The Killing Dreams

Guest In Strange Places

Chapter 11

Guest in Strange Places

Peering through one eye then the next, Lazarus's blurry vision soon cleared. He was in a hut of a sort. (or was it?) The far wall happened to be shabbily constructed out of stone, mud and rough cut timber. Set into it was a fireplace that hardly earned the name. Within that hollow came the firelight that revealed the rest of the hovel. A patch of animal fur covered the dirt floor that ended where tripod seats and a crude table made from split logs had been set. Further back was an opening to yet another room, but how it was furnished was beyond his sight. Yes indeed, this odd little abode left one wondering.

"Where am I?" he asked finally.

A sleepy voice answered him. "This is... was the village of Holden, Old One."

"Oh how I hate titles, my dear," the wizard mused. "Please. Call me Lazarus."

"An ancient name, sir, and one hardly used these days. I've heard of only one person who goes by that, and it's said he's one of the Wizards of Oaladrawn."

The old man smiled. "Verily, for I am he."

The woman gasped. "Surely not." What brings one of your kind here?"

"Two children," he replied simply, his keen eyes fixed on her. "Your children I believe. Is that not so?"

"It is so," replied the woman. "How did you know?"

"I'm a wizard... remember?"

The woman's suspicions faded to a grin. "Of course."

Sitting up on his cot, Lazarus stretched as he yawned. "How long have you held vigil?"

"All night," she replied. "It's best not to sleep for any length of time these days."

"Bad dreams?" asked Lazarus.

"Hardly. I could handle those. I speak of nightmares."

"Your sacrifice is appreciated but unnecessary. It appears I have two bodyguards." He pointed towards two lumps on the floor.

The woman let out a breathy laugh. "Yes— well, Emery and Sharee are good kids and can be quite protective at times. Normally I would have sent them to bed, but they were so concerned and adamant nothing should happen to you. It's why I allowed them to stay."

"Stay?" asked Lazarus, somewhat astonished. "Is this not your hovel?"

"It is, but we sleep in there." She pointed to the other room Lazarus had noticed a moment ago. "Think of this place as your own while you're on the mend."

Lazarus nodded and eyed his surroundings. "I've heard of Holden, a well established community if memory serves." He surveyed his surroundings once more. "This may sound rude, but I thought such a village would have better homes. What's going on here? Am I missing the obvious?"

"It's not surprising you're confused considering the state you were in when brought here." She reached out and gently touched one of the lumber walls caked with mud. Her grief was plain on her face, though she did her best to gulp it down. "The village was burned," she went on hurriedly. "Men from Highasin. They said they were cleansing the land before The Dream could taint theirs. Since then we've been trying to rebuild."

"You've endured all that, and you're still kind to strangers?" murmured Lazarus. "Truly— I'm touched by your generosity.

The woman smiled, but a whimper from Sharee forced it from her face. Oddly enough the hovel's canvas flap entrance began to flutter with the rising wind.