Drake's Quest

Drake’s Quest
(a When Last We Left Our Intrepid Adventurers tale)

By
Kevin Duffield

         The fading light of the sun reflected off the blade of Drake’s sword with a crimson glare that evoked fresh waves of memories.
         Buildings burned in the eye of his mind, people screamed as they, too, burst into flames, and Drake’s pet and childhood friend –a boisterous iguana named Penelope– dying slowly in his hands. With these recollections came the stark memory of the man who was the cause of Drake’s loss and misery.
         Sylvester Halfeagle.
         Drake continued reflecting the rays of the sun at odd angles as he delved further into his musings. He had been away hunting the day Halfeagle and his undead horde ravaged and burned his town. When he returned, it was too late to do anything but watch all he loved burn to ash. He could see Halfeagle atop his horse in the distance, surveying the destruction. Drake absorbed the image of the villain and held it close to the hatred burning in his heart. In that moment, Drake vowed to devote his life to bringing Halfeagle to justice and revenge his family’s murder. He even had the blessings of the gods. A kindly priest by the name of Tuxford had informed him that Drake had been divinely chosen for the task of killing Halfeagle. Fueled by this knowledge, Drake started down the road of his epic quest.
         A loud, angry voice interrupted Drake’s thoughts and startled the warrior.
         “DO YOU THINK YOU CAN STOP SHINING THAT DAMNED LIGHT IN MY EYES?”
         Sir Arnold Stephen Scott Harper Owen Lewis Edmund the Third, simply called Sir Arnie by those who knew him, was shielding his eyes from the glare coming off of Drake’s sword. He continued chastising the warrior even after Drake apologetically sheathed his weapon.
         “By the grace of the gods! If all you’re going to do is mope all afternoon, I’ll eat your share of dinner! I didn’t cook this slop for you to let it go to waste!”
         Drake stood up from the log he had been sitting on and moved closer to the man who had been his only friend and companion for the last six months. When they first met, Drake was overjoyed to have a genuine knight as a friend. It came as a disappointment when he discovered Sir Arnie wasn’t a knight after all, despite the title and the armor he wore. He informed Drake, after a few ales at a local tavern, that he had taken a correspondence course in knighthood only to run short of money after the first three lessons. Sir Arnie figured it was close enough for his tastes and he adopted the honorary title from then on.
         Drake found the information didn’t matter to him. Sir Arnie had been a true and faithful companion throughout the entirety of Drake’s quest, so what if his title was not true? What did bother Drake, though, was how Sir Arnie was all too willing to boast about his skill and fighting prowess, yet he had never once drawn his sword during the entire time Drake had come to know him, at least not during a fight, anyway.
         Drake had questioned his friend about this after a brief encounter with a band of brigands looking to relieve Drake of his money purse. During the fight, Sir Arnie had hidden himself behind a tree and cheered Drake on against the five criminals.
         Emerging from his place of hiding after the fight, Sir Arnie looked shocked and dismayed that his friend would question his courage.
         “I, sir, am a trained master swordsman! You are not! I am simply allowing you the opportunity of facing these minor hoodlums so you might better your skills! Not to mention I… um… need to conserve my strength for the day we stand against the might and power of Halfeagle!”
         This argument made sense to Drake and he questioned his friend no more on the matter.
         Drake sat down beside Sir Arnie, who was scooping stew out of a pot set over a small cooking fire. He plopped two scoopfuls into a wooden bowl and handed it to Drake.
         “Eat up! You’ll need your strength for tomorrow’s journey into town.”
         “So we’re close then?” Drake accepted the bowl and began slurping its contents without the use of a spoon.
         “Yes. And if our informant is correct, this Schnod fellow we’re supposed to see will tell us how to find Halfeagle.”
         Drake pulled the bowl away from his lips and stared intently off into the distance. “Then, at last we can reveal ourselves to Halfeagle. At last, we will have our revenge!”
         This earned him a smack across the back of the head by Sir Arnie. “Knock it off! We don’t even know how long it will take to get to Halfeagle once we find out where he is! For all we know it might take weeks of travel.”
         Drake nodded in agreement and they ate the rest of their dinner in silence. The two of them together looked quite a sight. Drake, with his bronze-colored skin and six-foot-tall frame dwarfed his five-foot-two, pale-featured companion. Drake was clad only in a simple loincloth made of sheep skin, while the not-quite-a-knight was layered in loose-fitting, heavy armor plates and chain mail. Whenever Sir Arnie walked, he constantly had to adjust the steel plates to prevent them from falling off his wiry frame.
         Night had settled in and the only light they had to see by was from the cooking fire. Drake gathered some more of the wood they had piled up nearby and added it to the fire. He stoked the fire until it provided adequate light and warmth –the early spring air was beginning to chill uncomfortably.
         Tired from the day’s journey and groggy from a belly full of stew, Sir Arnie stretched, yawned, and then proceeded to unpack a bedroll from his belongings. “I’m turning in for the night. We have much to do come morning.”
         As the would-be-knight stretched out on the thin padding of the bedroll, he had the unnerving feeling of being stared at. Looking over at his companion, he saw Drake still sitting on the log by the fire. The muscular warrior’s chin rested on the palm of his hand and his lower lip stuck out in a pout. Rolling his eyes, Sir Arnie sat up and began rummaging around in his rucksack.
         “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he said tiredly. “I forgot!”
         From the bag Sir Arnie produced a small book. The pages were worn and well-read. The cover was faded and the spine was shredded to the point of barely holding the pages of the book together. On the cover was a cartoonish drawing of a pink baby dragon sitting next to a playful-looking puppy. The book’s title read: Debbie the Dragon Gets a Doggie.
         Drake brightened at the sight of the book and he cheerfully bounced over to his own bedroll and pulled a blanket over him up to his chin. Once settled in, he looked expectantly up at Sir Arnie and smiled.
         Sir Arnie sat down beside the prone warrior and opened the book to the first page, revealing colorful illustrations inside. He gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the light of the fire before he began to read.
         “Debbie the Dragon was very lonely. She had no friends and none of her classmates at the School for Dragons would play with her. Then, one day, Debbie’s mom brought her a puppy of her very own…”

f          f          f

         It took nearly half the next day to reach the town and locate their destination. Drake thought it was strange that, although the marketplace around them bustled with crowds of people, there seemed to be no one interested in Schnod’s Emporium of Magickal Mysteries. If it weren’t for the crooked sign on the front door that read ‘open’, Drake would have assumed the place was closed.
         Entering the shop, Drake and Sir Arnie were greeted by sights both strange and gruesome. Shelf upon shelf lined the inside walls with many others set haphazardly about the center of the room. On the shelves sat wands, charms, bracelets, rings, medallions, and a multitude of jars containing spices, minerals, and various human and animal body parts. One such set of parts was particularly unnerving as it was a set of teeth that snapped viciously at the duo as they walked by.
         One wall held a large number of swords with a large sign placed over them that read:

Introducing the newest line in the ever-famous, ever-astounding Schnod’s Swords: The Super Savvy Short Sword! It can cut through a breastplate yet stays sharp enough to slice a barmaid! Buy one TODAY!

         Drake and Sir Arnie continued on to the back of the store where the main counter was located. It was here they found the shop’s namesake, Bartleby Schnod.
         Schnod was not at all what Drake expected. The short, skinny wizard was dressed in a fuzzy pink bathrobe and was wearing a conical paper hat with crudely-drawn stars and moons spotted all over it.
         The two companions could only stare in wonder at the man before them. Schnod was furiously hopping up and down on one foot while gnawing at the toenail of the big toe of his other foot. During the show, the robe flapped open to reveal he also wore a set of white boxers with yellow and blue ducks printed on them.
         Before either Drake or Sir Arnie could get the wizard’s attention, the toenail Schnod was working on came free. This happened with such force it sent the old mage tumbling backward to the floor. Bouncing up from where he landed, Schnod thrust the clipping at the new arrivals to his shop.
         “Aha!” he cried victoriously. “Do you know what this is?”
         Drake and Sir Arnie looked at each other, not certain which of them should reply. Sir Arnie finally looked at the crazy old man and said, “A toenail?”
         “That’s right!” Schnod danced around in a circle, holding the toenail high overhead. “Do you know what this means?”
         The two warriors were again at a loss, neither of them really sure they wanted to know the answer. Drake felt obligated to respond, since his friend had already set things in motion.
         “I have no idea.”
         “Neither do I,” Schnod said with an air of mystery. “But there has to be more use to it than just a makeshift toothpick!”
         Sir Arnie grimaced. “I could have gone the rest of my life without hearing that.”
         Bartleby Schnod popped the toenail into his mouth and began to chew. He then slapped his hands down on the counter and beamed at the men before him. “So, how can I help you gentle-lords this fine day?”
         Drake boldly stuck out his chest and placed his hands on his hips in a heroic pose. He let his voice take on a deep baritone as he spoke.
         “I… am on a quest! I am looking for a man! I am told you are the one who can help me find the—“
         “Say no more,” Schnod proclaimed, thrusting his finger into the air. “I have just the thing you need!”
         Diving out of sight behind the counter, the old wizard could be heard rummaging around. When he reappeared, he held in his arms a book so big it threatened to collapse the counter as he slapped it down. He immediately opened the cover and began muttering aloud as he flipped through the pages          
         “Let’s see… Love Potions… Love Charms… How to Get That Special Man to Notice You…”
         It took Drake a moment to realize what was going on. When he did, the warrior quickly put his hands over the pages to get Schnod’s attention. “No! No! That’s not what I mean!”
         “Oh! Then it’s a one-night-stand sort of thing, is it?” The barmy mage flipped ahead several pages, only to be stopped again by Drake.
         “No! I’m not looking for a man for that reason!”
         Schnod motioned for Drake to move in closer. Schnod then pointed over at Sir Arnie and whispered loudly. “Is it for him, then?”
         “NO!” The two warriors declared in unison.
         Already exasperated by the insane wizard’s antics, Drake tried another approach. “I’m on a quest to find and kill Sylvester Halfeagle! He murdered my family and burned my village! I was told you could help me locate him.”
         Schnod blinked rapidly in thought for a moment before looking at the bronze-skinned warrior questioningly. “What exactly is a slimfaster hamsmeagol?”
         “No, it’s Sylvester Halfeagle. That’s the name of the man I am destined to kill!”
         Schnod still held a firm grip on his confusion. “Silph-pester Hat-wiggle?”
         Nearly at the end of his patience, Drake began pounding his head against the counter top.
         “No! His name is Syl-vest-er Half-ea-gle!” Drake emphasized each syllable with a bounce of his head off the counter. He was beginning to wonder if this was some cruel trick of the gods. Could he have come so far only to have his destiny thwarted my some crackpot wizard?
         A light seemed to go on behind Schnod’s eyes and he snapped his fingers in triumph. “Oh, Sylvester Halfeagle! Why in Sarvon’s name didn’t you say so to begin with?”
         Drake felt a sudden need to wrap his fingers around the old mage’s throat.
         “In fact,” Schnod continued, “he has a summer home here in town.”
         His irritation at the absurd wizard evaporated and Drake’s heart wound up with excitement. Hearing that Halfeagle was in town was good news beyond his wildest hopes.
“Where? Where in town? Where is he?”
“Hold on! Hold on!” Schnod raised both of his hands in a calming gesture. “Let me think a moment, please.”
Drake waited with a growing sense of anxiety at each passing moment. The old mage tapped his finger against his temple as he spit out the toenail and began chewing his lower lip in thought.
         “I have no idea.” Schnod finally declared.
         Drake roared in frustration and slammed his fists on the counter. Sir Arnie simply shook his head in wonder. “Some great and powerful wizard you turned out to be.”
         Schnod glared at the man and huffed indignantly. “I, my dear knight, am Magemaster Bartleby Schnod! If you would show a little patience, you would discover that, while I may not know the location of the person in question, I can use my mystical powers to divine his location!”
         Chuckling at the idea of the wizard even having the talent to divine his way out of a potato sack, Sir Arnie crossed his arms and huffed back. “Yes, I’m sure you can.”
         Not wanting to lose what he considered the only way to find Halfeagle, Drake silenced his friend with a stern glance before focusing again on Schnod.
         “Please! You must help me! If there is any way you can learn the location of my foe, I would be forever in your debt!”
         Schnod mimicked the would-be-knight by crossing his own arms. He then stuck his crooked nose in the air. “Only if he apologizes!”
         Drake looked pleadingly at Sir Arnie, who looked as though an apology were the last thing he wanted to give the crazy old coot. Sir Arnie knew what the quest for Halfeagle meant to his friend, so he grudgingly complied.
         “I am truly sorry, oh great and powerful Schnod, the magnificent! Can you ever find it in your heart to—“
         Before Sir Arnie could finish, Schnod was off and away to the far end of the store near the front entrance. He began rummaging through a pile of boxes, tossing the contents of each over his shoulders, heedless of the fragility of some of the items as he searched. Many objects shattered loudly on impact with the floor. Upon digging through the fourth and final box, Schnod released a squeal of joy and held up the result of his search high overhead.
         “AHA!”
         It was a small, black globe, roughly the size of a grapefruit. From where he stood, Drake could see a small, circular impression on the object.
         “What is that?” Drake asked.
         Schnod looked slyly at his two patrons, wiggling his fingers in the air over the globe as he spoke. “This, my young friend, is one of my greatest inventions! I call it ‘Schnod’s Super Scrying Sphere’! This will divine for me the precise location of the man you seek!”
         Sir Arnie looked skeptical. “Exactly how does it work/”
         Schnod’s sly expression turned sagely. “Observe, my friends. Observe and be… AMAZED!”
         Schnod’s voice rose to a deafening shout as he threw his arms wide into the air like a stage magician at the end of a really good trick. The old wizard had apparently forgotten the orb in his hand, as it went flying into the air at the same moment as Schnod’s hands.
         Drake and Sir Arnie waited as Schnod spent the next several minutes trying to figure out where his enchanted globe had landed. Once he recovered the globe, the addled old mage looked at the two warriors as though nothing was amiss and he grinned broadly.
         “So! Let’s begin, shall we?”
         Schnod closed his eyes and began to hum loudly, making a strange, high-pitched gurgling noise every few seconds in between. He waved his hand mysteriously over the globe that was clutched tightly in the palm of his other hand. After a few minutes of this odd meditation, Schnod’s eyes snapped open and he spoke as he began vigorously shaking the black orb.
         “Is the man you seek on Market Street?”
         Flipping the orb around so he could see the circular impression, Schnod looked down and read aloud what he saw.
         “No.”
         Schnod again shook the orb and spoke. “Is the man you seek on Seventh Street?”
         He quickly turned the orb around again and read the words that appeared on the impression.
         “Definitely not.”
         Schnod continued shaking the black globe, asking question after question, receiving a negative response each time.
         Realizing he might be waiting for a long while, Drake found a comfortable spot on the counter to sit and wait for Schnod’s mysterious globe to work its magick.

f          f          f

         Drake ran through the streets like a man possessed. Sir Arnie was close on his heels, but only barely. The self-proclaimed knight was having trouble keeping his armor in one place as he ran. As difficult as it was to run in the armor, the clank and rattle of the metal plates at least served to warn the locals to move aside as the duo charged toward their destination.
         It had taken the mad old mage and his worthless orb nearly an hour to learn absolutely nothing. Upon reaching the conclusion his invention would yield no results, Schnod tossed the globe aside and began scanning a shelf lined with books and scrolls. Having located the tome he was looking for, Schnod triumphantly pulled the book from its resting place and slapped it down on the counter.
         “What is this?” Drake asked, pointing at the book. “Is there some spell or charm in there to help us find Halfeagle?”
         “Nope!” the crazy sorcerer declared. “This… is the local directory!”
         Schnod flipped through the book and quickly scanned each page before pointing his finger at one neatly printed line on the page.
         “Ah, here it is! 714 Market Street! See? I told you I could—“
         Drake was out the door and halfway down the street before Schnod could finish.
         Drake and Sir Arnie rounded one last corner before coming to a halt in front of a large stone manor. The huge granite building sat on the corner of Market and Twelfth, not more than three blocks away from Schnod’s Emporium of Magickal Mysteries. The three-story building was surrounded by a spiked iron fence and they could see patrols of guards walking the perimeter. After waiting for a few minutes to get a head count, Sir Arnie nervously informed Drake there were thirty guards in all.
         “Good!” Drake grinned childishly. “They will give us plenty of practice before we take Halfeagle’s head!”
         Sir Arnie looked at his friend as though he had just leaped out of a box while wearing a dress and sporting pig-tails. “Are you insane? The two of us against thirty guards?”
         “Fear not, my noble friend!” Drake wrapped his arm around the faux knight’s shoulder. “We have justice and the forces of good at our side!”
         It was the hokiest thing Sir Arnie had ever heard come out of his companion’s mouth. The only force Sir Arnie wanted at his side at the moment was about a hundred men at arms.
         Drake swiftly drew his sword and raised it high into the air. “Come, Sir Arnie, our destiny is at hand!” He then turned to the manor and raised his voice for all to hear. “HALFEAGLE! I AM COMING FOR YOU!”
         Grabbing Sir Arnie by the arm, Drake charged at the front gate and the now alert guardsmen. The guards, despite their superior numbers, never stood a chance against the vengeful fury of the bronze-skinned warrior.
         Sunlight reflected in a blaze off the blade of Drake’s sword as it spun, slashed, and stabbed. The speed and fury of Drake’s assault as overwhelming and the guards fell easily before him. The dead piled up as Drake cut a swath through the men before him as easily as one could walk across a room. So great was the devastation, many of the guardsmen threw down their weapons and fled.
         Within minutes, Drake had whittled the thirty guardsmen down to a single, solitary man. The guard stood before Drake, calmly holding his sword at his side, and blocking the main entrance to the manor. His eyes dared the loin clothed warrior to come at him.
         “Let me pass or join your companions in death!” Drake shouted boldly.
         “Um…” The guard brought a single gauntleted finger up to his chin in thought. “Let me think about that one a minute… um…”
         Drake waited several long moments as the guard continued to debate Drake’s ultimatum. Impatient and eager to get to Halfeagle, the warrior began tapping his foot.
         “Well?”
         “Hold on! Hold on!” The guard waved dismissively at Drake. “I was expecting you to charge at me, but you had to go and throw a pop quiz at me. Quite a doozy, too, if you ask me. Rather rude as well. I’d have preferred it if you would have charged at me, to be honest.”
         Drake’s impatience was nearing its breaking point. “Look, could you just let me through so I can do what I came here for? You can tell me your answer later.”
         “What?” The guard looked up at Drake, distracted from his thoughts. “Oh! Certainly! Go right on in! This may take me a bit to figure out.”
         The guard waved off-handedly toward the door and promptly returned his thoughts to solving his dilemma.
         “Let’s see…let pass… or join comrades in death…”
         Ignoring the guard, Drake pushed the large wooden door wide open and stormed in, sword at the ready and calling to Sir Arnie over his shoulder.
         “Come, my friend! Our quest is nearly at its end!”
         Sir Arnie, who had valiantly hidden himself under one of the dead guards until the fight was over, peeked out to see if all was clear. Once satisfied that he was not in any immediate danger, he stood and courageously strode after his comrade.
         “I am here, Drake! Lead on! Our glory awaits!”
         Sir Arnie had had enough. The moment Drake was out of sight, the counterfeit knight turned and swiftly walked away in the opposite direction as his companion. His keen eyes quickly located a man driving a cart, to whom Sir Arnie paid twenty shil to get him out of town as fast as possible.
         Drake, oblivious to his sudden abandonment, stormed down the hallway until he found his way blocked by a small set of wooden doors. The warrior could hear animated voices coming from the other side as well as what sounded like laughter and singing. The sound of it all enraged Drake. His family, his town, all he loved lay in ash and ruin and the man responsible was having a party!
         Infuriated, Drake lifted his foot and kicked the doors with such force they nearly snapped off their hinges. Diving inside, the warrior rolled across the floor, bounced to his feet, and unleashed his terrible vengeance.
         As with the guards outside, there was no mercy or quarter given. Drake twirled and spun, letting his blade cut and dismember those who opposed him with a blinding speed. A head separated from its neck, an arm fell away from its shoulder, a torso succumbed to razor-sharp steel. The screams of Halfeagle’s dying minions filled Drake’s ears and fuelled his bloodlust.
         It was all over in a few short minutes. The dead lay in scattered, dismembered heaps all around him.  Only one man stood alive; the man Drake had spent every waking moment hunting. Drake looked at the man before him with a burning hatred and vengeance in his heart.
         It was then, and only then, that Drake realized the man before him was not Halfeagle at all.
         The man was a full head shorter than Drake’s intended target and slightly chubbier around the middle as well. Dressed in expensive clothes and holding a fancy goblet filled with wine, the man stared at Drake with an expression of deep shock.
         “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”
         Drake looked around at the carnage he had created. The bodies around him were not those of armed and armored guards and minions, but the corpses of men and women dressed in the same expensive style as the man standing before Drake. All around Drake were bright and colorful streamers and balloons. A large banner had been strung from one end of the room to the other reading: Happy Birthday Sarah! The terrible reality of Drake’s mistake sank deep into his heart.
         “What the bloody hell are you doing?” the man again demanded. “Who do you think you are, storming in here like this?”
         Drake suddenly felt like a rabbit trapped in a snare. A sense of panic raced through his blood and he looked to find help from Sir Arnie only to discover his friend was gone. Looking toward the door, his only way out of the room, and considered making a run for it.
         “Look at me when I’m speaking to you!” the man commanded. “I demand to know what is going on here! Who are you?”
         Drake turned back to the well-dressed man, but kept his eyes to the floor. He now held his sword behind him as though keeping the weapon out of sight would hide what he had done.
         “Drake, sir. My name is Drake.”
         “Well, Drake, I insist that you tell me why it is you have barged in here and chopped my wife and her guests into bits on her BIRTHDAY, no less!”
         The splinter of Drake’s guilt slid a little deeper into his heart. The desire to run was stronger than ever, but he held his place and answered.
         “I’m… I’m sorry,” Drake muttered. “I made a mistake. I was—“
         “What?” the man yelled. “Speak up, man!”
         “I’m sorry!” Drake said, louder. “I was told a man by the name of Sylvester Halfeagle lived here. I have sworn to kill him for the deaths of my family and the butchering of my town! I was told he was here!”
         The man in the expensive clothes looked dumfounded. Drake braced himself for another tongue-lashing, but was stunned when the man instead began to laugh. It was a deep, hearty laugh, full of amusement and mirth. This behavior worried Drake more than the man’s anger. He was afraid the man’s mind had snapped.
         The well-dressed man reached out and slapped Drake playfully on the arm. Drake flinched, thinking at first the man was attacking him.
         “Oh, I see what happened now!” the man laughed again. “You, my loin clothed friend, have got the wrong house!”
         “This isn’t 714 Market Street?” Drake asked.
         “Yes, actually, it is,” the man said with a broad smile. “But my name is Sylphanus Huffpiggle! If you’re looking for Sylvester Halfeagle, he lives at the keep just north of the town. It’s about an hour’s walk from here.”
         Drake eyed the smiling Sylphanus Huffpiggle suspiciously. “You don’t seem very angry about what just happened.”
         Sylphanus waved his hand dismissively at the warrior. “Oh, pish-posh! These sorts of things happen! Besides, I was planning on getting a new wife next month, anyway.”
         As Sylphanus did not seem very upset, Drake allowed himself to relax a little. “So Halfeagle lives in the castle north of the town, you said?”
         “Yep!” Sylphanus said brightly. “He should be there until the end of the week.”
         “Thank you!” Drake bowed gratefully. “I will now go and complete my quest, sir. Please accept my apologies for my mistake.”
         “No, please! It’s quite alright, really! Mistakes happen!” Sylphanus looked down at Drake’s sword, which was now held at the warrior’s side. “Say, is that an enchanted sword you’re using?”
         “No,” Drake replied, “why do you ask?”
         “Well, if you’re planning to kill Halfeagle, you’re going to need the sword of prophecy. You know, the only sword in existence that can kill him?”
         Drake was slightly confused at this. He had never heard of such a prophecy. For that matter, if the priest, Tuxford, had any knowledge about it, he failed to pass the information on to Drake.
         “I have never heard of the prophecy. What sword is it?”
         Sylphanus held his hands far apart. “Oh, it’s a double-edged sword about yeah long. Very powerful, from what the legends say.”
         “Do you know where it is I might find this weapon?”
         “Actually,” Sylphanus beamed, “I have no clue at all. But there is a man in the market square who might know. I can’t recall his name, but if you ask around, I’m sure someone can help point you in the right direction.”
         “Thank you! Thank you very much!”
         “Not a problem at all, my dear sir!” Sylphanus began leading Drake out of the room by the arm. “Well, you really should be going now. It certainly was a pleasure to meet you. I wish you the best of luck on your quest!”
         “Thank you again! It was a pleasure to meet you, too, sir!” Drake let himself be led out of the room and he then promptly headed for the main door. His heart was racing again. His destiny had not been thwarted! Once he found the enchanted sword of the prophecy, Halfeagle’s reign of terror would finally come to an end.
         His mind racing with visions of heroic glory, Drake walked back out into the street and turned toward the market square to find his sword and his destiny.
         Sylphanus, after making certain the warrior was gone, calmly walked over the bodies of the dead to a nearby table. Set upon the ancient, carved surface was a stack of parchment, a quill with ink, and a pigeon in a cage. Taking the quill, Sylphanus wrote a note on a piece of the parchment.

         A man by the name of Drake is hunting you. He should be arriving within the next few days.
                                       Your loyal servant,
                                                 Sylphanus
         
Tying the note to the pigeon’s leg, Sylphanus then placed the bird into a box stored under the table. He sealed the box and called out for one of his servants.
“Have this delivered to Halfeagle at once,” Sylphanus commanded after his servant arrived.
         “As you wish, sire!” the servant replied before leaving with the box to attend his duty.
         Whistling cheerfully, Sylphanus walked out of the room and headed to his chambers to change clothes before going into town. He had decided to spend the remainder of his day at the market, shopping for a new wife.

f          f          f

         Simon barely noticed Drake as the warrior walked out of the manor. The quandary he was striving to solve occupied the majority of his attention. The options bounced around in his brain to the extent a lesser man would have given up or gone insane. But Simon was no lesser man; he was the Captain of the House Guard and nothing was beyond the grasp of his mental prowess!
         “Let pass… or join my comrades in death,” he muttered for the fiftieth time.
         Drake was long out of sight and on his way to the fulfillment of his destiny by the time the answer settled into Simon’s mind.
         “That’s it! I have it!” the guard announced victoriously. “I choose…”



End