Quest for Knowledge (Volume 1 of the FirstWorld Saga), Christopher Jackson-Ash [ebook reader web TXT] 📗

shouts. Taran ran out onto the parapet. He was followed a short while later by Dawit. The dwarf was puffing and panting hard. Taran hardly seemed out of breath. “Did you think to sneak off without saying goodbye?” Taran asked. “We are not that easy to shake,” Dawit gasped.

Simon was embarrassed. He had deliberately avoided seeing anyone but Jhamed during his recovery from the events at Dishley. He was ashamed about that, but he was more ashamed about his actions there and what his friends thought about him.

Dawit spoke for both of them. “Simon, we understand. It is a huge burden to carry to be the Everlasting Hero. It is not one either of us would relish. But we would be there to help you carry it, as we carried you home from Dishley. We four have a special fellowship, five when Manfred returns. Just a few days ago, I could never have imagined calling an elf my friend.” He turned to Taran and slapped him on the back so that he almost fell over. “We are the last best hope for peace in FirstWorld and the wider multiverse. We all wish we could come with you on this task, but it is one you must shoulder alone. At least Manfred will be there. I often wondered what he was like as a young wizard. You must tell us when you get back. Good luck, my friend. Hurry home, we shall be waiting.”

Simon had tears in his eyes as he hugged the three of them. All he could manage to say was, “Thank you, I’ll see you soon.” I don’t deserve such good friends. He stepped up to the archway, glanced back at his friends, waved nonchalantly, and walked under the obsidian time portal. There was no flash, no bang, and no science fiction movie theatrics; one second he was there, the next he was gone. A pair of sneakers, two short white socks, a pair of torn jeans, a green tee shirt, and a well-used pair of blue jockey shorts remained behind.

Simon felt a wave of nausea hit him and each of his limbs was wracked with the worst pins and needles he had ever experienced. The world went dark and then extremely bright. He fell to his knees and tried not to pass out. He took a grip and focussed his eyes. It was a bright, cool day; already he was shivering because he was naked. Kin Slayer was indeed strapped to his side. He was in a small clearing in a forest. Through the trees, he could see a larger clearing where a small crowd of people were gathered around an old man who seemed to be performing magic tricks. Simon’s heart lifted. Manfred is here.

****

The three friends looked at each other. Jhamed finally spoke. “I wish that I could go with him. He’ll find Manfred as old and cantankerous then as he is now, except that he was a different sort of wizard back then. During our many years in exile he sometimes opened up to me about his past and his regrets. He feels guilty that he let down his mentor Bedwyr. He hated being away from the comforts of Melasurej and was in a great sulk because he’d been sent to a boring backwater with Mandred. From what he told me, the two of them didn’t get on at all. He always thought Mandred was out to make him look bad. He was there at the most momentous event in history but he was too bored and depressed to recognise it. However, it was what he learned there that eventually led us to searching for Simon Redhead. So it wasn’t all a dead loss and got us here in the end. He never said as much, but I get the impression that Manfred thought he should have been promoted to Bedwyr’s position after all the good work he had done to help defeat Gadiel. Being sent to a Stone Age backwater was not the sort of reward he had expected. I take it back, Simon will find him even crankier back then and would be well advised to follow today’s Manfred’s advice and give him a wide berth.” He walked through the archway, and just came out on the other side. He sighed. “I will set my quarters up here and arrange for my meals to be sent up. I want to be here when he returns. From Manfred’s hints, I suspect he will need our help again.”

“We’ll be ready,” Dawit said.

“I have a strange feeling that this has all been ordained,” Taran said. “Manfred has been used by someone to engineer the sundering. He had to be there to see Simon so that he could track him down in the future and send him back. He shouldn’t feel bad about it.”

“Don’t tell him that,” Jhamed laughed, “Unless you want to see steam coming from his ears.”

“I bet he could even do that,” Dawit said.

“Oh, yes!” Jhamed said. “But don’t tell him I told you.”

The Return of the King

Manfred approached the guest room with Regent Gamyon. Three guards at the door sprang to attention. “I warn you Manfred, I cannot fathom him. He says he is Ubadah, the King of Tamarlan. He bears the secret mark of the King, knowledge of which has been passed down from father to son by the Regents of Tamarlan for four-hundred generations so that we might recognise the King on his return. I never thought to see it on my watch.”

“These are strange times, indeed, my lord. The disappearance of the dwarves has me greatly concerned. There is news of a great army approaching from the south west from the Unknown Lands. It may be Gadiel reformed. There is a rumour that Dammar did not pass to stone, but is also out there somewhere creating mayhem, perhaps in league with the Dark God. And now this. These are indeed strange times and we must do our best with them, though we might wish they had befallen someone else.” Manfred chose not to mention the return of the Everlasting Hero and his quest for the Sword, although he guessed that Gamyon had already been fully briefed by his son. “Are you certain it is the correct mark? Manfred asked.

“There can be no doubt. I would stake my life on it.”

“That is as well, as you may have to,” said Manfred gravely.

“It is good chance that you are here at this time.” Gamyon spoke to Manfred and then addressed the guards. “Knock and announce us.”

“I wonder whether it is just chance, or whether some greater purpose is at work?” Manfred’s thoughts were cut short as the door opened.

They were led into a bright room, furnished with the finest pieces that Tamarlan’s artisans could produce. The walls were adorned with examples of Tamarlan’s greatest watercolour artists. A young man was sitting, taking tea, on a sumptuous red settee. The cushions and the armrests were adorned in the best gold braid. The table, which held a silver tray of tea-making utensils, was made of the finest marble with solid gold legs. Manfred was impressed. Before the guard could speak the young man rose. He was in his early twenties, tall – well over six feet – and slim yet with well-defined, muscular arms and legs. His hair was jet black and cut short as if it had been recently shaved off and had just begun regrowing. He was clean-shaven, but a five o’clock shadow betrayed his quick-growing beard. His face was rugged and handsome. A long scar running from his left ear to the side of his mouth did nothing to disfigure him but, if anything, added to the strength of his appearance. His bearing was regal. He carried himself with the arrogance that power often creates.

“Manfred! My old friend Manfred! I cannot believe it. How wonderful to see you,” he said in a strong, deep voice.

Manfred dropped to his knees. “My lord, it is a wonder and a miracle.” It is really him. I would recognise him anywhere. How can it be? Is he a real Rip Van Winkle? He took the young man’s hand and kissed it. “The King has truly returned to Tamarlan. I had not thought it possible.”

Gamyon remained on his feet, clearly not yet convinced. “Leave us!” He ordered the guards. “Say nothing of this on penalty of death!” The guards bowed and backed out of the room, closing the door behind them. “Forgive me, my lord, if I’m sceptical, but you have been away for ten thousand years.”

“Your scepticism is well-justified and I would expect it in my Regent. Please get up Manfred. Sit down both of you and take some tea, it’s really rather good. You see, to me, it seems like I have only been gone a few months. Only a score of years ago, Manfred bounced me on his knee. You’ve hardly changed a bit. It’s ten thousand, three hundred and sixty nine years, to be exact.” Manfred and Gamyon sat in comfortable armchairs, which matched the sofa. King Ubadah served them tea. “Biscuits anyone?” This is surreal, having tea with the King and the Regent. You can bet that sparks will fly soon and they won’t be from my staff.

Gamyon couldn’t hold back any longer. “If you are who you say you are, where have you been? Explain yourself!” Rather a curt way to behave with one’s king. There will surely be sparks. I remember when Ubadah was a boy; very cute but very moody if he didn’t get his own way. Better try to smooth it out a bit.

“My lord, please be so kind as to tell us what you have been doing these last ten thousand years or so. I know that I’ve been very busy. I wouldn’t know where to start.” That should placate him. Manfred managed to glare at Gamyon and get his attention. For goodness sake, take it easy.

Ubadah sighed and then began his story. “Everything seems like yesterday to me, because it almost was. Let me start at the beginning. Help yourselves to more tea and biscuits, because this may take some time. Please don’t interrupt!” He looked hard at Gamyon. Gamyon returned his gaze with interest. Manfred smiled. “There’ll be time enough for questions at the end.” Manfred sat back and listened to Ubadah’s story, transfixed as a few more pieces of the jigsaw puzzle fell into place.

“My father died unexpectedly, two years before I was lost. I had not anticipated becoming King so young. I still had to find a wife and settle down. I was about to be married, when the stranger arrived. That’s why I left no heir. Though it would seem that your family has done well in my absence, Gamyon.” That might appease him a bit. Gamyon stared straight ahead, unmoved. Perhaps not. “We had been worried for a long time about Tamarlan’s geographic location. In reality, it was a strange place for a city to develop. We had limited trading opportunities. We were restricted to trading with the dwarves and to what we could bring over the mountains in summertime. We needed a trade route to the north. The Northland had always been a strange and feared place. It was said that great evil dwelt there. Over the years, we had mounted many expeditions in the hope of finding a safe trading route. All of them were lost without a trace.”

“Then the stranger arrived. He staggered into Tamarlan on foot. He was half-dead and appeared three-quarters-mad. He was of a race we had never seen before and spoke a language we could not understand. Everything about him was different and strange; he was very tall, he wore strange garments made of animal skins that covered his legs, his mannerisms were crude, he carried a strange short bow, he was exceedingly hairy, and even his body odour was different. He turned out to be very intelligent and quickly