them. Again this 'language' was silent, merely signals and gestures whose meaning could not be misunderstood. The adventurers followed their guides to a place in the underground complex of caves where there was a shimmering pool of water. These odd creatures signaled for the adventurers to step into the pool.
'What does this mean?' Gord asked the bard.
Gellor smiled at his two young companions. 'I recognize this sort of magic. The pool is attuned to another similar one located elsewhere — in this case, I would suppose the other to be far distant, as Tenser knows where we must go, and these are his associates. Our entry will trigger a dweomer that will carry us instantly from this pool to the other. Shall we go?'
As the strange underground aquanauts watched with unwinking eyes, the three men stepped into the pool.
'All we did was get our feet wetter,' Gord muttered as he peered around the grotto. There seemed to be a few more of the strange folk watching them, and perhaps the glowing lichens that illuminated the cave were now emitting more of their phosphors. But that was all the thief could discern.
'As I told you, this is a twin of the other, Gord. Unless I am a knave and fool, we are far distant from that place where we were but an eyeblink ago!'
Again they followed the signs of the gilled folk, and in a minute they were walking along a natural passage that rose steeply upward. The three were alone, the gilled folk gone. Puffing from the exertion of the climb, tired from lack of sleep, they came into the light and open air in a quarter-hour or so. A vast body of water extended before them. The sun was overhead. Sails and buildings could be seen off to the right, a mile or two distant.
'Right you were,' noted Chert with a grin. It was obvious they were somewhere else. Now to find where!
'A good time to stretch our legs and dry off,' said the bard laconically as he finished strapping on weapons and gear. His companions did likewise, and then the three trooped across a boggy meadow until they came to a road a mile distant. There was commerce here, and Gellor hailed a passing carter plodding his way up the road from the buildings in the distance.
'What city's that?'
'Ain't no city at all!' the rudely dressed man called in reply. 'That there's the town o' Crockport.' He went on, shaking his head at the total ignorance and foolishness of strangers.
'Crockport?' Gord said, trying to remember where that place was located.
'Never heard of it,' the barbarian said with a shrug.
'It's a frontier town of Furyondy,' Gellor told them, 'located at the southernmost tip of Lake Whyestil. That was some pool… We're north of Chendl by thirty-five leagues and near the eastern edge of the Vesve!'
It took longer than they'd expected, but they arrived in the town tired but dry and cheerful. With a good rest and the acquisition of fast horses, they could be trekking into the fastness of the Vesve Forest tomorrow, still with fair prospects of finding Obmi the dwarf and his prize. This place was too close to enemy territory to begin inquiries for friends or allies, but there were good inns and a thriving market. After a meal and some sleep, the three went about equipping themselves for the expedition.
More than horses and provisions were needed. Gellor sought out a place to purchase maps, for they had precious little idea as to the extent and details of what lay within the Vesve. Chert was anxious to find a longbow, and Gord needed missiles for his sling. The bard went off on his errands while the pair of young adventurers sought a weaponer, hopefully a bowyer, elsewhere.
There were weapons aplenty to be found in Crockport, and in short order the barbarian found a huge bow that tested even his massive arms. With it and two quivers crammed with broad-headed arrows, each over a yard long, they went on to find Gord's needs. This took a little longer, but eventually they located a place that provided Gord with a variety of weights and sizes of tapering lead bullets for his sling. With a quantity of these missiles stored away, and a pair of well-balanced knives tucked in his boots, the young thief was content. Gellor was waiting for them when they returned.
'There's scant information to be had, but I have a pair of crude maps and information from a hunter who has roamed the forest nearby,' he said in clipped tones. 'Let's be off.'
'What's in the leather bag?' Chert asked the bard.
Gellor smiled at that. ''Long has it been since you have heard me sing and play, Chert, but the lack is cured. There is a fine little harp, therein, and I feel far better with such an instrument at hand.'
With their coursers saddled and bearing bedrolls and saddlebags of provisions, they rode westward out of Crockport just after the sun had passed its zenith. They followed a road that turned gradually northward, skirting the edge of the great forest. It was a no-man's-land that grew wilder and more lonely as they went.
'The map shows a likely place to spend the night,' Gellor told his companions. 'There's a little village that lies a hard day's ride from the town, but if we press our steeds, they'll carry us there before much of the dark has been spent.'
Late in the afternoon they reached a place where the road split into three tracks. One veered toward the lake some ten miles to the east. The central lane continued northward, and the leftmost trail ran westward angled toward the north. Gellor took the latter way, and urged his horse to a faster pace, for there was but an hour or two of light remaining and a long distance yet to go before the village was reached.
'We are hunters,' said the bard as he patted the heavy boar-spear strapped beside him. The hour was but two from midnight, and they were near the village at last. No further caution was needed, and the three proceeded into the community, found a tavern that offered accommodations, and there spent a safe and restful night.
The residents were curious to see the strangers, for not many such folk passed their way — at least not many of honest sort, or a group so few in number. They were unmolested, of course, for the three adventurers were obviously tough and capable. Local folk gave them a wide berth, said little, and when the strangers needed anything they bargained sharply, beginning with exorbitant prices and grudgingly lowering them to merely outrageous demands. Gord pretended to be in need of a new spear, while Gellor and Chert casually inquired about the most likely areas to find the great boars for which the area was famous.
The village was, in fact, called Tusham, in recognition of the number of trophies of long, pointed teeth that decorated its tavern and other establishments. Chert, having hunted the ferocious pigs of his own hills, was eager to discuss the habitats and tricks of the local beasts. There was enough of the same stamp among the rustics of the village, so barbarian and yokels were soon telling tall tales and looking wise, Gellor got his additional information, while Gord and Chert ended up buying local boar-spears at only slightly inflated prices. A pair of young lads wanted to guide the three adventurers, for there was a famous old boar in the neighborhood. They said it was a devil in pig's hide, actually, but that three skilled hunters such as these strangers were could certainly bring it to bay and slay it. Gellor shooed them off, and the trio was soon out of Tusham and heading into the dim Vesve.
They followed a narrow path that wended its way westward into the heart of the spreading forest. After an hour or so this path diverged, one fork tending toward the south a bit, the other seeming to curve northward. That was the direction desired, and they took the upper trail after a moment of pondering. There were occasional side paths, for here and there some woodcutter or hunter had his home.
As Gellor had been told, they came to a hermit's cave in a low cliff that bordered a small woodland stream. The recluse was not to be seen, and after drinking and filling their waterskins, they rode on, chewing tough sausages and bits of dried fruit as they went. The path faded into nothingness thereafter, but there were numerous game traits that meandered and crisscrossed. The woodland had been light, with patches of scrub and dense undergrowth where forestation or brushfire had been at work upon its verge.
Now the boles were massive, rising to leafy crowns high above, and their limbs intertwined to make the forest floor dim and free of growth above stirrup height. The trails led to an occasional meadow or small clearing at first, but then the little tracks became fewer and the places where sunlight reached and grass grew scarce. Although the forest was not hard to pass through, it was difficult to keep to a single direction. The sun was hidden and the trails meandered confusingly between the thick trunks of the forest giants — ipp and roanwoods dwarfing oaks that were hundreds of years old. Chert was happy here, and both Gellor and Gord had sufficient skill at woodcraft to be able to remain on a northerly route.
At nightfall the bard told them they were now in the territory frequented by the herds of wild pigs. They made certain that they were armed with their spears as they made camp and gathered fuel for the fire. Chert slipped away to see if he could find any game for supper in the half-hour of purple twilight that remained. He returned with an enormous squirrel whose coat was of sooty hue. His chagrin at having found nothing bigger was changed to
