SHR Main Page | Calatin's Sanctum
The old man sat cross-legged on the hilltop, his long white beard wrapped around his stick-like body, gently rubbing the tummy of the cat which lay before him. The cat's fur was green, but this did not bother the old man, for here such things were often normal. The old man knew that to strangers, apart from its colour, the cat was ordinary in all other respects. It lay on its back in ordinary cat fashion, its ordinary eyes closed and its ordinary paws kneading the air as it purred in an ordinary way. The old man was used to strangers thinking that the cat's colour was strange, though it seemed ordinary enough to him. He had seen enough of them arrive here, had watched their disbelief as they regarded the purple grass and blue trees.
As if caused by his train of thought, the air in front of the old man began to haze, and soon a man-sized oval of glowing light appeared in the air. The old man sat up a little straighter, his pale grey eyes becoming attentive as he waited to see who would come through the portal. His attention was rewarded with the sight of three figures who emerged onto the hilltop in front of him. As the light faded, he was able to make out their features. The first was a tall, well-built man with short blond hair, a neatly-trimmed moustache and dark eyes, clad in robes of dark blue and white. Beside him was a shorter, squat man in brown leather armour, his greasy black hair lank down his back and his warty skin tanned to almost the same shade of brown as his clothes. He leaned on an oaken quarter-staff and idly picked his nose, obviously waiting for someone to tell him what to do. The old man nodded slightly to himself - that one had the air of the faerie blood. Behind them stood a slim woman in a dark red robe, the hood raised to shade her eyes from the sun. Her face was a network of spiral tattoos. She was also leaning on a staff, but this one was of birch-wood, and too slim to have any purpose beyond support for walking. As he had expected, the old man saw the eyes of the two robed figures widen slightly at the landscape which lay before them, before their gazes settled on himself. The warty man stared off into the distance, engrossed in the contents of his left nostril.
The old man looked down at the cat, and realised it was eyeing him in a manner which seemed to suggest that any attempt to stop rubbing its tummy would be met with displeasure, and so he carried on stroking it as he spoke the formal words:
"Welcome, travellers, to the Land of Summer Colours. Please state your names and purpose." The robed figures glanced at one another, then the blond man spoke:
"I am Quaestor of Merinita, and I seek my sister who has been brought against her will to these lands."
"Thanatos of Criamon," said the woman. "I am accompanying my sodalis on his travels."
The warty man looked round, momentarily distracted from his nose. "Wart. I'm here to keep them out of trouble." He was already turning away again as the old man nodded.
"Before I may let you pass," he said, "You must answer this question for me. Though I draw no blood, no man may endure my bite. What am I, wise traveller?" Watching the robed figures, the old man decided that it was the woman who would answer, and allowed himself to feel slightly smug when she stepped forward and looked him straight in the eye. Her irises were a penetrating blue and her gaze, he had to admit, made him feel slightly uncomfortable, though her voice was soft when she spoke.
"The truth. No man may endure the truth about himself. Our lives are spent constructing lies around ourselves, about ourselves, to protect ourselves from the truth. Am I right?"
The old man nodded, and smiled at the apparent relief on her features. "You seek the castle of the Black Knight, who has taken your sister," he said, turning his gaze on the blond man. "Take the left path, but beware the giant which guards the wood."
All three of them looked past him, at the paths which led down the hillside. The blond man looked back down at him. "Thank you," he said, and then they were gone, down the left-hand path. The old man returned his attention to the cat, waiting until he heard them enter the wood, then he stood up and turned, ignoring his companion's mewl of protest. Once he was sure that they were out of sight, he changed form and followed.
The giant sat on a fallen tree-trunk, idly picking bits of blue bark off the log that served him as a club. He was twenty feet tall, with tousled red hair, and wore a brown woollen smock and green and white striped britches, but no shoes. When the travellers entered the clearing he raised his head from his task and looked at them with friendly, pale grey eyes.
"Hello, little ones, what are you doing here?" he asked, his slightly dopey voice booming with enthusiasm. The travellers exchanged nervous glances, and the smallest of them stepped in front of the others, his quarter-staff at the ready. The tall blond man raised his head and called up to him:
"We are travellers. We wish to pass through this wood."
"I'm sorry," the giant replied, "But I'm not allowed to let anyone past me."
"Why not?" the blond man asked.
"The Black Knight said so." The giant noticed that the woman was moving her hands strangely, and appeared to be muttering to herself, but he paid it no mind.
"Why won't the Black Knight let people through the wood?" asked the blond man.
The giant felt something brush against his mind, but ignored it. "I don't know," he said, furrowing his brow at this complicated question, "You'd have to ask him." "But how can we ask him if you won't let us through the wood?"
This was all getting too complicated for a simple giant. As he scratched his head, the blond man stepped forward and looked more intently up at him.
"Why don't you take us to the Black Knight, so we can ask him? That way you won't be letting us past you, and we'll be able to find out why he won't let people through. That way everyone will be satisfied."
The giant thought about this for a moment, and then decided it would be all right. He smiled happily. "All right, then, this way!"
He led them further along the path into the wood, whistling merrily to himself, his club resting on his shoulder. After a while he saw a break in the tree-line up ahead, and stepped aside to let them past. He noticed the warty man was looking at him curiously, and so he nodded his head towards the gap.
"That's the Black Knight's castle," he said. They stepped out of the wood into a large clearing, at the centre of which was a great square keep of black stone, surrounded by a water-filled moat. As the travellers ahead of him stared up in awe at the edifice, the giant changed form, feeling black armour settle around his body. He drew his longsword and chuckled, the sound hollow behind the mask of his helm.
Tommy shut his Ars Magica rulebook with a snap, amid groans from his players.
"Right. Same time next week, everyone?"
Text copyright © Niall Christie 2003.