19. BAD NEWS

“Well,” said Chuck, scratching his head, “…THAT sucked.”

When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Wendell is at the point of no return. King Robert III has returned to his lands, bringing with him the Lady Alhannah and the Rook, to set him once again on the seat of power. Wendell discovers there might be something more to King Robert than meets the eye.

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Don’t be in such a hurry to pass judgement on others.

You may think you know a little of their history, but that’s not what makes a person. Learning from their mistakes, breaking their prisons, refusing to give up and blazing new trails…that is what makes a person.

Don’t be in such a hurry to pass judgement on others.

You may think you know a little of their history, but that’s not what makes a person. Learning from their mistakes, breaking their prisons, refusing to give up and blazing new trails…that is what makes a person.

That “little history” should soften your heart, evoke your compassion and remind you of a single, inescapable fact:

You have a history too.

The first two days of our journey weren’t as bad as I thought they’d be. To be honest, I’d worked myself into a near mental frenzy, thinking we’d emerge from the valley and into the waiting clutches of the horde. My paranoia whispered that we’d be running for days, barely escaping with our lives from a blood-thirsty army laying in wait. 

Nothing had been further from the truth.

The forest was quiet, paths empty — though there were ample signs of a large group moving north. Deep tracks, animal droppings and trampled foliage marked the way.

Dax was particular about avoiding any paths normally traveled by merchants. “If it’s wide enough for a wagon, we ain’t usin’ it,” he said…and he meant it. He even ignored the wizards’ complaints, though I noticed Dax slowed our pace enough to accommodate the old man’s fatigue. The trek to Til-Thorin was a long one, and that was taking the common routes. Now we had to make it to the Keep in two weeks, but we were limited to the high passes. Hunting trails and blazing fresh paths of our own. Dax and Alhannah took turns scouting ahead while Chuck walked with me.

It wasn’t so bad.

The brilliant colors of fall had already washed over the forest. Leaves were falling. The cool breeze during the day turned bitter cold at night, cutting through the trees like daggers of ice. The miserable experience was only exacerbated by Dax’s refusal to make anything but the smallest of fires. 

It was then I noticed some of the more remarkable properties of the mägoweave I wore.