Ring Realms Novel: Reality's Plaything Saga Collection

A Ring Realms Novel:

Reality's Plaything Saga,

Book 1:

Reality's Plaything

Will Greenway

http://www.writers-exchange.com

A Ring Realms Novel: Reality's Plaything Saga, Book 1: Reality's Plaything

Copyright 2000, 2001, 2007, 2011, 2013, 2015, 2016, 2024 Will Greenway

Writers Exchange E-Publishing

P.O. Box 372

ATHERTON  QLD  4883

AUSTRALIA

Cover art by: Gina Shellie

Published by Writers Exchange E-Publishing

http://www.writers-exchange.com

ISBN 9781876962029

Eighth Edition

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Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

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Dedication

To Joan Oppenheimer the Fearless Leader and the

ragtag band of workshop associates who put up with my insanity.

Two decades of spilling blood

for the sake of the craft,

they all have my blessings and thanks.

To Joan especially

who has been the inspiration

and guiding light for myself

and so many others...

A tip of the hat to the

Band of the Crescent Moon

the creative wellspring

from which many of the

characters and the world itself

burgeoned before I shaped it

with my unworthy hands.

Brad, Brian, D.J., Dave

Glenn, Jamie, Jeff, Kaye, Lyn

Rob, Robert, and Tony

Intrepid adventurers all,

They do great things in fantastic lands.

The Savants

The historians called it the millennium of the immortal storm. One thousand seasons had passed since the Silissian holocaust swept the globe of Titaan. The Saughuin invaders had been driven back into the murky depths of the sea, and the dwarven halls at Blackstar rang with the sounds of victory over the orc hordes.

It was an age of gods and those who would challenge them, when demi-gods and goddesses walked the land in the guise of mortals and took lovers and begot children.

Magic was strong and plentiful, and varied were the strains of man that came after the first dilutions of immort blood.

It was the rise of the Ivaneth Empire over a declining Corwin, when the greatest mages and warriors ever to walk the face of Titaan were born and grew strong.

Thence came the Krillar, and the Shael Dal, and the organized bands of adventurers whose strength was the equal of any kingdom's army.

This time also marked the rise of savants, known to the immortals as the Ka'amok. For eons, once every few decades men and women were chance gifted with the persistent life sparks of Gaea that made them the spiritual brothers and sisters to the pantheon lords. However, the gods treated them not as kin but as prey, hunting them to harvest their bodies for the ritual of succorunding--the forced binding of avatars. For eons that hunt had continued, until the first of true born walked the worlds and grew strong, seeking to end a thousand centuries of predation...

...There are twelve states of being. The first order of being is Jek'Acho, a state of life and activity without organized thought. Insects and other living things that can act only in a predetermined fashion exist at the level of Jek'acho. The twelfth and highest order, Tan'Acho is perfect synchronicity with the cosmos, the ability to redefine the laws that govern existence. It is believed that only Alpha, the prime First One can achieve Tan'Acho. I, however, am of a different mind. The Ka'Amok possess parts of Alpha's spark. It is my belief that properly motivated the right Ka'amok can be brought to Tan'Acho--even against their will.

--From the Dedriad, 'musings of an immortal'.

Chapter 1

One Hanging Too Many

"As good a gallows job as I ever did, and he survived anyway. Guess we'll have to hang him again." The gallows man's raspy words inspired both wonder and horror in Bannor. In the last moments before the scaffold hatch slammed open, he'd fervently wished he could survive and escape to find the slavers who took Sarai. If he died, his betrothed would suffer a life of misery beneath a slaver's lash.

Each detail stood out in Bannor's mind with sun-bright clarity--the race of his  heart in anticipation of death, the shock as the cord jerked taut, the flash of light around his body, and the crushing grip of the noose.

Gagging and trying to take air, he forced his eyes open. He felt the prickly kiss of raw hemp rubbing his cheek and the vibration of the rope as he spiraled. His neck burned as though wrapped in scalding cloth. A sodden collection of straw-roofed huts hunched beneath a slate-gray sky came into view. The air stank of spoiled straw and stagnant water. Needleleaf trees jutted up in the distance--sharp intrusions on the panorama of green foothills nestled beneath the majesty of Radigast pass.

As Bannor turned, he saw flabby, pig-faced boss Ratch dressed in moth-eaten sheepskins. Two men flanked Ratch, his mountainous enforcer who looked like a summer-sheared broadpaw wearing a floppy hat and suspenders, and the gallows man, a crater-faced scarecrow dressed in a jaundice yellow tunic.

Blackwater's drab inhabitants shuffled their feet as they stood in the road that went through the center of the village. They were a motley assortment of men, women and children dressed in rough burlap. None looked as if they'd ever been graced by soap and water.

Dark hair shrouded Bannor's face as he kicked on the end of the rope like a prize catch on a fisherman's stringer. His focused movements caused the townsfolk to murmur, men and women shying back as he struggled with the restraints. He narrowed steel gray eyes, hardened body tensing as he focused all his strength on getting free. Every instant that passed, Sarai was getting further away. The thought of her in the hands of Corwinian slavers only increased the urgency of his predicament.

What we do, Boss? The giant enforcer said in a raspy baritone. He not die.  We won't get our gold if--

Shut up! Ratch smacked him in the stomach. "Pull him down. We'll hang the murderer again. Do it right this time."

Gagging and coughing, temples thundering with his efforts to escape, the word 'murderer' sizzled through Bannor's consciousness. The gallowsman's perverted brother had brought it on himself trying to rape Sarai.  A clean death was better than that sadistic cur had deserved.

A muscle in the gallows man's cheek twitched. "It was done right."

Ratch's henchmen clambered onto the platform.

Breath hissing through clenched teeth he levered his tied arms.  Burning pain accompanied the prickly fibers tearing his flesh.  Slick blood lubricated the bindings allowing him to shift his arms.

Pull him up, the ruddy faced Gallowsman said.  This wolf is even tougher than he looks.

The burly enforcer grabbed Bannor's shoulders, fingers clamping down like the tongs of a blacksmith. The tension in the rope relaxed. The other man worked at pulling the trap door shut and resetting the bolt.

Bannor stared at the crowd. Dingy faces studied him with a mixture of fear and awe. He locked eyes with a young woman. Strings of greasy hair hung across her face. He saw no spark in the girl's eyes. She turned away when she felt his attention. No one else in the crowd would meet his gaze.

It was so sad. He was no stranger to this town. He had policed Blackwater for summers, dealing with all kinds of vermin, human and otherwise. He had helped them in their need many times, yet when these outsiders threatened him, not a soul would help. Cowards. People couldn't be trusted. For a little bit of food and clothing, they were willing to step aside and watch him die.

Bent over and trying to fit the bolt in the hole, the gallows man crouched at the edge of the scaffold. Bannor braced one foot against enforcer and kicked out with the other. Bone popped as his heel struck the hangman's unprotected head.

The man howled and hit the dirt, writhing and clutching his face.

The big man shook Bannor. "Do that again. I break your neck."

The irony of his words made Bannor want to laugh.

A woman's voice rang out from the edge of the square. "You aren't breaking anyone's neck. What you'll do is cut him loose."

Hope surged through him. He glimpsed the heavy skinning knife on the enforcer's belt, if he could grab that...

The villagers turned toward the speaker. A small woman of perhaps thirty summers swept across the road toward the gallows, a green cloak swirling behind her. Gold hair, that shone even in the somber daylight, framed a narrow face. She wore a short sword and several sheathed daggers like an experienced fighter.

Following the woman was the biggest Myrmigyne Bannor had ever seen. Ebony hair trailing in the breeze, she appeared a head taller than the enforcer and looked thick with muscle. She nocked an arrow in a great-bow and took a bead on the big man.

What do you want? Ratch snapped. Who are you?

The blonde woman stopped near the scaffold, a pace from where the gallows man muttered obscenities and wept. She looked Ratch up and down, lip curling. "The question is: what are you?"

The Myrmigyne gestured with the bow. The enforcer set Bannor on the scaffolding near the trap opening. A buzzing filled his head, as if insects swarmed inside his skull. The feeling waned. The short woman winced, glanced to the Myrmigyne and nodded.

Ratch reddened. Listen, woman, I--

The blonde lady's sword shrieked from the sheath, leaving a trail of sparks as it sliced open the boss' jacket leaving only a pink line on the skin beneath.

Tell him to cut him down. She pointed at the enforcer. Otherwise, Irodee will put a shaft right in this monster oaf's throat.

Ratch's mud-colored eyes went wide. You can't--

"Irodee, I changed my mind. Shoot him first."

The Myrmigyne swung the bow around.

Bannor stared at them.  They had come to free him.  Why? It occurred to him that he might be getting into a worse situation. He discarded the thought. What could be worse than dying and having your mate enslaved?

He sensed the enforcer tensing.

The blonde seemed to feel it too. Don't--your boss will be dead before you take a step. Her blue eyes glinted. She scanned the throng of murmuring villagers. "Anybody feel strongly enough about punishing this murderer that they'll risk crossing steel? Instants of silence passed.  She turned back to Ratch. I didn't think so. What'll it be?"

The enforcer spoke. Boss, we're not going to get our--

Shut up! He eyed the sword glowing in the woman's hand. Cut him loose.

But Boss--

Now!

Grumbling, the big man undid Bannor's wrists. He fumbled with the rope around Bannor's throat, it had cinched up mercilessly tight.  The skin was slick with blood. He still didn't understand why his neck hadn't snapped or how he had been able to continue breathing.

The blonde smiled, still keeping the sword ready. That's better. Step away. All of you. She gestured to Bannor. You--down here.

He jumped down next to her. One knee buckled and he caught himself. His legs felt like wet rags. He needed to stay alert, who knew what these two wanted.

She looked shorter than Sarai. The contours of her close fitting leather armor suggested a trained athletic body. The way she stood and held a weapon told him this was a person of dangerous skill.  Why are you helping me?

She tilted her head. Would you let an innocent man hang once, much less twice?

No.

Neither would I.

Innocent!? The gallows man bubbled through bloody hands. He killed my brother!

Bannor scowled. Twisted scoundrel tried to rape Sarai. He rounded on me with a knife, so I put an axe in him.

Sounds reasonable to me. The lady said with a shrug.  She glanced to her Myrmigyne companion. What do you think, Irodee?

Think town smell bad, Wren. We go.

Wren nodded. Bannor felt the odd buzz grow in his head, then dwindle again. His chest tightened. He felt dizzy.

The woman put the sword to Ratch's throat. Last thing. Where was the elf, Sarai, taken?

He paled. I don't-- He gagged as the blade pressed into his skin. West, toward Marintown.

Thank you.

They knew about Sarai.  What was going on? How did you--? he started.

Rescue first, conversation later. West. She pointed.

Bannor took a breath and the queasiness passed. Eying Ratch's henchmen, he walked in the direction indicated. Irodee stayed close behind. He glanced back to see what the shorter woman did.

She drew a dagger and flipped it into a throwing position. Pointing to the fat man she said, Don't follow us. They aren't paying you for that kind of grief. With a casual flip of her wrist she launched the weapon.  The blade whirled out and impaled the hanging rope ten paces distant and hung there vibrating. Get me? She leaned her head to one side and whispered a word.  *Stervallen*. She snapped her fingers and the dagger reappeared in her grip. It drew a chorus of breaths from the audience.

Boss, we're not--

Quiet!

The whole town watched as they walked into the forest. The two women kept a brisk pace, not saying a word. They moved as though woods-wise, staying on hard ground and balancing along dead-falls to prevent leaving tracks.

The hanging had taken more out of him than he first realized. All the rocks and trees appeared ringed by a white corona. Odors were distorted as well, the scent of needleleaf and sage, even the traces of the recently passed storm smelled strong. His skin tingled, and he felt hot.

How's the neck?

He struggled to keep his voice level. Hurts. I didn't get a chance to thank you.

It's only fair. You'll be helping me soon.

Bannor rubbed his throat. He took extra care picking through some bracken in their path. He needed to look strong until he knew whether he could trust them. He needed to get on Sarai's trail fast. You assume much. I know nothing of you.

My name is Wren. That's Irodee. You're Bannor Starfist. Those thugs were paid to kidnap your girlfriend, Sarai. You resisted; the big guy clubbed you. Being nice ladies, we helped out.

Bannor stumbled on a root and caught himself by leaning against a tree. The texture of the bark felt all wrong, smooth instead of with ripples and indentations. He strained to stay focused on Wren. How do you know all this?

The Myrmigyne shook her head. Irodee think Wren going too fast.

Hey, whose rescue is this anyway?

Bannor moved a little further, then stopped and leaned against a boulder. He couldn't concentrate on talking and walking at the same time. I want to know why you helped me. What do you expect in return? I won't do anything--

--until we get Sarai back. I knew that.

Bannor clutched the sides of his head. It would be bad enough without the world spinning. Stop finishing my sentences for me!

Only trying to save time. We have to move fast to catch those slavers.

Bannor rubbed his eyes. His vision cleared slightly. Strange as this woman was, she did appear sincere, and he needed help. All his equipment and weapons were locked away in town.

Slowly this time, as if this were a normal conversation. I'm Bannor and you are--?

Wren half smiled. I'm Wren Kergatha, this is Irodee De'Falcone. We've been looking for you. We would have stopped them before they hung you, but Irodee insisted on following me into the jailhouse. She glanced at the bigger woman. It took a while to dislodge her posterior from the window.

Irodee reddened. Not Irodee's fault!

Later.

He sat down on the rock as another wave of dizziness hit. What--why were you there?

Getting your equipment.

Irodee removed a pack and pulled out his traveling items and his hand-axes.

Wren frowned. Are you all right?

He put a hand to his head. Don't know--I feel-- He tried to continue, but his throat constricted. Dots danced in his vision. His stomach tightened. Odin, I--

He sensed Wren and Irodee lowering him to the ground. The view of the forest canted to one side. His heart thundered. Wren's words distorted, some distinct, others lost in confusion of sound.

Bannor... backlash... awake... He felt himself being shaken. Her warm hands pressed against his brow.

So strange.  He had escaped the noose, only to die like this.  Sarai,  what would happen to her if he died?

A voice rang in his head. He didn't hear it with his ears so much as feel it. The word hummed through him. Each utterance came through clear and concise with no slur or accent, too powerful to have issued from human lungs.

Blackness pushed at the edges of his mind's eye. He saw visions of Sarai's misty lavender eyes staring into his, the kitten-soft touch of her fingers on his cheek, her breathy elven accent giving grace to guttural human speech. Images of her suffering made him burn like fire.

A sharp pain coursed through the darkness. He experienced a strange duality. The real world, wrapped in a blanket of shimmering colors, the silhouettes of the two women moving around him, their probing fingers a distant tingling.

The dreamy illusions swayed and danced like shadows cast from a campfire.

He felt the words more strongly.

A single bright pattern blotted out everything. It pulsed with life, not his but another's. It swelled until he felt he would burst trying to contain it.

He felt a sharp twisting sensation, and the light vanished. Thoughts--not his own--female. Gaea, it's hard enough doing it to myself. He felt a curious warmth spread through him. Come on--respond!

He wanted to rage at her, to demand to know what was happening. Why couldn't he see? Where had his voice gone?

Sparks flared like traces dislodged by a blacksmith's hammer striking a molten ingot. Again.

Damn, he's stubborn. A sharp prickling sensation, then a cascade of flashes.

Everything turned white.

The worst part of immortality is not boredom. There is always something new to entertain. No, what makes immortality difficult, is a lack of goals to aspire to. You can't kill your chief rivals, they just keep reforming. Conquering territory and mastering space holds the interest for a few millennia, but even that gets dry after a while. For an immortal to feel true satisfaction, someone is going to have to change the rules. Someday, I shall be that one.

--From the Dedriad, 'musings of an immortal'.

Chapter 2

Dream Escape

Bannor awoke with a start, realizing he was staring into a campfire. He sat up and pushed the blanket into his lap. His temples and stomach ached. His neck felt stiff, and he found it difficult to move without pain.

He rubbed his eyes and looked around. Stars sparkled through ragged holes in the canopy of clouds. The gurgle of a brook nearby accompanied the chirping of night insects. Brisk air brought the scents of burning heatherwood and cooked meat. The need to find Sarai didn't feel as urgent as before. They were already following the slave caravan that took Sarai.  Why did he know that?

Irodee sat across from him leaning against a boulder, her ebony hair loose and spilling into her lap. Wren lay next to her, a cloak pulled around her. The blonde woman's face looked pale in the orange light. Irodee poked the fire with a branch, the flames reflecting in her dark eyes. The women must have carried him some distance because the trees ringing the grassy clearing were whitebarks and not needleleaf. The only groves of that breed lay a league south of Blackwater.

Drink. Irodee handed a clay cup across the fire.

Bannor took it mechanically. As his head cleared, all his senses became sharp and distinct. The cup felt warm, its surface worn and dusty. Steam curled out, carrying the scent of an herbal broth.

He sipped the sweet brew. It tasted of bird-meat and seasonings he assumed were medicinal. After a few more sips, his curiosity about what had happened began to nag. It appeared Irodee wouldn't provide an answer without prompting. Brushing her hair, she only watched him. Even sitting, she cut an imposing silhouette.

What happened to me?

She threw some twigs in the fire. Wren calls it backlash.

Bannor watched the slivers of wood contort in the flames, popping and sputtering. What do you call it?

A league's worth of heavy toting.

He sighed. Backlash? Backlash from what?

Wren rolled over. Irodee rubbed the woman's shoulder.

Wren said you two were looking for me. Why?

Irodee frowned and threw some more wood into the flames. Hecate's minions planned to slave you. We stop them.

Bannor digested that. Slave? But the slavers took Sarai, not him. What kind of sense did that make?  Why would a goddess or her minions want him, as a slave, or otherwise?

Bannor digested that. Slave? But the slavers took Sarai, not him. What kind of sense did that make? Sarai had told him stories describing the avatars as harbingers of chaos. Why would an avatar want him, as a slave, or otherwise?

Until recently, his life had been placid. Five winters ago he'd taken a position with Baron's scouting corps. He patrolled South Realm's border valleys to protect the kingdom from vermin like the orcs and goblins. There'd been scuffles and their inevitable scars, but nothing remarkable except for meeting Sarai. That remained a treasured moment.

It brought him back to his original thought. Why would an avatar want him? There must be some reason--and probably a good one. What did Wren and Irodee get out of it?

Why would Hecate want to enslave me?

Irodee made a disgusted sound. Slavery is slavery. You not want to be avatar's slave, right?

He shook his head. But... why?

Who cares. Slavery wrong, we stop it. See?

Bannor saw. The Myrmigyne's answer was more evasion than solution. Wren must know why Hecate wanted him. It would be a good reason to compel these two to interfere. From the tiny bit he saw of the blonde woman, she was not the type to run around the countryside bestowing random acts of kindness.

Bannor should sleep. Long run tomorrow before we get horses. Irodee not carry you this time.

Bannor sighed. Perhaps Wren would give him a better explanation. He hoped Sarai was all right. Wish I could find out, tell her I'm alive. She must think I'm dead...

He thought it would be hard to fall asleep, but a wave of exhaustion hit him. By the time he'd adjusted his bedroll and made a pillow from a pack and some clothes, his eyelids felt leaden.

A few long breaths and a last glance into the dark serenity of Irodee's eyes and consciousness faded...

Drifting. Bannor felt an irresistible tugging. Dragged upward, he soared away from the ground. A powerful force propelled him across the sky. He climbed through mists and emerged in an indigo sky dappled with stars.

He noted that all his sensations were muted and distant. He felt the wind chilling his face as he flashed out over a sea of knotted gray fleece, but the sensation was peculiar--unreal. He marveled at pillars of clouds that rose to support the arch of the heavens. Even the way he saw things seemed fuzzy and less distinct. His heart pounded, but the sensation registered as though not in his body at all.

Dreaming, he told himself. Drawn toward the valley between the rocky fangs of the Marin spur, he descended. Snow crowned the highest outcrops and fog shrouded them in a gauzy cloak. He saw a line of fires at the base of the pass.

He was being sucked toward the flickering lights like a bug caught in a whirlpool. The rocky pass grew, then the details of a long caravan narrowing to a single wagon in their midst. It became dark and the sense of momentum stopped.

As his vision adjusted, he determined he must now be inside a wagon. A slice of firelight between segments of the tarp gave a sketchy view of the cramped interior cordoned off by rows of metal bars. The malodor of mildew and spoiled straw smelled oddly weak as if the sense had to travel leagues to reach his brain. In the corner, a single figure lay hugging itself and sobbing softly.

His distant insides tightened and his heart stopped. Sarai! It no longer mattered whether this was a dream or not.

Straw blew away to either side as he rushed to her. Sarai!

The elf's lavender eyes went wide, glowing in the darkness. Her mouth opened in a shriek.

No--No! Sarai, it's me, Bannor! He tried to smother her cries with his body. Hugging Sarai's shuddering form. Though he couldn't truly feel it, he sensed the chilled condition of her skin. The woman's tattered tunic and dress fluttered as though caught in a gale. Her silver hair fanned outward as if she floated underwater.

Bannor? she said in hesitant voice.

It's me. His far away heart thundered. He stroked Sarai's hair and sparks danced down the strands like tiny glow-bugs. Dipping his face into the curve of her neck, he tried to get a hint of her smell.  Muted by the leagues separating them, he could only imagine her unique fragrance. Her pale flesh glowed as though lit by candles. I don't know how, but I'm here. I escaped. Now, I'll free you.

Bannor, it sounds like you. Why can't I see you?

I'm here. He kissed Sarai, pulling her soft body against his. Since their separation, he'd longed to hold his beloved again.

Sarai's lithe body shone in the darkness like a beacon. Gasping, she pushed him back. What's happening? It's like I'm full of light! She held out a glowing hand. Probing, her downy fingers found his face. My One, it's as if you're made of mist.

Bannor looked at himself. He saw only a faint outline as if he'd become a chalk drawing. He contained his amazement. I'll get you out of here. Pulling away, he went to the bars. Straw swirled out of his path. Braced, he might be able to snap the thin rusty iron. He gripped the metal. Molten pain shot through his arms.

He snatched his hands back. Red glows throbbed where his palms should be. Damn! Dust and splinters of wood spiraled as though caught in whirlwind. He threw himself at the bars.

Agony ripped through him. Bannor hit the frosty ground beside the wagon howling. Dirt, snow and gravel flew all directions, campfires flickered out, and caravan guards screamed warnings. Two men sitting by a nearby fire stiffened and fell over as if turned to stone.

Odin's beard, he'd become a ghost! He righted himself. Sarai yelled his name. Without thinking, he dove back into the wagon. He felt the same excruciating shock as the cold iron tried to suck the life out of him. He held in a curse. The effort made him dizzy.

Bannor wrapped his arms around his betrothed to comfort her. How could he tell Sarai he'd become a spirit? Somehow he'd died and now wandered the world as nothing more than a bodiless presence.

said a female voice that made both of them twitch.

Somehow this voice sounded clearer and more distinct, more tangible than

his own.

Sarai yelped. Bannor turned. A red outline shaped like a huge bird of prey hovered nearby. The voice sounded familiar. Who are you?

The entity sighed.

Wren? I don't-- he started.

she snapped.  Flames flared around the image causing the debris on the floor to smolder.

He sensed the urgency in Wren's tone.  He kissed Sarai, not wanting to part.  I promise we'll get you out.

Wren said.  Something gripped his arm and dragged him skyward.  He braced for the searing pain but none came.

Clouds whipped past. Wren moved them much faster than when he went on his own. Passing through iron or silver is deadly while in this state. The lords only know how you survived. Do us both a favor. Don't do it again!

He felt silly nodding, not knowing whether she was looking at him. Yes. What--how--?

Wren growled. You're asking me? It took me a long time to learn astral travel. They paused high over the sea of clouds. She seemed to be looking around.

Talent? That would have to be what the avatar wanted. How did you find me?

Wren snorted and white streaks shot through her outline. She kept scanning the heavens. He assumed what she looked for couldn't be seen in the skies around them.

The pause concerned him. Why did we stop?

Bannor strained to grasp what this all meant. Then we're not physically here. What I'm seeing is... what?

A sinking feeling hit Bannor. And this 'tao' is easily detected?

The bird image burned brighter.

Magic. What was she talking about? He didn't have magic.

She tugged on him again. The sky around them shimmered like a rainbow. The clouds and stars faded to become a gray realm marred by rips of obsidian dotted with colored lights. Odd shaped islands drifted by like ocean-bound flotsam. Nebulous areas of dark gray boiled in the distance. Occasionally, a bright streak illuminated the roiling masses.

Bannor could see himself again. His skin glowed and he wore his best battle-skins and boots. The war-bow Sarai made for him rode on his shoulder and his axes lay in their sheaths. Here Wren appeared as an exotic hawk with flames for feathers and talons of winking diamond.

He struggled to cope with the new environment. In the skies of Titaan, he possessed no body, but he could smell the storm's aftermath, hear the whistle of frosty night air. Here his form was substance without feeling; no sounds, smells, not even the taste of moisture on his lips.

She fanned her wings over him. It felt as if a hot desert wind blew in his face. A blue radiance licked around his body.

What is this place? He pointed at the rolling chaos in the distance.

Bannor's mind reeled. Are you sure we're not dreaming?

The bird's eyes gleamed. She soared away, pulling Bannor along.

The realm contorted around them. Isles and clouds of matter buzzed past at a phenomenal speed. She slowed, circling and entering an area suffused by a black radiance.

A single titanic figure surrounded by a squirming sea of smaller creatures filled the shadowy zone. An ebony snake with a hood large enough to cast a city in darkness, undulated slowly across the astral-scape. Its eyes burned and its mouth hung agape. Tree-sized fangs dripped green liquid. In each of its scales Bannor saw the images of people in torment. As they watched, the monster struck down into the massed beings around it and came away with a squirming bounty of screaming creatures.

Bannor felt his guts churn as the snake masticated its prey and the shrieking dwindled. A new row of scales appeared around the giant entity's neck, each plate now filled with a writhing victim.

By Odin, what is that thing? It felt as if icy hands gripped his insides.

Wren's bird form dimmed. Her voice sounded hard.

Why would that thing want me?

Her voice dropped.

Power of Gaea?  What do I have to do with this Gaea? I'm a woodsman, a border guardian. I'm nothing special!

Wren emphasized. 

What power?

Wren countered with a question.

Of course!

How do I know you're not as bad as she is?

she waved a wing toward the monstrosity. 

His mind whirled. The nightmarish apparitions of Hecate loomed behind Wren. If she was telling the truth, these creatures were arrayed against him. He couldn't protect Sarai from them. He barely escaped from those three ruffians. Wren knew the enemy. She knew about his power and how to use it.

If she was an enemy, he could always rebel against her later. He would need someone like Irodee to help him get Sarai away from those slavers.

Guess I'll have to trust you for now.

The bird bowed, sparks of yellow dancing through its plumage. Bannor felt himself pulled back the way they'd come.

He felt a chill. Will they ever stop looking for me?

Ripples of blue shot through Wren's flames.

They plunged out of the gloomy astral and back into the sparkling night sky. Spiraling down through the clouds toward a single patch of countryside that expanded beneath them.

It sounds like you have a plan.

That sounded simple enough.  Why didn't he think it would end up that way?

The unenlightened feel that death is the end of being. They are wrong, what they consider death, is merely an altering of one's existence, a shifting from one state of consciousness to another. In fact, I have done extensive research in this area. For some reason, this appears to upset many beings. Some have gone as far as calling me a murderer. Don't these creatures realize I am doing them a favor? They get the distinct opportunity to change and grow closer to the creators. Something we of the pantheons have always been denied.

--From the Dedriad, 'musings of an immortal'.

Chapter 3

Pursuit of the Truth

Bannor spent daybreak with nothing to talk to but rocks, grass, trees and the occasional spine-berry bush. Wren let Irodee choose the trail for their pursuit of the caravan holding Sarai. The giantess picked a route that cut through the roughest territory in South Realm.

Though it was the shortest path, Bannor voted for a different way. Wren overruled him by saying if he wanted help, he'd trust their judgment. Bannor avoided saying that he didn't think Wren could keep up through that terrain. He'd made the trek on several occasions, and he never journeyed that way unless forced. The faint track not only cut through the heart of orc territory, but gullies, rocky slopes, and dense thickets that made it treacherous as well as risky.

Wren said her plan was simple, but there had to be more to it than just rescuing Sarai and running. He didn't get to ask because all of his breath was consumed by the run. Irodee set a brutal pace through the winding Sepacawchee river valley; a boulder infested tangle of briar-wood, itch-leaf, and snag-root.

When running with others, Bannor usually had to slow down to let them keep up. Not with the Myrmigyne. Irodee leaped over bushes, ducked through thickets, forded streams and negotiated rock falls without missing a stride. It took all his stamina to keep from falling behind. At first, he worried that Wren wouldn't keep up. He soon discovered his fears were unfounded. She ran as if her feet never touched the ground. If anything, she maintained the pace easier than him or Irodee.

Four leagues down the valley, Irodee stopped for a break in a large cluster of boulders that lay in the shadow of an anvil shaped outcrop. A handful of scraggly trees grew in between the rocks, and clumps of blue dapple-flowers grew along the edges of a creek that ran down from a crack in the cliff.

A pair of unhappy thistle-wings chastised them from the branches of a nearby tree as Bannor dropped his pack. He slumped in the grass. His mouth tasted like old leather and his chest burned. He made fists to stop the shaking of his hands. Forcing slower breaths, he sniffed the honey-like redolence of the flowers. The scent mingled with the muted odors of algae and mineral-rich water.

Irodee sat by a boulder, stuck her spear in the ground, and took a pull from a water skin. The woman's olive skin glistened with perspiration.

Wren sat next to him, breathing heavily. Her face looked flushed and trails of moisture ran down her cheeks.

It took a few moments for Bannor to be able to speak. You're a good runner.

Wren picked up a twig and twirled it between her fingers. You learn when you spend most of your life being chased.

I suppose you'll tell me about it sometime?

She didn't smile. Maybe.

Something about the way she said it, snapped his restraint. Why is everything a secret!? I've yet to get a straight answer from you!

The twig broke in her fingers. Bannor, lower your voice. I can hear fine.

Good! I understand Hecate's threat. What you keep dancing around is why you chose to help me. What's in this for you?

Wren tossed the sprig away. Bannor, I'm not any more inclined to answer you now than before. I have my own security to consider.

He felt a rush of heat. Your security--!

The Myrmigyne cut in. Irodee thinks Bannor should calm down before he takes a deep swim in a shallow stream.

Bannor thinks Irodee should stay out of this, he growled back. Wren, I don't accept that. What about me is so secret that even I don't have a blasted right to know?

Wren's blue eyes met his. Look woodsman, shaking your fist at me won't change my mind. I've faced lots worse. An ability like yours is addictive, once you start using it, it's tough to stop. Until you have control, you are dangerous. So the less you know, the safer we'll be.

He'd never wanted to punch a woman so bad. Bannor slammed fist in the grass. "I don't accept that. I wish you'd just blasted well tell me!"

A gust of hot air blew through the clearing. Wren yelped and rolled as miniature bolts of lightning attacked her from all sides. Wren's tumbling body left a wake of singed grass. Bannor...!

Wren! Irodee dashed over, only to be knocked back by the field of crackling energy.

Stop it! Wren cried. A hard white glare formed around her body.

Bannor's chest ached and thunder pounded in his temples. Clenching his hands, he felt a vibration as if he'd grabbed a swarm of angry insects. Circles of green light shimmered around his fists.

The blue radiance pushed inward again and Wren yelled.

As Wren struggled, Bannor felt a corresponding twist in his own chest. Odin's eye, it was coming from him! He flinched back as the whiteness surged outward with a crack.

The attacking force vanished. It felt as if a hammer crashed into Bannor's forehead.

Wren gasped. The blaze from her body hurt his eyes.  She staggered to a boulder and slammed both hands against it.

Thunder rolled through the clearing. A wave of air slammed him backward into the stream. The world grayed then came back into focus. Frosty water ran around his hands and knees. A ringing droned in his ears.

He blinked. A pile of gravel scattered across the hillside was all that remained of the rock. A fifty pace swath of shattered saplings, uprooted bushes, and scarred boulders spread out from the explosion's origin.

Bannor felt numb. All that came from him.

Face crimson, Wren strode to him, grabbed his tunic and yanked him out of the water. "Don't you ever do that again! Bannor could only stare at her. You--" The woman clutched her temples and moaned. She warred with some inner demon for several moments, then appeared to get herself under control again.

Damn. Irodee! Wren turned to the Myrmigyne who lay in the grass groaning.

Can Irodee kill him? the big woman muttered, sitting up and clutching her head.

Wren examined the Myrmigyne. You're okay. Sit still, I'll be back in a moment. Obviously relieved, she rose and pointed at him. Get up.

He stood, hands shaking. Wren grabbed his collar and towed him over to the destroyed boulder.

See that? What if it had been Sarai instead of me? Does this prove to you how dangerous you are? She scooped up some gravel and let the pieces fall through her fingers. That's what Hecate wants-- She paused and her eyes hazed over for a moment. "The most powerful kind of savant, the Garmtur'Shak Nola."

I didn't mean to--

I know you didn't do it on purpose! she snapped. Just don't do it again. Keep a grip on your emotions. She was obviously struggling not to lash out at him. Behind those hard eyes Wren was scared.

He swallowed. Garmtur'Shak Nola--that was elven for master of magic's key. In anger he'd attacked her with his talent. Somehow she'd grappled with the magic and defeated it. How did you--?

I'm-- Wren started.

Wren? Irodee gave her a warning look.

She paused as if trying to remember something. "I'm a Kel'Varan Nola, a savant of forces." She shook her head and went to sit next to Irodee.

The Myrmigyne put a hand on Wren's arm and peered at the woman as if there might be something wrong with her.

A cold feeling swept through Bannor. The acrid smell of burned vegetation made his stomach churn. He stared at the debris and realized Wren was right. That could have killed anybody. He studied the two. Irodee appeared shaken, but undamaged. Wren sat cross-legged, head bowed.

He couldn't let this happen again. What caused it? He got angry and it happened. How was it similar to the two other times his power activated? At the gallows he'd been scared, not angry. The astral traveling happened in his sleep. Neither time did the power respond as he would have expected.

Even as he considered, he saw the lure. She was probably right, ignorance would be safer. What he didn't know about, he wouldn't be tempted to ponder or experiment with. He glanced again at the shattered boulder. Somewhere inside him lay an incredible power, one that worked by special rules.

Don't you think it's natural to want to know about yourself? he asked.

Wren's shoulders slumped. Of course it's natural. It's just damn unhealthy at this stage in your development.

Irodee shook her head. Is Wren all right?

The savant nodded. I was dizzy. I'm okay now. She looked at Bannor. Your power is a lot more dangerous than the others I've worked with.

He frowned. You know other of these 'savants'?

Wren turned to look straight at him. My father, my brother, and one of my best friends are savants.

He sat by her. That many? It sounds like you're surrounded by them, I've never even heard of such a thing!

Neither had I, until I found out what had been done to me. She scowled. Apparently the memory of it made her angry.

He sensed this was the crux of everything. 

What was done to you?

Wren's eyes hardened. "I originally came from a different land, in a city named Cosmodarus. Hecate learned that savant blood ran in the Kergathas.

When I was seven, she enslaved my parents and separated my brother and I. The priests brought me here to Titaan to the temple in Corwin to be succorond--molded as an avatar host."

Irodee walked to where her spear and bow lay on the ground. She brought them back and started cleaning the weapons.

Weren't Hecate's precincts destroyed two decades ago?

That's what saved me. The forces of Ukko and Isis assaulted the temple, and I escaped in the confusion. It left me alone in the street, still in shock, my mind half wiped. I went fifteen summers not knowing I even had a family. She gritted her teeth. Bannor, I loathe Hecate. Her avatar Mishaka tore my universe apart simply to watch me cry. She took a dagger from her boot and flipped it. I didn't want to invade your life. Flipping you on your head isn't for fun. It makes both of us uncomfortable--

"Makes Irodee very uncomfortable."

Wren shook her head. Hecate has an agenda. We don't know what it is exactly. We do know she's trying to figure out how savants like you come to be. How she would use you in that pursuit isn't likely to be pleasant.

Being carted off as a slave is a pretty strong hint, Bannor said with a frown.

She nodded.  You're getting it.  I hate Hecate for what she did to me. So, anything that messes up her plans is all right with me. Since you are her goal, keeping you away from her is mine.  Not hard to follow.

No, he responded. If indeed it was that simple. Well, you did rescue me, I am grateful for that. I apologize for being so suspicious. Until I met Sarai, I was a loner. I trust few people and you've hit all my raw nerves since we met.

Irodee chuckled. Wren rubs everyone the wrong way.

Hush!

Bannor smiled. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--

Wren held up a hand. "Save it. I'd rather hear you promise not to experiment with your power. I told you more than I should have... Her voice trailed off. Let it go--this is the wrong time and place."

He met her eyes. "There'll be a right time and place?"

Wren snorted. You jest? Of course. You'll be a bloody menace otherwise. She glanced toward the destroyed boulder and pointed the dagger at him. I want to hear you promise.

Okay, but will you answer one question first?

She rolled her eyes. What?

After the gallows, you said I got talent backlash, right?

Wren flipped the dagger and caught it. Yes. I had to enter your mind to fix it.

I didn't need it after we astral traveled. Right now, I must have just put out a hundred times as much magic. Why no backlash?

That's because-- Her brow furrowed. "Damn--good question. It took all my will to counter the backlash from turning your attack..." She pursed her lips, obviously intrigued by the possibilities.

Whatever, only curious, I promise not to experiment. At least, not until he knew more.

Everyone refilled their water-skins and ate a few pieces of waybread. They spent the rest of the day moving at a fast march.

Irodee's strategy was to move quickly in the cool of the early morning and proceed at double time in the afternoon. This way they could average seven leagues a day. Even with horses, a big caravan like the one carrying Sarai would be lucky to move four leagues. The slavers left three days ahead of them, and the trek through the Marin pass would slow them considerably. By afternoon on the third day they should be at the top of the mountain passage and within striking distance of the caravan.

Sarai would be back in his arms. The thought made a tingle race through him. Star, I'm coming.

They camped in a shallow grove of spice-wood where the Sepacawchee valley forked, running south into the Gragrin Mountains and northwest where it opened into Varheath Lake. They'd covered twelve leagues since Blackwater.

The odor of gnarled spice-woods permeated the air. The pungent aroma that smelled like a blend of mildew and heavy pepper-spice. Nothing else could grow underneath the acrid canopy, and the ground was a solid mat of dead leaves and crinkled pink seed-berries.

They made a small fire after clearing an area. Mists welled out of the valley and made the air wet and miserable. The flames silhouetted the spice-trees against the fog, making it look as if they were back in the astral realm. Bannor felt uneasy. Something didn't feel right.

We did good today, Irodee said poking the fire with her spear. Bannor not hold us up like I thought.

He thrust a branch in the fire causing sparks to flare. "Scouting is my profession."

Irodee grinned. Doesn't mean you're any good.

Bannor snorted and stood. I'm going to look around. You want to take second watch?

Irodee nodded.

Don't get lost.

Funny. He took an oil-dampened brand from his pack, unwrapped it, and lit it in the fire. Shaking his head, he started a sweep of the perimeter.

He found the first quarter of the circle clear except for some blackhorn tracks. A broad-wing made its distinct hooing in the limbs overhead. He stopped and rubbed his prickling arms as he caught the hint of something that smelled even worse than the spice-woods. His stomach twisted. He hoped his first instinct was wrong.

Bannor followed the odor into an open section between the trees where the ground was covered with leaves. He kicked the thick foliage around. His toe struck some covered over rocks.

Irodee! You better see this. He kicked around finding several more hidden circles of rocks.

The towering Myrmigyne loomed out of the fog carrying her spear. What?

Take a look. He finished clearing away the leaves that hid the fire ring. The blade from a broken iron dagger lay in the debris as well.

Irodee frowned and took his torch. She examined the blade and the stones. Orcs--they probably broke camp this morning.

Bannor sniffed and made a face. From the size of that badly covered latrine I'd say over fifty of them.

What Irodee doesn't like is, they're covering up. That means--

--They're looking for something. Probably us.

Recently, I have heard speculations that the life essence of mortals, that thing they refer to a soul or spirit, is actually a fragment of the immutable Alphaforce. It is an interesting theory, and lends support to why the most powerful magics can be fueled by this persistent mortal essence. I think many of us knew the value of souls long before we started using them to further enhance our powers. For myself, I have always found them to be delectable.

--From the Dedriad, 'musings of an immortal'.

Chapter 4

Ghost of a Chance

"So you agree, the orcs could be looking for us?"

Bannor studied Wren's reaction in the firelight. Face set, she hugged her knees. I wouldn't rule it out.

The fire crackled and sputtered, illuminating tendrils of mist as they curled through the clearing. Rubbing his prickling arms, Bannor hunched to warm himself. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of burning spice wood.

Irodee doubts it. The Myrmigyne pulled a blanket around her shoulders, and continued polishing her spear. It is orc territory. They're a raiding party.

Wren grimaced. "We'll treat them as if they are looking for us. Tomorrow we'll be extra alert. You don't think we have to worry tonight do you, Bannor?"

He shook his head. If the orcs planned on returning to that camp, they wouldn't have covered up.

Good, then we'll do the watches as we discussed.

Bannor frowned, listening to the night insects. Something in the area had felt wrong since they arrived. Could it be someone watching them?

Irodee spell you in three bells. She slipped a sheath over the end of her spear and laid it and the bow next to her bedroll.

Wren arranged herself as well. Bannor stared at the dancing tongues of fire leaping from the wood. He tossed some twigs into the flames. How strange everything became in only two days. In that short time, he'd gone from being a woodsman to some kind of mage.

How would he explain this to Sarai? His chest tightened at the thought of his beloved freezing in a metal cage somewhere in the Marin pass. He dwelled on it for only an instant, then glanced at the slow rise and fall of Wren's chest. He had to go see Sarai again.

How? The power lay in him, but obviously wasn't triggered by whim.

The desire probably had to be focused. What had he been thinking last night? He had wished to tell her he was alive.

He sat on his bedroll, leaned back and studied the fog eddying through the branches overhead.

He knew it could be done. He simply had to make his blasted power work. He closed his eyes. He wished to travel again.

After a long period of trying, he sat up and let out a breath. Nothing. Why didn't it work? Did it only happen when he didn't expect it?

He prowled around the edge of the clearing, frustration churning in his stomach. Standing by a gnarled tree, he peeled off hunks of bark and considered what he might be doing wrong.

Something was getting in his way. He rubbed his fingers together, rolling the sticky sap into a ball. Was he blocking himself?

He looked back to the two sleeping women silhouetted in flickering light. How did Wren learn to control her power? The Myrmigynes taught body focus, being attuned with the physical. Mages taught metaphysical awareness.

He went back and sat on his bedroll. Damn it. All I want is to comfort my beloved!

His body tingled and went numb. He barely caught himself before his head smacked against the ground, then relaxed. A cool wind blew through his mind. The vapor writhing through the clearing faded into translucency.

Floating. Elation over his success rushed through him.

He hovered over himself, the flames licking up through his ephemeral body. His form lay with its arms crossed. He studied the placid face as if it were someone else's. A wolf's features; skin darkened from a life spent in the elements, wide-set eyes beneath feathery brows, a prominent nose and broad jaw. Sarai trusted that face. Nothing would keep him from protecting her.

He glanced at Wren and Irodee. Neither stirred. Even asleep, the image of the phoenix faintly outlined the savant.

This was risky. Hecate's creatures might sense him.  He wished he could conceal himself like Wren.

Green light flooded around his astral form. The lanky specter of the great mountain wolf sprang into being around him.

He sighed. No wonder Wren wanted him to wait until he got tutoring from a master.

Bannor willed himself to Sarai. He rose through the mists and streaked over the rocky countryside. Clouds dappled the starlit night. A glowing sliver of Pernithius, the harvest moon, peeked between the summits of the western mountains. Icy wind nipped at his face, and sent chills down his outspread arms.

How did he feel things with no body?  Wren said something about the tao being his 'true' form? Could she really mean that this misty almost intangible body was his 'real' self?  That was just too bizarre to accept.

He covered the distance to the pass in the time it took for three long breaths. A ring of six campfires glowed in the rocks at the base of the ascent.

He felt a twinge of concern.  The procession hadn't moved from the spot he found them in yesterday.

Flashing to within a stone's throw, he discovered the fires weren't the caravan's. A dozen hulking creatures walked in patrols around a cluster of boulders. Coming closer he made out two score more lying in scraggly burlap bedrolls. The rank odors of scoreday old ale, unwashed bodies, and urine lingered close to the ground like a poisonous cloud. Bannor rose higher to avoid the noxious stink.

Orcs, he muttered, hovering over the largest fire. His presence whipped the flames into spirals of red and orange. So, he had been right, they were after something. He just got the target wrong.  They were after the caravan. A large tent sat in the shelter of the hillside guarded by two huge orc tuskers dressed in splint armor. The leader was probably up there.

A squealing interrupted his thoughts. One of the creatures had awakened. Its green-skinned porcine face was twisted into a mask of fear.  The yell touched off a flurry of activity, burlap bedrolls being flung open as gleaming yellow eyes focused on his wolf-shape hovering amid the bonfire.

The tent flap rolled back and a huge man stepped out and bellowed a command for quiet. He towered over the guards and would have dwarfed even Irodee. In the dim firelight his skin looked blue.

Bannor saw the flicker of an astral presence and dived into the cover of the rocks higher on the mountain. The half-giant bellowed for order. A glowing astral outline illuminated the creature's body, different from Bannor's own and likely not visible to the orcs. Membranous wings jutted from its back. A reptilian head topped with horns and mounted on a corded neck rose from bunched shoulders. A twitching spike studded tail extended from the base of his spine. Two other pairs of arms appeared to point and gesture as he spoke.

A demon! His thoughts jumped immediately to the horrific creatures that had surrounded Hecate. He couldn't trust coincidence. Heart racing, Bannor sped toward the caravan.

He found the chain of wagons at the pass summit. Three fire pits burned around each. A score of sentries moved warily around the perimeter. His appearance that night must have