The black sword didn’t catch fire for weeks until now. It was a stone. How could it do that?

“Who am I asking? Am I thinking out loud again?”

No one in the arena surrounding Mordred heard him, nor cared. All they knew was his sword made of rock just lit up like a torch with no kindling, no magic spells, or any motion from his thick gloved hands. His attention was drawn back to the task at hand. Or soon to be at hand due to the charging were-bull headed in his direction.

“Oh, right.”

He could hear his trainer shouting obscenities at him from the ringside, turning many more shades of purple than his original skin coloring. It didn’t affect Mordred. He was getting used to it by now. He decided that it was a sign of affection and respect.

Now for the task. To battle! He planted his booted feet firmly as best he could in the moving sand. Damn arena promoters will do anything to sell spaces, so they got one of the rarest magical items. Waving sand. In this arena, the crowd thought of it as waving goodbye to another talented warrior soon to be struck down quickly and horribly. Not today, Mordred and his fiery stone sword decided. Not today. He charged at the were-bull, arms and legs pumping inside his leather armor, carrying a shield that consisted of a stolen table-top moving along with the burning sword. Not ideal to carry with a wooden table top/shield, but they were both something useful to defend against this beast.

The were-bull’s horns came down, his speed picked up, the crowd chanted louder, the sun and wind were indifferent to the outcome. All was well with Mordred’s plan. So far. He crouched in mid-stride to jump for the skull impaling….and….the stone swords’ flame went out.

“Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no, no, no.” The mantra that would have no effect issued forth as he brought down the stolen sword down on the beasts’ thick skull. Only to have it bounce from his grip on impact and drop to the sand like the toys he used to steal from his brothers and sisters and toss them aside when he grew bored of them. He tucked and rolled, dropped back to his feet. He swore he heard his trainer say something to the effect of “...it’s about damned time..”.

There wasn’t time to translate his mumblings, the beast was annoyed at the rock that was used to hit his head and came charging at his leather-bound enemy. The sword was too far out of reach to be of immediate use. Time for some defense. He crouched behind the big shield, braced himself against it and got ready for the impact despite that familiar obscene shouting something about stopping being such an ass and run or something like that. By now, the instructions or whatever they were all blended together and sounded the same. It’ll be fine, he thought. Usually, his voice wears out after a match and they don’t talk until it whispers curses at him on the ride back to the farm for more training.

The were-bull drove his horns through the thick table top/shield, pushing Mordred back, making him try to dig his boots into the rolling sand. That was getting very annoying too. It’s like those magic-users were bored and had nothing else to invent. Mordred grabbed the edges of his shield and turned it, twisting the beasts’ head around slowly. He had no idea where that move came from. He noticed a lot of these things since the bug-looking gypsy fortune teller gave that stone sword to him. The black stone sword was almost in reach now…just a little further, just a little more….he turned the table top/shield around slowly. The were-bull struggled against it more. That and the waving sand made it nearly impossible to make it to the weapon laying in wait. Slowly, it began to be buried in the flowing, moving sand. “Oh no…no no no no no no..” That seemed to be his mantra of the day. All it seemed to do was make his trainer sob with his thick-fingered hands covering his face. Maybe his eyes were hurting from the wind and bright light of day. He gave it his all and shoved the table/shield around more to reach it before it got buried. The were-beast was having NONE of that. The direction of the shield moved slowly back the other way with huffs and grunts from the former animal. Again, Mordred thought magic users must have a LOT of time on their hands to come up with something like were-beasts.

“Let it have the table, boy!!” He heard a familiar, hoarse shout. The difference between that and the profanity that was slowly growing hoarse was that this shout seemed to be from the cast-off, slowly buried sword. “Too much time on those wizards’ hands..” Mordred mumbled. Resisting the were-bull’s push was not going anywhere, so he just….stepped back, stumbling in the shifting, waving sand.

Like a toy on its side, the beast and the now-useless table top spun out of control, the beast howling in confusion and pain before finally coming to a stop. He shook the wood to pieces and his head to clear the dizziness and fog. Right before it dropped, panting, leaving breath marks on the sand before the waves cleared it. Mordred ran to the….maybe…talking stone sword. On grasping the handle, it ignited without any warning, but he ignored the shock and jumped to deliver a killing stroke again…and succeeded. The fiery sword piercing the beasts’ side, black blood spraying. Mordred was grateful that he stepped aside in time before he was blinded by it.

However, for a few moments, he wished that he could have been blinded. The were-bull began to change back to mostly human form. A naked pale human with different horns, hooves, and a tail than before. Twitching, shuddering on the sand that seemed to be carrying it away from Mordred. Even his purple-skinned friend/manager was silent at this monstrosity. “Why…” Mordred mumbled, glancing up at the crowd. His moral consideration took a step aside when he heard the roar of the people at his apparent victory over “the monster” as advertised outside the arena and around the town. He raised his flaming stone sword and the handle of his now-broken shield.
Eldren, his goblin trainer, simply put his face into his palms and shook his head side to side. Eldren was one of the few beings in The Land that could keep up with Mordred’s large strides. When he felt like standing up straight, he was two thirds Mordred’s height, covered in purple-ish skin, had sharp teeth, upturned oblong eyes with irises that liked to move around according to his mood. Like today, when he badgered Mordred in the arena, it was usually bad. His feet, and hands had claws on them and wore out shoes quickly. Hence, he wore sandals. Even in the whitest, most brutal of winters, bundled up to twice his short bulk, he still left his clawed feet exposed. Mordred didn’t ask why they didn’t fall off by now. The big lad didn’t feel even half-way warm in that weather unless he was wearing the furred boots given to him in a tournament by a defeated opponent.

“I don’t know how you get so lucky. And WHY you’re so lucky. You are such a lucky dumb fuck.” Eldren continued counting the silver and gold coins with the Empress’ likeness on them. The only reason they didn’t have more gold coins was the corrupt promoters charged them for damaging their property. The were-bull can’t change back to full animal form because of “magical interference”, plus, for some reason……animals loved Mordred…. so he was damaged goods….and no good in the arena. “Like that’s MY fault?!” He shook his head, clicking his shorter tongue as he continued to try and count the money left over. Mordred didn’t get insulted by the short purple goblin’s words. He just thought that he was angry about being so short and having one eye missing from losing a bet with a rat. Despite all of the angry insults, Eldren continued to show Mordred how to use that mysterious stone sword. It only seemed to light on fire when Mordred handled it.

Ever since that day when he found it in the slave cart that carried him and other young men his age from his Deoren village to a market. Buried under straw and dirt, it glowed when Mordred came close to it as he pulled on the heavy rope that kept him tied fast to the cart floor. Freeing it from the dust and straw, it never occurred to him, at first, to cut his way free with it. The pictures and sounds that filled the young barbarian’s head overwhelmed him so much, he growled loudly, making the cart-driver stop. As soon as he jumped down from the board to whip the young were-bear to silence, the dark sword exploded into flames. Since most of the cart was wood and hay was scattered around it, the fire spread quickly. The oils that the cart carried to market to sell along with the boys was what created the explosion, however. The boys were made of stern stuff, so they survived being thrown from the flaming cart with only a few bruises, headaches and great confusion. The slave merchants shouted in panic, grabbing what blankets they could find to douse the flames while the boys ran into the woods after exchanging looks with each other. Mordred stopped after the sound of the chaos of their escape behind and became human again. Since the shaman put that spell on him to heal him from wounds taken from a rival hunter, he has grown to love and hate his gift to change into a bear.

The pictures and sounds coming from the sword he held continued to fill his head even after the explosion and being thrown from his enslavement, but now he could stop and listen and watch carefully at the action and words playing out inside of him.

The horses fascinated Mordred. If they were real horses and not images from an obscure memory, they would have been fascinated with Mordred as well. He had that effect on animals and the other way around, most times.

The horses were armored like he had seen the Royal Empress’s army wear. Their weapons shone in the sun despite the cloudy, gray and blood-colored day of the battle he saw himself in the middle of. If this was witchcraft, he was enjoying this, but confused at the same time. His neck was hurting from turning his head so much, watching each Knight swing their weapon and even their shield for a weapon. Like getting an opponent’s horned helmet stuck in it and turning it to bring their feet off the ground…..wait….what??.... He knew when to duck his head before a battle-axe or great sword’s blade came his way before he knew it was swung at him. The ease and strength in which these things were being used amazed the boy who had only known to try to defend himself with a broken rake when the slavers came for him. The slashes, the clashes, the roar of each Knight and the whinny of their labored horse as they both moved toward the oncoming enemies with no fear, no hesitation, no unneeded talking. Just a howl of sheer courage that Mordred could only imagine then. One of the fallen Knights dropped his weapon. A great black stone sword that he saw catch fire. It lay cold and dark with its masters’ defeat, the gauntlet and armored glove covered in blood, fingers twitching as if to give one more swing to victory. In this waking dream, Mordred bent down and picked up the stone sword. On contact, it burst into flames from the hilt up. It took him by surprise, but he didn’t drop it. It was as if he knew what was going to happen.

“Quit daydreaming, boy! We’re almost there! Pick up that goofy sword of yours!” Eldren’s pointed ears moved around more than his arms gesturing at the barn that became their training ground/homestead for the past few months since Eldren found him cornered in a cave.

On discovering Modred, he saw that the boy was filthy, and kept shoving that obsidian sword at the goblin merchant, grunting some obscure language. Eldren was lucky he carried a grass bomb with him, so it was easy to knock the boy out once he lit it on fire and threw it to the back of the cave behind him. The fumes from the herb mix served its purpose. He dropped to the ground, twitching, still holding the sword, mumbling before finally passing out. Eldren grabbed the sword and got thrown back against the cave wall like someone large had slapped him silly. He was out long enough to see Mordred walk towards him with a large hand out, offering to help him up. He understood what the barbaric boy said now instead of the guttural grunts and growls. No look of rage, hatred and insanity in his eyes like before he threw the grass bomb. Eldren didn’t recall that as a side effect of the herbs in the bomb. But, he’ll take it. He and the boy traveled together and discovered that Mordred was of the Tribe of Deoren. A very wild tribe, primitive by the rest of this worlds’ standards, but the few that he had known were very noble, upstanding people. They made incredible warriors, fighters, and now and then….sellswords. He greatly hoped that Mordred would not become one of those low-lifes.

One stop at a bazaar, some thieves grabbed everything on his sole table and began to run with it. By the time Eldren saw what happened, Mordred jumped in front of them, swinging that weird sword that suddenly burst into flames. Mordred seemed to transform into a young bear and drop that sword. Paws couldn’t hold it and it was on fire like most times when Mordred handled the blade. He attacked the bandits, but didn’t need to kill them. The sight of this large boy that grew into a were-bear was enough for them to run, likely to change their trousers. Mordred was on his way to charge after them, to possibly slaughter them all, but Eldren shouted after him, “STOP BOY! THAT’S ENOUGH NOW!!” It worked. The were-bear/sword wielding boy stopped in his tracks, turned to face Eldren, panting, growling. The phrase “Uh, oh” came to his goblin mind, though he had no idea where it came from. Mordred, however, did not move. He seemed to calm down and slowly changed back to human form, then bent down and picked up the now quiet sword. His panting slowed down, no growling or other noises came from him. He walked toward Eldren slowly. There was still a fire in his eyes, but he gave no argument to the goblin merchant. “Boy, I appreciate what you did, but there’s no need to kill those robbers. They’ll get what’s coming to them.” Eldren hoped there was some flicker of reason behind those fiery eyes, the hairy face and shrinking snout. He hoped. By the time Mordred came back to the flipped-over table, he said “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know what happened. What are we going to do now?” Eldren breathed a sigh of relief. “I don’t know, son….” It was then that a candle flame lit in his stressed-out mind when, over Mordred’s shoulder, he saw a scroll advertising the arena having public matches. Anyone who showed a glimmer of talent in fighting, marksmanship was welcome to compete against the city’s animals, warriors for prize money. “I think you might prove your worth after all, boy..” he grinned wide, sharp yellow teeth grinding together.

Mordred felt the sharp nails of Eldren’s hand slap the back of his head. “What did I tell you about daydreaming, boy??! Maybe that’s why you let that fire go out in the arena!” Mordred had been traveling with Eldren for years now as he gained more money from Mordred’s growing talent as an arena fighter, able to rebuild his merchant business and make more money. The bear that Mordred seemed to become only returned occasionally. Not enough to win every match Eldren entered Mordred into, but the kid was an exceptional fighter. Even with just a bronze or steel sword and flimsy or water damaged shield provided by the promoters. But, he just wished the bear would return often. Not for winning battles and even the upcoming tournaments and finals, but just to get a reputation. A gimmick to sell. “Come see the bear-boy! Watch in horror as he tears your greatest warrior limb from limb for your sick amusement!!” Now *that’s* a gimmick that would sell tickets and get more gold for him. He was glad Mordred was usually ignorant of his surroundings in general, so he wouldn’t see him rubbing his clawed hands together, anticipating more gold. He knew Mordred wasn’t too bright, so he couldn’t have been a wizard or mage of some kind, though they were getting rarer and rarer these days. Magic was getting too wild and spontaneous lately. He would have loved to get his grimy hands on a magical charged weapon, but again….he had the “bear-boy” For now, though, the barn served as a temporary home when they returned to Eldren’s home away from home.

They approached the wide blue doors when one swung open on its own. Mordred froze in his steps. They could hear the horses inside stomping and crying out in fear. Eldren continued his rant, admonishing the large human for his seeming mistakes in the arena and other things he likely had nothing to do with before Mordred grabbed the scruff of his collar and pulled him back to his side. “What in Hades's welcoming bonfire are you doing, boy?!?!” he grunted, trying to free himself of his grip. The sulfur-smelling mist came out from the open door and formed itself into a ring around each of them. Eldren’s focus suddenly changed from finding things to complain about and staying frozen still. He heard things about this. Nasty. Brutal. Horrible things about these wraiths. Wizards and burnt elves of old times sent them after their enemies, or just anybody that they hated. The setting sun even seemed to hide itself, the light that was around them both dimming quickly, the air getting harder to breathe.

“What…..what is this…Eldren..?” Mordred found himself laboring to breathe alongside his mentor.

“Just shut up, boy. Don’t talk. Don’t move. I don’t know why this is happening.” That, at least, was true. The goblin had no idea why this wraith was wrapping itself around them. His race was somewhat familiar with magic creatures, good or evil. This was definitely in the evil box. Pure evil. The sparkling mist, shifting colors and moving mist appearance could fool most into thinking this was some appealing parlor trick, but the truth was…..if one formed itself around you, you were likely to die soon. But who sent this? …wraiths didn’t hunt on their own.

The wraith ring closed in slowly. Too late to keep quiet and discreet.

“What in the dragon’s red sky of eastgate……?!”

Mordred tried his best to form words to the pictures and sounds forming in his mind as he clenched tighter on that stone sword. The one Knight that twitched and shuddered as one of these things did things to him inside of his shining, but scarred armor. Mordred didn’t hear screaming, as the Knight swung his own fiery sword around, but he could imagine that the Knight was trained better than that. In his imagery, he tried to reach for him, to help him, but like this wraith mist surrounding them both now, he knew that it would be useless. Like trying to keep quiet now. But when he reached toward the valiant Knight as he started to drop off of his terrified horse….the mist left the tarnished armor and grabbed ahold of Mordred. The Knight fell from his ornate saddle and dropped in a heap to the ground. Once again, Mordred took up the stone blade that was dropped from the armored hand and the flames ignited.

Instead of just the blade igniting, Mordred’s body shown with a glow that looked like sunlight reflecting off of metal. Like….armor. But invisible, seeing his battle-torn clothes under that ghostly shape.

The wraith took on the shape of a half-human, half-scorched elf. Mordred had heard of the latter and Eldren had the misfortune of meeting one a few sordid times. The big youth stepped back. Though he looked like he was wearing armored boots, there was no sound other than the soft ground under his soft booted feet, giving way. For all appearances, the sun was in hiding from this malevolent force manifesting itself in front of the two of them. The manifesting villain walked toward Eldren, bent a bit and clasped a hand on his purple throat. Mordred sprang into motion, his flaming sword aimed at the culprit, then was frozen in place by a wave of the half-elf’s long fingered hand. “That’s enough dramatics, boy.”, his newly formed mouth grinning wide at his successful spell. “Your friend here has been hiding you. Naughty, naughty goblin” he waved a finger at the shaking Eldren.

“I don’t know….what you’re….talking about…” he tried to say with the elf’s hand now clamped tight on his throat. “No? You don’t recall buying that bottle of powder from the mage at the caravan some moons ago?? That crushed herb and the rune-carved bottle that would hide anyone from foresight and divination? Right after you found that were-boy??” he nodded to Mordred, but kept his upturned eyes burning through Eldren.Those eyes inside the upturned ends burned through the short, muscular goblin. Eldren tried to turn from them, but their gaze became locked.

“That’s enough, Killian”. Eldren heard Mordred say with his glowing arm out, flaming sword pointing at the dark scorched elf’s sharp nose.

“How dare…..what did you just…call me??” The scorched elf’s eyes opened wider and he loosened his grip on Eldren’s throat, turning and standing up straight. “How did you know….Warren?? No! It’s not possible that you’re….”

“Not exactly, old friend.” Mordred’s familiar voice came from his mouth, but the words didn’t match up. Eldren, who would usually have been shocked and even angry at Mordred’s change in demeanor, instead laughed.

The flaming sword came closer to the sharp, dark face of the scorched elf and he backed away in response. His people being scorched by the gods at creation’s rebellion was more than enough for him. “Get away from me! You can’t possibly be Warren! I killed you at the battle of Iced Spires! You and the rest of your comrades!”

“No need to remind me, dear old friend. My dear, trusted sword mentor. No. No need at all.” Mordred was walking the shocked elf back steps to the barn door and they stopped together. “I remember this very sword you gave me and placed the spell on to never harm you or my comrades so long as I live. I hope this irony is not lost on you.” On the last word, Mordred/Warren ran the flaming sword through the thin body of the scorched elf upward, pinning him to the wood of the door. His body caught fire, the flames consuming him quickly. Not a slow campfire, but a quick inferno. With no time to scream, though Killian would not have done so. Eldren simply looked from the cremating elf and back to Mordred/Warren with a look of satisfaction.

“I knew you were good for something.” He said.

Mordred seemed to be regaining his old self, the glow receding. He started to pull the sword out when Killian’s remains melted to the ground like a collapsing volcano. Eldren was freed from the wraith’s binding and moved away from the lava that flowed towards him. He rejoined Mordred at his side.

“So what was that? Can we use that for an arena show?” The questions were more for himself, adding up the money they could make with Mordred turning into this glowing boy killing the elf wizard and the crowd eating it up. Mordred knew his questions were more out of concern for the young Deoran. The merchant partners went into the barn, rearranging their cart for the next stop, the next bazaar, caravan stop. Their motions automatic as the clouds now parting for the sun’s return. The events of the past hour affected them, but Eldren refused to talk until Mordred did. He seemed perfectly content to load the cart and get the calmed horses hitched and ready to go. As usual, they were also content as long as Mordred took their reins and led them to their places. He opened the other blue barn door for the small caravan to leave. Mordred offered Eldren a hand up to the driver’s seat. Eldren started, but paused, waving off the offer. “Pull the wagon to the road, boy. I’ll join you soon.” and he left to go to the barn house. Mordred paused, but stifled his curiosity and did as he was told. He didn’t want to be on the receiving end of Eldren’s *real* temper. The events that unfolded quickly and almost horribly ran through Mordred’s mind again. Who….or what…was Warren. Why was that voice continuing to run through his ears? Mordred felt something heavy against his skin. The stone sword was close to him. Those real memories normally played in his head when he had a grip on it. This time, it was only propped up behind him on the wooden drivers’ seat. He considered grabbing it, twirling it, practicing a couple of swings, but thought better of it. Not out of getting in trouble again with Eldren, but….it seemed vain.

The goblin waddled out of the barn house with the humans that stored their cart and horses these past few weeks waving at Mordred and Eldren. Mordred waved back and offered a hand to Eldren. He took it and climbed up next to the young human, snapping the reins on the horses. Mordred’s touch usually left them dreamy, almost unfocused. A bit too calm, so it took Eldrens’ usual rash orders to get them moving again on the damp road to their destination. The goblin kept quiet, the returning sun warming both of their backs, joining their silence. It tempted Mordred to break that peace and ask what he was doing at the house and why their farming hosts were waving what looked like goodbye, but he decided not to push things. Maybe Eldren was still hurting from the elf wizard’s treatment…or he…. “I paid what we owed to those humans, Mordred.” he said with a final tone, staring straight ahead, glaring at the waving grains and circling dark birds.

“Okay”

“We need to move on. Somebody knows we were there and we’re important to them. Those folks don’t need to be in danger just because of us.”

To Mordred’s recollection, that was the kindest thing that he heard Eldren say about anyone, even about himself. The sun continued its restored job, baking their heads and backs as well as the horses who stayed mellowed from Mordred’s influence. Their hooves continued to provide a rhythm to distract them from talking about the bizarre occurrence that helped Eldren to make his decision to leave the family farm.

“Does this town that we’re going to have an arena for me to fight in as well?”

Eldren rolled his eyes. “Yes, of course it does. Why else would I bring you along? And…..this isn’t a town, boy. It’s a CITY! You know what a city looks like?! It’s a big, sprawling mound of citizens with more gold than sense! More time on their hands than anyone should have. That means….” Eldren waved a finger in the air…looking toward Mordred….”more paying customers that have probably heard of us by now…so I can negotiate for more of the gate percentage!” He laughed at that last part. Mordred had no idea what negociat ….negochiat …whatever he was trying to hear meant. He left the money things to Eldren. He only watched the backs of the horses and knew they needed water soon as well as food. They had been on this road for several hours and they were all getting hungry, goblin and were-bear alike. He started to turn and say something to Eldren when he heard another horse galloping behind them. It was large, hoof falls were louder than theirs. Mordred stopped the team and waited. It sounded like its rider or riders were in a hurry, so he moved the cart to the side of the smooth road. Eldren was probably right about the city having more people. This road looked better than any he had been on.

The clatter of armor became louder as it approached Mordred, Eldren and the team. The Knight wearing the armor slowed down next to Eldren and waved his gloved hand in a motion of greeting. They saw the horse was armored and the cloth on him matched the same colors as the Knight’s own coat of arms cape and front-piece. The Seal of the Holy Empress was on them both. Eldren sat up straight and glanced at Mordred who did the same. They weren’t required to salute like the Knight greeting them, but citizens were encouraged to show respect.

The one near Eldren stopped his armored horse and opened his rounded visor. “Greetings Eldren of the tribe of Grondolen. And to you, Mordred, son of Ian, tribe of Denoan. The Empress sends her regards. She wishes to offer you each a post and title at the castle grounds, a residence and payment for your work.” The Knight saw Eldren’s mouth open as his eyes widened.

Eldren looked around nervously, back and forth to Mordred who seemed very quiet about it all. Taking it all in, an attentive student absorbing a fascinating subject. Staring at this tall, metal covered figure on metal covered horseback. “Uh, pardon us, sir. We’re just merchant travelers. How does the Holy Empress know…..”

“No need for pardons, small one.” He waved off Eldren’s nervousness with a gloved hand and a shake of his helmet. He thought he heard a quiet laugh from the other Knight on Mordred’s side. Mordred didn’t budge. Normally, anyone who called Eldren “small” got a small, short sword in his crotch, but he let it slide. “The Holy Empress knows you from her impressions. Her shamanic stone tells Her all. She is quite taken with you both and is insistent on meeting you and giving you a reward!”

“A reward…..uhmm…okay, no disrespect intended, sir, but I’m thoroughly confused here. I’m certain that Mordred here is confused, because he usually is….”

“We accept the Empress’s kind offer!” came Mordred’s sudden voice. Eldren turned his head slowly, glaring sun in his eyes or not. His purple skin on his neck stretched to match his turn toward the large young human.

“Excellent! Your instructions are all on this scroll.” The metal covered glove held a rounded thick parchment, yellowed with mild aging. Mordred took it quickly, certain that Eldren would let his foul mood show by refusing the Knights’ and the Empress’ offer. “We look forward to greeting you at her Palace tonight for the formal meeting.” The horse was backed up quickly and they all turned back in the direction where the two heard the heavy hoofbeats. Eldren turned back to see them leave, and all he saw were two shining helmets over the horizon quickly disappearing.

Mordred took the reins to get their own un-armored horses in motion when Eldren started to grab them from him. But he paused. Something…stopped him. He opened up the scroll and read it carefully. A map with detailed instructions on how to get to the Palace was magnificently illustrated with the words in a dark ink and fine script that hasn’t been seen outside the old monasteries many decades before the goblins’ time.

“It is my great desire to see you and convey my congratulations on your discovery to you in person. Consider yourselves protected from the fouler elements of the great roadways.”

Eldren re-read that last part once more..and once more..blinked his eyes, shook his head and put the scroll aside carefully until they came to a fork in the road when they would need the map. “I don’t know how you do it, boy. You seem to come close to screwing up, and then it turns into something…I don’t know how to say this..” he never seemed to know how to say something kind to Mordred “and then it turns out alright.” Eldren looked down and fondled the scroll’s end one more time. Admitting that what just happened was real, he said “This time, you did good for us. You really did.”

Mordred kept his eyes on the road, the movement and direction and speed of the horses. Keeping with his job. Whatever that may be.

Mordred Outside Himself

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