Hours passed while he memorized every new feature of his new body, his new self. Stripped away were the remnants of the Skraag. The more he reveled in his gifts, the more the revenge he so passionately sought was forgotten. He knew neither time nor reality, only the moment of discovery. Outside, time still turned.
Jjyn was a patient Elf-Lord, the most patient of the Kelornians. Some said this quality alone had secured him the throne. Patience was deadly when properly used, and Jjyn was a master in many ways.
Meditation was how he exercised his virtue. The private act he participated in taught him the value of waiting out an enemy until the time was right to strike. He had chosen a similar tactic when he was profiling Sebon. It took years to shape the boy, an artistic and cunning display of events eventually used to twist him for a will not his own. And it had worked, just as Jy'Shandan had foretold.
Jjyn meditated slowly, taking care not to drain himself of the needed energy for what was to come. He watched Sebon carefully from a safe distance so as not to alert the darkness within him—not yet. Jjyn could taste victory in Sebon, could taste his own power growing in the army he was wielding at his father's bidding. So much time and planning was invested into the boy; Jjyn knew he couldn't rush it now. The situation was at its most delicate stage, the most vulnerable. One mistake could mean ruin.
But Jjyn saw the weakness, saw the way to exploit this reborn Sebon for himself. Vanity. Jjyn could see the delight in Sebon's eyes as he admired his new body. Give a Skraag a new self, and he will give you the world. Such a simple gift in return for the ultimate power was what Jy'Shandan always had said was a Skraag's downfall. Take them from their torturous life, show them something they never thought possible, and they will devote their lives to you.
Jjyn remembered his father's words. They were never more appropriate than now, never so powerful. “I hope I will be favorable in your eyes, Father,” he spoke to the flame.
"You are favorable in my eyes, my son,” the flame answered. “Now we must take care of this boy, this Kelornian Warlord of warlords. He is your son now. You must embrace him likewise on your first meeting. Make him forget all the memories of his past. Make him crave power you alone may grant him. Do this and he will lead your armies to the gates of the Planes where you will seize the god's might!"
Jjyn reached out his hand to the flame. It licked his skin, but didn't burn or blacken it. Then, the flame was gone, and Jjyn opened his eyes.
"I know what I must do,” he said to the charred pit of ash in front of him.
He bathed, clothed himself in his best robes, and left the safety of his towered fortress. His destination was Infirmary #20 in Section Nine. He was going to see his newborn son for the first time.
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Chapter 9—Drameda's Servant
Tristandor walked like he had been struck in the back with an elfin blade: hunched, shuffling his feet, and tight-lipped. He wouldn't speak to anyone, not even Aeligon. His head swam with painful thoughts of Nimoni lying on the bed, near death. He could never have imagined a day when his family would be hurt, with Nimoni bearing the brunt of his absurd wanderings across Vaaluna.
"This is foolish,” he said aloud, stopping in his tracks while they descended the winding staircase. He had withdrawn into his robes, leaving only his face visible. But he had withdrawn even more so emotionally, and he had had enough. The others turned to face him, quietly awaiting the next move.
"What is foolish, Tristandor?” Aeligon asked. He steadied himself on the narrow ledge, the wind whipping through the cylinder's interior with a howl.
"This,” the Elf-Lord answered. “This is foolish.” He was looking skyward. “Here I am roaming Vaaluna with the finest elves of Mynandrias while my wife is suffering at home."
Aeligon ventured a few steps toward the Elf-Lord. “No one could have spared her, my friend,” he offered, trying to weave a Soothe spell into his voice without alerting him. “She went to the library of her own volition. Had the mightiest of the gods been present, Nimoni would have sought out what she felt necessary. Even you must realize this."
"But I could be there with her now,” Tristandor countered, his eyes welling up with tears. Aerinas was surprised to see emotion from his father. “I could tell her all will soon be well. I have healing magic—"
"But it could not bring her back from where she has gone for the time being,” Aeligon interrupted. “She will survive this, Tristandor.” The wizard ventured just a few more steps. “Whatever she has seen will be revealed to her when she awakes. You must trust me on this.” He placed his hand on the elf ‘s shoulder.
Tristandor was weak, his mind open to the slightest measure of spellcasting. Though Aeligon told no lie to the Elf-Lord, the trauma was rendering him unreasonable. The fear of losing Tristandor at this stage in the quest was unacceptable to Aeligon, for he knew there was still work to be done by the powerful leader. Taking his shoulder, Aeligon aided him the rest of the way down the staircase, pausing only briefly to cast a Bridge spell to cross the chasm formed when Farrin broke through earlier on the ascent.
Once at the bottom, the party moved through the narrow entrance passage to the mouth of Lunathar. Aeligon called another meeting.
"One part of our quest has concluded,” he began, “but a greater task lies ahead. We head west, toward the tip of the Farrin Mountains dividing this land from Caran. The seaport Drameda lies there on the northwestern-most edge. It will be a three-day journey, so we must be extra cautious. Fortunately for us, there is a wide pathway through the mountains."
"So we mean ta’ go through with yer plan then, eh?” Farrin grunted.
Aeligon paused, noting the worried faces of the party. “Yes,” he finally answered, “we mean to go through with the plan. Drameda is dangerous, but we have strength in our numbers and in our skills. No thief would dare cross us as long as we stick together.” He pointed to each in turn. “We have three of the best archers of the elf kind: Lynais, Foran, and Aerinas. We have the leader of the Krayn elves. We have the giant who fought the Sharumar Trolls in the Calaridis wars long ago. We have a cranky wizard and his prankster apprentice. We have a former member of the Vrunyn Guard: Ithyllna. And we're guarded from above by one whose wings carry the hope of the people of these lands."
The others looked at each other, moved by the wise man's speech.
"We're with ya',” Farrin said, banging the hilt of his axe into the ground.
"We are,” said the elves. Tristandor remained quiet, but offered nothing to the contrary.
"Very well then,” Aeligon replied, smiling. “We leave at dawn."
Dawn came fast for the small company. The winter sky was clear, the air frigid, and the sun cast the whole of the land in a rainbow of pastels reflected through the prisms of morning's chill moisture. After breakfast, they set out across Salanthanon on a westerly course. With Lunathar a beacon shrinking behind them, the stark contrast of the harsh mountains loomed ahead. Their hearts sank at the thought of navigating another mountain pass, but they had little choice. Horses would have been a benefit, but they would never have made the journey through the catacombs of Gudred.
Aerinas was a bit more joyous during this leg of the journey westward. With his father hushed like a baby after a feeding, and since the talk he had with Ithyllna in the wooded glade, his mind was at ease. Thoughts of his mother were always at the forefront, but he trusted Aeligon's prediction of her recovery.
To pass the time, Foran, Aerinas, and Lynais would play Junlana. They would take the long blades of grass, tie them together tightly to form a round sphere, then toss the sphere high up into the air. Once that was accomplished, they would nock an arrow and try to pierce the grass ball on its way back down to the ground. They had to be careful to play it further away from the rest of the group so no one was accidentally shot. More often than not, Foran would win, but Aerinas snuck in a few victories, too. Because they had to gather up the arrows that sailed wide of the target and make
new grass balls every now and again after too many arrows had shredded them, time passed quickly.
It only took them the better part of the first day to reach the foot of the mountain pass bridging Salanthanon and Caran. There they camped for the evening, since the path was far too dangerous to travel at night. They smoked pipes, sang songs, told stories, and dreamt of their homes, which seemed ages away. The night closed in about them, wrapping them in its sullen mists and bitter temperatures. A small fire was kept going by the person on shift for the watch, just enough of one to last them until morning. They kept warm by huddling together and bundling up in warm furs and skins Farrin had brought.
The air grew colder the closer they got to Caran, and now, at the foot of the mountains, it seemed nearly unbearable. Aeligon sensed it, but he couldn't be sure it wasn't simply his overactive imagination or the deepening winter making it difficult for them. Ideally, he would've preferred to make this journey in the spring or summer months. Spring, after all, was the most gorgeous season throughout Vaaluna. He kept his thoughts on the tasks at hand, which worked most of the time. When he thought of Haarath's deception and power-hungry plans, whatever they were, it made him burn with fury.
Once a cherished member of the Order of Light, Haarath's demise seemed only fitting for someone who couldn't control the Black Arts. Of all the studies severely testing pupils, the Black Arts were the most problematic, particularly the study of the Wild Magics. Haarath's enthusiasm for the study of the Black Arts was unparalleled, and it should've prompted intervention from the Council of Wizards before the magic took hold of him.
Aeligon shielded his eyes from a wind gust chilling their grove campsite. He hardly noticed the figure emerge from the shadows and mist, assuming it to be one of the many tricks night played on the senses. But, after a second sighting, he was out of his wrappings and moving between the trees like a snake targeting its prey. The shadow darted from tree to tree, peeking its head around in the direction of the sleeping humans. Closer and closer it crept until it was within twenty paces of the camp. Foran, who had the watch, had drifted off to sleep by mistake, unaware of the lurking stranger in their midst. The shadow darted again, but got caught up in a low-hanging briar bush. After a few frustrated grumbles, a ripping sound, and a curse, it was free again. But Aeligon had closed the gap between them quietly, like a land-based predator. When the creature was about to jump to the safety of the next shadow, Aeligon seized it about the head, securing his hand across its mouth. It struggled and writhed to get free, even trying to stomp on the wizard's foot in protest, but Aeligon held it fast.
After giving up the futile effort, Aeligon spun the creature around and called upon Pux to cast a Flame spell. The spark ignited the creature's right shoe, illuminating the area around them. Aeligon still held the creature's mouth tightly, but the fear in its eyes told him this creature didn't mean him any harm. Slowly, cautiously, the Healer let go of the creature's mouth.
"Please...p-p-please, Sir...don't hurt me...I was curious, only curious...” the creature stammered, its voice shrill and panicky, its use of language broken. The creature's short frame was augmented by skinny ears jutting several inches from the side of its head, which was topped off with twists of knotted, coarse hair. Aeligon couldn't believe what he was seeing, since he had never seen anything like this creature before.
It was a Lyymhorn—presumably the same one they had encountered back in the Farrin Mountains when the stone golem attacked them. He shoved the creature back against tree, and held his staff up to the Lyymhorn's nose. The creature's eyes widened and crossed when it looked at the staff, horrified.
"Planning to summon another one of your friends into our midst again, hmm?” Aeligon quizzed. “Or were you going to rob us first and wait until we headed into the mountains?” He was merely toying with the creature, realizing it wasn't of the world he was accustomed to.
"Alona forasta el comtunes'y,” the Lyymhorn replied, smiling broadly.
"Speak in a natural tongue of this world...I know you can,” the wizard demanded. Though he had never encountered a Lyymhorn before, he had read enough about mythology in Lunathar to make certain assumptions.
Lyymhorns, or Lyymies as they were affectionately known, were accounted to be the only creatures able to cross Planes easily. They were mischievous creatures, casting their magic on unsuspecting travelers only to disappear again. From what Aeligon knew of them, they didn't intentionally try to murder anyone, but they did their fair share of plundering those with whom they came into contact. Apparently, this one was persistent when beaten. Although it was just theory, the more Aeligon experienced on this trip, the more he started to believe the legends were all true.
The creature looked at Aeligon for a moment, then smiled again. “Me only want to take closer look at pointy eared ones."
Aeligon nodded his head. “That was some display of magic you showed off in the mountains. Your stunt was nearly our permanent undoing."
The Lyymhorn let out a high-pitched chuckle. “Me only want to scare you away. Stonie not hurt you unless me say so."
Aeligon considered the Lyymhorn's claims. “Scare us away from what?"
"Me not know. Me only do what master says."
"Who is your master, Lyymhorn? Tell me.” Aeligon twisted the front of the creature's shirt, tightening it about its neck.
"You not know him anyway. He not from here. He from a far-off place. Even Grumpkin not know. Please. Let go.” He struggled against Aeligon's grasp.
Aeligon loosened his grip again. “Grumpkin...that is your name then?"
"Yes. Grumpkin my name. Yours, Aeligon.” Grumpkin let out another squeaky chuckle.
Aeligon narrowed his eyes at Grumpkin, a menacing fire burning within them. “Grumpkin, it is very important you tell me what land you hail from. I know it is not of the world of Vaaluna."
"Grumpkin from Ump, the land beyond the window."
"Land beyond the window...” Aeligon mused. “I have never heard of such a land. So you are from another world. This is amazing. How did you get here?"
"Master opened window for me to look inside and see you. Then I play game with silly elves. Much fun, yes, much fun watching faces as they play with Stonie. Master was happy with Grumpkin, yes, so happy. Not so happy when they scare Grumpkin away, not happy at all."
"Grumpkin, you must tell me who your master is."
"Grumpkin not know who. Master only give orders; no one sees Master. Master kill those who look for him, yes."
Aeligon let go of Grumpkin altogether. “Put the fire out, Pux."
Pux's face formed in the staff, and blew out the fire burning the front part of Grumpkin's leather shoe.
"Grumpkin thank you. That hot."
Aeligon's musings began all over again, this time more intensely while he searched for the links in a thousand different places. He felt like he was standing in the eye of a great storm, helpless to move anywhere but along its path. Why was this Lyymhorn sent to spy on them? To distract them from something perhaps? Something they weren't meant to see? Why now? Why here? Even Aeligon's great wisdom couldn't answer these questions. One key piece was missing, he knew—the one piece tying everything together—and the closer they moved toward what he believed was the final resting place of Ashinon's secret book, the stranger life became. Now, creatures from the pages of children's stories were emerging.
His resolve heightened. He had no choice but to send the Lyymhorn away. A creature of thievery and trickery, it did little good to hold it captive. Aeligon wanted to let fate play out her hand unhindered. Grumpkin meant them no harm, though that didn't guarantee them no harm would come. But, chances had to be taken and decisions made. The Healer's was to let the small annoyance go, and go it did. Grumpkin winked and waved his little hand to the wizard before opening a door in space and time—a Planar door.
Aeligon needed little else to convince him of the existence of some semblance of another world beyond their own. Even in the most basic circles
of existence, religions of all races taught of a world of light and dark, of peace and of torment. But the wizard believed the truth delved far deeper. Some other force, one not bound to hokey faith and blind religion, was working the needle and thread of its design.
How small he felt, how insignificant. Even Haarath's power seemed to dwarf in comparison to the gods'. The silly, foolish games the pawns play, he thought, staring into the empty space where Grumpkin had been a moment before.
There was little else for him to do but to rouse the group before the sun came up, and set them on their course through the mountain pass. Precious time was being wasted. Plenty more would be wasted in Drameda alone. It would still take them a day to cross the mountains, and one more to trek across the land of Caran to the seaport. And winter was deepening, slithering into the core of their bones with each breathtaking breeze and frost-laden night.
The day was washed in low gray clouds looking close enough to reach out and touch. The wind was high, zephyrs tossing and churning the frigid air about the group while they slowly made their way along the meandering path. Mountain roads were chosen relative to the position of ambush spots; it was Farrin's ancestors’ doing, or so he claimed. “Might be they were thinkin’ that their arses were stung a bit too much during the war,” the giant would say. He strode along with his huge axe resting on his broad shoulder, hilt twisting when he toyed with it in his hand. Though they were weary from their journey thus far, the big man always looked confidently, almost defiantly, toward what lay ahead. After all, the wind and blistering cold did little to impede one so seasoned.
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