A Second Wind

think you've had enough." said the bartender. From someone else those words might have been out of concern, but from him, it meant only that Algon was taking up space better used by the customers coming in.

Algon looked up at the man with his drowsy, bloodshot eyes and smiled. "I don't think I've had enough.." He downed the remainder of his wine in one gulp and held his goblet out for a refill. He tapped it twice on the bar when he realized he wasn't getting any more. "What's the matter?" He could hardly keep his head from swaying back and forth.

The bartender looked at him for a moment. Algon had jet-black hair, and soft, almost boyish features, which was not uncommon for a man of twenty three years. The bartender called for his two friends. They were huge men, twice as massive as Algon's already impressive frame was. They approached him and gruffly lifted him off of his stool to throw him out, but Algon fought back. Even in his drunken state, he was a formidable fighter. He planted his elbow in the midsection of his aggressor, causing him to kneel in pain. To the other man he rammed his knee, then struck at him with both fists. Though his moves were effective, they were clumsily executed. He kicked the kneeling man to the face and almost toppled over himself.

"Where's my wine?" He managed as he sat himself down again. Before he knew it four more men had taken it upon themselves to remove him from the premises. He fought again, but four was more than any drunk could handle and his first sight after being hit in the head was the tavern's door.

Algon hit the ground face down with a loud thud and a low cloud of dust. He barely felt the pain in his body under his stupor, and weakly stood himself up. He brushed off some dust from his leather armor and picked up his sword which had been tossed out as well. With one final look at the tavern, he left, his walk zigzagging. The village people stared at him and kept their distance, but he didn't notice.

Off in the shadow of a large tree, two men paid particular attention to Algon. They had been in the tavern as well, among the crowd, watching him since he entered that afternoon. The younger one, a tall, lean man in his late thirties, stepped out of the shadows and allowed the moon to illuminate his rough, angular features. His deep set eyes were shadowed and unreadable. ARE YOU SURE HE IS THE ONE, CHILIKAN? He said, but without moving his lips.

YES, OLAN. HE IS THE ONE. He heard from his companion. Chilikan also stepped out into the moonlight, his attention on the wobbling form of Algon, his hands playing with his chest-length beard absently. His face was lined with age, but his lean build he had retained through the years. I AGREE HE DOES NOT APPEAR TO BE QUALIFIED, BUT I ASSURE YOU HE IS.

HE IS A DRUNKARD. I DO NOT TRAIN DRUNKARDS.

HE WAS TO BE A KNIGHT OF THE HIGH LORD

WAS, the younger man emphasized.

HE WAS THE HIGHEST RANKED MEMBER OF HIS CLASS. HIS SCORES ARE SECOND ONLY TO THOSE WHICH YOU YOURSELF SET.

HE WAS FORCEFULLY REMOVED. Olan reminded Chilikan. EXPELLED.

I AM AWARE OF THAT. TRUST ME, MY FRIEND. HE IS THE ONE.

They followed Algon as he walked, uncertain of where he was going. Finally a few meters later he collapsed onto the ground They watched as he propped himself up against the wall of someone's house and drew his cape around him as protection from the chill.

Algon's mind was reeling. It was shooting back and forth from consciousness to not having a clue as to what was happening. The cold he knew was very real, and very intense. He was in the part of the kingdom that was well known for its cold climate. He cursed himself for being so stupid.

"Whu�" Algon was roused from his reminiscing by two pairs of hands lifting him up. He was about to struggle for his freedom when one of them spoke directly into his mind.

DO NOT BE AFRAID, FRIEND. WE WILL NOT HARM YOU. Algon heard. He was even more confused now and struggled harder to free himself, but his strikes were effortlessly blocked by the two mysterious men.

DO NOT BE AFRAID. Olan told Algon, more forcefully. To Chilikan he said, I PRAY YOU ARE NOT MISTAKEN IN YOUR CHOICE, OLD FRIEND. Chilikan didn't reply, but brought Algon to a standing position. He could understand his friend's reluctance. Algon was filthy, his clothes ragged, and his breath foul. He certainly did not seem to be suitable candidate.

COME. Chilikan said to both Algon and Olan. He opened a pouch and took a handful of fine powder, glistening even in the low illumination of the moon. He sprinkled it over the three of them and inhaled deeply, as did Olan. Algon breathed the powder. It smelled sweet, and it freed him from his daze for a moment. The world to his eyes began to fade in and out of focus, then completely dissolved into a white glare. Colors of the sort never before seen assaulted his mind. Then, abruptly, they faded into a silhouette of another village.

The town was one he had never been to. Instead of the usual wood and stone homes were homes constructed from a smooth, shiny type of crystal. Even the shapes of the houses were different There were hardly any corners, everything was curved. The reflection of the Torm plants which were hung from posts at regular intervals gave the entire area a soft, enchanting radiance.

He was handed a large chalice of Liker juice by a young woman who was obviously waiting for them. The smell of the freshly squeezed Liker fruit was enough clear Algon's head, and he became more and more sober with every gulp. Chilikan handled the introductions then led Algon into what was to be his home for the night which was only a short walk away. The interior was of the same material as outside. It was sparsely furnished and wooden ornamental fixtures adorned the walls. The glow from several Torm plants filled the room with the same dream-like glow as outside. Inside, a Larcon was seated on the bed. She was wearing nothing, but her reddish-orange fur was exceptionally thick in all the right places to give her a semblance of modesty. Her tail was moving back and forth along the sheets slowly, seductively.

"Nila!" Algon was shocked.

"Hello, Algon." She moved toward him.

"She was the one who pointed us to you." Chilikan explained. "She told us about what happened in Ruthara village two days ago."

SHE ALSO TOLD US ABOUT HOW YOUR COMRADES WERE INJURED. Olan added.

"Enough!" Algon was flushed. He did not have to be, nor did he want to be reminded of the events of the past two days. "I demand to know who you are and why you have brought me to this place."

YOU ARE IN NO POSITION TO DEMAND, ALGON. Olan said.

"And do not speak into my head!"

"Very well." Chilikan said. To Olan, ENOUGH MINDSPEAK. Again he absently played with his beard. "It has been almost thirty long years since I spoke with my tongue. You have been brought here for one reason, Algon. We wish you to join the Guardsmen."

Algon spat out his Liker juice. "Have you lost your wits? The Guardsmen are no more than a legend. A story told by mothers to their children at night. They never existed."

"Ah, but that is where you are mistaken." Chilikan directed Algon toward Olan. "You see here a full fledged Guardsman."

"Impossible."

"But true, friend."

"Rubbish."

"Perhaps this will persuade you otherwise." Olan held up a closed fist. On his finger was a golden ring engraved with an insignia. A sword, its blade directed downward and separating it from the hilt was an open eye. In what would be the pupil of the eye was a stone, varying in color from one second to the next.

"I� This can't be true." Algon stammered.

"It's real." Nila assured him.

"But why me?"

"You have very strong potential, Algon. It's in your blood. You are a descendant of a Guardsman yourself." Nila told him. Algon was confused, and Chilikan could see he was unconvinced.

"Ah, but it is late, and Algon must rest." Chilikan said to the surprise of the others. "We must leave him till the morning to decide."

CHILIKAN� Olan protested.

HE CANNOT BE CONVINCED TONIGHT, OLAN. HE WILL BE OF A BETTER DISPOSITION IN THE MORNING.

VERY WELL. Olan bade Algon good night and left. Chilikan followed. Nila lingered. Algon spotted clean clothes on the bed and began to change, his mind filled with all that has happened to him, most poignant of which was the image of the sword and open eye. It was impossible, but there it was right before him, a Guardsman! Surely this must be a hoax, but inside he knew it wasn't.

Nila approached him, her voluptuous figure swaying much like her tail had a few moments ago. She kept him from wearing his shirt, then ran her hand across his chest.

"What are you doing here, Nila?" Algon took her hand in his.

"This is where we fled to after the incident at Ruthara." She slipped her arm around him.

"But why? You would've stood trial and won."

Nila sighed. "If only that were true. Hatred towards my kind has become stronger lately. But that was then." She shook her head free of that thought and her eyes widened. "Now you have a chance to be a Guardsman! It's a wonderful offer."

"You do not understand. Algon moved away and began touching the Torm plants to put them out. "My hesitation caused the wounds of my teammates. We were taught to obey all orders. I would not have hesitated had it not been you who confronted me."

"I see." Nila lowered her head in sadness. "It is I whom you blame."

"No. I could never blame you. We were more than friends long before any of this." He reached for her hands and remembered the many times they enjoyed each other. There was never any danger, since no child could be formed from the union of a human and a Larcon.

"Then become a Guardsman!"

"I� cannot." He moved his hands along her waist to draw their bodies together but with a fierce swipe Nila removed her hand from his then forced themselves apart.

"You are a much better man than this, Algon. I have never seen you so drowned in your own self pity." She strode past him angrily and headed for the exit. In the doorway she stopped, sighed, then turned to face him. "You are the finest swordsman to ever join the Knights of the High Lord. I would hate to see you go to waste." With that, she left.

Algon finished dressing then went to bed. He touched the last of the Torm plants and the petals closed, leaving the room in darkness.

The night proved to be sleepless for Algon, his head being filled with so many thoughts. For one thing, he wasn't exactly convinced that Olan was a Guardsman. Legend had it that the last Guardsmen defended the King in the Great Siege centuries ago. But then again, legend also had it that they would rise again in the land's hour of need, though the stories gave no indication of when that might be. Part of him tried to deny it, but it was a shrinking part.

Whenever he got a few moments sleep, dreams kept on encroaching on his rest. Dreams of chasing Nila and the other Larcons through the thick forest, and confronting her, then not subduing them. His superior was furious as the Larcons fled. He felt so stupid not having apprehended the Larcons. They could've sorted out the truth later on. He sensed the pall of failure thicken the more he recollected.

His dream shifted to the sight of the three men left at the village bloodied and almost dead, nearly shredded by two of the Larcons from Nila's group. Obedience was the main trait of a Knight of the High Lord, and due to his feelings for Nila he had forsaken it in an instant. It brought doubts about himself, about his purpose. He wished he were at a tavern getting drunk again. The numbness of wine was comforting, and he longed for it.

That morning, just before the first sun rose, Algon left. He donned his own clothes, picked up his sword and allowed his feet to take him where they may. Soon he was out of the silver village, and was headed into the forest.

He walked for well over an hour, all the while debating his course of action. The second sun had risen as well and accompanied its twin. The wine still in his blood slowed his pace, but he had covered a substantial distance in that hour's walk.

Algon was escaping, and he realized it. Escaping from the responsibilities which awaited him as a Guardsman. Escaping from the possibility of failing his comrades for a second time. Escaping from what he knew he should do. The question swimming in his head now was would he accept it?

No, he told himself. To accept the fact that he was escaping would be the ultimate failure. He would fail himself, and fail those who thought enough of him to call him friend. He would fail Nila. Nila was correct. He had wallowed in his self pity and entertained his self-doubt long enough. He realized all this just as he realized that the only way to proceed was to a least attempt to become a Guardsman. This was his chance to bounce back. He had gotten so afraid of failure that he was afraid to even attempt something. But no more.

A quick look around told him that he was lost. He was not following a path and every direction he looked seemed familiar and yet foreign. He cursed himself at how he had gotten lost just when his realization had struck him. He decided to head back, even though there was no path to follow he would at least be going in the proper direction. He had only taken a few strides when he noticed a familiar reflection from behind the tree line. He headed towards it and found himself right at the village entrance.

"Welcome back!" exclaimed Chilikan when Algon walked into town. "I trust you had a good morning walk."

"I'm back in the village!" Algon was perplexed. "I walked for over an hour, and when I walk back a few yards I find myself here!"

"You cannot leave this village, Algon. At least, not by any normal means." Chilikan made an encompassing gesture with his arms. "This is Mystica, a town only accessible through magic."

Algon was beginning to understand. "The powder."

Chilikan nodded his head and smiled. "Yes, very good. I did not think you would remember. You were severely drunk last night. If you try to walk out, you eventually return."

"Algon!" came a sudden voice from afar. Algon faced that direction and saw Nila running up to them. "You've returned! You've decided to join."

"Yes I have." Algon declared as Nila and he embraced.

"Splendid news, friend." Chilikan shook Algon's hand. Algon smiled and gave the firmest handshake he could. "You should smile more often, Algon. It can do wonders!" He then excused himself, saying he had to deliver the news to Olan.

Algon breathed in the crisp morning air. His mind had not been so clear in days. He knew his course was set. He was in for something extraordinary, this he could feel in his being.

"I knew you would make the right choice." Nila happily said, looking up at Algon. His arms felt good on her fur, and she could feel them moving up and down her back, exploring. She answered in kind, her own hands wandering across Algon's wide back. Soon Algon bent his head forward, and Nila rose to meet him in a kiss.

"About last night." Algon's lips formed a mischievous grin. "Where did we leave off?"