The Black Hawk Banner - Chapter Two

Chapter Two

The mood of seemingly impenetrable gloom that had settled on the company lifted with the dissipation of the mist around them. The dread silence that had hung over them since leaving the castle was broken with bird songs and the rushing of a stream tumbling down from the hills.
Quegan spotted a clearing and signalled Miss Velreeth and Chanver to stop, dismounting he tied up his horse so it could drink at will from the clear stream.

Once breakfast had been made and eaten the company sat around the cooking fire, each of them restored by the tranquillity of their sylvan setting and a good meal.
'I'd like to bathe, is there a good spot Jester?', enquired the dancer.
'Indeed there is, further up this hill the water cascades into a rock pool. It's a natural bath'.

She thanked him and rose to shadow the stream uphill.

Sure enough after a short walk up stream she found the place. Purring with delight she watched the pool being continually replenished by the water cascading down the rock surface above it, continuing its timeless mission to smooth all the roughness from the blue stone and provide an easier path for itself to travel down.

She stripped off her garments, paused to pick some leaves off a dufree tree before slipping into the cool water. The dancer let out a whoop of joy as the cool water caressed her skin and wading out into the centre of the pool to wash. She had collected an assortment of cuts and bruises during the last few days and she rubbed each of them with the dufree leaves to promote healing. The cascading water provided a backing as she raised her beautiful melodic voice in song. She caught sight of a movement in the bushes that surrounded the rock pool and stopped singing.

Frightened by this sudden intrusion on her privacy the dancer called out,' Who's there?'.
A small figure boldly emerged from her hiding place. The beautiful woodland creature dressed in forest green stood two feet tall, she carried a quiver of arrows on her back and a bow in her hand, her golden hair cascaded down her back like the waterfall she looked upon.
'Who are you?', asked the faerie.
The dancer stared in disbelief.
'Don't you know its rude to stare', the faerie reminded her, fixing the bather with a steely gaze.
'I'm sorry but I've never seen anyone like you before'
'But I've seen you many times as you travelled through my home.'
'I don't recall that, where do you live?'
'Look around you', offered the faerie waving the hand that held the bow through the air in a broad arc.
The dancer watched the movement of the arm, wondering where it would stop and indicate the small persons tiny abode.
The faerie raised her face to the blue sky losing a daisy chain from her hair. She bent her knees to retrieve the floral crown and spied a violet. She picked the flower and wove it around the daises. The faerie walked over to stand at the edge of the rock pool where she studied her reflection in the water.
'What are you doing in the wood?', enquired the dancer, fascinated by the woodland creature.
With her arms down by her side and a bow hooked over her right shoulder, she studied the dancer in the pool, 'I'm a guard!'.
In the blink of an eye she had grabbed and drawn her bow aiming it at the bathing woman.
Miss Velreeth screamed as the arrow (the arrow of forgetfulness) struck her on the breast, her eyes closed as she fell into the deep well of unconsciousness.

The dancer awoke to find herself clean and dry lying on soft grass with the warm sun on her skin, nearby was a rock pool.
'Miss Velreeth', she heard the jester calling her name.
Quickly she dressed, 'Over here', she shouted relieved to hear a familiar voice.
Through the bushes the jester appeared, 'Where have you been? I thought you'd got lost or been carried off by some creature. I've already searched this area of the woods. Did you wander off somewhere and come back?'

'Yes, that must be it, and yet I think I was asleep', before you found me, I remember walking towards the pool to bathe and the next thing I knew I awoke and heard you calling my name'.

The jester gave her a long look. 'You must have been more tired than you thought'. He had seen cases like this before. Judging by the faraway look in her brown eyes he was certain that the dancer had been under a spell of some sort.
He offered his hand and she grasped it as he led the way back to the camp. The compere was not there.
'Where is Chanver', she enquired.
'Oh, he was searching for you in the other direction. We arranged to meet back here in a short while.'
Even though it was not cold, the dancer wrapped her cloak tightly around herself as she sat down.
'Quegan how did you ever become involved with Ormst? Chanver and I need money to pay off large debts but how did you fall into his clutches?'
The little man sat cross legged, the fresh morning air blew into his face and he began his tale.
To answer your question', he directed a look at her, 'I must start with my grandfather because it is from him that I first heard of Ormst. Listen now and I shall tell you my story.
'The old man was court jester to Lord Ralerkand who was Lord Tigrens grandfather.'
One a day a certain person came to call at the castle'.
'Not Ormst!' gasped the dancer.
'No not him, he was still learning his craft from his teacher. The old man lived a simple life in a cave high in the mountains. He was wise to a degree but looking back I feel that he lacked worldly wisdom.'
'How so?' enquired the beautiful dancer.
'His self imposed exile caused him to forget how life drives people to compete with their fellows, especially those who feel inferior. The old man entrusted Ormst with secrets that changed him, power consumed the eager student and transformed him into the cruel tyrant you all witnessed yesterday evening', the juggler lowered his voice to a whisper, fearful of Ormst's apparently all pervading presence. The dancer had to lean forward to hear the soft utterance.
'The caller on that day was a man by the name of Dayce. He sought an audience with the Lord. At the time the king was trying to purge the land of lords unwilling to contribute men and money to his armies. There was no known threat of war at the time, it was merely a ruse, or so his highness thought'
The jester paused and took a swig from his water bottle, wiped the back of his well tanned hand over his mouth and continued.
'However unbeknown to the King evil forces were abroad. Dayce was sent as an emissary of a wizard that lived in those parts. His master wanted to form an alliance against Ormst.'
'Wizards were seeking respectability in those days.'
'So nothing changes', added the dancer.
The jester continued, 'At the time they were out of favour throughout the land for their failure to deliver spells as potent as their words promised. Some practitioners were incompetent but there were others who were only playing up to the role of bunglers, while secretly putting the earls, lords and other men and women of influence off their guard.'

'So even then Ormst had considerable power.'

'Oh no in those days he would be true to say that Ormst was a fraud!'
'What!', replied the dancer.
'He would boast of power that was his to command to the other apprentices in the ale house where they used to meet. Dayce was one of them, that's how he came to know so much about him. Ormst was made to look very stupid on more than one occasion when his claims amounted to nothing when the others were tired of his bragging and called his bluff.'

'That probably explains why he ranted so much about our failure last night. So what changed him', miss Veelreth demanded, somehow the wizard did not seem quite so frightening now that his past failures had been revealed.

'That is the mystery', replied the juggler, rubbing his chin in thought.
'One day Ormst was bragging as usual. On previous occasions when he had been exposed as a liar and fraud he stayed away from his usual haunts, but normally after three or four weeks he would turn up again. He would then be the target of torrents of verbal abuse that would die down after a week or two. To the other apprentices he was a joke and since he was a regular source of amusement they were always pleased to have him back in their drinking circle.'

One time though things turned out differently. As usual they caught him lying, he claimed to be able to turn iron into gold, when he failed to carry out his ambitious boast the other apprentice chased him out into the street. When they caught him they turned Ormst upside down and opened his purse so that all his money fell out, the apprentices picked it up and spent it on beer for themselves.

After his humiliation he stayed away for much longer than usual. When he sauntered into the inn one summer evening a year later almost to the day it was as if nothing had ever happened.
He bought himself a drink, he had never bought one for anyone else in all the time the circle had been in existence, taking a sup of ale he began boasting as usual. He claimed to be the possessor of great destructive power and offered to demonstrate this ability in his room. After his master's death Ormst left the cave and moved to town.
There were plenty of witnesses when Ormst, standing in the centre of the room supported his boasts one hundred percent for the very first time in his wretched existence.
There was one big brute of a man. All he had learnt during his apprenticeship was how to fill his master's font from the well and collect wood from the forest. His most important task was to start the fire each morning and keep it fed with fuel throughout the day. He didn't have the wit to become a wizard but his master treated him well enough even though his stupidity had occasionally caused more trouble than he was worth
.
On this particular day the fat oaf was mercilessly taunting Ormst. The dullard had just filled his lungs with air for a fresh barrage of foul oaths when he exploded. It was one hell of a mess, blood and guts splattered over the walls and the ceilings, pieces of bone imbedded in all the room's surfaces and a terrible stench hung in the room like a horse that had died and been left in its stable to rot.

The apprentices still standing after the explosion made a hurried escape with their clothes and hair matted with human remains. Dayce was one of the lucky ones. Many of the other survivors were reduced to mindless idiots, spending the rest of their days laying in the filth from their own bodies, beaten daily with thick sticks in mental institutions where nothing that they said was believed. After all, who would believe a madman?'

The compere had arrived back into the camp during the story but had chosen to listen in silence to the tale rather than interrupt, his living depended in part on his ability to collect and retell yarns, the more farfetched the better, and this tale seemed to match that criterion perfectly.
'So what happened to you', he addressed the woman sitting by the juggler.
She shrugged her shoulders,' I fell asleep and the jester awoke me.

Quegan didn't feel like adding any embellishment to that explanation. He stood up quickly and went off to change into his jesters costume. Minutes later he returned wearing a tunic consisting of four different coloured quarters. There was red on the top right next to a panel of yellow directly below that was a patch of green next to one of blue. Green and yellow stripes decorated his hose.

The party packed up their kit and rode south through the forest, myriad shades of green protecting leaves let through some sun to paint the travellers with its dappled light, soon the leaves would be reclaimed by the earth now that the summer was ending.

Birds in the trees sung out a warning to their fellows, 'Beware! There are travellers passing by. Fly to the higher branches till they have gone!'

'This is where we split up' the jester informed them, reining in his horse that proceeded to paw the earth before moving round in an arc.

Once I have the name Ormst requires I will send a message to you in Trimex. We'll meet near the woodland pond before seeking an audience with the black wizard.
'You're going back to Tigrens castle Jester?'
The compere was surprised.
'Of course, how else are we going to get Ormst off our backs and collect the fee due to us?'
'But they are looking for you!' miss Velreeth warned.
'No, there are looking for three people, the ones that caused an unnecessary disturbance', the little man scowled at the compere who met the look with his own fierce expression, clearly neither of them was prepared to back down over the previous night's incident.

'Stop it now. We must go!'
The dancer manoeuvred her horse alongside Chanver's mount. She tugged at his grey cloak and reluctantly he yielded and turned his horse away from Quegan towards the road to Trimex. The jester watched them leave and then flicked the reins of his white horse and headed for Tigrens court.

Erin De Anacy sat on a wooden chair facing his tutor. Behind the old man was a multi-paned window that looked out across the castle grounds. Beyond the perimeter walls rolling fields were decked with morning frost.
He felt his vocation in life was to become a philosopher and he wrangled with a problem set by his tutor on crime and punishment. Erin began to discuss his ideas with his teacher.
'An honest man who works at his trade may still be susceptible to crime. Why has he been honest in his dealings in the world to date? Is it because of some deep seated belief or is it due to lack of opportunity?. Just suppose that a chance presented itself and he took it. The easy pickings of crime might persuade him to abandon the sweat and toil of his previously occupation for ever'.

'If he makes a comparison based purely on worldly status he will gladly forgo his life of sweat and toil that only ever produced meagre offerings for his families home and table. What he can't see however is the dreadful cost to his peace of mind of a life of deception and trickery.

Even if such a man was caught and imprisoned he might refuse to accept the blame for his disreputable career. Whatever his accusers might say to blacken his name the soundest defence he could make would be to claim that laws make criminals'.

'Not bad Erin you've made some good points. It is true to assert that the laws make criminals. What causes poverty is a topic that I'll take up with you some other time. A man with sufficient income to provide for a decent life has no need to resort to devious means'.

Encouraged his pupil continued.
'Of course the intention of the laws is to protect the society that acquires possessions and a trader's right to make an honest profit. A criminal threatens the making of profits and therefore the very foundation of the society, for what if he is seen to prosper from his ill-gotten gains what then? Wouldn't that cause others to seriously consider downing their craft tools to become creatures of the night? A burglar invading the comfortable home of some Lord, Duke, Earl or Baron would be dazzled by riches that no lawful occupation will ever yield him in a lifetimes work.'

'Your theme is good Erin but your emotional colouring of your subject is turning your observations into theatre.'
Suitably chastened Erin resolved to continue in more philosophical terms.
'I would suggest to you that the state decrees that riches should remain in the hands of a few, for if it was distributed to the many it would no longer be considered wealth since the name is applied to an accumulation of possessions by an individual or a group. Therefore laws are designed to maintain this situation and from this point of view you could say that they are made to protect the rich. If you accept this view it is then only a short step to regard the criminal as a sacrifice to the laws, just as much a victim as those he robs.'

'So Erin what about the punishment of criminals, what is its purpose so you think?'

His young pupil frowned in thought before he expounded the second part of his theory.

'I don't believe that its main intent is to correct the criminal, although I'm certain that my opinion is contrary to the popular belief. There is no evidence to suggest that merely locking a person up rehabilitates him at all. Instead he spends all his time with others of the criminal fraternity and learns more of the skills that only those well practised in the art can successfully teach. If the criminal is reformed it would be a bonus, no it would be more, it would be a miracle. By chance the prison chaplain might persuade an errant man to seek the ways of a religious faith, there are enough to choose from, but would he be any better off? By taking on religious dogma he is saddling himself with restrictions to his mind to go with the physical limits placed on his freedom by being in jail.'

While detained behind bars he is prevented from following his inclination to collect other peoples possessions but his desire to do so will remain, nothing having been done to address it. On his release he will most probably resume his interrupted career, what else can he do since who will give a job to an ex convict?. His desire to acquire wealth and the means to provide for his family is completely in accord with the rest of society. The only difference is the means by which he carries it out.'
His tutor smiled, 'You have expressed some good ideas, write them down for your own benefit while they are fresh on your mind.'

Erin De Anacy freed the furrows from his face as he wrote. The quill pen darted back and forth to the inkwell dropping a blot here and there on the paper that the author mostly failed to notice, his sleeve rubbed the ink to produce a selection of ink patterns to keep a scryer happy for a number of hours.
A heavy knock on the door tested its hinges and he interrupted his script to look up. His tutor, shaken from his reverie contemplating the white flecked fields swung the latch to see what the fuss was all about. A big man clad in emerald green strode into the untidy study, the upper sleeves of the newcomer's garment displayed the twin white bands that confirmed his duty as a messenger to the Lady Tsring herself.
'Her ladyship is presiding over a case and she requests to consult you on a most urgent matter' announced the messenger in a voice loud enough to hail the old man even if he had been in the next room.
'Why I shall come straight away', Erin's tutor was fond of the lady. He had often told Erin of the happy times when he was her personal tutor.
'Finish your writing Erin, you can go when it is done' called the master Dfalorumb from the hall way as he struggled with his cloak that appeared to be attempting to strangle him, its deep red colour around his neck made it look like someone had already cut his throat. He fought with the unruly object as he entered the courtyard where the troublesome clothing revealed a previously hidden identity as a kite.

His essay complete and his tutor absent Erin went to his room to read the book he had borrowed from the library, albeit without using the normal procedure whereby the loan was recorded in the big ledger. He recalled how he had discovered the small green volume.

'Good day Dratho', he had greeted the librarian as he entered the library
'Hello Erin, I'm sorry but the library is closed while these workmen repair some shelving', the stick thin man waved his arm in the general direction of the carpenters removing books under the watchful eye of a spotty youth a little older than Erin.
'Some literature weighs heavy on the shelves as well as the mind young man'
Turning round he saw the head librarian at his shoulder.
'Yes sir', his reply was automatic, then he frowned while he contemplated the meaning of Winacombe's words.
'Let him stay Dratho, he might help us tidy up afterwards'
The man visibly brightened at the suggestion, despite frequent complaints about the pains in his back while assisting his junior to unload the shelves he had not been relieved of the task.
'Now that would be most useful', Dratho rubbed his long thin arms together like a giant fly.

Erin walked over to the shelves just as they were being moved.
'Mind out young sir, if these shelves dropped on your toes they would be flattened good and proper', warned the man giving the orders to the others.
Erin saw the green book with the gold inlay and deep blue lettering for the first time when the shelves were moved away from the wall. Shielding the discovery from the librarians and carpenters he had hidden the mysterious find in his clothing. He had never stolen a book from the library before and now as he pondered the theft he still had no explanation for his behaviour.

'Steady lads now bring them forward, walk them out, that's right' with praise and the occasional curse the foreman coaxed his team to complete the job.

No one appeared to notice Erin. While the carpenters were puffing and groaning with their load while Dratho and the spotty youth were giving them instructions. Their orders contradicted each other and those issued by the foreman causing the bookcase to take an unusual route to it's intended destination.

'I feel er tired Sir I think I'll rest,' he had said to the Head librarian who was sitting down with his face to the window drinking his tea, lost in contemplation the old custodian didn't reply.

It was deeply ironic that his thesis had been on theft and here he was with the prize of his own deception. He wondered what the Lady Tsring's ruling might be if he was called before her on a change of stealing! He felt that he now had an insight into both sides of the business and it had been this knowledge that softened his previous hard line on criminality.
He had been eager to read the book but circumstances had prevented it till now. Carefully he lifted the pages, unsure of their condition. Considering the manner in which the book had been stored he thought it to be in remarkable order. He pondered that for a moment but no longer.
The work was enticing titled 'Use of Magical Items', Erin noted that the author was Doctor Demus before he opened the book with gusto, but he soon found that the reading was hard. The dialect of Argalish was old and the sentences rambled on in the style that he detested so much in his study books, finding it here in his pleasure reading was just to much. He closed the book, vowing to return it the next day and apologise for having lent it without the librarians consent and take his punishment.
That night as he lay in his bed sleep eluded him, all he could think about was the green book. He tried reciting the sayings of Reticess, that was normally enough to send anyone to sleep, but when that failed he fumbled for the flint at his bedside and after several attempts he caught a spark and lit the candle wick. The flame rose illuminating the books gold bindings.
'That's strange', he thought, 'I don't recall leaving it there, I'm sure I didn't.'
Tired as he was he couldn't be certain, he stared hard at the cover but no answer came to him.
'Perhaps the answer lies within', he thought. He sat up in his bed, opened the book and began to read. This time he fought his way through the morass of early pages and the book became easier to read, as though it was changing its style to suit the reader. Erin scoffed at the stupidity of that thought, a book is a printed object there is no way that it can do that, he told himself and then continued reading, eventually he came across a section called:

Gems of Power

There were three stones, each an exquisite beauty.
There was a golden yellow luminescent orb, about the size of a child's fist. It was a near perfect sphere except that one part of it was flatter than it should have been.
Then there was a blue pyramid shaped piece, but where it's pointed apex should have been, there was a hollow. Only the small tips of the corners pointed above the scalloped top as though it were a pyramidic candle that had been left to burn its top away, the shape thus formed became a suitable receptacle for the orb. The last jewel was a circlet. A gold frame with a lip top and bottom on the outside that held inlays of a green stone, the inside edge of the frame was smooth with only one small legend, the mark of its maker Turayus.
Why were these fine works created and for what purpose? Here it would be inappropriate to list all the tales concerning these marvellous gems. However I shall give one version of events and leave it to you, the reader, to separate the wheat from the chaff.

The Sea Dwellers and the Land People.
There were two ancient races, one lived under the sea when the world was almost total submerged in water, the others were land dwellers eking out a hard living from fishing and catching crustaceans, the bravest of them dived for pearls, seeking to rob giant clams of their treasures. Some died, drowning when an arm or a leg was caught and held fast in the grip of a swiftly closed shell, while others returned to a hero's welcome carrying a huge pearl as testimony to their skill and daring.
The sea people were peace loving and lived an independent existence unbeknown to the land dwellers.

Eventually the oceans relinquished some of their domain and white sandy islands surfaced. The first visitors were crabs who made temporary homes by burrowing into the surface at the end of each day. Eventually a scattering of palm trees grew on each new land mass. The small population of land dwellers were keen to explore the new islands so they built bigger boats than those they used for fishing. Before setting sail they took on provisions for the long voyage that many of them would not survive.

Centuries passed and great movements in the tectonic plates occurred to force the oceans to yield more territory. Vast tracks of land that were once sea beds emerged as great storms celebrated the changes flinging smoke and ash far and wide while volcanoes continuously spilled lava as though the planet had received a mortal wound.

Now the former islands became the summits of mountains rising high above the new plains. At first nothing would grow, the winds idly sculptured the sand, changing its creations at regularly intervals. Then rain fell for extended periods as though attempting to make up for the loss of the ocean. Sand shifted and the underlying strata caught and held the rain in pools. Coarse grass sprouted up around the water holes. At first it only grew close to the oases that dotted the vast plain, gradually the tough green growth extended out from its water source.

Once this rebuilding of their land was complete the bravest of the survivors from the storms and volcanoes left their craggy mountain peaks to explore and make new homes. They bred horses for stamina to carry them over the wind ravaged grass lands.
These courageous few were the seed corn of the people destined to inhabit a world reborn before their eyes, as they travelled they became intoxicated by the rugged beauty of its vast plains. Each tribe wanted to stake their claim but disputes arose that escalated into war, some tribes were completely wiped out while others doubled and trebled their numbers. A century of battles was fought and many a burial mound broke the flatness of the plains.

The ideology of the old leaders, kept alive through successive generations eventually died out. New leaders introduced radical ideas that were readily accepted by people who could no longer afford to pay the terrible cost of war, preferring instead to seek new goals that would lead to security and prosperity. Whenever enough people on both sides of a dispute seek a peaceful solution it is usually not far away and so one hundred years of war ended. Three hundred years of peace followed, the land folk became more prosperous and traders built villages at the crossroads. As their wealth grew some settlements became towns, a few of them became cities.

A fresh outbreak of troubles began when the land dwellers who were known as Smorks started to dispose of their waste from their cities into sea. At first they brought carts to the ocean loaded with barrels that they dumped in the water. Then they discovered that piping the sewerage into the sea was more efficient.
The denizens of that domain were thus forced to confront their planetary sharers about this bad habit.

Even though the Smorks had kicked up a terrible racket for a hundred years the Tohai, for that was the name of the sea people, had decided not to intervene in a quarrel that was not their own. Instead they opted to leave the races of men to resolve their differences in their own way.
Perhaps under other circumstances the first contact could have been an exchange of gifts at polite ceremonies, water galas and fund raising events and pledges to respect each other's sovereignty. Instead the Smorks pollution of the Tohai's environment started a war. Like all conflicts the seed was selfishness and a lack of communication.

The Tohai sent a scouting party to stop the pollution of the sea but they were captured and promptly turned over to Smork scientists eager to investigate their origin. The men of science made little progress since they failed to understand the series of high pitched noises that the Tohai used to communicate in their natural habitat. The water dwellers were equipped with a dual respiratory system that enabled them to breathe in water or air, however they could not remain out of their natural habitat for prolonged periods without causing their skins to dry out and crack leading to a painful death.
Through ignorance of these facts the party of Tohai were kept out of the water and began to die. Experts were collected together in an attempt to diagnose the cause of this mystery illness. All of them failed until one student of marine life whose name was Rovel thought of a novel idea. Using a tray of sand on a board that he placed near the surviving Tohai he noticed that patterns were being formed. This led him to the conclusion that far from being dumb as was originally suspected his subjects were highly intelligent. Working with the Tohai he found ways to translate their words into Smork. He was shocked to learn that the Tohai came from the sea but nevertheless he arranged for them to live in a tank and saved their lives.

He passed on his findings to the officials sitting on various committees, but no decisions were made. Instead the committee members began to fight each other for funds to fuel some vital research into the Tohai lifestyle.

The Tohai had heard nothing from their scouting party for a week. They were unable to endure the poisoning of their beautiful environment any longer so the full force of the Tohai army left the sea and began their attack. At first they blocked up the pipes and traced them to their source destroying everything they found there, people and buildings, all the time searching for their missing colleagues.

In an attempt to end the hostilities the student and his subjects were brought to face the invaders. Rovel, acting as a translator, informed the Smork politicians about the nature of the dispute. Both sides meet for discussions and negotiations that would last for the next two weeks. Agreements were soon reached. The Smorks would cease polluting the sea out of respect for the marine life whose domain it was. The Tohai in turn would guide Smork boats to the better fishing grounds, and teach the land dwellers about the natural life cycles of sea and land.

After this the Smorks completely changed their approach to the sea and its life. Processes that caused the pollution were modified where possible and ceased where it was not.
Following their normal practice of making a binding peace the Tohai requested that the leaders of each nation would exchange one child from their families who would live until the age of eighteen with their host family. The Smorks objected, saying that although a Tohai child could survive by spending some time in water each day a Smork would die after a very short time in water. The Tohai were clearly unaware that the Smorks were incapable of aquatic life
The Tohai went into conference finally emerging to present an alternative solution. A Tohai child from one of their leading families would live with the Smork King. Rovel was appointed as the child's protector in recognition of his skill in saving the lives of some of the first scouting party. While it was physically impossible for a Smork to dwell in the sea a house would be built on the beach whereby the Tohai could visit to teach and socialise.
Thus agreement was reached and a ceremony was arranged to formally bind the peace between the races. It was necessary that offerings from each side were combined so that they could be imbibed with the power of the races.
The Smorks consulted with the Tohai and presented them with gold and a yellow stone sphere the size of a baby's fist, to represent the sun. Once they had received these items the sea folk symbolised their watery domain by contributing two gems. One was green and flat, while the other was blue and shaped like a pyramid with its point removed. The concave top was designed to accept the sphere and together they represented the sun on the water. The gold was formed into a circlet that was inlaid with the green stone. This represented a double bonding since green is a combination of blue and yellow.

Each of these blended creations represented the two races working together. The magnificent ceremony at which the jewels were imbibed with the combined power of the twined races ushered in a thousand years of peace.

It was a glorious time in which great thinkers found wide acceptance of their ideas and mutual understanding fostered a tolerance that saw creativity given full rein.

Like a blissful dreamer startled awake by a fully armoured knight falling down the stairs that idyllic state was disturbed by the noise of war. It began between the races of men. On one side the tribes founded in antiquity, on the other the newer races of mixed blood seeking their own fame and glory and a land of their own, they wanted nothing to so with the ways of the ancients and refused to abide by the agreement with the Tohai. This time the Tohai acted as intermediaries in an attempt to resolve the differences, and while they were able to come to a separate agreement with the new tribes they couldn't to halt the outbreak of war.

For safekeeping the precious symbols of friendship and trust were moved to a safe place. Initially there were kept with the Kings crown jewels, then when the monarchy was dissolved they were placed in the hands of the treasury. The legendary stones were kept in a vault away from the public until after being petitioned repeatedly the state relented and exhibited them in the largest and grandest museum.

One night cannon fire hit and severely damaged the building. The exhibits that survived the falling masonry, smoke and fire were plundered by the advancing troops. In the following years much of the stolen property was recovered. Private collections in Argaland and abroad were searched for the stolen wealth by agents of the state that was set up after the war. It reclaimed the possessions of its predecessors, occasionally being forced to pay some form of compensation for the privilege. However three treasures were never recovered. Large sums of money were offered for their recovery and lengthy prison terms were threatened for the perpetrators and any person aiding them. Finally an amnesty was declared but all of these measures proved fruitless.

Many decades later the real significance of the three treasures was mostly lost. Even so some tales had been passed down through the generations, initially as legends told to children at bed time. Then as fashion changed such stories were considered old and outdated and new ones were concocted for the ears of bairns, state approved tales of folk working hard and receiving their just rewards for labour expended. Only children who respected the state achieved merit, laziness and sloth were condemned. Magic was removed from stories. Tales of fairies, wizards and ancient jewels, gems that signified the end of a war and ushered in a new age of understanding was all but lost to the new generations.
Many people's lives became very dull. Literature was controlled. Anything that was outside the prescribed traditions was banned from publication. As always happens when the rulers are too strict, the people became cunning. Authors printed their books and distributed them with help from their sympathisers. Songwriters wrote their material down for other musicians to play and sing whenever like minded folks gathered under one roof.

There was one writer who published his own work. He bound his volume in green with gold edging and lettered in blue, and you are reading it!. Whoever you are and wherever you may be you have proof before you that at least one copy has survived the censorship of a state with an excess of power.

Have these fabled stones survived? It is impossible to say. If they do whoever owns them has a phenomenal power so I've omitted all details concerning the stone's activation. A power that joined races is not to be squandered on the petty desires of one person. To read a book at night it is unnecessary to set fire to your house when a candle will provide sufficient light for the purpose and with much less danger to the person.'

His own reading candle was burning low in its holder when Erin turned the last page and closed the book. That night he dreamt of strange enchanted things, people that lived under the sea, gems that were imbibed with power from two ancient races and sealed a peace that lasted one thousand years.