The sun rose over Dumian, and Baneck walked into Morgy’s store, as she was tallying a merchandise log.

“Good morning, darling,” she called out.  Then she made a few more marks with her quill, and sent her worker out, leaving the two of them alone.

“Do you have the orgite?” he asked her.

“This way,” she said with a smile

At the back end of a separate warehouse, in the alley away from prying eyes, she spoke words of power before a nondescript wall, and fitted a brass-colored key into a hole that Baneck could swear had not been there before.

He beheld a perfectly-fitted door swinging open on invisible hinges, and followed her through.  Down a dimly-lit flagstone stairwell, they descended into the bowels of the earth.  Passing through another level, he looked around quizzically, trying to gauge just how deep they were.

As they came to a lower level, she led him down an aisle of assorted new farm equipment, explaining to him that they had stepped through a magic portal.  This storage space was inside a dimensional pocket, and to please not tell anyone.

He halted when she bade him to wait, and then she disappeared around a corner of tall shelves.

Baneck waited, still looking around.  He could not tell where the light was coming from, nor did he recognize the way he had come.

He quietly laughed to himself.  The clever dragon was most likely the only one who knew the layout.  Any would-be thief would be hopelessly lost in a matter of minutes.

Then she was back with two heavy buckets – about five gallons each – of unrefined orgite ore.

Baneck took hold of one and shook it slightly.

“This is more than I need.”

“Pish-posh!  Do you want to scrimp on the materials?  Don’t you want to make these things as strong as possible?”

“I feel more akin to working with my own alloy.”

“Because that’s a work of your own hands, rather than depending on the orgite for all the strength in the world, eh?  By Nightburst’s foul breath, you and Fawnlum are so stubborn, you deserve each other.

“Take what you need; but don’t restrain yourself for materials’ sake.  Consider it an order from your customer.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

<*>                                                          <*>                                                      <*>

Fawnlum’s band walked along the trade road for two weeks.  Halrick made use of the time, teaching Lucas to fence with a medium-weight sword taken from the ship.

“On those occasions when magic fails,” Fawnlum told him, “there’s nothing better than having a good blade in your hand.”

Sienna gave her own instruction, with new aches and pains.

“Don’t try to learn my fighting style!” she continuously snapped.  “Use what Halrick taught you.”

Later, quietly beside the campfire, Fawnlum said to him, “Take heart.  If she did not care, she would not bother.”

“Her concern might be worse than her wrath,” the youth said, flexing his sore arms and blistered palm.

“Don’t think us crude,” Dreighton counseled. “The average Coastal child starts their lessons when they’re four years old.”

“No, not crude,” Lucas said.  “But I must say you’re not what I expected.  Your reputation is one of savages, who live alongside red dragons.  But you’ve shown a deep regard for others.”

“Are we too genteel for your tastes?” Dreighton asked jokingly.  “Did you expect us to kill our own young, with knuckles dragging the ground?”

“No, but,….”

Dreighton’s face broke into a bright grin, and he sprang up from his seat. “Give me your ears, young Vwerlon!” he proclaimed, with open palms before him.

Lucas sat a little straighter, and looked at him, vigilantly.

Dreighton told him, “You’re learned, and that’s a good thing.

“But the history of the Coast is different from any country you’ll ever know,” he said.

Fawnlum looked brightly at Dreighton, with the others.  She knew what story he was going to tell, but she always loved hearing it; and with his natural ability to engage an audience, she could not help but want to listen.

It wasn’t always a home for our barbarian peoples.  But the smaller continent of Khostead has always been a harsh land, with demanding winters and unforgiving dangers.  The former kingdom had been a tough and respectable folk, working hard and doing well.”

“But the evil creatures,” Dreighton continued, “crawling around the hills and under the deepway, were a constant threat, which they fought as often as the elements.  From its east coast to its west, Khostead became known as the Coast of Storms, for all the battles that took place over the years.

“When a unified offensive of Hansite orcs – .”

“Hansite?” Lucas interrupted.

“Big orcs,” Fawnlum explained.  “They’re a stronger breed than what you find in these mundane lands.”

“And the people still faced them,” Dreighton went on.  “A massive number of them.  But, despite their bravery, the horde pushed them back, nearly to the eastern edge of the continent, and into the sea.”

“Then Vongilor arrived!” the young warrior said, whipping his arms out, with a flourish.

“He was a mighty barbarian king from the endless Frostmantle tundra, north of the impassable Skytooth Mountains.  His tribe – the Godbear tribe – numbered in the thousands.  With him at their lead, they stood strong in their frozen and deadly land.

“But he had a wandering heart, and was known to mull over the notion, of where else in the world he might go, and what more might he do, than simply survive in one place?”

Dreighton straightened up with a pleased air.  “He gathered his tribe, and marched west, leaving the Frostmantle by the western end of the mountain range.  But as they rounded the spur, he did not go directly south.  The ice floes that normally lined the western coast of the tundra were packed together, and formed an ice bridge across the frigid sea.  This he took to the south and west, right onto Khostead soil.

“After marching south for nearly a season, he came upon the remainder of the Coast’s people, and their losing battle.

“He rallied his people to their defense, and pushed the invaders back.  He chased them far to the west, retaking great swaths of territory.

“Afterward, he settled in the land he had helped to retake, and declared he would assimilate the survivors of the former kingdom.  But this was where the accord started to break down.  The Coast had prominent wizards among them, and he announced an end to magical practices.”

Lucas looked surprised, and eyed Dreighton more closely.

Dreighton gave a shrug.  “The strong stand with a weapon.  Magic is an unnatural tool of tricksters who can’t put up a real fight.  Clerics of Diergon use a type of magic.  But it’s different, since it calls upon the god’s name to help his brave followers.

“Such was Vongilor’s belief.  Now, the Coastals were a proud bunch, and they were not about to let their wizardly brothers be treated like this.

“It was Vongilor’s own clerics who intervened.  They told him, the wizards had used magic as a weapon; but it was with the same honor as a warrior, for they had fallen in battle beside their soldiers.  Their skills had let their people hold out as long as they did.  To maintain the balance this people had kept with the world around them, the wizards were needed.  Also, given how the land itself had suffered, being burned and laid waste by the enemy, the people needed every resource to survive the coming hard winter.

“This was sound reasoning.  So he agreed, and his tribe joined with the Coastals as one people.

“The first years were rough, and even though there were divisions between the mightier tribesmen and the survivors, the new nation did well.  

“They built farms and homes.  But also, they mined.  They dug gold and precious gems out of the ground.”  He leaned a little more forward, with eyes brightening.  “As well as iron and orgite.  Within a few years, they were crafting fine weapons, and building a good trade with the lands beyond their shores.”

“Pay close attention now,” Fawnlum whispered to Lucas, as Dreighton’s expression turned grim.

“Their prosperity didn’t go unnoticed.  It caught the eye of Old Spearhorns, an elder red dragon.  The Coastals came under siege, as he brought five other reds to attack us, to force us to produce new riches to swell their treasure piles.

“The Coastals fought back, with blood and flames filling the air.”

The young warrior’s manner turned more grim.  “Prince Trorvor had leadership thrust upon him, when King Trennbok met his end by dragon-fire.  Gathered with a handful of countrymen in a hidden cavern, Trorvor told his clerics, Fallonwrot and Thangar, to call out to Diergon, using him as the focus. Thus Diergon’s presence would come to those gathered, and tell them what to do.  They protested, saying it would surely cost him his life.”

Dreighton held up a finger.

“From among the group of wizards, one female, named Lisiete, volunteered to be the focus.  Her senior spellcasters argued against it, but in her words, the tribesmen’s faith in their god was unshakeable, and if it would help the call, Trorvor’s voice had to be carried to Diergon’s ear.

“She laid down on a large stone slab on the cavern’s floor.  She cast a spell to tie her consciousness to her own magical power, and gave her fate into the clerics’ hands.”

Dreighton held up his hands.  “The ritual worked.  A great door, made of light, opened, and the people looked with wonder, only to jump, as a voice thundered from the other side: ‘Bring her in!’”

“Diergon talked to them?” Lucas asked.

“Very much so,” Dreighton said, excitedly.  “But when Trorvor went to pick the body off the great stone, the voice boomed, ‘Do not disturb her!  Guard her way!’”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, give her protection, as an honor-guard would escort the body of a hero as they’re carried to the grave,” Sienna said.  Then she prompted Dreighton, “Keep going!”

“Right,” Dreighton continued.  “She was lying on the stone.  So they slipped some poles underneath it.  The men who were not of the tribe – crafters and farmers by trade  – lifted her up; and the tribesmen guarded them on each side, as Thangar and Trorvor led them through.”

Fawnlum stared raptly, almost crowding Lucas on his seat.

“They did not walk into the realm of Diergon, though.  They were in a sort of ante-chamber between celestial homes.

“Great walls of swirling lights surrounded them, and our clerical forefather saw a massive, man-shaped shadow behind one such wall.  This shadow called, in a language Thangar did not understand, as the wind whipped around them.  The wind carried ashes, but not normal ones.  They were blackened as from fire, but were as big as giant leaves.

Then, Lisiete sat up, living again, much to everyone’s shock.  Without a word, she hopped down from the stone, as the men still held it.

“She walked before Thangar and Trorvor, and held up a hand, into which the giant ashes started to blow and accumulate.  She took handful after handful from the air, and slapped them down in stacks upon the stone, each hit sounding like the crack of a giant rod.

“Then,” Dreighton said slowly, “she walked toward the wall, and through it, where her smaller shadow joined Diergon’s.

“‘Now go!’ said the voice, above the wind.  And the bearers brought the stone, and its cargo, back through the opening, into our world.  But before he passed through,” Dreighton whispered, “Thangar cast one more look over his shoulder.”

Fawnlum gripped her hands together in anticipation.

“He saw the shapes of two other mighty individuals behind the walls,” he slowly said.  “But he did not dare pause more than an instant, as he barely got through the portal as it closed.

“Once on the other side, the bearers set the stone down, and the sheets of ash were now stacks of parchment.  The transformed pages were new spells, written in the words of the Coastals’ own wizardly school of the Starpool Chalice!  They were powerful new spells to fight dragons!

“But it was more than just material for wizards.  It contained instructions, for blacksmiths to carve new runes of power into warriors’ weapons, which the wizards would then enchant, enabling the blades to cut through dragons’ armored scales.  There were also spells to assist the clerics.  They would all work together to slay the beasts.  It was a plan for people from different walks of life to fight side by side.  And there was one instruction that was repeated throughout the pages: ‘Honor, above all.  To be lived, to be taught.  Treat as equals those who stand with you’.

“We were no longer different people fighting a common foe.  We were finally united as one, coming together in that most honorable of ways – – of battle!

“And so, Lucas, our god told us long ago not to look down on others.  We’ll have nothing to do with cowards, mind you.  But we’ll judge by someone’s character, not by their sameness to us.”

“But,” Lucas stuttered, “who were the other beings within that celestial space?”

“Gods,” Caitlyn calmly told him.  “Diergon, mightiest among his kind, brought other gods to his cause on behalf of his people, and they gave the magic on the pages.”

“The effect wasn’t limited to those spells, either,” Fawnlum happily said.  “Those who bore the stone were blessed.  They and their descendants received the ability to carve the special runes into weapons and other objects.”

Fawnlum drew her saber, to show the wards on its surface.  “My betrothed is one such smith.  If the gift is not in you, the marks you carve have no power,” she explained.

Lucas studied the blade, then asked, “What became of Lisiete?  Were there any other gifts of this gathering of gods?”

“Lisiete,” Dreighton answered, “walked to Diergon’s side; which made her his consort.”

“As for other gifts,” Halrick sagely interjected, “there were some.  But one held great significance.  Some Coastal women received the gift of the syiajryn – -the ability to commune with the Spirits of Nature, and in some ways use their magic.”

He indicated Caitlyn as he said this, who gave a slight nod of confirmation to Lucas’ inquisitive gaze.

“Amazing,” was all the youth could say.  “I would love to – “

“Don’t say you want to see the pages of the gods!” Dreighton snapped.  “They’re a sacred gift, locked and hidden away for none to see.  To try it is an offense, punishable by death.”

Fawnlum bit back her laugh.  She looked away, as Dreighton played his serious moment.

“I guess,” Lucas said, “in your hard land, you have to take swift justice when someone steps out of line.”

“And then some!” Dreighton admitted, with an exaggerated nod.