“I got this,” Charlie said, with the confidence only an upper-middle-class, only-child could muster at such a young age. He stepped forward from the line of people: Doctor Professor, Gri, Reave, Henry, Zambit, Sam, and Nate.

The chamber of the Council of Kings had been repaired since their last disastrous visit, but the two empty seats where the Lord of Shadows and Golden Queen had once sat stood as stark reminders of their peril.

Alianna stood against the back wall, her arms crossed, her face its usual scowl. A beast of a man towered over her to her right, nearly seven feet tall, and built like a tank, his arms wider than a tree trunk. His face was clear and handsome, his eyes piercing and arrogant, his neck so thick it looked as though someone had painted his face on a big toe. He wore the armor of a Soldier of the Sun, but in lieu of a spear, a claymore taller than Nate was strapped to his back.

“We have assembled, here, our team. The best of the best. Better than all the rest,” Charlie said, adopting the voice of a ringside announcer. “First, we have a man so dangerous, his deeds so black that he was bound for execution, a man so in love with himself he gave himself the epithet, ‘King of Thieves’ - the one, the only, Zambit the Puny!”

“A thief?” the Prince of Lions rumbled. “What could you want a common pickpocket.”

“Thank you, great question,” Charlie said. “First, please hold your questions to the end of the presentation. Second, we reject the term ‘thief’. We prefer the term ‘ethical redistributor.’ But semantics aside, being able to run reconnaissance, open locked doors, and generally move unseen will be a tremendous asset to our team.”

The Prince of Lions scowled, but fell silent.

“Next, we have the descendant of the boy who lived, a master of the magical arts, a slightly perverted teenaged boy with trademark glasses and the unstoppable powers of puberty, the one, the only, Harry-“

“Henry,” Sam corrected.

“Henry Potter!”

“When are we going to talk about the fact that this world not only has the Force from Star Wars, but apparently also has a Harry Potter?” Sam whispered to Nate.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Nate said. “I have a theory, but we’ll have to do some research in the historical archive.”

“Oh good. There’s nothing I like more in my fantasy adventures than doing homework.”

“One second,” Charlie said, fumbling through his pockets. “I’ve misplaced one of my note cards.”

“You don’t have to introduce your team,” the Warlord said, his voice echoing inside his massive armor. “No one asked you to do this.”

“We are quite familiar with Reave the Bold; he has served the Council of Kings well in the past. And the exploits of Gri the Barbarian Princess are nearly as legendary as those of her ancient ancestor, Conam the Cimmerian,” the Snow Maiden said.

“Conam?” Sam repeated. “Hero and warlord of the Hyborian age?”

“Do you know of another Conam?”

“Oh boy,” Nate muttered as Sam’s eyes narrowed, her lip curled in a menacing smile.

“It’s good to know that the hereditary monarchy system of government is still in place. Because there’s no way the people would have chosen a popsicle with the personality of a harelipped potato like you as their ruler.”

“How dare you speak to a queen like that!” the Snow Maiden rose to her feet, her hands all white-knuckled rage.

“Lady, you look like concept art for a cartoon villain that was rejected for being too cliché. You’re so boring if you murdered me, you still wouldn’t be considered a person of interest.”

“This doesn’t strike me as a particularly productive conversation,” Doctor Professor interjected.

“Then perhaps you should muzzle your dog,” the Snow Maiden roared.

“If your second chin was a battle from World War Two, it would be the Battle of the Bulge.”

“I don’t think she’ll get that reference,” Nate said.

“Enough!” Alianna barked. “The prophecy is clear, these three are our only hope to stem the tide of evil that threatens our world. The prophecy does not say we must like one another. They have chosen their champions. It is enough.”

A heavy silence followed. None of the Council of Kings seemed particularly happy, nor confident in their abilities. Nate couldn’t help but agree. This was all so ridiculous, he again wondered if it was all a nightmare brought on by having eaten spoiled shellfish.

“Tonight is the Summer Solstice celebration,” Alianna finally said. “It is a good omen for our journey. On the morrow, we will venture forth.”

“We?” Sam asked.

“Yes. I will accompany you on your journey, along with my new second in command, Hicket the Mighty.”

The giant man nodded curtly at them.

“Where are we headed?” Charlie asked.

“That is for you to decide.”

Nate felt as though he were taking an exam for an advanced mathematics class he had never attended. He had always hated feeling ill prepared, and that feeling had become a near constant in this new world.

“What are we going to do?” Charlie asked, as they made their way through the barracks.

“We’re going to do what nerds like us do best,” Nate answered.

“Have our lunch money and dignity stolen?”

“No, obviously we’re going to not go to prom, and act like we didn’t want to go, even though we did and we’re super hurt that no one asked us,” Sam answered.

“No,” Nate said. “No, we’re going to- Did you really want to go to prom?”

Sam shrugged. “Being asked would have been nice.”

“Huh…” Nate’s mind ran a mile a minute through hypothetical scenarios where the two of them went together. “Anyway,” he continued. “We’re going to go to the library, and we’re going to learn everything we can about this stupid place, and maybe not feel like we’re flailing about in the dark.”

After dismissing the other members of the team until the following morning, they made their way to the library in the central citadel.

The chamber was impressively large. The walls were lined with shelves bursting with books of all shapes and sizes. The musty air smelled of wood and leather. Small, iron lanterns hung from the walls, bathing the room in an orange light.

In the center of the room was an enormous white tree glowed softly, its leafless branches twined and twisted at odd angles. The shape of an oversized spear had been carved into the central trunk, which filled with a blood red sap that oozed slowly into a small stone pool at the tree’s base.

Above the tree hung the skeleton of a dragon, its enormous horned skull the size of a minivan, its broad wings nearly touching both walls on either side. Several old men dressed in white robes, their bodies bent with age, wandered aimlessly through the countless rows of books.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Charlie asked as he ran his fingers across several volumes labeled, “A History of the Enemies of Dusk.”

“We know that this place has a power similar to the Force in Star Wars. We’ve also learned that they had historical figures eerily similar to Harry Potter and Conan the Barbarian, right?”

Sam nodded. “It’s super weird.”

“Well, what if,” Nate said. “What if more works of fiction are based off of real events from this world? What if Robert E. Howard, or J.K. Rowling or George Lucas have been to this place?”

“Huh,” Charlie said. “That is-“

“Brilliant,” Sam said. “Eldred spoke of others brought to this world by the Aether.”

“Precisely,” Nate said.

“Okay, but so what?” Charlie said. “So George Lucas came to this place and stole all his ideas for Star Wars. Are you wanting to sue him for plagiarism?”

“Charlie, are you really this dense?” Sam asked.

Charlie starred at her, blank faced.

“If George Lucas did come here and got his idea for Star Wars, then that means he somehow got back.”

Realization finally swept across Charlie’s face.

“We need to pour through as much history as we can,” Nate said. “Look for any story that seems familiar. We’ve all read a lot of fantasy and sci-fi. This is where all those wasted hours finally pay off.”

They disappeared into the stacks of books. Minutes bled into hours as they searched, wrote down notes on long, paper scrolls, and collected several volumes from various histories.

Finally, as dusk set in, they reconvened at a broad table under the glowing tree to compare notes.

“I managed to find the story of Liam Starwalker, who defeated his father, a powerful lord of the dark Aether named Onheil Vader, and re-established the sacred order of the Soldiers of the Sun,” Nate said. “Which, apparently, happened six hundred years ago.”

“Please tell me there was no trace of the prequels,” Charlie said.

“None that I could find.”

“Good. Good. I will continue to pretend midi-chlorians do not exist.”

“I also found the story of a young halfling named Frendo, who was tasked with destroying a magical ring said to contain the essence of Gorthaur the Cruel, most hated enemy of the elven kingdoms.”

“Gorthaur the cruel was the title the elves gave to Sauron,” Sam said. “But changing Frendo to Frodo was probably a good move.”

“Agreed.”

“I found the story of a mad wizard named Rinewind,” Sam continued. “Who was convinced that the world was a flat disc resting atop four planet-sized elephants that collectively stand upon a cosmic turtle. And the story of Randy al’Dor, who was believed to be the reincarnation of the Great Dragon who sought to prevent Shari’tain from breaking free from its prison and ending the endless cycle.”

“Man, Randy?” Nate said. “Hard to imagine enjoying those books when the protagonist sounds like he has a mullet and lectures you about how his confederate flag bumper sticker isn’t about hate, it’s about heritage.“

“I found the story of a young pig-keeper’s apprentice who struck down the evil Lord Azawn, as prophesied by the Oracle of Horthax, and became the High King of Pridayn,” Charlie said. “And the chronicles of the last king of a fallen kingdom named Orlic of Melnion, who wielded a magical sword called Stormbringer. Oh, and one legend about four children coming to this world through a wardrobe and defeating a white witch, but the details were scant.”

“Nothing about where the wardrobe was? Or the lamp post in the forest?”

Charlie shook his head. “Nope. The only reference I found to a prophecy was around the Oracle of Horthax. According to legend, it some kind of immortal being that can see visions of the past and future.”

“And no details about the traveler’s fate?”

“Sorry, no,” Charlie snapped the book shut. “The traveler is barely mentioned in the history.”

Nate exhaled sharply. “I didn’t have much more luck. Both of my stories mentioned travelers brought here by the Aether, but nothing about what happened to them after Gorthaur the cruel and Onheil Vader were defeated.”

“Awesome, another dead end,” Sam said, sitting back heavily in her chair. She stared at the dragon skeleton high above them, her hands folded on top of her head.

The three of them sat in silence for a long time. Hag appeared a few inches from Nate’s face, startling him. “Hag, geez - don’t do that. I’d forgotten about you!”

“That’s rude. I am a valued member of this team.”

“Since when?”

“Since you recruited me at the Sacred Grove!”

“No one recruited you! You hid inside Charlie’s pack!”

Hag zipped across the table angrily. “You’re just like my parents! Always holding ‘facts’ and ‘the truth’ over my head!”

“Charlie, keep your pet in line, please.”

“Pet!” Hag squeaked furiously. “I’m not a pet!”

Charlie clicked his tongue and Hag instinctively turned and caught a chunk of bread that Charlie flipped to him with his thumb.

“I’ve never been so insulted,” Hag ranted as he chewed loudly on the bread. “Do you realize how valuable I am? I’m small. I can fly. I can turn invisible.”

“He’s got a point,” Sam said.

Nate rubbed his fingers into the small space between his eyebrows. “He’s also insufferable.”

“Me? Insufferable? Have you met me? I’m delightful!”

“He’s got my vote,” Charlie said, tossing another chunk of bread to Hag.

“Thank you! Finally, someone with some sense. I’d ask if your friend over there was dropped on his head as a baby, but knowing how ugly he is, he was probably never held.”

Nate scowled. “You’re not helping your case here, Hag.”

“Listen, I’m going to need an answer right now, am I part of this adventure or not?”

“Then the answer is no.”

“Don’t be hasty; take your time. Think about it. Deliberate. I know you’ll make the right choice.” Hag perched on Charlie’s shoulder, finishing the last bit of his bread and belching.

“Just had a thought,” Sam said. “The Oracle thing you mentioned, Charlie.”

“Of Horthax?”

“Yeah, what is it?”

Charlie pulled on of the books out of the small stack set in front of him, and thumbed through it. “The Oracle of Horthax is an ancient, immortal seer. Worshipped as a mouthpiece of the Aether, the Oracle was known to favor those who were humble and pure of heart with visions of their future and the purpose of their life.”

“Does it say where it could be found?”

“Not a precise location,” he said, flipping further into the book. “But it does describe it fairly well.”

As Charlie scanned his book for the entry he had read, Nate stood and walked over to a box of scrolls helpfully labeled as maps. He scanned through a couple before retrieving one that was nearly five feet tall.

“Here it is,” Charlie said triumphantly as Sam and Nate cleared the books from their table, and rolled the giant map out, using books on the corners to keep it flat. It was a detailed drawing of the entire continent, which itself was shaped like a squished letter C, with the Telyan Ocean at its center.

“South of the Dragon Isles, follow the Spine of the World until you find the Thundering Twins. There lies the ruins of Al-Angmar, the resting place of the Oracle of Horthax,” Charlie read.

“Here are the Dragon Isles,” Sam pointed to a stretch of mountainous islands that ran through the center of the Telyan Ocean, eventually leading to a peninsula. “And this is the Spine of the World,” she said as she traced her fingers along the peninsula that turned into a mountain range as it met the southern shelf of the continent.

“Anything labeled the Thundering Twins?” Nate asked.

“Not that I can see,” Sam said. “It’s not hard to imagine they’re some sort of rock formation though, right?”

“Maybe,” Nate said.

“I’m sure of it,” Sam said.

“How?”

“I don’t know. It just feels right.”

“So that’s our plan?” Charlie asked in a voice that was thoroughly unenthused. “Wander through the mountains, hoping we’ll stumble across some sort of rock formation that we think fits the description of ‘thundering twins’ and find an oracle that may or may not exist anymore?”

The three pondered the absurdity of their situation and ridiculousness of their plan.

Nate sighed. “Do you have a better idea?”

“Screw it,” Charlie said, snapping the book shut. “Winging it has gotten us this far; if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

Nate’s finger traced across the map. “Here’s where we are,” he said, pointing to the south-eastern edge of the continent where the city of Whitespire was clearly labeled. “We should let Alianna know we’ll need supplies for a long journey.”

“Why don’t we tell Doctor Professor? He’s a lot nicer,” Sam said.

They managed to track down Doctor Professor just outside the city gates. The houses throughout the city had been decorated with boughs and flowers from trees, and giant bonfires had been lit on nearly every street corner in celebration.

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“The Oracle of Horthax?” Doctor Professor said, stroking his beard. “No one has spoken of it in a thousand years. Many of our historians doubt it ever existed in the first place.”

They stood atop a steep hill near the city walls, which overlooked the small huts and houses that dotted the landscape. The citizenry were out in full force, drunk and boisterous, ale flowing freely. The town guard were distributing loaves of bread shaped like flowers, from small wagons pulled by tiny clackers.

Somewhere below a band was playing music. Each song sounded the same yet simultaneously worse than the one before it.

“But if it does exist,” Nate said, “couldn’t it tell us the location of the artifact, as well as who the heir of Brenius the Divine is?”

“Aye, I suppose it could. If we can find it.”

A man built like a manager of a small town restaurant stumbled up to them, carrying clay mugs brimming with some strange brown liquid. “Here’sh fer yoush,” he belched before shoving a mug into each of their hands. “Cheersh,” he said before stumbling backwards, falling on his sizable rump, spilling the remaining drinks in his face.

He smacked his lips and blinked heavily before grinning stupidly. With a high pitched “wheeeee!” he grabbed his ankles and began rolling down the hill, bouncing painfully off of clumps of scrub grass and large stones. As he picked up speed, his face slammed into a particularly bulky rock with a soggy thud. His limbs went limp and he skidded to a halt at the base of the hill.

“Is he going to be okay?” Sam asked.

“Tough to say,” Doctor Professor said. “But what’s a good solstice celebration without a few casualties? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see to the preparations for our journey.”

Sam clapped her hands and held them out as one of the bread wagons rolled past. The guard tossed each of them a loaf, which they bit into voraciously. The bread was thick and heavy, and filled with raisins and other bits of dried fruit.

Charlie took a tentative sip of the drink. It was somehow overly sweet and bitter at the same time, but he was thirsty enough not to care.

“What is that guy doing?” Nate asked, pointing to a drunkard who stood on the edge of a wide stone well, dancing like a toddler still figuring out what arms are. “Hey! Hey, you’re going to fall in!”

The man stared up at them, a stupid grin plastered across his face. “Wot?” he shouted back.

“Don’t dance on the edge of the well!” Nate shouted through his cupped hands. “You could fall and hurt yourself.”

The man scowled. “Oh, fall and hurt myself, you say?” He began to thrust his hips rapidly in Nate’s direction, blowing raspberries with his tongue in rhythm with his gyrations. “I’m being careful!” the man shouted between raspberries. “I’m being sooooooo careful!”

One of the stones under his foot gave way under his vigorous thrusts. His arms made huge circles as he tried in vain to regain his balance before falling backwards, the back of his head hitting the wooden bucket as he plummeted into the well.

“Nate, did you just kill that guy?” Charlie asked.

“I was trying to save him…”

“What are they doing over there?” Sam asked, pointing to another hill a short distance from where they sat. A group of men, each swaying under the influence of the alcohol that had saturated their systems, stood in a small circle around an enormous hollow wheel constructed of logs.

It towered over them, roughly thirty feet high and six feet wide. Its center was held together by six massive spokes, along which bundles of hay and branches had been lashed.

“I have no idea, but it can’t be good,” Nate said.

“Give that back, you wretched beast!” A woman with the body of a microwaved candle shouted, kicking at a stray dog that had snatched her bread near the city gate. The dog yelped as she made contact with its hind quarter, and turned and bit her ankle.

“You flea bitten, no good-” The woman’s insult trailed off as she bent over and picked up a stone. Squinting her eyes in an attempt to focus, she hurled the rock with all her strength, missing the animal by a wide margin.

The toss threw her off balance, and she fell forward, splitting the top of her head open on the stone wall.

“Everyone!” a man at the bottom of the hill shouted. “Everyone, lesh go fer a swim!” He pulled his trousers down, and stripped his shirt off.

“This is one of my recurring stress dreams,” Sam said.

“It’s like watching a horror movie,” Charlie said grimly.

“Dobbin Oakbeam!” a woman shouted at him. “Why do you insist on always getting naked during festivals!”

The man giggled and waggled his hips at her, before running and diving headfirst into a very shallow river. His legs bent forward on impact so far that he nearly kicked himself in the back of his head. The flustered woman simply waved a hand dismissively at him as he floated face down toward the sea.

“Guys,” Nate said in horror, as the carousers by the wheel began to light the bundles of hay and sticks on fire, using torches. Flames licked across the giant wheel, eventually swallowing the entire thing.

“One! Two! Three!” the men chanted in unison, before shoving the giant wheel which began to slowly bounce and roll down the hill. It picked up speed, galloping over bushes, the flames roaring as it tumbled.

“It’s not going to hit that house, is it?” Sam asked.

“No, they wouldn’t be that stupid,” Nate said, trying to convince himself. But he was wrong. The wheel bounced wildly, whirling and wiggling off balance as it sped faster and faster before slamming into one of the small homes, which burst into flames. Two figures emerged from the flaming rubble, running in a panic, their bodies bathed in fire.

The men cheered and hugged, seemingly oblivious to the death and destruction their party trick had caused.

“This is insane,” Sam said. “Should we do something?”

“Like what?” Nate asked. “I tried to stop that guy and not only did he make fun of me, he died anyway.”

A troupe of actors dressed in garish clothes with painted faces stumbled past them. The four elves were precariously juggling knives, while walking on barrels while also reciting what Nate assumed was some well-known play.

“I hate actors,” Sam said.

“Why’s that?” Nate asked. “Actors are harmless.”

“Actors killed Lincoln!”

One of the elves slipped, and began to wobbly dangerously on his barrel. He pitched backward, his barrel rolling freely down the steep hill while he ran backwards, his arms swinging wildly.

About halfway down the hill he crashed into a tree. His body bounced off the thick wood, and spun so rapidly that he resembled a helicopter before toppling to the ground.

“Oof. No way he survived that,” Sam said.

To their surprise, the elf stood up, brushed his brightly colored tunic, and walked away.

“Did I ever tell you about why I changed schools in sixth grade?” Charlie said, his speech slightly slurred as he took another drink of the strange liquid in his mug.

“I thought it was because your dad got a new job and you had to move.” Nate said.

“Nosir,” Charlie said, his eyes bloodshot and heavy. Sam and Nate watched him for a moment, then glanced down at their mugs and set them aside. “It was because of the love of my life, Emily.”

“Emily?” Sam said.

Charlie nodded. “Yeah, Emily Jacobs.”

“You’ve never mentioned her before,” Nate said.

“Well, she was perfect. PERFECT!” Charlie grinned stupidly as he talked. “She was beautiful, and funny, and smart… but you know what was the best thing about her?”

“If you say something gross about her body…” Sam said.

“No! I mean, she had a great one, don’t get me wrong, but no, it was how kind she was. She was the nicest person I ever met. No one ever had a bad thing to say about Emily.”

“Did you ask her out and she said no or something?”

“I wish! No, we had gym class together, you see. It was the fitness test, where they make everyone take turns doing sit-ups and pull-ups in front of the whole class.”

“Absolute torture,” Nate shuddered.

“Right? I hated gym with a passion normally reserved for religious zealots. I also had a terrible case of jock itch, because I hated showering in a stall-less shower room with your dangly bits on display for the whole world to see.”

“Charlie, please set the scene less.” Sam said.

“So it’s my turn, and I’m thinking I’m a pretty strong guy, right?”

“You were? They make medication to treat delusions like that.”

“Anyway, it’s my turn, and I decide this is the perfect moment to impress Emily. So as I’m walking to the pull-up bar, I wink at her, and I say ‘This is for you, Emily!’ Which is very smooth for a sixth grader, I know.”

“Oh boy…” Nate said.

“And so I jump up, and I start to do pull-up. Not pull-upS, but one pull-up. Only I can’t, I get about halfway, and my pathetic lasagna arms won’t go any further.”

“And that made you switch schools?” Nate asked. “Not being able to do a pull-up in front of your crush doesn’t seem like the end of the world.”

“Oh, I wish that was the end of the story. And she wasn’t a crush, Nate. She was the love of my life. So I’m hanging there, straining, my face beet red. I’m not about to give up and lose any chance with this perfect girl, right? So I’m bearing down with every ounce of strength I have, when I shotgun blast possibly the loudest fart a human has ever produced.”

“Oh, Charlie…” Sam said, holding her stomach in pain as she laughed.

“The teacher actually dropped his clipboard in shock. The sound echoed like an atomic bomb of shame through the whole gymnasium. After the initial awe and horror of what had happened wore off, pandemonium ensued. There were screams of laughter, kids were running around in circles, their small minds unable to comprehend what they had witnessed. And all I could do was hang there like a sad, deflated balloon.”

“Why are you telling us this story?” Nate asked.

“I don’t know,” Charlie said. “Am I on drugs?”

“Does life feel pretty good?” Sam asked.

“Yeah.”

“Not like an unending series of disasters, that ends the bitter catastrophe of death?”

“No, life’s pretty alright, I guess.”

“Then yeah, you’re on drugs.”

“Cool. I think I like drugs.”

Charlie stared off into the distance for a moment. “I should do more drugs,” he muttered to himself, before belching, and vomiting onto the ground next to him.

#

They set out on their journey the following morning. Charlie looked like he had spent most of the night wrestling with an ill-tempered bear. His bloodshot eyes were barely visible above the giant dark rings, and his skin was even paler than usual.

“You doing okay there, Charlie?” Nate asked.

“I’m never doing drugs again,” Charlie mumbled, rubbing his temple.

“Small man need hug?” Gri said, sidling her clacker up next to Charlie’s. “Gri hug soft, beautiful man child. Gri promise to be gentle.”

“Gri, you’re making me uncomfortable, and I once mouth kissed a goat for five dollars.”

“The provisions are secure,” Doctor Professor said, tightening the cinch on the last belt to their largest clacker.

They climbed onto their clackers. The three friends had been outfitted with armor; not the dazzling white armor of the Soldiers of the Sun, but silvery chain coats that were far lighter than they ought to be, along with thick leather pants and metal greaves, gauntlets, and a domed helm. The extra bulk was uncomfortable, but Nate felt far safer than he had since arriving in this strange place.

“Very good. Let us get underway,” Alianna said briskly. She whistled, and her clacker clattered down the southern road.

They rode south for four days, following a churning river through the broad grassland. Hicket proved to be a resourceful hunter. Each evening as they made camp, he would disappear for a few hours, only to reappear as the cracked moon rose with some strange new creature; a speckled lizard the size of a deer, or a handful of colorful frogs the size of raccoons hoisted over his broad shoulders.

Doctor Professor would expertly clean the animals and spit-roast the meat over the fire. They ate hungrily, the sweet meats far more delicious than the hard breads and mash they had subsisted on during their time in Whitespire.

Before bedding down each night, Charlie would disappear on a long walk with Doctor Professor to learn more about the Aether and its healing properties. Often, he would climb into their tent hours after the rest of them had bedded down, having exhausted his mentor with questions.

Zambit and Henry spent most evenings sharing bawdy stories that made them all deeply uncomfortable. In particular, Henry - who apparently lacked the part of the brain that determined if a story would be funny or disturbing to the listener. He would often guffaw while describing a particularly violent death he had seen in the observation room at the Academy.

Gri, when she wasn’t off hunting food, would compose simple poems for Charlie, extolling his soft hands or thin ankles. Gifts became a regular occurrence, from small dead animals to much larger dead animals.

Sam would spend hours practicing with her spear, doing her best to copy the drills she had observed the Soldiers of the Sun running in the courtyard. Alianna studied her from the fire where she sat next to Hicket, who would occasionally lean over and whisper into her ear.

Sam swung her spear particularly hard and it slipped from her hand, clattering loudly to the ground. Sam hissed in frustration, shaking her fingers in pain.

Alianna marched over to Sam and grabbed her hand, roughly turning it. Angry red blisters had formed on her palms, several of which were torn and bleeding.

“You grip the weapon wrong,” Alianna said. She reached out her hand, and Sam’s spear flew through the air and into her grasp. She returned it to Sam.

“Point the weapon at me.”

Sam gripped the spear tightly with both hands. In a flash, Alianna drew her spear, and brought the shaft of it down into Sam’s spear. The vibrations stung her hands, and Sam weapon clattered once more to the ground.

Alianna began to circle her. “Your grip is too tight. Your hands too close together. Try again.”

Sam scooped her spear up.

“Your hands should be diagonal to the shaft of the spear, with your strong hand in front. Hold the shaft firmly, but loose enough that you can slide the spear through your front hand. Your grip will mostly come from the back three fingers; your thumb and index finger are there for balance and accuracy.”

She walked around Sam as she spoke. “Your wrist bones should align with the spear, your weak hand at the base with a firmer grip than the front.” She corrected Sam’s posture, and slid her right hand forward slightly. “Feel how much easier it is to move the blade?”

Sam swung the spear, and marveled at how such minor corrections made the weapon dance and sing in her hands.

Alianna stalked around her like a panther as Sam moved through a series of thrusts, her motions frenetic and rapid. “Slow down. Focus on precision over speed. Anger will make you swift during battle; focus on perfection of movement.”

Alianna swung her spear again, and it cracked loudly off of Sam’s weapon. Sam’s spear jolted from the blow, but stayed firmly under her control. She nodded to Sam in approval, and thus was born a nightly training regimen, where Alianna would run Sam through rigorous combat drills and exercises.

Nate had asked Hicket to train him on the use of a sword, but Hicket had simply laughed in his face.

“He’s not a very nice man,” Reave said as Nate stared dejected into the fire.

“No, he isn’t.”

“What puzzles me,” Reave continued, “is why a man of your intellect and physical frame would think the martial combat path would be the correct one for him?”

“What do you mean?”

Reave held out his arm that was covered in flame. It flared brightly as he concentrated on the palm of his hand. There, a small flower blossomed, its petals an iridescent green with veins of bright orange. He handed the flower to Nate.

“The power of the Aether goes far beyond anything you can imagine. To tap into such power in such a simplistic way seems boorish, don’t you think?”

Nate felt foolish. On the rare occasions when he had the opportunity to be a player instead of a Dungeon Master in their games, he had always gravitated towards wizards.

“Will you teach me?”

Reave smiled. “Of course.” He flicked his wrist, and a stack of books appeared on Nate’s lap. “But the art of manipulating the aether requires study, discipline, and a deft hand. Many who try quit in frustration.”

Nate grinned. “You had me at ‘study.’ Can I- can I ask about…”

“About my eyes?”

“Yes.”

“My master, Ogron Everune, believed that in order to truly connect with the aether, one must dull their other senses. He would not accept an apprentice unless they were willing to demonstrate their devotion to the craft by sacrificing one of their senses.”

“Did it work?”

“Oh yes. It forced me to see the world through the Aether. I am eyeless, yet not blind. I can see your smile, Alianna drilling Sam, and, unfortunately, your friend’s terrible facial hair.”

Nate laughed. “Would… would I have to do that?”

“No. I am not my master. I will teach you what I can during our journey, and if you show promise, I will take you as my apprentice upon our return.”

Nate was thrilled by the idea. Maybe he wouldn’t be so useless after all.

On the seventh day, they crossed a sullen river using a stone bridge that time and nature had slowly begun to chew away. Charlie glanced nervously at his friends as the weathered and cracked boards groaned under their weight, and several chunks of stone broke free below them, splashing with a throaty clap.

Underneath the rippling water, bipedal fish-creatures scurried like mice, their bright orange fins glittering fire in the sunlight.

Across the river, they turned their clackers west, skittering along the edge of an old-growth forest to the north, along a rough road that the wilderness fought to reclaim. The lush grass slowly gave way to barren, windswept hills and drab flatland. Along the path, they’d see an occasional cairn of stone where some poor traveler had met their death.

After a few days, Alianna led them abruptly south. Nate, who had been following their journey closely on their map, was puzzled by the sudden course change. But his curiosity was insufficient to risk another verbal dressing-down from Captain Stormbow.

She led them down a trundling road that was barely recognizable as such due to many years of disuse. Brittlebush and and beaked yucca had pushed through the flat stones and, in other places, entire sections had been overcome with a tangle of dry welwitschia plants.

Doctor Professor drove his clacker to the head of their company. “Are we headed where I think we are?”

“She should know what is coming,” Alianna said quietly.

“Won’t make a difference. She has earned her rest. We should not disturb her.”

“Perhaps. But I sense we will not survive the coming storm without her.”

Doctor Professor looked as if he wanted to argue the point further, but decided against it. He slowed his clacker, falling back in position until he was just ahead of Charlie.

“‘She’ who?” Charlie asked.

“Drothgar Ironclad.”

“Drothgar?” Hicket said. “The hero of the Battle of Crehn?”

“Big deal,” Zambit yawned. “She must be, what, a thousand years old? Is she going to defeat the Conclave with osteoporosis?”

“Watch your mouth, thief,” Hicket spat. “The warrior goddess stood alone against an enemy force of a thousand soldiers at the Molten Heights for three days. She single handedly killed half their army by the time re-enforcements arrived.”

“That’s not quite how it happened,” Doctor Professor said quietly.

“Well, all legends get exaggerated,” Hicket said. “No one really believes she killed half an army by herself. Captain of the Soldiers of the Sun notwithstanding.”

“You misunderstand.” Doctor Professor shifted in his seat. “I was part of the company that rode to her aid that day. When we arrived at the Molten Heights, we found her meditating on the battlefield, her spear resting across her lap. She had not killed half of the army sent to take Crehn. She had killed them all.”

“Sound like my kind of woman,” Gri said.

“Me too,” Henry Potter added, waggling his eyebrows in a way that made them all avoid eye contact.

Their path led them up a steep, flat-topped hillock. As they crested it, a shallow gorge broadened below them. Unlike the desolate plain around them, the ravine was strangely lush and green. A small pond had settled at the center, and on the far side sat a crooked cabin, built from roughly hewn logs. Though, where the wood had come from could only be guessed.

To the left of the cabin was a garden, surrounded by a fence made from hundreds of thin branches woven and tangled together in a chaotic mass.

The fence came to about the waist of the enormous, grizzled woman who was working the garden with a heavy pick, digging into the dusty earth, pulling out enormous chunks of black loam.

She wore a simple tunic, tied at the waist with rough rope. Her long, gray hair was tied behind her head with scraps of cloth, though a few loose strands stuck to the sweat on her face. Her arms and legs were enormous, her corded muscles visible beneath her thin skin. She was covered in countless scars, marks from a life of battle and war and violence.

The only thing that belied her age was her sagging, thin skin and her face, which was covered in lines and wrinkles. It was impossible to judge her age; she could have been fifty or a hundred and fifty, but she moved with the fearsome strength and grace of a warrior.

She stopped her work and mopped her brow as they approached. Dipping a ladle into a bucket, she poured the water on the back of her neck, letting it run in tiny rivulets down her back and shoulders, soaking her clothing.

“Alianna Stormbow,” the old woman said, her voice crackly. “I am glad to see you, though I wish you had taken me up on my offer of hospitality sooner. How long has it been?”

Alianna smiled as she dismounted. “Twelve years. I am sorry, my friend, I would have come sooner-”

Drothgar waived a dismissive hand. “I know all too well the life you lead, Captain Stormbow. You need not apologize; your duties are many, your responsibilities heavy. I do not miss it.” She set the pickaxe down. “Come. You look hungry.”

She led them inside the small shack. It was a spartan affair; a single bedroll sat in one dusty corner, a small wooden cabinet next to it. At the center of the room was a stone fireplace, open on four sides, with a broad chimney that led to the roof. A heavy, black pot hung from hooks in the stone columns, bubbling and burbling in the heat.

Drothgar took a metal hook that hung from the wall and lifted the lid. The aroma that filled the room was amazing. Sam’s mouth watered at chunks of potato and root vegetables simmering in a ruddy-brown broth, along with hunks of meat and herbs she could not identify, but which smelled wonderful.

“It looks as though you were expecting us,” Doctor Professor said as he clasped arms with Drothgar.

“The Aether provides.” She grinned, and pulled him into a crushing hug. “It is good to see you, Qailz’risd’anth’freiv’ryn’th! You have put on weight since last I saw you.”

He glanced around the shack. “When you said you wished for a simpler life, I did not envision this.”

“I have sufficient for my needs.” Drothgar pulled some wooden bowls and spoons from the cupboard, and began ladling stew. “I apologize, I do not have guests often, and have no seat to offer you aside from my floor.”

“When you left Whitespire for the last time,” Doctor Professor said as he accepted a steaming bowl from her. “You had been given a King’s ransom in gold and silver for your heroism during the war. Surely you could afford a bed.”

“I have a bed.” Drothgar smiled to herself. “Besides, I have seen enough to know that wealth will break a warrior just as easily as a blade.” She handed a bowl to Sam, and winked at her.

Sam took a bite. It was the first seasoned food they had eaten since arriving in this world. She wolfed the meal down, managing only a guttural “is really good” to her friends between mouthfuls.

“She eats like she was homeschooled by a raccoon,” Hag said.

“Now,” Drothgar said, as she sat heavily on the floor. “Since you did not come alone, I can only assume this is not a social visit.”

Alianna poked at her stew for a moment. “I am sorry, Drothgar, I wish it was. But we are in dire need of your help.”

Alianna then recited the events leading up to their quest. Drothgar said nothing and asked no questions. She simply listened as she ate.

“-and so we are asking for your help,” Alianna finished. “War is coming; surely you have felt it.”

Drothgar drank the last of the broth from her bowl, and set it carefully next to her. “Aye, I have. You’d have to be numb not to sense the coming conflict. It is in the air, the earth, the water.”

“So you will help us?” Hicket asked enthusiastically. “Drothgar Ironclad will once more join the forces of light for glory and honor?”

Alianna winced as he spoke, and put a hand on his shoulder. Drothgar studied his face for a moment, absentmindedly sucking and tonguing a piece of meat that had lodged itself between two teeth.

“What?” Hicket said. “Did I say something wrong?”

“There is nothing glorious or honorable about war,” Drothgar answered. “Only the foolishness of youth and boastful inexperience think otherwise.”

Hicket’s cheeks flushed an ugly red, but he said nothing, despite the palpable rage behind his eyes.

Drothgar inhaled deeply through her nose, regarding the three friends individually.

“There is indeed a storm coming,” she finally said. “The armies of darkness are assembling. Once more the evil deeds of evil beings threatens our very existence. A cycle that has repeated countless times throughout our blood-soaked history books.”

Her eyes at last fell on Alianna. “My answer remains the same as it was last time we spoke, Captain Stormbow. I will not take up the spear again. The sun has set upon my days as a soldier. This burden falls to you.”

Hicket turned a deeper shade of red. “But, you could-“

“I have given you my answer,” she cut him off. “I will not be persuaded otherwise.”

If Hicket had the power to kill with his gaze, Drothgar would have burst into flames. “This is the hero of Crehn?” he finally said, his voice cold and violent. “Coward.” He stormed out of the cabin.

“You will have to forgive my friend,” Alianna said. “He is tempestuous, but his heart is good.”

“Not unlike a certain lieutenant I once knew,” Drothgar said, smiling at Alianna. “I only hope he can temper that anger before it gets him killed.”

“You will not reconsider?”

“I will not.”

Alianna nodded, her face grim.

“But I wish you well,” Drothgar said as she stood. “You are a brave warrior, and a good commander. I know you will see this through, my friend.”

The two embraced.

“We must continue our journey,” Alianna said. “Be well, old friend.”

“May the Aether keep you,” Drothgar said. “And I pray the next time you darken my doorstep, it will be to tell the story of your glorious victory.”