When Baruk opened his eyes in the morning, the first thing he noticed was the rich smell of food. Jalanthar had somehow managed to prepare an incredibly varied breakfast, though Baruk never saw a sack full of delicacies. He turned to the elf: "How did you do that?" pointing at the baked apples flavoured with cinnamon, a green salad-like dish and a roasted goose. A bottle of dark glass also stood there. Jalanthar smiled and wiggled his fingers. "Magic!" he whispered. Baruk sighed. Few were the times when he could talk to the elf without getting silly jokes and puns in return.

The two Rotunnian warriors woke up and yawned. The burly Unqar scratched his beard and grinned widely. "A chief's feast again, eh, Jalanthar?" The elf smiled slightly. "To celebrate the inclusion of little Baruk to our modest party." Galahd snorted. "Oh please, Jalanthar! You always find a reason for a feast! I bet you would not even touch a simple loaf of bread, even if there is nothing else to eat!" Jalanthar frowned. "I find no need to be discontent with feasts, do you? If we are able to eat food of the highest quality, why not do it?" "Right!" roared Unqar, ripped off one of the goose's legs and started chewing it. Baruk shook his head. Humans had absolutely no manners. Even elves had some, although they could not be compared to dwarves. Well, he was going to show them how to behave. He combed his hair with a small iron comb he always kept in his pocket, carefully picking out anything not supposed to be there. He then combed his beard, devoting even more attention to it. Jalanthar was quiet at first, but found it increasingly difficult to keep himself from laughing and was soon snickering. Baruk frowned and looked at the elf. "Is something wrong?" he asked evenly. Jalanthar had to cough repeatedly before he could answer. "Your face, it is just incredible! You comb yourself with as much delicacy as if you were cutting gems!" Baruk rolled his eyes. The elf was impossible. Unqar chuckled. "You take care of your beard as if it was a woman!" Baruk sighed. "Unlike you, I take care of my appearance!" he snapped back, sending Unqar and Galahd into fits of laughter. Jalanthar merely shook his head with amusement. Baruk decided to drop the subject and started eating. Soon the others settled down as well and the feast continued more soberly.

After finishing the feast, Baruk turned to Jalanthar: "By the way, what are you doing here? I though elves only lived in woods and rarely travelled." Jalanthar sipped his wine thoughtfully. "I am a… scholar. My story is long, so I do not think you would like to hear it." "Strip your story of fancy lies and I want to hear it," Baruk replied. Jalanthar smiled. "Very well." He assumed a more comfortable position and took out the slender pipe from the folds of his emerald-green robe. After filling it with sweet-smelling herbs, lighting it and puffing on it for a few times, the elf took a deep breath and started: "I am older than I look, I have seen approximately two hundred springs. I was born in the forest domain of Mahul Maakh, the exact location is irrelevant. The day when I was born was cloudy and it threatened to rain. But just as I came to this world, the sun pushed the clouds away and filled the forest with light. A sunbeam struck my head and the elders said: "This boy has been blessed by the Powers". They took me from my parents, with their consent, of course, and raised me as a chosen one. I was taught things that other children were not: when they were playing hide-and-seek in the forest, I was taught astrology; when they were told stories of times long past, I was taught the mystical lore; when they were practicing sword and bow, I was practicing the Art; when they were learning to identify plants, I was taught to make potions and ointments. I was always the different one, always above them, always the little adult. My teachers were elves so ancient that they remembered the War. They showed me how to cloud the minds of my enemies, how to cure an illness deemed incurable, how to travel into worlds beyond our understanding, how to strike down castles and fill lakes with the flick of my finger. And why to use it as rarely as possible. I became a sorceror and a fine one at that. My teachers were pleased with my progress and after a hundred years of training told me: "Jalanthar, go out and see the world! We have taught you everything you need to know, now you must teach yourself." And so I left Mahul Maakh. I travelled for many, many years and became known as the Wanderer. I walked upon the scorching sand of the Sand Ocean; sneaked around the foreboding Anahul Maakh, home of the dark elves; climbed the Barren Mountains; sat on the shore of Syll, the pirate island; smoked the pipeweed of the hobbits of Ryth River and dodged the monsters in South Wood. To mention the few places I have visited. I gained knowledge of past, present and future, walked in musty crypts and bustling cities, flew in the sky, swam in the seas and crawled in the earth. During my travels, I met many friends, but sadly most of them fell in the encounters that we stumbled upon. Only Unqar and Galahd remain. I met them in South Wood where they were trying to eke out a living with their small clan. When a gnoll tribe killed most of their people, these two decided to join me. That was five years ago. Since then we have travelled in many places, but as you can see, we are back near South Wood. There, that was my story. Naturally, many details were left out, but there is no pressing need for these at the present moment." He fell silent.

Baruk nodded. "I see. I have many questions now." Jalanthar spread his hands out wide. "By all means, ask!" "You said you know how to cure illnesses and all that?" Baruk asked. "Yes, but like I mentioned, I was also shown why not to do that too often." Baruk raised his eyebrows. "Why then?" Jalanthar looked at him as if he was a little baby. "I would not want to upset the powers. There is balance in this world and it is not my business to tip the scales in one favor or another. I can cure a person, perhaps a village, but a city is too much. Those Powers who expect visitors to their realms of death would be most displeased with my actions." Baruk thought about that for a moment. "Very well. Now, you said you know much. Who was the shapechanger who attacked me?" Jalanthar was visibly trying to find the best words. "He was a demon, though a minor one." Baruk felt as if ice coursed in his veins. "Demon?" he asked with a trembling voice and even Unqar and Galahd seemed stunned. "The shapechanger was from the family of demons," Jalanthar explained patiently. "Some demons are small, with tiny horns and wings, some are huge with arms that can lift a mountain. Some are shapechangers who attempt to lure their victims into an insecure position by posing as someone like the victim - in your case, a fellow dwarf. They then try to kill the victim and eat him, destroying his soul forever. All of them are demons, short and simple." Baruk shuddered. "They can be anywhere?" Jalanthar smiled in a strange way and a bizarre light shone in his emerald green eyes. "Anyone can be a demon - me, Unqar, Galahd." Then the light went out and he continued. "But do not let that scare you, for demons always reveal themselves sooner or later. They cannot stand the presence of mortals for too long and tend to make foolish mistakes. But tell us of yourself now, Baruk." The dwarf nodded slowly. "Very well," he said.

"As I said, my name is Baruk Azul. "Azul" means iron in our language." Jalanthar nodded. "Yes, that I am aware of." Baruk continued: "I was born twenty-eight years ago in High Helm, my parents being Dalur Azul, son of Yhtrgim Azul, son of Bofur Bolg, and Tanta Azul, daughter of Filur Azul, son of Grondar Azul. The Azul clan is well-known in High Helm, being a clan of blacksmiths, a most noble profession. My forefathers were blacksmiths, my father is a blacksmith, my brothers are blacksmiths and my children will be blacksmiths. Our clan has practiced our trade for over four hundred years and the quality of our work is known well beyond High Helm. The clan was founded by Bofur Bolg, a mighty dwarven warrior, who decided to retire to become a blacksmith. His sturdy wife Helga Bolg gave birth to many children and so the Azul clan history began." Baruk paused and Jalanthar remarked: "I am sure there is much to tell about the Azul clan, but do tell us about yourself." Baruk frowned and decided to skip the interesting part about the clan history. "I apprenticed under my father since I was 10 years old. On my 25^th birthday, I was given a lump of iron as a gift and test. I had to forge something out of it, to show my dedication and skill. It took me a year to craft this," and he proudly showed his beautiful axe to the others. "The elders of the clan decided that I was proficient enough to pass the test. They then gave me the second test - a journey to Bak that would be filled with danger and new experiences. If I survive, I will study under my uncle and return after a few years to receive the third test." Galahd asked curiously: "What will the third test be?" "I do not know," Baruk answered truthfully. Jalanthar turned to Galahd: "He has no way of knowing that. It is a dwarven custom to give every young dwarf different tests." "Oh."

Baruk took a swig of his grizdal and saw that Unqar and Galahd were staring intently at the beerskin. He chuckled and gave the beerskin to Unqar. "Try it, it's very special ale from my father!" Unqar grinned and took a healthy swig. A second later his face turned into a grimace of shock and he started waving his arms in the air. The others were watching him with interest, as Unqar grabbed the bottle of wine that still had a little left and downed the wine. Then he stuffed his mouth full of salad and apples and swallowed all of it down. Then he sighed contendedly and his round face beamed again. Baruk was surprised. "Was anything wrong?" Unqar burst out laughing. "Your ale is stronger than the foul-smelling water that our shaman drunk! I think you tried to kill me!" Baruk huffed. "If our ale is too strong for you, then our beer will probably scorch meat from your bones! I cannot believe it. What kind of ale do you drink then?" Galahd shook his head. "I have always heard that dwarven ale is strong enough to melt swords. Our ale is just for drinking." Jalanthar coughed to get attention. "If you complete this fascinating discussion on beer-drinking, perhaps Baruk can go on with telling his story?" Baruk shrugged. "I doubt I have anything else to say. My days were filled with work, dwarven tales and songs. Not much to tell the other folk." "Oh, alright," said Jalanthar. "Then perhaps we might start out after clearing the campsite?" The others agreed and so they doused the fire and restored the piece of meadow to its former beauty. They then took their belongings and headed back to the road that would eventually lead to Bak.

They walked for a whole day before they saw other travellers - a caravan, obviously heading to High Helm. A lonely figure sat in each wagon, the rest of the space there was taken up by crates and barrels. Six heavily-armed riders escorted the caravan. There were ten wagons altogether, though only eight were for cargo. Two wagons were covered and it was not possible to see what or who was inside there, but the large symbol on the cloth was familiar to Baruk. "See that symbol of sword behind a pouch of gold? That's the symbol of Haren Nightsbane, a well-respected merchant from Bak. We may stop him and buy mead and food from him, if there is need." Jalanthar shook his head. "I do not think we have that necessity." The party let the caravan pass by politely stepping off the road and keeping their weapons visible. "Why bring food and drink to the dwarves? I thought you lot kept mountain goats and sheep and fished in the mountain lakes?" asked Galahd. Baruk laughed. "We do keep goats and sheep, fish in underground lakes and hunt in the mountains, but there are more than eighty thousand citizens in High Helm." Galahd frowned. "Is that much?" "More than grains in a pile of sand," replied Baruk and the humans gasped. "So many dwarves, so many warriors. So many dwarven warriors! Noone can take that city!" Unqar shouted. Baruk nodded and marched on, the others following him. Minutes of silence passed and Baruk grew bored. He turned to Galahd. "You sing well, Galahd. Almost as well as Bjarni Steelthroat, who can calm dragons with his chants!" Galahd gave a slight bow. "If you wish, I will sing you the tale of me and Unqar," he said and Baruk nodded eagerly. "Very well," said Galahd and cleared his throat. He then started singing with his deep and hypnotic voice.

He fell silent and Baruk bowed to him. "You are one fine skald, Galahd!" he insisted. Jalanthar shrugged his shoulders. "A very captivating and moving ballad, to be sure, but the choice of words was quite questionable at places." "What?" said Galahd, his brow furrowed with puzzlement. "Nothing. Let us move on." They walked in silence again.

Hours passed, mostly filled with small talk, and soon it was evening again. Jalanthar claimed that they were getting closer to a village or, rather, a caravan stop. His promises of warm beds, service and wine added new energy to the tired legs and they continued the brisk march until the lights of the village became visible. After half an hour the party stood at the open gates of Tireas Crossing - a surprisingly large place filled with caravans, drunken soldiers and the din of the large crowd. There were only a handful of buildings, but a staggering number of wagons and tents. Laughter and drunken babbling echoed in the night air as the caravan escort soldiers were having a good time. Two bored-looking guards stood at the gate, one wearing chain mail armor, the other only a thick leather jerkin. Jalanthar turned to Baruk and shouted so that the dwarf could hear him over all the noise. "Let us go inside and straight to the inn!" Baruk nodded and pointed at the three-story stone building that looked extremely shoddy. "That one?" Jalanthar checked out the house Baruk was pointing at and shouted: "Yes! "The Shielding Hand" inn, the only one in this place!" Baruk sighed and followed the elf inside.

Tireas Crossing was the size of a large village, surrounded by a low wooden fence, but the true village was made up of only seven buildings that clustered around the crossroads where the road between Bak and Zirmandia met the road coming from High Helm. The two roads that formed a T, were clearly the center of attention. The handful of buildings were built by them, respectfully leaving space for any travellers to pass. The tents and wagons were set up away from the road so that any rider in a hurry could storm through Tireas Crossing without having to slow down. This was a resting place for a wayfarer and everyone who lived in Tireas Crossing expected guests. Of the seven houses, only two were of stone. One was obviously the inn - a three-story building where a wooden sign, depicting a big hand protecting a wagon, hung over the door. The other might have been a smithery, though from a distance Baruk was not sure. In any case he though had heard hammering from inside the building. The rest of the houses were wooden, of sturdy wooden planks, with decent thatched roofs. It was also obvious that the folks living here were well-off thanks to the huge number of visitors who were usually generous. The houses looked well-built for humans and the inn's walls were decorated with stone carvings which seemed to depict scenes of joyful life. Baruk, a well-mannered lad, was almost shocked by the filthy approach that the artist had used in depicting drinking and relationships between men and women. Even Jalanthar curved his lips in disgust as he walked towards the inn.

Behind the buildings, numerous small and larger tents were set up, beside them wagons and more wagons. Coats-of-arms and merchant symbols adorned the wagons and the tunics of the men-at-arms who wandered around looking for a drink or a girl. The whole village was full of noise and Baruk wondered how anyone could get any sleep here. They had to dodge several drunk soldiers on the way to the inn and each time another one almost collided into them, Jalanthar mumbled something to himself, clearly upset at the beastly display. But when they finally stepped inside the large inn, things got worse. Here, the noise was even louder, the men even more drunk and the barmaids did not seem to mind if a soldier grabbed their bottoms or even breasts. Unqar started grinning upon seeing this orgy and Galahd's eyes were sparkling with excitement when he saw some soldiers playing dice. Jalanthar grabbed the man's shoulder and turned Galahd toward himself. "Galahd, do you remember what happened last time?" he asked in an irritated voice. Galahd grinned. "I had a lot of luck and some people just can't accept it!" Jalanthar's face was hewn out of stone. "I do not fancy running into the night, being chased by a group of drunken soldiers, Galahd." Galahd shrugged his shoulders apologetically. "'Twas not my fault, Jalanthar. They were sore losers!" Jalanthar took a deep breath. "In any case, I will not help you again, if you decide to test your luck," he said dryly. "Alright!" said Galahd and seemed to forget the conversation. He turned around and walked to the gamblers. After some suspicious stares and a few sentences he was offered a seat and Galahd threw a victorious grin at the elf. Jalanthar sighed softly and pointed at a table, where a soldier had passed out with drink. "We shall have Tireas throw him out and sit down," he said and walked to the innkeeper. The man behind the counter looked a much more respectable man than his customers. Although clean-shaven, he carried himself with the dignity of a dwarf. He was a tall man, with wide shoulders and his rough-cut face was framed by long black hair with streaks of gray in it. His calm impression was somewhat ruined by his black eyes which betrayed the contempt he held for the drunken lot. Upon seeing Jalanthar, his face lit up and he eagerly engaged in a conversation with the elf. After nodding at something Jalanthar had said, the innkeeper marched to the table where the soldier sat, or rather lied, and grabbed the man firmly by his shirt. Accompanied by shouts and laughter, he threw the man out of the door, came back and cleared the table of mugs and filth. Jalanthar returned to Baruk and Unqar and waved towards the table. "Shall we?" he asked and they took their seats. In a moment, the innkeeper stood by their table, bowed to all of them and asked: "Welcome to "The Shielding Hand"! I am Deven Tireas, the innkeeper. Well, my good men, what can I get you?" Unqar burst out: "Beer! Lots of it! And something to eat!" Tireas smiled and bowed again. "Of course, good sir! But how much beer would you like and what would you like to eat? I would recommend our roast lamb, it's most delicious!" Unqar grunted with satisfaction. "Lamb is good! And bring me three mugs of your darkest beer!" Tireas bowed for the third time and turned to Baruk. "And for you, most honorable dwarf?" Baruk felt a surge of joy. At last, a human with manners! "Some lamb for me, as well. And if you have any dwarven ale, I would be delighted." Tireas made an apologetic face and replied: "I am afraid we haven't had any dwarven ale for a long time, good sir. Might I bring you some of our strongest beer?" Baruk nodded and Tireas bowed to him. Then he turned to Jalanthar. "Now, my old friend, same as always?" Jalanthar smiled and Tireas bowed to him as well. Then he left for the kitchen. Baruk looked around, seeing only drunk humans behaving like animals. Coarse insults and laughter flew in the air, beer was spilt on the table and on each other. A barmaid was sitting in the lap of a burly man in chain mail and the man was sticking his hand under her shirt. Baruk turned away with disgust. He also saw Galahd playing with the gamblers and by the look on the bard's face, he was not doing too well. Supressing a smile, Baruk turned his attention to Jalanthar. "Tell me, Jalanthar, what is this place? I know nothing of it." The elf held a hand up, as if to stop Baruk from saying anything else and replied: "I shall start talking when I have had a chance to taste some of Tireas' wine." Baruk fell silent and they all waited until Tireas came with a tray full of mugs and a goblet. He put three mugs in front of Unqar who growled with delight, a mug of dark beverage in front of Baruk and the silver goblet with wine in front of Jalanthar. As they sipped their wine or beer, Jalanthar said: "Very well. This village is Tireas Crossing, a stop for the caravans travelling between Bak, Zirmandia and High Helm. It was founded a few decades ago by Luthgar Tireas, the father of Deven Tireas. He invited a few craftsmen here to provide essential services for caravans and had a wooden fence built to keep unwanted guests out. The village is guarded by a handful of local guards whose main duty is to protect the villagers. The caravans provide their own protection. In fact, one of the requirements of staying in Tireas Crossing is ordering your escort soldiers to keep watch and so protect the whole settlement. As you could see, the soldiers do everything but their duty. Tireas can do nothing to improve the situation, because he would lose customers. And so he tolerates the drunken lot and even allows his barmaids to provide customers with intimate pleasure for the right price. Anything else you wish to know?" Baruk pointed at Galahd at the other table. "What did he do here last time?" "Isn't it obvious?" said Jalanthar in a surprised voice. "He cheated money out of some soldiers and they got upset. I had to render us invisible so we could escape from the enraged mob. I do not enjoy being chased for some foolishness my companion has committed." Suddenly, Galahd shouted with joy, collected the coins on the table, got up, bowed to the other players and left quickly. He came to the table of his friends and sat down, beaming with the joy of a gambler. "There!" he said. "My luck always saves me!" He turned towards the innkeeper. "Tireas! A goblet of wine!" The innkeeper bowed, but Baruk saw a wry smile of recognition on his face. After Galahd got his wine, he started talking, gesticulating eagerly. "The soldiers said that Zirmandia is going through rough times. A new thief has appeared, apparently someone with magical powers, and gathered a following. There is war on the streets of Zirmandia at night, thieves fighting thieves. Many have died and there seems to be no end to the killing. This new criminal, called the Shadow Queen, is still alive and well and the old guilds just can't take it." Jalanthar shook his head. "This is the way in Zirmandia. It seems the city knows no peace." Galahd took a sip and continued. "Jeran Graymantle, son of the prominent merchant Eustace Graymantle of Bak, was murdered. They say it was ordered by Tyrian Hack, the sneaky so-called merchant who is the most bitter rival of the Graymantles. The soldiers fear there will be attacks on Graymantle caravans. They themselves are from the same caravan." Baruk thought he knew Graymantle. "Isn't he the same merchant who sells boots and cloth?" he asked Galahd. The bard thought about it for a moment. "As far as I heard, he sells cloth and boots too, but he mostly deals with silk." Baruk had heard of silk - a thin and unpractical cloth, but apparently much valued among humans and elves. Jalanthar's robe seemed to be made of silk, as well. Galahd had more. "Guess what is happening in Bak, as well?" He waited until Baruk said impatiently: "What then?" Galahd grinned. "I'm glad you asked!" Baruk rolled his eyes with exasperation. Galahd lowered himself towards the others and whispered: "Well, the word is that the dwarves of Bak" - he glanced at Baruk - "are working on something secret. They are meeting at the master smith Hamdrun Azul's house and talking until dusk. Some think that they are working on a secret plan to slay the Golden Paladin… That's just what some say, Baruk. Some say that the dwarves are creating something very powerful for someone who wishes to remain nameless. All sorts of rumors one can hear from caravan soldiers." Baruk fell into deep thought. "Who is this Golden Paladin?" he asked Galahd. The bard was so surprised he started choking on his wine and Baruk had to slap him on the back before the man could answer. "You don't know the Golden Paladin? Deldor Daryll? The most noble knight to ride the plains of Torannia! He is so wise that he is said to be able to beat a dragon at a riddling contest and so strong he can lift the largest boulder! He asked the dwarven master Oldagg to plan the city of Bak, how can you not know him?" Suddenly Baruk remembered. "Daryll the Wise? Of course I know him! I did not know you call him the Golden Paladin." Galahd sipped his wine. "Well, we do and now you know." Unqar finished his second mug and belched loudly. Jalanthar sighed and stood up. "If you'll excuse me, I will go to sleep now." He went to Tireas and gave him a couple of gold coins. The innkeeper gave him a key and Jalanthar went upstairs. Unqar looked at his last mug thoughtfully and drained it in one gulp. He then belched again, stood up and went to Tireas. There he handed him some coins, got a key and went upstairs. Galahd looked at Baruk. "Shall we go to sleep as well?" "Yes," said Baruk and they went to Tireas. Galahd gave the innkeeper three gold coins and Tireas gave him a key. "Second floor, third door on the right." Galahd nodded and went upstairs. Baruk tried to look as respectable as possible, although he had to look up to the tall man and broke off a piece of his silver bracelet. "Will this do?" he asked and Tireas examined the piece for a few moments. Then he nodded and handed Baruk a small iron key. "Second floor, second door on the right." Baruk went upstairs. He discovered a hall which looked a lot like the tunnels back home. Smiling, Baruk seeked out the correct door and unlocked it. Inside was a large room with a large bed, a large cupboard, a large table and a large tub. He sighed and decided to make the best of the situation. After all, it was hopeless to find a normal-sized room in human settlements. Someone knocked on the door. When Baruk opened it, he discovered one of the barmaids standing there with a kettle of boiling water. She was a slim girl with long blonde hair, a pale face with large grey eyes and a shocking neckline. She was short enough for Baruk to stare exactly at her large breasts and it made her uncomfortable. The girl giggled and asked in a melodious voice: "Would you like a bath, dwarf sir?" Baruk coughed and waved her in. She poured the boiling water into the tub, went into the hall to pick up a bucket of cold water and poured that in as well. She then looked at Baruk with a leering face and cooed: "Would you like me to help you, dwarf sir?" Baruk frowned and said curtly: "No, thank you, I can manage." The girl straightened and pouted for a moment, then she dashed out. Baruk could only shake his head. It would take him a long time to understand humans.

Baruk spent some time sharpening his axe with whetstone and cleaning it with an axe-cloth and examined his possessions. He had to confess that his aleskin was practically dry, only a drop of grizdal remained. He sighed sadly. After combing his beard and hair, he went to sleep. Though the bed was far too large and soft, it was better than soil and grass. Baruk slept well for the first time since leaving home. Even the constant ruckus could not disturb his peace.

Chapter IV | Adventures