removed and have him return. For long years, the Urshkaar lords and the Valharri have worked on finding a way to break the edict and allow him to return. Soon, I fear, the time will come that the Dark Lord will once again walk the land. But let us speak no more of this now, for it makes my heart heavy. Come, you will require rest in a few hours. There is a grove of trees ahead; we will be protected from the sight of those we do not wish to find us."
Gideon agreed and continued down the road alongside Ragan. He dismounted the elax near the grove. He shook his legs vigorously and stretched them.
"Ahh," he said, "the circulation is returning."
Ragan latched his elax to a nearby tree branch and then sat himself down under the tree to rest.
"We'll try to cover another six leagues before we bed down for the night," he said, closing his eyes.
"Six leagues?" exclaimed Gideon. "Why, that's—" He calculated quickly in his head. "That's almost twenty miles, Ragan. My butt will never survive."
But it seemed that the wizard was meditating, for he said nothing in return, so Gideon proceeded to sit himself down beneath another tree and looked up at the sky.
It was growing dusk, and the stars were just beginning to twinkle far above him. Illúmaril's three moons loomed in the different areas of the horizon, casting a baleful light over the land.
"Ragan?" he called softly.
The wizard grunted in acknowledgment.
"Why was I brought here? I mean, it must have taken great ability and power to do it, but why? Why me?"
Ragan opened his eyes and looked at Gideon, his face stony. His eyes shone with subtle triumph yet were tinged with sadness and sympathy.
"Dormas has his greatest servants working on finding the way for him to return from his banishment," said Ragan, his voice unwavering. "The Alor High Council and the White Council both feel those servants will succeed at this task in time, and they decided we needed aid from the outside. They have scanned the cosmos for an age, through time and space, seeking champions for the upcoming war against him; this will be the fifth time Dormas has come to our world seeking dominion. Each time in the past, he has been beaten back, but he has always returned just as strong or stronger and each time with at least one new creation or ally. Both councils believe that we must find those who will be able to organize aspects of our defenses to accomplish his demise. Neither council chooses to tell me exactly how that is to be accomplished. I can only say that you have some part to play in this overall defense, and you will be needed in the coming year."
"Look, Ragan," said Gideon, "Illúmaril is nice, okay? But it is not my home, and I don't think I could live here for the rest of my life. I'm from another world, y' know, a place where the biggest threats are terrorism and nuclear war. I don't belong here; I belong there. Look, I'll help you in your fight against your enemies if you send me back to my rightful place when it's all over, okay?"
Ragan frowned as he tried to hide the disappointment in his voice.
"Very well, John Gideon. When all is done, if that is what you still desire, then I will arrange to return you to your world," replied the wizard softly, "though I don't understand why you wish to return. I know your mind and your interests; I know your dreams. I should think our world would be fascinating to you."
Gideon replied, "It is. I mean, I'm a good sport, and I love fighting the good fight, but I think that if I survive this little war you're so set on making that will be enough for me." He paused for a moment and then chuckled. "I could retire and take up writing. Hell, I mean, I've got the makings for a fantastic story."
"I just hope you live to tell the tale," replied Ragan grimly, "and the omniverse is still around to hear it." Then a broad, beaming smile flashed across his face as he leaped to his feet and strode with vigorous steps toward his elax. "Come along, my boy. Let us continue our journey. We have a long way to go yet, and it grows later by the minute."
Chapter Two
Vasha
They had stopped for another rest once during the evening, and Ragan told Gideon briefly of the nobility on Illúmaril and that he would eventually be speaking with one or more soon. He also let Gideon get a few hours of sleep before they moved on. Several hours after riding into the night, the pair found themselves nearing a small cluster of ancient trees, several of which were burned to ashen stumps. It was now close to dawn, and Gideon swayed in his saddle, drifting through a light sleep. Ragan was silent. He would not wake his sleeping comrade, for Gideon needed his rest if he was to continue. His enemies were close; he could sense them, but he could not tell where they were hiding. They had masked their presence with subtle and powerful magics, which was, in itself, a great feat; even Ragan was not able to penetrate easily without giving his own location away. Suddenly, there was a stirring in the trees. Ragan moved stealthily, as not to give away his position to someone or something that might be watching him.
"Who is there?" he cried. "Show yourself!"
His hand instinctively clasped the jeweled hilt of the enchanted long sword at his side, and he tightened his grip.
Gideon awoke like a shot from his sleep.
"I heard a noise," replied the wizard in a hushed tone, his knuckles white upon the sword hilt.
There, sitting by a gnarled old tree near the road was a chestnut-skinned young girl, her head buried in her hands, weeping. She looked up as the travelers approached and swiftly rose to meet them.
As they drew nearer, Gideon could see the tears flowing slowly down her auburn cheeks as they glistened in the pale moonlight. She appeared to be partially naked the rest of her clothed in leaves. Her hair flowed straight down to the small of her back, but what made Gideon do a double take was that her hair was a verdant shade of green.
Ragan slowed the two elaxes and stopped beside the mournful maiden.
"What's happening?" asked Gideon. "Who is she?"
"She is a dryad, a wood nymph," replied the wizard. "They are wise in matters concerning their forest lands, especially in the region of their life tree." Ragan paused to concentrate for a moment and then said a word and gestured at Gideon. He felt a strange but not unpleasant sensation. "Hail and well met, Daughter of the Trees. Why do you weep?"
The dryad wrung her hands and said, her voice filled with great loss and sorrow, "I am called Loral"—she sniffed—"a daughter of the Tree Mother, and I weep for the fallen ones."
"Explain," said Ragan with conviction. "Who has done this?"
Loral shuddered as she said, "The evil ones did this. The evil ones have come to my wood, Ragan Tree-friend. Many of my little friends warned me of this before they fell silent. The evil ones just burned them for no other reason than spite. Men do this on occasion, but this attack was not by men. It was by someone terrible. So terrible was the presence that as I felt it, I ran. I ran into my tree and prayed to the Great Tree Mother for protection. Now, they are gone, and so are my friends." With that, the dryad burst into tears again.
"Can you describe this evil person?" pressed Ragan.
Loral thought hard for a moment, trying to remember the nightmarish events.
"Black!" she cried. "It was an elf-daughter, but black as the night. She was like…a burnt…tree!" Again, she wailed.
