Jake and the Opals

The orc, puzzled by her actions, watched her with impatience and searched the landscape. The sky was getting darker as the moonlight waned. Soon they would need to stop and rest for the night. This did not seem a good place for that rest. The obelisks were nearly in the open. They stood, seemingly untouched by time and with a disturbing impression of permanence about them.

Seeing no immediate threat the orc sat down on a stool-shaped stone lying beside the stone pathway they had chanced upon. Setting the silvery elven blade across his knees the orc pulled free an oiled cloth and whetstone and set about inspecting the blade more closely than he had before.

The sorceress continued perusing the obelisks, each in turn. Occasionally she would murmur words and trace the runes with an outstretched finger which never touched the stone. Jake could only guess that she was deciphering the words although for what purpose he didn't know. Better to move on he thought rather than risk staying in one place overlong.

The orc grunted to himself as he could find no sign of nick or scratch in the blade. The elves certainly made their weapons durable, the orc grudgingly granted. Judging by the condition and style of the armor that had been worn by the skeleton, and presuming that the sword had been here as long, the weapon was over four hundred years old and yet appeared as if it had been newly forged only days ago. Its bright gleam in the pale moonlight was almost unnerving for the orc. Testing its edge, the orc grunted again. Even the slight draw of his thumb across the blade was enough to draw a small trickle of blood. The orc wondered about the original wielder of the blade. Why had he come here? What had killed him? An ambush by the skeletal warriors that roamed this place, or perhaps just starvation? Both were eminently possible in this place. Perhaps he had been a treasure seeker. Lured here by the rumors of long forgotten gold and jewels. Perhaps he had been lured here by the danger, a thrill-seeker looking for adventure in the eternal battle between light and dark.

The orc shook his head sadly. If a thrill-seeker he had been, he had journeyed to the wrong lands for such adventure.

Morgan broke his reverie with a small cough. The orc looked to her as she began to speak. "These would appear to be warding stones of some kind. I can decipher some of the symbols, but some yet elude me. Can you read any of this?"

The orc rose and joined her beside the twin obelisks. The faintly glowing glyphs and runes seemed to throb with life and made the orc queasy looking at them. Shaking his head he spoke, "It's no language I know. The written language of the orcs is at best simple. I see symbols that could be orcish, but the others are unknown to me. Some look dwarvish or elvish."

Morgan nodded in agreement. "Elvish, dwarvish, some human, and others that I cannot identify. The symbols are all mixed together making it very hard to decipher."

The orc shrugged. "Does it matter what they say?"

The sorceress nodded, "I suspect they will. The gift is not as strong within me as it was in my teacher, but the Sight tells me reading these stones will be of great import."

The orc looked about doubtfully. "So we have to stay here until we figure them out?"

Morgan shook her head. "Nay, I think not." The sorceress knelt and drew back her sleeve with one hand to give her freer movement as she pointed. "These symbols here suggest this is only the first... ring? ... of stones. The story does not seem complete. I believe there will be stones further ahead that will tell more. Also, there are faint ripples of power here. The Sight warns me against probing with my arts, but I suspect these stones may be the answer to numerous riddles."

Jake scowled. "More magic?" He gripped the elven blade's hilt tightly and glanced about to ensure the word had not drawn down some dark doom.

The sorceress laughed at him. "Does magic so terrify you Jake? What would you say if I told you the sword you have claimed is also magic?" Regaining her feet, the sorceress brushed lightly at her skirts and the dust and grime fell away.

The orc growled and glared at the sword as if it were now a poisonous snake ready to turn upon him. The orc shook his head, his teeth clenched hard. "Nay, I knew the sword would have elven magic about it. I may not like it, but we will need it." The orc lowered the blade and forced himself to relax. He grunted, "it's well known that orcs do not like magic. It can't be trusted."

The sorceress smirked mischievously for a moment, "Does that mean then, friend orc, that I cannot be trusted?"

The orc stared at her for a moment, his distrust of magic warred with other emotions across his face. Finally he said, "There's an old saying used among the orcish whelps in Gothgulka. A trusting orc is a dead orc."

The sorceress said nothing in reply, but waited, realizing that perhaps she had touched a nerve. The orc untensed visibly and continued, "sometimes it's good not to be fully orc." He had added a small chuckle and a hint of smile to his words.

The sorceress smiled warmly and then turned back to the stone pathway. "We should move on, soon the moon will be gone and full night will be upon us. It would be best if we found a more suitable resting place."

The orc nodded in agreement and stepped out onto the pathway, "Aye, someplace more defendable."

The sorceress looked back at him. Before she could ask he added, "I didn't say I trusted everything." Morgan laughed again. One of the few of their journey.