“You are, without doubt, the laziest dragon hunter I have ever encountered,” scoffed Dorvan’s unwelcome visitor, a young knight.
“Oh? What gave it away?” Dorvan sat outside his cottage with his feet propped up on a stool. He did not even look up as he turned a page in his book.
“I once thought
“This should be it.” Kardan glanced at the map. “The mountain tomb of Arned the Curse-bringer. But all I can see is endless desert.”
A scorching wind scattered dust upon cracked earth. His wife squinted against the glare of the setting sun. “Are you sure you got the position right?”
Kardan gestured
“I need a wand.”
Exeter, the elderly wandmaker, squinted through his thick glasses at his visitor.
This young man was one of those university types: tall, sandy hair combed to the side, dark eyes, worn robe of cornflower blue with the hood pulled up. Very eager and very naive.
“Are you
Kevin had only been in this new, magical land for five minutes, and already something was trying to kill him.
The life of a world-hopping hero must be a short one.
“What is that thing?” Kevin shouted, ducking behind a crumbling, ivy-covered wall. An iron spike embedded in a crack in the wall, quivering
“Well, Gram, here’s to you.”
Kevin popped the cap off a bottle of beer and tilted the first sip of pleasantly bitter brew onto his tongue. Gram had never cared for alcohol much. That was probably Gramp’s fault—too many bad memories—but Kevin’s after-dinner beer tended to accompany reflection.
And tonight was
The signal was weak but unmistakable: the rebel waypoint. They had made it!
Staggering through thick forest undergrowth, Sam and Tony picked up their pace as much as Sam’s mangled leg would allow. Even though Tony helped support Sam’s weight, every step sent a spear of pain shooting up his hastily bandaged leg,
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Donny Chandler would never tell me what I needed to know. Which was why I needed to get the hiccups.
Great.
I slunk into Tornado Taco on the corner of Main Street and Bell Avenue. The last time I was here, I made a complete fool of myself. Not my fault, but still…
Six months into the sleep-zombie catastrophe, the survivors knew one thing: they were grateful for the winged, magic sloths.
One such survivor, Leesia, leaped over a crumbling stone wall marking an old boundary between fields. Gasping for breath, she dropped to her knees. Her brother-in-law Rayth joined her a moment later.
Forin would do it this time. Master the All-Gate. And prove his father’s doubts wrong. All the other Gates were limited, only allowing travel between two specific worlds. Heck, sometimes you had to travel thousands of miles just to get to that world’s Gate. The All-Gate would change that. Forin could think of a place,
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Dex had one thing in common with his sister Fae: they both hated the monthly meetings of the National Individuals of Power Association. In Dex’s opinion, they offered unparalleled opportunities for humiliation.
His one consolation was the free food.
No one entered the Forest unless they were unwilling, arrogant, suicidal, or mad, but desperation would make a mother do many things.
At the edge of the moisture-net field, Ever crouched with her infant son, Spear, wrapped in her cloak.
Behind her lay the base where the Taa and Marzr warred.
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