The wide, sturdy deck wrapped halfway around the house. Behind it, tables and chairs overlooked the manicured garden with its walkways and raised beds. Most of the vegetables were gone for the year—only a row of kale, two rows of radishes, and a few stubborn broccoli plants remained.

  The rest of the garden was given over to ornamentals: evergreen conifers trimmed into geometric shapes, flowering shrubs, dwarf trees, and late-season perennials whose many-colored blooms were fading with the turning year.

  The back fence stood a good three acres from the deck where Kelliard paused, taking in the view.

  Behind her rose the two-story house, its walls lined with large windows. A wooden balcony circled the entire upper floor.

  The log structure sat on a stone-and-mortar foundation and held nearly two thousand square feet of interior space. Its squat, wooden-shingled roof had no sharp angles or high gables—only rounded hips and a single continuous ridgeline.

  It was typical Middleshire construction in style, but not in scale. The full second story and generous floorplan had earned the homeowner more than a few disdainful whispers from locals who assumed he meant to flaunt his wealth.

  Kelliard knew her friend was no braggart and had always attributed Cholm’s second story to wizardly eccentricity. He of course objected, not because he denied his quirkiness, but because he didn’t feel he deserved the moniker of “wizard”.

  “Miss Kel.” A tall youngster stepped through the double doors onto the balcony. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “No thanks Marin,” she smiled and said.

  Cholm could be heard somewhere inside speaking loudly and clomping about heavily. A large domestic cat darted past and into the garden; a streaking shadow.

  “Lola should be ready shortly,” Marin informed her. “They’re bringing her around front.”

  “Lovely,” said Kel.

  The youngster returned through the double doors but left them open. A different youngster darted past the open doors, then shortly after an orange tabby also streaked past.

  Inside the house sounded like chaos. Heavy footfalls, Cholm shouting, various younger voices -- at least three of the seven who lived in the house -- Kel thought, all sounding off in a cacophony of domestic interaction.

  Knowing her growing impatience would only suffer from this vantage, Kel decided to go around front and wait for Lola. She stepped off the balcony and walked around to the gate that separated the garden from the front of the home.

  Cholm tossed the last heavy, leatherbound tome into his pack. He’d lied about having the library packed already and knew his friend would be getting anxious any time now.

  “Marin!” The rotund mage called out as he stepped out of the main library and into a classroom setting.

  A dozen or so children’s desks sat in two neat rows in front of a large podium. More books covered the left wall and tables near the back were piled with scrolls and various herbs. Multi-colored gem stones and crystals of every sort imaginable filled a brass bowl on one such table, and a simple wand of holly with three tiny runes cut into it lay beside the bowl.

  Cholm scooped the wand up as he walked past. He reached the hallway just as Marin reached the open door to the classroom.

  “Find out who left this in the classroom.” Cholm handed the wand to the youngster, who nodded and took it.

  “They are to recite the axioms of wandcraft eleven times in your presence,” the mage informed his eldest pupil.

  “Yes, deosil,” Marin used his teacher’s formal title.

  “Be sure all the cats are in at night,” Cholm continued as he turned to walk in the direction of the front door.

  He carried the pack full of books over his shoulder. Another pack was strapped to his back; though full of gear it looked small on the mage’s broad back.

  “Coyotes and scrub cats are bad right now.” he told Marin. “I have a hunter coming tomorrow to cull; he is to be paid two silver per kill.”

  “Two silver?” Marin protested. “I wish you’d let Tevin and I do that job!”

  “Are you a hunter or a magician apprentice?” Cholm challenged. “Which is it? You can’t be both.”

  Marin sighed.

  The pair walked in silence until they reached the door. Two smaller children passed them, laughing and shoving one-another as they jogged along.

  “The coyotes will move on after taking such losses,” Cholm pointed out. “You know there will still be scrub cats; they move into the forest this time of year. The two of you may pick up where the hunter leaves off.”

  The youngster smiled from ear to ear.

  “Pay yourselves for each cat, then take the kills to D’voe. The Yunni fur traders will pay more than the trappers in Tolbin or Zephyr Hollow. You should get another silver per adult pelt, or a silver per two young pelts.”

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  Marin nodded, still smiling.

  “Mind you,” Cholm said in a fatherly voice. “This is not to interfere with either your chores or your studies. You have your hands full as it is keeping the others on task.”

  “I can handle it.” Marin stood up a little straighter.

  “I know,” Cholm said.

  He went on:

  “I know the fur traders in D’voe. I had better find no discrepancy in the cats they receive and the coin log.”

  “Of course deosil,” the youngster replied.

  “Very well my young student.” Cholm opened the door. “The house is yours until I return; govern wisely.”

  The mage walked onto the front porch, passed a pair of small stone figures resembling goblins then stepped down onto the walkway. The forest stood on two sides of the house; a broad avenue had long ago been cut leading away from the home and meeting the wagon trail that led to Tolbin.

  Cholm turned to face the house as he always did prior to leaving town. With a wave of his hand he spoke the incantation, “Servitors awaken, watch while I’m away. Keep the children, cats, and home safe by night and day.”

  The two goblinoid statues, each about two feet tall, shifted and appeared to roll their shoulders. A subtle smirk formed on both stone faces.

  Each time Cholm roused the servitors they responded exactly the same way. Dozens of times he had enacted the incantation to activate them and not once had their response varied.

  Until this day.

  As the mage turned to leave movement from the statue on the right caught his eye. It lowered its head and looked far off to the right, in the direction of the woods.

  Cholm watched without a word as the servitor-statue surveyed the forest a moment, then returned its gaze directly ahead. Before he could react the statue on the left did the same thing, only it looked off to its left.

  He stood and watched the statues for a moment. Their faces hard and unmoving, they stared back.

  “Have you sensed a problem?” he asked.

  “Just now,” he went on. “When you both looked off to the side like that, did you or do you sense danger?”

  The servitors shook their heads to signal no.

  Still somewhat concerned by what he saw, and knowing the magical animations were incapable of complex interactions or conversations, the magic-user accepted the response he got. He turned and walked down the stone walkway.

  To the right of the walkway a moss-covered stone tower rose fifty feet, ending with a steep roof and rickety balcony facing towards the trail a hundred or so feet ahead. The tower, now used as an observatory for watching the heavens, reminded Cholm of simpler times, before he’d built the house and taken in local youth to train as magicians.

  As he rounded the base of the tower he saw Lola, the female elhor that served as his mount on these cross-country outings. A massive animal, twelve feet at the shoulder with a neck and head the size of a horse beyond the shoulders. She didn’t have the antlers of her male counterparts but under stress she absolutely posed a charge hazard to bandits and other ruffians one might meet in the open country. Her kind were the largest variety of moose on the lowlands, second in size only to the enormous megaroos of the northern mountain ranges.

  Atop the elhor sat an immense saddle, almost comically large. Broad, thick straps held the saddle in place and cris-crossed the elhor’s breast and ribcage.

  Beneath the saddle a layered blanket of giant beads and tubes, made from ash and oak. The beaded blanket was layered so the wooden orbs, tubes, and cubes overlapped with each other. This lightweight barding offered some protection from blades and was effective at slowing or breaking arrows. The leather strapping securing the saddle added additional coverage and protection where it ran across the surface of the beads.

  Kelliard stroked the beast’s snout as she leaned forward. The twitching of her immense ears indicated she approved of the cleric’s technique.

  “That’s my good, big girl,” she spoke into the animal’s ear.

  In response Lola grunted and half-nudged Kel’s face.

  “She seems nervous,” the cleric informed Cholm.

  “I’m sure she’s antsy to get out to the Khelt,” Cholm replied. “It’s been a while and I know she prefers proper grazing to her feed.”

  “Then let’s go,” Kel said, for she too was eager to get their journey underway.

  “Right,” said Cholm.

  He walked over to the large saddlebag hanging off the elhor’s flank. He pulled the flap up and slid his book pack into place, briefly looking over the other supplies in the process.

  Rope, stakes, firewood and kindling, wooden dishes, pots, utensils, a longbow with two quivers full of arrows – an elhor could manage quite a large saddlebag – bedrolls, blankets, one of Cholm’s travelling packs with herbs, bandages, and other emergency accoutrements, even a guitar.

  He closed the flap.

  “The tent is on the other side,” Kel told him. “And the ale, a sack of garnets, a pouch of rubies – are we doing some shopping I don’t know about? Also your walking staff and some deer jerky and a few other bags.”

  “Good,” Cholm nodded. “I know you’ve been ready to go.”

  He slid the pack from his back, reached within, and brought out a small mace. A diamond-shaped, bronze head about the size of a beer mug with a notable dent on one face sat atop a three-foot shaft of polished oak. Steel bands ran the length of the handle and thicker bands were also wrapped in the middle and at the base of the head. The heft was a hardened leather mold wrapped tightly with rawhide and hemp. The mage tilted the mace slightly and presented it to the cleric.

  “Oh!” Kelliard grabbed the weapon. “I can’t believe I forgot.”

  “I didn’t.” Cholm smiled.

  “Did you?” Kel asked. “I mean, is it?”

  “It certainly is,” the mage replied. “I had plenty of time while we were off this last stretch. I performed the rite of Stogam’s Hammer and cast enchantments for strength of a giant.”

  The cleric stepped off to the side and set her feet. She swung the mace, slowly and expertly in a lateral stroke.

  “It even feels stronger, yet lighter too.” She executed a downward stroke.

  “That’s the beauty of magical weaponry,” Cholm replied. “Lighter, more accurate, and in your case delivering absolutely crushing force. You should be able to meter the force through your intention.”

  “Fabulous.” Kel said. “Thank you Cholm.”

  “Certainly.” The mage clapped his hands.

  Lola shifted down onto her right knee.

  Kel slipped her mace into its loop on her belt.

  “After you.” The mage gestured towards the elhor.

  The cleric grabbed a wooden ring and pulled herself up, placing her foot in another ring. She made quick work of the ladder of rings leading up to the saddle.

  The beads and tubes of Lola’s wooden barding clacked and clamored as Kel scaled the elhor’s flank.

  Cholm followed, his weight causing a calamitous amount of clacking. He took his seat beside Kel on the spacious saddle, which could easily have held two more people behind them. The mage tugged on the reins and clicked his tongue.

  Lola grunted and turned to her right. In no particular hurry she moved down the clearcut towards the wagon trail; even at a lazy pace her massive strides covered significant ground in short order.

  “I can still feel it,” Kel said. “Can you?”

  Cholm cleared his throat. “Actually yes. It’s a little unsettling.”

  “I guess it should be,” the cleric conceded. “I’m just so excited to be finally going after it. Ten years, Cholm, that’s how long it’s been since we decided to find the tablet. Did you know that?”

  “Of course,” the mage replied. “I knew we’d get here by virtue of your determination, supported with a bit of my own studious diligence.”

  “I just didn’t expect the table to reach out to us in our dreams,” he went on. “Nor telepathically or …somehow make its presence felt to us across great distances… over a period of days.”

  Cholm cleared his throat again.

  Kelliard wanted to tell Cholm he worried too much but couldn’t form the words. It’s who he is Kel, leave it be.

  “You don’t seem excited,” she instead pointed out. “Just saying,”

  “Oh I surely am,” Cholm assured her. “I just get a little worn down emotionally when the big moment finally gets here I suppose. Assuming we’re right about everything, I mean I believe the journal entry was real, just hope I interpreted the code properly.”

  “Of course you did!” Kelliard almost scolded him. “Those gibberish words must have been code for the numerological value of the letters, and if not coordinates what else could they have been?”

  “Perhaps a clue to change the letters?” Cholm said. “The numbers might resonate with a name that was concealed by gibberish.”

  “Yeah you mentioned that.” Kelliard sounded none too happy.

  “It is possible you know.” The mage didn’t want to crush her enthusiasm, but also did not want to lie about his thoughts.

  “I guess we’ll find out when we get to the ruins,” Kel announced.

  “That we will,” Cholm agreed.