Chapter 27
Greenleaf had last been at the chapel only a few days before, the brown-robed clerics who tended the place informed the two newly arrived travelers. After Gord and Chert provided sufficient proof of their identities and their past relationship with Curley, one of the priests went off to fetch the message that the druid had entrusted to the keeping of Fharlanghn’s servants before going on his way.
To pass the time while they waited, Gord inquired as to the nature of the deity served by these friendly clerics. He and Chert were not surprised to learn that Fharlanghn was an earthy sort, one venerated by travelers and wanderers, the deity of adventurers who held views not dissimilar to the ethos expressed by druidical faith, if not quite so bound up with Nature. In fact, the curate told them, not a few of both adhered to the tenets with equal respect, so there were druidical followers of Fharlanghn and some of Fharlanghn’s servants who were of druidical sort-a confusing concept at first, the cleric admitted as he noticed Gord and Chert shaking their heads, but not really so hard to grasp when both ethoi were known and understood.
The priest returned with a scroll bearing a seal showing a circle of eight leaves and presented it to Gord. He tucked it into his belt-pouch, correctly sensing and quietly conveying to Chert that it would be highly impolite to examine the message while they were being entertained by the clerics of the chapel.
The conversation grew sufficiently interesting to both men to cause them to accept an invitation to join the clerics for the noon meal. Suppressing their curiosity about Curley’s message, they enjoyed a good repast in the small refectory of the chapel and were treated to a rather unexciting description of the pan theology of the area. From what Gord heard, it seemed pretty much identical to that of the other places he had been. Chert was obviously as bored as his companion, but then the patriarch turned the talk to his deity once again, and this was more to the taste of the two adventurous travelers.
Eventually, other matters called the priests, and they blessed the two and sent them on their way. Gord caught Chert in the act of dropping coins into the contribution box, just as Gord was readying to slip alms in that receptacle himself. Both laughed at that and decided that the symbol of this friend of adventurers might be of benefit one day. Each added even more coins to the offering box, taking in return a pair of wooden discs, each embellished with a horizon line and a colorful inlay of stone and metal. Using the leather thongs provided with the discs, Gord and Chert hung the symbols around their necks and left the chapel.
After returning to the tavern where their steeds were stabled, they ordered bumpers of dark beer and read the message left by Greenleaf. That is, Gord read while his friend listened, for the barbarian was unlettered. When the slight thief began to tease his companion about this ignorance, the reaction he got was sufficient to make him cease the jibes immediately. Then Gord asked sincerely if the woodsman would be interested in learning a bit about the markings called writing, and Chert readily agreed that such knowledge, while paltry compared to woodcraft and weapon play, might be useful at that.
Gord began to teach the big fighter the elements of reading as he worked through Curley’s scroll, and Chert proved himself remarkably intelligent and quick to learn. When the missive’s content was finished, the barbarian put the scroll in his girdle for future study.
In the writing, the druid related a bit of his business in the area and then got down to the point of the message-a vague reason for his departure from Woodwych. His mission was a matter of personal interest, wrote Curley Greenleaf, but if his two friends should care to join him, the druid would be happy to have their company. He would either be in Nellix, or else leave word there if he had reason to move on before they arrived. The destination he had in mind after Nellix was not mentioned, and no reason for the omission was stated or even hinted at. No matter, both Gord and Chert agreed; they had nothing better to do, and the mysterious matters of their strange friend might prove interesting.
They set out for the town of Nellix immediately.
The fastest way to this place skirted the fringe of the Celadon Forest, so their route was a half-circle looping northwest, then southwest, crossing the Nesser River into Urnst after some sixty leagues en route and only ten from their destination. The lands surrounding the place were quite similar to those Gord had seen in his visit to Leukish, and the people of this portion of the Duchy were likewise similar. Chert was interested in experiencing more of this area, but Gord wished only to move on. Nellix was rather dull to him after Rel Mord, and the differences between it and Woodwych were not noteworthy in his view.
The two men were greeted warmly by the clerics of Fharlanghn at the local temple, which was larger and more prosperous than its counterpart in Woodwych; evidently the deity was more revered in these parts than to the east. There was no message for them, save one of a verbal nature: Green-leaf had left word that the two should go to the Society of Sages and Scholars, a place near the colleges of Nellix, and seek out one Savant Iquander there. That was all.
They had no difficulty finding either the building or the man. Iquander was a green-robed, birdlike little fellow, once himself a cleric of Fharlanghn (thus the garment of the pastoral order of the deity), now turned savant. He was most helpful, inviting the two puzzled young men into his messy library, serving them a strange and bitter tea that sharpened their senses, and telling them in rambling fashion of Greenleaf’s undertaking.
The Abbor-Alz, he began, was a long and dangerous line of hills. This rugged highland chain began far to the north at the shore of the Nyr Dyv and was generally known as the Cairn Hills in that — region. A narrow neck of the tors was so rough and high as to actually constitute mountains, and at this point the Cairn Hills become known as the Abbor-Alz, which is the Middle Common translation of “Dreaded Howes,” as the area was called in Elder Suloise.
The eastern and southern portions of these tall mounds and steep valleys were not actually so bad, said the savant, if one discounted hostile hill tribes, monsters dwelling in these wilds, and similar stuff. From the Sea of Gearnat, up the Nesser River past Gnatmarsh to Celadon Forest, the Abbor-Alz penned in the Bright Desert, just as the highland plateaus and tors serve to do the same as the hills turned west to butt into Woolly Bay just below Hardby. Iquander informed them that the fairest portion of this range was within the Celadon Forest proper, and recommended a journey there at some future date if they enjoyed such pastime.
Anyway, the savant went on, it seemed that his old friend Greenleaf-their friend also, of course-had come across a piece of interesting lore while within the part of the Abbor-Alz that reached into the forest. This information had to do with the discovery of an ancient site of some sort, with great monoliths of standing slabs all ringed and set in special ways. A place of power and danger certainly-and one absolutely irresistible to a druid, naturally. Iquander had put together some of the pieces of this puzzle of information for Greenleaf. Now the rash fellow was off into the countryside, bound and determined to find the exact location of the ruin and investigate it.
When the savant sought to launch into a discourse on similar sites, Gord managed to interrupt. Did the good savant know exactly when their friend, Curley, had set out? What route he had taken? Was the druid relying on his and Chert’s assistance? Well, yes, Iquander told them, that was exactly the point. Greenleaf had just departed yesterday, leaving a map for his friends, and urging that they join him on the venture with all haste!
At last they had what they were after. As soon as Iquander came back from wherever he had stuck the map, they grabbed it and a brief note accompanying it, bid the garrulous sage good-bye, and hurried out. He was telling them something about demons, or daemons, or demodands-Gord was never sure which-as they hastened away. Much later on, when he thought about it, Gord wished that he and Chert had been a trifle less precipitant in departing….
The map sketched the territory between Nellix and Mauve Castle, a town at the edge of the Cairn Hills, while the note said simply that they should meet Curley at an inn called the Manticore’s Tail near the southern gate of that latter town.
“This chasing after Curley is getting out of hand,” Gord said sourly. “Why in hell can’t he stay put long enough for us to catch up and find out from him what’s going on? We’ll probably get to the meeting place in Mauve Castle only to find he has flown off to somewhere else. We could end up traversing most of the Flanaess before we find him, and I for one have no desire to follow him across half a continent.”
“Yah, old Curley is getting to be a pain in the ass with all this mysterious stuff,” Chert agreed. “That’s the problem with a druid who likes to play fighter-he won’t stay home and mind his grove. He’s just like Gellor, always going off on some kind of hush-hush business.”
“You mean Greenleaf is more than a druid?”
