The Lost King Tour

Then an even stranger sight drew Thalos’ eyes away from the wintry beauty of this new

land. It was a thing made of hewn stones. When these stones were cut and by whom was beyond

the Prince’s guess, for they were old and mossy. Brown grasses and weeds splintered the once-

seamless joints of the blocks.

For miles around, there was neither sight nor sound of any living thing, which lent a

mysterious air to the stone structure and the strange land. A hundred questions sprang up in

Thalos’ mind, but only one thing was certain—powerful magic hung around this place, a magic

older than the stones themselves. At the same time, it felt novel and gave Thalos the excitement

of discovering something that no man had ever seen.

He nervously stretched a hand toward the stones. As his fingertips made contact, they

twitched and withdrew—the stones were frigid!

The structure was large and cylindrical and taller than a man. Ancient hands had

smoothed it, so that now it looked like the bottom portion of a column, except that around this

drum of stone wound a little stairway which expired near the rim. Thalos ascended the steps

running his hands along the column of stone as he neared the top. It wasn’t perfectly smooth, for

veins of uneven ridges rippled on its surface.

With soft, padding footfalls, he climbed the steps until they ended abruptly in a small

landing just high enough from the ground that Thalos could lean over and look at the top of this

edifice. Thalos was shocked when he reached the top; it was more than a mere column of

stone—it was a well.

What was more, it was a well of what seemed to be the purest, crystalline water that he

had ever set eyes upon—purer than mountain snowmelt running through a bed of stones at the

beginning of spring. It glimmered with a light of its own, for the morning sun had not yet risen

so high as to shine its light over the brim of the ancient fountain.

It beckoned to Thalos, not in the lustful way that strong liquor calls to a drunk, but the

way a warm bed promises health and rest to one who has traveled all day through bitter weather.

So, with little hesitation, Thalos dipped his hand into the water.

An electric jolt shot up his hand and arm. It was cold, but not too painful. He cupped

enough for a little sip, brought it to his lips, and immediately was refreshed.

Here was true water—not the poison of Sundra. All other waters he had ever tasted were

like bitter, brackish sludge compared to this!

When he had swallowed this drink (and it took only one sip to make him feel full and

refreshed), he looked out to his right over the vista that it seemed no Antaranisian eye had ever

seen. He felt a strange sensation course through his veins, penetrating—it seemed—to his very

soul. Before this, his body had ached with the dull pains of hunger, soreness, and worse

yet—despair; despair so deep and heavy that it felt as if it had been with him from birth. A new

sensation replaced this despair at once. Was it hope? Or something like it? Hope so deep and

true it made even the rising sun seem new! Now darkness must flee before the triumphant sun, an

immortal light conquering the shadows of night. It was rapturous.