The Battle of Âlaburg

ÂLABURG UNIVERSITY
BOOK FOUR

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GREG WALTERS

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 Book Four

War has engulfed Razuclan. Every day, hundreds of undead Vonnyen land
on the coasts and quickly devastate whole areas. Soon the dark sorceress
will destroy the last source of magical energy. The Driany Order watches it
all seemingly unconcerned. It falls to the students of Âlaburg University to
stop the dark mage. For Bryn and his friends, a race against time begins,
until the Seer of Colors is faced with the ultimate choice.

Volume 4 of the Alaburg University

Author

Greg Walters, born in 1980, began writing fantasy stories while studying
history and politics. His debut novel, “The Secrets of Âlaburg,” delighted
numerous readers and conquered the bestseller lists.

Together with his wife, his two little daughters, and his red-blonde
Labrador Lenka, Greg Walters lives in Brunswick, Germany, where he is
currently working on the fifth volume of the Âlaburg University series and
other exciting young-adult fantasy series. More about the author:
www.greg-walters.com

Novels
 Âlaburg University:

The Secrets of Âlaburg (Âlaburg University 1)

The Legend of Âlaburg (Âlaburg University 2)

The Chronicles of Âlaburg (Âlaburg University 3)

The Battle of Âlaburg (Âlaburg University 4)

The Order of Âlaburg (Âlaburg University 5)

Demon Summoner

Demon Summoner: Apprentice (The Demon Healer 1)

Demon Summoner II: Journeyman (The Demon Healer 2)
Demon Summoner III: Master (The Demon Healer 3)

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© 2023 Gregor Timme
Author: Greg Walters
Cover design, illustration: Giusy Ame
Translator: Justin Beckham
[email protected]
www.greg-walters.com
All rights reserved. This work may be reproduced—even in part—only with the express permission
of the author. This work, including its parts, is protected by copyright. Any exploitation is prohibited
without the consent of the author. This applies to electronic or other reproduction, translation,
distribution, and public use.

Follow me! I look forward to meeting my readers:

NEWSLETTER
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 Contents

1. A Summer of Friendship
2. A Look at the Enemy
3. All Together
4. New Masters
5. In the Bestiary
6. Refugees
7. The Fate of the Samuusen
8. The Burden of the Gift
9. The Delegation
10. The Order of Âlaburg
11. One Last Breakfast
12. The Right Way
13. The End of the Seven
14. The Poison Swamps
15. With the Waramen
16. Blue Magic
17. A Night on Fog Island
18. The Path of Graves
19. The Guardian of the Mountain
20. Trapped Under the Mountain
21. The War Begins
22. Lost in a Dream
23. The Orc Council
24. In the Heart of the Enemy
25. The Landing
26. The Siege
27. Black Magic
28. The Traitorous Master
29. Family Ties
30. The Last Source
31. The Guardian’s Hoard
32. Defenders of the Last Source
33. The Fate of the Seer of Colors
34. The Last Exam Results
35. The Languages of Razuclan

Also by Greg Walters

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 1

A Summer of Friendship

C ome on, just as far as Gerald’s hut,” Morlâ said with a grin as he
spurred on an exhausted and sweaty Filixx. “You said you wanted to
start exercising more. Just in case we ever have to travel to orc
territory again where you can’t use magic.”
“True, I did want to get a little fitter …” Filixx leaned forward, propped
himself up on his thighs, spat, and took a big breath, “but not … compete in
the elf … Midnight Moon Run right away. Also, I ate almost nothing … for
breakfast.”
“You ate plenty,” Bryn contradicted his overweight friend, “you could
eat all the fruit you wanted.”
“And that was quite a lot,” Morlâ teased.
“But I need meat, or at least cheese, to have the energy for this stuff.
Mmmm … do you remember that goat cheese Ralph made?” Filixx licked
his lips.
“Sure we remember. Especially Morlâ—he was practically dating
Manfred the goat. Good thing Gwendolin doesn’t know about that,” Bryn
replied, and everyone burst out laughing. “Come on, Filixx,” Bryn
motivated his friend after the short break. “I have the feeling we’re going to
need all our strength this semester.” He thought of the Samuusa’s warning
from the end of last semester. With the desecration of the temple of Clanrü,
the realm’s third source of energy has been severely damaged and is
bleeding out. If the fourth and final source of energy is destroyed by the
enemy, we, Samuusen, will no longer be able to exist on Razuclan and
magic will be gone forever. You are the last hope of this dying continent.
Everything now depends on you and your gift!
"Okay, okay," replied Filixx. They had been pondering for weeks what
their enemy was up to. Bryn’s aunt, the dark sorceress Caoimhe, was
gradually destroying all sources of magical energy on Razuclan—but why?
It was also unclear to them why Bryn’s mother Davina and his beloved
Drena had been kidnapped by their powerful opponent and what role they
still had to play. The only clear thing was that their adversaries were quickly
becoming more powerful and that the continent of Razuclan was in great
danger.
“I think you’re right that we’ll need all our strength. And soon.” Lost in
thought, the dwarf-elf wiped the sweat from his brow with a cream-colored
cloth embroidered with flowers.
“Then you can run the last bit to Gerald’s hut, right?" asked Morlâ,
already sprinting away.
With a long sigh, Filixx followed him. Together with Bryn, he jogged
through the large university gardens, panting.

L ater , they sat together in the common room. “Commoners,” Morlâ

exclaimed, “please bow low. The chief of chiefs has decided to grace us
mere mortals with his presence.”
Ûlyėr answered his dwarf friend by dumping him out of his chair.
Morlâ watched from the ground amid laughter as the orc sat in the now
empty seat.
“How were your private lessons with Tejal today, Ûlyėr?” Bryn asked
when things had settled down again.
The muscular student gave a gruff growl.
“She’s getting to you, huh?” asked Filixx, reaching into a small wooden
box of dried fish. He threw an anchovy in the air and deftly caught it in his
mouth.
Ûlyėr contorted his face to show his fangs and muttered softly, “That's
one way to put it, I guess.”
“Don't worry about it,” Bryn tried to comfort his friend. “It was the
same for me in my first semester. Don’t forget, she is a fantastic sorceress
and can also draw on the special powers of Âlaburg. Even a GünDa’kin
could never defeat her.”
 “I think it’s good that someone is putting you in your place for a
change,” Morlâ said. “I can’t stand the way the other orcs fawn all over you
now. I miss getting that surge of adrenalin when I see ₱yzu or Kuelnk on
campus. I was always up for a fight. But now they greet me kindly, because
I am part of the great chief's pack." He sat down on a wobbly wooden chair.
“I can order them to treat you the way you used to be treated, if you
like,” Ûlyėr replied with a grin. “But you’re right. It’s strange that all the
orcs in Âlaburg treated me like I was invisible for years and now all of a
sudden, I’m supposed to be their unquestioned leader. It took a lot to
convince Ñokelä not to have bodyguards protect me day and night.”
“By Mother Earth, that would have been terrible. Our little basement
here can’t handle more than one orc,” Morlâ smiled at his friend.
Ûlyėr threw a handful of dried fish at the dwarf as punishment, which
earned him a nasty look from Filixx. The Combat Master still can’t believe
that I want to live here and not with my own kind in Řischnărr.”
“Well, that makes two of us who are too good for this place,” Morlâ
countered. The wobbly chair collapsed beneath him.
Over the gleeful laughter of his friends, Ûlyėr said seriously, “But I’ll
have to do my duty sooner or later. My people need a leader. War is in the
air; Clanrü was just the beginning. Evil is gearing up, even if no one knows
where it will strike first.”
An oppressive stillness fell. That one word made them all sink into
silence—war.

N evertheless , Bryn remembered the next few days of vacation as the best
of his entire time at Âlaburg. He couldn’t tell if it was the calm before the
approaching storm that made the friends feel especially exuberant, or
simply the fact that it was a gloriously warm summer with no obligations.
Or maybe it was because the four of them were spending their vacation
together for the first time within the walls of the university. As always
during the semester break, most students traveled to visit their families.
Therefore, Bryn, Morlâ, Filixx, and Ûlyėr had the entire campus almost
completely to themselves. They took advantage of this by making numerous
large and small outings around the extensive grounds. They went swimming
in the fire toad pond in the university gardens. Filixx had managed to
conjure a spell that put the aggressive amphibians to sleep. They swam for
hours, splashed each other, and simply relaxed in the shade of the trees next
to the pond.
On other days, they played magical hide-and-seek on the huge campus.
One of them searched for the other three with the help of magic. The hiders,
however, were allowed to cast counterspells to remain hidden. Ûlyėr was
amazingly good in this game. Morlâ, however, grew sick of hide-and-seek
after he couldn’t find Bryn, Filixx, and Ûlyėr for almost an entire day,
because they were simply sitting in the common room of the defense tower.
Their house was shielded against any kind of magic, and it had not occurred
to him to look for them there.
With Gerald’s help, they also fulfilled a long-held dream. Bryn’s foster
father allowed them to climb the giant defense tower in the middle of the
Âlaburg courtyard and enjoy the spectacular view from the top. Shoulder to
shoulder, they stood on the narrow viewing platform and marveled at the
green Panra Valley at their feet and the mountains rising behind it, whose
highest peaks were white even in midsummer. At that moment, Bryn felt an
incredibly strong connection to his four friends.
Filixx spoiled them with very elvish food. As he had resolved, he ate
significantly less meat and exercised regularly. Bryn could not see any
changes in the overweight dwarf-elf, but Filixx himself claimed to have
already lost quite a bit of weight.
Bryn didn’t know whether to look forward to the new semester of study
or not. On the one hand, he could now study all seven subjects again, since
Tejal had lifted all of Jehal’s restrictions. On the other hand, Bryn wasn’t
sure how long they would be able to study in peace this semester. They had
not seen the Samuusen during the entire vacation. This could be a
coincidence, since the little fairy creatures always decided for themselves
who they showed themselves to. But it could also be the events they had
warned Bryn about causing their disappearance.

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 2

A Look at the Enemy

J ust one more day,” Morlâ muttered softly to himself as he wrapped

himself in his blanket.
“I didn’t know you were so excited for the semester to start," Bryn
said, pulling on his pajamas.
“What?” Morlâ said, confused.
“You said, ‘just one more day.’ And then Tejal’s speech and the new
semester begins.”
“Oh, that. No, I’m not looking forward to that boring speech. Although
it is nice that we White House students get to go again this semester. She’ll
just blabber on about peace, love, and understanding.”
“Then what did you mean by ‘just one more day’?” asked Bryn,
summoning two colorful werelights. The light in their small, shared room
had just gone out. Lights out had begun.
“I think you can guess,” said Morlâ with a beatific grin.
Bryn laughed out loud. “Of course I can. Your Gwendolin will finally be
back from vacation. You haven’t seen each other in quite a while now."
“Almost five weeks,” Morlâ emphasized. “But her family insisted that
she go home to visit. She had to go to some elvish festival in honor of the
ancients that’s always held in the summer. She couldn’t get out of it and
stay here. Although she could have come back before the very last day of
vacation.”
“You could have gone with her and met your future in-laws,” Bryn said
with a big grin.
 Morlâ threw his pillow at Bryn. “Haste makes waste,” as my grandma
always says. “A dwarf together with an elf—that’s not easy. The enmity
between our peoples is far from over. Gwendolin has had to endure some
hostility from some of her fraternity brothers and sisters because of our
relationship. Most students don’t really mind cross-ethnic relationships that
much anymore. But we still can’t tell any of the old, conservative elves
about it yet.”
Bryn could not believe what he was hearing. He had always envied his
roommate for being able to be with the girl he loved. But things were more
complicated than they seemed for him, too. “So, what do your parents think
of your new girlfriend?”
Morlâ cleared his throat and lost in thought, let a cobalt-blue werelight
rise to the ceiling. “Um … I haven’t gathered the courage to write to them
yet that I’m dating a beautiful elf. I could probably tell my mother, but my
father is,” he paused for a moment and deftly made his magic sphere fly a
figure eight around Bryn’s, “very old-fashioned. I think he already arranged
a match for me years ago with our neighbors’ chubby daughter. So, I’ll
probably wait another decade or two before I tell him.”
Bryn grinned at his friend. “Coward.”
Morlâ nodded. “You’re right about that, my friend. But I am really
looking forward to seeing Gwen. Here at Âlaburg we can be a couple
without any secrecy. Maybe this semester we’ll actually manage to stay
here the whole time without any stupid missions or other adventures.” With
these words he turned to the wall.
This was a clear sign that the conversation was over, and the dwarf now
wanted to sleep.

B ryn fell into an uncertain sleep and began to dream. He lifted into the air
and started flying. He flew far above a dark, gray sea so churned that
whitecaps appeared on the water. Bryn felt a searing cold wind and tasted
damp, salty air. He moved quickly across the seemingly endless sea. Oddly
enough, he had no fear of falling. Time also played no role in this dream
world. Suddenly, his trajectory changed. Slowly and in a controlled manner,
Bryn descended. As he went down, Bryn saw an island almost completely
hidden in dense fog, on which stood a huge fortress. Off the island, he
glimpsed anchored ships through the fog. Most were pitch black and had
dark sails. There were hundreds of ships around the island. But the dense
gray fog made it impossible for Bryn to count them exactly.
The dark fortress was dominated by a tall tower whose top disappeared
into the clouds. As he flew toward the stone structure, he saw a dimly lit
window. This was exactly where Bryn was headed. He landed gently on the
windowsill. Inside, he saw three people: two women who were obviously
twins, and a stern-looking older woman wearing a green headscarf. Bryn
panicked a bit that he had arrived so suddenly and completely unprotected.
In his sleep, he moaned and tossed and turned. But the three women did not
notice him at all. Bryn listened spellbound to their conversation.
“It’s too soon,” began one of the twins, whom Bryn instinctively
identified as his Aunt Caoimhe.
“Why are you so timid?” the old woman asked sternly in a high-pitched
voice. “We almost conquered the continent once before.”
“Almost,” the other woman interjected.
Bryn’s heart beat faster when he recognized her. It was his mother,
Davina.
“After all, your silly little rebellion was put down very quickly by the
Order, Mother. Do I remember correctly?”
“Your beloved Gerald played a role there. Besides, you betrayed us,”
her sister hissed angrily.
“It’s debatable who did the betraying,” Davina replied with a scowl.
“Enough bickering,” said the old woman. “Your father would be
ashamed of what our family has become.”
“He’s been ashamed of you all his life,” Davina hissed at her mother.
The old woman straightened up. Her hands were suddenly engulfed in
dark red flames.
Bryn became afraid. The frail-looking old woman appeared to be a
strong sorceress and looked ready to attack Bryn’s mother. Bryn turned in
bed so restlessly that it creaked loudly.
Davina seemed unimpressed by her mother’s show of force. She looked
at her nails, bored.
“Mother,” Caoimhe intervened. “Don’t let her provoke you. That’s all
she’s ever been able to accomplish—to make us upset with her.”
Davina laughed mirthlessly. “And besides, you two need me if you want
to carry out your crazy plans.”
 The flames went out. The old woman smoothed out her canary-yellow
cloak and cleared her throat. “I don’t understand why you can’t accept your
nature, my child. We are born mages. These so-called gifted people on
Razuclan are just degenerate freaks of nature. They have no right to use
magic—it’s a waste. They need real sorcerers to rule and guide them.”
“That’s nonsense. They’re doing just fine. The four enlightened nations
have finally managed to make peace. They don’t need anyone to impose
their will on them. You only want to conquer Razuclan because there’s no
place for us anymore in our world. Our ‘wonderful’ gift has destroyed all
life there, and now you want to destroy another continent.”
Her mother’s wrinkled face contorted into an angry grimace.
“She’s just trying to provoke you again, Mother. Soon everyone will
understand that the Vonnyen are the future. Immortality is a strong driving
force. We true wizards will also set this continent on the right course, and
the four enlightened nations will serve us as nature intended.”
“They’ll fight back,” Davina objected. “Even if you bring thousands of
Vonnyen to the shores of Razuclan, the warriors and wizards of the
continent will outnumber you.”
Her mother just laughed. “I think you’re mistaken about that. Soon the
last source of magical energy will fall. Then there will be no more mages on
Razuclan. No more mages except us …”

B ryn awoke drenched in sweat . He realized right away that this had
been a prophetic vision. He had to tell Tejal and Gerald. The Samuusen had
been right. Hastily, Bryn slipped into his clothes and ran toward the
Chancellor’s office.

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 3

All Together

B ryn quickly climbed the stairs leading up from the basement of the
defense tower and looked around the dark campus. The air was still
pleasantly warm, so he didn’t freeze in his white nightshirt. Bryn
looked in the direction of the Chancellor’s office, but the white cube was
not glowing. It was difficult to make out in the darkness of the courtyard.
Bryn stumbled on something, and it suddenly occurred to him that he had
no idea where Tejal actually lived when she wasn’t in her office. Since he
had no idea, he walked in the direction of the white cube. Breathing heavily,
he stopped in the small front yard that surrounded the odd building. Bryn
took a deep breath and looked around. Just then, a soft giggle reached his
ear. He had to grin. Finally!
A Samuusa came flying toward him. Just before she reached Bryn, she
abruptly fell. Quickly, he caught the little fairy creature in his hand. “Thank
you, Bryn,” she said in a high-pitched voice, out of breath. “Slowly, we and
Razuclan are running out of strength. You have to hurry!”
“What can I do?” asked Bryn, swallowing hard. Seeing the Samuusa
sitting so weakly on his palm made him incredibly sad. He had to protect
this delicate creature from any harm.
“You’re already doing everything right. Convince Tejal and the Seven
of the truth of your vision. It’s time for some changes here. Our enemies are
preparing, but you can still stop them.”
“How?”
 The Samuusa seemed to have regained her old strength. Now the red-
haired fairy fluttered right before his eyes and her voice was firm and clear.
“You’ll know what to do when the time comes! Now go to the office. Tejal
is awake.”
Confused, Bryn briefly looked away from the Samuusa and toward the
office building, which had begun to glow dimly.
When he looked again in the direction of the small magical creature, it
had disappeared. But he still felt the tender kiss of little Samuusa on his
nose. Bryn shrugged and walked toward the entrance of Tejal’s office.

W hen he arrived in the anteroom, to his amazement, Gerald greeted him.

He was also wearing only a white nightshirt. Pale, hairy bowlegged legs
stuck out from under his nightshirt. The two of them made a strange pair,
standing in the anteroom of the Chancellor's office in their pajamas,
somewhat embarrassed.
“Hello, Bryn,” Gerald began, clearing his throat a little sheepishly.
“Raisar … um, Tejal …” He cleared his throat again and blushed. Bryn had
never seen his former Master so embarrassed. “Uh, the Chancellor I mean,
she’ll be with you in a minute.”
Bryn looked at Gerald, puzzled, and could only think to say, “Good.”
Then he sat down on the uncomfortable waiting bench. His foster father did
the same. The two sat silently side by side for quite a while in their flowing
nightgowns with bare legs peeking out. Suddenly, Bryn began to giggle.
Gerald looked at him. The corners of his mouth went up as well.
A short time later, the two men, who were so familiar with each other,
had burst into snorting laughter. The situation was just too hilariously
awkward.
Tejal interrupted this involuntary burst of laughter with her appearance.
“What's going on here?” she asked with raised eyebrows. The university
head didn’t look like she had just gotten out of bed. She was dressed in a
tight, shiny blue dress, on which delicate animals were embroidered with
silver threads, and with her usual tight bun. At most an escaped strand of
hair or two betrayed the fact that she, too, needed sleep and had used the
time Gerald had given her to get dressed for her student.
T ejal dropped heavily into her office chair. Gerald stood next to them,
and Bryn took a seat in the chair he already knew from so many hours of
private tutoring.
“So, Bryn, let’s hear what couldn’t wait until the morning.”
Bryn blushed a little when the Chancellor addressed him so sternly, but
he was sure his information was important. “I’ve dreamed a dream; or, in
other words, I’ve seen a vision,” he began, recounting what he had seen.
Tejal listened to him with a tense expression. Gerald put his hand on her
shoulder. When Bryn had finished, there was silence in the large office with
its green walls and heavy dark furniture.
Gerald was first to break the silence. “The invasion of the entire
continent. So it begins.”
Tejal nodded and stroked the polished surface of her desk, lost in
thought. “Let’s assume that what Bryn saw is true …”
“But my visions are prophetic. Several times already—”
The Grand Master raised her hand and smiled. “It’s not that I don’t
believe in your abilities, Bryn. The opposite is the case. But we always have
to factor in that the enemy knows your gifts, too. They may take advantage
of your weakness of not always being able to keep yourself completely
under control.”
Bryn looked at his director in despair.
“What Raisar means,” Gerald intervened, “is that with certain spells it is
possible to send false visions to prophets. These visions do not correspond
to reality.”
“Our enemies are powerful enough to be able to do this,” the Chancellor
finished for Gerald. “But …” she drummed her fingers tensely on the desk,
“… everything makes so much more sense with this information. Someone
is destroying the magical energy sources, which means there are fewer
gifted people on Razuclan every year. If I wanted to conquer the continent, I
too would take out the strongest defenders first—the gifted wizards fighting
for the Driany Order.”
“Also, no one has figured out where the leader of these attacks is based,
despite the fact that the Order has left no stone unturned in Razuclan in
recent years,” Gerald said. A simple but logical explanation is that he or she
is not on Razuclan at all. What you saw could be true—they are on some
faraway island.”
 “And then there are these new Vonnyen who can speak. They have
never existed on Razuclan before either,” Bryn interjected.
Tejal nodded faster and faster at these words. You’re right. Bryn, I
believe you. Razuclan is about to be invaded by an alien and obviously very
powerful force. We must act quickly to defend our homeland. Gerald,” she
looked Bryn’s foster father in the eye and took his large hand in hers, “you
must immediately convince the Order that what Bryn has just told us is true
and that Razuclan is in great danger. Only the Knights of the Order are
powerful enough to avert this threat. I can’t go myself. You know how the
Seven feel about me.”
Gerald snorted. “Oh, and you think they’ll be more likely to believe me,
the outcast Grand Commander?”
Tejal stroked his hand tenderly and looked deep into his eyes. “Go find
my sister and ask her to help. Isilmar’s word still carries weight with the
council.”
Gerald cleared his throat. “I won’t let you down.” He leaned down and
gave her a long kiss.
Bryn looked to the side a little bashfully.
“Boy, don’t do anything stupid again while I’m gone.” He hugged Bryn
tightly and left the office.
“Bryn, I know what I have to do. But promise to come to me
immediately if you have another vision. Oh, and don’t expect a letter from
me this semester. We’ve talked about everything now. Go back to bed. And
I’ll be rewriting my commencement speech.”

B ryn told his friends the next morning what had happened.
“That means it’s not over yet,” Morlâ said, trimming his beard with a
razor.
“Did you really think it was over?” asked Filixx, looking at himself in
the bathroom mirror to check that his white sash was sitting properly. “I
think it’s too long now, maybe I should shorten it a bit before Tejal’s
speech.”
“Don’t overdo it, big guy. You haven’t lost that much weight,’” Morlâ
replied with a wink.
“You can all take your sashes off and leave them here,” Ûlyėr suddenly
blurted out in his rumbling accent.
 His friends turned to him with puzzled looks.
“Check out your semester schedules in the common room.”
The friends ran into the common room, where the other White House
students stood chattering excitedly.
“Well, that’s never happened before,” Bryn heard the old dwarf Worin
mutter as he shook his head. Curious, he walked over to the wall where the
timetables had appeared overnight with the sketches of all the White House
students. Bryn looked for his schedule, but he got stuck on the first one he
came across. It belonged to Hela Demeter Papandrokolis. Bryn had to read
the sentence several times before he understood its meaning. ‘For this
year’s semester commencement speech, all house symbols and colors are
prohibited.’
“What? Prohibited?” asked Bryn incredulously.
Ûlyėr, who was standing next to him, just stared with his yellow eyes.
“Yep, big boy, you can’t show off how much weight you lost from your
earlobes,” Morlâ fought his way through the throng to Bryn, Filixx, and
Ûlyėr, and took off his white sash with the black swirl.

W hen they stepped onto campus with the other members of their house, at
first everything seemed the same. The White House students seemed to be
the first to make their way to the opening ceremony. No one from the other
houses had yet appeared in the spacious courtyard.
“Come on!” Morlâ urged. “We don’t want to be late.”
“Is that the student head of house talking, or a rooster in love?” Filixx
whispered to Bryn.
“When I think about how much cologne he put on, I’m definitely
guessing the latter,” Bryn replied with a grin.
The small group ran in the direction of Elbendingen fraternity house.
Just before they reached the building, which had grown out of a single huge
tree and was covered with flowers, its doors opened. Morlâ stood on his
tiptoes to get a better look at who was coming out.
“Want me to lift you up?” offered Ûlyėr with a grin.
"Don’t you dare. That was embarrassing enough in the Sealands. If she
sees …" The dwarf fell silent when his friends began to laugh.
“Look at that, the elves aren’t wearing their colors either,” Filixx said.
“Too bad, Morlâ, you liked your elf girl in her yellow and blue,” he teased
his little friend further.
He did not pay any attention to the mockery, but excitedly searched the
small group of elves for Gwendolin. “There she is,” he exclaimed excitedly.
“Not hard to find,” Bryn said with a worried look. “That’s even fewer
elves than last semester, isn’t it?”
“I heard that not a single new gifted student was admitted to Âlaburg
this semester. Only the orcs are at full semester strength again. With the
students who graduated last term, of course, we are now down overall,”
Filixx replied.
“That’s good news for you, Filixx,” Morlâ grumbled. “Another semester
in a private room.”
“Stop stalling and get on with it. Go to her already!” Ûlyėr encouraged
his dwarven friend.
“I don’t know. We haven't seen each other for a long time. Maybe she
met a tall, handsome elf during the break,” Morlâ stalled.
Significantly faster than in the previous semesters, the two houses
mixed together. Without the colors, it was harder to tell who belonged to
which house. When the humans from Bond-of-Faith joined them, many of
them approached a beautiful elf, which Morlâ observed suspiciously.
“Just go to her!” Bryn urged Morlâ emphatically. “Otherwise,
Gwendolin will be offended later because you didn’t say hello to her right
away, and then one of the Starball players from Bond-of-Faith will make a
pass at her.”
Morlâ blushed slightly. “You’re right. I’ll go to her. But only when a
few other dwarves are around.”
A short time later, Morlâ was granted his wish. About two dozen
dwarves from Ølsgendur streamed out of their house, which was decorated
with beautiful stone carvings. Also fewer than the previous semester. Not all
had complied with the Chancellor’s order—a few blue and red earrings and
some head scarves with the house colors could be seen. There were also a
few dwarf hammer pendants being worn provocatively over their clothes.
Nevertheless, the dwarves also quickly mixed with the other two groups.
“Well, I’m off,” Morlâ said, taking a deep breath and making his way
through the noisy crowd to his beloved.
“Well, Ûlyėr. Now for your orcs.”
Just as Bryn said this, the dark doors to the prison-like Řischnărr
compound opened. Out flowed numerous orcs. As always, they were
dressed completely in black.
“Well, they sure went out of their way to follow Tejal’s instructions,”
Ûlyėr said.
Bryn and Filixx looked at their friend in puzzlement. “Um …”
Ûlyėr looked back, confused. “Do you have something in your eyes?
They’re not wearing any white. They must have torn off or inked all the
white away. I hardly recognize them.”
There was a crashing sound as the orcs came out of their house in
lockstep, but they did not mix with the other students, instead letting them
pass.
“Well, I guess you were too proud of your own kind. They obviously
don’t want to walk with us,” Filixx remarked.
The three friends were now passing Řischnărr’s entrance. As if on
command, the numerous muscular warriors bowed to them. Or more
precisely, they bowed to Ûlyėr, their GünDa’kin chief of chiefs.
Ûlyėr looked around uncertainly.
“I think you need to tell them to join you,” Bryn whispered to him.
Ûlyėr nodded and then said something in the orc language. His
prominent position must have even been accepted by Âlaburg, because it no
longer punished him for not using the common language. After his words,
the orcs marched resolutely in rows of four toward the other students, who
scattered to make room for them.
“What did you tell them?” asked Bryn.
“What do you think? That they should go to the opening ceremony
together with the other students,” Ûlyėr replied with a shrug.

A fter passing through R emter H all , the next surprise awaited the
friends in the dining room. Unlike previous years, the tables had not been
decorated in house colors and placed in separate sections, but in normal
rows. This led to everyone just sitting wherever they wanted. Humans sat
next to elves, dwarves next to orcs, and the White House students were
mixed in all over. This was new and strange for quite a few students.
But Bryn was pleased. Nothing had changed for him. He had been
sitting next to a dwarf, a dwarf-elf, and an orc for four semesters now.
An unnaturally loud clearing of the throat silenced the chattering
students. Tejal had stepped up to her lectern, ready to begin the semester
commencement address.
“My dear students, I would like to take this opportunity to officially
welcome you to a new semester at Âlaburg. I’m sure your semester break
was far too short, as usual …”
This time Bryn laughed uproariously but was the only one to do so. All
of the other students laughed politely. The beginning of Tejal’s speech had
never been funny, but the fact that she repeated it exactly the same every
single semester was hilarious to Bryn. Filixx looked at his friend with a
frown.
“I’m glad you all found your way back. I’m sure Âlaburg is a second
home to most of you by now.”
Nods of approval could be seen around the hall.
“Still, I’m sure it hasn’t escaped your attention that our numbers are
down again this semester. The gift is slowly disappearing from Razuclan.
And we …” Tejal cleared her throat briefly, seeking the gaze of the Masters
spread around the room, “… we think we now know the reason.”
Excited murmurs rang out.
Tejal raised her right hand for silence. “It’s hard for me to say this, but
…” the director took a deep breath, “… Razuclan is most likely facing
invasion. An alien power has been destroying our homeland’s magical
energy sources for the past few years so they can invade our continent.”
Stunned silence set in. While there had been isolated whispered
conversations until then, now one could hear a pin drop.
“In this dark hour, we, the enlightened nations of Razuclan, must stand
together against our common enemy. Therefore, I have decreed that from
now on no more house colors will be worn. Furthermore, in consultation
with all the Masters, I have decided to dissolve the fraternities completely.
As of today, all students are free to live where they feel they can learn best.
The Binding Spells that previously limited entrance to the five fraternity
houses will now be lifted. All magically gifted can open and enter all
houses.” Tejal made a casual gesture with her left hand, breaking the spell.
Bryn could not believe what he had just heard.
“Starball is also banned starting this semester.”
Boos and angry hisses could now be heard. The Masters rushed through
the dining room to bring the troublemakers to order. Morlâ, who was sitting
next to Gwendolin, was among those who booed. His elf girlfriend did the
same. Master Ñokelä, however, needed only a glance from his one eye to
silence the angry pair.
Tejal continued to talk, seemingly unbothered by the response. “This
game has deepened rather than healed the rifts between the peoples. And
besides, it didn't offer much new anyway, if you ask me." Tejal cleared her
throat. “But this is not the last change this semester. The coming war
challenges us to make our curriculum more relevant. I’m sure you’ve all
noticed that you don’t have semester plans yet. This is because we are
changing the content of the seven wisdoms to prepare you for the defense of
Razuclan, but more on that soon. One thing must be said …” Tejal stopped
and seemed to look deeply into the eyes of each and every student.
Bryn got goosebumps.
"Before I swear you in as defenders of the continent, think carefully
about whether you are willing to take this oath. You are young. It was never
intended that you become warriors so early. Each of you has been free to be
more involved in science, art, or medicine than combat. Becoming a knight
of the Driany Order was always just one possible life path for the students
of Âlaburg. I will not send anyone to war who does not want to go.
Therefore, think twice before you swear the oath and take on the spell. No
one will look down on you, morally or legally, if you choose not to.” Tejal
paused to let her words sink in.
Bryn saw panic on a few faces near him.
“Do you swear to defend Razuclan, to protect the weak and non-gifted
with your special powers, and to work together with all members of the four
enlightened nations to keep peace on the continent?”
Rainbow-colored magic poured from the walls of the hall, but it wafted
about somewhat indecisively, as if it didn’t really know where to go.
Absolute silence reigned in the large hall. Tejal looked into the crowd with
narrowed eyes.
Bryn was the first to stand and raise his right hand. He owed it to Tejal
not to hide and shirk his duty in the crowd. He had to actively support the
cause. Because of him and his dream, she had just torn down the
foundations of Âlaburg. Immediately, the magical energy in the room
flowed into his right hand and lit up his mark, a perfect black circle. Morlâ,
Filixx, and Ûlyėr immediately followed suit. The spell bound them to the
oath as well. After their GünDa’kin took the oath, all the other orcs stood up
and raised their hands. The special powers of Âlaburg also bound them.
After that, a wave of students stood. In the end, everyone in the dining hall
raised their hands. No one refused the great and dangerous task. But there
was fear in many eyes.

OceanofPDF.com
 4

New Masters

T he rest of that first day flew by. The students discussed for hours
what this new development might mean for them and whether there
would really be a war in their homeland. When dusk finally fell,
however, they all returned to their original fraternity houses.

“I thought you would be staying with Gwendolin at Elbendingen house

tonight,” Bryn said, adjusting his pillow.
Morlâ, who was feeding Rondo a fist-sized rock, dropped it into the
Gnarf worm box in shock. The gray, snake-like animal reacted as it usually
did—not at all. “Bryn,” Morlâ whispered, “you can’t say anything like that
in front of an elf, or my parents, or Gwendolin’s parents, or …” he
swallowed excitedly, “… in front of Gwendolin.”
Bryn grinned at his friend, who had now blushed for the second time
that day. The beautiful elf obviously meant a lot to him. It was hard to
imagine that just a few semesters ago the two had been enemies. “I won’t. I
promise,” Bryn replied in a whisper. “But between you and me, I’m sure
you would have loved to spend the night with her.”
Morlâ turned bright red. Luckily the lights went out. “Of course I’d like
that,” he said dreamily into the darkness.
B ryn ’ s bladder woke him before any other students. Annoyed, he rolled
out of bed and walked toward the bathroom. After finishing, Bryn was so
awake that he decided to check the common room to see if the semester
schedules had finally shown up overnight. The student body had to
somehow be kept busy on the first day of the semester. He walked down the
long hallway with the cozy glowing lamps toward the common room. Lost
in thought, he pushed down the worn, golden lion’s head to quietly open the
red, oval door. Bryn didn’t want to wake the Five Wise Ones, whose rooms,
number seventeen and eighteen, were immediately next to the door. When
Bryn entered the familiar room, a surprise awaited him: Gerald. His former
Master was nailing a large papyrus to the wall where the empty semester
schedules hung. Today after breakfast there will be a meeting for all
students in front of the defense tower (White House) to introduce and
welcome the new Masters, it said.
“Gerald,” Bryn greeted his foster father excitedly. “You’re back?”
The former hunting Master was so startled that he bashed his thumb
with the hammer. “Dammit,” he growled and angrily threw the hammer to
the ground.
So much for not waking up the Five Wise Ones, Bryn thought, grinning
apologetically at Gerald.
He sucked on his thumb while mumbling, “Not your fault.”
Bryn went to his foster father and gave him a hug.
“Why are you up already, boy?”
“I had to pee. Stop trying to change the subject.”
“Not so long ago, that worked just fine,” Gerald countered with a wink.
“True,” Bryn agreed, grinning. “You somehow managed to keep the
existence of magic, dwarves, elves, and orcs a secret from me for sixteen
years.”
“And Vonnyen,” added the keeper of the Âlaburg gardens. Suddenly the
mood became very serious. “Give me a quick hand with this nail and I’ll
answer all your questions. In fact, it’s only right that you of all students
should be the first to know.”
Bryn felt his stomach go cold. He dutifully held up the corner of the
large poster and waited for Gerald to hammer in the last nail.
“Let’s sit down,” his foster father urged. It was an exhausting journey.”
After they had made themselves comfortable in the old red armchairs, he
said, “You’re getting new Masters, isn’t that great?” nodding toward the
papyrus they had just hung up.
“You said you didn’t want to get off topic anymore,” Bryn insisted.
Gerald exhaled and rubbed his beard, whose black hairs were by now
interspersed with more and more gray. “I can’t tell you where the seat of the
Seven is. Tejal would kill me. Not to mention her sister. Only members of
the Order know where the Council is, although they don’t seem to be quite
so strict about that at the moment,” Gerald drifted off, lost in thought.
Bryn cleared his throat.
“Where was I? Oh yes, I’m back again because pretty soon …”
“Gerald …”
“Yeah yeah, you’ve always had a way of getting secrets out of me. It’s a
miracle I was able to keep Âlaburg a secret for so long. I was able to meet
with the Seven and, thanks to Morningsky, they actually heard me out.” His
eyes had dark circles. “But not all of the Seven believed me.”
“What do you mean, ‘not all of them’?” Bryn asked.
“Well, it’s very simple with the Council of the Seven—each one has his
or her own voice and opinion. Unfortunately, only three out of the seven
believed me that an invasion is coming. This means only a minority of the
Council supports us. There will be no general mobilization and combat
artifacts will not be pulled from the archives to be put into use. Instead,
there will only be increased intelligence gathering activities and more
coastal surveillance.” Gerald laughed mirthlessly. “Watching tens of
thousands of miles of coastline with a few thousand soldiers who don’t even
see this as their main responsibility is like looking for a needle in a
haystack. That means I accomplished almost nothing.”
“Why is the Council of the Seven so narrow-minded?” asked Bryn
incredulously.
“Do you really want to know?”
Bryn nodded.
“Well, it’s simple. Because of you. Since your sophomore year, you’ve
had both supporters and detractors on the Council.
Bryn remembered his completely destroyed Magic classroom from that
year. Joklin Campbell had detonated a magical artifact—a Kamarkegel—to
cause a rupture of the realm, which was a very serious crime. The Seven
had long believed Bryn to be the real culprit and had even tried to arrest
him.
 “And besides,” Gerald’s face turned red with anger and a vein on his
neck swelled menacingly, “some of them still have that damned Jehal
whispering in their ears.”
Bryn thought he had misheard. The former Master of Magic had been
expelled from Âlaburg for violating many of the university’s principles in
Tejal’s absence. “What?” Bryn sprang up so suddenly that his armchair
toppled over backwards.
“Yes, that’s where the treacherous weasel hid. I knew he had friends on
the Council, but I had no idea his influence was so huge …”
“How is an old dwarf supposed to sleep with all this noise?” a stern
voice suddenly sounded from the hallway.
“I’m sorry, Houlin, but I had important news to post here for the
Chancellor. I hope the upcoming changes don’t disturb your study routine
of the last few decades,” Gerald teased the sleepy looking dwarf, who was
wearing a pointed white cap. “Bryn, I’m sure I’ll see you later today. I have
to go. The other houses still need their papyri, too.” He took a roll of posters
and a few moments later had disappeared up the stairs.

“T hat idiot , Jehal. I knew we wouldn’t get rid of him so easily,” Morlâ
grunted before stuffing another fork of scrambled eggs into his mouth.
According to tradition, the four friends were eating breakfast together
on the first day of the semester in their small dining room next to the
kitchen, where Filixx had prepared various delicacies for them. In addition
to scrambled eggs with plenty of bacon, there were blueberry pancakes, a
chocolate cake decorated with sliced pears, and rice pudding with
cinnamon. In addition, the dwarf-elf had procured a wheel of dwarven
cheese, fresh, warm bread, ice-cold milk, and many other savory morsels.
Ûlyėr's hichƙül was also on the full table. As he had done the last two
semesters, however, the orc simply stared at it.
“Jehal is a very powerful wizard. There are few humans who can match
his skills. He is certainly as strong as most elves. It makes sense that the
humans on the Council of the Seven want to keep him around. As always,
the humans are jealous because the more magically gifted elves have three
seats on the Council and they only have two,” Filixx said, picking out a
small slice of apple from the bowl of fruit salad in front of him.
 Now Morlâ was listening. “Does that mean the dwarves only have one
seat?”
Filixx nodded. “The dwarves and orcs only have one seat each.”
“We should have sent Ûlyėr with Gerald. He could have forced the orc
representative on the Council to vote in our favor.”
“We don’t even know if the orc on the Council voted against Gerald’s
proposal,” Bryn interjected between two large spoonfuls of rice pudding.
“Maybe Ûlyėr wouldn’t have been able to do anything. Besides, he doesn’t
want to be a dictator anyway. Isn’t that right, Ûlyėr?”
“What?” asked Ûlyėr, confused that his name was mentioned.
“Are you even listening? Eat that stupid orc dessert already, or I’ll eat it
for you,” Morlâ spit out.
In a flash, Ûlyėr’s big, clawed hand shot forward and pulled the
astonished dwarf by the ear. “Don’t you dare—it’s not a joke. I might not
ever eat the hichƙül. After all, it won’t ever spoil, and I like looking at it.”
“It takes a lot of effort to keep it safe, though. As you know, this orc
delicacy is a bit dangerous,” said Filixx.
Ûlyėr nodded, lost in thought. The hichƙül reminded him of his
deceased mother, so it was hard to see it as simply a dessert.
“What nonsense,” Morlâ said with a twinkle. “I’ll try a piece.” His hand
hovered over the white kitchen towel covering the plate. Ûlyėr pulled it
away in a flash.
Filixx dropped his fork and jumped up frantically. “Careful, you don’t
bump into it in this tiny room. We’re all sitting right next to it.”
“Just show us already what’s hiding under that darn cloth. Why is it
such a mystery?”
Ûlyėr hissed angrily at the dwarf and bared his tusks.
“That’s enough,” Bryn called out. “We’re supposed to stick together this
semester, and here you are fighting over dessert. It is up to Ûlyėr to decide
if and when he will reveal the secret of his hichƙül.”
“I know,” Morlâ said with a chuckle and leaned back in his chair to
balance on the two back legs. “I just wanted to see if our GünDa’kin still
has some fire in his belly.”
The orc looked at his dwarven friend and showed more fangs. Normally
a good sign. But then he gave the dwarf a gentle push that made him fall
over backwards with a crash.
“I wonder if some of those humans graffitied our tower last semester,” said
Bryn quietly. Most of the students had already gathered in front of the
defense tower. Today, the houses were separated again. Humans with
humans, elves with elves, dwarves with dwarves, orcs with orcs, and the
White House students mixed in.
“Could be. They didn’t kick everyone out,” Filixx answered, letting his
eyes wander over the students.
Suddenly, the growing crowd split in two to make room for Tejal and
her companions.
Filixx whistled when he saw who was coming. “We know those—”
Tejal’s magically amplified “quiet!” interrupted him. “Dear students, to
teach you the skills you need to face the upcoming challenges, five new
Masters have been appointed. They all have extensive experience in
fighting evil wizards and Vonnyen and will support our current university
teachers beginning today. Please give a big round of applause for Grand
Master Tal MacRallen, who will be teaching Magic this semester.”
The Grand Master, only too familiar to Bryn, bowed gallantly to the
student body and waved his wide hat with its large red feather. Applause
erupted.
“For Summoning, a Beastmaster will assist Master Underhill, who is
unfortunately ill at the moment …”
“Our little Dorinda wasn’t eaten on vacation after all," Morlâ whispered
just loud enough for all the bystanders to hear.
Filixx stepped hard on the dwarf’s foot.
“Please give a warm welcome to esteemed Grand Master Elmar
Boulderstone.”
The old dwarf stepped forward briefly and blew kisses to the students.
He still looked very unkempt and his bulbous nose glowed red. But Bryn
knew not to judge him by his appearance. The Grand Master was a very
powerful and wise dwarf. A beautiful elf standing behind him pulled him
back into the group of Masters and ended his silly performance.
“Thank you, Isilmar,” Tejal said, turning to her. Unfortunately, the
director had forgotten to pause her voice amplification spell so everyone
could still hear. She skillfully covered the faux pas by pointing at the elf and
saying, “Thank you to Isilmar Morningsky, who is a Grand Master with
experience in countless battles. She will assist our revered Master Ñokelä in
Combat.”
 No one applauded as the slender elf in her grass green and very tight
clothing stepped forward and made a flirtatious curtsy to the student body.
The Combat Master just glared at her angrily out of his remaining eye and
twitched his muscles. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who had expected
the giant orc behind her to be the one to help with Combat.
Suddenly, an energetic clapping was heard. Bryn peered over the crowd
and recognized Gwendolin, who applauded enthusiastically. “Your
girlfriend is obviously happy about that new Master,” Bryn said with a
wink, joining in with the now slowly swelling applause.
“I am especially pleased,” Tejal continued, “to welcome a true orc hero
here with us. Grand Master Orr will teach you many new things in
Healing.”
“Did the Chancellor drink a skin of Mäerñ for breakfast this morning?”
murmured Morlâ. “I think she’s getting things mixed up here.”
Orr stepped forward and ran a few quick steps in the direction of Bryn
and his friends. When he was directly in front of Ûlyėr, he bared his neck
and said something in the orc language.
“I guess we’re all getting an ‘A’ in Healing,” Morlâ cheered softly,
which earned him an evil look from Ûlyėr.
“And finally, we have a familiar face who will resume teaching this
semester. Please join me in welcoming Driany Commander and future
Master of History. No one can give you a better understanding of the more
recent events of Razuclan’s past than he can. The Master took part in some
of the most important battles himself. His experience in tactics could
certainly be very useful to you in the upcoming confrontations. Gerald
McDermit.”
All the White House students cheered. Polite applause came from the
other students, especially after Ûlyėr looked sharply over at the orcs.
“Does that mean Tieffenor has finally retired?” Filixx shouted through
the applause.
“All students will now please proceed back to your self-selected houses.
Your timetables will appear there telling you which classes you are required
to attend that day. The Seven Wisdoms will be reduced to the
aforementioned five in light of our current perilous situation and will be
taught all semester long beginning this afternoon. To that end, all sworn
students, please pick up your …” the principal gulped audibly, “… battle
gear after lunch.”
OceanofPDF.com
 5

In the Bestiary

C ome on, Ram, don’t you have any smaller chain mail?” Morlâ
desperately asked the elf who was distributing armor and weapons
to his fellow students in Remter Hall. The dwarf had chosen a
double-bladed ax, a scratched, round, metal-sheathed shield, and a
chainmail shirt.
“No, I’m sorry, Morlâ. You’re just a little too late. Ølsgendur didn’t wait
until after lunch to pick out their equipment. They were already rummaging
through the boxes when we dragged all this stuff here from the cellars.”
“Since Tieffenor is no longer their House Master, they’ve really been on
the ball,” Filixx interjected, grinning and obviously amused by his friend’s
misfortune.
“There aren’t really any House Masters anymore, since the fraternities
have all been dissolved,” Bryn noted.
“Diorit has now taken the lead and knows exactly what he wants. You
should have seen him when we tried to stop his little friends from hoarding
weapons. No offense,” Ram finished with an apologetic look at Morlâ, “but
there’s nothing else left.”
“Spin around, Morlâ,” Filixx smirked. “I want to see if your new steel
skirt flatters your hips.”
“Haha, so funny. I doubt you can even get a chainmail shirt over your
fat belly,” Morlâ sneered back.
“Filixx already found one. It’s an excellent fit, even if it was actually
intended for an orc. His shoulders are almost as wide,” Ram defended the
dwarf-elf.
“Besides, I’ve lost some weight, as you well know!”
Morlâ looked at his large friend and squinted his eyes to try to see the
weight loss.
“Stop bickering,” interrupted Bryn. He had opted for a black bow,
padded leather armor, and two footlong daggers. “We’re supposed to stick
together now. Have you forgotten Tejal’s speech again? Besides, Morlâ and
I have to leave now, or we’ll be late for our first lesson in Healing with Orr.
Can’t wait to see what the orc will teach us.”
“Not me,” Morlâ grumbled, still a little miffed. “A hideous orc instead
of the beautiful Winterblossom …”
“Don’t let Gwendolin hear you say that,” Ûlyėr interrupted in response,
pulling hard on the dwarf’s ear.
“Ouch. Surely, you’re not going to tell her.” He winked at his orc friend.
“Why aren’t you picking out any weapons and armor? I know you’re
strong, but I’m sure a little iron in your hand and across your chest wouldn’t
hurt.”
Ûlyėr rubbed his horn—a sign of embarrassment, as Bryn knew by now.
After all, he could not turn red. “Um … mhh …” the orc hemmed and
hawed, which was not normal for him. “Well, my people decided that um
…”
“Well, what?” Morlâ demanded.
“… I have to wear armor made especially for me in the fires of ʘkalax
and I have to wield a sword to match.”
“And where is this stuff?” asked Bryn in amazement.
“It’s being brought here by a delegation from all the orc tribes right
now.”
“Wow,” said Filixx. “That must be quite a few delegation members.
Can’t wait to see that.”
Ûlyėr nodded ashamedly. He still hadn’t really internalized his new role
as GünDa’kin yet.
“We really need to get going.” Bryn pointed into the rapidly emptying
Remter Hall.
“Bryn is right,” Filixx agreed. “Come on, Ûlyėr, we don’t want to be
late for Gerald’s first history lesson. We have to get there while there are
still seats left.” The dwarf-elf moved briskly toward the stairs.
 “He really has lost weight, and I think he’s moving faster than he was
before the break,” Morlâ said so quietly that his overweight friend couldn’t
hear him. “Get a move on, Ûlyėr, or he’ll beat you there.”
The orc just grinned and with a few long strides had already caught up
to Filixx. His limp was barely noticeable. Bryn knew that his friend had
deliberately chosen not to cure this birth defect with his magic. It was now
simply part of who he was.
“We need to hurry now, too,” Morlâ brought him out of his thoughts.
“But I guess if Orr gives us homework as punishment for being late, Ûlyėr
can just order him to leave us alone.
“He would never do that!”
“I know that, and you know that, but Orr doesn’t, the dwarf said with a
grin as they walked toward the dark, gleaming staircase that led to the third
floor where classes for advanced students were held. Just before they
reached the second floor, a surly-looking group of orcs approached them.
Morlâ deliberately went to their side of the stairs and called out loudly,
“Out of the way, unworthy ones. Your GünDa’kin’s Circle of Brothers is
coming through.”
A hiss went through the group of warriors, dressed in black as always.
Bryn saw that ₱yzu and Kuelnk were among them. Their orc archenemies.
The two had eventually submitted to Ûlyėr—obedience was more important
than their feud. But ₱yzu was surely still angry that he had lost to Morlâ in
the Starball finals last semester. And the dwarf’s display of insolence in
front of all his orc friends certainly didn’t help.
Suddenly, a deep voice rumbled down the staircase. “Who’s late?” A
giant orc made his way through the crowd. Grand Master Orr, their new
Master of Healing.
Morlâ turned bright red when he realized that this was their own class
and that the new Master was also there. “Um … I’m Morlâ Bergstone,
Master, and this is …”
“Since when do students at Âlaburg not bow to their Masters?” the
menacing-looking orc interjected.
Bryn immediately complied with this request and pushed Morlâ down
with his hand, so he wouldn’t get into more trouble.
“At least someone still has some respect. Come with us. Today’s lesson
will be held in a special room in the basement.”
 Orr walked past the two without giving them another glance. ₱yzu and
Kuelnk grinned and clenched their huge, clawed fists.

C ontrary to expectations , Orr did not go with the group into the
archives, but instead opened a rusty door Bryn had never noticed before,
which was covered in spider webs and dust. Drag marks on the floor
showed that this little-used door must have been opened recently, however.
Behind the small door, a very narrow staircase leading steeply downward
awaited the students. Orr, who carefully locked the door behind them, had
to walk sideways down the narrow staircase. Every third orc was now
carrying a torch. Bryn and Morlâ had summoned werelights to dispel the
darkness. The deeper they got, the cooler it became. The walls here were
damp and covered with green saltpeter.
“I didn’t know there were rooms under the archives,” Bryn said to
Morlâ, deftly avoiding a broken step.
Finally, they reached the bottom of the stairs and were standing in front
of a large, pitch-black double door. The thick oak planks were reinforced
with so much iron that it looked more like a massive gate.
Orr passed his torch over his shoulder to an orc standing behind him,
then knocked thunderously. The echo reverberated up the steep staircase.
“Who could possibly be locked up in there?” Morlâ whispered.
A moment later, a slender elf with flowing blonde hair opened the door.
Master Winterblossom.

“W elcome to the former bestiary ,” Orr greeted the students after they
had sat down in a semicircle around several oblong boxes covered with
gray cloth. Large fire bowls were set up everywhere, bathing the
windowless dungeon in a flickering yellow light. Large clumps of lavender
burned in them, which overwhelmed their noses. Bryn thought he smelled
something vaguely familiar through the lavender, without being able to
place it. The roughly hewn walls curved toward the ceiling and held rusty
metal eyelets. “I would like to thank Master Winterblossom for helping
with today’s lecture. Without her, this unit would not be possible.”
 The beautiful elf only waved off the thanks, which made her even more
likable.
With a rushing sound, the students all bowed to her at once.
“Today, our Healing lesson is about the anatomy of a being that you, or
for that matter any being on Razuclan, should have never had to see again
after the last War of the Nations. Yet the threat of a new war demands that
you learn this. Master, would you be so kind.” Orr pointed with his huge
chin in the direction of the boxes.
Winterblossom answered by pulling the cover from one of the coffin-
like boxes. Bryn’s nose was now overwhelmed with the strangely familiar
smell that was being suppressed by the lavender. What is that? he mused.
Meanwhile, the elf Master set about magically removing the long steel nails
from the crate covers. Beads of sweat covered her forehead, which seemed
very strange to Bryn, since it was cool in the large room despite the many
bowls of fire. This magic must take a lot of concentration. With metallic
clangs, one nail after another fell to the floor, as if pulled by an invisible
hand. Spellbound, the entire class followed the movements of the elf healer.
Orr, too, was looking at her work with concentration and a strangely
grim determination that Bryn didn’t understand.
Finally, all the nails were removed. Winterblossom lifted the rough-
hewn wooden lid with magic and let it slide gently to the side. The smell of
mold and rot hit them from the box. In a flash, Bryn recognized the stench.
There was only one creature on Razuclan that smelled like that.
“This,” Winterblossom said, “is a Vonnyen that was captured at Clanrü.
Come up and take a look at him. With the help of a powerful spell, I’m
holding him in a magical state of paralysis.”
Disgusted, Bryn walked up to the crate.
“Have they both gone mad?” whispered Morlâ as they looked at the
disfigured face of what had once been a human. The nose had completely
rotted off, the lips were gone, and the back of its head was missing. The
creature was clothed in filthy rags that revealed an equally disfigured and
decaying body. An unsightly, black puddle had formed at the bottom of the
box, presumably from the bodily fluids of the decaying, undead beast.
“Vonnyen can be created from any living creature,” the elf instructor
told the stunned students.
Bryn was sure that, apart from him and Morlâ, none of the students had
ever faced a Vonnyen directly in battle. Only now did he realize what the
two Masters intended with this lesson. You have to know your enemy in
order to fight him.
“Vonnyen are undead that are brought back after their death and are then
subject to the will of their creator. They are unable to think independently or
speak. At least that is the current doctrine on these monsters.”
Winterblossom looked apologetically at Bryn. Even she could not solve the
mystery of the talking Vonnyen who had attacked Bryn. “The difficult thing
about fighting a Vonnyen is that it feels no pain, no fear, and has absolutely
no scruples. It is guided only by the command of its master. A Vonnyen
willingly sacrifices itself because it no longer has a life to lose. These beasts
also have increased physical strength and are able to wield weapons.
Depending on how their summoner equips them, they can use clubs,
swords, or more complicated weapons. In fighting power, they are superior
to most living creatures. The most treacherous thing about these monsters,
though …” she paused and looked into the eyes of the students around her,
“… is that you can’t kill them like a living being of Razuclan. A Vonnyen
doesn’t care if it gets an arrow in the eye, an arm cut off, or its dead heart
pierced with a sword.” Winterblossom went to her knees and slapped hard
with her delicate hand on the corresponding body parts, which produced a
disgusting smacking sound. “It will simply keep fighting. There is only one
way to destroy these unnatural beings.” The Master stood up again. “Can
someone tell me how?”
“You have to cut off their heads,” Morlâ said.
Autumn Blossom nodded appreciatively. “Correct.” She then mumbled
something under her breath. The Vonnyen’s eyes then began to glow red.
Much faster than expected from the decaying creature, it reached for the
slender Master’s throat with its rotten hands. The elf deftly dodged, nimbly
pulled a long blade from her suede boot, and severed the monster’s head
with a blow under the chin. Immediately the red eyes went out again and
green blood shot out of its neck. Winterblossom calmly ignored the gush
that soaked her beautiful purple dress.
This spectacle caused astonished, but also appreciative, murmurs even
among the orcs trained for battle.
The healer continued to speak, unmoved. “For human, elf, and dwarf
Vonnyen, you must make the cut just as I just did.” Emotionless, she lifted
the creature’s skull by the remaining hair to show what she was describing.
“These creatures are completely unprotected in the neck area when not
wearing armor. Aim your strikes to hit your opponents as close as you can
to the chin and try to separate the head from the torso with as few blows as
possible.”
“With the dwarf Vonnyen, make sure to swing a little lower,” Morlâ
shouted, which made them all laugh.
The healer simply accepted the interruption without reprimanding the
heckler. She, too, seemed glad that the somber mood of the lesson had been
lightened somewhat. “It’s a bit different, though, with orcs who have been
turned into Vonnyen. They are—and this is a peculiarity we cannot yet
explain—immune to magic even as undead. In addition, the orc spine is
made up of several overlapping bone plates, making it much harder to kill
orc Vonnyen. You can also try to incapacitate your opponents instead of
killing them. Without arms, even a Vonnyen can no longer attack. Fire, for
example, destroys the entire body.”
“Thank you, Master,” Orr took over. “I couldn’t have said it better
myself. Or rather, I couldn’t have executed it nearly as well as you did.”
The healer made a curtsy, which did not at all match the dark bestiary
and her dress stained with green blood.
“So, now that you’ve learned about the nature of the Vonnyen and their
anatomy, let’s make this lesson a little more practical.” The huge orc looked
at the students with shining yellow eyes and showed his fangs. “Your
assignment for today’s class is to kill one of these beasts quickly without
suffering any injuries yourself.”
Under direct supervision of the two Masters, two students at a time
faced this task. They were armed with the weapons they had received after
lunch. The remaining Vonnyen had no arms and therefore posed relatively
little danger, but the two instructors still had to intervene a few times to
help out. Even a few of the orc students were knocked down by the strong
and surprisingly fast undead, who always attacked much more furiously
than the students expected.
Bryn and Morlâ passed this test with flying colors. Like an old, well-
rehearsed married couple, they attacked their opponent from two sides with
their new weapons. Morlâ knocked the elf Vonnyen’s feet off with a deft
spinning blow. The second the undead creature hit the ground, Bryn sliced
off its head with a scissor-like cut from his two daggers. The orcs
surrounding them acknowledged this feat with an appreciative growl. Even
₱yzu and Kuelnk joined in, albeit a little quieter than their fellow students.
T he bestiary was awash with green Vonnyen blood by the end of the
session. Bryn’s leather boots and the hem of his trousers left a trail of the
disgusting fluid as they climbed the stairs.
“That was one of the best lessons I ever had at Âlaburg,” Morlâ gushed.
“Winterblossom really knows her stuff.”

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 6

Refugees

C ome on," Filixx grumbled, reaching for an apple.

“No, big guy. I don’t want to spoil the surprise. You just have to
wait until Healing is on your schedule,” his dwarf friend replied,
continuing to shovel bacon into his mouth. The four friends had decided to
eat breakfast in the dining room with all the other students. Bond-of-Faith
was on kitchen duty. The rotating kitchen schedule was just about the only
thing that hadn’t changed.
Filixx bit into his yellow apple with relish until the juice ran down his
chin. With his mouth full, he said in an offended tone, “Then we won’t tell
you what Gerald did in history. Just so you know, the lesson was very
enlightening.”
“Pffff …” his dwarf friend said in response and some bacon shot out of
his mouth. “I’m sure history was just as boring as it was with Tieffenor.”
“Enough arguing,” Bryn tried to make peace. “In Healing, we—”
Excited murmurs running through the dining room interrupted Bryn.
They looked to see what had caused the commotion and saw a petite,
human girl calling out in a shrill voice, “Lekan is open, and the Masters
can’t close it again!”
“What? Why? Are we under attack? Why didn’t anyone tell us? Let’s go
see,” the entire hall fell into confused murmurs. Then, as if following a
common will, they all rose and streamed through Remter Hall and into the
campus courtyard. There was a crush of students scrambling to get out.
 Filixx, noticing this immediately, said, “Let’s go out the back so we
don’t have to push our way through that.”
“I thought you were so slim now that you could squeeze through even
the smallest gap,” Morlâ teased his overweight friend. But he followed
Filixx, as did Bryn and Ûlyėr. All the orcs they encountered bowed
respectfully and made way for them, which Ûlyėr acknowledged each time
with a pained look. Finally, they crossed through the kitchen and exited
through their narrow, secret door. The campus was still mostly empty. The
students were only slowly emerging from the main building of the
university. With all the jostling at the entrance, they were all blocking each
other from exiting.
“If we run, we’ll be the first at the gate,” Ûlyėr suggested.
Surprisingly, Filixx was the first to agree and ran ahead toward Lekan.

T he four friends stared at the unusual sight of the wide-open magical

gate.
Gerald and Tejal stood between the two mighty doors, looking at each
other completely perplexed.
“Hello, Grand Masters," Bryn and his friends greeted the two
professors, bowing deeply. Their voices created a slight echo in the wide,
stone passageway.
“I figured you four would be the first to show up,” Gerald grumbled,
annoyed.
In Bryn’s head, Lekan’s magical voice boomed.
Tell the two Masters that I have no more power to speak, Seer of Colors.
The magic I need is seeping out of Razuclan. Only the fourth source is still
active. However, I will try to fulfill my task as long as I can. Tell them that
Âlaburg is no longer reserved for the gifted. The wizards must now stand
with the rest of the continent to defeat the enemy of all life. War is coming.
The voice in Bryn’s head went silent. He opened his eyes and looked
into dozens of surprised faces. It was obvious from his pained expression
that something had just happened.
“Bryn,” Tejal addressed him gently, placing her hand on his shoulder,
“did Lekan just speak to you?”
“If so, what did the gate say, my boy?” interjected Gerald. “We can’t
talk to it anymore, for some reason.”
 Excited murmurs escaped from the large group of students that had
gathered at the gateway.
Tejal scowled at Gerald for spilling this secret so openly.
“Yes … yes,” Bryn stammered. “Lekan spoke to me. It told me that
from now on Âlaburg is open to everyone, not only to the gifted.
Unrest erupted among the students. Tejal instantly ended the commotion
with a sharp hiss. “What else?”
Bryn swallowed hard and looked his three friends in the eye for a
moment. “That war is coming.”
A few students cried out in fright. Whether human, dwarf, or elf, they
were all afraid of another war. Every family on Razuclan had suffered
greatly from the Wars of the Nations, and this memory of suffering had
been passed down through the generations. Only the orcs acknowledged
this news with grim composure. They were born for war. It was part of their
very nature.
“Why isn't Lekan protecting us? It’s just standing wide open?” a
hysterical girl’s voice rang out. Bryn recognized it as belonging to Malin.
This question earned grunts of approval from the rest of the students.
“Someone’s coming,” shouted Toulin. The Five Wise Ones pointed out
the gate.
Everyone squinted in that direction to make out the newcomers. At first
Bryn couldn’t see anything, but he knew this was because of the slight
depression not far from the gate that hid the approach. Then he saw a small
boy. The little guy swayed on his feet and looked filthy and ragged.
Ûlyėr was the first to react and ran toward the boy, who was obviously
very weak. He reached the boy just in time and caught him before he could
slump to the ground. Gently, the tall orc picked him up and carried him into
Âlaburg.
Tejal made her way to Ûlyėr and the child. They were immediately
surrounded by the other students. She cast a healing spell over the boy as
she gently took him from Ûlyėr. The boy opened his eyes. Tejal bent over
him and gently stroked the hair from his dirty face. “Where did you come
from, my child?” she asked him.
“From Gerundfeld,” croaked the boy. “My town was attacked by smelly,
red-eyed monsters. They killed everyone. My parents, too.” He began to
sob silently. The tears left fine tracks on his dirty face.
 “You’re safe now, my boy. What is your name and how did you find us
here?”
“Peter,” the boy answered quietly, and then he simply pointed up.
Bryn turned, looking to see what the boy might be pointing at. He could
not believe his eyes. The pointed roof of the defense tower shone brightly in
all the colors of the rainbow.

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 7

The Fate of the Samuusen

T hroughout the day, more and more refugees arrived at Âlaburg.

Classes were canceled and students were assigned to help the new
arrivals. Since they were all humans, Tejal had decided that the orcs
should stay in the background for the time being so as not to frighten them.
Bryn approved of this somewhat extreme measure, as he could remember
all too well how shocked he himself had been at his first encounter with an
orc. Most humans had stopped believing in magic decades ago, and with it
their knowledge of the other three enlightened nations had disappeared.
Bryn had to smile despite the serious situation. The first orc he had ever met
was now walking beside him and had become one of his best friends.
“Are you baring your teeth because you’re about to attack me, or are
you happy about something, Bryn?” asked Ûlyėr, who was observing his
companion from the corner of his eye. “I still can’t understand your facial
expressions one hundred percent.”
Bryn punched his big friend in the arm. He had volunteered to walk
with the orc to Gerald’s hut in the gardens to pick up tents for the refugees.
Filixx had been assigned to cook, of course. With a few other students,
Morlâ had been assigned to search Panra Valley for lost or injured refugees.
Gwendolin had also been assigned this task, so Morlâ was only too happy
to accept. “We’ll see.”
Ûlyėr pushed Bryn back, causing him to stagger. “I haven’t been here in
a long time,” the orc said, unusually reserved, as the small, red garden hut
where he and Gerald had spent a lot of time together came into view. Bryn’s
foster father, who was a skilled fighter, had given Ûlyėr combat lessons.
“The hut is nothing special. If you really miss it here, you can always
come and pull weeds. I’m sure Gerald would love that,” Bryn replied.
Ûlyėr answered only with a deep hum, which Bryn ignored. They had
reached the small, wooden cabin. With a creak, they opened the door, which
had warped in the late summer heat.
Bryn wiped spider webs from his face. “Apparently, Gerald hasn’t been
here in a while either,” he grumbled.
“He’s found a more comfortable home with more pleasing company,”
Ûlyėr said, contorting his face into a grimace that would surely frighten the
refugees to death.
Bryn chuckled. “You've got a point there.” He looked around the stuffy
little room, which was filled to overflowing with a wide variety of
gardening tools. Even on Gerald’s beloved armchairs were boxes of tulip
bulbs, as well a wide variety of seed packets. Only dim light fell into the
room through the cobweb-covered lattice window, Fine particles of dust
danced through the room. “Do you know where he keeps the tents? I didn’t
even know he had bought new ones after we raided his stash last semester.”
Ûlyėr, who had to duck to move around the small room, knocked over a
rake in his search. “The last time Morlâ and I borrowed them, they were
back here.” He pushed one of the chairs aside, ignoring the tulip bulbs that
rolled to the floor. “Yes, here they are, wait, I … oh!” The orc fell silent.
“What is it?” asked Bryn. “Has the beauty of the new tents left you
speechless?”
Ûlyėr gave a deep growl that gave Bryn goosebumps. There was a great
sadness in the tone. He quickly went to his friend, who was now crouched
down. The orc gently lifted two tiny bodies with his large, clawed hand.
Bryn could not believe his eyes when he saw what Ûlyėr had discovered.
Two motionless Samuusen. They quickly brought the fairies outside.
“What can we do?” Ûlyėr asked Bryn in desperation.
Bryn instinctively knew what to do. “Give them to me,” he ordered the
orc softly.
His friend let the two pale, lifeless little bodies slide into Bryn’s cupped
hands.
Bryn had already entered the realm when he felt their gossamer weight
on his skin. In the realm, the delicate fairies were heavily armed, but they
still gave no sign of life. “My dear Samuusen,” Bryn addressed them in the
realm, causing rainbow-colored vapor to billow from his mouth, “how can I
help you?”
At first there was no reaction, but when Bryn’s colorful breath touched
them, one little chest started heaving.
Bryn acted instinctively again. Without thinking, he mentally gathered
all three bands of energy—red, yellow, and blue—and wove them into a
thin ribbon. He then gently sent it to the weakened Samuusen.
It didn’t help at all. On the contrary—the one breathing Samuusa
seemed to grow even weaker.
Bryn felt a chill run down his spine. What did I do wrong? he thought in
panic. He blew out the strangely stale-tasting air of the realm again. When
this breath hit the fairies, a jolt went through the one who was still moving.
Bryn watched in amazement. Does the energy have to pass through me
before …? He allowed himself no further time to think, but let colorful
ribbons of magic flow through his body and then over his arms and
outstretched hands to the weakened Samuusen.
The spell did its work—at least for the one little fairy. She slowly sat up
in Bryn’s hand, a motley swirl of color playing around her. “Thank you,
Bryn, you came just in time to help us …” At that moment, the Samuusa
noticed that her sister was lying lifeless next to her. She turned so quickly
that her red hair swirled. “No!” she screamed.
The scream expressed so much pain that Bryn was thrown out of the
realm. In the real world, he saw a sobbing, slumped Samuusa lying on her
sister’s chest, mourning her death.
Attracted by this wailing, there was a sudden rustling in the bushes and
trees.
Bryn realized that the other Samuusen were now coming to mourn the
loss of one of their own. Respectfully, he set the two fairies down on the
garden soil—their home—and waited for the other winged beings to arrive.
But to his surprise, the rustling quickly died away and nothing appeared.
Bryn frowned and looked at Ûlyėr questioningly. The orc had gone to his
knees and tears were pouring down his face. So orcs can cry. Then his eyes
fell on the Samuusa who had just been resuscitated. She had slumped back
onto her dead sister, breathing quickly. Her beautiful red hair stuck to her
temples, soaking wet. Bryn was in shock. He didn’t know what to do. Had
he and Ûlyėr just witnessed the end of the Samuusen? Had so much magical
energy seeped out of the continent that the fairy creatures could no longer
survive at all? In no time, numerous possibilities played through Bryn’s
head. He could run to Tejal to tell her what was happening or search for and
collect all the Samuusen one by one and bring them to the infirmary. But
Bryn knew that this would all take too much time—there was no time left.
He remembered what the Samuusen had been telling him from the very
beginning: Trust in yourself and your abilities. He made a decision. Bryn
entered the realm, grabbed randomly colored bands of energy and passed
them through his body, then let them spill out in rainbow colors. He
absorbed more and more bands of energy and released them into the air, so
that soon the whole garden glowed in all the colors of the spectrum.
Ûlyėr jolted up from his grief when the now healthy-looking Samuusa,
who was fluttering around again, addressed him. “Yes, mourn for our sister,
great orc, but also rejoice. The Seer of Colors has finally found his
purpose.”

M ore and more students were drawn to the garden to watch the
extraordinary spectacle. What they saw took their breath away. A large
swirling swarm of Samuusen circled Bryn. Thick, colorful beams shot from
his hands into the sky and were visible for miles around. The little fairies
flew around the Seer of Colors so fast that the students’ hair was blown on
end. Their light, summer clothes flapped in the strong wind.
“What is he doing?” several students whispered, too moved to disturb
this solemn moment with loud speculation.
Suddenly, an extremely bright light flared up that forced everyone to
turn away. When the students and Masters looked again, they saw only
Bryn, with a single fairy fluttering around him and a tiny, limp body in his
hands. The dead Samuusa.
Tejal solemnly made her way through the crowd. For the second time
that day, she had to deal with something completely unexpected. Slowly,
she walked toward Bryn. The Samuusa who had landed on his shoulder in
the meantime, came flying toward the Chancellor and whispered something
in her ear. Eyes wet with tears, the Grand Master then embraced Bryn.
“Thank you,” she breathed into his ear, touched, then gently took the small
fairy body in her pale hands. She pressed a light kiss to the tiny body, then
turned to the students. Tears streamed down her face. “This fairy is another
victim of the war raging on Razuclan. We can no longer hide. Evil was
already within our walls. Now it is threatening them from the outside as
well. If we stand together, we may yet be able to defeat the enemy. Let us
pay our last respects to this brave Samuusa. Please join hands. Everyone.”
Bryn knew what this meant. When one gifted person touched another
skin-to-skin, magical energy could be transferred, and the receiver had a
certain amount of control and influence over the giver.
Hesitantly, the students joined hands. Humans took the hands of
dwarves, orcs those of elves. It grew very quiet. Tejal gently laid the fairy
on the grass. Gerald had joined them in the meantime. He was as white as
snow and overcome with grief. Bryn had never seen him so full of despair.
He took the Grand Master’s hand and intertwined his fingers with hers.
Bryn reached for the large, calloused hand of his foster father. Ûlyėr
took his other hand. And so, the chain continued. Suddenly, the delicate
Samuusa began to shimmer and ringing laughter was heard. This brought
happy smiles to all the faces that had just been mourning. A blink of an eye
later, the body disappeared.

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 8

The Burden of the Gift

A nd she’s with you all the time now?” asked Morlâ incredulously. For
lack of other options, he sat down on the ground, leaning against the
stone gargoyle, whose protective function was only symbolic since
the dissolution of the fraternities. It now let every gifted person pass. A kind
of tent city had sprung up around the defense tower and was slowly but
steadily filling up. Morlâ, Gwendolin, and the other students who had been
searching for more refugees in the forests of Panra Valley had brought about
a hundred and fifty humans back with them to Âlaburg. The elf had been
assigned to night duty again and had stayed in the forest. Morlâ had left her
only reluctantly, but someone had to show the fugitives the way out of the
forest to Âlaburg. Many of them could barely stand and had to be helped.
Normal classes were still out of the question.
Filixx had remarked that his dwarf friend had probably been assigned to
search for refugees by the Masters because he was so small, and no one
would be afraid of him. And it was true that the human children were
delighted with the tiny dwarf. After they had become somewhat accustomed
to their new living situation, they had begun to follow him around like the
pied piper. Every time he growled at them to leave him alone, the little ones
squealed, jumped, and clapped their hands with excitement. Their parents
were happy that their traumatized kids were finally laughing, and Bryn
knew that Morlâ was secretly pleased that the human children loved him so
much.
 “That’s right, I’m staying here forever,” replied the Samuusa, sitting
cross-legged on Bryn’s head and cheekily sticking her tongue out at the
dwarf.
“I already told you. If she’s with me, she can draw magical energy from
me directly, which she and her sisters need to survive. She shares the energy
with the swarm.”
“Bryn seems to be some kind of magical source in his own right,”
interjected Filixx, still wearing his apron stained from cooking and leaning
against the sun-warmed wall of the defense tower. “I guess that explains
why the tower’s beacon shines so brightly, but Lekan no longer has the
power to speak to us except—”
“—when the Seer of Colors goes to it and the gate takes some energy
from Bryn,” Ûlyėr finished the sentence.
“The tower can do magic now because Bryn lives inside? And if you go
to Lekan, then the gate can also function again? The Samuusen, too. How
do you do it?” asked Morlâ in amazement. “You used to go crazy with rage
whenever someone took magical energy from you.”
Bryn noticed the teasing tone in his roommate’s voice. He remembered
all too well how he had always completely lost control when someone had
drained him of magical energy. Fortunately, no one had ever been
permanently injured by his rage. “I honestly don’t even notice it. Well, with
the Samuusen I actively directed energy to them, but I think that was
because they were too weak already to help themselves. With Lekan and the
defense tower, it all happens completely naturally, without me even feeling
it.”
“It’s good that Bryn can replace some of the energy that’s escaping the
continent. Razuclan and every being on it—maybe with the exception of
Bryn—will suffer massively from this loss sooner or later if the leak isn’t
stopped,” Filixx said in a serious voice.
“We have to find and protect the last source of energy.” Bryn voiced
what seemed to him at that moment the only realistic option to save his
continent. What had begun long ago on a freezing night in the forests of
Sefal would now come to an end one way or another for Bryn.
“Great idea,” Morlâ said flippantly. “But where do we even start? I
don’t need to mention that we can never cover the entire continent on our
own. Especially since we have no clue what we’re even looking for. The
source in Sefal was deep in a mine. The second source was hidden in the
waters of the Sealands. And the third was in the magnificent necropolis of
your people,” the dwarf pointed to Ûlyėr, “and wasn’t actually a source of
energy at all. Its power came from the memories of your people’s heroes,
my honored GünDa’kin.” Morlâ gave his orc friend a kiss on the hand,
which earned him a kick in the rear. “I like the ear pulling better,” he
whined, rubbing his backside. “There doesn’t seem to be a pattern to the
location of the energy sources. Dear Samuusa, since you seem to know so
much, couldn’t you just tell us where the fourth source is?”
“Unfortunately no, but I could get Ûlyėr to pull your ears again if you
like,” the Samuusa replied with a grin.
Bryn ignored the banter. He had too many thoughts running through his
head at the same time. He thought of Drena and his mother; he remembered
their main enemy, his aunt Caoimhe; he pictured the horribly disfigured
Joklin; and he relived the many struggles they had all gone through. “We
should start our search by talking to the Chancellor.”
“As luck would have it, there’s a little get-together at Tejal’s place
tonight,” the Samuusa chirped gleefully.

S urprisingly , Tejal didn’t look exhausted at all, even though she must
have been under an extreme amount of stress. Not only did the Chancellor
have to deal with the terrible death of a Samuusa, but also with the
realization that there was less and less magical energy and that the war had
arrived almost at the very gates of Âlaburg. She was still brimming with
drive and feverish energy when she saw Bryn and his three friends late that
evening. Her cheeks glowed slightly red as she gestured for the four
students to sit. As if she had sensed they were coming, there were numerous
armchairs spread around her cozy, green office. Or were they a sign of staff
crisis meetings? A somewhat uncomfortable silence spread after everyone
was seated. The stillness was only interrupted by a loud creak from Ûlyėr’s
chair and the hum of the Samuusa’s rapidly beating wings. The Grand
Master looked them all in the eye before speaking. “Can I offer you
something to drink while we wait for the others?”
Who else is coming? Bryn wondered.
The Samuusa, who by now had made herself comfortable on Bryn’s left
ear, giggled knowingly and blew into his ear, which tickled terribly.
 Just then, the office door opened, and Gerald entered. He bowed to the
Samuusa, then walked quickly to Tejal and kissed her on the lips.
The friends grinned but were also a little embarrassed by this. Morlâ
blushed slightly. He still hadn’t gotten over the fact that Filixx’s knowledge
and silence about this liaison had earned him a private room all through
college.
The others filtered in. One by one, the Grand Masters and new teachers
of Âlaburg, the dwarf Elmar Boulderstone, Tejal’s sister Isilmar
Morningsky, Gerald’s friend Tal MacRallen, and the hulking orc, Orr,
entered. All four bowed to the Samuusa as well. Orr also bowed to Ûlyėr.
Bryn’s orc friend was so embarrassed by this that he jumped up and
bowed as well. Since he could not give this tribute to just one Grand
Master, he had to continue through the round.
The embarrassed orc only ended his performance after Morlâ whispered
loud enough for all to hear, “Gwendolin is still in the reception room
making tea for everyone, if you need someone else to bow to.”
“Looks like we’re all here,” Tejal began. “My dear Samuusa, I would
like to thank you and your sisters for arranging this meeting. Fortunately, no
one at Âlaburg dares to refuse an invitation from you,” the director finished
with a broad grin.
“So she scheduled the appointment,” Morlâ grumbled.
Gerald stood up to speak. “This council is meeting to decide how we
want to proceed. Unfortunately, we cannot rely on the Order any longer.
Only our own student body has shown solidarity. That’s why you four are
also sitting with us. You represent the four former fraternities.” He pointed
at Bryn and his friends unnecessarily. It was clear to everyone in the room
who were the students and who were the Masters.
He’s nervous, Bryn realized.
“So, you want to send untrained wizards—students—to search for the
fourth source of energy when we don’t even know where to look? I don’t
suppose we could get more information from our little Samuusa?”
Boulderstone looked in Bryn’s direction, but the fairy was already asleep in
his shirt pocket.
“It’s not ideal, but what choice do we have, Elmar, if the trained soldiers
prefer to stay in their barracks and castles because a few old men refuse to
acknowledge that their world has changed?”
“We also have to think about all the refugees,” MacRallen emphasized.
 “Yes,” boomed from Orr, “and large parts of the continent are
completely unprotected. If the students were in their homelands, then, as
gifted people, they could at least quickly recognize the danger, warn their
people, and get help by magical means. They might even be able to fend off
initial attacks.”
Tejal nodded. “So, you’re suggesting that I send all the students home to
warn and guard their people.”
“They could also look for the fourth source,” Filixx interjected.
“If they discover something, they can call for help,” Bryn agreed.
“This is a very large task for such young students. Âlaburg was never
meant to be a military academy.”
Orr cleared his throat, which sounded like a nail scratching across a
blackboard.
“Well, except for the orcs, of course.”
“You already asked the student body if they would follow you. All of
them answered in the affirmative. In doing so, they are taking to heart the
university’s motto of promoting peace with friendship. Albeit somewhat
differently than intended by the founding fathers. I think they would all be
willing to take this risk, especially if you send us to our own families,”
Morlâ said, his new chainmail ringing.
“All right,” Tejal said sadly. “We will send the student body out into all
parts of the continent to guard it and to search for the fourth source.” She
sighed deeply. “A university without students. This is the end of Âlaburg.”

OceanofPDF.com
 9

The Delegation

I t’s weird changing my clothes with her here. I really hope this isn’t
permanent,” Morlâ grumbled, pointing to the Samuusa sitting on
Bryn’s round bedpost. They had returned to their shared room after
hours of deliberation in the Chancellor’s office. Colorful werelights circled
the ceiling after lights out. Bryn was now able to summon six at once.
“I hope you don’t fart in your sleep all night,” the little fairy retorted,
pinching her petite nose with a disgusted expression.
“I don’t do that,” Morlâ defended himself, letting his chainmail slide to
the ground with a clang.
“Gwendolin says otherwise.”
The dwarf turned as red as a tomato. “When did she tell you that? I
never, ever—”
Bryn, who had been following the little dispute wordlessly, now burst
into snorting laughter. It was just too funny how the fairy was constantly
driving his friend up the wall.
“Go ahead and laugh,” Morlâ murmured. “Now I understand why
Gerald was always complaining about you fairies. And he didn’t even have
to live under the same roof as you.”
The Samuusa had flown to Rondo’s crate in the meantime. She squatted
on the edge and looked at the gray, snake-like animal with interest.
“Leave poor Rondo alone. He’s lived here longer than you have.”
“I think we’ll take him with us,” the Samuusa replied mysteriously.
“Huh?” Morlâ threw a questioning look at Bryn.
 He just shrugged.
“What do you mean?” the dwarf asked the Samuusa.
But the little fairy was already lying on Bryn’s pillow, pulling a tiny
corner of the quilt over her little body. She kept her eyes closed. Then she
yawned, snapped her fingers, and suddenly all the werelights were gone.
Instantly, it was pitch black in the basement room.
There was a loud crash and Morlâ cursed. He had bumped hard into
something.
“I’m not telling you anything, you cheese cutting dwarf,” the Samuusa
commented cheerfully.
Bryn fell asleep with a smile.

“S o ?” asked Bryn, trying to look past Filixx at his semester schedule.

“Still no classes. I’m assigned to the kitchen again. You and Morlâ are
on gate duty. Ûlyėr has to dig latrines in the gardens—you two are lucky.
“Looks like Tejal is letting things go on as usual for now,” Bryn mused,
looking at the charcoal drawings of each of the White House students.
When he looked at Filixx’s picture, he noticed that his face showed many
more contours than it had only a few weeks ago. “You really have slimmed
down.”
Filixx shuffled his feet a little sheepishly. “Well, there’s so much going
on in the kitchen because of the refugees, I hardly get to eat myself. I also
go jogging by myself in the evenings now. But don’t tell Morlâ.”
Bryn winked at his friend.
“It’s really nice not to be out of breath every time you take the stairs.
And we have plenty of stairs at Âlaburg.”
Bryn patted his friend on the shoulder.

“L et ’ s see how many arrive today,” Morlâ said, spitting out a pit. He had
taken a whole basket of plums from the kitchen to their duty station at the
gate and seemed intent on eating them all. “It’s starting to get crowded on
campus, isn’t it?”
Bryn looked at the tent city. Throughout the courtyard, cream-colored
tarps hung limply over wooden poles in the rising heat of the windless, late-
summer day. Laughing and screeching children tumbled everywhere. Their
parents hung laundry in the alleys between tents and talked with each other.
Most people had accepted and come to terms with the fact that magic
existed on Razuclan and that there were other nations besides just their
own.
Morlâ spat another plum pit from his now blue lips. The basket emptied
quickly.
“If you drink cold water after this feast, you really will be a cheese
cutting dwarf or worse today,” Bryn teased his roommate. Suddenly, a
strange warbling sound was heard. It blew gently up the hill to the castle
and grew steadily louder.
“Do you hear that?” asked Morlâ, turning his head to figure out which
direction it was coming from.
“Of course,” answered the Samuusa from Bryn’s shirt pocket. They had
both thought she was asleep.
“That sounds like shawms to me,” said Bryn, holding his hand behind
his ear.
“Are the refugees playing musical instruments now?” asked Morlâ
incredulously.
A moment later, the two friends saw a darkly dressed group of very tall
people. Bryn could not believe his eyes. No, not people, it was a group of
orcs. If orcs have to flee here to us already, then the war is lost. A
triumphant shawm fanfare sounded.
“I don’t think they’re refugees,” Morlâ whispered.
With open mouths, the two friends watched as a group of about twenty
orcs marched in lockstep through the open gate. Some had painted their
faces fire red. With a final crash, the group halted just past Lekan. Several
of the refugees looked curiously in the direction of the newcomers. When
they realized that they were not human, most of them quickly retreated to
their tents. Not everyone had gotten used to the sight of orcs, especially
since this group was particularly well-armed. Many of the orcs had skulls
dangling from their belts or wore them on their heads as helmets. In
addition, all of them were carrying heavy weapons. From two-handed
longswords to huge double axes that Bryn probably couldn’t even lift off
the ground. Except for those who had painted their faces blood red, this
delegation of Razuclan warriors was physically so huge that even Orr
would look small next to them. With a crash, four orcs dropped something
they had been carrying. Bryn tried to see what it was through one of the few
gaps left by the broad bodies. Briefly, he saw pitch-black armor flashing in
the sun.
“Um,” Bryn stammered. “We’re supposed to be guarding the gate.
Shouldn’t we have tried to stop them?”
“I think if a horde of orcs knocks on the gate and wants to come in,
they’ll have a good reason. Who are we to bother them?” Morlâ replied,
swallowing hard at the sight of the warriors armed to the teeth.

A n orc broke away from the group. Leaning on a thick walking stick with
a bundle of small bells attached that rang aggressively with each impact, he
came straight at Bryn and Morlâ. His pitch-black cloak puffed out as a gust
of wind passed through the gate. The warrior’s body was covered with scars
as thick as his thumb and one of his horns had broken off. He had attached a
footlong blade to the stump. To describe his mass of muscle as a mountain
would have been an understatement.
Morlâ fidgeted nervously as the tall, grim-faced fighter walked
purposefully toward him. “Well, I guess we can do our job as guards after
all.”
“Not a good time to cut the cheese, dwarf,” whispered the Samuusa at
the same moment.
Bryn, who was also tense, had to grin. I knew he shouldn’t have eaten
that entire basket of plums.
Finally, the orc reached them. In a loud voice that carried very far, he
said something that neither of them could understand. They only recognized
one orc word: GünDa’kin.

Û lyėr was dressed in his armor in the courtyard of Řischnărr. Four orcs
who were something like priests, at least that’s how Filixx—who
interpreted for Bryn and Morlâ—had explained it, had just lifted up the
GünDa’kin’s enormous, black, polished breastplate. They tightened the four
wide leather straps that connected the front piece to the back. The metal fit
Ûlyėr’s powerful torso like a second skin.
 All the orcs of Âlaburg had gathered for this ceremony and surrounded
their leader in rows at attention. Today, their language was allowed to be
spoken here on campus. Tejal had allowed this for the consecration. Bryn,
Morlâ, and Filixx had been personally invited by Ñokelä because they were
part of Ûlyėr’s Band. The Combat Master made sure they understood that
with this invitation they were the first non-orc students ever to be admitted
to the dark, prison-like building. Morlâ had then replied that he hoped they
would also go down in history as the first non-orcs to be allowed to leave
the building, too. Řischnărr’s fraternity house was very plain inside. It had
the feel of an army barracks: bare, gray stone walls, simple, rough wooden
furniture, and huge, uniform dormitories filled with hard cots. But the orc
students didn’t seem to mind—coziness and comfort were not important.
They were now playing somewhat unusual music for non-orc ears. Ûlyėr’s
face had been painted in elaborate black and white patterns. The warrior
people were focused on combat, but also had music and art.
The ceremony was coming to an end. Dawn was near. Dozens of large
fire bowls illuminated the courtyard. Surrounded by black granite walls, the
high priest spoke the final words.
Filixx translated in a whisper for his two friends. “Now rise, chief of
chiefs. With the donning of this consecrated armor, you take dominion over
every orc of Razuclan. We will all follow your every command, whether in
war or in peace. Are you ready to lead us?”
Ûlyėr rose from his kneeling position and looked at the orcs present. His
gaze lingered on Bryn and his other two friends for a very long time. Bryn
thought he saw deep sadness in this look. Suddenly black smoke billowed
from Ûlyėr’s left palm and a white orc skull appeared on the back of his
hand. With a quick jerk, as if he were wielding an oversized whip, he struck
the front row. Fine cuts appeared on the orcs’ faces, with blue blood seeping
out. The marked orcs dropped to their knees and the line behind them was
given the same, painful honor.

D uring the banquet that followed , Bryn, Morlâ, and Filixx had the
honor of sitting directly under Ûlyėr, whose chair had been placed on a
pedestal like a throne. He sat up there all alone, looking a little helplessly at
his new subjects, who kept cautiously approaching him to offer him some
rotten, bloody treat or to reaffirm their personal allegiance. The blood-red
painted orcs came to him conspicuously often. When Bryn asked Filixx
what this meant, he answered with a conspiratorial grin: “Those are orc
women. Our GünDa’kin must join with one of them to form a separate
band.”
Morlâ laughed gleefully, but Bryn got goosebumps as a realization
dawned on him. Ûlyėr will soon leave us and Âlaburg.

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 10

OceanofPDF.com
 The Order of Âlaburg

T hat night, for the first time since his arrival at Âlaburg, Ûlyėr slept in
Řischnărr’s fraternity house and not in his room at the White House.
Bryn couldn’t fall asleep. He tossed and turned in bed while Morlâ
snored happily as usual. He tried to be happy for his friend. He was finally a
full-fledged orc and recognized by his people. This was all the disabled
warrior son had ever wanted. But Bryn was also sad. He, Morlâ, and Filixx
would be pushed further and further away from Ûlyėr. Their friend was now
the ruler of an entire nation. His place was no longer here at the university;
he must now return to the territory of his ancestors. The orcs needed a
leader. War was here. Bryn did not doubt for a second that his strong friend
would perform this task well. Ûlyėr had always been there for his friends
when his help, guidance, or advice was needed. He would make a good
chief. A chief who understood that the other three nations were not his
enemies, but friends. He would still have to lead his subjects into a difficult
war, however. Bryn sighed and turned over again.
“Don’t worry, Seer of Colors,” the little Samuusa suddenly whispered
directly in Bryn’s ear. “Whatever happens, you and Ûlyėr will always be
friends. Now sleep. It’s important that you get some sleep tonight.”
Bryn’s eyelids suddenly became heavy. He wanted to ask the fairy what
she meant, but his thoughts went cloudy. Soon he was fast asleep and began
to dream. He was flying again. Through a mild night and across a glassy
sea, where a third quarter moon was reflected, long, wobbly, and white.
Warm wind played around his body. From a distance, he could see the
castle he had already visited in his dreams. Tonight, the weather had
cleared, and one could see the huge fortress in its fullness. Huge fires
burned on the mighty walls and black-clad guards patrolled along the wide
battlements. Bryn flew toward the castle and landed softly on a small
wooden parapet that looked into the courtyard. It was only dimly lit by a
few sooty torches, but he could clearly make out a slender person dreamily
grooming a pitch-black horse. Drena.
Bryn’s heart beat faster. In the real world, he was twitching his legs
restlessly and moaning slightly.
Drena bent down and grabbed fresh straw to rub the massive animal’s
flanks dry. She hummed, lost in thought. Suddenly the mount became
restless. It gave a snort and pawed its hind hooves. Drena spoke softly to
the horse and rubbed his neck soothingly. But the stallion did not want to be
calmed down. A moment later, a petite woman entered the courtyard. Drena
went white with fright—this could be seen even in the dim light. She slowly
moved backwards to move away from her.
Bryn began to sweat. His pupils twitched excitedly back and forth
behind his closed lids.
In the dream, Bryn saw another woman appear. Flashes of energy
played like static around her hands. “Leave her alone, Caoimhe,” hissed a
voice that sounded familiar to Bryn.
“Calm down, Drena and I have a longer history than the two of you.”
Bryn realized that it was his mother who walked briskly toward Drena
and stood protectively in front of her. “Go to your room, Drena. I promise
no one will harm you.”
Bryn wanted to turn and watch Drena go, but instead he heard only
quickly receding footsteps. Bryn had no control over what he saw and felt.
“You can put your spells away, sis,” Caoimhe said flippantly after Drena
left. “I’m sure you realize what would happen if you attack me.”
No answer. Bryn saw only the mockingly aggressive face of his aunt.
“Of course you do. The girl your son loves will be fine as long as you
don’t leave Fog Island. Since you’re not planning to do that, you don't have
to worry if I want to chat with her at dusk. Maybe I just wanted to ask her
something about horses.” Bryn’s aunt gave a forced laugh. “And you also
know what we can accomplish together. We proved it at Âlaburg and on
missions often enough.”
“Never again,” hissed Davina. To Bryn, it seemed as if he himself had
spoken.
 “Haha,” Caoimhe replied with a high-pitched, fake laugh. “You know
the girl is only still alive because you promised me that we would become
one again to finish the process.”
“If—” began Bryn’s mother.
Her sister interrupted her gruffly. “There is no ‘if’. The process is
almost complete. Three out of four energy sources have been destroyed.”
The gentle-looking little woman brushed a strand of hair from her face. As
if talking about the weather, she continued, “Every day hundreds of
Vonnyen land all down the coasts.” Caoimhe laughed again. “They kill
every living thing they encounter, increasing our army.”
“The Driany Order will stop them.”
This time Bryn’s aunt laughed with honest amusement and at the top of
her lungs. “You always had the better sense of humor. The Order? I don’t
think so. Your beloved Order has barricaded itself in its secret cities and
fortresses. The Seven are too divided to react, thanks to our agents. Only we
will be able to practice magic. Any Driany Knights who dare show
themselves will be batted away like flies. The magic is inside us. We are
superior to them because we don’t need a source of energy. It’s only natural
that we rule over this continent.”
Fear flooded through Bryn.
“And afterwards? Do you think Mother will finally let you live your
own life after you help her subjugate another continent? Or will you go with
her to the next battle and then to the one after that? When will she be
satisfied? Do you think any of this will bring our father back? If it weren’t
for Mother’s crude delusions of power, he might still be alive.”
Sadness and uncertainty flitted across Caoimhe’s face for a brief
moment. But she quickly regained her composure.
A broad-shouldered Vonnyen suddenly approached them submissively
from the darkness. “Your mother wishes to see you, mistress. There is
information that suggests that the last source of energy has finally been
found.”
Bryn awoke soaked with sweat. Heart thumping, he sat up in bed.
Fluttering directly in front of him was the shimmering Samuusa. “My
sisters are already telling Tejal what you saw. It’s time to make a decision.”
T ejal stood silently on the small platform they had set up in the dining
hall. The entire student body had been called to the meeting in the large
dining room of Âlaburg. Surrounding her stood Gerald, the four new Grand
Masters, and all the other Masters of the University. Even the dwarf
Summoning professor, Master Underhill, had come. He was sitting in a
wheelchair and blood was seeping through bandages on his legs. His head
hung to the side and his gaze seemed strangely absent. Drool ran from the
left corner of his mouth.
“He’s more lucky than talented,” Morlâ commented. “I heard that a
flying Ťjaklem grabbed him by the legs and was already hovering high
above the Panra Valley with his meal before Dori managed to send him
back. I guess he forgot that he can’t fly. A large pine tree broke his fall. He
looks much better today, don’t you think? They say he’s on the mend.”
Orc Combat Master Ñokelä also stood in solidarity next to the
Chancellor. Those who could not bear to look at his hideously scarred face
simply looked a little further to the right, where the beautiful elf and Math
Master, Snowflower, was standing. Next to his colleague, the little dwarf,
Sterlingheart, stood and nervously twirled his long beard.
Bryn knew that the Masters had made a decision together during the
night—a decision that couldn’t be put off any longer after his vision.
Tejal cleared her throat softly. “Dear members of Âlaburg,” the head of
the university began in a worried voice. It was the first time Bryn had heard
her speak in a student assembly without amplifying her voice. It wasn’t
necessary. You could have heard a pin drop; it was so quiet in the hall.
“News has reached us that the full invasion of our homeland may be
imminent. With this speech, I am bringing all academic instruction at the
university to an end,” she looked across the many different faces, “and with
it, for the time being, the very existence of Âlaburg.”
Bryn heard Morlâ swallow hard at these words. The dwarf listened with
wide eyes and clasped Gwendolin’s hand tightly, which was gently nestled
in his side.
“I am sending you back to your home towns and villages with one last
mission. Protect and defend your homes against the advancing enemy. Try
to save as many innocents as possible. Don’t help only your own families.
Many others also need your special gift in these difficult times. Use your
powers while you still have magic. May peace and friendship be with you.”
 “What can we do alone against an unknown enemy?” someone
suddenly asked aloud.
Tejal shrugged in resignation. “The Driany Order will not help you. Try
to get as many of your people as possible inland from the coasts and defend
yourselves there as best you can. The Vonnyen are coming across the sea.”
“This is not a solution; we should fight together!” shouted someone
from further back.
“The Seven are not ready to take this step, boy,” Gerald now took the
floor. “We are very sorry, but the Order has failed to recognize the danger.
Maybe until it’s too late,” he finished softly.
“The Order has always been our greatest hope. Without them, we don’t
stand a chance,” said someone in the crowd.
A thought suddenly occurred to Bryn. The Samuusa pinched his ear.
Startled, he stumbled out of the crowd, suddenly finding himself directly in
front of Tejal’s platform. Everyone stared at him. Bryn blushed bright red.
He cleared his throat and then said, “If the Driany Order won’t help us, let’s
start our own Order. The Order of Âlaburg.” The hall went silent again.
Bryn turned even redder, feeling stupid when no one responded to his
suggestion.
“Bryn is right,” Filixx jumped to his defense. “The gifted students can
all do magic and use it to communicate with each other. We can send each
other werelights to warn or help each other. The telepaths among us can
send information to others, who can then pass it on. We can rush to each
other’s aid and combine our spells to make them stronger. Let’s throw up
magical walls and other defensive spells together …”
“We can devise defensive strategies and attack plans together,” Morlâ
now took the floor. “You know your homelands better than the enemy. Elect
a leader who will make decisions …”
“Let’s trust in our joint strength,” Ûlyėr growled, pounding his fist on
his chest.
“Bravo,” exclaimed the tall elf, Ram, “we’ll just form our own order!”
“With our own rules,” Gwendolin added.
“Yeah, forget about the Driany Knights,” Hela joined in, her voice an
octave higher with excitement.
Everyone in the room roared together, “Order of Âlaburg, Order of
Âlaburg, Order of Âlaburg …”
OceanofPDF.com
 11

OceanofPDF.com
 One Last Breakfast

F ilixx pulled his chair up to the dining table with a loud scrape and
dropped onto it, sighing.
“What, just scrambled eggs today?” asked Morlâ incredulously at
the sight of the single pan on the table. “And why are they green? What did
you put in there, big guy?”
Filixx shrugged apologetically. “These are tough times. The fields are
bare and whole areas are in flames. I thought we should set a good example
and keep it simple today. The green,” he put the word in imaginary
quotation marks with his fingers, “are elvish herbs that make the eggs tasty
and more nutritious.”
Morlâ rolled his eyes. “At least it’s nice and quiet in the kitchen today.
It’s not always peaceful here. Skeptically, he helped himself to a steaming
pile of the yellowish green breakfast. “Not bad. What do you think? Why
isn’t anyone else eating? Our dwarf-elf on a diet can cook well even when
there’s hardly anything available.”
Bryn stirred his fork around in his eggs, lost in thought. “Don’t you
realize that this is probably our last breakfast together at Âlaburg?”
Morlâ dropped his fork with a clang. “What makes you think that? Sure,
there’s a little war going on. But we’ll approach it like we always do—go
out together, heroically defeat our enemies, and then return here as heroes.”
“It’s different this time,” Filixx whispered, voice breaking. He cleared
his throat so he could regain his normal pitch.
“Why? We’ll take care of Bryn’s aunt. We’ve always been able to
handle everything so far, right?”
 Ûlyėr placed his dark, clawed hand on the dwarf’s short forearm.
“Because whatever happens, I won’t be coming back to Âlaburg.”
Morlâ turned pale and looked at his friend in utter confusion. “But you
haven’t finished your studies yet. You’re a good student, why would—”
“I will return to the land of my ancestors and from there I will lead the
war against the dark sorceress. My people need me. My place is there …”
“But if the war …”
Ûlyėr showed his tusks in an understanding smile. “Even if we win—
which is not a foregone conclusion—a GünDa’kin belongs in the realm of
the orcs.”
Tears began to well up in Morlâ’s eyes. “Then this really is our last
breakfast here?” He swallowed hard. “I’m not hungry anymore either. It’s
not like I’m going to miss you or anything, Ûlyėr, but Bryn and Filixx are
so weak—they can’t possibly manage without their strong orc.”
Ûlyėr stood up and did something he had never done before. He gave
his dwarf friend a long, firm hug. Bryn and Filixx were then given the same
show of friendship. Bryn was sure that his back wasn’t the only one hurting
afterwards.
“You can come along, of course,” Ûlyėr said when they had sat down
again. “We’re a Circle of Brothers and there will always be a place for you
in my kingdom.”
“No thanks. Just the thought of disgusting offal casserole is enough for
me. If I had to see that every day, let alone eat it, I’d soon be as thin as
Filixx,” Morlâ lightened the mood.
The orc nodded. “That's what I thought. Your place is now with your
families.”
Filixx spat an apple core into his hand before replying, “Yes, quite a few
students have already left for home to warn their loved ones and to try to
keep them safe and protected. We also need to be off.
“So, after this meal, we part ways?” asked Bryn sadly.
“Well,” Filixx began. “Only partially. Morlâ and I could return to the
dwarf country together. Our villages are not so far from each other and can
be reached quickly through the underground tunnel railroads. Or would you
rather go with Gwendolin?”
Morlâ took a deep breath before answering, “I’ll go to my parents.” He
coughed. “Gwendolin has forbidden me from going with her. She
threatened to run so fast that I wouldn’t be able to keep up with her.”
 Everyone laughed.
“She’s right, though. Gwendolin has to take care of her family and I
have to take care of mine. After all, I am the only dwarf in my village who
can do magic. Even though it’s hard for me to let her go, of course. Who
knows if we will ever meet again. Wars have winners and losers on both
sides …”
Filixx gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “She is a great elf and a
fantastic sorceress and warrior. Our Gwenny can take care of herself.
Morlâ nodded, lost in thought. “Let’s hope so. Well then, traveling
buddy, let’s head back underground. But you’ll probably be laying off the
cheese this time, my thin friend.”
Filixx snorted in resignation. “Oh, what the heck. Life is too short to do
without good food. I’m smarter than our enemies–that should be enough.”
He grabbed the large wooden spoon in the scrambled eggs, loaded it up
with the steaming delicacy, and shoved it into his mouth, smiling happily.
“That’s the Filixx we know,” Morlâ grinned. “What about you, Bryn?
Where will your path take you after this breakfast?”
Bryn scraped some dried sauce from the tabletop with his fingernail.
“Mhhh … well, I don’t have a family to protect. Gerald is more than
capable of taking care of himself and I think he’ll want to watch over the
refugees here at Âlaburg. My home village, Sefal, no longer exists. Bryn
shrugged. “What do you think about me accompanying you? Ûlyėr is so
strong, he doesn’t need help from the Seer of Colors, but you two might,”
Bryn finished with a wry grin.
Filixx laughed. “You’re always welcome at my mother’s house. She’s
crazy about humans.”
“My parents hate humans, but you’re small. Maybe we can just pretend
you’re a huge dwarf,” Morlâ said with a wink.
“Yay, we’re going to the dwarf kingdom,” a very high voice cheered.
Everyone looked to her. The Samuusa was hovering over the steaming
scrambled eggs, pinching her nose in disgust.
“Great,” Morlâ moaned theatrically. “I'll never get rid of you.”

T he rest of the meal was full of friendly conversation and laughter. Filixx
had seconds and thirds and Morlâ lifted their spirits with his silliness. The
morning passed faster than the four friends would have liked.
 “You really outdid yourself on the food today,” Morlâ praised Filixx
wryly. “I didn’t think we’d ever get that giant pan empty.” He flipped the
huge frying pan over.
“But we haven’t eaten everything our chef has on offer,” Bryn replied,
nodding in the direction of the hichƙül.
Ûlyėr gave a muffled rumble and rubbed his left horn.
“Last chance,” Filixx encouraged his tall friend.
“Yeah, eat that stuff already. I can’t wait to see what this strange,
dangerous dessert looks like.”
Carefully, the orc pulled the covered plate toward him and stared down
at it. After waiting in silence, he said, “I told you that the hichƙül reminds
me of my mother, and that’s why I’m so reluctant to eat it.” Without
expecting an answer, the orc continued to speak. “By now, though, I
actually associate it with you, my best friends.”
Bryn felt at that moment how strong their bond of friendship had
become. Despite all his worries, this feeling triggered a comforting feeling
of warmth in his belly. Whatever would happen in the near future, they
were friends for life and would always be there for each other.
“I will not eat the hichƙül today. Filixx,” he turned to the dwarf-elf,
“can you keep it safe until the four of us get together for breakfast again?”
Filixx nodded with a smile.

T he exodus of the orcs from Âlaburg was an impressive spectacle. They

marched across campus in perfect rows of four. The refugees watched in
amazement. The muscular and heavily armed warriors seemed invincible.
Every orc in Âlaburg followed Ûlyėr, who led the way in his shining new
armor.
The shawms wailed again as the group approached the gate. The dry
earth of the courtyard shook under their heavy boots. Ñokelä marched a few
steps behind Bryn’s friend. He kept his students in step with short hissing
noises. They were leaving the university as soldiers for their land. Just
before the troop crossed through Lekan, Ûlyėr stopped. A delegation of
Masters, led by Tejal, was gathered at the gate to pay their respects to the
new chief of the orcs. Ûlyėr walked up to the Chancellor and stretched out
his neck to her.
 It was a scene Bryn had seen once before, though it seemed like it had
happened in another lifetime rather than only three semesters ago.
Then Ûlyėr turned to Gerald. Bryn’s foster father had become a trusted,
fatherly figure to him. They grasped forearms in a gesture of affection and
respect. The Master whispered something into the chief’s ear, which was
answered with a slight nod of the head.
Finally, in the shadow of the archway, Bryn, Morlâ and Filixx waited to
bid their friend a final farewell.
“Don’t look so sad, my friends,” the orc said, looking truly majestic in
his immaculate black armor. “Fate has been kind to me, and I owe it all to
you three. I’ll never forget that.”
It was left to Bryn to say their goodbyes. Morlâ and Filixx were too
heartbroken to say anything. He cleared his throat and said, “There’s always
been greatness in you. Our friendship simply ignited the spark. We’re
honored to call you our friend.” With these words, the three bowed to Ûlyėr
for the first time.
“If you do that again, I’ll order Kuelnk and ₱yzu to cook for you for a
month," the orc said in response, pulling each of them back upright. “Take
care, my friends.” He turned in the direction of his orcs and yelled
something in his language, then strode through the gate like a born leader.

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 The Right Way

I t was strangely quiet in the White House. Except for Bryn, Morlâ, and
Filixx, only the Five Wise Ones and the telepathic twins, Ulur and
Rulu, were still there. All the other students had already left the
university and were on their way home. Bryn and his friends were
unconsciously delaying their departure. They found it extremely difficult to
part with the university—their home.
“What are you taking with you?” Bryn asked Morlâ, trying to find his
own things in the mess his roommate had made.
Morlâ sat cross-legged on the floor and was digging through a pile of
papyri covered with runes and charcoal drawings. “Not my class notes,
that’s for sure.” He let the stack of paper fall so they scattered all over the
room, adding to the clutter. The dwarf’s knees cracked as he stood and
looked around their shared room, then he walked to the head of his bed.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to leave this behind. Hopefully, Tejal and the others
will take good care of it.” He patted the White House’s shimmering Harel
star affectionately—his pride and joy.
“What about Rondo? Bryn asked.”
Morlâ walked over to the wooden box where their silent, gray pet lay
doing the same thing he always did—sleep. “Good question. The Masters
already have their hands full with the refugees. I think it’s time for our little
Gnarf worm to get back to his mountain. I'll take him with me.”
Bryn heard a happy, knowing giggle from his breast pocket.
"W e ’ re coming , T oulin . S low down ,” Filixx whined as the old dwarf
made his way up the stairs from the White House basement with surprising
agility.
“He ate too much again,” Morlâ whispered to Bryn with a grin. “I saw
him disappear into his room last night with two rings of salami and a small
wheel of cheese.”
When the four stepped outside, an oppressively humid day awaited
them. The sky was streaked with gray clouds and promised a thunderstorm.
“Oh, sorry,” muttered Bryn, who was the last to step through the
doorway. He had bumped into an emaciated man dressed in rags who had
unexpectedly appeared from behind the stone gargoyle. The human had not
noticed Bryn at all. He walked aimlessly back into the tent city, which had
now extended almost to the defense tower. Dozens of refugees were
sleeping on the paths because there were no more tents.
“It’s getting too crowded here,” Morlâ commented. “This can’t be a
permanent solution with a storm coming. It’s going to get very cold in a few
weeks.”
Toulin nodded but continued walking purposefully toward the
Chancellor’s office. “Tejal will open the fraternity houses for the refugees
tomorrow. We, Five Wise Ones, will then become Heads of Houses and will
take care of everything here.”
“So you’re staying?” Bryn asked the old dwarf.
“Yes. Âlaburg is the only home we have. None of us has any family left
underground, so we will manage the university as best we can with the
Masters who stay behind, and of course help the refugees. Worin and Lebos
are already drafting school plans for the children. They can’t wait to teach.”
“They’ve had plenty of class time over the last few decades,” whispered
Morlâ.
“As long as this castle is spared from the war,” Filixx said with a
furrowed brow and a glance at the long dagger dangling from Toulin’s
leather belt.
“Yes,” replied the old dwarf. “We will also be the last defenders of
Âlaburg, should this be necessary. You protect your homes, we protect
ours.” With these words, they entered the cube-like white building that
housed the Chancellor’s office.
Morlâ looked sadly at the deserted reception desk.
 Bryn patted him on the shoulder. “Did she leave with the last of the
elves this morning?”
The dwarf just sighed in response.
The door to Tejal’s office was open. Toulin walked right into the office
without pause, as if he were a Master and not a student.
When Bryn entered the room, he was amazed at how much it had
changed. Tejal’s desk was gone, as were the chairs in which he had enjoyed
long hours of private tutoring. Instead, there was now a huge, round table in
the middle of the room with a large map spread out on top. Bryn bent over
to get a better look and recognized Razuclan. The entire continent was on
display. In the northeast, the orc territory was marked with their typical
skull symbol. Triangular jags showed the Arell Mountains, and behind
them, to the northwest, the territory of the humans. In the southeast was the
hammer, the sign of the dwarves. Here there were only triangles. The home
of the dwarves consisted almost completely of mountains. Finally, in the
southwest, a flower marked the territory of the elves. Their southernmost
foothills formed numerous small islands that were only too familiar to Bryn
and his friends. The Sealands. The entire continent was surrounded by
water. Mare ignotum—the great unknown—had been written around the
edge of the map. Right in the middle of the four realms was the
representation of an imposing fortress. The Âlaburg.
Tejal, Winterblossom, MacRallen, Orr, Boulderstone, and Gerald looked
up in surprise when the students walked in. They had been in an intensive
discussion. Bryn’s foster father held the stub of a charcoal pencil in his
hand.
Toulin and his companions bowed to their Masters, as decency and
Âlaburg tradition demanded. “Chancellor, these are the last of the students.”
Tejal wearily massaged the bridge of her nose and groaned, “I knew it
would be you.”
The tiny Samuusa fluttered out of Bryn’s breast pocket and landed
gently on the large map. Looking down with interest, she trudged across the
massive papyrus, hands in her skirt pockets. Now Bryn saw that numerous
black x-marks had been added to the map. The little fairy looked at these in
particular. Some she simply passed over, but with quite a few she said in a
cheerful singsong voice, “Wrong, wrong, wrong …”
Gerald scowled in annoyance and stroked his beard with his large hand.
 Tejal, on the other hand, simply bowed deeply to the Samuusa. The
other Grand Masters followed suit. "Will you please explain what you
mean, wise Samuusa? We tried to mark places that should be considered
worthy of special protection as possible sources of magical energy. The
Waterfalls of Rolarm, for example, and the Singing Rocks of Ðykordin.”
She pointed with her ringed fingers to the places on the map.
"Of course, we also marked the places where we know there are or were
sources,” Boulderstone jumped to the Chancellor’s aid. “Sefal, of course.”
He pointed to Bryn’s home village, which made him twinge. He had not
forgotten the terrible things that had happened in the mine. “And the
Sealands …”
MacRallen, whose arms were considerably longer than the old dwarf’s,
showed the large area with his hand.
“… although we’re not sure where that magical source was exactly. We
just marked the general area where the Kamarkegel exploded.”
“And, of course, Clanrü. You and your sisters confirmed that this place
was magical in a special way and has been robbed of much of its power by
its destruction.”
“Please tell us what to look for so we can find and defend the realm’s
last major energy source.”
The Samuusa trudged around the map indecisively, then plopped down
on her rear end.
Gerald immediately rushed over with the pencil to mark the spot.
“Not here, you fool,” the fairy grumbled in response. “I just needed a
rest.”
Bryn’s foster father blushed slightly as everyone else at the table
smirked.
The Samuusa shook her mane of red hair in frustration. “We can’t tell
you either. For a long time now, we have been almost completely cut off
from the natural energy of Razuclan and therefore cannot pinpoint it.
Without Bryn, we would have died long ago.”
Everyone looked at Bryn. He was so uncomfortable that he gave a small
curtsy for no good reason.
“Next time, throw out air kisses, too,” Morlâ whispered into his ear,
grinning broadly.
“What we can tell you, though, is that the sources were never obviously
magical. You can exclude all those places built with magic, especially since
they are probably only a shadow of their former selves now without any
energy. Not every magical apparition is lucky enough to have a Seer of
Colors nearby like we do.”
Again, everyone looked at Bryn.
“Now!”, Morlâ whispered to him and gently guided Bryn’s hand to his
mouth.
“The fourth great source could be anywhere in Razuclan. In the forest,
on the ice, under the water, on a high peak, or deep underground. Only the
gods can tell you where to look. Razuclan must now place its trust in fate
and in Bryn.” With these words, she fluttered back to her sleeping place in
Bryn’s breast pocket.
“What does she mean by that?” Boulderstone asked Bryn curiously.
“I have no idea,” he answered truthfully. “Since my very first semester,
the Samuusen have stressed that I have a special role to play.” Bryn
continued. “And I do, considering my aunt is our enemy.”
“Maybe you can perform a special spell based on your blood
relationship that can defeat Caoimhe,” MacRallen speculated.
"I think the Samuusen are alluding to his special abilities as a Seer of
Colors. We know what Bryn is capable of. Tell me, Bryn, do you feel that
your magic is weakening day by day like with the rest of us? That your
color,” Tejal cleared her throat, “or, for you, your colors are getting paler?”
Bryn, who was uncomfortable being questioned like this, shook his
head in embarrassment.
“Then, honestly, I’m not sure the boy should leave Âlaburg just to help
his friends. Too much seems to depend on him,” Orr took over in his
rumbling voice. “No offense, boys, but these are very dark times.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Bryn saw something whiz out of his breast
pocket. A second later, the Samuusa headbutted the giant orc. It was so
forceful that a surprisingly loud hollow clonk was clearly heard. She then
flew, as quickly as she had emerged, back into Bryn’s warm breast pocket.
Gerald had a hard time stifling his grin. He asked with a disapproving
undertone: “Are you saying we should let Bryn go?”
A tiny arm with a dainty fist shot out of Bryn’s shirt pocket. Everyone
stared at it expectantly. After what felt like an eternity, a tiny thumb went
up.
“That little tease could have just told us that.”
 “We should listen to the Samuusen,” Tejal said, squinting curiously at
the three students. "Besides, they’re only following the guiding principle of
Âlaburg. They’ll be traveling in friendship to ensure peace. Tell me, where
exactly do you want to go?”
Filixx said, “I’ll be heading to Falyn to see my mother. Here.” He
pointed to the Wañaglinĝ Mountains. The underground cities and villages of
the dwarves were not marked on the map. “Morlâ’s home village is only a
few hours from there.” Filixx’s fingers moved a tiny bit to the west.
“Hmmm …” Tejal hummed and rubbed her temples in thought. “Thank
you. Gerald, what road would you suggest for the three? How can they get
to their families as safely as possible?”
Gerald gave the Chancellor a puzzled look, but complied with her
request and bent over the map. Only Filixx looked interested. Bryn and
Morlâ kept a respectful distance until Gerald grumbled indignantly: “Why
are you just standing there?”
Bryn and his dwarf roommate stepped closer to the table.
“Morlâ and Filixx, you know the way better than I do, so I’ll just pass
on a few tips we received from our scouts. Avoid the coastal areas at all
costs, since that’s where the Vonnyen attacks have been most often
reported. Luckily, that’s not where your path will take you. The Carantian
Forest is also unsafe, but you probably would have avoided it anyway,”
Bryn's foster father said with a grin. “In general, I would advise you to stay
on the major trails, and to always spend the night in guesthouses if possible,
or at least join together with larger groups. Take the shortest route, but in
case of doubt, go with the safest way.” Gerald’s hand quickly traced the
route from Âlaburg, located almost in the middle of the map, to the
Wañaglinĝ Mountains. His fingers moved along an area marked with a skull
and stylized cloud.
Bryn wondered what was dangerous about that area, but he could judge
Gerald’s mood all too well. He would not get an explanation of Razuclan’s
geographical features now, so he did not ask.
“Get whatever equipment you need and can still find. Bryn, you take
Olander.”
“No,” Bryn exclaimed louder than he had intended. “That’s your horse,
and …”
“I won’t need Olander. My place is here at Âlaburg. Please just take
him. He’s almost as reliable as your Reven. He'll just buck you off a few
more times, that’s all,” Gerald added.
“Good, then it's settled. Get moving, who knows when and where our
enemies will strike next. Protect your loved ones. I wish you a safe journey
and I hope that your home villages have been spared so far. Go in peace and
friendship and return safely to Âlaburg,” Tejal ended, clapping her hands in
encouragement. “But be sure to remember that, unfortunately, you will not
be getting any help from your Masters or from the Order. Should the enemy
attack you, abandon your homes, flee, and save as many lives as you can!”

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 The End of the Seven

T he three friends spent so much time packing that evening came and
they had to spend one more night in their familiar rooms. The
farewell was difficult for them all. They were only too aware that it
could be their final goodbye. They ate together on the beds in Filixx’s room,
as they had done countless times before. They reminisced about all the
exciting things they had experienced as students at Âlaburg over the past
few semesters.

“O kay , okay, I’m getting up already,” Morlâ grumbled when Bryn shook
him awake early the next morning. “Let go of my blanket!”
Bryn pulled a little harder on Morlâ’s dirty gray bedspread. “Let’s go!
We’re already the last students at Âlaburg. We have to leave! Filixx is
probably already waiting for us in the common room. You don’t have to
brush your hair today, we won’t run into any other students,” Bryn teased
his roommate with a grin. He shouldered his heavy leather backpack, to
which a rolled-up, blue and red checkered blanket was strapped, took his
bow and quiver, and went out into the hallway. The lamps lit up again on
their own. This small, magical miracle always made Bryn smile. On his
way to the common room, he took in the colorfully painted doors, lost in
thought. At the green door with the golden, only slightly crooked number
four, Bryn stopped short. He gently knocked and whispered, “I hope I’ll see
you again soon, my strong friend.” The silence weighed on him. On a
normal day, loud laughter, happy whistling, running water, and many other
sounds of everyday life would ring out. Now only the dull slap of his own
feet on the thick carpet of the hallway and the creaking of his leather armor
kept him company. Bryn pushed down the worn lion’s head handle to open
the oval door to the common room. Filixx was standing there ready to go.
He was wearing a dark green felt hat with a blue jay feather, and highwater
leather trousers. His belly hung over his belt against a white flax shirt. Over
the shirt he had put on a gray wool vest with woven jumping white goats.
Bryn raised an eyebrow when he saw his friend’s unusual getup.
“Don’t you dare laugh. My mom sent me these clothes at the beginning
of the semester, and I haven’t had a chance to wear them yet …”
“… because the orcs would have beaten you to a pulp together with the
dwarves, humans, and elves. You look like an overweight billy goat in a hat.
Why aren’t you wearing your chainmail?” An unkempt Morlâ finished
Filixx’s sentence mockingly as he stepped through the oval red door into
the common room.
“Very funny. I just want her to be happy when we arrive. Especially
with the bad news we’ll be delivering. I’ll only wear the stupid armor if I
have to,” Filixx ended gloomily.

T hey saddled their mounts . Morlâ’s pony, Thief, had somehow already
managed to bite off a piece of the dwarf’s blanket and was happily chewing
on it. Filixx’s huge brewery horse was, as always, perfectly calm. Bryn
hung his bags on Olander’s saddle. Leading the horses by the reins, the
three travelers made their way through the refugee tents. They caught a
glimpse of the Five Wise Ones, who were in the process of registering the
new arrivals before distributing them among the now empty fraternity
houses.
Gerald stood in Lekan’s shadow to say goodbye to them once again.
“You’re off on another mission together. One team member is missing,
though.” Bryn’s former hunting Master grinned, then took a step to the side
and Aska came out from behind him, tail wagging.
They all welcomed the gray and white snow fox with joy. Even the
usually sleepy Samuusa greeted him by gently blowing in his ear, causing
him to shake himself. After Aska had sniffed each of them—especially
extensively with Morlâ, who was carrying Rondo in a box in his backpack
—they could finally get under way.
 “Take care of yourselves. The roads are dangerous. Trust in each other
and you’ll reach your destination safely. You don’t always have to play the
hero. Connect with other students in the Kingdom of the Dwarves and help
each other out. The Order of Âlaburg is your only support out there until we
manage to convince the Seven of the seriousness of the threat.”
Morlâ and Filixx shook their Master’s hand cordially in farewell.
Bryn gave him a long hug.
Gerald whispered in his ear, “Take care of yourself. I’m only letting you
go because Tejal thinks that you can hide from our enemy in the dwarf
kingdom under the mountains. Promise me you’ll avoid trouble this time
and just let Filixx’s mom spoil you!”
Bryn looked into Gerald’s dark eyes for a long time. His face had taken
on many new wrinkles in recent months and his once black beard was
almost completely gray. “I’ll do my best,” Bryn promised. “If not, I still
have this.” He pulled a small hunting dagger from a loop on his belt, its
blade a little sooty. With this knife he had defeated his first Vonnyen years
ago. “You take care of yourself too!”
Gerald smiled. “I have Tejal looking out for me.” With that, he gave
Olander a light slap on the flank.

“Y ou and the snow fox have a special connection,” Filixx said when they
stopped to rest.
“Yes, strange that he somehow knew that we were leaving today and not
yesterday,” Morlâ called over his shoulder. He had finished what had made
him plunge into the woods.
“Gross,” exclaimed the Samuusa when she saw this, “and where will
our little poop gnome wash his hands?”
Bryn grinned at her. “You’ll have to get used to this sort of thing—
you’re traveling with four men, if we count Aska.”
The little fairy rolled her eyes and hid in Bryn’s backpack.
“But I agree with you, Filixx. Our little Aska is truly exceptional.”
“I think it must have something to do with your mother’s magic. The
spell must make sure the little guy is always here when you really need
him.”
“Well, that’s just great,” Morlâ interjected, zipping up his pants as he
walked. “Every time Aska has been with us so far, things got dicey very
quickly. That means we need to be on the lookout. In a few hours, we’ll
leave Panra Valley and lose its protection. Who knows what’s in store for us
on the road.”
As they mounted their horses, the three friends heard the thunder of
hooves approaching.
Bryn nervously reached for his bow.
A moment later, a large group of riders appeared, coming toward them
at a sharp gallop. They all wore armor with visors closed and carried heavy
weapons.
“They don’t look like rotting Vonnyen to me,” Morlâ said, shielding his
eyes against the setting sun.
“No, they’re riding much too disciplined for that. It’s clearly a military
squad—their equipment is very well maintained,” Filixx agreed with the
dwarf.
Bryn lowered his bow. Suddenly something tickled his ear. Before he
gave in to the urge to scratch, he noticed that it was the Samuusa pulling on
his left earlobe.
One of the riders separated from the group and rode quickly toward the
students. When he arrived, he opened his visor. A full blond beard and
piercing blue eyes appeared. It was Lloyd Williams, the Driany Knight who
had tried to arrest Bryn two terms ago. He had become a fatherly friend to
the boys on the return trip to Âlaburg. “What a coincidence that we meet
here, my friends. You’re late, though. Did Tejal not want to let you go?”
“No, Lloyd,” said Filixx, “we were just dawdling. But now it’s time to
go home. You’re surprisingly well informed about the events at Âlaburg for
a knight of the Order. I thought the university and its Masters had fallen out
of favor with your superiors.”
Williams spat angrily. “I’ve been in contact with Winterblossom the
whole time and have tried everything to convince the Seven of the
imminent danger. But all in vain! We are no longer officially knights of the
Order, but deserters and oath breakers. For us, the Seven no longer exist. To
me and my comrades-in-arms here, they have betrayed their very mission:
to secure peace on the continent. We will swear our loyalty to Tejal and the
other Grand Masters. Besides, there is still a grand commander in Âlaburg.
I’m sure he’ll know what to do,” the enraged knight ended with hope. “Still,
it may come to civil war. To those still sworn to the Seven, we are all
traitors who must be punished. They are now concentrating their energy on
finding us and—”
“—they’re ignoring the real enemy,” Bryn finished his sentence.
Williams nodded somberly. His comrades thundered past them on their
heavy warhorses. “I have to go on. Take care of yourselves after you leave
the valley. We passed quite a few burned and looted inns. Many villages are
deserted because their inhabitants have fled to the forests. Even if our
enemy doesn’t show himself openly, he is here.” He clicked his tongue
causing his horse to prance sideways, dropped his visor, and rode after the
other knights toward Âlaburg.

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 The Poison Swamps

Y ou’ve got to be kidding me,” Filixx said with a sad shake of his head
as they halted their horses in front of the still-smoking wreckage of
the inn. “They had such great pan-fried breaded trout at the Copper
Pot.”
Bryn jumped off Olander. Immediately Aska was at his side. Cautiously,
he approached the ruin. He reached into the still warm ash and let it slip
through his fingers, lost in thought. Aska sniffed it excitedly. “Can’t have
been more than two days since the Copper Pot was still serving beer,” Bryn
noted.
“Unbelievable,” Morlâ said. “This is the third inn we’ve passed, and all
of them have burned down. Williams was right.”
Bryn straightened up again. As he spoke, he wiped the ashes from his
hands. “I hear you. It’s a mystery to me how the Seven can simply ignore
this for so long. Either they’re no longer in control of their senses or they’ve
been infiltrated by the enemy.”
“The borderland between humans and dwarves is sparsely populated
anyway. But I agree with you, Bryn,” Filixx said. “There's more going on
here than we thought. It’s a wonder we haven’t been attacked ourselves yet,
but the werelights haven’t come across anyone.” With a hiss, four yellow
spheres returned to Filixx. “Thanks for the extra energy, by the way, Bryn.
It’s getting harder and harder to enter the realm and gather it myself.”
Bryn nodded. “I think we've just been extremely lucky so far that the
enemy hasn’t discovered us yet. They probably think this area has been
completely cleared.”
“We shouldn’t stay here any longer,” Morlâ insisted. “Look at Aska.”
 The snow fox’s hackles were raised, and he was restlessly pacing back
and forth between the three friends.
“Even Rondo is flopping back and forth in his little box like he wants to
get out of here. My whole bag is shaking.”
Filixx took a deep breath. “I have the feeling we’ll run into the Dark
Sorceress’s minions if we stay on this path. They’re using the old royal
roads to quickly penetrate the interior of Razuclan. I think we should take a
different route to Falyn.”
“Gerald told us not to stray from the road,” Bryn interjected.
“He did,” Morlâ answered, “and he also said that, if possible, we should
spend the night in guest houses or with larger groups of travelers. So far,
though, we’ve only been able to sleep completely alone in the smoking
ruins of inns. No offense to Gerald, but none of the Masters knew it had
gotten this bad. I agree with Filixx that we should get off the main road as
soon as possible. Many paths lead to Falyn.”
Filixx was taking some hard cheese from his backpack, which he cut
into bite-sized pieces with his dagger. Aska sat down on his hindquarters
and looked hungrily at the dwarf-elf with his dark eyes. Filixx chewed
thoughtfully before answering, “And all roads lead through Ťräsk if we
don’t want to get any closer to the coast.”
Morlâ shuddered. “Is there really no other way than through the poison
swamps?”
Filixx chewed on his cheese and scratched his rear, lost in thought. “I’m
afraid not. In fact, I think it might actually be a little shorter than our
planned route.”
“You think? Well, if we tie cloths over our mouths, then we might—”
“Wait a minute, friends. Could someone please enlighten me—what is
this Ťräsk place? Poison swamps? Doesn’t sound like a particularly pleasant
path to me,” Bryn interrupted his two friends.
Aska ran to Bryn’s side in alarm.
Filixx licked his fingers before answering. “Ťräsk is a huge marshland
fed by the Heling River and its numerous tributaries flowing to the coast.”
“So far, normal …” said Morlâ.
“Stop interrupting me,” grumbled Filixx, who had switched to lecture
mode. “Unfortunately, the poison swamps are not normal swamps. The
river picks up something on its way there. The water stinks miserably and a
yellow mist hangs over everything. The vapors are corrosive if you come
into contact with them. Inexperienced travelers can sink into the swamp, but
they can also get so close to the poisonous vapors that they are killed by …”
the dwarf-elf paused, tossing Aska a piece of cheese, “… well, let’s just say
they are killed before they even sink.”
“Some are lucky, though, and only go blind from toxic fumes. It only
happens a few times a year, though,” Morlâ commented with a grin, “and
then only to travelers who don’t know the way.”
“That’s us!” exclaimed Bryn, throwing his arms in the air in resignation.
“Don’t worry, I know the way,” Filixx said firmly in response.
“I have great faith in your good memory, big guy, but no map in the
world shows all the trails in the Ťräsk. You have to have been through it to
know it well.”
“I have been,” Filixx countered.
“What?” cried Bryn and Morlâ at the same time. Olander was infected
by the unsettled mood and waved his pitch-black tail tensely.
“Yep.”
“How? Please don’t make us beg for the story,” Bryn said.
“I just decided to wander through on my way back to the dwarf
kingdom after my first semester.”
Morlâ went to Filixx’s brewery horse without a word, opened the
saddlebags, and took out a chunk of cheese and two rings of dried sausage.
It was Filixx’s favorite with garlic, as Bryn smelled right away. “Aska, my
good boy. Why don’t you come over here? Uncle Morlâ has something
special for you.”
The snow fox licked his chops and shot like an arrow to the dwarf.
“No!” exclaimed Filixx in exasperation.
“Then tell us why you would ever willingly wander through the poison
swamps!”
“Okay, okay, just put that back,” pleaded Filixx. “Who knows when
we'll be able to restock. The inns have all been destroyed so far.”
“Out with it!” demanded Morlâ, holding a sausage right in front of
Aska’s nose. The snow fox jumped up and tried to grab it, but Bryn’s
roommate pulled it away in a flash, causing the little fox to miss.
Bryn had a huge grin.
“All right. In my first semester, I traveled home together with Diorit and
a few other dwarves from Ølsgendur for the Feast of Mother Earth. You had
a fever, Morlâ, that’s why you stayed at Âlaburg, remember?”
 “Yes, I remember, but that doesn’t explain anything.” The dwarf broke
off a piece of cheese and threw it to Aska, who immediately devoured it.
“One night I went to pee, and I guess the others thought I was out of
hearing. They complained that the ‘fat one’ was only slowing them down
and that they would already be in the caves by now if I wasn’t with them.
That night I packed up my stuff and walked through the poison swamps. I
got home two days earlier than the others. I greeted them at the gate with a
cold mug of Mäerñ in my hand.”
Bryn shook with laughter. “Don’t give his goodies to Aska, Morlâ.
Someone who has walked alone through the poison swamps at night will
probably be able to guide us through safely. I don’t even think Gerald
would mind.”
Morlâ stuffed the cheese and one of the sausage rings back into the
saddlebags. The second fell victim to Aska’s speed. In a brief moment of
inattention, the snow fox snapped the ring from Morlâ’s hands, disappeared
out of reach into a field of burnt stubble, and gleefully devoured Filixx’s
special treat.
The decision had been made. They would take the route through the
poison swamps. They mounted their horses again and Filixx rode ahead.
They rode off the road and directly across a burnt field, where a happy Aska
joined them, tongue still licking his snout.
If they had looked back, they would have noticed a slight vibration in a
large pile of ashes in the burnt ruins of the inn. It could have been mistaken
for the wind, until a gray hand shot out.

“S o , the difference between a marsh and a swamp is that a marsh is not

permanently wet, but dries up in the summer. Since it hasn’t rained in
months, we should be able to get through the Ťräsk relatively safely,” Filixx
lectured as they led their horses by the reins toward the swamp. The ground
was already slightly swollen and dark with moisture. Only tiny bushes with
gnarled branches and thick leaves formed the vegetation here.
“Um …” came suddenly from Morlâ. Bryn and Filixx looked at him
questioningly. The dwarf stretched out his hand and they saw a single drop
splash on his palm. Only seconds later, that one drop had become thousands
and thousands. A veritable monsoon hit the three friends in the no man’s
land between the two realms.
B ryn smelled the swamp before he saw it. A stench like rotten eggs hit
him. Clothes plastered to his body, he pushed through a hedge and saw
where the stench was coming from. Countless pools of water were
reflecting the sparkling orange of the evening sun, which had reappeared
after the short but heavy downpour. Many of them were an unnatural
mustard color. Again and again, large bubbles rose sluggishly to the surface
and burst. The infamous toxic vapor was everywhere. Like a blanket, the
ominous yellow haze hung just above the ground.
“I think you’d better carry Aska from here on out,” Filixx said. “He’s so
small that the fumes could knock him out right away.”
Bryn walked up to Aska. “Can we do this?” he asked the fox. Then he
went down on his knees. A second later, the little predator jumped into his
arms and was licking Bryn’s face with gusto. After the initial excitement
had subsided, Aska crawled under Bryn’s cloak, which by now had an
unsightly yellow edge at the hem. The little Samuusa, who also let Bryn
carry her, greeted the fox by using his fluffy white tail for a blanket and
going right back to sleep. “I think we can do this,” Bryn answered his own
question.
“I’m glad you’re convinced,” Filixx mumbled, biting his thumbnail.
“I’ll be honest, that rain didn’t make things any easier. Going through the
Ťräsk at night makes me nervous, but we really have to hurry. I don’t want
my mother to have to make acquaintance with any Vonnyen. I actually
wanted to go with her to my grandmother’s house during the semester
break. The two of them have never met because my father—”
“Filixx,” Morlâ interrupted him, “we know your life story. Just start
walking already. We don’t have any time to waste.”
The dwarf-elf spat out a piece of his fingernail. He was clearly nervous.
Not a good sign from the normally self-confident student, as Bryn knew
only too well. “Okay, okay. Stay close together. We should summon
werelights so we don’t lose sight of each other. If we get separated, they can
bring us back together.”
Bryn entered the realm. It only took the blink of an eye now. A second
later, he had conjured up a rotating, rainbow-colored sphere. It followed the
movement of his right hand as if attached by an invisible thread.
 “It feels like I’m back in my first semester again,” Morlâ grumbled. “I
can see the blue ribbons, but I can’t seem to gather them together. Magic is
fading in the realm.”
As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Bryn took two colorful
strands of energy and redirected them to his friends. Immediately, two more
werelights rose. One blue and one yellow.
“I could get used to this,” Bryn’s roommate grinned. “Nice that you’re
not freaking out anymore about sharing some of your infinite energy, Realm
Shadow.”
“I have no problem sharing. It’s only when someone tries to take
something from me that I freak out,” Bryn said with a broad grin.
Filixx didn’t join in on the teasing. Holding the reins of his horse
tightly, he ordered: “Pull your handkerchiefs over your mouth and nose. Try
not to take them off until we’re through the swamps. If all goes well, we’ll
be at Newland Falls by sunrise. From there on, the dwarves have drained
the swamp with canals.”
His two companions did as ordered. With a smacking sound, Filixx
entered the swamp.

T he sun sank and twilight slowly turned into darkness. Nightfall brought
hundreds of thousands of mosquitoes that preyed on animals, humans,
dwarves, and dwarf-elves alike.
“Hideous beasts,” Morlâ complained, followed by a slapping sound.
“Shhh … be quiet!” Filixx hissed at him. You could hardly see the
dwarf-elf’s face, it was so dark by now.
“Why?” asked Morlâ in an exaggerated whisper.
Filixx didn't even respond to this silliness. “We don't want to draw
attention to ourselves here. They say the toxic fumes attract all sorts of
strange creatures. Scavengers that eat the carcasses of animals poisoned by
the mist.”
Bryn looked for his feet. The werelight illuminated only an
impenetrable yellowish haze. Bryn got goosebumps when he imagined what
could be lying in wait down there.
Suddenly there was a splashing sound, followed by a gurgle, as if
something very heavy had fallen into the water.
 “What was that?” whispered Bryn, trying to suppress a cough. The
poisonous miasma irritated his throat and made his eyes water.
Filixx cleared his throat and spat—the gasses seemed to be getting to
him as well. “I have no idea. Come on, quickly!”

T he black and green creature that had just slipped into the water was
followed by its much larger brother. The lizard, which had dark red
tentacles instead of legs, slid smoothly into the poisonous water. Its thick
horny scales were so camouflaged in color and shape to the swamp that the
armored lizard was almost invisible as it followed its brother toward the
three travelers, its mouth open with excitement.

“T he pack of Octopodylia has picked up their scent. Shall we leave the

work to them?” the man hidden under a dark hood asked his companion,
lowering his bow.
“No, we need them alive to learn more about their plans.”
“Good. I’ll tell the others to get ready.”
His companion, whose face was hidden under a gray mask, nodded.
“Warn everyone that these are more magically gifted ones. We have to be
careful. You know what happened last time.”

“T hese darn mosquitoes ,” Morlâ grumbled to himself, slapping his face

again.
By now it was completely dark. The three werelights fought against the
night. Bryn’s boots were soaked through by now and the water burned
unpleasantly on his skin. It was a bit like bathing for hours in water that is
too hot. The air temperature had cooled down considerably and a damp chill
rose from the ground.
“Shut up already!” hissed Filixx.
“That's easy for you to say,” Morlâ grumbled, “you’re quite a bit taller.
Down here, Thief and I are getting devoured by mosquitoes.”
Again, something splashed.
 "Did you hear that?” asked Bryn tensely, immediately sending his
defense light flying in the direction of the sound, but unable to make out
anything. Olander neighed nervously. The other two animals joined him.
Aska let out a growl, which Bryn felt as a gentle vibration against his chest.
“Just stand still and you won’t get hurt,” said the obviously just
awakened Samuusa through a long yawn.
“It was probably a mosquito that drank its fill of my blood and fell into
the water from overeating,” Morlâ said. “The next one is already buzzing
around my ear. That’s enough.” The dwarf slapped his right ear hard. The
clap startled Thief so much that the normally peaceful pony kicked and
caught the dwarf with his hoof. Moaning loudly, Morlâ was thrown a few
yards to the side. His werelight went out instantly and the dwarf
disappeared under the thick, yellow veil of mist.
“Morlâ!” shouted Bryn in a panic. He summoned three more werelights,
which he immediately sent in the direction of his friend.
Again, a splash was heard in the water. Louder and closer this time. But
in their panic, the friends paid no attention.
Coughing, Morlâ suddenly got back to his feet and shooed away Bryn’s
circling werelights. “That stupid pony. I hope Rondo is okay.”
The dwarf had lost his backpack in the fall, but it had not flown as far as
its wearer.
Filixx had also spotted it and, carefully grasping it through the mist,
picked it up. Suddenly, the dwarf-elf’s face distorted. “Ouch, what’s that?”
He said as he was pulled to the ground. His left arm stuck out from his body
grotesquely. He was quickly pulled by his arm through the fog as if a rope
were attached to it. Only his big belly showed over the toxic haze.
“Filixx!” cried Morlâ, and a moment later he fell on his face as if
someone had slammed into him from behind.
Bryn’s werelights could only illuminate a swirling, yellowish mist,
under which the dwarf was being dragged away.
“Coat of Protection!” the Samuusa yelled to Bryn.
He threw up the magical shield almost in a trance, as if she were
controlling him as he cast his spell. Bryn soon realized that this decision
was the right one as red grasping tentacles flailed for him, but failed against
the powerful spell. Bryn spun around in a panic, desperately searching for
his friends. He hugged Aska tightly to his chest to keep the fox from
breaking out and helping. Bryn knew all too well that the small predator
would not survive long in the toxic mist. “Morlâ! Filixx!” shouted Bryn,
sending two more werelights racing through the darkness to find his friends.
Again and again, the slimy tentacles slammed against his protective shell,
this time from multiple directions.
“Bryn, we’re not alone,” said the Samuusa, stroking Aska between his
ears with her small hands. Immediately, the fox stopped kicking to get free.
“Yes, thank you for that information—I noticed that. These tentacled
monsters aren’t exactly hiding. Tell me where they’ve taken Morlâ and
Filixx.” A heavy splash was heard, followed by a somewhat softer one. The
unknown creatures had pulled his friends into the water. Bryn rushed in the
direction of the noise.

“T wo of them are taken care of,” whispered the hooded man. “All I have
to do is let go of this bowstring and we’ll be rid of the boy, too.”
His companion pressed the bow to the ground. “Don’t waste your
arrows, fool. Can’t you see the brat is wrapped in a magical shell? Come
on. If we grab his friends, he’ll drop his spell.” He let out a low whistle and
several more figures appeared in the pale glow of the waning moon. Some
of them were very short. They were all hooded and wore camouflage
clothing.

B ryn didn ’ t so much see the water as smell it. He waved away some of
the fog with his bow and saw the surface of the water rippling and sparkling
in the colorful glow of his werelights. Immediately, the poisonous smog
closed over it again. Suddenly, at least ten tentacles shot toward Bryn and
wrapped themselves around his Coat of Protection. The attack was such a
surprise that he was unable to stay on his feet as the arm-thick tentacles,
armed with slimy suckers, pulled him into the water. Suddenly everything
went dark. Panic-stricken, he flailed out with his hands and feet.
“Stay calm!” the Samuusa urged him firmly. “You are a magician. Your
Coat of Protection will hold if you keep focusing on it. You haven’t even
gotten wet yet.”
Bryn noticed how the little fairy was steering him in the realm. It was
almost as if he were a horse, and she had his reins in hand. With gentle
pressure, she maneuvered him in the direction she wanted. And now he was
being encouraged to continue to channel energy from the realm into his
magical shell. Bryn took a deep breath to calm himself. He noticed that he
could somehow still breathe under water. He was now actively maintaining
his protection spell. Bryn could now see that he was at the bottom of a
shallow pool. He sent his werelights out to explore his surroundings. A few
curious, grotesquely mutated fish disappeared as their pale pond was
suddenly brightly illuminated. Bryn almost regretted being able to see
more, for now a terrible-looking creature with glowing yellow eyes and a
long, wide-open mouth with hundreds of teeth shot toward him from the
black of the pool.
The Samuusa cleared her throat. “Magic,” she peeped in her high-
pitched voice.
Bryn understood immediately. He grabbed a thick ribbon of energy in
the realm and hurled it at his unknown attacker.
The creature burst into a thousand pieces. Its blood clouded the
yellowish water and seemed to attract more of the creatures. Greedily they
pounced on the remains of their own kind and devoured them in only a few
seconds.
Bryn frantically considered how to find and save his friends. Then an
idea came to him. Why should he look for them in the real world when they
were so much easier to find in the realm? Morlâ would look like a small
blue torch, Filixx would be visible from afar as a thick, yellow one. Bryn
spotted them immediately—they were only about ten feet away.
Now the green-scaled monsters, their fangs wide open, began to wrap
their tentacles around Bryn’s cocoon. It was becoming difficult to resist
their power, even with magic. Bryn let loose some more magic bolts against
the monsters, but by now they were on guard and dodged away. Here
underwater, these beasts were in their element and extremely agile,
preventing Bryn from rushing to his friends’ aid. Since they had not
managed to weave themselves into a protective cocoon, they could not
breathe.
“They could if you helped them,” chirped the Samuusa, as if she could
read Bryn’s mind.
“How?” he gasped, shooting another colorful bolt into the water.
“You give them energy and I’ll do the rest.”
 Bryn went deep into the realm. The magical glow emanating from his
friends had dimmed considerably. Bryn grabbed colored energy bands with
each hand and directed them toward his friends. It began to glow cobalt
blue and fire yellow under water. Bryn saw that his two friends were
suddenly surrounded by their own Coats of Protection and were gasping for
air. They seemed to recover quickly from their surprise trip underwater, for
suddenly numerous blue and yellow lightning bolts flew toward the
monsters threatening Bryn. Bryn felt his two friends draining energy from
him, but slowly he got used to it. He joined in, bundling more combat spells
and firing them at their attackers. With combined forces, they managed to
neutralize the aggressive creatures.

“T hat was close ,” Filixx groaned, hoisting himself up onto dry land.
Yellow water beaded from his huge, golden glowing shell.
“That’s for sure,” Morlâ agreed. “What were those things? Were those
here when you went through last time?”
Bryn was the last to stagger out of the water. The numerous spells and
having to share his power had weakened him. “Guys, do you mind standing
up? I need a little strength for myself. If you’re standing, you can breathe
safely without your Coat of Protection.”
“Sure,” Morlâ said, straightening up. Filixx did the same.
“I think we’re okay for a moment without magical protection,” Bryn
said with a groan. It quickly went dark when the glowing balls went out.
Only one of Bryn’s werelights was still giving light.
“We sure showed those underwater beasts, didn’t we? There can’t be
anything worse than that here,” said Morlâ. At the same moment, a soft
thwack was heard, and the dwarf went down on his knees with a groan.
A second later, the sound repeated itself and Filixx also slumped over.
Bryn saw an arrow whose tip had been replaced by a small bag
apparently filled with sand, then his eyes went black.

OceanofPDF.com
 15

OceanofPDF.com
 With the Waramen

T hat lousy cur,” Bryn heard, muffled. His head ached. When he
opened his eyes, he could see nothing but the coarse fabric of a
burlap sack through which dim torchlight filtered. The bag smelled
terribly of old fish. Bryn was swaying as if he were on a boat in rough seas.
Strangely, however, there was no sound of water and thick ropes pressed
into his back. I must be on some kind of stretcher. When Bryn tried to get
up, he realized that he was bound hand and foot.
“Stop whining, Randolph,” a deep voice replied sternly.
“Easy for you to say, Magalit. The bastard didn’t bite you. If I get my
hands on that dog, he’ll wish the Octopodylia had found him before I did.”
So Aska was able to escape, Bryn noted with satisfaction. He realized,
though, that the little fox could not free them, brave as he was. Bryn
decided to listen for a while longer to learn more about their situation. He
needed to know how many opponents he was dealing with in order to cast
the appropriate spell. He could not, under any circumstances, endanger his
friends by blindly throwing around magical attack spells.
“Enough. It’s not our fault that you can’t even handle a little snow fox,”
said the deep voice again.
“Normally I could, but that was more of a bear than a fox. It looked for
a moment like a tiny dragonfly was riding on his back and throwing
lightning bolts at me, but …”
Bryn grinned to himself. So the Samuusa had escaped as well. Their
chances were now slightly better. But can the little fairy fight a gang of …
yes, of what, actually? Bryn asked himself. He kept listening to get more
information.
 “… but that's obviously total nonsense. In the future, keep your hands
off the Mäerñ. Leave that stuff to the dwarves.”
The deep voice laughed out loud.
“Can someone else carry the fat one for a while?” a fourth voice
suddenly grumbled.
“Yeah,” a fifth pleaded. “Why do Sal and Lenny get to carry the midget,
but we have to struggle with the fat guy?”
“Enough with the whining. After all, we made it just in time for the
festivities.”
“I think this one's awake!” someone suddenly shouted in panic.
Bryn briefly wondered who could be meant, then he received a hard
blow to the head, and everything went black again.

B ryn awoke only when he was rudely thrown to the ground. Beside him,
he heard two more stretchers crash down.
“I wouldn’t have been able to carry that one another yard.”
“Quiet,” hissed the deep voice. “Take the sack off the human first and
don’t forget the knife. Archers, at even the slightest sign of magic, shoot
immediately. Do you all have your crystals?”
There was a brief rustle, then Bryn was pulled up onto his knees and the
scratchy sack slid from his face. He had to blink a few times to be able to
see again. He was extremely relieved to find that Morlâ and Filixx were
facing him. They lay bound and motionless on their sides, but they were
breathing. Two hooded archers had arrows aimed at their heads with
bowstrings taut. Suddenly Bryn felt something cold on his neck, then a
sharp pain. Someone was holding a knife to his throat.
“Welcome to the Waramen, human,” a dwarf with an eyepatch greeted
him, much of his face obscured by a black bandana.
Bryn recognized him as the owner of the deep voice. He was clad in
yellow-green clothing well suited to camouflage him in the poison swamps.
His comrades were wearing similar clothing. Bryn raised his head. They
were in a simple, round wooden hut. Soft, red-gold light fell through the
reed-covered roof and walls. The sun was just rising. “Why did you attack
us?” croaked Bryn, his throat parched.
The dwarf ignored the question. “We know you can do magic. Be
warned: If you or any of your friends make use of this gift in any way, you
will die immediately. Do you understand me?”
The knife pressed harder on Bryn’s neck. The feeling of his own warm,
dripping blood now joined with the coldness of the knife to form an
extremely unpleasant mix.
“Yes,” Bryn breathed, squinting at his friends. The black arrowheads
were barely a yard from their heads. Should the two hooded men release
their bowstrings, it would be the instantaneous end of Morlâ and Filixx.
Bryn didn’t even consider entering the realm. He would never be fast
enough to protect himself and his friends at the same time.
“Good,” the dwarf replied and began pacing back and forth in front of
Bryn. “Now tell me, human, where will you and your stinking comrades
raid next?”
“Excuse me?” asked Bryn, confused.
The man with the knife punched him violently in the side and pressed
his weapon painfully into the already open wound in Bryn’s neck.
“Don’t play dumb. Where are you camped? How many of you are
there?” the dwarf peppered him gruffly.
“We’re not—” Again, the knife was pressed harder against Bryn’s neck.
These men must think they were the ones who had burned the fields and
inns. They probably took them for followers of the black sorceress.
“How did you force the fat elf and the dwarf to follow you? Until now,
we’ve only come across humans who serve the dark undead,” he continued
to interrogate.
“They’re my friends!” Bryn blurted out.
“It’s already gotten bad enough that even dwarves and elves are
switching sides,” one of the archers spoke up in response, drawing back the
string of his weapon a bit more.
“No, we’re—” Bryn was smashed on the head.
“Just answer my questions. Do you think this is a joke?” the dwarf said,
glaring angrily at Bryn. “Randolph …”
The bowman aiming at Morlâ nodded without taking his eyes off his
target.
“… the next time our guest lies, you shoot the dwarf in the stomach!”
Randolph nodded dutifully and aimed the bow down a little further.
Pure panic now broke out in Bryn. One wrong word and Morlâ would
be dead. And none of the rough fellows in the room—all wearing the same
transparent amulets on a leather chain around their necks—looked like they
cared much about a stranger’s life.
“So then …” the dwarf began, pausing for effect. “Let’s start again from
the beginning. Tell me, where will you raid next?”
Bryn’s head was as empty as a cobbler’s curse. He swallowed hard. His
Adam’s apple bounced painfully over the knife at his throat.
“I’m listening,” urged the dwarf. “Randolph, stand by!” He raised a
hand.
“I … we …” Bryn stammered. He heard the tightening of the bowstring.
Sweat poured into his eyes. Suddenly he heard a merry laugh, followed by
the creak of the door swinging gently open.
All heads turned in the direction of the sound.
The hooded men were looking at each other in panic, as they could not
see anyone who had opened the door.
“Now, now, Magalit,” warbled the fairy, fluttering into the room through
the open doorway. Her glow lit up the dim interrogation chamber. Her red
hair looked like it was on fire.
Bryn understood that only he and his interrogator could see the fairy.
The others just looked at each other in puzzlement.
“What would your mother think if she saw you like this? Fanraba was
always such a good student and one of the best summoners Ølsgendur ever
knew. It was a bit of a disappointment to her that her son had so little magic
in him.”
“That’s not true …” the dwarf defended himself against the little fairy.
But he was blushing—his face glowed red around the edges of his mask.
“Who are you talking to?” his comrades asked their leader with a
nervous undertone.
“Yes, it is true,” chuckled the fairy. “But she’s very proud that you’re
now leading the Waramen, even if you made a mistake today.” The
Samuusa sat on the wooden roof beam of the hut and dangled her legs as if
she were meeting good friends for tea. “Oh yes, I almost forgot …” She
snapped her fingers.
Bryn felt a slight magical tug. He heard a tearing sound, followed by a
whipping hiss, and then a metallic clang. He saw his guard’s knife fly away,
and the two archers’ bowstrings were broken and hanging limply from their
bows.
“W e are truly sorry ,” Magalit told the newcomers for the umpteenth
time. He had invited them to the great hall of the small wooden fort. They
were sitting down to breakfast together in a simple longhouse full of wood
carvings, most of which showed bare-breasted mermaids. The food was
quite good. There was plenty of smoked fish, crispy green rolls, a warm
brew of seaweed that tasted amazingly sweet, and other delicacies from the
water. Lenny had explained to Bryn that they had learned which pools in
the poisonous swamps were not contaminated. Normal, delicious fish lived
there and not the mutated and poisonous fish Bryn had seen during his
underwater fight. Aska also ate his fill of fish, smacking his lips with
pleasure as he let Bryn tickle him.
Bryn waved away the one-eyed dwarf’s apology and set aside a thick
fishbone. “It’s okay, Magalit. These are dangerous times. What amazes me,
though, is that here with you …”
“… Waramen,” the dwarf helped him.
“… Waramen, humans and dwarves live and work together as if it were
the most natural thing in the world. Which it isn’t. I’m a human myself, and
I didn’t learn that there are four rational nations on Razuclan and not just
one until I was sixteen. And even that knowledge came only through very
special circumstances that will never happen for most of my people.”
Now Randolph, also a human, joined in on the conversation. “You’re
right about that, young wizard. But most of us here in the border area were
not quite so ignorant as that. We knew that the traders who came from
beyond the falls were not human. Nevertheless, we had only limited
contact. Diorit brought us together. He led us to form the League of
Waramen.”
Filixx straightened up now. His mouth shone from the smoked fish.
“Diorit? The dwarf?”
“Young, but not particularly bright or handsome?” asked Morlâ with a
sanctimonious grin.
Magalit smirked. “Well, I can't judge how handsome he is, but he is
smart. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be at your wizarding university. In any case,
about three months ago he and some other dwarf students rode through
most of the villages in the border area and told us of the impending danger.
He couldn’t pass along any specifics, but asked us to set up a safe retreat
and to arm ourselves. For protection against magic, he gave us these
crystals. We told people in the beginning that they would work against evil
spirits. None of them believed in magic until …”
“… until we saw our friends torn apart by bolts of magic and our home
consumed by magical fire,” Randolph finished the sentence with a dejected
face.
“Amazing,” Filixx said. “May I?” He held out his pudgy hand to the
human. Magalit carefully took the leather strap with the crystal from his
neck and gave it to the dwarf-elf. Filixx held it up to the light and whistled
appreciatively. “Rose quartz. Good protection against minor spells.”
Bryn raised his eyebrows in confusion. He had never heard of stones
that could prevent magic or make their wearer immune to it.
Filixx gave a stern look. “However, you’d better avoid Attack Spells.
They would require a crystal so big that it would be impossible to lift.”
With a friendly smile, he returned the talisman.
Magalit continued to speak, “So when the first dark ones showed up
about two months ago, we weren’t as surprised as the people in the villages
to the east. They’ve now been completely destroyed, and their inhabitants
have been wiped from the face of the earth.”
Bryn got goosebumps when he heard this. He had a pretty good idea of
what had become of those poor souls.
“Diorit was here again just a few days ago and said that if worse comes
to worst, we should turn to the Order of Âlaburg, since the Driany Order is
no longer able to respond to the new threat. But he moved on as quickly as
possible because he was afraid for his family under the mountain. I can’t
blame him. This is where the attacks stopped. Everything was destroyed.
They probably don’t dare come into the poison swamps, or maybe they
simply overlooked us. But their trail clearly leads east to the realm of the
dwarves.”
“Who are they?” asked Bryn, fists clenched.
Magalit shook himself as if he were cold despite the large open fire in
the center of the longhouse. “I’ve only seen them from a distance and heard
some reports from the few survivors, but they all say the same thing:
decomposing dead men in black cloaks and with glowing red eyes attacked
them.”
“Vonnyen,” Bryn whispered.
“The worst part,” Randolph said with a grim face, “is that these beings
are accompanied by ordinary humans who seem to be giving them orders.”
 “Are the tentacled beasts also commanded by them?” asked Morlâ,
placing a fishbone on his plate and wiping his greasy mouth clean with his
sleeve.
Randolph grinned. “You mean the Octopodylia? No, the Ťräsk produced
those bastards centuries ago. Fortunately, they don’t take orders from
anyone. They eat dwarves, humans, and Vonnyen indiscriminately.”
The friends decided not to stay with the Waramen any longer than
necessary. The battle-hardened men were able to defend themselves and
protect their families gathered in the fort. In the early afternoon, Magalit led
them through the poison swamps toward Newland Falls, which marked the
border of the Dwarf Kingdom. The dwarf knew the paths very well.
“Believe me, it was a good decision to avoid the royal road. Going
through the falls is much safer. The Vonnyen,” the one-eyed dwarf
pronounced this word, which was new to him, carefully, “will surely avoid
the raging waters.”
Filixx scratched the back of his head thoughtfully. “Yes, I agree. It
wouldn’t be my first choice, but its dangers are probably safer than fighting
our way home through marauding hordes of Vonnyen.”
“Too bad we can’t take the horses with us,” Bryn noted another
drawback to their change of route. He would miss Olander. But he
understood that the waterfall was no place for their mounts.
“Thank you, by the way, Filixx, for playing along this morning,”
Magalit said.
The dwarf-elf raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“Well, you know—the story with the rose quartz. I know it doesn’t
actually help against magic, but Diorit needed something to encourage the
humans and dwarves here to stand up against something with so much more
power. We should continue to let them believe in its powers of protection.”
Filixx nodded cautiously. “That was a given, wasn't it? You’ve got a
great group there. I hope the war goes right around the Ťräsk.”
Magalit looked thoughtfully across the toxic swampland. The ochre fog
had lifted a bit with today’s somewhat milder temperatures, and when the
sun broke through the clouds, the area could almost be described as
beautiful. At least its dangers were of natural origin and not the result of
corrupted magic. “No, I don’t think so. This war will leave its mark on
everyone on Razuclan. No one will be spared.”
T hey could see the spray of the waterfall from afar. Like a huge cloud of
steam, it stood out against the bright blue sky. A few hours later, the
travelers stood on the edge of the gigantic cascade.
“How deep does it go?” roared Morlâ through the crash of the ocher-
colored mass of water, wiping his damp face. The spray covered everything
with a fine mist.
“Almost a thousand yards,” Filixx answered more accurately than
anyone would have liked.
“Come away from there. The rocks are slippery and treacherous,”
Magalit warned them, leading the three friends, Aska, and the Samuusa to a
wooden shelter that hid a narrow staircase carved into the stone. Hundreds
of steep, slippery steps led down. It would be a long journey. “When you
reach the bottom, you’ll find boats. One is already loaded with a few things
you can use. Row it toward the big opening in the rock on the opposite side,
and then you’ll finally be under the mountain.”
The three friends gave their new friend a long goodbye and began the
arduous journey down the slippery steps.

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 Blue Magic

M y thighs are burning,” Bryn whined as he flopped out of the narrow

little boat he had shared with Morlâ and Aska.
“You’re telling me!” agreed Filixx, pulling his boat onto the
rocky beach of the vast cavern. A weak current had led them here after they
had boarded the two little boats at the foot of the stairs. Magalit had been
right. The boats had brought them right into the mountain. Filixx’s voice
was amplified by a faint echo. “It feels like an entire horde of orcs kicked
my rear.”
Bryn and Morlâ grinned at each other. They still remembered how their
fat friend had slipped on the steep stairs and had slid down a dozen or so
steps on his backside.
Morlâ agilely jumped out of the boat, as if he hadn’t just spent hours
plodding down a slippery staircase and began unloading their things.
“Look! Magalit even had a stack of firewood in the boat,” he exclaimed
enthusiastically, holding up his prize for his friends to admire.
“You won’t be able to start a fire with that wet wood,” said Bryn wanly.
He couldn’t quite comprehend his friend’s happy-go-lucky attitude. He was
completely shattered by the descent and the long boat trip.
“Want to bet?” the dwarf replied without looking at Bryn, placing some
large stones on the shore to form a circle. He then took a few sturdy logs
and dropped them on the ground, creating an echo in the spacious cavern.
“Yes, my dear Aska. You can dry yourself off here too. Let’s sleep here
tonight. The sun is already setting outside, and your Bryn needs a rest,”
Morlâ talked to the snow fox, who was sniffing curiously at the campfire
pit.
 Bryn looked briefly at the large hole that formed the entrance to the
huge cavern with its underground lake and saw an orange-red evening glow
that caused the roaring waterfall to glisten in countless shades of red.
Suddenly he smelled smoke and a low hissing could be heard, as if thick
papyrus was being torn. Bryn turned in Morlâ’s direction and saw the dwarf
take his hand out of the burning pile of brushwood he had piled up. Bryn
frowned. “Did you light the fire with—” That was as far as he got. His
words were interrupted by a fine ringing that was amplified a thousandfold
by the walls of the cave.
The three friends and Aska gazed spellbound up to the ceiling, where a
shimmering, bluish starry sky of hundreds of small, magical lights had
appeared, slowly sinking to the ground and reflecting in the water of the
lake. It was a magnificent spectacle. A laughing Samuusa could be seen
darting from one end of the cave to the other, leaving a streak of twinkling
blue stars as a tail that floated to the ground, ringing softly.
“To return to your question, Bryn,” said Morlâ, who was the first to
break away from the beautiful sight. “After I noticed that the wood was
damp, I knew I’d never be able to light it in the normal way. So I thought
I’d try magic before I had to agree with you. It actually worked. I can do
magic normally again.”
“Me too!” exclaimed Filixx enthusiastically, sending four werelights
after the Samuusa into the dark sky of the cave, creating a sparkling blue-
and-gold light show.

T he fire warmed them wonderfully and Bryn slowly started to feel better.
They had made camp and were now sitting around the fire on their fur
blankets. Aska lay curled up next to Bryn, puffing contentedly in her sleep.
The Samuusa had snuggled up to the fox and sunk deep into its thick fur.
She slept with a blissful smile on her face. Filixx had once again pulled off
a miracle, making a simple meal in a cold, wet cave taste like a feast. They
all dug in with relish—especially the dwarf-elf himself. Tomorrow they
would reach Falyn, where mountains of dwarven delicacies awaited them at
his mother’s house, and so there was no need to ration their supplies.
“I haven’t been this full in a long time,” Morlâ groaned, stretching his
feet toward the crackling fire. “But you’re right, Filixx. You don’t bring
cheese with you into the caves. That would be an insult.”
 “And no ham, no pickled eggs, no apples, no caramel …” Bryn added
with a laugh.
“Yeah yeah …” mumbled his dwarf friend, who was obviously just
about to fall asleep curled up in his blanket. “Ouch,” he whined, “these
stupid rocks. Bryn, my dearest roommate, could you bring my backpack
here so I can use it as a pillow?” he asked with a wide grin.
“I’m the one who can’t walk anymore, not you. You’re bursting with
energy today.”
Morlâ grinned even wider. His teeth sparkled in the firelight.
Groaning theatrically, Bryn rose and walked with an exaggeratedly
hunched back to where Morlâ’s backpack lay. He was about to reach for it
when a strong vibration went through the satchel. Reflexively, Bryn
withdrew his hand.
“Any day now!” shouted Morlâ from the fire. “I’m exhausted!”
Bryn shook his head in confusion. Now the backpack lay perfectly still.
I guess I need to get some sleep too, he thought. He crouched down, but as
soon as his hand approached the satchel, it started shaking again. This time
so strong that it even scooted a bit over the ground. Bryn fell backwards in
shock and landed on his rear end. “Um … Morlâ,” he called softly to his
friend. “Did you bring an Octopodylia from the Waramen or steal fireworks
from Gerald?”
“Huh?” came from Morlâ. “Why would I have taken one of those
horrible Octothingamajigs? I’ll just get it myself. Thanks a lot!” Angry
footsteps came toward Bryn. “Why are you sitting here on the damp
ground?” the dwarf asked Bryn.
Bryn only nodded in the direction of Morlâ’s backpack.
“Too heavy for you, huh?”
“Something’s moving in there!” said Bryn, not responding to the insult.
“What are you talking about? That’s just my underwear and socks.
Mostly clean. Are you nuts?” The dwarf reached for the backpack, which
immediately began to rattle again. “By Tamir!” Morlâ gasped and withdrew
his hand in a flash.
A few moments later, a still chewing Filixx had joined them. Werelights
circled and illuminated his massive body. “What’s wrong?” he asked with
his mouth full.
“Something made a nest in my backpack during the trip,” Morlâ said,
pointing with his short, knobby finger.
 Filixx frowned and then swallowed loudly. In the next second, two of
his werelights hissed toward the satchel, which was now laying perfectly
still again. The magic orbs circled it warily. “The werelights don’t detect
anything evil. It’s probably just your underwear trying to tell you it’s time
for a new pair.”
Morlâ turned slightly red, which could be seen even in the faint glow of
Filixx’s magic incantation. Morlâ was obviously upset that Filixx did not
believe him. “If it’s not dangerous, let’s take a look.” With a quick
movement, he grabbed his knapsack, undid the leather buckles, and yanked
open the flap. The backpack vibrated almost out of his hands. “What is it?”
asked the dwarf in a trembling voice. Finally, he drew out a small wooden
box that was warped from the strong vibrations.
“Ha, there we have the culprit,” Filixx exclaimed, causing a slight echo
over the calm subterranean lake. “… ulprit, prit, rit …”
Bryn's eyes widened. “What’s in there?”
Morlâ, who was desperately trying to hold onto the wooden box with
both hands, answered through clenched teeth, “Rondo.” He finally lost hold
of the box. It shattered with a crash, and they saw Rondo writhing in his
straw on the stone. “What are you doing?” yelled Morlâ anxiously, trying to
catch the gray, snake-like animal. But the Gnarf worm escaped surprisingly
quickly and disappeared deeper into the dark cave. The animal was
perfectly adapted to this environment and was no longer visible. “Help me
find him!” the dwarf wailed.
With the help of their werelights, they lit up the cave and even Aska
joined the search, sniffing excitedly. But the only thing the friends found
was a fist-sized hole in the floor of the cave, through which the Gnarf worm
must have escaped.

“P oor R ondo ,” whimpered Morlâ, as they sat by the fire again after the
fruitless hunt.
“He’ll be okay,” Filixx placated him. “He’s free and finally back home
again. Here under the mountain is just where he belongs.”
“He must be really happy to be back, too,” Bryn said with a smile,
patting Morlâ on the shoulder. “I haven’t seen him act like that for years. He
mostly just slept in his box. Speaking of sleep, where’s the Samuusa,
anyway?”
 “Not another runaway pet,” Morlâ moaned exaggeratedly, obviously
already in the mood for joking again. “But I guess that’s what happens
when you travel with a zoo.”
Bryn looked around. At first, he couldn’t see anything, but then he saw
the faint glow of the Samuusa in the darkness of the cave. If he didn’t know
better, he would have sworn she came flying out of the hole Rondo had dug.
“Let’s get some sleep—we have a long day tomorrow,” was all he said.

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 A Night on Fog Island

D rena was startled awake and looked around panic-stricken in the

darkness of her bare room. Since she had come to Fog Island as a
prisoner, she hardly ever slept through the night. Her fear was too
great that Bryn’s mother, Davina, would no longer be able to protect her
against her vicious sister Caoimhe. It was clear to Drena that she was
simply a pawn. She was being held so that Davina, with the help of her
impressive abilities, would not disappear from this cold island in the middle
of the vast ocean. Her family wouldn’t allow her to disappear again. Drena
knew that Bryn’s mother was protecting her because her son was in love
with her. She had given away her own son to hide him from her family. But
it had all been in vain. Caoimhe and her mother found out about Bryn and
forced Davina to submit to their diabolical will, just as they had done when
she was a young girl at Âlaburg. From the snippets of conversation Drena
had overheard, she had understood that Bryn’s grandmother and aunt were
planning to conquer Razuclan and needed Davina for some reason. Drena
had tried to ask Davina more about it, but Bryn’s mother had always
quickly diverted the conversation to other topics.
Drena stretched under her clammy blanket. It was always damp and
cold on Fog Island, even in bed. A terrible place. Almost as terrible as its
inhabitants: Vonnyen, who scurried around everywhere and fulfilled
Caoimhe’s every wish. Drena was terrified of them. Not only because she
knew what these demons were capable of, but also because it seemed they
were jealous of her real, warm life and were just waiting to add her to their
ranks. Drena avoided the hideous creatures as much as possible. Only the
horses were a comfort to her in this cursed place. It had become a precious
routine for her to groom them, even though the mounts were probably only
kept to be used in war.
Drena wondered what time it was. She dragged herself out of bed and
went to the window, which she had closed for the night with a massive
shutter. When her bare feet hit the ice-cold stone floor of her round tower
room, she got goosebumps. Unconsciously, she hunched her shoulders
against the cold. The shutter opened with a creak. Pale moonlight fell into
the small room, as always slightly dimmed by the eternal fog that constantly
covered everything with its cold, wet film. Drena nevertheless enjoyed the
fresh breeze from the gloomy, crashing sea that swirled through her long
black hair. She tasted salt on her lips. Longingly she looked at the black sea,
which could only be smelled and heard in the darkness. More than once in
recent months she had thought about simply throwing herself down into the
dark waters and thus putting an end to her cursed life. Two things had
stopped her. First, Caoimhe had made it unmistakably clear that she would
cause Drena to come back as a Vonnyen, which sounded so awful that the
girl did not even want to imagine it. The second reason was Bryn. Drena
took a deep breath and exhaled with a long sigh. Bryn. Drena got
goosebumps just thinking of his name, and she still tasted the fleeting kiss
he had given her at the gates of the ice city.
Ever since she had first seen the young fur trader, she could not get him
out of her mind. She had fallen in love with him immediately. His open and
witty nature had made him well-liked throughout the village. They all knew
the boy from the forest, who had such a good hand for animals and a kind
word for everyone. He never argued in the market while haggling or raised
his voice. All those who dealt with him went away satisfied. He had woven
a spell around Drena. As she watched him from her nut shack, his calm,
engaging personality had made quite an impression on her. Among her
fondest memories was the moment when Bryn had finally dared to come to
her nut roastery and approach her. It only made him more endearing that he
had been so unbelievably nervous. Drena was heartbroken when her uncle
had revealed to her that same day that she would not be allowed to return to
Sefal for the next market. He and her mother felt that the journey from
Toronham through the forest was too dangerous for a young girl. To this
day, she regretted not having summoned the courage to go over to the
freezing Bryn and continue the conversation she had begun that morning.
An unfortunate mixture of work, zeal, and obedience had kept her from
doing so. Besides, she had always been told that such a thing was not
appropriate for a girl. How stupid such rules seemed to her now.
Drena shook herself to dispel the gloomy thoughts and shut the window
again. She shuffled back toward her bed. Abruptly she stopped. I’m not
alone, she realized. There had been no noise, but somehow the atmosphere
in the small room had changed. She tried to think of something she could
use to defend herself against the intruder. But there was nothing in the room
that she could use against the evil mages or the rotting undead monsters of
Fog Island. Drena chose the only option left to her—preemptive action.
“Who’s there?” she boomed loudly and confidently as if it were the most
natural thing in the world for someone to sneak into her room in the middle
of the night.
Drena did not expect an answer. The voice brought her to her knees.
“It’s me. Bryn.”

D rena was paralyzed as two hands gently helped her back to her feet. She
allowed herself to be helped back to her bed and sat down on the edge,
powerless. The straw mattress next to her rustled as someone took a seat.
Bryn. Drena could not believe it. She quickly lit the small oil lamp that
stood on her bedside table and looked her love in the face. Bryn smiled
gently at her with a shy, nervous look. Almost exactly the same look as
when they had first spoken in Sefal. Drena grabbed his face with both
hands. “Is it really you?”
“Yes,” Bryn replied, pressing his warm cheeks against her cool hands.
“How did you do it?”
“I don’t really know. But I’ve been here on Fog Island in my dreams
before. One time I saw you grooming a big black horse, and then my aunt
and mother came along.”
Drena nodded in amazement. “Are you dreaming now too? And when
you wake up again, will you be gone? Isn’t it dangerous for you to come
here?” the questions bubbled out of Drena.
“I don’t usually get to choose where my dreams take me and what I
see.”
“But you’re here now. This can’t be a coincidence! Maybe I wished you
here,” Drena said with a cheeky smile, beautiful eyes sparkling.
 Bryn got flustered when he heard her playful laugh. “Um …” he
stuttered. “It’s strange, this is the first time I’ve been able to talk to anyone.
And I think you’re the only one who’s been able to see me,” Bryn laughed
shyly. “Maybe you really did wish me here.”
“Most definitely,” Drena whispered with conviction. “I can see you and
hear you. And …” she took Bryn’s hand in hers, “… touch you.”
Bryn blushed. The older girl was so much more confident than he was.
Bryn felt young and inexperienced. “How are you?” he tried to start a
conversation, although the answer to that question was obvious. Drena was
locked up on an island in the middle of nowhere and surrounded by
Vonnyen and his murderous aunt. At that moment, Morlâ’s teasing face
appeared to him, praising him for his eloquence and suggesting that he stick
to talking about the weather.
Drena’s joyful look clouded over. “I’m not doing well here. Your aunt is
…” Drena cleared her throat to weigh her words.
Bryn awkwardly squeezed her hand and tried to help her, “I’m sorry, it’s
all my fault. If you hadn’t met me, your life wouldn’t have turned out like
this. I can understand if you don’t want to see me anymore. I’ll try to—”
“No, Bryn,” Drena interrupted him, louder than intended. “I’ve been
dying to see you. This is the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time.
Still, you do owe me one.”
Bryn let go of Drena’s soft hand in shock.
She grinned challengingly at him. “You have to take me away from
here. To wherever you are.” She took Bryn’s hand in hers again.
Bryn grinned happily at her.
"So, tell me, Bryn. Where are you right now, outside your dream?”
“In the dwarf kingdom, together with Morlâ and Filixx.”
“Why? What are you doing there?”
Bryn recounted the events that had led to him and his friends leaving
Âlaburg.
“War,” Drena whispered, nodding in understanding. “The troops you’re
facing are coming from here. From this island. Hundreds of Vonnyen set
sail every day for Razuclan.”
“Do you know anything more about it?” Bryn inquired. He had now
completely forgotten to be shy.
“No, but I’ll try to find out a little more about the plans of our enemies.”
Bryn looked proudly at Drena.
 She leaned over and kissed Bryn. When they broke away from each
other, Drena’s cheeks were red. There was no trace left in her body of the
cold she had just felt. On the contrary. It really is him; she was one hundred
percent sure after the kiss.
Heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway outside the door.
Drena put her finger to her lips and immediately extinguished the oil
lamp.
They listened with bated breath as the footsteps moved away again,
finally fading away completely. “We need to get you out of here quickly,”
Bryn whispered urgently, still feeling the sensation of her beautiful lips on
his.
Darkness surrounded the two who had been pining for each other for so
long.
Bryn heard Drena’s soft breathing. A pleasant shiver ran over him when
he realized that he was finally so close to her—and alone.
“Yes,” said Drena. “I want to be with you finally.” They began to kiss
passionately and sank together onto the bed. The escape plans had to wait a
little longer.

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 The Path of Graves

W hy can’t you wipe that stupid grin off your face?” Morlâ asked
Bryn, stowing his rolled-up blanket in his backpack.
Bryn tried to put on an innocent face, but a smile continued to
play around his lips.
“Leave him alone,” Filixx interjected, noisily biting into a yellow-red
pear—their last. “He probably just had a nice dream.”
Bryn threw stones into the shallow water of the cave lake to avoid eye
contact with the others. He was flooded with an indescribable feeling of
elation from the moment he woke up. Although it was a bitter
disappointment that he could only travel to Fog Island in his sleep and not
whenever he wanted. This meant that he had to leave Drena behind alone.
Next time, I’ll have to find a way to get her out of there, he vowed. The
night with Drena had been incredible. Bryn was full to bursting with love
and longing. It consumed his thoughts so terribly to finally see the girl
again, that the real world—the here and now—seemed unreal to him. I wish
I could go back to sleep right now, Bryn thought.
“Aska, my friend,” Morlâ continued to tease, “why is our friend here in
such a good mood today when yesterday he couldn’t stop grumbling that his
feet hurt?”
“I’ve seen that look on you too,” Filixx exclaimed, buttoning up his
ugly vest with the embroidered jumping goats and shouldering his large,
dark green backpack with a groan. “Last semester, when Gwendolin kissed
you goodbye at the walls of Âlaburg. For three days you looked like you
were drunk or like someone had hit you over the head with something. Can
we go already? Have you two packed up your stuff yet?”

T he friends walked briskly through the cave along the shore of the large
lake. Numerous werelights of different colors accompanied them, bathing
the underground waters in spectacular colors that shone up to the high
ceiling of the cavern. Filixx guided them. He knew the way. Their
destination was the railroad tunnels that connected the dwarven towns and
villages.
Bryn trotted after his friends, but in his mind he was with Drena,
replaying their first night together. As he did so, he unconsciously hummed
an old nursery rhyme to himself.
“Please tell us already what’s making you so cheerful,” Morlâ begged.
A squeaky yawn was heard, and a tiny creature came fluttering out of
Bryn’s breast pocket. The Samuusa, who had been asleep until just now,
flitted from one to the other. She greeted Filixx by snatching a piece of
cheese from his pocket that the dwarf-elf had secretly put aside the previous
night. She greeted Aska by throwing him the cheese, Morlâ by pulling on
his blond goatee, and Bryn by calling out: “Just tell them already. It’s better
if your friends know. We don’t want you to lose yourself in the night.” She
grinned wryly but looked at Bryn warningly with her twinkling green eyes.
Then she laughed her magical laugh again, which made all three friends
grin and Aska chase his bushy white tail excitedly.
“Aha!” Morlâ stopped abruptly and turned to Bryn. He tapped Bryn’s
chest with his finger. “I knew you were hiding something from us. Spit it
out already! Are you and the Samuusa hatching secret plans at night?”
“Um … I, well …” Bryn stuttered and blushed.
Morlâ folded his arms across his chest and continued to block his
friend’s way.
The Samuusa fluttered beside him and copied this gesture. She made
faces at him. “Yes, Bryn. Why don’t we make plans at night about the best
way to annoy the dwarf?”
Bryn looked to Filixx for help, but he only took off his green felt hat,
wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and shrugged.
“All right, fine, when I fell asleep last night …” Bryn began telling his
friends about last night’s experience.
 “Now I understand why you look so happy. And you’re sure it wasn’t
just a dream? We all have dreams like that at night from time to time, if you
know what I mean.” Morlâ winked exaggeratedly at Bryn and Filixx.
Bryn did not elaborate, but only said, “I know for a fact that what I
experienced last night was real.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Filixx said, leading them into a wide, dark
tunnel that led slightly downward. His voice was muffled by the
surrounding rock as he continued to speak, “I’ve read about prophets who
can travel to any place on the continent in their dreams. But the Samuusa is
right, you must be careful not to lose yourself in that dream world. Your
body splits itself in two every time. Only one part of you goes on the
journey, making you extremely vulnerable. It’s good that you told us. I’m
happy for you, of course, but if you really can’t make it back to your body
to wake up, maybe we can help with that. Gwendolin once taught me a
great trick,” the dwarf-elf ended with a cheeky grin in the direction of
Morlâ.
The dwarf frowned. But he couldn’t seem to make any sense of Filixx’s
statement.
“I have to find a way to save Drena,” Bryn said. “Until I can do that, I’ll
keep going back to her.”
“Maybe we’ll find a way to get to her together when we’re at my
mother’s—we'll have time enough to think about it there. I’m sure Drena
can take care of herself for a few more days if you don’t cause her any
trouble.” Filixx cast a golden glowing werelight several yards ahead of
them into the dark tunnel. “Ah, I think that’s the station up ahead. We’ll
finally be able to put these bags down.

M orlâ bent over the small counter, on which lay numerous wooden plates
with dwarven runes and numbers. “Strange, where are the ticket sellers and
the customs agent?”
Bryn lit one of the torches mounted in metal holders on the walls of the
small rock chamber, making it a little brighter. The station was completely
deserted. Further back, in the glow of the torches, one could see quite a few
of the steel trolley cars. They looked intact, which could not be said for the
rest of the station. Bryn’s gaze fell on two overturned handcarts. Colorful
bales of yak wool had spilled out of one, and under the other lay numerous
shards of clay and a large stain from some kind of liquid. The stone bench
for waiting passengers was lying on its side. And in one corner, Bryn even
spotted a single shoe.
“This really is strange,” Filixx agreed. “At this station, the dwarf realm
officially begins. Every newcomer has to report and register here—and, of
course, buy a ticket to use the railroad.”
“This looks like a hasty departure to me,” Bryn said.
“If you’re right, then we should hurry to get to Falyn,” said Morlâ.
“Maybe they have already started evacuating some villages because the
Vonnyen are heading this way. Diorit and the other Ølsgendur students must
have been here and warned them. Maybe they just went deeper into the
caves for protection.”
“Or out,” Bryn said, but his two friends weren’t really listening in their
concern for their families.
“Falyn is already very deep underground, though,” Filixx said.
“Maybe the resistance is organizing there,” Morlâ mused. “Speculating
is useless. Let’s get in the trolley cars and go! If the track is clear, we’ll get
there in less than an hour. Filixx, can you manage the tracks without a
switchman? We could just go slower than usual and in case we get in
trouble we can use magic on the switches,” Morlâ suggested.
The dwarf-elf nodded. His face had become flecked with red blotches.
He’s worried about his mother, Bryn realized and his heart beat faster.
His friends’ panic was spreading to him as well.
Morlâ pulled the rope so the steel wedges fell off the rail and the two
small trolleys began to roll. Bryn and the dwarf sat in the first one. The
much wider Filixx followed them alone.
At first, Bryn was a little afraid to race headlong into the darkness,
which was illuminated only a few yards ahead of them by three small
werelights. It felt as if they were shooting straight for the rocks, but then the
rails made a turn or gained elevation. An unpleasant pull went through
Bryn’s stomach. After a while, however, his fear faded and the tug became a
pleasant tingle with each faster section. A cool, dry driving wind swirled
through Bryn’s hair. He trusted in the skill and knowledge of his friends and
tried to enjoy the ride.
Morlâ regularly pulled the long brake lever in the middle of their steel
cart, causing sparks to shower from the sides. The noise was deafening.
 Aska pressed himself closer to Bryn in fear. He patted the fox
encouragingly and tried to distract him with comforting words.

“W ell ?” shouted Filixx for the umpteenth time through the noise of
braking.
“All dark,” Morlâ shouted back. “No switchman. Pull the switch!”
At that moment, a thin yellow-green ribbon streamed from the dwarf-
elf’s left hand and the switch shifted to the right with a metallic snap.
They had now passed the eighth or ninth deserted rail station—Bryn
wasn’t quite sure. The friends couldn’t afford to waste any time to get out
and take a closer look. They slowed down their wild ride only briefly and
then picked up speed again to continue to Falyn, Filixx’s home village.

“T here ’ s no other way ,” Filixx shouted through the rushing air to Morlâ.
“We’re already going through a detour tunnel, and this one is blocked as
well.”
“What a bummer,” Morlâ cursed. “What could have possibly caused all
these cave-ins? And in both tunnels?
“Nothing good!”
“I agree with Bryn on that,” Filixx shouted. “At least we’re level with
Falyn here. Maybe we can move the rocks somehow and then walk the rest
of the way.”
“Good idea,” decided Morlâ. “Let’s go back to the end of the detour
tunnel. I think the boulders were a little smaller there and I think I even saw
a narrow passageway, if I’m not mistaken.”
Filixx, who must have been tired of yelling, simply raised his thumb.

B ryn ’ s ears rang . It was a marked change from the booming rumble and
squeal of the rail cars to the deep underground silence. As it had been on his
first visit here, it was sweltering so far below the surface. The darkness was
dispelled by dense carpets of shimmering moss on the walls that gave off a
mysterious blue-green light.
 Filixx unbuttoned his vest and fanned himself with his felt hat. Together
with Morlâ, he stared into the roughly head-sized hole at the top of the large
pile of boulders that lay directly on the rails and completely filled the
narrow tunnel.
“It’s coming back. You really need to teach me how you can send those
little things that far to get information.”
Filixx just nodded absently and made the sphere disappear into his left
hand. “The tunnel behind is clear and there’s no one there.”
“Good, good, at least there’s that. But does it also lead us to Falyn?”
Filixx put his hands on the rough rock wall next to him and took a deep
breath. A moment later, he was in the realm. Now he felt precisely the rough
texture of the stone, saw every nuance of color in the grain of the rocks, and
tasted the stale, subterranean air with particular intensity. It smelled of stone
dust, the excretions of yaks, and the slightly musty, shimmering moss.
Without having to use his arms, he performed the spell with his mind alone
and read the rocks. Immediately, a three-dimensional map of the
surroundings appeared in his mind’s eye. “The tunnel is quite long, maybe
two or three miles, and quite narrow in parts, but we should be able to pass
through it without any problems. It leads directly to Falyn.”
“A perfectly straight tunnel. Are you sure?”
“Stop questioning Filixx’s abilities. He taught this secret dwarven magic
to me, and besides, he’s the best wizard we know. If you don’t help me clear
away the rocks, Aska and the Samuusa will be the only ones who can fit
through that hole up there,” Bryn shouted, annoyed.
“Yes sir, Realm Shadow!” replied Morlâ, bowing exaggeratedly to his
roommate.
Together, they managed to widen the hole enough for Filixx to fit
through. The whole thing turned out to be a rather laborious affair. They
didn’t dare use a powerful spell, fearing that the entire tunnel might then
collapse on them. However, their physical strength was also not enough for
every boulder. They ended up using a mixture of simple strength spells,
protective magic over their heads, and plain stone dragging.

M orlâ spat out the cave dust and coughed long and hard. “This air is
terrible. So much dust. It seems like we’re the first to use this tunnel in
years, huh?”
 “You’ll be fine—you’re a full-blooded dwarf,” Filixx cut off Morlâ’s
complaint and walked briskly down the narrow, dark tunnel.
Morlâ followed him eagerly, clearing his throat loudly. He wanted to
prove that he really was a full-blooded dwarf from under the mountain. The
only dwarf in their traveling party.
The passage was so narrow that they could not walk side by side. Bryn
was the last to set off with the Samuusa in his shirt pocket and Aska at his
heels. He summoned a werelight to illuminate the path in front of him. His
friends had almost disappeared from the dim light of the magical sphere.
Filixx set a quick pace and Morlâ was eager to keep up with him. Bryn had
been so lost in his thoughts of Drena again that he fell behind. “Come
quickly, Aska, or we’ll lose the others.”
The snow fox ran ahead into the darkness.
He can’t get lost. It’s all straight ahead here, Bryn thought with a grin.
His werelight streaked through the narrow tunnel and flew closer to the side
wall. Bryn was startled when he saw four hollows carved into the rock.
When he caused his magical apparition to fly to the other side as well, he
discovered more of them. Bryn stopped and summoned additional
werelights. He didn’t even notice that they all had a subtle blue tint. Now
the tunnel around him was brightly lit for about ten to fifteen yards. As far
as Bryn could see, all along the corridor there were rock hollows on either
side, always interrupted by a narrow, stone partition. Cautiously, he
approached one of them and looked inside. With a startled expression, he
jerked back when he saw what was inside. Countless dwarf bones. These
are catacombs, he realized. At the same moment there was a loud crash in
the tunnel further ahead and Morlâ cried out in pain.

“M an , big guy, those workouts at the beginning of the semester really

helped. You’re in good shape,” Morlâ moaned when he finally caught up to
Filixx. “I hope Bryn can keep up this pace.”
Filixx only gasped in response. He was concentrating entirely on
running. His only goal was to get to his mother as soon as possible. He
couldn’t waste energy talking. He had even let his werelight go out and
simply sprinted through the darkness of the perfectly straight tunnel.
“Oops,” Morlâ exclaimed in surprise, stumbling slightly. His cobalt blue
werelight immediately flew toward the ground and he spotted Aska. “Hey,
little guy. Where did you leave your Bryn?”
The fox was so happy to have caught up to the dwarf that he slid
between his legs again.
Again, Morlâ stumbled. He barely managed to hold onto the rock wall,
only to find that the wall had some kind of hole in it. Losing his balance, he
fell forward into the recess.
Filixx stopped with an annoyed snort and let a green-gold shimmering
werelight rise and fly to his friend. He couldn’t believe his eyes.
Morlâ coughed and coughed. The small stone chamber was terribly
dusty. The dwarf touched something that looked vaguely familiar. He lifted
it carefully. Filixx’s werelight glowed dramatically through the empty eye
sockets of a skull.
Filixx helped his horrified friend back into the passage. “This must be
the Path of Graves. The ancient dwarves buried their dead here.”
“Isn’t it forbidden to enter here?” asked Morlâ, patting the gray dust
from his clothes. The old bones had been crushed to dust under his weight.
“That it is,” a deep, ancient-sounding voice answered from somewhere
further ahead.
Morlâ looked at Filixx in surprise.
Aska growled.
A moment later, the corridor was lit up by a flash of fire and Morlâ cried
out in pain.

B ryn ran as fast as he could to his friends. As he ran, he wove a

protective spell around himself and now looked like a giant, glowing egg.
Through his heightened senses, he could see some kind of explosion and
hear someone shouting, “Leave, now! This place is protected by the
Guardian of the Mountain.” Bryn frowned in confusion. At that moment,
the impact of numerous small projectiles made his protection spell light up.
Right at head level, he realized. Without the spell, I would be in a very bad
place right now. Who is attacking us here in the heart of the dwarf
kingdom?
“W hat ’ s wrong ?” whispered Filixx, carefully crawling over to Morlâ on
all fours.
“Something hit me.”
“Where?” his friend asked.
“Um …” the dwarf stuttered.
“Tell me!” insisted Filixx.
“Okay—right in the butt. Don’t you dare laugh! It hurts like hell, but I
think I’ll be okay.”
Even without the werelights they had extinguished to offer no target,
Filixx’s wide grin shone in the darkness.
Then they heard the unknown voice roar.
“Huh?” said Morlâ. “Guardian of the Mountain?"
There was a sudden, deafening bang in the narrow tunnel, and they saw
a brief glow of fire.
“Is that a dwarf blunderbuss?” asked Filixx.

B ryn enhanced his vision with magic until he could dimly make out their
attacker. He concentrated, grabbed a particularly thick band of energy, and
slung it forward. No sooner had the energy ribbons reached the stranger
than they wrapped themselves around him like strings around a pot roast.

M orlâ , still huddled on the ground seeking cover, saw a thin, slightly
transparent beam of energy above him. “So that’s what Bryn’s magic looks
like up close in the real world. Bryn’s spells are really beautiful, even
though he seems to be turning into a dwarf down here. There’s so much
blue in that band.”
“Good, it’s tying up our attacker. Let’s help him out,” he continued.
“There's obviously a mix-up here. We’re residents of the caves.”
Aska ran crouched behind the two students. He still had great respect
for the unknown.

B ryn made no effort to add more energy to his spell. He had a firm grip on
the enemy and now saw that Morlâ and Filixx were running toward him
with yellow-green and blue glowing spells. That went well, he had barely
finished thinking, when the stranger shook off his magical bonds like an
oversized cloak. How is that possible? Bryn thought incredulously. Then he
screamed in panic, “Be careful, he can ward off magic!”

“O ur mysterious assailant is tiny ,” Filixx commented when they

reached the stranger wrapped in Bryn’s magical bonds.
“He’s not that small,” said the slightly smaller Morlâ, offended.
The dwarf, clad in shimmering bluish armor, then simply shrugged
Bryn’s spell off. They heard their friend’s warning too late.
The heavily armed man raised his rifle and aimed directly at the
students only yards away. “Not a step further. The caves are off limits to
you Vonnyen!”
“You’re a dwarf,” Morlâ blurted out, limping past Filixx and squeezing
his way forward into his field of vision. “Make way, big guy. You’re scaring
him. For some reason he thinks you’re one of the undead.
Bryn had now joined them and was watching the scene from his
protection spell.
The unknown dwarf flipped up the visor of his helmet. “Mother Earth’s
greetings. You’re a dwarf,” he said in surprise.
“Yes,” Morlâ replied, “a dwarf of the Order of Âlaburg. Just like my
friends here. We’re here to spread peace and friendship. And because his
mother is such a good cook.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder at
Filixx.
The gray-bearded dwarf, looking amazingly old under his armor,
lowered his weapon. “I didn’t know that. I apologize for attacking you. I
hope the rock salt didn’t hurt anyone.”
Filixx grinned again. “Not in any important places.”
Morlâ rubbed his backside with a hurt expression. “I guess it’ll be okay.
After a few tankards of Mäerñ in Falyn, I’m sure I won't notice it.”
“Add to that plenty of yak cheese and mushrooms, and we’ll forget this
unfortunate encounter ever happened. You could invite us to The Moldy Inn
if you like,” Filixx interjected with a laugh.
The old dwarf scratched his long beard. “The Moldy Inn is closed—”
“What?” Filixx interrupted. “Where do the villagers of Falyn drink their
Mäerñ? Old Sodalith is the only one allowed to brew it in Falyn, after all.”
 “There’s no one left in Falyn. The whole village has been cleared out,”
stammered the old dwarf.
“Where were they taken?” asked Filixx.
“They’re all above ground and traveling to the border areas. The caves
have been completely evacuated and magically sealed. I am the last
guardian underground.”

OceanofPDF.com
 19

OceanofPDF.com
 The Guardian of the Mountain

T he old guard introduced himself to them as Olivin. Briskly, he led

them out of the Path of Graves and directly to Falyn. They emerged
from behind the stone shrine to Mother Earth that existed in every
major dwarf settlement. The shrine cleverly concealed the entrance to the
catacombs.
At first glance, it appeared that the village had not changed a bit. From
where they stood, Bryn saw at least a dozen stone houses, squatting quietly
in the dim, blue-green glow of the luminous moss. However, the mushroom
fields had all been harvested and the eternally grunting yak herds had
disappeared. Another change caught Bryn’s eye, but he couldn't quite put
his finger on what it meant. Everywhere he looked, there were holes in the
ground about the size of a fist.
Suddenly there was a deafening crash and dust swirled around them.
The snow fox was completely gray from one second to the next.
Morlâ coughed. His lungs were still suffering from the dust. “What was
that?” he asked, eyes wide with terror as he patted the dust from his clothes.
Bryn, head pounding, looked around and saw that the Path of Graves
they had just walked through was buried in rubble. “The path!” he shouted
far too loudly, as his ears were ringing from the crash.
His friends turned around. Where they had just emerged, there was only
a dusty pile of stones.
Olivin, who was not at all surprised, cleared his throat in
embarrassment. “Um … well, that was me. My job as guardian is to seal the
mountain, and since you were able to get past the barrier so easily, I decided
to seal things up again.”
 “Why?” Bryn asked the old dwarf in surprise.
Olivin looked at him with his steel-blue eyes. “You are human, but I
sense something else about you …” he abruptly changed the subject.
“Oh man, here we go with the Seer of Colors homage again,” Morlâ
scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Yes, he’s the chosen one. Yes, he will defeat our
enemies single-handedly. And yes, his farts smell of rosewood or lavender,
depending on what he last ate.”
“I wish yours smelled like that, dwarf,” a high-pitched voice suddenly
chirped, and the Samuusa came flying out of Bryn’s breast pocket with a
yawn. She stretched her tiny limbs in the air and fluttered over to the old
dwarf. “He sensed my presence. Didn’t you, Ɣäktar?”
The old dwarf instantly bent his knee and leaned on his rifle. Eyes on
the ground, he said submissively, “Honored Samuusa. Welcome, under the
mountain. The ancestors of the Ɣäktar welcome you. May the magic always
flow powerfully through you and your sisters.”
“And through you, my good guardian,” the fairy replied, briefly
touching Olivin’s armor, which began to glow a deep blue. The runes
carved into the metal seemed to move fluidly across the armor. After a few
moments the spectacle was over and the Samuusa turned away from the
Ɣäktar.
“So much fuss over that cheeky flapping beast,” Morlâ muttered. The
Samuusa flew to him and kicked him hard in the rear with her little foot.
The dwarf would hardly have noticed this under normal circumstances, but
since he had just gotten a load of rock salt there, he whined and rubbed his
left butt cheek. “The one time Ûlyėr isn’t here to torment me, our Samuusa
friend takes over his job.
Bryn grinned as he noticed that the Samuusa was secretly casting spells
to heal Morlâ’s wounds. Colorful magic flowed from her delicate little
hands toward his friend’s backside.
“So you’re really a Ɣäktar? asked Filixx in amazement, not expecting
an answer, as they continued on their way toward the center of the village.
“I thought that the ancestral lineage of the Guardians of Mother Earth had
long since ceased to exist. If I remember correctly, the last guardian
disappeared with the establishment of Âlaburg, since from then on there has
been peace on the continent.”
“That’s correct. But the peace on Razuclan is now over,” Olivin said in
a somber voice. “I had withdrawn deep into the heart of the mountain
waiting for the dwarves to call for help.”
Bryn raised his eyebrows in amazement and looked at Olivin’s metallic-
blue shimmering armor with black runes. “How did you ward off my spell
so easily?”
“It’s the runes. There’s power in the old words. They absorb magic if
you know how to use them properly.”
Bryn noticed that the strange pipe-like weapon the guard was carrying
was also full of dwarven characters.
“So interesting, guys. Tieffenor and Gerald would surely give you good
grades in history for all this, but we should really work on finding out what
happened to our families,” Morlâ grumbled.
Filixx shook himself free of the shock from the explosion and said,
“Too late. They’re all gone. I came home too late. My poor mother.”
“Don’t worry about them, Filixx. Diorit and the other gifted ones guided
them to a safer place,” Olivin tried to reassure the dwarf-elf.
“I’m not so sure any safe place exists anymore,” Morlâ interjected with
a furrowed brow, looking up at the cave ceiling, which was only dimly
visible and overgrown with stalactites. “And you say they have completely
cleared the caves?”
“Yes,” the old guard confirmed. “The returning students joined with all
the dwarven gifted to act on behalf of a newly formed Order of Âlaburg, as
the Driany Order can no longer help. They talked to the elders and advised
them to flee together to a safe place.”
“Quite the go-getter, our Diorit. He didn’t have that much energy
against Ûlyėr in the Starball tournament,” Morlâ grumbled. “My parents
and siblings must be with them, too. Olivin, where were they taken?”
“Diorit said something about a resistance group called the Waramen.
That’s where he took the families.”
“The poison swamps,” Bryn said. “When did they leave?”
“This morning.”
“Oh no,” Filixx groaned. “We just barely missed them. What a hassle.
We could have saved ourselves the miserable stone staircase and the Path of
Graves if we had just waited a little longer.”
“I told you we should have slept in,” Morlâ muttered softly to himself.
“Well, it doesn’t matter. We’ll just go back. If we take the path through the
entrance gate and hurry, we might be able to catch up with them.”
 “Um …” Now it was Olivin’s turn to stammer. “The caves are
completely sealed shut. The Path of Graves was the last remaining weak
point. I have sealed all tunnels and caves both physically and with ancient
dwarven guardian magic. You won’t be able to get out through the entrance
gate or any other way. I’m sorry, but we’re stuck here together until the
Council of Elders decides that the danger is over, and the mountain may be
reopened. This can only be done from the outside—every Guardian of the
Mountain is bound to this. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t undo the spell.”
“What? Why?” asked Filixx, his voice high with surprise.
“We cannot allow the enemy to gain entrance,” Olivin replied simply.
For him, the situation was decided. He was simply fulfilling his task.
“That makes sense, but couldn’t the gates have just been barricaded
normally?” asked Morlâ.
“Diorit and the other students told us about the black sorceress and her
formidable powers. I think you can answer that question for yourself. Stone,
steel, and wood are obviously not enough in this case.”
Morlâ nodded grimly and unconsciously clutched the handle of his ax
tighter.
“But why this sudden panic? The situation is dire, but no enemy has yet
set foot under the mountain. Above ground is much more dangerous than
here. On the way here, we saw only devastated and depopulated lands.”
“I’ll show you. Come with me,” Olivin urged the students instead of
giving them an answer.
The three friends followed the guardian into the village. They were just
passing The Moldy Inn when Bryn stepped for the fourth time that day into
one of the strange holes that had turned the ground in the center of the
village into a kind of dwarven Swiss cheese. But their old guide set such a
fast pace and Morlâ and Filixx were so eager for a satisfactory answer
explaining their families’ disappearance that they didn’t even notice the
holes.

“W here are you taking us ?” Filixx asked the Ɣäktar, after they had left
the village behind for some time and were stumbling over the hastily
harvested mushroom fields. In the rush to evacuate, a proper harvest must
have been out of the question.
 “It’s not far now,” an even more bluish shimmering Olivin replied,
walking at a brisk pace ever onward toward their destination.
Bryn felt a tingling on his skin. He had felt something like this before,
but could not remember when or where. The Samuusa, however, was as
cool as a cucumber. She had made herself comfortable in Bryn’s breast
pocket and snored loudly. I’ll take that as a sign that Olivin is not leading
us into a trap, Bryn reassured himself.
“Isn't this the Falyn garbage dump?” asked Morlâ, picking up an old
fish bone from the ground after they had continued walking through the
huge cave for a while.
The sickeningly sweet foul odor in Bryn’s nose suddenly made sense.
“Yes,” Filixx replied. “I played here a lot as a kid. You could always
find great stuff in the trash.”
Morlâ only gave a snide grunt.
“Slow down now,” Olivin suddenly hissed. “We don’t want to upset
them. They’re not dangerous, but you never know how they’ll act when
they’re in a group, and their bite is not to be underestimated. After all, they
do feed on rocks.”
Bryn furrowed his brow. What was the old man talking about? Then his
eyes fell on a mound of earth about four yards high and perhaps fifteen
yards wide. Bryn squinted to see better. Is it moving? It was hard to make
out in the dim light of the shimmering moss.
Filixx stopped right next to Olivin, who kept a proper distance from the
small hill, and said in disbelief, “Is that a pile of Gnarf worms?”
Morlâ gasped in surprise when he saw it too. “So that’s where Rondo
went …”
“… and that’s what all these holes are. They dug their way through to
get here,” Bryn finished his sentence.
Aska, on the other hand, did not seem to be at all afraid of this strange
freak of nature. He sat down dutifully on his rear end. He only glanced at
the mountain of Gnarf worms.
The Samuusa fluttered out of Bryn’s shirt pocket and straight toward the
undulating pile. The closer she got to the mass, the more she began to glow.
Excitedly, she circled the phenomenon.
“This is why Diorit insisted the mountain be evacuated immediately.
What you see here is the last magical source on Razuclan.”
 At first, Bryn thought he had misheard, but then he saw a glaring,
cobalt-blue beam of light appear again and again among the thousands of
snake-like bodies.
Filixx was the first to react, as usual. Immediately he sent out a
werelight. The golden glowing orb wandered around the large cave for a
while, only to return to the dwarf-elf without having found an exit. “I guess
we can forget about informing Tejal or anyone else about this. I assume,
Olivin, that no magic can leave the mountain either?”
The Guardian of the Mountain only nodded and shrugged
apologetically.

T he black - robed Vonnyen pointed with his rotten clawed hand to the large
map that covered the huge round stone table.
“And your scouts are certain?” asked Caoimhe with eyebrows raised
skeptically.
“Yes, mistress. One of the human tradersss sssaw them. The dwarfs
have been saying for a while now that sssome kind of creature has
sssuddenly appeared in Falyn.”
Caoimhe nodded thoughtfully.
“This was to be expected,” her mother said. “The last source of magic
must be so stressed that it is slowly being pulled to the surface. But this
surface,” the old lady, today in a blood-red blouse, a lime-green skirt and
orange shoes, put the words in imaginary quotation marks, "is in this case
just a huge dwarf cave. That’s why our spies took so long to discover it. It is
also perfectly normal that animals would be attracted to the powerful
magic. It looks like the fourth and last great magical source of the continent
has been found.”
Bryn’s mother, who had attended the briefing with disinterest until now,
said mockingly, “Or the human huckster only told this story because a
Vonnyen tempted him with money and then threatened him with death.”
“If any proof was needed that we’re right, we have it now,” her sister
then exclaimed triumphantly. “She’s just trying to protect Razuclan and its
phony magicians. I know you, sister.”
Davina turned red with anger, but said nothing in her own defense.
“Then we should begin,” her mother ordered, dark eyes glowing
feverishly. “For your father.”
 Davina left the room, slamming the door on the way out.
Caoimhe rubbed her hands together pensively and walked over to the
card table. “So, general, step up the attacks in this area here. Let the Order
and all the other small minds on Razuclan think that’s where our main
attack is. The humans are the weakest opponents, and besides, many of
them have already sworn allegiance to us. Our collaborators will help your
troops. By the way, if our warriors happen to destroy Âlaburg on their way
inland, no one would be upset. But you will personally sail with the best of
your warriors to the cliffs of the Dwarf Kingdom, capture Falyn, and
destroy the last source. This is how we gain control of this tiny continent.
After we wipe out all the impure magic on Razuclan, my family, as the last
of the magically gifted, will take care of the rest,” she ended with a soft
laugh.

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OceanofPDF.com
 Trapped Under the Mountain

B ryn, Morlâ, Aska, and the Samuusa moved into the small home of
Filixx’s parents. Unfortunately, Filixx’s mother had been evacuated,
so they would have to take care of themselves. This was quite
unfortunate, as Filixx was always so enthusiastic about his mother’s
cooking skills.
After the friends had brought their belongings, which had survived the
journey here relatively unscathed, into the small house, they sat down
around the dining table. It was quite cramped, but still comfortable. Their
weapons, armor, boots, backpacks, blankets, and other possessions lay
scattered around the once tidy house.
Bryn felt almost at home. He had fond memories of their visit to Falyn
during the semester break, when Filixx had taught him how to read the
rocks with magic.
Aska explored Filixx’s home, sniffing the furniture, the thick carpets
made of yak wool, the fireplace, the stove, and countless other furnishings.
When the snow fox broke a colorful vase with dried flowers with his bushy
tail, Filixx became a little upset.
“Bryn, can’t you keep an eye on that fox? I brought those flowers to my
mom during the first semester break, and she dried them. And the vase is
from her cousin, who lives far away from the Wañaglinĝ Mountains and
only comes here every few years. Maybe that animal should sleep outside.
He’s constantly shedding anyway.” With these words, the dwarf-elf swept
up the shards and the disintegrated dried flowers.
Aska, meanwhile, curled up guilt-free on the thick, brown yak carpet
and closed his eyes. When he smacked his lips loudly and contentedly as he
fell asleep, Filixx turned red with anger.
Bryn and Morlâ grinned at each other.
“Don’t worry, that animal won’t destroy any more of your mother’s
valuable belongings,” Morlâ teased his friend. And then he put his feet,
wrapped in holey yellow socks, on the dining table.
“Morlâ, get your feet off the table, that’s disgusting …”
“I know, I know, if your mother ever finds out about this, she’ll kill you.
But let's be honest, she would never harm a hair on your head. She’d
probably just cook you a mushroom casserole.”
Filixx plopped on the floor next to the remaining shards. He sighed.
“You’re right. I’m just so sad that my mom is gone. I can’t be with her to
protect her. What good is it being the best student at Âlaburg and learning
how to do so much, if I can’t even protect my own family?”
Aska woke, trotted to the dwarf-elf, and licked his face comfortingly.
Filixx stroked the thick, fluffy fur of the ash-colored fox. “It’s not your
fault, little one. To tell you the truth, that vase was hideous. My mother
always said that cousin Calderit only gave it to her because he didn’t want it
anymore.”
“That hideous felt hat and your ugly goat vest probably come from him,
too,” Morlâ added with a grin.
This broke the gloomy mood, and the three friends began to laugh.
“Do you really think we’re trapped? There are hundreds of miles of
tunnels down here. There must be at least one that leads to the surface,”
Bryn said. As he spoke, he poured fresh well water into the wooden cups
that Filixx had fetched from the kitchen, which Morlâ immediately downed.
Filixx just sipped his water. Thoughtfully, he said, “I’m afraid so. When
I was little, the story of the first Guardian of the Mountain was my favorite
book. It must still be here somewhere. I’m sure a lot was exaggerated, but it
told about powerful spells that are part of the caves and manifest
themselves in the form of the guardian. He is the symbol of the sealed
mountain, but at the same time the source of it. Imagine that a huge,
invisible protective barrier has fallen over the entire mountain, which also
reaches deep into the stone. Olivin did not create it, but he appeared
because it was created.”
“Incredible magic,” Bryn said, getting goosebumps. “To protect
something so huge and to maintain this magic over time.”
 “Yes,” Filixx confirmed. “A single living being would never be able to
achieve such a thing. We’re dealing with ancient dwarf magic in the
mountain itself—Mother Earth and our ancestors. Once this spell has been
cast, it cannot be lifted from down here. If I remember correctly, the lifting
of this spell requires three grand priests. They must worship Mother Earth
together on the summit to break the spell. And …” Filixx took a long sip,
“… the danger must be gone. Only then does the guardian disappear again.”
“It all sounds like a fairytale to me,” Bryn said skeptically. “No
disrespect to your revered Mother Earth.”
"Don’t underestimate the power of religion,” said Morlâ, who was
peeking into a cupboard under the sink. “Don’t you have any dried fish?
I’m so hungry that I'd even eat that.”
“Stop rummaging around in there and sit down. I’ll cook something for
us,” Filixx admonished his rude guest. “Get me some firewood for the stove
and you’ll soon have a warm dwarf meal.”
Morlâ pulled his head out of the cupboard so quickly that he smashed
his head. The dishes in the sink clanged. “Sure thing, boss.” A second later,
he disappeared behind the house.
Aska ran enthusiastically after him.
“I know this is all hard for you to believe, Bryn. We’ll start looking for a
way out tomorrow, even though I don’t think we’ll find one. The presence
of the guardian is proof enough for me that the spell is active. For all
peoples—except humans,” the dwarf-elf continued with a wink, “such
things are a matter of course and part of our history. Any elf can describe to
you magical places in the evergreen forests that would seem incredible to
you and mock the laws of physics. But they exist, and often without anyone
having to cast spells or maintain them permanently. Just think of Âlaburg,
probably the most magical place on Razuclan. Or do you know of any other
gates that can talk?” Filixx ended with a grin and placed a large cast-iron
pan on the steel stove.
Bryn pondered for a while, turning an unknown red root vegetable in his
hands, which would soon become part of Filixx’s delicious meal. “What
role does the guardian play in this whole thing? Can’t he lead us back to the
surface?”
“No,” Filixx said sharply, dropping a large slab of butter he had just
scraped out of a clay jug into the pan. “Don’t ask that of him. He comes
from a thousand-year-old line of protectors of the mountain, whose task is
to guard the dwarves. He can’t break the spell and wouldn’t even if he
could. That would be a betrayal of his whole purpose in life and of all his
ancestors.”
“Okay, I won’t ask,” Bryn promised.
“I don’t understand what Olivin is exactly. He is no ordinary dwarf, and
he only takes up arms to defend the caves. A guardian appears only in
extreme emergencies and then disappears again. No one knows where he
comes from and where he goes. I’ve never seen a Ɣäktar before. The last
one mentioned in the records was here during the Second War of the
Nations, when the Wañaglinĝ Mountains were besieged by orcs.”
Morlâ returned and dropped six thick logs loudly on the neatly waxed
floor. “Here! And now cook something already,” he urged his friend.
“Only if you light the fire.”
“You’re really putting me to work,” grumbled the dwarf, but
immediately set about stoking the fire.
Bryn had meanwhile been given a cutting board and a small, curved
knife and had cut up several of the red roots. Their juice turned his fingers
yellow. Filixx had forbidden him from trying it raw, as he didn’t know if the
plant was poisonous to humans before it was cooked.

F ilixx conjured up a truly delicious dinner from his mother’s abundant

supplies. The roots reminded Bryn of celery. They were accompanied by a
stew of cured cave fish in a thick brown sauce. Morlâ showed Bryn how to
spoon this dwarf specialty into the flatbreads baked by Filixx on the hot
stove. A wonderfully tasty mess.
When they were full, Bryn lay down with Aska on the soft yak carpet
and stroked the snow fox’s fur. Filixx and Morlâ sat in the two small
armchairs; a fire crackled in the fireplace. It warmed the underground house
and threw cozy, flickering light onto the walls. “You realize that we’re
sitting here on a platter waiting to be served up. Once my aunt discovers the
fourth magical source—and in my opinion it’s only a matter of time until
she does—she will attack Falyn with all the dark magic and Vonnyen at her
disposal. Olivin did well to seal the Path of Graves, but I don’t know how
long the protective spells can really protect the mountain. We have to find a
way out of here,” Bryn said before they went to sleep.
T he next day , the students set out to find an exit from the underground
dwarf kingdom. However, it was already noon when they set off toward the
gate.
As always, Morlâ could not get himself out of bed and Bryn also found
it difficult to return from another encounter with Drena. They had
strategized all night on how Drena could escape from Fog Island. Drena had
even begun to make a small map of the castle, which she carefully hid
under her mattress and on which every path she knew was drawn. But she
had not yet found a way to escape. They would probably need more time to
find one. The two lovers did not yet dare to leave the room and roam the
castle on their own; the risk of being discovered was simply too great.
Filixx was completely absorbed in his role as host and chef and
prepared an elaborate breakfast for them, which the friends enjoyed in
peace. Filixx’s cozy home lulled them into a false sense of security and
made them put off their search for an exit.

“A nd ?” asked Morlâ, looking at the huge gate carved into the stone. “It
looks like it always does, except the guards are gone.”
“It’s closed, as you probably noticed,” Filixx replied bitingly and went
even closer to the gate. With outstretched arms, he tried to touch the thick
moorland wood or one of the huge iron struts that connected the planks, but
he couldn’t get any closer than about an arm’s length from the gate. “I can’t
touch it,” the dwarf-elf shouted over his shoulder.
“Did you think you could just walk up and push it open,” asked Morlâ,
laughing. “Let me have a try.” He climbed the slight incline to the gate and
quickly ran toward it. “Ouch!” he cried as he was stopped by an invisible
wall that flattened his nose painfully.
“I told you!”
Bryn stood a little off the path and took a deep breath. When he was
immersed in the realm, he was surprised by the blue everywhere. Only a
few red and yellow energy ribbons were mixed in between. Nevertheless, as
always, the colors glided willingly to him and swirled around his body.
Bryn concentrated and then sent about a dozen colorful bands toward the
gate, which was clearly visible in the realm as a long, dark rectangle. He
couldn’t see any protective spell, however. When his spells had almost
reached the gate, they simply vanished into thin air. Confused, Bryn
repeated this three more times, increasing the amount of energy with each
attempt. In the end, his spells should have blown the gates off their hinges,
they were so powerful. But Bryn’s efforts ended in the same way each time.
It was like pouring water into a dark hole where it just disappeared. “Magic
won’t get us anywhere here,” he told his friends when he returned to the
real world.
“That’s what I was afraid of,” Filixx said.
Nevertheless, they used the rest of the day to search numerous side
tunnels, the railway tunnels, and every single secret exit that Filixx knew of.
Everywhere they went, they ran into the invisible wall, which could not be
overcome with physical force or magic. The Samuusa did not accompany
them in these senseless endeavors, but went her own way in the deep caves
of the dwarf kingdom.

“I t is the way it is, boys,” said Morlâ, tongue in the corner of his mouth
with concentration as he filled their tankards with Mäerñ.
The friends spent the evening in the unlocked Moldy Inn, the name a
tribute to a particularly strong-smelling dwarf cheese. They had simply
helped themselves in the absence of the host.
Filixx had placed a copper coin on the stained counter for every jug they
had drunk so far. He did not want to be known as a thief in his home
village.
Bryn’s head was already spinning pleasantly from the intoxicating drink
of fermented yak milk, even though he knew this feeling would turn into a
terrible headache the next morning.
“We should just make the best of the situation and keep the Mäerñ safe
from the enemy by drinking it all. I don’t think Vonnyen are particularly
keen on it anyway,” Morlâ exclaimed, letting the jugs bang on the table and
slosh out some of their contents.
They all clanked mugs, said cheers, and downed the brew. There wasn’t
much more they could do.
“If we can’t get out, that means no one can get in, either. If even the
Realm Shadow here can’t crack the spell, no one can. We might just have to
sit out the whole war down here until someone up there decides it’s over,”
Filixx said with red cheeks, already starting to slur his words.
Bryn hiccupped twice before he could answer, “It’s not entirely true that
I can’t leave the caves.”
Morlâ downed his Mäerñ. “What do you mean?” he laughed. “Why
don’t you take us with you?”
“I’ve been with Drena every night,” Bryn defended himself weakly.
“I told you that was dangerous,” Filixx shouted, slamming his mug on
the table.
“I know,” Bryn whispered. “But I have to try to get her off Fog Island
somehow. It’s only because of me that she’s trapped there. Besides, I don’t
really know how to get there myself.”
“Once you figure out where the island is, just ask us for help. We’ll get
your girl back together,” said Morlâ, throwing his head back to drain the
last drops of Mäerñ from his mug.
“Amen,” Filixx added. Everyone raised their mugs and toasted after
Morlâ had refilled them once again. He staggered a little coming back from
the counter.

“B e careful with those boxesss , you stupid zombie ssscum,” shouted

the tall, black-clad Vonnyen at his subordinates, who were in the process of
loading dozens of ships. “They contain a dangerousss charge that probably
shouldn’t explode on Fog Island.”
Caoimhe stood next to her commander and looked at the impressive
armada. She smiled to herself. Then her gaze fell on Drena, whose task
today was to sweep parts of the quay. “Well, sweetheart,” the dark sorceress
fluttered with false kindness. “Do you remember these boxes?”
Drena anxiously lowered the broom and pressed herself against the
quay wall.
“Probably not, but you had them brought to me. Some of them exploded
with your ship, but several boxes still made it here from the Sealands. Lost
artifacts from the last War of the Nations. Or rather, weapons.” Caoimhe
laughed long and loud, but her eyes remained dead.
Drena felt a cold shiver down her spine. She had only broken memories
of the time when she had been under the spell of Caoimhe and had been her
puppet. To this day, her eye color changed to a slight red on some days,
which scared her more than she wanted to admit.
“Weapons of such unimaginable destructive power that they were
hidden on secret, lonely islands after the Second War of the Nations. They
wreaked such terrible devastation. Our loyal Joklin has proven that they still
work. With these we will sweep away our enemies. And do you know
what’s so funny about these magical artifacts?”
Drena stared at the ground in silence, trying to make herself disappear.
But Caoimhe didn’t seem to expect an answer. “That they were created
by humans, dwarves, and orcs to destroy elves, and now we’re using them
to eradicate all four nations together.” Again, she laughed her shrill, false
laugh, which hurt Drena’s ears.
One of the ragged Vonnyen slaves suddenly stumbled when his rotten
leg gave way under him. With a crash, he dropped one end of a box to the
ground.
Caoimhe wrapped herself in a glowing red protective spell in the blink
of an eye.
But the precaution was unnecessary. Nothing happened. The lid just
came off and Drena caught a glimpse of several silver cones nestled in
sawdust.
"You idiots!" shouted the black-clad Vonnyen leader to his subordinates.
With a few long, powerful strides, he had reached the box. His dark cape
inflated behind him. Without saying a word, he smashed the head of the one
who had stumbled with his clawed hand and threw a dagger between the red
eyes of his comrade, splashing the box with yellow-green blood.
Bored, Caoimhe turned to her commander, who was now back at her
side.
Drena hid in a shady corner and overheard the conversation. In the
commotion, Bryn’s aunt had completely forgotten about her.
"When will you sail, General?" she asked the Vonnyen, whose clothes
were now stained with the unnatural blood of his kind.
“At nightfall, mistress,” he replied, head lowered in submission. He still
seemed to be worried that he too might be punished for the mistakes of his
subordinates.
“Good. The vanguard has already reached Razuclan?”
“Yes, Massster. They have landed in the border area between humansss
and dwarvesss. There, the firssst wave has already put down all resistance.
Nothing will ssstop them. They hope to reach Âlaburg in a few daysss.”
“And when will our troops land at the cliffs of the dwarves?”
“If the wind is favorable, in two or three daysss. By the end of this
week, the last sssource will be destroyed and Razuclan will be yoursss.
Then you will rule two continentsss.”
Caoimhe grinned deviously. Even her dark eyes sparkled happily for
once.

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 The War Begins

W hat does your brother say about the Waramen?"’ asked Gerald,
rubbing his face anxiously. It felt strange to be without a beard,
but as a Chief Commander he could no longer look like a lonely
hunter in the deep forests of the Arell Valley.
Ulur had his eyes closed and was even paler than usual. Sweat ran down
his haggard face in streams. The telepath was communicating with his twin
brother Rulu. “The Waramen were able to take in all the dwarves from the
Wañaglinĝ Mountains and bring them to safety. They hid them in the poison
swamps.”
“Strange. Why didn’t the dwarves just stay in the caves? Tell your
brother to find out!” Gerald drummed his fingers impatiently on the large
table. Several heavily armed men surrounded him. Tejal, who stood
between them, looked a little out of place in her summery yellow dress. If
Bryn were here, he would notice that his foster father’s face looked thinner
and worn out. The former hunter now had a large scar on his upper arm and
his eyes shone feverishly. Everyone at the table treated him with great
respect.
Ulur suddenly gasped and began to pant in panic.
“What’s going on?” shouted Gerald as he took a step toward him.
Tejal got there first and gently placed her hands on the pale twin’s
temples. One of the numerous rings on her fingers flashed.
Immediately, Ulur became calmer again. In a faltering voice, he
reported, “The Waramen have just been attacked. They’ve had terrible
losses. Both dwarves and humans.” He swallowed hard. “Hundreds of ships
have anchored on the coast of the borderland and thousands of Vonnyen are
streaming out. They have taken over the depopulated parts of the land. The
Waramen could do nothing but flee to the Ťräsk.”
Gerald angrily slammed his fist on the table, causing some of the
roughly carved red, blue, yellow, black, and red painted figures to fall over.
"First the dwarves flee their caves and now this. The war has begun. Where
are the hordes headed?” he asked in a low voice after Tejal gave him a
sharp look.
“To the northwest. Rulu says that Magalit believes they are moving
toward Âlaburg. And that nothing can stop them.”
Excited murmurs arose briefly, but Gerald cut this off with an abrupt
wave of his hand. “What about the dwarf students who have joined the
Order of Âlaburg? Diorit and the others. Could your brother talk to them
and find out why they evacuated the caves so quickly?”
Ulur suddenly started convulsing. White foam came from his mouth and
his eyes rolled back in his head.
Tejal immediately rushed to him again. He’s being attacked by some
powerful gifted person. Someone is trying to disrupt the connection. Ulur,
come back now!” she shouted, pressing the student’s twitching arms to his
body.
Gerald turned red. This information was very important. This was war,
but the well-being of their students came first.
Ulur collapsed. If Williams, who was now helping Tejal to calm the
student’s amazingly powerful seizures, had not supported him, he would
have fallen to the ground unchecked.
“Let’s think about what we know. The dwarves all fled to the Waramen
for some reason. We must assume that the southeast will also be attacked.”
Gerald moved some of the black and red figures and placed them on the
coast of the area marked with a hammer. “The Waramen could not stop
them and withdrew.” He moved another figure. Now a long, closed line of
black figures could be seen on the north and southeast coasts, which worked
their way inland like a funnel. “They’re coming. You were right, Grand
Master. Âlaburg seems to be the main target of the dark sorceress,” Gerald
now turned directly to Tejal. “Williams, what about the earthworks and the
other fortifications?”
Before answering, the bald knight with the blond beard first lowered
Ulur into an armchair, where he immediately fell asleep. “It’s all been
excavated and secured with pointed stakes. The ascent to the castle is now a
deadly trap. We’ve also dug holes every few yards on the way up and have
made small ramparts behind which our soldiers can hide. There are also a
few other surprises here and there for them.” He winked around the table.
“How did you manage this so quickly?” asked a gray-haired human
standing next to Tejal.
Williams laughed mischievously, revealing fine wrinkles around his
kind blue eyes. “We couldn’t have done it on our own, but we got help from
unexpected quarters. The Samuusen are more powerful than you would
think at first glance.”
Tejal smiled knowingly.
“Very good,” Gerald said, moving on. “Toulin, where are we at with the
training of the male refugees? Do we have any who can fight?”
The leader of the Five Wise Ones, who was in full armor, stepped closer
to the table before speaking in a deep voice, “Hardly any are battle-
hardened, but they are all ready to face the impending danger. They refuse
to be driven away again. And it’s not just the men who want to fight. Many
women insisted on taking up arms as well. And some of them have proven
skilled and able.
Tejal smiled proudly.
“Let’s hope that their will to fight makes up for their lack of
experience,” Gerald replied. “Houlin, do we have enough weapons for
everyone?”
"Yes, Chief Commander. In the underground storage chambers, there
was more than enough military equipment. Some of it was a bit rusty and
out of old-fashioned, but it’s all still usable and quite deadly.”
Gerald nodded. “Kaneg and Worin, is the defensive tower set to be used
as a last resort, should—Tamir forbid—our walls fall?”
“The White House has never been so clean and tidy. The tower is ready
and will hold if needed,” Kaneg replied.
Gerald tapped the spot where Âlaburg was marked on the map, lost in
thought. Everyone waited respectfully for him to continue speaking.
“Lebos, how long will our supplies last during a siege?” he asked, still
staring at the map.
The old dwarf cleared his throat. “Even though hardly any refugees
have made it through the front lately, our stocks were never intended for
such a large number of residents. I’m afraid we won’t have enough food for
more than a few days, even if we ration it.”
“We can only hope that MacRallen, Boulderstone, Orr, and Morningsky
will finally be able to get the Driany Order to act. Facts are facts. The war
has begun,” Williams intervened. “Have you heard anything from your
sister, Tejal?”
“No, unfortunately the Samuusen seem to be the only ones who have
their original magical powers back again. I fear that even if my sister had a
message for us, she would no longer be able to send a werelight to us. We’ll
just have to wait and see if we get help.”
Gerald nodded gratefully to her.
Suddenly, the door opened and Master Winterblossom came in. She was
wearing a white apron stained with blood. “It’s a girl,” she said with a
smile. “Âlaburg has its first baby.”
Applause erupted in Tejal’s office. Life went on.
Gerald clapped his hands together twice. “One more reason to defend
this place. Reinold and Dorinda,” he then addressed the two dwarf Masters
of math and summoning. “Prepare Lekan. We need to be able to close it
quickly if worse comes to worst. Use the remaining amulets to prepare our
gate for its final task. Maybe you can get the Samuusen to help you. Like
Tejal said, they seem to be the only ones to have their old strength back.”
Gerald smiled briefly, then got serious. “Williams, I now put all the former
Driany who have now joined the Order of Âlaburg back under your
command. You will defend the ascent to the castle after we have sealed
Lekan.”
The knight gave a crisp salute. No fear was evident on his weather-
tanned face, although he and his men had the unenviable task of stopping
the first wave without being able to escape to the castle. Lekan would
remain closed to both them and the enemy.
“Let’s get going. It’s time to prepare for the coming storm as best we
can. I think many of us could use a bit of sleep,” Gerald ended by rubbing
his tired eyes with dark circles underneath.
Gradually, everyone left the room. Some patted Gerald appreciatively
on the shoulder in passing. A light metallic ringing accompanied them, as
almost all had come to the meeting in full armor. The war had arrived.
“Let’s carry him over to the White House to his room,” Gerald said,
looking at Ulur and yawning so wide that his jaw popped.
 “Make sure you get to bed afterwards as well. We have no use for a
tired old warrior,” Tejal said.
Gerald turned cat-like to the elf and asked her with a crooked smile,
“Who are you calling old?” He walked over and gently took her in his arms.
Tejal stroked his face, on which the first dark gray stubble had appeared
again. “I like this. No beard to scratch me when we kiss. Plus, it makes you
look younger.” She laughed softly.
“Better for kissing, huh? Well, we need to test that out right away.”
Gerald bent down to her with his eyes closed.
At the same moment, Ulur shot up. Eyes still closed, he shouted in a
high, panicked voice, “The Guardian has awakened. The mountain has been
sealed. Bryn and the others are trapped.” Then he collapsed again.

“W hat do we do with the prisonersss, Massster Joklin?” the huge Vonnyen

on a horse asked the former Âlaburg student.
“Kill them and then transform them.”
“What? They’re humans,” shouted his companion riding next to him.
“We’re your allies! Our representatives from the Council of the Seven have
bent the knee before your Master.”
“Ha,” Joklin laughed to himself. “Good for you, but it’s now time to
integrate our new, loyal allies into the army. Just like all enlightened
peoples on Razuclan. Weren’t you informed of this, Master Jehal?” Bryn’s
former classmate laughed out loud again. The hood of his black coat slipped
from his face, revealing red glowing eyes in a decaying face.
Jehal’s face contorted at this sight to a bizarre grimace of disgust and
fear.
“When will we reach Âlaburg?” Joklin asked a Vonnyen officer, as if
the conversation with Jehal had not taken place.
“In two days, we will be at the gates of that cursed university.”

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OceanofPDF.com
 Lost in a Dream

T he third day under the mountain brought nothing new for Bryn apart
from good dwarf food, which Filixx conjured up in his mother’s
house. After two days of futile attempts to find an exit, they had
given up. Now the friends spent their time in Filixx’s house, where they
practiced magic. Filixx and Morlâ enjoyed the fact that they had full energy
at their disposal again, and the dwarf in particular made great progress. Or
they drank Mäerñ in The Moldy Inn. Bryn didn’t dare admit that he
couldn’t bear to drink the stuff anymore. Filixx also seemed to have had
enough—he had observed the dwarf-elf secretly putting water into his mug
instead of the fermented yak milk. But that didn’t stop him from toasting his
friends afterwards. Morlâ, however, seemed to have really gotten a taste for
it. After several steins, their dwarf friend usually put his head on the table in
the small inn and began to snore. Today he had made it to Filixx’s house on
his own two feet. Bryn looked over at his friend with a smile. The dwarf
was snoring like a saw. In their shared room, this background noise had
never bothered Bryn, but here he could never fall asleep. I know why, he
admitted to himself that night. Bryn’s heart beat faster and his mouth went
dry. It wasn’t the snoring that was keeping him up. He just wanted to be
alone. Alone with Drena. His thoughts turned constantly around plans to
help her escape Fog Island so they could be together.
Bryn cautiously rose from the worn, dusty sofa that Filixx had prepared
for him as a bed. The old relic creaked loudly when he got up and threw off
his blanket. Morlâ didn’t wake up. He turned over in his sleep and let out a
strange snarling sound, which made Bryn grin. The Samuusa was right. He
quickly left the room. As Bryn stepped out of the house into the murky,
greenish blue darkness of Falyn, he took a deep breath. It was cooler out
here, but the air tasted stale and scratched his throat. So very different from
the surface, where the crisp air could make everything fresh and new. I
don’t want to stay down here forever, he thought more and more often, even
though it had only been three days. Bryn unconsciously rolled his shoulders
to drive out his discomfort. When he thought about the fact that millions of
tons of rock hung over his head and there was really no way to leave this
place, his carefully suppressed claustrophobia reared its head again. On his
first visit under the mountain, he had hardly felt it. Back then, I could have
walked to the surface every day if I had felt like it. That was the difference,
even if Bryn had never made use of this possibility. But it’s pointless to
drive yourself so crazy. Bryn stretched to drive out the stiffness from lying
on the uncomfortable sofa for so long. He saw a mystical blue glow in the
distance. The last magical source. Suddenly, something warm touched his
leg. Aska. “Well, hello there, my friend,” Bryn whispered, so as not to wake
the others. “What are you up to? Catching a few cave mice or some Gnarf
worms?” He ran his hand gently through the thick, soft fur of the snow fox.
Aska enjoyed the caresses for a while, then he left to organize his
supper.
Bryn watched him until he disappeared from view in the underground
darkness. “Now I’m even more awake than before,” he scolded himself.
The nights ended too quickly. Bryn now had to sleep to get to Drena. She
was waiting for him and relied on his help with her escape plans. He was
consumed with passion for his beloved. They were like two people dying of
thirst who were now drinking their fill of a love that had been denied them
for so long. Bryn got goosebumps when he thought about the last few
nights. On the one hand, he felt wonderful, but on the other, he felt anxious,
because he still did not know how to help Drena escape her prison. He
walked toward the simple shed behind the house, which had been serving as
his bed for the past few nights. He had managed to convince his friends that
he was only sleeping there because Morlâ snored so loudly after his Mäerñ
binges. Filixx, who had discovered him that morning, looked at him
skeptically and knowingly. After a drunk Bryn had confessed in the inn that
he was still visiting Drena in his dreams, Filixx had made him promise that
he would avoid traveling to Fog Island again. Filixx was convinced that
Bryn was putting himself and Drena in great danger. I have to wake up
before the others so I can sneak back inside, Bryn decided with a guilty
conscience from lying to his friend. When Bryn slipped into the
meticulously clean shed, he sat against the wall made of coarse planks and
covered himself with a blanket. After a few minutes, he had fallen asleep.

“D o you know how handsome you are?” said Drena, letting her finger
circle dreamily on Bryn’s bare chest.
Bryn turned to his lover, lowered the hand-drawn map, and smiled
broadly. The light of the waning moon made his grin shine. “I take that as a
huge compliment from the most beautiful creature on Razuclan,” Bryn
replied, rising slightly, and pushing aside a wave of Drena’s dark hair to
kiss her passionately. “But I think it’s time to try to get to the water unseen.
I think our only option is to steal a boat to cross the sea to Razuclan.”
“And I’ve already told you that I don’t think we can steer a boat on our
own. The sea looks the same in all directions—we would probably be lost
on the water for all eternity.”
“That wouldn’t be so bad with you,” Bryn said, winking at Drena.
“But today might be our best opportunity. Your aunt is heading to
Razuclan. I overheard them—they want to bring those terrible bombs they
stole in the Sealands to the coast.”
“What?” Bryn shot up. “Where exactly do they want to take them? Did
you hear that?”
Drena nodded. “To some kind of dwarf cliffs.”
Bryn’s stomach turned into a lump of ice. He could only think of one
area she could mean. “I might not be able to return. You have to get away
from here immediately!”
The dark-haired young woman nodded and pulled the blanket up to her
chin, as if she were suddenly cold. “There’s nothing I want more,” she said,
pressing Bryn’s hand firmly to her chest.
“Especially since my friends are becoming more and more suspicious.
Filixx suspects something, I think. He’s convinced that it’s dangerous for us
to meet like this.”
“You still have no idea how I can get out of here?” Drena looked up
desperately at Bryn.
“Not yet, but we—” Loud footsteps interrupted him.
The two lovers looked into each other’s eyes in fear.
“I’m sure they’ll move on like last time,” Drena whispered.
 Suddenly, a female voice that seemed vaguely familiar to Bryn shouted,
“He’s in there with her. Don’t waste time knocking, just kick in the door!”
Bryn shot up and looked around in panic. He suddenly realized that he
had no idea how to leave this dream world. Every other time, he had just
fallen asleep next to Drena and woken up the next morning with his friends.
We’ve been too careless. If they find me here, they will kill Drena.
Someone was bashing on the door. But it held. Drena jumped up and
shoved a chair under the handle.
“Open up, girl, if you value your life. I know who’s in there with you,”
shouted a woman, who then laughed spitefully.
“It’s Caoimhe,” Drena whispered.
A massive body crashed against the door. Plaster fell to the floor from
the hinges and the chair creaked loudly.
The door can't withstand much more, Bryn realized. He rushed to Drena
and gave her a kiss. “I’ll come to get you! Somehow! I promise!” He ran
with his things to the open window. Completely out of options, he simply
threw his clothes outside. Bryn heard wood splintering behind him. Drena
screamed. Without turning around again, he jumped out of the window into
the roaring, black sea.

“O hh ,” Morlâ lamented, holding his head. “That last Mäerñ must have
been bad.” Moaning, he rose and walked to the front door, swaying slightly
and stumbling into the furniture. The toilet was in the courtyard of the small
property. He slammed into the wall twice before he found the door. He
didn’t even notice that he had knocked an oil painting depicting a small
Filixx on a mule from the wall.

M orlâ let himself fall onto the roughly hewn hole. A small stream ran
under the small wooden house, which reliably transported the waste away.
This sound made Morlâ thirsty. He thought about hiking upstream to take a
long drink. After relieving himself, Morlâ grabbed his nightgown and left
the outhouse. He looked up the stream for a moment, but then reason
prevailed. I’ll just wake up Filixx and ask him to give me a drink, thought
the dwarf with a grin. After all, he is our host—day or night. A bit surer on
his feet, if still a little swaying, he went back to the house. Just before he
reached the door, he heard a loud splash, as if someone had dumped a
bucket of water in the yard. Morlâ froze. His head was spinning. What was
that? he wondered. No one else is here but us. Maybe the Samuusa fell in
the toilet. Morlâ grinned spitefully at this thought. Suddenly, a rattling
broke through the night. It sounded to the dwarf as if something had fallen
to the ground. He couldn’t really place the sound. I’m probably just drunk.
Again, he heard something fall to the ground. This time he was able to
identify the direction. The sound was clearly coming from the small shed.
“Bryn and Filixx, if this is your idea of a joke, I don’t think it's funny! I’m
thirsty and I have a splitting headache, so just leave me alone.” Only the
silence of the empty cave answered him. I’ll show them, he decided,
walking toward the small hut used to store garden tools and firewood.
Before finally arriving at the shed, he managed to both step right into the
stream and hit his head on a pole. He quickly threw open the door and
shouted, “Gotcha!” But to his surprise, he discovered only Bryn lying on
the floor of the murky room, naked and wet, flailing his arms and legs.

T he air was slowly being squeezed out of Bryn’s lungs as he sunk

deeper into the ice-cold waters of the sea. He had expected to be able to fly
after jumping out of the window, as he had done every other time he had
visited the dark island fortress. That he would plummet down the rugged
castle wall unchecked and plunge into the water was beyond his
imagination. Even worse, he was now sinking deeper and deeper. He had
fallen from a great height and his own weight was dragging him into the
dark waters. In a panic, he thrashed his hands and feet to get back to the
surface of the water.

“B ryn ? Bryn, what on earth are you doing?” Morlâ asked his best friend,
perplexed. The ground under his roommate was soaking wet. Why was he
lying out here naked in the middle of the night? Morlâ shook him gently,
but Bryn did not react at all. He just continued to wave around his arms and
legs. If Morlâ hadn’t known better, it looked like his roommate was trying
to swim. Flummoxed, the dwarf did the only thing he could think of,
“Filixx! Fiiillliiixx! We need your help!”
A moment later, Filixx had joined his two friends dressed in a white cap
and a sweeping nightgown. Greenish flames played around his forearms,
and he had a hatchet in his hand. When he saw the strange situation in the
shed, he dropped his weapon to the ground. “What’s going on here?” he
shouted in a voice scratchy from sleep.
“I have no idea,” Morlâ lamented. “I found Bryn here like this. You
have to help him. He’s hardly moving anymore, and his lips have turned
blue. He’s stopped breathing.”

B ryn was running out of strength. The cold of the roaring sea robbed him
of all energy. Nevertheless, he continued to struggle for the surface. When
he tried to enter the realm to do magic, he discovered that either the realm
didn’t exist here, or he couldn’t reach it from his dreams. Bryn thrashed his
arms more and more uncontrollably to get to the surface.

F ilixx went to his knees and placed his hands on Bryn’s temples. After a
moment, he murmured, “I thought that was it.”
“What? What were you thinking? What’s wrong with him and how can
we help him?” urged Morlâ.
"He’s in his dream world again and something bad must have happened.
I suspected he might still be visiting Drena, even though he promised me he
wouldn’t. He lied to me.”
Bryn suddenly threw out his arms so hard that he knocked Filixx over.
He opened his mouth as if he wanted to take a deep breath. Without
inhaling. He looked like a fish on dry land. A moment later, Bryn went still
and his face turned white. His lips changed color to a deep purple.
“Help him!” shouted Morlâ in panic and shook Bryn.
“I don’t know how,” replied Filixx, who had put his hands back on
Bryn’s temples in desperation. “I’m not a prophet. I can’t travel to where he
is. Not to mention bring him back.”
B ryn opened his mouth and tried to breathe in against all reason. Cold,
salty water filled his throat and lungs. Suddenly, a calmness overcame him
and he let himself sink to the deep black seabed.

“H e ’ s still not breathing and now he doesn’t even have a heartbeat!”

Morlâ screamed. “Filixx, please help him! Bryn is dying!” The dwarf
sobbed like a child.
Filixx wrapped Bryn’s body in a cocoon of green magic. But it didn’t
help. Their friend did not come back to life. Finally, the dwarf-elf hit him in
the chest with his fists, but even this proved pointless.
Morlâ howled in anguish. He took Bryn’s hand. Suddenly, he heard a
light buzz, felt a slight gust of wind in his ear and saw a long, yellowish
glow of light from the corner of his eye.
Filixx blinked away his tears and saw the little Samuusa. She sat on
Bryn’s head, right between his eyes, and immediately became transparent.
Her small wings hung dripping wet on her delicate body.

A t the moment he let go, Bryn saw all his friends razor-sharp before his
inner eye. He saw Drena’s beautiful features. Heard Morlâ’s mischievous
laughter. Glimpsed Filixx’s clever eyes, Ûlyėr’s coarse but kind face,
Gerald’s gray beard. I loved with all my heart and had real friends in life.
Bryn didn’t see the yellow swish of light that suddenly shot down to
him from above, leaving a trail of tiny bubbles in the water. He also didn’t
notice the Samuusa pulling him up by the ear.

“H e ’ s drying out ,” Morlâ exclaimed excitedly. “Look!” He pointed to

Bryn’s naked body, which was covered only by a thin, wet film.
“Yes,” Filixx replied, voice breaking. “Let’s hope that’s a good sign.”
“Why is his ear suddenly so red?” wondered his dwarf friend.
A light giggle sounded. The Samuusa was still sitting on Bryn’s head.
Very quietly, as if it came from very far away, they heard her high voice,
“Wake him up! Wake him up!”
“But how? We’ve already tried everything,” Filixx whimpered.
 Morlâ wiped off his tears with the hem of his nightgown. He didn’t care
that this just made the horrible scene clearer. “Maybe the way he always
wakes me up when we’re on the road.” The dwarf went to his friend and
rudely kicked him in the side.
A few seconds later, Bryn reared up and vomited a large torrent of
greenish water as well as the leftovers of his dinner.

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 23

OceanofPDF.com
 The Orc Council

T herefore, I propose that we secure our borders, not letting anyone in

or out. No orc should be allowed to join the armies of the other
nations,” said the gray-skinned orc leader as he raised his prosthetic
arm. This consisted of a dangerous-looking, shiny hook that had apparently
simply been driven into his stump.
Numerous other clan chiefs, who were with him in the huge open stone
circle where the traditional orc council took place, signaled their approval
by stomping with their left feet and calling out ‘hear, hear!’ in their
rumbling language.
Ñokelä, who was closest to Ûlyėr, looked at him and rolled his eyes.
Ûlyėr sat on a pedestal in a throne-like chair made of coarse, black stone
blocks, towering over all those present. His throne did not prevent the snow
from slowly covering him, as well as all the others present. It had been a
custom for thousands of years for councils to take place in the open air—
whether it was snowing or not. “I warned you that the clan chief of the
North would push for this. They’ve been isolated from all other peoples for
too long to be interested in their fate. And I don’t think they’re aware of the
significance of this threat,” the former Âlaburg Combat Master whispered.
Ûlyėr signaled that he had heard his closest advisor and confidant by
gently tilting his mighty skull. Ûlyėr never expected that he would develop
such a good relationship with the strict Ñokelä. It was still strange that his
Master addressed him so formally and always bowed to him when they met.
The experienced warrior helped Ûlyėr to govern his people well. Ûlyėr had
never lived among the orcs, had not grown up and been trained with the
youth, and had no clan of his own to support him. Ñokelä helped Ûlyėr
understand the countless unwritten laws, customs, rituals, and rules that so
strongly determined the society of the orcs. Without Ñokelä’s help, he
would have made many more mistakes and would certainly have insulted
numerous orc leaders, which would have ended in life-or-death duels.
“Highly revered GünDa’kin, clan leaders, warriors,” another orc began.
“We from the southern clans bring bad news. The kingdoms of dwarves and
humans have been invaded. Thousands have come ashore and are
destroying everything. The two nations have no chance against the strength
of the decaying horde …”
“Weaklings,” hissed a few orcs who had gathered around the speaker.
The black-green orc from the south went on. “It’s not weakness or
cowardice that causes our dwarf and human friends to retreat, but the sheer
numerical superiority of the enemy. They have not yet reached the Arell
Mountains, but if we do not come to the aid of the dwarves and humans,
then we will be the next to be swept away by this wave. The mountains will
not stop them this time either.”
“Never! We are orcs!” shouted some rather squat, bowlegged warriors.
“Nobody can defeat us! Only cowards talk like that!”
The orc’s supporters from the south tensed their muscles and
aggressively walked in the direction of their brothers swinging swords,
spears, clubs, axes, and all sorts of other murderous weapons lightly in their
clawed hands. The Northerners slipped sharp daggers from their forearm
sheaths and loosened slings from their belts. One even kicked over a large
ceremonial fire bowl.
Ñokelä then sprang cat-like onto one of the smaller boulders in the ring
of stone and roared aggressively from his perch, “Don’t you dare, you dirty
scum! You’re in the sacred circle of the clan council. Any bloodshed here
would provoke the gods to rain down an eternal curse. And this in the
presence of your GünDa’kin? The first we’ve had in centuries.”
They all stopped and looked in Ñokelä’s direction. But their faces were
still grim, and they had not lowered their weapons an inch.
Ûlyėr refused to even look in the direction of the troublemakers, but
pretended that none of this was his business. Exactly what Ñokelä had
taught him. He only cleared his throat quietly and then pointed a clawed
finger at the leader of the southern orcs. Immediately, the rabble-rousers
bowed to him and left the others in peace.
 The warrior Ûlyėr had pointed at took the floor again, “We are inferior
to this new enemy not because they are stronger than us, but because they
use our power.” The orc took a short pause to let his words sink in, and then
slowly rotated in a circle so he could look into all the sparkling yellow
predator eyes around him. “Every orc who falls under the blades and claws
of that rotten, festering host is resurrected by them and joins their army. Our
losses make them stronger. The Vonnyen steal our strength and are getting
closer with each passing day. We can still decide where and when to face
them.”
Excited rumbling, hissing, and growling.
Ûlyėr gently tapped his black breastplate three times. It was so
inconspicuous that no one saw it. He had agreed on this secret signal with
Ñokelä.
“The GünDa’kin has heard enough. The council is over for today!”
exclaimed the Master loudly.
Immediately all those present turned to Ûlyėr and bared their throats to
him.
Ûlyėr rose with a metallic clink of his dark armor and walked through
the crowd without giving any of the chiefs a single glance. Another one of
the ancient rules of his people, who only appreciated displays of strength
and superiority.

“C ome in , Z kol ,” Ñokelä welcomed the visitor, and the orc from the South
entered the black tent guarded by warriors.
Ûlyėr sat on a simple wooden stool and took off his leg armor. This was
not easy for him, as he could not bend his injured leg properly; it was
difficult to get to the numerous cords and buckles. Accepting help for this
was out of the question.
Zkol immediately went to his knees and threw back his head, exposing
his neck.
Ûlyėr, who had become accustomed to this exaggerated greeting, said
simply, “Rise, Zkol. You were an honor to your clan today before the
council. Would you like a cup of blood wine?” Ûlyėr knew exactly what the
answer to this ceremonial question was.
“No, honored GünDa’kin.”
 Ûlyėr wasn't even sure if he had any of this drink in his expansive tent,
rattling in the freezing wind. After all, every one of his visitors had
declined. Nevertheless, Ñokelä insisted that he offer this to anyone to whom
he granted an audience. “Finally,” murmured Ûlyėr as the black leg armor
clattered to the floor. He saw the disapproving look Ñokelä directed at him
with his one yellow eye at the disrespectful handling of the sacred armor.
But he didn’t care today. For three days he had been listening to the clan
leaders debate about whether the orcs should intervene in the war or hide
behind the Arell Mountains. If it were up to him, Ûlyėr would prefer to go
into battle together with his three friends, as always. He missed Bryn and
Filixx very much and even Morlâ a bit. Unconsciously, Ûlyėr had to smile.
Or showed more teeth. His new position, unfortunately, forbade him such
selfish motives and decisions. He was now responsible for the lives of
hundreds of thousands of orcs and each of his decisions had to be weighed
carefully, especially when it came to taking up arms. “Zkol,” he now turned
directly to his counterpart, “you have news from the other side of the
mountains. Tell me exactly what you heard from the South. How are the
humans and dwarves faring?”
The tall, broad-shouldered warrior did not seem to be much older than
Ûlyėr. He must have been a great hero of his clan if he was allowed to
attend the council of chiefs as a representative of his tribe at such a young
age. He reported confidently, “Our scouts in the mountains have gone deep
into the valleys of the humans and high into the mountains of the dwarves.
One village after another has been lost. Entire regions have been laid to
waste. However, there is also a rumor that some of them have willingly
joined the enemy.”
Ûlyėr waved his hand to encourage the young fighter to continue to
speak.
“We know little about the dwarves. They can hardly be seen above the
ground. They’re probably hiding in their caves. We’ve only heard
something from the Wañaglinĝ Mountains …”
Ûlyėr straightened up. Bryn, Morlâ, and Filixx wanted to go there. A
rarely felt feeling flooded him at that moment—fear. He unconsciously
stretched out his bad leg. The sharp pain calmed him down again.
“… we heard that the caves had been evacuated, and that all the
dwarves had fled to a resistance group called the Waramen.”
 “Why?” Ñokelä, who now emerged from the shadows behind the large
fire bowl, asked.
“Nobody knows, battle master. We only heard that it was all organized
and carried out by something called the Order of Âlaburg. No one could tell
us anything more.” He rubbed his left horn in embarrassment.
“Just say what you have to say, Zkol,” Ûlyėr insisted.
“I hope that it’s not too presumptuous, Lord, and I’m not speaking in the
name of my clan, but only for myself and some of my warriors …” He
paused and looked to Ñokelä for help, but the old Combat Master did not
react. “We would like to move south and join the Order of Âlaburg in the
fight against the hordes of the dark sorceress,” he finally found the courage
to say.
Brave, Ûlyėr thought, but he was not allowed to make a decision so
quickly. “Thank you for your honesty and directness, Zkol. You are an
honor to your clan.”
Ñokelä nudged the visitor out of the tent with slight pressure on his
back. When he re-entered, he had snow on his shoulders. “And? What do
you think?” he asked Ûlyėr.
“I don’t know. Zkol seems to be a true warrior. He doesn’t want to hide
in the northern expanse of Ĕægÿ until the war is over. What advice would
you give me?”
“First, withdraw our ambassador from the Council of the Seven. That
the Driany Order is not responding to this obvious threat seems to be strong
evidence that humans, or at least some of them, have switched sides.
Obviously, that institution is no longer capable of action and has lost our
trust. We should look for new allies. Maybe that can be this Order of
Âlaburg. Even though it seems to be just a few young students.”
“I’m also just a young student!”
“I haven’t forgotten that, highly revered GünDa’kin,” replied Âlaburg’s
Combat Master, bowing with an orc grin.
“Maybe we should both do combat training again, so you don’t get
rusty. I trained a lot with Master Gerald. He defeated you with a broom, if I
remember correctly, my dear Master,” Ûlyėr said. It was nice to be able to
banter a bit with someone. Ûlyėr thought for a while about this proposal. It
sounded reasonable. “Ñokelä, inform our ambassador. Order him to come
back for consultations …”
 “… and, of course, to pay tribute to his GünDa’kin personally,” his
mentor added.
Ûlyėr waved his hand, annoyed.
The one-eyed orc left the tent.
Ûlyėr rose from his stool and went to the fire bowl. He looked into the
crackling embers. The smoke burned his eyes, but he ignored it. He tried to
sort out his thoughts. Finally, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
After a while, he opened them again and looked at the back of his left hand.
Again, nothing. The magic has disappeared for good. If even one other orc
finds out, I’m dead.

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OceanofPDF.com
 In the Heart of the Enemy

O nce again, dark salt water shot from Bryn’s throat. Morlâ patted
him awkwardly on the shoulder. Bryn didn’t care that he was
naked. His rescue had come at literally the last second and he was
overjoyed to be alive at all. He really was alive, and that meant there was a
chance of seeing Drena again. His first words were, “We have to save
Drena! Now!”
“Yeah, yeah,” Morlâ said, as if Bryn wasn’t quite back to his right mind
yet. “Right now, though, let’s save my eyes and put some clothes on you.”
Just then, Filixx stepped into the dim shed and threw Bryn a brown
blanket of yak wool.
Shivering, Bryn put it on thankfully. Only now did he realize how cold
he was. With rattling teeth, he said defiantly, “I’m serious, we have to help
Drena! She’s in mortal danger. Now even more so since my aunt discovered
me. We’re in trouble too, Drena told me—”
“You put her in this position with your visits!” Filixx interrupted
harshly. “Even though you promised me you wouldn’t.”
Bryn turned bright red. He’s right, he realized.
“It would be insane to go to her again now. Hopefully you realize now
that the dark sorceress was using Drena as bait to get ahold of you. You
would be running straight into her arms. Besides, we’re stuck in these
caves, as you know, oh great prophet,” Morlâ said with a crooked grin. His
serious look didn’t quite match his cheerful expression.
Obviously, his friends had talked about the situation during Bryn’s
absence and had decided how to confront their human friend. Bryn took a
breath to reply, but again Filixx interrupted him.
 “I think it would be best if you first tell us what exactly happened
tonight. Let’s go back to the house, though. The spiders and mice here in
the shed are not such pleasant guests.”

M orlâ had stoked a large fire in the open fireplace, which heated up the
parlor pleasantly.
Bryn sat down gratefully in front of it. The warmth dispelled the cold
whiff of death that was still in his bones. I almost died today. Actually, I was
already dead, he realized when he remembered how Drena and his friends
had appeared to him when his mind thought the end had come. Bryn went
ice cold at this thought. He pulled the scratchy yak wool blanket tighter
around his shoulders.
Filixx fiddled around in the small kitchen and then came back with a
steaming clay jug, which he handed to Bryn with an encouraging smile.
Bryn recognized the biting smell from the vessel right away. A
hideously bitter herbal decoction. Filixx had given him this nasty brew on
his last visit, after he had injured himself while practicing reading the rocks.
Bryn was pretty sure that the disgusting taste of the dwarf brew only
distracted him from his pain and that this was its main healing effect. But he
did not want to upset his overweight friend even more, so he accepted the
jug with a grateful nod and blew away the steam.
“Okay, let’s hear it,” Morlâ said as he let himself fall onto his bed. “Tell
us absolutely everything. Not only how you almost drowned, but more
importantly what happened before that.” The dwarf winked and smiled at
his friend.
Filixx and the dwarf had apparently already forgiven him. Bryn was
grateful that he could rely on his friends, even if he had made a terrible
mistake. Sneaking away to be with Drena every night had almost been fatal.
He had underestimated Caoimhe. So, he began to report what had
happened.

“… and I’m still not exactly sure what saved me and brought me back in
the end.” Bryn ended his story and rubbed his left ear, which ached terribly.
 “She saved you, of course. We would never have been able to do that,”
Filixx replied succinctly, pointing to little Samuusa, who was sitting on the
mantelpiece, letting her tiny feet dangle. She stared apathetically into the
void.
Bryn stood up ponderously and ran over to her. He went to his knees to
be at the same height as the fairy, then kissed her gently. Bryn knew
instinctively that this was the right thing to do. A tiny, colorful, magical
spark jumped between the two so unequal beings as his lips gently touched
her cool, bright white skin.
The Samuusa flew giggling into the air and fluttered directly at Bryn’s
eye level. She looked at him piercingly with her green, almond-shaped
eyes. “Take better care of yourself, Bryn! Without you, Razuclan would
already be lost. More hope than ever rests on your shoulders.” After this
typical and, as always, mysteriously vague message, she pulled on Bryn’s
tender ear again and flew giggling into the artificial night of the dwarf
kingdom.
“Well, if you don't have any more details, then we can go back to bed,”
Morlâ said, yawning violently. “We have a lot to do tomorrow. Oh, that’s
right,” he slapped his forehead, “we don't. And I don't like to admit it, but
I’m starting to get sick of Mäerñ. Sorry guys. You’ll have to drink without
me from now on. I’ll just hibernate the war away.” He gently pushed Filixx
off the edge of the sofa, pulled up his blanket, and turned over.
Filixx sat down on the carpet and looked penetratingly at Bryn, who had
slumped again in front of the crackling fireplace. “Do you think what Drena
heard from Caoimhe is the truth? What’s your feeling? Did your aunt
deliberately feed her false information to confuse her, or is the enemy really
on their way here with Kamarkegel?”
Bryn nodded and bravely took a sip of his hideous drink.
“There’s only one way to find out. Since we can’t leave the mountain
directly, we have to go to Fog Island ourselves to learn more about the plans
of our enemies. If we happen to save your Drena, then that would be a nice
side effect,” the dwarf-elf ended with a wink.
Bryn looked up gratefully to Filixx. “Yes! We have to save Drena. Right
away! That’s the most important thing to me. I’m the only reason she’s in
such danger and has had to endure so much suffering. And now she’s at
even more at risk. By now they’ve probably found out that we know about
their secret invasion plans.”
 “You realize that this could be a trap, don’t you? Your aunt knows you
were there, and she’ll expect you to return. Drena is your one weakness.”
“I know,” Bryn whispered resignedly.
“But we still have to try to get Drena out of there. We also need to learn
more about their invasion plans. Razuclan’s survival depends on it. But we
need to be extremely careful. At the first sign of a trap, we immediately
disappear. With Drena or without. That’s my one condition,” Filixx said
firmly. “Do you promise me that and,” Filixx cleared his throat, “will you
stick to your promise this time?”
Bryn got up, put his hands on his friend’s shoulder and looked straight
into his eyes. “I swear on my mother’s life.”
Morlâ sat up again, now wide awake. “Finally, we can do something.
What should we do? When can we start? How can I help? My magic isn’t
much good right now,” Bryn’s former roommate peppered them with
questions with a crooked grin. “I understand. I would do the same for
Gwendolin,” he ended with a serious and longing expression.

W ithin a few hours , the friends had made a plan. The problem, however,
was that the little Samuusa, who had accompanied them since their
departure, played a leading role.
“Ask her already!” Morlâ urged Bryn, pushing him toward the
Samuusa, who was fast asleep in Aska’s thick fur.
“Be quiet. If we wake her up too abruptly, she may be in a bad mood.”
Bryn raised his hand to gently nudge the little fairy when she suddenly
opened her green eyes and seemed to look directly into his heart.
Aska also awoke. But when he noticed who it was, the snow fox
smacked his lips and closed his eyes again.
The Samuusa, however, seemed to be completely awake, as if she had
not been sleeping at all. She gently rose into the air with a shimmering
beating of her transparent wings. “What can I do for you, gentlemen?” she
asked in an overly pompous tone. She fluttered in a circle from one to the
other, which made the friends a little dizzy, and then sat cross-legged in the
middle of the dining table. “Well, out with it! I know you’re not shy,” she
said to Bryn and his friends with a friendly giggle in her voice.
Morlâ nudged Bryn slightly with his elbow.
 “Aha,” said the Samuusa immediately, pointing her tiny finger at Bryn.
“The Seer of Colors is afraid. Who would have expected that from
Razuclan’s most powerful gifted one?”
Bryn frowned briefly as she called him this, but a second later his
thoughts were back on their mission. He bowed before he started talking.
Morlâ and Filixx followed suit.
The Samuusa acknowledged this with a wide smile.
“We need your help, dear Samuusa.”
The fairy giggled her happy laugh. “That’s what I thought. But
remember, if I help you, all Samuusen will be helping you.” Again, one of
those mysterious hints that the little fairy creatures loved and that he
couldn’t make any sense of.
Bryn was a little uncomfortable asking for help, but time was running
out for him, so he began, “We need you to take the three of us to Fog Island
so we can save Drena.”
The Samuusa said nothing.
Morlâ idiotically winked at her several times, as if he could persuade
her this way.
“Why do you think I can do that?” the fairy asked, surprising Bryn. He
had expected her to immediately reject him or at least give him a lecture,
because his request would be far too dangerous.
Stuttering, he replied, “Well … well, because you brought me back last
night. Without you, I would have drowned.”
“Oh, that’s why!” She laughed exuberantly, as if he had made a good
joke. Instantly, everyone felt better. The tense mood evaporated. “You saved
yourself. I just showed you the way. Well, maybe I did save you, but I got
the power from you. And a little bit of your ear.” She winked teasingly at
Bryn, who immediately rubbed his still rather red ear.
“I don’t understand,” Filixx said.
“Our clever little Filixx doesn’t understand something? Don’t let Tejal
know, otherwise she won’t make you her successor.”
Filixx briefly raised his eyebrows after this cryptic hint, but he knew the
Samuusen well enough by now to understand when it was better to just
remain silent.
“Well, then I’ll explain it to you again. I wonder how many more times I
have to do this. Brrryyynnn,” she enunciated the name, “is the Seer of
Colors. The last and only on Razuclan. But apparently, he himself still
hasn’t understood that properly.”
Everyone looked at the Samuusa.
Filixx was the first to break the silence, “Does that mean you used his
powers to travel to Fog Island to save him? Because he can do it, that
means you can do it as well?”
The fairy laughed and tapped her head with her index finger. “You know
almost everything, my good Filixx. Bryn just needs to share his energy.
Everyone who partakes has his powers.”
“And what happens if he doesn’t wake up again?” asked Morlâ
skeptically and, as always, focused on the essentials. “I hate water!”
“Don’t let Gertrude hear that,” the Samuusa teased, drumming her tiny
fist on the oiled oak table with laughter.
Morlâ blushed a little. No one had forgotten how the manatee he later
christened Gertrude had wanted to adopt him as her calf. She had almost
drowned the dwarf in the Sealands. This episode had not exactly increased
his already low enthusiasm for water.
“I’d suggest that Bryn simply not fall asleep. It might be too dangerous
if he goes to sleep again.
The three friends looked at each other with questioning looks.
“So can I travel to other places outside of my dreams?” Bryn asked.
But the time for questions was obviously over. The fairy lifted the lid of
the porcelain sweets bowl and climbed inside. She then threw candy out
onto the table. Suddenly, she stuck her head out. Her hair was twinkling
with sugar crystals. “I refuse to go to that cruel place again. And if you want
to hear my advice, even though I know you won’t take it, you shouldn’t go
there either!”

T he friends had retreated to Filixx’s room. Morlâ poked around the

small room with interest. It was like a time capsule showing Filixx as a
child. He was waving around a worn, one-eyed yak stuffed animal, which
had been lying on Filixx’s very wide bed.
“And now?” asked Bryn uncertainly.
Morlâ carelessly threw the stuffed yak aside, which earned him a stern
look from Filixx, and said, “You take us to Drena. You just need to share
your powers with us—that’s what she said. The way I understood it, you
direct realm energy to us, think about Fog Island, and there we are. I’m
ready.” The dwarf adjusted his weapon belt. His chain mail rang slightly.
They all had their armor on and weapons with them. Even Filixx was
equipped with a polished wooden staff and wore a steel helmet with nose
protection. Since Bryn had told his friends that he couldn’t do magic in his
visions, this seemed to them to be a necessary precaution, although they
hoped to lead Drena back unseen.
“It could really be that simple,” Filixx encouraged his human friend.
“And then you just take your beloved Drena with you again. You wrap her
in magical energy, and she can travel with us. If the Samuusa says you can
do it, you can do it. Those little fairies are magical beings, and their
knowledge of magic is far more extensive than we can even imagine.”
“If you had just known this earlier, you could have rescued her weeks
ago,” Morlâ interjected insensitively, earning him another disapproving
look from Filixx.
Bryn sat down on Filixx’s amazingly soft bed—no comparison to his
musty couch—and sighed loudly. A lot of things were going through his
head at the same time, but one thought displaced all the others—his
panicked fear for Drena. “All right, let’s give it a try. But I think it’s better if
you sit down with me, so you don’t crush me if I do fall asleep,” he said
with a tortured smile, patting on the mattress. “After all, I’ve never tried to
travel to another place with magic before.”
His friends sat down next to him. Without thinking about it, he grabbed
their hands. Filixx’s hand felt soft and slightly moist. Morlâ’s knobby
fingers were rather rough. At the same moment, Bryn entered the realm.
The colors that dominated the magical in-between world immediately
rushed to him, as if they had been waiting for Bryn to finally return. As it
had been since they reached the underground home of his friends, blue was
the predominant color, but yellow and red were also there. They mixed with
the blue to create fascinating shades. Bryn pulled a broad, steady band of
this colorful mixture toward himself with a thought. The magic felt
wonderful. All fatigue fell away from him, and pure power flowed through
his body. The energy poured through his fingers to Filixx and Morlâ, who
began to glow. His dwarf friend was dark blue, and the dwarf-elf glowed
green. Bryn had let them both immerse themselves in his realm. Now his
friends had the same powers as he did.
 “That was easy,” said Morlâ, blue steam coming from his mouth. “Wow,
I can talk to you in the realm. Amazing!” The dwarf had a thin blue ribbon
around his neck like a scarf.
“I think you can do everything Bryn and I can do, and vice versa. We’re
now a magical fellowship.”
Bryn was still unsure how to transport himself and his friends to Fog
Island. But the words of the Samuusa echoed through his mind and gave
him courage. I am the Seer of Colors. She even called me Razuclan’s most
powerful wizard. I can do it! Bryn pictured Drena in his mind’s eye; saw
her cheeky smile and beautiful dark hair; thought of the energy and courage
she had shown so far. He could see the hope that shone in her dark brown
eyes when they had hatched her escape plans …

“I imagined a much more uncomfortable landing ,” Morlâ said as they

plopped onto Drena’s bed.
Filixx grinned. “This is probably the place Bryn remembers best.”
Bryn blushed slightly. But he had done it. They were still in the realm.
Being here with his friends felt a little different than when he came here in a
dream.
“Unbelievable,” said Filixx, looking at his fingers in fascination. “So,
the theory of Grand Master Zermaran is correct—in the realm there is no
time and no space, unlike in the normal world. That’s why we were able to
get here so quickly. The realm is always and everywhere. Even here, far out
to sea. Simply amazing. When we get back to Âlaburg, I’ll write an article
about this. This is a game changer for the fishing industry alone. This
means that the realm continues to exist even at sea, and—”
“She’s not here,” Bryn interrupted his friend’s scientific reflections. He
looked around the small room in panic.
“Where do you think she could be?” Morlâ asked quietly to give Bryn
something to think about.
Bryn pondered. “She once told me that she likes to be with the horses.”
“Mhh,” Filixx hummed, which sounded like a loud growling in the
realm. “Maybe that’s where she is. Or maybe she’s staying somewhere
else.” Although it was difficult in the tinny, metallic communication of the
realm to accommodate shades of color in language, it was clear what he
meant. She might be held captive in a prison cell or worse. “This could still
be a trap, even if your aunt hasn’t snapped it shut yet.”
“Filixx, please,” Bryn pleaded.
“Let’s look for her,” Morlâ suggested. “We can handle a few Vonnyen.”
Filixx groaned. “We’ve been putting our lives in danger for three
semesters now by underestimating the Vonnyen. But it’s always turned out
okay so far. Let’s look for your Drena. Maybe we’ll learn a little more about
your aunt’s plans during the search.”
Bryn grinned gratefully at the dwarf-elf. “All right,” Bryn said, looking
around the small room and sighing loudly. Colorful, magical smoke wafted
from his mouth. A thought came to him. Bryn lifted the mattress. “It’s still
here,” he rejoiced.
Morlâ looked at the yellow sheet of paper that he and Drena had turned
into a map with charcoal. “So that’s what you two were doing the whole
time here in bed?” he said disappointedly. “When this war is over, I have to
explain some things to you.”
Bryn punched his friend’s shoulder, which caused a flood of small
sparks to shower the room in the realm. “I’ll go first. On one of my last
visits, I was at the stables. I think I can get back there with the map.”
“What happens if we run into some Vonnyen or, even worse, your
aunt?” asked Filixx, starting to pulse a little green with excitement.
Bryn shrugged his shoulders, creating a colorful vortex. “I have no idea.
I don’t know the rules of the realm here any more than you do. Let’s just
hope we don’t run into anyone. We’ll be careful.” In the same breath, Bryn
pulled his dagger from the leather scabbard on his belt. Surprisingly, the
weapon was shunned by the magical colors and looked dark and dull here in
the in-between world of magic.
“Let’s go! We need to hurry. It’s cold here in the realm,” Morlâ urged
his friends.
When Bryn nodded, his head swept a rainbow of color back and forth.
An overzealous Morlâ immediately stormed toward the door. “I think
we should avoid the normal hallways,” he said with a wink, walking
directly at the rock wall next to the door in the real world. He smashed
against it with a bang. This was followed by some curses in the dwarf
language, which made Filixx blush visibly.
“Look at it positively, Morlâ. Now we know a rule of the realm here.
Walls are still walls,” Bryn said with a magically glowing grin as he
carefully opened the door. In front of them stretched a long hallway with a
whitewashed cross-vaulted ceiling. No one was to be seen. “Come on,”
whispered Bryn, who wasn’t sure if anyone outside the realm could hear
them. The bare hall stretched on forever. They passed numerous doors, but
fortunately none of them were open. Finally, they reached a narrow spiral
staircase with well-worn steps. Bryn studied Drena’s map and then ran
downstairs.
The stairs were also deserted.
“They’re all gone,” said Morlâ as they passed through the next hallway.
“Good to know.” This hall was significantly narrower than the one above it,
but also completely empty.
Filixx looked at Bryn questioningly, but he didn’t know what was going
on here either.
They continued to walk through the fortress and down more stairs. No
one stopped them. No beings, of whatever provenance, seemed to be on Fog
Island.
Finally, Bryn pushed open a wooden door and led the friends outside.
As soon as they left the building, the colors of the realm faded somewhat,
and a fine fog settled on the otherwise clear magical bands of energy. Bryn
didn't notice this, because his first glance fell on Drena, who was lying in
the middle of the courtyard and seemed to be sleeping. “There she is!”
exclaimed Bryn in panic as he saw her.
“Wait,” Filixx warned, “this has to be a trap.”
Bryn forced himself to take his friend’s warning seriously and stayed
where he was—reluctantly. He wouldn’t break a promise again.
“I can’t see anyone,” Morlâ said.
Suddenly, Bryn could taste sea salt in the air. Surprised, he turned to
Morlâ and Filixx. The dwarf-elf gasped loudly. Morlâ had a little snot under
his nose. It all looked much too normal. We’re not in the realm anymore, he
realized. Then he smelled something he never wanted to smell again—the
stench of decay.
“It is a trap. We have to run!” Filixx yelled shrilly. “You promised.”
We can’t escape from here if we’re not in the magical realm, Bryn
realized.
Just then, dozens of Vonnyen emerged from the dark corners of the
castle courtyard and surrounded the three friends.
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 The Landing

R ejoice, little sister, there is your beloved Razuclan. You always felt
more comfortable here than on the continent of your birth,” said
Caoimhe with a mean grin as she pointed over the ship’s rails toward
the cliffs rising in front of them.
Davina avoided her sister’s gaze. Her eyes were fixed on the rough seas
and the majestic green shimmering cliffs in the light of the rising sun, to
which their black-sailed ship was quickly headed.
“That brings back old memories, doesn’t it? He would certainly have
liked it here too. He liked the sea and the forest so much, almost like an elf.
I think he wished he were an elf, as many friends as he had in Elbendingen.
His dumb fellow students from Bond-of-Faith were jealous of him,
especially …”
“Don’t you dare talk about him!” Davina hissed at her twin sister,
gripping the railing until her knuckles went white. She still avoided looking
her sister in the face.
“About Ian?”
Bryn’s mother winced as if someone had slapped her in the face. “You
have no right to say his name!” Now Davina looked her sister right in the
eye. She shot her head forward like an aggressive bird and fixed Caoimhe
with her gaze.
Her twin sister took a step back and for a moment fear flared in her
eyes. A second later, however, she had restored her mask of arrogance and
countered snippily, “I have at least as much right as you do to use his
name.” Coquettishly, she brushed a strand of brown hair from her face,
blown there by the crisp early morning sea wind. “I was with him first and
—”
“—and then he quickly realized what a lousy character you have,”
Davina told her sister.
“You poisoned him against me!” cried Caoimhe hysterically, causing
several of the Vonnyen on the deck of the warship to look over.
Davina just shook her head sadly.
But her sister continued to work herself into a rage. “During your secret
meetings in the gardens, you turned his head. He couldn’t fall in love fast
enough with the mysterious and hidden Davina, whose stupid sister didn’t
notice anything. But I did notice it on the first evening when you came back
from him. His smell was all over you.” Bryn’s aunt sucked the salty sea air
through her nose, as if she could conjure up the smell in her memory again.
“It didn’t have to end like that,” whispered Davina now. She had
become quieter the louder her sister became. “If you had only ignored
Mother once. I know that you were also happy at Âlaburg. You,” she
cleared her throat, “we had real friends there. Not just people who were nice
to us out of fear, like at home.”
Caoimhe went silent. She squeezed her eyes into tight slits. Now she
was the one avoiding looking her sister in the face.
“We could have just stayed on Razuclan, but as always, you had to obey
Mother’s orders. Poor Melkin. He never did us any harm.”
“When I found out that you had stolen Ian, there was nothing left for
me,” Caoimhe defended herself lamely for the murder.
“Drop anchor!” croaked the huge Vonnyen standing at the wheel on the
foredeck of the ship.
They felt a gentle jerk, then the boat slowly turned sideways, so it was
parallel to the cliffs.
“What’s the plan for the rest of the fleet?” cried Caoimhe with a
commanding tone to the captain.
“They will land and create a beachhead for usss.”
Bryn’s aunt briefly squinted her eyes to transmit a mental command to
the rest of the ships.
A few minutes later, a medium-sized caravel swerved out of the attack
group of at least three dozen ships and headed directly toward the cliffs and
the narrow beach at their foot.
 Caoimhe watched the maneuver tensely. Nervously, she brushed a
strand of hair from her face several times.
“Will they go ashore with dinghies?” Bryn’s aunt shouted over the
captain’s shoulder.
“Yes, it’sss not deep enough here for the shipsss, even for the caravel,
but—”
A loud crash, followed by the sound of splintering wood, ended the fleet
leader’s sentence. Everyone looked in the direction of the narrow ship. It
was destroyed, as if a gigantic fist had smashed it to pieces. The bow was
torn open, and torrents of water penetrated the ship. The caravel
immediately began to sink. The stern went steeply upwards. The screeching
of the Vonnyen crew rang out as the boat went down. Numerous bodies
rolled around on the deck and went overboard. But no help came from the
other ships. Lifeboats were not launched, and no one made a sound. The
black fleet of undead watched emotionlessly as their comrades sank into the
water.
Davina smiled when she saw this setback to her mother and sister’s
plan.
“Interesting,” grinned Caoimhe. “What was that? Must have been a
magical protective wall, what else could have so much power? That means
we’re on the right track. The fourth source of energy must be very close.”
Even the leader of the Vonnyen fleet did not seem to be affected by the loss
of one of his ships and numerous warriors. “Nothing we didn’t expect. The
dwarves must have some old mountain spell that protects their rat holes.
Captain, load the trebuchet with the weapons from the Sealands!” she called
out harshly.
A few moments later, twelve powerful Vonnyen pushed three large,
wooden catapults onto the deck of the ship. Behind them came two more
undead with a long wooden box from the belly of the ship. It was so heavy
that they had to grab the carrier loops made of short hemp ropes with both
hands. The attack machines were quickly in position. One of the two porters
opened the nailed box with a rusty crowbar, took out a silver cone, and
carried it to the first weapon. The other two were also quickly loaded.
“On your ordersss, Massster,” shouted the captain.
Bryn’s aunt gave a slight wave of her hand. “By the way, I would advise
you to cast a Protection Spell if you don’t want to end up like that scum.
The magical radiation of the Kamarkegel should not be underestimated,”
she said to her sister. A second later she was wrapped in a shimmering red
cocoon.
The trebuchets were released one-by-one. With a loud whirring, the
throwing arms freed themselves and hurled their loads at high speed toward
the cliffs. Everyone on deck followed the trajectory of the projectiles
shining in the sun. Suddenly, the first one exploded with a blinding glare in
mid-flight. When the other two cones exploded at the same spot, it was
clear that they had impacted the invisible barrier.
“Should we shoot more?” the commander asked.
“No! I can’t imagine a spell that can withstand three Kamarkegel.
Whatever the dwarves threw together there is surely gone now. Throw a
boulder next.”
The Vonnyen diligently complied with this request and again loaded a
trebuchet. Hissing, the stone rose into the clear sky. It was tracing the same
trajectory as the cones. Unlike them, however, it continued and then hit the
water near the beach with a huge spray.
Caoimhe clapped her hands with joy and laughed like a girl. “Begin the
invasion! Bring the Kamarkegel to the source and destroy the last remnant
of magic on Razuclan! Kill anyone who tries to stop you!”

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 The Siege

T here must be thousands,” Tejal breathed with an anxious expression.

“Tens of thousands,” Gerald replied, without taking his gaze from
the swaying dark bodies, which stretched like a long, black dragon
through the Panra Valley approaching Âlaburg. The disgustingly sweet
smell of decay rose from the army of the undead. “Williams, they’re
coming. Get ready!” he shouted down from the wall.
The Knight of the Order raised his iron glove and shouted tactical
orders to his sworn brothers. The knights were the spearhead the storm
would hit if the Vonnyen army tried to climb the castle hill. At their back sat
Lekan Gate. The knights were their last defense.
“Toulin, are you ready?” cried Gerald, turning to look into the courtyard
where Toulin, Worin, and Lebos were standing in front of three huge
crossbow siege engines filled with long spears pointed directly at Lekan
Gate.
“We’re ready!” the old dwarf shouted back, patting a barrel containing
dozens more bolts for the catapults. Bryn would hardly have recognized the
leader of the Five Wise Ones. He was wearing a full suit of decorated armor
and was carrying a small, round shield. “Houlin and Kaneg are in the
university with the refugee soldiers and will be the last bastion to stop this
scum if we don’t hold them back. All other refugees are entrenched in the
defense tower or in Řischnărr house. Underhill and Sterlingheart are with
them with the last of the amulets …”
“We’ll have to do it without magic this time,” Gerald murmured to
himself.
 “… Winterblossom and several refugee women are ready to treat the
injured. The ladies also have a lot more than just bandages if the enemy
should try to enter the university. Let them come.” Toulin pounded his
breastplate with his fist, which produced a booming metallic sound.
“We don’t stand a chance,” whispered Tejal, dressed in a tight, knee-
length skirt of chain mail draped with a green cape bearing yellow
embroidered flowers. At her side dangled two arm-length stilettos with
golden handles that resembled eagle heads. “There are too many of them
and I can barely do magic anymore. My magical reserves are almost used
up and there has been no energy in the realm for a few days now. We’re
trapped. I’m glad I sent most of the students back to their families. Let’s
hope a better fate awaits them there.”
“All is not yet lost, my darling.” Gerald took the petite elf in his arms
and kissed her gently on the forehead. “As long as there is still a spark of
magic on Razuclan, we must not give up hope. And with Bryn there’s more
than just a spark.”
Suddenly, there was a loud roar from outside the walls. The Vonnyen
army was charging up the castle hill pell-mell. Dozens were crushed under
the feet and claws of their own comrades. Williams’ bowmen managed to
fell the first rows of the undead with precise shots, but for each one that fell,
ten others followed. They would never have enough arrows and men to hold
the horde back. Inexorably, the smelly monsters pushed further and further
up the narrow path. Not much longer, and they would be at the first
protective wall built by the Driany Knights.
“There are so many of them, but maybe those earthworks will stop
them. They may eventually retreat if their losses reach a certain level,”
Gerald spread false confidence and tightened the leather strap of his tapered
iron helmet.
“They’re hitting the first barrier. I don’t think the spikes will stop them
for long,” Tejal replied skeptically.
Any living soldier would have been stopped short by the protective
wall, but the Vonnyen simply ran against the wooden stakes until their
carcasses completely covered the rods and they no longer posed a danger to
the followers. Finally, the narrow stakes broke under the onslaught and the
smelly tide rolled a little closer to Lekan again. The knights, who had
entrenched themselves behind the barrier and stabbed their opponents from
cover with long lances, now ran crouched to the next obstacle. However,
two of them stumbled and were simply washed away by the flood of
Vonnyen.
“The first victims,” Tejal whispered, clutching the handles of her
stilettos.
Gerald clenched his fists angrily. He hated that he could only watch. But
like any good soldier, he knew that the worst thing for a battle was to
abandon a well-thought-out plan. And in that plan, his place was up here
coordinating the defense.
The next obstacle was a ditch studded with spears. Hundreds of
Vonnyen fell into it, but when their carcasses filled the pit, their comrades
simply ran over them. Thus, one barrier after another was overcome. The
Knights of Driany fought valiantly, but they had no chance against the raw
numbers of the enemy. One by one, they fell under rusty Vonnyen weapons
or were trampled by the all-devouring mass.
Gerald and Tejal had to watch it all helplessly. If they were to open
Lekan to help, they would be deprived of their last and best protection. The
knights had volunteered for this and were now paying the price for their
belief in peace and friendship on Razuclan.
Williams was the last surviving knight. Directly in front of Lekan, he
swung his huge broadsword at several Vonnyen at the same time. Blood
dripped from his silver armor in various places and his left arm hung
useless at his side.
“Gerald, do something!” begged Tejal, who seemed about to jump off
the wall to help the lone fighter.
He just shook his head. His larynx bounced excitedly as he swallowed
hard. “We have to stick to the plan. Williams helped to design it. He’s the
consummate soldier and would want it this way.”
At the same moment, a dull impact could be heard, followed by a long
moan. A particularly tall Vonnyen carrying a rusty forge hammer, had
caught Williams with a massive blow to the side. The knight went to his
knees.
Tejal turned away before the undead smashed his hammer on the
knight’s head.
With tears in his eyes, Gerald forced himself to watch the terrible
spectacle. He winced as the dull sound of the blow echoed off the wall.
Only a few seconds later, his years-long military training took over again.
Now was not the time for grief. “Toulin,” his voice thundered down into the
courtyard of the castle, “they’re at the gate. Get ready.”
The old dwarf turned the wheel to tension the rope of the winch a little
more. Tense enough to tear itself apart, his catapult seemed to be unable to
wait to unload its deadly cargo. Now Toulin could also hear the muffled
moans of the Vonnyen horde behind the gate. Lekan no longer has any
magic, he realized at that moment, otherwise no sound could penetrate into
Âlaburg. Between him and an army of murderous undead stood only a
simple large wooden gate.

“T hey have reached the gate , M assster ,” reported a thin, black-clad

Vonnyen. “The treacherousss knightsss are all dead.”
Joklin nodded. “Good, very good. Take their corpses into the army. We
can always use well-equipped warriors. How long will it take for the gate to
fall?”
“Even without magic, it is very ssstrong. Dwarf handiwork. We have no
sssiege engines, ssso we can only hack at it with axesss and ssswords. It
will take a while, but we will manage.”
“We don’t have that much time—this is not the place where this war
will be decided. Jehal,” he now turned to the former Master of Magic of
Âlaburg, who sat next to him on a brown horse, “would you please be kind
enough to take care of this problem for me?”
The pale old man, who now looked even more unkempt than even his
best days at the university, cleared his throat. “Um … well, yes … uh … I
can’t … really do any magic at the moment.”
Joklin laughed spitefully with his disfigured face. “I will give you
energy. Our Master always keeps her word. She made me into a true mage;
I don’t need magical energy sources anymore.

“W ho is that ?” Gerald asked Tejal, squinting his eyes.

“Jehal,” she replied, who, like all elves, had very good eyesight, “that
miserable traitor.”
“Maybe he’s just a victim who’s been turned into a Vonnyen. He looks
to be in even worse shape than most of the undead bashing themselves
against the gate,” Gerald replied.
“Revered Grand Master Tejal,” Jehal’s magically amplified voice could
now be heard, “I have come to accept your surrender. Because you are the
current Chancellor, I am giving you this privilege and honor. I assure you
that all humans there with you who have not antagonized the Vonnyen will
be spared. Unfortunately, I cannot give any guarantee to the members of
other nations,” the former Master of Magic ended with an evil laugh.
“Is that Jehal, the old goat?” shouted Toulin from the courtyard up to
Gerald.
“Yes,” he replied, without taking his gaze from Jehal, who was dressed
in a black cloak. The old wizard was surrounded by Vonnyen, but they kept
three or four arm’s lengths from him, as if they were being held back by an
invisible wall.
“Give that old Crumbbeard an appropriate answer!” demanded the
leader of the Five Wise Ones.
“He’s lying, I can hear it in his voice. There will be no mercy for
anyone in Âlaburg,” Gerald told Tejal. “I agree with Toulin’s proposal. Tell
the treacherous scum that he can go fu—”
Tejal put her delicate hand on Gerald’s forearm to calm him down.
“Master Jehal, why don’t you come inside so we can discuss this, as befits
old colleagues? If you’d like, we’ll let down a rope and—”
“Surrender or die,” Jehal shouted. “I had to listen to your inane babbling
for so many years. Now is the time to act. The age of the Vonnyen and
human has come. The age of unnatural magic and the mixing of peoples has
come to an end. Never again will uncouth elf barbarians or dwarf chiselers
perform magic. The age of peace and friendship between unequals has
finally come to an end. Everyone will take their rightful place again.”
Tejal just nodded sadly, then in a flowing movement that was almost too
fast for the human eye, she pulled out one of her thin stilettos and threw the
needle-sharp weapon at Jehal. The deadly stabbing tool flew breathtakingly
fast in a straight trajectory toward the former Master of Âlaburg.
Jehal casually moved to the side, and the weapon fell uselessly to the
ground with a clink several yards behind him.
“There you have your answer, traitor! Âlaburg will never fall. Lekan has
never been overcome. We will destroy both you and your corrupt hordes!”
She put on her pointed brace helmet decorated with countless flowers, and
hefted her remaining weapons.
 Gerald followed suit with a smile.
“All right, Grand Master. You’ve just signed a death sentence for
everyone within the walls of the university.” The old Master closed his eyes
and raised his arms. Fine red ribbons began to flow from his hands. They
streamed toward Lekan.
“Can he still use magic?” asked Tejal in surprise. “I knew he was a good
magician, but I didn’t expect that. How is this possible?”
Suddenly, there was a long booming noise. Gerald noticed something
vibrating under his feet. “What is he doing?” he asked in astonishment.
"He’s opening Lekan with magic,” Tejal replied.

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 Black Magic

Û lyėr looked at the slowly melting ice. Since they had passed the
peaks of the Arell Mountains and ridden through the border area, it
had become a bit warmer. Many of the orcs who accompanied him
were skeptical of the green landscape. For most of his thousands of
warriors, it was the first time they had ever been so far south. On the orders
of an impostor, Ûlyėr thought again. He still couldn’t do any magic, even
though he had hoped that his magical abilities would return when they
moved south.
“Are you worried about an ambush, GünDa’kin?” Zkol asked Ûlyėr,
noticing that his chief was upset about something.
The young warrior had become his closest confidant other than Ñokelä
and now ran next to him most of the time. Ûlyėr enjoyed the fact that Zkol
treated him with due respect, but still had his own opinion and wasn’t afraid
to share it with him. “No, I don’t think anyone would dare attack this army.
We are probably the largest army of orcs Razuclan has ever seen.”
“Nevertheless, we are heading toward an opponent who could be even
stronger.”
“That they are,” Ñokelä interrupted, carefully probing the area with his
one eye.
The gently sloping surroundings reminded Ûlyėr of his encounter with
Ralph last semester, when they had been traveling in the opposite direction
to save his life. They had risked everything for him. Ûlyėr’s heart was
heavy when he thought of Bryn, Morlâ, and Filixx. He was even missing
Aska a bit.
 “Are you all right?” Ñokelä whispered in a scratchy voice. “Remember
what I told you: A GünDa’kin must never show weakness. Look around
you.” The old battle master made a sweeping arm movement pointing at the
long line of countless powerful warriors. “They all follow you because of
this strength. But only as long as they believe that you could rip out their
intestines if they rebel against you.” Now Ûlyėr’s former instructor laughed.
“And I’m sure you could. I’ve never liked to admit it, but magic is a
powerful force that I’ve always envied in the other nations. The fact that
you can practice it now makes us equal to them. More than equal—through
our physical strength, coupled with magic, we are now the most powerful
nation on Razuclan. Many warriors know that they owe this only to you,”
the Master concluded. He spat out a slimy, dark chunk of something.
Ñokelä had been sucking on Kăth since the beginning of their journey. The
black chunks of ice dug deep out of the earth were a little intoxicating.
Above all, however, they increased strength and endurance, which was
certainly a help in their fast march.
Ûlyėr had never taken a liking to the bitter drug, although he had to
admit that the pace also strained him. In addition, his left leg had begun to
hurt from the long march the day before. Ûlyėr tried to conceal his limping,
which had already earned him one or two skeptical glances. Ñokelä would
probably advise me to just beat them to a pulp, or worse, he thought. But it
was clear to Ûlyėr that he would have no chance against many of the war-
hardened brutes the clans had sent for his campaign. Only with magic could
he defeat them, but his magic was simply gone. For what felt like the
hundredth time, Bryn’s friend tried to enter the realm. In vain. No mark on
his hand, and no black ribbons of energy appeared.
Further ahead in the ranks, aggressive roars were suddenly heard,
causing them all to throw their discipline overboard to see what was
happening. No orc wanted to miss a good brawl.
“These idiots,” Ñokelä shouted, annoyed. “I’ll take care of it. We’re not
on some kind of pleasure cruise here!” With cat-like movements, Ûlyėr’s
teacher disappeared into the tangle of dark, muscular bodies.
Nothing happened for quite a while, but then scraps of conversation
made it to Ûlyėr’s ear. “He’s a fraud … No! … charlatan … He’s our chief
… just a traitor who’s leading us to ruin …” Ûlyėr sighed. The time had
come. It had been quiet for far too long. Thousands of orcs and no fights—
impossible. And of course, there was only one topic to argue about—the
GünDa’kin and his plans. He nodded to Zkol briefly.
The young warrior took his long spear and bashed his own helmet and
the armor on his back and legs vigorously with the wooden shaft to make
room for his master. In a short time, they reached the center of the battle
circle. Two orcs were staring each other down. Blue blood was already
running from a head wound on one of them.
Ûlyėr realized who it was. Of course, he thought resignedly. It was his
old nemesis from university—₱yzu. He was the one who was bleeding
from the head. His opponent did not seem to have any injuries. It was a
huge, light-gray orc from the far north, as his skin color showed. His face
was painted white and one of his horns was broken off. Apparently, an
experienced war veteran. Both opponents had thrown down their weapons,
anything else would have been dishonorable in a battle between two orcs.
Here, only physical strength counted and not the quality of one’s weapons.
Ñokelä stood by with his arms crossed. It was not up to him to end this
fight. No law of the orcs forbade fights among themselves. On the contrary,
the mutual showdowns made their species stronger. No one was allowed to
interrupt such a duel until there was a winner. No one but a GünDa’kin, that
is.
A murmur arose as Ûlyėr entered the space. Immediately, he had a clear
view of the landscape because all bystanders had gone to their knees. With
a royal nod of the head, Ûlyėr gave them all permission to stand up again.
With an exaggeratedly confident gait, he moved directly between the two
fighters. His heart beat excitedly. He knew what to expect. I can beat ₱yzu.
I don’t need magic for that, he told himself. Ûlyėr flexed his muscles and
spat to show the two orcs what he thought of their fight. He took a deep
breath before letting out an animal roar, and then shouted, “I heard your
blasphemous words. Who dares to question the authority of the first
GünDa’kin in generations? Who dares to drag the decision of the Council in
the dirt?” Still assuming that it was ₱yzu who had doubted him, he turned
toward him during his speech, which was so loud that every orc could hear
it.
“I doubt that you are the one you pretend to be,” came from behind him.
Ûlyėr turned to look directly at the light-gray orc from the north. He
was dumbfounded. Ûlyėr would have taken any bet that ₱yzu was the one
who had called his authority into question. At least that’s how it had always
been at Âlaburg.
“To me, you’re simply a common southerner without a clan. A stranger
to your own people. You have never lived among us; you were never in an
initiation group; you have not even chosen your first wife. Maybe you
prefer the company of dwarfs,” the northern orc ended with a spiteful laugh
that sounded like rocks crashing down a slope. Several other northerners
joined in.
“Shut your mouth, you dirty snow rat,” ₱yzu suddenly shouted. He ran
at the old fighter to finish what he had started. But in a flash, he found
himself in the grip of Ñokelä, who prevented him from doing something
stupid. “Tell him, Master,” he continued to shout, struggling to free himself.
“You were there. He is our GünDa’kin. The first orc who can cast spells and
attack other orcs with magic. I saw it first-hand. Ûlyėr is the hope of all
orcs. It doesn’t matter where he was raised. He’s an orc; that’s all that
matters. Anyone who doubts him will have to deal with me!” ₱yzu tried
again half-heartedly to free himself from the steel-hard grip of his Master,
but he had no chance.
Under other circumstances, Ûlyėr would have been pleased that his
former classmate had changed his mind so fundamentally. But in this case,
it meant that he now had to prove his strength against a battle-hardened
hero of his people instead of the smaller, weaker student. Ûlyėr released the
straps of his black armor, sending it crashing loudly to the ground. Now
they faced each other. He cracked his neck loudly. There was nothing more
to say. Now he would simply have to defeat the northern orc in combat.
The crowd cheered to see the brawl. Everyone was eager to see their
GünDa’kin in action. Ûlyėr knew that anything other than a clear victory
would mean no mercy for him. He wouldn't accept any mercy anyway.
The two opponents briefly circled each other. They were almost the
same size. Ûlyėr was a bit taller than the northerner, but his challenger had
wider shoulders. It was Ûlyėr who launched the first attack. He sensed that
this was what his people expected from their leader. He pushed off and
kicked his opponent in the head mid-flight. At least that was the plan. The
orc from the ice-cold north had probably studied his muscle movements and
simply took a step to the side, so that Ûlyėr flew right past. His body
tumbled through the air. He had so much momentum that he landed
painfully on his side. The air was squeezed out of his lungs with a gush and
a groan.
But the gray-skinned orc did not use this moment of weakness for a
counterattack. He simply circled Ûlyėr warily and let himself be cheered on
by his peers.
He doesn’t just want to defeat me, he wants to humiliate me, Ûlyėr
thought desperately. He had to find a way to bring down the battle-hardened
warrior. This was not just about him, but about the whole of Razuclan. If he
was defeated here, his people would retreat behind the Arell Mountains and
one clan after another would be swept away by the black tide of undead.
Only together with the other nations could they possibly stop the black
sorceress. Ûlyėr picked himself up. He turned his back on his opponent and
ran along the ranks of the surrounding soldiers. The ultimate insult. The
northerner reacted as Ûlyėr had hoped. Enraged, he attacked by running at
Ûlyėr with his arms spread wide. This is exactly what Ûlyėr had hoped for.
He tucked and rolled forward, crashing like a living ball into his opponent,
who was lifted from his feet by his own momentum. Ûlyėr came to a stop in
a flowing motion, turned around and ran at the gray orc. The orc was
already standing again, but Ûlyėr suddenly dodged left and gave his
opponent a thunderous right hook to the jaw.
A human would probably never get up again after this blow, but the orc
from the Icelands only wavered for a second.
Ûlyėr took advantage of this second. He had already turned again and
now slid on his knees over the rocky scree, crashing into the legs of his
opponent. Still sliding past, Ûlyėr gave him a powerful blow in the
abdomen. Unfortunately, he also twisted his injured left leg badly in the
process. I can’t get up, Ûlyėr immediately realized when the move was
over.
The northern orc was also groaning on the ground. But he slowly
recovered from his pain and heaved himself to his feet. Blue blood ran
down both legs. Slowly he dragged himself toward Ûlyėr, who was trying
to crawl away.
The crowd followed the spectacle spellbound. No one would intervene.
The stronger would win; the weaker would submit or die. So it had been
since the beginning of time among the orcs.
Ûlyėr saw a triumphant sparkle in the eyes of the broad-shouldered orc.
They looked like tiny balls of yellow fire. Drool dripped from his tusks. He
clenched his fists confidently. In a few seconds he would rain a cascade of
blows down on Ûlyėr. He tried to get up again, but his leg had completely
stopped responding. It only made ridiculous-looking contortions. Around
him he heard many warriors whispering. Why doesn’t he use his magic?
He’s not a GünDa’kin, he’s just a cripple …
Now the orc from the North reached Ûlyėr. He raised his right leg to
end the fight with a powerful stomp to the face. Only the bottom of his boot
was good enough for the phony GünDa’kin.
Instinctively, Ûlyėr put his arms up, even if he was ashamed of this
gesture of weakness. A murmur went through the surrounding warriors.
Ûlyėr wondered for a moment why the foot never fell, then he noticed that
the gray orc lay motionless several yards away. Confused, he thought about
what had happened, then looked at the back of his left hand. A white skull
had appeared. He quickly let energy flow into his leg to be able to stand up.
The few private lessons with Tejal had given him at least the basics of
magical self-healing.
₱yzu came to him and held out a hand to help him up.
Ûlyėr took it gratefully. When he was standing again, he raised his
magical mark and shot a black flash of energy into the sky. From thousands
of throats, and amplified by the echo of the mountains, came a deafening
“GünDa’kin, GünDa’kin, GünDa’kin …”

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 The Traitorous Master

H ow is that possible?” Gerald echoed Tejal, panic creeping onto his

normally calm face as he saw Lekan crack under the onslaught.
“I have no idea. He seems to be pulling magical energy from
somewhere. Maybe he’s brought a powerful amulet from the treasuries of
the Seven.”
A whooshing sound was heard. The two turned toward the courtyard.
Toulin had just placed a new spear into his catapult. His first bolt had
managed to skewer three Vonnyen to Lekan’s wooden planks. Spears were
also being fired from the other two giant crossbows. Everything was so well
coordinated that one catapult was always ready to fire while the other two
were being reloaded. Nevertheless, more and more undead entered Lekan
through the crack, which Jehal was gradually opening with his spell.
“You protect the catapults and I’ll try to stop Jehal,” Gerald said.
Tejal smiled at him. "You forget that I am the Chancellor of Âlaburg. I
will stop Jehal!” Without waiting for an answer from her beloved, the elf
rose into the air, her remaining stiletto sparkling in her hand and her green
cloak spread wide behind her.
Gerald saw Tejal plunge into the horde of undead just as the courtyard
required his full attention. He could hear screams and the crash of metal on
metal. Worin and Lebos were fighting with their small axes against five
Vonnyen who had no weapons, but only claw-shaped hands, with which
they pounded on the much smaller dwarves. The two old students fought
back to the best of their ability, but they were historians, not soldiers.
Toulin, meanwhile, continued to operate the last catapult, but he could
never hope to stop the undead alone.
Gerald slid down to the courtyard on a rope. As soon as he touched the
ground, he was attacked by an enormous Vonnyen wearing a rotten leather
apron and carrying a meat ax. Gerald beheaded the former butcher with a
routine ax swing and then tried to fight his way through to the catapults.
Meanwhile, so many undead had penetrated through the ever-widening gap
in the gate that dozens were between him and the dwarves. Gerald threw
himself into the fight. He knocked off head after head. His wide ax blade
penetrated through the rotten bones like a hot knife through butter, but he
knew that the fight would be in vain if they couldn’t find a way to close
Lekan again. But how they could close a magical gate that no longer had
any magic was a mystery to him.

“T he elf isss trying to attack the old wizard. She isss a worthy fighter and
could reach him,” said a Vonnyen to Joklin, who was leaning against an oak
and watching the fight for the university from afar. The fact that he was
supplying Jehal with magical power was not visible to anyone. Only the
almost transparent red ribbon that streamed from his body gave any clue.
The former student stared coolly at his subordinate with blood-red eyes
in a disfigured face. “Even if she reachesss him, it wouldn’t be a great losss.
He isss currently fulfilling his main tasssk. Only he can open that damn
gate. These idiots have forgotten that he’s still technically a Master at this
asssinine university. Only Masters can open Lekan. Any other magician
would have failed. Without him, it would have taken us daysss to open it.”
Joklin laughed out loud. He was not aware that he had almost completely
transformed into a Vonnyen not only in appearance, but also in his way of
speaking. Joklin Campell, the human, had finally disappeared.

T ejal threshed through the undead like a scythe. With incredibly fast and
powerful movements, she slowly fought her way to the traitorous Master of
Magic. She would never have had a chance against the sheer mass of
Vonnyen if the beasts had been tasked with protecting Jehal. Luckily, they
were focused only on entering the gate. Therefore, they left gaps that the
Chancellor could use to fight her way through to the turncoat. Even though
Lekan’s doors were now almost a third open.

J ehal briefly opened his eyes when he heard a strange scream, followed
by a cry of pain. This sound was too full of passion to belong to one of the
smelly Vonnyen. The old wizard had to blink several times before he
understood what was rushing toward him. Tejal, his old enemy. The elf who
had ruined his career and turned the venerable university into a haven of
impurity. He redirected some of the power that Joklin granted him to
transmit a magical command directly to the minds of about a hundred
Vonnyen. Kill the elf!

I have you now , you shameful traitor, Tejal thought, now certain of victory.
Suddenly a loud group of Vonnyen, who had already passed her on the way
to Âlaburg, turned around and ran directly toward her. This time, however,
it was not only the ragged figures who had been brought back from death
against their will and who wildly attacked everything living that stood in
their way. No, at least half of them wore neat black cloaks and had sharp,
gleaming, well-maintained weapons. Unlike their brothers, they did not
simply charge her roaring and moaning, but they moved in a coordinated
manner and seemed to communicate with each other with looks from their
glowing red eyes. Tamir, help me! Tejal pleaded, as she sliced off the
forearm of the nearest Vonnyen. With a quick spin, she beheaded two more.
From this movement she went to her knees and cut off the feet of many
more, whereupon the smelly monsters simply fell over. When Tejal leapt
back to her feet, something hit her on the forehead causing her to see stars.
Wavering, she took a few steps back and then felt a hard stab in her back.
She took a deep breath to drive out the pain. She felt blood running down
her back. Tejal roared out her anger and let the very last bit of magic still
inside the smallest ring on her finger flow into her body to stop the
bleeding. Furious with rage, she lashed out in all directions, but the black-
clad attackers were now waiting at a safe distance. They attacked her with
long spears, so she had no chance to hurt them with her thin stiletto. The
Grand Master skillfully dodged the first thrusts, but they kept coming, and
her strength was fading. It was only a matter of time before they injured her
again. And then she would have no more energy to heal herself.

G erald used a board scavenged from the smashed catapults as a shield. In

his other hand, he wielded a rusty sword he had picked up when his ax got
stuck in a Vonnyen’s skull. For the sake of simplicity, Gerald smashed the
next Vonnyen, who was the size of an orc, with his improvised shield. He
did not even notice when a shower of unnaturally yellow-green blood
splashed onto his face. Gerald looked around. A load of boiling bad luck
had just been poured down on the attackers from the walls, but slowly the
defenders were running out of ammunition. Arrows filled up the attackers
like pincushions, but the deadly waves of arrows from the tower were
slowing down. Toulin stood next to Gerald, bleeding from his head. He had
lost his helmet long ago. Worin and Lebos lay covered in blood and
motionless on the rubble of their catapults. Gerald shook his head when he
saw the dead. “We have to get out of here, Toulin. Our second defensive
ring has fallen.”
The old dwarf looked at him with a tear-soaked face. “I can’t leave them
here like this.”
“Come with me,” Gerald gently pushed him toward the university
building. "Their sacrifice can’t be in vain.” Gerald gave the archers on the
wall a sign that they should also retreat over the massive structure into the
interior of Âlaburg. They, too, were now on the losing end, as the first
Vonnyen began to climb the walls from the inside as well.
They passed the locked defense tower and sprinted to the main building
of the university. There the last battle of Âlaburg would be fought. Behind
the barred windows of Řischnărr house, Gerald thought he saw anxious
faces following what was happening. The refugees understood that it was
only a matter of time before they were also devoured by it.

T he heavily armed dwarves , Houlin and Kaneg, awaited them at the main
entrance. Fearful looking refugees surrounded the two dwarves. They had
dug a deep trench around the building and had filled it with an oily liquid
that they would light in due course. “Where are Worin and Lebos?” the
dwarves asked. The two were being closely followed by hundreds of smelly
Vonnyen across the ditch. Lekan was now half open. An unbelievably huge
mass of decayed bodies was pushing through. The stench they brought with
them was indescribable.
She didn’t make it, shot through Gerald’s head at this sight. His heart
became unbearably heavy. There could only be one reason why Lekan was
still opening. Tejal, his love, had not been able to stop Jehal. She should
have been back with them long ago. He knew her well enough to know that
she would only be stopped by her own death. Bryn’s foster father
swallowed hard. His mouth was suddenly terribly dry. He drove out the
heartache to concentrate on the task at hand. “We can mourn later, my brave
friends. Hundreds still depend on us. Quickly, over the ditch! Inspire your
newly trained warriors to victory, Houlin. We are the last bastion of
Âlaburg.”
The old dwarves seemed paralyzed with terror and grief. Finally, Kaneg
said through the tears, “This horde will sweep us away in a matter of
minutes. It’s over!”

T ejal realized that she was about to pass out. She was now bleeding from
several wounds, at least two of which had pierced her internal organs.
Although the attackers had to pay the highest price for this, what did that
matter if she died? And for each one that fell, two new ones filled the
breach. Tejal took another deep breath, then saw two long spearheads racing
toward her at the same time. She would only have the strength to dodge one
of them. Her last thought was of Gerald.

J oklin caught the small , red werelight with his hand. When he heard the
news, he limped in the direction of his horse. “Finally! We’ve finally done
it.” He shouted into the camp full of Vonnyen dressed in black, “Officers,
gather your men and follow me. The walls have finally fallen. To victory!”

W arm tears ran down Tejal’s face. She closed her eyes. She didn’t want
to be looking a smelly undead in the face at the moment of death. Suddenly,
she thought she heard a light giggle. Despite everything, this sound made
her smile.

G erald looked at the multitude that would be on them in a few moments.

The stench was terrible, but he was even more disgusted by the constant
moans of the living dead. Kaneg is right. We are lost. Bryn’s foster father
had finally lost his courage. Suddenly, he heard a giggle in his ear, which,
as always, brought a smile to his face.

T ejal saw from the corner of her eye that her rings had begun to glow
yellow gold. They’re full of magic again! In a split second, she wove herself
into a Protection Spell that made the deadly spear blades bounce off. At the
same time, she healed her wounds and hurled devastating, yellow-green
lightning into the ranks of her attackers. She did not even notice that her
magic had taken on a slightly different color than usual. Again, she heard
the happy laughter. There was only one creature on Razuclan that could
perform the miracle of helping someone feel hope even in the most
hopeless situation: The Samuusen had joined the fight.

G erald gathered his last forces and clumsily raised his weapon, but
suddenly the Vonnyen who was about to attack him simply fell over.
Surprised, Gerald turned to his next attacker. But he also went to his knees
and then hit the dirt of the courtyard with a crash. The undead collapsed all
around them. Gerald blinked the sweat out of his eyes and then saw
something flying over the toppling monsters. Tiny creatures with red hair.
He grinned broadly and then broke down in tears.

T he S amuusen were tremendous . Except for the black-clad Vonnyen—

who made up only a small part of the assault force—all of them collapsed.
Among the remaining elite warriors of the dark sorceress, Tejal sought
bloody revenge with both sword and magic. The Grand Master had become
a bringer of death. She quickly ended the attack on the gate. Only a few of
the Vonnyen soldiers managed to flee back into the Panra Valley. When she
had completed her bloody work, an enraged Tejal, stained from top to
bottom with yellow-green blood, strode up to Jehal, who was now all alone.
The old Master cast weak attack spells at his former superior, who waved
them aside as if they were nothing more than annoying flies. She had
always been the better sorceress.
“You are to blame for everything,” shouted the former Master of Magic,
whose greasy gray hair stood up crazily from his head. Again, he shot a red
flash of fire at Tejal, who was still slowly approaching him. Her stiletto
danced dangerously in her left hand. “If you had only listened to me, it
wouldn’t have come to this. I loved this university; it was my life!” Tears
ran down the old man’s face and disappeared into his unkempt beard.
Tejal absorbed the fire spell by simply letting it smash into the palm of
her hand. Now she stood directly in front of Jehal with her blood-covered
weapon.
“Coward!” Jehal shouted.
The Grand Master slowly raised her thin blade and brought the tip to
Jehal’s neck.
“You don’t have the guts,” shouted Jehal, spittle spraying from his
mouth. “And it wouldn’t help your cause, anyway. I divided the Seven and
brought most of the human nobles to Caoimhe’s side—right now they’re
stabbing their dwarf and elf allies in the back. What good would it do for
our peace-loving Tejal to kill a defenseless old man?” With a feverish look,
he threw his head back, exposing his neck even more and laughing
disturbingly.
“You’re right, I do represent friendship and love,” Tejal said in an
amazingly calm voice to her defeated opponent. “Only with their help can
there be peace for all peoples on the continent.” She pressed her blade
against Jehal’s exposed neck. “That’s why I refuse to kill you. It is not up to
me to judge you; I’ll leave that to the Order of Âlaburg. On behalf of the
Order, I arrest you, Ultar Jehal, for violating the Peace Treaty of Âla and for
ravaging peace and friendship on Razuclan!”

J oklin clicked his tongue to make his black gelding gallop faster. “Keep
up, you miserable scum,” he yelled at the Vonnyen in black who were
riding with him. “Our Massster is waiting in the dwarf lands. I want to be
there when she finally wipes this impure magic from the face Razuclan.

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OceanofPDF.com
 Family Ties

I n a panic, Aska yelped and sniffed at Bryn, who was seizing

uncontrollably. His master and his friends lay on the bed with their
eyes closed. White foam ran from their mouths. Except for their
jerking movements, there was no reaction from the three, no matter what
the snow fox did. When he had come into the room, Aska immediately
jumped on the bed to lick their faces. Instinctively, however, the fox noticed
that something was wrong. Bryn was in danger. Aska howled long and hard.
He knew he needed help.
It didn’t take long for someone to respond to his call. The tiny Samuusa
came fluttering into Filixx’s room. When she saw the three students, she
praised him. “Oh, my dear Aska, Davina would be proud of you. You’re
still doing your job so well, and you’ve been doing it for so many years.”
Aska sat down and nervously licked his flews as his dark eyes followed
the flitting, bumblebee-like flight of the tiny fairy.
“Mhh … mhh … mhh,” she hummed. She landed gently on Bryn’s
forehead. “Let’s take a look here.” She stretched out her arms as if to hug
Bryn’s head. “Ouch!” she exclaimed a moment later. “How is that possible?
Who could possibly close the magical world like that?” she asked excitedly,
rising into the air.
Suddenly, there was a deafening bang, and the earth shook. Plaster
trickled from the ceiling and covered the three friends with dust. Two more
explosions followed closely behind.
Aska yowled in fear.
“W e ’ re back in the real world,” Morlâ exclaimed in panic. “Bryn, how can
that be?”
Bryn didn’t answer but ran instead to Drena and stroked her cheek. She
was still breathing and seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Bryn gently
pushed a black strand of hair out of her face.
“Bryn, we have to protect her and try to get away from here somehow,”
gasped Filixx, who had now caught up with Morlâ.
Bryn placed an arrow on his bowstring. Morlâ and Filixx also pulled out
their weapons.
About fifty Vonnyen had appeared in the meantime and had begun to
surround the friends, who were now standing back-to-back. They tried to
shield Drena from the undead beasts.
“Bryn, you have to bring us back into the realm,” Filixx urged, voice
breaking with trepidation.
“Yes, and hurry!” shouted Morlâ. “We have no chance against these
soldiers without magic. We have to get out of here!”
Bryn tried to enter the realm, but like with his last visit, he failed. The
magical in-between world remained closed to him on Fog Island once he
was in the real world. “It’s not working! I can’t get in.”
Two of the Vonnyen dressed in black dared to make the first move.
Filixx hit one on the head with his polished staff and Morlâ cut off the
other’s leg with his ax, causing him to collapse. Malicious roars came from
their smelly comrades, but none of them attacked.
“What are they waiting for?” shouted Morlâ.
Bryn had no idea. Suddenly, the Vonnyen went completely silent. Bryn
heard the rushing of the sea and Filixx gasping next to him.
As if pulled by a rope, a narrow path opened between the rotten bodies
with red glowing eyes.
It took Bryn a while to realize that a petite little old lady was striding
out of the darkness. She was dressed very colorfully, with a yellow
headscarf, a magenta dress and blue shoes, soles clacking on the
cobblestones of the courtyard. What did not fit her somewhat comical
appearance, however, was the submissive behavior of the Vonnyen around
her. They were all trying to keep as much distance as possible from the
woman. They looked like nervous sheep who see that a wolf has crept in,
but do not dare to flee.
“Who is that?” whispered Filixx.
 “My dear Bryn, it’s so nice to finally meet you,” the woman greeted
Bryn, as if Morlâ, Filixx, and Drena were not present at all. “I’ve already
watched you during your secret visits here, but that doesn’t really count.
Bryn felt a hum growing louder and louder the closer the colorfully
dressed woman came to him. It was as if the air was crackling around her,
and this crackling was being transferred to him. The feeling seemed vaguely
familiar, but it also frightened him.
“I’m excited to finally get to know my grandson face-to-face.”
Bryn’s face fell. He stood with mouth wide open in disbelief—what the
old lady had said made no sense.
Morlâ, on the other hand, reacted lightning fast and threw his ax at the
old woman. “If she’s your relative, then she’s our enemy—I’m sorry,” he
justified this spontaneous action.
They all watched as if time had stopped as the ax spun in the air, flying
directly toward her head.
“You should be more careful choosing your friends, my dear grandson,”
Bryn’s grandmother said, as if the ax didn’t exist at all. Shortly before it
reached her, it flared up briefly and her face was only lightly powdered in
ash. It had been consumed within a fraction of a second.
“She didn’t even bat an eyelid when she cast that spell and didn’t leave
a single magical mark on the real world,” Filixx said, shocked and very
much in awe.

O livin burst into the room with Aska and the Samuusa. “Get them back
here now. The caves are under attack. We must defend the source!” The
patron saint of the mountain looked pale and sickly.
“I don’t know how to get them back. They’re trapped in the magical
world,” the little fairy peeped anxiously.
The guardian shouldered his blunderbuss, groaning, and looked at the
students who were now shaking and jerking even more. He hummed
thoughtfully to himself. “That kind of travel is dangerous. You should have
prevented them from going. He still doesn’t understand his own powers.
“Love drove him there; nothing could have stopped him. Bryn is one of
us. Can you help?” the Samuusa begged the Guardian of the Mountain.
The old dwarf nodded. “Time is of the essence, though. Soon our
enemies will be upon us. They destroyed my Protection Spell with an
ancient weapon from the War of the Nations. It weakened me terribly. If I
help the boy, the caves will be left completely unprotected. That is contrary
to my duty as guardian.
“But the Seer of Colors is our last hope. Without him, Razuclan is lost.”
“I must also somehow defend the last magical source. Without it, the
continent is doomed,” the guard replied with a frown.

B urning shackles wrapped like thick snakes around Morlâ’s upper body
and legs. The dwarf cried out in pain, “Ahhh! Bryn, I don’t want to be rude,
but I don’t really like your family very much. And their undead friends
stink.”
The old sorceress seemed completely disinterested. She gave a barely
noticeable wink and Morlâ’s shackles tightened and now burned into his
flesh. He screamed again before falling helpless to the ground.
“You old witch,” Filixx shouted, taking half a step in the direction of
Bryn’s grandmother. He didn’t get any further. Suddenly, his head was
enclosed in a shimmering, transparent ball of energy. In a panic, the dwarf-
elf tried to tear it away, but his hands met no resistance. Convulsively, he
tried to take a breath. His head turned scarlet. The spell was suffocating
him.
“Enough!” Bryn shouted.
The woman just giggled contentedly. “Well, now we’ve gotten further
than my two daughters did in years. It’s so easy.”
“What do you want from me?” asked Bryn in resignation.
“I want you to free yourself from this half-magical scum and finally join
our family. Rule over all of Razuclan with your special powers. Join me and
you will become the king of an entire continent today.”
Bryn was perplexed. That’s what it had been about all along? He was
supposed to rule. To continue the family tradition. A family that based its
power on murder, hatred, and submission. He looked at his suffering
friends. Then he dropped to his knees, bent over Drena, and gently kissed
her cool forehead. Bryn had made up his mind. “I abhor all that you stand
for. True friendship and love are worth more than your brutal power. I have
no interest in any of that. I have no interest in being part of this family. I’d
rather die!”
T he S amuusa fluttered around the face of the old dwarf guardian. “You
don’t understand, this boy is special. If the enemy gets a hold of him or if
something should happen to him, it’s all over. Look at him!” pleaded the
little fairy.
Several smaller explosions were heard in the distance. The enemy, in an
attempt to enter the caves, had already sprung the first traps Olivin had
placed. It was only a matter of time before the Vonnyen would breach them
all and invade Falyn. The village where Bryn and his friends lay
unprotected and unable to move.
Olivin lowered his weapon and ran his hand through his long gray
beard, which was braided with colorful wooden beads. He sat down on the
edge of the bed and gently touched Bryn’s forehead. Shimmering blue light
played around the guardian.

“O h , my boy, you don’t need to die. I’ll just kill everyone you care about,
so there is no one left but your family. That worked with your mother.” The
old woman grinned so viciously that Bryn did not doubt for a second that
she was serious. “Let’s start with your love here.” She nodded almost
imperceptibly and the Vonnyen drew their weapons and started closing their
circle. Obviously, it was beneath the dignity of the old sorceress to do this
dirty work herself. “And after love, we’ll end your friendships.” She
giggled happily. “Or maybe the other way around? Let’s just see what
happens.”
Bryn didn’t think he could ever hate anyone as much as he hated this
woman. He raised his bow, but he could not possibly defend Morlâ, Filixx,
and Drena at the same time against the Vonnyen coming from all directions.
One of the undead warriors had already grabbed Drena by the hair and was
dragging her away. More and more Vonnyen pushed forward to grasp the
girl. Bryn shot arrow after arrow at the attackers, but he had no chance
alone. The Vonnyen did not harm a hair on his head, but only pushed him
away. Bryn had to watch as they pulled Drena further and further away
from him.
 Suddenly there was a loud crash and the Vonnyen dragging Drena was
missing his head. Greenish blood shot from his neck, and his swaying torso
collapsed after a few moments.
Bryn saw small bursts of flame out of the corner of his eye and more
and more of the undead lost their heads or other body parts. He turned in
the direction of the deafening crash and saw Olivin. The guardian of the
caves was shooting wildly with two blunderbusses at the same time. Behind
him, a glowing blue circle had appeared, the edges of which seemed to
revolve around themselves. When Bryn took a closer look, he saw three
sleeping figures lying on a bed. The guardian has come to save us, and he’s
opened a magical portal to Falyn, he realized. A loud bang sounded. Green
blood splashed in Bryn’s face. The Vonnyen who had just been holding him
simply fell over. Bryn took the opportunity and ran to Drena, threw her over
his shoulder and dragged her through the chaos to the portal. The Vonnyen
were now in full retreat from the guardian, who was protected by a glowing,
blue protective sphere. Before Bryn could push Drena through the portal, a
red bolt of lightning flashed and hit the old man. Bryn’s grandmother had
decided to intervene.
Olivin wavered briefly, but then shot four cobalt blue shafts of light at
the woman. The spells were so strong that they blew out parts of the fortress
wall, giving a clear view of the sea.
Bryn’s grandmother must have been impressed, because she instantly
wove herself into a red, glowing protection spell.
Bryn gave Drena a gentle push and she disappeared into a blue vortex in
the portal. Hopefully this will work, and she will make it to Falyn, he
pleaded to himself, but he had no other choice. Again, red spells hissed
across the small battlefield, but Olivin was able to avoid them. He was still
shooting at everything that moved in black clothes. Bryn looked at Morlâ
and Filixx. His friends were no longer bound with magic. Probably also
Olivin’s doing.
“Go, Morlâ!” shouted Filixx, who had already grasped the purpose of
the magical portal. “In there!”
As fast as possible, the friends made their way across the muddy,
bloody courtyard. There were so many fallen Vonnyen that they had to run
across the bodies. Finally, they reached the portal where Bryn was waiting
for them. He owed it to them to wait. Once again, they were only in such a
desperate situation because of him.
 Morlâ looked skeptically at the magical apparition. “Filixx, you look a
little slimmer from here,” he teased just before he dove in and disappeared
in a blue flame.
“If he’s brave enough to make that jump, then I probably should too,”
said Filixx with a crooked grin and followed his friend.
Bryn turned around and saw that Olivin and his grandmother were now
facing off directly. The sky darkened and a strong wind came up. The
guardian shot tirelessly at the old woman, but she repelled all his attacks
effortlessly.
“Go now, Bryn. Do what you have to do!” the guard shouted without
looking at him.
Bryn obeyed. As he dove through the portal, he saw that numerous red
lightning bolts were coming from the sky, all of which struck the guardian
at the same time.

“L ooks like we’re all back together again,” Morlâ said to Bryn. “And hello
there, Drena. It is always a pleasure to see you. Let’s hope you stay with us
a little longer this time.”
The young woman did not react. She was still under the spell of Bryn’s
grandmother. She was also bleeding from cuts to her head and arms from
being dragged around by the Vonnyen.
Filixx immediately provided her with magical care.
Bryn anxiously took her hand.
“Okay, you two lovebirds,” Morlâ teased. “Out of bed. This bed is way
too small for four. Filixx will get your girlfriend back on her feet. Isn’t that
right, big guy?”
“Above all, she needs rest. She was exposed to,” he cleared his throat
with a glance at Bryn, “um … exposed to significant stress. I freed her from
the spell, but then I had to put her into a magical healing sleep. Don’t worry,
it’s just a special coma that will help her recover.”
Bryn let go of Drena’s cold hand and nodded gratefully to his friend.
The Samuusa fluttered around the friends excitedly. “Come quickly!
The defenses have fallen. The enemy is almost here.”

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OceanofPDF.com
 The Last Source

I s that an orc?” asked Zkol skeptically, placing his clawed hand over his
eyes to better see against the setting sun of the late autumn day. A
human would probably not have noticed the distant creature until half
an hour later, but the orcs’ eyesight was extraordinary. Even better was their
sense of smell, surpassing even the elves, who were themselves equipped
with fantastic senses.
Ñokelä sniffed loudly. “And he’s not alone. I smell cheap booze, strong
perfume, and a huge portion of overconfidence.”
Ûlyėr showed a little more fang. He was clearly amused. “Hmm …”
began the undisputed leader of the orcs. “I only know of one giant orc who
can be recognized from miles away, and who travels with a dwarf, an elf,
and a human.”
Zkol rubbed his left horn. A clear sign of embarrassment.
Ñokelä noticed this and hummed happily. If orcs owned cats, they might
have noticed that their laugh sounded like a kitten’s purr. “Don’t worry, not
many have heard of these four heroes. They are four very special Driany
Knights, even if the Order does not seem to exist anymore. The only cross-
ethnic delegation that has ever existed in all of history.”
Ûlyėr grated his tusks, which sounded like rocks grinding against each
other.

I t did not take very long at the quick pace of the orc army to reach the
clever human, Tal MacRallen, the wise dwarf, Elmar Boulderstone, the
beautiful elf, Isilmar Morningsky, and the giant orc, Orr. The four sat in the
gentle autumn shade of a sweeping oak tree and chatted with each other,
completely relaxed. Their three mounts, meanwhile, grazed peacefully.
Ûlyėr immediately saw that the knights were all fully armed. In
addition, MacRallen had blood stains on his doublet and Morningsky’s left
arm was in a sling. Obviously, the four fighters had not avoided the war.
As the large troop approached the small group, they rose and the human,
the dwarf, and the elf bowed to Ûlyėr, who was running at the head of his
army. Orr threw back his head to expose his unprotected throat.
“Please, my friends,” Ûlyėr declined their submissive gestures. “You
saved my life and the lives of my Circle of Brothers in the cursed mine of
Sefal. There is no need to bow to me.”
“It felt a little strange anyway,” Morningsky replied coquettishly, letting
her long blonde hair fly.
“How is your sister?" Ñokelä asked the elf.
Immediately their faces turned serious.
“We have to talk, and we have to do it alone,” Boulderstone said firmly.
Zkol blew out a noise that sounded like a horn, and instantly hundreds
of orcs marched backwards in lockstep, forming a near-perfect circle about
a hundred yards in diameter. At the same time, a small delegation with long
wooden poles and black rolls of cloth came to them. In only a few minutes,
they had set up a tent that was appropriate for an audience with their
GünDa’kin.
Ûlyėr entered first without a word.
Ñokelä then pointed to the entrance to invite the four knights to enter.
Orr had to duck as he entered the tent, which was illuminated by four
fire bowls.
“Sorry for the big production, but—” Ûlyėr began.
“There's nothing to excuse, GünDa’kin,” MacRallen replied. “You lead
a warrior people—this must require a constant show of strength.
Ûlyėr nodded gratefully. “Do you mind if my closest advisers are
present for the discussion?”
“Of course not,” Boulderstone replied, taking a sip from his leather
skin.
Ñokelä and Zkol immediately stepped into the dim tent interior.
“So much for private conversation. If you don’t want an orc to hear
something, cut off his ears or cut out his heart—that’s an old dwarf saying,”
said Boulderstone with a grim face.
Ñokelä briefly looked at Zkol piercingly with his remaining eye.
The young warrior briefly left the tent and shouted something in the orc
language. Suddenly, a dark, sonorous hum rose outside the tent.
“The troops can no longer hear us. They are placating the gods of war
with song.”
“All right,” MacRallen began. “We have very little time and a lot to
report. The most important is that the fourth and last magical source has
been found.” The human took off his wide hat with the imposing red feather
and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his forearm.
“Where?” asked Ñokelä.
“In the Wañaglinĝ Mountains,” Boulderstone continued.
To Ûlyėr this was like a blow to the stomach. That’s exactly where his
three friends had planned to go. The caves are huge, he tried to remain calm
and not let his facial expressions betray his concern.
“More specifically, very close to a dwarf settlement called Falyn.”
Ûlyėr exhaled forcefully.
Zkol’s hand immediately shot to his broadsword.
Ûlyėr made a gesture to calm him down.
“Bryn, Morlâ, and Filixx went there. My Circle of Brothers. Do we
know where they are now?”
Winterblossom shook her head with a troubled face. “No one has heard
from them. All we know is that the dark sorceress has also discovered the
source. Our scouts among the Waramen report a large fleet off the cliffs of
the Wañaglinĝ Mountains. Fortunately, the caves were cleared, and the
residents were brought to safety. But we don’t know any more details.
We’ve been getting only very irregular and incomplete information in
general. Magic has become so weak on Razuclan that sustained
communication is no longer possible. There were days when none of us
could do any magic at all.”
They’re in the same boat, thought Ûlyėr. Fear flooded him. His friends
were in the middle of a hurricane, and he was not there to help them.
“Your army is only half a day’s march from the Wañaglinĝ Mountains.
Maybe even faster at your pace. You must protect the last source and not—”
Boulderstone glared at Winterblossom, and she stopped abruptly.
“Tell him,” rumbled Orr, whose yellow eyes shone in the dim twilight
of the dark tent. “He has a right to know. The chief of the chiefs makes his
decisions on behalf of an entire people. He must know the whole story.”
Boulderstone cleared his throat. “Well, there seems to be another place
that the enemy has their eye on. Âlaburg is under siege. There must be
something important there, as well. But we thought, um … well …” the old
dwarf scratched himself, embarrassed about something, “… that we maybe
shouldn’t tell you this, because the four of us are firmly convinced that this
war will be decided in Falyn and not at Âlaburg.”
“Even if that means we are leaving the university defenseless against
the enemy,” Winterblossom added in a quiet, resigned voice.
MacRallen folded her in his arms.
Her sister Tejal is there, Ûlyėr thought.
“You could reach both places in about the same time, but we beg you to
send your troops to the southeast and not to the west!” Winterblossom
continued in a firm voice.
“Decide quickly, though, time is of the essence,” said Boulderstone.
Ûlyėr nodded and thought for a moment. “I trust your judgment, wise
Grand Master. Ñokelä, command all the chiefs to march to the Wañaglinĝ
Mountains. Tell them that the largest and most important battle in
Razuclan’s history awaits them there.”

T ears came to Gerald’s eyes when he saw the extent of destruction and
death at Âlaburg. It wasn’t only Worin and Lebos who had fallen, but also
many others he had called friends. But he ran on toward Lekan without
pausing. Several times he slipped on the smelly, decaying bodies of the
Vonnyen, who now covered the campus like a rotting blanket of leaves. But
he didn’t let that stop him either. Only concern for his beloved Tejal drove
him on. Just before he reached the half-open gate, Gerald stopped abruptly.
He saw two blood-stained figures coming through. They were limping
slowly, as if they were on their last legs. Tejal! Gerald’s heart leapt. Then he
realized who was shuffling in front of her with a hanging head full of
tangled gray hair. Jehal, that miserable traitor. He’s to blame for everything.
Gerald pulled out his hunting dagger and stalked toward the former Master
of Magic in a murderous crouch.
“Put the knife away, Gerald,” Tejal ordered when he reached her. “More
than enough blood has been shed for one day.”
 It was difficult for Gerald to lower the knife, but the joy of seeing her
alive again helped him overcome his anger. “What will happen to him?” He
pointed the knife at the dazed, apathetic old man.
“We’ll decide together with the Order of Âlaburg another time. For now,
he’ll be detained in Řischnărr House. We have more important things to
do.” A Samuusa suddenly fluttered out from behind Tejal.
Gerald bowed to her. “Eternal thanks to you and your sisters for saving
us.”
The Samuusa giggled. “You also saved the castle, my dear Gerald, and
many others too. The price was far too high and yet the war is far from
won.”
Gerald’s forehead wrinkled in confusion.
“My sister, who’s providing us with energy from the Seer of Colors, has
been able to communicate with us again since this morning. She reports that
the fourth source has been found. It is near the dwarf village of Falyn. The
enemy has also discovered the source and is attacking the caves to destroy it
as we speak.”
Gerald was stunned. “Are Bryn, Morlâ, and Filixx still there?”
“Yes,” squeaked the Samuusa. “Take all those who can still fight and
ride as fast as the East Wind to the Wañaglinĝ Mountains. Protect the source
and save the Seer of Colors. The moment of truth has come.”

“W hat about O livin ?” Bryn asked the Samuusa, who was flying so fast
that they had to jog to keep up.
The Samuusa began to blink back tears frantically. “He sacrificed
himself for you. A millennia-old magical being. His opponent was simply
too strong. Your grandmother, your family, you carry the magic within you.
No one on Razuclan has these powers. Even the guardian could only hold
out for a few minutes. He has done us a great service, however, by
destroying the portal after your escape. The sorceress has no idea where you
disappeared to.
Bryn’s heart was heavy. Drena’s rescue had claimed a great sacrifice.
The Samuusa led them to the Path of Graves. The tunnel that had been
sealed off by Olivin was now open again from the numerous explosions that
now shook the cave at irregular intervals. The students quickly climbed
over the pile of rubble into the interior of the dark passage. They had left
Drena in Filixx’s home. The magical sleep would heal her again quickly.
When they arrived in the corridor of the dead, the golden glowing Samuusa
steered them to the left. They headed directly toward the wall, but to Bryn’s
surprise there was a hidden staircase carved into the rock. The Samuusa
quickly flew up. The three friends and Aska followed her.
Cool wind and a radiant glow awaited Bryn when he finally pushed the
round steel plate upwards. Bryn gave himself a second to enjoy their
regained freedom, even if the bright light of the rising sun burned his eyes.
The Samuusa whizzed past Bryn, as if she too was happy to finally be in
the open air again.
Bryn helped Morlâ and Filixx up and out. When he turned around, he
couldn’t believe his eyes. They were standing on the edge of a high rocky
cliff covered with green grass, which fell steeply to the sea. Bryn looked
cautiously over the edge. A frightened moan escaped him when he saw the
huge fleet of black ships with their dark sails.

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 The Guardian’s Hoard

T he narrow dinghy crunched onto the small, rocky beach in the shade
of the overgrown green cliffs. Two hulky Vonnyen wrapped in black
coats jumped out and pulled the boat the last few feet to land.
Caoimhe jumped light-footed over the low side of the boat. “Ahh …
Razuclan, how I’ve missed you. Nothing against Fog Island, but this is
something else. This place pulsates with life. Don’t you feel it too, little
sister?”
Bryn’s mother remained seated in the dark boat and stared into nothing.
“Are you still pouting?” her sister asked. “Rejoice. You’re finally back
on your beloved continent of primitive magic.”
A Vonnyen, wearing a red strip of cloth on his upper arm, approached
Caoimhe. “The dwarvesss have left trapsss. There were explosionsss. We
have taken severe lossesss.”
Caoimhe waved this off, completely disinterested. “Have you blown
open an entrance yet or not, General?”
The rotten undead, whose skull was covered only by brown, parchment-
like skin, fell to his knees. Looking down, he replied, “No, Massster. The
rock is too hard.
“Tisk tisk,” Bryn’s aunt scolded in an exaggerated little girl voice,
wagging her index finger. “Did you hear that, Davina? Our poor Vonnyen
here can’t manage to smash that naughty, hard stone.” In a casual gesture,
she tore the red strip of cloth from her general’s arm.
“No,” he shouted. “I’ll push my men harder, we’ll—”
“You should have thought about that earlier.” She took a deep breath
and blew it out in a hiss. A red glowing flame shot from her mouth and
burned first the disfigured face of the soldier, and then the rest of his body.
All that remained was a dark spot on the white pebbles of the beach. “Oh
dear, now we need a new general. Well, I’ll deal with that later. It’s time to
get the source. Mother expects results, as I’m sure you know all too well.”
In the meantime, numerous other row boats had arrived, and the beach
was filling up with black figures. A ship marked with red banners landed
right next to them. Four broad-shouldered Vonnyen jumped out and then
lifted out two wooden boxes.
“Ah!” Caoimhe greeted the newcomers, “There’s the rest of our
Kamarkegel. Wonderful, now we just have to ignite them next to the source
and we can finally say goodbye to the inferior magic of Razuclan. But first
we have to get inside that damn mountain.” She walked quickly to the steep
cliff face, the top of which was obscured from view. Caoimhe placed her
hands on the slippery, wet rock, which was overgrown with green algae and
covered with barnacles. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
“Hmmm,” she murmured, “granite and magalithium. Quite refined, these
cave rats. Oh, and there’s the little source … mhh … mhh … this shouldn’t
take long. Nobody is in these caves anymore, anyway.” Now she pressed
her face against the rock. “Oh, wait, that’s not true. Fate is smiling on me
once again. He is here. How convenient.” Abruptly, she turned around and
shouted, "Davina, come here! I need your help. The Boyd sisters are finally
reunited. Fulfill this task and I will keep my promise. Nothing will happen
to Drena and Bryn.”
Davina heaved an annoyed sigh, then rose clumsily from the hard bench
of the rowboat. She ignored the skeletal Vonnyen hand that reached out to
help her and jumped ashore. Bryn’s mother looked her sister in the face.
Had she just seen a change in her when she said Bryn’s name? No, he’s far
away. Hidden away under the protection of his friends and Gerald, she
calmed herself. I’m just imagining things because I hate her so much. She
just always looks like she’s up to no good. She quickly made her way up the
beach, climbing over strangely twisted, brown and black driftwood the tide
had brought in. “I’ll help you, but only this one time.”
“Yes, yes, we’ll see,” Caoimhe giggled, rubbing her hands in
anticipation. “I have to admit that I really missed this. Without your
strength, I’m only half as powerful.”
“Let’s just get this over with already,” Davina urged.
 Caoimhe put her hands on her sister’s shoulders in an unexpected
gesture of trust.
Surprisingly, Drena did not push her away. Instead, her facial expression
relaxed, as if a great peace were coming over her.
The twin sisters suddenly put their foreheads together. Red sparks of
energy crackled at the contact point. A moment later, the two heads
disappeared in a vortex of red magic that spread through their entire bodies
from top to bottom. As if someone had blown out a candle, the glaring
magical light then suddenly went out. Only one person stood where two had
just been.
“Wonderful,” said the woman. “So much power. I missed this so much.
Yes, Davina, I know. We agreed at Âlaburg that we would never unite in
front of others.” Caoimhe made a sweeping gesture, pointing to the
hundreds of Vonnyen who populated the beach, stoking fires, unloading
weapons, filling arrow quivers, and performing countless other activities
necessary to conquer a foreign land. “But they don’t count. Can we get
started already?” For a short time, there was silence, in which only the crash
of the waves and the moans of the Vonnyen could be heard. “Thank you.”
The woman trudged toward the spot on the rock face she had just examined.
She drove away the Vonnyen standing in front with an “out of the way,
scum.” A few yards from the massive face, she stopped and took a deep
breath. “Well, let’s see if we can still do this.” Suddenly, the air began to
flicker above her.
A few Vonnyen, who had foolishly remained near her, quickly
withdrew. Their black capes were starting to smoke.
A wide, red beam shot out of her body directly toward the rock. The
soaking wet flotsam lying around them began to burn, so great was the heat.
But the magic did not only have a devastating effect on the wood. After a
few seconds, the rock began to glow and then collapsed into the shape of a
large drop. A small flow of molten rock began to run toward the sea. This
went on for several hours. They had to invest enormous energy to melt the
incredibly dense stone. After the steam had finally dissipated, a round
tunnel now reached deep into the mountain.

T he friends hurriedly ran back to Falyn. “What do we do now?” asked

Morlâ.
 “As I see it, we have only two options,” replied a breathless Filixx.
“Either we get Drena, flee through the main gate, and try to make our way
to the Waramen …” He rubbed his left side to drive away a cramp, but did
not slow his pace. “Or we defend the last magical source keeping
everything on Razuclan alive. Oh, in all that excitement, I almost forgot that
we can now communicate with the outside world again.” Three green-gold
werelights appeared and flew at high speed toward the main gate.
“Who are those for?” Bryn asked his friend, lunging so he wouldn’t
stumble over Aska, who was dashing back and forth across the path in front
of him.
“One is for Tejal, another is headed to the Waramen, and one …” he
cleared his throat, embarrassed, “um, to my mother.”
“Do you think any of them can help us?” asked Bryn skeptically.
“The Waramen are nearby, at least,” Filixx replied. “And Tejal is the
most powerful sorceress I know. If anyone can arrange help for us, it’s her.”
“I didn’t know your mother was just as powerful and deserves a
message, too,” Morlâ frowned and slowed down the pace. They had finally
reached the village lying quietly in the turquoise shimmer of the
phosphorescent moss. They climbed over the rubble from the Path of
Graves into the huge space. Morlâ stopped briefly and looked at the magical
source, whose bright blue light could be seen from afar. “This is the heart of
the dwarf kingdom. No wonder such a gifted magician was born here. Your
mother should be proud of herself!” He patted the sweating Filixx
appreciatively on the shoulder.
“It’s obvious what we’ll do,” Bryn said what they were all thinking. He
bent down to Aska and scratched the neck of the faithful fox. Aska enjoyed
the attention. “Filixx has already sent for help. We just need to somehow
hold out until it arrives. Maybe the enemy won’t make it through the
confusing tunnels down here until then. We’ve gotten through worse,
haven’t we?”
His friends grinned at him. The decision had been made.

“W hat do we do with her ?” asked Bryn after returning to Filixx’s

childhood home and gently caressing Drena’s cheek. The young woman
now had a bit more color but was still deep in her magically induced sleep.
 “There’s no way she can stay here,” Filixx said. “Falyn will probably be
the first to be overrun.”
“Let’s put her in one of the tombs in the Path of Graves,” Morlâ
suggested.
Bryn found the idea macabre, but he agreed with his roommate. No one
would ever look for Drena in one of the ancient tombs, especially since the
Path of Graves was a secret passage.
“I’ll take her there,” Filixx said. He had cast the healing spell, after all.
“And the rest of you come with me!” the Samuusa then peeped in a
surprisingly commanding tone. “We’ll meet again at the source in an hour,
Filixx. Hurry up!”
“Sounds like a plan. I guess there’s no more democracy here since we
took this Samuusa in.”
“Trust in her judgment, pipsqueak,” Filixx said with a grin as he lifted
Drena gently with his magic.
Bryn briefly squeezed her hand as she floated past him. Filixx pushed
her in front of him as if she were on an invisible cart.
“One hour, Filixx!” shouted the Samuusa after him as he stood in the
door of the house and looked around again.
The dwarf-elf indicated with a thumbs up that he had understood.
“Come along, we have a lot to do!”
Aska spun in circles with excitement as the four set off.

T he S amuusa led B ryn , Morlâ, and Aska out of Falyn through an

inconspicuous side tunnel into a small cave.
“Funny,” Morlâ wondered. “I thought I had explored every tunnel near
Falyn, but I don’t remember this one at all.
The Samuusa giggled. “Don’t worry, little puppy dwarf, you could
never know this secret. This is the Guardian’s stronghold. Only when he
was called did this cave open. Let’s make use of what he left us.”
Bryn wondered what she was talking about—he saw only an empty
chamber.
The fairy flew in a high arc through the underground room, trailing
small blue sparks. Suddenly, a long row of shelves appeared. The ones on
the left were filled with thousands of folios bound in brittle leather. The
ones on the right contained the largest armory Bryn had ever seen or could
have imagined. Row after row of blunderbusses, round and square shields,
sacks of explosive powder, swords of all sizes and types, small plate armor
in dwarf size, chain mail, helmets, and more.
“Wow,” Morlâ breathed reverently, “I hate to say it, but … A few
hundred dwarves to fill this armor would be very welcome right now.”
The Samuusa giggled. “We can manage on our own.” She flew toward a
shelf between the books and weapons and signaled the two students to
follow her.
Bryn had to bend down to see what she wanted to show them. He saw
hand-sized, plate-shaped metal discs packed in sawdust.
“Are those explosive plates?” asked Morlâ with interest. “I once read in
a book about the Second War of the Nations that the dwarf king Etsy used
those to successfully defend a dwarf tunnel against four entire armies of
orcs.
The Samuusa did a backflip in the air.
“How do they work?” asked Bryn skeptically.
“You bury them in the ground or hide them on the walls and if someone
touches them, they explode.”
Aska tried to stick his nose in the box to find out what his friends found
so interesting.
Immediately, the little fairy rushed to the snow fox and pulled him away
from the dangerous weapons by the ear. “Be careful, you cheeky fox," she
scolded.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” asked Bryn.
“I think so,” Morlâ replied with zeal. “We’ll surround the source with
these!”
“And every tunnel entrance we can find,” Bryn added.
In excitement, they brought out all the boxes with the blast plates.
In the meantime, the Samuusa conjured up two small hand carts into
which they loaded the numerous weapons. The mines were supplemented
by several blunderbusses and bags of gunpowder and lead shot.
When Morlâ had placed the last box on the small handcart, he patted it
appreciatively on the side. “Well, I hate to admit it, but your magic is pretty
impressive. With old Filixx, I had to cut down a tree before he could
conjure up a cart for us.”
“Wasn’t Ûlyėr a bit faster than you?” teased the Samuusa.
Morlâ turned a little red. “I’m not sure about that. I—”
 Laughing, they pushed their dangerous goods toward the source.
Filixx was already waiting for them. The dwarf-elf had put on a
sweeping azure cape with a hood, which he had pulled down over his face.
He had gone to his knees only a few yards away from the mysteriously
shimmering magical source. Bryn’s friend seemed to be examining it more
closely.
“Don’t scare us like that, Filixx,” Morlâ greeted the dwarf-elf. “In that
fancy cloak you look like an enormous Gnarf worm.”
“The worms are gone,” Filixx informed Morlâ.
They took a closer look. It was true—the source was no longer covered
by thousands of Gnarf worms.
“Have you noticed that it has grown? When we got here, it looked like a
little wart on the ground, but now it’s turned into quite a mound.”
“That’s just how it is with warts, I once had an aunt in the Ice
Mountains—”
The Samuusa, riding Aska like a horse, interrupted the dwarf, “Of
course the worms are gone. They’re helping to defend the only remaining
source of magic on Razuclan. And the source is being pulled toward the
surface because everyone is pulling on it. The Guardian’s protections are
now gone. But let’s go! We have a lot of work to do.”
The friends began to diligently install booby traps everywhere they
could. To his dismay, Aska had to sit on the cart so he wouldn’t accidentally
trigger one of the mines.

"M an , that was quite a lot. But I think we should go back to the Guardian’s
stronghold to get more weapons. It can’t hurt, then we could—”
“Is it getting hotter in here?” Bryn interrupted his friend.
“It’s always a bit warmer underground than on the surface. You must
have gotten used to it.”
“No, Bryn is right. It’s much warmer now than it was just a few minutes
ago,” Filixx confirmed.
"What could have caused that?”
“Nothing good,” replied the Samuusa.
Suddenly, they heard a strange cracking and tearing, as if someone were
smashing a massive log with tremendous force. It got hotter and hotter.
 Bryn’s back was now soaked in sweat. His chain mail and leather
doublet were not made for such high temperatures. It wasn’t easy to identify
the origin of the noise in the extensive cave. It seemed to run through the
entire mountain. The ground vibrated slightly. He turned his head in all
directions. Then Bryn noticed a reddish glow out of the corner of his eye.
“There!” he exclaimed, pointing into the darkness.
Everyone looked in that direction and saw a fiery red glow that erupted
from the cave wall at the other end of the cavern. They had to squint their
eyes and finally turn away, so bright was the flare. When they were able to
look again, they saw a dark circle standing out clearly from the gray of the
rock. A new tunnel had appeared.
“Oh,” Morlâ gasped in surprise. “We didn’t place any mines there.”
At the same moment, a distant roar and moan rang out. Paired with the
disgustingly sweet scent of decay.

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 Defenders of the Last Source

I t took quite a while for the first Vonnyen to emerge from the opening.
Bryn, Morlâ, and Filixx used this grace period to take cover with the
blunderbusses behind small boulders. They sat in a semicircle around
the source, waiting for the undead attackers to approach. They would
launch their first attack with the Guardian’s long-range weapons. If the
Vonnyen managed to fight their way to the vicinity of the magic source,
they would resort to magic. If that failed, Bryn had his bow. He knew if it
came to using this conventional weapon, they would have already lost the
battle.
“This is bullshit,” Morlâ whispered loudly. “They’re headed right for us.
That means they’ll miss the blast plates on the right. I thought they would
come through the main tunnel.”
“There’s nothing we can do about it now,” replied Filixx, who, like his
friends, had already woven himself into a gently shimmering protective
cocoon. “At least they’ll set off the second ring of mines here around the
source.”
“Yes, but then they’ll be on top of us already. It would be nice if half the
monsters were already blown to bits before they even got here.”
Suddenly Aska, who had been sitting peacefully next to Bryn, shot out
of the shelter of their hiding place and ran in the direction of the marching
Vonnyen.
“Aska,” Bryn hissed, “come back!”
But the snow fox ignored his master’s command. Determined, he was
running right into the arms of the enemy.
 Bryn was about to run after him until the Samuusa sat on his shoulder
and giggled in his ear, “Let Aska go. He knows what he’s doing, and he’s
doing it for you!”
Spellbound, the four friends followed the confused, zigzag course of the
gray snow fox, who was seeking cover behind rocks, houses, and cave
protrusions on his way toward their enemy, who now numbered in the
hundreds. Now Aska was almost on them.
“I really hope he knows what he’s doing. The little guy is growing on
me,” Morlâ murmured, nervously licking his lips.
Aska suddenly shot out of cover and attacked a Vonnyen who had
wandered away from the others. He bit his calf and tugged on his black
cloak.
The monster stumbled and gave a roar that resounded through the cave.
He swung his longsword at the fox, who skillfully dodged out of the way.
Immediately the soldier’s comrades came to his aid. At the same time, the
plaza in front of the new tunnel continued to fill up, as more Vonnyen
moved in and marched forward. Many seemed to be unsure in which
direction they should go.
Aska ripped the cloaks from other Vonnyen and ran around between
their legs, causing many to fall or stagger menacingly. He soon had a whole
squad on his tail. The snow fox now started running away and the entire
horde of Vonnyen ran after him.
“You little devil,” Filixx said in amazement at this sight. “Is he doing
what I think he’s doing?”
At the same moment, Aska made a huge jump—seemingly out of
nowhere and for no reason.
His pursuers, however, saw nothing suspicious in this. They simply ran
after him—directly into Morlâ’s minefield.
Crashing explosions and flashes of fire shook the cave. There was
unrest among the Vonnyen. The lack of space in front of the newly created
tunnel and the obvious coordination problems exacerbated this chaos and
led to at least a hundred more undead falling into the blast plates.
Aska had completed his mission. Protected by the confusion, he ran
back to his companions.
“Well done, little guy,” Bryn praised as the fox joined them again
behind the rocks to take cover again.
 Filixx pulled a cube of moldy green dwarf cheese from his pocket and
threw it to the fox as a reward.
He leapt, caught it in his mouth, and devoured the yak milk specialty
with a loud smack.
A roar sounded, which left a ringing in Bryn’s ears.
They all looked in the direction of the noise. Two gigantic Vonnyen
carrying red banners stepped out of the tunnel and started beating the
Vonnyen with long ox whips. Killing five of their brethren brought military
calm to the chaotic ranks. The now disciplined army split into two parts and
marched to the source like a tightening vice.
“Looks like we aren’t dealing with complete idiots anymore,” Morlâ
remarked.
“We can still stop them, though. Filixx, you could do your magic wall of
fire—” Bryn could not finish his thoughts. A strange crackle followed by a
hum that seemed vaguely familiar to Bryn commanded his full attention. He
turned in the direction of the approaching attackers. Petrified, he and his
friends had to watch as a huge, shimmering red protection spell, like a
transparent fog, spread over the army of the Vonnyen.
“How can that be?” breathed Filixx in disbelief.
At the same moment, they saw a petite woman appear in the tunnel.

"F aster ," Ñokelä shouted at the grunting orcs, who were racing past their
leader. The army left a wide path of devastation. No blade of grass or grain
stood after hundreds of heavy orcs in full armor trampled them.
“How much further?” Ûlyėr asked MacRallen in a full sprint. The
human was only able to keep up with the orcish pace because he was riding
a horse.
“Do you see those two columns on the horizon? Those are the pillars of
the gate that leads to Falyn. At this pace, we should be there in an hour at
the latest.”
“Good, then maybe we’re not too late. We should—”
MacRallen’s brown stallion suddenly bellowed in pain, drowning out
Ûlyėr’s next words. The animal collapsed at a full gallop and tumbled over
and over. His rider was thrown far away.
“By Tamir,” shouted Ûlyėr, “what happened?” Only one heartbeat later,
he saw only the back of a shield.
 Zkol brought the round shield back down, so his GünDa’kin had a clear
field of vision again. Stuck deep in the leather was a black feathered arrow.
The young warrior had moved in front of his leader as a living shield. A
dozen other orcs followed suit.
“An ambush,” shouted Ñokelä, who quickly understood the situation.
“Archers in the trees! Shields up! Javelins, attack the treetops! Axes, cut
down every tree you can!”
As soon as the words were spoken, a veritable flood of black arrows
descended on the orcs who were marching close together. For many, the
warning came too late. They fell under the brutal attack. Their huge muscles
were of no use to them. The excellent archers in the trees found every gap
in their armor.
The army of any other nation would have scattered in panic and
retreated. Not so, the brave warrior sons. They ignored their injuries and
fallen brothers and carried out Ñokelä’s order exactly. Except some of the
strong orcs simply tore up the trees and did not waste the time with the
axes. Spears then hissed through the air and dropped Vonnyen from the
trees like autumn’s falling fruit. The forest quickly got a new clearing, as
one tree after another fell. Each time a tree fell, several orcs were on hand
to chop the devious snipers to pieces as soon as they touched the ground.
Ûlyėr also threw himself into battle with his bodyguards. Grand Master
Boulderstone and Orr were at his side. Bravely, they charged ahead to
engage the enemy. It seemed as if the forest was full of Vonnyen. The
undead refused to retreat, no matter how many of their comrades were
crushed by the angry orcs.
“We’ll defeat these pigs soon,” Zkol exclaimed, swinging nimbly
through the branches of a large birch tree. A moment later, two figures
dressed in black fell to the ground with a clap. Before the Vonnyen had a
chance to rise, Ûlyėr had cut off one’s head and Boulderstone had driven his
ax deep into the other’s skull. Zkol dropped back to the ground, absorbing
the impact with his knees. His face was glowing with fighting zeal.
Suddenly, a red bolt of lightning struck the warrior’s broad chest. Utter
shock on his face, he looked down at his chest and then fell over dead.
How is that possible? thought Ûlyėr, overcome with panic. Only Bryn
can attack orcs with magic!
“I think we underestimated our enemy. No one from Razuclan can defeat a
mage who can cast such a powerful spell,” Filixx said in shock.
Now Bryn remembered where he had heard that strange hum before—
on Fog Island, when his grandmother had attacked him and his friends. “I
can. Everyone in my family can do these spells. Just give me enough time
and I’ll take care of my aunt.”
“Yes, sir,” Morlâ gave an exaggerated salute. “The four of us will take
care of this tiny handful of Vonnyen and you take care of the dark
sorceress.”
“I’m serious,” Bryn insisted.
“The Seer of Colors must face his fate,” the Samuusa added. She
fluttered to Bryn and looked intensely at him with her bright green eyes.
“You will make the right decision when the time comes. Farewell, Bryn,”
she whispered so quietly that Morlâ and Filixx could not hear her. The tiny
fairy then kissed him gently on the nose and disappeared into the darkness
of the cave.
The Vonnyen stench got even stronger. They passed through Falyn,
setting fire to houses indiscriminately.
“All right, then that’s how we’ll do it. We’ll distract them away from
you so you can fight your way to your aunt.” Filixx hugged Bryn tightly.
Morlâ joined him. Embarrassed, he then rubbed his eyes with a very
dirty cloth. “Make sure you come back to us. I don’t want a new roommate
next semester.”
Bryn swallowed hard. The whispered words of the Samuusa echoed in
his head, You will make the right decision when the time comes. Farewell,
Bryn!

T he single deadly lightning bolt was followed by many others. The orcs
fell like leaves in the wind. They were completely helpless against magic.
Ûlyėr understood that only he could save his people now. He had to stop
the hidden wizard. “Take cover! No one comes to my aid!” he shouted
without turning around, weaving a milky-gray protective veil around his
large body in a full sprint. And just in time, because three magical attacks
were already raining down on his shell. It became briefly transparent each
time, but it held. Ûlyėr’s great physical powers helped him to maintain the
spell even against the powerful attacks. But he no longer ran in a straight
line through the forest, but sought shelter behind the trees that were being
shredded by the bolts. At least now he’s completely focused on me. This
gives my soldiers time to protect themselves. Ñokelä will know what to do.
He soon reached a clearing. In the middle sat a thin man on a horse,
surrounded by six Vonnyen.

B ryn heard the blunderbusses booming . His friends had revealed their
position with the shots, although the weapons would not do much against a
magical shield. He slowly snuck toward the tunnel. Aska was at his side.
Despite his orders, the fox had refused to stay behind. Secretly, Bryn was
glad he didn’t have to go alone. The murky, bluish-green darkness was on
his side and so he made good progress. He had almost reached the burning
village. Bryn intended to bypass the place in an arc. The flames between
him and the army would give him cover. Right now, though, he was very
close to the fanned-out phalanx of fighters. The stench was terrible, but it
was the red glowing eyes, which were particularly visible in the murky
darkness, that frightened him more than he wanted to admit. The sheer
number of red dots staring into the darkness from rotten skulls gave him the
chills. Their gaze never wavered from the shimmering blue source and the
blunderbusses firing from behind it. They were inexorably attracted to the
mysterious light.
Bryn had almost reached Falyn’s first house when he stumbled on a
loose rock. “Ouch!” he shouted as he hit the ground. His right ankle
throbbed painfully.
Aska growled in the darkness.
“It’s okay, little guy. I just sprained my ankle.” Bryn lifted his gaze and
saw that dozens of red eyes were now staring at him from the darkness.

W ith an animalistic roar , Ûlyėr ran at his adversary. It would be a

pitched battle for everyone. Six Vonnyen by themselves were not to be
underestimated, but that was without the powerful mage who was somehow
even able to attack orcs with magic.
The Vonnyen drew their longswords and lurched toward Ûlyėr. They
fanned out into a semicircle in front of their master to attack from several
sides at once.
Ûlyėr knew he had already lost the battle, but he decided to take as
many enemies as possible with him. He did manage to slice one Vonnyen in
the side with his sword, but the others skillfully dodged again and again.
The wizard did not stop his attacks. Ûlyėr was completely exhausted.
Maintaining his protective shell took much more strength than he had
expected. I can’t believe Filixx can do this for so long, he thought and had
to smile despite everything. Once again, he gathered all his strength, but the
five remaining undead kept him at a distance and now went on the attack.
Another bolt of lightning struck, lifting him from his feet. When he opened
his eyes after the painful impact, his protective spell had collapsed.
Groaning, he stood up and, to his surprise, saw that the remaining Vonnyen
were scattered throughout the clearing, all missing their heads. A single orc
now ran at the wizard. He dodged the bolts with ease.
“Joklin, you were always terrible in Combat. But your new Vonnyen
friends aren't much better.”
Ñokelä followed me, Ûlyėr realized. He took a closer look at the lone
rider. It was true—in the rotting grimace of the Vonnyen sitting on the
horse, some features of the former student could still be seen. Ûlyėr ran as
fast as he could to help the old Combat Master.
“And you orcsss were always the ssscum of the university. For usss it
was like having to study with animalsss. Fortunately, that’s all over now,”
Joklin laughed diabolically.
Ñokelä heaved a spear at his former student, but the man simply
stopped it in midair and threw it back. In a flash, the Master rolled away to
the side.
Ûlyėr was now standing next to him and offered his hand to help him
up. “You disobeyed a direct order from your GünDa’kin,” he reprimanded
the Combat Master with a broad grin.
“To me, you will always be a student. And the son of your incredible
mother. I wish I could have spared you—” The Combat Master never
finished his sentence. A red lance of fire sprang from the ground under him
and incinerated the orc.
Unbridled rage flooded through Ûlyėr—something he had never felt
before. The suppressed rage of years of humiliation helped Ûlyėr to jump
several yards into the air from a standstill. His muscular arms lengthened in
flight to magical black blades. Crashing down on Joklin, he sliced through
the man’s magical protective armor with ease and divided the Vonnyen and
his horse smoothly into two halves.

B ryn tried to get up , but his ankle hurt too much to rise. The pain was so
severe that it disturbed Bryn’s concentration; for the first time in months, he
could not immerse himself in the realm to heal himself magically.
Aska did his best to defend him, but the Vonnyen simply ignored the fox
now. Their target was Bryn. They approached him in an unstoppable wave.
A moaning, smelly, murderous wave.
“Aska,” Bryn groaned. “Aska, come to me.” He didn’t want the snow
fox to sacrifice himself. Tail pulled in, the fox came to Bryn and licked his
face comfortingly. The first bony fingers were now reaching for Bryn. They
narrowly missed his face, but Bryn could feel the breeze from the dead
hands. Bryn closed his eyes and tried again to reach the magical in-between
world. Suddenly, he heard a happy giggle. The next moment the earth shook
with a deafening rumble. Dust shot through Bryn’s nose and into his lungs.
Coughing, he opened his eyes and saw only a cloud of dust. When the dust
settled, all the Vonnyen had disappeared. In their place, a deep crater had
appeared. Bryn dragged himself to the edge of the pit and saw thousands of
Gnarf worms consuming the Vonnyen. The chewing sound made Bryn sick.

“I t ’ s locked ,” Ulur said, lifting his hand from the solid wood. His twin
brother Rulu nodded.
“Darn dwarfs,” Gerald grumbled to himself. "Diorit, Magalit, can’t you
open it?” he asked. The two had joined the hastily organized band led by
Gerald, Tejal and a few other Masters of Âlaburg.
“It’s no longer magically sealed,” said a heavily armed Toulin dressed
all in dark colors. The loss of his two friends tormented him greatly. The
Five Wise Ones had spent most of their lives together and saw themselves
as a family.
Magalit knocked on the huge gate that sealed the caves of dwarves. “It’s
meant to keep out enemies. Even if it’s not sealed with magic, we are still
dealing with a yard or more of wood and several tons of the finest dwarf
steel. It’s locked from the inside with a very secure mechanism. We
dwarves understand how to make strong doors and gates. Even so, I think
we just need a bit of raw strength to break down that little thing.”
“We have plenty of that,” a deep, scratchy voice suddenly boomed.
Ûlyėr, stained with dried blue blood and looking more dangerous than ever,
appeared behind them. He was followed by an army of muscle-bound orcs
who would not let anything stop them from entering the caves.

“D o you have any lead shot left?” Morlâ shouted to Filixx, who was firing
one of his three blunderbusses. The dwarf was loading his own weapon
with a long stick to make it ready to fire again.
“Not much, but I think we’ve done our job. These things are worthless
anyway. The magical protection is far too strong. But hopefully we
provided enough distraction.”
“What was that rumbling?”
Filixx shrugged. “I bet it was the Samuusa. Come on, we have to get out
of here!”
Morlâ looked at the approaching Vonnyen. Although the army had lost
almost half its ranks, there was still a frightening number of monsters on the
way. “You’re right. Let’s get out of here.”
“Wait a minute,” Filixx shouted in shock when he saw two Vonnyen
carrying a wooden box that seemed somehow familiar to him. Memories of
a dangerous magical flight through sultry, tropical night air flooded him.
The dwarf-elf got goosebumps when he finally realized where he had seen
the box before and what it contained. “Morlâ,” he yelled to the retreating
dwarf, “those two carrying the box. I think I know what they’re up to.”
Morlâ rolled his eyes while also rotating his finger at his temple to let
Filixx know what he thought of this.
“I’m not crazy,” Filixx scolded. “They have Kamarkegel in those boxes.
Bryn said Drena saw them on Fog Island. I think they want to blow up the
source with them, just like they did in the Sealands.”
Morlâ ran to his friend. “Are you sure? Then we have to find a way to
stop them.” He took a deep breath. “Judging by the stench, we only have a
few minutes left. Any plan on how we can get through an impenetrable
magical shield and stop a few hundred Vonnyen in time?”
B ryn healed his ankle with magic. When the danger was no longer so
immediate and his panic had diminished, entry into the realm was no longer
a problem. Meanwhile, all the remaining Vonnyen were now behind him,
and he was able to walk unmolested through the burning Falyn in the
direction of the lone sorceress. Aska trotted faithfully at his side. When
Bryn had almost reached the tunnel, he slowed down and tried to approach
his enemy unseen. But he had underestimated her. Suddenly, a red-hot,
magical tentacle wrapped itself around his leg and lifted him painfully into
the air. He was pulled directly to the dark mage.

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 The Fate of the Seer of Colors

Y ou’re scaring me a little, my boy,” Gerald said to Ûlyėr, who was

shouting commands confidently.
“You never have to be afraid of me, Master Gerald. And we both
know you never will be. I haven’t forgotten the bruises you gave me in our
combat sessions in the gardens. But every Vonnyen in this cave can expect
only the worst from me and my people.”
“Ñokelä would be proud of you. He was always proud of you, even if
he couldn’t ever show it,” Gerald tried to find a few comforting words.
Just then, there was a loud creaking, followed by a metallic moan that
ended in a splintering crash. The combined strength of the entire orc army
had brought down the gate.
“No mercy!” shouted Ûlyėr in the harsh, choppy language of his people.
“Wipe that undead scum from the face of Razuclan forever!”
Roaring, the heavily armed warriors stormed into the cave.

B ryn tried to resist the spell, but it was just too strong. His own helpless
magical efforts fizzled out on the unyielding red band. Bryn landed roughly
on the hard rock floor of the cave. In front of him, surrounded by a red
glow, stood the woman who had been making his life hell for years now.
His aunt Caoimhe.
“Hello, Bryn. Now we can finally get to know each other face to face.
I’ve invested so much to bring this day to pass, and now you fall into my
lap like a piece of ripe fruit. You truly have a talent for being in the wrong
place at the right time,” she laughed.
Bryn tried to look his aunt directly in the face, but something was very
strange. Whenever he looked directly at her, her face blurred. When he
averted his eyes slightly, however, he could make out clear contours again.
It was impossible for him to really see the person behind all these evil
deeds. Bryn heard a muffled roar, as if from a powerful blow, echoing
through the hall. A few seconds later, the noise was repeated. Someone is
trying to open the gate, it became clear to him. I have to stall. Maybe help
has finally come. “I could have gladly done without all our encounters.
They caused only suffering.”
Strangely, it seemed almost like the woman with the dark blonde hair
was looking at him with empathy. A blink of an eye later, however, this
emotion disappeared and turned into an angry mask of rage.
“That’s all history. Now you’re finally back together with us.”
“If you think I’ll be leading this toxic family, you can forget about it,”
Bryn shouted in fury. He didn’t care what would happen to him anymore.
Farewell, Bryn. The words of the Samuusa were still in his head. The die
had long since been cast—maybe already on the day of his birth. “And you
can tell that to the old hag.”
The small woman looked dumbfounded. Even in the blurry face this
was clear to see. “What did she say?” she cried out shrilly. “Did she say you
would be her heir? That sly old snake. You will never inherit anything.” Her
hands glowed dangerously as she loaded up a deadly spell.

F ilixx said the first thing that came to mind. “We have to hide the source.”
Morlâ gave a skeptical look, then he smiled. Everything went pitch
black. The pulsating cobalt blue of the source had disappeared; the blue-
green shimmer of the moss was gone; the flames raging in Falyn were no
longer visible.
Filixx and his friend conjured up a glowing blue mound that looked
exactly like the magical source.
Quietly and inconspicuously, the two students rushed to the new mound,
each with a blunderbuss under his arm.
“The Svart Spell—a brilliant idea, Grand Master Morlâ,” Filixx praised
his friend in a whisper. “I would never have come up with that idea so
quickly. Extinguishing all light is a simple but effective spell.”
“Not quite as simple as your elementary duplication spell, but that was
also a good idea, Master Filixx,” Morlâ replied with a huge grin.
In between the banter, the friends shot again and again to lure the
Vonnyen in the direction of the false source. And indeed, it worked. At least
until a tiny ray of daylight fell into the cave after several loud crashes.

T he orcs fell on their opponents, but soon realized that their attacks were
entirely in vain. It was as if they were waves slamming into a massive,
unyielding cliff. The Vonnyen were protected by a reddish spell that even
the orcs could not penetrate. And now the Vonnyen began to fight back.
From the protection of their huge magical cocoon, they launched a flood of
spears and swords through the air.
Ûlyėr raged when he saw that he had let his soldiers run into a trap. He
quickly went to the head of his army, firing dark lightning bolts at the
Vonnyen and hoping to destroy their shield. But his spells could only make
small tears in the shell and would not lead them to victory. His men still
held out, but more and more fell injured or dead.
“We have to retreat, Ûlyėr,” Gerald shouted through the noise of the
fight as he ducked away from a blade.

B ryn squinted and turned away slightly. His moment of death had come.
He thought he saw two identical-looking women who merged again and
again, only to break away from each other again shortly afterwards. They
seemed to be wrestling with each other. Scraps of conversation reached his
ear. “You promised … No … Mother betrayed me … I won’t let him take
my place …”
Suddenly, Aska stood panting next to Bryn. He watched the action
briefly and then ran directly at the struggling women. He bit down hard on
one of their hands.
That seemed to give the other a decisive advantage. A single kind face
started to come into focus.
Bryn’s heart beat out of his chest. He knew who it was—his mother.
 “Good boy, Aska,” she praised, and then she looked Bryn right in the
eye for the first time in his life. “I am very proud of you, my son. I’m so
sorry I couldn’t raise you myself, but I thought I was protecting you from
all this.” She shrugged and then came into focus completely. “I only wanted
the best for you, my dear Bryn. Maybe—”
She was cut off by an angry screech. “I will never let him take my
place!” At the same moment, a blinding flash of lightning flared up.
Aska howled in agony and the darker patches of his fur rapidly became
lighter. He was aging at a breathtaking rate.
When the bright light disappeared, two identical women were lying on
the ground. Neither was breathing. Crying, Bryn knelt next to them.

Û lyėr swung his large sword at a Vonnyen standing right next to him to
create some room so he could make a coordinated retreat. Suddenly, he
tasted blood on his lips. Surprisingly, the blade had found its target. The
shield was gone. Triumphantly, he cried out. His warriors immediately
noticed the change and fell on the Vonnyen like hungry locusts on a field of
grain. There was no escape.

“Y es !” Morlâ rejoiced, shooting half a dozen blue bolts into the panicked
Vonnyen, who were fleeing in his direction away from the orcs. “This is
fun, I can’t hurt the orcs, but I can finally clean up this scum.”
Filixx did the same with other powerful spells. Together with the other
warriors of peace and friendship, they defeated the army of death.
No one noticed that the bearers of the deadly box had simply dropped
their cargo and that it was now very close to the magical source.

B ryn mourned the death of his mother. And crazily enough, his aunt’s
death, too. His only blood family now lay dead next to him. He perceived
the victory-drunk cheers behind him only dully. He also did not notice that
a colorfully dressed old woman was clacking her way toward him all alone
through the tunnel.
“W ell , hello there , tall guy ,” Morlâ shouted for joy when he saw
Ûlyėr. The orc lifted him up like a child. The two friends hugged each other,
overcome with elation. Filixx and Gerald did the same. They had done it
again. The last source was saved and with it life as they knew it could
continue on the continent.
“Where is Bryn?” asked Ûlyėr and Gerald in unison after the joyful
reunion.
Morlâ pointed in the direction of the new tunnel.

“D idn ’ t I tell you , B ryn ?” said the old woman after only glancing at her
two dead daughters. “I will kill everyone you care about, so that in the end
you will only be left with your family. Accept your fate already!”
Bryn looked up at his grandmother with tears in his eyes. He knew that
he had no chance against her magic.
The now very old Aska gave off a faint growl.
“You will rule with me over two continents. Unchallenged and for
millennia. Stop fighting this. Or I could kill everyone in this hole and then
you’ll submit anyway. We are the last true mages. The magic is within us.
We don’t need any of this magical source nonsense. It’s time to end this
nightmare once and for all.” She raised her hands and far away a box
forgotten by all began to float toward the still-pulsating source. “They are
beneath us. The strong rule over the weak. That’s just the way it is; I’ll
prove it to you!”
Bryn rose ponderously and looked into the wide cave. His friends had to
be somewhere out there. The unnatural darkness that had reigned until just
now had suddenly disappeared. Bryn thought he saw two blue sources for a
moment, but after a blink of an eye, it was gone again. A bright mushroom
of light flared up all at once. Bryn turned away but still had glowing dots on
his retinas when he looked back in the direction of the explosion. He got
goosebumps when he saw where the explosion had taken place.

“O h no ,” groaned Filixx. “We forgot about the Kamarkegel.

They all stared at the dimming light of Razuclan’s last magical source.
“T hat ’ s the end of magic on this continent, Bryn. Now only you and I can
work magic. Even the oh-so-strong orcs have no chance against our
extraordinary powers. We can sweep them and all the other nations of
Razuclan away forever. Surrender to your fate and I promise to absorb the
radiation the Kamarkegel emits. Otherwise, everyone down here will
eventually die.”
Bryn nodded.
His grandmother smiled triumphantly. She made a tiny gesture and a
silvery shimmering flowed into her hands.
Bryn had finally made a decision. He entered the realm. The colors
came to him. His grandmother pulsated in a crimson red as he had never
seen before in the magical in-between world. Her unique colors also flowed
eagerly in his direction. He was the center of a sphere of energy. You’ll
know when the time comes, he remembered the prophecy of the Samuusen.
Bryn took in the colors again, savoring the feeling of his enhanced senses
and the pulsating power. He could no longer comprehend how he had ever
lost control in this wonderful place. It was a place of peace and tranquility.
“Yes, that’s how it’s done,” his grandmother spurred him on.
Bryn ignored her and made his farewells to the realm. To all of its
fabulous colors. Surrounded by every color of the rainbow, he raised his
arms and then went to his knees. As soon as he touched the ground, he went
limp. The colors flowed eagerly through him and into the soil of Razuclan.

“B y T amir , the radiation !” whispered Filixx with a panicked look after

the explosion.
“We have to get out of here!” shouted Morlâ. “Remember what that
hideous weapon did to Ûlyėr.”
“Maybe with the last remnants of magic we can conjure up a protective
spell against the radiation,” Filixx tried to find a solution, ignoring the
desperate calls of the fighters around him. They all knew what would
happen when the last source was finally extinguished. A murmur filled the
cave as Filixx glowed golden yellow in his protective sphere. No trace of
green could be seen in the powerful magic.
“Can you do magic again?” asked Morlâ. “Or is Bryn somehow sending
you energy?” The dwarf stood on his toes to look for his friend. “Ûlyėr, you
giant, lift me up,” he said to his fellow student, who happened to be
standing next to him.
The orc’s eyes sparkled mockingly at him. “Bläuel from the Sealands
would love to see this.” Ûlyėr waved the dwarf closer. The back of his left
hand glowed magically. Thin black smoke streamed out.
“What’s going on here?” Gerald wondered. The dwarf cave suddenly
shone in a strong azure blue. The source was somehow active again and
seemed stronger than ever.
Tejal stepped up next to her beloved. “I have no idea what happened,
but I have my full powers back again. The magical realm glows almost
golden now when I enter it.”
The almost transparent Samuusa, who had been dying with the bleeding
out of the last source, was now clearly visible again. She landed gently on
Tejal’s shoulder and proudly said, “The Seer of Colors has finally fulfilled
his destiny.”

B ryn ’ s grandmother cried out in desperation when she noticed what

Bryn was doing. But it was too late—he was inexorably sucking out all her
magical energy and giving it to Razuclan. His grandmother had no way to
defend herself. Suddenly everything went dark to Bryn. He blinked. He
ignored his grandmother, who had collapsed. It took him a moment to
realize what had happened. The magical colors had completely disappeared,
that’s why the world now appeared so gloomy to him. Bryn had given his
very special energy and that of his grandmother to the entire continent of
Razuclan, which had only lost its magic due to the misdeeds of his family.
Their power reserves were apparently so vast that it could easily replace the
loss of all four magical sources. The energy was rapidly distributed through
the earth of Razuclan in all directions. It quickly found new places to
accumulate. The gift on the continent was saved. Magic pulsated again
through the four kingdoms and all the gifted got back their powers. Only
Bryn was left empty. He had given away all his energy and was no longer a
mage.

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 The Last Exam Results

B ryn’s first walk led down the Path of Graves. He left his grandmother
sobbing and devoid of any power. Others would take care of her. The
bodies of his mother and aunt had simply disappeared. At that
moment he didn’t have the strength to think about this painful topic any
longer, but left this place of mourning as soon as possible. After a short
search, he found Drena unharmed and well. Out of habit, he tried to
summon a werelight to light up the darkness in the narrow tunnel, but he
could no longer enter the realm. He also could not wake up his love from
Filixx’s healing sleep on his own. But none of that mattered as long as he
could hold her warm hand and hear her calm breathing.
A soft moan came from Drena. She winced.
“Drena? Drena, my darling. It’s me, Bryn.” He wanted to kiss her hand
but then saw something that made him grin. On the back of Drena’s left
hand, a black ring had appeared, glowing faintly in the darkness. I must
have transferred some of my energy to her.
“Bryn, there’s a weird tingling in my hand,” was the first thing Drena
said.
Bryn laughed. “That’s because you’re now a sorceress, my darling. And
a very special one at that.” Bryn gently took her face in his hands and
kissed her.

“W hy are you sitting here in the dark?” asked a visibly surprised Morlâ.
“Everyone out there is looking for you.
 “We wanted a little privacy, Morlâ,” Drena replied cheekily. “But we
don’t have to sit in the dark.” She let a red, flickering werelight rise into the
air.
“Well then, looks like we have another gifted one. You’re a quick
learner.”
Abruptly it went dark again. Drena’s werelight had dropped to the
ground and gone out.
“Don’t worry,” the dwarf comforted Drena. “Your beloved Bryn fainted
every time he tried to do magic for the first few months. I bet you’ll be a
much better magician than him. But Tejal won’t let you two room together
at Âlaburg until you make an official oath of fidelity to each other in front
of a priest—she’s pretty strict.”
Bryn smiled but was in agony. This beautiful future, as Morlâ imagined
it, would never exist for him. “Let’s get out of this cave,” Bryn pleaded
weakly.
Morlâ frowned briefly. Why the bad mood? After all, they had won.
Now life could finally go back to normal.
When they left the Path of Graves, chaos awaited them in the cavern.
The injured were being cared for and the fallen were buried. The rotten
corpses of the Vonnyen were burned. They tried to save at least some of the
houses in Falyn from the flames. As they came out from behind the statue
of Mother Earth, excited murmurs arose in many different languages.
Representatives of all nations had helped to win this battle, and all had paid
a terribly high price for it. “He’s alive … Bryn is alive … The Seer of
Colors … He saved us all … Hero.”
Bryn tried to focus on who was speaking in the excited hustle and
bustle, but the voices were so numerous that it was impossible for him to do
so. Slowly he walked with Drena and Morlâ through the cave to the exit
gate. Without exception, all those they met—whether human, elf, dwarf, or
orc—all bowed deeply to him and shouted words of thanks.

“Y ou probably don ’ t like being locked up in these claustrophobic

dwarf caves either,” a voice grumbled behind Bryn, who was sitting with
Drena next to the gate with a blanket around his shoulders. He turned to
Ûlyėr with a huge grin. “I think I can handle it. I’m not quite as tall as you,
so I don’t bump my head as much. But you’re right—eventually enough is
enough.” Bryn rose slowly. Joyfully, he took his friend in his arms for a
long time.
“It’s good to see you well, my friend,” said Ûlyėr in the deep baritone
that Bryn had so missed.
“I guess the fact that I’m also okay is not so important to the great
GünDa’kin,” Filixx shouted behind the orc’s broad back.
“And what about me? I guess I’m only here to clear the way for Filixx
through the mass of Seer of Color admirers,” added Morlâ with a laugh.
The four friends were finally reunited.
Bryn also hugged the two of them long and hard. He was overjoyed that
his closest friends had survived the war unscathed.

I n the next few days , help came from all four kingdoms of Razuclan.
Falyn was quickly rebuilt with the help of magic. The newly founded Order
of Âlaburg had established itself as a permanent fixture and replaced the
Driany Order completely. Drena quickly recovered thanks to the healing
hands of Tejal and was already practicing her magic diligently. Morlâ
proved to be an excellent and very patient teacher. And so, the day of
departure came sooner than Bryn had expected, and they left Filixx's family
home. Much to the chagrin of his mother, who was thrilled to be able to
take care of so many young people.

“A nd you ’ re really not coming back to Âlaburg?” Morlâ asked Ûlyėr

sadly.
The orc gently pulled the dwarf’s ear. “No, my little friend. My people
still need a GünDa’kin. Many chiefs died in the fighting, so we have many
decisions to make. And I don’t want this to end in deadly power struggles.
Too much blue blood has already been shed. My people are strong, but
relatively small in number.”
“Then it’s time for you to get a girlfriend. So you can make more orcs,”
Morlâ teased.
Ûlyėr rubbed his left horn in embarrassment.
“Farewell, Ûlyėr,” said Bryn. “I’m sure you’ll be a wise ruler to your
people.”
 The orc bowed deeply to his human friend. “If I can show even a
fraction of the wisdom you possess, I will be content.”
Only Drena and the four friends knew that Bryn could no longer do
magic. Bryn wanted to leave it this way until they were back at Âlaburg.
They would have to see whether Lekan would still open to him now that he
no longer had the gift.
After Ûlyėr had marched quite a distance with his army, he turned and
shouted at his friends, “Make sure you take good care of my hichƙül. We’ll
have breakfast together again someday—I promise.”

B ryn rode O lander back to Âlaburg. Fortunately the Waramen had

rescued the horse, and Gerald had insisted. Morlâ and Filixx had also gotten
their mounts back. And so Bryn rode with Drena, who sat in front of him in
the saddle, into a changed life. He had never been so happy and sad at the
same time. He enjoyed every second with his beloved. Finally, they could
talk and get to know each other without any danger. On the other hand, his
mother had died. The woman he had been thinking about for years and who
he had missed the most in life.

I t had grown very cold , and dark snow clouds were gathering as they
slowly climbed the castle hill. Bryn gasped in shock when he saw the
destroyed Lekan Gate.
“Don’t worry, I’m sure the Samuusen will be able to resurrect it again in
no time at all, if they feel like it,” Gerald reassured him.
Bryn smiled. He knew why the little fairies had not yet restored the
gate, although there was now more than enough magical energy on
Razuclan. This was the only way he would be able to pass through. He now
also realized why the little fairy had said goodbye to him. Without magical
powers, he would never be able to see any of the magical beings again.
Drena turned around in the saddle and looked at him. “Why are you
smiling?” she asked.
“Because I’m happy with you,” Bryn replied, kissing her long black
hair.
 Drena pressed a pleasantly cool kiss on his cheek as a thank you. Bryn
was filled with warmth. He thought of their conversation from the previous
night. They had a plan. A plan they would follow together, although Drena
now had many paths open to her. Nothing made him happier.
They rode into campus, where traces of the fight could still be seen.
Several buildings were blackened with soot, the ground was churned up,
and debris from the catapults was still scattered around. Nevertheless, there
was an air of excitement and renewal in the castle. Numerous
representatives from all nations swarmed the campus. Fires were lit;
animated conversations were held; and warm food and drink were enjoyed
in the cold. A visibly cheerful Master Underhill—now obviously recovered
—scooted around among them in his wheelchair and distributed papyri.
Master Sterlingheart welcomed the newcomers with open arms. “Grand
Master, so good that you are finally back. More are joining us every day. I
don’t know what to do with them all.” He ran his hand through his beard in
frustration.
“Reinold, refugees have been coming here for months. We always found
a place for them. Even though it is a bit strange that they’re still coming
even though the war is now over,” Tejal replied.
The dwarf Master of Math wrinkled his forehead. “Um, I don’t mean
refugees. Most of them have already left for their homes. New gifted are
arriving at Âlaburg every day.”

“D rena , would you be so kind ,” Bryn said, pointing to the little gargoyle
that opened the door to the White House.
“Sure.” She grinned and put her left hand in the spiky mouth of the
stone gargoyle. As always when she did magic, Drena’s eyes turned red for
a split second. A vestige of her magical submission to Bryn’s aunt. The door
opened in compliance.
Bryn was glad that the common room was reasonably tidy when he
showed it to Drena. The four of us were probably the main reason for the
disorder, he thought with a grin. He then led her through the long hallway
with the colorful doors to his and Morlâ’s shared room.
With a squeak of surprise, Drena showed her delight at the magically lit
lamps that bathed the corridor in cozy light.
 Finally, they stood in front of room number one. With a grand gesture,
Morlâ pulled out the key and opened the door.
“And here we are,” Bryn said, inviting her inside. “You and I will stay
here for the time being and Morlâ will stay with Filixx.”
Morlâ looked stunned, but Filixx, who was opening room three, giggled
knowingly. “That’s what I thought. Come on over, my friend. By the way,
that’s your bed over there.”
Bryn closed the door. He was glad to finally have some peace and quiet
and to enjoy some time alone with Drena.
She sat on his bed holding two cream-colored envelopes in her hand.
“This one is for you.”
Bryn frowned. “And the other one?”
“For me,” Drena said in surprise.
Bryn nodded knowingly. The red wax seal—with the dove carrying a
snake in its talons—and the stationery were unmistakable. Tejal. “Read very
carefully what the Chancellor wrote. You can still change your mind.” He
broke the seal of his own letter. For the first time, he couldn’t hear any
magical ringing and even the silver vortex remained hidden.
Drena’s cheerful giggles after she broke the wax seal showed that she,
though, could now perceive the magical manifestations.
Bryn’s letter was plain and did not contain any florid language—only a
simple message.

Dear Bryn,
Please come to my office immediately. You will still receive
your exam results for this semester.
Tejal

B ryn smiled . “I have to go to the Chancellor one last time, then I’ll never
leave you again.”
 Drena looked at him with a sparkle in her eyes. “That’s exactly what I
want most in the world.”

T ejal was waiting for Bryn in front of her white cube office building.
“Unfortunately, you won’t be able to enter. You no longer have the gift.
Of course she knew. Just as she had always known everything about
everyone. Bryn grinned. It was good that some things hadn’t changed.
The elf approached him and pressed Bryn in a long embrace. “Thank
you. Thank you for your incredible sacrifice. Everyone on Razuclan owes
their lives to you.”
“It felt right to do what I did, and it still does. I’m happy. Even if the
loss of my mother still hurts deeply.”
Tejal nodded in understanding. “Let’s take a little walk. Just like old
times.” She hooked elbows with him.
Her fur stole, which she had put on against the first cold snap of the
winter, tickled Bryn’s nose.
“Your mother came to your rescue so you could end this war once and
for all. Her sacrifice was not in vain. And neither was the sacrifice of many,
many others,” she concluded sadly. The Grand Master took a deep breath to
settle herself. The cold air formed clouds around her beautiful face. “We
can now rebuild Razuclan. So many new students have joined us already
and there will be many more. Thanks to you, there are plenty of gifted on
Razuclan again and they all need to be trained. The nations will grow even
closer together after what happened, I’m sure. They have now understood
that we all share this continent and that we must guard the peace. Her
cheeks glowed pink at these euphoric words. Then her gaze went hard. “All
those who have conspired against peace will be punished, and severely.
Your grandmother will be brought before a court with members from all
four enlightened nations. The Order of Âlaburg will ensure that something
like this will never happen again. It will not repeat the mistakes of the
Driany Order.”
“Why me?” Bryn asked the question that wouldn’t leave his mind.
Tejal smiled and hunched her shoulders. “So cold already so early in the
year. Why you? You are the perfect combination of two worlds. Your
mother was a magical being from another continent, your father a simple,
gifted human of Razuclan. The powers of both combined in you and you are
a Seer of Colors.
“Were,” Bryn whispered.
Tejal looked him up and down. “Yes, you were a Seer of Colors. But
maybe there’s a way …”
They had reached the gardens. “Is that Jehal?” Bryn interrupted the
Chancellor, pointing to a feral-looking old man with unkempt gray hair
raking the leaves.
Tejal’s expression turned sour. “Yes, that’s him. He is guilty of terrible
crimes, but I have the feeling that this manual labor is a particularly
appropriate punishment for him. His magic disappeared with that of your
grandmother. The pact he made with her did exactly the opposite of what he
wanted.”
They turned around again and walked toward the defense tower.
“Of course, this semester you passed all subjects again with flying
colors. But I suppose you’re not interested in deepening your knowledge of
the seven wisdoms next semester.”
Bryn shook his head.
“I thought not. Although you could still be an excellent student in the
non-magical subjects. We’ll find a way for you to—”
Bryn stopped and put his hand on the Grand Master’s forearm. He
looked deep into her eyes.
She interrupted her speech and cleared her throat. “You’ve made a final
decision, haven’t you? asked Tejal after a long silence.
Again, Bryn was not at all surprised that she had guessed his plans. He
held the collar of his shirt closed against the biting cold. “Yes, but please let
me tell Gerald myself.”
“Of course, Bryn, of course. I’ll miss our special tutoring sessions most
of all.”

T hey passed a too short night with many conversations and sad farewells
in the basement of the White House. An icy morning greeted them at dawn.
It was snowing gently as Bryn said his goodbyes. He was sitting on Olander
next to Drena who was on a beautiful pinto. There were no students around
at this early hour. They were all sleeping in like proper teenagers. Only
Morlâ, Filixx, Tejal, and Gerald stood next to the two riders.
 “And you’re sure?” asked Bryn’s foster father skeptically, after failing
to dissuade Bryn and Drena from their plan all night.
“Yes,” Bryn replied with a firm voice and a wide smile. “We’ll head to
Toronham to try to find Drena’s parents. Âlaburg is no longer my home and
Drena doesn’t want to stay here until we know more about what happened
to her family. She’ll decide later if she wants to come back or not.” Bryn
winked at his girlfriend.
“You are both always welcome here,” Tejal said with a benevolent nod.
“I certainly don’t need to remind you again that you’re facing a
dangerous journey through war-torn territory. And please avoid Sefal. There
is still fierce fighting there; not all the Vonnyen have been destroyed,”
Gerald said with a heavy heart. “Oh, and I hope you can find some use for
this.” Bryn’s foster father pulled a sack of seeds and a small spade from
behind his back.
Drena smiled. Her eyes briefly turned red. A red werelight suddenly
circled Gerald’s head and then returned to her. “Don’t worry, Gerald. I will
protect your Bryn. And he will show me how to plant these. Morlâ has
taught me how to call you if we need help.”
She and Bryn smiled at each other, then they spurred their horses
through the fresh snow. After passing through the gate, they were followed
by a gray-bearded Aska, whose paws left tiny tracks in the untouched white
expanse.

The end.

The adventure continues:

The Order of Alaburg

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NEWSLETTER
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 35

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 The Languages of Razuclan

O nly a few fragments still exist that show how the old languages
were spoken. Here the author will summarize for the reader all the
information available in the archival material from the Five Wise
Ones.
The common language that must have been spoken at Âlaburg is similar
to our current language and pronunciation.
There are a few differences, however. To imitate the language of the
orcs, the reader must try to roll the ‘r’ with the tip of the tongue as in
Spanish—Řischnărr (Rrrrischnarrrrr). In addition, umlauts are often present
as in German. Many of their letters only exist on paper anymore. Scholars
therefore pronounce them as they correspond to modern letters, e.g.,
Çawakï becomes Cawaki, or Kuelnk as Külnk and ₱yzu as Püzu.
The language of the dwarves also contains many umlauts, even though
they were, of course, written differently in the old language, e.g., Ølsgendur
(Ölsgendur). Some sounds no longer exist, so we write Morlâ, but the name
is pronounced Mor-luh.
The language and names of the elves are almost always based on the
flowers and plants they cultivate and worship. The reader is probably aware
that many of their floral masterpieces have unfortunately gone extinct and
their names have therefore been forgotten. But should the reader discover a
beautiful, foreign-looking flower in a field or in the middle of the forest, it
could be that this plant is of elvish origin.
Human names can still be found today in Scotland and Ireland. They
survived through the ages.
 Many words from Razuclan, which are difficult for our lips to produce
today, just need to be said aloud a few times before they become second
nature, e.g., Vonnyen is pronounced vahn-yen.
The reader will have to work out the rest of the foreign terms. The
charred parchment roll the Five Wise Ones gave the author was impossible
to decipher in many places.

-G reg W alters

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 Also by Greg Walters

Demon Summoner I: Apprentice (The Demon Healer Book 1/3)

Completed series!

“A lively and absorbing tale that mixes real-world history with supernatural creatures."
(Kirkus)

"A breath of fresh air to the genre, the Demon Summoner trilogy is a brilliant combination of
fantasy and history” (GQ)

The year is 1642. As a decades-long war rages through Central Europe, military field surgeon Martin
shares a shocking truth with his apprentice Gustav: Demons are real, and the victims of battle are
 their reward for fighting for mankind. A reveal that changes everything…
Historical facts combined with elements of fantasy and sprinkled with a good dose of humor.
The new saga from successful author Greg Walters, winner of the 2020 Kindle Storyteller
Award.

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