Among the Thistles Part 2

A sober party made its way from Balskor Mountain. Questions ran through King Corwin's mind. What were the secrets of his past? What's the mystery behind the little girl Grasshopper? Why did Questnor kill Valwyn before they got any answers?

Corwin could tell that Prince Thatch was irritated. A wrinkle seemed permanantly placed between his brows.

"What ails you?" Corwin asked his son.

"Senseless murder. That's all it was," he answered.

Questnor spoke up.

"Dragons don't commit murder. They slay only when they see fit."

"And why was it fit to slay Valwyn? For ages, he had been the wisest and most skilled magician in the land. All he wanted was this stupid little girl who means nothing to us."

Questnor stopped. He spoke in a voice that was lower and quieter than usual.

"Show some respect, young prince. Dragons have senses beyond what you humans have. Stupid she may be, but I sense she is the key to the answers you seek. Valwyn was old and skilled, but that does not mean that he was good. I smelled evil the minute I stepped into the cave." The mighty dragon shook his head. "I should have known before we started this journey. The only reason a magician has to hide himself away is that he's been dabbling in the Dark Magic. His time had come to die."

They were standing in the Meadow of Purple Thistles, close to the spot where they had found Grasshopper. Corwin plopped down to take a rest. He absentmindedly plucked at a thistle. He looked very much like the young tot that Questnor had found in the Oak Grove. Questnor didn't understand why the royal humans couldn't see the similarities between Corwin himself and the little Grasshopper. Questnor knew that there was no such thing as coincidence. There had to be a connection.

"Let's go over what we know," Corwin said. "Questnor discovered both me and Grasshopper. We're both foundlings. I guess that means that Questnor is to be her guardian as well as mine. Valwyn wanted her as payment for the answers he would provide. Why?"

He stared intently at the thistle in his hand. Suddenly, he jumped up.

"We must go back to Balskor!" he shouted.

He ran toward the mountain, his son following close behind. Questnor, with Grasshopper still on his neck, took to the air. They met at the mouth of the huge cave.

"I must go further in," he said. "Wait here."

After a few moments, he returned with a vial containing a liquid that looked like a mixture of mud and blood. He uncorked the bottle and spilled the contents on the ground. Among the fluid was a small onion. It was bulbous and misshapen. It also had a tiny infant arm growing out of it. Thatch turned around and vomited.

"Valwyn did give me a clue," Corwin said. "He asked if I grew out of the ground or from an acorn. Well, I did. Just like Grasshopper grew out of a thistle. Valwyn made us. He was playing Creator-God. That was his Dark Art."

"But why?" asked Thatch

"Who knows? Maybe he was trying to create his own army of minions."

"Then why aren't you evil?"

"I have a feeling we were throwaways. Grasshopper and I didn't turn out the way he thought we would. He put us back where he found us."

"Not to point out the obvious," Thatch said, "but you are so much older than Grasshopper."

"Well, who knows how much time it takes to create someone? Or how many people he's created? He could have been doing this for a very long time."

"As fate would have it," Questnor added, "I found both of you and became your guardian."

"So, I'm descended from an oak?" Thatch asked.

"And the royal Queen Ophelia," Questnor answered.

"I really am the Oaken King," Corwin laughed.

"And it would be an interesting journey," Questnor said, "to find others like you."