Ferrian's Winter

Chapter Six

False belief and strange desire

Conscience burns the heart like fire.

The news that Lord Arzath was alive exploded through the black keep, causing even more confusion and commotion than when he had presumably died. For the Griks, however, this rapid turn of events was difficult to get to grips with. Many were still asking if Kyosk had eaten the body yet, and (from some of the more curious or hungry or stupid), if there was any left.

Crysk had been giving it a lot of thought, which was unusual for him. His mind moved slow enough to grow moss on, but once an idea got started, there was generally no stopping it, like a boulder rolling down a mountainside. One particular thought had been gathering momentum, and it was this: Lord Arzath had clearly been dead, but had woken up the moment Crysk had touched him.

Crysk's mind was also notable for making ridiculously simple connections, which he considered to be so simple, they were ingeniously clever.

Crysk had done something to Lord Arzath. Something about Crysk had restored the sorcerer to full health, with merely a touch! (Of course, Grogdish had also touched the body, but this inconvenient fact was irrelevant to Crysk, merely a blade of grass in the path of the rapidly rolling boulder).

"Rock magic!" he declared to a room full of Griks who had gathered to hear what had happened at the river. Their shells glittered in the light of the torches.

He was answered by a chorus of guffaws.

"Rock magic?" One of the Griks replied sceptically.

"Yeah!" Crysk replied. "From inna ground! From der Rockfaver!"

At the mention of their ancient deity, the Rockfather, the Griks began muttering among themselves, but most were growing bored and shuffling away.

However, the idea had become wedged in their brains and a few of them shuffled back to him later on, in ones and twos, wanting to know more.

Enthusiastically, Crysk told his story over and over again, embellishing it with a little more detail each time, until it had been he who had retrieved Arzath from the waterfall, courageously carrying him back to the riverbank while Grogdish stood about stupidly in the river, eating fish. And the Rockfather had made Crysk special, had given him a rare power that had brought Arzath back to life and better! The sorcerer was now even more powerful and formidable than he was before: as strong as a Grik! Unkillable! Indefeatable! No mere Human any longer!

The Griks murmured their approval.

Grogdish found Crysk in the southern wing of the keep, in the middle of the dark and dingy mess hall, surrounded by a throng of Griks. As usual, he was bragging about how he'd brought Lord Arzath back to life. Grogdish growled in disgust as he stepped through the arched doorway. The room was filled with smoke from the flickering torches on the black walls and reeked of mouldy food. He shoved his way through the crush of bodies until he stood in front of Crysk, folded his bulky arms and sneered at the smaller Grik, interrupting his tale.

"Yer full o' Muron dung, yer know dat, Crysk?"

His comment was met with sniggers from the crowd. Crysk bared his fangs in defiance, his beady black eyes glaring amid the chips of emerald that studded his face. "Yer just jealous!"

Grogdish snorted. "Will yer listen ter dis!" he said, turning around to address the surrounding Griks. "Jealous, am I? I got nuffin' ter be jealous of!"