Page 23 - Chapter Three



The southland was consumed by the darkness of the night, it’s stars were jailed behind a thick overcast. Only the moon remained lit in the night sky, slightly dimming as clouds passed by. Balamor’s short strides pushed him across the slight arc of a massive stone bridge. It was beautifully crafted, humongous boulders polished by heavy winds for what seemed like millenia assorted like pieces of a puzzle climbing their way across the Faric. Not one visible spec of mortar was used to sustain this massive structure, it’s design was godlike to Balamor. Even if he wasn’t a bridge builder by trade, knowledge of the subject was instinctive for any hobbit.

The bridge carried the young cartographer across the river within minutes, there he paused looking at his map intensely. Tracing its surface with his finger and stopping at a familiar blank spot, he sensed his destination was in reach. The Greatstone Pass was found at last and discovering what lay beyond was now his duty. The map found its way back into his pack before he started on the next leg of his journey.

The large stones blotted the wide dirt path he was traveling, the frequent touch of their cold surface became familiar to him, but the craftsmanship of the ancient pass was peaking his curiosity as well as his discomfort. He felt confined within the towering walls which hugged the pass, a mosaic of giant stone bricks hawked the lone hobbit down as he scanned his surroundings cautiously.

It was an odd mix of feelings Balamor was juggling, his thoughts dashed in all directions, a timelapse of his past few days. What he’s been through so far was known to other men, but few knew what danger the Mog Brush would bring, and an age old fear kept most away. He would not let that fear fester his decision to uncover what was considered ‘harmful knowledge’, for all knowledge was neutral to him. Balamor’s mind slipped back to the spellbooks, how their pages related to the strange runes he held in his pack, and the result of their power in the hands of the unknown mystic woman.

He didn’t ponder her mysterious identity, but her knowledge of his grandfather, and more importantly her knowledge of the Wisebeard name. Farjadis never mentioned a woman in his travels, only Gantis Jacs; a man who must be just as power if not more so than the green robed woman. He remembered she mentioned a name unfamiliar to him, Farah Lenook. She was seeking to end Farjadis, perhaps an attempt to vanquish the Wisebeard name once and for all. Balamor gripped the hilt of his dagger tight at the thought of losing his grandfather.

The End

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