Chapter 2 part 3

Marlena awoke the next morning with a stabbing ache in her side. She turned over in her bedroll and lay in its warm embrace, dreading the coming week. Like most women, she often experienced discomfort at these times. And having at least a moderate sense of humor, she often had made jokes with her male companions about her monthly problems. That morning, though, she was not feeling too jovial. She could tell that it was going to be one of those more difficult occasions, and she pitied the eight men for the difficult days ahead. She did not intend to be cranky, it was just the way of things. She certainly did not wish to inflict her foul mood upon her companions. Well, maybe a little bit.
Peeking out from under her blanket, she spied Keeneye and Norwind cooking up a batch of fish by the fire. She groaned. The last thing she needed was to have to listen to Norwind philosophize about female problems. She was sure that he knew it irritated her and that gave him all the more reason to do it. She was quite certain, though, that if he tried to tell her it was all in her mind again, she was going to break his elven neck and feed him to the fish.
Reluctantly, she crawled out of her bed. The air was chilly but not cold, and the previous day’s storm was all but forgotten. Under the early morning sunlight--only one of the suns had risen--the whole sandy beach had turned a luminous pale blue color. Marlena took little note of the beauty of the morning as she staggered like a drunken sailor over to the camp fire and opened Seymore's pack.
With Keeneye and Norwind watching her, she withdrew an all too frequently used flask of familiar type. Marlena noted the smirks and hastily covered grins of her companions as she pulled the cork. With as much dignity as she could muster, she turned her nose up at the snickering pair and said, "For medicinal purposes." Her statement was punctuated by the pop of the cork.
Quickly before anyone else could see her, she turned the flask up and took two long droughts of the potent liquor. After swallowing the harsh elixir, she innocently returned the cork and bottle to Seymore's pack and then took up a place next to the fire.
Marlena noticed with casual disinterest that she was still being observed and there were several whispers and nudgings. Finally, when she'd had enough she turned an cold glare at the two elves. "Gentlemen," she said in a voice that sent ice water running through their veins. "If you do not cease that snickering and keep you mouths shut," and for emphasis she stood with one hand on her hip and the other shaking a finger at the two laughing boys, "there will be two less elves in this neck of the woods!"
Keeneye swallowed hard and exchanged a nervous glace at Norwind. One never really knew when Marlena was joshing or serious. "Yes ma'am," they replied in chorus.
Marlena maintained her glare for a few extra seconds for good measure. Then when she was satisfied that her dignity had been reinstated, she announced that she wasn't feeling well and would be returning to bed for a few more hours. As she left the fire, she thought she heard a snicker, but after the scolding she had just dished out, she found it hard to believe that either Norwind or Keeneye would risk her wrath. She reassured herself that they wouldn't have dared to do that.
Meanwhile, Avery and Ultrecht were down on the beach skipping shells into the calm ocean. "I was looking at the map this morning," Ultrecht said as he hurled a flat stone into the surf. The rock bounced four times before a wave crest reached up out of the water to catch it. "It shows a small fishing village between here and the Twin Cities." Ultrecht watched Avery lob a shell into the water clumsily. "Do you think it might be possible to get ocean passage there or maybe some airborne mounts?"
"I'm sure we will find out when we get there, but I wouldn't hold my breath," Avery commented as he picked up another shell.
"I won’t," Ultrecht said. “It was just a thought.” He slung another pitch into the water. This time the stone zipped down a trough between waves for nine skips.
Avery looked sidewise at the robed man. "You have been practicing this, haven't you?"
Ultrecht returned a hurt expression. "Would I do that?"
The ranger shook his head futilly. "Okay, you win, Ultrecht,” he conceded “I will buy the next nine rounds of drinks, but don’t ask me to play this game with you anymore."
“I’m hurt,” the Elementalist claimed. “We have played this game for decades, and you usually win.”
“Has that trip affected your memory?” Avery asked. “You have won the last three times!”
“Well, maybe I have gotten a bit lucky a time of two,” Ultrecht admitted, “But it’s only a couple of rounds of drinks. And you aren’t hurting for money.”
“I’m not rich,” Avery assured his comrade.
“No, but you always hang around Armegon, and he has more money than he knows what to do with.”
“So do you,” Avery pointed out.
“Not so,” Ultrecht argued. “I’ll never have more money than I know what to do with.”
“Are you trying to say that you aren’t filty rich?” Avery asked with an accusing undertone.
“Oh, no,” Ultrecht answered. “It’s just that there is no amount of money that I can’t think of something to do with it.”
Avery laughed in spite of himself. “Very funny. Okay, well I’ll buy the beer, but don’t expect dinner too.”
"Why thank you," Ultrecht said as he walked back towards the bluff. Then calling over his shoulder, he added, "I am sure Seymore will be pleased to hear that."
"Jerk!" Avery said shaking his fist. "I'll wind up in debtor's prison by the time he and his army of drinking buddies get through."
"Let's hope they get a chance to do that," Ultrecht murmured seriously.
Later Armegon and Tyson were sitting near the foot of the bluff when Ultrecht came upon them.
Tyson was smoking a pipe from which emanated a strange pungent smell that caught Ultrecht's attention as he approached.
Armegon was scribbling some words in a little book when Ultrecht walked up. "Good morning gentlemen," Ultrecht offered.
"Far out man," replied Tyson. "Like why don't you join us, bud?"
Ultrecht sniffed at the smoke coming from Tyson's pipe. "What in the world are you doing?" he asked finally.
Tyson leaned back and giggled. "Wow dude, like it's fantastic. I mean I ran out of pipeweed this morning, y'know? And, I find this stuff." He indicated a pile of plants with multiple long thin leaves in a hand-like pattern at the end of each stem. "Well, I just had to try it out and guess what?" he paused to take a drag from the pipe. When he had a full drag in his lungs, he held his breath for about five seconds then let it out slowly. "This stuff has a totally awesome kick!" He offered the pipe to Ultrecht. "C'mon dude, it's mellowing. Try it." Tyson jerked his head towards Armegon. "I offered 'Airhead' there some but he was a party pooper." Tyson then took another drag from his pipe.
Ultrecht observed Tyson for a few moments as the man continued to partake of his discovery "Do you think it is some kind of narcotic?" he asked Armegon.
"I am not sure, but the effect does seem to impair his reasoning and mellow out his mood." Armegon regarded his book for a moment and then continued. A while ago, I got him to stop for about half an hour, and there was a definite sign of the effect wearing off." Armegon closed his book and pulled a bag from one of the many pockets on the inside of his robe. "This could prove useful in the future, and I want to study it further. I am going to collect some samples and seeds for further research later."
"Cool," said Tyson, now making a vain attempt to stand. "What a totally radical idea. We can grow a whole forest of this stuff and sell it. Man, we'll make jillions."
"Sure we will," Ultrecht said as he helped Tyson to a steady stance. "But first, we need to get you back to camp so someone can keep an eye on you until you sober up." He placed one of Tyson's limp arms over his shoulder and Armegon took the other one as they started their way back up the bluff.
Seymore and Samson had found a small inlet about an hour's walk to the east of the camp. They had gone foraging for food. The tide was low and shallow pools teemed with various forms of aquatic life. And though the crustaceans were in great supply, they did not appear very appetizing.
A broad but not too deep inlet flowed out of a nearby marsh and several quick shadows suggested that there might be edible fish within. With that in mind it had not taken long for Samson to cut some crude spears for fishing.
The water was brisk and exhilarating, but not too cold. After several failed attempts, the two big warriors had managed to get the feel of their makeshift spears and finally skewered several sizable fish. After half an hour, with their catch in hand and the second sun rising, they abandoned the inlet and wrapped their catch in a some large leaves. They completed the packaging by binding the wrappings with vines, then they started the long walk back to camp.
"After that forced march in that ungodly storm, I think we should stop for a day of rest," Samson said absently. It was the most that he had said that morning. The big man had been uncommonly quiet since the loss of Scarlet. It had been eating him alive with guilt and shame.
Seymore had also been melencholy. Scarlet had been his best friend, and the loss was terrible. A few years earlier, and he would have gone on the mother of all drinking binges, but when he took up the druidic studies, he had had to come to terms with life and death and the necessity of both. It was the only thing that kept him from completely losing his composure. It was the law of nature that all living things died eventually.
Seymore smiled reassuringly toward Samson. He wanted the big man to know that no one held him responsible for Scarlet’s death. Any words to that affect that had been uttered had been done so out of haste and hurt.
"I tend to agree with you, my friend," he told Samson. "But, as long as we are in the wilderness under travelling and survival conditions, Avery has the last word on that matter."
"Oh really?" Samson said with a touch of sarcasm. "I don't recall electing him king." The anger may have been misplaced, but it needed venting and the do-gooder Avery was as good a target as any.
"Oh come now," said Seymore, "he doesn't think he's a king. You know how rangers can be. The whole lot of them get very pushy and bossy in the wild."
"I know,” Samson admitted. “I trust him out here only because there’s no one who knows survival better than he does. But that goody two shoes attitude of his really irks me."
"And Armegon doesn't?"
"I’m rarely in a situation where I depend on Armegon."
"True, but we’re not often in this kind of situation either."
"Maybe," Samson admitted. "It's just that Avery and Armegon too, for that matter, don't understand the importance of maintaining balance in life. Their beliefs are contrary to the overall ways of nature."
“How so?” Seymore asked.
“Avery’s a communist. He wants everyone to be poor and obedient to some higher purpose.” Samson kicked at a clump of seaweed irritably. “I have talked to him over and over, and just can’t get him to realize that it is impossible for everyone to live that way.”
“Well Armegon is certainly not a communist,” Seymore pointed out. “If anything he is more of an opportunist. Maybe he is even a capitalist in some way.”
“Perhaps,” Samson agreed. “The thing I get tired of is their constant worry about opposing evil this or demonic that or diabolical whatever. They have no sense of the importance of balance.”
“That’s just their nature,” Seymore reminded his companion. “Elves and halfelves are generally good folk. It’s not all that surprising that they would inherit those tendencies.”
“Keeneye didn’t,” Samson countered.
Seymore nodded. “Keeneye was an orphan. He was raised in the thieves guild for part of his life, but look at what happened to him when Armegon caught him.”
“I suppose I can see your point,” Samson conceded.
“And don’t worry about Avery’s communistic ideals,” Seymore urged. “He doesn’t really try to force them on anyone who isn’t willing to listen.
“Except Armegon,” Samson laughed.
Seymore joined in on the jest. They had all heard the ranger and the sorcerer go at it for hours on end over some trivial arguable point. “They do like to squabble don’t they?”
“Sometimes I think they are going to be at each other’s throats by the end of the day,” Samson chortled.
"They really are quite fond of each other," Seymore said thoughtfully.
"I don't follow you."
"Haven't you watched them work together?"
"Yes."
"And how do they do?"
"Well I’ve never seen them defeated, if that’s what you mean. They bicker a little bit, but it seems to be over little unimportant things. They never fight over anything serious."
"That is rather odd considering their differences, don't you think?"
"What do you mean?" asked Samson curiously.
"Avery believes in total restraint and control for the common good, right?"
"And Armegon believes in total freedom as long as no one comes to harm."
"Theoretically, they shouldn't get along very well."
Samson shook his head. "You're giving me a headache."
"And you weren’t around when they last had one of their heated arguments."
"When was this?"
Seymore seemed to stare off into the distance for second. "About a month ago, I think. Usually when they get bored between adventures they think of something to fight about." He smiled to himself. "I think the last one was about whether or not there was such a thing as a fact."
"Who won?" Samson asked.
"I don't think either one got the upper hand on that one. They were still at it the next day, and hadn't even stopped long enough to sleep. But after about four days, I do believe they came to a mutual compromise."
"And that was?"
"They decided that they were just figments of each other's imagination."
"You see!" Samson exclaimed. "That’s what I mean. That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard."
"But it explains how they understand the balance of things."
"Oh? How?" he inquisitively retorted.
"Neither one would ever admit that he was wrong, so they sought a compromise between the two extremes. That gives us the balance. Their compromise is for the greater good."
"The greater good," Samson repeated. "That in itself is an imbalance. There can not be good without evil."
"I know that, and you know that, but we are realists, and they are idealists. I don't think we will really have to worry about it. There seems to be an abundance of evil in the world. I don't think the balance is in jeopardy."
"You know what I think?"
"What?"
"I think those two don't know what they think." Samson paused. "And I still don't like Avery's bossiness."
"Well, let's just put up with it a little longer. Once we get out of the woods, he will probably chill out." Seymore smiled and slapped his friend on the back. "Then, you can listen to Ultrecht boss everyone around."
"At least he has his head on straight."
"Are you sure?"
Samson gave the sky a 'why me' look. "Now, don't start that again!"
It was mid-morning when Seymore and Samson arrived back at the bluff. There seemed to be a discussion going on when they entered camp as everyone else was gathered around talking.
"I think it would be best if we camped here for another day," Avery was saying.
Seymore nudged Samson and whispered, "I think he heard your griping." Samson ignored the playful tease.
"Ultrecht and I have agreed that there will most likely be a full moon tonight,” the ranger explained. “Marlena has expressed some concerns. She wants to harvest some mistletoe for her incantations, and Seymore will probably need to as well. The full moon is necessary for this."
“There are two moons,” Armegon asked. “Only one of them will be full. How will that affect their rituals?”
“We really can’t be sure,” Marlena spoke out. “The mistletoe should be potent enough to work with, but I suspect that it would be much more potent if gathered under a double full moon.”
“I had forgotten about druidic magic being dependant on natural conditions,” Ultrecht mused. “Two moons and two suns should make some interesting study. I wonder how the Ritual of the Solstice is changed?”
“Let’s hope we get home before we get the chance to investigate it,” Marlena answered. “But once home, it would make an interesting research project. I may come and move into your keep for a few months while we talk about it in great length.”
“You will be a most welcome houseguest,” Ultrecht assured her. “Somehow, I am sure that your cooking is better than Avery’s.”
Marlena glanced questioningly at the ranger. Avery chuckled and then assured her that Ultrecht was joking. He informed her that the Elementalist had a full staff at his keep complete with a fine chef.
While everyone enjoyed the light amusement, Avery spied the two fishermen returning. "So we will probably stay to allow the druids to attend to their rituals. And since Marlena is rather unwell, to force onward would just complicate matters."
"Why don't you just heal her?" asked Seymore with a questioning glance at the seated woman.
It was obvious that Avery was uncomfortable with the subject. "Well," he finally answered, "I can't heal her, uh, problem without making her barren in the process."
Seymore understood and grinned in spite of himself and the icy stare that the woman graced him with. How could he pass up this opportunity to get in a couple of early morning points. "You know there is a way to alleviate this problem for about nine months."
Marlena was about to retaliate with a line of her own but, as usual, Samson came to her defense. "My lady," he said, "you must forgive him. He is doomed to this life of vulgarity until he can satisfy a single woman with what little character he has. As you can see, he's had a lot of practice at being vulgar."
Norwind and Keeneye howled with laughter. Seymore made every attempt to appear shocked and Marlena tried her best to put on a snooty face. Samson had scored a major point and it could take a few days before Seymore could retaliate and recover his pride.
With the battle of the wits unfolding a new chapter in its long history, Avery joined Ultrecht and Armegon as they stood near the edge of the bluff overlooking the narrow beach. "Where is Tyson?" he asked as he hunted around.
"He is running around searching for more of that weed he has been smoking," Armegon informed him.
"Is that stuff going to harm him?" Avery asked in return.
"Not yet, but it might in the long run." Armegon gave a concerned glare at Ultrecht and Avery. "It might be addictive."
Ultrecht sighed, "Let's wait and see. I don't think it can do anything that can't be cured."
Armegon changed the subject. "How long have we been here?"
"About three cycles of the larger moon," said Avery.
Ultrecht sifted through some notes in a record book that he habitually kept while adventuring. "There seems to be about forty days per cycle of the larger moon here. Also, there appears to be about ten hours of daylight and ten hours of night."
"That is all very neat and tidy," commented Armegon.
"I have also calculated that the small moon's sidereal period is about ten months." Ultrecht closed the book. "All in all the small moon goes through it's phases in about a year by our reckoning."
"And, according to Marlena's discussion with the plant life and animals, every tenth small moon is a summer of extreme heat and humidity," Avery reminded him.
"Well," Armegon posed, "at least we have some concept of time here."
"Yes," Ultrecht added, "two suns and two moons. Incredible isn't it?" He peered over the cliff to the beach some fifty feet or so below him. "I wonder how high the tides get when the suns and moons are in conjunction."
In answer, Avery stooped over and picked up a large shell. "Does this," he said offering the shell as evidence, "answer your question?" Avery kicked through more of the cliff top sand and uncovered more shells and some dry driftwood. "It had occurred to me that with two suns and two moons, there would occasionally be some instances of serious flooding. It could get severe, but I don't think," he said casually, "that I would want to be around to find out." No one argued.
They spent the entire day dozing in the sun, washing clothes and bathing in the water. Tyson had even managed to get Seymore to try his new pipeweed, but Seymore didn't seem to react to it at all. He announced that he only experienced a slight buzz. Aside from that he felt nothing. Instead, he popped the cork on a flask of wine and spent the rest of the morning toasting just about anything that came to mind, then he culed up in a shadey spot to take a nap.
That evening as he was sobering up, Seymore was awakened by Keeneye. The elf was none too delicate. Seymore’s head throbbed a bit, but he was otherwise in good health. He had known that the night would be long, and the alcohol had helped him relax so that he could sleep throughout the latter part of the day.
Avery was helping Marlena prepare her equipment for the evening's activities. Looking up, Seymore saw the bright full moon rising on the eastern horizon into the still dimly lighted, yet sunless sky. With a yawn, he stood and retrieved a solid gold bowl and sickle from his pack. They were necessities for what was to come.
Keeneye watched as the two druids prepared themselves for their ritual. They would never allow anyone to go with them for there were some private and sacred ceremonies involved. He knew that they had to cut mistletoe--the primary component of the druid's spell power--under a full moon, but that is all they would tell anyone.
He had seen Avery use druidic powers before on rare occasion and Avery even went with them on the monthly cuttings on occasion, but Avery was as tight lipped as the druids concerning the procedure. The ranger would only say that he was priviledged to observe the ritual, but, he was not allowed to participate in the ceremony. For his own nature influencing spells, Marlena was always willing to give him some of her cuttings for his use.
Keeneye knew that there was a special trust between druids and rangers. It was almost a magical bond that existed only in the depths of the forests and natural world. The world of both druids and rangers was full of secrets and Keeneye was itching to sneak along behind the two druids. If there was anything he couldn't stand, it was secrets.
But as he reminded himself, if the time and need arose, he was sure Avery or Marlena would take him aside and teach him what was necessary. With a sigh, he abandoned the prospect of tagging along and decided to find Norwind and see what he was doing.
"Are you sure you don't want me to come along?" Avery asked with genuine concern. "You seem to be experiencing more than the usual monthly pain."
"No," said Marlena as she folded her clothes and placed them in her pack. She then adjusted the shoulder line of her silvery robe and took the small shoulder bag that contained her bowl and sickle.
"The least you can do is to let me ease your pain." Avery was almost acting humble and subjugated.
"Thank you," she said, "but due to the stress and tragedy we have been through since we got here, I skipped my last one, and it gave me some concern about menopause. I am quite relieved that my cycle has restarted." She winced at the hidden cramps. "No," she continued as Avery involuntarily reached toward her, "allow me to relish the pain. At least I still have that."
Avery watched her for a moment then without warning reached out and touched her abdomen very lightly. She recoiled angrily, but it was too late. She felt the familiar tingle that was the result of a healing magic. Yet her pain persisted.
"What in the great druid's name did you do to me?" she demanded.
Avery's expression was stern and concerned. "I didn't do anything to you," he said. "I just wanted to verify that nothing was wrong with you."
"And your prognosis, doctor?"
"It is an overdue ovulation," he said. "From your pain I had thought that you were beginning the final part of your cycle. Next week will be worse. On the other hand if you go through with tonight..."
Marlena's voice changed to a hiss. "Swear to me that you won't tell anyone what is going to happen," she demanded.
"You won't be able to hide it for long," Avery said.
"Swear it!" she said almost in tears.
Avery put his arm around her shoulder and bowed his head. "You have my solemn word. I won't tell anyone until you do first."
"Thank you," she whispered.
"You know you don't have to do this," Avery said hopefully. "Seymore can cut enough mistletoe for the three of us and I think I saw some holly and oak not too far from here."
"No," Marlena said with an expression of great resolve. "Seymore and I think that one of the reasons our druidic powers are so weak here is because we are not bonded to the nature of this world." She clenched her fist and dried her eyes. "I must do this."
Avery nodded in understanding. “Good luck to you then,” he said. “I hope I am around when your term is complete.”
She took his hand in hers and squeezed. "I would trust no one else," she assured him. With that, she picked up her small bundle and walked over to the other side of the camp where Seymore was packing. The lesser experienced druid closed his knapsack and donned his ceremonial garb. When he had on his brown and red robe, the two druids walked into the forest leaving Avery alone in the camp.
Avery threw a few dead branches on the dying fire and sat down on a long bench that Norwind had made earlier. The tide was coming in and the others, out foraging for firewood, would be back soon. Avery stared into the dark forest and listened carefully to the sounds of the wildlife. He absently reached into a pouch on his belt and retrieved an old withered holly leaf. The leaf was faded and dry. Avery sat staring at the dead leaf when it gradually began to turn green. He could practically see the moisture running up the leaf's veins. A tell-tale sign of a powerful druidic force in the area. Smiling, he returned the fresh leaf to its pouch. "It has begun," he whispered to the night breeze.

Chapter 2 Part 2

Aspberg was a city very different from most. Unlike its western neighbor, Seron, a mere two weeks journey away, Aspberg did not have a vast forest on a lake to support its economy. No forestry or wildlife trades were prevalent. And even with a large river nearby, the water was too rapid for a successful fishing industry. Any unlearned traveller might wonder just what it was that kept the city alive.
The answer could be found in the roads. For Aspberg was one of the most important crossroads in the world. Its eastern neighbor, distant Kesron, was a major seaport. In addition to two major highways, Kesron was a coastal city and the most preeminant shipping port on the eastern shores. Aspberg, on the other hand, was not a coastal city, but it did have four major merchant trails. With one exception in the deep south, every highway leading from east to west passed through or within the jurisdiction of the city.
The city was a merchant's dream and also his nightmare, for it was often said that if anything could be bought it would be in Aspberg. Unfortunately, everything was taxed too. Some visiting merchants would return home and tell their customers tales of taxes on life, breath, shadows and other ridiculous things. As it was, the taxes were the life blood of the city. Even with a healthy agricultural industry in the surrounding prairie lands, the city depended on the revenues it extracted from the merchants. Over the centuries, as with all ultra capitalistic societies, Aspberg's governing core had slowly been corrupted by the very thing which had made it successful--greed.
Deep within the walls of the great city stood The Black Citadel, home of the city's ruling noble family, House Blackheart. The Blackheart dynasty had lasted for over two centuries and was a devoted ally of the Serpent-divinity cult, a religion taking its philosophy of Stealth, Strike, and Secrecy from nature's embodiment of those qualities, the snake. It was a powerful and successful philosophy and had earned the dynasty a great deal of respect over the last couple of hundred years.
The Citadel itself was a large pyramid constructed of a dull blackened stonework which made it practically invisible at night, even under the light of two full moons. It was a bona fide defensive masterpiece. Its walls could withstand continuous blows from siege engines without a hint of weakness, while its underground stores were rumored to be able to survive for months without rationing. But, perhaps one of the biggest military advantages was that the very sight of the place moved some deep feelings of terror and hopelessness within the hearts of its attackers.
The origin of such an enchantment, if there was one, was unknown, but its effect was profound. Still, those who lived nearby and did not try to attack or oppose The Citadel and its occupants were largely unaffected by the spell, with the exception of an occasional nightmare.
Within the walls of this magnificent tribute to paranoia, the servants of the state lived in comfort and fear because the life of a state servant was the life of luxury, excess, cunning and tyranny. One always walked with an eye watching one's own back. Firm believers in the concept of survival of the fittest, promotion by assassination was an accepted and encouraged way of life by the ruler. In such a society, only the strong and sly could rise to the top.
It was late one rainy afternoon when the court’s head accountant boldly walked into the outer foyer of the throne room of Lord Blackheart. The foyer was much like the rest of The Citadel. Long flowing tapestries decorated the walls, and sculptures of strange beasts and beings could be seen everywhere. But at the far end of the foyer, there were two massive wooden doors. A solid gold seal of the House of Blackheart, the head of a cobra with a sphere in its open mouth, was affixed to the archway above the doors. Two abnormally larger than lifelike men stood guard in front of the doors. They eyed the accountant as he approached.
The accountant bowed briefly to the guards and reported, "I am Donatallo, the chief accountant. I am expected."
One of the guards standing next to a door consulted a book and then, without a word, he opened the door. Walking through the door, Donatallo entered the huge room and stood rigidly still until he heard the door close behind him. Quite often, servants of the state who had no longer been found useful were relieved of their heads as they passed through those doors. For Donatallo, the sound of them shutting behind him was a tremendous relief.
The throne room was richly decorated with multi-colored carpet and pale marble walls. Tapestries of different places and a statue of the snake god, Set, the patron god of the House of Blackheart, stood in each corner of the room. At the head of the room there was a raised platform around which six priests and four high officials knelt in worship at the foot of the throne and he who sat upon it.
He was Serpentine Viperous Blackheart, a huge being of unquestionable strength and power. It was well know that he was a quasi deity and the half mortal son of the Godking, the most powerful being of all. Blackheart had an overwhelming presence, and he consciously used it to his advantage. Even on his throne, he wore a suit of shining black armor. In his right hand, he held the terrible Ebony Staff, a magical device that the legends claimed was of great power and destruction but of unknown purpose. Above the throne hung the great sword of Blackheart, an unholy weapon of death whose true name was unspoken by all mortals and even Serpent himself simply referred to it as the Reaper.
Donatallo quietly, but rapidly, walked forward towards the throne. His reports were accurate, timely and favorable. He knew that he would be safe today unless he did something insulting. Even though the dread lord was totally evil and a tyrant, he was also a being of cold purpose and reason. He was not one to kill a servant for bringing him bad news. But for the servant who brought inaccurate news, a quick death would be considered mercy.
As Donatallo approached the throne, one of the attendants, without even looking up, spoke. "The chief accountant approaches the throne of the divine one."
The priests' ability to know these things always unnerved Donatallo, and he, like many others, did not like these Throne Priests. They were said to have given up their sight and souls for the privilege to see all in the presence of Serpent Blackheart. Nervously and more out of fear than respect, Donatallo fell prostrate to the floor before the throne. There he stayed quietly awaiting his lord's attention.
Serpent Blackheart watched his servant genuflect before him. This man, he knew, was a treacherous and bloodthirsty human who had slain his own father, the previous chief accountant. He also drowned his own son when the lad had shown interest in serving the state as an accountant also. The manipulative politics within the citadel was one of the tyrant's favorite means of entertainment.
The dark lord of Aspberg let the accountant grovel for a few minutes before he finally became disgusted and graced the man with his attention. "Rise, our faithful servant."
"My lord," Donatallo said as he stood and held forth the papers, which he had slaved over for three days. "The reports from last quarter's revenues," he said reverently. "I am pleased to report that you have reaped a great margin in profits from the highway and sales taxes."
"We are pleased to hear this," Serpent said as one of the state officials took the reports and left the room through a side door. "You have served us well this day, Donatallo. It is our wish that you continue your duties diligently and stand forth as an example of one of our model subjects."
"The master is pleased with thee, O' fortunate one," one of the priests chanted in a tranced sing-song cadence.
"I am humbled by your generosity, my lord. My very life blood is for your service." This seemed to please the man-god, and Donatallo knew he had secured himself an extended life for another cycle of the great moon.
"Go in peace, Donatallo. Our blessings go with you."
Donatallo bowed and retreated. "I thank you, holy one."
Serpent Blackheart watched as the little man left the room, then he stood and cleared his throat. Everyone in the room trembled at the sight of the towering demigod. Each knowing that any one of their deaths could come with his next words.
"We grow weary of this day's events and wish to spend the rest of the day in our chambers alone to conduct private business."
Serpent turned to one of the three remaining officials. "Postpone all further state appointments until tomorrow," he said. Then turning to another official, "Seek out his Eminence, Miguel Blackheart, our heir, and bring him to us in our chambers." Then with a nod he stepped down from the platform. "You are dismissed," he said with a tone that sent priest and official alike scrambling for the door.
Serpent Blackheart watched as the men disappeared through the side doors. When the room was clear, he reached above the throne and took down Reaper. The cold leather wrapped handle molded itself to his hand in anticipation of a hoped for slaughter. On that day, however, there was no blood for the sword to drink. It was the tradition of his line that court was only in session whilst the sword was bared and on the throne. When it was sheathed, no petitioner or courtier would be heard. It was a subtle reminder to those who came to the throne that dissatisfaction brought swift wrath.
Returning the enchanted blade to its scabbard, he walked around behind the platform to a hidden alcove. With one hand he touched an unremarkable spot on the wooden paneled wall. Immediately, a sliding door opened to reveal a narrow, well-lighted passage. As he entered the passage, he turned a small lever on the wall and watched as the door closed behind him.
The passage was not long and soon came to an end at another door. On the other side of the door was a room filled with plush furnishings, including an elaborate altar. Many books and scrolls filled a set of shelves lining one wall. It also contained another man, seated at a desk, who appeared very similar to but slightly smaller than Serpent himself.
"Greetings, my brother," the other man said standing. "I do hope my visit finds you in good spirits."
"Very good spirits," Serpent said as he laid his sword and staff upon the altar. He bowed briefly to the engraved likeness of the serpent god, Set, then began removing his cloak of office. "What brings you to my domain, Morteous?"
"I have news concerning our project," Morteous said indifferently. "But, that is not all. I also bring you word from our father."
"What does Godking say?"
Morteous glanced over at the altar. "Are you sure that no one can hear our words?"
"Yes," Serpent reassured him, "this room is a sanctified temple of our lord. No other god would dare intrude here. Even gods have laws."
Morteous nodded. "Our father sends word that our alliance with the snake-god, Set, is secure. All is in place and poised for our actions. As soon as you are ready for ascension, you will become the new god of war."
"And what of the present god of war?"
"He is not in alliance with Set; therefore, he will be taken care of at the appropriate time."
"My, but aren't we a devious lot," said a voice from the doorway. A young man wearing a white breastplate partially covered by a heavy black robe strode into the room and closed the door behind him. "Hello, Father, Uncle Morteous, did either of you send for me?"
"If my dear half-brother hadn't, I would have," Morteous said as he stood and put a hand on the newcomer’s shoulder. "It has been a long time since I saw you last, Miguel. How do your studies go?"
"Very well, Uncle. I am now a fully ordained priest of our lord Set." Miguel walked over and stood next to the altar. After making a few motions and kneeling, he stood and returned to stand beside his father.
"How is your mother?" Serpent asked Morteous.
"She is well," he replied. "Elves live a long time, and she may find a mortal man to care for her. Father has never been very faithful to mortal women. I am surprised that we are his only offspring." Then Morteous put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I am sorry. I heard that your mother died last year. I hope it was not too difficult."
"No, it was not difficult. Just painful." Serpent laughed, "No one expects we immortals to have feelings, but we do." Then, with a shrug, he composed himself and sat behind the desk. "You said you had some news on our project."
"Indeed I do," Morteous sat across from Serpent. "In accordance with the Tome of Creation, which we recovered fifteen years ago, my agent in Seron secretly summoned the ten most powerful beings from a nearby universe, siphoning off their powers as they crossed the barrier. My agent whom I supplied with an altered copy of the Tome of Creation was successful in fooling them into thinking they had to return as quickly as possible and that their arrival and power loss was accidental. We managed to siphon off about sixty percent of their total power, and it has been stored within specially prepared gemstones. We must, however, prevent them from leaving this realm. If they return to their own universe, their powers will return with them. The best thing to do is to kill them here."
"How much power did you get from them?" Serpent asked.
"Quite a bit from what I was told by my agent. According to him, we have enough power stored in those stones to make even the lowliest street scum a god."
"It would seem to me, uncle, that this agent of yours knows an awful lot of our plans."
"Not really, Miguel. He is neutral in all this and only is concerned with the money I paid him. He only knows what I want him to know, which is very little. I supplied him with an edited copy of the Tome of Creation, and he believes every word I tell him." Morteous chuckled. "He has absolutely no idea what is really going on here."
"Then, how does he know about the power in the stones?" Serpent asked curiously.
"Oh, he thinks we were secretly constructing a magical device for transversing planes within this universe. I told him the device required the exposure to extradimensional forces in the final construction. Then, I gave him the false Tome and instructed him to use it to scare the victims into a hopeless quest to return home."
"Take care, dear uncle. I know that you are one of the most powerful warlocks in existence, but if these beings are as powerful as you say, then we must be careful not to underestimate them."
Morteous bowed slightly. "Thank you for that reminder, Miguel. Your wisdom is a credit to you."
Serpent stood and walked over to the altar. "Where did your agent send them?" he asked.
"The Tome of Creation does outline a procedure for them to return to their world," Morteous answered, "but that involves them finding the Well of Time."
"That means they will have to travel to the Oracle of the Twilight Dragon," said Miguel. "It has been over a century since anyone has ever returned from there."
"That Oracle is in the Ice Kingdom isn't it?" asked Serpent as he picked up his sword and examined it passively.
"According to the Book of Bakkas, it is," Miguel replied.
"Morteous," Serpent said as he returned the sword to the altar, "the Ice Kingdom is still an ally of ours."
"Not officially," Morteous answered, "They support us but they cannot publicly ally themselves to us or they risk war with the Kesron, but we do have a very strong following there. Their queen is sympathetic to our cause. Why?"
"Of course, you are right,” Serpent recalled. "Is their support strong enough to insure the deaths of the persons in question?"
Morteous thought for a moment, as he watched Serpent pace back and forth. "Possibly," he finally said aloud.
"Can you get word to our people there concerning what we want done?" He paused, "Soon?"
"Yes."
"I think this is a good course of action. It will cover the remote possibility that these persons make it to the island of the Ice Kingdom, much less that they actually find and survive the oracle." Serpent stopped pacing and returned to the altar. He picked up the Ebony Staff and ran his fingers over its length. The raw power within the black, rune carved item made his senses tingle. "Miguel."
"Yes father?"
"How long before the ascension can take place?"
"Well father, our research has revealed that the power transfer must be completed and made irreversible before our lord, Set, can help us create the vacancy in the pantheon of gods that you will fill. Only then can you approach the Godking and receive his favor and blessings before all of the gods." Miguel considered his uncle and then addressed his father. "So once again everything hinges upon the elimination of the newcomers."
"Thank you, my son." Serpent walked back over to the desk and sat down opposite the others. "Where are they now?"
"Somewhere between Seron and the northern coast. In the Deep," said Morteous.
"Do we have any means of tracking them?" Miguel asked.
"Not really," Morteous replied, "unless they use alien magic, which can be felt by any warlock in the world from any distance." He smiled. "If they do, we will know about it."
"How, Uncle?"
"You see, warlocks can sense or feel the use of any magical power, regardless of who the user is. The more powerful the spell then the more intense the feeling is. It is not unlike hearing a loud noise, though there is no real sound. Priests, wizards, illusionists and sorcerers--no matter what their profession, I can sense them cast spells. I can also tell what kind of person is casting the spell. For example, a priest casts his spells differently than a wizard, and a wizard casts his spells differently than a witch or sorcerer. Well, believe me, these newcomers' magic is very different from ours. When they cast a spell, it is going to sound different from anything I have ever heard before. When they attempt to use magic again, I will know."
“’Again’?” Miguel asked questioningly. “You have sensed it before?”
“Once,” Morteous admitted. “At first I thought it was the bumbling attempt of some apprentice somewhere, because the spell was not very powerful, but it did have an odd sort of revertebration. Later, as I learned more of what my agent in Seron told me, I realized that it had been the newcomer. But by then it was far too late to go and investigate. They would be long gone from that place.”
"Fine," said Serpent, "be wary of their progress, and when you have a fix on their location, let us know where they are. We can work from there." Serpent stood. "Miguel," he said, "see if you can find a way around killing the newcomers, if you can. If we can avoid the problem, this will go much more smoothly." Serpent returned to the altar. "If you gentlemen will excuse me now, I am in need of some meditation."
Miguel and Morteous both quietly left the room to conduct their business elsewhere.
Alone in the room, Serpent knelt before the altar in prayer. "Great Lord of Serpents hear the voice of the Godking's chosen son. Guide my brother and son on their missions for our cause. In the name of the Godking, he who has no worshippers, he who defied the Creator, guide us to our great destinies. My godhood, my son's ascension to the throne of the world, and my brother's mastery and control of all magic are before us in your name. Help us to bring forth the elimination of those who stand in our way. Let my sword gleam with the blood of our enemies as it has so many times before. Let my final mortal victory be the slaying of those whose powers I will claim as my own."
As if in answer, a cold wind swept through the windowless room extinguishing the candles and torches. Only the oil lamp on the altar remained burning, and the color of its flame turned deep red. From the darkness and silence a wispy sound could be heard. A sound not unlike the sound of scales rubbing against each other. Slowly the sound coalesced into recognizable speech. "Beware of thy ambitions and thy ego, mine favored one."

Chapter 2 part 1

Over the Hills and Through the Woods

Mager had been true to his word, the mounts and supplies were very generous. They were packed up and ready to ride at daybreak. When they rode out into the new world for the first time, Avery reigned in his horse and stared in amazement at the morning sky. Two suns rose in the east, one a deep blue, and the other a bright emerald green. It was a sight that none of them had ever expected or seen. If nothing else, it set to rest any hope that they were still on their home world. Feeling very out of place, they left the temple grounds and took the road that went around the gray walls of the city and to the road going north.

Once past the city, they were at a crossroads. There the north road wound into trees no more than a few miles away. They gathered for a moment and looked at the map Mager had given them. “Are we sure we do not want to go into the city for anything,” Keeneye asked the group.

“We have all the supplies we need,” Samson replied. “Such places are a hive of gossip and strangers are spotted instantly. I’m sure word would quickly spread about our arrival.”

Avery nodded in agreement. “He’s right, and even if we don’t run into any of these gods we've been hearing about, we still need to be careful. We don’t need to advertise our presence.”

Samson looked sourly at the ranger. “That means we should probably avoid the main roads as well. I'm not crazy about bushwhacking through the middle of thorn bushes and thickets.”

Marlena mocked a sympathetic face and said sweetly, “Oh is the big mighty warrior afraid of wild animals? Not to worry, I’ll keep you safe from all those marauding rabbits and songbirds.”

The man's look was a mixture of amusement and affection. It was clear he held special feelings for the woman. “My lady, I’m now deeply reassured. By all means let us proceed straight away to those very forests where we can rest safely in your care, rabbits or not.”

After Marlena and Samson had finished with their playful banter they spurred their mounts in the direction where the others were riding. With light moods, they rode at an easy pace due north, while the road curved slowly away towards the northwest.

Around noon, they stopped for lunch. Seymore and Marlena ate quickly and went into the woods alone to speak with the plants and animals. Marlena felt that to go into the forest of a new and strange world without knowing more about what they faced was a bad idea. By communing with nature, she would gain insight and a better understanding about what laws of nature governed the land. As her former apprentice, Seymore went with her to assist and also to asses his own druidic skills in the new world.

They returned after an hour or so. Marlena looked troubled, and Seymore was obviously frustrated. “The best I could manage was a conversation with a squirrel!” He picked up a stone and threw it angrily. They all watched quietly as the rock disappeared into the sky.

Avery looked inquiringly at Keeneye. “I’d guess two or three miles” the archer said softly.

Seymore flushed bright red and flopped to the ground. Marlena put her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry," she reassured hum. "If you think it through, you’ll know what the problem is. Besides, you’ve always been good with squirrels.”

The dwarf punched him lightly in the shoulder. “Yeah, it’s because you’re a nut case.”
Everyone but Seymore flinched. The big man sighed, got back to his feet and started back to the woods.

“Where are you going?” Avery asked.

“To find that squirrel and warn him never to talk to dwarves," the big man answered curtly. "I need to make use of a bush. Do you mind?"

After a brief rest, they quickly finished lunch and got moving again. “All I could really get is a sense that these woods are really not that different from the forests of our own world,” Marlena told them as they continued. “The spirit of this world doesn’t recognize us, and she isn’t willing to accept us completely. Although I did learn of a local creature that we should be wary of, I didn’t learn much else, but I know that it hunts by night with great stealth.”

“Sounds like we’ll need to keep watches at night.” Norwind said.

Avery nodded in agreement, then looked to Marlena. “While you two were gathering information, I scouted around.” He pointed off to the north. “There is a large game trail about two hundred yards that way.”

The brush was not so thick when viewed from the inside as it was from the outside. In fact, it was quite spacious. Keeneye, riding in the back of the troop, could easily see his ranger friend moving from clearing to clearing, choosing the paths of least resistance for their animals. Following steadfastly behind Avery was Marlena. This was their environment and she was quietly conversing with him about which trails showed signs of travel and food procurement.

Pursuing Marlena was the elven monk, Norwind. He, like Tyson, preferred to walk rather than ride. Tyson succeeded Norwind, who was in turn followed by Samson. The big warrior rode with one hand on the reigns and the other on the hilt of the great enchanted sword, Libra. Next came Armegon and Ultrecht, both conversing in a light whisper. They were ensued by Scarlet. The comical sight of the dwarf, red braids and beard flopping everywhere, perched atop the huge mount was enough to cheer up the sour-mooded Seymore behind him. Avery had asked Keeneye to bring up the rear with Seymore because as moody as Seymore was, he might miss some sign that could alert the troop to some enemy.

Seymore's mood was understandable. Having spent years practicing and trying to perfect the art of druidism only to have it torn from him involuntarily was good reason to be upset. But they were in a strange and probably hostile environment. It would not do to let their guard down.

At that thought, Keeneye turned and peered over his shoulder at the edge of the wilderness which receded into the distance. Within mere moments it was lost, blocked by the brush.

After a couple hours of riding, the first of the two suns, the blue one, dipped below the horizon. The early evening took on a deep greenish yellow hue. Avery called the company to a halt and recommended that they make camp before dark. The company readily agreed and began dismounting to search for comfortable spots to place bedrolls.

Seymore was gathering wood for a fire when he noticed that Keeneye and Avery had disappeared into the brush. He assumed that as usual they were out to hunt down some fresh meat. He also noted that Marlena had coerced Samson into a hunt to gather roots for a stew. Mager had outfitted them well, and he saw Scarlet with the aid of Norwind setting up a community tent of sorts while Armegon and Ultrecht were reading books and talking quietly, probably preparing to weave spells for protection. Tyson was digging a fire pit. Everyone had a task to perform. That was the way it had always been.

As he gathered deadwood near the edge of the clearing, Seymore started at a rustling coming from a nearby brush. Gazing out into the thickness, he thought for a moment that he had caught a glimpse of a bipedal figure moving quickly and silently through the brush. He stepped out of the clearing so as to see better, but found no sign of the vision nor any evidence that there had been anyone or anything there at all. Finally he shrugged to himself and dismissed the motion as either Keeneye or Avery and continued gathering wood.

With an armload, he started towards the clearing when again he was startled by the rustling of bushes. He decided he would have to speak to the woodlanders about all the noise they were making in the forest. But when he approached camp, he saw that Avery and Keeneye were already in camp. Quickly, he whirled around and peered into the brush where the noise had emerged. There was nothing.

Rather than have his comrades give him a hard time about seeing things, Seymore decided to keep the mirage to himself. It was probably a rabbit or bird, he reasoned.

The evening's meal consisted of roots and meat from some small game made into a stew. It wasn't what most of them were used to, but Avery promised that they would adjust to it, and jokingly commented that a little bit of roughing it would not kill them.

After all, most of them had done that sort of thing long ago. The hard work and trials which had once led to their success may have faded into memory, and the years of living off that success may have gotten them a bit soft, but the memories were still there. They had survived the hard life once before, they could do it again.

The night's watch schedule was the first topic of discussion. It was important to have someone awake at all times, but the question was who could and who would be willing to give up a couple of hours of sleep.

"Well, I think the warriors should pull the first night watch," Marlena said as she absently stroked a skunk, which after having approached her during supper, she had adopted for the night.

"And just why do you think that?" Scarlet asked. He might have been a bit snappy any other time, but in such close quarters with the druidess, and with the business end of the skunk pointed in his direction, the dwarf had elected to be polite with his inquiry.

"Because," she replied with hands on hips, "the spell slingers need to sleep," indicating Armegon, Ultrecht and Tyson.

"And what about you?" Scarlet retorted reflexively. He swallowed hard as she frowned at his tone.

"Well, surely you don't expect me to stand watch!"

"Why not?"

She stared at the dwarf indignantly for a long moment, debating whether or not to actually answer his question. "Because," she finally said with a hint of a smile beneath a feigned look of shock and retort, "it's that time of the month!"

With that, Scarlet let out a burst of laughter as the little dwarf accepted the ultimate excuse with grace. She had been playing that card for a many years. He was quite sure that this particular woman had several 'that time of the months' every month. At least whenever it suited her needs. The funny part was that no one ever challenged her.

"Don't worry, good dwarf," said Samson. "I shall endeavor to remain awake with you. We shall talk of our past adventures in our homeland and the prospect of fame and fortune in this one."

Scarlet cocked an eye toward the man standing in full armor with hand on hilt of sword. It was not like Samson to joke around. He was obnoxiously all business. Still, the dwarf shrugged, recent events were so weird, that even Samson may need to vent with a little humor.

The final decision was that the watches would be carried out in two hour intervals, starting with Avery followed by Keeneye, Samson, and finally Scarlet.

As Avery took watch, the others went to sleep. The first of the two moons rose illuminating the night with its coppery light. Avery sat with his back leaned against a tree, reading a book on spells and charms and chewing on a root that he had dug up earlier. His elven ears and woodsman's experience kept sharp notice of any change in the night's sounds. After an hour of reading, he spent the remaining part of the shift observing a faint silvery line that stretched across the night sky. He considered waking Ultrecht, but the elementalist was snoring in the blissful arms of a dream. Avery certainly didn't want to disturb someone sleeping so soundly, so he let the mage be. Besides, he thought, it would be better to see if the object was there the next night. Then, if it were consistent, it might merit speculation and study.

Scarlet had been dreaming about kegs of ale when Samson awoke him with a not-too-gentle nudge. It was chilly in the early morning air with the first of the two moons setting. The smaller moon was in a crescent and still climbing into the sky when he poured himself a hot cup of broth while stretching his stout legs. Samson threw a few more pieces of wood on the fire then wrapped himself in a blanket and wandered back to his bedroll.

So much for staying awake with him, Scarlet scoffed quietly. That was Samson when it came to small tasks. He had good intentions but not much follow through. Even so, there was no one better to watch your back in a fight.

Left alone in the last hours before dawn, the sleepy-eyed dwarf began rummaging through the pack in search of some foodstuffs to cook for breakfast--it was generally agreed that the last person on watch had to cook the morning meal. As the small kettle steamed, Scarlet sat down next to the fire and watched the sky grow lighter. With breakfast almost ready, the dwarf woke those who did not have watches first and let the others who had pulled watch sleep a little longer.

By sunrise they were all awake, and the entire company was in good spirits. After a quick meal, they were back on the trail.

As they travelled, Scarlet listened as Avery discussed the line in the sky that he had seen the night before with Ultrecht. The two were in front of the group now. It was not a good defensive posture, but on such a fine warm day, the they were somewhat in a bit of a carefree mood.

The morning passed quickly and they had been riding their mounts at a good clip when, around noon, they rode into a clearing where Avery called the caravan to a halt. Jumping down, he knelt to the ground to inspect a strange set of tracks.

As the others gathered around, Avery stood and pointed off toward the east. "Something very large moved through here last night, I would guess," he said. "It was a quadruped and had claws." He scanned the trail ahead. "It's travelling ahead of us at a fast pace."

"A bear?" Norwind stood along side of the ranger.

"No," Avery said after a moment. "Very similar, though." He followed the tracks a short distance. "The stride indicates that the size is about the size of a very large bear, but the depressions indicate that it is lighter. The foot structure seems to imply great speed and strength. Oddly, it looks more like a wolf than anything else, but it is absolutely huge."

"Probably exclusive to this world," Marlena surmised. Avery agreed.

"Can we overtake it?" Samson asked, as he pulled his mount up alongside Avery.

"Do we really want to overtake it?" asked Norwind turning his head from side to side as if expecting something to jump out of the brush at any minute.

Avery climbed back onto his horse. "I don't think we are moving as fast as it is," he said, "but just in case we are, let's stop travelling well before night so that we can set up a perimeter."

No one argued. With that, Avery set off into the gloomy woods again. Seymore repositioned his hammer so that it would be easier to get free of its wrappings in an emergency. He glanced over his shoulder to where his friend Scarlet was relieving himself on a tree stump, he urged his horse onto the trail.

Twice more they stopped to check the trail, which seemed to be headed in the same destination as they were. Each time, Avery stated that they were falling farther and farther behind the trail maker.

Everyone took this news well. And, when the first of the two suns began to set, Avery decided to stop for the night. As each member of the group went about his traditional camp chores, the mood of the company began to shift back into its old familiar style. Gone were the irritations and paranoia that had manifested as a result of the universal displacement. The normal routine of exploring unfamiliar places that they had grown to love was rapidly being taken on by each person.

Ultrecht was thinking about this, when it occurred to him that he had not felt such things since he was a young journeyman on adventures many years ago. Ever since he had achieved the rank of archmage, he had found it more suitable to let the hired persons do the adventuring. He wondered if this also was a result of the transuniversal shift, or were they simply rediscovering something they had lost.

The latter thought brought memories flooding from the past of good times and bad times. Some faces from the past, most of them long dead seemed to come out of the darkness of his memory. He remembered their names, and their voices. He recalled the pain each time one had died. Ultrecht could not help but grimace as he contemplated the possibility of doing it all over again. He tried to direct his thoughts to other things to avoid the painful memories as he rode on.

Later, everyone was huddled around the campfire and happily eating a stew, which Marlena had concocted from some local roots and a little of the small game Avery and Keeneye had snared earlier.

The conversation was light and consisted mostly of jokes and stories while Seymore’s wine flask passed between Scarlet and himself. The highlight of the evening came when Scarlet leaned too close to refill his bowl and caught his beard on fire. It was quickly extinguished, and as usual, Scarlet himself laughed the loudest.

It was about half an hour later when the hot stew began to take its effect on the eyelids of the whole company. One by one, all save Avery slipped off to their bedrolls until he was the only one left. So, with no regrets or procrastination, the halfelven ranger pulled out his book of magic and settled down to keep watch. It was a common practice for those who used magic. The books contained spell formulas and incantations that were too difficult to commit to long term memory. They had to be reviewed regularly.

Several hours later, it was Samson Okmar who was on watch. The large man stood, feet apart in full chain armor. He held his sword drawn, but resting in his cradled, crossed arms. He was ready for anything that might immediately happen. He glanced round the camp checking on his sleeping comrades. They were all sleeping well including the young Keeneye, who had just been relieved from watch minutes before.

Samson himself was still very tired and was tempted to go back to sleep. He had not been able to sleep very well earlier. He did not know why, but he simply had not been very tired. He had dozed for only an hour or two until Avery had exchanged places with Norwind. That commotion had awakened him and he had been awake since.

But after laying awake and fitfully tossing and turning for the last four hours, fatigue was finally catching up to him. That was why he had opted to stand for a bit. He was afraid that if he sat down he would fall asleep too easily.

Cautiously evaluating the camp perimeter, he was almost certain that no animals would come anywhere near the fire. But, just to be sure, he decided to pile some more wood onto the pyre and gleamed with satisfaction as the fire’s snapping increased. Finally, with a small bonfire blazing inside the small campsite, Samson felt confident enough to leaned back against a tree trunk to relax. The crackle played tunes in his mind and the dancing flames hypnotically held his gaze. Like miniature stars whirling into the dark sky, the sparks floated upward in swirling gusts. Being very, very tired, it was not long before Samson too was snoozing.

He had no idea how long he had dozed when Samson was awakened by the muffled sound of a struggle. Jumping up he immediately saw a large reptilian form dragging an unconscious Scarlet into the brush.

With a loud cry, he fluidly pulled the great Sword of Balance, Libra, from its sheath and charged into the brush where the dwarf had been hauled.

Thorns and brambles clawed at his mail shirt in vain as he plowed through bush after bush, desperately searching for the lizard-like creature that had uninvitedly entered their camp and attacked. Running blindly through the dark he ran into a tree, and fell to the ground. Not far off, he could hear the distinct sounds of his fellows moving through the brush after being awakened by his cry of warning.

Sitting up, Samson's head was still spinning when he noticed a flash of light to the left illuminating the area and sending eerie shadows dancing on the ground. One of the shadows suddenly jumped up at him and he fell backwards in an effort to ward off the attack. He tried to raise his sword to a defensive position, but his limbs would not respond quickly enough. Before he could move into position, the creature was upon him. Ignoring his sword, which was wedged into the ground, he balled up his fist and slammed it into the lizard's left eye as he felt its teeth close around his armored thigh.

Seymore was the first one up. He had awakened just in time to see Samson charging into the forest with sword in hand. He immediately grabbed his hammer and sprang into action. He was not sure what was going on, but, he reasoned, if Samson was going to fight, he would probably want some assistance, if just backup help. As Seymore ran into the brush, he saw that Armegon was also on his feet and close by.

As Seymore and Armegon made their way through the woods, Armegon stooped and scooped up a small stone. Still running, he summoned up a simple spell from his memory and began speaking in a whispery chant. Immediately, the stone flared brilliantly white, casting light in all directions.

With a visible path, they slowed long enough to check their surroundings as well as listen for a clue as to where the others were located. Far off to the left, another light erupted to signify that others had entered the wood in an attempt to encircle whatever manner of beast they were combating.

A noise off to their right alerted them. The sounds of metal striking earth and hand-to-hand combat indicated the direction to go. After moving about fifty feet, they stumbled into a small clearing, which revealed Samson and a large lizard in a death struggle. And, off to the right, lay the crumpled form of Scarlet.

Again Seymore heard Armegon mumbling, and in a flash, several short bursts of light shot from the sorcerer’s extended finger to the reptile's back. The sudden magical onslaught caught the beast by surprise as it reared its head in a throaty hiss. With almost perfect timing, Seymore swung his hammer in a wide low arc, planting it on the spine of the creature's neck. The resulting crunch of bone and the unnatural angle of the beast's head clearly told him that his neck was broken.

The following seconds were filled with silence as Seymore heaved the monster off Samson's exhausted, but otherwise unharmed form.

It was about that time that Avery and Keeneye bolted into the clearing. Avery quickly knelt and examined Samson. Samson waved him off. "Help Scarlet," he said.

Avery stood and stepped over to the fallen dwarf. Blood poured from deep wounds on his neck. Kneeling, he placed his hands on the still form. Seymore, Armegon and Samson, now on his feet, all gathered around the healer and his patient. They stood transfixed with the others who had come from the camp as they watched Avery bend his head in deep concentration.

Deep within the healing trance, Avery tried frantically to lock his mind and soul with that of the dwarf. He dove deeper and deeper into the abyss of the dwarf's alarmingly vacant mind desperately seeking Scarlet’s life force.

Avery was a master healer, and used his own life force to strengthen and repair his patient’s body until it could take over on its own. He had used this power to save every one of his companions at one time of another, but suddenly it seemed so difficult. There was so much resistance.

Through the darkness and the ebbing waves of pain and agony, Avery felt as if he were swimming against a strong current until at last he saw the tiny receding spark of life in the distance. He instantly knew it was too late. He had expended so much energy that he, himself was in danger of not being able to pull out of the trance. He felt himself slipping from his own body towards the barrier from which none return. Still he pushed further. He had to make contact with the dwarf's mind to start the healing.

"Scarlet," he called out. "Come back to us! Fight! I will help you!"

There was no answer. The dwarf’s injuries were too serious. The soul was too far away. Only an emotional sense of futility drifted back from that distand flicker of life.

"No," Avery pleaded. "I can lend you the strength to hang on! Come back!"

No words, but a feeling washed over Avery. The feeling was that of regret.

Avery perceived the dwarf's meaning. "I understand," Avery replied with sadness. The dwarf’s spirit was beyond his capability to help. Had he been at his strongest, Avery might yet have been able to recall Scarlet, but in the new world and in the weakened state, it was beyond him.

"Is this the end?" Avery asked rhetorically. “Am I doomed to see all my friends pass the same way?”

A whispery sound, like that of dry leaves falling to the forest floor drifted through the trance "I can see those who will return home and you will not be among them, old friend. Yet, do not despair. You will not perish. Your fate lies in this world,."

Startled somewhat, Avery could not help but ask: "Then, this is good-bye?" But there was no answer.

Avery watched as the dwarf's consciousness drifted off into the void. He continued to watch as the small flicker of light winked out with Scarlet's single entity being no more. The way was closed when Avery began the long trek back to his own consciousness. Then, abruptly, he felt the familiar tingle of a soul crossing space and time never to return.

Avery glanced up. He was dripping with sweat and his knees were too weak to stand, so he just sat there on the ground.

"Avery?" asked a voice.

Avery did not know who had spoken nor did he care. He just lowered his eyes and said, "Scarlet passed beyond the threshold of death before I could get to him, and I'm no longer strong enough to pull him back from the depths to which he had descended. He's gone."

That solemn statement changed the world for the other eight companions. They had lost one of their own. It was perhaps the first time that it had happened in decades. In their own world, they had been powers commanding great respect and possessed great abilities. Suddenly all that had been stripped from them along with the sense of invincibility that they had adopted over the last few years.

One by one, they turned aside, each one facing the shock of reality and measuring the magnitude of their loss.

Later, Seymore sat next to the fire in a fit of misery. He had lost travelling companions before, but this was the first time any of his close friends had died. He badly wanted to curse Avery for not saving his best friend, but he knew the healer himself had been very fond of the foul-mouthed dwarf.

He also felt contempt toward Samson for letting the lizard into the camp. He suspected that the big man had fallen asleep, which would not have been the first time. But, in spite of his feelings, he could see how the dwarf's death was already eating away at Samson's conscience. The big man had become harsh and refused anyone’s attempts to tend to the minor cuts and buises he had suffered in the struggle.

Then, there was Ultrecht. Seymore considered the tall, thin man. No grief--no compassion, just cold analyzing acceptance. Seconds after he heard Avery's announcement of Scarlet's death, he had turned and started examining the monster, the killer of their comrade, with detached curiosity. For that reason alone, Seymore was angry.

Many were the times in which he and Scarlet had carried out some mission for Ultrecht. Did the old mage think no more of Scarlet than as that of some hireling whose loss was not worthy of grief? If so, what did the elementalist think of Seymore, himself?

Seymore’s roving gaze next settled on Marlena. She too was sitting near the fire as if to keep warm, even though it was not cold. The firelight glistened upon her cheeks, a telltale indication of her sadness. Norwind was trying desperately to comfort her. Being both philosopher and psychologist, Norwind was the best person to console the grieving, but just like himself, Marlena did not seem to want to be consoled as she nodded politely, but was obviously not listening to the monk’s words.

Off to the side of the trail they had been following earlier, Keeneye, Tyson and Armegon were burying the remains of their companion. There had been some argument about whether or not they should return him to his homeworld for burial. He had no family or ties, and they had a very long way to go. The only way for them to keep the body from rotting would be for Ultrecht to manipulate the element of time, but such an act would almost certainly draw unwanted attention. Not only that, but his body would be a terrible nuisance.

But after a heated debate, it was decided that he would be, as Scarlet himself would have said, "just dead weight." The final pun dedicated to one who was overly fond of puns and pranks.

By unanimous decision, they decided not to travel the next day. Avery still had not recovered from his attempt to save Scarlet. He had pushed himself so far that he himself had been on the verge of crossing over into death's domain in an attempt to recover the dwarf. Had his powers been at full strength, he might have succeeded. But in this weakened state caused by the crossing, he just didn't have the power to bring the dwarf back. As a result of overtaxing his abilities, he had passed out shortly after the attempt and was sleeping peacefully.

The talk around the camp was very low-keyed and scarce. No one really felt like idle conversation, and the mood was dark. Norwind and Keeneye tried to sound cheerful and lively. Being elves, their cultural outlook on life and death was a bit different. They bade farewell to their passed comrade, then turned their backs to the event and got on with their lives. To them life was the thing that was important. They tried to appear optimistic but their efforts went unnoticed for the most part.

Armegon spoke briefly on the plans to continue their journey the next day and suggested that Scarlet's belongings be packed away on the spare mount. Seymore was uncomfortable with the idea, but he knew as did the others that holding onto the departed was not going to bring him back.

In the end, it was Tyson who finally broke the ice and snapped everyone back into the present. Explaining that if they were going to lose Scarlet, then it was going to be for a good cause and anyone who opposed that cause was going to be treated as if he himself had killed Scarlet. He added that the best way to honor Scarlet would be to return home and immortalize his name in legend. Agreeing with a sense of purpose and nostalgia, Seymore had lumbered off to sleep leaving Norwind to take first watch.

It was close to dawn when Avery finally woke. Seymore was on watch when he heard the healer moan and saw him sit up. Avery shakily got to his feet.

"Good morning," Seymore said as the halfelf tried to keep his balance. "Are you going to be okay?"

"I think so," Avery replied. "How long was I out?"

Seymore leaned over and stirred up the coals in the fire pit. Throwing some wood on them, they quickly caught fire. "About a whole day," he said, finally.

Avery put one hand to his head and walked unsteadily toward the fire. He staggered a bit, but Seymore was there to catch him and Avery could see bags under Seymore's eyes with lines of worry and grief in his face. Avery put a hand on the human's thick forearm. "I am very sorry, Seymore. I know how close you were to him."

Seymore shrugged with false bravado as he helped Avery sit down next to the fire. "You did your best, half-breed."

Avery cringed at that title. It had been the title Scarlet had used when they first met, which was before they had started working together. Avery understood why Seymore was bitter and worried that he was starting to withdraw into himself. He wanted to comfort the warrior in some way, but didn’t really know what to say. They had not really gotten to know each other very well until Seymore had started studying the druidic arts.

Marlena had taken Seymore under her tutalage, and Avery worked with Marlena on occasion. Avery also worked for Ultrecht every now and then too, and there had been several times when that had involved working with Scarlet and Seymore, but they had never really gotten to know each other.

He resolved to talk to Norwind later. The elf was a master in philosophy, but better yet, Norwind had been a drinking buddy of Scarlet and Seymore. He might be able to help Seymore come to terms with the loss before any real psychological damage occurred.

Seymore took a pot out from beneath the pile of coals in the pit. He carefully removed the lid and Avery caught the smell of one of Keeneye's stews. Wordlessly, Seymore poured two bowls giving one to Avery. The ranger ate quietly, then got up and walked over to where the horses were tethered.

Seymore watched the halfelf go. While no one was looking and with someone else to keep watch, Seymore quietly turned his back to the fire and stared out into the darkness. He should have gone to bed and gotten some sleep, but he just couldn’t. Instead, he simply sat there and quietly wept.

Avery stood at the edge of the firelight staring out into the darkness. His elven ears easily heard the sounds of the big warrior weeping over his lost friend. Out of deep respect, he also wept--not for the death of Scarlet, because he too shared an elven heritage that celebrated life and considered the mourning of the dead as disrespectful of the one who had passed. No, he wept for the pain Seymore was feeling. The fact that Seymore would never understand as he did, the final peace that Scarlet attained.

By morning, Avery and Seymore had loaded most of the supplies on the horses and cooked a fresh pot of stew on the fire when the others began to awaken. After a quick breakfast, they rapidly packed the remaining supplies. They dallied only long enough to pay their final respects as they surrounded the mound of dirt which signified the final resting place of one of their own.

“It looks so lonely,” Marlena observed with a choke in her voice.

“It’s deep enough that scavengers won’t dig him up,” Tyson assured her.

“I meant that it looked so unremarkable without a marker or something.”

“A tombstone?” Keeneye asked.

"It would take a bit of time,” Ultrecht argued.

“Surely there is something more that we can do,” Seymore countered. “He served you faitfully for many years, and saved your butt a few more times than I can remember.”

Ultrecht sighed. He took a small stick from the ground and whispered a charm over the grave. Then he passed the stick over it several times. Finally he used the end of the stick to draw a rune in the dirt.

There was a low rumble and in a matter of seconds, the earth parted as a slab of stone pushed its way up from the depths below. The stone was a deep grey and was carved with the likeness of a beer mug on the front as well as that of a hammer. There were a couple of symbols on the rim, and some writing across the stone face. It was in their native tongue from their homeland.

“No one will understand that,” Avery pointed out.

“We will,” Marlena argued. “And so will Scarlet. It’s perfect.”

Seymore agreed. He smiled for the first time since the attack, though the smile did not last. “Thanks,” he said as he passed by Ultrecht and went for his mount.

“You realize that if anyone was looking for us by monitoring magic, that we just told them where we are,” Ultrecht told Armegon and Avery.

“Let it go,” Avery urged. “Sometimes you have to do things that aren’t the safest things to do. I think it was more important to give some of the others a bit of closure.”

Armegon and Avery then both left to fetch their own mounts. Ultrecht stood over the grave for a few moments longer. He would miss the dwarf. In spite of Seymore’s perception that he did not care, Ultrecht did care. He cared a great deal, but he also knew that there was nothing that could be done. They had a long way to go, and time was wasting.

With his own quiet farewell attended to, Ultrecht joined the others and in a matter of moments they were back on the trail. The mood had changed drastically, and Ultrecht feared for anything which tried to block their path.

After a quick study of the lizard’s corpse, Avery informed everyone that the reptile which had attacked them was not the same creature that had been travelling ahead of them. That creature he deduced was still several days ahead of them.

Continuing on for a good part of the day, they had ridden several leagues when Marlena asked for a brief halt. As she dismounted and disappeared into a thicket, Avery took the opportunity to move over to where Norwind sat on a nearby stump. While they waited on Marlena to finish her personal business, Avery spoke quietly to Norwind about Seymore's withdrawal symptoms. Norwind assured him that it would have been much worse if the man had not wept and dealt with his grief. He was quite certain that after a few battles Seymore would vent his rage and return to normal.

Several minutes later, Marlena returned and mounted her horse. Without comment, the band resumed their voyage.

The next several days were relatively uneventful except for Avery's announcement that the tracks of the beast preceding them had turned off the trail. His words still did not make the party feel any safer. In fact, the entire group had become suspicious of their surroundings and began to question anything unusual. The dangerous part of that was that they also started second guessing each other. That brought out a bit of bickering and snapping.

Norwind, always the philosopher and psychiatrist, made repeated efforts to curb the rampant paranoia that had formed as a result. This took quite some effort to calm everyone down. He did finally succeed after he pointed out that they had all gone through this stage of inexperience long ago when each had begun adventuring, and they had survived before.

As they moved steadily northward over the following weeks, everyone could feel a distinct change in climate. Avery, Marlena and Seymore all agreed the change in flora towards a high population of evergreens indicated that it was not just a weather front, but that they had left the tropical and subtropical zones and now needed heavier clothing. For that purpose, it was decided that they should stop for a few days until some animal hides and smoked meat could be procured and magically tanned.

Avery and Keeneye, having promised Marlena and Seymore not to disturb the ecological food chain by killing the strong or pregnant, hunted with great skill and mercy. Norwind and Samson also contributed fish they had caught from a nearby pond.

The next two days were spent smoking the meat and resting the mounts. Ultrecht, Armegon and Avery took time to examine some of the astronomical and geological aspects of the new world. They were commenting on the rapidly cooling climate when Ultrecht asked Avery what was the time of the year.

"I can’t be sure," he answered, "with the two suns and the fact that we are constantly moving north, I can only guess at the angle of tilt of this planet's axis." He looked up at the twin suns while shading his eyes. "The suns' declination in the sky still seems to be in the northern hemisphere, so I guess that we’re experiencing this hemisphere's spring or summer." He surveyed the surrounding woods. "Strangely enough," he continued, "the wildlife doesn't appear to be experiencing the usual springtime transformations."

"Do you think the orbit may be eccentric?" Ultrecht asked.

"All orbits are eccentric to a degree," Avery reminded.

"I mean more than usual."

"Possibly," said Avery. "Most of the wildlife and plant life in this kind of area is generally active in the winter anyway, so there really aren’t any signs to see how spring goes."

"Seasons are very long here." The three mages turned to see Tyson walking up. Seeing their questioning glances, he explained, "I asked Seymore to speak with some of the animals." He paused and took on a thoughtful expression, "strangely enough neither I nor Norwind can do that anymore." He sat down on a log next to the others. "Seymore says that the summers here are only about one tenth as long as the rest of the time and a true wintry season does not exist, but the summer is hot and humid."

"It would seem," Ultrecht finally deduced, "we do have an eccentric orbit here."

"A very eccentric orbit," Avery added.

The conversation about the climate continued on for several hours, until Marlena announced that supper was ready. Later that night, everyone slept well. Avery and Ultrecht stayed up a little late and discussed the faint silvery line across the sky, speculating as to its origin. Likewise, Armegon was totally engrossed in a rock from a stream, which contained a peculiar mineral.

The night was cool, but not too cold. There was good wood for a fire and the surrounding forest had yielded plenty of game and wild roots. A small spring fed a nearby stream and Avery commented that it would be a great place to dwell if he had plans to stick around. The evening was uninterrupted, peaceful and passed uneventfully.

The next morning, however, everyone awoke to find storm clouds coming out of the east. Some concern rose as to whether or not to march on or wait the oncoming storm out. Avery pointed out that they had no knowledge of the new world's weather. Storms could last a few minutes or a few days. He suggest that they stay mobile. A little rain wouldn’t do them any serious harm.

With the decision made to move on, they quickly packed up the camp and hit the trail as the overhead sky began to turn very dark and threatening.

They didn't know the time of day when the rains began to fall. The suns never made it out from behind the clouds, and the rain came down in sheets dropping the already cool temperature to a bone chilling, wet cold. Their pace quickly dwindled to a mere crawl as the rain turned the earth to slush and the horses footing became more and more unsteady. Tempers and patience began to run thin as the day wore on. Yet Avery still refused, despite repeated requests, to halt and wait out the storm.

The weather continued for two more days and Keeneye was riding in the rear, as usual. He pulled his hood up even snugger over his head as water began to seep through the tough leather. He could hear complaints and the curses of those who wanted to stop, but he also knew why Avery wouldn't stop.

Avery, he knew, was scared because he was in an unfamiliar territory. His ranger skills were being taxed to keep them all alive. At the same time, he had to lead them to an unknown destination. Keeneye knew, as did Avery, that too many things could go wrong in this kind of weather. Not only could they get lost, but if they stayed in one place, they could easily be at each others' throats in a matter of hours.

Keeneye was certain that later, when everyone was warm and fed, they would all remember the times Avery had been right in the past. It was just that at the moment, the cold, wet rain made nerves raw and memory clouded.

There was no absolute leader of the band, Keeneye reminded himself. When it came to survival, no one questioned Avery, just as no one questioned Armegon about magical combat or Ultrecht about elemental or arcane mechanics.

Keeneye was trying to concentrate on these things to help ignore the wet cold when it occurred to him that the rain had stopped. He peeped up to see that the clouds were becoming thin as they moved overhead, and what little sky could be seen was the peculiar yellowish color of twilight.

Noticing that the column in front of him had stopped and dismounted, Keeneye followed by stopping his horse and dropping to the ground. He instinctively glanced down to where his feet had planted themselves in wet sand. Not mud, he thought, sand!

Quickly he trotted up to the head of the column where everyone was standing. Peering beyond the last few yards of trees, he could see a sandy beach.

Avery barked a few commands and, though wet and cold, Tyson, Samson and Seymore began to construct a sturdy shelter on a nearby bluff. The others gathered driftwood and scrub brush from the beaches and forest edge. In no time at all, everyone was huddled around a good, hot fire, trying to dry out.