001 - Caspian's Call to Adventure

The elf showed up just as Caspian had got the last of his spring hay in. Caspian led the ox team back from the barn to the last of the pile of hay bales in the field. Once these bales were stacked, he could turn to getting the wheat from the millers. As he lifted the hay bales onto the cart his sensitivity to magic tingled, telling him that someone was scanning his farm. A locus of energy started forming on a clear area of the field he worked in. Feeling the magic, Caspian continued working mildly irritated. Anyone from the School Of The Orders knew to land on the stone disk set out for such up by Caspian’s house, as was the convention for all magic users of which ever school.

Caspian stood an average height, and was built like a farmer. He still had all his fingers, which some considered unusual; he just accounted it to being attentive and careful. Caspian had been trained as a Mage, able to use magic from any of the eight schools. As part of his advanced schooling he had spent several years off planet. After finishing his schooling, he had wandered the length and breadth of the main continent of his home world. In this time he had met many people, learned many customs and bits of many languages, acquired a mild reputation, and some likes and dislikes. He had spent the last two years on a farm he had purchased in the Silvona lowlands, and begun looking around in earnest for some woman to strike his fancy.

The gate focused and the elf stepped through. Taking a moment to orient on Caspian, he strode across the hay field to the wagon as Caspian stacked the last hay bale. The bale in place, Caspian turned to the elf.

This male elf stood almost half again as tall as Caspian, had a slight blue tinge to his skin and a tall white mohawk. He dressed in the silks and linens of a city dweller.

“You are the one known as Caspian,” the elf stated.

“Yes,” replied Caspian.

“You are summoned by the leaders of the Nidear Clan. Go to their city Shalaia by the next solstice.”

Caspian knew about where that city was, and that he could not use any magic to get better than close to there, without first traveling there by foot, or sending some specific object to it that he could later find. That this elf could, as demonstrated in coming to Caspian’s farm, simply told of using a different kind of magic training, which they did not deign to share with men.

“To what purpose? I have much of my own business to do here, and owe nothing that I am aware of.” Caspian leaned a shoulder against the cart, folding his arms.

“They will explain as they will, in person. You know where that city is?” The elf was visibly insulted that Caspian had even asked for an explanation.

“It’s in the Shalalerin Mountains. Beyond that, not specifically, but I could find it.” Caspian did not move. Spring in Silvona meant fall in Shalalerin.

“I take my leave.” The elf turned, strolled across the field, opened a gate, and walked off Caspian’s land.

Caspian might have suggested that this elf take something that he could use as a focus for his own magical travel, but elves are jealous of both their privacy and time. The elf would have considered it an insult for Caspian to ask of it any kind of favor.

At the Spring Fair the next week, Caspian purchased a horse to get as far north as he could before winter had set in hard. The cost for this could be easily covered by his inherited wealth. As it was, Caspian had traded part of his hay harvest for it, and sold off the rest of his stores and livestock to good people, as he was anticipating not being around for a while.

After returning from the Fair, Caspian had contracted with his neighbor to the north to tend his farm, after Caspian had closed it up against the seasons.

“Why, Caspian?”

“Jamen, I’ve been summoned north by some bloody elves. I have no idea how long this will take, but I expect I will be some time. Watch my farm. I will try to be back within the year. If not, feel free to use what fields you can.”

The village of Barrowville rested on the east side of a large river valley in the western lowlands of the continent, a little south of this planet’s equator. The not-quite mountains along the east boarder of this river valley were the first range east from the seashore traveling across the continent. The Kingdom that claimed this area covered the large valley and stretched to the north and east. Another kingdom claimed the land to the west stretching to the sea shore.

This area was a flood plane with the roads and fields demarked by rock walls that regularly had silt wash through. Almost nothing exposed to the weather was hewn wood, as it rotted too quickly. Piled or cut stone and concrete were the primary exterior building materials, with glazing filling the windows. Storm shutters could cover the windows, but with the ambient humidity and lots of light the people usually left these open, with the windows themselves open to circulate the air.

Caspian rode the horse north. He wore spun cloth trousers and shirt, leather boots, a cargo vest with his usual expedition equipment in array and attached to its belt, He carried his staff in hand, his coat and cloak tied to the back of the saddle. His food bag and water skin were also attached to the saddle. His familiar Cyrril fluttered about.

Like many archetypical wizard staves, if Caspian was moving, so was it. It stood a cubit taller than Caspian, and was made of seven rods of assorted woods magically twisted together. The carved dragon on the head of it was something to be careful of. He occasionally thumped himself with either end, but the wings on the carved end hurt worse than the blunt foot. A secondary feature that Caspian occasionally used was a socket within the carved dragon that matched to the handle of the bush-knife on his belt. This made the staff a kind of spear or pole arm. The metal blade could occasionally interfere with spells, so most of the time they were separate.

He soon left the extents of the local farms and the road transitioned from that of one maintained by daily village use to a highway maintained by the semi-regular passage of trader caravans, and military patrols.

After six weeks of travel, ending near the height of local winter, Caspian entered the elves city, Shalaia. Despite the depth of snow here, they kept the roads clean, if wet. The cobbles shed the water quickly enough. The Shalalerin Mountains were too hard for a horse from the lowlands, so he had sold it off and purchased some local clothes, and snow gear. Now three days prior to the solstice he had arrived, having traversed a significant portion of the main continent of the planet in latitude from his home just south of the equator to this range of mountains north of the northern tropic line.

As he presented himself to the city concierge he was given instructions on where a room was reserved for him, and where to present himself for further preparations. Caspian went to the appointed inn, and rung the bell on the counter, which sat at his shoulder height. A bluish hewed elf of indeterminate age appeared, and shortly Caspian had a small room. Cyrril stirred and got off Caspian’s shoulders as Caspian removed his outer cloak and set it over the back of the chair. Caspian undressed and went to bed, feeling vaguely like a child, for the size of everything in this city.

The scale of the city and its inhabitants was half again as tall as the average height of the people Caspian was want to be among, while not being correspondingly larger around. Also these elves had varying degrees of blue to their skin tone, in the same way men had varying degrees of browns. Also these elves had white mohawks, where men had dark straight hair. There was the usual personal variation, but it was different none the less.

A messenger showed up just after breakfast. She stood head and shoulders taller than Caspian being slightly shorter than his staff, this marked her as a juvenile, and he had to briefly check himself from any prurient thoughts and look up at her rather than straight ahead. At least it was winter and the locals dressed accordingly. He figured she was still a youth among the elves. She took Caspian to a tailor, where he was outfitted with a ‘presentable’ outfit. Caspian found the costume ridiculous. But he found most formal costumes to be ridiculous. In this case they gave him a long robe that split for his legs and hung to his ankles, with short pantaloons underneath. Over this was a second robe that hung to his knees. The next morning Caspian dressed in the costume after bathing himself, and Cyrril. He wiped the road grime from his staff, left the rest of his things aside, and was ready to go when his escort arrived.

The meeting did not last long, with a terse explanation that satisfied Caspian. The negotiations lasted a bit longer.

002 - Caspian journeys north

“Take whatever you need. Go to Terra. Find our ‘lost daughters’… Secure them from evil. Bring them here to us.” Elves can be exceedingly annoying. Those elves especially. They had given further instructions, but they were very bitter to contemplate. Caspian had been following the first part of these instructions since leaving Shalaia, at winter solstice. “Go to Terra,” he muttered. “How about something simple like ‘Go to Abaddon’.”

After leaving Shalaia, Caspian continued his trek north and west to the high reaches of another mountain range. He learned the name once, but did not care to remember it just now. He was hoping against reason to find most of the snow melting, while arriving early enough to accomplish his task with sufficient time to spare. Being in good health, Caspian had been able to journey through the winter quickly, not bothering with a horse for this leg of his journey.

He could have teleported directly to the circle, but that took more effort than he felt was necessary, and walking gave him time to think things through, and teleport to a few other places to do some research and ask a few questions, think about what he learned, and still have time to spare. A quarter of a year’s time was not much for him to worry about being late; Caspian could get to where he needed to go in just over five weeks from Shalaia. The spring equinox was the start of the best window period, at any rate. The last half moon before the summer solstice marked the end of it. Caspian was good enough that he could bruit-force his way across the distance outside of this time window. Travel between the worlds was as simple as walking, once you learned to do it. However, having the planetary bodies arranged just right made things easier.

These high mountains had lost their charm. In his 30 plus years, Caspian had seen most of the major mountain ranges of Tywacomb, his home world. That was a lot of walking. Much had been aimless wandering. Now he had a purpose. The caravan from Krogg he had spotted behind him while climbing a canyon did not improve his mood.

His staff usually marked time when he walked, thumping the ground in tune with his steps; sometimes one hand, sometimes the other, sometimes swinging between them. Just now, the blunt end was a brace, as Caspian forded a stream full of spring runoff. The cold seeped through his boots, but did little more; his feet numb from travel.

Cyrril took the moment to play. The little dragon leapt from Caspian’s shoulders and glided upstream a little. At a point with larger rocks, the little dragon folded his wings and dove through the spray to land on a smooth boulder. The water flowing over this rock swept Cyrril off and down stream for a bit. Where the water calmed, Cyrril crawled on to the bank. Spreading his wings, he shook himself off, drops of water flying for several feet. Even with the road dust rinsed off, his skin was still a light gray. After worrying a few itches, Cyrril spread his wings and leapt into the air, flying after Caspian. He flapped his wings to gain altitude, and then glided to land on Caspian’s right shoulder.

Cyrril weighed little more than a house cat, being longer nose to tail, but not as wide through his body, except for his wings. When he landed, Cyrril tended to look all around him, then once content, to doze on Caspian’s shoulders. For his species, being almost a mammal, he was still in a juvenile stage so he spent as much time on wing as at rest. But he was not native to this planet. His moving around while seeing everything sometimes annoyed Caspian. Because of Cyrril’s claws, Caspian had long since put padding around the shoulders of his coat.

“To the top of the canyon, cross the valley, follow the river approximately east up the next canyon, then up the tallest mountain. There you will find the ring.” Caspian recited this litany, learned from the old man years ago, mostly to hear something besides the stream. He was three days beyond the last village he had stopped in. The caravan had most certainly reached the village by now. Caspian hoped the village would survive.

Caspian stopped and looked around him at the frosty trees and patches of snow among the ground cover, his dark eyes taking in all the life around him. “That caravan will destroy this area going through it.” The area had not changed in the years since he had last been this way. The villagers were nice, giving a reminder of the path and location of the circle. They were used to strangers, but not an army.

The caravan had looked to be mostly soldiers from Krogg. And they were losing ground as they crossed the same trails he was traveling alone. Caspian had an edge with just Cyrril and himself to pack for, even with the closing of winter. When he had last seen them, they were an advance company of around twenty, with some pack animals and a cart.

He started moving again, his mind going full tilt while barely guiding his body up the game trail. The game trail was well used, with most of the scrub clear of it. The caravan would carve the trail into a road, just to get their carts through. Their draft beasts, being lowland animals, would like the thinning air and cold temperatures even less than the men would. Caspian felt the air thinning, having to huff a bit more each passing hour.

The sun had left the canyon in twilight before Caspian got to the top. Once there, he broke back into the daylight, and turned to face the sun for a moment, looking across the canyon he had just hiked. Putting both gloved hands on his staff, leaning with it against his left shoulder, he caught his breath. The sun was warm, but the air was distinctly chilled, his breath visible.

“It’s gon’a be cold up here.”

Cyrril chirped in agreement then nestled closer, under Caspian’s hood.

Caspian turned his back to the sun and continued into the valley. A small stand of trees found just before dark was his shelter. First, he stretched his senses, finding healthy mana, and thus healthy plants and animals. Above, like a large river in the air, flowed the ley line. It pointed better than a compass, to Caspian’s destination. Next, he drew on the ground with the foot of his staff. The symbol complete, he cast the activating spell. That would keep the predators away, as well as render potentially troublesome bugs docile. His place thus protected Caspian set to and gathered some sticks and a fallen tree.

He pulled his bush knife from behind his left hip and hacked the branches off the dead tree. He piled these aside, the longer to use for shelter, the shorter for his fire. Next, he set the log in a low crotch of a healthy tree. Shortly he had a lean-to constructed, and a ready pile of wood. Cyrril then lit the fire.

After dinner and honing his knife, Caspian gathered his coat and cloak about him, and slept under the lean-to. Cyrril went out prowling, but did not go far. This was not dragon country, and a raptor would dive on him as quickly as it would a ground rodent.

The next morning found Caspian chilled and sore. After breakfast by his fire, which was then put out, Caspian arouse, stretched a moment, and kicked the log that Cyrril was resting on.

“Time to go.”

The high valley was covered with a thick bladed grass and other plants hardy enough to thrive in the climate. As Caspian started out east again, frost highlighted everything to be seen. Lunch found him on top of a foothill, enjoying the scenery, but ruing the lack of trees on the slopes of the surrounding mountains. By dinner, he was crossing a rocky lip with snow on one side and a sharp drop to a stream on the other. He followed this sideways to find another camping spot. The ley line was thickening to his senses, and beginning to be the dominant feature that he observed.

Camp this night was not as warm or convenient as the previous night. But it was just as peaceful.

The last day, he followed the stream on the ground, or the ley line above, as the path entered a draw that would lead to the final ascent. Caspian stopped here, and set up camp in daylight, choosing to rest before starting the final climb. Cyrril helped gather some scrub for a fire, and munched on a rodent he stirred up as he did.

A constant breeze blew down the draw and over them as they rested. Finally, Caspian rolled over to sleep, as the stars began to take over for the fleeing daylight.

007 - One More Illegal Alien In California

Caspian felt his senses gather back around him, as his body was instantly put together. If he had not been leaning on his staff, he would have collapsed, even with less of a pull from gravity than he was used to. Cyrril was draped across the back of Caspian’s neck. Caspian shook his head, squeezing his eyes closed to clear the flash blindness. A light breeze carried pine forest smells past him, as he took a few deep breaths. The air was thinner than where he had left and warmer, but more humid. Sounds filtered in, of night time. After an interminable handful of eternity, Caspian looked around.

He stood in the center of a small clearing of trees, with a ring of short stones at the perimeter. Looking farther he could see two more rings of stones. To an untrained eye this place was unremarkable. Adding to the stones, a few ash trees ringed the place, along with a loose circle of mushrooms. The ash trees were of note, not being indigenous to the place. A few large pine trees, a scattering of aspen, and miscellaneous forest growth finished the flora.

Caspian waited longer for his senses to clear. Travel by ley line was always exhausting. Finally, he noticed a bit of native fauna. A young couple was wrapped around each other in just a bedroll, about ten strides away. They were both looking blearily at him. Probably disturbed by the sound of his entrance. Caspian looked at them a moment, then looked at the few stars he could see through the trees.

Judging the stars against what he could feel of the ley lines and the terrain, and coming to no conclusion, he oriented to down hill and started walking down the mountain. He was not sure but thought he was moving toward the equator. Shortly he would need to establish his terrestrial location. Then figure where the descendants of the elf he was looking for were, relative to his location. But first, he needed some rest.

He walked a distance, in the dark. After tripping over roots for the third time, he found a small hollow at the base of a tree. Wrapping his coat and cloak around him and hooding his face, Caspian leaned against the tree, and went to sleep.

A gentle kick against his foot startled Caspian awake. The sun was coming slantwise through the trees, from Caspian’s left. A man spoke. Caspian felt sure he should know what was being said, but was a bit confused by his surroundings.

The most immediate thing that concerned Caspian was the absence of his staff. He looked around, and patted the ground briefly. Noticing that Cyrril was also missing, as also any sense of ambient mana, Caspian suddenly remembered where he was. The lack of mana and the scent of the wind brought everything back to him, filling in the gaps of his groggy memory. The clear feeling of the mana stored in his staff, and Cyrril, about thirty cubits above in the tree was reassuring.

“I said what are you doing here, buddy?”

Caspian turned and looked up into the top of his hood, in the general direction of Cyrril and the voice, still not paying attention to the man or language. All he could sense was Cyrril’s agitation at being disturbed from sleep. The man spoke a third time, and Caspian was chagrinned to remember that he had forgotten to refresh his memory of the language he had learned while he spent two years here in one of their colleges: right now was not the time to do that either. Caspian pushed his hood back enough to see out, and rubbed his head. A young man in brown clothes and a round brimmed hat stood at his feet.

“I just traveled in from my home.” Caspian doubted the man understood his language anymore than Caspian understood the man’s. He stood and stretched, yawning wide, and tossing back his hood. He then opened his cape and coat, and shook the opening back and forth to air it, and him, out a bit.

The man stood and watched. A device on his belt squawked, and a voice came from it. The man pulled the box from his belt, and held it to his mouth, talking into it.

“Looks like a vagrant. If he speaks English, he is either too whacked right now to understand, or a good actor. Doesn’t seem dangerous, though.”

“Bring him on in. At least until we can determine for sure who and what he is.”

“Copy that.”

He put the box back on his belt. “All right pal. Let’s go for a walk.” He took Caspian’s arm in a solid grip as he spoke, and gently directed him down the hill.

Caspian thought better of his instinct to argue. At least until he knew where he was. He figured it was better to be thought debilitated, than criminal. They walked a distance on a game trail, and then crossed onto a hiking trail. This was narrow enough to cause them to walk single file. Caspian was put in front. After a bit of distance was covered, they came to a dirt road. A large vehicle was parked just off the road, by the trailhead. Seeing this, Caspian was delighted. By the general condition of the vehicle, he had a good idea of where he was. And looking at the alphabet on the side, he was all but sure of it. But it had been nearly ten years since he had been here, and his memory of the language was still a bit fuzzy.

The man opened one of the rear doors on the metal transport. He helped Caspian in, and buckled him into a restraint harness. As he did this, he noticed Caspian’s knives, and crossbow.

“Stupid.” The man muttered. He then pulled Caspian back out.

“Put your hands against the truck.” He turned Caspian to face the vehicle.

Caspian had been searched rarely enough that he was not sure what to do. The man was still being patient, but forceful. He put Caspian’s hands against the side of the vehicle, and forced his legs apart, so that he was leaning over a bit. He then pulled Caspian’s cloak and then his coat aside, and removed Caspian’s belt. He patted the vest down, and dug into its pockets checking for weapons. The man also removed Caspian’s food sack and water bag. He then found the knife on Caspian’s wrist and removed it. He left all this on the ground as he again put Caspian back in the vehicle.

The man put all Caspian’s stuff in the rear compartment, and walked around the far side of the vehicle. He then climbed in and sat at the controls. Caspian watched with some interest, as his memories slowly worked their way back to him.

The man operated the vehicle along the road and off the mountain. He crossed one valley and into a second. Here he pulled into a small cleared area around a medium sized house. A large metal frame tower with a watch house at its top connected to the house.

Caspian was helped out of the vehicle and into the house by the man. He took Caspian into the main room and sat him on a chair against a wall. The room was longer than it was wide, a short wall running across the long way with a counter on top of it. This side of the counter had several pieces of domestic furniture scattered about it. Two desks and a table were on the other side of the counter. Several objects and devices were scattered across these, many of them duplicates of each other. A woman, doing something to a flat box of some kind while watching another tall thin box, sat at a desk. A man stood at the table, and drew on a chart with several drafting implements scattered about him. He appeared to be plotting something. A large dog, with short brown and black fur sprawled under one of the windows. It noticed their entrance, but made no other move from where it lay. Its large pointed muzzle and triangular ears showed it to be quite alert, though currently harmless.

The people talked a bit and then the man that brought Caspian went outside, and came back with his things. These were placed on a desk behind the counter. The first man then began writing on a pad of paper.

Caspian still had not had breakfast, and was feeling quite dehydrated. And looking at the sun, he figured it was mid-morning or late afternoon. Either way he was hungry and thirsty.

“Mind if I eat something?” He spoke in his native language, knowing that he would not be understood.

The map man and the first man both looked at him. Caspian reached carefully into one of his vest pockets, and pulled out a chunk of jerky. Not filling, but enough to take off the edge. He chewed on this while these people decided what to do. He also carefully retrieved a water skin from across the counter and quickly sipped it dry.

008 - Getting Local Help

Caspian listened as the people here talked back and forth, and quickly recognized particulars of the language. The dialect was a bit off, as was the vernacular. But the language was the one he had learned. Caspian reached into another pocket in his vest. From this he pulled a small stone big enough to pinch between his thumb and two fingers. Nonchalantly he worked the stone back and forth in his hand, concentrating on his memory recall techniques, and on the time he had spent on this planet.

The rangers had evidently decided to just let him sit there until he did something. After an hour of their banter Caspian was beginning to understand the conversations, and the script on the posters and maps that hung on the walls. Then a need hit him. Time to see if his recall was right. He cleared his throat.

“Where shall I locate the lavatory?”

The rangers turned as a man and looked at him. The german shepherd lifted his head in notice at the movement. The one at the map returned to it. The first one Caspian met went back to his paperwork. This left the woman.

She pointed her thumb at a doorway behind her. “Second on the left.” She then went back to the computer she was doing something with.

Caspian stood, took off his cloak, and coat and cargo vest. He left these all on the chair. Then he walked into the indicated doorway. It had five closed doors, two on either side with one at the end. The dog followed. Caspian was not fully sure of what the woman had said, but guessed correctly.

The lavatory brought clear memories back, mainly at how efficient they were compared to where he lived. He finished, spending several moments washing his hands, and rinsing the several days’ growth on his face. Caspian found the fresh water quite enjoyable. He returned to his chair feeling much better.

“Now, how about lunch.” He reached over the counter to where his stuff was. The paranoia of the world also had returned forcefully, earlier. So he pushed his belt and things aside, and dumped his food sack out. He quickly put what he did not want back in. Caspian started into a piece of fruit with his fruit knife. That reduced to a core, he picked up a meat roll and munched through it, while sipping at his water skin.

The rangers intermittently watched him as they worked. Finally the map man rolled his map away and put his tools in a drawer. He then disappeared down the hall and through the door on the end.

Caspian had sat for a while, when the Ranger who had left came back into this area of the building with a plate of sandwiches, and pitcher of liquid. The three of then started in on the food.

The first one turned to Caspian. “You are welcome to one, if you like.”

He indicated the platter of sandwiches on the counter, and the cups next to the pitcher.

Caspian had to dig a moment to remember. “Thank you.”

Caspian took one of the sandwiches, and poured himself a cup of red liquid. The sandwich was two slices of a soft, light brown bread, with a yellow paste between. In the paste, Caspian found bits of crunchy vegetable, some agreeable spices, and some small cubes of something he did not recognize. Combined with the food from his stash, it was quite satisfying.

Caspian felt that he had remembered enough words of the language. And that he had spent enough time sitting. He had a general idea of where he was, after looking at the maps, and listening to the language. And that allowed him to call in an unexpected marker. If he could just figure out how to. Only thing to do was ask. He leaned over the counter toward the first man, at his desk.

“How do I go about contacting a specific person?”

They all looked at him strangely for a moment. Then the map man spoke.

“Are you on something, pal?”

Caspian was not sure of what he had been specifically asked, but understood the general nature just by the tone. “No. I have been away for a while, and do not remember precisely how to contact my friend.”

“D’you know his number?”

“Number?”

The man picked up one of the devices from the counter, and put it down in front of Caspian. It had several arrayed sets of buttons, and a handle attached to a cord. A different cord attached to the back of the device and disappeared through a hole in the counter.

“His phone number.”

Caspian remembered now. “Ah, no. I do not remember. His name is Alistare Kevan. He is an Adjudicator, if I remember correctly.”

“Where?”

“In a court of law, I presume. That is usually where one does that.”

The man was obviously being as gentle as he could, but was loosing patience. Caspian understood and felt frustrated. If he had just reawakened his memory before coming to this magically dead place, he would have been more able to get along.

“What city does he live in?”

Caspian had to think about this, wishing he had written down and kept this information. “Um… Sack…Sacro…Sacra…um…”

The woman looked up. “Sacramento?”

Caspian looked at her. “That is it. Sacramento.”

Caspian just stood and looked at the man. He could remember using the phone many times when he was last here, but its use in this case was still beyond him.

The man let out an exasperated sigh. He then took the phone back. He pushed one button, and the little box began to make a humming noise. He then pushed a bunch of other buttons, causing various tones to be emitted. He then picked up the handle and held it to his face, with one end over one ear and the other end to his mouth. After a few moments he spoke.

“I need some numbers in Sacramento…Yes. One moment.” He picked up a pencil and pulled a pad of paper to write on. He then looked at Caspian.

“What is the name of your friend?”

“Alistare Kevan.”

“And he’s a judge.” He wrote this on the top of the paper.

“I think that is what you call it.”

The man turned his attention back to the handle. “Yes ma’am. I’m looking for the work and residence numbers of an Alistare Kevan…I’m told he is a judge…No, I don’t know which court.” He made a face slightly exasperated. Then listened again. “You’re sure…Yes Ma’am.” He then spelled out the name as he wrote it. “Yes ma’am…I’m ready.” He then began writing numbers on the piece of paper. “Thank you. Good afternoon.”

He pushed a lever in the spot for the handle on the box. Then he began pushing buttons, referring to one of the two sets of numbers on the pad. He listened to the handle for a bit. “I’m looking for an Alistare Kevan. Yes. One moment.”

He then held the handle out to Caspian. “Your friend’s home.”

Caspian took the handle and put it too his face. He could hear a bit of static as something happened at the other end. Then a vaguely familiar voice came on.

“This is Judge Kevan.”

Caspian spoke in his native language. “Alistare. This is Caspian. How have you been?”

There was silence for a bit. “Caspian?” Then a familiar language. “What are you doing on Terra?”

“I would rather explain that in person. But I have no idea where I am, or how to get around. I need your help.”

“Tell me from the beginning.”

“I traveled in along the ley lines last night. This morning I was awakened by a young man in a brown uniform. We walked to his vehicle, and he brought me to this house, where there are another man and a woman in the same brown uniform. I have had a bit of trouble remembering the native language.”

“Let me talk to one of the people there.”

Caspian handed the phone back to the first man, as the map man had left. “Talk.” Caspian felt stupid for not bring more eloquent. But the idea got across.

The ranger took the phone and put it to his ear. “This is Ranger Smith. Yes sir. Yes sir. Nothing so far, but we have not really been able to question him. O.k. We are in the Lassen Forest. Get off the 5 at Red Bluff, take the 36 up to 89 North. Keep on 89 North for about nine miles, to a marked Forest Service Road on the right. Five miles up that road and you are here. Yes sir, we can do that.”

He held the handle out to Caspian.

Caspian took it. “Hello again.”

“I will be up to get you sometime after dark. Just stay put, and be friendly. Keep your dragon out of sight.” The line then went dead.

Caspian looked at the handle for a moment, and put it carefully back on the phone. “I am to stay until he comes.”

009 - No Help, Some Help

“Yes. Can you tell us your name?” The man sat at the desk, his hands on the keyboard of the computer.

“Caspian.”

“Last name?”

“Not that means anything here.”

“Date of birth?”

“Fourth day of the month of Akil, seventh year of the reign of Sharius of Silvona.”

“In English.”

“That was in English. I am not sure how to reconcile the calendars.”

“Skip it. Citizenship?”

Suddenly Caspian remembered a similar scene being played out more than ten years prior. And how he finally got that person satisfied. “I am native of Silvona, and previously came to this land for study. I learned your language then, but have not had cause to use it since.”

“Great. Another kook.”

“Excuse me?”

“Pal. There are only two kinds of people in this area. Natives and kooks. You don’t talk like a native.”

Caspian took a moment to digest what he had just been told. “I think it might be best if I just sit aside quietly.”

The Ranger punched a few buttons on his keyboard while looking at his larger box. Then moved a smaller device around and pushed some buttons on it. He then turned away from it, toward Caspian’s gear. He looked it over a bit, picked at it a bit, and left it be.

Caspian was glad he did not carry anything particularly nasty. For the rest of the day, he just stayed quiet and out of the way. His stuff was hung in a closet, out of the way, but otherwise left alone. As the afternoon progressed, the rangers came and went in several different vehicles; the dog moved a bit and went in and out at its leisure. They all seemed to regard Caspian as an unwanted guest; too polite to cause trouble, but a nuisance just by his presence.

Dinner happened, and a new ranger showed up from somewhere else in the structure. Probably had been up in the tower, Caspian figured. After dinner, two of the rangers left in the vehicle that had brought Caspian here. They did not return before Alistare Kevan finally showed up in his vehicle.

The time had not been a waste. Caspian had remembered about clocks, and how time was reckoned. He had remembered most of his language training in the local tongue. Cyrril had communicated that he was fine, and had Caspian’s staff nearby.

Judge Alistare Kevan dressed in a three-piece suit and wingtips entered the room from outside in a huff. Built heavy, he stood a head shorter than the average man. Barely contained power accented his every action. He looked a bit more than slightly annoyed, spotting Caspian faster than he did the desk.

“I’m Alistare Kevan, here for him.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Caspian, who had stood up.

The ranger looked up from her book, over her glasses. “Right.” She took her foot off the desk and reached for her keys. “Let me get his stuff.”

She opened the closet, pulled Caspian’s things out, and dropped them on the counter. The other ranger just sat and watched, over his newspaper.

Alistare turned, pinning Caspian to the wall with a glance. He then spoke in Caspian’s native language. “Next time, give me some warning. Fortunately for you, my schedule was easy today.”

He turned back to the ranger, and signed the release, and switched to English. “Thank you. Was he any trouble?”

“’Been quiet since calling you. Have a good drive, and take the second mile easy. The deer are near the road about this time.”

“Rush hour on Saturday night.” Alistare turned and walked back out, leaving Caspian to pick up his stuff and follow.

Outside a large, low slung coach sat with its lights on and motor running. It was longer, and more massive, than some of the vehicles the rangers had parked nearby. Alistare just climbed into the driver’s side, leaving Caspian to figure the door handle. Shortly, Caspian was in the passenger seat, with his stuff piled on his lap.

They rolled out, Alistare expertly guiding the coach back onto the dirt road. Caspian had paid attention to the operation of the vehicle this morning. He noticed that Alistare seemed to drive with a total disregard for the conditions around him.

They drove out of the valley, and stopped. Alistare turned on the internal lights and turned to Caspian  speaking in English, evidently through speaking in their native tongue. “Where’s that dragon of yours?”

Caspian called out to Cyrril’s mind. The little beast was coming, but had been close by the station, and left behind.

“Cyrril is behind us. He should catch up shortly.” Caspian responded in his native language.

Caspian took the moment to put his stuff in the back seat, and to admire the interior of the coach. The leather showed a fair amount of use, and good aging. The wood trim had been well polished, if it was real. The little shield with two sprigs of leaves wreathing either side was a symbol that Caspian vaguely remembered signified a fine quality vehicle.

“Quit using that language. You need to get used to English again.” Alistare unlatched his seatbelt, climbed out, and went around back to lean against the back of the car to wait in the cool mountain air.

Caspian followed, closing the door behind him.

Alistare Kevan had been living on this planet for most of the last thirty years. A child of aristocrats in a city-state, he immigrated after attending school, married a local wife, and left Tywacomb behind. His wife knew all about his history, and had even been to Tywacomb a time or two. Now they sponsored ‘students’, and helped ‘tourists.’ As such, they had very little patience with trouble makers. She was just as impatient with idiocy as her husband. That he was a judge in a busy city was both advantageous, and threatening.

Caspian had worked with them years before, when he had come for a few years of schooling. He had made some definite impressions then that had evidently not worn off.

“What brings you a sixth of the way across the galaxy, Caspian?”

“Elves, worked up about a prophecy.”

“Which one?” Alistare had been a historian’s apprentice growing up. He knew of most of the major happenings for several hundred years back. Obscure prophecies were light reading to him. For elves to get worked up was more of an oddity.

“The signs of the Chaos Bringer.”

Had he been drinking, Alistare would have choked and spit his drink all over. “What!?!”

“The elves of Nidear believe that one of their clan is the line head of the fifth generation half-elves. That she immigrated here over a century ago. Now I need to find the latest in that family. I had a half-day lead on some guys from Krogg, until this morning. Now, I don’t know where they are. It looked like a warrior and a spy would be coming.”

“Great. More strangeness that might have to pass before my court.” Alistare pushed his glasses up and pinched the bridge of his nose briefly. “Everybody is after the same people I presume?”

“Yes.” Caspian wanted to tell more, but felt too tired to deal with how Alistare would react.

For his part, Alistare could tell that Caspian was not yet recovered from his interstellar jaunt, and might not even be awake for most of the trip home. They just sat quietly, watching the stars, or the land. A slight breeze played among the scrub. Shortly Caspian alerted, and stood up. He held his arm up.

“Here.” He spoke in his native language.

In seconds Cyrril came flying up, and slapped the staff into Caspian’s outstretched hand. The little dragon folded its wings and held on as the staff stopped, then crawled down to Caspian’s shoulder as the arm was lowered.

Alistare stood up, and walked back around and got behind the wheel. Caspian carefully put the staff across the rear seat, and got in. Cyrril bounced off the front seat back and into the rear seat as Caspian closed the door, and put his seat belt on. Little more was said as they traveled.