry like sentinels from the heavens, their purpose to protect the last outpost of the rebels. Ing couldn’t believe his eyes. Several small streams swirled around the valley and met in the center at a well--the water source of Dharma. Many establishments permeated the enormous valley, forming a sizable village. Strewn throughout were a series of modest residences, constructed entirely of logs and other forms of wood. A large wooden building wound around in a circle, securing the entire village within. The valley was plentiful with lush, green grass and tall trees which seemed to penetrate the clouds above.
“Welcome to Dharma,” said Bartock, and Ing thought he noticed a sense of pride—well-placed pride, for Dharma was no meager village.
A lively looking boy of around Ing’s age walked up and addressed the chief. “Who is this with you?” he called. He was a skinny boy with pleasant brown eyes and a nice smile. His hair was brown as well and cut rather short. He was dressed in light tan robes.
“This is Ing. He is here at the request of Alma.”
“Hello, Ing; my name is Mildren Yornak. It’s so nice to see an outsider around here. I hope you stay for a while.”
“I don’t think I will be staying for long,” replied Ing, although he was reluctant to say so because of the boy’s spirit.
“Oh dear, that is a shame,” said Mildren. “Well, let me show you around.”
“This, up ahead,” said Mildren, “is a building that serves several different purposes. Off to the left are the pub and various places to fill your tummy. Over there to the right is where the village chief, Bartock, lives. If you go straight through the door and out on the other end, you will find where all the houses are. In that field over there is where people train in archery and sword combat and so forth. Also off to the right is where Brinlee Cadence lives. He is the village elder and he is knowledgeable on just about any subject. I hope that wasn’t too much informa—”
Mildren was cut off by Bartock.
“Stop bothering him. Run along now, Mildren.”
“I'm sorry, chief,” he said. You know I get excited at things.” With a sheepish grin, Mildren departed.
“So,” Bartock began, when Mildren was several strides away. “Alma sent you here. She lived with us for a period of time. She was the best archer I have ever had--we have ever had, I should say. Warriors of her status are hard to come by—they are definitely few and far between. My heart has been dismayed since she left, but she will do as she must. Everyone grows and chooses their own path.”
Ing was shocked. “Alma lived here?”
“She certainly did. I must say, with some training you could become an excellent swordsman. I see your sword was made by Horwin, no doubt--amazing craftsmanship.”
“I’m sorry, but I do not have time for training,” said Ing, not trying to sound rude. “I am on my way to the Lady of the Lake.”
“I see,” said Bartock. “In that case, I suppose you should go to the village elder, Brinlee Cadence. Certainly, he can help you. Follow me.”
Brinlee Cadence, thought Ing. Why does that name sound familiar?
Ing and Bartock made their way across the village towards the establishment at the center. Once inside, they headed down a hallway to the right. As they traversed the hallways, Ing took notice of people walking by, here and there. Several of them seemed to give him curious glances. Some of them looked like warriors, dressed in fine red armors and others were dressed in simpler garb, similar to Mildren Yornak. When they came to a doorway, Bartock pounded on it with his meaty fists.
“Who is it?” a voice inquired.
“It is Bartock. I have a boy named Ing here with me. I believe you can be of some help to him.”
The door opened several seconds later to reveal an old
