“Come here!” A woman’s voice icily commanded.
Thad dropped his sword and walked toward her.
Farlow vainly tried to stop his fellow Ranger. He shouted, “He’s
charmed!”
Ravenna screamed, “Get away from her!”
Thad was twenty feet away. The white dragon lunged forward
and consumed him with a single gulp!
“Breath weapon!” Ravenna screamed.
The thirty foot long white dragon exhaled bone-breaking cold
and killed the thirteen men in the cavern. Those standing at the
entrance of the cavern that turned away at Ravenna’s urging received
only some frostbite to their backsides. The frigid breath
killed two Curates who were armed only in cloth.
Knarra and Roscoe reached the opening to the cavern. Screams
of anguish filled the air!. Many men ran away- victims of the ancient
white dragon’s Fear Spell.
“I’m really glad we came here!” Roscoe said facetiously. “Heat
her up! Ravenna, can you do anything? I have no sulphur. I must
rely on my staff.”
The dragon closed to within range of the opening to the cavern
and mustered energy to breathe again.
Ravenna dropped her bow, threw some powder into the air, and
shouted an incantation. She did not cast a simple elfish Fire Spell.
She cast a Flame Strike! The force of the spell maimed the dragon
and knocked her off balance. As a result, its breath gushed forward
but struck the three hundred foot high ceiling of the cavern. Roscoe
pointed his staff and sent flames into the monster, furthering the
beast’s anguish. Knarra brought flames down from the ceiling of
the cavern. The spell knocked the beast to the floor of the cave. The
dragon roared and tried to right itself.
“Archers!” Rabe commanded. “Aim for the eyes! The scales are
too thick!”

Oilill signed and relayed, “Well, it only works at certain times of the year. The moon must always be full and the sand is most potent if collected during a blue moon. There are two exceptions to this… the winter and summer solstices. Come to think of it, I’ve only seen the Sandman when there is a blue moon or a solstice.”

Amica Carmisino frowned and commented, “This world has only one moon, and it’s not blue. Are you saying it turns blue when the Sandman arrives? And, what is a soul stitch?”

Even with the winged female’s razor sharp talons imprinting his shoulder, the little fellow chuckled but quickly regained his composure and answered, “Not a soul stitch! Solstice! Day and night are equal on those days. The moon sometimes has a tint but sometimes there are four full moons during one of our four seasons. The blue moon is the third of four full moons during a season.”

Amica scoffed, “So that’s all. I’ve seen moons turn blue, and I’ve seen times where an unfortunate victim might want his soul stitched. Some worlds have no day and night. What a strange world you live in, shoemaker, cobbler, or whatever you want to be called. Changing seasons, varying length of day and night, and finicky moon! Nature is stranger than Magick in this place!”

The old sorcerer spoke, “These fine men, our protectors, are here for some rest and recreation. They also recruit for the armies of Koorlost and have conscripted three round ball players. But since you are only fourteen, you are too young to consider joining the forces of our glorious leader Quoddlebon. You should give them your respect and show them your gratitude, Yerko.”

Noting the wry old man’s subtle wink, Boton said, “We are grateful for your efforts. I hope the war goes well and you find good fortune.”

The oldest of the three men looked incredulously at Boton and said, “You’re a little tall for fourteen. You have a good attitude. Keep your loyalties in line, in the proper place. There’s little chance of good fortune when one goes up against the wyrms and minions of the Laurels. But having to go through life with a name like Yerko might be worse!”

The three laughed raucously, slapped one another’s back, lifted the bags of supplies Roanie’s life-mate had gathered for them, motioned to the three new recruits who tearfully bade their families good-bye, and headed down the road.

When they were gone, Roanie said, “The war doesn’t go too well for them. They spoke of several setbacks. In some areas of Rocalina, it seems a rather rag-tag effort. One of the young men they conscripted was sixteen. I could not prevent his going.”

“Thank you, I think. Couldn’t you have thought of a better name than Yerko for me?” Boton asked. He remained confused.

“Don’t be pithy. I have several friends named Yerko who would feel that Boton is a rather asinine name. But what’s in a name. I feared one of those Centurions might have been familiar with your lineage. As well, I fear the war draws near us. Will you walk with me?” Roanie asked.

The peevish spirit pulled out a bottle filled with dark fluid, opened the cork, and sniffed the contents.

“Doesn’t smell like a bad vintage,” she said.

“That was dumb!” the boy scolded. “It could have released a poison.”

“You had the ointment, the panacea. It smells good,” the sylph argued.

She then removed thirteen daggers, thirteen cloaks, thirteen ropes, thirteen hats, garments, foodstuffs, more wines and ports, phials of liquids, parchments, hats, mats, a tent, keys, a cart, rings, strings, snakes, snails, puppy dog tails, dragon scales, and a plethora of other things. Items filled the little cottage and the Bag of Concealment was not empty! Many items had auras of Magick.

“The owner was a superstitious lot. He kept thirteen of many things and seven of nothing,” the sylph mused.

“Do you believe in the luck of thirteen and the misfortune of seven, mother?” the boy asked.

“Just say that I carried seven blue roses on the day I fell into the sprite trap, my son,” the sylph answered angrily. “The witless woodsman knew not the Magick of the trap! Death did not end my torment! I’m changed to this cursed wisp of existence! I don’t know whom I’m to ultimately serve! For now, I’m confined to this cottage and that witless dragon barely sustains itself waiting for me to exit and return to my beloved woods!”

Rhiann took and held the near weightless object. The little cherry-red, heart-shaped stone was precisely the size, shape, and color of the birthmarks on Rhiann and Mayard’s chins. Mayard’s tale asserted the mark graced the chin of the first sorcerer of Sagain Cydney Klarje.

Mayard said again, “One for everyone. Tomorrow I’ll tell you of Cydney Klarje’s first spells.”

One by one the young sorcerers descended the amphitheater steps and took a levitating amulet. Jethro, Bo, and Dean were the last three to accept the prizes.

The wandering Sorcerer Mayard Klarje addressed Jethro, “Touch the red mark of my face.”

Jethro stammered, “Uh… why, Teacher?”

Mayard calmly replied, “Touch it. It won’t hurt you.”

Jethro gingerly extended his right index finger and touched the red mark. He youth sighed with relief when nothing happened.

Mayard continued, “Now touch Rhiann’s mark.”

Jethro hesitated briefly and then did so.

Mayard followed, “Now touch your face.”

Once again young Jethro did as the sorcerer asked.

Mayard asked, “What did you feel when you touched our faces?”

Jethro answered. “Just skin, teacher.”

Mayard answered, “Correct. Did the red skin on Rhiann’s and my face feel different?”

Jethro replied, “No, Teacher, it just felt like skin.”

Mayard Klarje said, “Correct again, Jethro. Just because someone looks different, it doesn’t mean they are less significant and more importantly lack feelings. Magick is not to be used frivolously, young sorcerers. Think about the consequences of your actions. Always let your hearts guide your deeds.”

Jethro humbly said, “Yes, Teacher.”

Rhiann said, “I thank grayness. I thank Atlas and Pleione. I thank the Seven Sisters. I thank the Staves of the Four Winds, the Windward Staves, children of the Bloodstone, the Source of Magick.”

The Nameless Enchanter of Thynna then held a snow white Phoenix feather and uttered a simple incantation. He raised the purple staff Atlas in his left hand, levitated, and flew through the opening in the roof of the cavern. Rhiann explored the Veldt and validated the writings of the Traveler’s Tome.  Then NET headed toward Wombat Mountain to rejoin Maranna and Iyaca Vassi. The cottage was completed.

His apprentice looked older.

Net marveled, “Nice work! I’m amazed you finished it so quickly!”

Iyaca replied, “What do you mean quickly? We’d nigh given up on you. Only stories of powerful Magick to the south and east gave us the hope that you would yet someday return. You’ve been gone six centuries, six hundred changes of the seasons! Your parents Kurth and Caye searched for you. They sent your brother Arthur Seigh Klarje away to attend school at a small village to the north near Hunter’s Peak called the Laurels. The Laurels has become a gathering point for thinkers and philosophers. Kurth and Caye hoped to remove your younger brother from the discord that gripped Thynna and lessen the likelihood he’d follow in your footsteps. We call the cottage Harmony House.”

The nebulous image that hovered before the laughing Good Witch gradually became clear. A narrow glassy tube connected two glass bulbs framed by odd blue wood. Shimmering sandy granules of all imaginable colors filled the bottom bulb. The device mysteriously inverted and the granules flowed from the filled bulb into the empty bulb.

“The sands in the glass will always flow at the same pace. In precisely the length of one light and amber period, or day as you like to call it, all the granules will flow into the lower bulb. At that time, the Day Glass will invert and start the process all over. In terms of the minute minuteman’s unvarying pulse rate, the process repeats after 57,600 heartbeats. My Master has constructed many such devices. In another world, the sands have a nominal running time of one hour and the device is oft called an hourglass. That’d be 3600 minuteman heartbeats. Factors affecting the amount of time the device measures include the volume of the sand, the size and angle of the bulbs, the width of the neck, and the type and quality of the sandy granules,” the female Dream Raider explained.

“I’ve traveled widely throughout the World of the Three Suns and never seen such sand,” Yannuvia remarked.

“In the World of the Three Suns, such sand does not exist. The sands are made from a single Prismatic Dragon scale. They aren’t easy to come by, even for my Master,” Amica proudly declared.

Telltale flashes of redness heralded the arrival of another visitor to the odd grotto. A tall red-haired remarkably handsome male with a heart shaped birthmark on his left cheek stood on the red tiles. The new arrival had the stature of a Drelve and height of a Droll. His light skin didn’t approach the paleness of a Mender and lacked the orange-yellow hues common to Drelves. Long orange-red hair flowed behind his dark robe. He carried no weapon, rubbed his heart-shaped birthmark, and surveyed the chamber.

“Master,” the she-demon said reverently.

Eight-legged, eight-eyed Arachnis bowed deeply and said, “My Lord. You look like the Dark Sorcerer Boton Klarje Jhundi.”

The tall male announced, “Good observation, my friend. I suppose you’ve learned of DECKSTEQ’s foolishness. Ages ago a sorcerer dispelled his *** back to the Gray Abyss. Returning unceremoniously taught him nothing. Now he’s managed to get caught in Boton’s Pentagram. His foolhardiness opened another promising world to us, but I first must return my attention to the home world. I have another task for you, my pretty. You’ll need your guile. Let them dream a little dream of you! When Stryker returns, Arachnis, you must Translocate and join our lovely compatriot and me in the World of the Three Suns.”

Albträume, elf dreams, nightmares…

The female visitor’s strangely attractive face entered his dream. Horrific and vaguely female, the creature had fiery red eyes, unsightly wings, and long muscular arms ending in long curved talons, which were covered in dark ichors.

“Did you like my gift?” she queried.

“How did you accomplish the deed?” Saligia answered.

“I did so as you, General Saligia. The bewildered eyes of Hennery’s inner circle saw you tear down the gates, rip three guards to pieces, approach the renegade, and tear Hennery apart. You left with his head. Now they think you a shaman and warrior. His worthless spawn Hennery the Ninth beat a straight path to Aulgmoor to bow before you and kiss your ***. You will not be challenged north of the Ornash River. But as my colleague told you, trouble stirs to the south, and the Drelves disrespect you. Listen well to your new ally. The Droll has means to deliver the promises etched on the parchment you received,” she replied.

“I may as well ask the question that has been in my mind since you first invaded my dreams. What do you want from me?” Saligia replied.

Talking in his sleep no longer surprised the Kiennite. Hearing Lord Saligia’s mumbling no longer alarmed Cu Seven when he guarded the General’s chambers.

“A simple task. My Master wants you to deliver a Drelve Spellweaver,” the female responded.

“I’ll gladly hew any Spellweavers I find, Your Master can have their heads, their hands, their whole cursed bodies,” Saligia growled.

“Alive. Alive, Lord Saligia. My Master requires you bring the Spellweaver to him alive,” Amica answered.

“We have the Chalice of Mystery. We paid for it with many lives,” Knarra sighed.

“So we must obtain a Locating Potion. Someone who is not a sorcerer must drink the potion from the chalice- the chalice is an evil thing which we have kept hidden for almost a millennium. If we attain and imbibe the Locating Potion, we will have knowledge of the sword’s resting place. We will need the ‘Gate Key” which is the greatest of Magick keys- it is rumored in the treasures of the Banshee΄, the wailing witch of the Lachinor. We’ll have to find her lair, traverse it, defeat her, and then take the key somewhere to open the door to a labyrinth. If we negotiate the labyrinth, we gain a weapon created to kill us! Then we must carry the blade, find, and destroy a demon that survived the efforts of eight light sorcerers including the greatest that ever lived- easy!” Roscoe rambled.

“At least we don’t have to find the Chalice. It has rested in the ambry within the Bag of Concealment confined by the spells that you and the gray dragon cast eight hundred years ago. I have never touched the Chalice of Mystery. We must gather our resources. But our foe will gain power by influencing others. We will need the assistance of the Lord of Ooranth, Calaiz. We will need Eyerthrein, Kyrsstina, Dael, Cyttia, and the Queen of Donothor. We will need the bearer of Exeter. Young Vanni has likely assumed the role of Captain of the Rangers. We will need the Staves of Sagain. I will carry one. Queen Cara will carry the Staff of Clysis. A descendant of Morlecainen must carry his staff,” Knarra said.

“Where will you find a descendant of Morlecainen?” Roscoe asked.

“You must safeguard the staff for the time being,” Knarra said.