"I am afraid that because of that pact, Galegmos may be harmed by nothing but the sword Condita, lost long ago. I can give you my notes to help you find it, but . . ."
"But?" The brave young members of the desperate band leaned forward to ensure they heard every one of the sage's words.
"But Condita may only be wielded by the descendants of Bevler, into whose hands the spirits first gave it!"
The rapt listeners gasped in dismay. "Are there any alive today? How can we find them?"
The sage held up his fingers and began to count. "Well, I'm one. And three of you. Sorry, little Yodly. And that shepherd passing by right now." They all paused to look outside at the whistling peasant. "Then there's most of the villagers in Hurglen down the road, except for the Rundels of course. They're later arrivals. Then, if you go to Trantose, eight thousand, six hundred nine trace their blood back to Bevler. I have suspicions about a couple thousand more there. After that . . ."
The eager seekers assured the sage that they had enough candidates to get started.
Finis
No comments:
Post a Comment