Trolls weren’t considered one of the major Faythander species. They lived deep underground and rarely came to the surface. Trolls weren’t known for their intelligence. Most couldn’t communicate with spoken words. Some races even considered them a subspecies to Faythander’s five major races. Although they were nomadic underground, they were also peaceful. I wondered if the loss of magic had affected them.
As we neared the top of the staircase, soft golden lights appeared from the interior of the dragons’ mountain, and the familiar smell of dragon stew drifted to us from the open chamber.
My heart quickened at the thought of seeing the dragons again. It had been a long time since I’d called this place home.
We stepped off the staircase and entered the kitchens. A cauldron of hot stew bubbled in the floor’s center. The smell of the soup brought back memories of better times, when I’d had nothing to worry about and everything to look forward to. Sometimes I wished I could be a child again.
A dragon—Charl—lay curled in the corner with one eye open. I hadn’t seen her in years. She was one of the older dragons, and when I’d been a child, she had sometimes taken on a human form to be my nursemaid. My heart felt heavy as I looked on her now. Her once-smooth scales were beginning to flake off. Instead of the vibrant green I was used to seeing, her scales had turned dull gray. She raised her long, serpentine neck as we drew near.
“We’ve been expecting you, young one,” she said, her voice weak.
I walked to Charl and hugged her long neck. “Oh, Charl, I’ve missed you so much!”
A claw gently stroked my back. “We have all missed you, Olive.”
“Where is the sky king?” I asked.
“In his chambers. He is resting, as are we all until the magic returns.”
I pulled away from her. “Is he okay?”
She hung her head. “He has been weakened. His age, coupled with his strong connection to magic, has caused his life to fade. It is important that you speak with him, for there is much he must tell you. After you have spoken, I will have your meal ready.”
I gave Charl another brief hug and then, with Rolf and Kull following, made my way to my stepfather’s chamber. The halls were unusually quiet, and our footsteps echoed through the tall, arched walkways. I saw no signs of life. No conversations. No laughter or music. I wasn’t sure that I’d ever heard it so quiet. Had I come to the right place?
The cold intensified as I neared my stepfather’s chamber. When we entered his cavern through a massive, ornately-carved doorway, I stopped in shock. Ice covered everything. The floors were slick with it. The once-vibrant blue crystals lining the walls shone a dull gray beneath the frost. The moat surrounding my stepfather’s dais was slick with an icy layer. Even the chandelier was encrusted with ice.
With closed eyes and labored breathing, my stepfather lay atop his dais. Not wanting to disturb his rest, I turned to leave.
“Olive.” His voice came out as a weak whisper. He lifted his head. His once golden scales were now a drab brown, and his skin seemed to hang off his frame.
I walked toward the frail-looking dragon, but something inside me refused to accept the situation. In my mind, my stepfather couldn’t grow old or get sick. He would live forever. It wasn’t possible for his life to fade. Yet, as I neared him, my mind was forced to accept the truth.
Fan’twar was dying.
I crossed the icy moat and sat on the edge of the dais near my stepfather’s face. “Fan’twar,” I said softly. I didn’t want to see him this way. This wasn’t how I wanted to remember him. Fan’twar was strong, fierce. He was a symbol of power and pride.
His scales flaked off as I caressed his face.
“You have come, young one,” he breathed.
“Yes.”
“And you’ve brought your friends?”
Kull and Rolf stood under the arched doorway. “Yes. I’ve brought them.”
“Good.” A cough shook his body.
“Fan’twar, how can I help you? What can I do?”
His eyes closed once again. “The power of the pure magic must be restored.”
“How?”
“The magic of the Everblossom has been hidden from Geth. For now, it is protected, but it will not stay that way for long. Travel to Earth Kingdom. Claim the flower for you own.”
“Earth Kingdom? How did it get there?”
“Ulizet has sent the flower where it will be safest. But take care; Geth has the ability to find it soon. You must find Mochazon before Geth can destroy it.”
“How will I find Mochazon?”
“He will… search you out. He has been waiting for you.”
“Waiting for me? He’s only just gone there.”
“No. His time in Earth Kingdom has been longer than you assume. The tree’s weakened magic was not powerful enough to correctly align our timelines, so he was sent two weeks into the past.” His breathing grew more labored.
“So Mochazon has been on Earth for two weeks?”
He nodded, but before my stepfather could continue, he paused to catch his breath. “Geth,” he finally managed, “is not who he appears. He is a goblin, and… a Spellweaver. While all goblins have the ability to… transform liquid elements, he also has the ability to use magic from both worlds.”
“Spellweaver?” I tried to remember where I’d heard the name. In Fan’twar’s libraries, there was a book I’d found when I was younger. It was an encyclopedia of magic users. Usually I didn’t read textbooks, but this one had caught my eye. I remembered reading about the Spellweaver. The last Spellweaver had lived one thousand years ago. He had been the son of an elf and goblin who had learned to use all magic, and he’d almost destroyed the world.
For most practitioners, learning magic was a tedious process. It couldn’t be taught from a book. Each magical word was different to each person. Learning all the magical words was impossible—except for a Spellweaver. They had the unique
