by P D Dennison
They landed on the small balcony near the top of the little tower, some thirty or so feet from the ground. The gargoyle gently placed them both down on their feet. Postgaar began flailing before his feet even felt stone and as soon as released, he began kicking at the beast, but the effort was futile. The gargoyle didn’t even acknowledge his presence and simply closed its eyes and looked as if part of the stone floor of the balcony on which they stood.
Two tall glass doors to the tower itself were opened and candlelight flickered within. Long sheer white drapes billowed out at the two bewildered captives. The air from within carried the scent of honey. Vines, heavy with grapes similar to those that had hung about the village square of Hagrathmark grew along the balcony rail and up around the arched doorframe drooping down over the windows. Potted flowers were arranged all about the balcony and in the center of the elegant little terrace sat a small table with three chairs around it.
From within the tower came the voice of an old woman. “Sit down. I’ll be right out, boys. Just gathering some refreshments.”
Turynn and Postgaar looked at each other quizzically. Neither had any idea what lay in store for them. Turynn shrugged and seated himself with Postgaar following suit.
The form of a hunched old woman with long flowing braids entered the doorway carrying a tray with a steaming jug and three cups. Turynn hopped to his feet and relieved her of the tray when he saw the delicate state she was in.
Her fingers were as thin as tinder and looked as likely to snap under the weight. It jittered and clattered in her frail grasp. She walked with a cane formed of gnarled Elm and a very visible limp slowed her a great deal.
“Thank you, Turynn. How kind of you.”
Postgaar rose to pull out her chair and she sat herself before them. Turynn poured some of the hot steaming mead. It had been scented with Rosehip and Mountain Berry which in these parts was a rarity as it tended to grow in the colder climate on the north side of the Mystpeaks. He filled the three cups and set them out in front of each of them and they waited.
“Well, have a drink. You must’ve gotten a terrible chill flying in with Grobbin all the way from the far bank.” She motioned to the gargoyle. “He’s not exactly known for his carrier services.” She laughed a little and took a sip.
Turynn and Postgaar looked at each other hesitantly and each followed in kind. The mead was warm and sweet, heavy on the flavor of honey. The finest either of them had ever tasted and quite likely the strongest as well.
“Do you boys know who I am?” she asked of them, setting her cup back down.
“Yer Daria, Lady of this ‘ere Faerie Wood, er’..... I’m Postgaar Fireaxe of Stonehammer Keep. We’ve come this way in service of yer sister, Nyxia.” Postgaar rose to his feet with the last words and extended his hand in a very profound manner.
Turynn lowered his head and tried not to laugh.
“Well, isn’t that sweet. Sit down, Postgaar. I’m not worthy of all that praise. I’ve done a great many wicked things in my day and do not think I warrant such attention.”
“Good Lady of the Faerie Wood, we are here in service to Nyxia. We were commissioned for careless passage through her land. As atonement for damaging her woods, we were ordered to bear for the gnomish peoples a letter that is to go east to the Gnome Hills. We mean neither you, nor the good people of the Faerie Wood, any ill will and if we have somehow inadvertently passed into your land uninvited or offended you, we apologize as it was not our intention to do so,” said Turynn.
“That was very well spoken of you, but you have neither offended me nor passed into our lands unpermitted. You are an elf and as such, are granted passage through this wood any time you choose. Postgaar is a dwarf and long ago the good people of both the dwarven and elven folk lived together and as such are also welcome in the Faerie Wood unaccosted. I apologize for the manner in which you were summoned here. I would have come out to meet you, but I am simply getting too old. I have stopped the rituals to prolong my life.
“This place took me eons to foster into its present state.” She rose and walked slowly over to the edge of the balcony. “Look out over my land, boys. Each Willow lovingly planted from seed by my own hand. Only a smattering of the Poplar wood that once dominated here remains. My life’s work serving more than a thousand seasons as steward to this wood. What will come of it if Graxxen takes the land by force?” She paused; a peaceful silence on the night air with only the distant rushing sound of the mighty Sarandanus to be heard filled the minds of the two travellers. She turned to them.
“You boys were duped and I apologize for that. I have been planning our meeting for some time. As soon as I got word of your presence in the Mystpeaks at the old Dragon Rider keep, I have been trying to find a way to get you here. When subsequent reports pointed toward you heading down into the Danthar with axes, well, it doesn’t take a wizard to figure out a group of men with axes headed into the most tangled forest in all Shaarn is going to get themselves into trouble with the steward of that wood so I used my magick to guide you through the more overgrown parts of Nyxia’s twisted Elmwood.
“I understand your master Rostioff is, as we speak, dispatching forces to fend off Graxxen’s terrible goblin and ghoul hordes.” Her head dropped again. “I regret to inform you most of those men will die. They will be overwhelmed and the goblins and ghouls will swell into both the eastern and western passes flooding out onto the southlands like a wave of destruction. If they are not killed by the goblins, the Barbarians will surely kill them. Graxxen has poisoned the minds of their witchdoctors and cursed their lands. He has done this in such a way and timed it to look as though the South is in league with the goblins. His aim is to set the North and South at odds against one another so as to divide the people of Shaarn. When they’re at their weakest, he will strike. His armies are nearly unstoppable in their present state and they are but a precursor to an even mightier force that will come in their wake.”
She paused to give the two companions a moment to reflect on what she’d just told them, looking deeply into each of their eyes to search their thoughts. Her powers were different from her sister’s. She was older and wiser and her magick was more that of a spell weaver than a creature of the faerie realm. She’d forsaken her Dryadic ways centuries ago; in addition she possessed a Dragon Orb, which she’d manipulated to her own design.
Turynn and Postgaar could both feel the long sinewy fingers of her magick reaching into their minds, but it did not leave them with an alarming or frightful feeling. She simply gauged their emotions in reaction to her words. Thus far they were dumbfounded and a wee bit scared, as most would be when told their way of life would come to an end and that a dark, terrible being was about to change the face of the wyrld in which they lived.
“I have one of the orbs your Master Rostioff seeks. I have the Copper Dragon Orb. I know all of its secrets and I understand the power to its fullest. I can be of great service to him in unlocking the mysteries of the other orbs. I believe I know where they all are. So long as Graxxen doesn’t get his spiny fingers onto them before I do, we have a chance at defeating him. I have studied the tomes of the ancients and found where the orbs all originated, as well as where they were all dispersed to. The Copper Dragon Orb allows for scrying across the many lands, of which Shaarn is only one. It’s the most densely populated and oldest of the lands. There are many lands on our wyrld of Midgaard. The orbs were purposely spread far and wide by the gods themselves in order that if something as terrible as what is about to befall the Land of Shaarn were to happen, it would be no small task for evil to bring them together. Graxxen has an orb capable of scrying, albeit much less powerful than my own. He is a little too dimwitted to their workings to use the orbs he has to their fullest potential at present.
Though Graxxen may not yet fully understand the power of the orbs, he is no fool. His power grows, as does his knowledge of the orbs with each passing day. At the same time, it is no small task for good to achieve the same. I wa
nt you to take this.” She reached into the folds of her long white robe and produced a small pouch.
Turynn drew back the strings and peered inside. Three little marbles were within. He dumped them out into his hand looking into them. They seemed to hold little starry night skies within or perhaps they reflected the stars above them. He rolled them about in his palm and Postgaar looked on as well. The magick felt powerful. He could feel it in his hand and the hair on his arms stood up in response. Daria’s magick, being ancient and shamanic from before the First Age happened to be among the most potent in the land, an ancient magick from the dawning of life on Midgaard, when magick was at its strongest, dwindling in power some each season ever since.
“I call that little bag the Poke of Passage. Those three little marbles you are gazing at are designed with charged Transportal spells within them. Any time you wish, you may drop one to the ground and crush it beneath your heel, after which you will return here, right here to this balcony. I have had Grobbin there using it for ages as a means of instant recall when I need his services when he is in a far off land scouting for me, but now you need them. I should mention to you that once you have used up all three, the bag will refill itself with three more marbles on the next sunrise. Its power is boundless, so long as the sun continues to rise on the Land of Shaarn.”
Turynn slipped the marbles back into the pouch and slipped it into his shirt.
“Thank you, mah’ lady, but I think you still haven’t told us the whole of your role in this yet.”
“Postgaar, you and your people will play a great role in the dawning of the Third Age of Shaarn. The Mithril your people mine in the great tunnels beneath Mithril Mountain will be vital in the winning of this war. For it is only Mithril that will defeat Graxxen’s Dracolich.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, mah’ lady, but one of our companions, young Ravak, a Winter Wolf, has slain a dragon with not but a spear an’ axes of Northern steel. Northern steel’s nothin’ compared to Mithril. Dragons are flesh an’ blood an’ fall like any other livin’ thing when bled out.”
“The dragon that Ravak felled is nothing compared to what lies ahead. Graxxen plans to enchant his dragon armada with dark Necromancy and Blood Magick. First he will foster them to young adulthood. Then he plans to slay them all ritualistically and he intends to turn each of his dragons into a lich like himself, creating a new race of undead. The Dracolich. These creatures will be of such awesome power, I fear that Graxxen and even his dark mistress do not fully comprehend what they are about to unleash on the Land of Shaarn. I have foreseen a Third Age of Darkness in Shaarn and it will be brought about by Graxxen and these terrible Dracolich of which I speak. He will, in addition to the Dracolich create yet another race of undead to do his bidding, but the Noorn’s won’t let me see that far yet, the images remain hazy at best.
“The Dracolich’s greatest weapon is its breath. It can slowly wither whatever it breathes on and its breath comes out icy and cold in the form of dark shadow. The shadow lingers indefinitely. Any who suffer the breath of the Dracolich will begin to wither and die.” She paused again to look to the two companions to be sure they were taking all she said to heart.
Turynn’s brow furrowed with concentration and frustration both at once. Postgaar was wide-eyed and breathing hard as Daria laid out the very bleak future of the Land of Shaarn.
“How can the good folk of Stonehammer and Mithril Mountain be of service to the Lady of the Faerie Wood to stop this from happening?”
“You, Master Dwarf, can take back my word to your people and let them know they must begin forging swords and axes of Mithril according to this recipe. These weapons will be known as Lichslayers and will be enchanted as such to fell any lich or undead creature of corporeal form, not just a Dracolich.” She produced from the folds of her robe another small pouch. This one folded like an envelope and at the same moment, she produced a little whistle from around her neck and made a strange sound that resembled a bee’s buzzing.
Postgaar opened the envelope and out fell a little whistle much like the one Daria had just blown into. With that, a tiny faerie wisped up over the edge of the balcony and sat herself on the edge of the decanter the mead was in. Postgaar and Turynn both marvelled at her. She stood no more than two inches tall. She had a beautiful golden aura of faerie magick that surrounded her. Her little wings were the same sort as that of dragonfly and flapped even as she sat. As they flapped, magickal faerie dust billowed out into the air about her.
“This is Willemiina Decroix, princess to queen of the faeries, and one of my loyal servants. She will be the dwarven people’s greatest ally as they create the weapons needed to vanquish the forces of darkness. Inside that envelope is a recipe for the steel and the forging of the Lichslayer blades. I ask that your people have thousands of axes and long swords forged, enough for every soldier that can carry one. Willemiina will then enchant them with the power of light and they will be ready for their test against the Dracolich of Graxxen’s armada.
“Well, there you have it. I will send Grobbin to let Nyxia know I have sequestered you into my service and to unbind you from your debt to her. If you’ll give me the message for the gnomish people, I will have also have Grobbin deliver it on your behalf.”
“We’ll gladly aid in whatever way the dwarven people can, good lady. But why not just summon us?” asked Postgaar.
“Well, Master Dwarf, I prefer to look at it as subterfuge. Would you have come if you were summoned by the Lady of the Faerie Wood? I know what you all think of me and my forest.” Willemiina landed on her shoulder at the comment. “We are thought of as mysterious and wicked and at times, we have been, but all in all things have a way of balancing themselves out. I can say that in my life I have never done more harm than good and the same applies in the reverse. Good and evil must be maintained in a balance in order for things to continue on through time as the creator intended. Graxxen seeks to tip that balance and destroy not only my lands, but yours and all Shaarn, for that matter.” She looked at them through serious eyes as she spoke. “You two must rest now. You can sleep here in my tower for the night and I will Transportal you to your companions at sunrise. They are camped a ways back from the road just inside the southern edge of the Danthar along the river right now. Nyxia’s wolves will reach them just before dawn and notify them of your return to your company.”
“What of the wolves?” asked Turynn. “Nyxia will not be pleased if the injured one should die.”
“They are both fine. Those two are older than even old Postgaar here. Nyxia has enchanted them as her servants. They have powers you can’t imagine. One of those is they are nearly immortal and heal quite quickly. I am sure your injured friend has made a speedy recovery after his tangle with Grobbin and will be just fine on his return to Nyxia. Come now. I will show you something to ease your minds.”
She led them into her tower. The room amazed them. It clearly looked like the study of a sorceress, of that one could be certain. A giant telescope sat positioned through a dome in the roof of the chamber. Around it spun a mock up of the closer heavenly bodies in full motion, seemingly controlled by gears in a mechanism at the base. Next to the great double doors sat Daria’s desk. It looked out of one of the large windows that framed the doors on each side. All the remaining walls were covered with two great circular rows of shelves all filled with books on varying subjects some magickal, some historical, some horticultural. There were, on one of the many shelves, tanks filled with odd-looking lizards and frogs, all lighted with little magickal beacons. On another shelf they could see a caged display of butterflies all alive and fluttering within. On yet another sat a glass tank, containing a great python the size and likes of which neither Turynn nor Postgaar had ever had the misfortune to come across in the wild.
In front of the other window opposite her desk she kept a wide-open space where she had on a pedestal a large crystal orb. At the foot of the orb affixed in copper and adorned with emeralds and violet sapphi
res that glowed and swirled violently with the magick they fought to contain, was the Copper Dragon Orb. Daria made her way to the crystal orb and stepped on a little stool that she had there. She waved her hand over the orb in a massaging fashion to bring it to life.
“This is a magnificent device. My own creation some five hundred summers ago. I created it to watch over the whole of the Faerie Wood from here in the comfort of my tower, but the enchantment was much more powerful than I had anticipated and with the power of the Copper Dragon Orb set into the device, it can see over all of Shaarn, and the lands beyond across the Orcun and Biting Oceans. I have but to will the image of my desire into the orb and it will show me its present whereabouts and let me see and hear what is going on there. With greater focus and meditation, I can will from the orb a portention of things to come pertaining to the subject I wish to watch. This is and will continue to be one of our greatest weapons against Graxxen. He knows not of its existence and he knows not of me, save the tales of the Faerie Wood and its fabled lady. I am sure he has some apprehensions about these parts much the same way you and yours do.” She smiled coyly and ran her hand back over the globe.
Soon Turynn could see a little campsite and the fur bedrolls, a tell tale sign they were in fact looking at their companions at rest. The wolves were somehow there already too, lying by the fire as if nothing had happened to them. Ravak and Manya were snuggled close together. Kaldrinn sat on watch examining his bow.
‘That’s amazin’ i’tis’,” said Postgaar having had very little experience with magick at all as a dwarf.
“Yes, it is,” replied Daria. “Sleep now, Master Dwarf. Come with me and I will show you to your rooms for the night. Rest easy and at daybreak, you will be with your companions once more.