“The human healer,” frowned Morro. “He is the one who healed you. Didn’t you tell them, Prince Saratoma?”
“The old man?” questioned the elven prince. “Did he do the healing?”
“I saw him heal my father with my own eyes,” declared the thief. “I am sure he was responsible for the king’s healing as well. Where has he gone?”
“I only saw him for that one moment,” shrugged the prince. “No one has seen him since.”
Morro shook his head and frowned at the impossibility of a human walking out of the Heart without being seen. Suddenly his father’s words came back to his mind. “What do you mean when you said that you needed to find Eulena? Is she missing as well?”
“She has not been seen since you left to carry the message to Prince Rigal,” answered the prince.
“Could she have gone to her daughter’s place?” asked Morro.
“Liliana is here in the Heart,” replied the king. “Her skills are much better than anyone thought her capable of. She has turned into a fine healer.”
“She must know where Eulena is then,” declared the thief.
“She does not know where Eulena is,” stated the prince. “Is there something that you are not telling us, Morro? You are making Eulena’s disappearance sound nefarious.”
Morro dwelled on the question for a moment and then shook his head. “I guess I am just surprised that so much has changed in the short time I was away from the Heart. I am sure Eulena is around somewhere.”
“I agree,” said the king. “Let us get back to our discussion of the incident. I am fairly certain that K’san was working without the knowledge of the emperor. That makes me question whether or not there is some merit to informing the emperor.”
“What do we care about the fidelity of the emperor’s minions?” asked Prince Saratoma.
“We don’t,” shrugged the king, “but such information might drive a wedge between different factions in Despair. Anything that weakens the Federation is a good thing in my mind.”
“Why would the emperor even take our word over the words of his own people?” asked Legaulle.
“The emperor will believe me,” declared the king. “Of that I am sure.”
“Believe you?” questioned Prince Saratoma. “If you are suggesting that you travel to Despair, I will have none of it. You were barely alive a few days ago, and I will not have you risk your life in Despair.”
“I am fine,” the king retorted adamantly. “Besides, the emperor would not agree to see anyone else. Only I can be guaranteed an audience.”
“I do not like the idea,” stated the prince.
“There is merit to the plan,” sighed Legaulle. “I do agree that there is danger to the king, but there is also danger in not telling the emperor.”
“What do you mean?” asked the prince.
“Should the emperor discover the transgression through some other means,” explained the historian, “he will become suspicious about why we have not complained. The sanctity of the archives is the only boon afforded us by the empire. He would expect us to complain about it.”
“There is truth in that,” agreed Morro. “The Dielderal must not be seen to be operating any differently than we have for generations. If such a transgression would have called for the king to go to Despair in prior times then he must do so now.”
“That is easy for you to say,” snapped the prince. “Every trip to Despair is wrapped in danger for my grandfather.”
“Do not disparage Morro for speaking the truth,” scolded the king. “What he is saying is what must be said. I will leave for Despair in the morning.”
The king’s final words were issued with authority, and the prince knew that there was no further sense in arguing. He rose and stormed out of the office.
“His temper may yet be the end of him,” frowned Legaulle.
“That is hardly fair, Father,” scowled Morro. “When we returned to the Heart, we thought we had lost both of you. Prince Saratoma is not anxious to have you back just so you can go and endanger yourself once again. He fears losing his grandfather.”
“Go to him,” the king said compassionately. “Make him understand that I have no death wish. I am merely trying to do what is necessary for the survival of our people. I will return from Despair.”
Morro nodded and rose to his feet. He walked out of the office and went in search of the prince. While he didn’t find the prince in the building, he did run into Liliana.
“Where is your mother?” asked the thief.
“I do not know,” answered the healer.
“Did she say nothing before she left?” inquired Morro. “I wanted to talk to her about a mutual friend.”
“Fakir Aziz?” asked Liliana.
“You know him?” Morro asked with surprise.
“I spent a day with him recently.” The healer nodded. “A most extraordinary being.”
“Being?” frowned Morro. “What an odd thing to say. He is a human.”
“Is he?” retorted Liliana. “I seriously doubt that. Oh, I know that he appears human, but those with the gift of magic can see things that the eyes cannot. Fakir Aziz is far more than a mere human.”
“Then what is he?” asked Morro.
“He is magic,” replied the healer. “I cannot explain it to you. To be in his presence is to be in the essence of a spell.”
The words were spoken in reverence, and the thief merely stared at the healer. He remembered Eulena saying that Fakir Aziz was the answer to their prayers. He shook his head in silence for a few moments.
“I think Eulena might have left Elfwoods with Fakir,” offered Liliana. “She did not say so, but she was intentionally vague about her future plans. Fakir Aziz taught me a great deal during our one day together and then they both disappeared. I felt as if I were being groomed to take my mother’s place. I do not think I will ever see either of them again.”
Tears welled up in Liliana’s eyes, and Morro grew uncomfortable. He silently turned and left the room. For the next hour, the thief wandered around the Heart looking for Prince Saratoma, but the search was unsuccessful. Eventually he sat on a rock. The true nature of Fakir Aziz weighed heavily on the thief’s mind. As he sat, listening to the melodies of songbirds, Morro’s thoughts wandered until he remembered the hourglass. He reached into his pouch and withdrew it. He examined the hourglass closely, marveling at the detailed workmanship. The miniature artifact was beautifully carved, and the glass housing was without imperfections. He turned the glass upside down, but the fine grains of sand did not sift down to the lower chamber. He frowned in confusion and tapped the glass a few times.
Only after a more careful examination did the thief notice a tiny lever on the side of the hourglass. The lever was cleverly concealed within the ornate carving so that a cursory glance would not reveal it. Intrigued with the skillful work, Morro engaged the lever. The sands began to slowly flow from one bulb to the next. The thief watched the hourglass in amusement for a few minutes before feeling as if something was wrong. A sense of anxiety nearly overwhelmed the elf, and he looked up to see if anyone was sneaking up on him. What he saw filled him with wonder.
Not three paces away, a magpie was suspended in the air. The bird was in full flight, but it was not moving. Morro frowned deeply. He tore his eyes away from the bird and glanced around. Behind him, a falling leaf hung in the air, as if some unseen tendril of magic were holding it in place. It was then that he realized what had alerted him. There were no sounds in the forest. There was no breeze; no birds were singing; the leaves were not rustling. Nothing was moving. It was as if time had stopped. Morro rose to his feet and walked to the bird. He cautiously reached out and touched it. It was real. The elven thief shook his head in amazement.
Unexpectedly, the bird suddenly darted away, and the forest came to life once again. Morro glanced down at the hourglass in his hand and saw that the sands had run out of the upper bulb. He quickly turned the hourglass upside down. The san
ds started flowing again, but nothing happened. Puzzled, he returned to the rock he had been sitting on. He sat staring at the hourglass as the sands returned to their original location. When the last of the sands filled the lower bulb, a soft click sounded. Morro turned the hourglass over again, but he didn’t trigger the lever. Instead he rose to his feet and headed towards the busiest part of the Heart. When he was just outside the king’s building, the thief activated the lever. Everyone in the area instantly froze in mid-step. Morro raced into the king’s building, using his gift of speed. He ran through every room and exited the building. Next he ran the length of the Heart to see at what distance the effect wore off, but everyone was frozen. He glanced at the sands and saw that they were quickly running out. He stopped and waited to see what would happen. As the last sand flowed out of the upper bulb, people started moving as if nothing odd had happened.
The elven thief walked back towards the center of the Heart. He was so lost in thought about the uses of the hourglass that at first he didn’t hear the elven prince calling him.
“Have you gone deaf?” Prince Saratoma asked as he halted in front of Morro.
“Sorry?” Morro asked with a shake of his head as he stuffed the hourglass into his pouch. “I guess I was lost in thought. I have been looking for you.”
“I had to leave the Heart,” the prince said excitedly. “One of our scouts discovered fresh horse tracks to the north.”
“Heading this way?” questioned Morro.
“No,” frowned the prince. “That is what is strange. They were heading away. Prince Rigal and his men have not been over this way, have they?”
“No,” replied Morro. “They have been studying the terrain where the miners gather each month. They are not sure exactly how to gather all of the Dielderal when the time comes.”
“The Federation seldom uses horses to come here,” worried the prince, “but it is not unheard of. What worries me the most is that my grandfather is intent on heading to Despair in the morning. I fear for his safety.”
“I will accompany the king to Despair,” offered the thief. “I want to catch up to Fakir Aziz, and I think he is heading north. In fact, the tracks might be his.”
“I should be the one to go,” frowned Prince Saratoma.
“No,” insisted Morro. “Both of you in Despair is far too dangerous. One of you must remain safe to lead the Dielderal. I will get your grandfather safely to Despair.”
* * * *
General Forshire sat on a bench near the docks of the Imperial Palace in Despair. He appeared to be gazing out to sea, but he held a military patch in his hand on his lap. The patch held the letter V, and it was especially designed for General Garibaldi and his new V Corps. Clint had managed to steal one when General Garibaldi brought them to the dining room to show off. The patch was similar to the A Corps patch that he had commissioned for his own army, and the similarity struck him as an opportunity in waiting. As Clint had expected, Grand General Kyrga had authorized small armies for the Vinaforan and Karaminian generals. Each was now authorized for a hundred-man infantry force, and the two generals were fighting over the available prisoners.
It bothered Clint that Garibaldi had chosen the first letter of his homeland. He feared that someone might mistake the A as standing for Alcea, and that would not be healthy. He made a mental note to influence General Fabio not to use K Corps as the name for his small army. As he was putting the military patch back into his pouch, Clint felt a familiar weight upon his shoulder.
“I trust that no one is watching?” berated Clint.
“Of course not,” chirped Peanut, but the fairy quickly moved to Clint’s pocket.
“Was your trip to the Isle of Despair successful?”
“Not entirely,” reported the fairy. “I delivered the messages as you requested, but Squirt told me that there has not been a ship to Alcea in over a month.”
“Over a month?” frowned the Ranger. “There has been one almost every week for the past few months. Is he sure?”
“He is positive,” answered Peanut, “and he is quite concerned about it. The last fairy to arrive from Alcea reported seeing no eastbound ships at all. If the Federation ships stop sailing to Alcea, we will have no further communications with our homeland.”
“I wonder if they have discovered that we are using their ships to speak with our people back home?” Clint mused out loud.
“We would have known about being discovered,” stated the fairy. “The Federation surely would have used mages to try to capture one of us. I think there must be another reason.”
“Still,” sighed Clint, “that means my information about the Doors will not get to Tagaret. King Arik needs to know that thirty pairs of Doors were ordered and not just twenty-four.”
“At least the rest of our people here in Zara will get the information,” Peanut said to brighten up Clint’s mood. “There is other information as well. Fakir Aziz met with Max in Karamin. Max said the old man was very helpful. Fakir also showed up in Elfwoods recently. And that is not all of the Elfwoods news. K’san, two black-cloaks, and a hundred soldiers went to the Heart and invaded the archives. They took four elven women of royal blood with them when they left. They also attacked King Elengal and Legaulle, the historian. Both men survived the attack, but barely. The elves are very upset about this.”
“I can imagine they would be,” replied Clint. “I have another task for you if you are not tired.”
“Tired?” laughed the fairy. “I can fly all day and all night, too. Besides, the Isle of Despair is hardly a trip from here.”
Clint smiled at the little man. “This mission will be quite a trip for you. Do you remember the tunnel in the Dark Forest?”
“Of course,” replied Peanut. “Do you want me to explore the tunnel?”
“That is too dangerous.” Clint shook his head. “It is probably guarded by mages on both ends.”
“Both ends?” questioned the little man.
“Yes.” Clint nodded. “I have been thinking about that tunnel quite a bit lately. I am sure that is where the Doors are located, but I do not think it is a mine. If we figure that they would want to align ten thousand men for each door, the amount of space needed would be immense. I do not think it is an underground facility. That means the tunnel must go through the mountain to somewhere, and I am guessing that there is a mountain valley at the other end of it.”
“I can fly over the mountains and see if that is true,” boasted the fairy.
“That is exactly what I want you to do,” smiled Clint. “But I do not want you getting caught, and this is very important. The Federation must have no suspicion that we are curious about Camp Destiny. Just see if there is a valley back there and nothing more. If there is, we will discuss another trip up there to map it.”
“It shall be as you wish,” saluted the fairy. “I will report back quicker than an elven arrow.”
Peanut shot out of Clint’s pocket and disappeared into the trees. Climbing to a great height, the fairy followed the road to Valdo and then angled off to fly above the Blood Highway. By the time he reached the Barrier, the sun was already beginning to set. Looking down on the peaks of the mountains, there was no obvious large valley, but Peanut prided himself on his thoroughness, so he soared down to the summit of one of the mountains and settled in for the night.
When the sun rose in the east, Peanut was already awake. He stretched his tiny arms and took to the air. He soared over the peaks of the mountains and could find no valley of any size, and certainly not one with a human army in it. Having reached the western edge of the Barrier, Peanut banked sharply and turned towards the east to go back to Despair. As he flew back over the peaks, something struck him as being wrong, but he could not immediately figure out what it was. He shot upward to halt his soar and hovered over the mountains. As he gazed down on the peaks, he shook his little head, wondering what had caused him concern. Suddenly, it dawned on the little man.
The sunrise was casting l
ong shadows across the mountain peaks, but the shadows weren’t quite right. While the sides of the peaks towards the sun were brilliantly illuminated, and the sides away from the sun were black as night, there were no shadows cast by neighboring peaks. Peanut shot downward towards one of the peaks. He flared his wings within a pace from the lit side of one of the peaks and stared at the rocky outcrop. Although he could feel the sun warming his back, he could not see his shadow on the face of the mountain.
“It’s an illusion!” chirped the fairy.
Peanut moved to the side of the mountain. He carefully extended his arm and was not surprised when it passed through the rock. Mustering up his courage, Peanut probed further into the side of the mountain until he was totally encased in solid rock, or at least that is what his eyes reported. The fairy could still feel the air currents around him, and he knew that he was still hovering. He stopped flapping his wings for a moment and he felt his body falling towards the ground. With nothing visible except rock, Peanut got a sick feeling in his stomach. He flapped his wings furiously to halt his descent. By the time he slowed his fall, the illusion of rock was gone. Below him spread a vast green valley with thousands of men running around.
Shouts of alarm filled the air, and Peanut saw some black-cloaks pointing upward. The fairy understood that he had set off some kind of alarm, and the mages were trying to pinpoint the intrusion. Without a second thought, the fairy darted upward. Once again the imagery of solid rock formed around the fairy, but Peanut was no longer fooled by it. He shot upward until he was high above the fake mountain peaks. Without waiting to see what the black-cloaks might do, Peanut banked sharply and soared southward where he could lose any pursuers among the peaks of the real mountains.
Far below the illusion, the black-cloaks were shouting with alarm. General Tauman dismounted his horse before the creature had come to a stop. He raced into the group of mages.
“What is going on?” he demanded.
“Something has penetrated our illusion,” declared one of the black-cloaks.
“It was probably just a bird,” scowled another mage. “It barely had any size at all.”
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