King Ovin stared out over the mountain range below, taking in its beauty, shivering in the chill high altitude air. He spoke over his shoulder, asking, "Does it ever get any warmer up this high?"
"Not without a fire," replied the six-headed, multicolored dragon behind him in the cave. "The cold is worth the trade, however," said Gatech, the Dragon God.
"I can't thank you enough for bringing me here," said the fairy King, drifting back over toward the enormous god. "I know it cost you deeply to pull me from where I was."
"In the long run, not so great a price, oh King of faerie," Gatech said. His golden head, the prime, lowered to the floor, close to Ovin. "I myself only discovered this place because of the pull of that door," he said, blue neck and head craning toward the back of the cave. There stood a simple wooden door in the rock wall, a low hum emanating from it. "I couldn't not come to it."
"Any idea what lies behind it?"
"None thus far. Its power is, closed to me. That has never happened." Ovin floated over to the door, probing with his magical senses at it. He recoiled as the power in the door lashed back at him, knocking aside his feelers like the hands of a petulant child striking their parent in tantrum rage. "Harsh, isn't it?"
"My word, yes," said Ovin, rubbing his hands together. "Well, I should like to rest. Wake me in a few hours?"
"After I hunt," said Gatech, rising up on his thick legs. "We may be trapped, but we're not helpless." Ovin laid down, and tried to dream of nothing. Yet he found his first dream was of watching a man in a dark coat and faded jeans, a golden skull mask over his face, crossing a desert.
Maefus and Croag sat once again in the abandoned house in Craeton's Bay, the green dragon pacing back and forth in the study in his morphed elven form while the red dragon lounged in lizardman shape on the fainting couch. "This is madness," the green wyrm snarled. "It's been three weeks, and not a word."
"The shade will report to us when something happens," said Maefus patiently. "We shouldn't exactly be in any rush to go back there anyhow."
"We can't go much of anywhere, friend," Croag grumbled, eyes flashing yellow light. "All of the Destroyer's loyal are after us. It's a miracle we've managed to stay hidden this long. I'm going crazy being cooped up here, though. I've read through half of the books on these shelves, and nothing holds my interest."
"Perhaps the boy will bring us new ones today," said Maefus. "He should be by this afternoon."
"Provided he isn't intercepted and locked away," spat Croag. "If his father knew what he's doing for us, he would likely try to kill us. Not an idle threat, him."
"I'm aware of that." Maefus stood up and walked over to the shelves, taking down a selected compilation of essays from Rorick Dupp, a gnome engineer who had worked on trying to establish electronics in Ether. He then picked out a volume of poetry, handed it to his companion, and sat down. "Sit. Read. Take comfort in knowing that soon enough, our world will return to the way it should be."
Croag took the book and sat across from Maefus, now worried not for Kathy and her friends, but for the boy who had become their supply lifeline.
Rasmus walked along under a cloudy sky, his tote bag filled with food, drink and books, as well as several board games. This was the dangerous part of his run, alone in the wilds between the abandoned village and Craeton's Bay. The dragons could send him ack to the Boneyard with their magic, reducing his risk, but the kennin youth had already come under attack on each of his trips. On the first trek, his brother Turot had accompanied him, dealing death to every specter they came upon. Rasmus had taken care of the last one, however, a giant bull-headed wasp. Using his High Mind, he had invaded the creature's mind and filled it with dire warnings about he and his brother, accompanied by false visions of the brothers slaughtering scores of beasts of all kinds. The creature had fled in terror.
When he explained to Turot and their mother how he'd fended off the creature, they finally agreed to let him make these trips on his own. As he sensed the rush of specter minds looming, closing on him, Rasmus began to question the wisdom of being by himself.
A simple manipulation of his power, however, made the oversized monstrosities unable to detect him, however, allowing him to walk by only ten yards away unnoticed. The most curious one to him looked like a man-sized bowling pin with a stretched blue face and nine hairy, segmented legs upon which it scuttled. The specters quickly turned on one another, and the melee ensued.
Rasmus kept walking, mind reaching out for any other signs of danger. Finding nothing, he pressed on.
In another world, in the deserted, dried out and dust-choked silence of an ancient tavern, a man of unremarkable size and stature sat at the bar, tumbler of water resting in his gloved left hand. A golden skull mask, teeth open upon black mesh to conceal his mouth, in the sockets to cover his eyes, gleamed in the light falling through a hole in the roof. He tilted the mask up on his forehead, keeping most of his face concealed as he adjusted the netting in the mouth. Pulling it back down, he sipped at the water, then drew out a cigarette from a crumbled pack in one of his jacket pockets, striking it alight on a tiny flame coming off of one finger.
He chuffed out blue smoke, grinned. A glance down the length of the bar revealed a shining block of orange light, slowly fading as it took the shape of a magnificently rendered white wood dollhouse. He got up off of his stool and walked over to it, popping it open gently and searching slowly around the interior. He found an index card on the living room floor.
It read: 'Sorry for the delay, Kathy got to it first. She took the original card, too. Check the fridge.' -The Forger. He set the card aside, popped open the miniature fridge, and took from inside a small compass embossed with archaic runes. He pocketed it, closed the dollhouse, hopped over the counter, fetching himself more water from the barrel behind the bar. He raised his glass to the empty tavern.
"Salut," he said in his cultured English accent, taking the drink at a draught. He pulled another glassful, then dipped his canteens into the barrel to refill them. When they were filled and on his belt once more, he raised the glass one more time. "To the Forger, and to Kathy, whoever she is. May their paths lead them to victory and joy." He drank, clambered over the bar, replaced his mouth meshing and headed outside into the desert air. As he walked away, checking his compass, he began whistling 'God Save the Queen'.
The Journeyman continued on his quest.
Rasmus twitched his power, flinging the last lizardman loyalist through air to land in a heap among his fellows. He was still two miles from Craeton's Bay, and the specters roaming the town were already coming toward him, called by his power to deal with the loyalists. He didn't care much for bloodshed, but it was them or him. He chose himself.
He was a mile out when the gnashing, frenzied specters went screaming by him, maddened by being certain that easy prey was somewhere out west of the town they'd been lingering around. Their thoughts were simple, their minds easily manipulated by Rasmus. Had any of them been of the more intelligent species labeled 'specter', they might have resisted.
Fortune smiled upon him, though, as his path was now entirely free of further danger. Craeton's Bay stood desolate before him as he entered its outermost district, a faded collection of derelict structures left to the erosions of time. Once, this had been a booming township, full of life and light and laughter. Now the only sounds were of the wind and occasional animals that wandered by seeking shelter.
The house he sought was further into town, so he hitched up his bag and carried onward, sniffing the air. His High Mind didn't work properly after so much use, and he would from here on rely upon his senses and training. He was no great warrior, as his father was and brother would become, but he was no slouch either. The short sword on his hip was not for show.
He caught no scent of note, though he did hear something scratching away at a doorway down a sidestreet; it turned out to just be a wild dog. He opened the door to the little house with a twitch of his will, flinching at the pain this caused behind his eyes. No more until I recover, he chided himself. He moved on.
Twelve minutes later he walked through the door of a well-kept manor house, the place where the dragons Maefus and Croag were hiding out. Word had spread quickly through the lands about the rebel wyrms, and each day, more were quietly turning aside from the Destroyer's will. Not many, overall, but the wheels had been set in spin. Much now hinged on the efforts of Daggeuro and his allies.
Rasmus was halfway up the staircase to the second floor when the elf-shaped Croag intercepted him, smiling amiably at the young man. "Son of Daggeuro, well met again," he said. "Anything new to read?"
King Ovin carved through the berries Gatech had collected for him with a fairy-sized scimitar, a weapon he kept more for ceremony than for practical purposes. The juice which spilled out wasn't toxic, confirmed by a quick spell and he tore into his food with gusto.
He was halfway through his food when a twinge in his magical senses alerted him. He looked over to the Dragon God and stared. "They're close," he said softly. "I can feel them now."
"Aye, so they are," Gatech replied. "Were this a house, they'd be only a few doors down. But you know this place follows different rules than te world we know. Close now could become unknowably far away in an hour. The creature who took us here is madness on legs. We cannot hope he'll let our allies get to us too quickly."
"Perhaps so, but there is one among those coming for me who is quite familiar with our captor," King Ovin said. "He too was once a prisoner of the creature named Quoth, and his power is kin to the madman's own. He will be the key to our escape from this place."
"Do you say so?"
"I do. And more, there are two who I would trust always with my life accompanying him. My greatest knight, Daggeuro Ironfang, and the Awakened one known as Kathy Potts. They, above any others, can and will prevail."