Chapter 23

After a much-needed nap, Tarrin decided to go ahead and track down Phandebrass. Sometimes this wasn’t easy, for he was known to be able to disappear for days on end and never leave the main Tower. A short chat with Jenna revealed that he had been once again allowed to ferret through the ancient junk stored in the lost cellars of the Tower, with the understanding that nothing he found could leave the room in which it had been stored. Nobody wanted a repeat of the Carnivorous Clock incident. Because of that, Phandebrass now spent most of his time down in the cellars, which irritated his drakes to no end. They didn’t like it down there, and as a result spent most of their time flying around in the gardens.

Tarrin left Fireflash in the gardens to play with Chopstick and Turnkey and descended into the musty, dark, dusty old cellars hidden under the Tower. There were a great many of them, going very deep underground, and most of them were known only to Phandebrass. Tarrin himself didn’t know his way around those unused passages, and relied on his nose to guide himself to the Wizard.

He found him in one of the deepest cellars, rifling through an ancient chest that looked ready to fall apart at any moment. There were stacks and stacks of thin stone tablets surrounding him, and Tarrin could see that they were engraved with writing. “Tarrin!” he beamed happily just before reaching back into the box. Two startled mice bolted out of a small hole in the bottom corner of the chest, skittering away. “Jula said she’d ask you to come. Odd, that, I just told her a couple of hours ago. I say, she works fast, she does.”

“What did you need, Phandebrass?” he asked.

“I say, your expertise, I do,” he answered. “Jula’s teaching me Duthak, but I haven’t quite mastered it yet, I havent. She said she’d ask you to come. Odd, that, I just asked her a couple of hours ago.”

Tarrin snorted slightly. He was in one of those moods. That meant that getting anything rational out of him was going to be a little difficult. “Take your hands out of the chest and concentrate on talking to me,” he ordered. “I’m not going to spend an hour dragging it out of you.”

Phandebrass laughed, withdrawing his hands. “I was rambling?”

“You were about to start,” he affirmed.

“I say, you know me too well, you do,” he chuckled, turning and bending down to pick up one of the stone tablets. “I say, I found this a couple of days ago. I couldn’t read most of it, and when I showed it to Jula, she wasn’t sure about what it means. Since you’re the resident expert on Duthak, we thought you’d have the best chance, you would. I say, if it says what we think it says, we have a mystery on our hands.”

Tarrin immediately sat cross-legged on the floor, curling his tail around to keep it out from underfoot, and held out his paw for the tablet. Seated, Tarrin’s head came up to Phandebrass’s chest. It was times like that when he realized just how tall he really was. The white-haired mage handed him a thin, almost delicate stone tablet, and on it were etched Duthak runes. The language’s written form was literally nothing but straight lines and sharp corners, and seeing it engraved in stone, he understood why. It was created before Dwarves had learned to make paper, and carving straight lines into stone was much easier.

Avelrad, it began, I hope this slate reaches you timely. The evacuation of Dragg was successful, and the katzh-dashi have agreed to Teleport the women and children to Suldas. Tarrin paused a bit to remember where that was, then remembered that that was what the Dwarves called Suld. There is no safe place for them now. Suldas is under siege, and the Demons have discovered our city south of Petal Lakes and destroyed it. The Shining City has been lost, and Thunark is no more.

The Hobbits have succumbed, friend Alverad. There are no more. The Gnomes have all but been wiped out as well. We have lost too many fighting the Demons, and I will not allow the Dwarves to fade as the Hobbits and Gnomes have done so. The katzh-dashi have agreed to help.

Forgive me, Alverad. I have sent them to Ruk Argoth. It will be very dangerous, because of the Demons swarming the Skydancers, but the Sorcerers are taking them. They should make it. I am sending them Beyond, and the Sorcerers have agreed to go with them and Ward the entrance of the gateway behind them so none can follow, and protect them. When this war is over, we will call them home. This way, if we all fall, the Dwarves will survive and continue on, beyond the reach of the Demons.

I know you will curse me for sending your wife and daughters Beyond, Alverad, but know that it is done with their safety in mind, and the preservation of our race. In time, I know you will understand. And if we all fall, at least they will be safe.

Your friend, Ardo Morak.

Tarrin was quiet a long, long moment, pondering the slate’s contents. If this slate was correct, then a Dwarven general—an Ardo—sent a contingent of Dwarves to a place called Ruk Argoth. Ruk meant crossroads, so the name literally meant the crossroads of Argoth, and this place was in the Skydancers. He sent them there with a contingent of Sorcerers to protect them, and they were going to hide somewhere to protect the Dwarven spiecies from extinction. That was smart, and this Morak had certainly forseen the possibility of failure.

But some of it…it tickled at him. The Sorcerers were going to block the gateway, and they were going to a place called Beyond. That word, it had several meanings, and from the context of the writing, he assumed that was what it meant. It could also mean over, past, or in an archaic manner in an idiom, it referred to the Dwarven concept of the life after death, the world of spirits. But these were living Dwarves, so he doubted that that was what it meant.

He was quiet for quite a while, pondering the message, until he abruptly stood up, startling Phandebrass. “A Dwarven general sent the women and children of a fallen city to a place called Beyond to protect them and safeguard the Dwarven race from extinction,” he answered.

“That’s what we thought it meant!” he said brightly. “I say, so there might be Dwarves still alive!”

“I’m not sure, but I think I’m missing something here,” he said with a frown, looking at the slate. “There’s something about this message that’s biting at my tail. I don’t know why, but there’s something more to it.”

“The Shining City, is that Mala Myrr?”

Tarrin nodded. “It was the only Dwarven city above ground. They called it the Shining City because of the sunlight. Mala Myrr literally means Bright City.”

“I say, I knew calling you in was the right thing to do!” he said happily, clapping his hands together. “There just might be Dwarves left, there might!”

“Maybe, but after five thousand years, they would have been found by now,” Tarrin said distractedly, looking at the slate again. What was he missing here? He knew there was something to this message he wasn’t catching. He read it again, then again, poring over it word for word. Then he sat down again and crossed his arms before him, bowing his head as he pondered it. Phandebrass knew him, and knew that when Tarrin did that, to not bother him. Phandebrass waited silently as he thought it through, then read the message one more time.

And he caught it. Gateway. It wasn’t gateway. He was making a context error, and the word meant its other meaning.

Gate.

A gate. A gate! Of course! It was only after the Blood War that the gates were closed! Argo Morak, that clever rascal, sent a group of Dwarves through a gate to another world, the one place he could send them where they would be safe!

“That’s it,” he declared, standing quickly. “I read the message wrong,” he admitted. “Morak sent the Dwarves through a gate, Phandebrass. He sent them to another world.”

Phandebrass looked about to say something, then his eyes brightened. “I say, that’s genius! And since this happened during the Blood War, the gates were still open!”

Tarrin nodded, pondering the significance of it. After five thousand years, could there still be Dwarves alive on the other side of that gate? After the Blood War, the gate would have been closed, and they were stranded there. Had Morak sent men with the women and children? Were there enough young boys to sustain a valid population?

And what about the Sorcerers who accompanied them? They were ageless…could they still be alive?

So that was what Mother wanted. She wanted him to read the message. She wanted him to consider that. She wanted him to find out.

She wanted him to find her lost children. Or at least find out what happened to them.

And he found that he was curious enough to be agreeable to that.

So, he had a mystery here. And right in front of him, waiting in anticipation, was the one man on Sennadar who could solve any mystery, if he was motivated enough to do so.

“I say, what incredible news! There might still be Dwarves alive!” he declared.

“We have to find out,” Tarrin declared. “That means you have a job,” he said.

“Oh? I say, what job?”

He turned the slate so Phandebrass could see it, and pointed to two words. “We have to find the location of the gate,” he said, pointing to the words Ruk Argoth. “I have no idea where Ruk Argoth is. I’ll look for it, you look for it. One of us is bound to find it.”

“I say, what happens when we find it?”

Tarrin gave him a steady look. “If we can get permission from the Elder Gods, we go see what’s on the other side. And if we find any Dwarves or Sorcerers, we bring them home.”

Phandebrass stared at him a moment, then laughed. “Too right! I’ve always wanted to visit another plane of existence! I say, I’ll need Jula to accelerate my Duthak education. I need to go to the library! I need a new book! I need—“

Tarrin stepped up and reached within, through the Cat, and touched the boundless power of the All. He put a finger to Phandebrass’ forehead with his image and intent, and the All responded by transferring all of Tarrin’s knowledge of Duthak into Phandebrass’ mind. Tarrin had a stern rule about making others learn Duthak the long way, like he did, but this was a special case. He needed Phandebrass fluent now. The white-haired Wizard tottered a bit after the spell went off, then wisely sat down on the floor. “I say, you could have warned me, you could,” he complained.

“When the dizzyness wears off, get started. I’ll go home and see if I can’t find any references in my Duthak collection.”

“Tarrin, I say, don’t leave me down here,” he asked.

With barely a thought, Tarrin Teleported Phandebrass to the Tower’s library, but making sure he didn’t land in a chair someone else was occupying beforehand. He then wove the spell of Teleportation once more, around himself, and sent himself to his own library at home.

It was nice to have something to do. Tarrin hated to admit that, but it was true enough. Being able to fly around and explore was nice, but it was also nice to be able to know that he had something to do today, and it was something that, at least to him, was important. He’d hated being on the quest for the Firestaff, but it did put purpose and focus in his life, and he’d gotten something close to accustomed to the idea of it. Not even six years of freedom had really changed that.

He certainly didn’t stay home for very long. He knew his library inside out, and knew after only two days that there was no reference to Ruk Argoth in his collection. He also knew that the Cathedral of Knowledge in Abrodar and the Imperial Library didn’t have it either, so that left him only with Haven, and Spyder’s vast collection.

He knew he could have just asked Spyder, but after five thousand years, he was certain a few extra days or months wouldn’t matter. Mother had put him on this, and he was going to do it himself. If he came up empty in Spyder’s library, then he would ask her.

While Tarrin was busy with his research, things happened out in the real world, and they happened very quickly. The day after Tarrin returned to Haven, Triana showed up at his home and announced flatly that Jasana’s Druid education would start now. Jesmind didn’t have a problem with that, at least until Triana announced that she was taking Jasana to her own den. Triana felt that Jasana was much too used to the lavish luxuries of Tarrin’s house, like the running water and the controlled temperature, and her education was going to be as much about how to live in the real world as it would be in Druidic magic. Jesmind had taught her all about being a Were-cat, but hadn’t taught her much about how things worked in the world away from Tarrin’s house.

This put Jesmind is a quandary. She was unwilling to leave his house, which she considered hers and also validated the claim on Tarrin that she was absolutely unwilling to relenquish, but Jasana was her cub, and she wasn’t an adult yet, and Jasana’s presence in the house was her main argument for remaining. There was no way she could argue with Triana, however, so Jasana left the house that day. Jasana was not too happy about it, but she wasn’t stupid enough to argue with Triana either.

Triana, that clever fox, had already prepared for her cub’s stubborn unwillingness to relenquish the house and allow Tarrin to live in his own home. The evening after she took Jasana, Mist returned to the house. Mist was not going to reason with Jesmind, and since Tarrin was unmated at the moment, she was not going to allow a female that couldn’t be his mate prevent other females from doing so. Mist thrashed the resistant Were-cat and physically ejected her from the house, then took up residence. In something of a bit of petty vengeance, Mist wouldn’t let Jesmind recover any of her possessions. Jesmind left the house with nothing but the clothes on her back.

Or what was left of them.

Tarrin didn’t know it for a month after it happened, but the news travelled very quickly through the Were-cats that Jesmind had been unseated by Mist, and that Mist had not yet secured her claim on Tarrin. Mist found herself besieged by females looking to usurp Mist’s claim and be the female in the house waiting for Tarrin to return, which they saw as the female who had earned the right to be his mate. Shirazi, Singer, Trielle, Nikki, Rahnee, Shayle, Lora, and Marie all tried to take the house from Mist, and all of them were brutally reminded that Mist was, outside of Triana, the strongest, most ferocious female Were-cat alive. She destroyed every challenge to her claim on the house very quickly, and after the last of them, Singer, hobbled off to lick her wounds, the rest of the females understood that they’d better let Mist have him, because she was going to start killing females who didn’t. The amount of injury she dished out on invading females became increasingly more severe, and after Mist tore off both Singer’s arms—literally—they knew that the next challenger wouldn’t get out of Tarrin’s little meadow alive.

After a month of searching through Spyder’s library, he returned home for a short rest, and found Mist and Eron in the house, waiting for him. Kimmie returned to the house as well, breaking her self-imposed exile to the tower, and it also allowed his twin daughters to return to the house. Mist and Kimmie explained what happened to Jesmind, then Mist quite firmly declared that she was his mate.

Tarrin had no problem with that at all. After years without a mate, the idea of having a female’s scent surrounding him when he woke up was just fine with him, and he rather liked Mist.

And so, his mating with Mist began. And it was much different than his matings with Jesmind or Kimmie, for Mist was very much different from them. Mist was a very, very tolerant Were-cat about certain things, so much so that it made being her mate very easy. She had absolutely no jealousy, first off, something that neither Jesmind nor Kimmie could claim. She trusted him completely, like she was utterly secure with her position, no matter what he might say or where his eyes might be. He remembered how she acted when he was human, how she was so calm and confident about the choice he would make, and he understood that it was a facet of her primal personality. Mist trusted Tarrin, a trust stemming from his healing of her, and that trust was utterly absolute. She had faith in him, almost blind faith, and it made it very easy to deal with her. She was also much more unassuming and less demanding than Kimmie or Jesmind. Jesmind was extremely possessive, and Kimmie was not too far from Jesmind, but Mist was complacent to allow him to do anything he wanted to do if he allowed her to do the same, just so long as he always came back home at night. That was her only demand. He had to return to the house at night. And he had no problem with it.

He thought he knew Mist very well before, but he’d been quite wrong about that. Mist was always quiet in public, but in private she was quite talkative and much less aggressive, almost kittenish in certain ways. Her quietness and aggression were fronts she showed to the world, aspects of her feral nature, fronts which vanished when they were alone. Mist would open up to Tarrin and tell him everything that crossed her mind. She kept no secrets from him, and her openness spurred him to be as open with her.

Her feral nature defined their relationship in several ways. She saw him as dominant, and that was that. Tarrin ruled the house, and she didn’t gainsay him. That, Tarrin could not get used to. Jesmind fought him every day, and Kimmie resisted with clever words and manipulation rather than blunt opposition, but Mist did not. It was just bizarre to even think of Mist being submissive in any manner, but with him, she was. It made him think about his own relationship with Triana, and he saw certain parallels. Tarrin saw Triana as dominant, and he’d bite off his own tail before opposing her wishes. That was how Mist behaved towards him. She was a bit different in private, more willing to voice her opinions and try to guide his actions, but she never tried to tell him what to do. She would suggest, that was all. And in those suggestions he found a great deal of good old common sense. Mist was a surprisingly intelligent Were-cat, much smarter than most others gave her credit for, but she had a vast reserve of common sense that made her seem very, very wise. Her suggestions were always utterly sensible, and he found that listening to Mist’s advice was a smart thing to do. She was also very protective over him. Not possessive, protective. She didn’t quite try to mother him, but she was very quick to defend him or his positions if she felt that someone was threatening him or doubting his words. People learned that one did not get into an argument when Mist was around him. The only ones who could were his family and Dolanna, whom Mist regarded as having the right to argue given their relationships with him. No one else dared say a word against him where Mist could hear it.

All in all, he was quite satisfied with Mist. She was so much different than Jesmind and Kimmie it was startling, yet there was really nothing left out of their relationship. There wasn’t the same love there as he had with the other two females, a more familiar, platonic kind of love that existed between them. Jesmind and Kimmie were lovers, but Mist was more of a friend, a friend he just happened to take to bed every night. There was no pressure, no expectations out of their mating. They were mates because they liked each other, and that was that. His matings with Jesmind and Kimmie were much different than with Mist, but his mating with Mist was much more like a normal mating between Were-cats.

Jasana’s departure and Eron’s return shook up the power structure of the cubs, for Tara found in Eron a Were-cat she couldn’t bully. Eron was much like his mother when it came to establishing his authority, and it only took a couple of fights for Tara to realize that she was utterly outmatched by her older brother. Eron was a huge Were-cat for his age, and he was unbelievably strong. He was the size of an adult male and almost twice as strong, and he was only seven years old! Eron didn’t seem to exhibit any magical potential, at least none that Tarrin could sense yet, but he had received certain other gifts from his father, it seemed. Then again, the child of such physically impressive Were-cats like Tarrin and Mist would naturally be blessed with exceptional physical attributes. He was still a rather happy-go-lucky cub, though, which Tarrin rather liked, and his attachment to Sandy had not waned. Sandy was full-grown now, a sleek, handsome desert fox, and she was still utterly devoted to Eron.

Tara sulked a while, but she eventually got over it. Mainly because Eron’s bubbly personality made it impossible for her to stay mad at him. Mist had done a fantastic job keeping her feral tendencies out of her cub’s personality.

Despite them both working on the Dwarf mystery, neither Tarrin nor Phandebrass had found anything of substance yet. They met every three days at the Tower to compare results, and had nothing so far. Phandebrass had pored over every ancient map he could find and tried to cross-reference the name Ruk Argoth with other languages, to see if some other race referred to that place, but had not found any yet. Tarrin had been reading Duthak slates, books, and scrolls at Haven, but had not as yet stumbled across any reference to this mysterious place. They only knew that it was somewhere in the Skydancers, or under the Skydancers. The mountain range was riddled with caves, tunnels, and passages much like the underground route that Tarrin and Jesmind had taken through the Frozen Mountains on the way to Gora Umadar. There had been several Dwarven cities in those tunnels, and that made simply searching for the place a fruitless idea.

But it wasn’t just them for long. Jula got caught up in the idea of it, and she started helping Tarrin, though she couldn’t go to Haven. Kimmie also got infected by her mentor’s enthusiasm, and she started helping Phandebrass, either bringing the cubs with her or leaving them at home with Mist. Anayi more or less got caught up in it because she was Kimmie’s pupil. That put five of them on the hunt, and it accelerated their gathering of useless information considerably. The three-day conferences became more of a committee after Jenna started sitting in on them, bringing Sevren with her, who had taken an interest in Duthak from Jula. Sevren was one of the few Sorcerers in the Tower who had forgiven Jula and treated her like a friend.

It was the day that Mist came with them, however, that got them started in the right direction. She sat quietly by Tarrin as they each explained what they’d found and generally fretted over a lack of progress. “You’re being foolish,” she announced after Phandebrass announced three more days without any luck.

“I say, how so, my dear?” he asked.

“You’re looking for something the Dwarves wanted hidden, which means they probably destroyed anything that would lead someone to it. The Sorcerers helped, so they probably made sure nobody finds what you’re looking for,” she told him. “Looking for this place in papers written in Duthak, Sha’Kar, or any human language is pointless. Find a race that’s just as old, and look through their writings.”

Tarrin was about to object using the reasoning that the Dwarves wouldn’t have had time to ensure such a thing, but he held his tongue when he realized that she had a good idea. Maybe not for the reason she was giving, but her idea was a solid one. If they’d had no luck with Duthak or Sha’Kar, who would have actively hidden that information, looking elsewhere might be a good idea.

“I say, that might just be a good idea,” Phandebrass said. “It’s certainly worth pursuing, if only because we all seem to be stuck. A change of direction might shake loose the answer, as it were.”

“What other races were alive then?” Jula asked. “I mean, most of the other races were destroyed in the Blood War. Just about the only records were have were made by the Sha’Kar.”

“The dragons,” Sevren reasoned. “They were alive then.”

“The Gnomes as well,” Phandebrass declared.

“The Book of Ages might have what we’re looking for,” Jenna mused. “But I doubt it. And it would take forever for me to find if it did.”

“I could ask Spyder, I suppose,” Tarrin sighed. “I didn’t want to disturb her, but she might know what we need.”

“You could have asked her from the start,” Jula winked. “But this isn’t her task. This is ours now, so we shouldn’t involve her unless we have no other choice.”

“Too right,” Phandebrass said. “I’d like to do this without having to run to Spyder, I would. I say, it’s personal now, it is. I will find out, and I’ll do it without cheating.”

“Well, we have Gnomes and dragons,” Sevren said. “Anyone know any?”

“I’ll talk to Sapphire,” Tarrin said.

“I know where the Gnomes live,” Phandebrass added. “If someone would be so kind as to ask Alexis if we can borrow her flying ship, we can zip down there and have a chat with them.”

“Where do they live?” Sevren asked curiously.

“I say, on a small island off the west coast of Valkar,” he answered. “On the Sea of Ice. With her flying ship, we could be there in six days from Abrodar, we could.”

“I’ll do it,” Tarrin announced. “I can get there in two days. I’m much faster than a flying ship.”

“I thought you were going to talk to Sapphire,” Jenna noted.

“I can Teleport to Sapphire’s den whenever I please,” he told her. “If I have no luck with her, I’ll go to the Gnomes.”

“I say, capital! In the meantime, Jenna my dear, you can see if you get lucky with the Book of Ages. I’ll go through the Gnomish writings in the library, and Jula can keep poring over the Duthak artifacts and see if she gets lucky.”

“You don’t speak Gnomish,” Kimmie accused.

“I do,” he declared. “I say, I told you I’ve visited the Gnomes. It turns out that they speak Valkari, so they can trade with the tribes in the jungles on the mainland. I know Valkari too, I do, so we used it as a common base.”

Jenna laughed when Kimmie glared at him a bit. “You speak Gnomish and Valkari and you never told me?” she demanded accusingly.

“I say, I didn’t? I thought I did. Odd, that.”

Tarrin suppressed a chuckle. “I’d better get started,” he announced. “Do you want me to take you and the cubs home, Mist?”

“Jula can take us,” she told him demurely. “You get started. You have a long way to go.”

“I’ll do that,” he said, leaning over and kissing her on the cheek, then standing up and marvelling at Phandebrass once again. He knew so much, even he forgot how much he knew sometimes.

“Do you need directions?” Phandebrass asked.

“I can find it myself,” he answered. “If you gave me directions, I’d end up on one of the moons.”

They all laughed at that, as Fireflash jumped up onto his shoulder when Tarrin beckoned him to come. “If Sapphire has anything, I’ll let you know. If not, I’ll see you in a few days.”

“Do you need to lift the language from me?” Phandebrass asked.

“No, I have the charm, remember?”

Phandebrass sighed. “I say, what I wouldn’t give for one of those.”

“It’s a double-edged sword, Phandebrass,” Tarrin said seriously.

“Be safe,” Mist said simply.

“Always,” he answered even as he wove a spell of Teleportation, then vanished from the room.

Sapphire, it turned out, was a bust. She didn’t know anything about Ruk Argoth, but she did promise to ask around with the other dragons to see if anyone did. Dragons had a very long memory, but they didn’t pay much attention to the bipeds, so their knowledge of their histories was incomplete, at best.

And so, he was off to the island of the Gnomes.

Starting from Abrodar, he first Summoned his Air Elemental and sent it ahead of him to scout for storms. Then he used a powerful Druidic spell that allowed him to lock onto the island, using the conditions of it being an island and being populated by Gnomes that set it apart and allowed him to know exactly which direction he had to go to reach it. Once he had its position, all it took was a Conjured map and a compass to know exactly where it was. He still couldn’t Teleport there, but knowing where he was going was going to cut time off of his flight.

Since it was a two day trip over open ocean with no chance for any place to stop and rest, he couldn’t afford sleeping. So he reaffixed the charm to his amulet to make sure he didn’t nod off in the middle of the journey. After that was done, he brought out his wings and took off.

Flying for two straight days over featureless water was the definition of boredom. He alleviated it by contacting his sisters and talking with them, but it also brought with it fantastic news. Most importantly, Allia was finally pregnant. She’d just found out that morning, and was one step from contacting Tarrin with the happy news. After that was discovered, plans were quickly made for a reunion to celebrate the birth of Allia’s child, which would take place six months from today in the desert, at the ruins of Mala Myrr. Selani pregnancies were very short, which was only smart given the harshness of their environment. Tarrin was so happy to hear about that, that it made much of his flight much easier to take. Allia was his deepest, closest friend, and he knew that this child would mean everything to her, much as Eron meant everything to Mist. After everything Allia and Allyn went through, that child would be their ultimate reward, and in a way, a reconciliation of sorts between the Selani and Sha’Kar after millenia of separation.

Because of his elation over Allia’s pregnancy, the two day flight seemed much shorter, and he blinked and found himself literally about to pass the large island of the Gnomes by. He had to circle around and descend, landing lightly on a beach with blue water lapping on black volcanic sand. He’d seen their city while circling, a small affair in the middle of the island, on the high ground, which was disappointingly small. The Gnomes had been slowly dying out over the millenia since the Blood War, and though there were very isolated pockets of them in Sennadar and Arathorn, there weren’t more than a couple dozen of them. This city was the largest concentration of Gnomes left, and it didn’t look very large. Triana thought that the Gnomes would die out within a thousand years, and from the size of their city—half the size of Torrian, which wasn’t very large—he thought she might be right.

He had no idea what to expect from the Gnomes as he walked up into a thick, steamy jungle, but he was certain he was in no danger. Fireflash poked his head out from the basket where he stayed when Tarrin was flying, the chirped happily and launched himself into the air, circling around Tarrin before zipping off into the jungle to explore. Tarrin had no fear for his drake, since Fireflash was very careful and was more than capable of taking care of himself.

It took him about an hour to find his first Gnome, and that meeting was a bit of surprise for Tarrin. Gnomes were tiny little things! The adult he found, a hunter with a bow and a quiver of arrows, only came up to his knee! The Gnome was very, very small, with a bald pate ringed by brown hair, a leather jerkin and breeches, and a little dagger-like weapon on his thick leather belt. He had a sharp face with a long, pointy nose, and large brown eyes that seemed quite intelligent. “Hail and welcome!” the Gnome called to him as he approached. He understood the Gnomish language because of his charm, and it allowed his words to be understood by the Gnome in return. “You’re a big one! And not human! And you have wings! My, what a day! Welcome, welcome, what business do you have on Gnomlin today?”

“I seek the wisdom of your histories,” he answered honestly. “I’m looking for information that only the Gnomes might possess. Could you direct me to your sages?”

“Certainly, certainly! Follow me, and mind your head!”

Gnomes, he discovered, were very sociable, curious little creatures that were very friendly and welcoming of strangers. The Gnome he’d initially met, Garlish the Hunter, was a chatty little fellow that asked many questions about the outside world. He led him up to the Gnomish town, where Tarrin found himself surrounded by tiny Gnomes that all came up to his knee, wearing finely woven clothes that looked like they belonged in Sulasia or Draconia. Tunics, peasant dresses, wool and cotton shirts, waistcoats, the Gnomes showed that they had skill in weaving and tailoring. Garlish wore leather probably because it was much more rugged and better suited for a hunter. Another thing he noticed was that all Gnomes were bald. Even the women. They all had bald pates with hair ringing the sides of their heads. None of the males had beards or moustaches either. That looked quite odd, but every race had its quirks, he supposed, and he probably looked just as odd to them as they did to him.

Garlish led him to a large stone building near the center of town. “This is our library,” he answered. “I’m sure that the loremasters inside will help you.”

“Should we let your king know I’m here?” he asked.

“King? You’re funny,” he laughed. “Gnomes don’t need Kings. We just do what needs to be done. We get on quite well without kings.”

And that, he discovered, was a cornerstone of Gnomish society. Everyone knew what had to be done, so they did it. If it took more than one person, then they all pitched in and helped out. Theirs was a surprisingly harmonious collection of individuals working towards a common goal without need of supervision or direction. They didn’t use money either. Tailors made clothes for any who needed them, cobblers made shoes, farmers farmed, hunters hunted, thatchers thatched, masons worked stone, and they all shared all their resources in a communal effort, helping each other and making sure that everyone was fed, clothed, and sheltered. Tarrin rather liked the idea of it, but he knew that avaricious humans could never function in their kind of society.

The Loremasters were obviously very old Gnomes, for they did have beards. He met them in a large white stone foyer just inside the stone building in the middle of the town, a building with a ceiling more than high enough for him to fit under it. He was met by three of them, all of them wearing robes of purple with a white stripe running vertically from the neck down, and all of them wore a golden amulet with a large amethyst around their necks. Garlish bowed before them and motioned towards Tarrin. “This visitor seeks information, Loremaster Arka,” he introduced.

“Ah, so this must be Tarrin Kael,” the tallest of them Gnome Loremasters announced, who had a pointy goatee on his chin.

Tarrin looked at him in surprise. “I’m surprised you’d know of me, Loremaster,” he admitted as he gracefully sat down cross-legged on the floor, to keep them from having to crane their necks at him.

“We may not leave our island home, but we do keep abreast of the bigger news,” he smiled. “You certainly fit that description. How may we help you today?”

“I’m looking for some information about the Dwarves,” he answered. “We think that a group of them fled Sennadar during the Blood War, and we’re trying to track where they went.”

“Ah, then you’ve come to the right place,” he said brightly. “We kept in strong contact with our cousins up until they were destroyed in the Blood War.”

“Good, because I think the Dwarves destroyed any references to where this group went, and the Sha’Kar might have done the same.”

“They might have,” he agreed. “To protect them.”

Tarrin Conjured a map and put it down on the floor between them. “From what we’ve managed to find out, a Dwarven general sent the women and children who survived the fall of Dragg to a place call Ruk Argoth, and from there, they used one of the gates that were still open at that time to flee this world. A contingent of katzh-dashi went with them to protect them, and from there, they simply disappeared. What we haven’t been able to discover is exactly where Ruk Argoth is.”

“Hmm, well, I can tell you right now that it’s in the Skydancer Mountains,” he stated. “Somewhere.”

“That’s what we think too.”

“Alright then, I’ll put the Loremasters on this problem of yours, friend Tarrin. We should have an anwer for you by sunset. Until then, feel free to sample Gnomish hospitality.”

“I appreciate your help, Loremaster Arka.”

“We’re happy to help,” he said with a smile. “Nobody goes to bed with a problem in Gnomlin.”

Tarrin left the Loremasters to do what they were going to do and explored Gnomlin. He found the town to be an orderly, clean place that seemed quite busy and very prosperous. He chatted amiably with quite a few Gnome townfolk, who seemed to always have the time to pause in a task and have a short talk with anyone who passed. Tarrin’s feral nature didn’t see Gnomes as any kind of threat at all—how could he be afraid of beings that didn’t come up to his thigh?—so he had no problem approaching any of them. He did notice that there were no guards or soldiers, and asking about that to a rather buxom Gnome woman who paused in her task of beating rugs to greet him got him a curious response.

“Why would we need soldiers? The Loremasters protect us.”

The Loremasters, he discovered after a little digging, weren’t just librarians and historians. They were very powerful Wizards, and that fact explained why Phandebrass had come to Gnomlin. Tarrin found it very strange that he hadn’t sensed that about them when he first met them, for he could usually sense a Wizard. They had a specific feeling about them, an aspect of them being bound into an order of magic, a slight impression in the Weave that they caused.

Tarrin was invited in for lunch at a farm at the edge of town, and discovered that Gnomes liked very spicy food, even spicier than Arakite offerings. They had set up a picnic of sorts for him, eating at small wooden tables behind the house out in the warm summer air. Fireflash made the mistake of gobbling before sniffing, and dove headlong into a creek that flowed just off the farmhouse to wash the spice out of his mouth. Tarrin found it a little strange that a fire-breathing drake would have problems with spicy food. Fireflash glared at him balefully when Tarrin chuckled and chided him when he returned, then quite deliberately shook off the water while standing on his shoulder, spraying the side of his face with cold water.

All in all, his day in Gnomlin was a good one. Precisely at sunset, he returned to the library when a Gnome child ran up and told him the Loremasters wished to see him, and he met them in the foyer. He had to, he was too big to fit anywhere else. “We think we have an answer for you,” he replied. He snapped his fingers, and the map that Tarrin had Conjured appeared on the floor between them. “There are five possibilities,” he explained. “I’m sorry that we couldn’t be more exact, but we don’t have any references to Ruk Argoth either.”

“Any help at all is appreciated.”

“We figured,” he grinned. “Here are the possibilities. We know there were gates here, here, here, here, and here,” he said, pointing to five red X he’d made on the map. Two were in Daltochan, one was on the edge of the mountains by Aldreth, one was literally on top of Castle Keening, and the fifth was in the mountains between Sulasia and Tykarthia. “I’m afraid that we don’t know which one is Ruk Argoth, but we do know that those are all the gates there are in the Skydancers. We’re not sure if the Dwarves knew about them all, but we wanted to be thorough.”

“Your thoroughness may be what gets me the answer,” he said with an approving nod.

“Good, good. Oh, we have one more thing for you,” he said. He turned and looked at one of the other Loremasters, who stepped forward. “This is a gift from Denthar and Clangeddin,” he said.

Denthat was the Younger God of knowledge, lore, and patron of sages. Clangeddin was one of the Dwarven gods, who should have been no more. But he did know that a few of the old Dwarven gods were venerated by the Gnomes, and that worship kept them alive in Sennadar.

Tarrin snorted. “I don’t get along very well with the gods, Loremaster Arka,” he said honestly. “Pardon me if I check and make sure your gift explodes.”

Arka laughed delightedly. “Well, I made it, so I’m rather sure it won’t blow up,” he winked. The other Loremaster presented him with a very small book. “Clangeddin wants you to have this. It’s a Gnomlin Travelling Spellbook. It has a thousand pages, and it shrinks down to this size when you’re not using it. Clangeddin told us to tell you that he remembers the honor you’ve done the Dwarves and the Dwarven gods over the years, and that you’re deserving of reward.”

“I’m not sure about that, and I may not be able to use it, but I’ll accept your gift, Arka,” he replied, taking the book. It tingled of hidden magic.

“Clangeddin specifically told me to tell you that you will use this book,” he said seriously. “You are to scribe every Wizard spell you know into this book. I’ve also added a few dozen spells or so that I thought you might find handy.”

Tarrin looked at Arka, and his serious expression stopped any kind of reply. “I’ll do as Clangeddin says,” he agreed mildly.

“Just speak the word aluxia to make it expand, and dathan to make it shrink,” he instructed. “I’m sure you’ll know what to do with it.”

“I’m sure I will.”

The book made Tarrin a bit pensive, for he could see the writing on the wall.

He’d gone through this before.

They were setting him up. He could feel it. Not setting him up for a fight, but preparing him to do something. The Goddess had done this to him before he started after the Firestaff, quietly equipping him with necessary items and getting him ready to perform the task required of him. But this time it involved the Dwarves, which explained why Clangeddin had had a hand in it.

He wasn’t quite sure what was going on yet, but he’d figure it out. Until then, he would make use of the book. It would be handy to be able to carry around every Wizard spell he knew in a book he could put in a pocket.

Still, if this was about the Dwarves, he’d probably be willing to do it. Anything that involved Dwarves usually had his undivided attention.

They met once again in a council room in the Tower, and Tarrin went over what he’d learned from the Gnomes with the others. “They gave me five sites,” he told them. “It could be any one of them. Here,” he said, Conjuring the map and putting it on the table. “Two are in Daltochan, one is Castle Keening, one is right off Aldreth, and the last is right here, in the mountains between Marta’s Ford and the Scar.”

“I say, that’s the Valley of the Gods,” Phandebrass chimed. “It has a bad reputation for being haunted, and it’s a treacherous pass.”

“So, let’s split up and check these places out,” Jula said. “Father, you take the furthest one away, since you can fly the fastest. I’ll hitch a ride on my Air Elemental and check out this other one in Daltochan, Kimmie can check out the one near Aldreth because it’s close to home, Jenna can do Castle Keening, and she can drop off Phandebrass on the way so he can check the one in the Valley of the Gods. That way everyone can get there quickly.”

“I say, that’s a good plan,” Phandebrass nodded.

“It’s practical,” Jenna agreed. “What will we be looking for when we get there to know if we found the right one?”

“Location,” Tarrin answered. “After five thousand years, any marks of the Dwarves’ passage are probably long gone. But the gate they used had to be close to Dragg, so they could get out in a hurry.”

“No,” Mist announced abruptly.

“What, Mist?” he asked.

“The tablet said that the Sorcerers Teleported the Dwarves to Suld. If they were Teleported here, then they were Teleported to the gate.”

“You’re right…I forgot about that,” Tarrin fretted.

“Instead of months of fruitless searching, I think it’s time for a little direct intervention,” Jenna announced.

“Ask Spyder?” Tarrin asked her.

“No. You’re very close to the Weave, brother. Look for an echo.”

Tarrin balked. “You want me to find a five thousand year old echo in the Weave? Jenna, do you know how hard that’s going to be?”

“Not hard at all,” she answered evenly. “The Weave responds to you in ways it doesn’t respond to anyone else. The Weave will know what you want, and bring it to you. It’s done it many times before. I think it’s your relationship with Mother that does that,” she winked.

“Still, that’s not going to be easy,” he warned.

“I think it will be very easy,” she answered. “Mother hasn’t given us any information, so I don’t think she’s allowed to. But if you look for it in the Weave, she can cheat a little bit and give us what we need without doing it directly.”

I knew she was a clever girl, but that’s devious, the Goddess’ voice sang deep in his mind, full of amusement. That was worthy of Keritanima.

Tarrin snorted, but it was to avoid laughing. “Alright, I’ll give it a try. But it’s no guarantee.”

“We’ll see,” Jenna smiled.

After withdrawing to a quiet, dark room, Tarrin sat on the floor cross-legged, arms crossed, head bowed, tail curled around his legs, wings partially folded behind him, and began. Searching the Weave for echos was not easy, for they were random, and sometimes were very hard to find. The Weave was vast, and the echos in it were uncountable, so to find one specific echo among the endless hordes of them was a task that would require a little divine assistance. Alright, Mother, he sang into the Weave. If we’re going to cheat, let’s do it before the other gods notice.

The response was laughter that sounded like a cascade of silvery bells. I’ll make a god out of you yet, kitten.

I certainly hope not, he answered.

The image came to him immediately. The gate was in a deep, treacherous valley, at the end of a box canyon whose open mouth fed into a narrow, jagged pass. The gate itself was a large archway filled with glowing blue smoke. Tarrin wondered why there were no Dwarves in this memory, but then he realized that this was a current image. The Goddess was showing him the gate as it was now, not as it had been.

The gate was open.

Tarrin puzzled at that until he remembered that the gods only sealed the gates coming in to Sennadar. The gates that went out still worked. This gate was a one-way gate to another world. Sennadar was a closed world in that it was almost impossible to get in, but getting out was much easier.

Which lent itself to an immediate problem in his mind. If he and Phandebrass went through that gate in search of the Dwarves and the lost children of the Goddess, how would they get home?

The answer was the Astral. There was one gate leading into Sennadar remaining, and that was in the Astral. With Spyder’s help and a magic spell to get them into the Astral, they could get home. He was certain he could secure that help, because it seemed that both the Goddess and Clangeddin wanted their lost children to come home. If there were any left, anyway. And if there were not, if they had all died, at least knowing what had happened to them would bring a sense of closure.

Stall Phandebrass, the Goddess warned.

What?

You can find this gate in a matter of days, but you can’t leave until Allia has her baby, she told him. She’d kill you if you didn’t get back in time for the birth, and you need to make certain preparations before leaving, to make sure you can get everyone home.

So, I am being “volunteered” for this, he teased.

Was there any doubt? She answered winsomely. Besides, I know the idea of exploring a new world appeals to you, and you’d have jumped all over any chance to find the Dwarves. You’d have done it anyway.

True, he admitted.

I hope you don’t mind, kitten, but I truly want to know what happened to my children who left this world. I can’t sense them or contact them where they went. It’s a worry that has eaten at my heart for five thousand years. And because I can’t sense anything, I want my strongest and most able child to be the one to go after them, someone who can handle nearly any danger, someone I can depend on.

I’ll find them, Mother. Them and the Dwarves. And when I do, I’ll bring them home.

Oh, I love you, my kitten, she said warmly, sincerely. You’re the best of my children. And I know that when you say you will do something, I can put my mind at ease, for it will get done.

Spyder will be jealous, he teased.

Spyder would agree with me, she retorted lightly. Now go figure out how you’re going to distract Phandebrass for six months.

Yes, Mother, he chuckled.