Chapter Twenty Five: Of Waking Memories
(Note: This is not official version and may be removed in the near future. This do not reflect what is read in the podcast version, nor any other version you may encounter. I have preserved the rough form for posterity — or something like that. This novel has since been rewritten.) James awoke into a world of light so bright that he had to squint just to be able to see anything at all. All around him was a vast nothingness that led nowhere. There were no walls, no ground, and no sky. He wondered for a moment if he were in heaven and if he had died. The pain that he had been expecting wasn’t there and when he brought his hands to his face he could clearly see that no gashes or scars were there. It was as if he were completely untouched, further adding to his fear that he had in fact died and gone to heaven. Then someone appeared as a faded shade of gray. The figure walked leisurely, only fully becoming visible when the two of them were mere feet apart. The face of the man before him smiled warmly beneath a sandy blonde beard that hung at his neckline. Two faded green eyes looked down, further adding to the warmth of the smile. Then a hand extended. James took it and stood. No sensations came to him. No lightheadedness; no pain or weakness. When he looked into the eyes of the man before him, though, sensation came in short waves, exposing warmth and cold, chills and shivers. The man only grinned wider and then spoke softly. “This is a rather bizarre occasion.” James recognized the voice immediately. “Dulien?” Dulien nodded. “You’re not dead by the way. And I can still hear your thoughts, though they are more muffled when they are thoughts within thoughts.” “Thoughts within thoughts?” “Seeing how you are not dead, but you aren’t exactly dreaming either, you are capable of thinking even though your mind is thinking this right now.” “That doesn’t make much sense.” Dulien shook his head. “No, it doesn’t. But not a whole lot about you makes sense.” There was a long pause. Then Dulien continued, “When you return to the real world you’ll be in quite a lot of pain I imagine.” “What happened?” “You lost control.” “But, how did I lose control. Where did all of that energy come from?” “It came from you. Sometimes,” Dulien came forward and knelt down to look at him eye to eye, “magic comes at such speeds and in such quantities that the user cannot comprehend it. It simply tears its way through, just as it happened to you. I suspect that it came from your world. As you said, it is a world without magic, yet magic exists everywhere. With magic forgotten in your world it is no small wonder that it would try to use you as a vessel to escape its confines. Magic is alive in some ways.” “Alive?” “It doesn’t think if that is what you are implying. But it certainly has desires that it must fulfill. Being cooped up is no way for magic to live.” “So, it just tore itself out of me.” James shifted his position. “Yes, unfortunately. This is, to say the least, new and disturbing for me. You should be dead. Magic like that would kill most anyone. I’ve faced powerful magic before…this is something entirely new. Your soul should have been destroyed.” He nodded, remembering how Dulien and defied Luthien so long ago, too long ago. “I’m well known for that, yes, but unfortunately I think people have forgotten that it was I who invented the Fearl. Some more ambitious fellow capitalized on the idea.” It came as a shock to James, and at the same time there was a sense of wonder and fascination. He couldn’t help being slightly overjoyed at knowing that the Fearl he owned was the same one with the imprint of its original inventor. Something about that made him feel lucky, though ‘special’ likely would have been the term used by everyone else. Dulien put a firm hand on his shoulder. “I don’t understand how the magic of your world works, nor do I understand how this magic can simply cross worlds so easily, as if there were no barrier. Magic can’t really do that.” “But it is doing that.” “Yes. Listen, many have tried and many have wasted away their lives trying to find ways to access other magic. The only ones that ever succeeded were those that managed to connect our worlds, but even then they were limited to what the magic of this world was capable of. They could never touch the magic of Earth. You are the only one that I have known to do such a thing. And…” “Let me guess,” he interrupted with a hint of sarcasm, “that makes me special.” Dulien curled his lip in a soft smile. “Exactly.” The light suddenly faded. There was something strange about it all, like it was all a magnificently elaborate and very lucid dream. As the light dissipated, he had the sensation of falling nowhere, and then sleep. James woke up into a world of agonizing pain. He couldn’t pinpoint it to any one place because every single part of his body ached, even where he thought it shouldn’t. He couldn’t open his eyes. Instead, he grunted and groaned and protested to whoever would hear him. Flashes of light flickered in his eyelids, mostly white, but some like little red pixels from an old video game. New bursts of pain ran through him as someone touched his legs. He cried out, but he couldn’t move his mouth much at all, so the sound came as a muffle even to his ears. Then a pair of fingers pried his left eye open and more pain stabbed him. His vision was blurred and he desperately tried to focus in on the face
Chapter Twenty Four: Of Night and Dark Dealings
(Note: This is not official version and may be removed in the near future. This do not reflect what is read in the podcast version, nor any other version you may encounter. I have preserved the rough form for posterity — or something like that. This novel has since been rewritten.) James heard the sounds before he looked. They were close and he imagined that he could actually feel the breath of wicked monsters along the nape of his neck. Powerful howls forced him to close off his ear canals. He’d heard them in the distance moments before, but now they were immediately behind. There were screeches unlike the Nu’thri, like children screaming at that unnaturally high pitch, inhuman. Then there was the sound of the Nu’thri, screeching in protest somewhere farther behind. Then he looked, chancing that brief moment when the trek ahead seemed without obstacles. His heart leapt into his throat, his stomach too, and he gulped frantically to push them down. The beats of his heart became wild with fear and terror. His skin crawled with goose bumps and every hair on his body, except the ones on his head that were far too heavy to move, stood up at attention, while his pupils became narrow like lifeless circles embedded in his skull. The creatures that followed were far removed from being human, yet at the same time they bore disturbingly human characteristics. The three beasts in the lead of the pack were wolves, but not ordinary wolves. They were larger than any man James had ever seen with obvious muscles flexing and rippling down their flanks. They ran on all fours, but hobbled on their two front legs as if they could run on both two and four legs. Long snouts, enshrouded with thick, oily, silver fur met with jaws filled with sharp yellow teeth, monstrous in every way. Spittle dribbled from their lips and their eyes were unnaturally blue as if they were dead. The fur ran all the way down their flanks to stretched, bushy tails; claws dug deep into the earth with each movement and their snarls filtered through the air of other sounds. James knew immediately that these were werewolves. The landscape rushed by as he rode, the soft ashen earth bursting alive at each hoof beat. Iliad led him one way, and then another, winding around small fires that thrust new ash and black smoke into the air, flames lost in the dark and only noticeable by the sounds and the continuing motion of new burned material. The air became suddenly warmer as Iliad led on. When James took in his surroundings again he saw massive fires burning everywhere—a hot spot. The flames were visible and rose up into the sky like hungry fingers. The sounds were deafening, so much so that he could hardly hear the sound of his own steed plowing along. Howls came again from the rear. He peered once more, saw the beasts, and turned back. Fear engulfed him. They were going to catch up, there was no doubt in his mind. The steeds were fast, but not fast enough. Mirdur’eth turned sharp right, following Iliad, and then sharp left, and back again. They wound around a huge flame, the heat causing a sudden tinge of pain on James’ face. He leaned away and then they were away from it. Then all stopped. On both sides of them were flames and molten ash festering in tiny pools. Ahead the flat ground abruptly gave way to a tall cliff face too steep and high for anyone to climb. The cliff was obsidian all the way up, dark and shimmering with the light from the fires. James turned Mirdur’eth, catching Iliad’s eye and seeing the panic in the man’s face. He saw Pea and Darl too—sweat trickling down to their chins—and Triska with her soft, motherly complexion turned into a dirty and stern parody of her former self. He knew instantly that they were trapped, even as he turned and beckoned Mirdur’eth to gallop in the opposite direction. The werewolves were there first, waltzing out of the shadows and black plumes with wicked grins upon their faces, if such a thing were possible. Heads low, mouths frothing with anticipation, they ambled forward and covered the only escape route, spreading out across the small expanse of open space. Their eyes gleamed with the flickers of orange flame, turning their unnaturally blue eyes into sinister moons reddened by the path of the sun. Each were entirely the same, no distinguishing marks whatsoever. Yet it was the one in the middle that seemed to lead as it took a few steps and let out a mighty howl, leaning its head back as it did so. A moment later and the other two followed suit. “Dismount,” Darl said. “Why?” Iliad clung to the reigns as if they were his only hope of survival. “Werewolves have no regard for other living things. They’ll kill the horses and Blaersteeds without thinking twice. A meal is a meal to them.” Iliad seemed to concede, moving his gaze from Darl to James, and then to the three werewolves, now pacing back and forth as if contemplating the best action to take next. “At least we have magic on our side,” James said with a fake grin, then hopped off of Mirdur’eth. “Not really,” Pea said, dismounting. “Werewolves are resistant.” “And cunning.” Darl drew James’ sword for him, handing the hilt over. “A scratch can be healed, but if any of you are bitten after this is over I will not hesitate to kill you.” Pea grimaced. “I thought you would say something of that nature. The feeling is all too mutual my grumpy friend.” James lifted his blade, feeling the weight. It felt no different in his hands than it had days ago, yet doubt in his abilities appeared in his mind and stuck. The corrupted Masters were easy, he thought. They had no physical weapons,
Chapter Twenty Three: Of Shadowy Lands
(Note: This is not official version and may be removed in the near future. This do not reflect what is read in the podcast version, nor any other version you may encounter. I have preserved the rough form for posterity — or something like that. This novel has since been rewritten.) When James woke he knew immediately that he was not truly awake, but in a dream. He was in a large room, surrounded on all sides by a circular wall of stone bricks. There was no door and the ceiling flickered in and out of transparency, exposing a night sky peppered with blazing red stars. He wasn’t alone in the room, for Luthien sat on a stool on the opposite end, legs propped up on a shiny oak table. A long, wicked grin was across his face and his milky white left eye stared off into nowhere while his right eye remained fixed on James. James shivered, took a step back and found himself against the wall. He had no way of knowing if the dream was simply just a dream, or something more. He wondered, in that brief moment, if he could possibly have some sort of connection with Luthien, allowing this dream to occur. Luthien stood. He was gargantuan, or so James thought for a moment as the black iron clad man’s shadow crossed the room. Tiny wind, like little hands, flew into the room, blew around, and left. Luthien was fully upright. Black gauntlets covered his arms, a pitch dark cape drifted behind him, pushed along by the new gusts of wind, and his shoulders were broad and dressed in sheets of metal. The armor range as it shifted. It seemed light on Luthien, despite its heavy appearance. Then Luthien stepped forward, his metallic boots making a loud, echoing clang on the stone floor. His armor rustled as he walked, creating a clattering sound across the room like a dull wind chime, eerie and altogether vagarious. Luthien held his hand out and James recoiled against the wall again. Voices came at James now, from all directions. Some of them were vaguely familiar, like the voices that seemed to have attacked him when he tried to slip away into paralysis at the wrong time. They whispered sharply at him and amongst themselves. Luthien came closer and at each step he pushed back against the wall. Fear took over every motion. He saw the dark hand of Luthien coming, the twisted milky eye staring into him and away from him at the same time. It was a horrid thing to look into. The pupil seemed to float in the white bubble that was the eye and ripples seemed to pass over the surface. Then something struck James. It wasn’t Luthien, but whatever it was he became suddenly aware of the nothingness above becoming light. Another strike… James bolted awake. He looked up into the early morning light, however dim in the shadow. The stern face of Darl looked down at him. He refocused his vision, looking Darl clean in the face. “What did you dream?” Darl said angrily. “Wha…” was the only thing he could manage to get out. He was still in limbo between the sleeping and waking worlds. His speech slurred. Darl repeated with more strength and a jerk. “What did you dream?” “Luthien,” he said, “again.” “It’s your connection to the Eye. He’s searching your future.” “Searching my future?” “Yes. That’s where the nightmares are coming from.” Then Darl stood up. Pea appeared a moment later, holding a pouch of water up reassuringly. James took it, drank, and handed it back. “They’re not nearly as bad as they could be. Luthien is, well, rather well trained. The use of his Eye could do a lot more harm to your mind.” James blinked as Pea tapped him gently on the forehead. “In any case, try to block him out. Remember, it’s a dream.” He nodded a slow, agreeing nod. “How accurate can he be with the predictions?” Pea sighed. “They say that he is never wrong. But what they say may not be reality.” “They being people?” A nod. “Luthien wouldn’t want to let anyone know if he had weaknesses.” “Right, so logically he wouldn’t let on that his ability to predict the future is flawed in any way. I don’t think he can see everything. That’s far too much power for any one man to take without going absolutely crazy. Then again, Luthien isn’t exactly sane.” “No, he’s not.” He took in a deep breath and brush away the last bits of sleep. “Where did he get this power?” “If I knew that I think this war would have been avoided.” James thought about that. It made sense. If someone else could get the ability to see the future too it could very well negate anything that Luthien was doing; the two powers would cancel each other out. But nobody else had that ability, as far as he knew and as far as anyone else knew in Traea. Luthien would continue controlling lands that once belonged to others—the kingdoms assimilated into Angtholand and forgotten and those still standing and being taken—so long as he could predict and adapt to what the future told. “He can see the future for anyone?” James cocked his head sheepishly. “Well, that’s entirely based on the minds of a collective mass of peoples of various ethnic and racial backgrounds. Needless to say, such information is just as fallible as the theory that pixies aren’t intelligent enough to be considered people.” “But that’s…” “Absurd. I know. I’ve met enough pixies in my travels to know that they can think just like the rest of us. They just put off an air of inferiority to trap unsuspecting idiots into their traps.” “And you’ve never been caught?” “Well, sort of, actually, not exactly…” He giggled and put his hand over his mouth. He had meant to say something entirely different than ‘absurd’,
Chapter Twenty Two: Of Reason Lost, War Rising
(Note: This is not official version and may be removed in the near future. This do not reflect what is read in the podcast version, nor any other version you may encounter. I have preserved the rough form for posterity — or something like that. This novel has since been rewritten.) They rode for hours before coming to the bridge crossing over the Nor’kal River. The deep blue of clean water rushed by at surprising speeds, allowing little place for rocks or anything else to settle. Only a few enormous rocks that acted as supports for the bridge made homes in the speedy waters. The wooden planks were purposefully woven in such a fashion to provide strong support for anything and everything that might want to cross. The bridge could support wagons, if needed, and James gathered from the markings in the wood that it was a well used path at one time. They crossed easily, the wood only creaking a few times in protest as the horse and Blaersteed hooves crossed, clanking and clinking along. Soon they were beyond the bridge riding through patches of forest, bushes, and tall grasses. A road quickly presented itself. It showed signs of lack of use—branches and bushes hanging over the sides and a lack of fresh tracks from people, animals, or vehicles—and it was here that James saw the distant Fire Rim. It was a wall of smoke and ash, gray as the thick fog of the coast in the morning, gray as the night underneath thick rain clouds. There were great plumes of fire and black smoke that dotted the landscape there, ancient fires that had burned for centuries and would continue to burn for as long as the magical barrier held the flames at bay. He wondered just how it was possible that the fire could rage on for so long. Eventually the fires would lose their fuel as everything burned to bits. But, somehow the fires continued on as if fed by magic or something worse. It suddenly occurred to him that he knew next to nothing about the Fire Rim, only the nature of its existence. It was a dangerous place, but he had no idea what dangers they would face. Will there be terrible monsters there, he thought. As much as he hoped otherwise, he knew that something dark and mysterious had to live there. It was a frightening place that would make a wonderful home for the frightening beasts he had already seen in his travels. And, underneath all these thoughts and concerns were further thoughts, deep and untouchable. He feared for Laura. It would take them close to a month to get to Teirlin’pur. The distance was too great for even the Blaersteeds to ride continuously. They would have to stop and rest as soon as they reached the edge of the Fire Rim. He was weary of the journey ahead. With so much ground to cover and with Luthien nipping at their heels it seemed inconceivable. He wondered if more assassins would be sent their way, or if they would encounter them on the trail. They had been lucky at the Summering Rocks. Too lucky. He dreaded facing more assassins who could wield the Shadow Horses. Iliad had caught them completely off guard, and even James had surprised them with the fist of water, but James knew that they wouldn’t have that luck again. Word would have traveled, somehow. Luthien would know that he wasn’t a simple boy anymore, that he could use magic with force. Luthien would know that he couldn’t be taken without a fight. They crossed the bushy terrain easily; the horses and Blaersteeds made no sound along the way. North were the beginning formations of the Nor Marshlands—dark terrain, pools, swamps, and a faint smell of decay. The wind traveled southward strong enough to bring the scent with it. James didn’t pinch his nose or cringe; the smell didn’t bother him enough, but he got an idea of the type of terrain there. There was a swamp in Woodton. The town called it Burly’s Bog, but he had always known it as the Collective of Useless Waste because people used it like a dump. The water had come there due to some sort of irrigation disaster, something to do with an accidental divergence of the Stillwater River that let some of the water flow elsewhere. The excess water flowed into a slight dip in the earth where it created Burly’s Bog, much to the chagrin of one Alfred Burly who, at the tender age of eighty, demanded that the city pay for the damages to his backyard. The city asked him to move at their expense and he strictly refused, deciding rather to remain in his ramshackle home to torment anybody who happened to come by to have a look at the new ecosystem. Ironically enough that same ecosystem was made into a germ factory in a matter of days. No frogs made homes there and the mosquitoes were too afraid, or smart—James guessed the former. The journey dragged on. Occasional conversations broke out. Discussions of random things like who would cook on the first night or who would tie the horses when they stopped. There was a general silence about anything of vast importance in the group. James could feel it and it made him glad. He didn’t feel like addressing anything that might prove difficult. He had enough on his mind as it was. They were leaving familiarity and entering a land full of people that had no apparent distaste for what Luthien was doing; they were traveling through a dead zone and they were doing it all under the radar of Luthien and his men. After a time, as the light faded beyond the horizon and the landscape became thickly dark, Iliad halted the group and dismounted. He set quickly to putting up a fire and the rest dismounted and began to unpack for the night.
Chapter Twenty One: Of Relief and Impending Hardship
(Note: This is not official version and may be removed in the near future. This do not reflect what is read in the podcast version, nor any other version you may encounter. I have preserved the rough form for posterity — or something like that. This novel has since been rewritten.) James didn’t hesitate. He bolted forward and leapt into the surprised arms of Triska. He embraced her, squeezing her with all his might as if afraid that she would disappear if he let go. She laughed softly, warmly. She kissed him on his cheek and tears drizzled down his face. “There there now,” she said. “Thank God you’re alive,” he said, but the words came out muffled. Then he slipped from her grasp and back to the ground. She wiped away the tears from his face and smiled. “How?” Darl said. “Well that’s quite simple. I escaped.” “That’s…” “Cowardice? Oh, no, not at all actually. You see, by escaping I was able to come here to help in the preparations for when Luthien comes. My purpose in this world is not yet fulfilled.” Pea came forward, put a hand on James’ arm. The little man looked up into Triska’s eyes and James saw there were tears there, welling up and on the brink of falling. “My dear, dear, dear woman,” Pea said, repeating the words with increased emphasis. Triska leaned down and opened her arms. Pea glanced up to James and then back at Darl, and then leapt into Triska’s arms, hugging and kissing her. “I dreaded the worst!” “We all did,” James said. When Pea released her, Triska stood to face Darl. “Never before,” Darl began, “have I been happier to see your face.” Then he too hugged her. It was a small hug, but James could see the meaning behind it clearly. There was a genuine sense of joy. “What about Gammon and his family?” James’ voice was concerned. Triska shook her head. “Dead, most likely,” Darl blurted out. “No, not likely at all. Luthien took a lot of prisoners after the wall fell. It’s possible he was captured. His family too.” “But not likely.” “It never hurts to hope,” Pea said. “Only when hope fails.” James was surprised at his words. He couldn’t believe they came from him. “That was very Darl-esque of you…” “Yes, yes it was.” He shook his head apologetically. Darl grunted. “Now, no more bad thoughts. Come, have some tea with me!” James gladly followed Triska deep into the room. Drapes hung everywhere in much the same fashion as they had in Triska’s original home. Back in Arlin City, before the city was destroyed. Yet here the colors were brighter, somewhat less earthy and more crimson and glowing. Designs were woven into everything—just as elaborate as in Arlin City and just as mysterious. He examined them. Crosses, shield knots, triquetras, all manner of designs seamlessly crafted together as pieces to a massive whole took up the space in the drapes. Beyond were large cushions, or pillows. He wasn’t sure which. They surrounded a round marble table set atop a glistening wooden base. A steaming silver pot alongside a silver tray filled the center of the table. Triska took a seat on one of the pillows, a deep red blob that bordered on imperial purple. She beckoned the rest to do the same. James took a seat on a vermilion colored pillow with dark brown embroidery. The others found seats nearby. Triska delicately poured five cups of tea. The scent of strong flowers filled the room as she did so. James let the smell permeate his body. It seemed to sooth even before Triska handed him his cup and he could actually see the amber liquid and feel the glowing warmth. He blew on it for a moment to cool it down, then sipped and instant relief poured through him. He took notice that Triska was not wearing a dress this time around. Instead she wore a pair of loose pants of a tan color and a faded red tunic. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail. “Tell me, my dear sweet woman, how did you manage to escape?” Pea gently tipped his cup, which was human size and looked completely out of place in the little mans hands. “In some ways I think I was let go.” “How do you mean?” “When the walls fell, Luthien’s armies came forward. I cast a few charms on the men, raised their spirits and such. It did them little good. The front lines fell in a wave of arrows. The first wave of Luthien’s men fell pretty quick after that, but more came and the second wave batted us down in less than an hour. We retreated farther into the city. It was a blood bath. Men were falling all around me. Arrows crashed into windows and walls, faces, shoulders, and backs. We were supposed to regroup, form a last ditch effort at the keep, but we never made it. Luthien was too fast. His men and flying beasts came down on us so fast that I can’t accurately remember all that happened.” She took a sip of her tea, closing her eyes as she did so. Then, softly she said, “The city was on fire. I don’t know how long it had been that way, but smoke and ashes came down from everywhere. I couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of me. I lost all sense of direction. Then I saw Gammon, or rather, he saw me. He came through the shadows. I thought he had died! Then something struck the building behind me and for a moment the sound and the debris threw me off balance. I fell. He came to me, but I couldn’t hear what he said. Then before I knew it he was pushing me into a nearby home. Someone had already destroyed the place, but I was in shock, stunned. Then I woke up.”
Chapter Twenty: Of Nor’sigal and the Edge of Reason
(Note: This is not official version and may be removed in the near future. This do not reflect what is read in the podcast version, nor any other version you may encounter. I have preserved the rough form for posterity — or something like that. This novel has since been rewritten.) The lead archer called himself Iliad. He was a tall man, brown hair, brown eyes, and a wide, white, toothy smile that stretched from cheek to cheek. His bow was strung over his shoulder—a light cerise color and carved with gently wavy lines—and he gladly welcomed James, Pea, and Darl to the far shore of the Nor’duíl River. James learned quickly that Iliad and his men were scouts, in one sense of the word. They were more or less given orders to intentionally cause trouble, at least according to Iliad. James thought it strange that such an order would be given, but he accepted it. Who am I to question a Lord, he thought. It occurred to him that perhaps Iliad was simply told to cause distraction. The location of the Summering Rocks, as he understood it, was the only place for miles that was safe for any man to cross. One could ride north of the Drain and cross there, but that ran into the problem of figuring out how to cross the Drain itself—a rushing and utterly dangerous river that acted as a run off for the overflowing reaches of the Nor’kal River. James followed Iliad away and into an open field that stretched flat and open for miles, Pea and Darl close behind. Even bushes were scarce here, and only in the far off distance could he see anything tall enough to be a tree. Browned and dwindling grasses made up the field, a sign of a warm summer to come. He had seen pictures of the valley in California, a place where spring made the landscape look like a beautiful recreation of the green, luscious hills of Scotland. Things looked beautiful there—emerald green everywhere, flowers blooming brilliantly like little beacons of beauty rising from the earth. Then summer hit, and everything seemed to die. The heat was too strong for the grasses that once made the hills green. The fields turned golden brown and unwelcoming, though many found them beautifully. James, however, did not. Only the trees stayed green, and barely at all for they looked duller than they once had. Here, across the Nor’duíl River, it looked like much the same had happened. The wide field looked like a treeless California meeting with a treeless Africa, uniting under one visual banner. Burs, stickers, and foxtails clung to the Blaersteeds’ fur. Big clumps covered their legs, and not only the steeds, but the archers as well, as if they were little parasitic passengers hoping to catch a ride to the next town. Nor’sigal sat some ways away in the center of the field. It was a tall place, not in the same sense that Arlin City was tall, but in the way it presented itself. In the center was the keep—a structure that rose up above everything else. The square walls of the city were the lowest structures visible, as buildings within slowly climbed in altitude making the keep seem like the tip of a giant wood and stone pyramid. And then there was nothing else. No city outside of the walls, nothing. Nor’sigal looked like a diamond in the rough. James couldn’t see any farmland nearby. Where do they get their food? He wondered how a city like Nor’sigal—a relatively large city that could house a few thousand people easily—could survive without any farmland nearby. He decided to consult the etiquette book. He regretted not having used it in a while and imagined if the book were alive it would dislike him for his lack of attention. In bold, shiny gold letters, gleaming like a warning, was a message that said: “I regret to inform all of you who have so dutifully supported my work on this particular book, that this will be my last update. It has come to my attention that civilization is falling. It is perhaps a possibility that the future will hold peace once again and I may resume my most respectful of duties. Until such times I will be in hiding, for I cannot risk being taken by the ruthless madman that runs through our world. So, in my final words I greet you with a plethora of new material, the last material. Much is incomplete, horribly incomplete I might add, but it will all serve a greater purpose. I know this, and believe this. Thank you all and may you all be safe in these dark times.” Then in bold was the date and a wavy lined signature from Azimus Barthalamule. James couldn’t believe it. He stared at the paragraph, the last words of the man who had created How Not to Be Barbarian, Fifteenth Edition. He couldn’t believe that the world was changing this much. Even the smallest things were going away. He wondered how many others were going into hiding now. Was Azimus the only one? Would there be many others? Yet Azimus had to go into hiding. He knew that much. Azimus knew far too much to end up dead some place. If civilization really was crumbling, then Azimus might have the knowledge to bring it back. For a while he sat on Mirdur’eth’s back with his eyes fixed on the opening page of the etiquette book. He gently shook his head, incredulity taking him. Then, slowly he reached out and turned the page to the table of contents. Every single section was lit up. The table stretched for dozens of pages, all of which seemed to have appeared out of thin air. Each entry was bold and bright gold. New sections were added in the last few pages—What to do When Your Horse is Nicer Than Your Wife, The Secret World of Illegal