Garinor decided to continue heading east, thinking there would be a more obvious landmark for him to turn northward at than a faded dirt path. The horse merrily obeyed and they went on their way.
The air was fresh and clean that day and he remarked how wonderful it was to be riding a horse instead of walking the entire way. He couldn’t wait to return home when his journey was over and share the stories with his family about all the things he was seeing, even if they were perpetuated by a hunt. It would be particularly fun to recount tales to his friends, who would take them and turn them into new games to play.
The landscape dashed by as the horse took the lead and broke into a run. Garinor laughed at how much this horse liked sprinting. He gazed around as the world whizzed by, feeling the bright spring air on his face.
They approached an encampment and Garinor warily called the horse to a halt. A set of brown tents lined the southern side of the road and white tents were on the north. The two camps seemed to be at odds with each other, but also in a strange symbiosis. He couldn’t quite place what he felt as he wandered in.
A woman in a long, dirty-brown robe hailed him. “Greetings, traveler, have you a moment?”
“Good day to you,” he responded. “What do you need?”
The woman stepped forward, her eyes pleading for help. “Just a moment of your time to help us move some things.” She rested her hand on the horse’s neck and stroked gently. “This is a beautiful animal.”
“Thank you. What do you need moved?”
The woman eyed him kindly and pointed to a pile of wood over her shoulder. “We’ve had a bit of trouble with all the rain yesterday and we have assembled a new pile of dry wood, but we need to get it out of sight because the others,” she said, looking toward the white camp, “keep pillaging us. We’re weary and need a few moments of your time. Won’t you please assist us?”
Garinor agreed and dismounted from the horse and tethered it to a pole nearby. He went to the wood pile where three others strained to lift and move the logs. He hadn’t noticed them before, but he could see that they were severely exhausted. There weren’t many more logs to be moved and he was happy he could help them with their plight.
When he finished, he sought out the robed woman and bid her farewell.
“Going? Where to?” she asked.
“Up north eventually.”
“I see. There are many things taking place up—”
“Blasted thieves! How dare you!” screamed a man not far away.
Garinor turned and saw a man striding angrily from the white camp, his face red in rage.
“After we strain ourselves for hours this morning, you go off and take it all away! How dare you!” he shouted again. He turned an angry eye on Garinor. “And you! Helping them steal my wood! You will pay for this, boy.”
Garinor backed away and held up his hands. “I had no idea it was yours. She asked me to help out.”
“Yes, helping, yes,” the man sputtered. “Helping to swipe our belongings. What’s next, our money?”
The woman laughed. “Money? What money, you windbag?”
Garinor watched as the two of them turned to face each other and began an all-out row. The insults they hurled at each other made him blush, some were so vulgar and demeaning. He slowly stepped back, hoping to run off and get to his horse and escape the raging pair.
But Garinor’s steps were seen and strong hands came up behind him and pinned him in place. “Ye’re no’ goin’ nowhere,” whispered a gravelly voice in his ear. Then the man called out to the others, “Oi, this ‘ere boy thinkin’ he be leavin’ then.”
The robed figures turned toward him, and the man raged again, “How dare you! Running off in the middle of a debate!”
The woman stepped forward and shook her head with a sigh. “He’s right, you can’t leave yet. There is still the matter of payment.”
Garinor raised his eyebrow. “I don’t need any payment.”
The woman laughed. “For you? No, no, for us. You came to us and you have to pay to leave.”
Bewildered, Garinor gasped. “What? I helped you move your wood—”
“My wood!” the man interjected.
“—so what do I owe you for?”
“You owe us to let you leave,” she repeated. “That’s how it is, you see. And I know exactly what it will cost you, boy.”
He couldn’t believe this turn of events. Garinor turned from the man to the woman and he felt the pressure holding him tighten as he hesitated. “This is ludicrous. I was only trying to help.”
“Nonetheless, you will hand over that stone in your pocket or you will die in the labyrinth,” returned the woman.
Garinor’s eyes shot wide open. “How did you—”
“You didn’t think it was an accident you came this way? We knew you’d be along at some point.” The woman reached out her hand. “Now, the bloodstone. Give it over.”
Garinor thought about it and shook his head. “No, I can’t.”
“You can and you will,” said the man. “If you don’t, you will be taken off to the labyrinth and there’s no way you’ll get out of that place alive.”
Garinor couldn’t believe what he saw. One minute these two were screaming at each other and now they were working in unison. He reflexively touched the stone in his pocket the Seer had guided him to find. He couldn’t simply hand it over to them. “No, the stone is mine.”
“Your continued refusal will cost you your horse,” the white-robed man said. Some of the other campers came up, brandishing crude weapons to show they were serious in their threats.
“You can’t do this.”
“Aye we can,” said the woman. “Now this is your last chance. Will you hand over the bloodstone or will you face death inside the labyrinth?”