He  moved slowly down the riverbank, penknife in hand and his guitar strapped to his back. He had just lost his friend Jancuis in the evil swamp, and all around him he heard:

‘Ο Ποταμος, ‘Ο Ποταμος.

The talking trees were chanting again, and this time it was the Greek word for “river”. He had heard of a huge beast called the ‘hippo-potamus’, which meant ‘horse of the river.’ This beast had huge jaws and was very dangerous, but this was the least of his worries.

Poxig had yet to find his father’s friend’s house, Emissary Seljuk, who had known him before he disappeared. If he made it through the forest, he would be able to at least get to that small hamlet in the woods called Renfro, where the Emissary lived.

“These woods are spooky,”  he said. “I had better get out my guitar and start singing, and that way, the imps would be scared away. If I run into an orc, there’s no chance that I could defeat him. If only I had not lost Jancuis in the forest!”

The sun was setting as he got out his guitar and began to sing to the elven god, Releven.

‘O Releven, Releven,

You are the shining star

Bring us back to our senses,

Show us eternity from afar.’

As he began singing, the talking trees seemed to sing along with him, as if he were bringing life back to the forest. Just then, as he was smoking on his pipe and taking a small rest, he spotted a sinister figure through the underbrush. Poxig quickly hid behind a tree, for his friend, who was a skilled warrior, would have been his only protection from this beast.

It was an orc, of that much he was sure. The he-beast ambled through the underbrush, searching for forest creatures to devour whole.  He had a huge pig-like face, and three ugly horns emerging from his chemical green face. His jaws were dripping with blood. The beast was pregnant with evil, looking for more ways to trap his innocent prey like a poisonous spider.

Fortunately, Poxig successfully concealed himself behind the tree. Then, strangely, the trees began to shriek loudly. They were protecting him! The orc held his ears and then dove into the river. He swam down the river and disappeared out of sight.

Poxig wondered if this had been Trink-Zelfo, the orc who was formerly Sir Belhomme the dashing prince. He was sure that it was possible, for the descriptions of him fit the likeness that he saw. He had just missed certain danger and sudden death. The orc would have beaten him to a pulp, since Poxig did not have a weapon strong enough to repel him.

He would have to make sure to bring his bow and quiver next time he came to this evil wood. But Poxig’s luck was about to change. He would soon meet his confidante  and closest friend, in the most unlikely of places.

The wind whistled through the trees. There were many reasons to be upset, since the Naxos had been overthrown. He was a dragon who helped rule the nether kingdoms, and actually persuaded King Charles to avert his war with the Elves of Elvira. Did they have enough gumption to follow the dragon’s advice? He would have to go alone, & nobody knew whether this would lead. This was the last stand of dragons against the forces of darkness and black magic.

They decided to take Carr along for the journey. He had a red three cornered cap, with a feather in it. Carr was a master of red magic, & he could wield a rapier. They were still trying to understand the prophecy, & many or us were still puzzled. What would be the outcome of this omen? No one could decipher what was written on the obelisk:

“The earth is rotting, the sea is wild…”

They could not understand why this would apply to our country, Marginalia, but we were struck with terror. What was the reason of the earth’s rotting? No one could be certain, but the sage Sarda would know. Tefl drew his sword and made an ‘X’ in the sand. “This is Nitla pass,” said he, ” and we will go no further. We will camp here for the night.” Every one of them, including Carr,  gathered wood for the fire, while Tefl folded up the map. The sun was setting, and the sky was crimson red and burnt orange. The wind was dying down, and they could hear the jeweled scarabs making noise as they unfolded the sleeping bags.

Poxig talked of the fool on the hill that night. It was well known that on the top of Mt. Crump, the Jongleur lived, with his massive library. It was no secret that the imps had been trying to torch the library, but King Charles protected the great library with soldiers from the elite guard.

“We thought he might be nuts,” said Lakfi, “but he is actually intelligent.”

“I didn’t know, ” said Sheila Nesta, the translator and healer. “But I knew he tells riddles.”

“Won’t you tell one, Poxig?” said Lakfi.

“Ok. Here it goes. What flies but has no wings?” asked Poxig.

“That’s easy,” he said.

“Oh, then what is it?” she asked.

“Well, my money seems to fly away,” Tefl rejoined.

“Time.” he said.

“Ah, yes.” said Nesta.

“Well, there are many others, but I’ll let Jongleur tell you himself,” Poxig said.

Tefl grunted in assent. Due to the warrior code, he didn’t say much. He would only speak when he had something meaningful to say. Tefl was shining his metal helmet with a rag. As he cleaned his sword to get the imp blood off of it, he said:

“Sic Transit Gloria…”

“Glory fades,” said Nesta.