[Mkguild] Healing Wounds in Arabarb (24 of ?)

[C. Matthias]

Major revelation in this part.

Healing Wounds in Arabarb
By Charles Matthias



Gmork's admonition that the spell keeping Lindsey 
a boy was making him more and more childlike was 
something he could no longer deny. In fact, when 
Gmork had first crowed about it, salivating with 
those ever shifting jaws, Lindsey had known it 
was true. How often had he slipped into childish 
behaviors and delights? Had he not delighted in 
Pharcellus's stories? Had he not tried skipping 
stones near the quays? Had he not been savaged by 
fear, misery, and the tears that only a child 
could shed? He'd even begun thinking of 
Pharcellus as his older brother and not just pretending.

And now chained to a wall in a room with the 
despicable Baron Garadan Calephas and his 
simpering and slavish tiger with the dead body of 
a twisted and tortured child hidden beneath a 
carpet, the reality of his regression was only 
becoming plainer and fouler. While Calephas 
busied himself at the long table, mixing elixirs 
and other strange unguents that tickled his nose 
with sulfurous and stale odors, Weaker watched 
him with dead eyes. That nearly soulless stare 
brought to mind horrors they'd faced in the 
swamps of Marzac. But then he'd been a man with 
an axe in hand and companions at his side. Now he 
was a child with nothing at all.

And the last child that had been chained to this 
wall was dead and used as cushioning for Calephas 
leisure. Lindsey curled his eyes away and tried 
to think of something, anything, that might give him strength.

Nothing. Not even some memory of the kangaroo.

What made it worse was that Calephas didn't even 
bother talking to him after his promise to murder 
him once he was done with him. He just mixed his 
potions, tapped the glass, swirled them together, 
and studied the little tray with his blood in it. 
Drops of that were added to a small beaker which 
was then heated over a candle. By the time they 
heard the shuffling gait and the rattle of chains 
approaching down the hallway outside, that fluid 
had turned a crisp gray in hue.

Calephas turned to see who was approaching, and 
Weaker let his focus turn to the open doorway, 
but it was just the Lutin Yajgaj returning with 
an old man whose hands were chained in front of 
him. Lindsey, eyes fixed on the floor, noted that 
the Lutin seemed to guide the man into the room 
with a odd diffidence, almost carefulness, as if 
he cared about the prisoner's well being.

But that oddity was dismissed when Lindsey lifted 
his eyes to see who this man was. Through the 
grimy and unkempt beard and mass of reddish hair 
graying at the edges, Lindsey saw a pair of eyes 
hard and bitter yet full of a strength and a 
goodness he had longed for. He stared at those 
eyes for nearly a second before the crisp blue 
orbs became familiar to him. Lindsey's fears fled 
him in a single moment of elation as he shouted, “Father!”

The man snapped his head toward him with a sudden 
gape. Calephas blinked and smiled in hideous 
triumph. The Lutin fumbled his guisarme and took 
a step back into the doorway and was gone.

Alfwig, his voice sturdy but unsure, asked, “Who 
are you, boy? I... I should know you, but...”

Lindsey realized he'd already said too much and 
swallowed. Calephas laughed and grabbing the 
man's shoulder with one hand, kicked him behind 
the knees, toppling him to the stone floor. “Tell 
him,” Calephas said with a vicious snarl. “Or 
I'll stab him through the throat and drench you in his blood.”

He cried and shook his head. “It's me, Father! It's your Lhindesaeg!”

Alfwig's eyes widened in shock as he hid the pain 
from Calephas's blow. “Lhindesaeg! But I thought 
you'd become a man? What are you doing here?”

“Trying to kill me,” Calephas replied. “He 
failed. Now, like you, Alfwig, he's mine.”

“Let him go!” Alfwig snarled over his shoulder. 
He lifted his chained hands and smacked them 
against his shoulder where the Baron's hand had 
been only moments before. “Don't think this chain 
will keep me from killing you.”

Calephas took another step back, while Weaker 
approached, growling and hissing with claws 
extended. Alfwig glared at the feline. “Or you either.”

“You aren't going to kill anyone,” Calephas 
chided with such calm assurance Lindsey had a 
hard time not believing him and trembling from 
it. “Weaker, show the old man what happened to the last boy.”

Calephas backed and in a wide circle moved around 
the rear of the room and grabbed the large hammer 
while the tiger bent over and dragged the carpet 
off the crushed and deformed child. It was 
difficult to tell just what it was, a blend of 
reptilian and human features in so complicated 
and bizarre a form that it didn't even look like 
it could have been alive at one time. But Alfwig 
still trembled at the sight, and his eyes darkened further.

“Raping them isn't good enough for you anymore?”

The Baron scowled without anger. “I am so close 
to achieving my goal. You are going to help me, 
Alfwig. Or I will crush Lhindesaeg's hands. The 
left one first.” He stepped closer to the boy and 
tapped the end of the hammer against Lindsey's 
exposed hand. Lindsey swallowed and tried to keep 
his gaze on his father. How he wished those 
strong arms would break his chains and rescue him from this nightmare.

But Alfwig didn't move from where he knelt, hands 
flexing and wrapping around the chains binding 
his arms together. The tiger Weaker had moved 
around behind him, and with lashing tail, kept a 
close eye on him, claws at the ready to tear into 
his back. Alfwig noted him with a perfunctory 
glance over his shoulder, then returned his 
attention on the Baron. “What do you want?”

“I have captured your son. I have taken a sample 
of his blood.” Calephas gestured with a nod of 
his head toward the table and the assorted 
potions. “It's stronger than either of ours, 
Alfwig. I've never been able to get you to 
explain why you have such blood. Now you are 
going to tell me, and you are going to tell me 
why Lhindesaeg's is even stronger. Or I crush limbs.”

“Stronger?” Lindsey asked, for a brief moment 
more curious than frightened. “My blood?”

Alfwig sighed faintly and nodded. “For now, 
Baron. I've kept this secret from Lhindesaeg long 
enough. I'll tell him.” His eyes, full of 
gentleness and a terrible sorrow met the boy and 
held him tight as if they were arms. “Lhindesaeg, 
I love you dearly. I loved you as my daughter. I 
loved you when you went to Metamor to help. I 
loved you even when your letters told us you were 
a man. I love you now. I can see you in the boy 
before me. You are my child again. I am your father. But...

“But Elizabaeg is not your mother.”

Lindsey blinked at this and his mouth opened and 
his tongue blubbered incoherently for a few 
seconds before he managed, “She's not my mother?”

“No. Your real mother... I met her bathing in a 
forest stream. She'd been watching me for some 
time, and knew that I would pass that way on my 
hunt. She waited for me. I... I was enraptured by her, by her beauty.”

His eyes took on a faraway cast and he sighed, 
this time with regret. One of his hands began 
stroking his beard, wrapping the hair as if he 
were going to braid it again. “I had no idea who 
she was, but I was smitten. For six months she 
stayed in my cottage, our cottage. She left from 
time to time, but always returned with the little 
white mountain flowers. With them she made the 
most delicate of wreaths. And her singing, the sweet melodies...”

Alfwig closed his eyes and took a long deep 
breath as if he were hearing her voice and 
smelling her flowers. Lindsey felt lost, almost 
impatient to know who this woman really was. 
Calephas listened with an amused smirk on his 
face, but kept his grip on the hammer firm and steady.

“And then one day, she was gone.” Alfwig let out 
a long breath and let the chain dangle across the 
floor at his knees. “And when she left, I wept 
for days. But when I stopped, it was as if 
whatever her presence had done to me was gone. I 
had known Elizabaeg for many years, and only a 
month after I was calling upon her again. I knew 
I loved her, and I hadn't stopped loving her even 
when your mother was with me. Within three months 
I obtained her father's permission, and shortly thereafter we were wed.”

Lindsey felt confused now. How could this other 
woman be her mother if she'd left and he'd married Elizabaeg?

“We were married for five months when she 
returned to me.” His face tightened with pain and 
a horrible longing. “I woke early that morning. 
It was Summer. The grass was wet with dew, and 
the sky bright with a high sun peaking over the 
mountains and casting everything in green and 
gold. Sitting on the rock by the lake was she, 
your mother. A very carefully wrapped basket was 
at her side. I came to her, overwhelmed with joy. 
Even the birds seemed to be brighter in their song.”

Alfwig licked his lips. “She apologized to me, 
admitted that she had deceived me. She had 
watched me from afar for some time, though I had 
not known it. And she had fallen in love with me, 
even though it was not permitted. And so she'd 
come with her son to see that the child we had 
would be with me. And that's when she handed me 
the basket and made me promise to send her son 
back to her. She told me I would know when.”

Calephas ground his teeth together, and the 
tiger's ears turned as if he were actually 
listening. Lindsey could, for a brief moment, 
almost forget that he was chained to a wall and 
under the power of the despicable Baron, so intent was he on his father's tale.

“She waited while I opened the basket. To my 
surprise it was not a child. But an egg. When I 
looked up, the woman, the amazing and sensuous 
and majestic woman was gone. In her place a 
mighty dragon. She bowed her head low, her long 
neck covered in gray and purple scales, before 
she leaped into the air, nearly knocking me over 
with the beat of her wings. She ascended into the 
mountains and was lost to sight.

“But coming out of the forest was another dragon, 
smaller this time, but the same gray scales, with 
red ridges and a youthful enthusiasm. He 
introduced himself as her son and promised he 
would help look after my child.” He lifted his 
eyes to Lindsey and smiled ever so faintly. “Yes, 
Pharcellus is your half-brother. One month later 
you hatched from that egg, both human and dragon. 
Pharcellus left and returned with his mother and 
yours. She cast a spell on you so that you would 
be human in appearance. I told Elizabaeg 
everything and she promised never to speak of it 
and to help raise you as our own. And that is why 
your name is Lhindesaeg, after the great 
Lhinnorm, the dragons of the mountains. And that 
is why your blood is stronger than mine.”

Lindsey gaped, mind reeling from every word. He 
felt as if he were going to tip back and tumble 
away into a spinning vortex. His mother was a 
dragon? He hatched from an egg? Then those egg 
shells he found in Father's secret treasure box, 
were they his? Is that why both Pharcellus and 
Elizabaeg seemed so sad when he mentioned them?

And then, as the darkness spun, these questions 
swirling into a maddening cacophony, one final 
question percolated through the miasma to latch 
into his brain and beat it into putrefied jelly. Who am I?

This single question, ricocheting from synapse to 
synapse obliterated all that was real around him. 
The room with its cold, gray walls receded into 
the distance until they were lost in a shadowy 
mass that had no substance. His father and 
Weaker, melded into an orange and red smear as 
they dwindled into insignificance and then 
vanished like a star winking out. Calephas, his 
face triumphant and twisted, passed away to his 
side until he merged with the blackness, a 
midnight sepulcher entombing all that was not an answer to the question.

He tumbled, but without frame of reference, 
Lindsey could gauge nothing. Who was he? Born of 
man and dragon, what did that make him? Hatched 
like a reptile, his true mother someone and 
something he'd never met. Elizabaeg, she who he'd 
always called mother, she who had raised him and 
loved him dearly, had known his origins but had 
said nothing. All of Lindsey's life had been lived under a false assumption.

Who am I?

A flash of light surrounded him and Lindsey found 
himself laying on soft earth, swaying cypresses 
with dangling limbs, bright colors, and broad 
ferns filling a clearing. Lindsey stood, spectral 
in form as he gazed across the expanse at a dozen 
golden horses, their green eyes boring intently at him.

The Rheh Talaran!

And in rich panoply of scintillating light, as if 
each and every being were fashioned from finely 
wrought crystal, each Rheh came forward one at a 
time, and one of Lindsey's friends stepped 
forward to meet them. First the ancient one, 
Qan-af-årael, resplendent in his sky-hued 
garments, approaching the most humble of all the Rheh.

Goodbye ancient one, the star’s child.

They came together and their light suffused until 
they were an indistinguishable pillar of vernal 
splendor. Lindsey gaped as they leaped into the 
sky to streak across the horizon like a falling star rising to the heavens.

Into the middle of the clearing stepped with 
magisterial grace and hopping with studious 
dignity came Zhypar Habakkuk and the Rheh who'd 
born him. Lindsey reached out an arm and tried to 
cry out his name but his long face was ever fixed 
upon the steed of ancient lore.

Goodbye man who knows, fate divine.

Zhypar stretched out one arm, his clawed fingers 
brushing the Rheh's nose, and then the two of 
them vanished into the brilliant sky. Lindsey's 
eyes should hurt but everything was so stark and 
visceral he couldn't, as if he were witnessing true life for the first time.

Kayla the skunk came forward and met her Rheh. 
Those words that were the ethos of sensation 
sounded in his heart. Goodbye strength in love, 
strike with might. And then they too vanished into the sky.

Then came Jerome the Sondecki, the stout figure 
with auburn hair, hawk-like nose and crisp 
goatee. He bore the black frock of his order and 
seemed to hold it tight as if he were afraid some 
harm would come to it. Goodbye strong and mild, never wild.

Lindsey felt dizzy as he watched, trying to look 
to see where his friends came from, but it was as 
if they proceeded from the very air. James the 
donkey, the one who slew Krenek Zagrosek despite 
crushing fear, approached the Rheh with the 
bell-shaped white mark on his forehead. Goodbye 
bell’s death cry, balm for mourn.

And then he too vanished in a spire of glory. 
Following on his hooves was the younger Åelf, 
Andares-es-sebashou. His pearl-handled blade was 
crossed before his chest and he knelt in front of 
the golden stallion with docile adoration in his 
features. Goodbye eager son, know the night.

Lindsey trembled, trying to turn any direction 
but this as the number of Rheh dwindled one by 
one. Before them flew Jessica, who landed and 
stared, only a simple hawk now. Her mount, with 
an abyss of gentleness, reached down and lipped 
at the feathers atop her head. With that she grew 
and they two twined together in a light wreathed 
in a blackness burnished bronze. Goodbye soaring mage, last of light.

The little Binoq mage, Abafouq almost stumbled in 
his haste, face glistening with oils used to keep 
the cold at bay. Powder spilled through his 
fingers as he lifted them to embrace his dear 
companion of countless leagues. Goodbye hidden one, sorrow’s long.

Quickly and soberly stalked the most remote of 
them all, Guernef of the Nauh-kaee, his feathers 
a white so bright that even the sun hid itself in 
shame. One of the Rheh who had served as a pack 
animal for them out of modesty and love, came to 
greet him. Goodbye lofty one, the wind’s song.

Then the last of her companions came forward, 
Charles, his strange six-limbed body wrapped in 
the green vine with purple blossoms opening and 
smelling so sweetly that Lindsey knew he could 
forget everything should he lay in a field of 
such flowers. His Rheh nodded and breathed a 
sullen mist across the rodent's blackened face. 
Goodbye stone and vine, ever more thine.

And then Lindsey felt himself bidden and he 
floated toward the final Rheh, the one that had 
born him across the Steppe, Pyralis, and into the 
festering swamps of Marzac. Those green eyes met 
him and held him, with a surfeit of knowedge that 
disclosed everything hidden. The words 
reverberated and made the cypresses and the ferns 
shake as if waking from a long slumber. Goodbye woman gone, dragon born.

They had known. Lindsey blinked and leaned 
forward to touch the Rheh who'd claimed him for a 
rider. His steed had known all along who he was. 
He fell into the golden hide and green eyes, 
spiraling away from that evil swamp, all thoughts for one blessed moment clear.

Lindsey blinked open his eyes and saw his father, 
the enslaved Keeper standing guard over him, and 
the laughing Calephas brandishing the heavy, 
metal hammer. “That explains it then,” the Baron 
was saying with caustic pleasure. “Your blood has 
taken on that of the dragons because you enjoyed 
tender intimacies with one. And Lhindesaeg's is 
stronger still because he is half-dragon. It took 
months for me to make my blood as strong as 
yours, Alfwig. And now your son will give me what 
I need to finish what I've started.”

“And what have you started?” Alfwin said with a cold menace.

The Baron walked back across the room and 
gestured at his worktable. “After Nasoj's 
disastrous attempt to seize Metamor Keep the 
winter before last, I left his employ and allied 
myself with Lilith's forces in the southern 
Giantdowns. Because of them I have no need to 
fear a reprisal from Nasoj for my betrayal.

He smiled then and ran one finger down the side 
of a glass decanter filled with a a thick, purple 
fluid. “But I am not a gambling man. I thought 
myself secure once before, immune from harm, and 
then I was caught and barely escaped from the 
Midlands. My time in Arabarb is limited. Either 
Nasoj will find a way to kill me, or the 
Resistance will. And even if they don't, one day 
Gmork will be powerful enough he'll believe he 
won't need me anymore and have my head placed on 
a pig pole to the delight of my subjects. And 
that is why I'm so delighted that you have come into my hands, Lhindesaeg.”

He picked up the bottle and tilted it from one 
side to the other. “I obtained a large quantity 
of these potions from my new allies. This potion, 
unaltered, will transform a human being into a 
bastardized mix of human and dragon, a ruined 
form, known as a Draconian. I've seen them work. 
I've made boys such as yourself drink them so I 
could study the interplay of spells that made them work.

“But I don't want to be a Draconian.” He set the 
bottle down and gestured at the rest of the 
table. “I want to be a dragon. And to that end 
I've made adjustments, purifying the draconic 
essence used in these potions, to transfer their 
strength to myself. With them, I have been able 
to alter my blood. But until I unlock all the 
other components, that is all I dare change.” His 
smile grew wide and Lindsey could almost see his 
teeth growing sharper and serrated. An unholy 
fire burned in his blue eyes. “I'm almost there. 
You, Lhindesaeg, are the last piece I need. One 
more potion, one more test, and then I will be ready.”

“The dragons will never accept you,” Alfwig spat. “They'll know who you are.”

“Aye, they will,” Calephas admitted. “But I don't 
have to stay here. As a dragon, I can fly 
wherever I wish. And I will live as long as I 
wish. And there will be no one to contest my 
power.” His smile slipped briefly, only to grow 
even wider as if he too were a wolf. “And I will 
be able to devour as many boys as I wish.”

“I won't drink any potion!” Lindsey shouted with 
a fire that felt like his old self. “I won't help you!”

Calephas picked up a small wooden funnel and 
shrugged. “That's why I have this.” He set the 
funnel down and then tapped one of the bottles. 
“But, it will take time for the potion to be 
ready. I must leave it to settle overnight before 
the spells are properly mixed. So, I am going to 
leave you to sleep if you can. Tomorrow morning 
you will help me become a dragon. And as for you, 
Alfwig, you will go back to the dungeons. Once I 
have no more need of you, you will drown in the Arabas. Yajgaj!”

A different Lutin stepped through the door and 
stared in impish defiance. “My Baron.”

Calephas glowered at the unmoved figure. “You aren't Yajgaj, where is he?”

This Lutin carried the guisarme that had been in 
Yajgaj's hands and he too had a necklace of 
finger bones, though not nearly as many as the 
war leader had. “He go see to soldiers to keep 
castle safe while Gmork gone. We take man back to dungeon.”

“Do so,” Calephas grunted. The Lutins guided 
Lindsey's father back to his feet and out the 
door. Alfwig gave Lindsey a forlorn and 
apologetic gaze before he disappeared through the 
iron aperture. Once they were gone, Calephas 
stroked Weaker behind the ears in distraction 
before returning his attention to Lindsey.

“Although your father is in the dungeons, they 
are not the only cells in this castle. This room 
used to be a torture chamber during the thane 
wars over a hundred years ago. Your ancestors 
were very good at two things: making weapons to 
kill each other, and devising means to torture 
both body and mind.” He grabbed the single ring 
set in the wall a few feet above Lindsey's head. 
“Truly, your ancestors were geniuses.”

Calephas gave the ring a twist, and then the 
stone ground against itself as the wall to which 
Lindsey was attached began to turn. Lindsey 
struggled against his chains but as the sick 
Baron slid out of view, Lindsey was greeted with 
a darkness all around him, a cold chill that made 
his naked flesh tremble, and the sound of rushing water far below him.

The wall clicked into place and Lindsey could 
only cower and try to keep his body pressed as 
closed together as possible to keep warm. From 
behind him he heard the Baron's shouted words, 
“You won't die of cold, Lhindesaeg, and there's 
nowhere for you to go. Good night and sleep well my little boy.”

Lindsey stared into the darkness and sobbed in prayer.

----------

Yajgaj moved quickly through the castle halls, 
striding past soldiers without a word, but 
pausing to give instructions to all the Lutins he 
found. They were all of Blood Harrow tribe now. 
He'd made sure that every Lutin in the castle not 
of his tribe was moved elsewhere. It had taken 
months to do so, but it had been necessary. He 
couldn't depend on their loyalties.

The green-skinned little man moved through the 
halls searching resolutely. He knew Calephas 
would be irritated that he'd left, but there had 
been no choice. At least not anymore. That one 
exclamation from the boy had changed everything.

Finally, after a sun's handspan, he found the 
soldier he sought. The tall dour man was standing 
guard with two others along the southern 
battlements overlooking the outer bailey. The 
night sky was obscured by heavy clouds and the 
city below was occluded by darkened windows and 
doused torches. What few lights traveled those 
streets were carried by Calephas's soldiers as 
they continued their search for the Resistance.

“Gwythyr!” He snapped in a guttural voice that 
sounded as if he thought the man's name a 
delicious portion of meat. “Come with me! The Baron wishes you.”

The man's face turned ashen white but he left his 
post and followed Yajgaj back inside the castle 
walls. But Yajgaj didn't lead him anywhere near 
Calephas's laboratory. Instead, once they were 
halfway between torches on either end of a long 
hall he turned and pressed the bone knife against 
the man's belly. “Bend over, Gwythyr,” he hissed 
in a whisper. The man was so stunned he could 
only do as bidden by the Lutin whose bone 
necklace prominently displayed his prowess in killing men.

“A little closer,” Yajgaj said softly. And then, 
once the man's ear was close enough that he could 
whisper with no chance that anyone would hear he 
said, “I know you are part of the Resistance.” 
Gwythyr immediately tried to jump back, but 
Yajgaj grabbed his one arm in a vise-like grip 
and pressed the razor sharp blade against his 
belly so that the leather vest began to part. “I 
am not your enemy. Tomorrow, both Calephas and 
Gmork will die. I need you to contact the 
Resistance and bring them into the castle. I will 
have the eastern gate and walls guarded by the 
Blood Harrow. They will let you in. Do you understand me?”

Gwythyr blinked several times and stared at him 
in astonishment. “But... but you're a Lutin.”

Yajgaj snorted and smiled, long, pointed ears 
lifting with his cheeks. “Clever. Maybe I not 
kill you and take your thumbs if you help me kill 
those two. Do you understand?”

“They won't believe me.”

Yajgaj narrowed his yellow eyes and simmered. “Do you believe me?”

“Why should I?”

“Because you Resistance and I not kill you yet.”

Gwythyr swallowed again, eyes flashing across the 
hallway afraid that somebody might suddenly come 
upon them. But as a Lutin, Yajgaj's ears told him 
much more and he knew they were as safe as anyone 
could ever be in this castle. Finally, the 
soldier began to nod. “I'll try to convince them.”

“You better. If you come back and the Resistance 
isn't with you, I will give you to Gmork so I can 
kill him while he's distracted feasting on your 
mind.” Yajgaj dragged the man's face a little 
closer. “But I won't kill him until after you 
start worshiping him.” It was, Yajgaj knew, a 
stupid threat that if the man gave even a modicum 
of consideration to would see it for what it was. 
But he'd learned in the last year just how 
powerful a motivator fear was. And for a Lutin 
wearing a necklace of human finger bones, fear was one of his chief weapons.

“I'll do it.” Gwythyr said at last. “How long do I have?”

“By dawn I have all guards at eastern door and 
walls changed to Blood Harrow. You have until 
dusk when I need to change them again.”

“During daylight? Are you mad?” Yajgaj pressed 
the knife against his belly again and growled. 
“Fine, we'll find a way. Once we're in, where do 
we go? What about the other soldiers?”

“I keep path for you to Calephas's laboratory 
free. You know the way.” Gwythyr nodded. “Some go 
that way, others take the armory and bailey 
walls. I will try to have more soldiers out in 
the city looking for you tomorrow so it be easier. Do you understand?”

Gwythyr nodded. “I don't know if I can trust you, 
Yajgaj, but you haven't turned me in. I'll try to talk them into your plan.”

Yajgaj smiled and let the soldier go. He sheathed 
his bone knife and nodded. “Good. I like you, 
Gwythyr. I let you keep your thumbs.”

The man's face twitched as he backed away a few 
paces. “One thing more. How do I get out of the castle?”

He laughed beneath his breath. “The same way you 
always do. The western sea door. I watch that one for you tonight.”

Gwythyr swallowed uncomfortably and nodded. He 
stiffly turned and walked down the hallway to 
tend to his new task. Yajgaj watched him go and 
then hurried to where he could watch to make sure 
he did as he was told. Tomorrow everything would 
be decided one way or another. Either Gmrok and 
Calephas would be dead, or the rest of them 
would. The Lutin smiled and knew that his Blood 
Harrow elders would be pleased with such a choice.

----------

May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,

Charles Matthias


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