Free The Shards by Gary Alan Wassner Page A

necessarily evil in and of itself,” Maringar agreed.
    “Yea. As I said, only good and evil do not change. What bodies they inhabit and the actions those bodies take are the things that change.”
    As they spoke, a rider approached from the cliffs above. His long auburn hair flew out behind him as he rode down the hill. His horse was a magnificent creature with an auburn coat and mane too, like his rider. It was hard to distinguish where the warrior’s braid ended and his horse’s tail began. As he approached, one could see that he rode without the benefit of a saddle or a bridle, yet his horse ran straight and true. His left hand clasped the thick mane of his mount, while his right was raised high in the air over his head. In his fingers, he clenched a long, delicate bow.
    Bristar lifted his head when the movement caught his eye, and the expression of pride and admiration upon his weathered features was unmistakable. He abruptly broke off his conversation with Maringar and strode out to meet his son.
    “Hail, father!” Beolan shouted enthusiastically. “I see our guests have arrived,” he said, pointing to the assembled dwarves.
    He leapt from his horse and onto the ground while the animal was still in motion. His voice was youthful, unburdened by the weariness of life’s responsibilities, though it rang with a tone of soothing confidence rather than with the arrogance of youth. Bristar moved quickly to embrace him. The affection between them was obvious. Maringar stood respectfully in the background and did not move to interrupt this reunion between father and son.
    “Let me introduce you to Maringar, son of Brimgar,” the elf said with his arm still around the shoulders of the young man. “He and his noble men are prepared to enter the mountain on our behalf.”
    Beolan thrust his right hand out to the visitor and they clasped each other’s palms tightly. The elf appeared to be much younger than the dwarf he now stood beside. Beolan barely had a whisker upon his smooth face, while Maringar’s beard hung low before him, emanating from his stark, weathered skin. But both of them were young men in the reckoning of their own people, and their eyes sparkled with the light of youth. They bonded instantly as their gazes locked upon one another.
    “Welcome, brother!” Beolan said, honoring Maringar with that appellation.
    Rarely did an elf welcome a dwarf with such a greeting.
    “You ennoble me with your salutation,” he replied graciously while bowing his head. “My men and I are proud to offer what help we can.”
    “And it is well appreciated! Whatever has infiltrated the heart of Silandre is beyond our knowledge. It has begun to infect the waters that flow throughout Crispen, and we cannot locate its source. It is good of you to offer your assistance,” he said, and he bowed low to the dwarf leader.
    “The battle we fight, we fight together. The time has passed when what happens in Crispen is of no consequence to the events in the Thorndars. If our enemy has done nothing else, he has solidified his opponents,” Maringar replied.
    “Well said,” Bristar interjected.
    “Aye!” Beolan concurred. “It is unfortunate though that we could not have met under more favorable circumstances.”
    “Need has reached out to us all. That we can recognize her calling gives us all hope,” Bristar said. “What did you find within the cave, my son?” he asked, eyebrows arched high.
    Beolan dropped his chin to his chest and shook his handsome head back and forth slowly. When he raised it once again, he stared deeply into his father’s eyes.
    “It is as we suspected, father. I could barely proceed more than a hundred yards before the heat overwhelmed me.”
    Bristar tried to mask his concern, but it was obvious that he was deeply disturbed by the news his son brought him.
    “It is fortuitous then that our friends have arrived more quickly than we had expected,” he replied.
    “What is it you suspect is causing