Tarren awoke feeling as though he hadn’t slept a wink. The Watcher’s body ached everywhere, and he had soaked the bed with cold sweats. Hushed voices alerted him that he was not alone in his chambers. He lifted his head shakily and found Lunara speaking to the Watcher. It was so strange to see himself from outside his body. He had always felt so small, but the boy standing by the doorway was tall and lanky. Perhaps his body had grown in the months since the switch.
The Watcher noticed that he had awoken and walked toward him carefully. “Good morning, Tarren. How are you feeling?”
Tarren coaxed his old body to sit up with the help of Lunara. “To be truthful…not good. When I lived with my parents in Fendale, I once got a bad fever that laid me down for two weeks; almost didn’t make it. This feels a lot like that.”
He met his own eyes for only a moment, unable to hold the gaze.
“Do not fret, my young friend,” said the Watcher.
Tarren forced himself to look at him. “How can you say that? I’m…I’m dying.”
“We don’t know that for sure. My body is many millennia old, but it is strong.”
“Do you think Whill can find a way?”
The Watcher laughed. “When his mind is set to a task, he seldom fails. What does your heart tell you?”
Tarren thought about it. “My heart tells me that I’m doomed.”
The Watcher smiled and motioned to a servant standing to the side. “Here, I’ve made you some chipickawa tea. It will help with the fever and night sweats. Drink at least four cups. My body has always reacted well to it.”
Lunara wiped Tarren’s head with a cool cloth and smiled upon him warmly. “Have faith in Whill. When he returns, he will have found an answer.”
Tarren wanted to believe her, but he had a nagging suspicion that there was nothing to be done to help him. He thought of Helzendar, and how he would tell him to suck it up and quit being a baby. The dwarf boy had always given him strength. He wished more than anything that he was here with him now.
Lunara and the Watcher left Tarren to his slumber. As soon as the door closed she turned to the old elf with a look of concern. “Do you really believe it? That Whill can yet help him?”
“I believe that all things will be as they are. Whill might find a way. He might not. Kellallea may intervene. She may not.”
“I have never understood the Morenka. How can you be at peace with everything that happens, even the ill fortune of innocents?” Lunara asked.
The Watcher began walking with her through the open-air corridors hung with baskets of flowers and teaming with vines.
“Worry is like prayer. There is a power in prayer that has nothing to do with whether or not a deity is listening. We are creators of reality, Lunara, and sometimes we forget the power of the mind. When one prays with their heart and soul, focuses intently, and gives themselves wholly to a cause, they give it life, help it to become a reality. Worry is very much the same thing. It does no good to focus on what we do not want to happen, for in doing so, we help it to become a reality. Instead, focus on what you wish to come to pass, and perhaps it will.”
They walked in silence for a long time, through the gardens and onto the swan bridge where Lunara had spent many hours worrying over Tarren. She tried to think like the Watcher, tried to focus on what she wanted to happen, rather than her fears.
The Watcher looked to her knowingly. “It takes many years of meditation and study to achieve harmony. And even then it is easy to regress. Do not be too hard on yourself.”
“How long do you think he has?” Lunara asked, unable to help herself.
“I do not know. This has come as a surprise to me as well. Many of the elders have already passed on, some, younger than I.”
“I will pray night and day. I will force worry out of my mind and focus only on what I want, if that will help.”
The Watcher smiled. “It cannot hurt.”
Roakore was going over the coming week’s agenda with Nah’Zed when the knock came at the door.
“Me King, Philo has come to your call,” said a guard.
“Ah, good, good, show him in,” said Roakore, turning to Nah’Zed. “This can be waitin’ ‘till later.”
“Aye, me king,” she said, and scooped up her pile of scrolls.
She met Philo at the door, and the dwarf offered her a small bow, and brought his fist to his chest. Nah’Zed gave him a coy smile and hurried out of the room.
“Shut the door behind you,” said Roakore.
Philo obliged and accepted a glass of whiskey from Roakore. He gave it a sniff and smiled wide. “Aged Oak Barrel Baldar Black? What be the occasion?”
Roakore settled into his fur-covered chair beside the fire and motioned to the one across from him. “Have a seat—what I got to show you might just put you on your arse.”
Philo’s face lost all its usual carefree cheer. A brow not meant for furling grew creases, and concerned eyes regarded the king. “What’s this?”
Roakore sighed and shot back his drink. He wrung his hands together and reached out toward the fire. Philo spoke not a word but sat and watched closely, clearly confused. Roakore cleared his mind and focused on a piece of stacked wood, wrapping his will around it, imagining taking full control of the object. He lifted his hand and the log floated two feet above the other pieces and began to float the short distance toward Philo. The dwarf leaped to his feet and slapped the log out of the air, spilling his drink in the process. “By Ky’Dren’s bloody dragon killin’ axe! How the hells did ye do that?”
“That ain’t all, look here.” Roakore reached out a hand and mentally lifted the pieces of smashed glass from the floor and floated them out the window. He then reached for a cloth sitting in a bucket in the corner of the room. It floated across the room and slopped up the spilled whiskey.
“Sit down, yer makin’ me nervous,” said Roakore. “I got more to show ye.”
“More!”
“Watch.” He extended a hand to the fire and pulled. Out of the flame came a long serpent of fire that sent Philo nearly toppling back in his chair. With a flick of the wrist, Roakore sent the flame back to the hearth.
“How can this be? Ye got the power to be movin’ stone ‘cause ye be one o’ Ky’Dren’s descendants,” said Philo.
Roakore shrugged and went to the bar to replace Philo’s glass. He returned with the bottle and sat down in his chair once more. “I think it be the same power I move stone with. The lady elf Avriel once asked me why I couldn’t move nothin’ else with me mind, and I told her it was because I didn’t believe. But during that fight in Drindellia, I done moved a battering ram arm with me mind, thinkin’ it be stone. The sun shone behind it so brightly, I couldn’t see the truth o’ it. But I BELIEVED it be stone, and so I could move it.”
Philo dropped to his knees and slammed his fist to his chest. “Ye be blessed, me king. Like Ky’Dren o’ old. The gods work their glorious magic through ye.”
Roakore impatiently motioned for him to rise. “Me think it be goin’ further than that. Me think…me be thinkin’ ye and the other dwarves be able to do the same thing. If only ye believed ye could.”
“
ME?
I ain’t no direct descendent o’ Ky’Dren.”
“And I ain’t supposed to be able to move nothin’ but stone. Things be a changin’, Philo. It be a new age, a new dawn. Once I accepted the fact that I could move something other ‘n stone, I understood that I could apply the power to anythin’.”
“Good luck convincin’ other dwarves that they be doin’ what ye be doin’ just by believin’ they can,” Philo huffed.
“I want you to start practicin’.”
“Practicin’ what?”
“Movin’ stone, movin’ wood…anythin’. Just give it a chance. That’s an order from ye king.”
Philo shook his head and laughed. “Ye be right outta yer head, ye be.”
Krentz floated through the misty expanse of glowing light. She was deep in Chief’s dark forest. Tall sequoias loomed in the distance, beyond the long waterfall flowing backward. The sky glowed silver with the rings of a million spinning stars, and the many phases of the moon dotted the heavens. Spirit animals scurried about as she passed, startled by her floating form.
She stopped beside the backward-flowing river, which crashed into the collected rocks at the base of the waterfall and flowed up through the air to the cliff above. This was the glade where she had first met the spirit of Talon and his giant silverhawk.
Krentz called out his name. Her voice didn’t echo here; nothing did. She called out again and waited for a time, watching the water flow up the cliff. Perhaps he would not return, having said all that was needed to say.
There was no indication of the passing of time in the spirit realm. The sun shot across the sky sporadically, but its path never followed the same course, or rose from the same direction. She might have waited for an hour, or a year, there was no way to tell.
“She has returned to the homeland.”
Krentz perked up and glanced around. “Talon?”
The wind stirred the grass, causing it to dance and sway lazily like seaweed. A turtle floated by, swimming through the air. She waited for a time for the voice to return, but he was gone. He had said what she needed to know. The elder he spoke of had returned to her homeland: Volnoss.
“Dirk Blackthorn, come to me!”
A sliver of light opened up before Dirk and pulled him in. He flew through the portal and came out into the gray gloom and found Raene surrounded by dozens of undead. He unsheathed a glowing dagger and sword and flew circles around her, cutting down any who got too close. The fog was thick, but as a wraith Dirk was able to see through it to the life forces beyond. The undead had a similar glow about them, but rather than life energy, they were surrounded by a green, unnatural, pulsing fog. He sliced through the neck of an undead soldier and chopped in half a sword that came for his head.
Raene was putting her mace to work and frantically trying to keep the creatures at bay with her shield. Dirk flew a swath around her, slicing through the enemy with ringing metal. She produced the figurine again and called to Chief. He swirled out and came to form in the face of an undead Draggard.
“We could really use Krentz right now!” said Dirk, eyeing the mass of glowing hordes through the fog.
“Just cut me a path through ‘em.”
Dirk cursed under his breath as dozens of resurrected soldiers descended on them from the north. He knew that this many wouldn’t be roaming around on their own. This was the head of a larger force—one fast approaching. He could feel the distant pulsing of power, driving them forward fearlessly, murderously.
“There is a dark elf necromancer leading this herd. We must fall back,” he warned.
Raene slammed an armless lich coming at her and smashed its head with her mace. She then reached back with her shield and gave it a heave. It flew through the air, passing through Dirk, and continued on into the crowd of monsters, bludgeoning heads with its sharp corners. She extended her arms and took mental control of the stone shield and pulled it back to her to claim those who had slipped by. Chief and Dirk worked the edges of the charging fiends as the shield spun back and forth, dropping them by the dozens.
When no more came barreling through the dense fog, the shield dropped to the ground and Raene fell to one knee, panting. Chief gave a fierce howl and looked to Dirk, wagging his tail happily.
“Keep an eye out, boy.” Dirk strode over to Raene. “We need to retreat. There’s a necromancer coming with hundreds more.”
“Bah. Did I just hear the great and powerful Blackthorn say retreat?” Raene waved him off and stood straight. She reached out a hand and the shield flew to it. “I was just gettin’ started.”
“I enjoy a good fight as much as anyone,” said Dirk. “But we can’t take on an army. Chief and I have our limits, and so do you.”
“My target be the head o’ Zander. And it be thataway, north.”
“That army is heading south. He’s coming our way. Fall back and lie in wait. Only a fool flies headlong into the mouth of a dragon.”
“Mind yer tongue. There was a dwarf named Ro’Quon who done just that. Killed the beast, he did. Cut it from snout to forehead. Me cousin Roakore said it was the damnedest thing he ever did see. There be songs about Ro’Quon, even.”
Dirk rolled his eyes. “Let me rephrase that, then. If you don’t fall back, you’re going to get us and yourself killed for no good reason.”
She eyed him with annoyance. “Fall back and lay a trap, you say?”
“Yes.”
“What sort o’ trap?”
“We’ll figure something out. Come on, they’re getting closer by the second.”
They fell back a mile to an abandoned tower jutting out of the fog. It was the only thing left standing of a small fortress that had been sacked long ago, likely during the Draggard War.
Dirk could feel the necromancer to the north. He knew that if the dark elf got too close he would be able to sense him and Chief. Somehow he needed to get Raene and the figurine far from here.
“You need to summon Krentz and apologize.”
She regarded him over her shoulder. “She still mad?”
“Of course she’s mad. You’re becoming a bit of a tyrant lately.”
She stopped, aghast. “Wha… Them are some serious words for a small misunderstandin’.”
“You deceived our trust, went against the pact. We’re not your slaves. We have our own minds.”
Raene was flabbergasted, and it looked as though she was barely keeping it together. “When I’ve taken care o’ Zander, ye’ll have yer freedom.”
“We’ve voted to seek out the witchdoctor or—”
“Ye three be needin’ me. Without me ye’ll be stuck in that figurine with no one to summon ye forth. And I say we take out Zander.”
She took a step back from him and withdrew the figurine. Before she could speak, he turned to mist and shot forth, knocking her to the ground. The figurine rattled against a rock.
Dirk was closest.
Raene eyed him pensively.
He and Krentz had considered the possibility that they could share ownership of the figurine and summon each other forth in turns. It was time to find out.
As Raene sprang to her feet and bounded for the figurine, Dirk flew toward it and scooped it up.
At least he meant to. Instead, upon contact, he was pulled into it.
Raene leaned down and picked up the timber-wolf figurine. Chief cocked his head at her and gave a soft mewling.
“Don’t you be startin’ in.” She said, and stashed the trinket in her pocket. “Come on, let’s climb the tower and see what we can see.”
Raene crept slowly toward the tower. Thick fog swirled around the base, coalescing into thicker patches of wispy tendrils that climbed the sides like searching fingers. A shiver passed through her. The greenish hue of the fog was growing by the day, and it was beginning to act unlike normal valley fog. It seemed to be awakening like a sleeping blind man, reaching out curiously, gently touching the skin and searching. Soon she feared that it would open its eyes and become aware.
She thought to avoid the tower altogether, but then she heard the marching feet drawing near. The fight with the undead had tired her, and now she had only Chief. Dirk and Krentz no longer trusted her. She would have to wait until she was face-to-face with Zander before calling them forth, then they would have no choice but to fight.
Shield leading the way, she stormed the tower door. Her dwarven eyes were used to gloom. Growing up inside the dimly lit mountain halls had the opposite effect that such light deprivation would have had on a human.
She found no one lying in wait in the base of the tower, and promptly closed the door behind her. She thought to engage the lock, but finally decided against it, locking the door would only heighten intrigue and suspicion.
“Go on up and check the stairs and the rooms above,” she said to Chief.
He flew up the stairs and disappeared, and she continued on steadily but cautiously up the spiraling staircase after him. There was a window every few feet, with old wooden shutters sitting in their sills in varying degrees of dilapidation. Some were missing altogether, while others were closed against the elements, with broken slats letting in slivers of silver gloom. Every ascending floor held a large wooden door and landing built off the confined staircase. Chief would have already checked these hidings, so Raene paid them no mind as she climbed for the top.
She passed the fourth floor and continued on up to a trapdoor built into the wooden ceiling. She pushed it back and found Chief waiting for her. “What you see, eh, Chief?”
He gave a low growl and moved to the stone wall looking north. She crept up beside him and peeked at the foggy valley. A gasp escaped her. “There must be hundreds…thousands.”
Thousands of possessed eyes illuminated the valley with their glow. Many of the footfalls were like crashing stones, and Raene could just imagine the abominable undead dwargon lumbering forth. Zander’s army consisted of undead Shierdonians, dark elves, barbarians, dwargon and Draggard. She didn’t doubt that there were flying Draquon about as well.
The army progressed steadily down the road and soon came upon the tower. To her relief, none of the shuffling fiends paid it any mind. The hordes seemed to be under the control of dark horsemen cloaked in black upon undead steeds.
She watched the progression with growing dread. Dirk had been right; there were too many. Now she was surrounded. If one of those riders investigated the tower she would be doomed. Her excitement grew, however. As the army traveled by, she kept an eye to the north. The fog parted for the hordes, and she could see the long line snaking off to the distance. Off to the sides of the road, small lights moved through the gloom—the eyes of lookouts. Wagons were approaching, some led by giant dwargon, others by teams of undead horses.
Raene moved to where she could get a better view of the passing wagons. Many held barrels and sacks of foodstuffs. This was food for the living—the undead didn’t need to eat, as far as she knew. Zander, however, was very much alive.
She finally spotted him following behind the long wagon train. Zander sat upon a tall horse and held a long scepter with a glowing green gem set at the top. Beside him rode an elf who looked quite unlike all the others. They were followed by a fifteen-foot dwargon. Zander glowed as brightly as his scepter and his humming power could be felt vibrating through the stone beneath her feet. She thought about summoning Dirk and Krentz again. This was it. Now was her chance. She would likely die trying to kill him, but she cared not. This was her destiny.
Just as she reached for the timber-wolf figurine, Zander stopped his horse and glanced up at the tower. She ducked down quickly.
“What is it, my lord?” she heard the elf beside him ask.
Raene waited, cursing under her breath—the element of surprise was gone.
Zander didn’t answer the elf for a long time, and the silence swiftly became maddening. Her heart pounded in her chest and she clutched the figurine.
“Search the tower,” Zander said finally. “Whoever killed my soldiers on the northern road is nearby. I can smell their fear.”
“Yes, my lord,” said the elf.
Raene heard the sound of leather creaking and boots hitting the ground. She was about to summon Dirk and Krentz when she heard the wagon train start moving once more. She dared not peek over the side.
“Watch the door,” she whispered, listening to the sounds below.
With a hand to the stone, she could make out the vibrations of a single person rummaging below. After a few minutes, the remainder of the army passed by. She peered over the top and found that one wagon had stayed behind and a half dozen undead were standing about. The elf who had been sent to investigate the tower was now searching the third floor.
Zander, however, was nowhere to be seen. Raene cursed herself that she hadn’t acted sooner. Had she been afraid? She wondered.
Raene quickly dismissed the thought and moved to the trap door, opening it carefully.
“When he pops his head up through, I want you to pounce. Got it?”
Chief gave a low growl and then smiled and wagged his bushy tail. Raene moved around to the back of the trap door and waited with her mace held high. Sounds could be heard coming through the open stair. The elf was now in the fourth room, just below her. He searched through for a few minutes before heading back to the stairs. Footfalls echoed deeply as he approached. Raene nodded to Chief, who lay in wait, ready to pounce.
The footsteps stopped. She imagined him seeing the open trap door. He progressed carefully, deliberately. Chief tensed, and the hair stuck up in a straight line across his spine, lips peeled back to reveal long fangs.
A head poked out through the hole and Chief slammed into the elf in a blur of motion. Raene hadn’t even had time to react before the two were tumbling down the stairs. Chief snarled and growled, and the elf growled right back. For a moment, it sounded as though there were a dog fight there in the stairway.