《To Shame the Strong: Book Three of The Five Realms》


 Chapter 1 Point Harrow

    Roland trudged side by side with the rugged Tishaaran, Sloat, over the cracked, crusted mud that spider-webbed as far as the eye could see across the bottom of a dried lake. Ahead of them, animals padded along in irregular clusters, separated more or less according to species. Their was no marching. No order or discipline.Only the squadrons of swallows and falcons soaring overhead in tight formation showed any degree of organization.


    Anxious about what he had gotten himself into, Roland took inspiration from his memories of the animals'' parting ceremony. With the bright eyes glowing in the night from every limb and tuft of grass, ancient Hairrison, the porcupine, had led them in, of all things, a prayer. For a brief time, the woods had come alive. The starlit clearing burst forth in a rumbling harmony of thousands of voices spanning more than four octaves, praising their creator in words that all noble-hearted Fourth Realm beasts memorized from their earliest days. The words had been drummed deep into Roland¡¯s soul:


    Come to us, Everlasting One,


    Not as You are


    But as we may understand.


    Free our world, Compassionate One,


    Not of tears


    But of injustice.


    Give us strength, Almighty One,


    Not to subdue the world


    But to care for it.


    Grant us laughter, Joyful One,


    Not to mock creation


    But to echo your pleasure.


    Grant us wisdom,


    To recognize what we know not.


    Teach us to roam,


    That we may find where home lies.


    Shower us with mystery,


    That we may be ever more certain of You.


    As he trudged alongside Sloat, Roland¡¯s meditation on the events of that sacred night was interrupted by a bluish-black missile shooting out of the sky. It was a swallow diving down to report the sighting of fires from a huge camp among the bluffs that formed the rugged peninsula of Point Harrow. None of the birds were able to get close enough to view the strength of the army that fortified the point--the air above it was dark with crows, hawks, and jays ready to intercept any intruders. But several of the scouts had gotten close enough to see a purple inferno erupt and spew flames into the sky at the rear of the camp, near the cliffs that overlooked the sea. Then, several moments after they had ignited, the flames coughed and flickered and faded altogether.


    ¡°No doubt about it,¡± said Roland, grimly. ¡°Ishyrus is there.¡±


    ¡°Nor are we too late,¡± offered Sloat. ¡°The flame has not taken hold. Ishyrus has not yet broken through.¡±


    The animal force plodded through pitiful stands of jack pine that choked and withered aroune the edges of the dried mud desert like beasts dying of thirst. Roland was beginning to fell cottom-mouthed himself. Nothing seemed real to him anymore. Here he was trooping along in the middle of a casting call for Noahls ark, trying to decide why it did not rell any weirder than it did.


    I guess once you''ve crossed over in the Fifth, nothing else will ever seem strange by comparison.


    Again a feathered meteor screamed down at them from the sky. This one was much larger¡ªso large that Roland ducked for cover until he realized it was one of the eagles he had seen talking with Hatanwas earlier in the day. This gigantic bird dove down to report the presence of an army advancing on them from the hills that guarded the peninsula.


    The beasts responded with raised hackles and throaty snarls. In no particular order, they closed ranks and lowered their heads, every muscle tensed.


    Roland felt conspicuously foolish standing near the front line of thisarmy, bearingno weapon whatsoever. "Tell me again why we are here," he whispered to Sloat. "Just what are we supposed to be doing?"


    Sloat frowned. "I do not have the slightest idea."


    Even forewarned, Roland was not prepared for the deafening shout that crashed down upon them. The hills exploded with wild men, dressed in goatskins and brandishing thick clubs, shrieking maniacally. One flankmoned to Hatanwa¡¯s side in the front line of the animal force, Roland and Sloat had a clear view of the wild men, dressed in goat skins and brandishing thick clubs, poured out of the hills, shrieking maniacally. One flank of the wild men was covered by a surging mob of Raxxars. Bounding and gliding down the hill with the air in thir wings, they soon outstripped all their allies. On the other flank, a phalanx of armored Pharitans from the Third Realm jogged forward i more controlled, lethal precision. Behind them swaggered Fourth Realm urchins, their broad foreheads encased in iron helmets honed to a sharp point. Huge rats streamed through the ranks of the more human creatures.


    His encounter with the Fifth Realm had immunized Roland against terror to some degree. Roland stared in awe at the scene that unfolded before him, feeling as though he stood in the front row of the latest high-tech virtual reality ride. He stared in awe at the scene, feeling as though he stood in the front row of the latest high-tech virtual rality ride, oblivious to the threat of death that bore down on him.


    As the enemy drew close enough that he could see the sweat glistening on the stringy hair of the wild men, and could distinguish the proud battle cries of individual men ixed with the yammering of Raxxars, the sea of beasts beside him exploded into action. Before the enemy could make contact, the animals sprang to the counterattack with the speed and ferocity of a school of starving piranhas in a feeding frenzy. Hatanwa led the sprint into the startled ranks of the wild men. Mud, fur, and blood flew through the air; snarls, howls, and shrieks filled the plain.


    The battle was over almost before it began. The charge of the beasts broke the enemy ranks like a Lumberjack ax splintering a glass pane, and scattered them into the hills. Roland wiped his eyes of mud dust, and blinked several times in disbelief but the scene held. The enemy that had seemed so menacing and had assaulted them so savagely now fled in headlong retreat.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Roland regarded the ragged collection of creatures with new respect. ¡°Wow! That was awesome! We are the champions, my friend! Let¡¯s get to Point Harrow, kick their butts, and write an end to this story.¡±


    ¡°Would that it were so easy,¡± said Packory, his wide eyes studying the flight of the enemy. ¡°But this was no attack. Only a probe. I suspect it¡¯s Ishyrus¡¯s way of taking stock of our army. Now it knows what we have and how best to defeat us.¡±


    ¡°But you saw what we did to them!¡± insisted Roland. ¡°We scared me to death and I¡¯m on our side!¡±


    ¡°The attackers were few and of poor quality,¡± scoffed Packory. ¡°Many were lower realmers who have never encountered Fourth Realm animals. You can see for yourself that Fourth Realm beasts are nothing like what you are used to. I say again,this was no battle. Ishyrus ordered this attack to educate his armies. To show them that we are not merely dumb lower realm creatures who have been trained in telepathic communication. They have now seen that thought and vision and a scrap of unified purpose, when combined with natural animal ferocity and strength make Fourth Realm animals extremely dangerous. Next time they will not be so careless.¡±


    Indeed, the beasts took no satisfaction in their success. They barely paused to lick the few wounds that were inflicted. Then onward they moved in their ragged, sprawling horde, steering a course for the peninsula.


    ¡°I must say, you were cool under the pressure of your first battle,¡± Packory said to Roland. ¡°Don¡¯t think we beasts didn¡¯t notice that. You stood right out in front without a trace of fear, like a man watching a thunderstorm off in the distance.¡±


    ¡°As did Sloat,¡± said Roland, deflecting some of the praise to him companion. ¡°It¡¯s not like we did anything at all. Never lifted a finger to fight. We¡¯re not really warriors, you know.


    ¡°Not yet,¡± conceded Packory. ¡°Yet I must say, that while Sloat stood his ground as well, he had his weapon out to protect himself. In a defensive crouch. Not that there is anything wrong with that. It''s the smart thing to do.


    "But you, Roland, never bent your knees, never even flinched, never even flexed a muscle. Amazing! Is that what a spin the Fifth Realm does to you?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Once you¡¯ve gone to war in the Fifth Realm, this sort of thing does seem like the jv game. ¡°


    ¡°The what?¡±


    ¡°Never mind. I guess I just have a hard time figuring out what¡¯s real and what¡¯s a dream sometimes. Usually, I''m too scared to know how scared I should be."


    "Well, you and the Tishaaran did well. You did very well."


    As the frog bounded away, Roland looked questioningly at Sloat. "What did we do?"


    Sloat shrugged. "''Well,'' apparently."


    Roland grinned. "Now that I think about it, that was some world class spectating on our part. In fact, i the rich and glorious tradition of passive observation, I would modestly submit that we observed as heroically as any mortal has ever observed. Centuries from now, they will be singing songs about how well we noticed what was taking place on the field of battle today."


    Like all Tishaarans, Sloat struggled with the concept of sarcasm. "I do not know what you are talking about. But as for me, I still do not know what I am doing in this army,"


    Roland wished Delaney were present to hear some of this. So much was lost in translation between worlds with Sloat. At least Delaney might have shared a raised eyebrow with him, if not a giggle. "Well, if I ever find out, you''ll be the first to know."


    Sloat looked at him quizzically. "If you find it out, how could I be the first to know?"


    The army of the beasts did not halt until they came to a broad hill dotted with evergreens, as stunted and gnarled as if every day of their existed had been a furious struggle against steep odds. From the peak of this hill, they could see Point Harrow rising up against the sky and sea behind a treeless moraine of hills, ditches, and sinkholes. A cold wind blew unchallenged off the sea, fluffing up Sloat¡¯s beard so that it stood straight out like a flag. Roland¡¯s hair, grown long since its last cutting in Tishaara, whipped across his face.


    ¡°I suppose you can think of something good to say about this wind,¡± he shouted to Sloat.


    ¡°If he cannot, I can,¡± said Packory. ¡°I love it! f it holds, we may be spared a plague of the enemy¡¯s black flies and gnats. Alas, I do not expect it to last. We beasts have no powers of influencing wind and weather like many of our Fourth Realm neighbors. I fear the weather will be exactly what the enemy desires it to be, unless the Gnomes get here soon and counteract them with some magic of their own.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a little hazy on that. You say there is magic in the Fourth Realm?¡±


    Packory blinked at him. ¡°Yes. And here¡¯s another little-known fact: there¡¯s water in the ocean.¡±


    Although the hills obscured the view, Roland saw enough glimpses of the enemy between the ridge on which he stood and the tallest bluff of Point Harrow to sober him.  Judging by the thousands of tents and the beehive of activity between them, and factoring in those hidden from view, Ishyrus had gathered an immense force. Yet, despite Packory¡¯s belittling of their accomplishment, Roland could not help but take hope in the fearsome power of the beast counterattack on the dried mud flats.


    Packory, too, seemed unfazed by what lay before them. ¡°Better than I had hoped,¡± he said, squinting into the swirling dust. ¡°Ishyrus takes a risk. The terrain is more open than I had been led to believe. If the bison, wolves, and Gnomes all show up, we may prove a match for the enemy. Providing we get to Ishyrus before it breaks the bonds. Of course, if its Fifth Realm powers kick in, all bets are off.¡±


    Scarcely were his words out than Roland detected a new danger approaching from the rear. A long line of torches wound along the western hills to the limits of sight, the flames blown sideways by gusts of wind. In the uneven light, Roland could just make out the features of the foremost of this army. They were humanish creatures, not particularly handsome, tending toward overlarge facial features. They covered their heads with hoods, and carried ponderous clubs, axes, and short, broad-tipped spears, and knives.


    Roland¡¯s heart sank. ¡°Tell me we¡¯re not surrounded!¡±


    ¡°Not at all,¡± said Packory. ¡°They are Color Gnomes. Solid allies. They wasted no time in answering the summons.¡±


    ¡°Exactly who or what is a Color Gnome?¡± asked Roland, recovering from the scare. ¡°I know they have something to do with the color lodes.¡±


    ¡°They come from the Spectral Hills,¡± said Packory. He betrayed neither relief nor anxiety at their arrival. ¡°They dwell in a wasteland where the soil yields only the hardiest crops and provides scant living. But you could sooner persuade a fish to move to land than get a Gnome to abandon the Spectral Hills. They crave the color lodes buried under the roots of the mountains.


    ¡°I do not deny that I would love to see one of the lodes,¡± he admitted. ¡°They say that color in its raw state is a splendor that overwhelms all other beauty. The most brilliant sunset pales beside the mere reflection of an orange lode. The scarlet of Droom is as the washed-out rust of iron compared to the red lodes. The lodes are far more coveted than gold and the Gnomes hoard their treasure jealously.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t get it,¡± said Roland. ¡°Are you saying that color is like an element? Is it solid material or liquid, or what?¡±


    "Neither sold not liquid; it has a form all its own.Packory shook his head. ¡°It has a form all its own. In most of the world, color rarely appears as a single element. But they say that the lodes of the Fourth Realm are the tears of the Seraphim, and so they do not have form as we know it. When they fell upon this land from the eyes of the departing Spirit folk at the creation of the realm bonds, most of them dispersed among the sand or evaporated into the air. But some of the tears seeped into the deep cracks of rock in the Spectral hills. They collected in tiny pools at the foundation of the mountains where, over the course of centuries, they became encased in transparent shells.


    ¡°Occasionally, a Gnome has nicked a lodestone by accident in the course of their digging. They say that when this happens, the land drowns in a tidal wave of color brighter than the sun and deeper than the hues of the ocean depths or the pitch blackness of a cave.¡±


    ¡°Now that I¡¯d like to see!¡± said Roland.


    ¡°Please,¡± cautioned Packory in a low voice. ¡°Do not even joke of such things. The Gnome miner who accidentally scrapes the edge of a lode is banished from the Spectral Hills for life. The color lodes are precious to the Gnomes beyond anything they can imagine. Only the most highly honored of the elders are granted even a glimpse of a lodestone.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the point of having something that beautiful if no one ever sees it?¡±


    ¡°I warn you, Roland. Be careful how you speak of the lodes and the Gnomish customs of dealing with them. The Gnomes will be particularly prickly about that subject on the battlefield.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because in times of war, the lodes are especially vulnerable. They are allowed out of the Spectral Halls only in time of battle, each chief carrying one precious lode on a chain around his neck. The chieftains use them as inspiration for their soldiers. There is not a Gnome alive who, upon seeing the gem held briefly to the light, cares anything for his own safety. Each will swear to defend it with his life, and, to a Gnome, they will carry out that oath.¡±


    He hopped closely to Sloat and Roland. ¡°Never ask them to show you the lodes. Do not even mention them in their presence. In fact, it is best not to let on that you have even heard of them. I warn you, although they are our allies, that army would kill every animal here without mercy if they thought any of them was contemplating a peek at the smallest of their gems.¡±


    ¡°What kind of warriors are they?¡± asked Roland, his survival instincts surfacing.


    ¡°They are a grim people,¡± said Packory. ¡°A grim people for grim times.¡±

 Chapter Two The Loft

    Whooshhh. Thrrmmmm. Whooshhh. Brrrrmmm.


    There is a serenity in loud noises, as comforting and restful as silence, provided the tones are pitched low and the drone is steady.


    Whooshhh. Thrrmmmm. Whooshhh. Brrrrmmm.


    Such sounds massage the mind and gently scour away the grit of thought and worry. Tranquility in noise. Another of life¡¯s paradoxes, Windglow concluded after waking from a sound sleep in a dark corner of the pump room.


    He had learned the work schedules of the only two other men who ever descended the ladder into the pump works. From what he saw of their work--checking valves, replacing pipe, lubricating gears--he guessed that they were skilled technicians, not easily replaced. Nor were they the least bit interested in poking around the cluttered, unused corners of their work area.


    Dhayelle Mohenga had scared Windglow pulseless when she caught him with his ear to the door of the conference room. He had been certain that he had been staring death in the face. The fact that she had proven a daring and resourceful ally had been no less than astonishing. With enemy search squads prowling the Citadel, Windglow had yielded to Dhayelle the perilous task of exploring the lower reaches of the Archives for clues to the whereabouts of Shaska or Ehiloru. His newfound ally also freed him from the hazardous and ethically challenging necessity of foraging for food. Each day she smuggled meals to him, with extra portions for his silent pet.


    All in all, Windglow felt almost snug in his present station, despite its gravity. His greatest concern was that the smell accumulated in so many days without proper bathing might give him away. But Dhayelle pointed out that, on that score, he actually blended well with the stink of most of the guards who contaminated the Citadel.


    As one of the pump engineers began a tedious series of water soundings and pressure measurements that would occupy him fully for hours, Windglow tucked Puddles into his shirt and stole up the ladder.


    Soldier traffic was heavier than usual in the Citadel this day. Crossing the main corridor to the back passage through the Archives took Windglow the better part of an hour. Finally satisfied that all was clear, he tiptoed up the marble staircase to the third floor of the Government Building. Breezing down the hall, he ducked into a closet and waited. Some time later, Dhayelle appeared carrying a spluttering candle atop a tray laden with pots and stacked mugs, and a half-eaten loaf of bread. She balanced the tray with one hand while she flipped through the ring of keys in her other and applied one of them to the keyhole of an oaken door. across the hall from the closet. On hearing the latch click, Windglow darted out of his hiding place and brushed past her through the doorway, stuffing the bread in his pocket.


    Dhayelle kicked the door shut behind her. She followed him as he groped along a narrow hallway frosted with crumbling limestone. Windglow had ferreted out this network of back closets, hallways, and storage rooms during his explorations. He had, in fact, found a cranny behind the very wall of the inner sanctum upon which he had been eavesdropping when Dhayelle had found him.


    At the end of the passage, Windglow accepted a boost from his accomplice up to a storage shelf covered with boxes. It was a tight squeeze. He could hardly bear the scrunching of his bones for more than an hour or two. But all passageways in the vicinity were routinely searched before each meeting.Windglow had to be in place and hidden well in advance of this in order to be at his listening post. His perch was recessed enough so that anyone searching for him would have to climb up onto the shelf to find him. So far, the crumbling walls and dank odors of the catacombs had made this more effort than the soldiers cared to expend.


    Dhayelle¡¯s timing must be off today. Windglow felt as though he had sat for hours, and he had yet to hear the sounds of the expected perfunctory search. His knees and tendons throbbed. He was about to stretch his legs over the edge of his nook when he heard a shuffling along the dark hallway.


    This search was far more thorough than the others. Windglow even heard scrapings of a boot climbing up on one of the lower shelves for a better view into his lofty nook. He leaned far back into th shadows, avoiding the flickering light of an oil lamp, and held his breath, trying to decide what to do if he was discovered. But the guard, after much grunting, left--either discouraged from further effort by the exertion required or satisfied he had done his duty.


    Windglow sank back in relief and stretched his aching legs.


    The room grew dark. A door slammed on the other side of the wall.


    At the sound of scraping chairs, Windglow pressed his ear to the thinnest portion of the plaster. The sounds of people settling into their seats obscured the initial remarks. But there was no mistaking the scaly, inhuman voice of Radigan, one of three men who had been present at all previous top level meetings, along with Eldorean, the governor of Rushbrook, and Flaymond, the Ordunese officer who had betrayed Hummer. On one other occasion they had been joined by an Ordunese senator named Mercuto.


    ¡°I should not need to be asking this question, but have the other Tishaarans been located yet?¡± asked Radigan.


    ¡°Wehave a report that the girl was seen coming to the aid of the Morp a few days ago,¡± came Flaymond¡¯s shaky answer. ¡°We have been tracking her now for some time. We have several good leads and shall have her soon. As for the other one, we have combed the entire Citadel and courtyard without finding a trace of him. It appears that he managed to escape. Nonetheless, we continue to monitor the corridors on the off chance that he cowers yet in some corner.¡±


    ¡°Neither poses a threat to us,¡± hissed Radigan. ¡°I was but hoping the soldiers might find them for their own satisfaction. A morale booster, as it were. The last thing in the world I fear is a couple of Tishaarans.¡± His voice then dropped so low that Windglow strained to hear.


    ¡°Listen well as I assign your parts. I shall not repeat a word of it and shall never speak of it again until all is accomplished. I warn you that you have no options or discretion. Do not even think of exercising initiative or improvising. Simply execute the plan. It cannot fail as long as it is carried out according to design.


    ¡°Eldorean, you will station a division of your armies at Reef¡¯s Island. In eight days, give or take a day, a visitor shall arrive there. When that happens, you will perform two assignments. One, you will send word to me at once. Two, you will command your men to protect that visitor with their lives. Do you understand?"


    ¡°Actually, I am a little confused,¡± said Eldorean. ¡°Who is the visitor? May I assume this would be the Master to whom you have alluded on several occasions? The mysterious one who directs the course of this venture? Come, you claim connection to the higher realms and none of us would dream of doubting you. But the identity of that power has never been revealed to us. If I am to offer protection, I need to know who or what we are protecting.¡±


    There followed a tense silence. ¡°All right,¡± hissed Radigan at last. ¡°I suppose it is time to reveal the identity. But the secret shall not go beyond this room. I promise you this: if anyone not present among us now comes to suspect this name before the appointed time, I shall assume betrayal and treachery on your part. And I shall not bother to sift out who was the culprit. I shall hold you all guilty. Agreed?¡±


    Eldorean and Flaymond hastily agreed, professing their absolute dependability.


    ¡°The visitor, the one who directs the course of this venture, is not a he at all, properly speaking. Nor a she. It¡¯s name is Ishyrus.¡±If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Windglow was stunned. Ishyrus? That name was mentioned in some ancient stories of the spirit world. It was said to be one of the noblest and wisest of the Seraphim of the Fifth Realm. That Ishyrus?


    He wished his eyes could burn through wood and mortar to see the face of the devil-voiced fiend who spoke this madness. Was this what the Cold Flames were all about? Ishyrus? Why would Ishyrus, or any other Fifth Realmer, risk its immortality in any sort of venture to the mortal lands? And how could a glorious being like that ever get mixed up with a scheming butcher like Radigan?


    ¡°But-but Ishyrus is a figure out of myth,¡± stammered Flaymond, clearly as astounded as Windglow at the news. ¡°A Seraph from the legends of the Fifth Realm.¡±


    ¡°Why, if it were to exist at all, it would be a spirit,¡± added Eldorean. ¡°I understood you to say the higher realms were involved in this, but I assumed you meant the Fourth. Do you mean to say you have had contact with the Fifth Realm? Can a spirit even exist in a lower realm?¡±


    Windglow blessed them both for speaking and providing temporary relief from that acid voice. But the long pause that followed made him uncomfortable. Did I make some movement that could be detected? Has Puddles made any noise?


    ¡°You credulous low realmers!" hissed the venomous voice. "Just because your kind has been shielded from the Fifth Realm since days long forgotten, do not delude yourself into thinking it does not exist. Ishyrus is coming. When it does, it shall be temporarily vulnerable. For a brief time, it shall have no Fifth Realm powers nor will it have its accustomed immortality. While in that state it must be protected, until it can accomplish that which it intends. I foresee no danger to Ishyrus, as long as the secret remains in this room. It is only because the potential consequences are so severe that all precautions must be taken.


    ¡°Now,¡± said Radigan, his words dripping with contempt, ¡°Am I correct in assuming there will be no more interruptions?¡±


    None of the listeners spoke. Windglow did not blame them. Who would dare interrupt that poisonous voice after such a warning?


    ¡°You shall be privileged to understand that which you need to understand,¡± said Radigan.¡°For now, you need only understand your role in the plan and I suggest you focus on that.¡± His tone implied that the word ¡°suggest¡± was only a euphemism. ¡°When word of Ishyrus¡¯s arrival reaches us from the island, you will begin the coup, Flaymond. The plan is precise. You butcher the parson, as savagely as imagination allows. Express your creativity; depravity can be an asset here. When you have finished, you will fling the bloody pieces of his carcass into the main corridor of the Archives. (¡°Dear God, no!¡±) At the same time, our agitators shall arouse the people to a murderous fury with tales of Ehiloru¡¯s savage torture and martyrdom at the hands of the sinister and arrogant Senate of Orduna. We shall stoke their righteous wrath until the rabble storms the Citadel to avenge his blood.


    ¡°At precisely that time you shall vacate the grounds and release our captive senators from their cells. They shall be washed and robed and perfumed like the strutting peacocks of the royal court of Pharitania. That is why we have pampered them so, Flaymond. These simpletons must appear to have been living in high style, tending only to their own obscene wants and corrupt desires while shutting their doors and their ears to the appeals for governance and justice from the citizenry.


    ¡°When the mob, primed for vengeance upon finding the body of Ehiloru, finds the haughty Senate of this inept government free and rejoicing in their release, they shall take them to be the tormenters and assassins of the prophet. They shall tear them apart. Every last member of the governing body of Orduna shall be slain, in the name of justice, by their own people. Except for one.¡±


    The ghastly voice dripped with malice. ¡°In the absence of any other authority within the city, you, Mercuto, who will have shown yourself to be the one loyal senator of Orduna, shall assume control. Assisted, of course, by the benevolent troops of Rushbrook who shall be on hand to help the citizenry reclaim what is their own.¡±


    ¡°I assume you have taken into account the regular Ordunese army,¡± said Mercuto, timidly. ¡°Those quartered across town. Although weakened and in disarray, it is still a force to be reckoned with. Would these soldiers stand by while a mob pillages the Citadel and an army of Brookings marches with impunity into their city? I fear that in the event of a riot such as you propose, the army may seize control of the Citadel until order has been restored. Would it not be better to wait until Ishyrus is finished doing...whatever, on the island and then begin our assault on Orduna with all our forces?¡±


    ¡°You show commendable cunning for an Ordunese,¡± said the grating voice. ¡°But your fears have been anticipated. Has not the Ordunese army been as frustrated as everyone else in this cursed city at the arrogance and incompetence of their inaccessible leaders, who have left them poorly equipped and underpaid? They are this far (Windglow could not see the distance Radigan was representing but assumed it to be tiny) from rebelling themselves. They shall be glad to see the veil of secrecy ripped from the Citadel so that the light of responsible leadership may again shine. Their rage over the torture and death of the saintly Ehiloru will equal, and likely surpass, that of the masses. I have no doubt they will rally behind Mercuto, the one loyal senator who saved the city from ruin and corruption.


    ¡°But if trouble should arise for any reason, we have ample backup. My own army lies hidden within the Citadel. Ordunese guards in our employ control the gates of the city. Whatever happens, your Rushbrook division, Eldorean, will be able to breech the city gates without a fight. You see that we have nothing to fear.¡± His laugh was a sickening parody of the real thing: cold and merciless.


    ¡°As for why we must attack while a division of our troops is occupied with the protection of Ishyrus, I prefer to do this without Ishyrus. It is a Seraph, you know. Warfare and bloodshed distress it so. Can you imagine how it would react to our butchering the prophet? No, I do not want Ishyrus to have any part in this coup, unless it is unavoidable. Better yet if it does not know that it was a coup at all, but believes it a legitimate takeover. That we are blameless in all that takes place."


    ¡°Then why wait for Ishyrus at all?¡± asked Flaymond. ¡°Why not set the coup in motion now?¡±


    ¡°You have no idea how long I have been planning this,¡± hissed Radigan. ¡°The stakes are beyond calculating. I have built into the plan safeguard after safeguard to eliminate even the possibility of failure. Ishyrus is my final trump card. It craves the success of this venture more than anyone. Should anything at all should go wrong, it is an infallible backup, and I would like to have it near at hand."


    Radigan hacked out his venomous laugh. ¡°Ishyrus could never have begun to achieve its aims without me. It owes me for my tireless years of labor on its behalf. If the plan lies in the balance, it will postpone its concerns and settle to my advantage any conflict that remains.¡±


    Eldorean repeatedly cleared his throat, as if testing icy waters before plunging in. ¡°I guess I do not understand Ishyrus¡¯s part in all this. In light of the restrictions posed by realm bonds, what powers can it possibly wield in this realm?¡±


    ¡°Am I to understand you consider yourself worthy of being privy to such knowledge?¡± The contempt in Radigan¡¯s voice raked Windglow¡¯s nerves.


    ¡°No, sir, not at all,¡± mumbled Eldorean. ¡°Not at all worthy.¡± Windglow was stunned hear the ruler of Rushbrook in such a state of abasement before Radigan. Who is this Devil-throat and what powers does he have to so dominate such a powerful man?


    ¡°An excellent analysis.¡±


    ¡°Sir,¡± croaked Flaymond, ¡°there there is one thing more that I am loathe to mention out of respect for your justifiable intolerance. ¡°Your army chafes at being cooped up within these Citadel walls. They openly grumble about having to cower out of sight and restrain themselves from their natural, shall we say, inclinations toward the prisoners.¡±


    The cruel laughter pierced deep into Windglow¡¯s soul. He felt overcome by a strange, disgusting sensation. Several confused moments passed before he realized that what he was experiencing was pure hatred! He bit his lip hard and tried to calm himself. Do not let them goad you into such an evil!


    ¡°Again, I remind you that Seraphs have tender hearts,¡± scoffed Radigan. ¡°It insists we use only such force as needed to accomplish its purpose. It would never be a party to the type of behavior you have in mind. Poor Ishyrus! Spirits can communicate through dreams in the lower realms, but they can receive communication only when we initiate it through meditation. I am the only one who regularly speaks to Ishyrus in this way; I am its only source of information. What the naive fool does not realize is that I communicate only what I choose. It has been so easy to conceal my plans and my nature under the guise of obedience and righteousness.


    Nevertheless, we must not get cocky. We must do all within our power to keep that illusion until the plan is fulfilled. Ishyrus must not understand, until it is too late, what I have done.


    ¡°So until the plan is accomplished, all will stay on their best behavior. But you may assure the men that the time is at hand when all of our loyal subjects shall be released from this puritanistic pap. When my rule begins and Ishyrus¡¯ attentions turn elsewhere, they shall drink life¡¯s pleasures to the fullest.¡±


    Windglow¡¯s mind churned in a mixture of wonder and revulsion. His fingers trembled and his knees cried out as he recited to himself the details of the plan he had just heard. Who or what was this hideous Radigan? Why was a Fifth Realm spirit risking its immortality by coming to Orduna? What could Ishyrus possibly want with the place? And Mercuto and Flaymond? The traitors! The Ordunese worms!


    A long time later, he gingerly unfolded his legs and crawled down from his perch. Stretching and hobbling until the blood could trickle back into the voids of his legs, he tried to make sense of what he had just heard. Although he had long ago come to grips with the probability that the world had entered a dangerous era, the magnitude of the plot that Radigan had outlined scared him witless. It exposed his foolish smugness about setting up camp inside the enemy¡¯s inner sanctum. The crowing of a self-important ninny! Radigan had already taken over Orduna so smoothly and secretly that even if Windglow could send 100 messengers to every corner of the city reporting exactly what he had just heard, they would be laughed out of the realm. In a few days, Radigan would complete the conquest, with the unexplained help of a Fifth Realm Seraph, of all beings.


    What hope was there of thwarting or even delaying a plot of this enormity especially at this late stage? Possibly someone might believe Ehiloru if he were to appear and expose the plot. But the prophet was under heavy guard and under the sentence of death. So who was left? Dhayelle and Delaney? Even if they could spread warning, to whom would they deliver it?


    ¡°Allies, allies,¡± he thought, slumped against the darkened wall as he waited for Dhayelle. ¡°Orduna must have friends who would answer in its hour of need.¡±


    But, sobered by Hummer¡¯s fatal miscalculation, he could think of no one beyond his tiny circle of acquaintances whom he could trust. The Ordunese army was riddled with corruption. The Senate, with the exception of the traitor Mercuto, was imprisoned. Of all the peoples of the Second Realm, Rushbrook held the closest ties to Orduna and should have been the first at its side. And yet its governor, Eldorean, groveled at the feet of the enemy.


    Mohenga Dhayelle better have some ideas!

 Chapter 3 Revenge of the Bison

    Whether due to age or sheer bull-headedness, Berch retained a few fragments more of memory from his native world than either Roland or Delaney. He carried, as if it were embedded in his flesh, the conviction that the highest compliment you could pay a man in the Platte River farmlands, where he had lived all his life, was to say that he was not afraid of work. Calling a man dependable would have come in a close second. Berch took it for a fact that both tributes could be inscribed on his tombstone. As far as he was concerned, these strengths more than made up for the less flattering consensus of his personality.


    Part of being dependable was avoiding serious mistakes. Berch had always been a careful and sensible man. Even in the heat of crisis, when split-second decisions owed more to instinct than reasoning, he had generally come through. If he had not, a neighbor would have lost more than a barn to fire, and a cousin would have lost more than an arm to the corn picker.


    After so many years clad in the mantle of such simple virtue, it fit like a second skin. At least it had until Berch had found himself in a place where the past no longer counted for anything. Here in the realmlands, late in life, with everything turned upside-down and without the anchor of his gentle and sensible wife, he suddenly had to reestablish a reputation that had been hard-earned over many decades, and that he had assumed to be permanent.


    To his surprise and shame, he had failed at this task. The tragedy with the wolf, aggravated by his boasting over the deed, haunted him day and night. The triumphant baying of the savage dog pack in its killing frenzy hounded him even in his sleep.


    The effects of advancing age heaped constant humiliation onto his disgrace. Even in these later years, Berch had been able to outwalk and outwork men half his age. But pitted against the freakishly tireless Tishaarans and a college distance runner in his prime, he had been dead weight on the expedition from day one. No matter how he pushed himself, he could never keep up with the others unless they slowed down. He was convinced that Digtry had risked the survival of the expedition in Kal Shadir solely for his sake. Desperate to salvage the shreds of his self-respect, Berch had resorted to a rash bit of thievery that now weighed more heavily on his health than on his conscience.


    ¡°You don¡¯t look well,¡± said Digtry, as they followed Belfray up a steep limestone path.


    ¡°You ain¡¯t much to look at, yourself,¡± Berch growled.


    ¡°Your eyes. Not good.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re blue. You got a problem with that? Louise always liked them.¡±


    ¡°They look out of place; like some spirit has taken over them. You¡¯re drawn and haggard. Would this have anything to do with the disappearance of some Droom elixir?¡±


    Unlike Roland, Berch recognized when he had been caught. Like Roland, he had no affinity for apologies. ¡°I only took a couple drops. Didn¡¯t think you¡¯d notice.¡±


    ¡°You took some of the Droom elixir?¡± cried Belfray, astonished.


    ¡°Guilty as charged,¡± said Berch.


    ¡°Where did you get it?¡± asked Belfray.


    Berch looked openly at Digtry, ¡°From you. When you were sleeping that night by the Glasswater.¡±


    ¡°Why did you take it?¡±


    ¡°I hate slowing you down. Thought that stuff would help me keep me from getting tired. So¡¯s I could keep up with you. Figured if that''s the stuff that keep the Droom from needing sleep, it might give me a boost.¡±


    ¡°You have not slowed us down,¡± said Belfray, with such a lack of commitment that, in the ensuing awkward silence, he felt obliged to back off the statement. ¡°At any rate, we are not in such a desperate hurry at the moment. And never so desperate that we must resort to ingesting Droom poison.¡±


    ¡°Good thing,¡± said Berch. ¡°The stuff doesn¡¯t work. I¡¯ve been more tired since I tried it than I was before.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s working too well,¡± said Digtry, more serious than usual. ¡°It has deprived you of the ability to sleep. You would need regular doses in greater amounts before it overrides your need to sleep.¡±


    ¡°Well, well. What you don¡¯t know can kill you.¡±


    ¡°It may take weeks, months, before the effect wears off,¡± warned Digtry.


    ¡°There¡¯s still a good chance you could bore me to sleep.¡±


    ¡°The strain may become unbearable.¡±


    ¡°All right, I screwed up!¡± said Berch, testily. ¡°What do you want me to do, grovel? Write on the board fifty times, `I¡¯m sorry I drank Droom juice?¡¯¡±


    Digtry stared hard at him. ¡°Do you want more?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Go ahead, rub my nose in it!¡± snapped Berch.


    ¡°I¡¯m serious,¡± said Digtry, mildly. ¡°Losing the ability to sleep without losing the need is a tremendous burden. Can you bear it, or would you like more elixir, to take away the need for sleep?¡±


    At first, the answer seemed obvious. Digtry was offering him relief from the merciless grip of insomnia. But Berch hesitated. Instinctively, he suspected a catch in the proposal. A lifetime of experience had taught him that easy answers were an illusion, a trap. After mulling the situation for awhile, he saw clearly the iron teeth of that trap poking through the bait. ¡°I¡¯d become like them, wouldn¡¯t I?¡±


    Digtry nodded.


    For an instant, Berch imagined himself looking into a mirror and seeing those same hellish eyes he had seen on the Droom. What happened to the soul of a man who never slept? Could a man who never enjoyed a well-deserved sleep from his labors ever know peace?


    Berch now realized how badly he had blown it. How long could he survive night after night, craving sleep without being able to find even a moment¡¯s rest? A month ago, he would have boasted that he was man enough to tough out the weeks before the effects of the elixir faded. But his wheezing lungs and his aching lungs, stiff muscles, and throbbing joints served as constant reminders of the limits of dogged determination. He was not Superman. In fact, although it pained him to admit it, he was far too old for these kinds of adventures. He was worn out, past the point where he could depend on willpower to keep either his will or his faltering body going.


    ¡°Hide that vial,¡± he said, finally. ¡°I don¡¯t want to know where it is. And if I ever beg you for another drop, promise me you¡¯ll both run as fast as you can and leave me behind. For good. And that you¡¯ll never look back. Promise me that.¡±


    ¡°But we cannot just leave--¡± objected Belfray.


    ¡°Promise me!¡±


    ¡°Done,¡± said Digtry.


    Berch sat with Belfray on a limestone shelf atop a cliff that rose above the level of all but the few rugged pioneer trees that had drilled their roots into the forbidding rock. He looked down on what he had first taken to be a stunted brown forest, or possibly overgrown sagebrush in the valley far below. Then the trees, or the sage, moved and milled about under clouds of dust that floated upon the wind. Although there was not a rain cloud in the sky, a steady rumbling filled the air. Even the solid rock beneath them trembled.


    At first, Berch chalked up the sensation to sleep deprivation. The insomnia brought on by the cursed Droom poison had taken its toll on his vision, balance, coherent thought, and general disposition, although there was not much of the latter to erode. Then he saw that the forest was not a forest, nor sagebrush, but animals massing upon a vast plain. Although he could not see clearly enough to be certain, he guessed that the brownish hides and thundering hooves belonged to a herd of bison too numerous to count.


    ¡°I thought you said we were getting close to the wolves,¡± said Berch. ¡°There¡¯s nothing but buffalo as far as I can see.¡±


    ¡°The bison do not belong here,¡± said Belfray, frowning. ¡°Certainly not so many of them.¡±


    ¡°Would they try to stop us from reaching the wolves?¡±


    ¡°Of course not,¡± laughed Belfray. ¡°Wolves and bison are friends.¡±


    ¡°Were friends,¡± came an unexpected voice.


    ¡°Digtry,¡± said Belfray, startled by the sudden approach. ¡°Are you back so soon?¡±


    ¡°Apparently.¡± Weary and covered with dust, he dropped to his knees and peeked into a makeshift birch bowl that rested on the charred remains of a very small fire.


    ¡°I knew you would be back before dark, so we waited for you to join us for supper,¡± said Belfray, grinning proudly.


    They dined on a stew made up of roots and vegetables that Belfray had collected during the day. Belfray¡¯s cooking was passable--the kind of fare that would have drawn grimaces at an elegant table but could be savored by the ravenous. Even so, Berch ate little. That cursed elixir seemed to have robbed him of an appetite along with everything else.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°What¡¯s the deal with that herd?¡± he asked.


    Digtry licked his lips. ¡°The bison have been bitten by the strangest obsession. They want to exterminate the wolves. They¡¯ve surrounded them since late winter, with just that in mind. No doubt, that is what the original wolf message concerned.¡± He nodded toward the plain. ¡°And now the entire bison herd is mustering for the final assault. Not your typical herbivore behavior.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± gasped Belfray. ¡°We have almost come too late. We must make things right between the wolves and bison, and do so quickly.¡±


    ¡°Very quickly,¡± said Digtry. ¡°Before the Droom get here.¡±


    Berch shot him a startled look.


    ¡°The Droom?¡± cried Belfray. ¡°I thought Sloat and Roland decoyed them away from us.¡±


    ¡°They bought us time. Maybe a day. Not even Sloat could fool the Droom longer than that.¡±


    ¡°Then we have led them to the wolves!¡± exclaimed Belfray. ¡°We have betrayed our most loyal ally into the hands of their worst enemies. Digtry, if you knew the Droom would follow us, why did you allow us to keep going?¡±


    ¡°The Droom were following us, not tracking us. They know where to find the wolves.¡±


    Belfray spluttered a symphony of incoherence before finally getting out, ¡°Then what are the Droom doing? Why did they let us leave Kal Shadir, only to pursue us in secret on the Down? None of this makes any sense. I thought you said--¡±


    ¡°The Droom are less devious than I supposed,¡± said Digtry. ¡°Or more. Hard to tell with them. Anyway, they kept their word. They weren¡¯t stalking us. They weren¡¯t concerned with us at all. If we had not gone back after the map, we never would have seen them.¡±


    ¡°So you didn¡¯t screw up in Kal Shadir after all,¡± said Berch.


    ¡°No. But it was a good thing I thought I did. I was getting too cocky for my own good.¡±


    ¡°How do you know the Droom were not pursuing us?¡± asked Belfray.


    ¡°Why would they send an entire army after our pitiful band? A dozen horsemen, twenty at the most, would have done the job. Answer: they weren¡¯t after us.¡±


    ¡°If they had no business with us, then why did they chase us?¡± asked Belfray, still doubting Digtry¡¯s explanation.


    ¡°Once we discovered them, what choice did they have? They were coming after the wolves and they didn¡¯t want the wolves to know they were coming. They knew we would warn them.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure they knew how to find the wolves?¡± asked Belfray, still trying to quiet his restless conscience.


    ¡°The wolves have been trapped here since winter. Their location is hardly a secret.¡±


    ¡°So why would the Droom suddenly attack the wolves now?¡± asked Berch. ¡°Are they allies of the buffalo?¡±


    ¡°No, they hate the bison almost as much as they hate wolves. But what better time to make war on your enemies than when they are at each other¡¯s throats? They know what¡¯s going on here.¡±


    ¡°Then we got no time to lose,¡± said Berch. ¡°Do you suppose if we warn the buffalo, they¡¯ll call off their attack? How sensible are they?¡±


    Belfray snorted a loud, hopeless laugh. ¡°Sensible? The bison? Pardon my saying so, but that is like asking the intelligence of garden slugs. If you combined the common sense of all the bison on the plain, you might fill a rat¡¯s navel.¡±


    ¡°Okay, forget them,¡± said Berch. ¡°They aren¡¯t our concern anyway. How do we get past them to the wolves?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s the problem,¡± said Digtry.


    ¡°This is most odd,¡± said Belfray, rubbing his knuckles on his fuzzy beard. ¡°I have never heard of any strife between wolves and bison, much less open warfare.¡±


    Berch was thinking harder, more desperately than he had in many years. He had to get to the wolves if he ever wanted peace in his life again. But his bleary, sleep-deprived brain was not capable of providing any plan for doing so.


    Suddenly, a great bellowing arose from the plain, answered by more bellows, and echoes of yet more. Bison began trotting and as they did so, drew others into line behind them like magnets. Soon long lines of the beasts were thundering around, all moving in the same, clockwise direction.


    ¡°They are forming ranks,¡± said Digtry. He stood silently as they watched the commotion far below. For the first time in all their travels, Berch detected weariness in his face, and a hint of sadness and anxiety.


    ¡°The wolves are strong,¡± said Digtry at last. ¡°Put them in a forest or uneven ground and they would be more than a match for the bison. But trapped here on the open plain, they cannot withstand the herd.¡±


    ¡°Then why are we just sitting here? Have we come all this way to sit as spectators to our friends¡¯ genocide? Do something!¡± pleaded Belfray, hopping frantically around the cooking fire. ¡°Can you not think of a plan?¡±


    ¡°No, I can¡¯t. But we are out of time, so we¡¯ll have to try something. Berch, let¡¯s pay a visit to Chama, Lord of the Bison.¡±


    ¡°What about me?¡± asked Belfray.


    ¡°We can visit you later.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± said Belfray, stamping his foot in frustration. ¡°I mean, why should I not come? I am of much more use than Berch, no offense meant.¡±


    ¡°None taken,¡± growled Berch. You twerp!


    ¡°Let me arbitrate the dispute between wolves and bison," said Belfray. "It is we whom the wolves have summoned to their aid.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Digtry.


    Belfray¡¯s face fell, his eager eyes stinging from the rejection.


    ¡°The alliance between wolves and Tishaara is well-known,¡± explained Digtry. ¡±If you must know, it is the object of scorn among many beasts. Some view the wolves¡¯ conduct as traitorous, in fact. You cannot arbitrate this dispute. If you set foot on that plain, the bison will grind you into top soil. I do need your help, though.¡±


    Belfray locked onto him with those hopeful, eager eyes.


    ¡°Wolves lose their powers of communication once they cross into the Third Realm,¡± said Digtry. ¡°So how do they communicate with you?¡±


    ¡°Code,¡± answered Belfray. ¡°They bring a message encrypted in teeth marks--incisors and fangs. The letter ¡®a,¡¯ for example, is one incisor and one fang mark.¡±


    ¡°Send such a note with Berch. Tell them the Tishaarans are here. Come, we have no time to waste.¡±


    Digtry whistled softly as they followed the young bison bull who led them to Lord Chama. Berch trailed behind, his head cluttered with debris that sleep normally would have flushed out. Walls of shaggy hides tacked onto tons of rippling muscle hemmed them in on all sides. Huge eyes, wild and passionate, challenged their every step. Damp, quivering nostrils snorted disdain at them. Horns hovered menacingly near ground level.


    Berch had walked through cattle pens a thousand times. He had laughed at his city slicker nephews who followed him into the stalls, flinching with every step. You would have sworn he had asked them to run a gauntlet between rows of blazing machine guns. Now, for the first time, he could sympathize with them. The walk across the plain through the ranks of bison who grudgingly parted ranks just enough for them to squeeze through made him feel small and helpless in a way he never would have thought possible. Only the unquenchable embers of guilt over the murdered wolf drove him onward.


    At last they came to the nerve center of the tension in the camp. An immense, disheveled bison strutted forth through a wedge of skittish bison. If any creature could be judged psychotic purely on the basis of appearance, Chama, Lord of the Bison of the Great Plain, was that creature. Its saucer-sized eyes all but burst from their sockets. Berch could almost hear the hissing of a quick-burning fuse in the beast¡¯s massive head. Its long horns, far longer than any Berch had ever seen on a bisonm gleamed through its shaggy wool and its flanks rippled with every step as it drew nearer.


    ¡°Greetings, Lord Chama,¡± said Digtry, looking tinier than ever in this moving brown sea. ¡°We appreciate your willingness to grant us audience before your attack. These are strange and dangerous times when friends must band together.¡±


    Chama tossed its mighty head in spasms. A voice boomed over the plain, and Berch realized it was somehow coming from this agitated creature. ¡°Strange and dangerous, you say! Is this your conclusion? I don¡¯t see you grieving over your dead. As for banding together, tell that to those twenty-times accursed wolves!¡±


    Digtry waited for his ears to stop ringing from Chama¡¯s verbal assault. ¡°Lord Chama, please. What do you mean? Calm your wrath and speak with the voice of reason.¡±


    ¡°Calm my wrath?! I will not! Not when the wolves who have so much to answer for, stand silently licking our blood from their muzzles. Dangerous times, you say! Band together! Hah! The wolves thrive on such watered milk as this. They have planted such bleatings to cover up their foul deeds.¡±


    ¡°What evil have the wolves done that the bison declare them the bane of the Fourth Realm?¡± asked Digtry. ¡°Animals have always reserved that title for the Droom.¡±


    Flecks of foam shot from the bison¡¯s nostrils. His bellow rolled over the plain like the blast of a great horn. ¡°Compared to the wolves, the vile acts of the Droom are petty slights! The buzzing of flies!


    ¡°Dare you look upon me with skepticism?! Have you seen with your eyes the bison lying dead on the blooming grasses of the Great Prairie last autumn? Not one or two bison, but dozens--young calves. We saw their bodies, defiled with wolf prints. Yet the pack will not yield up the murderers to us. Why? What have they to hide from justice, these creatures who shun their own kind and deal secretly with strangers in foreign realms?


    ¡°They must answer for their sins and they have had ample chance. Yet they have yielded nothing. They have abused our patience and good will. As I am Lord of the Plain, we shall wait no longer! The wolves will pay for their treachery. From this day forth, the wolves shall be but a poor legend, their existence believed by some, doubted by others, but never again confirmed. The bison will be avenged!¡±


    ¡°Hold that thought for a moment,¡± said Digtry. Turning to Berch, he whispered, ¡°I smell a setup. Wolves don¡¯t kill bison. Not Fourth Realm bison, at any rate. Like all Fourth Realm predators, they feed on dumb prey that wander up from the Third Realm. The question is, who wants these animals at each others¡¯ throats?¡±


    He immediately answered his own question. ¡°The Droom, of course. But how could they do it? How could Droom agents reach the bison calving grounds on the Great Prairie, where the murders took place, without being detected? They couldn¡¯t. Animal senses are too acute. Someone a lot more skilled than the Droom murdered the young bison and framed the wolves. But who? And why?¡±


    Berch had been waiting anxiously for a chance to jump into this lightning one-man conversation. ¡°Can¡¯t you just warn Chama that the Droom are coming?¡± he asked quickly. ¡°The bison would have to give up their quarrel with the wolves long enough to defend themselves.¡±


    ¡°If only Chama would believe it,¡± said Digtry.


    Chama let out an ear-splitting bellow of impatience.


    Digtry turned and bowed before the Bison Lord. ¡°Lord Chama, please hear me out. The wolves did not kill those bison.¡±


    Chama slashed the earth with his hooves. Berch braced himself as the hostile bison ring drew tight around them. ¡°What do you know of this?¡± raged Chama. ¡°Name the butchers! Lay before us proof of their guilt!¡±


    ¡°Look to your rear, Chama,¡± said Digtry. ¡°The Droom approach like vultures to feed on the carnage of this senseless war.¡±


    ¡°You lie!¡± roared Chama. ¡°We see no Droom! The air holds nothing of their smell. The wolves are the only evil of which I have proof. Their markings alone defile the bodies of our dead children. Do you think we could not detect Droom involvement from miles away?¡±


    Digtry clenched and unclenched his fists rapidly as he sought a way out of this fast-approaching bloodbath. ¡°Your patience has been admirable. If you could just extend it one more day, you will see proof that the Droom lurk close by to reap the harvest of the evil that has been sown.¡±


    Chama stopped pacing. ¡°Who are you?¡± came the disembodied voice as the bison hunched his shoulders and closed in on Digtry, his fanatical eyes fixed on the object of his current wrath.


    ¡°Someone who hates to see excellent creatures duped into a war that will destroy them both.¡±


    Chama stamped and pawed and snorted. His bursts of emotion ignited similar feelings in the herd, that spread like a grass fire in a gale. The air grew thick with dust and snorts and shuffling of frightened and angry bison. ¡°You are clever, wolf lover!¡± bawled Chama. ¡°While we delay, looking over our shoulders for these Droom, the wolves shall use it to their advantage to escape the justice they deserve. Do you take us for fools, as the wolves have? Do you think that after all we have seen, we will entrust even one drop of bison blood to your fantasy? You, with the honeyed words? You, whom we do not know? Leave the plain this instant before you meet the fate of your wolf friends.¡±


    ¡°May I at least send Berch to ask the wolves one last time to surrender those who may have committed the crime of which you speak?¡± asked Digtry. ¡°He is a worthy person with great powers of persuasion.¡±


    Berch almost laughed out loud at Digtry¡¯s description of him.


    Chama tossed his head high. ¡°I give you no time, but we shall not hinder your passage. Our plan is to attack at dawn. You have until then to bring me the murderers, dead or alive. If they are not standing before me when darkness breaks, we attack, and any who are among them shall die with them, for we shall leave no living creature alive! in that camp of murderers.¡±


    Digtry grabbed Berch by both shoulders and looked him squarely in the eyes. ¡°The plan is brilliant. Kill some bison calves, blame the wolves, entice them into war. In come the Droom to mop up on both. Even if the plot is discovered, nothing can stop the war except trust between wolf and bison. And that trust has been destroyed. Criminally cunning.¡±


    Berch fought to keep the pieces of the puzzle together in his frazzled mind. ¡°It has to be the Droom, doesn¡¯t it? All by themselves. You keep saying the Droom are too proud and powerful to get mixed up in any alliances.¡±


    ¡°I I have no idea what is going on,¡± admitted Digtry. ¡°I am grasping at flimsy straws at the moment. Pray it is the Droom and not worse. But I don¡¯t see how they could do it. The scope of this mystery is uncomfortably like the work of the force behind the Cold Flame mystery.¡±


    ¡°Whatever,¡± said Berch, weary of trying to sort things out with a brain that was barely functioning. It was all he could do to focus on the immediate problem. ¡°So you expect me to go to the wolves and do what? Get them to surrender murderers who don¡¯t exist? Fat chance!¡±


    ¡°I only said that to persuade the bison to let you pass to the wolf camp. We need time. Every hour counts. The thing I fear the most right now is that the wolves may try to preempt the bison assault with a breakout attack of their own in the darkness. You must prevent that.¡±


    ¡°But how do I do that?¡± cried Berch, overwhelmed by the responsibility.


    ¡°Think of something. I have all I can handle here. Go!¡±


    Finding himself suddenly alone, Berch tromped off through the shuffling rows of shaggy hides. ¡°Puny little cuss!¡± he grumbled. ¡°Givin¡¯ orders like he¡¯s God himself. Sure, get the wolves to stand down! Right! You tell me how I''m going to do that." In his present condition he did not think he could persuade a starving beggar to eat.


    But at least he was on his way to the wolves. That was what he had come for. Once he reached them and got this weight of guilt off his chest, the wolves and bison could rip each other to shreds. In fact, this whole insane world of the realms could collapse into the deepest pit of hell for all he cared. At least he would finally have some peace.

 Chapter 4 Wolf Protection

    Berch had been brought up on the usual grim childhood tales of starving wolves who overran campsites in the dark of night and tore apart human flesh. When he saw the first black sentries of that savage, bristling army snapping their jaws, he understood what he had failed to grasp from his anxiety among the bison--that the range of fear is limitless. There is no shame in being terrified. Only the ignorant think otherwise.


    Dozens of these creatures, kin of the wolf in whose murder Berch had been an accomplice, encircled him. More of the curious crawled out of pits and caves dug into the hillsides. Their ribs pressed sharply against their thin coats.


    Berch steeled himself for a violent death. He thought back to the high plain of the August Mountains, where a pack of dogs had torn apart one of their comrades, thanks to his ignorance. If they killed him now in a similar fashion, well, fair was fair. A death would be avenged and that would be the end of it. Go on, do your worst. I ain¡¯t going to beg for my skin.


    Whatever happened, he would at last be at rest and his conscience would be at peace. Maybe he would be back with Louise in the bargain.


    Then came a voice. ¡°Are you lost?¡±


    The sound confused him. No matter that he had spoken with the bison only hours earlier. Every encounter with an animal voice seemed as impossible and as unreal as the first. In his present state of exhaustion, he could hardly tell where sounds were coming from. But since there were none around him besides wolves, he could only assume that one of them had spoken to him.


    ¡°I come here looking for the wolves,¡± he said, trying to clear his swimming head. Lord, what I wouldn¡¯t give for a 10-minute nap!


    Two wolves trotted forward, both mottled black and gray. Berch instinctively lowered his chin to protect his exposed throat.


    ¡°What do you want of the wolves?¡±


    Berch wondered if repeated doses of the bizarre created immunities to these living fantasies. For here he stood alone in the dusk in a heathery barrow thick with pacing, half-starved wolves, and yet he thought he detected a note of kindness in this voice that crept into his brain. These beasts also displayed an orderliness and discipline that was absent among the bison.


    ¡°I need to speak to whoever¡¯s in charge,¡± he said.


    With no further word, they swung their heads around, indicating that Berch was to follow them. As they walked along the camp perimeter, he saw gaunt wolves pacing and watching, taking the measure of the assembled mass of the herd that choked the horizon wherever they looked. The hills reeked, like a barn that no one had cleaned out in weeks.


    The escort brought him to the High Commander of the pack, a great, gray brute named Ubor.


    ¡°I apologize for offering nothing to a guest,¡± said Ubor. ¡°And for the state of sanitation in which we live. Such is not the custom of the pack. But the fact is, we have no choice. Nearly two weeks have passed since our raiders last broke the bison ranks and brought back a few legs of sheep. Our pond has run dry. We have nothing left. So come. Tell us what you want. You are not a creature familiar to us.¡±


    Unsure of Fourth Realm protocol, Berch could do no better than to stumble into his speech. ¡°I got something I need to say to you. I haven¡¯t hardly kept a thought in my head the past several months except this. I mean about standing before you. And now that I¡¯m here, I don¡¯t know, well, I don¡¯t really know how to say it the way I mean to say it. Thought I did. Practiced it. But. . .¡±


    He shuffled his feet and looked at the ground. He could usually lock eyes with the best of them. Two things Ron Berch took a back seat to no man on: a firm grip in the handshake, and a stare-down. But he could not hold the probing stare of this savage creature.


    The wolf waited patiently, however. As Berch spoke, he began to feel as though he had somehow discarded his useless, spinning, bloated head and was speaking directly through his soul. With each word that came out, virtually on its own and without conscious thought, he felt as though a cancer was being purged from that soul.


    ¡°I¡¯m a stranger in your realm. I don¡¯t mean just your realm, I mean all the realms, so I didn¡¯t really know nothing about anything. And I ain¡¯t one for giving speeches. But here¡¯s the thing. I was traveling with some others through the wilderness over in what you call the Third Realm with one of those Tishaarans. Well, one morning I saw this wolf coming at us and, where I come from a man don¡¯t consider that a welcome sight. That¡¯s just the way it is. Not saying it¡¯s right; that¡¯s just the way it is. And I¡¯m not saying the wolf did anything to provoke it; in fact, as I remember it now, it was coming at us peaceful and calm. Again, in my experience that isn''t considered normal.


    ¡°What I did was, I took and threw rocks at him. He kept coming--the Tishaaran who was traveling with us and would have known better was away from our camp at the time--but I didn¡¯t know better and I kept chucking. I drove him off and wounded him so bad that a pack of dogs came along and--¡± He sighed heavily. ¡°Fact of the matter is, they killed him. A lot of ¡®em paid for it with their lives. He was a strong one. Brave as they come. But they killed him all the same.


    ¡°And that¡¯s what I came to tell you. I¡¯m here to own up. If you kill me, it¡¯s all the same with me. At least I¡¯d get some sleep. I¡¯m just here to say I¡¯m sorry, for what it¡¯s worth. Which I imagine ain¡¯t a hill o¡¯ beans.¡±


    Ubor circled him, licking his fangs. His eyes seemed a bit moister than before, but other than that Berch could read nothing from his behavior.


    The great beast sat back on his haunches. ¡°What is your name?¡±


    The innocuous request took Berch by surprise but he stammered out his name.


    ¡°Thank you for coming to us, Ron Berch. Your story, while hard to bear, will provide more comfort than grief to Lufak¡¯s family, for they have already made peace with the probability of his death. Your story comforts me, too, for we were grieved that our friends from Tishaara did not respond to our call for help. I see now that the summons never arrived.¡±


    Berch could not believe what he had heard. While he had not known what sort of justice wolves might exact, and had conceded the possibility that he might not necessarily be torn apart on the spot, there had to be some consequence--some price to pay.


    ¡°We are glad, at last, to see a friend of Tishaara. Especially in this hour when the wolves make their last stand. You give us hope. In recent weeks, none of us has been able to breech the bison ring. May I ask how you did it? Perhaps you know of a means of escape.¡±


    Berch shrugged sadly. ¡°No, there wasn¡¯t any trick to it. They let me come. I pretended I was going to talk you into surrendering some murderers.¡±Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    ¡°None exists,¡± said Ubor, in exasperation.


    ¡°Yeah, we figured that,¡± said Berch.


    ¡°Will the bison let you out of the snare if you return without obtaining what they wish?¡±


    Berch thought a moment and then looked the wolf directly in the eyes. ¡°I guess we¡¯ll never know,¡± said Berch.


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°Because I ¡®m not leaving. I¡¯m not going to stand around and watch wolves get killed. Did that once. Not going to do it again. I¡¯ll fight with you guys.¡±


    Ubor stared at him curiously. ¡°You know the danger we are in.¡±


    Berch shrugged. ¡°Yeah. What¡¯s your point?¡±


    Ubor padded closer. ¡°Berch, friend of Tishaara, I declare you officially under wolf protection. Any wolf will consider it a privilege to brave any peril to come to your aid.¡± He nodded his silvery head toward the plain. ¡°I admit that the honor of wolf protection may not seem all that valuable under the present conditions.¡±


    Berch continued to stare at the swimming, double-image of the wolf. If only he could get a few moments rest! If only he could clear his head enough to be sure of what was going on! He felt bewildered. Never in his life had he felt such a strange combination of lightness and depth of spirit. No, he took that back. So long ago, he had experienced something like this, when his mother rocked him on a stormy night. Helpless, grateful, awestruck. Comforting as all getout, but somehow it seemed out of place. And kinda sissy-like when you get down to it.


    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± he croaked.


    Ubor¡¯s voice dimmed to almost a whisper. ¡°Make no mistake, we mourn the loss of a hero and friend, all the more because of the tragic circumstances. The wolves do not hold life cheap. But we also regret that you carried such a burden on our accounts for so long.


    ¡°We have always admired the Tishaarans. Not all of their ideals are practical in our world. But one thing they have taught us is that the past cannot be altered. We must advance from where we are, not from where we might have been. You have made two mistakes with the wolves, both involving fear. You feared us in the August Hills and you fear us now. The second mistake is at least repairable. Carry that fear no more. Do us the honor of accepting wolf protection.¡±


    Moved beyond words, Berch could only nod.


    Ubor looked hopeful. ¡°So the Tishaarans have come. You have brought us an apology. Do you bring any hope? Have our allies a plan?¡±


    ¡°The whole village would have come on the run if the message had gotten through,¡± said Berch, subjecting himself to another lash of guilt on that count. ¡°They would have sent something more useful than an old man, a wet-behind-the-ears Tishaaran kid, and a scrawny, well, whatever he is.¡±


    The flicker in Ubor¡¯s eyes died. ¡°That is all who have come?¡±


    Berch nodded again.


    Ubor turned to his lieutenants with a heavy sigh. ¡°Then this is the end. The last light of hope has been extinguished. Our fate is sealed. The wolves shall be no more. But we shall finish this on our own terms. And let none pity us, but rather pity the bison. For I tell you this, there are no more perilous creatures on earth than those who have no nothing to lose. And we have nothing to lose, for we have made peace with our deaths. Yes, the wolves have died already. We are dead but not yet defeated. I, myself, would fear to take the field against an army of the dead. The bison do not yet realize that they are about to do so.


    The wolf raised its head to the sky anf howled a long, eerie note that was answered by the entire pack. The noise sent chills up Berch''s spine.


    When at last it died away, Ubor called out, Wolves, begin forming ranks for the final assault. We attack at midnight.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± said Berch, remembering Digtry¡¯s instructions. Feeling both woozy and a bit giddy at the remarkable grace shown him by the wolves, he plunged ahead. ¡°You can¡¯t do that. You have to hold up. You see, there¡¯s Droom mixed up in this. Digtry needs a day to flush them out and prove to the bison that you¡¯ve been framed.¡±


    Ubor¡¯s compassionate restraint had lulled Berch into thinking of him as a kindly old philosopher, sort of a Tishaaran in wolf¡¯s clothing. He expected the wolf commander to soberly consider his instructions from Digtry. Instead, Ubor¡¯s lip curled in a snarl


    ¡°Hold up?¡± said Ubor, pacing swiftly, relentlessly. Berch hated the way wolves paced when they communicated. They made it difficult for him to stand still or to keep from fidgeting. ¡°The bison are preparing their attack, but it will take them awhile to do so. They are poorly trained, undisciplined. Our best chance is to strike them before they are ready.


    ¡°You ask us to sit meekly and wait for them, for the enemy who has sworn to trample us to the last cub? No, we shall not wait for death, cowering in fear. We shall go out to meet our destiny. We shall strike first under the cover of night and we shall deal such death to them as will make their descendants curse them for bringing such ruin upon them in their blind thirst for war.¡±


    ¡°Now wait a minute,¡± begged Berch. But exhaustion had so drained him that he could not marshal any arguments in support of Digtry¡¯s plan. In the end, he could do no better than mumble, ¡°Digtry says he can prove to the bison that you didn¡¯t kill their calves. He just needs time.¡±


    ¡°I do not know this Digtry,¡± growled Ubor. "We would be fools to trust our lives to someone who is unknown to us."


    ¡®B-but,¡± stammered Berch. ¡°You trusted me just a minute ago. I''ll vouch for him; he''s walked every step of the way with us from the second realm. The Tishaarans trust him. I¡¯ve seen him pull off tricks that would make your head spin. If you can¡¯t trust him, you sure as blazes can¡¯t trust me.¡±


    Ubor stopped pacing and glared at Berch. ¡°Your initial presentation appeared to come from the heart. It seemed too genuine to dismiss. I could imagine no motive for your long trip and your damning confession except honesty and a noble sense of duty. It is our fault, our great weakness, that we too often assume decent motives where there are none. That is how we allowed ourselves to be trapped in this situation in the first place. We never foresaw the bison¡¯s deceit. Never imagined they would surround us with evil intent upon a plain where we cannot defend ourselves properly. We treated the bison as friends, and they played us false.


    ¡°And have I been duped again?" Ubor growled. "Do you also play upon my trusting nature? You step too far, my friend, for this insane request shines a light upon your hidden motives. Do you take us for fools--gullible to the last? Do you suppose we are blind to the fact that this war between the bison and wolves has been engineered? Do you think we cannot read the evidence that a clever sorcerer manipulates the witless bison as if he had them on a leash? Could not such cunning create a story as touching as yours to lure us into actions as rash and credulous as those of the bison?¡±


    ¡°Now hold on,¡± said Berch, ashen-faced.


    ¡°No,¡± cried Ubor. He lowered his ears and the hairs on the back of his head bristled with anger, ¡°I will not `hold on.¡¯ You are fortunate indeed that the wolves do not break their word, not even to the foulest villains. We have offered you wolf protection and that act is binding, should you be revealed as the offspring of the Nephilim. Should any of us survive the next hours, you had better hope that this decision is not one we regret.


    ¡°But do not dare presume to ask that we blindly follow strangers in our dying hour. The wolves of the Fourth Realm are to be no more. Our fate is to be nourishment for the earth and fodder for the sentimental songs of poets. So be it. But while the place of our death is not of our choosing, the time shall be. And when we die, we shall die with our jaws around the throats of the accursed bison!¡±


    ¡°No, wait!¡± shouted Berch. Digtry¡¯s urgent last words rang in his ears. His head throbbed and his eyes burned. He was aware of nothing beyond a vague notion that everything depended on him getting the wolves to delay. ¡°Please!¡±


    ¡°There is no more to say,¡± said Ubor, padding away behind a screen of his lieutenants. ¡°Leave now. This is holy ground; the place where the wolves meet their destiny as beasts of character. We wish to be with none but our own in our final hour. No others are welcome here. You are ordered to leave. Now!¡±


    Berch bowed his head and swore bitterly. He could think of nothing to say. Not that he was convinced a clear-headed and rested Berch could have saved the day. But he began to think that his half-baked notion to swipe the Droom elixir would prove as devastating to the wolves and the realms than his stoning of the wolf in the August Mountains.


    He turned away in defeat, wondering where to go. Back to Digtry, he supposed. Maybe the bison would let him through, maybe not. Ah, what did it matter? As he wiped his sweaty palms on his shirt, he ran across a lump in his pocket. Something in his


    subconscious nudged him to examine it.


    The paper from Belfray. The message stamped in the code of the wolves.


    Berch lurched over the trampled grass toward the wolf commander. ¡°Ubor! Wait! I got something here! Come back!¡±


    A company of black wolves cut him off, fangs bared.


    Berch held his ground. ¡°No, he has to see this!¡±


    Ubor reappeared, flanked by his lieutenants, his face dark and deadly with anger.¡°There is much that needs my attention,¡± he growled. ¡°Not only do you defile this holy ground, but now you intrude on our final precious hours. Your impertinence pushes my temper to the brink. If you waste one more second of it, one of my final acts as the last leader of the wolves will be to break all precedent and revoke the wolf protection order. In fact, I will rip out your throat myself!¡±


    Berch held out the paper, which fluttered in his gnarled, trembling hand. He could think of nothing to add by way of introduction. Ubor studied it. In the distance, the bison rumbled like distant thunder as they tried to form ranks.


    A layer of Ubor¡¯s savagery melted away as he uttered a sigh. ¡°So you do speak the truth. The Tishaarans have come at last. Too little, too late, but they have come. As the Tishaarans say, a thousand pardons, Mr. Berch. You do understand, however, why I acted as I did.¡±


    Berch nodded eagerly, still unable to find words.


    ¡°Well,¡± said Ubor, pacing hesitantly. ¡°If this Digtry has the confidence of Tishaara, we shall do what you ask. We shall not attack tonight. Bitterly do I concede this night, and to none but a Tishaaran.¡±


    He looked out over the gathering herds to the red sun dipping low in the sky. ¡°The wolves will see one more sunrise.¡± He shook his head and added, ¡°If your friend can persuade those humped maniacs of our innocence, then you serve him poorly to call him a ¡®scrawny whatever he is.¡¯ He would truly be a wizard beyond all Fourth Realm wizards.¡±

 Chapter 5 Berchs Gamble

    Berch passed the night in anguish, drowning in exhaustion. Sleep dangled before him like a rope that could pull him to safety from a burning pit, but always just beyond his fingertips. If he tried to lie down and close his eyes, he found himself perpetually fidgeting, scratching at itches that could not be quieted. How he wished he could shut down his mind, but it raced on and on like some indestructible automaton, cranking out an endless stream of banal thoughts. I wonder if anyone has ever actually bored himself to death!


    Bitterly, he noted how lucky he was to have separated himself from Digtry this night. The way he was feeling, he knew he would be sorely tempted to throttle him, grab the Droom elixir, and chug it. At the moment, he would gladly become like the Droom rather than continue in the pale twilight of semi-consciousness. At least the Droom were alive and not imprisoned in this wraithlike existence between life and death.


    He spent most of the night walking around or sitting on some mound of dirt where the grass had long been worn or eaten away. Several times he thought daylight was kindling in the eastern horizon but it was only the moonlight catching the silver highlights of wolf fur.


    Few of the wolves bothered to sleep. The sight of hundreds of these beasts milling under the full moon made an unsettling spectacle, especially when one of them would raise its throat in a long, haunting howl. Others would then join in and the mournful, yet proud, song of the wolves would resound across the plain.


    He looked again at the sky. This time there was no mistake. Even with his watery vision, he could tell that the darkness really was dissolving. Evidently, time was still capable of advancing after all; it had not gotten stuck in some inescapable rut.


    Before the sun yet shone, the wolves formed into their disciplined ranks, peering anxiously into the gloom. While they did so, a great, long bellow sounded across the plain. At that signal, the bison horde started forward from all directions. A low rumble swelled. Pillars of dust spiraled above the dimly lit plain as the bison attacked.


    Berch¡¯s heart sank. Digtry had failed! The miracle man had run out of miracles. Berch had bet everything on Digtry. Worse, he had bet assets he did not own and to which he had no rights. He had bet the lives of an entire population of creatures; as if he had the wherewithal to cover that bet. At his urging, the wolves had passed up their chance to go out on their own terms, with their dignity intact. He had come all this way to the Fourth Realm in hopes of cleansing his guilt over one slain wolf only to betray the entire pack--a sin a thousand times more terrible. The anger and betrayal in the eyes of the wolves seared Berch to his soul.


    Yet none of them said anything. Standing in crisp, straight lines, they waited silently, grimly, for the orders of their commanders. A few of the younger ones could hold back no longer and leapt forward to meet the attack. But older wolves dashed after them, snapped at their heels, and brought them back to the ranks. The wolves would maintain order to the end. They stood in their lines, muscles quivering, while the bison thundered toward them.


    Then Ubor charged out into the open. He turned and faced his troops, his eyes burning, fangs bared. He gave no windy speech of inspiration but simply leaned back and opened his throat to the sky, letting loose a dreadful howl. A chorus of answering howls and snarls arose from among the barrows, defying the thundering hooves and bellows of the bison. Ubor sprang forward to meet the enemy. The wolves surged forward in perfect order. Wave after wave shot out across the plain toward the east.


    Beyond despair at his contribution to the sad tale of wolf genocide, Berch forced his creaking joints into action. Cursing the Tishaarans for never providing him with a weapon, he instinctively stooped to pick up some stones. But it reminded him so much of the episode in the August Mountains that had gotten him into this mess that he bitterly cast them aside.


    The wolf charge left him alone in the reeking dirt of the barrow, far behind the battle. Bare-handed, Berch chugged toward the moving wall of death in his pained, limping gait.


    As the bison ring closed in from all directions, the wolves attacked on only one small front, sending all their forces in rapid-fire waves at one section of the bison lines, hoping to drive a wedge in it and break through. At this point, the bison and wolves tore into each other savagely. The wolves leapt on the backs of the shaggy brutes, snapping and the throats and eyes of the great beasts. Others ducked down, nipping and slashing at the haunches while dodging horns and hooves. The bison used their horns to deadly effect, or simply trampled their smaller, quicker adversaries with their sharp hooves. The limp bodies of wolves flew up into the air while others were pinned to the ground thrashing in their death throes. Bison fell and rolled in the dust.


    The close quarters and gridlock favored the heavier bison, whose solid ranks ground forward relentlessly. When Berch finally caught up to the action, he found himself pinned in the crush of wolves being driven backward. His jaw clenched, he pushed his way through the failing ranks of wolves until he reached the front lines. He had no idea what to do next. All he knew was that he could not stand idly and watch another wolf die. As a bison lunged to gore a wolf to his left, he grabbed the beast¡¯s horns and tried to twist itto the ground, rodeo style. The bison shook its massive head, tossing him into the air as if he were clump of grass.


    Berch landed hard on his back in the middle of furious fighting. Before he could rise, a hoof caught the edge of his ribs. Berch doubled over in pain, still gasping for air from the hard landing. Bison towered over him, blotting out the sky. He threw his arms up to shield himself from their lethal hooves.


    At that moment, a tremendous explosion shattered the air and echoed across the plain. The combatants froze in confusion. Clutching his badly bruised side, Berch rolled out from under the legs of the bison that now stood still in shock. Although many beasts obscured his view, he could see some of the cascade of sparks raining down from the lookout on the ridge where they had left Belfray. Brilliant flames shot into the sky, followed by the delayed crackling and thunder of explosions. From that distance, Berch could not make out any distinct forms, only swatches of red accented by flashes of polished silver gleaming in the sun. They were diving for cover, like beetles exposed by the overturning of a rock.


    So Digtry was right again. The knights of Droom were there, just as he predicted, lurking like jackals around the edge of the battlefield, scavengers here to dine on the broken armies on the plain. Why couldn¡¯t Digtry have been right about a plan to prevent this bloodshed? All Berch could think about was that the Droom did not matter to him now. He wondered fleetingly where Digtry and Belfray were. Were they with the bison? Had they been lurking around the lookout? Had they been able to steer clear of the Droom?


    It did not matter. They were no longer part of his world. His world had shrunk to a few square feet on the battlefield, and it was his good fortune to be able to die on that battlefield, skewered and crushed by bison, rather than roasted on a spit in Droom.


    But he had not been alone in spotting the red and silver before they had scurried out of sight. So instinctive was the beasts¡¯ hatred of the Droom, their mortal enemy since beyond memory, that those who saw them broke off the attack without thought. The white-hot animosity that had fueled the battlefield charges of both bison and wolves carried on the battlefield waned, particularly as each side recalled the words of warning that Digtry and Berch had delivered. Howls and bellows and snarls and death rattles gave way to furious cries of ¡°Droom! Droom!¡±


    ¡°Stop the attack! It¡¯s true after all!¡±


    ¡°Stop! Stop! The Droom are here!¡±


    ¡°The silver and scarlet!¡±


    ¡°They have tricked us into an ambush!¡±


    ¡°The wizard was right!¡±


    ¡°Yes, that is what the little wizard said,¡± said one of the bison captains. ¡°He said the proof would be if we saw Droom lurking around, and there they are. He was right.¡±


    ¡°My father always said you should listen to wizards!¡± cried another, followed by a round of boisterous agreement.


    ¡°Wizards are always right!¡± said others. ¡°Why did we not listen?¡±


    Bison and wolves stood alongside each other, scanning the hills where the fire now faded.


    ¡°Droom! Droom!¡± boomed the deep voices of the bison. Furious at the thought of being duped by their ancient enemy, they stamped the ground and bellowed. Chama led a new charge across the open plain toward the lookout. That meant Berch had to scramble for safety twice, first when the big animals around him wheeled and thundered after their leader, and a second time when the bison attacking from the other sides of the encirclement arrived and followed the assault.


    Shouts of ¡°Droom! After them!¡± and ¡°Death to Droom!¡± could barely be heard above the roar of hooves.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    The bedlam subsided into a dull tremor. As he stood by the bewildered wolves, watching the herd rumble away, Berch felt something familiar about the whole scene. After a few moments, the memory came to him. He could not have been more than nine years old when he cowered under the trestle of a railroad overpass as a freight train roared overhead. Yeah, that was it. He would never forget, not even in the realmlands, the deafening noise and the shaking of the trestles, and his fear that the bridge, the train, and the entire world were going to come crashing down on him. And then the fading patter after the final car passed. The comforting stillness as the storm faded away. The reemergence of the serene world and how he suddenly found himself savoring the ordinary calm that had surrounded him for all but a few moments of his life.


    Working under Chama¡¯s supervision, dozens of bison scraped shallow pits in the trampled earth around the barrows that had left a giant scar in the midst of the prairie grasses of the wide plain. When they had finished, the workers stepped back and took their places among the gallery of heavy bison heads that faced the ditch, the line stretching as far as the eye could see.


    Opposite them, just outside the barrows that had been their prison for months, stood the wolves. Unlike the bison, that assembled in random fashion like the trees of a forest, the wolves lined up in razor-sharp lines, by platoons. They stood completely motionless as they watched a mixed regiment of wolves and bison nudge and carry, as gently as possible, the bodies of the 13 bison and 18 wolves that had been victims of this senseless battle. There were no words communicated in memorial, for animals draw no comfort from words at such times and find them disrespectful imposition upon sacred silence.


    Berch, Digtry, and Belfray observed the solemn proceedings from the lookout high atop the ridge. They stood in respectful silence far out on the ledge where the mourners could see them, until the bison and wolves had swept the last pile of dirt over the grave.


    The mood remained somber as the three retired to their campfire down the path from the lookout, in among the limestone outcroppings, away from the winds that gusted across the open plain. Yet each bore the satisfaction of having helped avoid a catastrophic slaughter.


    ¡°So how did you manage to flush out the Droom and save the day?¡± asked Berch, still wincing from the pain of a broken rib.


    ¡°I claim no success,¡± said Digtry, quietly. ¡°Had the timing been better, that grave out there would be smaller. Or nonexistent. Nonetheless, give Belfray his due. He saved the day. The bison and wolves owe much to him.¡±


    ¡°What made you think the wolves would listen to me and hold off their attack until morning?¡± asked Berch. ¡°That was really touch and go.¡±


    ¡°That was your job,¡± said Digtry.


    ¡°In my present condition, I wouldn¡¯t trust me to tie my shoe. If not for Belfray¡¯s message, I would have failed. And you know, I came this close to forgetting all about the note.¡±


    Belfray seemed to be struggling to hold his tongue. Berch knew why the young Tishaaran was awfully proud of whatever it was he had done, and was eager to get some recognition for it. Yet his Tishaaran upbringing forbade him from calling attention to himself--at least during the times when he recognized that he was doing so. Although he knew it was nasty to let him dangle, Berch could not help it--seeing Belfray tongue-tied was too much fun.


    Finally, though, he relented. ¡°So how did you save the day, Belfray?¡±


    ¡°He lit the bonfire on the lookout,¡± said Digtry, as if that explained everything.


    ¡°Digtry asked me if I could do it right under the nose of the Droom,¡± gushed Belfray. ¡°Now there are not many who would say yes to that without blinking an eye.¡±


    ¡°You blinked, as I recall,¡± said Digtry. ¡°But you came through when it counted. It made sense that the Droom would post observers on this lookout. No other point commands the entire plain. The plan was simple: Flush a few Droom into the open. Then set off fireworks to draw attention to them.¡±


    ¡°I hauled as much wood up here as I could,¡± said Belfray, nearly spitting in his excitement.¡°Still no Droom. Then I--¡±


    ¡°Brave deeds sound more noble when another tells it,¡± chided Digtry. Turning to Berch, he explained Belfray¡¯s mission. The Tishaaran was to provoke the Droom to come out into the open where the beasts could see them. But while Belfray lay hiding among the crevices in wait for them, the wary Droom held back on the far side of the ridge. In the early morning hours before the battle, he despaired of their arriving at all.


    At last early in the morning, just as the bison started their attack and the wolves launched their countercharge, the sleepless warriors crept into the woods at the edge of the plain. Although the ferocious sounds of battled convinced him it was already too late, Belfray went ahead with the plan. He lit a torch, raced over to a pile of dried wood that he had built, and tossed the torch upon it. The Droom, unsure of his intentions and fearing that he was giving a signal of some sort that would reveal their position, rushed to stop him.


    Had they simply stayed put, the plan would have failed.


    ¡°But they tried to stop me,¡± Belfray broke in breathlessly, unable to contain himself any longer. ¡°I dodged them long enough to throw Digtry¡¯s magic powder into the fire--¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not magic,¡± objected Digtry.


    ¡°--and you saw what happened. Oh, the power of that explosion! Why, Berch, it nearly took my head off.¡±


    ¡°That explains where your eyebrows went,¡± Berch noted.


    ¡°What, are they gone? exclaimed Belfray, feeling his face. "Well, that is a small price to pay, I guess. It worked. Suddenly everyone on the plain was looking up here and the Droom were exposed.¡±


    ¡°And the Droom just let you go after that?¡± asked Berch, doubtfully.


    ¡°Just let me go? Why, I should say not! I had to run for my life! I had to jump off ledges so steep I can scarcely believe my legs did not break upon landing. I have more bruises than I can count. But I escaped.¡±


    ¡°Well, you saved the day,¡± Berch conceded. ¡°And none too soon. They were fighting to the death down on that plain until the fireworks flushed out the Droom. Speaking of the old silver and red, how did the bison come out in their attack on them?¡±


    ¡°There was no attack,¡± said Digtry. ¡°The Droom withdrew in haste as soon as they were discovered.¡±


    ¡°They ran?¡± snorted Berch, with contempt. ¡°The ¡®most powerful nation in the realms¡¯ ran away like rabbits? Bunch of gutless wonders.¡± He bore the pain of his own sore ribs and his washed and bandaged wounds proudly, as medals of honor.


    ¡°Do not underestimate them,¡± warned Digtry. ¡°The bison are lucky the knights chose not to fight. The slaughter would have been fierce and I expect the bison would have gotten the worst of it. But Droom prefer to conquer with minimal loss. When they found more resistance than they had expected, they withdrew to fight another day.¡±


    ¡°Well, there it is, ¡± announced Belfray, importantly. ¡°Our mission is fulfilled. We have not only found the wolves and discovered why their emissary had come to us, but we helped to save them in the bargain. We repaid a centuries old debt and all of Tishaara can walk more proudly today.¡±


    ¡°Well said,¡± said Digtry.


    Belfray grinned widely, enjoying this rare affirmation from Digtry and his moment in the limelight. ¡°So Berch, now that this is over, what are you going to do? Have you seen enough of our fair world, or do you still hold a taste for adventure?¡±


    Berch started to shake his head, but the motion made him so dizzy he stopped. The only thing I want is sleep and it seems to the one thing I can¡¯t get.


    ¡°The elixir will wear off one of these days,¡± said Digtry.


    ¡°Promises, promises. Tell the truth, I don¡¯t care what I do now,¡± said Berch. ¡°I did what I came to the Fourth Realm to do. I wouldn¡¯t mind getting back home to the farm, but that doesn¡¯t seem likely. Come to think of it, the farm ain¡¯t even there for me anymore. Should have been auctioned off months ago. I guess I don¡¯t see much else to do than check around for Roland and Sloat and head back to Tishaara.¡±


    ¡°And you, Digtry?¡± said Belfray.


    ¡°Oh, I know Digtry¡¯s plans,¡± said Berch. His smug confidence dented Digtry¡¯s unflappable posture. The little man¡¯s eyebrows shot up.


    ¡°You plan to keep sticking your nose into other peoples¡¯ business.¡± Berch chuckled at the shock his breach of etiquette gave Belfray. But his ribs were so sore that it hurt to laugh. ¡°Well, isn¡¯t that what wizards are supposed to do, Digtry?¡±


    Digtry smiled. However, Berch saw no joy or amusement in the smile. In fact, he thought he detected a tremendous weariness, a heavy sadness behind the eyes. Digtry seemed suddenly old, almost ancient.


    ¡°Really?¡± gushed Belfray. ¡°You are a wizard?!¡±


    Digtry shrugged. ¡°Nobody¡¯s perfect.¡±


    ¡°Well, Berch, you are cleverer than I thought!¡± exclaimed Belfray. ¡°How did you figure this out?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t. But you hang around animals long enough, you learn stuff. Seems the bison had Digtry pegged.¡±


    ¡°You mean we have been traveling with a Fourth Realm wizard all this time and did not know it?¡± cried Belfray. ¡°A real, live wizard?¡±


    ¡°Ahhh,¡± said Digtry, with a shrug. ¡°Wizarding is not all that it¡¯s cracked up to be.¡±


    ¡°You mean you can do magic and spells and all that?¡± asked Belfray.


    Digtry bristled. ¡°Do you ever use those ears, or are they merely decorative? For the last time, I have no magical powers. Only a few bits of accumulated wisdom. That¡¯s all that makes a wizard a wizard.¡±


    Belfray persisted in trying to pin down Digtry¡¯s plans. ¡°Will you accompany us back to Tishaara now that our mission is completed?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Then what?¡±


    Digtry merely laid back and closed his eyes.


    Berch normally would have left the secretive little wizard alone, except that he was still puzzled by some of the details of the bison-wolf clash. ¡°So was it the Droom who killed all those bison calves and pinned in on the wolves?¡±


    Digtry sighed heavily and said, ¡°If I answer this, will you leave me alone?¡±


    Both agreed to do so.


    ¡°The Droom could never have framed the wolves on their own. They have a rather distinctive smell, especially to those whose senses are well-developed. The bison would have smelled out their involvement from a realm away. No way the Droom could have covered it up.


    ¡°Someone else had to have set it up. Someone extraordinarily clever and highly motivated. Someone who could get to the bison without being detected by expert noses. That means a person with no scent whatsoever.¡±


    ¡°But all creatures have a scent,¡± insisted Belfray.


    Digtry shook his head. ¡°You got no body, you got no scent.¡±


    Belfray¡¯s mouth flew open and his eyes nearly jumped from their sockets.


    ¡°That Fifth Realmer? But how could it kill all those calves? It cannot actually harm anybody. Not on its own. The realm bounds, you know.¡±


    ¡°There never were any dead calves. If the bison would have taken the time to investigate, to actually count their number, they would have discovered that.¡±


    ¡°But how-¡± began Belfray.


    ¡°Dreams,¡± said Berch, finally understanding what Digtry was hinting at.


    Digtry nodded. ¡°This whole massacre came to them in their dreams. As high-strung as those bison are,a determined spirit would have no trouble getting them to bite on an image of dead calves in the jaws of wolves.


    ¡°Here¡¯s the worst of it. That Fifth Realmer somehow has a deal going with the Droom. Bad enough it has Brookings and Raxxars under its command. You add Droom to the mix, well, who can stand against that?¡±


    ¡°How do you know the Droom and Ishyrus are in league?¡± asked Belfray, ashen-faced.


    ¡°I don¡¯t. But I know this. That Fifth Realmer summoned the Raxxars to some purpose up here in the Fourth. They almost certainly passed through Droom. As you well know from experience, no one passes through Droom without their permission. Therefore, we can assume that the Raxxar army that traveled into Droom had permission to pass."


    Belfray looked utterly baffled. ¡°But does not everyone say that the Droom spurn all alliances, all treaties?¡°


    ¡°They do,¡± said Digtry.


    ¡°Well, then, how do you explain this alliance?¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t,¡± said Digtry.¡°All I know is that my mission isn¡¯t done. It has barely begun.¡±-

 Chapter 6 Delaneys Fren

    Although she could have recited philosophical platitudes to the contrary, Delaney had always been immune to their effects, and was strongly susceptible to defining happiness in terms of the number and quality of available creature comforts. The concept of ¡°nature¡± had appealed to her only as a bit of ambiance, like the candlelight and cloth tablecloths at a fine restaurant. Nature worked as a subject of screen savers and posters--a tasteful backdrop on which to affix sentimental musings or to provide photographic evidence that one has been somewhere exotic. Beyond that, she had little use for it. Certainly, she had endured rather than enjoyed her primitive wilderness experiences in the realmlands.


    But on this morning she could feel the pulse of spring flowing through the veins of the shimmering new birch leaves. She could smell the lingering scent of the Creator in the soil. The bursting pink dogwood flowers, the unfurling fiddletops of the ferns, and the trilling of the warblers all awakened senses that had long lay dormant.


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m saying this,¡± she said, ¡°but, honestly, I feel like I¡¯m inhaling life. You know, like one of those air ferns that gets everything it needs to live right out of the air. I swear, that cesspool of a city was suffocating me. These people just don¡¯t know how to do cities.¡±


    ¡°My fren,¡± said the Morp, who had given his name as Snetrock, as he put an awkward arm around her and rubbed his check against her shoulder. He look up at her with what seemed to be a painful grimace, but which Delaney had by now recognized as his version of an adoring smile. Occasionally, he opened his mouth to reveal four widely spaced teeth sticking out at odd angles.


    Dhayelle had smuggled the two of them out of the city with a group of merchants from her home country. Like all foreigners visiting Orduna of late, these merchants had run into a smokescreen of official authority. Frustrated by the unexplained absence of their former government contacts, they had ended up selling their wares--mostly luxurious robes, carpets, and tapestries-- in a series of rushed transactions with local dealers. As this turned less of a profit than they had anticipated, they eagerly accepted cash in exchange for providing cover for two refugees. Once outside the walls of Orduna, Delaney and Snetrock had crawled out of the oxcart and gone their own way with no questions asked.


    ¡°A desert would look like heaven to me now as long as it had no ratty shacks and dead-end alleys full of Ordunese sleezebags,¡± declared Delaney.


    ¡°Very good,¡± answered Snetrock, grimacing at her soulfully.


    The intensity of his affection caused her to wonder if anyone had ever been nice to him before. Outside of Morp, probably not.


    He pointed at the bare, gnarled oaks that had yet to awaken from their winter sleep. ¡°No leaves there.¡±


    ¡°Snetrock, you are such a Danny Downer! For the first time in my life I¡¯m getting a buzz out of nature, and you''re hating on the oaks not being in bloom. What kind of a sorry excuse for a traveling companion are you?¡±


    Snetrock exhaled a weary sigh. His skin, blotched, bruised, and scarred from the pummelings, appeared a dark shade of gray even in the bright sunlight. ¡°Sorry,¡± he droned in his melancholy monotone.


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s so beautiful out here. Look at the colors!¡±


    ¡°Colors bright. Hurt eyes.¡±


    ¡°Snetrock, what is the matter with you?¡± Delaney laughed. ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of anyone not liking color. I mean you don¡¯t have to be gaudy about it, but you gotta have some color. You Morps could spice up your lives and live a little.¡±


    Snetrock grinned at her, oblivious to her remark. ¡°My fren!¡±


    ¡°You know, Roland--that¡¯s a `fren¡¯ of mine--he had a question about your land and this color business. If you don¡¯t have any color, then how do plants grow in Morp? I¡¯m not real big on science but even I know that you need photosynthesis for plants to grow and photosynthesis is all about green. So how do plants grow without green?¡± Immediately after she said the words, she could tell it was futile. What could a Morp possibly know about photosynthesis? She did not really understand it, herself; how could he possibly have a clue what she was talking about?


    ¡°Few plants grow. Edge of Morp. Not in middle.¡±


    The Morp¡¯s woeful persona dampened Delaney¡¯s spirits. Why had nature so shamefully shortchanged these people? Ugly to behold, hopelessly dull-witted, clumsier than a camel on skates, doomed to scratch out a bare existence in their desert waste, ridiculed and hazed without mercy wherever they went. Devoid of color. Even their breath stank. Morps must turn into the most beautiful, pampered of all creatures when they die and go to heaven. God owes them that for how badly he screwed them in this world.


    ¡°Oh, Snetrock,¡± said Delaney, biting her lip. She would have loved to mother him--give him hugs and back rubs--but she had already made a mistake on that count and did not want to compound it. On one of the Morp¡¯s endless expressions of friendship, she given him a big hug. The creature had beamed with joy, which made her feel good. But ever since that, all he wanted to do was hug her and rub his cheek against hers. A little affection was okay, but Snetrock did not seem to know much about boundaries.


    ¡°My fren!¡±


    ¡°Yeah, we¡¯re friends, Snetrock. Tell me, what do Morps do for fun?¡±


    ¡°Love fun,¡± he answered in his doleful voice.


    ¡°Yeah, me too. At least I think so. Can¡¯t remember the last time I had any. What do Morps do for fun?¡±


    ¡°Play, ma¡¯m.¡±


    ¡°Please, will you call me Delaney?¡±


    He pulled close to her. ¡°My fren!¡±


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    ¡°What do you play, Snetrock?¡±


    ¡°My fren.¡±


    As with most of her lines of questioning, Delaney gave up. Snetrock seemed so content just to be with her; questions agitated him, especially questions he could not answer, which left very few issues open for discussion. But she was floating too high over her escape from Orduna to let Snetrock¡¯s slow behavior discourage her. The stillness and clean, gentle breeze of the bright morning made it difficult to believe that the disaster at the Citadel was anything but the latest in a series of terrible nightmares from which she had awakened. She might have been tempted to dismiss the existence of Orduna from memory altogether if not for the pulpy, swollen face and bruised face of the gray-skinned Morp who stumbled along beside her. Whenever she saw that, she thought of the terrible cruelty of the Ordunese who had beaten him.


    ¡°Where are the older Morps?¡± asked Delaney, as she skipped along a dirt road that led into the Ashwauk Woods. ¡°When I was in your land I saw 20, maybe 30 of you people, and they all look about your age or even younger.¡±


    ¡°Me old. Old Morp.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t look it,¡± said Delaney, pleased to be able to offer a genuine compliment. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have pegged you as a day over 20.¡±


    ¡°Almost 20, ma¡¯m,¡± said Snetrock.


    ¡°Twenty isn¡¯t old, Snetrock.¡±


    He gazed up at her with a mixture of sadness and confusion. ¡°Old Morp. Die soon.¡±


    Delaney¡¯s buoyant mood crashed. ¡°Are you serious?! Your life span is really that short?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t know,¡± said Snetrock with a shrug. ¡°Twenty old. Old Morp.¡±


    ¡°But why?¡± asked Delaney, biting her lip again. Was there any justice in the realms? ¡°Do you have some epidemic or disease, or what?¡±


    ¡°My fren,¡± he said, pulling close to her cheek.


    Delaney¡¯s heart went out to the plucky little fellow. Despite his morose nature, his suffocating craving for affection, and his many disabilitiess, he never uttered a complaint about his lot in life.


    ¡°Why were you put in prison, Snetrock?¡± she asked. She was trying to avoid questions, but could not think of how to make conversation with him any other way. ¡°Back in Orduna, I mean. You know, the city we just left?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t know, ma¡¯m. Go home now.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± said Delaney. ¡°I don¡¯t blame you a bit. Bunch of sickos. I wish I didn¡¯t have to go back there, but I can¡¯t just leave Windglow. How can anyone treat you so bad, especially knowing what your life is like?¡±


    ¡°Orduna laugh. Morp have no sense. Geese smarter.¡±


    ¡°I hope you didn¡¯t listen to any of that!¡± said Delaney, growing more indignant. ¡°You have a lot to offer.¡±


    ¡°What offer?¡±


    Delaney tried to say something about Morps having talents like anyone else. But to her embarrassment, she could only stammer and clear her throat. She was not altogether certain at this point that Morps could contribute anything to society. Anything tangible at any rate She was most relieved to be diverted from the subject by a fork in the trail near the base of a large maple that had been split in half and scorched by lightning.


    ¡°Well, here it is,¡± she said.


    ¡°Very good. Burn tree. Way to Morp.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right, Snetrock. Good, you¡¯ve been listening. There¡¯s hope for you after all.¡± Immediately she regretted saying it. She did not mean to be so condescending, but she could hardly help it around the Morp. ¡°But remember, you¡¯re not going to Morp yet.¡±


    Panic leapt into his eyes. ¡°No Morp? Back to Orduna?!¡±


    ¡°No, Snetrock, not Orduna. You never have to go back there. But we need you to do something else first. You need to find the Meshoma. This is very important. Do you understand?¡± Delaney talked slowly and clearly to him, as if addressing a small child.


    ¡°Visit Meshoma. Very good, ma¡¯m.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± She steered him to the middle of three forks.¡° This is the road you take. Right here. This road takes you to the Meshoma villages. When you find them, give them the message. The one Dhayelle gave you.¡±


    ¡°My fren!¡±


    ¡°Snetrock stop it!¡±


    His loving grimace dissolved into fear and disappointment. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± said Delaney. ¡°It¡¯s just I need you to listen. It¡¯s important. You need to get a message to the Meshoma.¡±


    ¡°To Meshoma.¡±


    Delaney had major doubts about Snetrock¡¯s reliability, but she hoped he was not critical to their strategy. They needed allies, time was short, and the possibilities were slim. The key to their success, in Dhayelle¡¯s view was Stargo, a general and division commander in the Brooking army. It was Delaney¡¯s job to gain his confidence, and Dhayelle suspected he might take considerable persuading. If she could accomplish her mission, Stargo could work out a deal with the Meshoma himself, and they would not even need Snetrock¡¯s message. If she failed, however, Snetrock¡¯s mission would would be a last resort. For if Stargo did not buy into the plan, the Meshoma were all they had left, and Snetrock would be their only link to them. Dependence on a Morp, Delaney realized, was a pretty sorry backup plan, and made her all the more aware of the urgency of her mission.


    ¡°Where is the message, Snetrock?¡± she asked.


    He stared blankly at her, then began a thorough search of his pockets. This turned up nothing, a fact that appeared neither to surprise nor discourage him in the least. He searched the same pockets, again and again. Dumbfounded, Delaney watched him go through a fourth search in exactly the same sequence as before and wondered how long this could go on. He was beginning to remind her of a neurotic tiger pacing the same steps endlessly in a small concrete cage in a zoo.


    ¡°Snetrock, it¡¯s in your shoe,¡± Delaney said at last, barely controlling her frustration.


    Snetrock sat down and earnestly set about unlacing his shoe. The task took all of his concentration and perhaps two minutes. Finally, he produced the wrinkled paper.


    ¡°This is serious business,¡± Delaney reminded him. ¡°You have to pay attention.¡±


    ¡°Serious. Not lose.¡± He stood there barefoot, staring at her, and then broke into his pained smile. ¡°My fren!¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I like you too, Snetrock,¡± said Delaney, pushing him away from her. ¡°But this is important.¡± She picked up his shoes. ¡°Put these on,¡± she said as she sat him down on the ground and tucked the note back in the shoes.


    After watching him put on the shoes and fumble with the laces, Delaney grew so exasperated that she grabbed the shoes and bent down to finish the job.


    ¡°Velcro was made with you people in mind,¡± she muttered. ¡°Now, do you know what to do? Who are you visiting?¡±


    ¡°Meshoma.¡±


    ¡°Why are you visiting them?¡±


    A long pause as Snetrock wrinkled his face in deep concentration, ¡°Give message,¡± he said at last.


    ¡°Where is the message?¡±


    As she finished tying his shoe, Snetrock took advantage the close proximity of her face to rub his cheek against hers. ¡°My fren.¡±


    ¡°Stop it, Snetrock. Where¡¯s the message?¡±


    Again, he looked at her with the pain of rejection in his eyes.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry; I am your friend, Snetrock. But you have to pay attention. Where is the message, Snetrock? Where is the message?¡±


    ¡°Shoe.¡±


    ¡°Perfect,¡± said Delaney. Pleased with his performance, she offered him a hug.


    Snetrock beamed in his grotesque way and rubbed his cheek on hers again. ¡°My fren.¡±


    ¡°My fren. Now good luck. We¡¯re counting on you.¡±


    Snetrock kept smiling at her until she finally had to turn him and push him in the right direction.


    He walked away, reluctantly, his usual absurdly straight posture sagging, his noodle arms limp at his side. He seemed weary and defeated. But then that was the way he always looked when he wasn¡¯t grinning at her. What a life!


    As the Morp disappeared, she wondered if he had enough sense to follow the simple directions given to him. Probably not. Hey, what can you do? You take your chances and see what happens. At least we got him out of Orduna before they could kill him.


    Delaney tried not to think about him anymore and instead began concentrating on her mission. Stargo commanded the division of the Brooking army operating on Rushbrook¡¯s eastern flank. It might have been better if he had been on the western flank, closer to the island, but again, they had to play with the hand they had been dealt. Although Stargo was one of Eldorean¡¯s best and most experienced commanders, Dhayelle was aware that he had once confided to Ehiloru his concerns about the state of affairs in Rushbrook. If there was a weak link in Eldorean¡¯s armor, this man was it.


    According to Dhayelle, the odds were slim that Stargo and the Meshoma would form the alliance needed for their plan to have a bubble of a chance. Even she, who had little feel for realm history, was aware that the Brookings¡¯ bitter hatred of the Meshoma went back many generations. But for the first time since arriving in the realms, she was on her own with a vital job to do, and she found herself looking forward to the challenge. She would show these realm creatures that she was not such a wimp after all.

 Chapter 7 Search for Allies

    Immediately, Delaney wished she could take back her words. How could she let her temper get out of control at this most crucial of all moments?


    A handsome man, with flashing blue eyes, a dense but neatly trimmed dark beard, a manner confident, controlled, and disciplined without being a slave to obsession, rose from behind a makeshift, paper-strewn desk in the center of the tent. A bright sun beat down on the translucent canvas, making the room uncomfortably warm. Delaney had not yet seen a smile from Stargo, commander of the Brooking forces encamped near the Ordunese border east of the forest. Thanks to her own overzealousness in selling her story and her temper upon Strago¡¯s blunt skepticism, the odds were slim she would be treated to that vision in the foreseeable future.


    Fixing her with a parental glare, he said, ¡°Folks that come begging favors oughtn¡¯t go flinging around names like ¡®ignorant butthead¡¯ at them that has the favors they want. I will tell you straight out, ma¡¯m, I don¡¯t hold with folks insulting officers in front of their men.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± pleaded Delaney, wringing her hands. ¡°You¡¯re right. My bad! I screwed up totally. I don¡¯t know what got into me.¡± She had expected the general to be more intimidating and sophisticated; maybe that''s what was throwing her off, causing her to be too familiar. Sassy, even. Roland had told her once that the Brookings were not real big on grammar, but she had not imagined that would apply to someone in such a powerful position.


    ¡°Scolding a general in his own camp! Never heard tell of such a thing. And for my own education, what it is a `redneck¡¯?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Okay, why don¡¯t we just forget that happened? It just, you know, came out. I got a little upset, that¡¯s all. Look, I said I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    Stargo remained standing, leaning on his desk. ¡°Well, that solves everything then, don¡¯t it! You said you''''re sorry, so that grants you immunity from any consequences of your actions." He shook his head in disbelief. "Have you got any idea what kind of trouble you could get in, bad-mouthing Eldorean to his own army?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no way to talk about him without bad-mouthing him,¡± snapped Delaney. ¡°He¡¯s a moron and a jerk and a traitor and steaming pile of rat barf.¡±


    ¡°Whoa now!¡±


    ¡°And he¡¯s in some kind of a conspiracy with the rest of his Satan wannabes. He killed one of my friends. And he¡¯s planning to kill Ehiloru, and take over Orduna.¡±


    ¡°Listen here!¡± said Stargo. ¡°That¡¯s a load of serious charges you¡¯re throwing around. If you think I¡¯m gonna just roll over and take your side against them what leads us--heads of state and all--on mere hearsay, you¡¯re the one who ain¡¯t got much between your ears.¡±


    ¡°You are so gullible!¡± scoffed Delaney. And so gorgeous! I would have to be wearing these dorky Ordunese rags, with, like, no makeup. And why did I have to shoot off my mouth like that?! ¡±Where do you think that lying weasel is right now? Where do you think he¡¯s been most of the past few weeks?


    ¡°Shhh!¡± Stargo whispered earnestly, falling into his seat. ¡°Pipe down, would you? You could get killed for saying less, and I could get hung just for listening to it. Eldorean is up along--oh come on, I can¡¯t tell you where he is! That¡¯s classified.¡±


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s `classified,¡¯¡± mocked Delaney. ¡°Pull your head out, would you! I know where he is better than you do. He¡¯s in the Citadel right now, planning to take over Orduna.¡±


    ¡°Why would he want to take over Orduna?¡± muttered Stargo, softly. ¡°The man can¡¯t even govern Rushbrook.¡± He suddenly reddened. ¡°Holy hills, lady! Now you got me doing it! Uttering treason. Okay, ma¡¯am, tell me this: if he¡¯s taking over Orduna, how¡¯s he going to do it? We Brookings couldn¡¯t begin to match the Ordunese army on a level field, much less try to assault them when they¡¯re sitting behind their castle walls.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know and I don¡¯t care!¡± snapped Delaney in a loud whisper. ¡°Our spy in the Citadel--his name is Windglow; he¡¯s Tishaaran--knows for a fact that Eldorean is up to his fat face in the plot to take over Orduna. He overheard him at a top level meeting taking orders from some foreigner.¡±


    Stargo buried his face in his hands. For a moment he looked at her with wonder that turned to pity and finally bemusement. ¡°Ma¡¯m, could I give you some advice?¡± he finally said, with exaggerated calmness.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care what you do as long as you stick Eldorean¡¯s head in a toilet.¡±


    ¡°I truly don¡¯t mean no offense by this,¡± he said, struggling to retain cordial manners. ¡°If you really do got a spy in a tight spot, for the love of God, don¡¯t go around shouting his name and address and description.¡±


    ¡°You mean I can¡¯t trust you?¡± said Delaney. ¡°I thought you were Ehiloru¡¯s friend.¡±


    A chill ran up her spine as she wondered if she had gotten it right. Is this the man I was supposed to contact? Or isn¡¯t he? What if he is one of them? I¡¯m as gullible as poor Hummer!


    ¡°That¡¯s not the point,¡± protested Stargo. ¡°Lady, I hate to sound disrespectful but your story about them Cold Flames and some fairy tale spirit flying in to Reef¡¯s Island is the biggest jumble of poppycock I ever heard.


    ¡°Not that I won¡¯t admit as there¡¯s some peculiar goings-on down at the island,¡± he added very softly. ¡°I might even concede that folk are awful close-lipped about what is going on there. Eldorean near took my head off once just for asking. And I don¡¯t follow why we need our strongest forces camped out along the Third Realm border. Who gives a crap about Radford, for crying out loud? We haven¡¯t heard a word from any of the troops up that ways for months. Are they even there? What happened to them?¡±


    He stopped and glared at her in amazement. ¡°Oh my Lord, I just told you a state secret. What is the matter with me?¡±


    Delaney beamed. Nothing! It¡¯s just that you can¡¯t resist me! ¡°It¡¯s okay, you know you can trust me,¡± she said. ¡°You feel it in your heart.¡±


    The invitation to examine his heart coaxed no reaction. ¡°And the biggest puzzler of all is that I can¡¯t for the life of me figure who you are and what you got to gain by coming to me and spilling this nonsense.¡±


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    ¡°Really, do you think that anyone in a million years could make up a story like this?¡± asked Delaney. ¡°I am a friend of Ehiloru. Well, a friend of a friend. Anyway, I was told you were someone he trusts. So you have to help because he is in big trouble!¡±


    Slowly, Stargo rose from the desk again. ¡°Now there you go again. Don¡¯t go playing with me and my respect for Ehiloru. I¡¯d go to the end of the world for him, that i would. Somehow you know it and that¡¯s why you¡¯re working on me. I¡¯m warning you, don¡¯t go getting me all lathered up about Ehiloru without you have proof there¡¯s something afoot with him.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t have time for proof!¡± cried Delaney. Why can¡¯t I get that through his beautiful, thick head? ¡°Stargo, wake up!"


    She slammed her fists on his desk in frustration. The force of her blow flipped a leather-bound logbook, which sent a full inkwell spinning at Stargo. In an instant,the general''s handsome features were hidden behind a dripping mask of black ink.


    As he glared at her, Delaney''s agitation turned to horror. Her adrenaline-fueled confidence burned away in a flash. "I am so sorry! I didn''t mean to do that!" Shocked and embarrassed beyond dall endurance at her failure in the most crucial of assignments, she broke down in tearss and spluttered, "I screwed up everything. We''re all totally, totally screwed, all because of me. All because I''m such a klutz."


    As black ink trickled off his nose, Stargo gaped at Delaney with a mixture of rage disbelief, confusion, suspicion, and sympathy for her sudden meltdom. The combination left him utterly speechless.


    Delaney fell to her knees, her words spiing out in a torrent of hopelessness. "Why won''t you listen to me? I can''t give you any proof. These people aren¡¯t stupid. They¡¯ve been planning this for years and they don¡¯t make mistakes. They stay so far back in the shadows that no one can ever see them, but they¡¯ve taken over that island and they got Orduna in their back pocket. They¡¯re led by this reject from hell named Radigan--his own men call him Devil-throat. Ehiloru is a prisoner in the Citadel. They plan to kill him and take over the city, and they''ve got, like, some big-time help from the upper realms! If you don¡¯t do something now, they¡¯re going to take over the whole world. And you''re going to just sit there and let them do it just because I''m such a loser?"


    Slowly, calmly, Stargo began to wipe the ink from his face with a pocket handkerchief, well aware that only a major cleaning effort would repair the damage. He studied his splotched white shirt and then regarded the sobbing young woman before him.


    He blew out his cheeks and stared at her for a long time, probing for some clue as to what he was dealing with. ¡°Where are you from?¡± he finally asked, quietly.


    "What?" asked Delaney,miserably.


    ¡°Where are you from? You bear a liking to folks in the Second, but something about you don¡¯t quite match up.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, like it¡¯ll get any clearer if I go into that,¡± said Delaney.


    ¡°I said, `where are you from?¡¯¡± demanded Stargo.


    From the coldness in his eyes, Delaney could see he had reached the end of his patience. She had no clue where to go next¡ªno strategy for salvaging this humiliating failure. She was out of ideas. She had no energy left for anything other than telling the truth, eventhought it was certain to undermine whatever shred of credibility she had left.


    ¡°I was one of those people that fell into your world from a completely different, you know, planet. Laugh all you want--I already got thrown in your dungeons for that, so this is nothing new. I so hate every one of you for what I had to go through down there. Just seeing your uniforms again makes me want to pike. I didn''t come here for you; just Ehiloru.¡±


    Stargo rubbed his chin and studied her intensely. At once, recognition burst into his eyes. ¡°That¡¯s it! That¡¯s why you look familiar. I seen you before. Down in them jails last fall. I wondered what a fair young lady as you had went and done to get herself tossed in there.¡±


    ¡°Well, gee, thanks for the compliment, but you could have done something besides wondered, couldn¡¯t you?¡± she said, bitterly.


    ¡°But I did. I¡¯m the one what spoke to Ehiloru about it. So that was you!¡±


    Delaney shrieked in surprise. ¡°You¡¯re the one who who told Ehiloru? You?! Oh my God! You got me out of there? You saved my life!¡± She jumped up, dashed around the desk, and threw her arms around him. ¡°I love you! I love you!¡±


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± squawked Stargo, trying to peel her off as he backpedaled into the edge of the tent.


    ¡°What, like I¡¯m that repulsive?¡± she said, her face reddening. Given her puffy eyes and tear-streaked cheeks, she guessed she probably was.


    ¡°No, that¡¯s,that¡¯s not it at all,¡± stammered Stargo, matching her crimson glow shade for shade. ¡°I¡¯m just. . . I don¡¯t--¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just thanking you; you don¡¯t have to freak out."


    It''s just, you''re getting ink on your clothes."


    Delaney jumped backward and looked at her splotched blouse in disgust. But then the realization of what Stargo just said took hold.


    ¡°So now you believe me. You know I¡¯m not just making this up. This is awesome!We really are on the same side. Come on, we don¡¯t have much time! If you and the Meshoma can join forces, you can take over that island and stop whatever is going on, and then get up to Orduna to help us save Ehiloru. But you have to move now!¡±


    ¡°Shhh! Will you pipe down!¡± said Stargo, irritably. ¡°There¡¯s a powerful jump from what I just said to me swallowing your whole story. Supposing I was to believe you. Just supposing now. That don¡¯t mean I got to agree to your plan. I sure as blazes ain¡¯t going to buddy up to the Meshoma. In case you didn¡¯t know, ma¡¯m, them savages is the lifelong enemy of the state I been sworn to protect. My men, they¡¯re trained to kill them devils on sight. They ain¡¯t goin¡¯ to join hands with them just on account of I say so.¡±


    ¡°Why not? I thought you were in charge here!¡±


    ¡°Even the best troops will only follow you so far. And I ain¡¯t sayin¡¯ mine are the best.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t need your men to coordinate a plan with the Meshoma. You just need you. You secretly go meet with them so they know what the deal is and how they can help. You don¡¯t have to be gone long. Just enough to get the plan--¡±


    ¡°What kind of idiot do you take me for, ma¡¯m? Ah, that¡¯s right, you already told me I was a ¡®ignorant butthead.¡¯ Look, I¡¯ll tell you, just between us--and I don¡¯t want you quoting me on this--I¡¯m not as Charlie gung-ho to stick a Meshoma as some in my camp. I listen to Ehiloru and know he¡¯s friends with them. Far as I can tell, Meshoma ain¡¯t so bad as folk make them out to be, providing you stay distant of ¡®em. But if you think I¡¯m going to meet them all by myself with no protection, you misfigured wrong. What do you need the Meshoma for, anyhow? Did Ehiloru ask for them?¡±


    This verbal tug-of-war lasted until darkness, ebbing and flowing as Delaney¡¯s desperation raised the volume of the exchange and Stargo¡¯s survival instincts strove to reduce it. Several times, Delaney felt the argument slipping away from her. She knew only a handful of the facts of the Cold Realm conspiracy and had trouble keeping those straight. Sheer persistence keep her going. Just when Stargo thought he had wrapped things up and was ready to dismiss her, she made some bizarre comment or argument that threw him off balance. He simply could not get rid of her.


    She kept hammering at him until a soldier walked in bearing sealed orders from Eldorean. He kept sneaking horrified glances at the black-stained face and clothing of his commander, who finally snapped, "Send in an orderly with some strong soap, a stiff brush, and a change of clothes."


    The man saluted and spun around out the door.


    Against his better judgment, Stargo tore open the letter in front of his annoying but fascinating visitor.


    ¡°Orduna?!¡± Stargo muttered under his breath as he read. ¡°Why?" Something was definitely odd about what Eldorean was doing. Something nearly as odd as this woman whom Ehiloru had freed. Why would Eldorean summon the army to Orduna?


    ¡°What¡¯s it say?¡± Delaney demanded.


    Stargo sighed heavily and pointed to the words on the envelope. ¡°`General Stargo Only.¡¯ But I suppose these little words don¡¯t mean nothin¡¯ to such old and dear friends as you and me. I wish I could speak to Ehiloru about this," he grumbled.


    ¡°Well, duh! That¡¯s what we all want. If we don¡¯t get moving, he¡¯s not going to be available for anyone to talk to,¡± said Delaney. For not the last time, she regretted the time her expedition had wasted, at the acid falls and bumbling around Morp, that had resulted in Ehiloru''s capture and imprisonment before the Tishaaran expedition could make contact.


    Stargo stared at her a long time, straight into her eyes. It was all Delaney could do to sit still during this examination. It¡¯s not fair; I finally meet a guy like this and I haven¡¯t even showered in three days.


    Finally, he said, ¡°Miss Delaney. I got to say your tactics are not according to the manual. Most people who want something from me come in here all meek and polite, with hat in hand. They smile and flatter and treat me with the respect deserving on my office. I can''t think of a one that''s ever come in here thinking the best way to persuade me was by throwing fits and calling me a butthead and pounding on my desk and flinging ink all over me and crying and scolding and hugging me like a mad squirrel.


    "I want to give no misimpressions, ma''am. Just so''s you know for the future, it isn''t your charm or your debating skills that won the day for you here."


    He rubbed his whiskers thoughfully. "Or maybe they did. Maybe you''re way smarter than the rest of us, and this was all part of your plan. Wouldn''t surprise me a bit.


    "At any rate, here''s what I''m going to do. I''ll send a messenger to the Meshoma. Top secret. Someone I can trust. But that''s as far as I commit for now. We''ll talk again i a day or so. If I smell any trick in this, or sense anything that ain''t on the up-and-up, it''s off. No more discussion."


    Delaney grinned at him, her heart pounding happily. "You are so hot," she blurted, dreamily.


    Stargo''s jaw dropped again. Finally, he recovered and said, "I''ll tell the missus you said so. Good day, ma''am."

 Chapter 8 Purple Sky

    Midnight had long passed before the beasts and the gnomes took their first, brief break. While marching through the sand and scattered thistles, sedges, and sawgrass under the dim night sky, Roland had learned first-hand of the accuracy of Sloat¡¯s description of the grim Color Gnomes.


    They were a craggy, weathered people with exaggerated features: knuckles too large for the hands, hands too large for the arms, bodies too wide for the legs, noses and ears too large for the faces. Their posture was stooped, their shoulders rounded, their stomachs ample, their jaws square, their stares icy. Their obsession with color seemed totally at odds with their cold personalities. But not only did they carry bright, sputtering torches in a rainbow of hues, but they dressed in hooded jackets of various bright shades.


    Anxious to press the battle before Ishyrus could complete its destruction of the realm bonds, the alliance of beasts and gnomes had hurriedly drawn up a scheme of attack. The animals, being far stealthier than the Gnomes, were to creep under the cover of night to the western edge of the ridge overlooking Point Harrow. Meanwhile, the Gnomes, who had the better trained and more disciplined army, were to execute a precise and intricate march. They were to circle around to the bay at the eastern shore of the peninsula. All of the birds flying with the animals were were hovering in the sky, ready to engage any airborne enemy to keep them from spotting the maneuver. A lone eagle, flying high enough to observe the movements of both groups and too high to be seen by the enemy, would screech the signal for the attack to begin. The animals would then charge from the southwest while the Gnomes cut across the point from the east.


    Convinced that the defense of the entire lower realms depended on stopping Ishyrus before it dissolved the realm bonds, the allies had agreed to throw every last claw, tooth, sword and ax at their command into this battle, leaving nothing in reserve.


    ¡°The only alternatives,¡± Hatanwa the wolverine reminded everyone, ¡°are success or death. If we lose at Point Harrow, we lose the war. We lose the realms. We lose the future."


    Packory had suggested that Roland and Sloat split up between the advancing armies, so as to provide the enemy with two unexpected elements to ponder in its analysis of their foe. Neither Roland not Sloat could imagine Ishyrus or anyone else wasting a thought on either of them. But Roland agreed to the plan, for an entirely different reason. As the combat drew near, Sloat began openly second-guessing his presence in a camp of war. Roland decided he had enough worries without marching side-by-side into battle with a Tishaaran in the throes of a wrestling match with his conscience. Feeling somewhat ill at ease among the beasts anyway, Roland had casually offered his services to the Gnomes.


    ¡°Perhaps I could pass myself off as an off-color Gnome,¡± he had quipped to Sloat as he set off to join the dour people. Of course, Sloat had not seen the humor.


    Greenrafter, one of the Gnome chieftains, had glowered at Roland¡¯s request to join them. But strictly on grounds that Roland more closely resembled the Gnomes than the animals, he reluctantly tolerated his presence. ¡°To the rear,¡± the chieftain had barked, with no further word of welcome.


    Roland trudged along, staring at the bobbing heads of the somber soldiers before him. They had left their extinguished torches stacked near the animal camp. Now they accepted bruises and twisted ankles on their unlit path as the price of the crucial element of surprise.


    The restless Fourth Realm wind continued to scour the ridges, yet it could not dislodge a spotty fog that had settled into the hollows. The Gnomes rarely spoke beyond occasional muffled debates about the best way to fight a weasel while fending off vulture talons, or whether an ax or club would work better against the spiny-backed Urchins, the cruel, coastal-dwelling Fourth Realmers.


    This sort of talk called Roland¡¯s attention to the fact that he was marching into battle unarmed. Spare weapons were not readily available in the realms, or if they were, no one parted easily with them. He had not the slightest idea what he would do once the fighting started. I feel like a water boy. Call me Gunga Din.


    When the Gnomes reached their appointed positions, they wasted no time in arranging themselves into compact lines of assault. They waited wordlessly in the spray of waves that crashed upon the rocks on their right flank, glaring at the campfires that flickered in the distance. Roland stood in the rear of the army, feeling totally alone in the world. This felt curiously unlike the fear he had faced when he confronted the Raxxar horde, or when the Droom had closed in on him at the Thousand Valleys, and nothing like the terror of the Fifth Realm. This was a duller, deeper, nauseating dread. This was beyond the range of any personal afflictions. Before, the fear had all been inside him, freezing his veins and jamming his senses. Now the fear was outside; it was everywhere, spreading across the Point as if on the wings of a cold wind. This was war.


    An eagle¡¯s screech ripped through the night silence. With more of a grunt than a battle cry, the hooded Gnomes sprang over a small knoll and charged at a full run.


    Oh, my God!Roland repeatedly pleaded for divine help as he inched forward, waiting for the front lines to clear out so that he could join the attack. But before he could move, a bolt of lightning seared the sky, sizzling the heavens like fat on a hot grill. Roland had to shield his eyes from the blinding shaft that tore through the clouds. Just as the image of the bolt faded, the sky exploded in fireworks that cast a crackling purple radiance over the Point. A supernatural roar erupted, followed by a terrible cry that did not echo against the background of the earth but rather seemed to radiate from the sky. It crashed down as from another cosmos, from the other side of death, overwhelming the earth on which Roland stood.


    Roland dropped to his knees and braced himself on all fours against the quaking ground, wondering what new horrors had been set loose against them. Not until the tumult died away did he lift his head to look toward the Point. Far off in the distance on the highest bluff of Point Harrow, so far away that it appeared to float in the sea, a purple bonfire raged. Its evil flames leapt high into the sky where, lashed by winds, they writhed in spectacular contortions.


    The Gnomes halted their attack. Roland could see some of the hooded warriors silhouetted against the distant purple flames as they turned to each other in confusion and despair. Anxious whispers turned to terrified cries: questions gave way to sharp answers and despairing shouts.


    Roland longed for someone to whom he could direct his own questions, but the Gnomes were all busy in heated conversation with one another, and he tried without much success to pick up what was being said. Finally, one grizzled fellow with a stubbly chin, apparently not well-regarded by his peers, had no one else to whom he could repeat the spreading rumor, and so he growled it to Roland. ¡°They¡¯ve broken through! We¡¯ve been bedeviled by the powers of the Fifth! That and Urchin magic.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean? What happened?¡± Roland asked.


    The Gnome grumbled some more about Fifth Realm devilry. ¡°Was that it?¡± asked Roland. ¡°Was that the breaking the of the realm bonds?¡±


    But the fellow had nothing more to say. The entire camp had fallen into confusion. Dark curses grew more bitter, but no one seemed to have any idea of what to do. Then at last, Roland heard his name being called, summoned by the two main Gnome chieftains, Redmerit and Greenrafter. He was escorted through the ranks of the Gnomes to the forward line, where the chieftains were in animated conversation.


    ¡°Ah, there you are!¡± cried Greenrafter, a large, powerful Gnome with flowing white hair and beard and eyebrows enough to form a broom. But he proceeded to ignore him, leaving Roland to witness a furious argument about what had happened and what was to be done. According to Greenrafter, the battle and the war were over already.


    ¡°We are too late!¡± he cried. ¡°Any fool can see that Ishyrus has broken the realm bonds. See how the purple flames burn.¡± They are as strong now as when they ignited." He gestured toward the flames that burned like an evil beacon far away on the highest ocean bluff of Point Harrow. The flames seemed impossibly far away.


    ¡°Who would deny that this is the greatest tragedy ever to befall the realmlands since the dawn of remembered time?¡± Greenrafter continued. ¡°We now face the might and wrath of the Fifth Realm. Who among us can stand against the supernatural, much less fight it? Look what the power of Ishyrus has done in one stroke. It has thrown our entire army back from the peninsula. We stand here now, at least five miles east of where we started the attack, by my reckoning. Ishyrus has been watching, calculating, and has chosen exactly the right time to strike. Our beast allies have already commited to the assault, counting on our aid from their right flank, and now it will not come. We cannot hope to get there before the battle is over and our friends are slaughtered!¡±The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Roland imagined the scene with horror. All of the animals, plus Sloat, were charging headlong into the enemy at this very moment, oblivious to the disaster on their eastern flank. Even now, hard-pressed from all sides, they were casting furtive eyes to the east, pleading for the support upon which they had gambled their lives.


    ¡°I agree ¡®tis of no use,¡± said Redmerit. ¡°By the time we get there ¡®twill be too late. Naught to do but watch the buzzards dine on the dead and go down fighting in our turn. Nonetheless, we must do it. We must race with all speed to the Point. Whether we get there too late or not, we must try. We swore to attack on the eagles¡¯ cry, and that we must do. A Gnome is faithful to his word.¡±


    ¡°Why bother?¡± growled Greenrafter. ¡°We agreed to attack in order to prevent the breaking of the realms. That mission has already failed. It is utter madness to charge head-long into the might of the Accursed Realm, before which none of us can stand.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve no choice,¡± insisted Redmerit. ¡°We said we would attack. If we fail to keep our word to our allies, we will never crawl out out from under the shame.¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯ll be there to accuse us?¡± came the reply. ¡°The beasts will all be dead whether we go to their aid or no.¡±


    ¡°We stand on the edge of our graves whether we attack or no,¡± said Redmerit.¡°Our lands are now laid bare to the Nephilim ghouls. What future do you see for us? Better to die here in defense of our honor than to die faithless, cowering in some hole and waiting for the demons of the Fifth to drag us out!¡±


    ¡°But even if we were to engage in this fool¡¯s mission for the sake of honor, what is to keep Ishyrus from pushing us back again every time we get close?¡± asked Greenrafter. He turned to Roland, ¡°You, that is why you were summoned. They say you¡¯ve been to the Accursed Land. Tell us what you know of the magic of that realm. What do we face? What powers does Ishyrus wield?¡±


    Roland felt put on the spot. Sweat flowed freely down his temple as he tried to dredge up the unnerving memories of his time in the Fifth Realm. He tried to recall his conversation with Adonaram and his experience in fighting off Draxis. The powers of the Fifth Realm were beyond imagining, once they got loose. Except. . .


    ¡°Wait a minute,¡± said Roland. ¡°I don¡¯t know if Ishyrus has much in the way of real power just yet.¡±


    ¡°Bahh!¡± cried Greenrafter. ¡°Call it what you will, t¡¯were a powerful spell it cast to throw an entire army far from the field in one snap of a finger.¡±


    ¡°But it¡¯s been starved for centuries,¡± said Roland. ¡°Ishyrus is a Seraph, and they feed off good will and peace and all those virtues. It can¡¯t have fed on anything before it broke the realm bonds and it¡¯s got nothing to feed on now, with a battle going on around him. It really cannot be all that powerful. Not yet.¡±


    Both Gnome chieftains stared at him in disgust and disbelief. ¡°You call moving an entire army five miles to the rear `not that powerful?¡¯¡± scoffed Greenrafter. ¡°I¡¯d like to hear what you think real power might do!¡±


    ¡°You have to understand this; until they feed again, their only power is illusion,¡± said Roland, staring suspiciously at the fire burning miles away on the Point. Their power is an illusion. Only an illusion. Suddenly, it hit him. ¡°You know what?¡± he said, ¡°I don¡¯t think Ishyrus really threw us back. I think it made us think it¡¯s thrown us back. Yeah, that¡¯s how it would have to work.¡±


    Redmerit and Greenrafter raised their heavy eyebrows and stared at each other for a few moments. ¡°I think you¡¯re daft,¡± snorted Redmerit. ¡°But since I¡¯m all for continuing the attack, such as we can, we can certainly test out your bizarre theory. Let us go, now, Greenrafter, and see how soon we come upon the field of battle.¡±


    Greenrafter shook his head sadly. ¡°Whether it be five miles or five feet, we will find ourselves on the last battlefield of of the Gnomes,¡± he warned. ¡±Are you prepared to send your soldiers to their doom, Redmerit?¡±


    ¡°We gave the beasts our word, Greenrafter. That is all there is to the matter.¡±


    Greenrafter blew out a long sigh, and gripped his long battle-ax. ¡°Then let us make a fight that the enemy will long remember, for I fear there will be none on our side to recount the deeds.¡±


    Word spread quickly and the Gnome ranks reformed. The army broke into a forced march, the Gnomes'' short legs pistoning over the ground. Barely had they begun to move when Roland heard the first screams that forewarned of a battle tableau more obscene than anything Roland could imagine. The Gnome army crested a line of hills and there discovered that Roland had been right; their removal from the battlefield had been only an illusion. Under the bright moonlight, now turning to dawn, the found a field on which the animals, widely dispersed, were fighting for their lives against the enemy horde.


    The wolverines whirled and slashed as if berserk. Mighty rams shattered the bones of their foes, and several large cougars and black bears raked holes in the enemy lines. For an instant these islands of defiance gave Roland hope. But he quickly saw that these were the exception. The numbers of standing animals were too few. Unsupported by Gnome weaponry, they were especially vulnerable to arrows. Clouds of cruel barbs whooshed through the purple haze.


    The Gnomes lurched into a heavy-legged sprint to save their allies. But a second enemy force lay in wait for them. Charging out of a deep ravine, fresh troops of Raxxars, Urchins, Brookings, and Pharitans cut off the Gnomes before they could reach the shattered lines of the beasts. At the same time, weasels and the enormous white bears of the north tore into one flank, while huge beasts that reminded Roland of prehistoric animals attacked the other. Enormous sailbacked, reptile-like creatures rose up from the hills, some sporting long horns on their faces, as well as a giant sloth, a mastodon, and several wooly rhinoceros. These were the creatures known only among the animals as ¡°the Terrible Ones¡± who had long lived in isolation on the far western shores of the Fourth Realm.


    Their allies¡¯ cries of anguish from across the field maddened the Gnomes to a murderous fury. Despite being vastly outnumbered, they tore into the ranks of their foes and battered their way forward, inch by inch. But as they did so, a chill crept over the Gnome vanguard. Even Roland, still in the rear, insulated by lines of Gnomes eagerly seeking an opening to join the fray, could feel it--a thin almost invisible mist, filled with poison. Several Gnomes cried out loud and, although untouched by weapon, claw, or tooth, fell writhing to the ground and then lay still.


    Only then did they notice the trees.


    The Point Harrow peninsula supported few trees beyond an occasional orphaned wisp of a sapling doomed to an exhausting struggle for existence in the wind-whipped, barren hills. But now, knotted, leafless trunks with glassy smooth limbs appeared from nowhere into the middle of the battlefield. These wooden specters dissolved in the dawn light only to slowly materialize a short distance away. Whenever any of the valiant Gnome warriors came within range of their shadows, he fell into an invisible web of death from which there was no escape.


    ¡°Tree wraiths!¡± cried the Gnomes in despair. ¡°The Fifth Realm is upon us! Retreat!¡± They called to the animals, ¡±Nephilim! Flee! Save yourselves however you can!¡±


    The front lines of the Gnomes fought heroically to buy time for those who fled toward the ridge. The bright hues of their hoods reflected the morning sun and decorated the nightmarish landscape with incongruous brightness. But fear reflected in those normally belligerent eyes. Droves of Raxxars swarmed upon them from every side. Rats, wild dogs, wildcats, bats, and weasels dodged through the retreating ranks of Gnomes and raced past them to cut off their escape. The Terrible Ones slashed wide swaths of death and destruction in the Gnome ranks.


    Across the field, the tattered remnants of the animal army gave up the fight and ran for their lives. Fast on their heels charged the enemy, their ranks swelled by fresh Barbarian hordes from the far western Fourth Realm land of Stogmor and a regiment of ashen-faced Brookings. they fell upon the wounded and the stragglers near the foot of the bald ridge.


    Roland searched for Sloat among the scattered ranks of animals but could not find him. Wait! There he was cracking his tishaarat at an onrushing Barbarian! There he fell, his dusty blue cloak disappearing beneath the bulk of his powerful foe. Roland¡¯s shout of horror died in his throat as Gnomes crowded in on him from all sides, driven back by the overwhelming forces surrounding them. Swords and claws slashed cruelly on all sides as the carnage drew closer. One Gnome stepped on Roland¡¯s foot while another pitched backwards onto him, hurling Roland to the ground. He narrowly escaped being hewn by the ax of a Gnome who swung wildly while keeping a terrified eye on the tree wraiths that silently stole among the ranks.


    A Third Realm Pharitan, dressed in shimmering chain mail, fell next to Roland. After freeing his foot from beneath the bleeding corpse, Roland pried loose the sword still clenched in the Pharitan¡¯s hand. Dismayed at its weight, he held it in front of him with both hands. While it was too heavy for him to wield effectively, he could at least use it to block some of the blows coming at him.


    The Gnomes and animals would have been annihilated on the spot by their vastly superior foe had not an unexpected reinforcement taken the field. Roaring with a savagery that stopped the enemy in its tracks, two dozen golden-brown grizzlies charged into battle.


    The big bears tore savagely into the smaller vermin harassing the Gnomes¡¯ rear until the air was choked with fur. Just as the main pocket of Gnomes was caving in on all sides, the grizzlies tore open a hole in the rear wall of Ishyrus¡¯s deadly snare. Roland joined the flood of dour warriors who poured through the gap and raced back toward their camp.Meanwhile, the grizzlies swept along the flanks, scattering entire regiments of the enemy host.


    The ferocious bears were few, however, and their impact was short-lived. Their great strength was soon countered by the Terrible Ones, who stepped forward, seeking out bears for in single combat. At the same time, the tree wraiths advanced upon them, and though the grizzlies were too wary to fall under their fatal spells, the presence of the wraiths


    greatly restricted their movement. Beyond screens of tree wraiths, the rest of Ishyrus¡¯s armies regrouped.


    Roaring their defiance, the grizzlies slashed up and down the lines, dodging blows of the Terrible Ones with graceful feints and staying clear of the wraiths. They held the enemy at bay just long enough for the bulk of the Gnomes to regroup atop a ridge.


    The grizzlies then bounded off to the west to harass the armies that pursued the decimated animal ranks. But the endless tide of Ishyrus¡¯s servants continued to pour in from all sides. The swiftest of the enemy, the Pharitans, cut off the retreat. The two armies--the Gnomes and the animals--clung to shrinking islands, surrounded by a surging sea of enemies. The heroic effort of the grizzlies appeared to have merely postponed the inevitable for a short time. The soldiers of Ishyrus shouted in triumph as they pushed in for the kill. Intoxicated by the might of their numbers and spurred to boldness by the invincibility of the Terrible Ones and by the immortal tree wraiths, they pressed in upon the shrinking knots of allies.


    All at once, thunder rumbled anew under the cloudless sky. The earth shook.


    ¡°Here comes the final flourish Ishyrus¡¯s wizardry to finish us off,¡± cried a Gnome.


    The roar grew louder, deafening, and Roland wondered what form the latest manifestation of their doom would take. Were the Urchins conjuring up huge boulders to crush them where they stood? Or had Ishyrus yet another army, even more powerful, waiting in the wings to finish them off? Perhaps the Droom had arrived to do the honors. Or had a legion of 1,000 Nephilim burst upon the scene in search of the nourishment of pain denied them for so many centuries?

 Chapter 9 A Desperate Battle

    The forces of Ishyrus cheered as the thunder surrounded them, pleased with the fresh evidence of their master¡¯s genius. However, their grinning, leering faces soon dissolved into confusion and then fear.


    ¡°The bison! They¡¯ve come!¡± screamed the eagles, diving down into the enemy.


    ¡°And the wolves! The wolves are with them!¡±


    The wolves arrived first in their disciplined formations, rank upon rank sweeping across the hills and leaping upon the enemy. Behind them, raising swirling clouds of dust, a boiling, thundering sea of bison surged toward the ridge.


    Taken by surprise on the threshold of victory, the enemy wavered. The edges of their deep ranks curled back, splintered, and then broke. Barbarian and beast, Pharitan and Raxxar, Urchin and Brooking all sought shelter from the stampede. Even several of the Terrible Ones fell as the hoofed giants of the plain plowed into the front ranks of their foes, tossing, battering, trampling. Although their momentum was slowed and then halted by the sheer weight of flesh in their path, they fought on, parrying the enemies¡¯ thrusts with their horns. The wolves, who had made less of an initial impact, now made greater inroads. They attacked in well-coordinated squads to open up a path to their beleaguered friends on the ridge.


    ¡°Where is Ishyrus?¡± roared the bison, to the exhausted animals and their allies. ¡°Death to Ishyrus!¡±


    ¡°Too late!¡± cried the beasts. ¡°Ishyrus has broken through. See how the purple flames burn far off in the cape. See the tree wraiths who stalk the battlefield. Our realms are laid bare to the Nephilim. The realm bonds are broken.¡±


    The bison charge slowed and eventually dissolved into confusion as the terrible news spread. But the wolf leadership made a quick decision.


    ¡°Fall back! Back to camp!¡± they called.¡°We shall cover you!¡±


    No one who had struggled for life so long and so desperately against such odds could refuse the invitation. With grateful cries, the beasts streamed through the gaps in the ranks of the foe. Among those who Roland saw backpedaling to the southern ridges was a man in a powder blue tunic.


    Thank God, Sloat survived!No matter that this would be only a short reprieve. Neither Roland nor any of the allies who had fought on the battlefield held any illusions over what had happened. They had failed in their desperate, hopeless bid to keep the bonds intact, to protect their realm from the ravages of the Nephilim. Now that the realm bonds had been breeched, there could be no victory of any kind, nor any peace in the realmlands from this day forward. All the same, Roland felt enormous relief at seeing his Tishaaran friend still among the living.


    Even with the arrival of the bison and wolves, the enemy wielded superior numbers.Worse yet, the tree wraiths seemed to be growing in numbers and in power. Although it was morning and the sun was yet rising, their shadows somehow lengthened, reaching deeper into the ranks of their wary enemy. A few of the new arrivals, who in the heat of their charge took no notice of the gray trees, learned first-hand the terror and death brought by these fell spirits.


    Chama and Ubor kept their forces fighting furiously until they freed the last besieged pockets of beast and Gnome. Then, when all were rescued who yet stood, they closed ranks and executed their own retreat, orderly for the wolves and chaotic for the bison.


    The enemy apparently were satisfied with their day¡¯s work. Cawing, laughing, snorting, and hurling vile insults, they retired to their camps among the hollows and wide valleys near the seaward bluffs of Point Harrow. The trees vanished like a morning mist burning off in the sunlight, leaving the battleground eerily deserted.


    The enemy retreated far enough for the animals and Gnomes to retrieve their dead and wounded from the field, a gesture of compassion attributed to their leader Ishyrus. Whatever had spurred this immortal being to its ruinous attack on the realm bonds and into an unholy alliance with those who served it this day, it was still a Seraph by nature.


    Roland, determined to be useful at last, joined in the task of caring for the dead and wounded. All through the day, he worked silently alongside the raccoons who, being the cleverest with their hands, had taken on the bulk of the healing duties. He fought back revulsion and sorrow as he stepped between the pools of blood and the torn flesh, and heard the moans of the dying--the first authentic visions of death he had ever known.


    One of the last victims carried back up the hill from the battlefield was a small, human-looking shape lying limp in the arms of a weary, sweat-soaked Sloat. Roland assumed the victim to be a small Gnome, or perhaps the remainder of a Gnome hacked to pieces in the fray.


    ¡°At least you¡¯re still here, Sloat,¡± said Roland, quietly. ¡°I thought I saw you go down.¡±


    Sloat said nothing, but shook his head sadly at the creature he gently cradled.Roland then saw that the clothing, ripped and soaked with crimson blood, was not Gnomish. With a chill, he recognized the obscenely gashed figure as none other than Digtry.


    Sloat bore his small burden back to the wind-scoured dune that he and Roland had chosen for their camp, and laid him on the sand. Roland sank to his knees beside the two of them, the stress of the sleepless night and heroic struggle overwhelming him. Although he was still breathing, fitfully, Digtry lay so badly mutilated that Sloat and Roland could hardly determine where to begin to nurse his wounds--not that it particularly mattered, other than to lend what comfort they could provide in his final moments. No mortal could survive such wounds.


    Whatever tiny reservoir of hope that Roland had harbored for a future in the realmlands died as he saw the blood oozing from the torn and mangled body. Digtry was by far the best of them. If he could not escape the destruction wrought by Ishyrus, what hope was there for the rest?


    He had quite lost track of time when two familiar figures hovered over his shoulder. Slumped with fatigue, caked with grime, Berch and Belfray joined the mournful vigil. Although nicked and bruised, and numbed by the carnage, they at least seemed to be in one piece.


    Roland and Sloat stood, and the reunited expedition greeted each other with solemn hugs: even Berch accepted his without reservation.


    Scratching the filthy salt-and-pepper beard that had grown scraggly since Roland had last seen it, Berch looked at the dying man beside them. ¡°So is he going to make it?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Sloat. ¡°His wounds are mortal.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a wizard, you know,¡± said Berch.


    Roland and Sloat looked at him in surprise.


    ¡°Yeah, a powerful one,¡± Berch continued. ¡°You don¡¯t suppose he knows some trick that¡¯ll pull him through this?¡±


    ¡°Digtry is a wizard?¡± repeated Roland.


    Sloat nodded. ¡°Yes, I should have seen that. It explains so much. It explains why the snow turned around in the Emperor Mountains. It may, in fact, explain why he still breathes, for no one that I know of could sustain such wounds and still live. Yet not even a wizard is immune from death. He is slipping away and will soon be gone.¡±


    As their friend gasped for breath that rattled in his lungs, barely conscious and totally unresponsive, his body shaking with pain, Roland began to realize just how far beyond him was this thing called death. Or life. Or the thin, permeable membrane that separated the two. He could not cry, or moan, or even shrink from the grotesque wounds. All he could do was brace himself against the emptiness that swelled within, growing so huge it all but consumed him. He was surprised to find how much he had had missed this little man over the past days. And though he sat stoically now, he wondered if that was simple shock and numbness. How would he hold up when the last shovelful of earth sealed Digtry off from the world of the living?


    ¡°I had been so looking forward to this day--to us all getting back together,¡± said Belfray, after a time. ¡°I could hardly wait to tell you our story and to learn what had befallen you. But now . . .¡±


    ¡°We can still do that,¡± insisted Berch. ¡°If it were me lying there, I¡¯d hate to spend my last hours as a centerpiece for a death watch. I¡¯d want to go out listening to my friends swapping stories about how they kicked ass in the old days. Even if the old days are just a only a few days ago.¡±The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Well put, Berch,¡± said Sloat, solemnly. ¡°Let us start by hearing of the deeds of our friend, Digtry. We would not be alive at this moment if not for the arrival of the wolves and bison, and I am certain he played the key role in that.¡±


    They sat in a solemn vigil among the dunes around their doomed friend as though encircling a campfire, huddling close together in the chill morning air to share whatever warmth was left in the dying embers of their souls. Each in turn told his story of the week¡¯s trials and triumphs since they had parted at the Glasswater. Belfray described their work in averting the war between wolves and bison, and of their ride westward on the backs of the great, wooly bison to belatedly answer the summons of the beast council. Sloat told of the chase into and out of the Thousand Valleys. Roland told of the journey to the Fifth Realm. Sloat finished with an account of the animal council, the disastrous attack of that morning, and the destruction of the Fourth Realm bonds.


    But although there was amazement at many of the tales, not even Belfray could summon any exuberance in recounting their successes. Nor was there any thanksgiving for surviving their perils and the terrible battle at the Point on this day.


    Digtry lay mortally wounded.


    And Ishyrus, the renegade Seraph of the Fifth Realm, had won. It had shattered the lower realms¡¯ only protection from the unimaginable terrors of the Spirit Realm. As they watched the life slip away from Digtry, each of them felt with cold certainty that they were previewing the future for all of them.


    The Nephilim were coming.


    From personal experience with the Nephilim of the Fifth Realm, Roland could not help but believe that Digtry was the lucky one among them.


    ¡°How did it happen?¡± asked Sloat. But no one seemed to know how Digtry had met his end. The question died.


    ¡°How about you, Sloat?¡± asked Roland. ¡°I saw you go down under a huge warrior. How come you aren¡¯t like Digtry or worse?¡±


    Sloat shrugged but made no answer.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be proud to tell you that,¡± croaked the voice of Packory, as the frog bounded over the rise.¡°I saw it all. Sloat arrived just in the blink of time. One of the moose who was trying to cover the retreat got knocked off his pegs by a Barbarian. As the brute was about to finish him with his club, here comes Sloat to the rescue with that silly whip of his.


    ¡°Of course, his little flea bite just irritates the heck out of the enemy, and he goes after Sloat. Knocks him down and raises his club. I guess it takes a club aimed at his skull to get a Tishaaran serious. I don¡¯t know what Sloat did, but that crack boomed so loud that most of the enemy stopped to see what had caused it. Then they saw this big, fat Barbarian howling on the ground, and I could have sworn I smelt burnt flesh.


    ¡°Let me tell you, the enemy started tippy-toeing around Sloat like he was one of those tree wraiths. I dare say there¡¯s more than a few hairy hides who wouldn¡¯t have made it back if Sloat hadn¡¯t been here.¡±


    ¡°There were no Raxxars on our end,¡± said Sloat, dourly. ¡°Our foes simply had no idea what a Tishaaran is. I am sure Ishyrus will send the Raxxars to deal with me next time. They know well what a Tishaaran is and what a tishaarat can and cannot do. As for me, I take pride in nothing I have done today.¡±


    Packory glanced at Digtry and nodded gravely. ¡°I see this is not the best time to come calling. But Hatanwa wants to round up the leaders for an urgent council. Actually, this was the one he wanted to talk to most,¡± he said, indicating Digtry. ¡°I''m sorry. Sloat, could you fill in?¡±


    ¡°Tishaarans have no business at a council of war.¡±


    Packory glared at him with one eye shut. ¡°You guys are supposed to be the peace experts. Well, that¡¯s just what is needed at the moment. Tempers are erupting like a chain of volcanoes, and Hatanwa needs a cool head to keep the army from blowing to smithereens.¡±


    Sloat tossed his stick in the sand. ¡°In that case I will come.¡± Still on his knees, he clasped one of Digtry¡¯s hands. ¡°You shall be at peace ere I return, my friend. If indeed you are a wizard, the secrets you carry shall be safe for ever. The Creator be with you, now and forevermore.¡±


    Rising slowly to his feet, he brushed the sand from his knees and spoke softly to Belfray. ¡°See if you can find a few badgers to help.¡±


    ¡°To help what?¡±


    Sloat held his gaze for a long time. ¡°Please do not delay. We shall have little time to do the job properly before duty presses us elsewhere.¡±


    As he trudged away, the air hung heavy with gloom. ¡°Ah, I see what he means," offered Belfray. "At least Digtry will be buried in his home realm, by those who love him. That is more than I foresee for the rest of us.¡±


    ¡°He will be buried, period,¡± said Berch. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say that¡¯s a given for anyone else here.¡±


    Roland hid his discomfort at such cavalier statements of burial being spoken over a man not yet gone. Disrespectful though they seemed, he let the words stand. Petty quarreling in front of a dying man leant no honor to anyone.¡°What makes you say Digtry is a wizard?¡± asked Roland, emphasizing the word ¡°is.¡± ¡°He never tells usanything about himself.¡±


    ¡°Berch,¡± said Belfray, gesturing toward the old man. ¡°He figured out that Digtry is actually a Fourth Realm wizard, which I sort of suspected all along. It is fairly obvious once you step back and consider him. Mark of the jewel, you know.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s full of secrets, that¡¯s for sure,¡± said Roland. ¡°He never tells anyone his plans. ''Ignorance has its uses,'' he always says. What I would like to know is what he was doing way down in the Second Realm, especially if he¡¯s a Fourth Realmer as


    you say? And why did he seek us out when we were running to Tishaara? I¡¯d sure like to know some of that.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s his job,¡± said Berch. ¡°That¡¯s what wizards do. The fella saw some suspicious things and started poking around to find out more. He had some powers in a strange sort of way and he was out there putting them to use.¡±


    All this talk of a wizard did not fit. Roland tried to picture Digtry in flowing robes and a long beard and pointy hat, the standard wizard stuff. The image was laughable. Sure, Mageroy had not exactly been decked out that way, either, and hardly fit the image of a wizard, but one could at least imagine him in that role. Digtry? No way.


    Mental comparisons between Digtry and Mageroy pricked a cell of Roland¡¯s memory. ¡°Wait a minute! Digtry is a Fourth Realmer, you say?¡±


    ¡°Been sayin¡¯ that for quite a while. Little slow on the uptake, aren¡¯t you?¡± said Berch.


    ¡°If he¡¯s a Fourth Realmer, then he can use the borrowing power. If we can get somebody to loan something to him, maybe we can even save him!¡±


    Packory, who lingered at the edge of their dune hollow, snorted. ¡°Being a Fourth Realmer hardly makes him unique in the Fourth Realm. Look around. We got a field full of wounded critters who can say the same, and what good¡¯s it to them? Master Digtry may be a wizard, perhaps a very good one, but not even he could persuade a Fourth Realmer to loan him a life!¡±


    ¡°No!¡± said Roland, fueled with a sudden passionate conviction. ¡°That isn¡¯t what I meant. Aren¡¯t there some animals that don¡¯t necessarily die when you cut them up? I mean, besides those little flat worms. The, what do you call them? Planaria¡ªthat''s it! Besides planaria and little worms like that. Isn¡¯t there some animal that regenerates? I know I read about it somewhere.¡±


    He strained to come up with the answer that was almost within reach. The rest watched him guardedly, fearing Roland had cracked under the strain of battle.


    ¡°Oh, Berch, what is it I¡¯m thinking of?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t ask me. You¡¯re the one with the fancy schooling.¡±


    In a flash it came to Roland. ¡°I know!¡± Then just as suddenly as hope had appeared, it dissolved. His face fell. ¡°Starfish. You cut up starfish and it doesn''t necessarily kill them. some of the pieces start growing into new starfish. But that¡¯s no good. I don¡¯t suppose such a low order of animals would be in onsomething like the borrowing power, even if you could communicate with them.¡±


    Packory cleared his throat and puffed up his full height. ¡°I let this go once, but I¡¯m not going to let it go again. If you start bringing in your snotty, cockamamy theories of` `low and high¡¯ orders of animals, I¡¯m going to haul you out back and teach you a lesson. It so happens there is a bay not far from here where the sea critters are known to sing out now and then. As the eagle flies, about 20 miles. There are starfish among them.¡±


    Roland rushed to the frog. ¡°And they have the borrowing power?¡±


    ¡°OK, that¡¯s it,¡± snapped Packory. ¡°Let¡¯s go right now. You and me.¡±


    ¡°No, look I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m not trying to offend anyone, and we don¡¯t have time for this.Don¡¯t you see? This is it! This is the answer! We¡¯ve got eagles here Packory; you¡¯re small enough to hitch a ride on one. You could fly out quick to that bay you¡¯re talking about and find a starfish and borrow its regenerative power, just until Digtry gets better.I¡¯m right, aren¡¯t I, Packory? It¡¯s the starfish I¡¯m thinking of, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°What do I know? I¡¯m just a low order of animal,¡± said Packory, sarcastically.


    ¡°It is the starfish. I¡¯m sure of it now. Would you go and find them?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Packory.


    ¡°Why not?¡± said Roland. ¡°You have to!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have to do nothin''. I¡¯m afraid you¡¯re suffering from battle shock, son. Give me one reason why I should go to such trouble for him when there are many others lying around as bad off as him. Even if your notion is right, I can¡¯t go around trying to hunt up starfish for everyone.¡±


    Roland stared incredulously at him. ¡°But we¡¯re talkingabout--¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m warning you,¡± said Packory, cocking his head defiantly. ¡°One more word about ¡®higher¡¯ animals and I¡¯ll smack you silly! Get a grip, kid! Even if I was stupid enough to attempt such a weird mission, why should I pick your buddy over anyone else? Who am I to play the Creator? What¡¯s the matter with you? You go to war, you expect a tea party? Folks die in wars. You don¡¯t go to pieces over losing one soldier.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s got a point,¡± said Berch, quietly. ¡°Let it go.¡±


    ¡°But-!¡±


    ¡°But nothing,¡± said Packory. ¡°For the last time, no. Not for all the color lodes in the Spectral Hills.¡±


    Roland was nearly beside himself with dismay at Packory¡¯s callous response. But at the same time, he knew that in the insane context of war, the frog was right. It would be pointless to appeal to the frog''s sense of compassion. Besides, his only argument for saving Digtry over anyone else was that he wanted it so, and that was a flimsy moral anchor if ever there was one.


    ¡°Look,¡± said Roland, thinking quickly. ¡°We need this guy. Digtry is not just a wizard; he¡¯s one of the best. He¡¯s a genius.¡±


    ¡°He wasn¡¯t so all-fired smart today,¡± said Packory.


    You insensitive jerk! Roland fought back a surge of anger. ¡°Packory, I¡¯ve seen this guy work. I can¡¯t tell you how many times he¡¯s wriggled us out of the most impossible jams. It¡¯s not for his sake I¡¯m asking,¡± he lied. ¡°You know the trouble the realms are in now. They¡¯ve broken the realm bonds. What are you going to do? What''s the use of even having this army now?¡± He pointed at Digtry. ¡°That guy is the one person the realmlands cannot afford to lose. We all know that. If there¡¯s any way out of this mess, he¡¯s the one who would find it.¡±


    The frog stared at him a long time. ¡°He deserves to live because he¡¯s more useful to us, is that it?¡±


    Roland knew he was creating a mudslide on the slippery slope of ethics. Impulse urged him to try and argue his way out of it until he recognized the knotted, compressed feeling as painfully familiar. Just what he had felt while trying to explain away his folly at Glasswater. The tightness in the stomach.


    All at once, he let it go. ¡°No,¡± he said, wearily. ¡°He does not deserve life more than anyone else here.¡±


    The concession seemed to calm Packory, and he hesitated. ¡°But, of course, you do have a point. He is the person we could least afford to lose. Suppose I was to go along with this notion of yours. What on God¡¯s glorious green earth would make a starfish loan out such a gift to anyone, much less a stranger?¡±


    Winning even a hypothetical concession raised Roland¡¯s hopes so high he nearly ran over Packory. ¡°That¡¯s where we¡¯re counting on you, Packory. I don¡¯t know anything about the Fourth Realm. You¡¯re the one who¡¯s been around. You¡¯ll think of something. I¡¯ve heard you talk. You could sell sand to an Arab.¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t a clue as to what that last remark is supposed to mean,¡± said Packory. But Roland¡¯s compliments did manage to puff him up a bit. ¡°All right, don¡¯t be so pushy. I¡¯ll see what I can do. Geez, I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m doing this.¡±


    Digtry let out a rattling groan.


    ¡°Hurry!¡± pleaded Roland.

 Chapter Nine The Nephilim are Coming

    The vigil over Digtry lasted well into the evening, longer than any of his mourners had expected. The little wizard clung to life lungful by wheezing, burbling lungful. But as dusk faded into blackness, the tight rhythm of his breathing broke down. He snatched convulsively at the air, flailing for his last finger hold on life. Roland held his breath along with him during the agonizing pauses between shallower and shallower gasps, fearing each was Digtry¡¯s last.


    The air grew chill. Roland dropped his last remaining stick of driftwood on the small fire Sloat had built. As a collapsing ember kicked loose a few sparks, a powerful gust of wind kicked the fire back into flame. Sand sprayed everywhere as a lordly eagle swooped down from the skies and landed near Digtry. Off toppled Packory. He thanked the bird, who flapped off in another silent rush of wind.


    ¡°Glory, what a ride!¡± chuckled the frog. ¡°I¡¯m not one who can¡¯t admit when he¡¯s wrong. I¡¯m tickled green you sent me on this errand. Am I too late?¡±


    ¡°No, but hurry!¡± screeched Roland. ¡°Quick! Give him the power!¡±


    To his dismay, the frog took one step and toppled like a drunk. ¡°You owe me big, mister. See the price I had to pay for you?¡± snapped Packory. ¡°You think a starfish would hand over his healing power to a stranger for just a please and a thank you? Let me tell you, son, I found only one starfish who would even consider making a deal. His price was steep. And who pays the price? Not you guys, no! Old Packory the Pushover!¡±


    ¡°What was the price?¡± asked Belfray.


    ¡°Are you blind?¡± said the frog, splayed in the sand. ¡°Are any of your senses operational, you people with the `higher brains? I had to trade him my powers of locomotion. Leaping, as it were. There is, even as we speak, a starfish on Palisades Beach bouncing all over creation, giggling like a maniac, and look at me!¡±


    ¡°Okay, okay!¡± said Roland. Digtry was barely breathing. ¡°How do we transfer the loan? Quick!¡±


    ¡°All I have to do is touch him and say ¡®here it is; you can have it.¡¯ If it¡¯s not too much trouble for you to carry me a few feet. Or am I supposed to wiggle my way over there like a worm?"


    Roland all but squeezed the wind out of Packory as he grabbed him. In an instant the frog lay on the sand next to the nearly pulseless form. After chanting a few words, he said, ¡°There, it¡¯s done.¡±


    Roland picked him up, more gently this time. ¡°Thank you, Packory. How can I ever repay you?¡±


    ¡°Getting your greasy paws off me would be a wonderful start. And don¡¯t pretend you have any intention of repaying me. You know as well as I, none of us are going to live to see next week anyhow. Shoot, all that work and even if the guy lives, all we did was buy him a day or two. For that I cripple myself in my final hours.¡±


    ¡°As soon as Digtry heals, we can fly you back and swap with the starfish,¡± said Roland.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid that will have to wait,¡± said Packory, morosely. ¡°The first trip was an emergency to save a master wizard. I used up every last ounce of credibility I had getting a bird to haul my butt out there. No eagle would fly me out to Palisades now just to get my bounce back. I want it on your conscience that I lived my last days on this earth as a stupid plant.¡±


    Digtry showed no immediate improvement. Indeed, he seemed on more than one occasion to have expelled his last breath. Roland feared they were either too late or that his plan simply did not work. Or more likely, he misunderstood the intricacies of the borrowing principle.


    None of them thought about supper as the death vigil continued. Digtry remained unconscious but his rasping seemed to diminish somewhat. Roland drifted into a fitful nap of his own.


    He was roused by a faint whisper calling out, ¡°Has anyone seen my body? I seem to have misplaced it.¡±


    Roland whirled and stared at the flickering light of the dying flames that danced over Digtry¡¯s face. He saw a blink. Then another.


    ¡°Digtry!¡± he shouted.


    ¡°The same,¡± said Digtry.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to be all right! It worked! How are you feeling?¡±


    Digtry shuddered as he examined the gash that tore through most of his midsection. ¡°There seems to be some mistake. Too much of me is missing for me to still be alive.¡±


    ¡°That is because you have the constitution of a starfish,¡± said Belfray, joyfully.


    ¡°Insults on my death bed,¡± muttered Digtry. But a wisp of a smile tugged at his lips.


    ¡°No, it¡¯s true,¡± said Roland. He explained the story of the loan from the starfish.


    ¡°Are you sure it wasn¡¯t a dandelion?¡± moaned Digtry. ¡°I think my head has gone to seed.¡±


    Packory insisted it was a starfish.


    ¡°That explains my sudden craving for salt water,¡± said Digtry. ¡°I seem to be running up a tab. Yesterday, Mageroy sent a bird to transfer a loan to me from her daughter, Katra. She knows much about the Fifth Realm. If I had died, her knowledge would have died with me. Hate to think of all that study going to waste.¡±


    ¡°You know Mageroy then?¡± asked Roland.


    ¡°Professional colleague,¡± answered Digtry. ¡°How long have I been lying here leaking blood and sloughing off body parts?¡±


    ¡°Since this morning.¡±


    ¡°That leaves little time to deal with Ishyrus. Where are Hatanwa and Redmerit? We must talk.¡± Digtry tried to rise, but his wounds were gruesome, his blood loss alarming, and the pain excruciating.


    ¡°They are in some sort of meeting now,¡± said Belfray. ¡°Sloat went along at the animals¡¯ request to keep the peace.¡±


    Digtry grimaced.


    ¡°Are you comfortable where you lie?¡± asked Roland.


    ¡°No. But see if the council will move their meeting. Here.¡±


    The request was relayed to the council.


    Before long, Hatanwa glowered down at them from atop the dune. One of the wolverine¡¯s eyes was nearly clawed shut and he walked with a slight limp, but his good eye burned with deadly intent. A grisly assortment of beasts in dangerous temper followed him, including Chama the bison and Ubor the wolf. A very uncomfortable Sloat trailed after them.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°We are glad you are feeling better, Digtry,¡± said Hatanwa, who sounded anything but joyful. ¡°I confess, we have accomplished nothing on our own tonight. Indeed, I see nothing more that we can accomplish. The bonds are broken. The enemy¡¯s forces were far stronger than we expected. And that was even before we received the latest news. Now we hear that it was Ishyrus who created the feud between the bison and wolves. Ishyrus who created the feud so that the Droom could wipe out both armies. And the Droom let the Raxxars, and probably the Brookings and others pass through their land on their way to Point Harrow. Obviously, they have some sort of understanding with Ishyrus.¡±


    "But how could Ishyrus communicate with the Droom?'' Roland interrupted. "I was told that was not possible because Fifth Realmers communicate in the lower realms only through dreams, and the Droom never sleep."


    "They daydream, just like anyone else," explained Digtry. "And they meditate. Ishyus could contact them through either means."


    "Any way," saif Hatanwa, impatient at the interruption, "All the forces in the world combined could not hope to stop Ishyrus with the Droom added to the host it has gathered here. Especially now that the realm bonds are breeched."


    Digtry nodded. ¡°Where are Redmerit and Greenrafter? We cannot have a council without the Gnomes.¡±


    Hatanwa¡¯s lip curled over his gums. A growl sprang from deep in his throat, bearing such malice that Roland jumped back. ¡°The animals of the Fourth Realm no longer defile their speech with the name of those incompetent and faithless fools. The worthless slackguards have sent many of our best fighters to their deaths by their cowardly display this morning. We are lucky that any of us survived.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s talk about that,¡± said Digtry, evenly.


    ¡°No Gnomes!¡± hissed Hatanwa, arching his back. ¡°The beasts will have nothing more to do with them. Better to have no allies than faithless ones.¡±


    Digtry winced as he labored to shift his weight to his other elbow. Staring straight at the wolverine, he said firmly, ¡°Send for Redmerit and Greenrafter."


    Such rage burned in Hatanwa¡¯s eyes at this command that Roland instinctively stepped back. Careful, Digtry. You don¡¯t want to play around with that character.


    Their face-off, however, lasted only seconds. Although the idea of treating with the Gnomes filled him with such bile that he could barely spit out the order, Hatanwa dispatched a buck messenger to the Gnome camp. Roland knew that animals could sense fear in humans. It seemed that they could sense other traits as well. Despite his wounds, Digtry commanded some level of obedience, or at least cooperation, from even the most powerful and fiercely independent predators. Roland wondered if maybe that came from being a wizard. He was having a difficult time figuring out exactly what did come with that job.


    The rest of the animals settled in around the dune, squinting and shying away from the low fire. Out of consideration, Sloat tossed sand on the burning wood, dimming it to a few glowing embers--just enough so that those who lacked acute night vision could see.


    Before long, two defiant Gnomes marched onto the dune, thick arms crossed over their chests. They scowled down their oversized noses at the growling throng, some of whom openly bared their teeth. Between the Gnomes and the animals lay Digtry, with Sloat at his side. Hatanwa paced next to them, exhausted yet unable to keep still. Roland, Berch, and Belfry retreated from the center of the circle to a less conspicuous vantage upon the upper lip of the dune.


    At Digtry¡¯s request, one of the elks gave a rather lengthy summary of what had happened on the field of battle in the early morning hours. ¡°Would our Gnome allies do us the honor of telling what caused the failure in the coordination of the battle plan to which we all subscribed?¡± he finished.


    ¡°Elk are far and away the most diplomatic of animals,¡± Packory whispered to Roland.


    Redmerit stood motionless. His wrinkled hands folded over his chest, displaying granite knuckles. He leveled a defiant glare at the hostile animals. ¡°The Color Gnomes understand your bitterness,¡± he said in his cracking, gravelly voice. ¡°Yet we are sick enough in heart and in body without having to bear the accusations and abuse from those to whose aid we have come without delay and at great sacrifice. We were not faithless this morning.¡±


    The beasts answered with a chorus of snorts and sneers.


    ¡°We were all to attack on the signal from the eagle,¡± said Hatanwa. ¡°That could not have been made clearer.¡±


    ¡°They just stood there,¡± said the eagle. ¡°I gave the signal and they all stood there milling around like sheep, gawking at the purple explosion over on the point. Just stood there.¡±


    ¡°How do you explain that?¡± demanded Hatanwa.


    ¡°Sorcery from Ishyrus,¡± said Redmerit. ¡°From the Fifth Realm.¡±


    The beasts poured out their scorn and ridicule on the Gnomes. ¡°A nice excuse to cover your hairless hide! Admit it, you were scared witless! When the moment of truth came, your knees turned to jelly!¡±


    ¡°Stop your rude taunts at once and allow me to speak, or forever forfeit our friendship and alliance!¡± fumed Redmerit.


    This provoked louder snarls and roars. Their faces bright red, Greenrafter and Redmerit turned on their heels and began to walk away.


    Hatanwa snarled. Despite his contempt for the Gnomes, he refused to tolerate disorder at his war councils. ¡°Which of you knows for a fact why the Gnomes did not appear on the field at their appointed time?¡± he challenged. ¡°FOR A FACT!¡±


    A boar began to hurl another insult at the Gnomes, but Hatanwa charged him and sent him scuttling to the edge of the dune. ¡°This is a council of war. We meet to decide the fate of all beasts, those who live and those who are yet to come, and for many peoples of the world as well. Those who hinder its progress will be removed.¡± Hatanwa crouched low to the ground and bared his teeth at the offender. ¡°I trust that won¡¯t be necessary.¡±


    The boar sullenly looked away but said no more.


    ¡°Continue,¡± said Hatanwa to the Gnomes.


    Redmerit dipped his head in an awkward nod of acknowledgment. ¡°At the moment of the eagle¡¯s cry, we began our attack as agreed. Our knees held firm and our hearts beat as steady and purposeful as any beast¡¯s here. But surely you saw the lightning that sundered the northern sky. A mole could not have missed it. Doubtless, you heard the thunderburst, the very one, it is certain, by which Ishyrus shattered the realm bonds. By which Ishyrus turned its powers against us. In less than a blink, we found ourselves hurled back up the coast several miles from where we started our attack.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a lie! A filthy lie!¡± squawked the eagle. ¡°They never moved; I saw them the whole time and they never moved.¡±


    The beasts erupted in outrage. Shrieking, snarling, and hissing the vilest of insults, they closed menacingly on the two gnomes. This time Hatanwa turned his back on the Gnomes and did not intervene.


    Far from displaying any hint of the cowardice of which the beasts were accusing him, Redmerit and Greenrafter stood their ground and glared at the unruly crowd, grinding teeth, grinding their teeth and gripping the hilts of their axes until Redmerit¡¯s temper finally burst. His neck veins bulged like ropes and the knuckles of his clenched fists turned whites as he roared, ¡°The minds of beasts are said to be of such weight that a breath of a gnat might bear them away, but I have never taken a stand on the issue until now out of respect for our alliance! Of course the story is fantastic! Does that word not define the Fifth Realm? Do you think Ishyrus performs standard, ordinary tricks for our polite applause? The Fifth Realm has powers of illusion. Of making the world seem as it is not. That was the web cast over us by Ishyrus. None of you would have done differently than we.¡±


    He could barely make himself heard above the torrent of abuse the beasts rained on him, but so infuriated was he that he shouted into the din, not caring whether or not anyone listened. ¡°Well has Ishyrus planned its assault on the realms. It knew that if any of us were fortunate enough to survive this morning¡¯s battle, the animals would blame the Gnomes for the defeat. Ishyrus it was who devised the circumstance that would have us at each others¡¯ throats, so that we would destroy our alliance against him.


    ¡°Hear this, beasts of the Fourth Realm. As far as the Color Gnomes are concerned, Ishyrus has succeeded on that count!¡± Without a backward glance stomped across the sand, his hood falling back over his head to display thinning wisps of white hair. Greenrafter followed him with clenched fists, spitting his fury. Digtry clutched Sloat by the sleeve and whispered to him. Immediately, Sloat scampered across the dune after the Gnomes, spraying pebbly sand in his haste. After a quick, animated exchange with Sloat, the Gnomes stopped at the edge of the dune. But they did not return. They kept well apart from the animals, who crowded upon Digtry in their agitation.


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell us you believe their ridiculous excuse!¡± growled Hatanwa at Digtry.


    ¡°An impartial observer went with the Gnomes,¡± replied Digtry, wincing from the pain of his wounds. His voice rose barely above a whisper, and Hatanwa demanded quiet so that he could hear what was being said. Roland feared Digtry was attempting too much, too soon. Starfish loan or no, his wounds were horrendous. ¡±A man of integrity stands as an impartial witness to what happened. Let¡¯s hear what he has to say.¡±


    Roland blushed down to his toes as he realized that it was he of whom Digtry spoke in such glowing terms. The praise scalded him with shame as he remembered his disgrace at the Glasswater. In the heat of the day¡¯s battle, he had forgotten the blight that remained on his record, but those words seemed to mock him. A man of integrity. Right! He stared off into the stars rather than cross glances with his travel companion.


    ¡°Roland, you were there. And you have experience with the Fifth Realm. What happened?¡± asked Digtry.


    Roland cleared his throat. Steeling himself against the murderous glares of the animals, he told essentially the same story that Redmerit had offered. ¡°Illusion is the best weapon they have,¡± he concluded. "As starved as they have been, it¡¯s probably the only weapon a weakened spirit has. I have been to the Fifth. Believe me, they can make anything seem real. The Gnomes are telling the truth.¡±


    After he finished his report, no one spoke. Roland was afraid he had failed to heal the rift among former allies. Could beasts sense something in him, those huge and obvious character flaws that made him an unreliable witness?


    ¡°Do you know what confirms that explanation?¡± said Digtry. ¡°Mark Redmerit¡¯s words: see how this incident destroys the trust between allies. The more we see of Ishyrus¡¯s handiwork, the more we see that undermining trust is a trademark.¡±


    Although he could not read the faces of the animals, Roland detected a change in posture. The horned animals and the wolves seemed restless, unsure. Finally, Hatanwa broke the gridlock of indecision.


    ¡°I accept the explanation given,¡± he said. ¡°I extend my apologies to the Gnomes.¡±


    The rest followed his lead, except for the badger and boar, who would only admit that the Gnomes¡¯ story was theoretically possible, but still questionable.


    ¡°May I suggest a recess in the council while the explanation is spread among the animals?¡± said Ubor. ¡°The sooner we stifle hostile encounters between the two camps, the better off we shall be.¡± Chama seconded the motion and the others quickly agreed.


    Roland approached Digtry, craving a word of praise for his help in patching up the rift. His soul still ached in shame at his past deeds, and a word of gentle praise from the wizard would mean so much. But as Roland drew near, Digtry lay his head back and shut his eyes. Alarmed, Roland crept close enough to insure that Digtry was merely asleep, and then left him without speaking.


    For the first time in a long while, he felt an overwhelming desire to be alone. After the exhausting events of the pasts weeks, and the lack of sleep, his few moments in front of the animal tribunal had exhausted him. He was lonely, achingly so. Yet, strangely, the only remedy for loneliness seemed to be greater solitude. He left the dune and walked into the moonlit darkness, turning his back on the lavender glow, the battlefield stench, and the fresh, bitter memories that hung over Point Harrow.


    Last night he had been alive with anticipation. But despite fleeting pockets of success following the predawn attack, so much had been lost. In a single day, he had witnessed more ruin and pain and suffering than he had seen in his entire life. And this was only the warmup. The realm bonds were broken. The world¡¯s foundations had been shaken. The Nephilim were coming and nothing could stop them.

 Chapter 10 A Ridiculous Battle Plan

    A heavy bank of clouds obscured the moon. Roland shuffled toward the river, aiming for the small clump of cottonwoods along the ribbon of river at the bottom of a ravine. Their sturdy, silent companionship seemed what he needed to ward off despair.


    When the Nephilim came, would he ever be truly alone again? Would he even be safe with his own thoughts? Did those demonic spirits ever leave anyone alone, or were they there all the time, tormenting without mercy? How many Nephilim were there? He tried to imagine what Ishyrus looked like and what could possibly warp a Seraph¡¯s mind so badly that he would visit such pain upon the world? What was Ishyrus getting out of this?


    But Roland was not destined to walk alone on this night. Before he reached the slender maples, he received a jolt that nearly jarred him out of his skin. Lying next to the stream, so close that he nearly stepped on it, was an enormous grizzly bear.


    ¡°You a deserter?¡± asked a powerful, throbbing voice. The bear licked its upper lips as it lay with its forepaws extended, stretching its muscles.


    Roland gulped. ¡°No.¡± He tried to remind himself that these great bears, although not technically allied with the animal armies, had rallied to their cause. ¡°Just trying to clear my head.¡±


    ¡°Of what?¡±


    ¡°Uh, I don¡¯t know. Thoughts, I guess,¡± said Roland, just for the sake of saying something.


    The grizzly laughed. In contrast with the intense and desperate mood of the camp, the genuine merriment rang like a chime. ¡°Your parents sacrifice years of their lives and enough effort to move mountains just to get thoughts to grow in that clump of dirt you call a head and here you go doing your best to weed them out.¡±


    After a brief silence, both asked at once, ¡°Who are you?¡±


    ¡°The name is Bannaclaw,¡± said the grizzly. ¡°I don¡¯t expect you¡¯ve heard of me, so don¡¯t pretend otherwise. You do not appear to be Tishaaran, despite your clothing. In fact, I would have placed you as a Second Realmer, just on a guess.¡±


    ¡°Mmmm, not exactly,¡± Roland hedged.


    The bear waited for a further explanation, but when none came, it merely yawned. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter to me. I don¡¯t particularly care where you came from. But I did ask who you are.¡± This last statement came with a throaty warning growl that so many beasts appeared to use in dealing with strangers. Coming from a beast that large, it carried an unmistakable threat.


    ¡°My name is Roland. I¡¯m actually from another world. Not another realm, another world. Tell me, uh, sir, why do the other animals talk about you grizzlies as if you aren¡¯t to be, you know, trusted. I mean, you saved a lot of their lives today.¡± Immediately Roland wondered if he should have reported that bit of gossip.


    ¡°First off,¡± said the bear, ¡°you won¡¯t last long in these parts calling females ¡®sir¡¯. Second, I wouldn¡¯t waste two seconds of a long winter nap caring what animals whisper in their idle moments. They can chatter about us all they want, if that¡¯s all they can think of to do. But I notice they are very careful what they call me to my face, and that¡¯s a sign of wisdom that I can respect.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, ma¡¯m,¡± said Roland. He had a feeling he should probably just walk away from this creature, but he decided to push his luck. ¡°You know, though, I don¡¯t think you really answered my question.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no think about it,¡± said the grizzly. ¡°I didn¡¯t.


    ¡°But you are on our side, right?¡± asked Roland, nervously.


    ¡°Fine excuse for an army,¡± sniffed Bannaclaw. ¡°Don¡¯t know who we¡¯re fighting or who¡¯s fighting with us. Were you on the field of battle today? If you were, you know the answer."


    Roland hesitated. ¡°May I ask you a question?¡±


    ¡°You just did. Care to try another?¡±


    Roland sighed heavily, too tired to play games with the bear. ¡°They say you grizzlies don¡¯t care about the other beasts. They¡¯re mostly scared silly of you. Why did you come to their rescue?¡±


    The bear¡¯s unblinking eyes glowed strangely in the faint moonlight. ¡°Just because we don¡¯t go in for a lot of yapping with a bunch of blowhard squirrels and silly deer doesn¡¯t mean we¡¯re Droom on four legs, like some of that rabble think. Ask the Droom if I¡¯m on their side,¡± she said, with a satisfied chuckle.


    ¡°We know what¡¯s going on in the realms. We know that a scheming spirit from the Accursed Realm sits not two miles from here,¡± the bear continued. ¡°Hiding behind an army to rival the Droom. Fixing to take over the realms, we hear. Destroy the bonds. We don¡¯t want that, plain and simple. That¡¯s why we¡¯re all here, right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± But the spark of purpose that the grizzly¡¯s words kindled in him quickly faded at the remembrance of their plight. ¡°It ¡®s hopeless, though. We have a snowball¡¯s chance in hell. Ishyrus broke the realm bonds so it and anything else from the Fifth Realm can use all their powers, once they gain their strength. And that includes his Nephilim allies, the phantom trees. We got nothing to fight them. And to top it all off, now we find the Droom are in with Ishtrus on it.¡±


    Bannaclaw closed her eyes as she stretched. ¡°Hah!¡± she snorted.


    ¡°No, it¡¯s true. Didn¡¯t you hear about the near disaster between the bison and wolves? Ishyrus seems to have set them up for the Droom to destroy both armies. And the Droom let the Raxxars pass through their land to Point Harrow. They¡¯re helping Ishyrus. They¡¯re in this together. Even Digtry admits that all the forces in all the realms combined could not hope to stop Ishyrus and his army and the Doom.¡±


    ¡°Droom aren¡¯t in league with anyone,¡± sniffed Bannaclaw. ¡°I make it my business to know the Drooms¡¯ business. They don¡¯t like sharing the air in the Fourth Realm with anyone, much less power. If they hatched something with a spirit like Ishyrus, it was only because they thought they could get the better of it.¡±


    Roland looked at him uncertainly, ¡°Are you su--¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t finish that sentence if I were you,¡± warned Bannaclaw. ¡°I feel no need to share this world with folks who doubt my word.¡±


    Roland snapped his mouth shut. It took several tense moments for him recover his courage. ¡°But how do you explain the bison-wolf incident if you don¡¯t think the--¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a matter of thinking; it¡¯s knowing. The Droom hate Ishyrus and Nephilim as much as they hate animals, and that¡¯s considerable. I don¡¯t give a rat¡¯s gizzard what happened with the bison and wolves. My guess? Ishyrus made the Droom an offer they couldn¡¯t refuse. Say he delivers the bison and wolves to them on a platter if they allow Raxxars a one-time pass through Droom lands. Something like that.¡±


    ¡°But how could the Droom be so stupid?¡± protested Roland. ¡°Ishyrus is a greater threat to them than all the animals who ever lived! The only chance we had of stopping it was before it could break the realm bonds. Now that it has done that, the Droom are screwed along with the rest of us. Don¡¯t they understand that?¡±


    ¡°Oh, they will in a few days when they find out Ishyrus broke the realm bonds,¡± chuckled Bannaclaw. ¡°They¡¯ll find that out real good. It would be a treat to see their faces, in spite of everything. The Droom think they¡¯re so all-fired brilliant. But they were as ignorant as everyone else. Like all of us, they didn¡¯t know that the realm bonds could be broken. As long as that was the case, they weren¡¯t going to lose a minute¡¯s sleep worrying about Ishyrus. Yeah, smug in their power, the Droom would turn a blind eye to Ishyrus¡¯s diddling up in Point Harrow in exchange for a quick and easy slaughter of their ancient foes, the wolves and bison. They couldn¡¯t believe Ishyrus posed any serious threat outside the Fifth Realm.¡±


    ¡°Would you mind telling that to the war council?¡± asked Roland. ¡°It might give them some hope. The wolves and bison don¡¯t see any point in continuing the fight because they believe they are battling the Droom as well as Ishyrus and its legions. They think we should all flee to far corners of the realmlands. Go into hiding and try some sort of guerilla warfare, I suppose.¡±


    ¡°Go into hiding from the Nephilim?¡± scoffed Bannaclaw. ¡°Yeah, that''ll work!¡±


    ¡°Your absolutelly right. So would you tell them what you just told me?¡±


    ¡°Tell them yourself. I don¡¯t enjoy their company. I have nothing to say to them.¡± Abruptly, the bear rose, stretched, and walked away along the river bank. Roland saw there was no point in pursuing the beast. Whatever else they might be, grizzlies were not team players.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    He walked back to camp, mulling over this new perspective. Someone ought to tell the animals. With the realm bonds broken, the Droom must finally see their danger. They will have to join us. The Droom are the big power in the lower realms. If we can get with them, maybe together we can figure something out.


    By the time Roland reached the dune, the beasts had resumed their war council. Roland hated being the center of attention as he walked through their meeting, but he had to talk with Digtry.


    ¡°What¡¯s on your mind?¡± asked Digtry. After Roland told him of his conversation with Bannaclaw, Digtry nodded. ¡°Smart bear.¡±


    ¡°So shouldn¡¯t we fall back and then send someone, you know, to see if the Droom will join us now that they see the danger they¡¯re in?¡± asked Roland, letting a trace of hope back in his thoughts.


    ¡°No.¡± Digtry¡¯s answer was like a slap to the jaw.


    ¡°But¡ª¡± protested Roland.


    Digtry bit his lip in pain, and held up his hand. ¡°I¡¯ll explain in a moment.¡±


    Hatanwa was nearing the end of his rope in his efforts to control the beasts. ¡°If we had half the stomach for fighting as we do for bickering, we would have nothing to fear!¡± he grumbled. ¡°What are we to do? Come now! We have accomplished nothing so far beyond shoring up relations with the Gnomes.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s nothing to sneeze at,¡± said Digtry. ¡°But you¡¯re right. Time for action.¡±


    ¡°No one can doubt my willingness to fight to the death,¡± declared Hatanwa. ¡°I do not fear Ishyrus and his legions, though they recruit the Droom to their side and their numbers be as the sand in the desert. Yet I see no point in offering ourselves as an easy sacrifice. I at least would deny them the pleasure our easy slaughter would provide them. The bonds are broken. We have no food. We have no hope. What can we possibly accomplish here under such odds? Why pretend that we can prevail against Ishyrus¡¯s cunning or its magic, or the powers of the tree wraiths, or that army, or the Droom? The battle is lost. Have we any alternative to disbanding and resorting to guerrilla warfare?¡±


    ¡°Could I suggest something?¡± said Roland, hesitantly. Digtry shook his head at him as vigorously as he could given his limited mobility, and the effort seemed to cost him dearly. But Roland plunged ahead anyway. With the daunting glares of the animals bearing down on him, he related what he had learned from Bannaclaw: that the Droom were not in league with Ishyrus. A chorus of snarls showed what the animals thought of Roland''s proposal to join forces with the ancient enemy, the Droom, against Ishyrus.


    ¡°The Droom and the bison may both fight against the Darkness of the Fifth!¡± roared Chama. ¡°But never shall we fight alongside a Droom!¡±


    Howls and barks of agreement echoed over the dune, with only the Gnomes displaying no reaction.


    Desperately, Roland turned to Digtry. ¡°You tell them,¡± he pleaded. ¡°Reason with them. They¡¯ll listen to you.¡±


    Digtry smiled wanly, the reflection of the fire embers turning his face blood-red. ¡°I tried to tell you. The last thing we need is to set off the beasts¡¯ tempers again.¡± He raised up painfully on one elbow. ¡°Friends!¡± he called, in his loudest voice. ¡°Time grows short. May I bring a proposal before the council?¡±


    ¡°Please do,¡± urged Hatanwa.


    ¡°Let¡¯s attack tomorrow at daybreak.¡±


    Every creature in the dune froze in stunned silence. For a moment, the only movement was Redmerit¡¯s eyebrows arching up into his hood.


    ¡°He¡¯s mad!¡± whispered several animals, and this was clearly the consensus.


    ¡°Explain yourself,¡± demanded Hatanwa.


    Steepling his fingers in front of his lacerated chest, Digtry said, ¡°Yes, things look grim. But not as pathetic as might appear. Heed the words of the grizzly. We need fear nothing from the Droom for the time being. Although I ask none to join them or even treat with them, the fact is that, for better or worse, the Droom are now our allies against Ishyrus.¡±


    ¡°Huh! Who can trust the word of a grizzly?¡± muttered the boar.


    ¡°You dare speak that question out loud?¡± countered Digtry. ¡°After their part in today¡¯s battle?¡±


    ¡°But even so!¡± protested the elk. ¡°What is the point of continuing this fight? The realm bonds are broken. Ishyrus is no doubt on its way this very moment to the Second Realm to seal the breaking of the bonds. What would we accomplish even if we could defeat this army?¡±


    ¡°Ishyrus is not going anywhere for the next day or so.


    ¡°How do you know this?¡± asked Hatanwa.


    ¡°A little bird told me.¡±


    A furious snarl from the wolverine raised the hairs on Roland¡¯s neck. Digtry, this is no time to get cute.


    Digtry cut off Hatanwa¡¯s protest. ¡°I am serious. A bird sent from Katra, daughter of the wizard Mageroy. She has loaned her considerable knowledge of the Fifth Realm to a swallow, who transferred it to me. I can tell you that Ishyrus is weak. And, again, Roland can back me up on this.¡±


    Roland jumped as Digtry turned to him and said his name. ¡°Roland, is illusion the greatest power that the spirits of the Fifth wield?¡±


    Roland tried to think back to his harrowing experience. What he had learned and heard and felt. ¡°Well, no. Their powers can be very real. If I understood it correctly, they resort to illusion only when they¡¯re in a weakened state. Which they have been in for centuries apparently.¡±


    Digtry turned back to the council. ¡°Ishyrus used illusion against us. After the breaking of the realm bond. That shows it is still weak. And that makes sense. Warped though it is, it is still a Seraph. It derives nourishment from that which is good, and there¡¯s precious little good comes from war. In its famished state, the act of spreading that mass illusion among the Gnomes had to have taken all the strength out of it; it will need at least a day or so to recover before it can go anywhere. And as I said, it will find little sustenance on a battlefield.¡±


    ¡°But our ranks have been decimated,¡± argued the elk. ¡°Under more favorable conditions, we could perhaps rise to the occasion and give a good account of ourselves in battle. But even if Ishyrus is weak, as you say, it is but a relative term. You heard what Ishyrus did to the Gnomes today. What can we do against such magic?¡±


    ¡°I am telling you, Ishyrus will bring no Fifth Realm powers tomorrow,¡± said Digtry. ¡°At least none that we need fear. While it is yet in this state, we can defeat it.¡±


    ¡°What good would that do?¡± asked Hatanwa. ¡°It is immortal--a spirit we cannot kill or even touch. We can neither stop it nor contain it. Once it recovers its strength, what will prevent it from going to the Second Realm regardless of our success tomorrow?¡±


    ¡°We cannot restrain Ishyrus,¡± agreed Digtry. ¡°But it is under a time constraint. It has 50 hours to complete the bond destruction in the Second Realm. We need not destroy or contain it; we merely need to delay it. If we prevail on the battlefield before Ishyrus recovers its strength, we can perhaps keep him from reaching the Second Realm in time to seal the bonds destruction. I know that I am grasping at straws, but if you are looking for a ray of hope, this is the last one I can see.¡±


    ¡°Even if all this were true, what hope have we of winning the battle?¡± asked the eagle. ¡°Weak though it may be, Ishyrus can still plan and devise and reason. How do we prevail against its flawless strategies?¡±


    ¡°And what do we do against the tree wraiths it has brought from the Fifth?¡± demanded the boar. ¡°The violence feeds them and they grow stronger by the hour. And now that the bonds are broken, what is to stop all the Nephilim from sweeping down upon us?¡±


    ¡°As isolated as the Fifth Realm is, most of its inhabitants may not know for weeks, perhaps even months, that the realm bonds are gone,¡± said Digtry. ¡°As for the wraiths, I have no answers. Yes, it may be that any move to oppose Ishyrus is suicide. But what choice have we? What did the beasts say many times when marching to Point Harrow: if we do not stop Ishyrus here, the realm bonds will vanish, and the Nephilim will come to torment all the realms. Need I remind you that they are immortal? Once they are let loose, they will be here forever. Surrender the field now, and we condemn not only ourselves but our grandchildren to lives of misery. Is not even death on the battlefield a better alternative than that?¡±


    ¡°Have you a battle plan?¡± asked Redmerit.


    ¡°Of sorts,¡± answered Digtry. ¡°Ishyrus is a master schemer who builds with facts, figures, and methods. If logic and strategy are the strengths of our enemy, then we ought to avoid them.¡±


    This provoked groans and a chorus of sarcastic comments.


    ¡°What then?¡± cried the badger. ¡°Charge mindlessly like mad swine?¡±


    ¡°No. Ishyrus would recognize panic and make short work of us.¡±


    Hatanwa resumed his restless pacing. ¡°What do you propose?¡±


    ¡°An illogical plan. The more ridiculous, the better."


    ¡°Come on! We have wasted enough time on this drivel!¡± shouted the boar. ¡°Let us quit this futile quest and return to our home, to our families.¡±


    Hatanwa held up a paw for quiet. ¡°Go on, Digtry,¡± he said, doubtfully.


    Digtry¡¯s dark eyes never shone more brightly that when he addressed the animals and Gnomes by the starlight and campfire embers on Point Harrow. ¡°We may be able to foul up the mechanism of Ishyrus¡¯s logic by feeding it information it cannot process. Note what happened when our good friend Sloat covered the retreat of the animals this morning. The idea that a pacifist Tishaaran would take part in a Fourth Realm assault is illogical. It confused Ishyrus''s troops and bought us precious moments needed to regroup. And Roland. Not to disparage you Gnomes, but would you have uncovered the deception of Ishyrus¡¯s illusion were not Roland there to help you?¡±


    Redmerit and Greenrafter shook their heads.


    ¡°Ishyrus could never have taken into account a person freshly escaped from an encounter with the Fifth Realm, present and offering perspective on the nature of the Fifth Realm. Without both Sloat and Roland, the efforts of the grizzlies, bison, and wolves, bold as they were, would have been in vain.


    ¡°If we continue to use illogical elements in our plan of attack, Ishyrus must do one of two things. It must either suppose there is logic behind our actions, and therefore act inappropriately to counter it, or else tie itself up in frustration at its failure to understand what we are about. Either way, we neutralize its intellect.¡±


    The proposal was so bizarre that neither the animals nor the Gnomes made any response. Finally, Hatanwa said, ¡°Suppose this does scramble Ishyrus¡¯s thinking. What about the phantoms of the wood? I fear nothing made of flesh and blood, not even the Terrible Ones. But how do we fight against spirits that cannot be killed or even touched? And unlike Ishyrus, they are Nephilim. The battlefield is to them a banquet hall and they feast upon such carnage as we offer up to them. They grow stronger by the hour.¡±


    Memories of those dread shadows strangling Gnomes and beasts with their invisible webs of death cast a chill over the entire dune. Murmurs and curses were offered, but no solutions.


    ¡°Digtry?¡± asked Hatanwa, at last.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Your advice,¡± Hatanwa demanded, impatiently. ¡°About the tree spirits.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just a civilian,¡± said Digtry. ¡°Here to conduct a campaign of lunacy against Ishyrus.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s mad!¡± muttered the boar.


    ¡°I¡¯m trying to be,¡± chirped Digtry, with an unsettling glint in his eye. ¡°The madder the better. Every stroke of insanity chips away at Ishyrus. For instance, how about color? An illogical weapon, certainly. Is there some way to use this against the enemy?¡±


    Redmerit¡¯s face darkened. ¡°How dare you!¡± he cried, his bulbous nose bobbing as he spoke. ¡°The color lodes are sacred! Those that Greenrafter and I wear have been passed down from our ancestors since ancient days. The Gnomes will bear many hardships and offer many sacrifices for a good cause. But none will surrender a color lode for any purpose. Every soldier under my command would sooner carve out his heart and hurl it as ammunition. To speak even idly of destroying a lode for any purpose, let alone your whims of haphazard foolishness, is a crime in the Spectral Hills!¡±


    ¡°If we are defeated tomorrow, Ishyrus¡¯s troops will take the lodes from you anyway,¡±Digtry pointed out.


    ¡°Only when they pry it from the cold, dead fingers of the last Gnome!¡± declared Redmerit, his jaw firmly set. ¡°The lodes are not a subject for negotiation nor even discussion. No one dares mention this again!¡±


    ¡°Oh, I was not serious,¡± admitted Digtry. ¡°I¡¯m just searching for the kind of lunacy that we need to keep Ishyrus''s head spinning.¡±


    ¡°This is the talk of a witless, panic-crazed coward!¡± said the boar.


    Hatanwa turned on Digtry slowly, muscles tensely coiled as if ready to spring. ¡°I do not know if any hope exists of stopping Ishyrus and the destruction of the¡ª¡±


    ¡°There is none,¡± interrupted the badger. ¡°Not tomorrow, or anytime.¡±


    ¡°Doubtless, that is so,¡± said Hatanwa, curling his lip in restrained irritation at therudeness. ¡°Nonetheless, I will go into battle tomorrow.


    ¡°Join me, who will. No, I do not consent to Digtry¡¯s unorthodox plan. I see no honor, only disgrace, in cheap tricks. Courage, strength, quickness, intelligence, and determination are the weapons the Creator has given us. If those weapons cannot defeat the enemy, at least we shall die as beasts. With our teeth around his throat rather than with his chains around our necks.¡±


    Chama stomped his approval. "And our hooves on their faces."


    ¡°That is how it must end,¡± said Hatanwa. ¡°As long as there remains any chance of stopping Ishyrus, we are duty-bound to take it, no matter the risk. I see no other way.¡±

 Chapter 11

    The Gnomes and beasts departed the council, leaving the dune pock-marked with boot and paw prints. Roland and his friends remained, isolated from the animals by their preference for the light and warmth of a fire, and from the Gnomes by the latter¡¯s characteristic lack of warmth and hospitality. All night, Sloat kept the fire low and under the lip of the dune to shield the animals from its disquieting effects.


    A strange, spiritual mood settled over the entire camp. Yesterday, they had been a brash company of warriors fighting in defense of liberty and their families. On this evening, they were a communion of martyrs on the eve of their execution. Some paced compulsively in an endless parade. Twelve steps one way, twelve steps back. Over and over. Some, like Bannaclaw, sat alone in the distance, wrapped in an eerie calm, their apprehensions self-contained. The Gnomes tossed and turned in their blankets, their prone figures silhouetted in tents lit by the ghostly glow of their torches.


    Inside the dune, the air crackled with tension. Only Belfray enjoyed a brief respite from his nerves, having fallen asleep from utter exhaustion. Digtry curled up with his hands on his temples in a posture of such intense meditation that Roland dared not approach him. Sloat whittled aimlessly on a piece of wood, a telltale sign that the Tishaaran was struggling mightily with his conscience.


    ¡°Would that I were an animal,¡± said Sloat, as his blade shaved the wood into slivers. ¡°Then I could live by the rule of the wild--kill or be killed--and think no more of it. But I am not a beast, and though fond of some of them and a friend and ally of the wolves, I cannot conform to their nature. This is wrong. The troubles with Ishyrus should never have come to this.¡±


    ¡°But they have,¡± insisted Roland, ¡°so we have to deal with it.¡±


    ¡°I cannot shrug off responsibility like that, begging pardon,¡± said Sloat, slicing deeper into the heart of the wood. ¡°Is life of so little consequence that we say, ¡®oh well, we were not quite on top of things. I guess thousands shall have to die.¡¯ Why is death always accepted without question as the master in these matters?¡±


    ¡°What do you suggest?¡± asked Roland, getting exasperated. ¡°Just give up?Surrender to evil?¡±


    Sloat gestured with his knife toward the battlefield that had already claimed a down payment of blood, with the balance due tomorrow. ¡°What is a greater surrender to evil than this? We have let ourselves be maneuvered into a game we do not control and cannot quit until it has played out to the end.¡±


    He sighed heavily. ¡°I will fight tomorrow, Roland. Not to kill, for I am a Tishaaran. I can do no more than offer such protection as I am able to our allies who take up the battle. But even if by a miracle we were to prevail tomorrow, this battle is not a solution but a monument to the weakness of the realmlands.¡±


    Although he did not endorse Sloat¡¯s argument, Roland felt powerless to dispute it. This drove him deeper than ever into the pit of depression. Thanks to his encounter with the Draxis, he no longer feared death, neither the concept nor the violence of the end he could expect. He was acutely aware that he had narrowly escaped a fate far worse than death and that such would likely be the lot of the realmlanders who survived tomorrow¡¯s encounter.


    It was not death but the sense of purposelessness in Sloat¡¯s pronouncements that deflated him. Without some shred of meaning or nobility or decency in their cause, what was left to cling to?


    He walked aimlessly to the lip of the dune and looked south toward the lands through which he had come. Far beyond that horizon, many days out of sight, there were living, breathing creatures going about their daily business, wrapped up in their routine cares. They would enjoy at least another night of their existence, ignorant of the calamity that had befallen the realms and would soon overtake them.


    Suddenly, from out of that darkness, a vision took shape. Roland shrank back at first, fearing a raid from Ishyrus¡¯s wraiths. But the blur materialized into Berch, returning from a solitary walk.


    ¡°You can¡¯t sleep either, huh?¡± said Roland.


    ¡°What¡¯s new?¡± grunted Berch, bleary-eyed. He saw no point in going into all the details about why he had not slept since Glasswater. Noting Roland¡¯s hangdog look, he said, ¡°You looking for handouts or pity? Either way, you come to the wrong place.¡±


    The moon shone so brightly that it exposed the deep pores on Berch¡¯s face and the incredible hollowness around his glazed eyes. The man was turning into a zombie before Roland''s very eyes.


    Roland was in no mood to argue with a cantankerous old man. Although he no longer actively disliked Berch, and found he could tolerate his ideosyncrasies, he had trouble thinking of him as a friend. On the eve of death, Roland craved peace, or divine reassurance, or at least some bond with another living thing--something that he could fool himself into believing could not be severed by the death.


    So what do I get? First, Sloat¡¯s hand-wringing and now Berch, of all people. On this night of all nights!


    ¡°I just went through a night like this,¡± said Berch, stretching out on the sand. ¡°With the wolves. We thought we were goners then. It turns out our unexpected survival s was just a stay of execution. Now we get to go through all the last rites one more time; how lucky is that?¡±


    ¡°Hey, live large, my man,¡± said Roland, trying to dismiss him without being rude. He swung his gaze northward, toward the purple glow that outlined the distant cliffs of the Point against the ocean, as he shifted and paced in agitation.


    ¡°Got ants in your pants, kid?¡± asked Berch.


    ¡°I seem to be a tad restless. Can¡¯t imagine why!¡±


    Berch accepted this. Squinting past Roland¡¯s shoulder toward Point Harrow, he asked, ¡°What do you see out there?¡± he asked.


    ¡°This is a fun game,¡± said Roland, bitterly. ¡°I see a freshly dug grave waiting for all of us. What do you see?¡±


    ¡°A grave? Nah, I don¡¯t see that at all.¡±


    ¡°Really. What do you see?¡± Could that possibly be a note of hope in the old man¡¯s voice?


    ¡°I see our bodies burning in a big bonfire on the plain. Or being eaten by buzzards.¡± He broke into a low chuckle.


    ¡°And you make fun of my sense of humor,¡± said Roland. Good ol¡¯ Berch--obnoxious to the last drop.


    Berch shrugged. ¡°Couldn¡¯t resist. They stood silently together for a few moments After a moment, sounding more serious, he said, ¡°What do you see when you look into that grave?¡±


    Roland stared at him, irritated.


    "I''m serious this time," offered Berch.


    Would you just leave me alone please? The man had shown no interest in any meaningful conversation since the first days they had met. Roland was not sure he was capable of it. Now he was asking questions, either to bait Roland with his twisted sense of humor or, well, who knew? Roland did not care one way or the other.


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°What I woudn''t give for toilet right now,¡± he said.


    ¡°You¡¯re that scared, huh?¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s just that I¡¯d really like to give you a swirly.¡±


    Berch nodded, a smile playing on his lips. For a long time, neither said a word.


    Roland found himself reliving his cowardice at the river. He was always replaying horror scenes at rivers. While so many other memories seemed to fade in this realmlands, that images of his meltdown at Glasswater and of the cruelty of Devil Throat was branded onto his skull. His companions had been too gracious to demand an apology for his behavior, too kind ever to mention the incident. As a result, he had never apologized. He could do so now, but what was the point? Apologizing to Berch was like handing your jewels to a burglar for safe keeping. Besides, he sensed that an apology here would be only a band-aid on a larger problem. He felt a vague memory of similar events and similar outcomes in a forgotten world. Failures, unfinished business. Every one of them throbbed like an open wound. The days of righting past wrongs were past. The festering sores he now carried would go with him to his death.


    These thoughts ricocheted through Roland¡¯s mind until, quite unexpectedly, he found himself answering Berch¡¯s question out loud. ¡°When I look into the grave, I see silence. Total silence.¡±


    Berch nodded but gave no reply. Whatever his purpose in asking the question, he had succeeded in priming Roland¡¯s pump. Roland had nothing to say to Berch, did not even care to be around him, yet he had to talk to someone.


    ¡°I¡¯m not afraid of death, Berch. I¡¯m afraid of the silence. I¡¯m afraid of being the tree falling in the forest that no one hears.¡±


    Berch arched his bushy eyebrows and shook his head. ¡°I had to ask.¡±


    ¡°Just sit there and pretend to listen for a moment, would you?¡± snapped Roland. ¡°Right now, if I had only one wish, I¡¯d wish to be home.¡± He struggled to keep his chin from quivering. ¡°We¡¯re no closer to home than the day we set foot here. Man, I¡¯ve heard about being isolated and far from home, but this takes the cake.


    ¡°You know what I really hate about this place?¡± he chattered on. ¡°I hate how it steals memories. I can¡¯t even get a clear picture in my mind of what Delaney looks like, and we didn¡¯t leave her all that long ago. Isn¡¯t my life supposed to be flashing before me on a night like this? I don¡¯t remember my life. I try, but here¡¯s nothing.¡±


    Berch said nothing. Was he even listening? More to himself than to Berch, Roland muttered, ¡°I can¡¯t help it; I don¡¯t want to die without memories.¡±


    ¡°Who knows?¡± said Berch at last. ¡°Maybe death is the way home from here.¡± Wrinkles etched more deeply than ever into his face, and his eyes were those of a dying fish. His tone was as gruff as ever. Yet Roland wondered if he were looking into a softer shade of Berch. Unaware of the tortured sleeplessness that Berch suffered in his semi-Droom state, Roland reacted instinctively to what he viewed as surrender.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going there,¡± he said. ¡°If death is the way home, then suicide is, you know, just a bus ride. An energy-saving option. Not to be scorned. Seems to me there¡¯s something wrong with that picture.¡±


    He fully expected Berch to react defensively, to come back snarling. But the old man just looked off toward the Point, and said, ¡°There¡¯s a lot of ways to go home. You can sneak in through the back door in the dead of night with your tail between your legs. That would be suicide. Or you can walk in through the front door with your head held high.¡± After a moment, he snorted, ¡°Ah crap! I guess this is what comes of hanging around the wolves too long.¡±


    ¡°Death is the way home, huh?¡± said Roland. ¡°That¡¯s a tough theory for us non-kool-aid drinkers to test.¡±


    Neither admitted the obvious: the test was coming soon whether they were willing or not.


    ¡°Strange adventures we¡¯ve had, huh?¡± Berch said, with a shake of his head.


    ¡°That¡¯s an understatement.¡± Look who needs to talk now! Mr. Strong and Silent!


    ¡°You know, I think it¡¯s worse for you young folks. The people that sell the books and make movies, they think fantasy is kids¡¯ stuff. Always thought so myself. Never paid any attention to it. Never went to any of them movies.


    "Uh-uh. We had it wrong. Shoot, when you¡¯re young and wet behind the ears, the normal world is adventure enough. Too wild for some of us.


    ¡°You get up in years, though, you¡¯ve seen the sights, figured stuff out. ¡®Been there, done that.¡¯ Isn¡¯t that what you kids say? You get old and you know exactly what¡¯s going to happen tomorrow. More or less what happened yesterday. Not because you got pushed into some corner but because you want it that way. You custom design it for yourself. You get tired and lazy and you give up looking for the wonder and the mystery and you start trying to control the little part of life that you know. Trying to control it all without getting too close to it. Without touching it. Like picking things up with one of them remote control arms.


    ¡°But you can¡¯t do it. You can¡¯t do it because when you got no . . . wonder in life, you¡¯re not really part of life. It¡¯s like you got no traction in the world. Spinnin¡¯ your wheels, not getting anyplace. Now that¡¯s when it pays to travel to a new world. It shakes the bejeebers out of you at first because you spent half your life trying to beat all the mystery out of life so you could control it. And just when you¡¯ve got to the point where you think you know everything, you come here and now you don¡¯t know any more than some snot-nosed kid. Scary. At first.¡±


    He turned and looked Roland square in the eye. ¡°But once you get over the fear, you find out all over again what¡¯s it¡¯s like to be young. And this time you know enough not to waste it.


    ¡°Youth is wasted on the young,¡± he said, chuckling humorlessly. ¡°You don¡¯t know how good youth is until you¡¯ve been old.¡±


    Roland squirmed. He was not in the mood for a lecture, especially from someone who was beginning to sound like his least favorite uncle. Did he ever tire of running down ¡°kids these days.¡±


    But Berch¡¯s rambling took an unexpected turn. ¡°Let me tell you, Roland, I¡¯ve been old! I mean old, as in covered with mold and smelling like worm food. I know what that¡¯s like. By the time I quit farming I was so old that I looked at the prettiest sunset the way you¡¯d look at a second hand going around a clock. Weren¡¯t no different watching one or the other. I can remember a day when a piece of music--a song or maybe a hymn that my mother sang--would get under my skin and bring me to tears, it was so pretty or sad. But you let yourself get old and the same music sounds no different than piss off a urinal.


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what tomorrow means when you¡¯re old,¡± he said, with more passion than Roland had ever seen from him. ¡°Before I came to the realmlands, if you could have told me that all I had to do was snap my fingers and every wish I could think of would come true, you know what my answer would have been? ¡®So what?¡¯ When you got no wishes worth wishin¡¯ for, that¡¯s when you¡¯re old.¡±


    He stopped to examine his cracked, sandpaper fingers. ¡°I lost the feeling in my fingertips last year. At my age you wonder if that¡¯s the beginning of the end. Is it going to spread until I can¡¯t feel anything?"


    He sighed. "Turned out, I had it backward. It starts from the center, Roland. The fingertips were probably the last to go.¡±


    Roland did not know exactly what to make of this speech. It was an intensely


    personal reflection, the kind that Berch may never have shared with anyone before. It


    offered some insight into what the old farmer had been through, both in the realmlands and in the previous world. Roland had always suspected that Berch¡¯s life had never been easy. On top of that, the tragedy with the wolves had dragged him deep through the slime of hell. Berch had borne it. Not nobly, perhaps. Certainly not with grace. But he had toughed it out and was still standing, and that counted for something.


    ¡°You know what made me young again?¡± said Berch. Without waiting for an answer, he said, ¡°Ubor. After the grief I caused the wolves, you know what he said? He quoted a Tishaaran proverb, of all things. Never thought I¡¯d pay attention to one of those old chestnuts. ¡®Forgiveness makes yesterday¡¯s news of today¡¯s sins.¡¯ That was the end of the story for him. Case closed.¡±


    Roland stared hard at him in the dim light of the fire. To look at the man''s face, he seemed haunted, even tortured. But in the words and voice Roland detected a sense of peace. He swallowed a lump in his throat, moved by and envious of that peace that. He thought his heart would burst with shame over his own cowardly performance at the river. After much hesitation, he summoned the nerve to say, ¡±Are you suggesting you could do the same for me?¡±


    ¡°You mean for that meltdown at the Glasswater?¡±


    Roland was taken aback; he had not expected Berch to know exactly what he was referring to.


    ¡°Old news," said Berch. "Unless, of course, you pull another stupid stunt like that again.¡±


    Roland bristled, until he saw the twinkle in Berch¡¯s eye. He took a deep breath and let it out. ¡°Thanks,¡± he said. But somehow it was not the same for him as for Berch. Futility and regret continued to drag him down.


    ¡°Back home, I used to dream of other worlds that weren¡¯t so messed up as ours,¡± said Roland. ¡°I loved to read about them. And I would dream of a better me: smarter, more confident, braver. Then it happened. Here I was, given a new life, really. A fresh start.


    ¡°Turns out, it¡¯s no different,¡± he continued, listlessly. ¡°I¡¯m no different. All those fresh starts--the New Year¡¯s resolutions, saying your sorry--they¡¯re only mirages. There is no better place this side of heaven. There is no better me. This is all I am and all I ever will be.¡±


    Berch looked up from picking at calluses on his thumb. ¡°Ever hear about the kid who planted a seed and dug it up the next day to see if it grew?¡±


    Roland had no energy for Berch¡¯s curious homespun philosophy. But he felt obligated to ask, ¡°What about it?¡±


    ¡°Got a creek that runs behind my farm,¡± said Berch. ¡°It¡¯s been there forever. Never moved a lick since I first saw it. But if you look around, you can see where the stream used to run, and it¡¯s changed course considerable. When things change so slowly, you don¡¯t notice. Takes patience.¡±


    ¡°You need time to be patient,¡± Roland reminded him, bitterly. ¡°We¡¯re out of time. Even if I were changing, no one will never see me beyond the mousy little snot I¡¯ve been. Delaney will never know what I really think of her.¡± He sighed heavily, exasperated with himself for revealing that little item to Berch. ¡°It''s not fair.¡±


    ¡°Fair or not, what is is,¡± said Berch. ¡°You go from there.


    ¡°Big comfort,¡± muttered Roland, growing irritated with Berch.


    ¡°Carry what you can carry. What you can¡¯t carry, you give back.¡±


    That took a while to sink in. ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°Another Tishaaran proverb. Got that from Belfray,¡± said Berch. ¡°I think the reason they have so many of those in Tishaara is so people like Belfray can¡¯t make such a hash out of everything they say. It says to me, just carry your load as you¡¯re able. When you¡¯re up to it, you pull a little extra for someone else. Sometime they pull some of yours. And what none of you can handle, you give back. You¡¯re pulling your limit, Roland. Give some of it back.¡±


    Roland stared at him, clinging to both hope and doubt. Tears began to spill out of his eyelids. He laughed uneasily. ¡°To whom? What are you saying? You gettin¡¯ religion on your deathbed?¡±


    Berch shrugged. ¡°Stars shine more brightly when the sky is the darkest.¡±


    ¡°Are you going to be quoting Tishaaran proverbs at me all night?¡± asked Roland. ¡°What are you telling me?¡±


    ¡°Hell, I¡¯m just quoting Belfray. You¡¯re the one with the college education.¡± He patted Roland on the shoulder and left him alone with his thoughts.


    Funny what that slightest touch, that brief point of contact with another human could accomplish, thought Roland. The touch let him know that he was not alone in a sterile world. Even if it was just Berch, that was something.