Month: January 2016

Mirian heard the percussion of the great wings before she saw the wyrm. Even in the darkness the brilliant scales shimmered as the massive beast flew against the backdrop of the inferno that was the fortress. One of the Centurions in the rear halted, turned his steed, and hurled a bejeweled javelin toward the dragon.
“That’s futile. No man can hurl a missile that distance,” Mirian commented.
“Watch,” Burun said quietly and knelt down. He tugged on her shoulder, and encouraged his life-mate to crouch as well. Marian’s eyes were fixed on the javelin. The missile left the hand of the Centurion, flew with greater speed, and arched directly toward the great multi-colored dragon. The beast altered its direction, but the missile changed its trajectory, flew into the thorax of the great beast. and exploded as a great bolt of Lightning.
“A Javelin of Lightning!” the Dark Sorceress marveled.
The jolt knocked the great beast backward and sheered several prismatic scales from its massive hulk. Several riders glanced backward and took heart at their comrade’s limited success. Three Centurions arched javelins toward the dragon and, just as did the first, the missiles flew into the beast. Bolts of electricity slammed into the creature, and with each impact the monster recoiled a bit. A hushed cheer came from the riders in the column. Then the dragon righted, roared, and belched a stream of white hot heat toward the seventy men scattered along the road. The flames consumed the thirty or so in the rear of the column and incapacitated many others. Surviving steeds panicked, threw their riders to the ground, and bolted away. The Captain tried to rally the survivors, but any capable of doing so screamed and guided their horses away from the beast. After a moment the Captain started to follow, but a bolt of electricity emanated from the beast’s maw and struck him squarely, ending his life and that of the magnificent firehorse that he rode. The dragon circled and spewed a ray of ice onto several of the fleeing Centurions. The fringes of the breath weapon touched the house and sent Burun and Mirian sprawling onto the ground.

Mirian suffered another glance through the window and saw a form rushing across the lawn through the darkness. Fire flashed again in the distance and another explosion followed. The light produced by the explosion exposed the outline of the Fortress Glumtezma at the lake’s edge. Much of the wall was destroyed.
Mirian heard the urgent knock on the door, recognized the pattern of the knocks, and momentarily relaxed. The latch sprang and the door flew open. Breathing heavily and sweating profusely, Burun Jhundi rushed into the room. Thick sulfurous fumes that had only managed to creep through cracks in the windows now poured through the door. The stench overwhelmed the family.
“Where have you been? What’s happening? We’re terrified!” Mirian screamed.
“I was detained, my love. Our friends from Koorlost aren’t faring too well. The citadel Glumtezma is under attack,” Burun informed her.
“What? An attack here? An army of the Laurels has never invaded Nirgivia! We’re so far away! And the power of the explosions! What Light Sorcerer can cast such powerful spells? Has there been a defection from Koorlost?” Mirian asked urgently.
“Yes, there’s an attack. It’s neither an army nor a traitor. It’s a wyrm of the Laurels. Its wingspan is at least fifty paces and it breathes fire, ice, acid, lightning, and gas. Spells and the great catapults have had little effect in stemming the vile beast’s rampage. The Centurions flee the fortress. Unfortunately, they flee this way and the wyrm follows. Take the children. Take flight! There is no time!” Burun urged.

Vorran labored to open his eyes. A beautiful female with large wings stood over him.
Must be dead…
No.
It was Maranna.
The Blue Pegasus Dean Farrier, Venla Faxxine the Manticore, Syrrth the Cloudmare, and the Cloudmare matron Urra stood by Maranna in the sitting room of the Siren’s home.
Vorran leapt up and shouted, “Amica!”
Venla muttered, “Déjà vu!”
“She is lost, Vorran, consumed by the flames. Your son Dean is safe and rests in your old crib. The Magick incapacitated you. You should have been immune. But your cataplexy likely saved your life, Vorran. The Light Knights did not use their swords and fled when Urra approached. How they managed to evade the defenses of Koorlost escapes me! This is so painfully similar to…” Maranna stuttered.
“Similar to what? What could rival this tragedy?” Vorran wailed. As tears streamed down his proud cheek he declared, “I’ll kill them! This deed will not go unpunished!”
Maranna struggled to say, “I cannot allow you to make your father’s mistake!”

During the night the already infrequent counterattacks from the Roc’s Nest ended. On the morrow at first light, the lookouts for Gwindor’s army noted the gates of the Roc’s Nest stood open and undefended.
The observers at the front dispatched a messenger to the command center to report the findings.
“Have they retired from the field?” Gwindor asked.
Eyerthrin added, “Taekora, please investigate the fortress. I suggest we move to the front of the lines.”
Taekora rose, transformed to dragon form, flew to the fortress, returned shortly, and reported, “There is one man in the fortress. He stands, faces the east, bears two swords, wears no armor, and disdains a shield.”
“It must be some sort of trap. We don’t know the fate of the Head of the Order of Dark Sorcerers. It must be a trap,” Kirk Rowers reasoned.
“We’ll find out soon enough. He is attacking,” Eyerthrin said flatly.
A solitary figure walked through the open gates of the Roc’s Nest and shouted “For Amica.” The warrior brandished two blades and charged toward the awaiting Light Knights. About a thousand Light Knights faced the lone attacker.

The supplies from the south dwindled over time, and no reinforcements came to Roc’s Nest. Nonetheless, Vorran doggedly defended the strategic post. The few messengers who did come brought little of import, but late in the second year of the siege of Roc’s Nest by the Light Knights, a ragged rider arrived with vellum, which he carried to Vorran Klarje Jhundi.
Vorran read the epistle and smiled. The High Captain of Koorlost summoned the grizzled veteran Addams.
“Take the men to the Lovills River, Addams. All have served well and have done their families, Koorlost, and me proud. It’s time for them to stand down,” Vorran answered.
“What word could have come from the south to lead you to abandon the fort?” Addams pleaded.
“Let’s just say I now know the fate of our glorious leader. A fitting end, indeed, I must say. But, I have unfinished business with our enemies from the Laurels,” Vorran answered.
“My Captain, please allow me to stand with you,” the old veteran asked.
“Addams, I thank you, but I have, in the end, always had to stand alone. If what this naysayer says is true, there should be one man with some backbone to aid the withdrawal of our men to defend their homes and families. You are that man. It’s my command that every man fend for himself once he crosses the Lovills River. Once you cross the river, how you end your days is your decision. Open the gates before you leave. I will say no more,” Vorran answered.
Addams saluted sharply, bowed, and exited the Captain’s quarters. Vorran placed the parchment to his chest, removed his jewelry, kissed a portrait of Amica, picked up two swords, left his quarters, and stood quietly for a moment in the battered quadrangle of the Roc’s Nest. Addams gathered the remaining soldiers and ushered them through the south gate. As their last act, the retreating Centurions drew open the gate facing the north.

Typically, dragons were named for the color of their scales, but some were named for other traits. Thus, the prismatic dragons were so called because of the character of their wondrous scales. Just as the beasts had variability in their scales, they had multiple breath weapons. These included red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet rays. The tinted breaths produced differing effects. The prismatic dragon also possessed the power of the lightning bolt, the dark acid common to black dragons, and the icy cone of cold typical of the frost dragons that lived only on the highest peaks. Because the prismatic dragons had the power of lightning in their repertoire, lizard men fancied their scales and created javelins of lightning from he creatures’ prismatic scales. But were these merely javelins of lightning? No one knew. Not even the lizard men fully understood their greatest masterpieces.
The prismatic species of dragon had never been common on Sagain. They had allied steadfastly with the order of Light Sorcerers and followed the idea of preservation of Magick and the lands of Sagain. Many prismatic dragons had fallen in defense of their beliefs, including powerful Zia, Eyerthrin’s first love and the mother of Taekora.
Eyerthrin enjoyed Lena’s light touch, looked into her eyes, sighed, and said, “My love, in my travels I found no others of my ilk.”
Sadness dripped from his words and red and blue tears poured from his eyes as the great dragon confided to his new love.

Elayne sat down and said, “Thank you. Maybe for just a moment. There’s nothing wrong with me that the passing of three seasons won’t cure.”
Lena remarked, “Then you are with child. I should have recognized the symptoms. That must have made leaving particularly difficult for Gwindor. His love for you is so apparent. He can’t hide the radiance in his eyes when he talks of you or looks at you. The glint in his eyes rivals the Great Tower. I’m a bit surprised that Alisskirin and Eyerthrin would allow him to leave you, given your gestation.”
“I…I didn’t tell Gwindor. He thinks I’ve had a ‘bug,’ and that I’m worried about him, which I am! He’s naïve at times and doesn’t expect that I might bewitch him. He never detected the Strength and Empathy Spells that I cast on him. I need no verbal or material components to cast them. I poured my love and attention upon him and gave him no opportunity to sense my…condition. His mind was on the task before him, where it should have been,” Elayne confessed.
Lena wiped the sweat from Elayne’s forehead, sat down, dabbed perspiration from her own brow, and said, “Likewise, I did not tell Eyerthrin.”
Elayne looked into Lena’s eyes and quizzically said, “So you are also…”
Lena quickly answered, “Yes.”
”How will you care for yourself? Do the midwives know what to expect? Do you carry a dragon?” Elayne asked. A very perplexed look covered her face.
Lena smiled and answered, “I wonder myself when I feel the queasiness and the little kicks. But no, I carry a child. When Eyerthrin transforms to his bipedal form the transformation is complete. Dragons, he tells me, are either a joint effort of Nature and Magick or else they are neither Nature nor Magick. It doesn’t make sense to me. Although, there has never been a union such as that of my beloved Eyerthrin and myself, I anticipate a normal gestation and confinement. In other words, I feel as much uncertainty as you, Elayne,” Lena summarized.

Clouse extended his green finger and pointed toward the fifth of the Thirttene Friends. The great green-leaved oak’s dark bark shimmered briefly. A blithe blue-green form emerged from the tree, turned about quickly, looked around, and determined only one older Drelve and his green likeness stood near her. The little feminine creature wrinkled her nose three times, sneezed, fixed her gaze on Yannuvia and Clouse, placed her thin green index finger to her full purple lips, and cooed, “Ooh…a plain Spellweaver and a green Spellweaver…green, like me! Gosh, green Drelve, you are gorgeous! The Teachers bring homely little Drelves to my forest and the blighters tramp all around the plants. The new Teacher is too lenient. Plain Drelve, you look familiar. Have you previously visited Green Vale? Not to matter…you cast such a pretty spell, green Spellweaver. Will you kiss me? Have you just one kiss for me?”
“Careful, Clouse! She’ll charm you. Behave, Lady of the Trees!” Yannuvia declared.
The Tree Sprite’s blue hair, mauve lips, and purple eyes contrasted with her bright green skin. Like Clouse, she seemed totally out of place in the World of the Three Suns but perfectly at home in the Green Vale. The sprite was about two-thirds the height of an average sized Drelve. Yannuvia, and therefore his green counterpart Clouse, was taller than most Drelves.
“You are rude, Spellweaver! Let me enjoy just one little buss!” the comely little sprite pleaded and drew near Clouse.
“I don’t see any harm in one kiss,” Clouse reasoned.
Before Yannuvia separated them, Clouse bent forward and kissed the sprite.
“Oh, no!” Yannuvia moaned. “He’s certainly charmed!”
The Spellweaver prepared a Dispel Magick Spell.
“Wait!” Clouse shouted. “What do you want to ask her?”
Yannuvia stopped Dispel Magick, extended his left forefinger and uttered instead the much simpler Detect Charm Spell. He studied first Clouse, then the Tree Sprite. Clouse was fine. The little sprite was charmed!
“Quickly, ask her name!” Yannuvia eagerly said.
“What is your name?” Clouse queried.
“Alexis. Lexie Glitch. I’m the Lady of the Trees,” the lovely little fairy answered.
“Amazing! Charming dweomers shouldn’t affect Tree Sprites, Water Sprites, and Dryads!” Yannuvia marveled.
“She’s not immune to her spells, Spellweaver. She’s a Dryad. Tree Sprites are a bit shorter, another bit more mischievous, and more rambling. Lexie’s quite a temptress. May I kiss her again?” Clouse queried.
“What…you did not cast the spell?” Yannuvia queried.
“No, Spellweaver. The little vixen fell victim to her own dweomer,” Clouse replied.
“Then you…you are…” Yannuvia stammered.
“Yes, I am a Reflector. Did Fisher not tell you, it’s a trait of most Menders?” Clouse answered.

Rhiann’s Affliction… an “Elf-nap” of Parallan

Caye Klarje gently urged her son, “You don’t want to be late for the first day of school. Your breakfast is ready. The blue blooter eggs are getting cold!”
Rhiann Klarje stretched, rubbed sleep from his eyes, and hopped out of his comfy bed. The six year old sorcerer hurried to the ornate looking glass that hung on his bedchamber wall. His heart sank. The little bloke sighed and moaned, “Oh, no, it’s still there. So much for wishing! I’m doomed.”
The child glowered at his reflection. The heart-shaped cherry-red birthmark remained on his chin.
A feminine voice soothingly flowed from the mirror, “Young Rhiann, what did you expect?” The boy grumbled, “I’d wished it’d be gone, but it’s still there.”
The voice from the mirror responded, “Rhiann, you are young, but even you should know that wishes are rare, and true wishes are rarest of all. Furthermore, idly wishing…”
Rhiann interrupted, “Who asked you? You haven’t had to put up with this birthmark! I hear about it every time I go to the playground. The three ‘sorcerer-teers’ give me constant grief. Now I’ll be starting school with them! The great wizards! Jethro, Bo, and Dean! They are never apart and always ready to hassle me!”
The mirror’s voice countered, “Don’t you have other friends?”
Rhiann rubbed his chin vigorously and answered, “Most stay clear of me for fear of incurring the attention of the terrific trio. It’s more than just the kids. Fingers point toward me everywhere I go in Thynna. I’m marked!”
Caye Klarje’s voice reiterated, “Rhiann! School! Come down!”
The mirror said compassionately, “Best get moving! We’ll talk when you get home.”
Rhiann slipped on his tunic and robe and grumbled, “If I get home!”

Yannuvia created his second wand, the Wand of Lightning, I-two. The wand’s command was “grow veer cleave land.”
Construction of Vydaelia’s walls continued. Rotations of the Day Glass served as a record of passing light, amber, and dark periods. Fisher and Clouse confirmed the Dreamraider’s timekeeping device’s accuracy. The light in the expansive cavern did not change. Young translocated Drelves matured quickly.
On the first day of the next dark period Yannuvia created his third wand, a solid black artifact, the Wand of Masonry, I-three. The device had the power to change rock to mud. Its command was “wood row will son.” With the power of the Floating Stone, Yannuvia next created his fourth wand, the Wand of Levitation, I-four, with the command “rich herd nicks son.” The Stone of Speed facilitated the creation of the Haste Wand, I-five, with the command, “jar old ford.” The Stone of Flying helped create the Wand of Flight. I-six, with the command “run nailed ray gun.” With the creation of each wand, Yannuvia’s nodule increased by a factor of 1.6180339887498948482. The fabulous USA, the United Scepter of the Approximation with the command “Abe Linkin” was his seventh wand, I-seven.