Whispering Willow

The Whispering Willow
By Graham Jordan

The group trudged along to their destination. The gloomy forest around them made most of the group wary of their surroundings. Very little sunlight penetrated the dark forest because the menacing trees had been so densely planted. Occasionally, the bone-chilling wind would rustle the dead leaves, dancing through the Whispering Willow’s branches. The tree was rumoured to have been cursed by an ancient society of mages who had left the area long ago. The curse they had laid was said to summon up your worst fears and challenge you to conquer them. If you lost the battle against your fear, then you died and became part of the tree.

This particular group was on a quest to find the infamous tree. They were seeking knowledge to overcome their fears. An elder from their village had told them that ‘only with knowledge of one’s fears, does one truly understand oneself’. This made sense as they would now know how to battle and conquer their fears later in life if they knew and understood them.

Rolf, one member of the group, cocked an ear, listening to the wind’s quiet whispers. He heard the wind speaking of a village nearby. The wind also told him of a deserted hut near the Whispering Willow that had once been occupied by one of the ancient mages. Lastly, coming to the weary traveller in the form of a clear vision, a tall, dark, imposing tree which was avoided by all living creatures in the forest. He informed another one of the members in his group. When he heard this, Rolf’s companion raised his voice in order to be heard above the mutterings of his companions.

“Listen up all. Our friend Rolf has had a vision; a village is nearby.” A small cheer was raised upon hearing this good news, and was quickly silenced under the speaker’s flaring eyes. “He also heard tell of the tree, the purpose of our quest. It is within half a day’s walking distance. We will stop overnight in the village, and will have an early start on the morrow in order to reach the tree in time to face our fears.” The five other members of the small group buzzed with excitement. They had no idea what was in store for them the next day.

They realized that talking about what would happen when they reached the tree would get them no nearer their destination. With some encouragement from the Speaker, who was also their leader, the group resumed their previous pace. Once in a while, a member of their group would swing a pack from their shoulders to the ground, and remove what resembled a rock. This rock-like object was, in reality, a portable snack for travelling. However, unlike a rock, it was spongy and smooth to the touch. It’s taste was that of cinnamon and wild berries.

The leader’s name was Xanthor, a skilled warrior and swordsman. Xanthor was a tall man, with muscular shoulders from working long hours at a forge. His eyes were the green colour of a newly-cut jade. His hair was a fair shade of brown. He was not overlooked by the women of his village, and had no trouble finding a partner at a dance. As well as working at a forge, Xanthor frequently practised the forms of sword-fighting, quarter-staffing, and many other warrior activities. He was usually first on the list for people to go on quests. His only downfall was that he had restricted movement in his left arm, a result of an accident when he was a child.


Shadows flitted across the peripheral vision of the wary group. Heads could be seen turning sharply in the wild attempt to seek-out the assailants that had created the shadows. Branches snapping deep within the forest, echoed throughout it, and came upon the frightened group. The wind whistled and moaned through the trees, predicting a storm in the near future. Hoods were pulled up over heads, only to be whipped violently back again. Just as the village came within sight, a drenching sheet of rain came pouring down over the now-even-darker forest and land. Unlike sunlight, which was filtered through the trees, rain ran freely through the branches and leaves of the menacing trees surrounding everything except the village in front of the group.

The rain gave the land of the clearing upon which the village was laid out, an eerie and tantalizing look. It made the trees resemble hands trying to grab onto any part of the group’s clothing. The grass in the clearing swayed almost gracefully, unlike the dead leaves, which flew through the air at unbelievable speeds. At the foot of the village gates, the group was pounding on the doors in a vain attempt to get someone to hear them. Finally, chilled to the bone, and soaking wet, the group was let in by a guard who’s duty it was to patrol the barracks, and who had not seen them at first because of the disillusionment of the wind and rain. The group shook themselves off under the overhang in front of the gatekeeper’s office. They entered and looked at an old man sitting in a chair smoking his pipe.

“Well, are ye goin’ ta stand thar and look like fewls!? Or do ye got enuff common sense ta walk over hare and give me yer names!?”

“Greetings, my name is Xanthor. I am the leader of this group, pardon us for our unseemly entrance.” After all the members of the group had given their names and stated their reason for coming to the village, they were given directions to an inn that was presently vacant.

“Too many young ‘uns are travellin’ to this hare village. They all wants ter try thar luke (Luck) at that accursed tree yonder.” The old man gestured towards an especially dark part of the forest that could be seen over the walls. He had a look of extreme disgust on his face as if he thought they were all insane and would get themselves killed within seconds of facing their fears.

“Have you ever fought the tree, sir?” inquired Xanthor,

“Oh aye. Many years passed. I gots me battle scars from et (it). Tell ya what. If you’se’ll pay this ‘ere old man, ohhhhh, say, fifty gold, then I’ll give ye the sword that conquered the tree that day.” Another look came across his face, a look of someone doing business with folk who would steal the pants off of you if you weren’t watching them.

“Forty gold. I’ll give you forty,” bargained Xanthor.

“Forty-five. Take et before I changes me mind,” the old man bargained back.

“Forty-three. That’s the most I’m offering, old man.”

The man squinted at Xanthor, as if to see his soul. “Sonny, you got yerself a deal there. Jus’ a sec. I’m gonna go get the sword. Be righ’ back. And don’ touch nothin’, ye hear?!”

The old man stood up from his chair, stretched his back, grabbed his cane, and with an angry glare at the group, walked, with some difficulty, towards the back room. Rustling and the sound of moving boxes was heard for a moment. Then weary footsteps were heard, and the old man emerged from the back, carrying what was unmistakably, a sword covered in a cloth.

“Now, listen up ye dopes! This ‘ere’s important-like. Do not under any circumstances, ANY circumstances mind, show this ‘ere sword in public. Everyone will want ter take it from ye. Take me werd fer et. It’s already ‘appened afore to yers truly. Now, I’ll give et to ye, since ye seems to be the leader ‘o this ‘ere group.” The old man checked the pieces of rope tied around the valuable package. After he was certain that they were secure, he handed the sword, covers and all, to Xanthor.

Xanthor dropped a small pouch of gold in front of the man. A shadow of a grin flashed across the old man’s face, then was gone so quickly he wondered if he had imagined it. “No payment. I’ll give et to yeh fer free. Good luck tomorrow. And ye’ll need et!” This time, Xanthor was certain that a grin of triumph flickered across the face of the old man.

The group, still weary, cold, and wet, stepped outside, and made their way towards the hotel. Xanthor looked up at the sky, gloomy from the darkness of a thunderstorm. He judged that there would be rain the next day, but only after midday. Xanthor checked his bearings, and headed off in the direction of the hotel, with his group following behind him. As they neared the hotel, Xanthor heard raucous laughter coming from a tavern across the street. He stored the information of a tavern in his mind. Perhaps he could get some tips and hints as to how he could conquer the tree. As well as maybe catching a girl or two to dance with which made Xanthor grin.

A doorman held open the door to the hotel and let the group pass. Xanthor saw a picture of a man on a sign above the door, swinging in the wind. The man was obviously a traveller. Under the man were the words, “The Wandering Traveller”. The doorman directed the group towards a desk where a plump woman sat on a high stool with a record-book laying open in front of her. She glanced up at them and mentally took in their clothing, how much they would have cost, and guessed at who the leader might be. She turned to Xanthor.

“You’d be likin’ a room then eh, m’lord? For six young travellers?”

“Yes, how much is it for two nights?”

“Well, for your whole group, I’ll say 30 gold a night. That’s including breakfast, midday meal, and supper.”

“Okay, which rooms are ours? I’d like to leave my belongings there.”

“One moment please.” The plump innkeeper turned around. “Elisa! Get over here!”

A young woman with meekly turned-down eyes came through the kitchen door. She looked up for a moment, and stared into Xanthor’s eyes. She smiled as she resumed her meekness, and stood in front of her mistress.

“Elisa, show these traveller’s to their rooms. The ones at the top of the staircase. They’re better ‘n the others.” With that, she smiled, turned around and pushed through the swinging door to the kitchen. Elisa pivoted on her heel and faced the group.

“If you’ll follow me, m’lords and lady... I’ll show you to your rooms. I’m guessing that the lady would like a room to herself? And two others for the men?”

“No, I don’t want a room to myself”, said the woman, named Jenny, sarcastically. “I want to stay in the same room as these buffoons and listen to them snore all night.” Jenny smiled at Elisa discreetly. By the end of the conversation, the men were looking at each other in confusion. Then they rolled their eyes and muttered about “Women,” which made the women deepen their smiles.

Elisa led the group towards a staircase beside the innkeeper’s desk. As they reached the top of the stairs, a man came out of a door further down the hall. When he saw them, he grinned and went down into the lobby of the Inn. The man was obviously drunk by the way he grinned foolishly at them and how he walked down the stairs. Elisa seemed not to be disturbed by the drunk. She showed the group into the room immediately to the right of the top of the staircase.

“Now, this would be a suitable room for the Lord and someone else. The room beside this one would be appropriate for the lady, and the room across the hall from this one, the other men can use. That makes six people. Would you like me to send dinner up? Or would the Lord and Lady be dining downstairs among the commoners?”

Xanthor looked at Jenny, who said with her face expression that she wished to dine with Xanthor, alone. Xanthor nodded at her and returned to gaze into Elisa’s brown eyes.

“The lady and I will dine in here, alone if you please.” He glared at the other group members. “We have certain things we need to discuss. Important things.”

“Very well m’lord and lady. Will the others be going downstairs or are they staying in their room?” She gestured towards the rest of the group.

“They are free to do anything they wish, as long as they do not disturb us.” He glared at them again.

“Very good m’lord and lady. Tea as well?”

“Yes, tea would be nice.” Responded Jenny, interrupting Xanthor before he could refuse the offer. Jenny pressed a gold coin into her hand and said, “Good tea mind! None of that foul-tasting stuff they served last time we had tea.”

The women smiled at each other again. As Xanthor saw them smile at each other, he could not help saying to himself, women speak whole conversations in just a look! I wonder what they could be saying now? But that’s no business of mine. With that, he turned to his packs, and started unpacking various objects. These objects varied from books, to compasses, to knives, and some more ‘warrior equipment.’

Jenny shooed the group members out of the room. Elisa took a hint from the way her eyes glinted angrily in the moonlight. She guessed that Xanthor would have a tough night after hearing Jenny let off some steam. She left the room, and went to fetch the tea.

“Now, as for you,” said Jenny as she rounded on Xanthor. “What are we going to do tomorrow?! We haven’t made any plans! We don’t even know what weapons we’re going to use! And furthermore, we don’t know where the tree is! You’d better get a move-on to find information about this tree! Or else!”

“Calm down Jenny! I’m going to the tavern across the street. There’s bound to be someone who can tell me about the Whispering Willow. And if not, then I’ll go ask the gatekeeper, since he’s fought it before. Does that sound all right to you?”

Jenny gave Xanthor a suspicious look. “You promise you’re not going to drink at all? I know you don’t drink much, but still, a woman has the right to worry over her close friend.” She smiled at Xanthor.

“I promise that I won’t drink more than two glasses. Does that sound okay?”

“Yes it does. I’ll tell the group that you’re getting information about the Willow. I’ll get those buffoons to find some information too. Then we’ll relate all the information that we found out tomorrow on our way to the tree.”

“Sounds good to me. I’ll meet you back here in a few hours. See you later!”

Xanthor strode over to the door, turned around and winked at Jenny, then shut it behind him as he left. He looked up and down the halls of the upper floor of the Wandering Traveller. There was no one about. Good, Xanthor said to himself. I’ll just transport myself outside. Xanthor leaned against the wall, relaxed, then stood straight again. He started to hum. As he progressed in the magical humming, his fingers drew signs in the air. The runes burned for a moment a pale blue, then disappeared in the air. Then his feet began to move as he began to dance around. The dance was a graceful dance, and it did not take up much room. Which was fortunate, because the hall was narrow. If someone had been watching him, they would have seen Xanthor there for a moment, then begin to fade quickly, and within seconds of beginning to fade, was gone.

Xanthor found himself outside the tavern across the street from the hotel. He didn’t remember anything from the trip there. It was a characteristic of that form of travelling. Xanthor stretched his muscles and spoke to himself. Ahhhhh. It feels good to be able to use my magic again. It’s been a few weeks. Too bad we had never been here before, because then we could simply visualize the town, then be transported here. But oh well. Life’s never perfect.

Xanthor walked up to the tavern, pushed open the swinging doors, and entered a room full of travelers like him, though with less money that he had. He gazed across the room at the people, and the layout of the insides of the tavern. The people, he noted, were mostly laughing just as raucously as before. Beer and ale were being served by the serving women, who were quite pretty, noticed Xanthor almost immediately. Chairs and tables were laid out across the room by the dozen. It was quite a lot larger than Xanthor had first thought when he looked at the outside of the tavern. A small clearing near the musicians was obviously for dancing. Noble pictures and paintings of a beautiful landscape hung on some walls, and others held the heads of great beasts. In one corner, remarked Xanthor with surprise, hung the head of a dragon. There was another small clearing around the head, probably from fear that the head would come alive at any moment.

Xanthor began searching faces when he was hailed by a big man sitting by himself at a table near the wall. Xanthor walked over the him.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” Asked Xanthor, gesturing to the chair across the table from the man.

“Be my guest, warrior-mage. I can tell you are looking for something. Perhaps I may be of service.”

“How did you ..... Never mind. Yes, you are right, I am seeking advice on how to conquer the Whispering Willow. My friends and I are here on a quest to conquer our fears so that we may better serve ourselves and our village. Do you know anything that would be useful in conquering the tree?”

“Well, I may. But all information has a price.”

Xanthor reached into a pocket and dragged out a small pouch, full of silver coins. He had known that this might happen when he asked for advice. He plopped the pouch on the table and pushed it towards the man.

For the first time, Xanthor saw an aura around the man in front of him. He widened his eyes in surprise.

“You are also a mage? I did not feel your presence in the village when I entered. I should have.”

“That’s probably because I am not very trained in the arts of magic.” He pushed the pouch back in front of Xanthor. “The price I ask is this; that you teach me to use my powers. A while ago, a few hours that is, I felt an immense power enter the village. Well, actually, I felt many powers. But yours was the greatest. I hustled back to my house, collected a few books about the tree, and hurried back to the Inn. I thought that you might come into here, so I saved us a table. Will you teach me? Will you take me on as your student? I am a very good learner. I memorize things quickly, I can use a sword.....”

“Wait,” Xanthor interrupted. “You want me to teach you?”

“Yes. If that’s possible m’lord....... I’m sorry, I don't know your name.”

“Xanthor. You can call me Xanthor. And what is your name?”

“My name is Cahal.”

“Ok Cahal. I will take you on as my student, but, you must know that your powers will never be able to match my own. Do you understand this?”

“Yes Lord Xanthor. I understand.”

“But, before I teach you anything, I must conquer the Whispering Willow. You have those books about tree you spoke of earlier?”

“Yes I do. Oh thank-you Xanthor! I am so pleased! Do you want me to guide you to the tree? I know where it is. I have already fought it.”

“That would be a good start. But first, the books. After we discuss some things, I must be getting back to the Wandering Traveller to read these. Okay?”

Xanthor and Cahal stayed in the tavern for a few hours discussing how to teach Cahal, and exchanging advice on how to conquer the tree. Finally, as midnight came around, they both departed the tavern and agreed to meet in front of the Inn in seven hours. Xanthor went inside the Inn, waved the Innkeeper away, trudged up the stairs and entered his room. The whole group was there. They had obviously been discussing what to do in the morning. They looked up at him expectantly as he shut the door. Xanthor dumped the books that he had been carrying in the middle of the circle of discussion.

“Everything you need to know is in there. I will go last tomorrow to fight the tree. I have someone that I need to talk to about the tree. All right?” There was a chorus of acknowledgment around the room.

“Now, take a book and go to your rooms. I for one, need some sleep. In seven hours, I will be expecting you to be ready downstairs, with whatever you’re bringing. Yes, we will be staying at the hotel for rest tomorrow night. Now, go to bed!”

The group stood up lazily, and stumbled towards the door. Rolf turned around and faced Xanthor.

“Which bed do you want Xanthor? I’ll go in whatever one you don’t,” he asked. Xanthor looked at the beds, tripped on his boots that he was removing as he was walking towards the beds, and lay down on the one closest to the door. He fell asleep almost instantly from exhaustion.

When Xanthor awoke six and a half hours later, the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon. He yawned and picked up his boots from where he had left them the night before. He yawned again as he opened the door to the hall. He stopped with his foot hovering above the ground. The sword! I still don’t know what it looks like! Xanthor turned around, shut the door carefully, and walked tiredly towards where he had left the sword before going to the tavern. He carefully unwrapped the sword that he had bought the previous night. He gasped! It was the most beautiful sword he had ever seen! The scabbard was made of gold, with little hieroglyphics etched on the surface. Inlaid in a precise manner throughout it, gems, jewels, and precious stones glittered brightly in the morning sunlight, now at its full power on the horizon.

Rolf, roused from Xanthor’s gasp, rubbed his eyes as he came to join his friend. His eyes widened in wonder when he saw the sword. He was speechless at the sight of it. Xanthor unsheathed the sword, which brought another gasp to both of their lips. The sword shone like the sun when it hit any ray of light. Xanthor slid his finger very lightly along one of the edges of the double-sided sword. He withdrew it, blood dripping delicately onto the carpet. He sucked his injured index finger. But most of it wasn’t noticed by his brain, because it was occupied by staring in awe at the beauty of his newest possession. Xanthor gestured to Rolf to move away for a moment. Xanthor stood up and cleared away most of the things littering the ground. He whipped the sword the attention, vertically in front of him. He swung the sword slowly to get the feel of it’s weight in mind, and to test it’s balance. Each was perfect for him. Xanthor glided gracefully across the room, flowing from one sword-form to another. Suddenly, he stopped. He realized where he was, and what he needed to do. Reluctantly, he sheathed the sword back in it’s outstanding scabbard.

“Best be getting downstairs before the others become too mad at us,” suggested Rolf.

“Good idea. But I’m going to keep the sword on. Strap it to my back will you? Then cover it tightly with the cloth, so it will not fall off.”

Rolf strapped the sword, scabbard and all to Xanthor’s back. He covered it with the cloth, and allowed Xanthor, with the help of a mirror, to examine it’s likelihood of being exposed in public. After he was satisfied with it, Xanthor packed the belongings he would need for the day, and proceeded downstairs. He strapped his other sword to his waist on the way down the stairs. After making sure it was securely on, Xanthor put on his other weapons. Mostly knives going into hidden scabbards in his sleeves, boots, waist and back. Xanthor convinced the Innkeeper to give his group some food for the day. They got fruits, vegetables, bread, and some meat.

Xanthor waited a few more minutes for the others to come down. The doors behind Xanthor creaked open. He turned and saw that it was Cahal. He gestured him over to the table he was at. After a few more minutes of waiting, the remainder of Xanthor’s group came down the stairs. The group stopped in front of Xanthor.

“Who is this, Xanthor?” They indicated that they were talking about Cahal.

“Well, this is Cahal. He graciously lent us his books on the tree, and he can show us where the tree is. I hope you guys don’t mind if he guides us.” Responded Xanthor.

“No,” responded Jenny before the others could. “We could use a guide to show us the way there.

“Good. Cahal? Are you ready? I think that we are.”

“Yes, I’m ready. Just follow me. I’ll show you the quickest route there.”

“Okay, lead the way.” Xanthor and his group followed Cahal out of the Inn. He turned to the right, towards the city gates. Xanthor stepped in beside him and asked, “Do you know how to transport people?”

Cahal looked taken aback by that. “Transport people? Are you serious? Can you show me?”

“Well, I’ll show you when you’re ready. Do you know how to send a picture to someone?”

“Well, yes, but I’m not very good at it. You want me to send the picture of the Willow to you?”

“That would be nice. That way, I can transport my whole group to the tree much more quickly. We all need to fight our fears today. We can’t have anyone not able to finish today. So, send me the picture of the Willow.”

“Okay, just a moment. I need to visualize it first.” Cahal stopped for a moment. Then suddenly, a picture of a willow tree, dark and imposing, was in Xanthor’s mind. He studied it with his mind for a moment and determined where he would reappear.

He turned around and spoke to the group. “Listen, all of you please. I need to tell you something very important. You must swear not to tell anyone of this. Do you promise?” Each member of the group drew their weapon of choice, knelt down on their right knee, and swore an oath of secrecy.

I swear,
on my loved ones graves,
on my honour as a warrior,
and on my hope of salvation,
that I will take to my grave,
the words of this secret.

“That’s a good oath. Now come here.” Xanthor directed them to a dark alleyway nearby. He grouped them all together closely, and spoke.

“I am a warrior-mage. I use magic for the good of others and to help the world. Actually, I am one of the most powerful mages that there has been for over a hundred years. I kept this a secret from everyone because I needed to. Now, I realize that it may take a while to reach the tree. So, I have decided that I will transport you there with my magic. Do you all give your consent that I may do this?” Everyone nodded, and looked at him with bewildered eyes.

“Good. Now, stand in a circle holding each other’s hands. Do not let go until I say you can, or else you may seriously injure me or someone else in the group from the disruption of magic. Do not be alarmed by anything that may happen. I will take care of it.”


Everyone extended their hands to their comrades, and finally made a circle around Xanthor. When Xanthor was certain everyone was ready, he stood tall in between them, and began to hum. He drew runes similar to those he had the previous night with his hands. He visualized the tree in his head. His feet began to dance gracefully again. Runes burned in the air all around the group. They began to fade, then were gone moments after that.

Everyone opened their eyes, and panicked. There was no light! They were in the pitch-black darkness of the forest. Xanthor conjured up a light to keep order in the group. Warm rays from the mage-light flowed around them all and pushed away the blackness. Xanthor peered around in search for the tree. Cahal tapped him on his shoulder.

“Xanthor, the tree is over there. There is no one else but us.”

Xanthor turned around and gazed in the direction Cahal had indicated. Sure enough, the tree that Xanthor had seen in his mind was there. Still dark and imposing, but more so than before. The mage-light’s light did not illuminate the tree when it was cast upon it. The Whispering Willow looked like a dark demon, with branches and dead-leaves and warrior garments all around it. Xanthor walked towards it. As he did so, an apparition came from the tree. It took the form of a gray haired old man. It opened it’s mouth to speak.

“What is it you are seeking from me? To conquer your fears? Surely that must be it.”

“You are right, old man. We wish to learn from our fears,” responded Xanthor.

The old man looked at Xanthor with pearly white eyes. “Ahhh. I see that we have a wizard among this group. And a strong one at that.” Xanthor nodded.

“Now, what do we have to do?”

“You must choose one from among you who you deem worthy of battling their fear or fears.” Xanthor turned and faced the group. “Who wishes to be the first? Choose quickly or I will choose for you.”

The group looked at each other and finally shrugged. Rolf walked forwards. “I will go first, Mage Xanthor.”

Xanthor sighed. He had not heard that title in a long time; it made his feel the years in his bones. “Very well Rolf.” Xanthor turned back to the old man.

“Now what? We have chosen from among us. What will you have him do?”

The wizard squinted at Rolf. He gestured him over. Rolf looked back at the others. They just made shooing motions at him. Rolf sighed and walked towards the old man. The old man had begun humming. Rolf disappeared into thin air. The group leapt up, brandishing weapons in less than an instant.

“Do not worry. Your friend is in another world temporarily. That is where he is battling his fear.” Assured the old wizard. The group relaxed, buying his story. They waited about an hour, then Rolf appeared. He was bleeding in a few places, mainly on his legs and arms. And he had a slight limp in his left leg. Other then that, he was fine.

The next person to go came back in half the time Rolf did. He was in worse condition though. Gashes across his chest stretched down to his waist, his head had a few slashes, and he could barely walk. Xanthor transported him back to the village to get a healer.

As the day progressed, difficult to determine with no sun visible through the trees, Xanthor’s turn came closer and closer. Finally, in what he guessed to be five hours after they had come to the tree, it was his turn.

He checked all his knives and both his swords. He uncovered the golden sword and heard gasps from the group. The old man floated towards him. “You may battle here, before the eyes of your group, if you so desire. It may help you with leadership later in life if they understand just how well you can fight and use your powers, but the choice is yours.”

Xanthor looked at the old man. The old man looked back at his with those pearly white eyes, reminiscent of a spirit. “Fine, I will do battle here, but what is my greatest fear? I myself do not know.”

“Ah, well about that, it may actually be better to move to a larger clearing. Do not worry, the tree exists outside of time and location, and thus can be anywhere and nowhere at any point. I will transport all of you there, if you have no objections…?” He grinned toothily.

Xanthor nodded, and the old man began to hum gently. He waved signs in the air with his hands, and the whole group vanished, reappearing in a large clearing, the sky beginning to darken to sunset. Everyone seemed surprised, having no warning of this. Xanthor went over and explained what he knew of what was going on. They relaxed and sat back to watch the show, which was most likely going to be spectacular.

Xanthor stood in the middle of the clearing, and nodded to the old man, who started humming again. He stopped after a few moments, and went to join the others to watch. Xanthor waited, standing perfectly still, pondering over what he would be battling. Suddenly, a shadow flew across the clearing. Xanthor looked up and jumped out of the way of a menacing claw with razor sharp ends. He loosed a bolt of fire in the direction of his opponent, and he heard a creature scream in pain and anger as the tendrils licked the leathery flesh of its wing. It came around and dove for Xanthor again. Finally getting a good look at what he was battling, Xanthor’s eyes widened as he realized the dragon ahead of him would tax all his cunning and guile in battle. Forgetting himself for a moment, Xanthor barely moved out of the way of its lethal claw as it swiped at him again. He loosed another bolt of fire, deliberately focused at the dragon’s wing. The fire hit the wing, piercing it, and the dragon came crashing down to the ground. The earth rumbled with the impact.

For the first time, Xanthor got a good look at the dragon. His total length was at least fifty feet. A swishing tail extended for ten feet behind the dragon. At the end of the tail, a poisonous red barb emphasized the lethality of this combat. Green and golden scales glittered in the afternoon sunlight. Grey spikes stuck out from the dragon’s spine. A long neck stretched out in front of the dragon’s sinuous body. The scales on the neck became increasingly darker as they approached the head, whichw as itself a vicious looking thing; blue cheeks glittered more brightly in the sunlight than the scales as the dragon moved its head to look at his opponent. A razor-sharp green horn extended over the dragon’s head, and fiery eyes seemed trying to burn through Xanthor’s own green eyes. The ears that were on either side of the horn were black as night, and from the way they flickered about, could head every minuscule sound within a few hundred meters.

The dragon stood on his hind legs and roared, making Xanthor cover his ears in pain. They were still ringing as the dragon attacked him again, the poisonous barb on the tail flicking toward him. Xanthor whipped out his golden sword and swung it in anticipation of the tail colliding with it, but nothing hit the sword. The tail had stopped in mid-air, hovering a few meters in front of him. The dragon’s fiery red eyes stood transfixed on the sword, and it opened its mouth to speak.

“You are the bearer of the sword. I cannot kill you, and you cannot kill me. We are bonded, you and I, by that sword,” the deep bass voice of the dragon was like boulders rolling down a slope. The words seemed to echo across the clearing.

“Why not?” inquired Xanthor in a hesitant voice. “I am here to battle my fear, and you are just that. How can I say I conquered my fear if I don’t succeed?”

“Because you bear the sword and therefore I am your servant, but if one of us dies, so does the other. You should already feel my power flowing through your veins, and be somewhat aware of me. We are destined to be partners and friends. Do you understand now?”

After a moments pause for reflection, Xanthor nodded. “Yes, I understand. What do I do with this power we share?”

“You and I are chosen, to do battle with many creatures of evil. It will take many years, believe me, as there are many evils in this world, but as you and I are of one spirit now, you will not die of old age. You and I will go forth and make this world a better place, starting today.” The dragon looked purposefully at Xanthor. “You can start by healing my wing.”

Xanthor looked apologetically at the dragon and approached the burned tatters of its wing. He placed his hands just above the epicentre of the damage, and began to hum. He concentrated on the wing as it was before it was hurt, and through his fingers, his power flowed in healing waves, mending all damage. Something was strange about his power though. It felt… different. With a start, he remembered that the dragon’s power was in him now, and that he was more than likely the most powerful mage living. Xanthor grinned to himself as he withdrew his hands from the dragon, then sobered as he realized he had to say goodbye to his group of friends.

“I must say farewell, allright?”

“Of course, I will need to do the same in the near future.”

Xanthor turned toward his awe-struck friends, fear and admiration counter-mingling in their gazes. He noticed that the old wizard and Cahal were standing apart form the group, and the wizard seemed more solid than the first time they had met. He noticed Xanthor regarding his curiously.

“I am freed from the curse of the tree. It would not let me rest until I had found the chosen pair. Now I may do as I please!” The old man smiled gleefully.

Xanthor turned toward Cahal, who had obviously heard the conversation between the dragon and himself by the way he wouldn’t meet Xanthor’s eyes. “Cahal, I’m sorry, I cannot teach you. Fate has called me to a greater destiny. However…” He drew some signs in the air toward Cahal. “If you have the need, all you must do is call me in your mind, and I will answer.” Cahal straightened and nodded quick thanks.

The old man looked between the two, and grinned. “Why don’t I take Cahal as my apprentice? I still have half a century at least, before I’ll kick the bucket.”

Cahal’s expression brightened considerably and he nodded enthusiastically as the old man led him away. Xanthor caught the tail end of “… and I’ll teach you everything I know…” He smiled and turned to face his friends, a long face replacing his expression.

“Alas, I must depart from this group. I release you from your oaths to not speak of my magic. In fact, let my enemies know that I am the most powerful mage that has ever existed! They all grinned at that. Xanthor waved his hand toward them, working the same magic as he had for Cahal. “If you’re in a tight spot, hold the image of me in your mind and call my name. Say farewell to everyone for me!”

After a few pats on the back, and shaken hands, Xanthor turned and strode purposefully toward the dragon. With a wave of his hand, he floated himself onto the dragon’s back, and waved at them from his perch. The image of Xanthor standing in that clearing, on the dragon’s back, was one the group would remember until their final days.

Seating himself just ahead of where the wings emerged from the dragon’s back, Xanthor leaned toward the dragon’s head. “Let us go forth and rid the world of its many evils. I’m anticipating we’ll make a good team.” He could have sworn the dragon cracked a smile, but it was hard to tell. He turned for one last wave to his friends, and as the dragon lurched into the air with powerful wing-beats, Xanthor lit up the sky with magical fireworks. The group would never forget this image either, of Xanthor and the dragon, surrounded by fireworks, flying toward the setting sun’s horizon, many adventures in store for them.