The air hung heavy with the scent of roasting meat and spiced wine, a symphony of aromas wafting from the vast kitchens of Danvegen Castle. The surprised cooks even didn't have time to react when Callan instantly appeared in front of them in that room and, grabbing a chunk of wine and roast, disappeared again.
"Well, I'm ready," he announced, his voice a blend of youthful bravado and underlying urgency. He gestured to the leather tarp he'd salvaged from a passing servant, already bulging with a hefty chunk of roast and a flask of wine. "Don't you think I've learned to deal with subordinates quickly?"
"This indicates that nobility is in your blood," Sir MaIcolm with a twinkle in his eyes chuckled. "But will you go without a sword?"
"Ah, no, it's terribly hinders my walk, this one here will suffice," Callan waved a gigantic-sized knife, the blade glinting ominously in the flickering candlelight, through the air and disappeared.
He wanted to be at the Elf Bridge, which Conan's father had told him about. An intrusive thought, a nagging feeling in the back of his mind, refused to be silenced, but it was too vague, too elusive to articulate. Callan pushed it aside, focusing on the path ahead. The elf bridge turned out to be a band of grey stones that stretched its entire length over the wide trail located on the opposite side of the lake to Danvegen Castle. The stones seemed strange, the same size, and were stationed at each other at equal distances. The surface of the stones seemed to absorb the sun's rays into itself, it possessed a strange, matte sheen.
"Something I don't like about you, fellows," Callan muttered and wanted to be on the other side of the Elf Bridge. The wide trail extended further into the forest, guarded on all sides by a pile of rocks that expanded further to the side.
"A secluded area," Callan concluded. "But there must be something else besides a pile of rocks half a meter high, they couldn't deter border breachers like McLaughlin or Campbell, no, they couldn't deter even a simple poacher." Looking around, he saw a pebble at his feet. Callan picked it up, a flash of curiosity overriding his apprehension, and tossed it over a band of stones. Nothing happened.
"Maybe it works on organic matter?" the boy murmured to himself a flicker of a theory forming in his mind. He didn't like these stones, he was sure of it. The piece of roast meat, still warm in his bag, suddenly seemed like a good test. He pulled it out and tossed it over the rocks. The stones shimmered, radiating an eerie light, and when the roast hit the far side, it was reduced to a handful of ashes in an instant.
"Neutron," Callan whistled, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and fear. "But how come everything around is not radioactive? The next elven puzzle. Let's move on."
Callan continued along the snowy trail in the frost-covered forest. As he made his way through the thicket of the frost-stricken arear, he came to a spring-green young plant, separated from the snow-covered forest like some one would draw a line with a ruler.
"Nice stuff," Callan concluded, his voice a blend of admiration and curiosity . He continued forward. The green clearing turned into a heather plain, this in turn into a fern frequent, but three roads branched off further from the wide trail. The first, narrow and steep, was hugged on both sides by sharp thorn bushes and stinging hawthorns, the branches of which, intertwined above the trail, turned it into a narrow, low tunnel. The other road was wide, flat, poured with light sunlight, and led across a carefully groomed, emerald-green moorish adorned with marvellous flowers that spread sweet, dizzying scents. The third road winded through a green thicket of ferns, there the walker was covered with moss under his feet, the foliage of the trees provided a pleasant shelter from the bright sun.
Callan stood at a crossroads embarrassed, unable to decide where to go.
"Is it hard for you to decide?" a voice sounded behind him. Callan spun around sharply.