Delver Magic
Book II

Throne of Vengeance


Jeff Inlo








All rights Reserved.     



Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23


Chapter 1

     King Bol Folarok rigidly kept his back to his son. He stared vacantly at the stone wall before him. 
     "I am leaving Dunop," he said. The tone rang hollow, his emotions encased in a vacuum. He spoke as if it were some well-rehearsed line he had already repeated a thousand times. The announcement, though cold, remained firm, and it indicated more than just a temporary absence. The finality of the statement slowly took substance, and it lingered in the dimly lit chamber. 
     The words fell upon Prince Jon Folarok's senses like a lead weight. He looked upon Bol's back, impatiently waiting for further explanation. He was offered nothing. He stared breathlessly into the dark space between him and his father. 
     This was no time for the king to leave. What could be more pressing than the current and growing unrest? Bol was needed here, needed now. He couldn't leave. Jon wanted answers, but the back of his father wouldn't reply. Face me!  But Bol would not turn. The dwarf prince squinted as if hoping to see clearly through a dense fog.  
     "Where are you going?" Jon stammered. 
     "Does it truly matter?" 
     The temperature seemed to drop several degrees. 
     "When are you coming back?" 
     "I'm not coming back," King Bol replied with same sterile tone as before. If he had sympathy for his son's confusion, he would not show it. His words remained as brittle as frozen twigs. "Not ever." 
     "What?" Jon felt his innards tighten, a familiar attack of anxiety. He was never a dwarf that dealt well with conflict or adversity. During the past few days, much of that was heaped upon him. Now, he faced a climax of catastrophe, and the accompanying nervous tension boiled over in his midsection. "What do you mean not ever?" 
     "I'm leaving Dunop and I will not be returning," Bol repeated, still not turning to face his only surviving son. 
     Jon dropped his head and stared at the floor. He could not look at his father's back for another moment as it only served to tighten the knot in his belly. The pain in his stomach was making it hard to think. His mind nearly went blank. He fought to seize upon something to say, words which might end this absurdity and set everything right. He could find nothing. He blurted out his confusion. 
     "I don't understand!" 
     "It is simple." Bol extended a hand to the wall in front of him. He patted the polished stone as if hoping to pull conviction from the intrinsic strength of the rock. "I can no longer stay in this place. It reminds me too much of ...." He held his tongue just before his voice cracked. He paused for long moments until his hollow tone returned. "I have made grave mistakes, mistakes I can not simply forget or erase. I can do nothing but leave." 
     Jon knew instantly what his father could not say, knew that the king was referring to the decision that had sent him and his older brother, Tun, to Sanctum Mountain. They were sent to assist the elves, to destroy Ingar's sphere which held all the magic in the land, but Tun was killed at the hands of a sand giant. That was the moment Jon first felt a hole open in his soul. An empty hollow pain was his from that day on. It now felt as if that hole was expanding. 
     To Jon, this was madness. He shook his head as if to scatter cobwebs from his face. "You just can't leave. You're the king here." 
     "Am I?" A note of sarcasm edged Bol's tone. This time, the king did not swallow his emotion. He let his bitterness spill out with his words. "Will the dwarves here even listen to me anymore? I doubt it. The separatists gain power every day. They grow in numbers even faster. They hate the monarchy and they want me out. They say I'm responsible for freeing the magic and putting them all at the mercy of the spell casters that are sure to follow. They say I have made dark alliances with the elves, and even the humans. They call me the king who murdered his own son." 
     "No ..." Jon cried out, but the anguish in his stomach tightened his lips. 
     Though Bol would still not face his son, he held up his arm to silence any further outburst. "That is what they say, and far too many believe. I can no longer be king, and I can no longer live with the memories of this place." 
     The past which Bol spoke of now exerted its force upon Jon. The memories came crashing down upon the prince. An image of Sanctum's outline pierced his mind. It once held the sphere, but now it served as a tomb for his dead brother. It seemed, however, Sanctum's toll had not yet been fully collected, and it now threatened to take Bol from Jon as well. 
     In truth, this should not have surprised the prince. He should have almost expected it. He had witnessed his father's spirit sag since the day he had returned from Sanctum with bittersweet news. Yes, Ingar's sphere had been destroyed, but Tun had died in the effort. Jon could still remember how the very life began to drain from Bol's face when he reported the loss. 
     The entire town of Dunop wept for the death of its heir prince, but none endured as much torment as the royal family. Bol was inconsolable in his grief. From the moment Jon returned to the throne room alone, without his brother, Bol's collapse spiraled out of control. He walked alone through empty corridors of the palace, muttering to himself. He sought no one, and what remained of his family left him to grieve. 
     Jon wrapped himself in his own guilt. He struggled to return to his duties, to return to the work he loved in the tunnels. Yet each cave and each dark corridor reminded him of the bowels of Sanctum, the grave of his older brother. 
     Bol's wife, Queen Yave, proved even less supportive. She seemed consumed with an inextinguishable anger. She found it more fitting to blame her husband than console him. She was against assisting the elves at Sanctum from the start. To lose the son that was always willing to defend her, support her even against Bol himself, it moved her beyond grief. She burned with fury. 
     As Yave would make no attempt to comfort her husband, Bol slipped further into his downward spiral. With this came the end of his desire to lead. He allowed rumors to abound and did little to reaffirm his rule. The cry of the separatists was not a whisper. They had called out their near treasonous desires with frequency and fervor. Bol did nothing to quell them, as if he himself believed their venomous lies. And now it seemed, at the very least, he would give them what they wanted. He announced as much as he declared his intentions to Jon. 
     "I am relinquishing my right to the throne. I have already called for a scribe to prepare the notification. When he returns with the scroll, I will sign it. I, thus, banish myself from Dunop. You, being the only surviving heir, shall become king." 
     No other words could have brought greater fear to Jon's heart. His knees almost buckled at the prospect. An image came to his mind, an image of himself on the throne; weak, indecisive, and confused.
     I do not want to be king!
     Jon grasped at anything which might change this edict. "If the dwarves would not have you as their king, why will they accept me?" 
     "They do not blame you," Bol replied sullenly, almost as if he scorned such unfairness. "I have heard nothing from the crowds against you. Perhaps they think I wished you dead as well, and it was only by luck that you survived." 
     Bol steadied himself in a moment of silence. He turned and finally faced his son. His face appeared as hollow as his words. The thick skin under his eyes sank low with dark circles. His beard, ruffled and unkempt, curled unevenly in every direction. The wrinkles on his forehead appeared as if gouged with diamond-headed stone cutters. Though he looked at Jon, his focus seemed haphazard and distant. 
     "This is how it must be. There is nothing else I can do." 
     Bol's haggard appearance dropped Jon further into despair. He needed a moment to gather himself, but his father's wary glance and the tightening pain in his stomach gave him no reprieve. He spoke out desperately. 
     "What of the queen? What about her? Are you abandoning her as well?" 
     Bol's reply remained absent of any emotion. "She abandoned me long ago." 
     "And what am I to do with her? What do I say? If I am king, she can no longer be queen." 
     "She will have to accept this," Bol replied almost as if he found some satisfaction in this thought. "It should be of no surprise to her, or to anyone. If I had died, such would be the case. Though it might have been better had I actually died, the result of my leaving is the same. I would not fret over it. She no longer seems content as queen. Just as I have been powerless, she has neglected her duties as well. She may actually be relieved." 
     Bol was interrupted by the entrance of the scribe. Four guards and several ministers of the court accompanied him. 
     "Forgive me sire," the scribe said with a shaky, uncertain tone. "but I thought it necessary to gather witnesses. In the history of Dunop, no king has ever relinquished the throne. I wanted to make sure no one would doubt your true intentions." 
     "No one will question this," the king responded. "If anything, they will question why it took me so long." 
     "Are you sure you wish to do this?" the scribe pressed, wishing to make it clear to the witnesses that it was the king's true intention and no one else's. "Perhaps you should wait, take time to consider the proposal?" 
     "Nothing will change my mind. Let me have the scroll." 
     For the first time in his life, the scribe delayed acting upon an order of his king. He stiffened as he opened the scroll, ignoring the king's open hand. He began to read every word upon the parchment. 
     Before Tun's death, Bol would have angrily snatched the scroll from the hand of the scribe, making it clear his orders were to be obeyed without hesitation. Now, however, Bol waited meekly as the scribe read the declaration. 
     The scribe's hands shook visibly as he read the words on the parchment. His own voice cracked as he spoke of Bol's self-proclaimed banishment, the last order of Bol Folarok before he would relinquish his own throne. 
     The words stung at Jon like a thousand angry bees. He wanted to shout out for the scribe to stop, but he did not. He wanted to flee from the room, but he remained. He even wished to strike out at his father, but his hands remained at his sides. 
     The witnesses failed to notice the pain of the prince. They watched instead the expression of their king. They looked for signs of opposition to the shocking declaration, but there was none. They saw only acceptance in his eyes, and his hands, when he eagerly signed the document. 
     The king, now a king no more, inhaled deeply. He turned his back one last time on his son, and he moved quietly out the door. 
     Near shock, those gathered in the room turned their attention from the exiting king to Jon. 
     Jon rubbed his face in despair. In this one moment, he appeared to age many cycles in an instant. As he dropped his hands away from his face, wrinkles etched new lines around his cheeks and forehead. His eyes sank further back into their sockets. His skin, normally pale from the lack of light in the tunnels, now hung from his bones with the shadows of even more pasty whiteness. 
     He looked to those before him with pleading eyes, and with despair on his lips. "What do I do?" 
     At first, no one spoke. Finally, Hern Grottman, the minister of construction and a close friend of Jon's, spoke the only true options. "You must announce the proclamation. You must inform the queen of the edict, and then you must post it for every dwarf to see. You must take the throne." 
     Jon groaned. The wail filled the chamber. He looked toward Hern with pleading eyes as the thought of becoming king crushed his very soul. "Is there nothing else I can do?" 
     Hern paused as he grimaced. He considered what he believed to be the only other option, an alternative which held dire consequences. "You can relinquish your right to the throne," the minister said guardedly, as if he really did not wish to speak of such a proposal. He saw a gleam of hope rise in Jon's eyes, but he quenched it almost immediately. "This holds no real hope for you, Jon. You do not have an heir. There is no one else to take your place. If you had an uncle or even a cousin, it might do, but that is not the case. If you do not take the throne, you invite anarchy. We might be able to find someone not far removed from the Folarok bloodline, but I seriously doubt our people will accept such an appointment. The separatists have grown strong in these passing days. They will see such action as an opportunity. I am certain they will rise and appoint their own leader. Do you really wish to risk this? If they take the throne, they will certainly execute every loyal member currently in your service." 
     Jon was unwilling to give up his hope in avoiding the throne. "What about my mother? What about the queen?  She can maintain the throne and rule as queen? It has been done before. I would not have to become king and there would be no question as to her authority." 
     "But there would," Hern replied swiftly. "The queen is not of Folarok blood. By marrying Bol she became queen, not from her own heritage." 
     "Does that really matter?" 
     "It has in the past," Hern noted. "If you had a sister, you could easily relinquish to her, but sadly, such is not the case." 
     "This is madness!" Jon argued. "You are basically telling me I have no choice. There has to be another alternative. What if I died in Sanctum along with..., what if I were dead? What then?" 
     "But you are not dead. And hopefully, you are not thinking of anything so foolish." Hern bore into Jon's face with concerned eyes. "Suicide is not the answer." 
     "I'm not talking about suicide. I'm just asking what would have happened if Bol left and I was not here to take the throne. What would you do?" 
     Hern rubbed his thick beard with his own powerful hand. His short stout fingers broke spaces through the flowing hair before he tightened his hand into a fist. 
     "I suppose we would be forced to choose a new ruling family." 
     "Then do that now," Jon implored. 
     "We can not, for you are not dead." 
     "I could leave." 
     Hern clenched his teeth. He wished not to speak in such a manner to his friend, but he was given no alternative. He inhaled and let the full width of his body face Jon with unrelenting resolution. "Is that what you wish? Has the image of your father walking out of this room, turning his back on you, has this so quickly vanished from you mind? Would you now do the same to the people that depend on you?" 
     The dwarf guards and the other ministers held their breath in surprise at such words. They stared with fixed astonishment upon Hern's icy features. 
     Hern ignored the gasps of those around him. He continued with his gaze locked upon the prince who now had to be king. 
     "Yes, the dwarves of Dunop will survive without you. We will find a solution if that's what you force us to do, but that is not how it should be. I've known you for some time, Jon Folarok, and you are a Folarok. I know you don't wish to be king. You've never wanted the throne, but it is yours now. I truly feel for you, my friend. I see that you are aging before your time. I know this will only exact an even greater toll, but unfortunately, this is not the time for you to simply withdraw. I will say this with no regard for my own well-being; your father has done you and all of Dunop a disservice. He chose to run rather than face his true responsibility. I will hope that you do not do the same." 
     Hern exhaled heavily before continuing. "I can offer you but one point of solace. If you truly wish to relinquish the throne, wait until the time is proper. First you must quell the fears of our people, you must bring calm back to Dunop. Then, and only then, will it be advisable for us to search for a successor outside the Folarok name. But for now, I see but two choices for you - accept your fate, or leave Dunop as your father has left, with his back turned upon his people." 
     Hern finished his peace. He withdrew himself a pace from Jon and looked to the ground. He closed his eyes as he waited for Jon's response. 
     The space which Hern allowed now isolated the prince. Jon felt as if a moat now surrounded him. His shoulders went limp. He spoke, not with resolve, but with grudging acceptance. "It shall be as you say. I will take the throne." 
     Hern, though grateful for these words, spoke now with a soft and unchallenging voice, a proper tone for a subordinate addressing a king. "Dunop thanks you, and I thank you." 
     "I need your help, not your thanks," Jon responded sorrowfully. 
     "I will do all that I can. I will stand by you, I will advise you, if you allow." 
     "I need advice. I don't know what to do." 
     Again Hern stroked his beard. "There is much to do. The work shall be in deciding how to do it. The people of Dunop will be advised of the change. I am sure word will spread quickly. As to any formal announcements, let me suggest that as you take the throne you do it as unceremoniously as possible. Without insult to you, I do not believe this is a time for celebration." 
     Feeling as if being led to slaughter, Jon could only agree. "No, absolutely no celebration. This is no time of joy, not for anyone."
                               #
     Yave said not a word to her son when he entered her chambers. Her stare bore holes through him. To those that accompanied the new king, she looked at him not as a son, but as more of a shadow. When he announced Bol's proclamation, her anger rose. 
     "So, the bastard has left," the queen sneered. "And now you think you can walk in here and cast me aside as if I don't count." 
     "I am not casting you aside." 
     Yave's face, now crimson with fury, swelled with distorted proportions. "You are as much responsible for Tun's death as was your father, as were those filthy algors! And now you profit from his death." 
     Like a spear thrown through the air, this barb drilled Jon to the core. Though not taking a step back, he slouched after flinching from the pain. "I didn't want Tun dead. I wish it were me instead." 
     "Will that bring him back?" Yave pressed. 
     "No," Jon replied meekly. "Nothing will bring him back." 
     Yave sneered. She folded stocky arms across her wide chest. She gathered in her anger, and in long silent moments, she sized up the situation before her. Bol was gone, Bol who refused to do what she asked. But would Jon refuse? Her eyes narrowed under her fairly thick eyebrows. 
     "So what do you intend to do now?" 
     Jon straightened as best he could. He spoke in low tones, trying to keep his voice from cracking. "I will have the proclamation posted, but there will be no ceremony. Word will spread of the change. Hopefully, it will quell the angry calls that seem to have been growing." 
     "And how will you approach the other matters?" Yave questioned expectantly. 
     "What other matters?" Jon replied almost defensively. 
     "If you are to be king, you now dictate policy. What will you do about our dealings with the elves?!" Yave punctuated this with hostility. "Will you continue to have relations them, even though it was the elves that made the request that brought your brother to Sanctum?" 
     "We need the elves," Jon stated with apprehension to his mother's response. He babbled on, hoping to quell the rising objections which were apparent in his mother's expression. "The elves provide us with wood for our fires and with food." 
     "We can get both ourselves," Yave declared defiantly. 
     "You would have me send dwarves to the surface?" 
     "It has been done before." 
     "Not for such constant needs. We are not prepared for such a monumental change, perhaps over time..." 
     Yave bit down on her lip. She wanted to press the issue, but instead, she pursued another topic which obviously consumed her with greater ferocity. "Will you at least demand their assistance when we deal with the algors?" 
     Jon blinked. He was not sure what the queen meant, not sure he wanted to know. 
     His dumbfounded demeanor irritated Yave. Her angry stare narrowed on a point between his eyes. Her voice was as cold as mountain snow. "You do intend to deal with the algors, don't you? You were at Sanctum. You saw your brother die at the hands of their creation. You can't just let this deed go unpunished." 
     "It was not the fault of the algors," Jon protested. "It was the sphere ..." 
     Yave would not let him continue. "It was the algors!  They created the sand giants. They failed to control them!  Did an algor die in the tier of the dwarves? No! But a dwarf, Tun, died in their tier. They are responsible for the death of a dwarf prince!  You can not allow this to go unpunished. We must exact justice." 
     "There would be no justice in that." 
     "So you intend to do nothing about this?" Yave questioned in near disbelief. 
     "What can be done? Nothing will bring Tun back to us." 
     "But something can be done that will show them all that we still honor his memory!" Yave shouted. "It will show every race that the dwarves will not allow their own to be slaughtered and butchered!" 
     Jon shook his head in despair. "I can not give you what you ask. A war with the algors will accomplish nothing." 
     Again, Yave exploded. "And you think you can be king?! I will not allow this! If you don't do what is right, I will not support you. I won't step down." 
     "You don't have a choice," Jon said sadly. "None of us do." 
     Yave screamed with vehemence. "Give your orders, post your decrees!  And then, see who follows them. You think you can just take over, do you think any one will listen to you?" 
     Hern, who stood beside Jon, could take the harangue no longer. For the past many days, he had heard the whispers of revolt grow into near shouts. He held his tongue, waiting for Bol to quell the tide of rebellion, an action never taken. Now, with Bol gone and his friend facing the heavy duties of healing Dunop, he would remain silent no longer. 
     "Enough of this!" Hern demanded. "You are no longer the queen. And you speak to the king with words of treason. I will no longer permit this." 
     Yave threw a glance of utter poison toward the minister. "You dare..." 
     "No, you dare!" Hern cut her off angrily, defiantly. "And you dare too much. As I have said, you are no longer queen. Your service is to the new king. If you can not hold your emotions, then do as Bol. Leave Dunop. Leave now, before we face yet another embarrassment." 
     It took great determination, but Yave broke her glare from Hern and turned it with impatience towards Jon. "Is this what you want as well?" 
     Jon did not know what he wanted at this point, only that he did not want to be king. He could only shrug with a pained expression. 
     Yave would not accept the response. "I will give you one more chance. Will you restore honor to Tun's name? Will you attack the algors?" 
     "I can't do that." 
     "Then leave me. We have nothing left to talk about." 
     Jon simply nodded. He turned from Yave and beckoned Hern to follow. 
     Though the minister found the situation unresolved, the queen's intentions still unknown, he would not question the king. Hern turned and followed obediently. 
     As the two exited and turned up a long corridor, their departure was followed by Yave's angry shouts 
     "Tun should be taking the throne, not you! Tun should be king! Do you hear me?! Do you hear me?" 
     Her screams faded behind Jon as he nearly ran down the corridor and away from Yave.
                               #
     Two days after Bol's departure, it seemed as if little had been accomplished by his leaving. Word had spread of the change in monarchs, but the shouts of the separatists continued to thrive. The growing mobs in the caverns of Dunop seemed as discontent with Jon as they were with his father. Worse, word of the queen's defiance had also spread. The separatist leaders took this news to heart and rumors of overthrow were now actually being heard in neighboring cities. 
     Jon made weary but forthright efforts to bring stability back to the palace. He gathered his ministers. He dismissed those who might doubt his leadership and replaced them with dwarves with long allegiance to the Folarok family. He promoted Hern to Chief Adviser and listened well to all his proposals. He left Yave to herself in the palace, hoping she might eventually swallow her bitterness, but he revoked most of her authority by retiring her staff, except for her personal servants. 
     As for the separatists, he offered a number of proclamations which he felt might pacify them, or at least take the bite out of their contentions. He announced a desire to hire and train dwarves to venture above ground and collect wood from Dark Spruce Forest. Once dwarves were proficient in doing so, he would reduce trade, and thereby contact, with the elves. He also stated his intentions to prevent any humans from mining within the hills over their heads. Without revealing the location or even existence of their underground city, they would discourage any such attempts. Any exploratory mine-shafts begun by the humans would be blocked with reinforced dwarf construction, and any resources the humans might deem valuable would be removed before they could be found. 
     These decisions were announced with the hope of bringing a greater feeling of independence and security to the dwarves of Dunop. Unfortunately, they fell short of the separatists ultimate desires. These dwarves wanted complete independence from every other race. They believed that only by gaining the grudging respect for their superiority would the elves and humans truly leave them in peace. They did not want to hide from the humans, they wanted the humans to hide from them. They did not want to rely on the elves for anything, they wanted the elves to come begging to them for gems and metals. 
     None of Jon's new proposals would accomplish this. Trade with the elves would still be necessary for food. The humans would be tricked into leaving rather than forced into running in fear. 
     The one aspect, however, that truly allowed the separatists to grow in power was fear, fear of the magic that spilled out of the sphere and now flooded the land. The dwarves could never utilize this power as the other races. Its reappearance was not welcome. The return of the magic truly allowed the separatists to fuel the fears of the other dwarves, and those fears grew despite Jon's pledge to further Dunop's independence. 
     Hern recognized this with increasing alarm. Had Bol made these proclamations, they might have sufficed. They might have actually ended the separatist movement. But Bol had left, ran away without dignity, and this was the dagger strike to the heart of the throne. Jon was looked upon as a weak king or not a king at all. The spreading word of Yave's own defiance did much to encourage the scorn heaped upon the new monarch. 
     Worse yet, Hern was now receiving intelligence that Yave was actually courting the allegiance of the separatist leaders. Mother of the king or not, this could not be tolerated. It had to be stopped, even if it meant her execution. Hern addressed Jon with respect and care over such a delicate matter, but with no less resolve. 
     They spoke in a small chamber away from guards and other ministers. 
     "We have a problem," Hern said gravely. 
     Jon slouched as if another weight was cast upon his shoulders. "What is it now?" His voice carried the fatigue of the past few days. 
     "I am receiving news involving Yave." The adviser chose his next words very carefully. "Word has already spread of her unwillingness to accept you as king." 
     "It doesn't matter what she accepts," Jon interrupted. His tone made it clear he did not wish to discuss the situation with his mother. Hern, however, persisted. 
     "I'm afraid that's not the problem." Hern spoke faster now, trying to speak the full point of his concerns before Jon stopped him again. "The fact is that she does not accept your authority, and others now follow her lead. There is even talk of an alliance between Yave and the separatist leaders. Such an alliance could have only one purpose, to remove you from the throne." 
     At first, Jon wondered if such a prospect was truly such a misfortune. However, he bit back his desire to escape his new responsibilities and attempted to focus on the validity of Hern's distress. 
     "How much of this is rumor and how much is truth?" 
     "My sources are reliable." 
     Jon rubbed his wide wrinkled forehead. "What is the extent of the alliance, how far has it progressed?" 
     "As of now, not very far. I doubt they've even met. To my knowledge, Yave has not left the palace. Contact must have been made through couriers, possibly one of her servants." 
     "We could question them, dismiss them without telling her." Jon offered as an easy solution. 
     "She'd know, and it wouldn't stop her," Hern replied stoically. "It would just make her that much more determined to advance the alliance. And it wouldn't stop the efforts of the separatists to use her against you." 
     "Then what should we do?" Jon questioned in near exasperation. 
     "The only way to stop this and bring authority back to the throne is to have her acknowledge your right to rule." 
     "She won't do that." 
     "Then you will have to force her." 
     Jon's face filled with horror. "I can't do that." 
     "Then banish her from Dunop." 
     "I can't do that, either." 
     "You're not leaving us with any other options." 
     "There must be something else we could do." 
     As he had done many times before this meeting, Hern contemplated the problem and searched for clear solutions. He spoke openly to his king of his own interpretations. "We face two threats. The first is Yave's unwillingness to accept your authority. The second is a possible move of the separatists using your mother as the means to remove you from the throne. You are obviously against dealing with Yave to rectify the first problem. The second, however, can not be as easily ignored. I would have preferred that you would have addressed both, but it is as you will. If we are to stop the separatists, and the anarchy that would follow, we must keep Yave from making any deals with them. I can only suggest that you have Yave watched and her servants followed. If we round up those that show involvement in this conspiracy, we might yet end this rebellion without forcing a showdown with Yave." 
     As if to immediately oppose this proposition, a shrill scream echoed through the halls. Groans erupted, foreshadowed with the clash of steel. Shuffling footsteps broke softly beneath the wooden door which separated Hern and Jon from the palace corridors. Hern moved for his axe, but he was not a warrior. He fumbled with the handle just as the source of the conflict exploded into the chamber. 
     The door crashed open. A handful of dwarves broke into the dimly lit room with weapons drawn. Blood stained more than one of the razor sharp axe heads. They took hold of Hern roughly and relieved him of his weapon. 
     "It seems she has moved quicker than I could have guessed." Hern grunted. 
     The rebels shook him and demanded silence. 
     Initially, Jon watched as if he was but nothing more than some distant spectator. His demeanor changed drastically, however, as four rebel dwarves surrounded him with axe and mace drawn. The new king stood his ground. He stood firm; angry. The burdens of responsibility which burdened his shoulders dissolved with a sneer of his own fury. He glared with defiance, and for the first time since Bol left, he stood with the aura of authority. Finally, he appeared as a king.  
     He folded his hands across his chest, making no move for his own weapon. His head turned upon his neck as his feet remained firm, cemented in place by concrete will. He looked to each dwarf that confronted him. His tongue was silent as his eyes dared any of them to commit the crime of regicide. Finally, he grew impatient. He wished not to dignify the event by addressing these pawns, but he wished to move this encounter to its conclusion. 
     "Well?" 
     The rebels hesitated. They looked among themselves. None answered. 
     Jon grunted with disgust. "I am going to the throne room. I assume one of your leaders, hopefully more articulate than you, will be waiting there to give his demands." 
     Without an eye or a care to the rebels, Jon's hands dropped to his belt and unhitched his mace. He threw it to the ground, thereby disarming himself. The weapon made a lonely thud against the stone floor. 
     Jon stepped up to the lone dwarf that blocked his way to the door. "If you intend to stop me, I suggest you swing that axe now. No? Then step aside." He turned his head back to the others. "And unhand my advisor. He will accompany me. Follow if you will. Your presence means nothing. It's your leaders I wish to address." 
     At first, those holding Hern did not comply, but a hard sneer from the king and his defiance to move without his minister forced their submission. Hern stepped free and moved along side his king. The rebels followed closely behind. 
     As Jon stepped past slain palace guards, rage filled his brain. He cursed heavily as dwarves well-known to him lay in crumpled heaps near the wide doors of the throne room. The sight of Yave sitting smugly on the throne, surrounded by dwarves unknown to him, did little to ease his anger. He had to bite his lip in order to avoid a heated explosion, but he would no longer cower before his mother. He faced her with shoulders squared and back straight. He looked into her face with unblinking eyes. When he spoke, his voice would not crack. It carried the weight of authority Yave would not recognize. 
     "What you have done here is criminal." 
     Yave was caught off guard. She expected Jon to whimper, not this. 
     The king disregarded her surprise. "Those that stand with you now also share this crime. And none of this can be forgotten or overlooked. I will make no plea to you, no demand for reason or request for mercy. I know you well enough that such words would be useless. You are stubborn enough and filled with enough hatred to have your way regardless of the means. It seems you have taken the throne. What is your will now? How will you further divide the dwarves of Dunop?" 
     Yave stared into Jon's face as if she did not recognize him. "I am once again queen. I will not divide the dwarves, but bring them together. I will bring them together by seeking justice against those that have dared to wrong us." 
     "You are no longer the queen!" Hern shouted. "This is treason." 
     The queen placed an apathetic glance upon the advisor, but she would not be insulted by him again. She mouthed an order as if calling for dinner. 
     "Kill him." 
     A rebel by her side drew a broad sword, and with deft precision, pierced Hern through the heart. Hern doubled over and folded into a quickly growing pool of his own blood. 
     "No!" Jon cried and he attempted to rush to his minister. Several rebels took hold of him and kept him in place. Tears filled his eyes. As he could no longer look at the lifeless body of his true friend, he slammed his eyelids shut and the tears rolled down his cheeks, disappearing into his gray beard. 
     Yave ignored the anguish of her son as did the remaining dwarves in the throne room. He was powerless, he was no longer king. 
     The transference of power was illustrated in Yave's own transformation. Her expression of anger and fury quickly mutated into determination fueled by newfound power. She felt the approval of the rebels that surrounded her, and she chose to feed it. "Let it be known that the rightful ruler of Dunop has retrieved her throne. Let it also be known that all treaties and alliances are null and void. The dwarves of Dunop no longer need to depend on the elves. We will begin collecting all food and wood for ourselves. There will be no more trade with the elves. We will also no longer live with the threat of the humans. Any human mine shafts begun near our city will be destroyed. Any humans found near the entrances to our home will be summarily executed. It is also time we amend the greatest grievance cast upon us. I declare war upon the algors, the ones responsible for the death of Tun Folarok, the true heir to my throne." 
     Nodding approvals came from those rebels that surrounded Yave. They had their victory. The dwarves would become self-sufficient and more. They would reaffirm their superiority; they would teach a lesson to any that dared to oppose them. They would no longer hide from the humans, and they would no longer rely on the elves. They truly did not care if Tun's death was avenged, but they were more than happy to assert their superiority over the algors as well. They welcomed the war. 
     A lone voice called out objection. 
     "What you're doing is wrong!" Jon heaved. 
     "Is it? Is it wrong to extract justice? Tun was killed by sand giants created by the algors. You yourself brought that news back from Sanctum. The sand giants were merely the weapons, the algors were the murderers. I will not let this crime go unpunished." 
     "What about your crimes?" Jon wailed. The knowledge of what had happened tormented his soul. "Good dwarves lie dead because of your deeds. Who will bring justice to their families that grieve for them?" 
     The queen remained unfazed. "People that protect or defend murderers create their own grief. They do not require justice." 
     "That's ludicrous," the dethroned king cried. It was more of a moan than a statement. 
     Yave grew tired of this talk. "Take him away. We need not kill him. We will imprison him and use him as an example that justice will always be served." 
     The rebels pulled at Jon and dragged him from the throne room. 
     Yave addressed her separatist followers. "This is a dangerous time. Magic is free in the land and a threat to every living dwarf. Magic casters from every race will grow strong with the energy that fills the air. They will wish to attack us. We must show we are not weak, that we are unwilling to allow any race to commit crimes against us. The algors will prove an example for the rest of the land. It is time for us to plan our attack."


Chapter 2

     Before the magic, before the breach in Sanctum, a delver could seek out the wilderness for untold days. There was little to fear. The challenge was in uncovering the secrets of the land, not in avoiding danger. The greatest threat was the weather, or an occasional wild animal, perhaps a bear or a wolf. No real challenge for a delver. But that was then, and things were different since the destruction of the sphere. 
     Ryson Acumen, the delver responsible for saving the land from Ingar and his talisman, and just as responsible for the subsequent release of the magic, faced these changes every day. The danger of dealing with the unknown, of dealing with dark creatures, and of dealing with magical mutations was now his to assume. He could not ignore these things, and he could certainly not avoid them. His instincts, his desires, forced him into the wilderness, forced him into the peril. He would not disregard his feelings. He could not; he was a delver. 
     The call was indeed strong, so many shifts in the land. He thirsted to uncover them all, all of the new secrets created by the magic. With each exploration, he was never disappointed. He found subtle alterations in the ground, in the brush, even in the wind. The magical energy that had spilled out of the sphere seemed determined to make its mark upon every inch of Uton, and though these changes offered much for an exploring delver, they also created new evil. 
     The signs of bizarre and deadly threats manifested themselves in different ways. Each time he scouted the land, each time he explored territory he thought he knew, he found signs of creatures difficult to imagine. Dark creatures long absent from Uton and unable to exist without the free flowing magic were now returning. These were creatures out of nightmares. Monsters. Their descriptions would have been considered the delusions of the insane had the creatures themselves not made their presence so notable. Shags, goblins, and river rogues felt no inhibition in attacking and killing the other inhabitants of the land. Though these creatures had returned to Uton less than a full cycle ago, they already made their mark in the form of hundreds of victims. 
     On this day, late in the season of harvest, Ryson continued a scout of the hills surrounding his newly adopted home town of Burbon. He surveyed the crest of a small rolling hill. He looked upon the ground with dismay as markings within the soil revealed unpleasant news. 
     "Shag tracks," he noted to himself. "They get closer to the wall every day." 
     His hand tested the depth of a single foot print and the hardness of the ground. "He's a big boy," he grimaced as he looked around for fresher signs. He calculated these tracks to be made the previous night, but there was nothing around which signaled immediate danger. The hill grass was growing tall. It could hide a large shag if it stayed belly to the ground, but not if it stood to move, certainly not one this large. 
     "I wonder what it was doing up here?" Ryson questioned. He carefully followed the trail, and mimicked the motions he attributed to each track. 
     "Small steps. A kneel here at the edge. It must have been hunting. But what was it after?" 
     The delver stretched his neck as he stood on tiptoes and surveyed the rolling hillsides. His eyes immediately focused upon depressions in the grass. 
     Without hesitation, he glided down the hillside toward the markings. His own legs left barely a trace in the tall thicket. Light steps lifted and dropped among the tall strands with careful grace, moving them aside with the same gentle precision of a warm southern breeze. When he reached his objective, the true wind shuffled the field back to its natural order. The best of trackers would not have found his path. 
     Ryson remained alert with both ear and nose as his eyes traced across the older depressions in the grass. Tall strands were pushed out of the way carelessly. They even showed cuts, signs of short swords being used to hack through the thick brush. Ryson had seen these signs before as well. 
     "Goblins again," he whispered. 
     The signs were unmistakable, including small footprints of several clustered together. The tracks clearly indicated movement in a defensive formation, but the winding swath through the field pointed toward scouting activity. It appeared as if Burbon was attracting yet another goblin raiding party. 
     He followed the trail carefully, hoping to avoid an ambush. His nose could distinguish no scent fresher than that which lingered from the depressions, but the wind was at his back, any scent ahead of him would be difficult to seize. 
     He looked back to the top of the hill where he had found the shag prints. A question came to his lips that he whispered with confusion. 
     "Why didn't the shag attack? There were only six goblins. He could have had at least two of them for dinner." 
     He continued for a few steps more, crouched over with his head and back below the top of the grass that encompassed him. He stepped lightly, making not a sound. It saved his life. 
     The grass in front of him rustled in opposition to the breeze. Ryson froze. He caught the scent of approaching goblins, heard their guttural whispers. With teeth clenched, he waited for another rustle. When it came, he rolled to his side, moved out of the open swath and into thicker cover. 
     The noise of his own movements was hidden by the clamorous shuffling of those he hoped to evade. He kneeled as quiet and as motionless as a wary rabbit. His hand found the hilt of the Sword of Decree. 
     A half-dozen goblins slowly moved into his sight, they were not alone. A single serp walked with them. The sight angered Ryson. 
     Serps were the malevolent brains behind the goblin raids. Tactical and strategic specialists, they cared little for actual combat. They used the easily manipulated goblins to carry out their blood plans. 
     According to the legends, serps were an offshoot of the algor race, a tribe which had dabbled in the dark recesses of the magical energy. They wished to break their struggle between individualistic desires and group belonging that made the algors such an unpredictable breed. They had succeeded in that province but left themselves reliant upon the magic. When the magic was swallowed by Ingar's sphere, their presence faded as well. Now, just like the magic, they were back. 
     Serps displayed greater characteristics of a snake than the algors, especially about the head and neck. They had arms and legs, and walked upright, but the serps were shorter than the algors, closer in fact, to the stature of a goblin. Serps also had tails, long thin extensions of their back bones that slithered behind them as they walked. 
     Ryson now knew why the shag didn't attack. Serps were the most cunning of the dark creatures. It was believed they could actually hypnotize the less intelligent monsters. The legends included stories of packs of shags and river rogues banding together to attack in force. Such behavior among territorial creatures and natural rivals would be impossible without the driving force of a sorcerer's magic or the depraved treachery of a serp's tongue. 
     Ryson leapt to his feet. The sudden movement caught the goblins off guard. They could not load and fire their crossbows fast enough. The delver drew his sword and the magical blade magnified the light all around them.
     Shocked and bewildered, stunned by the glowing blade, the goblins scattered. The six ran off in different direction. They spat as they grumbled words unintelligible to all but their own kind. 
     The delver knew the battle was not over. He had seen this maneuver before. Goblins would appear to flee in opposing directions only to regroup with crossbows ready. They would form a perimeter around the enemy within range of their arrows. Anyone that stood and watched, thinking the goblins defeated, would be caught in the center of a multi-pointed crossfire. 
     Ryson did not remain still. He took only a moment to issue a notice to the serp that recoiled in front of him. 
     "I'll be back. I'm not finished with you." 
     With his last word echoing behind him, he sprinted off to the east. He sheathed his sword as he ran so as not to carry a beacon for the other goblins to take aim. A blur through the grass, he easily caught the first goblin that struggled through the tall thicket. He relieved the snarling creature of its crossbow and its short sword. Since he did not need another goblin prisoner, he had caught many in the past season, he simply turned away from the spitting, hissing creature. He tossed the crossbow and the sword far off into the grass as he pressed upon the next closest goblin. Again, he disarmed the creature only to ignore it. He was forced to do this only once more as the final three realized their plight and ran off out of range. 
     With the goblin threat removed, Ryson deftly moved back to the original spot of confrontation. Though he had no desire to capture a goblin, the serp was another matter. He had not yet gained a serp prisoner, and it would do him well to earn one now. Unfortunately, the serp was gone. 
     Ryson felt no distress, for he knew the creature was not far off. Serps were not known for their physical prowess. While they were mentally superior to almost every other dark creature, they could do little in the way of fighting, or even simply running away. 
     Almost instantly, he spotted the retreating tracks of the serp. His eyes followed the path to a nearby patch of tall grass. He nearly laughed at the futile attempt to hide or perhaps even ambush. Ryson bent down and picked up a small rock. He threw it gracefully at the tall brush. The result was not as he expected. 
     One of the largest shags he had ever seen rose from the thicket and it showed an eagerness to engage the delver. It stood over twice Ryson's own height and carried the bulk of an ox. It snarled as its hands flexed with a desire to crush the delver's skull. 
     Ryson was more than surprised, he was confused. How could he have missed the presence of such a monster? The question, however, answered itself as Ryson noticed thick layers of grass clinging to the matted fur. In places, the monster looked more like a walking pile of hill grass than a shag. Beyond that, he could almost smell the lingering magic that seemed to surround the beast. The serp's sorcery had helped camouflage the shag from both Ryson's eyes and nose. The delver made a mental note to be more careful for such tricks in the future, but for now, the shag was closer than Ryson felt comfortable. It roared in anger. Behind it, Ryson could hear the snicker of the serp. 
     Again, the delver found anger. This time, unfortunately, he could do nothing. He was no match for a shag, especially one of this size. The hope of capturing the serp faded with another roar from the shag's drooling mouth. Ryson grimaced, but would not accept total defeat. If a serp was out scouting the hills around Burbon, it was obviously interested in a raid. He decided to put a damper on such plans as he yelled a warning before retreating. 
     "I know why you're here, serp. This shag might protect you from me, but it won't help you attack Burbon. I'll have the guard doubled, and I'll be watching for any signs of goblin movements. You won't get close to Burbon's wall, let alone past it." 
     It sounded an empty threat as Ryson backpedaled away from the slowly encroaching shag, but he knew it would more than suffice. The serp would certainly call off any plans of an immediate raid. They didn't like being outmaneuvered, and they didn't like losing their pawns because they had forfeited the element of surprise. Since Burbon would now be tipped off to a possible strike, the serp would simply have to redesign its plans. 
     Ryson could not see the serp for it remained hidden behind the shag, but he knew it had heard him. With that, he turned his back on the monster, and retreated in a blur. 
     After putting a good distance between him and the shag, the delver pulled to a halt as he reached a lonely winding road which cut through these hills. The path wasn't used much anymore, not by normal citizens, not while shags and goblins waited in the surrounding area. It existed now only for patrols on horseback. 
     Ryson stood at the road's center, away from the tall grass which crept up to its sides. He first checked all about him for immediate threats. He found none. 
     Feeling secure, he placed his concentration on what the serp and goblins might have been after. To the northeast, his keen eyesight picked up a trace outline of the newly constructed wall which surrounded Burbon. He was now thankful it was built so fast. He looked to the gate towers which rose higher than the hills. He gauged the distance from where he stood to the southern tower platform, and then factored in the last position of the serp and the goblins. 
     "They were probably checking for blind spots," he noted to himself. 
     His eyes scanned the hills that rolled directly south of Burbon. He paced about as his focus fell upon a ridge that might offer what the serp desired. 
     "They'd be able to get awfully close if they approached from that angle. We'll have to build another tower." 
     The need for more construction forced him to consider the amount of work already completed since he had moved to Burbon; a fortress wall and five towers. Now they would need a sixth. He knew the people wouldn't complain. They accepted, even invited, the rigid requirements that would keep them safe. Burbon was one of the last outposts before Dark Spruce Forest, and nothing separated it from the wilderness which seemed to generate the existence of so many threats. If another tower was needed, what else could they do? 
     He thought of the previous town he called home, Connel, and how different it was from Burbon. Most of it was simply due to size. Connel probably housed thirty times the amount of people as Burbon, and it included farmland that stretched out beyond the safety of walls or towers. Connel didn't even bother with defensive construction. They simply forged an army. Platoons would protect the rims of the farmlands as delvers would scout the perimeter on an ongoing basis. Hundreds of men stood armed and ready at any one moment within the city to repel any goblin raid. 
     Such a thing was just not possible for Burbon, there were too few people. They had to make the most of their small force of guards. That's why they all accepted the new wall and the towers, and it was why they accepted him, the only delver to live in their midst. They needed him more than Connel needed him. His explorations gave them warning, probably saved them from being overrun completely. There were just simply too many breeding grounds nearby for anyone in Burbon to dismiss the need for scouts. The Fuge River, the hills, especially the forest; all held danger. 
     The delver took off for Burbon's main gate. He paused only at the entrance to warn the guards of the serp's presence in the field. They tensed at the warning, but he bid them to be at ease. He assured the serp wouldn't attack now. It was too early in the day and the serp had been uncovered. Still, he would pass the news to Sy, the captain of the guard, before night fall. 
     First, he wished to see Linda, the true reason he now made Burbon his home. He went immediately to the Borderline Inn. He expected to find her behind the bar, but he found only her substitute who said she had left to find him. 
     A twinge of anxiety took a nibble at the delver. She never went looking for him at midday, when he was normally out on patrol. She knew he would be impossible to find. If she needed to see him, it must have been for something of great importance. His curiosity pressed upon his thoughts. He left for his house, thinking she would try there after she found he was not with Sy. 
     He moved quickly up to the small cottage door, but he paused before entering. His ears picked up a conversation. Low tones. Seriousness. His vast memory allowed him to recognize the second voice immediately. He threw open the door with unbridled enthusiasm. He saw Linda sitting across from more than just an old friend. The guest looked just the same as when Ryson left him on Sanctum's peak. 
     "Lief!" the delver nearly shouted. "Lief Woodson."
     With a huge smile, Ryson nearly leapt toward his guest. He wanted to say so much, he couldn't get any words out of his mouth. He took Lief's hand with a joyous shake. 
     Linda stood up to meet her fianc‚. She took his free hand and quickly explained. 
     "He came to the bar first. He was looking for you. Apparently when you last saw him, you told him there was someone special at the Borderline. I only hope you were talking about me. I wanted to help him find you and I didn't want an elf looking around on his own. We went to see if you were with Sy, but some of the guards said you were still out on a scout. I figured this was the best place to wait for you." 
     Ryson would not have been able to hide his happiness had he wanted to. "It's great to see you, Lief. Godson, it seems like only yesterday, but then again it seems like forever. I never would have believed to see you here. I remember how much you hated being in Connel. I can't imagine this place is any better for you. They didn't give you any trouble at the gate, did they?" 
     Lief shook his head. "No, they thought I was just another human." 
     "Another human? Not likely." He turned to Linda. "This is the first elf I ever met. I didn't even know elves existed, and he just dropped out of a tree." 
     "I know," she replied with a smile. "You've told me a hundred times." 
     Ryson swerved his attention back to Lief. The delver wore an excited grin. Here before him was a friend, but also an elf. Indeed, he had tried to explain it to Linda a hundred times before, but he never believed words would do it justice. Now, he had a much better way. "Hey, do me a favor. Show Linda your ears. She's never seen an elf before." 
     Lief sighed, but acquiesced. He pulled the long brown hair away from his ears, revealing their pointed tips. 
     Ryson looked to Linda. "Amazing?" 
     "Not for me. You've told me enough about elves and dwarves. I never doubted you. You can't expect me to be as shocked as you were. I've already been through things like goblin raids." She looked towards Lief. "You'll have to forgive him. Since we're getting married, he wants me to know everything he knows. Some people might get excited at the sight of an elf, but I know how much you helped keep him alive. I'm more grateful to you than anything else." 
     "Married?" Lief offered a wide smile to the couple. "Congratulations to you both." 
     Linda returned the smile. She gave Ryson a slight hug as her hand slipped around his waist. "Thank you. We don't have a date yet. Everyone, even me, is having a hard time adjusting to the changes. We thought it would be better if we gave it some time for everyone to adjust to what's happening. There's so much going on right now." 
     "More than you know," Lief added 
     Ryson immediately caught the tone of this grave announcement. For the first time, he truly examined the elf's expression. There was joy to be sure, joy in seeing a friend, but there was also concern, attention on a not so distant problem. He also considered what would make the elf leave Dark Spruce. What would make Lief willingly enter the walls of Burbon? 
     "You're not here to just say hello, are you?  What's going on?" 
     Lief cleared his throat, as if reluctant to state the true purpose of his visit. "I'm afraid there is a great problem arising." 
     "Again?" 
     Lief acknowledged the reference to their last problem; the trek through Sanctum's core, the battle with Ingar, and the final destruction of the sphere. "No, this is not quite the same. In truth, this does not even really effect the humans, and only to a slight degree the elves. But it does involve us. You and me. It involves all who stood together within Sanctum to save the land. It has much to do with the dwarves and what happened to Tun." 
     Ryson grimaced at the memory. 
     Linda's focus shifted from the elf to her fianc‚. She felt a tenseness growing in his body. She knew the pain he felt when he recalled those who died to save the land from the sphere. Tun was one of three to give their lives at Sanctum, and it was a memory that would always haunt Ryson. She turned back to Lief and spoke up to prevent a lingering silence. "Ryson told me of what happened in the mountain. Tun died while helping to destroy the sphere. Why is that causing a problem?" 
     Not knowing how much Linda knew of the events, Lief recounted the most important highlights. "Tun was a prince, the son of King Bol and Queen Yave, rulers of Dunop. Tun was killed by a sand giant, a creation of the algors. Jon, Tun's brother who was also with us in Sanctum, reported the event upon his return to Dunop. Things spiraled out of control after that moment. 
     "Things were hard enough in Dunop as it was. The dwarves were split about helping destroy the sphere at the very start. Many of them are afraid of the magic. When Jon returned with the sad story, the magic was already loose, and the dwarves were ready to blame anyone for their fears. The king became an easy target. It seems Bol could not live with the guilt of sending his son to his death. He relinquished the throne to Jon and banished himself from Dunop." 
     "So Jon's now the king?" Ryson interrupted. His delver instincts kicked in as he attempted to imagine the circumstances in the underground city. He openly wondered of the sequence of events and Jon's ability to lead. "That has to be tough, facing the death of his brother and now his father leaves. How's he doing?" 
     "He is no longer the king," Lief replied gravely. "Queen Yave would not support her younger son. I am told she blames him as much as she blames the algors." 
     At first, Ryson appeared dumbfounded. Nothing could be further from the truth. He shook his head as if to get the words from his mouth. "That's ridiculous. Jon had nothing to do with it, and neither did the algors. The sphere prevented the algors from controlling the giants. Tun attacked on his own. That's why he died." 
     "I am afraid that is not how Yave sees it." 
     "What has she done?" 
     "She made a deal with the separatists, a group of dwarves that want to end all ties with every other race. That is why I said it affects the elves only slightly and the humans not at all. The humans have no working relation with the dwarves. You would probably not even notice the change. As for the elves, we will see an end to trade with Dunop. It is not such a major concern. A setback to our relations, yes, but we will certainly survive without their assistance. If it all stopped there, I might not even be here now, but breaking ties will apparently not satisfy Yave's anger. She has declared war against the algors." 
     Ryson rubbed his chin. He had known of wars between humans, but until this moment, he never truly considered a war involving the other races. He had difficulty envisioning what it might mean, a war between algor and dwarf, but what he could imagine did not sit well with him. 
     "You said Jon was no longer the king. What happened, and why can't he stop this?" 
     "Rebellion, I'm afraid," Lief replied. "Yave's deal with the separatists included a violent overthrow of Jon. Apparently, separatist warriors stormed the palace, killing many dwarf guards loyal to the Folarok name. Jon has been imprisoned by his own mother. As far as the reports go, he is still alive, but it is difficult to confirm. If he is a prisoner, he would be kept in a palace cell. The separatists are careful, and they are making sure there is no challenge to Yave's power. She retains her throne as queen and now rules without much resistance. This is no true surprise, she was the queen under Bol's reign and many dwarves still recognize her as the true leader. Those loyal to Jon and the Folarok name are too few in number to provide any true threat. As long as Yave appeases the separatists, she will remain in power." 
     "You're certain of all this?" 
     "Very certain. Through the period of Bol's departure to Yave's rebellion, we continued to trade with dwarves who still saw elves as their allies. We received reports. We are still receiving reports now, though not as many. Some dwarves see Yave's plans in their true light, as nothing more than a thirst for irrational revenge. They see a pointless loss of life and wish to do anything to stop it. Some are acting as spies and are calling for whatever we can do. They must remain careful, however, for if they are caught reporting to elves, they will surely be executed." 
     Ryson sorted quickly through the new information. He tapped his fingers together lightly as he tried to place things in a logical order. "What is it the loyal dwarves have in mind? If the separatists are entrenched in Dunop and the majority of dwarves accept Yave's rule, I see little that can be done. I mean, what could we do? Send a war party of humans and elves into Dunop to free Jon and restore him to power? I doubt we'd be successful. We'd be fighting in their environment, upon their home ground. They'd probably slaughter us. And even if we did succeed in sending a raiding party to free Jon, what would that truly accomplish? Do you think any dwarf would trust him again if they see humans helping him? No, this is a civil war. The dwarves have to call for Jon's return. We can't force it on them." 
     "I agree, as do the elves of my camp. We feel for Jon and those dwarves that remain our allies, but we should not try to exercise our will upon Dunop. In the long run, it will bring no good. Those dwarves that call for our help also grudgingly agree, but they do seek another option. One that I might have undertaken anyway." 
     "And what's that?" 
     "To warn the algors before the war begins," Lief stated firmly. "They believe that if the algors have been forewarned, they can prepare for the inevitable battle. If a dwarf assault is unsuccessful, it might create an embarrassment for Yave. The dwarves are stubbornly proud. A loss to the less physically capable algors would certainly cause such an embarrassment. Yave might be forced to relinquish." 
     Ryson eyed Lief dubiously. "You don't really believe that, do you? You don't really think a dwarf would give up if she was beaten in one battle?" 
     Lief shook his head. "No. It will only fan her anger. She will rage with the desire to attack with a greater force." 
     "Then why do you want to do this?" 
     "For the same reason you would, to warn the algors. Tell me truthfully, now that you know what is happening, do you not feel honor bound to help the algors that stood with us at Sanctum?" 
     Ryson did not hesitate in answering. "Of course I do, but how will that solve what's happening in Dunop?" 
     "It won't, but as you say, that is as much a civil matter as anything else. We may not be able to solve the dwarves' problem, but at least we can save the algors from a slaughter. When we removed the sphere from Sanctum, we overcame the mistrust of every race. That was a proud moment. Now Yave threatens to soil that moment. She wishes to use Tun's death as a battle cry, to undo what we truly accomplished that night within Sanctum. That is something we can not allow. If there must be a battle between the dwarves and algors, let it be over the truth. Let it be over Yave's madness and her thirst for revenge, not over her delusions of what happened in Sanctum. They are not the same thing." 
     "I can't argue with you," Ryson admitted. "I just wish there was a way to stop the whole thing." 
     "For now, let us be content with warning the algors. That should be the first step in any case." 
     Again, Ryson pieced together the information given to him along with Lief's very presence within his house. "So you want me to help you find the algors?" 
     "You know the way. I would suggest we go to the sandstone edifice you described as their meeting place. The word can be spread there the fastest. I expect you still remember exactly how to get there." 
     "Of course I do, but maybe I should go alone. I'll move faster that way." 
     Lief's jaw tightened. "Are we going to have this argument again?  Why do you insist on wasting our time with this? I owe as much to the algors as you. Why do you think you always have to go alone?" 
     "It's what I do," Ryson responded firmly. "Besides, the desert isn't a kind place for elves. Ask Holli. She'll tell you." 
     "She has told me," Lief responded indignantly. "And she will also accompany us." 
     The thought of Holli Brances broke Ryson's tension. He recalled his encounters with the elf guard. Above all, he imagined her stoic preparedness, her ability and willingness to deal with nearly any calamity. With Lief and Holli at his side before, they performed the impossible. They had removed the sphere from Sanctum and defeated Ingar. How much harder would it be to warn the algors and prevent a war?  He thought he might share his own relief with his elf friend, and he considered a tactic which might remind them both of times when they overcame the truly insurmountable. 
     "I see. Well I know there's no point in arguing it any further. I know how stubborn you both can be? You never took my advice, even when you knew I was right. I might as well save my breath." Ryson paused. He hid a grin as he waited to see Lief's reaction. It had been a long time since he had spoke with the elf, and he wondered if Lief still swayed with the same emotional outbursts. 
     Lief surprised the delver. The elf seemed ready to give him a tongue lashing, but instead he held himself. He grunted as he swallowed his annoyance. He looked to Linda. "If you are truly going to marry this delver, I assume you want him safe?" 
     "Sometimes I wonder," Linda responded playfully. She remembered how Ryson spoke of Lief's outbursts. She had known her fianc‚ well enough to see that he was only trying to goad the elf into one of these flare-ups. She decided to help their guest instead. 
     Lief nodded to the delver. "Then I suggest you order him to have two elves escort him." 
     "So ordered," Linda laughed. 
     Lief eyed Ryson with a smug expression of victory. "There, you are now truly outnumbered." 
     Ryson surrendered. "I'm always outnumbered. You surprise me, Lief. You handled that almost diplomatically. What happened to your quick temper?" 
     "I have learned to control it, but only when I want to." 
     Ryson smiled broadly. "You know, it really is good to see you. You remind me of the good that came out of the sphere." 
     Lief bowed slightly. "Thank you. And you remind me that even the stubborn can be swayed." 
     Ryson grinned. "How about Holli? Where is she now?" 
     "She's waiting outside the wall." 
     "Really? Why didn't you bring her with you?" 
     "She would not feel comfortable enclosed within the walls. She would also find it difficult to hide her elf guard training. What do you think would happen if your human guards at the gate saw her constantly searching for hidden threats?" 
     "They'd get nervous." 
     Lief nodded in agreement. "And they would probably keep us. No, it was better to leave her where she is. She is scouting the perimeter." 
     Ryson brought a hand to his forehead. "Godson, I forgot about the serp. It was checking the walls with a group of goblins." 
     "If you're worried about Holli, there is no need," Lief began. 
     Ryson raised a hand to hold the elf's tongue. "I'm not worried about Holli. I was with her in the Lacobian desert. I know she can take care of herself. It's here, Burbon, that's the problem. You see, I'm the only delver here. After seeing that serp, I should be spending the next several days scouting for goblin movements." 
     Lief shook his head as if to animate that this was not truly possible. "But we must leave now, and we can not leave without you. We may not be able to find the algors. Holli believes she might find the way, if absolutely necessary, but she's not a delver scout. There is a distinct possibility we might get lost." 
     "I can't let you go alone," Ryson exclaimed. "Getting the algors involved is as much my responsibility as anybody's. And I wouldn't want to live with the thought of you getting lost out there." 
     "I wish I could give you some advice in this matter," Lief stated sincerely. "but the truth is the algors must be warned, and I can not risk losing even a day in waiting. I really don't know how quickly the dwarves plan to mobilize." 
     "I know, I know." 
     "Let Burbon's guard handle the goblins," Linda announced suddenly. It held the edge of an order. 
     Ryson looked at her with a raised eyebrow. 
     She did not back down from her statement. 
     "You can't handle everything yourself. If you're needed to warn the algors, then you have to go. You can't keep trying to do everything at once." 
     "I'm not trying to do everything at once," Ryson protested. "This is just a bad time. If I hadn't seen the serp, I probably wouldn't worry about leaving." 
     "Yes, you would. It's only been a couple of seasons, but I already know you too well. You think the safety of this town is your sole responsibility. Don't deny it." 
     "It is my responsibility," Ryson stated without hostility. He was not trying to argue the point, only stating a fact. 
     Linda remarked on truths of her own. "But not yours alone. There are others here that can protect Burbon. Sy, Enin, the guard. Sy can come up with scouts of his own. They won't find everything you could, but they'll let the goblins know we're waiting for them. I've learned enough about them from what you've told me that they won't attack." 
     Ryson could not argue the point. He looked to Lief. "She's probably right." 
     "Then is it settled?" the elf asked. "You will lead us to the edifice in the desert and together we will warn the algors?" 
     "I guess so." 
     "The sooner we leave the better," Lief nudged anxiously. 
     "I can leave now. I just have to make one stop at command and let Sy know what's going on." 
     Ryson looked to Linda with a somber smile, trying to mask his sadness in saying good-bye. "I'll be gone for at least five days, but you better count on seven or eight, maybe longer. I guess you're getting used to this by now." 
     "I'll never get used to it, but I'm learning to accept it." She grabbed him around the neck and embraced him tightly. "You take care of yourself." 
     "I will," he whispered and grudgingly moved away from her to the door. "I'll tell Sy to keep an eye on the house and the tavern." 
     Reluctantly, he turned from Linda and stepped out the door. He walked briskly down the path to the road, trying not to look back, trying to curb the growing emptiness which assaulted his being. His unease in leaving was a recently discovered sensation. 
     Before he committed himself to Linda, he found it so easy to simply up and leave, to go off into the wilderness without a care. Now, it was never easy. Now, an anchor existed. Leaving Linda caused him pain. A hole opened in his center, a hole which would not be filled as long as he was away from her. 
     Still, he remained a purebred delver, and the need to explore would always call to him. As he looked to the open skies to the southwest, he thought of the waiting desert and the algors. Surely, this would fill his craving for exploration. His steps carried him away from the front of his home, and he considered the contradiction of his predicament. Even as something called for him to stay, the gnawing desire to explore beckoned him to leave. Like a dog that pulled on the leash held by its beloved master, Ryson felt opposing forces exert themselves upon his soul. He wished to run free, but he did not want to leave that which he loved. In days to come, he would learn to appreciate this, see it as more of a blessing than a curse. Even now he began to understand the true triumph in his mixed feelings. Upon leaving this day, his delver soul would sing, but that part of himself which he gave to Linda would bring him back to Burbon. He finally had a true home. 
     He was silent in his thoughts for but a moment. He walked with the glide of his delver heritage, Lief at his side. He turned to his companion with the curiosity that was his nature. He wished to consider something else, something other than his leaving. He unleashed a general question in order to discover news from a friend he had not seen in over a season. 
     "So what's been happening with you? I've scouted some portions of Dark Spruce, the sections closest to here. I've met up with some elf guards. They seem to know who I am, but they don't like to talk about their camps. Security, I guess." 
     "Changes, good or bad, abound everywhere," Lief responded mysteriously. "My camp is no exception. The elves are learning to live with these changes. We face new threats, mostly in the way of river rogues and goblins." 
     "How are you getting on without Mappel?" Ryson did not want to stir any sadness with the memory of the loss, but he imagined the death of a camp's elder had to cause significant shifts. 
     Lief remained tight-lipped. "Mappel will always be remembered proudly. We learn to live with each loss." 
     He was less than convincing. There was something behind his words which perked the delver's curiosity. It was not sadness over Mappel's death, but something else, and Ryson pressed for the information. 
     "Does that mean the camp is more or less reacting normally to all this?  I mean, whatever you might consider normal with the return of the magic and now this crisis with the dwarves?" 
     Lief side-stepped the issue by pointing out his own observations since entering Burbon. "With the events of Sanctum, we all had to expect that life in this land would never be the same. I look about this human town and see the proof for myself. The wall that surrounds this dwelling area is of new construction, as are the towers." 
     "That reminds me," Ryson interrupted. "I have to tell Sy of the need for a new tower. We seem to have a blind spot the goblins will be more than willing to take advantage of." 
     "That is exactly what I mean." Lief played upon the issue. "We must now concern ourselves with matters previously unimportant. I doubt there was a need for towers before the sphere was destroyed. Humans never had to deal with goblin raids. It is almost impossible to remember what things were like before the sphere breached its tomb. But it is like this all over. Every inhabitant of the land must learn the new way." 
     Lief stopped and bid Ryson to do the same. The elf turned about to make sure they were far from Linda and the delver's home. Seeing that no one was in ear shot, he spoke somberly. "I did not wish to bring this up in front of your betrothed. No need for her to worry, but you should be warned of the potential threat. Our objective is simple, but our path is not. As you know, to reach the algors we must cross the Lacobian. The desert is now a very dangerous place, very different from when you last crossed it to escort the algors home. It has become a place for novice sorcerers and wizards to practice their new found skill. As elves, we are more sensitive to the use of magic than perhaps any other race. Many have felt the surge of power in the direction of the Lacobian. We have sent scouts to the rim of the desert. They have all reported back with little information, but they remain certain that farther in the desolation, magic casters are honing their skills." 
     "Do you think they pose a threat to us?" 
     "Who knows for sure? They may ignore us. They may hide from us. Or, they may use us to further practice their powers. I would doubt any have had time enough to learn the arts to be truly dangerous, but there are always exceptions." 
     "I guess we'll just have to stay away from them." 
     "That is exactly why I have told you this. You must remain alert to this possibility, and although reaching the algors is our primary concern, I do not wish to stumble across a bold magic caster." 
     "I'll do my best to steer us clear." 
     "I know you shall." 
     The two moved on under Ryson's direction. They came to a square brick building with no sign. It was the command post and Ryson guided Lief inside.
 

Chapter 3

     At the guard headquarters, Ryson moved past two soldiers with Lief at his side. The guards let them pass into Sy's office, each nodding in recognition at Ryson and taking long glances at the tall, thin stranger that walked with him. 
     Sy Fenden, captain of the guard, just dismissed a subordinate with new duties. He looked toward Ryson with an expression of welcome, unlike the first time he met the delver. But he, like everyone else in Burbon, gained a new appreciation for Ryson now that the magic seeped through the land.
     "Good day, Ryson." He made a quick nod to the stranger. "Friend of yours?" 
     The tone was pleasant and accommodating, but also somewhat demanding. Sy had maintained the duties of mayor and chief officer ever since the first goblin attack on Burbon. When the people no longer trusted the duly elected officials, they had turned to the town guard for protection, as well as leadership. This newcomer was unknown to him, and it was his duty to check all strangers. 
     "Hey, Sy!" Ryson greeted the captain as he stepped in the office, allowed Lief to move past, and then shut the door. "Yes, this is definitely a friend." 
     Friend or not, Lief immediately struggled with the environment. It was hard enough for an elf that lived in the wilderness of Dark Spruce to be surrounded by the fortified wall and the myriad of buildings of Burbon. Now, he stood in a room with no windows and only one door, which was now closed. He could deal with the caves of the dwarves easier than he could deal with this. This environment was manufactured, unnatural. Straight even lines, squared corners, perfectly aligned patterns of bricks; it was so different from the creative, nearly whimsical pattern of the intertwined branches of his true home. When the trees grew together, they did so with a strange balance between confusion and harmony. The construction of the humans tossed aside this balance and accented the straight, level and organized. It was disorienting to the elf. 
     Ryson sensed Lief's displeasure. One glance at the elf revealed the taught muscles, the eyes searching for an opening to the sky. If Ryson yelled out suddenly, he imagined Lief might jump to the ceiling. The delver took no pleasure in this and spoke quickly to hasten to the point of the meeting. He made introductions first. 
     "This is Lief Woodson. Lief, this is Sy Fenden." 
     Lief bowed in greeting. 
     Sy's eyes fell upon the elf with great interest. "Lief Woodson? The elf? The one from Sanctum?" 
     "The same," Ryson acknowledged.  
     Sy immediately threw out a firm hand. He was meeting an elf, a member of a race he never knew existed until a few seasons ago, but he was also meeting what he considered a soldier, a good soldier. Ryson reported every event which occurred within Sanctum, Lief performed beyond the call of duty, acted heroically in the face of true danger. That kind of bravery immediately earned Sy's respect, and he felt no hesitation in offering his praises. 
     "Ryson told us what happened in Sanctum. I can't say that I understand it all, but I've learned to trust what he says. You were one of the first to recognize the danger. You knew something had to be done. Everyone here is in your debt." 
     Again, Lief bowed. "Thank you, but there are no debts." 
     Sy would not allow his praise to be revoked. "Be that as it may, I know I want to thank you." 
     Once more, Ryson spoke quickly. "There are some new problems. It seems there are repercussions from our endeavor at Sanctum." Ryson searched for the words to explain. They were not easy to find. "It's difficult to explain, but it seems the dwarves ..., remember what I told you about Tun, the dwarf who died? Well, the dwarves aren't happy with the algors. They're apparently going to start a war." 
     To his credit, Sy showed no sign of doubt and did not ask for lengthy explanations. He immediately focused on his primary responsibility. 
     "What threat does it have upon Burbon?" 
     Ryson shrugged. "As far as I can tell, none." 
     "Wars often spread," Sy said with a knowing tone. 
     "But the dwarves live underground and the algors live in the desert. I think, at least for now, it's not a threat to us. Not to you anyway." 
     Sy picked up on the reference. "But it is to you?" 
     Ryson grudgingly nodded acceptance. "Lief and I are going to warn the algors. We'll be gone for a few days." 
     Now it was clear, clear why the delver was so uneasy. Sy considered the thought of defending Burbon without the delver's services. He knew there would be times when the delver wouldn't be available, but he was as weary of the coming dormant season as anyone else. At first, he grasped for options. 
     "Is this something that can wait?" 
     "No, the algors have to be warned as soon as possible." 
     "I was hoping that you might be able to wait until I get another delver from Connel." 
     "Too long," Ryson replied sadly. 
     Like a true strategist, a true commander, a true soldier, Sy accepted the situation. He nodded his head, animating his acceptance. "We'll be fine. We'll put men on horseback, send them out in patrols of four, armed to the teeth. I'll have to assume the goblins will know you're gone. They'll look to take advantage, I'll make sure there isn't any. I can put lookouts on the walls as well as the towers." 
     Ryson was about to explain the presence of the goblins in the hills when he was interrupted by a knock on the door. 
     Sy did not even glance toward the entrance. "Come on in, Enin."  And Enin opened the door and stepped through. 
     Sy felt the need to explain his apparent supersensory perception to the elf. "I know his knock." 
     "He has very good hearing," Ryson added. "Almost as good as mine." 
     Before Ryson could make an introduction, Enin's attention centered directly upon Lief. "This is an elf. Am I correct, am I correct?" 
     "Yes, Enin. You're correct. This is Lief Woodson, an elf." 
     Enin was delighted, not at meeting an elf for the first time, but for his own perceptions. "I knew I felt something strange. You came in earlier, right? Around noon time, right?" 
     Lief looked to Ryson with confusion. 
     "He's a practicing wizard," Ryson answered the unasked question. "He's been focusing on sensing races other than humans, kind of acting like an alarm system. He's been experimenting with spells so we can be prepared for goblin raids." 
     "It's not really a spell, not really," Enin interjected. "More of an aura I allow to surround myself. The magic seems to bend differently around different races, especially the ones that need the magic to walk on the land. You didn't bend the magic like that, but you were different, different like our delver friend, not the same as humans." 

     "He's like a spider. If something other than a human walks in his web, he'll know." Ryson then turned to Enin. "By the way, I came across a serp in the hills today. He was with six goblins and a shag. Did you sense any of that?" 
     Enin displayed unhappiness. "No, not at all." 
     "They probably didn't come close enough to the wall, but they were out there." 
     "Missed them, huh?" Enin rubbed his chin as his concentration seemed to fade out of the very room. He began to chatter, talking to Ryson at first but then only to himself, ignoring everyone around him. "I don't seem to have great range. I know when they get close to the wall, and certainly when they're inside, but not too far beyond. I wonder why? I guess I couldn't sense things forever. I'd go crazy. I'd sense every creature in the land, and then what good would I be? I'd just be confused. But I'd like to increase my range. I should be able to sense the hills. I wonder if I could come up with a spell which would energize me, give my senses a boost. No, that wouldn't be any good. Spells take energy. I would only be able to boost it for short periods. That might be helpful if we had an idea when they were coming, but it wouldn't be any good for general surveillance. Still, I should consider this, a spell which would increase the range of my senses. Even for a brief period, that might be a very useful spell. How would it go? Wind and earth?  Air might even be better. Mix of a sight spell, expansion, and energy? I don't know. I better be careful with this one. I might accidentally send out a force wave." 
     "That would be helpful," Sy said sarcastically. 
     Enin heard Sy's voice but not his words. He snapped back to the here and now with a confused expression. 
     Ryson noted the scrutinizing stare of the elf upon the wizard. "You'll have to excuse him. He does that sometimes. He starts thinking of spells, and he just goes off into space." 
     "He should be careful," Lief replied with an edge. "Speaking out loud of possible spells, spells with power, is a dangerous thing." 
     Enin looked quizzically at the elf. Lief was tense. Was he tense at the presence of a wizard? No. He was tense at being in such a small room. Still, the elf was weary of him, Enin could sense that much. The elf apparently didn't like wizards, certainly not human wizards. Perhaps 'like' was too strong a word, but the elf certainly didn't trust Enin. 
     Enin faced a good deal of that from his human neighbors within Burbon, at least at first. Now, after he proved to be helpful, he earned their trust. But this was an elf. In Enin's studies, he learned that the elf was the most capable of seizing the magical energy. Why would an elf mistrust him? It hurt him, and he spoke openly of it. 
     "You don't trust me." A simple statement that revealed a hint of pain. 
     Lief frowned, irritated by being exposed by a novice magic caster. He responded sullenly. "The magic is new to you. It is dangerous to stumble about blindly trying to find new uses." 
     Enin felt no insult. Instead, he considered the possibility. Again, his attention slipped from the room. He spoke to himself, not to Lief, or anyone else. "Am I stumbling about? I don't think so, not really. I build from spell to spell. Each new one is a key to another and another. There is knowledge in that. Taking small steps on what is known. But what if I simply threw the keys away, or ignored them for once, simply began to alter the magic in some new untried way?  That would be stumbling. I might make a major breakthrough. Then again, I might destroy myself or the entire town. I guess that's what they're doing in the desert, away from everyone else." 
     Sy shook his head. He allowed Enin's attention to remain on his personal questions as he spoke to Ryson of a more immediate danger. "You came across a serp in the hills? With goblins and a shag?" 
     "Unfortunately, yes." 
     "Scouting out the wall?" Sy demanded. 
     "Probably." 
     Sy grumbled, almost like the light growl of a panther. 
     Ryson tried to ease his worries. "I scattered the goblins. Disarmed a few and sent them running." 
     "They'll be back." 
     "Maybe, maybe not. I called out a warning to the serp before I left. I told him we'd double the guard and be ready for any raid." 
     "And we will," Sy accented. "What happened with the shag?" 
     "I can't take out a shag on my own," Ryson admitted slightly embarrassed. 
     "I never expected you to, but I still need to know what it was up to." 
     "It was with the serp." 
     "Not attacking?" 
     "Only me." 
     Sy folded his hands behind his back as he scanned the maps of the surrounding hills. "So the serp's got a shag on its side now." 
     "It seems." 
     "That's not very comforting." 
     "It's a big one though. It'll be easy to spot in the clearing." 
     "Well, if Enin didn't sense them, they didn't get too close. I still don't like it." 
     Ryson finally struck on the true point of his visit. "I think they were looking for a blind spot. And I think they might have found one. One of the reasons I came here was to warn you to build another tower." 
     "Where?" Sy asked firmly. 
     "Southeast corner of town." 
     "Really? I can't remember them ever coming from the east?" 
     "The blind spot is more to the south. We need the angle to cover it." 
     Sy rubbed his chin, considered the whole of the news brought by the delver. "I'll have to take a look at that. I don't think there'll be a problem with building another tower, especially if it helps keep the goblins away, but what bothers me is that shag. What's a shag doing with a serp and a pack of goblins? I though shags ate goblins. And even if we build a sixth tower, a shag might not care if we see it coming or not. If it wants to attack, it may run right up to the gate." 
     "I don't think it was there to attack. It looked like it was just guarding the serp." 
     "Maybe, maybe not. Dealing with goblins is one thing; dealing with a hoard of shags is another." 
     "I only saw one." Ryson countered. 
     Sy remained weary. "That may just be the first of many. The serp may be tired of being beaten back from the wall. It may have decided it's time to bring in a bigger weapon. I want to take a look. If you're not going to be here the next few days, I need to be extra careful. You don't mind do you?  You can point out where they were, and you can tell me anything else I need to know about this dwarf-algor war." 
     These words seemed to snap Enin to attention. "A war? Between the algors and the dwarves?" 
     "That's what Ryson tells me," Sy answered then turned his attention back to the delver. "You have a quick moment before you leave? I just want to go up on a tower and you can point out where they were." 
     Ryson looked to Lief. "It's the least I should do. I'm not going to be able to scout for them for the next few days. Do you mind?" 
     Lief showed no reservation. In fact, the thought of leaving the room for a tower appealed to him. It would not be exactly like climbing the trees of Dark Spruce, but it would be close. 
     The four quickly exited the office and the command post all together. Lief breathed deeply the open air. The buildings that lined the streets they walked still seemed to close upon him, but he was at last free of the tiny enclosed room. 
     They spoke of the algors and the dwarves as they walked briskly to the southwestern tower. Sy allowed the guard to remain as the four made the climb to the elevated platform. He did not always openly offer information to his soldiers, but he never deliberately hid things from them, either. He spoke of the dilemmas forthright, unconcerned that the lookout would overhear. 
     "Where did you come across the serp?" 
     Ryson pointed deep into to the hills. "There, just beyond the third hilltop from the clearing." 
     It was a good distance away. Sy nodded to the budding wizard. "That's why you didn't sense them Enin." 
     "Yes, that is rather far." 
     Sy gazed out over the rolling hills. 
     "And the shag was with the serp?" 
     "Not the whole time," Ryson admitted. "I found shag tracks on the top of that third hill. I believe it was acting like a lookout." 
     "So the serp is using some of our own methods." 
     "It would seem. Anyway, when I first spotted the serp, the goblins were with it, but not the shag. I chased the goblins away. When I came back to get the serp, the shag was ready to defend." 
     "It does sound like a personal guard. And you saw no signs of another shag?" 
     "None." 
     "That makes me feel a little better. Now, where's this blind spot?" 
     Ryson pointed to the edge of the clearing directly south of Burbon. "See the base of that hill, the one that extends furthest into the clearing? What if they crouched below it?  At what point would they be visible to this tower?" 
     "They wouldn't, but the tower over the south gate would have a direct view of them." 
     Ryson shook his head. "It's too high. The lookout would have to lean out over the railing to see below him at that close range." 
     "And if he did, he'd take an arrow between the eyes," Sy acknowledged. 
     "Exactly." 
     Sy tapped his fingers together. "They'd get right to the gate. It's surprising it took so long for them to find it." 
     "Maybe this is a new serp. I haven't seen one with a shag guard before." 
     "Not a good time for you to be leaving." 
     "I can't do much about that." 
     "I know, I'm just reminding myself of what I'm up against." Sy looked over to the southeast corner of the wall. "You're right about the new tower. That'll cutoff the blind spot, but it's going to take a few days to build. I'm going to have to keep guards outside the gate until then. I don't like it, but I have no choice." 
     "A spider!" Enin blurted out. 
     The rest of the men upon the tower gazed at him questioningly. Enin ignored them, whispered confusing words, until Sy called for his attention. 
     "Enin? Enin!" 
     "Huh? Oh sorry, I was just thinking out loud." 
     "I know. What were you thinking?" 
     "Ryson compared me to a big spider. That's the answer." 
     Sy shook his head. "Your senses are always helpful, but it won't be enough in this case. You won't feel them until they get close to the wall, by then it'll be too late. I have to be warned when they get close to the clearing, not the wall." 
     "They won't get to the wall," Enin asserted. He stopped his explanation and again stared out to the edge of the clearing. He spoke as if he were alone on the tower platform. "Spider's web, spider's trap, spider's warning. It's all the same. Make the trap where the flies are, or where the flies can be caught. A binding spell, like a force field. I've done that before. I need to alter it slightly, not a shield but a trap, a web. Think of a spider. How to focus the energy? Yes, that's it, that's definitely it." 
     Without another word, Enin raised his hands. He looked first to the sky then to the blind spot as defined by Ryson. His fingers curled, pulling in the magical energies that flowed freely in the very air that surrounded them all. He tapped into his inner power as well, the energy he allowed to fill his core. He became a siphon and a conduit, mixing the power of himself with the free flowing magic. Two intertwining circles of a pale white hue formed around his wrists. 
     Ryson watched with great interest. He had seen wizards cast spells before; after all he had battled Ingar upon Sanctum. Still, this scene filled him with wonder. A seemingly normal human was pulling power from the very air. When he was young, he thought of magicians as entertainers that shuffled cards with extraordinary skill. Now, now they were powerful men and women with the ability to control energy of an unknown magnitude. 
     The sight was awe-inspiring, perhaps even more so for the elf that noted the scene with guarded amazement. The white light and the spheres indicated a skill he could not have expected. He said nothing, but the significance of such power was not lost upon him. 
     Enin kept his attention focused upon his spell. He ignored those that watched even as he could sense their growing amazement. As the circles of energy swirled, he redirected his hands at the base of the hill to the south. The rings of power flew from him, flipping over and over as they danced through the sky. They hit the ground at the point of the blind spot. Hundreds of long strands exploded from the circles, forming a giant web of glowing white. It remained visible as its whiteness clashed with the green and brown hill grass. 
     Enin nodded in approval. "It's visible in the day, maybe even at night. I don't know how much it will glow. It won't matter. If they see it, they'll know their blind spot is no longer feasible. If they don't, we'll have a few more prisoners." 
     "They won't be able to break through it?" Sy questioned. 
     "They could. It's not the strongest spell in the land. They'd be able to cut through it with their short swords, but not while crouching down and hiding from this tower. It will take a little more effort than that." 
     "What about the shag? If a goblin can cut through it, it won't stop a shag for a moment." 
     Ryson offered his own understanding. "A shag won't be able to hide behind the slope of that hill. It's too big." 
     Sy nodded. A shag would be too big to utilize the blind spot. The lookout from this tower would spot it. Only the slight goblin could truly use the edge of the hill for cover. The web would work. He reveled in the victory. It was not always the actual physical struggle which turned the advantage. More often, it was the battle of strategy, the deployment of forces, obstacles, and resources. Confident in the overall approach of the web, Sy focused on the details. 
     "How long will it last?" 
     Enin closed his eyes. He could feel the web; it was still part of him. "Half a day. I can cast another spell tonight and again tomorrow morning." 
     "It won't tire you out?" 
     "It doesn't require a great deal of energy to cast." 
     Sy turned to Ryson with a greater sense of comfort. "It appears as if we have solved our blind spot problem. They might even see the web if they make another scout of the wall. Actually, I hope they do. It'll let them know we're aware of their plans. If they had just seen us constructing the tower, they might have attacked to press their advantage. Now, they'll find out they've lost that edge." 
     "You'll still send out scouts?" Ryson questioned, but he already knew the answer. Sy was too careful, too attentive to subtle changes to rest upon a single solution. 
     "Absolutely. I'm not worried about the blind spot anymore, but there's still a serp out there with a shag doing its bidding. That still makes me nervous. I'll send out scouts at random intervals." 
     "Tell them to scatter their formation if they go in the high grass," Ryson advised. "The shag was covered with grass to blend in. I didn't see it until it stood up. If your scouts cluster together, it might surprise them all at once. They've got to leave room so they can cover each other. And it was hard to gain its scent, the serp's own sorcery I think." 
     "Amazing. Camouflage magic," Sy gave his adversary its due credit. "We're going to have to come up with a way to defeat that." 
     "I'll learn to smell them," Ryson stated with determination. "But for now, tell them to look for thicker than usual clumps in the grass. That's what I'll be doing." 
     Lief ignored the continued conversation of strategy. After the wizard's display, such considerations seemed irrelevant. The glowing white light from Enin's web consumed his thoughts. Such power. If used properly, it would be enough to stop an army of goblins. If underestimated, it could wipe out the town as well as the landscape before him. 
     From the tower platform, the elf could also see over the rolling hills to the south and beyond the Fuge River. Dark Spruce Forest was clear in his sights. He felt the trees call to him, but he also remembered the pressing need of the algors. He would have to serve them before returning to the forest. 
     "Ryson? It is time for us to go," the elf professed lightly. 
     The delver nodded grimly. A pang of guilt bit at his core. From the tower he could see the roof of his home, as well as the peaked second story of the Borderline Inn. Was Linda back at work, worrying about when he'd return? He was already worrying about her. He made a final request of Sy. 
     "Keep an eye on Linda for me, would you Sy? I know she can take care of herself, but it'd make me feel better. Thinking about that shag has me as worried as you." 
     "Not a problem. I'll see to it, but you keep your mind on yourself. If you're going out into the desert, you need to stay alert. I can spare you for a few days, but this town needs you back." 
     "You needn't fear too much," Lief replied with almost too much confidence for Sy's liking, but then again the captain of the guard had never met Holli Brances. Lief explained. "Another elf will be accompanying Ryson and myself, an elf guard. There are few that can match her talents." 
     "That's no boast," Ryson echoed. "Holli's going with us." 
     "Another that was with you at Sanctum?" Sy now understood Lief's confidence. "Very well. Then all I can say is hurry back."
 

Chapter 4

     Once beyond Burbon's wall, Lief took the lead. He and the delver moved on foot, remaining on the lonely road that passed through the south gate. They passed several hills before Lief let out a shrill whistle. A similar response came from his left. 
     Ryson's eyes immediately honed in upon the source. His sharp vision detected trace hints of Holli's presence while she remained crouched in the tall grass. Upon his sighting, she stood erect, though carefully and slowly. She checked each direction before stepping lively but gracefully toward the open road. She met Ryson with a smile. 
     "Good day to you, delver!" 
     The near carefree ease in her welcome surprised him. He was prepared for a more stoic greeting, a greeting that suited a cautious elf guard. Instead, she appeared more than simply good-humored to see the delver. She seemed almost at peace, and this contrasted sharply with Ryson's memory of her. Though surprised, he managed to return the hello. "And a good day to you, Holli. You look well." 
     And she did, well and happy, and also content with her surroundings, and that also contrasted with his memories of her. As an elf guard, she had always seemed far from at ease; always watchful, always preparing for some unseen and unknown threat. But now, she appeared much more relaxed. Her eyes still darted about, still surveyed the land in all directions, but not with the same diligence that Ryson remembered. 
     To the delver, this change was beyond out of character, it was unwarranted, especially considering the influx of new dangers. Since the release of the magic, he himself was far more careful. Whenever he was outside the walls of Burbon, his senses jumped to high alert. He became as zealous in uncovering danger as he remembered the elf guards that protected their camps in Dark Spruce. 
     The guard that epitomized this behavior, Holli Brances, was now, however, nothing like the cautious fox he remembered. He could not guess as to what might have caused this transformation in her behavior. Ryson's curiosity got the better of him and he blurted out the question. 
     "Are you still an elf guard?" 
     "Of course," she replied simply. She found the question almost humorous. She waited expectantly for an explanation. 
     Ryson remained confused. "But you're different... I don't know, less alert I guess?" 
     Holli tilted her head. "I still remain concerned with possible threats, if that's what you mean. I always will." As if to accent this point, her eyes darted about the landscape. 
     The quick glance, however, did little to alleviate Ryson's suspicions. Something was different about the guard and his delver curiosity pushed him to know more. "I don't know. You seem much more at ease than I remember." 
     "Right now, I am at ease. I believe that all serious threats have left this area." 
     Ryson recalled that he encountered the serp and the shag several hilltops to the west. Could she know of them, were they still about? 
     "What threats?" 
     Holli responded with certainty. "A serp, a shag, and some goblins." 
     "So you know about them?" 
     "They were within shouting distance a short while ago." 
     "I know," Ryson admitted. "I broke up the goblins, but the shag and serp forced me away." 
     "They have left." 
     "You're certain?" 
     "Absolutely." 
     "How do you know?" Of course, he suspected. He felt a presence around her that was akin to the aura which surrounded Enin. 
     "The magic has opened many secrets to those who know how to use it. I can now sense the presence of such creatures as they approach." 
     It was as he thought. Holli was much like Enin in her ability to touch the magic. He wondered how far she had gone with this new power. "So you're casting spells now?" 
     Holli shook her head, almost defensively. "I am not a magic caster. I am an elf guard, and my duties prevent me from conducting such activities. Casting spells is a dangerous activity and requires time for study. I have no such time, and my responsibility to the safety of those I protect remains paramount. Still, there are other ways to use the magic other than simply casting spells. It remains an energy that can be harnessed in many ways." 
     She appeared certain of this to the extent of knowledgeable. Ryson had little understanding in the matter of magic, and being a delver, he pressed for answers. 
     "How so?" 
     Holli chuckled harmlessly. She understood all too well the delver's curiosity. She endeavored to quench it for him. "Think of fire. It can be used for heat or for light. Lamps surround your human town to ward off threats even as pots of stew boil over stoves and hearths. Magic is no different. It all depends on your need. I don't use spells, but the magic within me heightens what I can sense. It's not sight or smell, it's beyond that." 
     Ryson nodded. He made it clear to the guard that he understood her explanation. "I know. There's a human wizard I've become associated with. He's also learned to sense the presence of creatures that use magic." 
     "He casts white magic, with spheres," Lief acknowledged with a nod to Holli. 
     The elf guard looked back at the walls of Burbon. 
     Ryson missed the accent of such matters. Instead, he focused on the use of magic itself. "He's been able to warn us of goblins that sneak through our first line of defense. It has become quite helpful." 
     "It will be even more helpful when we cross through the Lacobian desert," Lief stated with an impatient edge. "The algors await us and need warning. We should not delay." 
     He began to move southward along the desolate dirt road as Ryson and Holli turned to follow. A bridge over the Fuge River was in sight as were a few trees of Dark Spruce. Lief stepped at a quick pace, a near trot for humans. He contemplated the distance to the forest. Before long they would be able to move among the trees, but only for a while. The section of forest which separated these grassy hills from the rocky terrain which preceded the desert was not at all wide. He frowned at the thought of trekking through the rock canyons and even worse, the Lacobian desert. He grumbled a complaint out loud. 
     "We should have brought horses." 
     Ryson corrected him. "It wouldn't have helped. I'm sure you want to climb through the trees when we reach the forest. What would we do with the horses?" 
     "I was thinking more of the canyons and the desert." 
     "They'd help in the canyons, I can't argue that, but not in the desert. I can get enough water for us, but not for three horses as well. We'd have to bring a great supply of water for them and that would weigh them down. No, we'll be better off on foot." 
     Lief's impatience to move on was but a temporary distraction from Ryson's questions for the elf guard. The delver's thoughts focused back on Holli's words about the magic. If she could sense creatures that used the energy, she would be as useful as Enin in uncovering threats. He looked to the river and thought of the river rogues, dangerous creatures, but creatures that apparently needed magic to walk this land. Again, as they moved toward the bridge, he voiced his questions. 
     "Do you sense anything from the river? Any river rogues?" 
     "No, the path is clear." 
     "And you sure of this?" 
     "Absolutely." 
     This was interesting. If elf guards could indeed detect the presence of other creatures, it changed battle tactics. He mulled over the possible effects as he voiced yet another question. 
     "If you can now sense threats well in advance, doesn't that change everything? I mean, it sounds like surprise attacks are a thing of the past. Take us moving over this bridge as an example. If you could sense a river rogue before it gets near us, we could never be surprised." 
     "That is exactly why I am more relaxed with our journey at this moment. Do you think I would allow Lief to walk so carelessly forward if I thought he might be walking into an ambush?" 
     Lief grumbled under his breath. 
     Holli smiled at Ryson. "He is not as attuned to the magic as I am, that is why he is so irritable." 
     "So it's different for each elf?" 
     "Some can not sense anything," Holli replied. 
     Ryson pondered how that might change things. If some elves were less sensitive than others, then there was still a chance for surprise. Then again, the proper utilization of sensitive elves would eliminate this problem. He spoke openly of his theories over such tactics. "Still, if I understand this correctly, it would remain possible to completely eliminate surprise attacks. If elves sensitive to magic are used as scouts and guards and escorts, it would be near impossible for an elf party to fall victim to a raid. To me, that seems to change things drastically. I mean, why would I rely on stealth if I knew that it was impossible to move in without being detected. As far as battles go, it almost comes down now to a point of pure force. Whatever army is the biggest and strongest will win. Isn't that right?" 
     "Not exactly." Holli walked with ease in her step, but she still made intermittent surveys of their surroundings. Her eyes would dart about the hills and across the river as if she only trusted her new perception to a marked degree. Even as she stepped over the wooden bridge, she glanced at possible hiding spots for river rogues. No threats existed but she explained both her actions and her statement. "First, there is a limit to the range. Yes, I can sense things close by, but an army of goblins may still use stealth to amass great numbers for an attack. I might sense them before we stumble upon them, but then again, it may be too late." 
     "I can understand that," Ryson allowed. "It's the same for the human wizard I told you about. He can't sense the hills, but he can sense goblins before they reach the wall, so it isn't a total surprise." 
     "That may be true," Holli countered, "but there are some threats which can not be sensed through the magic. Most of these are threats which existed before you destroyed the sphere. While it's easy to detect the presence of a creature which needs the magic to exist in the land, like a shag or a serp, it is much more difficult to detect the presence of others. The dwarves, for example, are the most resistant to magic, thus I would have no warning of their presence if I simply relied on the perception of magic. It is nearly the same for the algors. Unlike elves and many humans, the algors don't constantly store magical energy within themselves. When they cast spells, they must either take it directly from the air, or spend much time and energy in absorbing the power. Thus, it is difficult to detect the presence of dwarves and algors based solely on this method. As for humans and delvers, some are potent with magic while some are resistant. I sense that you would have the ability to hold much energy within you. You could probably learn to cast many spells." 
     "I don't think I want to." Ryson responded almost too quickly.
     Holli saw sense in that answer. "Right now, that is probably wise. Casting spells remains a dangerous activity." 
     As Ryson considered the point, Lief stepped up to the welcoming cluster of trees that formed the outer boundary of Dark Spruce Forest. Without reservation, he nimbly jumped to a branch and waited for Holli and Ryson to join him. The elf guard also took to the trees, but slightly off to the left so as to spread their formation. Ryson did not join them. 
     "Will you not travel the trees with us, delver?" Lief asked. "I recall you handled this form of travel quite well." 
     "Thank you, but I think I'll stick to the ground," Ryson responded. He looked about with grave uncertainty. "I know the forest is home to you, but I've learned it hides many things now. I'll feel a lot more comfortable on the ground. Besides, I can scout from down here while Holli uses the advantage of height." 
     "He's right," Holli stated in agreement. "It's better if we stay spread out." 
     "As you both wish, I just want to reach the algors as quickly as possible." 
     Indeed, the three moved quickly through this section of Dark Spruce. The trees were not clustered or woven tightly together here. They spread themselves apart. They remained close enough for the elves to step or leap from one to another, but far enough apart to allow a good deal of sunshine to break through the overhead branches. The shifting sunbeams bathed the ground with warmth and the forest seemed to welcome them all. The elves embraced this part of their journey, happy to be leaving the human town behind. 
     Their progress slowed only once, to avoid a small party of goblins. Ryson caught their scent just as Holli sensed the disturbance in the magical aura that surrounded her. It was a small party, not even enough for a suitable raid, a handful out scavenging for food. The three virtually ignored the cretins with a wave of disgust. A slight detour served to avoid hostilities, and elf and delver were soon passing out of Dark Spruce. Much sooner, in fact, than Lief would have wished, the elves had to give up the trees to step over the rock hard ground of the sloping canyons. 
     Here, away from the trees, Holli's regiment of awareness increased. She returned to a state of wariness which typified the elf guard. The terrain, hilly and rocky, offered cover for shags and other potential monsters. She looked carefully for such hazards, but the true threat of this place lied in its proximity to the Lacobian desert. 
     The Lacobian had become the training ground for the most ambitious wizards and sorcerers, and there was no telling what terrors might have been created. Throughout elflore, stories existed of sorcerers summoning terrible creatures. If such creatures were again brought to this land, they would find this rocky place a welcome hunting ground and sanctuary. Rumors abounded of both dark and light magic, of spell casting pushed to the limit, and of monsters not even recorded in the legends or in elflore. 
     The return of magic and its current use by power hungry novices, brought hard reality to the land. Had there not been such a span of ages between the disappearance of the magic and its unavoidable return, perhaps there would remain knowledge of how to use it. But no such knowledge seemed to exist, and burgeoning wizards were left to depend on trial and error. Rumors might have spread out of fear and misunderstanding, but they were born out of disheartening truth, a truth which Holli could not afford to ignore. 
     With such awareness, the elf guard turned her focus on uncovering all possible dangers. Uncertain of how the ambitious use of magic might affect her own ability, she began to divide her reliance over all her senses. Her eyes began to dart along the rugged rocks with greater diligence. She inspected the ground, searching for the smallest indication of danger. She listened to the wind with near constant attention, and she began to rely upon other resources as well. She knew the delver's senses far exceeded her own, and she called for him to use them. 
     "Ryson. This place is dangerous. I must ask you to use all your skill to detect anything which seems out of the ordinary. If you sense anything at all, please advise me." 
     "Of course." 
     The coolness of the harvest forest gave way to a harsh, biting southern wind. The temperature rose as the sight of the Lacobian grew closer. The rocky hills sucked in the heat like a hungry infant. As their footsteps began to fall on sandy rock and the last traces of Dark Spruce had long faded behind them, it felt more like the height of the dry season, as if the coming dormant season was nothing but a distant thought. A wavering haze formed in the distance, compromising his long range surveillance. 
     To both his relief and his disappointment, he found nothing in these canyons, only the day old tracks of a shag. He pointed the tracks out to Holli and she nearly dismissed them completely. At Ryson's urgings, they circumvented a bluff he believed might hold its lair, but the elf guard appeared more concerned with distant, uncovered threats than the existence of a shag. 
     Ryson knew exactly where he needed to lead them; the sandstone mountain that the algors used as a meeting place. He had made this trek before, and once a delver discovered a path, it was never forgotten. He could have led them to the sandstone edifice blindfolded, moving solely on memory of a trip taken over a season ago, but instead, he remained watchful. 
     In his travels, the delver had hoped he might find signs of a few wayward algors. He recalled how individuals would break from the community and set off in the desert alone, isolating themselves in order to find their individual identity. All algors needed to be warned of the impending attack of the dwarves, and Ryson was well aware of the way they freely shared information. If he could find a straggler here and there, it would only help their cause. With each algor told, the warning would spread that much more quickly. He looked for tracks of such algors, solitary travelers hoping in some mad fashion to find their own individualism in the lonely desert, but he found nothing. Not unexpected. The algors lived at the heart of the desert, surrounded completely by the hot, shifting sand. It would probably take time to reach a point where they might actually find signs of a single traveler. 
     Ryson looked to the sky. The sun was low in the western horizon and there was still a great distance to travel. He considered their surroundings and their circumstances. He knew enough of the desert not to be fooled by the current warmth. When the sun dropped beyond the horizon, the air would grow cold. There would be a need for shelter, probably even a fire. The rocky canyons, unfortunately, were now almost completely out of sight. If they were to camp now, they would have to do so among a group of cacti in the sand, not the best shelter in the land, but it would have to do. 
     As he scoured the landscape for the best site available, he wondered if Lief and Holli would even allow making camp. They might urge him to move onward through the night. If such was their wish, he would certainly be able to continue. The desert was taking a greater toll upon the elves than it was upon him. In fact, he would have rather kept moving. Still, he had to offer the proposal. 
     He was about to make his proposition when slightly shifting sand stole his attention. He looked to his companions to call out a warning. Holli's attention was also fixed upon the disturbance. Lief, for the moment, was not yet aware, but the delver's call brought him to the ready. 
     "The sand's moving." 
     "I see it," Holli whispered. "Spread out!" 
     Both Lief and Ryson obeyed. They formed three points of a triangle around the section of disturbed sand. All movement stopped. Even the sand settled back into place. Holli stood motionless, closest to the point of their focus. 
     Ryson whispered another warning. "There's still movement down there. I can feel it." 
     "What kind of movement?" 
     "Hard to say. Tunneling maybe. But whatever it is, there's more than one. I think maybe a dozen different sources." 
     "How close to the surface?" 
     "Not very. Do you think it's goblins?" 
     "Doubtful." 
     Ryson thought of the magic, how when it was first released from the sphere it mutated and created terrible monsters. Anything at all could be waiting down there preparing to attack. He posed the possibility in one word to Holli. 
     "Magic?" 
     "I sense nothing." 
     "Wait, I hear something. Voices. They're coming up." 
     "Swords!" Holli ordered and all three drew their weapons. 
     Ryson's sword, the Sword of Decree, revealed its enchantment as it magnified the dying sunlight. The glow drenched the sand before them. The white sand sparkled as it again began to shift, this time with far greater force, and the increased light served to magnify the disturbance. Large amounts of sand swirled downward, as if falling through an hour glass. A crater formed as more and more of the sand began to fall away into some unseen hole. 
     Ryson looked deep into the heart of the gyrating disorder. Like a swirling whirlpool, the sand churned faster as it neared the center of the crater. The delver could only wonder as to how much sand would disappear into this ever-widening chasm.
     In a mere instant, Ryson saw that it was not natural forces that had opened the hole, but the greatest miners in all the land. The whirlpool effect was broken as a growling dwarf shattered the surface. 
     Sand sailed in every direction even as it continued to spill downward into an ever widening expanse. The first dwarf jumped clear, then another, and another. They bustled up from the sand like angry ants ready for war. Armored chest plates sparkled as richly as the desert sand. Reinforced with jewels, this armor could not be cut by elf swords. Though prepared to strike, for their axes were in their stout, firm hands, the first dwarves to appear revealed surprise in seeing the elves and the delver. 
     Other dwarves surfaced. Ten in number now stood upon the surface of the sand. They wore goggles made of tinted gems to protect their vision from the desert light, but their eyes widened at the unexpected sight of the elves. 
     The shock spread. Lief fumbled with his words. "What is going on here?" 
     The dwarves said nothing. They had expected to attack algors. They crouched in battle readiness, but they held their position. 
     Holli saw the situation clearly. She held tight to her sword, but dropped it from its ready position. "They thought we were algors. Isn't that true?" 
     The dwarves did not feel the need to explain such things to an elf. They might have simply retreated back down their tunnel, had one not voiced a single suspicion. 
     "Spies." 
     "Nonsense," Holli responded firmly. 
     The accusing dwarf did not think so. "Why else would they be out here?  An alliance with the algors." 
     Nothing more was needed. The situation quickly boiled over. The dwarves advanced, considering the three as enemies. 
     "Fire upon you fools!" Lief admonished the attackers. "You have no cause for this." 
     The dwarves ignored him. They broke into three separate groups, each to deal with an individual enemy. Two groups of three set upon Holli and Ryson while a foursome moved to surround Lief. They moved laboriously, struggling with the shifting sand at their feet. They plodded forward without speed or dexterity. Each step was forced, as if each movement had to be considered separately. 
     Lief and Holli also grappled with the terrain, but not to the same degree. Their bodies were slight, lean and long. They remained able to leap and side-step, whereas the dwarves sank deep into the soft footing like lead weights. Still, the elves were at ground level and in close quarters, not an enviable position when battling dwarves. 
     The dwarves took this to heart and believed that their superior numbers and strength would lead them to easy victory despite the shifting sand beneath them. They swung their axes almost wildly. Their short arms allowed only a limited reach and they were unable to connect, but they could see the elves tiring quickly under the heat of the desert. Those that focused on Holli and Lief became near ferocious in their attacks. 
     For those that attacked the delver, they found quick frustration. The delver moved with ease over the sand, moved with such speed and precision the dwarves were left swinging and grasping at open air. Ryson dodged each attack as if he were a dry leaf in the heart of a tornado. The dwarves soon lost all perspective of direction, and then, all hope. 
     Ryson would not use his sword upon the dwarves, but he would not let them callously attack him or his friends. He focused his attack on the dwarves' goggles. In a blur of motion, his agile hand speared toward the face of each attacker. He ripped the protective glasses away and exposed the dwarf eyes to the bright desert sun. With each assault, a dwarf was rendered near helpless as they jammed their eyelids shut to block the burning light that was magnified by his sword. 
     After blinding those that attacked him, he turned his attention on assisting the elves. He darted across the sand like a hurricane, his gleaming sword a streak of lightning. He continued his assault, relieving each dwarf of his goggles. 
     The dwarves could not fight him. With or without their glasses, they could not see him. They could not stop him. Their axe blades sliced harmlessly through the air. In the end, the lot of them were left shielding their eyes with their hands and unable to strike. 
     In frustration, humiliation, one called for an immediate retreat. None argued. They dove for the darkness of the hole without hesitation. 
     Lief appeared willing to stop them or to follow, but Holli's command held him. 
     "Let them go. We can't stop all of them and prisoners will only slow us." 
     Lief's anger burned. He yelled into the entrance of the tunnel. "Attack us will you? You had no cause. Fire upon you! Fire upon Yave!" He kicked sand into the opening as if to lash out with one last insult. 
     Ryson looked to Holli. "They've already started their attacks," he stated grimly. 
     "Hard to know the extent," she responded simply as if measuring the weight of the dwarf battle party. 
     "I noticed traces of blood on their axes. They must have already inflicted casualties," Ryson pointed out. 
     "Yes, but we do not know how many." 
     "One is too many." 
     Holli voiced simple logic. "We can't undo what has already occurred." 
     "But we can do all we can to prevent more," Ryson pressed. 
     "That's why we're here." 
     "I was going to ask if you wanted t