In The Wake of Fred's Return

The Never Ending Quest - Episode 15509

It had been four days since Rowena had returned home but for all that the people of the city of Bannock knew nothing had changed. The son of the Duke was still dead, having died slaying the Dragon. The Duke and the Duchess were still burdened with their sorrow, their pain a sorry tribute to their son's bravery. And the people of Allaria were still busy preparing for the coming Faire of Celebration at which time Fred's name would be honored and his sacrifice praised.

As for the men and women of Montefort, the great D'Honaire Family castle that overlooked the city of Bannock, they knew that something had changed. But none of them were allowed to talk about it. Or rather, about him. Denom. The man Rowena had brought back with her, the man who looked uncannily like her brother Frederigo. But he couldn't be Frederigo, could he? The question hung provocatively in the air, but without answer. The servants, bereft of any certain knowledge, wiled away their free hours with sly gossip and fanciful speculation. The Duke's men though kept their thoughts to themselves, as they had been ordered. And everyone else just went about their business as if Denom didn't even exist.

And, for all that the people of Bannock knew, Denom didn't exist. Not a hint of his presence or of the arrival of the archmages had been allowed to spread into Bannock itself. And until he was ready Duke Dred intended to keep it that way.


The door to Duke Dred's council chamber opened and Pomfret stepped out into the antechamber. He closed the door behind him and slowly made his way back to his own chambers. There was much for him to do and so little time to do it in. The Duke would be leaving on the morrow for Caemlyn, along with the Duchess and the Lady Rowena and... Lord Fred. Pomfret could still hardly believe it but the Duke himself had told him the truth - Denom was his son. Lord Fred was alive!

What everyone had hoped for, and yet had feared could not be possible, was true! The doubt, the questions, the fear -- they were gone now. And suddenly Pomfret felt the strain of the last four days melt away from him. Frederigo was back and the majordomo thanked the gods for it. Now everything would be right again.


Fred paced about his room nervously. Things had not gone as he had expected. In fact, they had gone horribly wrong. Although coming home had meant so much to him at the beginning, now it seemed like a trap. Not for him though, he was just the bait. It was his family that was in danger, it was they who would pay the price for his return.

For the last four days he had spent most of his time with the archmages being tested and poked and examined, bespelled and questioned and analyzed, and on and on and on, ad infinitum. And after all that intense scrutiny, instead of branding him for what he was, the damn mages had declared him "free of any evil influences" and ready to take his rightful place as the Duke's son. And his father and mother had blithely accepted him with loving arms. After that first night home, so tense and hostile, Fred had been grateful for the turnabout, but he could not forget the awful danger he posed to all those around him. He tried to convince them all that they were wrong and that he was tainted by the Darkness, but they would not listen. Rather, they told him that his concerns were foundless and that he had nothing to worry about. But Fred knew better. He was cursed, it was as simple as that, and the longer he stayed with his family the greater the threat of tragedy loomed.

And now his father had told him that they would travel to the Royal Court in Caemlyn. As a family. Was this perhaps what the dark forces had planned all along? Would his curse flare to life once more once he was with the King?

Fred paced about nervously. It was clear that without the aid of the White Hand he had no hope of lifting his curse, but they refused to even believe he was cursed. That left him with only one alternative, to flee as far away as possible. But now that he was back he knew that his family would do everything in their power to keep him. They did not want to lose him a second time. But somehow he had to find a way to escape for that was the only way he could protect the people that he loved.


Urlathe finished writing in his journal and closed the book softly. Tomorrow he and Thule would be leaving for Caemlyn, but the others would not. They were needed elsewhere. And though the threat of danger seemed to be rising all about them, Urlathe could not help but feel excited. He was a wizard of great power and yet he rarely had the opportunity to use that power. His mission at the Tower of Ganthet was to train, guide and prepare fellow mages in the ways of the White Hand, and the mission of the White Hand was to serve the Great Kingdom. But in times of peace, the Kingdom used the skills and stratagems of dukes and diplomats, not magic users. And in times of war, the kings and lords of Allaria preferred the service of knights and bowmen and fighters. When it came to battle, mages were relegated to erecting shields and slowing down the enemy and to tending to the sick and the wounded. It had been many years, hundreds, since mages had been allowed, indeed been needed, to wield their true might. The primary role of magic users now was to protect the Kingdom not from enemies or rivals but from themselves, for it was magic and those that wielded it that had destroyed the legendary Great Empire a thousand years gone and the survivors of that terrible conflagration who had escaped to Havnheim and Ryngaerd had never forgotten that.

Urlathe understood and supported this policy. It lay at the heart of the teachings of the White Hand. Mages could not be allowed to grow too powerful or rise to places of authority over the people. Such power could only corrupt and a corrupt wizard was the most dangerous human being alive.

But still, now that forces had revealed themselves which could only be dealt with by his kind, Urlathe was glad and excited for the chance to prove his mettle. But he was also wary. The danger was real, and it presented itself in many forms. And not all of them were magical in nature. Duke Dred's son for instance, the way he had been touched by the Darkness... the boy worried Urlathe. It wasn't because he was cursed, though. Of that Urlathe and his fellow mages were almost unanimous that he was not. But it was clear that Fred believed he was cursed and that was just as dangerous, for a man under a curse, or who thought he was under a curse, was prone to rash action.

Urlathe and his fellows had tried their best to convince Fred that his belief of being under some dark spell was unfounded. They pointed out how he had been mistaken about his magickal blade, Nelheth-Mord. His fear of it had been baseless, the sword was not an evil or wicked thing. It was, like his Flamebane armor, a relic of the Great Empire. To wield the sword that called down the Fog of War was an honor. They also informed Fred that the other sword he had pulled from the armory beneath Minestus' Peak was enchanted likewise. It was Frey-Thost, the FlameLight sword. And possessing these ensorceled swords in no way meant that he was under a curse.

Likewise he had nothing to fear from a blood curse. The three nights of the full moon had just passed and Fred was none the worse for it. He had been watched carefully and there hadn't even been a hint of lycanthropy upon him.

As for Fred's encounter with the Lady in White in the Haunted Wood and his possible connection with the Green Flame, they admitted that the effects of these things could not be so readily assessed. There was no such thing as an "Are You Cursed" spell. But curses did have a way of leaving their mark for they were of evil and tainted their victims in subtle ways. But there was no aura of evil about Fred, and his mind - though troubled and full of anguish - was not twisted by dark thoughts or impulses. And so in no uncertain terms they made it clear to him that he had no reason to fear that he was the puppet of some malign force.

But it was all for naught. Nothing they said could convince Fred that he was not under some kind of diabolical curse.

And, truth be told, this had not surprised Urlathe. He was well acquainted with the knights and warriors of Allaria. He knew what they thought of magic, and of magic users.

But what had caught Urlathe by surprise was the fact that, of all the fears that haunted poor Fred, the matter of his strange new body gave him no concern at all. And yet that was what had marked him, more than anything else, as an immediate danger and threat to the Great Kingdom and which had precipitated the involvement of the full council of the White Hand. Certainly Fred had been shocked upon learning of the full extent of Dr.Vincent's "repairs", but Fred nonetheless gave little worry to that quarter. Upon being questioned it became clear that Fred considered it akin to a battle wound, albeit a massive battle wound. But while it had caused others to question Fred's very identity, Fred himself had no qualms whatsoever with who he was. He was Fred when he had entered the Tower and he was Fred when he had left the Tower. What was the problem?

But for the wizards there was a problem. Fred's queer, reconstituted body was something completely beyond their experience. They had never seen anything like it. Their general opinion was that Fred was some kind of "living flesh golem" (for golems of the usual varieties were not actually alive). But what did this mean exactly? Dr.Vincent had assured Fred that he was 'as good as new', and as far as the mages could tell that was absolutely true. But what else had Vincent done to Fred besides saving his life? What were the possible ramifications of Fred's unnatural, artificial body. Could the strange desert mage control this new body from afar, for instance? Based on what little they knew about the Baronet of Haunt, they had every reason to believe that his intentions were innocent. But under the circumstances they could not afford to just assume the best. They had to find out.

And in the meantime they had to keep an eye on Fred. Just in case. And in this, Fred's fear of being cursed actually served to help them. Fred had made it quite clear that he was both frustrated with and bitter at the White Hand over their refusal to believe that he was in fact accursed. "Damned useless, incompetent bastards" were the actual words he used. But when they told him that he would be appointed a Watcher, Fred refused. Either they would help him or they would not - any type of middle course was unacceptable to him and he had no desire to be spied upon. But they countered his protests with his own impassioned testimony and, with the full approval of Duke Dred, made it clear to Fred that he had no choice in the matter. "In Caemlyn you will be assigned one of our very best," Urlathe had told him. "His name is Carradene."

And on the morrow he and Thule and Lord Fred and the Duke's family would set out on the road to the King's City.


The other archmages would be traveling as well. But they would not be going home. Fred's unlooked for return had brought more than just a Duke's presumed dead son back to the Great Kingdom. It had brought mystery and dread as well. And although Fred had been cleared of any complicity with Dark Forces, still the fact remained that those forces were on the move again. Not within Allaria, thank the gods, but near enough that the danger could not be ignored.

And it wasn't just one threat which now confronted them. From the story Fred had told upon his arrival the mages of the White Hand realized they faced a variety of perils. The Green Flame was the most urgent of them, as well as the one most near. This terrifying thing that spawned madness in the minds of men spoke of great sorcery. But who controlled it and why had it attacked? And then there was the Lady in White and the evil of the Haunted Wood. Just what was this malign power that Fred had encountered? And what of the dragons that Fred had faced - Velus and Minestus and Malachi? It had been thought that all Grand Wyrms had perished over 700 years ago. But apparently this was not true. Were they now returning to plague Mankind? Or was there something even more frightening afoot? Were the dragons at war with each other? If so, this was potentially the most dangerous of the threats they faced. And what role in this Dragon War did the mysterious Synizn play? And what exactly was the Crystallic? What power did it have that the dragons coveted it so? Slightly less apocalyptic, or perhaps not so, was the question of Fred's metamorphosis into a manbeast. No one had a clear understanding of what had actually happened to him. Fred had obviously not turned into a werefox and just as obviously could not have been turned into a demifox. Although demifolke did not live anywhere in Havnheim, the wizards were familiar with the strange, humanoid Race. So what had Fred turned into? Was this some new kind of were-curse? And last but not least, there was the enigmatic Dr.Vincent. Without a doubt the eccentric desert recluse had to be found and put to the question.

There was much to do but the archmages of the White Hand were not daunted by their task. Over the last four days they had drawn up a plan of action. With the appearance of the Green Flame the White Hand had decided to station a permanent presence along the Tumbar. There were already three mages at Batlan and more would follow. Faith would act as their overseer. Ursula would travel to Minestus' Peak and MalBoncton in search of clues as to how a human being could be made to wear the form of a demibeast. Synizn and the Crystallic were on her agenda as well. She would be accompanied, for a while anyway, by Orkney and Britainnie. Orkney's interest was in the Dragon's lair but Britainnie wished to seek out the Lady in White. As for Dr.Vincent, Alexander would be sent out in search of him. Alexander looked forward to meeting the bizarre occultist, although he wasn't sure that Vincent would be happy to see him.

And so, on the morrow, the Council of the White Hand would begin its journey to the mountain bastion of Batlan. Now although the Tumbar lay outside the bounds of Allaria it was still within the jurisdiction of the Great Kingdom and so the wizards could travel there freely. But there they would have to wait until they received permission to move ahead. Urlathe and Thule of necessity could not accompany them however; they were needed to go to Caemlyn where they would present the Council's plan to King Emry. Likewise, Alexander would be absent from the group; his task lying not in the south but to the north. He and his party would travel to the village of Lemley in the Allarian Duchy of Farmoor, far to the northeast. There they would meet with some associates from the independent Duchy of Franken. The search for Dr.Vincent was best begun in the home of his youth.

That was the Council's plan. And the White Hand was satisfied that it was a good plan. But as with all things that they did in the name of the Kingdom, the final approval lay within the discretion of the King.


Duke Dred dismissed his messengers and then sat down heavily upon his throne. Before the day was out the people of Bannock would all be gathered together in the great square at the foot of Montefort. And then he would tell them a most wonderful thing. That his son was not dead. That his son had returned. But a part of him doubted that everyone would think this a wonderful thing. Some would fear that it had the touch of black magic about it. But that was only natural. Only time would soothe these fears. Of course, Dred intended to do everything he could to help the process along. He had already commissioned three bards to compose songs celebrating Fred's exploits. When he reached Caemlyn more minstrels would be recruited to the task.

He wished he could do more though, he did not want to see his son become the object of people's suspicion and fear. Fred had suffered too much of that already. Dred felt keenly his own guilt on that particular count. And now that Fred had passed safely through the White Hand's examinations, Dred wanted Fred's life to return to normal, or rather, that his life be free of any hint of the un-normal. For Fred was no longer just another peer of the realm, or the son of an Allarian Duke. He was a hero, he was the Dragon Slayer. The entire Kingdom owed Fred a debt, and it would not do to repay their hero with cold shoulders and turned backs.

King Emry's reception of Fred would do much in the way of rallying the people's hearts toward the Dragon Slayer. Even those that were reluctant would open their arms to Fred once they saw that the King had accepted him. And Dred looked forward to that meeting. There would be much pomp and majesty. The King would present Fred to the people and extol his virtues. He would also bestow upon Fred the reward that he'd promised him when Fred first set out upon his Quest. This celebration of Fred's return would be a triumph for Dred's son and would greatly impress the Dukes and Lords of the Court but more importantly Dred hoped that the royal display of gratitude would finally shake Fred free of his morbid fears and doubts.

Suddenly, in the distance, Dred heard the sounds of bells. It was nearly time to present Fred to the assembled throngs of Bannock. And then the Faire of Celebration would begin, earlier than any had expected. But would his son feel like raising a toast? Not yet it seemed. Dred sighed. Perhaps even the King's celebration would not fully restore Fred's spirit. Who knew what it would take to heal his son? All Dred did know was that Fred required special care and patient love for he had suffered much on his Quest. And if dance and song were not what he needed, perhaps the way to heal Fred lay in a soldier's work. For just as Fred's return had roused to action Urlathe and the mages of the White Hand, the Houses of Allaria too now needed to examine the events that had befallen Fred during his long journey home.

But unlike the works of magic, vague and shadowy, Fred would be faced with the concrete questions and deliberations of men of war. Certainly, Dred reasoned, if Fred could regain his self-confidence anywhere, it would be there, among his fellow knights. His training and discipline would overcome everything else, for the stakes were too high for any self-doubt. This was especially true now, considering everything that Fred had witnessed and been a part of.

Obviously the Green Flame was as much a military threat as a magical one. So too was a Dragon War, if one such was brewing. Also, Fred had sojourned for weeks with the heir to the Aqualarian throne. His insights could prove invaluable to the debate on a hinted-at incursion into the lands of the Amazons. And of course there was the troubling revelation that the Dwarves were not exactly who they pretended to be. Far from being lone wandering tinkerers, they possessed a strength of arms and a force of warriors that no one could have believed possible. If they were about to come out of hiding they would be a force to be reckoned with, and it seemed that their claims might include much of Havnheim and Allaria. Just as surprising, and just as much a threat, was the fact that the dreaded Orcs were not as extinct as everyone had thought. Their viciousness and warlust was legendary. In fact Mankind knew of them only in legends; they had been wiped out in the Age before the rise of Man. Or so it had been taught.

But these questions and deliberations would have to wait until Caemlyn. Right now Dred's only concern was with announcing the return of his son, the acceptance of Fred by the people of Bannock and, in the Duchy of Suffex at least, the commencement of the Faire of Celebration. After that, he would have two weeks during the journey to the Royal City to mull over everything else.

  1. And then Pomfret arrived. It was time to proclaim to the people that Lord Fred was alive.
  2. Three weeks later we find our hero within the mighty walls of Caemlyn!
  3. And then the time arrived to proclaim to the people that Lord Fred was alive...

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WolfRun

7/4/2001 8:17:23 PM

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