"Ha, ha. That's a good joke, trying to make me think I'm hearing things. Don't worry, I won't tell Maree." "Tell Maree what?" "That you like Lissa Boavartarr." "I don't. Who told you that?" "You did, just now." "I did not."
"It was funny the first time, Ambrythynn, but the act is getting old." Burlmarr sat up and rubbed his temples with the hand not holding the quartz. "I'm starting to get a headache and I want to get this done before we have to go home, so let's just get back to work."
"Fine." Ambrythynn frowned, but went back to pumping the pedal.
Halbrondell, your goat got into my cabbages, again! I've just about had it with that beast. I'm of half a mind to take it to the butcher as payment for the damages!
Burlmarr's head seemed to explode and the room spun like a child's toy. He crashed to the floor wretching.
"Burlmarr? Master Thintagast, something's wrong with Burlmarr!"
The voice sounded like Ambrythynn's, but it was very distant, and getting farther away. The pain in Burlmarr's head was unrelenting, and he slipped into unconsciousness.
When Burlmarr awoke, he found himself lying in a cot with Goodwife Thintagast seated at his side. Master Thintagast leaned over her shoulder, and all the apprentices crowded around behind him.
"Don't try to get up yet," Goodwife Thintagast said, gently pushing Burlmarr back down as he atempted to sit up. "You had a nasty fall, there. Fortunately, it seems your head was just as hard as the floor."
Several snickers escaped from some of the apprentices.
"All right, everyone back to the shop," Master Thintagast prodded. "Looks like young Burlmarr is going to live. As for you," he said turning back to Burlmarr, "why don't you head home for the day."
He smiled warmly and nodded before following the other apprentices.
Once he had proved to Goodwife Thintagast that he could stand on his own two feet for more than a few seconds, Burlmarr was sent on his way. He took the walk home slowly, stopping to sit when he felt out of breath or light-headed. It gave him time to consider what was happening to him.
The episodes had started almost a month ago, with increasing frequency as his fortieth birthday approached. For a moment, he wondered if it was some sort of family disease or curse, but all the relatives he could think of had lived long, healthy lives. He decided he would ask his mother, though, just to be sure.
As he neared his home, Burlmarr realized he'd never before fallen sick during the day. Most of the time it was at night, following particularly vivid dreams. Dreams about a dragon. About being a dragon.
Palarandusk hovered over the village green in the semisolid, invisible form that had kept him alive and active well past the years even dragons considered the twilight of life. That was, in part, a result of the many experiments he had been subjected to while enslaved to the Netherese sorcerer Mileirigath. But even that powerful magic was beginning to fail and he had, as of yet, been unable to recreate the combination of spells that originally altered him, his vast knowledge of the arcane, and the many tomes he had taken with him when the Empire of Netheril fell notwithstanding. Some stop-gap measures had been discovered, but most of those never worked more than once. One or two even had unexpected side effects. Well aware that any day may be his last, he remained diligent in his guardianship of the gnomes of Ieirithymbul.
The caravan had just arrived and the gnomes were gathering to help unload the provisions brought from Leilon. He was glad to see that everyone had made it back safely, though he regretted not having been able to escort them home. Unfortunately, some aggressive Forgebar dwarves had needed persuading that their intentions for Ieirithymbul and its mines were misguided. It would take the dwarves months to recover and find their way back to the surface.
By the time he made it back to the caravan, they were only a day out from the village. So Palarandusk returned to drift amongst his beloved children, eavesdropping on their plans, their dreams, and their quarrels. It made the sacrifices worthwhile to think he played a part in shaping their lives. Protecting the little village may not be as glorious as his days of defending Neverwinter, but the intimacy he had with the gnomes of Ieirithymbul was much more satisfying. He knew their names, watched many grow up, wept for their losses, and celebrated their successes alongside them.
It was the celebrations and feasts that he enjoyed the most. During those times, the normally taciturn gnomes opened themselves up to reveal their zest for life, and Palarandusk would bask in the energy like a lizard on a rock at highsun. For that reason, he was looking forward to the celebration that would take place the following night. He had listened in on the elders' plans. It would be a typical feast, like all the past ones the gnomes threw when the last caravan returned before the snows blocked the passes, but Palarandusk would enjoy himself no less. There would be plenty to see.
Burlmarr sat at the edge of the green, watching the dancers spin around the crackling bonfire in the center of the celebration area. He felt dizzy and flushed, though he hadn't touched a drop of the ale provided by Master Brimmloch for the festivities. It was likely the sickness. He had gotten his hopes up that he could make it through the party-there had been no episodes the day before-but he should have known better. He lowered his head into his hands, his temples throbbing. Perhaps it was time to go home.
He stood up, and suddenly he could see the entire village green, but from above, as though he was a bird flying overhead in the night sky. The sudden change in perspective overwhelmed Burlmarr and he lurched forward, stumbling a few steps before losing his balance and plopping to the ground.
Burlmarr squeezed his eyes shut. He could still see the green from above, but without the conflicting information from his own vantage, the vertigo quickly passed. He remained seated, however, rooted to the spot by fear and uncertainty.
What was happening to him? It was almost as if he were seeing through someone else's eyes.
In his mind, he watched as those eyes drifted across the green, pausing occasionally to focus on a pair dancing, or some animated discussion that Burlmarr couldn't hear. Then he watched as the eyes got closer and closer to a young gnome huddled on the ground, his hands covering his face. Burlmarr moved his hand to reach an itch, and the gnome in his mind's eye did the same.
Burlmarr gasped. The eyes were looking right at him. He was watching himself!
Struck by an impulse, Burlmarr rose unsteadily to his feet and swept his arm out in front and above him. He touched nothing, but the motion of his arm slowed momentarily at the arc of its swing, as though the air in that area was congealing. A wave of nausea swept over him, and he thought he heard someone grunt. Burlmarr sat back down, trembling.
"Who's there?"
"Can you see me, little one?" The question whispered in his ear like a gentle rumble.
"N-no. But I can see me. I mean, even though I have my eyes closed, I can still see, but it's like I'm seeing what somebody else sees." Excitement and terror had taken hold of Burlmarr's voice. The words rushed out like the waters of a swollen river over its banks. "Except now I'm not only seeing things, but I'm hearing voices, too. I'm starting to think I may be drunk, even though I didn't have any ale. Or maybe this is a fever dream. I've been really sick lately."
"No, little one, you are neither intoxicated nor ill. I can assure you that I am very real, but this would not be the appropriate place to prove that. Can you still see what I am seeing?"
Burlmarr nodded as the view shifted to look away from the green and out into the night.
"Good. Use my eyes to follow me. I would like to talk with you for a bit and learn more."
In his mind, Burlmarr moved between buildings, making his way toward the edge of the village, but he hadn't taken a step. The excitement that had been pumping through Burlmarr's veins suddenly crashed against a dam of caution. What was he doing, prepared to wander out of the village in the middle of the night after some disembodied voice? What if the voice belonged to some creature that was trying to lure him away so it could feast on his
heart?
But Burlmarr knew it was no soul-sucking, flesh-eating monster he was being asked to follow. No, the whole thing was too much like his dreams. He didn't know how, but he was sure he was seeing through the eyes of a dragon. And in the back of his mind, the childhood stories the village elders told whispered to him a hope of who that dragon might be.
Flushed once more with excitement, Burlmarr walked after the voice. His steps were hesitant and awkward. It was disorienting to use another's eyes. His legs were distrustful of the sensory information, their movements jerky like a puppet on strings. When the view in his mind halted a few yards ahead of him, Burlmarr had to resist the urge to stop, continuing forward until he appeared in the picture in his mind.
Soon, they left behind the sounds of the village and its celebration. Buildings were replaced by sparsely wooded hills, the pale moon bathing the terrain in its cold light.
They began to climb up into the treeline when Burlmarr's vision went black.
"I–I can't see," Burlmarr said.
He strained his ears, trying to capture some sound that would indicate his companion had not continued on and left him, but all he heard was the night breeze amongst the trees.
"Open your eyes."
Burlmarr cried out, jumping backward and losing his balance. His arms flailed and his eyes popped open to see the stars in the sky as he fell on his rear.
"I am sorry, little one. I did not mean to startle you."
"That's… that's all right. What happened?"
"I would guess that the link between our senses was broken somehow."
"Right. Of course." Burlmarr felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment. "So, what do we do now?"
"I suppose we could introduce ourselves," the voice replied. Burlmarr thought he detected a note of amusement.
"All right. I guess I'll go first. My name is Burlmarr. I'm a gnome from the village of Ieirithymbul, but you already knew that. Um, I'm apprenticed to Master Thintagast. I live with my mother and father. I have…"
"That is quite enough," the voice chuckled, a deep rumbling that gently rattled Burlmarr. "There will be plenty of time for me to learn your life's story. For now, it is enough that we know each others' names."
"But I don't know yours."
"Oh, I think you do. Or at least you know one of them. Do you really have no idea who I am?"
"Well, I have a guess, but I can hardly believe that it would actually be you."
"Would you like to know for sure? Would you like see who you are truly speaking with?"
Burlmarr opened his mouth to shout yes, but his voice got stuck in his throat and all he could do was vigorously nod his head.
"Very well," the voice said, and a blunt snout twice the size of Burlmarr's head appeared not six feet away, long, tubular whiskers of gold and white trailing from a scaly jaw. Two eyes of molten gold winked into existence, glowing from underneath a pair of horns that swept back to a long, sinewy neck. Twin frills ran down the length of the neck from the back of the dragon's head to just above its thickly corded shoulders. Great wings, oversized replicas of the neck frills, sprouted from its shoulders to sweep back along the length of its body to the tip of its tail. The dragon's form swamped Burlmarr's field of vision, blotting out the countryside, but Burlmarr was not afraid. No gnome of Ieirithymbul could ever fear the majestic creature that stood before him.
"I am Palarandusk, once called the Sun Dragon." The wyrm's lips parted in a toothy smile that conveyed a sense of warmth and friendship. "You know me as the Unseen Protector."
Elder Gromann plodded home. Revelers were still about, but he was tired, and he hadn't seen his wife in a while. Kay-lindrra was probably already in bed, waiting for him, and she didn't like sleeping alone.
There were no lights on when he entered, though the moonlight was more than enough for his eyes to see by. However, once he closed the door, even that was taken away. Fortunately, Gromann knew the layout of his house well enough that it made no difference.
"Kaylin, dear, I'm home," he called out softly, making his way back to the bedroom.
There was no answer. Perhaps she was already asleep. His eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness as he turned the corner into the room. He paused. Two dark shapes stood at the far side of the bed. A third dark mass lay at the head of the bed.
"Kaylindrra?"
A pair of hands grabbed Gromann's right arm and jerked him into the room. Four small globes of green-white light sprang to life across the bed, revealing the four gnomes who drove the caravan: Drom, Merem, Furnis, and Sudo. Drom sat on the bed next to Kaylindrra, his hand over her mouth and a knife resting against her neck. Her eyes were wide and darting wildly.
"What is going on? In the name of Garl Glittergold, if this is some kind of prank…"
"Oh, it's no prank, old man," Merem said. The glow from the lights cast eerie shadows across his face and made the tone of his skin seem sickly. "And we are not who you think."
Merem lifted a crystal amulet, which Gromann just then noticed, from around his neck. As he did so, his form seemed to distort and grow, until a human towered there, wrapped in a hooded cloak.
" Wh-what do you want? "
"You are going to show us where we can find the lair of this dragon you call the Unseen Protector."
"I don't know what you're talking about. That's just a bedtime story told to children."
Kaylindrra squealed from behind her captor's hand as he pressed the knife against her skin hard enough to draw a drop of blood.
"Don't test my patience. We know there is a dragon that protects your caravans, your village. And we know that in your stories, the dragon has revealed himself to the elders. If the dragon is real, then perhaps that is true as well."
"In fact, I'm willing to bet your little woman's life that it is. What do you say? Am I right, and you'll take us on a late night stroll? Or does your wife die?"
"No, no. You're right," Gromann pleaded. "I can lead you to him. Just don't hurt her. Don't hurt my Kaylin."
"Tie her up," the man who had been Merem said to the one who looked like Drom. He hung the crystal amulet around his neck once more and quickly turned back into Merem. "We don't want anybody to know what we're about just yet."
Gromann watched through teary eyes as Kaylin was bound to the bed and gagged. Then the false Merem pushed him out of the room.
"Is there a back door out of this place? " He asked as the rest of the false gnomes filed out behind him. Gromann nodded and led them out of his house through the kitchen.
They made their way quietly through the village with only the night stars as witness. The festivities were all but over and no one was out and about so far from the green. Gromann led them out of the valley and up into the foothills of Felrenden, desperately trying to remember where the ancient gold dragon had revealed himself, several years past. There was a cleft with an old statue of marble inside…
After a couple hours of searching, the man disguised as Merem jerked Gromann to a halt.
"Are we going to get there soon, old man? I hope you're not trying to stall or something."
"Please, it was a long time ago. I'm trying to remember. I'm not even sure if this is his only lair."
"Well, hurry up. This is taking too long."
He let Gromann go and they started walking again. A few minutes later, and Gromann thought he recognized an outcropping of rock.
"I think this is it," the elder exclaimed.
Excitement stirred within his breast at a sudden thought. If the Unseen Protector did show himself, if Gromann had found his lair, it seemed likely the gold would make short work of the men. Gromann quickly hid his grin.
"This? It's nothing but an overhang with some odd bits of art and other trinkets laying around." The false Merem did not sound convinced. "What are you trying to pull, old man?"
"The Unseen Protector has no need for a home like mere mortals. He is invisible and without form, appearing only when he is ready to strike." Gromann cou
ldn't help but slip into his storyteller voice.
"Save your fireside showmanship for the children," Merem snorted. "All right, let's get set up," he ordered the others. "I'll summon the Archmage Arcane."
He removed the crystal amulet and was once again human. From a pouch on his belt, he produced a small stone and stood silently for a moment, holding it in the palm of his hand. Then he returned it to his pouch and took a few steps backward.
A brilliant white light flashed into existence where the man had stood. It began to expand in an oval until it was seven feet tall, energy crackling at its edges. Once its growth stabilized, a foot emerged, followed by a knee, and the rest of a heavily armored man. Not two seconds after, a form bent with age hobbled out, his bald crown ringed by long, white hair leading the way. A handful of other humans brought up the rear, dressed in a similar fashion as the one who had summoned them. The portal closed with another flash.
"You have done well, Daikon," the old man said as he directed the others to begin setting up some strange rods around the cleft.
"Thank you, Master."
"Now, who do we have here?" The old man came to stand before Gromann. Bent over as he was, he stood only a little taller than the gnome.
"I am Froga Gromann, elder of Ieirithymbul." Gromann straightened, pride in his voice.
"So you are, so you are." He patted Gromann's head patronizingly then turned back to the others and said, "Are we ready? Daikon, please position the bait. Quickly, now. The dragon should be arriving any minute. I made sure our arrival was suitably announced."
Daikon dragged Gromann a few feet until they were in the middle of the circle of rods that had been planted into the ground. He used the amulet again to transform into Merem and drew a dagger from his belt.
"Night, night, old one."
He swung the hilt at Gromman's head and everything went black.
Palarandusk drifted, invisible and intangible, up the hillside toward where he had seen the flash of light. The little one, Burlmarr, should have been home in bed by then. An interesting gnome, that one. Palarandusk would have to keep his eye on him.
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