They seemed to be walking on the floor of an ancient dried ocean bed. Crusted formations of porous limestone poked out of the milky blue ground like coral reefs, and the delicate feathery crystals that fluttered in the breeze reminded him of seaweed waving in the current.

A peculiar beauty radiated from the soft cushion of blue crystals that carpeted the barren, lifeless desert. But the magnetic attraction of these crystals was a nuisance. For although the particles did not hang in the air, they leapt onto solid objects. They caked on heels, boot laces, cloaks, and tunics, and on a few occasions even clung to the linings of the throat.

Prudence had guided the expedition on this northeastern route rather than a direct course toward the wolves, who dwelt due north of Kal Shadir. All of them had seen as many Droom as they cared to see, and they figured to meet fewer of them in this wasteland.

“What do you call these things?” asked Roland, as he peered at a shimmering cluster of fern-like structures that blew away like dandelion seeds at a mere touch.

“Those? Have you never seen crystals before?” asked Belfray. “They are a form of rock that combines with the substance of the air to create fascinating shapes. They actually grow, as if they were living things. I know all about stones and crystals and such.” His woeful performance in Kal Shadir had made absolutely no impact on his self-assured attitude.

“Looks like petrified bird crap,” muttered Berch. His defiant speech against going to Kal Shadir, although offered in a losing cause, had restored enough of his dignity that he had begun to take part in the group’s conversations.

“Isn’t this grand!” declared Digtry, who had been unusually perky, almost chatty, since leaving Kal Shadir over a week ago. As he stretched out on the feathery ground, head resting on his pack, crystals flew upward to latch onto the buttons of his sleeve. Roland remembered powdered sugar doing something like that when sifted.

“What say to a roaring fire?” proposed Digtry. “The Droom are but a memory. In a few days, we shall be among friends, to learn at last the undelivered message of the wolves.”

“Where is the wood for this fire?” asked Sloat, reflecting none of Digtry’s cheer or confidence.

“You can’t imagine how glad I am to be done with all this stupid chasing,” said Roland. “I was beginning to think I had died and come back to life as some prey animal.”

“You just happened to visit the realms at an unfortunate time,” said Belfray. “Perhaps now you will be able to relax and see that the realmlands are not so bad. And the best way to start is to watch tonight’s sunset! Thanks to Digtry, we are alive to witness it.”

“Lucky for us the Droom are not as clever as they pretend,” Digtry responded, with a touch of smugness. “A little backbone and a little wit and we had them where we wanted them.”

“It was a gamble,” insisted Sloat, sizing up Digtry with concern.

“Naught ventured, naught gained,” chuckled Digtry. “Speaking of which, I managed to collect a little Droom ‘magic,’ as you call it.” He pulled out a small red vial.

“What is that?” asked Belfray.

“Sleep elixir. This is what the Droom take so that they do not require sleep. I’ve been wanting to study it for a long time.”

“Where did you get it?” asked Sloat

.

“From one of our Droom knights.”

"He gave it to you?"

“He doesn't even know it's gone."

"You stole it?!"

“I borrowed it. Permanently.”

“Sleep elixir!” marveled Belfray. “How does that stuff work?”

“That’s what I want to find out,” said Digtry. “I intend to analyze it thoroughly once our trip is over. “

“I understand the Droom need take only a drop every month or so to maintain their sleepless state,” said Belfray.

“Well, don’t give me any,” said Roland. “I enjoy sleep.” He was still having trouble adjusting to the fact that, as far as he could tell, no one in the immediate area was after his hide. Much as he wanted to sit back and enjoy the exotic charm of the cold desert, his heart kept racing. While Digtry and Belfray played a game something like tic-tac-toe, using the powdery soil as a board, he walked around, restlessly embossing footprints in the crystals.

“Digtry, how did you know the Droom were not connected with the Cold Flame conspiracy?” he suddenly asked.

“Easy. As the prince said himself, the Droom are not into alliances,” said Digtry. “Too proud. Whoever is mixed up with the Cold Flames has both Rushbrook and the Raxxars in on the plot. The Droom would have nothing to do with either.”

“Then how do you explain Raxxars traveling into Droom lands?” asked Sloat.

“Haven’t figured that out yet,” said Digtry. “We were already in enough of a pickle with the prince without opening a new can of worms, so I chose not to press the issue.”

“But how did you know that Cold Flames had been sighted in the Fourth Realm?” asked Belfray.

“A hunch,” snickered Digtry. “I posed the question to goad the Droom into revealing what he knew of the Cold Flames, if anything. When he neither questioned me about it nor laughed in my face at the suggestion, I concluded it must be near the mark.”

“So what does that mean?” asked Roland. “If Cold Flames are burning in the Fourth Realm as well as on the island, then what’s the big secret? Maybe they’re really quite common. Maybe there was something else on the island that they thought I saw.”

“The symbol of the Fifth Realm has never been reported in the lower realms until you saw it,” said Digtry. “It could hardly be considered common. Rather, this means the enemy’s power is spreading quickly. His plan is far enough along that the secrecy of the Cold Flame is no longer crucial.”

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

“So you’ve eliminated the Droom as suspects in the Cold Flame conspiracy because they don’t make alliances,” said Roland. “Yet the Raxxars, who you suspect are up to their ears in the conspiracy, have come to the Fourth. They went through Droom territory, apparently with the Drooms’ blessing. That makes absolutely no sense.”

“Perhaps the wolves know something,” suggested Belfray. “But even if they know nothing of the Cold Flames, they shall at least clear up the mystery of why they sent their envoy to the Third Realm.”

“Which is why we came here in the first place,” said Sloat, pointedly.

The Tishaarans conspicuously avoided looking at Berch whenever they spoke of the wolves. The old man ground his teeth as he looked off into the distance. Eager to break the silence with whatever came to mind, Roland asked, “So where are we?”

Sloat shrugged and continued whittling on a branch of driftwood he picked up by a river outside of Kal Shadir. He appeared to have yielded command of the expedition to Digtry and was none too happy about it.

“Our map labels this the Crystal Down,” called Belfray. “Fear not, we are well away from Droomlands.”

“But then, as fast as the Droom claim new land, our map may be out of date,” said Digtry. “By now, the Down may be part of Droom. But what is the difference?” he said, as he erased the playing surface in the crystal silt, wiping out the evidence of yet another victory. “A warm breeze, sterling companions, and a full moon. A little more food and we would have kings begging to trade lives with us.”

“Yes, what about the food?” challenged Belfray, growing frustrated at being beaten at their game for the fourth straight time. “Ours is almost gone. We received no provisions from Kal Shadir, and Sloat, you have not hunted since we reached the Fourth Realm. There must be something to shoot even in this desert.”

Sloat inspected his wood sculpture, a scowl on his weathered face. Although he could whittle firesticks faster than anyone, his crude, blocky candlestick revealed a glaring lack the of artistic flair.

“With all due respect,” he said, ”I cannot shoot animals willy-nilly. What if I should kill a rational Fourth Realm beast?”

“Oh blast!” exclaimed Belfray. He spun around, patting the pockets of his clothing as he scanned the campsite. “Now where could I have misplaced it? The map,” he replied to their puzzled looks. “Roland asked where we are and I was going to show him the map. Now I cannot find it.”

“Where did you last have it?” asked Roland.

“Begging pardon, Roland, but it is where I last had it.” Frantically, he rechecked every place he had just searched. “And if I knew where that was, I would not be missing it.”

“Not to point fingers,” said Sloat, dropping his whittling, “but did not Digtry ask for the map at the last water break?”

“So I did,” said Digtry. “Sorry, Belfray. I must have absent-mindedly left it there or dropped it along the way.”

“Imagine him doing that,” Roland chuckled to Berch.

“Makes me like him better,” said Berch. “Now we know he’s not a dang machine.”

“No matter,” said Belfray, relaxing his taut shoulders. “At least we know the map lies between here and there. A few miles at worst, on a trail a blind mole could follow. Relax, Digtry. Sloat, my good fellow, shall the two of us run back at dawn and retrieve it?”

“If you wish.”

Roland had known that the Tishaarans’ claim of wanting to enjoy a leisurely pace since leaving Kal Shadir had been a show for Berch’s sake. Tishaarans were such hopeless liars. Belfray’s huge grin in anticipation of the run confirmed it. Telling a Tishaaran he could not run was like telling him not to scratch an itch.

During the fuss over the missing map, an armada of clouds sailed up from beneath the horizon, and ruined the much-anticipated Crystal Down sunset.

“That was unfortunate,” said Belfray, frowning at the filmy, blue-gray curtain where the sun had disappeared. But he quickly dismissed his disappointment. “Perhaps a sunrise will do as well. If the morning is clear, shall I wake you before Sloat and I go back for the map?”

Roland accepted the offer. Berch gruffly declined.

It seemed only minutes after Roland went to sleep that Belfray was shaking him by the shoulders. “I thought you two wanted to awake early to see the sunrise,” the Tishaaran complained. "Sloat and I are heading off now."

“You thought wrong,” snapped Berch, without opening his eyes as the Tishaarans dashed away. “I said I didn’t want to see it.” Once awakened, however, he saw little chance of getting back to sleep. He leaned on one elbow and squinted into the east.

Groggy though he was, Roland found the effort of waking well worth the trouble. As the sun began to scale the peaks far to the southeast, a fluorescent red tide seeped out of the corner of the sky. Within moments, 20 shades of purple glowed between the red of the sky and the blue of the plain. Twenty minutes later, as the fully kindled sun began to overpower the fading crimson, the crystals on the plain burst into blinding sparkles that reminded Roland of hot white sparks flying from powdered iron sprinkled over an open flame.

He watched in fascination for a long while as the kindling sunlight painted a spectacular mural all across the down until he spotted two familiar, silhouetted shapes gliding rapidly along a ridge. He gave out a low whistle. “Those guys are really bookin’! They’re already on their way back.”

After squinting into the bloody glare of the sun so long that Roland wondered why he was not blinded, Digtry turned and followed his gaze. Suddenly, the little man froze. For the first time in Roland’s experience, he reflected doubt, then dismay.

“They are not out for a lark!” he cried. “There are horsemen pursuing them!”

Roland squinted into the glare. A long, blood-red line of horses and riders bobbed into view at the crest of the ridge. He felt as though he had awakened from a nightmare only to see the pieces of that horror reassembling in real life. “Now what?!?”

“Droom,” said Digtry.

“But they promised to let us go!”

Digtry then turned an anxious eye toward Berch, who was still in his blankets, rubbing his eyes in mid yawn. “I’ll tell you what this is,” he said, looking like a turtle trying to pull his head down into his shell. “You are seeing living proof that I could not outwit a stalk of celery on its worst day. Move!” he shouted, slinging a pack over his shoulders. “Forget your packs! Run to the river!”

Berch shook off the blankets. “What about them?” he growled, pointing across the Down to the fleeing Tishaarans. “You turning tail while they get run down like rabbits?”

“You are the one I am worried about,” said Digtry, shoving him into motion. This reminder of his status as a burden spurred Berch into his best simulation of a run. His boots kicked up blue powder that clumped into balls. Roland took off with him, shooting frequent glances over his shoulder.

Digtry did not move. He poured a fine powder into the palm of his hand and stood waiting as Sloat and Belfray approached. The Droom were gaining quickly on them; their horses churning up a blue cloud behind them. They would be on the Tishaarans in no time.

The lead horsemen had thundered to within a hundred yards of their quarry when the Tishaarans reached Digtry, who suddenly whirled around in a wide arc while blowing the powder out of his palm. Then he turned and joined the other two in flight.

Roland and Berch had just drawn within sight of the river when the remainder of their party caught up with them. “Droom!” shouted Belfray, his cheeks flushed and hair flicking sweat into the dry air.

“We noticed,” gasped Berch.

“It’s okay, we can slow down now,” said Digtry.

“But the Droom--” started Belfray.

“They can’t breathe. Especially the horses.”

Glancing back, Roland saw the Droom horses rearing and pitching. Their faces were masks of blue crystal.

“More magic of yours, Digtry?” asked Belfray in amazement.

Digtry sighed. “Can’t let go of that word, can you. I don’t do magic. I simply increased the magnetism of the crystals. For a time they shall be all over the Droom like flies on dead meat. Which should allow us to get across the river.”

“That is small comfort,” said Sloat. “Once off the Down and across the river, they can bag us at their leisure.”

“We stumbled right into them on our way back to the water break,” explained Belfray. “It was a perfect ambush. They had us dead to rights. Yet they just stared at us. They seemed flustered, as though we had ambushed them. Their hesitance gave us the chance to escape. But we could not get the map. How shall we find our way to the wolves without that? How could we be so careless? We are the biggest fools in all the realms, Morp included.”

“Not meaning to brag,” said Digtry, “but I claim that title all to myself. The map is no loss. We can find the wolves without it. But only a champion ninny would have walked out of Kal Shadir thinking he had outsmarted the Droom. Clever, weren’t you, Digtry! Pulled one over on the Droom, did you? Digtry of the fat head!”

“I don’t get it,” panted Roland. “Why did they let us go? Why go to all the trouble of hunting us down out here when they could easily have killed us in Kal Shadir?”

“Pride,” said Digtry. “Some might say hypocrisy. The Droom fancy themselves paragons of virtue. Defenders of justice in the world. It is an illusion that suits their leaders and gives them license among the people. They could not publicly execute us on the flimsy evidence they had. So they wait until we are well out of the city and then secretly dispatch us.”

“It was lucky that we had to double back for the map, or we never would have seen them coming,” said Sloat. “They seem to have some veil that shielded them from our view at a distance.” He shot a look at Digtry, and Roland was convinced he was restraining himself from uttering the word “magic.”

“They would have massacred us tonight under cover of darkness,” agreed Digtry. “They were biding time and you surprised them. The last thing they expected was Tishaarans jogging into their camp.”

“I do not pretend to understand the Droom,” said Sloat. “But I know that if they are tracking us, we cannot elude them for long. Droom trackers are cunning, as we have now learned to our dismay. They have `tricks,’“ he said, looking again at Digtry, “whether you call it magic or no. They have horses, which will be faster once we leave the Down, and they can track 24 hours a day without rest. They will soon run down even a Tishaaran.”

“Then . . . that counts me out,” wheezed Berch. “I’ll . . . just drop into . . . that river. Go on without me.”

Belfray turned to Digtry, pleading, “What shall we do?”

The edge of smugness was gone. No more trace of swagger. “Don’t look at me,” muttered Digtry. “Ask someone with some brains.”