Timothy couldn’t have picked a better moment to take his leave.
Across the rich green lawn, he saw Leander’s personal assistant, Carlyle, appear at the open kitchen door, his face flushed with annoyance. Timothy quickly snatched his satchel up from the ground and looked inside to be sure he had everything he’d need for his journey.
“Timothy Cade!” Carlyle shouted, hurrying toward them.
“I think Verlis and I had better be going,” he told his friends, and Cassandra. He caught her eye as he said his farewells, and she quickly looked away, pretending to be studying the clouds in the sky.
Strange, he thought, before concentrating on more important matters.
“Be sure to bring the Burrower back to the workshop,” he told Sheridan, Ivar, and Edgar.
“Not to worry, Timothy,” Sheridan said, release valve hissing. “I’ll be sure to give it a thorough cleaning so that it is in tip-top shape when you return.”
Ivar was already working on getting the craft back up onto the wheeled cart they had used to haul it from the workshop.
“What in the name of the blessed mage have you done to the grounds?” Carlyle yelled in a shrill voice. “When Grandmaster Maddox hears of this . . .”
“You think he’s talking about the hole?” Edgar asked from his favorite place atop Sheridan’s metal head. If the rook could have smiled, Timothy was certain he would have.
“Think so,” the boy answered, backing away from the gathering.
“Hrrrrm. He sounds upset,” Verlis growled, scratching his leathery chin with a clawed hand. “Perhaps you should explain the—”
Timothy gripped the Wurm at his elbow. The rough, scaled skin was strangely cool to the touch. “Perhaps we should get away from here as quickly as we can.”
“Timothy Cade!” Carlyle shouted again, almost upon them.
Edgar flew toward him, circling around the stocky man’s head. Carlyle waved his hands in the air, obviously enraged. “I have no desire to speak with you, bird. I want to talk to the boy!”
“Maybe you are right,” Verlis replied, and the Wurm opened his great wings, grabbing Timothy beneath the arms.
As Verlis lifted him up, wings flapping heavily, churning the air, Timothy noticed that Cassandra was looking at him. Once again he experienced that odd sensation in the pit of his stomach.
“Luck be with you,” she called over the pounding of the dragon’s wings, and he waved good-bye to her just as Verlis soared skyward with him.
Carlyle had reached the hole the Burrower had made and was gesticulating wildly. It appeared that Sheridan and Cassandra were attempting to calm him, but to little avail. Timothy almost felt bad leaving them to deal with the rather unpleasant man.
Almost, he thought with a chuckle.
Verlis winged his way around to the front of the sprawling fortress and remembered the first time he had ever seen SkyHaven. It hadn’t been that long ago, but in a way, after all that he had seen and experienced, it felt like a lifetime. Timothy wondered what still lay ahead for him, what wonders and horrors he had yet to experience. These were exciting times for a boy who was raised in near solitude.
“There they are!” Timothy yelled over the sound of the wind in his ears and the beating of wings. He felt Verlis’s grip beneath his arms tighten.
Two sky carriages hovered in front of SkyHaven, and members of the expedition traveling to Torah’nah milled about the crafts. The Wurm angled his body earthward, and they began their descent.
The ground came up at them quickly, and Timothy instinctively closed his eyes, fearing that they would not be able to stop in time. Just as it seemed too late, Verlis spread his great wings wide, cutting the speed of his descent and allowing them to glide safely to the ground.
Timothy adjusted the strap of the satchel he wore slung over his shoulder and checked to see that the metal clasp was still fastened. He wanted to be certain that he hadn’t lost any of his notes or drawings in flight with Verlis. Everything was fine.
The boy looked up to see Leander Maddox walking toward them, his hands clasped behind his back. Timothy felt a surge of excitement, quickening his pace to meet up with the Grandmaster, eager to share the news of his latest success. It had been Leander who had assigned the boy the difficult task of designing and building a machine that could dig down into earth, but that was not powered by magic.
He hurried to the burly mage, barely able to contain his excitement. “The Burrower, it works,” he blurted out. “I tested it in the back of the fortress and it went perfectly. The hole was smooth and deep. It’s a good thing I stopped when I did, because I could have kept right on going and dug straight through and Carlyle showed up and—”
Timothy’s ramble came to an abrupt stop as he watched Leander bring his wrist up to his face to gaze briefly upon a timepiece fastened there.
“You’re late,” the Grandmaster said shortly, barely hiding his irritation. He clasped his large hands behind his back again. “Didn’t Cassandra inform you that we were ready to leave?”
Timothy could have blamed Cassandra, but he did not want to get her into trouble, so he nodded. “Yes, but we were testing my machine and . . .” He stopped, realizing that he had no real excuse. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Leander. I guess we just lost track of time.”
The big man said nothing, and Timothy looked up to see him gazing off into space, one of his hands slowly stroking the coarse hair of his bushy red beard.
“Leander?” Timothy said softly, looking off in the same direction and seeing nothing but blue sky and the churning ocean. “Are . . . are you all right?”
The Grandmaster started as if awakened from a dream and gazed again at his timepiece. “We have no time for this foolishness,” he growled, abruptly turning around and walking toward the other members of the expedition and his waiting sky carriage. “We must depart at once if we are to reach Tora’nah by the morrow.”
Verlis moved up alongside him. “Is all well between you and Grandmaster Maddox?” he asked the boy.
Timothy did not answer at once, mulling over Verlis’s question. He had noticed slight changes in his friend and mentor over the last few days, but nothing to really cause him concern. This, however, was something else entirely.
“I’m not sure,” he whispered, watching as the Grand-master went to his sky carriage and spoke to Caiaphas, his navigation mage.
When Leander had gone on to the second sky carriage to speak to the others who were a part of the expedition, Caiaphas motioned for Timothy and Verlis to approach.
“Master Timothy,” the navigator said with a slight bow of his head. The lower portion of the navigation mage’s face was covered in a dark blue veil, but his voice was pleasant enough to let the boy know he was smiling. At least someone seemed happy to see him. “Great Verlis,” the navigator then said, addressing the dragon.
Verlis responded in kind, ruffling his leathery wings as he lowered his horned head in a bow of greeting.
“Grandmaster Maddox has informed me that we are to leave at once,” Caiaphas said, pushing up the long sleeves of his blue robes, readying himself to cast the spells used to lift and propel the carriage. “And that you and Verlis are to ride with him inside.”
The driver motioned toward the lower portion of the carriage, and a spark leaped from one of his fingertips. The door into the vehicle swung open slowly to admit them.
The Wurm leaped back from the sky carriage. “I will not ride within this contraption,” Verlis growled, shaking his large, horned head. “I will fly to Tora’nah under my own power.”
Caiaphas folded his hands upon his lap. “I’m afraid that will not do. Grandmaster Maddox gave precise instruction that you were to ride inside the carriage.”
Trails of smoke began to rise from Verlis’s flaring nostrils. “I will not fly within this . . . this box,” he spat, and Timothy could see that the Wurm’s anger was on the rise.
The boy placed a calming hand upon Verlis’s arm. “Can you tell us why he wants this?” Timothy asked the navigator, keeping his voice soft so as not to arouse the interests of the others around them.
Caiaphas brought one of his hands to his covered mouth, reflecting momentarily before speaking. “In no disrespect to you, great Verlis, the Grandmaster believes that you will appear more . . . civilized if you were to travel in the same manner as the others in the expedition.”
“Civilized?” Verlis barked, and hissing streams of burning orange spittle, liquid fire, began to leak from the sides of his mouth.
“Calm yourself,” Timothy said quickly, his voice still low. “You already know what they think of you—the other mages of Parliament.”
“They think me a monster,” Verlis replied. “A savage beast not fit to walk amongst them.”
“Exactly,” Timothy said. “Look at this as a chance to prove them wrong again.”
The Wurm sneered, revealing his razor-sharp teeth. “But to ride inside this . . . thing.” He gestured toward the carriage.
“I will attempt to make your journey as pleasant and as comfortable as it is within my power to do so,” Caiaphas said, raising his hands. Indigo magic arced from the tips of his fingers.
Verlis said nothing, glaring at the carriage, as if preparing to challenge it to battle.
“Prove them wrong,” Timothy whispered again.
As if sensing discord, Leander approached.
“Is there a problem?” the Grandmaster asked, looking from Timothy to Verlis.
Many of the other representatives of Parliament who were a part of the expedition were watching them now. Timothy tensed. This was not the time for Verlis to lose his temper. The Parliament already feared the descendents of the Dragons of Old. One Wurm was bad enough, but now there were dozens of them on Terra, all of Verlis’s clan, who had fled Draconae and the brutality of Raptus. Now wasn’t the time for trouble.
“No,” Verlis stated firmly, moving to squeeze his large frame through the doorway into the sky carriage. “There is no problem at all.”
* * *
Timothy did not know whether it was the fact that he had stayed up all night putting the finishing touches on the Burrower prototype, or the relief that the digging device worked, but he found himself growing incredibly sleepy as the sky carriage flew above the clouds on its journey south. Though he tried to fight it, he found his eyelids growing heavy, and eventually closing.
I’ll just rest for a moment, he told himself, laying his head back against the seat. But it wasn’t long before he was asleep, pulled into the realm of dream as if caught in the current of Patience’s emerald green ocean.
* * *
He dreamed of his father’s embrace.
“I’ve missed you so much,” he told his father, running to him across the beach of his interdimensional hideaway, burying his face in the thickness of his father’s robes. Timothy felt his father’s arms around him, and could even smell the scent of him—a pleasing aroma, equal parts old books and parchments and the spicy aroma of the Maddis leaves Argus Cade had often smoked in his pipe. The smell immediately put Timothy at ease, making him feel safe and secure. Here in his father’s arms, nothing could harm him.
But the air around him grew suddenly cold and damp, and Timothy looked up to see that he was no longer upon the beach on Patience, but somewhere else entirely. The place was poorly lit and made of stone, and all around him he could hear the moans of those who had been jailed for crimes against the Parliament of Mages—for crimes against the world.
Timothy knew this place well.
Abaddon.
Arcanum was the capital city of Sunderland, which was still a country in its own right, though such boundaries no longer meant very much with the worldwide Parliament of Mages having become so powerful. Even so, there was still a certain amount of local government, and that included the imprisonment of criminals. Sunderland’s major prison was Abbadon, located deep beneath the Sunnis Ocean. It was where Verlis had been briefly imprisoned by Parliament, not for any crime, but for what he was. Timothy had broken him out of there. Abbadon was one of the most horrible places Timothy had ever visited. He had wished never to see the inside of Abaddon again, but here he was.
“It’s where you belong,” said a cruel, cold voice. Not his father’s voice at all. Timothy looked up into the face seething with hate.
Constable Grimshaw smiled, his teeth incredibly sharp. The Constable’s grip upon Timothy’s arm tightened as he struggled to get free.
“What’s the matter, boy?” Grimshaw asked. “Haven’t you missed me as well?” The Constable started to laugh; one of the most horrible of sounds he had ever heard.
* * *
Timothy awoke with a gasp to find Leander and Verlis watching him with cautious eyes.
“Dreams?” the Wurm asked, shifting in the seat across from the boy, still not comfortable with the flying arrangements.
“More like a nightmare,” Tim replied. He wiped cool drops of sweat from his brow and leaned his head back with a sigh. “I dreamt of my father.”
“And that is a nightmare?” Verlis asked, confused.
“He didn’t stay my father; he turned into Constable Grimshaw, and we were in Abaddon.”
The Wurm nodded his horned head. “I see. That is a nightmare.”
Timothy rubbed the sleep from his eyes and glanced over to see Leander busily writing in an oversize journal. It was unusual to find the Grandmaster actually using a writing instrument, magic being the typical means by which words were put to parchment. But Timothy was seated right beside the mage, and the strange magic-negating aura that surrounded him could sometimes wreak havoc with writing spells. In close quarters, particularly traveling together, Leander had found it much wiser to use a pen.
Leander looked up from his scribbling. “You needn’t worry about Grimshaw. In dream or reality.” The Grandmaster closed his book. “It appears that the Constable has joined the ranks of the missing.”
Timothy felt a cold finger of dread touch his neck. Mages were still disappearing in the city, and no one could figure out what fate had befallen them. It was one of Parliament’s chief concerns, along with the impending Wurm invasion. But Constable Grimshaw was an evil man, and whatever happened to him was deserved as far as he was concerned. If he shared the fate of the other missing mages, Timothy had no sympathy for him.
He gazed out the window of the carriage to see that they were now traveling over a densely wooded area, the forests of Yarrith. He had read that the forest stretched for miles, and had always wanted to see it. It was like a blanket of green, extending for as far as the eye could see. It was considered one of the last truly untamed regions in Sunderland.
“Not long now,” Verlis said, also gazing out at the thick green below. “I sense that we are close.”
“You sense it?” Timothy asked.
The Wurm nodded. “In here,” he said, placing a clawed hand against his chest. The scales there were thicker, almost like armored plating. “As the spirits of your dead live on in the blazing energy that is ghostfire, the spirits of the Wurm continue to exist as well, leaving a piece of themselves behind before soaring on to a land beyond.”
Timothy was fascinated; there was still so much that he did not know about Verlis and his people, their customs and beliefs, and he hoped that someday he would have the chance to learn all there was.
“Tora’nah is a special place,” Verlis said as they flew above the forested land. “A spiritual place. Hopefully there we will find the answers we seek.”
Timothy looked away from the window and placed his hand upon his satchel. Inside were his notes and plans for the construction of the larger Burrower machine they would need for mining in Tora’nah. The Parliament believed that under the ground there they might find a solution to their current predicament.
“So all the materials needed to construct the full-size Burrower are already at Tora’nah?” he asked.
“Everything to your specifications,” Leander confirmed.
Timothy stared at his sketches and notes again. “Do you really think this will work?”
Leander gestured for the boy to hand over his papers, and he did so willingly. It was the Grandmaster’s turn to peruse the intricate drawings and designs.
“If we’re careful,” Leander said. “And if your machine works as well as we hope.”
The ancient Wurm had mined a rare mineral from the soil at Tora’nah. A Wurm scientist called Malleus had discovered natural deposits of a metal ore that was unusually soft and pliable . . . until it was touched by magic. Once it came into contact with magic, the metal—called Malleum after its discoverer—was the hardest substance on the planet. Unbreakable. Impenetrable. All of which meant that it had to be removed from the ground by physical rather than magical means. If they tried to use magic to unearth it, the metal would harden instantly and be useless. It could not be made into weapons or armor then.
No, the Malleum had to be dug up without the use of magic, forged in fire, and hammered into whatever form it would eventually take. Only then would it be touched by magic . . . which would transform it from soft to unbreakable.
“The Burrower will save a great deal of time,” Verlis said. “We do not know when Raptus will break through the barrier, so there is no time to spare. The sooner the Malleum can be forged into weapons and armor, the better for all of us. The time for war has come to Terra again.”
Verlis turned away, gazing out the window of the sky carriage.
Timothy took the plans back from Leander and studied them with a new eye, already thinking of revisions to the machine that could smooth the process. “You know,” he said, mostly to himself, “I think we could do this better—make it more efficient.”
He borrowed the pen that Leander had been using and started to draw.
Hours passed and many miles passed beneath them before Timothy Cade again lifted his head from his work.
* * *
They called it Alhazred’s Divide, the wall of magical energy that had been erected to seal the breach between the other-dimensional world of Draconae from Terra, keeping the Wurm race away from the world of the mages forever. It extended as far as the eye could see to the north and south, and from the ground to the sky. The barrier distorted the air so that it shimmered. Timothy Cade had been to that world and back with Verlis, and sometimes still had nightmares about the Wurms’ volcanic city and about Raptus, the cruel general who commanded them all. He had seen with his own eyes the Wurm sorcerers who worked with fierce determination to tear down that barrier from the other side. The very thought made him shudder.
From the window of the carriage Timothy could see the other sky craft that had been journeying with them as they prepared to set down at the Tora’nah encampment. The land around them was bleak, rocky, and foreboding, not at all like the rich and fertile regions they had traveled over on their way here. He could see the small village that the workers at Tora’nah had set up for their mining operation. One of the buildings was a large rectangular structure with tall chimneys.
“What is that? Not living quarters?” Timothy asked, pointing.
“No. That is the Forge,” Leander replied. “Where the Malleum will be fashioned into tools for war. Other than your Burrower, it is the most important part of the operation.”
“We are descending,” Caiaphas called from his seat, and Timothy felt the craft’s downward motion in the hollow of his belly.
He had learned to love the sensation of flying in a sky carriage, but was still always a little nervous when it came to landing. Since he was not able to do it himself, he had never learned to trust the power of magic. Timothy looked over at the powerful form of Verlis. The Wurm was still gazing out the window as the cold gray landscape came up to meet them.
“I was but a young hatchling when last I was here,” Verlis said quietly. “But the memories of what it once was—before the conflict with the mages—are still incredibly clear.”
The sky carriage gently touched down upon the uneven ground, a testament to Caiaphas’s skill.
Leander opened the door. “That was the past, friend Verlis,” the Grandmaster said, stepping from the craft. “Let us see what we can do about forging a far better future—for both our races.”
Timothy followed Leander, waiting as Verlis carefully extracted himself from the carriage. It was much colder at Tora’nah, thick gray clouds blotting out the sun. Timothy shivered, pulling the collar of his tunic up around his throat, but he wasn’t sure if the reaction was entirely from the cold. There was something truly foreboding about this place, something that filled the boy with unease.
“What was it like before?” Timothy asked his friend. “Before the war with the mages?”
Verlis stretched his wings and glanced around, plumes of smoke rising from his snout. “There was life here then—in the sky, in the dirt and rock—but the fighting, the amount of combat magic released . . . it has left the land spiritless.”
Leander had gone to speak with the other members of the expedition force, but in the midst of their conversation, the men and women sent by Parliament were all staring at Timothy and Verlis. Grandmaster Maddox noticed that the others of his group were not listening especially closely to him, and Timothy watched as Leander realized how rude they were behaving. Yet in that moment when he ought to have chided his fellow mages, he instead shot an angry glance at Timothy and Verlis.
“Is something wrong?” the mage asked, an edge in his voice.
Timothy glanced at Verlis, who still seemed distracted by this return to the ruins of his once great society. The boy was about to reply for both of them when Verlis spoke up.
“Much is wrong here,” said the Wurm, turning toward the Grandmaster and the other representatives of Parliament. “Much has . . . changed, since I last walked this ground.”
A sudden, cool gust of wind arose, and the way it whipped across the desolate landscape seemed to cry out in a mournful voice. The entire gathering seemed affected by the sorrowful wind of Tora’nah. The mages ended their conversation, and the tension evaporated. With the sad song of the wind in his ears, Timothy remembered what Verlis had said earlier about the spirits of his people, and wondered if this might be the voice of their loss.
Movement off to his right caught Timothy’s attention, and he moved away from the sky carriage to get a better look. Atop a small hill, Timothy saw a village of huts, an encampment set up by the first of Parliament’s workers to arrive. The workers were coming out from their shelters to welcome them.
“Greetings!” called a tall gentleman with a thick head of graying hair. “You must be Timothy Cade,” he said, bowing at the waist in greeting. “I am Walter Telford, the project manager, and I am very pleased to make your acquaintance. I’ve heard some amazing things about your skill as an inventor.”
Timothy liked the man almost immediately due to his friendly demeanor as well as the fact that Walter Telford didn’t seem at all put off by the knowledge of his . . . handicap. He bowed back. “Pleased to meet you as well.”
“Walter,” Leander called, striding ahead of the other members of the expedition. “It’s good to see you again.”
The two men embraced warmly.
“Are you well?” Telford asked. “You look so pale, my friend. Don’t tell me that the comfortable life of a grandmaster is too much work for you.”
Telford laughed and hugged the burly mage again. It was reassuring for Timothy to hear that others were concerned for Leander’s health.
“A by-product of the job, I’m afraid to say,” Leander replied quickly, waving away Walter’s concerns. He quickly changed the subject. “Imagine my surprise and elation when I heard you would be supervising this operation. I’d thought they would have put you out to pasture years ago.”
Telford laughed aloud again. It was a cheerful sound and one that seemed a bit out of place in the grim landscape of Tora’nah.
Timothy looked around for Verlis and saw the Wurm standing alone in front of Alhazred’s Divide. He approached, but did not get too close, so that his aura of negation would not affect the ancient spell.
“Verlis?”
“Raptus is on the other side,” the Wurm said. He reached out a clawed hand and placed it upon the shimmering wall of magic. “I can feel his anger—his rage. He will do everything in his power to tear this barrier asunder.”
Timothy started to move closer, but thought better of it, remaining where he was. “Don’t worry. We’ll stop him.”
The Wurm lowered his horned head and sighed, small jets of fire shooting from his nostrils. “I wish that I felt your confidence. But I sense impending disaster.”
They were interrupted by the sound of someone walking toward them across the rock-covered ground. The boy turned to find Walter Telford approaching.
“Timothy?” Telford called. “We’re about to show everyone to their quarters. Would you and your friend like to come?”
The boy smiled, liking the man even more. Telford treated both him and Verlis as true members of the expedition team, not as freaks. He glanced back at Verlis, still standing before Alhazred’s Divide, and guessed that the Wurm might like some time alone.
“I’ll show him later, if that would be all right,” he said. “But I’d like to go.”
Walter responded with a smile, gesturing for him to follow, and Timothy did just that, accompanying the man back to the encampment. Each hut was small but cozy, consisting of a cot and a small desk to work on. Verlis’s quarters were located right next door to Timothy’s.
The project manager left Timothy to settle in, recommending that he take a short nap to refresh himself after his long journey. Walter had laughed heartily, saying that the boy was going to need his rest, for they planned on working him quite hard. The cot did look thin and lumpy but turned out to be surprisingly comfortable, and he soon found himself drifting off.
* * *
Timothy wasn’t sure what it was that awakened him, but as his eyes opened, he sensed that something was wrong. It was dark now, and as he got up from his bed he wondered how long he had been asleep. He removed from his satchel a small lantern capable of containing hungry fire. Using a match from his tool kit, he lit the lantern. Hoping to dispel his uneasiness, he shone the light about his quarters, throwing flickering firelight into the inky pools of shadow.
Something moved in a gloomy corner, swiftly scurrying from one patch of darkness to the next in an attempt to remain unseen. Timothy gasped, nearly dropping the lantern. It was an animal of some kind, large for something that could move with such speed and stealth. From the quick glimpses he got, it seemed almost furless, its skin a sickly pale hue.
The unknown animal darted beneath his cot, and Timothy stumbled back away from it. He was tempted to cry out for help, but he knew that the representatives from Parliament and many other members of the expedition were probably watching him, waiting for him to do something foolish. If this was just some local wildlife, he didn’t want to cause an unnecessary ruckus. No, unless he was sure he was in danger, he would deal with the matter on his own.
He quickly hauled the rumpled blanket from the bed and then leaped up onto it. Standing in the center of the cot, he crouched tensely, ready to use the heavy cover as a net to trap his unwanted visitor the moment it attempted to escape. When it did not immediately race out from its hiding place, Timothy began to jump up and down on the cot, trying to drive it out. For a moment he thought he would have to find something to poke it with, but then the pale-skinned creature shot out from beneath the bed.
Timothy sprang from his perch, a scream equal parts excitement and fear escaping his lips. He landed on the floor in a crouch, throwing the woven blanket over the scurrying intruder, then leaped atop it in an attempt to restrain the beast.
The animal was far stronger than Timothy expected, and it thrashed, growled, and hissed, trying to escape the blanket. Timothy was thrown aside and before he could regain control, the creature escaped, moving with incredible speed toward the door. Timothy was up in an instant and tried to pursue it, but such was its speed that it was already gone. He stared dumbfounded as the door to his hut swung back and forth in the evening breeze.
How did it get in here? he wondered, positive that Walter had closed the door firmly when he had left. He ran to the door in hopes of seeing where it had run off to, and collided with Leander.
“Arrrgh!” Timothy screamed, startled by the large man’s sudden appearance.
“What in the name of the seven mystics is wrong?” Leander demanded.
Timothy looked past him. “Did you see it? Did you see the . . . the animal that came from here? It was in my room and I chased it out. I don’t know what it was.”
Leander looked behind him and then back to the boy. “I saw no such thing,” he said, placing his hands on Timothy’s shoulders. “And I’ve been standing out here enjoying the night air for quite some time now.”
“But—”
“I heard you screaming and came at once to find out what was the matter.”
Timothy looked up into Leander’s eyes. “But I saw it. I tried to catch it in this blanket.” He held up his bedclothes to show the archmage.
Leander shook his head. “It was a nightmare, boy,” he explained. “Likely brought on by your change of surroundings and the dire importance of our mission here. Nothing more.”
For the briefest of instants, Timothy almost believed his friend, thinking that perhaps he had imagined it all, still in the grip of sleep. But then he saw the jagged rips in the blanket, obviously made by very sharp claws.