It didn’t take long for Alex to retrieve his staff and his magic sword from his magic bag. He attached the sword to his belt, and immediately felt more like himself.

“We will declare ourselves openly,” Whalen said, “but do not say more than is needed. Say you are a wizard but not that you are a dragon lord.”

“Will that matter to these people?” Alex asked.

“I doubt it, but it would be best to leave some things hidden,” Whalen answered.

Ready for whatever lay ahead, Alex summoned up a light mage wind and guided their boat toward the docks. Before they were close enough to call out, Alex could see several men gathering on one of the docks, and Whalen worked the boat’s rudder to guide them to the group. Alex noted that Whalen had been right; these men did look more like warriors than any of the other men he’d seen in Midland. They were alert, and looked to be ready for anything.

“Well met,” a man holding a lantern called as they approached the dock. “I am called Brock. I am the harbormaster here.”

“Well met,” Whalen called back. “May we come ashore?”

“We’d hardly put you out in a storm such as this,” Brock said. “Yet caution demands we know something about you before we welcome you to our city.”

“We will gladly tell you all we can, but perhaps we can find someplace drier to talk,” Whalen said.

Brock nodded and caught the rope that Whalen tossed to him. Their boat was quickly secured to the dock, and Alex and Whalen stepped ashore. Alex noticed that the men from the city kept their distance, and that at least three of the men carried crossbows under their cloaks.

“Lucky you made land at all in such a small boat and in such a bad storm,” Brock said.

“It was more than luck,” Whalen answered in a pleasant voice. “But I do wonder what city we’ve managed to come to.”

“We’ll talk indoors,” Brock said, waving his lantern and starting off down the dock.

Alex and Whalen followed, and the men from the city followed them. They left the docks behind and went up through the winding roads of the city. They walked in silence for a long time, and Alex guessed they were several hundred feet above the sea and nearly a mile of winding roads from the docks.

“In here,” Brock finally said, stopping before a heavy wooden door.

Glancing up, Alex could see that the building was some kind of fortress. The men who had followed them from the docks had fallen behind, but Alex knew they were there and that their numbers had more than doubled. These men were afraid of something, and Alex wondered what kind of trouble he and Whalen had just walked into.

Brock led them through the doorway and down a long hall that had no decorations of any kind. At the end of the hallway, they entered a large round room with a round table and a dozen chairs around it. Except for the lantern Brock was carrying, the room was dark, but Alex knew it was not empty. Brock placed his lantern on the table, motioned for them to sit down, and shuffled to the far side of the room.

“Any trouble?” a soft voice asked.

“No, my lady,” another, deeper voice answered.

Alex, listening with his wizard’s ear, could hear the lowered voices plainly. There was trouble here, but he wasn’t sure just how much. He took a chair next to Whalen, letting his eyes look beyond the lantern light. He could see a dozen men standing silently near the wall on the far side of the room. Each man held a crossbow pointed at Whalen and himself.

“They have the look of wizards, but I see no magic,” the soft voice commented.

“Just men, then?” her companion asked.

“Doubtful, considering how they arrived here. Use caution. There is something about them, but I cannot make it out,” the soft voice answered before trailing off.

A large man stepped into the light. “Forgive me, gentlemen, for your long march.” His deep voice filled the small room. “You are doubtless tired from your travels, and hungry, I daresay. Food and drink is on the way, and then we will find you a place to rest.”

“I think some talk would be more welcome than food or rest,” Whalen said. “When we arrived, I asked what city we had come to, and I’ve been waiting for an answer for some time now.”

“You don’t know where you are?” the large man asked.

“It is not so easy to keep track of where you are in the middle of a storm at sea,” Whalen said with a slight smile.

“True enough,” the man replied, running his hand over his face. “First, however, I will ask who you are, and what your business in Westland might be.”

“You reveal nothing,” Whalen said thoughtfully. “Very well. I am Whalen Vankin, wizard and member of the council of wizards.”

“And you?” the man asked, looking at Alex.

“I don’t enjoy speaking while under threat,” Alex said, looking past the speaker to the armed men behind him. “However, as you appear to be set on this course, I am Alexander Taylor, wizard and adventurer.”

“Threat?” the man asked, looking from side to side as if no one was there. “Clearly there is no threat here for a wizard, and even less for two.”

“Little enough,” Whalen said, giving Alex a warning look. “Come now, sir, will you not tells us who you are, and what city we have come to?”

“I am Timold, lord of this city, and before I say more I will ask that you both place your staffs on the table in front of you and move back toward the door,” he said sternly.

“I had hoped for a friendlier greeting,” Whalen commented.

“You will be held under guard until such time as the king’s council can decide what to do with you,” Timold said.

“We don’t have time for this nonsense,” Alex said, his dragon’s temper starting to rise.

“Lay down your staffs and move back,” Timold repeated.

“There is no need for this,” Whalen said.

“Lay down your staffs or we will use force,” Timold almost shouted.

“Enough of this!” Alex shouted back.

With one quick move, Alex was on his feet, his staff held up and ablaze with a pure white light that filled the room. He magically froze the crossbows, so when the men behind Timold all tried to fire their bolts, they found their crossbows useless. Many of them dropped their crossbows and tried to draw their swords.

“Enough!” Alex repeated, raising his hand and freezing the swords in their scabbards.

“Alex, be calm,” Whalen said. “I’m sure we can make Timold see reason. It will just take some time.”

“We’ve wasted too much time already,” Alex replied. “I can see Jabez’s hand at work here. Fear and mistrust fills this land already. We are not your enemy, Timold. We do not serve the so-called lord of Conmar. We have come to destroy this evil, or at least drive it out of your lands. If you will not aid us in our quest, then stand aside and let us pass.”

“You claim not to serve the lord of Conmar, yet you use magic against us,” Timold replied, tugging on his frozen sword. “How can we know why you have come here and who you serve?”

Alex could see that his temper was creating a problem instead of helping them find answers. He took a deep breath to calm himself, and considered Timold’s question. How could he prove that they didn’t serve Conmar?

“Before I answer, tell us what city we have come to?” Alex said. “Knowing where we are might help us to answer your questions.”

“I don’t see how knowing where you are can help in any way,” Timold said. “However, I can’t see that it can hurt either. You have come to the city of Valora, capital of the southern kingdom of Westland.”

“Valora,” Alex repeated. “There is one among you, Joshua by name, nephew of your king. He will know me, and he will speak for me.”

“Lord Joshua is not here,” Timold said. “He did not return from his quest in the east, and it is rumored that—”

“He has been taken by the lord of Conmar’s men,” Alex finished for him. “I was afraid this would happen, Whalen. We should have done more for him.”

“What more could we have done?” Whalen asked.

“You know Lord Joshua?” Timold asked, his tone softening.

“I met him in Eastland and helped him to escape some men who had come from Conmar,” Alex answered. “The three of us traveled together to Midland. He was going to make his way home from there. Whalen and I had made other arrangements for our own travel, and so we parted company nearly eight months ago.”

“Your words ring true, and the timing seems right, but . . .” Timold stammered.

“There is a way.” A figure in a hooded cloak stepped forward for the first time.

It was the softer voice that Alex had heard when they first entered this room. Alex looked at the figure, and he could see magic around it, strong magic that was trying to hide itself and its owner. Alex smiled slightly, because he knew that the voice was too musical for a human; it was the voice of an elf.

“True wizards cannot lie if they swear by their staff,” the elf said. “We know something of Master Vankin, but his fiery young friend is a mystery to us. Still, if they will swear by their staffs that they mean no harm to your people, that they do not serve the evil in Conmar, you may trust what they say.”

“Will you so swear?” Timold asked, looking from Alex to Whalen.

“Gladly,” Alex and Whalen answered together.

A wizard swearing by his staff was a simple and powerful test, but it required magic. Alex worried that the act of swearing by his staff would reveal Whalen to Jabez, but he didn’t try to talk Whalen out of it. So, after swearing by his own staff, Alex turned all his thoughts on Whalen, working to hide him and his magic from Jabez. He hoped that Jabez was not actively looking for Whalen, but then Alex felt a small flicker of Whalen’s magic escape from his hiding spell. Even though it was small, it was like a blazing light shooting across Alex’s mind, and he knew that if Jabez was looking at all, he would see the same light.

Alex concentrated and with great effort, pushed the flash of magic away from Whalen and out across the stormy sea. Alex hoped that Jabez would think that Whalen was somewhere out at sea and perhaps even believe that Whalen had been lost at sea, but Alex didn’t think they would be that lucky.

Alex looked up and saw that the hooded elf was watching everything he did, as if trying to see something that wasn’t there. He wondered how much the elf might know, and how much she only guessed at. Alex’s own magic had hidden Whalen and himself from Jabez, but he wasn’t sure it would hide them from a very magical elf who was looking right at them.

“We will find you a place to rest, and then discuss what we can do to help you in your quest,” Timold said.

“Rest can wait. We are farther south than I thought, much farther,” Whalen said. “We should talk to your king, Lord Darthon. I’m sure he will have a great interest in our plans.”

“That will not be possible,” said Timold. “Lord Darthon has fallen ill, stricken by some sickness that we do not recognize or know.”

“What are his symptoms?” Alex asked in concern.

“He lies in his bed like a dying man, unable to eat or even speak. His eyes are open but he is unable to see. Our healers have not been able to do anything for him, and they fear for his life,” Timold answered in a troubled voice.

“How long has he been this way?” Whalen asked.

“He has been ill for some time. For weeks now, he has been listless and distracted, one might say lost in his own mind. His condition worsened about ten days ago,” Timold said.

“Take us to him at once,” Whalen said, jumping to his feet. “This sounds like some devilry of Jabez’s making. Some magical sickness he sends to weaken your people.”

“Devilry to be sure, but, even our friends”—Timold bowed slightly to the elf—“are unable to help him.”

“We may be able to help where they cannot,” Alex said. “Please, you must let us try.”

“I don’t think—” Timold started, but the hooded elf interrupted him.

“It is said that wizards see what others cannot. Perhaps they can find what troubles your lord where I cannot.”

Timold nodded, and led the group out of the building and into the streets of Valora. A dozen men and the mysterious elf accompanied them through the light rainfall. The sky was lighter now, though the storm at sea would prevent any real sunshine through the clouds.

It seemed that everything in Valora was made of gray stone, which was depressing in the rain. The buildings, while well-made and richly decorated, looked cold and cheerless in the early gray morning light. Even the empty streets were made of crafted stones carefully laid into patterns that Alex couldn’t quite make out.

Alex noticed that their path led up the side of a mountain, with switchbacks that wove back and forth several times. At each turning they passed through a wide gate. After passing through five gates, they came to a level path that led them into a massive open square. On the far side of the square was a castle that might have been white in proper sunlight, but under the storm clouds was as gray as all the other buildings.

They paused at the castle gate, where the twelve men who had accompanied Timold fell back and four men in gold and silver armor assumed the role of guards. Timold said a few quick words to the gatekeeper, and then he and the elf led Alex and Whalen into the castle. Alex could see very little of the inside of the castle, as most of its lamps were not lit. His mind was filled with thoughts about Darthon’s mystery sickness. Would he and Whalen be able to help? Could they detect whatever dark magic Jabez was using when a magical elf could not?

Finally, they entered a chamber high within the castle’s main building. The four guards who had followed them from the gate remained outside with two others who were already stationed there. The lamps were burning low, and Alex felt strangely unsettled.

“Wait here a moment,” Timold said, then he and the elf entered another nearby room.

“What do you think this is?” Alex asked Whalen.

“I don’t know,” Whalen answered. “There are many dark spells that can make men sick, but they don’t last this long usually. Dark magic does its work quickly. It may cause great pain for the sufferer, but it is almost always quick—or at least quicker than this.”

“Something Jabez learned from the Brotherhood, no doubt.”

“I fear so.”

Timold returned to the room alone. “Come this way, if you will. The healers fear that Darthon does not have much time left in this world. If you can do anything at all, now would be a good time.”

Alex and Whalen followed Timold down a short hallway and toward another dimly lit room. Timold entered first, followed by Whalen.

Inside the room, eight or nine shadowy figures crowded around a bed. On the bed lay a man, about fifty years old. A woman sat beside him who Alex suspected was his wife. Whalen marched up to the bed and looked down at the man with concern. “We will assist in any way we—” Whalen started to say and stopped.

Alex, still standing in the doorway, froze in place. He took a deep breath and smelled magic in the air. Licking his lips, he could almost taste it, and he knew that this illness was not the work of Jabez or any other wizard.

“Whalen, get them out,” Alex said in a deep, growling voice. “It is a trap. Get them all out. I will go for Darthon.”

“What? Alex, I don’t understand—what do you mean?”

“The dragon,” Alex answered. “Please, get them out of here.”

Alex didn’t wait to see if Whalen understood him or did what he asked. His mind had already moved away from his body and into a magical place that was both real and unreal at the same time. It was a place created by the mind of a dragon, and Darthon had been trapped there for a long time.

Alex blinked a few times to clear his vision and found himself in a wide, shadow-filled valley. Multicolored boulders formed strange shapes like nothing he’d ever seen in the real world. Plants and trees were everywhere, but they were all dead and gray; there was nothing green or living that Alex could see. An empty riverbed snaked through the valley floor, and Alex followed it as he began his search.

Walking was difficult, as the rocks in and along the empty river were large and jagged; clearly, no water had ever flowed past them to smooth their edges. Where there were no rocks, there was sand, so deep and soft it was difficult to walk through. It was hot in the valley, but there was no sun above him, and the sky was just another shade of gray. Alex pressed forward, his own will driving him on.

Minutes or hours passed and nothing really changed. Time and distance were meaningless here, and it was only Alex’s willpower and magic that kept him moving in the right direction. Obstacles appeared in his path, and Alex made his way around them or over them. He would not be stopped. It was a kind of maze, a winding path that always looked the same no matter where you looked or how far you walked. Finally, Alex found what he’d been looking for, but what he saw did not make him feel any better.

A golden dragon stood to one side of the dry riverbed, its eyes fixed on the small figure of a man. Alex knew that the figure was Darthon, or at least his mind and spirit, trapped inside the dragon’s spell. The figure of Darthon tried to escape, but the beast toyed with him as a cat would a mouse. Every time Darthon darted one way, the dragon blocked his escape. Every time Darthon tried to rest, the dragon would close in and force him to move.

“Hold!” Alex yelled, his voice booming through the valley like thunder.

It was a command that no mortal, not even a wizard, could give to a dragon. But Alex was more than a man, more than a wizard. He was a dragon lord.

The dragon turned to look at Alex, then it rose up on its hind legs and beat the air with its wings. Fire flared from the dragon’s mouth, filling the air but touching nothing else.

Alex took a few steps closer and leaned on his staff, watching the dragon.

After a time, the dragon settled down, resting on its haunches, ready to spring, but Alex’s command held it where it sat.

Alex focused his mind on the dragon in front of him. When he was certain it could not attack him in any way, he turned his attention to Darthon. He moved slowly forward, gently speaking Darthon’s name. Darthon stood as still as stone, his eyes looking into emptiness, seeing nothing. When Alex was close enough, he reached out and touched Darthon’s shoulder, speaking his name once more.

“I . . . I am lost,” Darthon mumbled. “I have wandered too far, and I can’t find my way back again.”

“Your people need you,” Alex said, watching Darthon’s face. “You must return to them and lead them in these troubled times.”

“My people. I must return, but I . . . I don’t know the way,” Darthon answered in a voice that was too tired for words.

“Remember Valora,” Alex said. “Remember your family and friends. They are waiting for you. You must go.”

“. . . must go,” Darthon repeated. “And you? Will you come to my kingdom? Will you aid us in our time of need?”

“I am already here, waiting for you,” Alex answered. He summoned a weir light, and the small ball hovered at eye level. It was the brightest thing in the entire valley, and the dragon roared in anger.

Darthon turned toward the light like it was the sun.

“Retrace my path,” Alex said to the weir light. “Lead Darthon home.”

The weir light bobbed and spun, making Alex smile.

“Go now,” Alex said to Darthon. “Follow the light. I will be there when you wake.”

The weir light began slowly floating back along the dry riverbed.

Darthon didn’t say anything, but he managed a weak smile. He lifted one hand, reaching for the light, and started walking. Alex watched him until Darthon and the weir light vanished into the distance. He knew that Darthon was making his way home.

Alex turned to face the dragon. The golden dragon remained ready to attack but sat motionless. For a moment, Alex considered taking his second true form as a great true silver dragon. In this magical place, he could do so easily, and just as easily destroy the enemy in front of him. He looked at the dragon once more, and then moved forward without changing.

“You know what I am,” Alex said. “You know what I can do if I choose to.”

The dragon did not answer; it simply nodded its head and then looked down at the ground, almost as if ashamed.

Alex had not expected this. He thought the dragon would speak to him. At the very least, he thought the dragon would try to bribe him or convince him that it had done nothing wrong. He let the silence grow between them, and with it his anger began to grow as well.

“You serve the evil of Conmar,” Alex said in a cold voice. “You do the bidding of the evil wizard Jabez. Have you nothing to say? Speak for yourself. I command you to speak.”

The dragon lifted itself on its hind legs once more. Flames and smoke issued from its mouth, and it let out a roar of pure rage, mixed with a deep agony. Stamping the ground and flapping its wings, the dragon twisted and twitched as if in great pain, but it said nothing. Finally, the dragon calmed and turned its head away from Alex, unwilling to face him.

“You cannot speak,” Alex said, suddenly understanding. “Jabez has stolen your voice. You are truly his slave.”

The dragon turned its head back to Alex, nodding slowly in pain and defeat. As Alex looked at the dragon he saw something he had never expected to see. It broke his heart and filled him with an inner rage at the same time. The dragon in front of him was crying.

“I will free you of this curse,” Alex said. “I swear by all that I am, I will free you from Jabez’s evil.”

The dragon might have smiled, but Alex couldn’t tell. After swearing his oath to free the dragon, both the valley and the dragon began to vanish like mist under the morning sun. The magic that had trapped Darthon was broken. Alex looked out across the fading emptiness, knowing that the dragon would never reveal to Jabez what had happened. Alex took a deep breath, bowed his head, and spoke one last time before returning to his physical body.

“I will free you and all of Jarro from the evil of Jabez.”

“Alex?” Whalen’s voice came softly in the darkness. “Alex, are you alright?”

“I am fine,” Alex answered slowly. “How long?”

“You have stood motionless since just after dawn, and the sun has already set,” Whalen answered. “The healers are afraid. You . . . you mentioned a dragon.”

“The dragon of Conmar,” Alex said. “The dragon that Jabez keeps as a slave. That trial has passed; Jabez will know nothing of it. Let the healers back in, and I will wake Darthon.”

Alex heard Whalen leave, and he slowly opened his eyes. The room was still dimly lit, and Darthon lay resting on his bed. Nothing looked different but many things had changed. Slowly, Alex stretched his stiff body, then took a few steps to the side of the bed. His senses were heightened, so the sound of Whalen and the healers returning seemed incredibly loud to Alex.

“Darthon,” Alex said softly once the healers had taken their places. “Darthon, it is time to wake up.”

Darthon’s eyes fluttered and opened. He tried to sit up but was too weak to manage it. The healers, including three more hooded figures, propped him up on pillows. Another healer gave him something to drink. Darthon took a swallow, coughed, and then finished the drink. Alex watched but did not speak, and Darthon’s eyes never left his face. He lifted his hand to Alex, and Alex reached out and took it.

“Praise the ancients you have come,” Darthon whispered. “In our darkest hours, you have come.”

“Rest,” said Alex. “You need food and rest. We can speak later.”

Darthon nodded and Alex turned to go. Whalen looked at him with an unasked question on his face. He followed Alex out of the room and down the hallway, where Timold was waiting for them.

“Darthon? He is recovered?” Timold asked.

“He is out of danger and will recover fully soon enough,” said Alex.

Timold breathed a sigh of relief. “You have done our people a great service this day, and your names will always be honored here. Come, I will lead you to a place where you can eat and rest.”

“Whalen may want food and rest, but I need something else,” Alex said. “A quiet place—a garden, perhaps. Someplace I can be alone for a time.”

“As you wish,” Timold replied, a puzzled look on his face.

“After great acts of magic, a wizard often needs to be alone to clear his mind,” Whalen said to Timold. “My friend will recover, but solitude will help him recover more quickly.”

“Then it shall be as he wishes,” Timold answered. “There is a garden here in the palace, and I will see that you are not disturbed.”

Timold led Alex and Whalen through the palace and into the garden. “I will place guards at the four entrances to the garden,” he said, looking at Alex to make sure that was acceptable. “If you should require anything, one of the guards will get it for you.”

“Thank you,” Alex answered absently, and walked into the garden alone. His mind was too full for anything but the memory of the crying dragon.

Alex didn’t notice Whalen and Timold leave; he just walked. When he came to a wall he turned and walked in a new direction. He didn’t keep track of how many times he paced through the garden. After a long time, he sat down on a bench near the center of the garden and cupped his head in his hands.

The crying dragon filled his mind, a dragon whose voice had been taken. It was so evil that Alex had trouble believing it was true, but he knew that it was. Whatever Jabez had done other than this, whomever he had hurt, no matter how many people he had put in danger, none of it was as evil as stealing the voice of the dragon. It was like stealing a piece of the dragon’s soul. Killing a dragon was sometimes necessary—Alex had killed an evil dragon on his very first adventure. Making a bargain with a dragon was possible. He had befriended the ancient dragon Salinor on the Isle of Bones. But to take a dragon’s voice away and enslave it was cruel, wicked, and hateful. It was like leaving a wounded animal to suffer. It was an evil like nothing Alex had ever faced before.

Alex sat in the garden until late into the night, his mind replaying what he had seen in the valley. The dragon had been ashamed about what had happened, but it was more than shame that made it cry. The dragon was in pain; its very soul had been torn in pieces by evil.

The dragon cried. And Alex, alone in the garden, cried as well.