Advent Of Darkness. Gary Caplan
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know, cause there's such a demand for it—and elderberries in sweet sauce."
"I see," said Gideon, realizing he did not recognize any of the ingredients she had listed, save for the elderberries. He decided to turn the conversation onto a different path and asked again one of those little questions that had been festering in his mind since he awoke. "Could you perhaps tell me exactly where I am? I seem to be a little lost now. You see, I had a car accident, and I have to phone my insurance agent to see if my policy will cover it. May I use yours?"
"Use my what?" asked Bessa, somewhat confusedly.
"Your phone, surely you have a telephone?" prodded Gideon.
Bessa's eyes were uncomprehending.
"I hear, but I know not what a phone is. Perhaps if you describe one, I can send for one in Taros."
Gideon was beginning to lose patience with the entire scene, but he contained himself, for he realized that the woman was speaking the truth.
"That's all right. Perhaps I can probably find one elsewhere. Could you at least tell me what town I'm in?"
Bessa's eyes lit up at that question. "Aye, that I can. You are in the town of Briarwood, just ten leagues northwest of the capitol city of Taros in the province of Calendor."
Gideon was taken aback! That was not what he had expected to hear. With that, he replied with a soft thank you and found his way to an oaken table where he pulled out a barrel chair, then sat dejectedly and pondered his predicament.
As he sat there brooding, head in hand, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that someone was watching him intently. Gideon turned his head fully on the watcher and was startled by his discovery.
Sitting at a table and writing in a small book was a tiny man, no larger than a child, sporting a small white beard. As Gideon looked up, the little man rose from his seat and walked over to him, studying him carefully. Gideon too studied the diminutive figure with a sense of bewilderment.
He stood only about two feet five inches in height and was proportioned athletically for one of such stature. He wore a dark-green cloak, and his features, gnarled by wrinkles, gave him a dour but wise appearance. He walked right up beside Gideon and said in a gruff but not unpleasant voice, "A good day to you, Master Gideon. I trust you're feeling better today?"
Gideon looked down at the little man through his outspread fingers.
"Who are you?" he asked disbelievingly.
The little man made an eloquent bow and said softly, "I am Pyne Calandon of the fair city of Noordlindian."
"You're a dwarf," said Gideon, and then he added quickly, "or do you prefer the term little people?"
Pyne's eyes widened in surprise. "Dwarf?" he repeated. Then, an instant later, his eyes softened, and he let out a light chuckle. "Dwarf? Goodness me, no. My people are actually called Norgtor or, if you prefer, gnomes."
"A gnome?" said Gideon with a grin of disbelief. "As in the mythic-fantasy type? Riiight."
"I can assure you, young fellow," sniffed Pyne with a bit of stiff indignation, "that we are not a myth, nor are we a fantasy."
Then he looked around the room, taking in the faces of all the patrons in the rather large common room, and studied them cautiously. This whole day was starting to become surreal, and it was beginning to freak him out.
"Listen, little fellow," said Gideon. "I want to know where I am and how I got here. Can you tell me that?"
Pyne stood next to him and casually gestured toward a chair, which suddenly moved on its own and began to slide toward him and the table.
With a little thump, he sat down in the chair, his feet dangling, and answered matter-of-factly, "You know you were injured in several places when Ragan came to get me. You had four broken ribs, a broken arm, and a minor concussion. My healing spellweave fixed most things, but you are still recovering, and I'm afraid you won't be in fighting shape for at least another day."
Gideon nodded in numb understanding and then gestured to the chair and the far table. "How…how did you do…? Was that some kind of magic trick?"
The little man chuckled, his ancient eyes bright with an inner sense of mischief. "Yes, you could say that it was magic. I used a series of spellweavings." He then leaned forward, pointing his smallish index finger at Gideon's face, and continued, "Where is your circlet?"
"I took it off," replied Gideon. "What the hell was it doing on my head anyway?"
Pyne slowly shook his head and made a tsk tsk sound. "That, young fellow, is a circlet of language translation. Without it, after several minutes you will not be able to understand what people here are saying to you, nor them you. I even enhanced it so it will even protect your head like a helm."
"Huh?"
"I made it for you to use when you woke up and put it on your head so you wouldn't lose it, and what's the first thing you do when you wake up? You take it off and lose it. I should have just mentally imbued you with the knowledge of one of the local languages."
"No. It isn't lost," said Gideon haughtily. "It's upstairs on the bed."
"Well," returned the gnome, "you need to put it back on. The spell's delayed residue will allow a few more moments of translation, but I sense it will soon be wearing off. I could weave a translation spell for myself; although it would be easier if you go and get it. We've got things to discuss, and I can't have our discussion turn to gibberish right at the important bits. I will wait for you here."
Gideon sighed wearily and went to retrieve the circlet.
When he came back wearing the circlet on his head, he saw Pyne Calandon sipping on a drink he had ordered while he was away. He had an amused smile on his face, and he was kicking his feet back and forth playfully.
At the moment, Gideon found this very annoying.
"Well?" he asked, voicing his irritation.
Pyne's eyes glinted as he smiled brightly and said, "You want details. I'm sorry, young fellow, but I'm not at liberty to discuss certain things with you just yet."
Gideon balked and began to rise out of his chair.
"I will leave the details of how you got here to be told by the archwizard Ragan," interjected Pyne, raising his hand in a now-wait-a-minute gesture. "He likely knows more about this matter than I do. I was called to service after all that. However, I can tell you a bit about where you are, though. Hmmm?"
Gideon sat back down in his chair warily.
"Okay," he said. "Tell me what you can."
The little man rubbed his small hands together in gleeful anticipation and said, "First of all, you are in another dimension on a different world."
He looked at Gideon, gauging his reaction to this piece of information.
Gideon sat down somewhat stoically in disbelief, unblinking.
A moment passed and still nothing. The gnome decided that either the man did not understand or he was in a state of near-catatonic shock.
"The world you came from is very far away from here," he continued. "So, for starters, you can forget about 'finding a phone' to inform someone of your whereabouts. We have no such things, but even if we used…" he said and trailed off, rethinking what he was saying.
"But again," he continued, "that is for Tauri Ragan to discuss with you. You are in the town of Briarwood, in the lands of Calendor Province, north of Silmir Province and the Bashan Nations, in the central and western portion of the continent known as Ascalon."
"Ascalon?" repeated Gideon, responding finally, unconsciously backing away from Pyne. "Where's Ascalon?"
Pyne casually took another sip from his mug and said, "What part of 'another world' didn't you understand? Ascalon is one of the five major continents of the planet called Illúmaril." Then with a short chuckle, he added, "Now you know where you are."