Ridgewalker's Notebook

Prologue

From whence cometh the Overlord, or what has come before

The Mother of the overlord

The little girl lay sleeping, the campfire that once cooked her families dinner and warmed them now a few faintly glowing coals. Her parents, one on either side of her had just been horribly murdered. What you would have called some kind of a beast was in reality a very powerful demon from the underworld.

He had been wounded though. Dispatching the father and mother, known to possess a natural magic ability akin to a dark lord mage, though of neutral alignment, and even though they were untrained in its wielding it had taken far more out of him than expected. They were clearly far more powerful than he had been told. He had wounds that if not cared for would send him back to the underworld never to return. What would happen next was therefore perverse. Someone was coming and he needed to dispatch the girl, his real target in this mission, and leave without being seen. The girl had an even greater natural magical ability that had been passed down from her parents. It provided incredible protection, enough to prevent him from dispatching her without some significant effort. Effort he was no longer sure he had in him just now, if ever. That is of course why someone of his ability was sent. He was resourceful if nothing else and he understood that if not taken care of this line, her descendants, could have potential to thwart the dark one’s plans. Failure was therefore not an option

He glanced up the road and heard the group of humans coming closer. He made a decision, one that would cost him a few cycles, but demons such as him were beyond the reach of time and therefore it caused him no worry. He let go of his physical form and only a dark mist remained. The mist floated down towards the girl and settled just above her head. Then, quicker than one would have thought, with each breath the child drew in, a portion of the mist was likewise drawn into her. The whole process was completed just as the old wagon drew up next to them and stopped. Safely inside the girl he would draw on her life force over time to heal himself. The downside of course was that he was now stuck in this body until it expired or someone from her blood line happened to come along. Rather than take her life quickly, he now actually relished the opportunity to corrupt her and darken the life of those that followed her for generations to come. He started to laugh hideously, uncontrollably. The girl, still sleeping, only smiled.

An elder man and woman, strangers who just happened to be passing by, climbed out of the wagon. They took in the situation and quietly woke the girl and placed her in the wagon. Her mute reaction to the carnage was written off as a state of shock she was in, and the resilience of children to withstand tragedies. They took her to the next town and left her with the church. Eventually relatives were found and they took her.

The Relatives, and there were several families in the surrounding towns, were shop keepers. During her childhood the demon within lay dormant reserving all his strength for healing himself. Drawing on the girls life force was delicate work. He could only take so much without killing her. These humans were such delicate creatures. The most he could do was to gather a low level field of hatred and loathing around the girl. It wasn’t much, he knew, but it would effect everyone that came in contact with the girl, and though she would be naturally immune to it, she wouldn’t be immune to how she was treated. This would have to do until he was fully healed. Then he would rip her apart from the inside out.

The families she was passed amongst took therefore an immediate dislike to the waif and they showed it by treating her cruelly, whipping her for the least of mistakes on her part, and withholding food and adequate sustenance from her. They worked her endless hours in their shops and made sure she had a miserable existence. If you would have asked them why they would have said they were not near as hard on her as she deserved. The abuse had its intended outcome. The girls otherwise sunny countenance began to turn first dark as it approached something almost evil. The demon within her laughed at how easy this all was. By the girls teen age years he was almost fully healed and ready to dispatch the girl forthwith when another thought occurred to him. Perhaps he should keep his residence within and see what further damage he could wreak.

One further thing bears mentioning. As the girl grew she seemed to have a natural inclination to do good and move towards the light that was most frustrating to the dark one within her. He had to keep a continual watch on her. Fortunately for him this came as his powers were increasing. He was careful not to touch the girls own innate power. Rather let it lay dormant as long as he could and increase the growing darkness within her to ensure she would fully embrace the dark lord when her power emerged. What he did therefore was to increase the field of hatred and loathing to something approaching anger and rage. The abuse heaped upon the girl began to intensify.

This was not coincidentally when things began to happen around the town she lived in. Things began to go missing, at first small things, that moved on to things of more import. Rage began to build within the girl, that was ever masked by her soft countenance. Others her age began to ostracize her. They were afraid of her. This fear started when one of the boys her age, “in jest” threw a rock as hard as he could directly at her face. She deftly caught it, with a reaction faster than anyone would have thought possible, with absolutely no trace of emotion, no smile, no anger, nothing. No one noticed when she simply pocketed the rock and turned and walked away. Amazingly, no one would connect this occurrence with one that happened later in the day, toward dusk, when the boy who had thrown the rock walked into his house blinded by a rock that had hit him. He remained mute ever after, not speaking a word about what had happened, or anything else for that matter. After that she was mostly left alone, with a couple of notable exceptions, that may surface later in the story.

If you saw her you would likely think her such a serious girl, she rarely smiled, but then she was treated so cruelly what did she have to smile about? There was also something intriguing about her. Perhaps it was the growing shadow over her that seemed to be her constant companion, and that she was apparently completely comfortable with it. When she thought no one was watching she would whisper softly to herself. If you did happen to catch her you would swear she was talking to someone, even though she was quite alone.

One day in the early spring when she was just in her twentieth year and at the peak of her beauty a man walked into the shop. He was brutally handsome and charming in such a way that you couldn’t help but like him. While she rarely laughed she did then. It was her first interaction with an enchanter of some significant power. It was easy to tell he had a neutral alignment, being equally comfortable in the shadows and the light. He was immediately attracted to the girl, sensing her latent power he thought would blend well with his, as well as what he would have termed a dark alignment. He had no idea how on the mark he was with that summary.

This is not their story though. That will be told another time perhaps by another bard more skilled than myself. He took her away though to his own town where he did whatever it took to survive, mostly legal, but sometimes not. Everyone of course liked him and were thrilled that he had finally taken a wife, even if she did give the best among them a chill whenever she was near. They married and had two boys. The eldest would become the overlord dark and powerful, the younger is not a part of this story and will therefore remain in the shadows.

The Wizard’s Ball happened once in a lifetime. Well, once in a wizard’s lifetime. Thalia, had never dreamed that she would attend the Andaryn Wizard’s Ball when she first took up the Order. Yet here she stood at the entryway, courtesy of old Maldric Thunderguts finally shuffling off his mortal coil.

Thalia handed her invitation to the doorman who scanned it briefly, bowing as he returned it. Thalia entered the room, gliding swiftly to the side of the ballroom where she could watch the room. Her parents, some of the wealthiest spice merchants this side of the Bight, would be aghast at her close fitting, dun colored robe, not to mention her movement to the wings. Wealthy merchant’s daughters were expected to wear garish, poofing, cascading garments as they strode into the center of attention. She allowed herself a brief smile of amusement.

Drifting about the edges of the ball, she turned down several invitations to dance (sorceresses were very poorly represented at the ball), but not before evaluating each one of the wizards who asked her. Perhaps it was in poor taste, but considering that either they would be dead at her hands, or her at theirs (preferably the former) tomorrow, she figured it didn’t truly matter.

However, when Prince Taeling approached her, she knew he would not so easily be put off. She cursed under breath about the exception made for the royal family.

“Hello Milady,” said the prince quietly as he approached her.

“I am no lady, your highness.”

“If memory serves, you are Thalia, eldest daughter of the newly appointed Baron Rathgore. So while technically you are of the Order, I believe that your family titles still apply.”

“Forgive me, your highness, for contradicting you,” Thalia said as she curtsied.

“Please, don’t. You will either be dead tomorrow or our court mage and either way, I’d prefer to eliminate the false courtesies.”

Thalia laughed from deep in her belly and smiled at the prince. “Well, if that is a command…”

“It is indeed. Now, would you like to dance?”

“May I promise you the first dance at the next ball we attend together?”

The prince’s smile faltered and rather than indignant, he actually appeared hurt.

“I am sorry, my prince. It is important to me tonight to evaluate my competition and not attract attention to myself. I need every advantage I can get for tomorrow.”

The prince smiled, “Of course, although I have heard your magic is quite strong.”

“It is quite subtle, which is much different. I have nowhere near the power of Rudolfus,” Thalia said, naming the favorite for the morrow’s tournament.”

“Well then, I will hold you to your promise,” said the Prince, bowing to kiss the hand she extended. “I mean that. I expect you to be the winner at the next ball so I may have that dance.”

“I am at your command, my highness.”

Every wizard and sorceress entered from a door set equidistantly around the great arena. Some appeared incredibly tense, others wore a mask of calm. A few were muttering incantations already, not necessarily illegal as no spells were being actively cast, but generally considered bad form.

The prince noticed the woman he had seen from the previous night’s ball standing serenely in front of her door. As the countdown began by the banging of giant bronze gongs hung at the four cardinal directions (North followed by South, then East, and finally West) the wizards started moving forward. Like fighters they seemed intent on moving forward to control the space. He spared a glance for the woman, Thalia, and…couldn’t find her.

Invisibility? No, it takes too much of a toll and leaves the wizard vulnerable when they can no longer maintain the illusion. What then? He did not have time to think more as the simultaneous ringing of all 4 gongs signalled the start of the event. While Prince Taeling had heard what to expect, he still was not prepared for the sheer blinding surge of raw power that was unleashed in the arena. Nearly half of the aspirants simply ceased to be.

As the initial explosion of light and might receded, individual battles developed, sometimes one wizard versus another or perhaps two temporarily allied wizards combining forces to defeat a stronger wizard. and then the prince finally spotted Thalia. He looked back to the door that Thalia had emerged from and tried to find her footprints in the sand of the arena floor. And there she stood, directly in front of her door. She was making subtle movements with her hands, but there were no flames, lightning or other forms of death-inducing energy emanating from her.

Scanning the arena, the prince noticed that the most powerful of the wizards were slowly sinking into the sand, their feet rooting in place. While this was not, in and of itself, damaging to the wizards, the inability to move their legs as part of their spellcasting, clearly impaired them, making many of them obvious targets for Rudolfus.

Soon, only Rudolfus and Thalia remained. Rudolfus evidently had no problem seeing Thalia as he smiled maliciously at her. Whatever had been obscuring her instantly ceased, as she seemed to put all of her effort into something else. Rudolfus smiled in amusement as his feet slipped below the surface of the sand, while Thalia appeared to be weaving a spell of protection against Rudolfus.

“Use all the parlor tricks and shielding spells you want, merchant girl. You will never match my power,” and with the word power he unleashed an incredible stream of liquid fire that mere inches from Thalia’s head curved in a perfect U and struck Rudolfus full in the chest.

Thalia approached the wizard, who despite his glowing molten chest, was still alive and writhing in pain. Thalia stood over him and looked down at the broken hulk of a human being before her. The first thing that Taeling noticed was that Rudolfus stopped writhing. He seemed pinned to the ground. Then, in the silence of the arena, a distinct series of popping noises could be heard, which at first were hard to place, but with a final loud snap, the wizard’s chest imploded and he ceased to live.

A cheer went up from the crowd.

He sat in a chair near the door because it was the only place in the small coffee shop that was available to sit. The chair itself was comfortable enough. The thing that made this chair the last one to be taken was the fact that it was the middle of winter and while there wasn’t a storm raging a cold wind was blowing and it brutally came in the door every time it was opened. Inevitably someone would open the door and then stand there holding it open waiting for God knows who halfway down the block, all the time letting cold air come rushing in funneled directly on him. He tried to take a Zen view and accept it as his path but he found hatred entering in each time it happened and growing. No one else seemed to mind, but then no one else was sitting where he was.

This had been going on for a good twenty minutes while he sipped his tall Earl Gray tea, which was the beginning of his ritual for writing in his journal, something he did every day without fail. He had tried this ritual at home and wished with all his heart that it would work but the noise of the rest of his family, and the constant interruptions made that impossible. So the coffee shop it was. He was regular enough here that they started his order the second he walked through the door. As the anger welled up he wondered if it would kill them to reserve a chair towards the back for him.

Just then the door opened and he saw a woman, a mother trying to navigate a stroller with an infant through the narrow door with a toddler hanging onto her. She was not six feet away from her and he sat and watched her dispassionately. The thought of getting up to help her never occurred to him. The only thought he had was that life was tough for all of us and if she wanted to go out in the middle of winter with her infant and toddler then she had better learn how to get through a door on her own.

Only she was having a tough time of it and after a good two minutes he felt his anger directed towards the woman who wasn’t even able to get through a door. He could tell she was flustered too. No flustered wasn’t the right word. It was more distraught, close to tears.

At this point an older gentleman rose up from his seat halfway towards the back of the coffee shop and headed towards the door with swift sure strides. He had a smile on his face, the kind that would light up a room. In fact all eyes turned towards him as he made his way to the front. He approached the woman struggling and with his winning smile offered, “Here let me help you with this. My goodness you have your hands full with these two on a cold winter day don’t you?” As he talked he deftly put his foot in the door holding it open, grabbed the toddler who was in the process of escaping into the store and scooped her up into his arms. He said something to her quietly that nonetheless made her giggle. Finally, leaning down he deftly grabbed the stroller and lifted it over the threshold where it had become stuck.

The rest was easy. As he handed the toddler back, the mother replied, “Oh thank you,” and clearly embarrassed it seemed everyone in the store was looking at the scene. “I probably shouldn’t have even tried to come out today.” Here she began to trail off.

“Nonsense,” the gentleman said. There was an air of calmness and peace around him. He looked like nothing could get his feathers up. The man in the chair was keenly aware of this and was starting to think, ‘well yeah, he’s probably never had a hard day in his life’, when the gentleman looked down at him. He felt compassion of the kind that had extracted the deep price required and he found it hard to keep his composure as the gentleman said to him, “I hope we didn’t freeze you to death, perhaps you would allow me to have your tea refreshed to warm you up a bit.”

Without waiting for a response he placed his hand on the man’s shoulder and looked directly into his eyes. The man felt as it pure energy were flowing into him as the gentleman said, “I’m going to take care of you. You stay here and, “ with a wink, “Be sure and help any other struggling soul that tries to navigate this narrow door.

I was sitting on the edge of the planter just outside the Bloody Bucket just watching the day go by.  I couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen at the time.  The Bloody Bucket was the local tavern in town.  It was right on the waterfront and there was always something happening there.  I liked to sit outside and watch the people go by.  It was also one of my spots to escape to when I wanted to get away from the heavy hand of my mom and dad seeking to work me to death and send me to my grave long before I had even passed puberty.  I remember this day very well because it was the day I first saw him, or one of his kind.  It was early springtime and the air had just a hint of warmth to it,  enough that you may decide to leave the jacket at home or maybe not.  

I saw him as soon as he turned the corner and began walking down main street.  I couldn’t take my eyes off of him.  He moved with a smoothness and grace that I had never seen before.  I know the phrase is a bit cliché but he was poetry in motion, even more so, he was a sonnet.  The funny thing is no one seemed to notice but me.  Everyone else was far too busy running errands and studying the dirt in front of them as they spent all their energy doing nothing.  The closer he came the more I was able to tell about him.  He was old.  Now keep in mind this is the eyes of a twelve year old that were making the judgment, but I saw streaks of gray in his hair. I still remember that.  His face though didn’t seem old, all I remember is that it struck me as a kind face.  While everyone else looked at the ground in front of them when they walked, he looked ahead.  You could tell he was studying the buildings, the people, the trees, the waterfront, he was taking it all in.  His eyes passed over me and before I had the chance to look away, lest I appear like I was staring at him, I could swear I saw him wink at me and flash the barest of smiles.  It was a warm gesture and even though I was embarrassed for staring it made me like him instantly.

Just then old man McCartle came walking out of the Bloody Bucket and nearly tripped over me.  All my attention was taken up helping him stay on his feet for the next few seconds.  This was enough time to let the stranger pass in front of me on the other side of the street and start getting further away from me.  I was really sad about this, and a bit angry at old man McCartle.  He saw me staring at the stranger who was getting further away with each step.  We both watched him turn and walk into the Lemon Tree, our local diner.  He turned to me and spoke, “Haven’t seen one of them in a long, long time.”  McCartle had this way of speaking that left things hanging.  If you didn’t ask him what he was talking about he wouldn’t say any more and you would be wondering forever  what he would have said.  

For a twelve year old this was severe torture and besides that I was really interested if he knew anything about this guy.  “One of what?  Who was that guy?  What do you know about him?” Yeah, I was curious, very much so.  

He laughed at me.  “Slow down boy.  That man you saw there is a Ridge Walker and the reason you don’t see many of them, is because one, they don’t frequent towns like the rest of us and two, there aren’t too many of them.”  He spat on the ground and began to reach for his pipe and pouch of tobacco.

I knew what a Ridge Walker was.  I had heard all the stories growing up.  Ridge Walkers were those travelers who had achieved such perfection in the art of getting from one place to the other that it was said they could transcend the boundaries of time and move from one place to another in almost the blink of an eye, even places that no one even knew existed.  Stories of them were fantastical and mostly, I had come to assume in my advanced twelve years, designed to entertain kids.  Yet here I was listening to old man McCartle telling me I had just watched one walk up the street.  I studied his face to see if I could detect any signs of his trying to pull one over on me.  I couldn’t.  He was droning on and I wasn’t really even listening to what he was saying.  I hadn’t heard any of it.  I never got past the part where he said the guy was a Ridge Walker.  I zoned back in just when I heard him say, “Why don’t you walk on down and get yourself a closer look.”

I looked up at him with a somewhat distracted gaze and replied, “Thanks, I think I will.”  With that I began to cross the street and walk towards the Lemon Tree.  He was staring at me like I was not completely right in the head but I couldn’t see and wouldn’t have cared if I could.  All I really wanted to do was get another look at that guy.  As I came closer to the diner I got more and more nervous.  Just what exactly did I have in mind here?  Was I going to stand at the window and stare at him?  Was I going to walk up and invite myself to breakfast with him? I stopped right at the window to the diner.  In moments like this we hold multiple potential destinies in our hand.  The next few moments choose which of all those possible paths we hold in our hand will become the one we walk.  Of course I wasn’t aware of it at the time, we usually aren’t.  All I knew was I was feeling nervous about walking up to the man.  I turned back and saw old man McCartle staring at me.  It looked like he was starting to laugh and that tipped me over the edge.  At twelve years most boys are governed very much by avoiding any embarrassment.  I certainly was.  I walked the remaining steps, opened the door and walked in.

I stopped at the door to give my eyes time to adjust to the light and survey the room.  Of all the days for them to have competent service it happened to be this one.  Miss Lizzy was right there asking what I was doing and preparing to send me out but I cut her short.  “I’m here to see him,” I said and pointed to the stranger who had taken the table by the corner window.  I knew she wouldn’t stop at this so I just brushed past her and started walking to his table.  Now usually I’m nowhere near this forceful with people.  No, I’m the quiet kind that sits back and lets things happen and takes things as they come.  The only way I could describe it is that I have this tendency to swing to extremes.  If I’m not quiet and unassuming I am forceful almost to the point of being overbearing.

It all collapsed unfortunately at the exact point I arrived at his table.  I stood there not quite knowing how I got there and wondering how I had come up with the huevos to do such a thing.  I was just starting to wonder how I might gracefully extract myself from this predicament when I noticed he was staring at me smiling.  He was waiting to see what I would do next.  When I saw him staring at me though it struck me that I could feel his presence too.  There was this feeling about him, a feeling of peace, even of virtue.  I know that sounds ridiculous and believe me I wouldn’t say anything to anybody about it except it was really there, and I had never felt it with anybody before.  

He seemed to realize that I wasn’t going to say anything or perhaps wasn’t able to because he spoke to me.  “Have a seat young man and join me, I’ve been waiting for you.”  He motioned for me to take the seat opposite him.  I meekly did as I was told unsure if I heard him correctly.  Did he say he was waiting for me?  That made no sense at all.  While I was pondering this the waitress came over and he asked her to bring another plate of the same thing he was having.  This took enough time that it gave me a chance to collect my wits.  “What do you mean you were waiting for me,” I said.  

He laughed and it was a warm pleasant laugh, not the sound of someone laughing at you, but the sound of genuine friendship.  “Well,” he said, “Whenever I walk through a town I can always tell if there is anyone here who has the desire to be a Ridge Walker.  I could feel from the moment I stepped into this town there was someone here who did.”

I was amazed and had a thousand questions spring to my mind all at once.  The only thing I could get out though was, “You knew I was going to come to you?”

Again he laughed and said, “Not you personally, though when I saw you from across the street I thought you might be the one, but I knew that before I was done with breakfast someone would approach me.”  He then appeared to look me over and spoke again, “I have to say though that you are one of the youngest that I have seen.”

I had no response to this and therefore ignored it.  I was neither impressed nor put off and continued with my questioning.  “Tell me what you do, tell me what it’s really like to be a Ridge Walker.”  This was the question I really wanted to ask and I was looking at him expectantly waiting for him to start to talk.

“Well,” he said, “Now that is a good question but it’s not the one you really want to ask.  The short answer though is that all the stories you have probably heard are true or nearly so.  I can walk the mountain tops and cover a thousand miles in a single moment.  I have been places that you wouldn’t believe exist.  The real question you want to ask though is how can you become a Ridge Walker.”

I was thrilling to the sound of his melodious voice.  It drew me in and completely captivated me.  “Yes,” I said, “That is what I want to know.  How do I become a Ridge Walker?”  I was a bit embarrassed because I thought I sounded really juvenile and at twelve years old you try hard not to do that.

I still remember that he treated me with respect that day, like I was his equal in every way.  He never talked down to me, never laughed at me, never made me feel like I was a foolish little twelve year old boy.  

He continued, “Before I answer that question I have one of my own to ask you.  I can tell you how to become a Ridge Walker.  I can show you the way and I can teach you all you need to know.  First though,” and here he became most serious, it set me back a bit because one minute he was all friendly and conversational and the next I felt like I was being grilled by my parents for taking a shortcut through Aunt Ellie’s garden and trampling all her pea’s or something.  Only this wasn’t anger, it was more solemn like being in church.  He continued, “First though, you have to be ready to commit to walk the path to become a Ridge Walker.  You have to promise not to let anything get in your way, to never quit, and most important you have to promise to never look back.  Are you willing to promise that Jimbo.”

Now, I was wondering how he knew my name, my nick name that only my closest friends called me.  I was pretty sure I never told him.  I thought about what he said though while he sat back in his chair and studied me.  I knew this was important and that it deserved more than the exuberant answer any of my friends would give were they here.  After some moments I replied with what I hoped sounded well thought out, “I don’t know what you’re asking me to promise and I’m only twelve, I don’t know myself well enough to know if I have what it takes.”

“Both of those statements are true Jimbo, and it’s not what I asked you.  I understand this is a bit unfair.  You have no idea what you’re signing up for.  What I’m asking you for is to commit yourself heart and soul to do this and not look back.  If you can’t say yes, then you will never be a Ridge Walker.”  There seemed a bit of an emphasis on the word never.  “At twelve this is quite a decision to have to make,” and here he stopped again and studied me.  A warm smile crossed his face as he did so and I swear I could almost feel something in the air that made my hair stand on end.  “I think it’s a decision that you can handle though.”

I don’t know how grown ups make decisions but I do know how twelve year old boys do, serious ones anyways.  I thought about it for a second and had this feeling like it was all I had ever wanted to do and like this was what I was born for.  Yeah, I think back on that moment now and it seems idealistic and even foolhardy.  Like all good decisions though it was made from the gut.  “OK,” I said, “I promise all those things.”  I looked at him and he looked at me.  Neither one of us blinked or looked away for several long seconds.  I think it was the first time in my life I had ever looked someone in the eyes for that long.

He stuck out his hand across the table and said, “Excellent, now shake my hand to seal your promise to me and you will become my apprentice.”  Now the hair on the back of my neck stood straight on end and it felt for all the world like I was watching myself reach my hand out and shake his.  His grip was firm and strong.  Part of me was thinking what have I just done and the other part was jumping up and down dancing.  I was so excited and nervous all at once I almost didn’t hear him say, “Eat up your breakfast we have a long day ahead of us,” and then almost as an afterthought, “I sense great potential in you.  If you survive one day you will be truly great.”  I think he meant it as a compliment but the if you survive part sent a shiver through me.