The Glass Prison

Chapter Three

Mela

Her problem, Mela

Mela

She couldn't speak of this problem to Whitlock. Mela

"It's good to be back on the road," he said. "You didn't care for the time we spent in the Abbey of the Golden Sheaf, did you?" Mela

Traveling westward on a road known as the Moonsea Ride, they kept their backs to the sun throughout the morning. It would probably take them four days to reach Tilver's Gap, and five more to Tilverton. The well-traveled road brought a few other wayfarers past them: merchants with wagons of goods and produce, messengers on swift horses, simple travelers alone or in pairs-even an adventuring company or two. Whitlock, of course, examined each of the people they encountered suspiciously.

He warned her about bandits who posed as travelers to mislead the unwary-but Whitlock was never unwary. Mela

The brothers and sisters at the abbey had been unable to provide any real information regarding their goal other than further news of gathering monstrous humanoids in the direction they rode. Whitlock didn't hide his displeasure over heading directly into such obvious danger.

Mela

The stench of sickness and strong herbal poultices hung in the still air of the room like a fog. They lay in their single, large bed together, heavily covered in blankets despite the thick layer of fever-sweat that shone on both their faces.

Whitlock entered, the room quietly, his movements awkward and overcareful. "I think-we think we've found a means to end the curse, Father."

Too weak to even turn to look on his son, Father whispered, "It takes magic to overcome magic, boy."

Neither of them had ever beheld their father in such an impuissant condition. It was sobering, particularly when it seemed that his mind was still strong.

"You can't lift the curse," Mother said with a weary rasp, "until you discover the nature of the one who cursed us."

Her eyes were sunken and her face was gaunt, with thin, jaundiced flesh pulled tight over softening bones. She was literally wasting away before her daughter's eyes. Mela

" But no one's ever told us…" Mela

"Father," Whitlock said, "We're going to ride north first to see if we can gather more information. Aunt Marta is going to stay here and look after the two of you. If all goes well, we'll be back in a tenday or two."

A silence filled the air thicker than the sickness. Mela

"Goodbye, children," Mother whispered, pulling Mela

"Ride safely," Father added, his teary eyes closed. "Watch for those who would trick you. It's a cruel world."

Riding off that next day was the most difficult thing Mela

The Moonsea Ride led the pair along miles and miles of fertile farmland and gentle hills covered with sheep and goats minded carefully by watchful herdsmen. The sky offered few clouds to block the sun. Whitlock's golden brown stallion didn't slow in the heat, but Mela

At the end of each day, the pair would make their campsite not far from the road in spots that Whitlock deemed defensible. They had brought simple food with them, including bread, cheese, vegetables and some dried meat. Mela

The night prior to when Whitlock estimated they would arrive in Tilverton, they made their camp in the area known as Tilver's Gap. Stark, knobby peaks rose on either side of them, though in the fading light of day they seemed little more than looming shadows. The pass was a dry, grassy region, notably different than the farmlands they passed through the three previous days.

While Whitlock built a fire, Mela