he Queen stood.

She stepped down to stand before Gorath, then she leaned over and placed her hands on his shoulders. “Rise,” she said gently.

Gorath did so, and the Queen studied his face. “When those of our lost cousins return to us, there is a recognition of this change within them.” Her smile was reassuring and her tone conciliatory, as she said, “But in you I sense something different. You have not returned to us yet, Gorath, but you are returning. Your journey back to your people is not yet complete.” She looked at the glamredhel leader, and said, “There are others here who also have not finished their journey, so you are not alone. When you have completed your return to us, then you will be given a new name, but until then you are still Gorath. But now you are Gorath of Elvandar. You have come home.”

She embraced him, holding him for a long, reassuring moment, and returned to her throne. Owyn watched as Gorath picked up his sword and returned it to his scabbard. The young nobleman said, “If it pleases Your Majesty, may I ask a question?”

“You may,” said the Queen as she sat upon her throne.

“I bear a message to your husband from the wife of Pug the Magician.”

Aglaranna said, “Son, please escort these two to my private apartment.”

Prince Calin indicated Gorath and Owyn should follow him. They bowed once more to the Queen. She said, “You may go, and when you’ve finished speaking with Tomas, return and we shall feast.”

Owyn walked next to Gorath, and said, “I don’t quite understand what I just saw.”

“I’ll explain it to you later,” said Gorath.

Calin said, “My mother’s husband was injured in a skirmish near the border with a band of moredhel who were trespassing on our lands as they raided south.”

“Those were not raiders,” said Gorath. “Those were members of Obkhar’s clan fleeing Delekhan for the Green Heart.”

Calin inclined his head at the correction. “In any event, Tomas was struck by a poisoned arrow and is now resting.”

He pushed aside a richly decorated tapestry and led them out onto a large private terrace that overlooked the splendor of Elvandar. In an alcove that could be masked off with a large curtain, a large man lay upon a bed. Calin said, “Let me see if he’s awake.”

“I am awake,” came a weak voice from the alcove.

Calin said, “Tomas, this is Owyn, from Timons, and Gorath, one of our people returning. They bear a message from Pug’s wife.”

Owyn and Gorath approached and saw a large young-looking man, easily six inches past six feet in height, lying beneath a down comforter, with pillows propping up his head. Gorath faltered as he reached a point a few feet from the bed. “I had heard rumors,” he said softly, “though few counted them true. But they are true. He is Valheru.”

Calin said, “Not entirely, to our everlasting thanks.”

Tomas said, “I would rise to greet you, but I am presently in little condition to do so.”

“Poison?” asked Gorath. “What manner?”

“A thin green substance unknown to us.”

“Coltari,” said Gorath. “It is rumored to be from the Tsurani world, named after the province from which it came. It came to us about the time Delekhan began to rally the clans.”

Calin said, “Is there any antidote?”

“May I see the wound?”

Tomas motioned for Gorath to approach and Tomas moved, turned his head, showing an angry wound in his neck, on the right side, just above the shoulder. Gorath said, “By rights you should be dead.”

Tomas smiled and Owyn was struck at his youthful expression. He was a striking man, with angular features, and his ears were almost as pointed as an elf’s. “I have discovered that I’m rather hard to kill. But I certainly can be brought to my knees. I haven’t the strength of a day-old puppy.”

Gorath said, “If he’s lived this long, he will recover, but how long that will take I cannot say. Those who have suffered mild Coltari poisoning have lingered weeks before starting a slow recovery.”

Tomas said, “I shall be myself in a few more days.”

Calin said, “My mother’s husband is always optimistic. He shall be abed for weeks, I think. Our healers have done all they can.”

“What is this message you bear from Katala?” asked Tomas.

Owyn said, “She bids us tell you that Pug and Gamina have vanished from Krondor. Pug left behind a cryptic note: ‘To Tomas! The Book of Macros!’

“We stopped at the Abbey of Sarth along the way, and they have no knowledge of such a book. Is it something you possess?”

“Yes,” said Tomas, “but it is not a book, in truth. Calin, would you bring me that box next to my weapons chest?”

Calin did as he was requested and carried a small box to Tomas. Tomas opened it and took out a scroll. “Book of Macros is a phrase Pug and I agreed on to let me know he was in dire need of my help. He created this scroll so that whoever reads it will be taken to Pug.” He sat up. “Calin, help me on with my armor.”

Calin said, “No, Tomas. You have no strength. You will not help your friend in your present condition.”

“But Pug would only send such a message if he was in dire need of help.”

Calin said, “I will go.”

“No,” said Gorath. “We will go.”

Owyn said, “Our mission from Prince Arutha was to find Pug, and if this takes us to him, then we have fulfilled our mission.”

Looking at Calin, Gorath said, “No slight intended, Prince Calin, but if I am not a more experienced warrior than you, I will be surprised. And you have a duty to the people here, to lead the warriors while Tomas heals.”

Owyn said, “And I know some magic, Lord Tomas, which may prove important.”

Tomas said, “Or I could wait a few more days.”

“Time is fleeting,” said Gorath. “We have already been weeks on this journey, and soon Delekhan will launch his assault on the Kingdom. Arutha fears his magicians, which is why he wishes Pug’s counsel. Let us go. We may not be the best choice, but we are here and willing.”

Owyn took the scroll, and said, “Please?”

Tomas nodded, and Gorath said, “Tell the Queen we will feast when we return.”

Owyn unrolled the scroll and glanced at it. “Gorath, stand behind me with your hands on my shoulders.”

The scroll was written in an alien tongue, yet the writing captured his senses and forced his eyes to follow line by line, and as he did so symbols appeared in his mind’s eye, burning brightly like letters of fire. When at last he reached the final phrase, the area around them swam and flickered, then suddenly they were propelled through a glassy-looking plane hanging in a grey void.

Through a tunnel of light they raced, with sensations rushing through them like sounds and aromas, yet gone before they could be fully apprehended. Then suddenly they raced toward another shimmering pane of silver light and found themselves lurching forward onto the ground.

They stood upon grey powdery soil, with large reddish rocks rearing up on two sides. The sky was a vivid violet, rather than blue, and the air smelled of odd and alien odors. The wind was dry and cold.

“Where are we?” asked Gorath.

Owyn said, “Nowhere on the world we know. We are somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know,” said Owyn. To the east an angry small white sun was setting over the mountains, plunging the area into shadows of indigo and black. “But it appears night is falling and we need shelter of some sort.”

Owyn attempted to activate the spell he knew that permitted him to create light, and suddenly he knew a terrible truth. “Gorath! Magic doesn’t work here!”

James studied the map. “Are you sure?” he asked the soldier.

“Yes, Squire. I saw at least three of their patrols moving along that goat trail and over the ridge.”

Locklear looked at the positions on the map, and asked, “What are they doing?”

“They can’t move any significant number of warriors over that trail, so they must have been scouts. But scouting for what?”

“Perhaps they want to see if we’re being reinforced?” suggested the soldier.

“Well, if they see reinforcements, I hope they have the courtesy to let us know,” said Locklear.

“It’s if they don’t see reinforcements that we should expect to be attacked,” said Jimmy, not seeing any humor in the situation. To the soldier, he said, “Order a galloper to ride a day toward Dimwood and then back. I want word of any sign of the Prince being on the way. If not, I expect we’ll be attacked soon.”

The soldier hurried out, and James turned to Locklear. “I think we have to assume that Gorath and Owyn didn’t make it.”

“So we must assume that we’re holding this position until . . .?”

“We get relief or we get overrun.”

Locklear was silent a moment, then asked, “Do we organize a retreat like we did at Highcastle if it becomes apparent we’re going to lose?”

James was silent a very long time as he considered the question. “No. We stand or die.”

Locklear let out a long, theatrical sigh, and said, “I guess that’s why we have offices.”

“I believe Arutha would say, ‘It’s time to earn our pay.’ ”

Locklear seemed to muster resolve from within, and said, “Very well, let’s make sure we earn it with distinction.”

They left the late Baron’s office and set about the many tasks before them in preparation for the coming battle.

The sun rose on a desolate and alien world. The few minutes the quickly vanishing sun afforded them the evening before had been spent finding a shallow cave. It provided slight shelter, but they had spent a cold and hungry night in the dark.

As the sky lightened, Gorath woke Owyn. The young magician had been in a near-frantic state after discovering his magic wouldn’t work on this world.

And that was the other shock that had almost reduced Owyn to mindless panic: they were on another world. There was no doubt about it. Gorath knew the northern night sky of Midkemia as well as anyone who lived much of his life out of doors, but even Owyn knew there were three moons on Midkemia, and not a single large one that bulked in the sky twice the size of the largest one at home.

“Where is Pug?” asked Gorath.

Owyn said, “If the spell was designed to bring Tomas to him, he must be close.”

Gorath looked at the ground as the sky lightened above him. “Look,” he said, pointing at the ground. “Tracks.”

Owyn looked and saw scuff marks in the dirt. “Perhaps this was where Pug appeared, and that’s as close as the spell can bring someone.” He winced as he considered what he just said. “What am I babbling about? I have no idea what has occurred to us, or to Pug before us.”

Gorath knelt and studied the tracks. “One pair of tracks begins there.” He pointed to a place roughly where they had appeared, then his hand traced a line. “Whoever left those tracks went that way.”

He stood and began following the tracks while Owyn glanced around. The light appeared wrong, and the sky was almost clear, with a few wispy high clouds barely visible in the upper atmosphere. The wind was dry and cold, and there was scant vegetation in sight, and most of it reminded Owyn of the high rocky hills through which he had traveled in the Northlands with Gorath.

Gorath said, “Other tracks join here.” He pointed to a place on the ground that looked like nothing more than a few scuff marks in the soil. “If those first tracks belonged to Pug, he was met or followed by at least four others. They all moved off in that direction.”

He pointed to a series of small hills in the distance. “Then I guess that’s where we go,” said Gorath.

As the sun rose the day’s temperature began to increase. “This is a desert,” said Owyn. “I’ve heard stories from those who’ve traveled in the Jal-Pur. The cold night fooled me.” He stopped and opened his travel pack. He removed an extra tunic and tied it over his head, like a hood. “Before we do anything else, we need to find water.”

Gorath looked around, and finally said, “You are right. I see no open water anywhere.” He looked at their apparent goal. “I know little of deserts, but I would think if there was water to be found, it would as likely be found in those hills as anywhere else. Let us continue on that course.”

Without a better option to offer, Owyn agreed. They trudged over a landscape of hardpan, broken rocks, and eroded ridges. “If anything ever flourished in this land, it has long since died out,” observed Gorath. As they walked, he asked, “Have you any insight into why your magic will not work here?”

“No,” said Owyn, looking dispirited. “I have tried every cantrip and incantation, meditation and exercise I could remember. All seem to function as they were designed to, but there was no . . . magic!” He shook his head. “It’s as if there is no mana here.”

“Mana?” asked Gorath.

“It’s one term for it,” said Owyn. “At least that’s what Patrus called it. I don’t know if other magicians do. But it’s the energy that binds with everything else, yet can be manipulated to create magic. Most people don’t understand how magic works. I don’t have the power within me. All I know are series of words, actions, images, things that help me gather the power, or mana, from the world around me. It’s as if the mana doesn’t exist here. It makes me wish I was a Lesser Path.”

“What is that?” asked Gorath, letting the boy instruct him rather than trudge along in silence.

“They operate on a different path of magic. Patrus is a Lesser Path who suggested I go to Stardock when it was clear he was teaching me the ‘wrong’ magic. Before Pug had traveled to the Tsurani world, no one knew of the differences between the two paths of magic; at least no one on Midkemia.

“The Lesser Path is part of the magic, for lack of a better term. The magician links into the very nature of the soil below his feet, or the water that’s everywhere, even in the sky, or the wind itself. The potential for most things to burn fuels the nature of those magicians whose nature is linked to fire. I think a Lesser Path magician might be able to milk some small magic out of this place, but I am powerless.”

“Would this be true of Pug?”

“I don’t know,” said Owyn. “He is rumored to be more than Lesser Path or Greater Path.” Owyn glanced around. “But it may also be his powers are diminished enough that he might have been overcome here by others. I do know one thing.”

“What?”

“Without Pug we have no chance of returning to Midkemia.”

They walked on in silence for hours after that.

It was the middle of the next day when they saw the dome. The heat had reduced them to a slow, plodding walk, and there was no sign of water. The skins at their hips were now empty, and Owyn was starting to feel the effects of dehydration. In silence they moved toward the dome. As they got close they saw it was a structure, made of some sort of hides stretched out over a web of sticks. “It looks like a yurt,” said Gorath.

“What is that?”

“The nomads of the Thunderhell Steppes use them. They can erect them or take them down in minutes.”

He pulled his sword and moved around the building until he found the entrance, masked by a single curtain of leather. He pushed it aside with the point of his sword and when nothing happened, stuck his head inside.

“Come see this,” he said to Owyn.

Owyn followed him inside and looked around. The structure was empty, save for a faded cloth that once might have been a rug, upon which Gorath sat. He held out a piece of parchment. It was written upon in charcoal.

Owyn took it and read:

Tomas,

As Katala no doubt sent you word, I imagine you have heard that Gamina and I are missing. She has been abducted by the Tsurani magicians who serve Makala and has been transported here. I will give you more details once we meet, but I am limited to two pieces of parchment and must be brief.

Do not depend on Magic here. It does not function. I have some theories as to why, but again I will save those until we meet. Its absence may be due to this planet having once been visited by the Valheru, but your inherited senses may have alerted you to this fact already. A violent race resides here, and I have already had to elude four of them. They appear to be related to the Pantathians, similar enough in appearance that I judge they were left here by Alma-Lodaka during the time of the Valheru raids across the skies. Be wary of them, for I think they serve our enemies, somehow.

Gamina is still missing, and I have made a sweep of the entire area. I am leaving in the morning to visit the northern tip of this island. From a hill nearby you can see what appear to be ruins there. Perhaps there I will find an answer. Look for me there.

Pug

“Well, that is where we must go next,” said Gorath.

“I wish he had said something about water,” said Owyn.

“If others live on this island, there will be water somewhere.”

Owyn nodded, but he didn’t speak his concern, that they might not find it in time.

“At least we know it’s an island, now,” said Gorath. “That’s good.”

“Why?”

“Because it means we can’t wander forever,” said the dark elf.

Owyn found the humor a little too grim for his taste and said nothing. They trudged on as they climbed a ridge. When they crested the top of the ridge, they could see in the distance the structures Pug had referred to. More, they saw what looked to be a vast blue body of water beyond.

“If we can get to the shore,” said Owyn, “I think I can contrive a way for us to get water without salt.”

“Perhaps this island exists in a vast lake,” said Gorath hopefully.

“That would be welcome.”

They moved down the ridge, and as they reached the bottom of the ridge, Gorath shouted, “Water!”

He almost jumped into a crevice, and said, “It’s fresh. Hand me your skin.”

Owyn did so and after a minute, Gorath handed him back the skin, partially filled, so he could drink without waiting any longer. Owyn drank, and Gorath said, “Slowly. Too fast and you may swoon.”

Owyn forced the liquid from his lips. It was thick with the taste of minerals and warm, but it was the best water he could remember tasting. He watched as Gorath did the same with his own waterskin, then set it aside and took back Owyn’s. This time he filled both skins, and said, “I will mark this place, so if we don’t find another source on our search, we can return here.”

Owyn nodded, and said, “We are close to those ruins.”

Gorath said, “We should reach there before sundown.”

They drank their fill, then moved on.

They encountered another yurtlike dwelling, almost buried in the dust, a few hundred yards shy of their goal. They had thought they had seen ruins, but at this distance, they could see seven massive pillars, appearing to be fashioned from stone. Gorath again used his sword to move aside the leather curtain of the hut, and Owyn peeked in.

Inside he found another note:

Tomas,

While I have so far found no evidence of Gamina in the ruin, I have learned some things about this planet. Magic has been transformed here; what some magicians call ‘mana’ has been reduced to a crystal form. No natural phenomenon could account for such a transformation, so I can only assume some agency on the order of the gods did this, as even the Valheru would only have created a cataclysm by undertaking such a feat. It may be this act inspired Drakin-Korin to create the Lifestone, but that’s a matter for us to ponder at our leisure.

I learned much by touching the pillars at the north end of the island. Avoid the center one; I was ill for days after I touched it. In my weakened state I was almost overcome by two of the creatures I mentioned before. Only my skill with stone and sling saved me, but the conflict taught me much. I have left an item for you; I do not know if it will help you with your Valheru-born magic, but I thought it would do no harm to leave it for you. Perhaps after I have found Gamina, I will have an opportunity to study more of the wonders on this world.

Pug

Owyn looked around and saw a long bundle set to the side of the round tent. He unwound another faded rug, identical to the one found in the previous hut, and inside saw what looked to be a staff fashioned of a strange blue crystal. He touched the staff, instantly snatching his hand back.

“What is it?” asked Gorath.

“I am not sure,” said Owyn. He slowly reached out and touched it again. “This is amazing,” he said.

He held out his right hand while he touched the staff with his left, closed his eyes, and a moment later a glow of light emanated from his fingertips. “I can’t explain it, but this staff has given me back my powers. It’s as if this staff is made of . . . I don’t know . . . the crystallized mana Pug spoke of.”

“Bring it,” said Gorath. “We should make for the ruins before we lose the light.”

They stood on the point of the island, a high bluff which overlooked an alien sea. Seven giant pillars of crystal rose up, to seven times a man’s height. Owyn said, “I’ll start with that one.”

He went to the pillar farthest to the left and touched it.

Despite a rocky appearance, it felt smooth to the touch. He squinted his eyes and saw he was actually running his fingers over a sheath of energy that clung to the surface of the pillar.

Owyn looked into the pillar, and its many facets refracted images of the desert, sea, and sky, but also he glimpsed other places, as if the pillar showed him different lands, oceans, and skies.

Your observations intrigue me. You are savani, are you not?

Startled at the presence of an alien thought in his mind, Owyn shook his head. Unsure if he could simply think his reply, or speak it aloud, he decided speech would keep him focused. “I am not familiar with the term savani, so I don’t know if I’m one or not. With whom am I communicating?”

Gorath looked at Owyn with surprise on his face. Before Owyn could say anything to him, the voice returned to his mind. I am Sutakami, Mother of the Thousand Mysteries, once a goddess of Timirianya. You have awakened me. What do you desire?

“I’m not sure what you are asking me,” said Owyn. “Are you an oracle?”

No. I may only tell you that which is already known, although I dimly sense things that may come to be. I sense you are new to this world. Perhaps you would wish to know of the creatures who inhabit it.

An image filled Owyn’s mind before he could speak. The race was proud in appearance, like magnificent birds with arms instead of wings. Beaks were small and looked as if they could articulate speech. These are the Timirian. They were poets and scholars, and warriors of great skill. They were on the verge of spanning the stars when the Valheru came. They were obliterated.

Then another figure came into his mind, a shadowy creature of impressive aspect, the very features causing Owyn to flinch. Although a huge set of wings dominated the figure, it was the eyes of the creature, cold icy orbs of blue, that held Owyn’s attention. These are the ancient servants of Rlynn Skrr, the last High Priest of Dhatsavan, our Father of Gods, before the Great Destruction. Creatures of magic they now wander free of fetter, so flee if you see one, for they may only be killed by a magic designed to drain their energy into the soil. Now they wander the ancient ruins of the Temple of Dhatsavan. The voice faded and grew distant. I must rest . . . I am needed elsewhere.

“Wait!” Owyn put his head down, as if tired. “I need to ask more.”

Gorath asked, “What is it?”

“These pillars, they’re . . . ancient gods of this world. I was speaking with this one, a goddess named Sutakami.”

“Perhaps if you touch another?” asked Gorath.

Owyn nodded. He moved to the second pillar and touched it. “I wonder what this place was originally,” Owyn asked.

You stand in the ruins of the Temple of Karzeen-Maak, once the high temple of the seven gods of Timirianya. Once, these columns were but symbols of the gods, crafted by the savani artisans who were the servants of Dhatsavan. Now they are the vessels within which we have taken refuge.

“What could drive a god into refuge?” Owyn wondered.

The Valheru, came the instant reply. They extinguished life as we knew it on this world, leaving behind little. Only when Dhatsavan showed us our struggles were futile did we create a plan to rob the Valheru of power, driving them from our world. They fled lest they be trapped here, leaving only a few of their servants behind.

“What did you do?” asked Owyn.

Of the Seven Who Ruled, only six of us survived the Great Destruction. Two have faded so far from the world they can no longer give voice to their thoughts; they are now but sentient forces of nature. Only Dhatsavan will remain, waiting for the time of the Awakening. He shall call us when the need has come. . . . We shall not speak again, savani.

Owyn looked at Gorath. “The Valheru caused this desolation.”

Gorath said, “They were a power matched by few. Our legends tell of them spanning the stars on the backs of dragons. Only the gods were greater.”

Owyn looked around as the sun began to set. “Apparently not all the gods. These pillars are what is left of the seven most important gods of this world. One is dead. Two of them are mute, two I’ve already spoken to.”

“Pug’s note said to not touch the centermost.”

“So that leaves one more with whom to speak. Perhaps I can find out what happened to Pug from it.”

Owyn touched the next pillar, but was greeted only by a faint sensation; nothing of coherent thought. “This must be one of those who has faded to mindlessness.”

He walked past the centermost of the seven, heeding Pug’s warning, and went to the next pillar.

He touched it and found it lifeless. Not even the faint sensation he had noticed on the last one remained. He moved on to the next one.

Touching the pillar, still warm from the afternoon sun, he wondered who the Valheru had left behind.

The Panath-Tiandn. They are creatures from another world, trained to act as artisans of magic. They have limited intelligence, but they are clever, and dangerous. They created artifacts for the Valheru.

“Did they capture Pug?”

No, though they thought to, but I prevented it.

“Who are you?”

We seven were the gods of this world, and I, savani, was once Dhatsavan, Lord of the Gates. But when the Valheru brought their wars of desolation, we chose these forms rather than risk the final death.

“I don’t know the significance of much of what you say,” said Owyn. “I have heard legends of the Valheru on my homeworld—”

What you know is unimportant, said the voice in Owyn’s mind. What we were is lost in time, but there is time for you to save your people from our fate.

“Our world?” said Owyn. “The Valheru have been dead on my world for ages. They can’t pose any threat to us.”

A feeling of disinterest washed over Owyn, as if what he was saying was of no consequence to this being. The one you know as Pug of Stardock will tell you more when the time comes for you and your companion to make your choices. For now, you must bring to this place the Cup of Rlynn Skrr. Do this and we will free Pug from his captivity.

“What do gods need of mortals to fetch and carry for them?” demanded Owyn.

A sense of amusement came over Owyn as the voice replied, You are wise to question, young savani, but it is for me alone to know the truth. Seek the cup in the far caves on the southeast corner of the island. You will have to kill the Panath-Tiandn who has it. Bring it to me or else perish in the desolation of Timirianya. The choice is yours. I warn you, do not attempt to use the cup. Pug has already learned the harsh lesson of trying to utilize its power without my guidance. Go.

Owyn said, “We must fetch a magic item from the farside of this island. And it seems we must battle some creatures of the Valheru to do so.”

Gorath said, “It’s been a long day. Let us return to that tent down the way and rest. A little food and sleep will help prepare us.”

Following Gorath, Owyn hoped that was true.

It had taken half a day to find the corner of the island where the frozen god had told Owyn they’d find the cup. Now they rested on a ridge above what looked to be a village, or at least a collection of huts in front of a large cave.

They had been watching for a half hour or more and seen no sign of movement. “Well,” said Owyn. “Maybe they’re deserted.”

“No,” said Gorath. He pointed to a pile of firewood. Then he pointed out a set of covered urns. “Water, I think.” Then he pointed at what could only be scraps of food thrown into a trench near the edge of the village. “There may not be many of these creatures left on this world, but this area is not abandoned.”

“Well, maybe they’ve all gone off somewhere.”

“Or maybe they sleep during the heat of the day and they’re all inside?” suggested Gorath. He stood up. “We won’t know until we go down and see what is there.”

Owyn followed the dark elf down the hillside, and when Gorath reached the first tent, Owyn said, “The cup is in that cave.”

Gorath had taken one step when the leather covering of the hut he was about to enter swung open and a creature started to emerge.

Owyn’s very skin crawled at the sight of it. An upright lizard, swathed in dark clothing, stood blinking in the sunlight. He had no opportunity to raise alarm, as Gorath thrust with his sword, running him through.

“Three,” said Gorath.

“Three what?” said Owyn.

“There are three more left if this is one of the four who were tracking Pug.”

“Or there may be a dozen left, if they’re not the ones,” whispered Owyn. “Let’s be quick!”

They hurried to the cave, and as Owyn started to move aside a large curtain hung across the entrance, it moved. He jumped back as a serpent man hurled himself at Gorath. Gorath barely avoided a club strike to the head, and dodged back.

Owyn turned as another serpent creature snarled and leaped upon him, knocking him back. Owyn rolled on the ground, barely hanging on to the staff of crystal. The creature’s face was painted with yellow symbols, and Owyn knew he was struggling with some sort of Panath-Tiandn shaman. Owyn saw claws above his face and locked gaze with the creature.

Suddenly symbols of fire burned in Owyn’s mind’s eye and he sent out a mental blast which rocked the creature back. Owyn spun out from under it and jumped to his feet. The creature struggled to recover from Owyn’s assault. Owyn kicked the creature as hard as he could in the head, and it collapsed.

Two other serpent men appeared as Gorath killed the one he faced. Owyn reached into his memory for another spell and felt the staff grow warm in his hand. A sphere of fiery energy exploded from his hand and struck the first creature, engulfing it in flames. The second was splashed by flame, and its robe was set afire.

The first fell to the ground, dying in seconds, but the second fell and rolled, screaming as it tried to put out the flames. Gorath hurried over and put it out of its misery.

Owyn looked about and waited to see if any other of these creatures were present. All was quiet.

Finally, Gorath put up his sword, and said, “Let’s find this damned cup.”

Owyn went inside the dark cave, illuminated by only a single flame in a tiny brazier, and his skin crawled. The place was a center of dark magic and while he couldn’t read the symbols painted on the walls, the shapes were alien and he could sense their evil. He glanced around and saw what looked to be a small shrine. Upon it rested a cup carved out of some unknown stone.

He reached out and took it, feeling energy rush up his arm as he gripped it. Once outside the hut, he said, “This is it, no doubt.”

“What does it do?”

“I don’t know, but I was told that it harmed Pug, and if that’s so, I will not risk trying to unravel its mystery.”

“Then let’s get it back to those so-called gods and see if they live up to their part of the bargain.” Gorath looked around. “I doubt these are the only members of this tribe on this island, and when they see what we’ve done, I think they’ll be on our trail.”

“Can we reach the pillars by sundown?”

“If we start now and don’t stop,” said Gorath, turning and setting off without waiting to see if Owyn was with him.

Owyn hesitated a moment, then set out after Gorath.