"Is that the best you can do?"
The words echoed in Balanthalus' mind.
"Well, Bazil," he said to himself, "shall I cut
off a few of your limbs next time I knock you out and tie you naked to
a flagpole? Besides, that was just for fun. Next time I get
serious."
As his wounded adversary to the southeast and his
sexually confused adversary to the southwest advanced on each other in
the woods, the very heterosexual bard was tirelessley crossing the grassy
plains far to the north at sunrise. As the sun began to warm up the
area, Bal's pace became less than tireless. More than that, he sensed
that he needed more than the general feeling he had been given before.
He sat down in the middle of the prarie and decided to take a nap.
After an hour or so, he began to dream . . .
He was now in a forest, with Julian and Bazil advancing
on him. He ducked to avoid a mighty blow from Julian, then immediately
rolled to the side to dodge a magic missle from Bazil. He ran, feeling
an unexplained sense of fear. The others, absorbed in combating each
other, did not persue him. He ran on and on, until he could hardly
see them anymore. Suddenly,
the loud-pitched screech of a bird resounded in his ears. Balanthalus
turned to see an eagle burst into flames to become a pheonix. It
let out another, louder screech, then curled into a searing fireball and
rocketed toward the ground. It crashed into the area where Julian
and Bazil were still locked in combat with a fiery explosion.
When Bal unshielded his eyes, he saw the area ablaze
and his enemies apparently incinerated. Then he heard one last, deafining
shriek . . .
. . . And awoke with a start. He looked straight
up, to see another fireball! No . . . it was just the sun.
He really would have to stop brewing wine with lembas wafers before a battle
. . . the interesting side-effects were sometimes undesirable. He
looked foreward, but was temporarially blinded by sunspots in his eyes.
When he could see again, he rubbed his eyes to make sure what he was seeing
was real. It was. The field had apparently caught fire while
he was dreaming. A pattern was
apparent in charred portions of grass. It was . . . a map.
Balanthalus saw the place where he stood, saw the island he needed to reach,
and saw the temple where his goal lay.
"The others must not see this map," he thought.
Balanthalus spent half an hour burning contradictory patterns into the
map, while covering up other areas with fresh-looking grass. If they
wished to follow him, he would have a sizeable lead. He struck off
. . . in search of a town where he could attain a ship to sail him to his
destiny . . .