It was already noon and Rovan was very hungry. The last time he had lunch was yesterday and after that he worked hard the complete evening. Now it was urgent to come to Uhlheim. As he walked back from the pebble beach to the road, he wondered what to do in Uhlheim. What should he do? He had a magic book that spoke to him and a stone that felt deeply evil. Still, the stone was certainly very valuable. He did not have any coins - he had to sell the stone. But to whom? If he, dirty and barely 13 years old, went to a dealer with such a valuable stone, he would either be cheated or turned away. Most certainly someone would try to steal the stone. There was nothing he could do about it. He had to be very careful. He had no relatives in the city whom he could have trusted. Trust. A priest. The priests were good people. They served the gods and they punished fraud and theft. So he had to seek help from a priest. It was best to turn to the Torqua temple. The priests of justice and the empire would not cheat him. However, they might ask where he got the stone from. They might think he stole it. Where would a boy like him get such a stone from? Then he would have to tell the story. He could not lie to the priests. Under no circumstances. They would notice it and most of all HE would see it. Because Torqua saw and heard everything. But he could say that he did not want to talk about it. No one could prevent that, right? Or not?
He wasn't sure. In his mind he followed the way to Uhlheim. He didn't want to lose the book or tell about the staff. In his opinion, both were so valuable that he couldn't give them away. If the book was really for him, the staff might be connected with him or the book too. What was it supposed to mean that he could read this book? He could even read the title. And what about the staff? The stones on the staff had lit up when he took it in his hand, he was sure about it by now. Did it mean that this staff was meant for him too? And if so, what was he supposed to do with a staff? With all these thoughts in mind, one question manifested: Was he a magician? Did he have the gift? Did he have these crazy dreams of which his mother had always tried to wake him up from? He had no memory of those nights. Nothing was left when he woke up. He had just slept. If he got coins for the stone, he could be examined by the local magicians. The thought of owning the gift made him very excited. Perhaps he would be able to go to apprenticeship with a master and receive training. Then he would probably become someone important like a master of the elements or a great healer. Perhaps he would be able to control combat spells and serve the imperial army. He imagined himself standing in the gold and red robes of the imperial combat magicians who had crossed his village three years ago. But without a hat, please. The hats were silly. But the robes looked very masterful and valuable. Everyone had had great respect for the battle magicians. Not without reason, because, as Rovan was told, they could burn a person to ashes or paralyze or silence them forever.
Rovan's heart was beating fast. Suddenly he saw a future. What if he could really become a magician?
Rovan came up on a hilltop and looked further west in the midday sun to where his path led. The path fell gently and led through fields on which isolated barns or tool sheds stood. The last harvest was over a few days ago and the fields were now deserted. A cool wind blew from the south and let the leaves remaining in the trees rustle and tore more and more away from them. Only the conifers were able to successfully withstand the wind. The deciduous trees were almost completely defoliated. Further behind the fields, maybe a good two hours away, the walls of Uhlheim rose. Layered from natural stone and certainly four, if not five steps high, this wall surrounded Uhlheim and protected its inhabitants from predators, wild animals and slave hunters. The fact that the slave hunters had dared to attack so close to an imperial base was a boldness beyond compare. Since Rovan had not met anyone on his way, it was quite possible, even likely, that he was the only one who could have escaped. If he quickly warned the knights, they might be able to pursue the slave hunters and free the prisoners.
Sighing at his aching legs, Rovan followed the road down the hills to the distant city. Soon he could no longer see the towers because trees blocked his view. The wind tugged at his clothes and his stomach was growling loudly. In the meantime, he had already become weak. He had not eaten for almost 24 hours and had worked hard, walked far, and slept little. Grinning crookedly, Rovan remembered his father's words: "Rovan only the weaklings in the seven cities spare their bodies and shy away from every effort. With every challenge that your body survives, it becomes stronger, more persistent and less sensitive to pain. Never let yourself be guided by the comfort then your body will always serve you well. But if you let him sleep and become weak you can not do much with him anymore. See everything as a lesson, a training. " His father must have thought of situations like this, Rovan thought. He gritted his teeth and walked quickly along the street with a clear look. He came across fields that were already harvested and empty. He passed small mixed forests and finally the sight of Uhlheim opened to his eyes again. It was not far. Just a little more, he motivated himself. After all, he had the little money with him, which might enable him to stay in a simple inn for one night. Maybe he could afford a warm meal too. No. He had to eat something. If necessary, he would rather sleep somewhere under a wagon or in a haystack as long as he got some warm food.
But the book wanted him to look for a place where he could calmly read it. He had to rent a single room. How was he supposed to read a magic book when the dormitory was full of drunkards and travelers? He would cause suspicion and he wanted to avoid that. He had no one. He did not know anyone. He could not defend himself. Therefore, he was not allowed to arouse anyone's interest in himself or his new possessions. Perhaps the rest of the day would be enough to sell the evil stone. He had no idea how much he could ask for it. Was it worth 10 gold? You could buy a good sword from that. Wasn't he much more than a good sword? Maybe 50? For 50 gold you got an experienced riding horse, trained and with bridle and saddle. But he might need a horse if he did not want to walk everywhere, so he would need more. But sums over 50 gold were too magical. He had never even seen 5 gold. The stone was evil. There was no doubt about that. But how should a stone be evil? A stone was just a stone. Unless someone enchanted it! The stone was not only enchanted, but also cut finely and masterfully. Rovan considered and decided that he had to look at the stone again to be sure how special it was. If it were just mischievious, someone might just want to throw him into the sea so he would not harm anyone. However, it was a gem and cut and enchanted. There would surely be people who wanted to have it, even though it was evil.
Within a small group of trees, Rovan left the path and sat down. Invisible from the road, he leaned with his back against a tree. A welcome rest for his battered feet. Then he unbuckled the pouch on his belt. He opened the leather cord that held the bag closed and stretched out his arm. Then he turned the bag over so the stone fell out. He did not want to take it in his hands again. He was afraid of the stone. And as soon as the stone left the bag, a horror began to seize him. Somewhere from far away eyes were on him. He was being watched. Something was approaching. The terror closed strong around his heart like a cold hand. Rovan swallowed and forced himself to look at the stone. Black, strangely polished. One side was about 3 cm long and tapered to a point. The other side was maybe 2 cm and tapered as well. The edges were sanded and looked clean, no corner was missing. It was immaculate. Then Rovan's concentration finally collapsed.
His eyes widened, he heard wings flapping in the distance. The sun seemed to be setting, black clouds were rising. He felt cold, his heart cramped and he could hardly breathe. A cold wind rose and a prick in his head began to rise and penetrate his soul. Tears rose in his eyes, his hands clenched, and despair filled his mind. Depressed by a black cloud of the futility of his own existence and his doomed plans. Shivering, he reached for the stone, his fingers were greeted by the freezing cold, and he was drawing them back in alarm. Angry murmurs, which predicted his impending death warned him to put his unworthy fingers on the stone. They seized his head and mingled with the thud of the wing flapping that had swelled up to a loud storm. Rovan threw himself forward on the stone and shoved it back into the bag with both hands. "Cursed thing, cursed stone!", he whispered sobbing. Images flashed before his eyes, he saw his father surrounded by a horde of wolves, unarmed and bleeding on both legs. He saw his mother lying on her back with painful eyes, her hands tied over her head, the fear of death in her eyes. At last the stone sank into the bag and he pulled the tape that closed it tightly. Sobbing, he hit the stone with his walking stick. "Cursed stone, miserable devil thing!", he cried out again. Then he sank to his knees in front of the stone, weak and despondent, and burst into tears. A few minutes passed, then life returned to Rovan, he took new courage, noticed that the clouds were gone. This stone was truly a work of the evil gods themselves. He had never felt anything like it. And he was sure that no one else had ever faced such perils. It had been an expensive price to appreciate the stone. He scrambled to his feet, hid the bag under his doublet again, and took his staff. Maybe another half an hour before he would reach Uhlheim. He returned to the path marching toward the city with uncertain legs. The confrontation with the stone had cost him the last bit of strength. He dragged himself there. Leaned on the staff and only looked at the floor and his feet so as not to stumble. He was also unable to grasp a clear thought, and so at the end of his strength he finally staggered through the city gates of Uhlheim.