Jenka, Solman and Rikky all introduced themselves, and soon a light conversa on about the quali es of different types of field ra ons ensued.

Mor n and Rikky both swore that dried venison was the best because you could boil it into a pot of greens and water to make a warm stew, as well as munch it dry when you were on the move. Zah agreed that dried meat was a good choice, but claimed that sea biscuits were be er because they would keep for months and could be made with special herbs that revitalized a person’s body faster. Her argument made even more sense when she threw in the fact that ship captains had been using sea biscuits, not jerked venison, as the crew’s main staple for as long as anyone could remember.

“We en't ea n’ neither of ‘em tonight,” Herald, the King’s Ranger, chimed in robustly. “Tonight we’ll be pullin’ pork ll the stars come out.

That’s the only reason I like making this fargin trek.” He was a big, gruff, unkempt man of a sizable girth. He didn’t look like much, but there was no mistaking the ease at which he sat the saddle. And if you happened to make out the embroidered emblem on the breast of his filthy tunic, you’d know to beware, because the star of the King’s Rangers was the unques oned law of the fron er.

The hills smoothed out a bit as the day wore on, and the slow, rolling plains spread away ahead of them like plush, green waves frozen in me.

Behind them, the mountains rose up, sharp and in mida ng, but ahead of

them the world was alive and full of the promise of spring. Mul -colored clusters of shrubbery and wildflowers sustained a plethora of busy insect life. This kept the scenery along the way from becoming mundane. As the sun sank low in the sky, they saw a thin trail of chimney smoke in the near distance. Herald repeated several mes, for the sake of those who didn’t know yet, that the smoke was from a lodging house and pig farm owned by a barrel keg of a bastard named Swinerd.

Jenka recognized the name and quickly put the big, scruffy man’s face to it. Swinerd and his three sons o en sold pigs in Crag, and some mes stopped to purchase a liniment or a salve from Jenka’s mother.

Once, Swinerd had go en into an argument with one of the King’s Rangers and a brawl had ensued. Jenka remembered how excited the en re village had go en over the conflict. Wagers had been made, and old Pete had opened a keg of stout for those who had the coin to buy a drink. Swinerd had pounded the poor ranger half to death, and Jenka didn’t remember seeing either man back in Crag since.

As they neared the formidable and well-constructed looking log building, the smell of swine refuse, pungent and ripe, filled their nostrils to the point of gagging. The lodge was off the main road a short way, and beyond it was an even bigger, open-sided building. Under that gray led roof were rows of pens, each full of squealing piglets and loud, grun ng sows. A young man, probably one of Swinerd’s sons, looked up from his labors and saw the group approaching. He immediately took off running. A moment later, big old Swinerd was stalking across the turf from the lodge, trying to hold his big spli ng axe high with one hand while fastening his cloak around his neck with the other. He couldn’t quite manage it, and that only seemed to further agitate the in mida ng-looking man.

The cloak was discarded a er about ten paces. Swinerd’s fierce scowl showed that he was no longer concerned with the garment. One of the sons was coming out behind his father and scooped it up as he came.

“You fat dirty bastard,” Swinerd snarled and started charging. Herald cursed and then spurred his horse ahead while drawing his sleek long sword. He raised the blade up high and heeled his steed into a full charge at the other man. The two Foresters looked at Master Kember for instruc on, but the old hunter was intently watching the two men and ignored them.

It was odd to look upon; two grizzled men charging at each other, one in drab gray and green ranger’s garb, riding a well-trained horse. The other clad in rough spun and animal hides, running on his booted feet.

“Why in the world are they … ” Rikky started to ask, but his voice stopped flat when the two men simultaneously let out very similar, primal roars.

Jenka could do li le else but watch, slack-jawed and confused, as the scene unfolded before his eyes. He wondered why Linux or Master Kember wasn’t doing anything other than watching, and decided that if they weren’t worried, then he shouldn’t be either.

Swinerd swung his axe and sent Herald’s sword flying away in a twirling glimmer of polished steel. But big old Herald leapt from his horse like some obese tree-cat and tackled Swinerd by the collar. They went tumbling into a tangle of arms and legs that looked like it would have been fatal for a lesser man. The two men ended up lying in a cloud of dust, side by side, head to foot. A er a short, but tense silence they began laughing

hysterically like two rambunc ous young boys. Realiza on hit Jenka then: Herald and Swinerd were brothers.

The old King’s Ranger hadn’t been exaggera ng. They were fed enough roasted pork to fill a small ba alion and they were welcomed as if they were the king's own re nue. The lodge’s common room was clean and empty, save for one of the hands that labored for Swinerd. He was at a plank-wood table near the ale keg, hovering over a plate of food. The log walled, plank-floored space boasted a large, stone fireplace at one end and three shu ered windows on the wall facing away from the pig barn.

Swinerd’s wife was an excellent cook, and she was as nice as she was round. She hummed and some mes sang the words to a trio of old folk songs as she floated about the table, keeping the tankards full of dark stout that had been brought there all the way from King’s Island.

The younger men and boys listened closely, as Swinerd recounted the tale of how he and his sons had very recently saved a group of herbalists from a pair of roaming trolls. The herbalists came this way from Port and Three Forks every spring to gather their wild growing wares. They had chanced upon the wrong berry patch this year, though. Swinerd and his sons had been le ng the sows fa en in a thayzle-nut patch down by Demon's Lake a few weeks back and had been able to frighten the gangly beasts away before they killed anybody.

Zah suggested that those trolls could be scouts gathering tac cal informa on for their coming a ack. Three of the four men at the table, Master Kember, Herald, and Swinerd, shook their heads and agreed that was foolishness. They didn’t have enough fingers and toes to count the number of trolls they had fought over the years. They spoke from experience, which had come at a grim price for a lot of men.

“Trolls don’t reason,” Herald insisted. “They can’t think or plan beyond their ins nct to hunt and eat. It’s that simple. Wolves are ten mes cleverer than trolls.”

Linux never entered the conversa on, but Jenka saw a look pass between him and Zah. A er that, she held her tongue when she didn’t agree with the men. Her face showed her displeasure, though. A light tension hummed through the air, save for when Swinerd’s plump wife was there to smother it with her lovely musical voice.

It turned out that Swinerd was just a nickname, which seemed obvious to Jenka now. Their mother had named them Herald and Gerald, and Gerald had been selling pigs to the rangers up at Kingsmen’s Keep just as long as Herald had been a ranger. Kalja g was the name their father gave them both, and his long years of working the Great Wall gave it some weight. The Yule pig at the king's own table had come from Swinerd’s farm the last seven years running, and he was proud of it. Swinerd also sold his hogs to the good folk up in the other foothill villages, and two or three mes a year he sent a herd down to Three Forks. The anger he had displayed at his older brother earlier was over just such a journey that had ended four days ago near Demon's Lake when road bandits got away with a score of his pigs. Herald had promised to come down with a few of the rangers and escort the herd safely to Three Forks, but the king’s business had kept him from keeping his word. Swinerd’s oldest son had go en knifed trying to defend the herd. The boy had survived the chest wound and was out in the bunk house healing. Swinerd had just been ven ng his anger over the situa on, and the animosity was almost already forgo en.

Zah offered to look at the boy’s wounds, but Swinerd refused her as politely as his rough manner would allow. Herald tried to explain that it

would be good for the boy, but there didn’t seem to be any sway in his brother’s supers

ous stubbornness.

Solman, Rikky, Mort, and S ck were put up in the bunk house. Since Jenka had been assigned the posi on of personal a endant to the druids, he was assigned a room in the main house with Linux. Linux had already politely requested that a hot bath be filled for him, and as soon as Jenka finished his meal, he went about ge ng the water heated and hauled.

Zah, being a young lady, was given her own quarters. Jenka had to haul a bath for her too, but that chore he did happily. When the work was done, he was too red to haul a bath for himself. Master Kember and Herald each got a private room, and though they were all the way at the other end of the hall, their thunderous snoring kept Jenka awake most of the night. It was during a lull in this nocturnal nasal symphony that Linux spoke to Jenka for the first me.

“You have a des ny, Jenka De Swasso,” his voice was eerily deep and his tone somewhat grave. “Zahrellion does too. What that des ny is, I am not certain, but the dragons seem to sense it. That’s why they have approached you two. I think that your path leads somewhere other than to the King’s Rangers. I believe that there are more of you, and I believe that your des ny is far greater than that. I also believe that the trolls are far more powerful than the King’s Rangers believe, and this is troubling.”

“Are you and Zah human?” Jenka asked the first ques on that came to mind. “Or are you elvish, like the village folk say?”

Linux chuckled. “That is not the correct ques on to ask, Jenka, but it’s a good one.” There was a flash as a small flare of sapphire druid’s fire burst forth on the wick of the candle si ng on the table between the two

beds. A er a beat, the blue color burned from the flame, leaving a typical yellow glow. Linux grinned at Jenka’s unease. “You should ask me if I have descendants that washed up on Gull's Reach a er the Dogma was swallowed by the sea. Now that is the proper ques on.”

Jenka looked at the strange man for a moment. The pointed beard made Linux' head look unnaturally long, and his eyes were a clear liquid blue that rivaled the depths of Zahrellion’s lavender orbs. But other than that, and the ta oos, he looked perfectly human to Jenka. Jenka shrugged.

“Well?”

“Yes, my ancestors were on the Dogma, and so were Zahrellion’s, but neither of us are completely human. Nor are you. There were a handful of the elvish on the Dogma, and a few of the li le folk, if it is to be believed.

It’s true that some of the members of our sect have a touch of high elvish in their blood, but it is thin in most of us. A few, though, are s ll more elvish than human. There are sma erings of high blood in a good por on of the kingdom’s people, but if you tell anyone about it, I’ll be forced to spell you into a tree-sloth or a mud busker.”

Jenka met the strange druid’s gaze and was relieved to see a wide, toothy grin spread across Linux' eerie, ta ooed face. Jenka wasn’t sure about how much of what he had just been told was true, but he didn’t doubt any of it. He was quickly finding out that the foothills and forests around Crag and Kingsmen’s Keep were only a ny li le piece of a gigan c world, full of far greater concerns than his meager hopes and desires.

“What are we supposed to do to convince King Blanchard that the dragons don’t need to be killed? Ridding the Islands of the deadly wyrms had to be a long and bloody business. Master Kember says that it’s a grim sort of work, but it has to be done. He says that killing dragons is part of

our heritage, that by conquering the dragons and trolls we are displaying our dominance over the fron er, like the leader of a pack of wolves does over the others.”

“Ah, eliminate the compe ng predator before it can eliminate you,”

Linux shrugged helplessly at the foolishness of it. “Men are not as primal as most species, but they are animals, Jenka. I’ll not get into that argument with you, though. Zah seems to think that she has a plan. She hasn’t told me what it is yet, but she is a clever, clever girl. She said that you were a dimwit,” the suddenly juvenile-seeming druid chuckled. “I’ll save you some trouble, Jenka: That means that she likes you.”

*** * ***

Morning came far too swi ly for Jenka. Linux felt sorry for him, and saddled his and Zah’s horses while Jenka and the other boys went through their morning exercise drills with the two Foresters.

The day was pleasant, and the first half of it went by fairly swi ly for Jenka. He spent most of his me turning over stones of thought deep within his skull, while enjoying the wide open carillon sky and the vigorous life that flourished in the world. Zahrellion’s beauty, and the idea that she liked him, kept him wondering. The complexity of what she wanted him to believe, and how it affected his future, kept a brooding look on his face.

But every now and then he would catch Zah giving him a curious look.

A er that, he would beam for a li le while. Once he caught her staring at him from behind a fist-sized gourd nut she was sipping. She held his gaze when he caught her.

A li le a er midday, the road eased up next to the Strom River. The Strom came out of the Orich Mountains up near Crag, but it wound away

to the west before turning its flow southward toward the sea again. A man with a strong arm could probably throw a stone all the way across it, but it ran swi ly and looked fairly deep. The ru ed road would follow the river’s general course the rest of the way to Port.

“We won’t get to cross the Strom un l we get almost to Three Forks,”