

# World of Sharlain

by Peter J. Ponzo

First Interim

I am old and my memory is less than it was, yet I will tell you the story, for soon I will surely forget, and soon I will die, for I am not long-lived as are others in this land, yet my hair, as you see, is white with a hint of green, and that says something, does it not?

It began with ghosts, or at least a discussion of ghosts, and I am certain, though I was not present, that it took place at a weekly poker game. You must understand that I have been told the circumstances by others and I relate them now as best I can, from faded memory. At the time, were I present, I would have been skeptical as well. Indeed, I did not believe in ghosts or dragons or, for that matter, flying horses; it cannot be so, yet, can anyone really be sure? Stranger things have happened. And now, in this land, we have been witness to much stranger things. Much stranger things.

You will be the judge.

That is all past. Anyone who lives here, with hair of green, would scoff not at a belief in ghosts, but at any disbelief, for we have all seen the Ghost of Chalma and have ridden horses that fly and ... yet, I digress. What was I about to say? I was about to say that, were it not for the discussion of ghosts, perhaps I would not be here, now, with my beautiful wife and beautiful children. As you can see, your hair is quite green. I do believe that it stems from what we eat; the mushrooms perhaps, or the green berries that grow in profusion by the Stream of Life.

Why am I here? At times I think that I made an error in judgement; I should have stayed. Yet, I have been happy. Had I stayed, would I have been so happy? No, but then, can anyone really be sure?

I was speaking of ghosts, and while it is still fresh in my mind I will tell you the story. It began, as nearly as I can tell, at a poker game, or have I already said that?

CHAPTER 1

Other Worlds

Dan Woller leaned back and put down his cards, his eyes closing to slits. He was a short man with dark complexion and straight black hair greased to the contours of his head.

"You can't really believe in ghosts?"

It wasn't clear whether he said it as a statement or a question, and he was staring at Gordon Chaplain. Soon everyone was staring at Gordon Chaplain.

"That's not what I said." Gordon was somewhat peeved. "I just said that those who _do_ believe find them real, very real. You can't deny that."

"I'll go along with that," grunted Thomas Barclay. "Now, let's play cards." Tom grunted again and pushed a cheese sandwich into his mouth.

"No, I want to get this straight," said Dan, still staring at Gordon and now leaning over the table, his elbows together, his hands knotted beneath his chin. "You believe in something, therefore it's true. Right? That's your thesis. Right?"

Gordon looked weary. He really didn't like Dan Woller. "Naturally. I think of cheese and you think of salami and that makes the moon a cheese and salami sandwich." He closed his eyes as though in pain. "Look Dan, that's not what I said, and you bloody well know it." Gordon was getting angry. "As usual, you're not even listening to what I said."

"Okay, then tell us again what you said. This time we'll listen. Go ahead." Dan was listening, grinning, squinting beneath shaggy brows that seemed incongruous beneath slick black hair, but Thomas and Peter had left the table to fill their glasses in the kitchen area.

This was the third Thursday in the month so Gordon Chaplain was the host for the weekly poker game and the kitchen counter was arrayed, or disarrayed, with half-filled bottles of whiskey and gin, a bowl of chips (mostly broken), assorted cookies spilled from a box, and a tray of sandwiches. Gordon was the only bachelor in the group and his cheese sandwiches were the least palatable of the month. However his house was unique and lent itself to poker parties; in spite of the lousy sandwiches it was always a good evening. The living, dining and cooking areas were components of a single expansive room. For Peter Jacobs it meant another chance to gaze in wonder at his own creation, well, sort of. For Thomas Barclay it meant that the sandwiches were never very far away.

The second Thursday of the month was _Thomas Thursday_ and Tom prided himself on his culinary skills. The sandwiches were works of art: pastrami, lettuce, dill pickle and slices of Emmenthaler cheese on black rye. The hot mustard Tom made himself, carefully measuring the mustard seed, horse radish and mayonnaise in a blender and poking the _chop_ button until it was only just blended. Tom's size attested to the fact that he loved to eat, and drink. He returned to the poker table with three cheese sandwiches and a tall glass of whiskey, straight. Peter Jacobs followed, chewing contentedly on a single sandwich.

"What I said was this," Gordon explained patiently. "If somebody really believes in something, anything, then it's as real to that person as anything _we_ would regard as real. If Tom said he saw a ghost last night then he really _did_ see it. After all, what is seeing but nerve impulses received by the brain. Surely Tom's body could actually generate these impulses without the need for visual stimuli."

Tom and Peter sat down and looked from Gordon to Dan, but there was no response. Dan Woller just grinned, his chin still imbedded in his hands.

"I suspect," grinned Peter, placing his arm around Tom's ample waist, "that Tom's body is capable of anything."

Tom grunted between bites of his cheese sandwich. "Thanks old buddy."

"That's nonsense," said Dan, his grin vanishing, his voice rising. "I suppose you believe in elves and dwarfs and flying horses."

Gord was about to respond, again, but Tom would have none of it.

"Let's play cards!" Now Tom was getting angry and they all looked at him, there was a moment of silence, then they picked up their cards and continued the game.

At midnight, as usual, they played the last game and walked to the living room area to finish their drinks. The lights were turned up and the lights in the other parts of the room were dimmed. For some time they just sat and sipped the last of their drinks, Peter Jacobs looking about the room with great interest: it was a _Jacobs House_ . He enjoyed being there.

Finally, as though he had been thinking and just had a new idea, Peter said: "Suppose that elves and flying horses really did exist. Then -"

"Let's not start on that again." Dan Woller raised his hand as though to hold back the discussion, but Gordon and Tom were looking at Peter with great interest, so Peter continued.

"If they really did exist then, since we rarely see them, they must exist in a different way, not in the streets of the city or ... or the world we live in. Maybe they exist in some kind of dream world, in a parallel universe, in a world apart which we glimpse once in a while. Those who see ghosts or goblins actually see into this other world. Maybe, instead of thinking that Tom is crazy for seeing ghosts we should actually think of Tom as special, with powers of perception beyond those we possess."

Peter seemed pleased with his analysis and lay back, stretching his feet. Tom didn't understand, but did hear his name and whined. "Hey! I never said I saw a ghost."

"That's okay Tom. Don't you see? You're special." Dan Woller smiled and Tom pulled the cheese from his sandwich and popped it into his mouth, then looked warily at the soggy white bread, shrugged, then pushed that into his mouth.

"That's an interesting theory, Peter," said Gordon with a wide grin. It was the first time Gordon Chaplain had smiled all night. He raised his index finger as though to more clearly identify the point he was about to make. "Now suppose we all wanted to see what Tom saw, we all wanted these special powers of perception. How would we enter this dream world, _his_ dream world?" Gordon would pretend to amplify on Peter's notion of another world. In fact, it was also _his_ theory.

"This is stupid," said Dan, getting out of his chair and heading for the hall closet. "Elves and flying horses? You've been reading too much Tolkien. The discussion deteriorates, the cerebral prowess of my companions degenerates. I'm going home."

They all watched Dan gather his coat and leave, nobody moving to join him as they usually did on poker nights. Dan seemed a little surprised that he was leaving alone. He didn't really want to miss any meaningful discussion, but then this was not a meaningful discussion, so he left.

"Now that the unbeliever is gone let me tell you my theory."

Gordon was now whispering, so Tom and Peter leaned back. Gord had a great imagination and they usually enjoyed his tales of adventure. As a bachelor he had traveled widely and the stories of his trips were usually embellished with fictional accounts of monsters rising from the bowels of the earth or vegetation that fed on _homo sapiens_. It was sometimes difficult to distinguish truth from fiction, but Gordon was a good storyteller and they would listen. His theory of elves and flying horses was bound to be good.

"Peter, what you said earlier is exactly right. I mean, those that see ghosts or goblins have special powers, an ability to see beyond this universe of galaxies and goloshes. The opportunity to gaze into this other world, or these other worlds, comes only rarely and we should envy those that are able to take advantage of that opportunity when it arises."

Gordon paused, frowned, then raised his voice and continued, looking directly at Peter Jacobs. "Peter, it amazes me that you, too, have come to this conclusion, about parallel worlds. I've been thinking about it for years and have come to the very same conclusion. If Tom tells me he saw a dwarf sitting in the back seat of his car I don't think he's nuts, I think he's special, and I envy him. That dwarf may never come again but this time, this _one_ time, Tom saw it."

"How come you always pick on me?" moaned Tom. "I never see no dwarfs or ghosts or anything like that, I guarantee."

Gordon continued, ignoring Tom's complaint, but smiling in Tom's direction just to indicate that he _had_ heard the complaint.

"Now, what I would like to know is this: how do we get to see what Tom sees? How do we acquire these special powers, to see into these other worlds? If Tom sees a dwarf, right now, what can I do to see the dwarf too?"

Peter waited. It was a rhetorical question and Gordon would answer when he was ready. Tom had his eyes closed; he had eaten too much and was sleepy. Besides, he didn't really understand what they were talking about. He, for one, had stopped believing in ghosts when he was a kid.

"Hypnotism." Gordon leaned back and smiled, waiting for that single word to sink in. Peter was disappointed.

"Come on, Gord. Hypnotism? That will give us this glimpse of the other worlds? People have been hypnotized before. Do they see ghosts and goblins?"

Gordon leaned forward and whispered to establish the proper environment for his next words. He was a polished storyteller as befit his occupation: professor of mathematics. Whenever the students in the back row nodded off to sleep, he would tell a story. When he had proved some abstruse and difficult theorem (and even the eager students in the front row were nodding off), he would tell a story. He was good at it, and he would make the most of this opportunity to expound on his theory of other worlds.

"Not hypnotism by itself. No. It's going into a dream-like trance at the precise moment that Tom sees into the other world."

Tom opened one eye at the sound of his name, but closed it again. Peter was about to say something, but Gordon continued.

"Suppose that Tom were to see a ghost, right now. Suppose further that I were to hypnotize you, right now. Suppose further that you were to be in physical and mental contact with Tom, at precisely the moment he saw a ghost. Then I claim that -"

"Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Mental contact with Tom? You're kidding. How?"

"Hypnotism." Gordon whispered the word.

Tom was snoring.

"Looks like Tom is in another world already," said Peter, rising from his chair. It was getting late and the discussion really was deteriorating. Peter had only suggested the parallel worlds thing as a joke. Surely Gordon wasn't taking it seriously. "Well Gord, it's an interesting theory. If we knew a hypnotist we could even test the theory, if only Tom would see a ghost." Peter poked Tom in the side. "Tom? When was the last time you saw a ghost?"

Tom opened his eyes and groaned. "Are we going now?"

"Yup! Let's go." Peter jumped to his feet. Tom grunted, leaned heavily forward and arose from the chair like a whale breaching.

They all walked to the door and Gordon watched them leave in Peter's car, then he went to the kitchen area, gazed for a moment at the dishes and glasses, shrugged, then went to his study. He poured himself a glass of whiskey and slid into a large leather chair.

Gordon Chaplain was not quite thirty-five, yet he was almost bald. At least on the top of his head. At the sides his hair was long, thin and light brown and hung over his ears and down the back almost to his neck. He had tried to hide the baldness by combing his hair over the top but it always fell to the sides so he just accepted it. It made him look older and maybe that wasn't so bad. He did have a muscular physique that showed through his shirt, now bulging at the buttons; he was in excellent shape. And he was his own man, with an interest in strange cultures and languages, of which he spoke several, though not your typical French or Spanish or German or Russian (although he did speak a smattering of each). What intrigued him most was Armenian and Aramaic and the Sino-Tibetan linguistic families. He was also intensely interested in Science; not just physics and chemistry and biology (although he had studied them all) but also pseudo-science.

Gordon Chaplain closed his eyes. God, how he disliked Dan Woller.

Other worlds. He did believe in other worlds. What one sees, experiences, feels, they are all creations of the mind. Entering another world was a matter of generating the appropriate mindset, and hypnotism was the key.

He pulled the book from the end table.

Hypnotism in Theory and Practice.

*****

It was the fourth Thursday of the month and they were gathered at Dan Woller's house. His wife Kathy had made the tiny sandwiches, egg salad filling, cut into quarters, then had gone to play bridge with a neighbor. Tom filled his plate with sandwiches six-at-a-time, pushing three-at-a-time into his mouth.

"Okay, what did you guys talk about last week, after I left?" said Dan.

"Ghosts and goblins," Peter grinned. "Gord has a theory. He says that if you -"

"No, don't tell Dan my theory. He'll just laugh it off, as usual," said Gordon, frowning. This was going to be another terrible evening, he could see it coming.

"Come now, tell me this theory. I'm due for a good laugh," Dan said. "Besides, tonight we're in my house and you know the house rules: my wish is your command." Dan stared directly at Gordon, wagged his finger, grinned.

"Okay, let me tell it," said Gordon, resigned to the fact that he would explain and Dan would laugh. Nevertheless, it was better than having Peter explain the theory and really provoking Dan's mirth. Perhaps he could tell it as though it were a joke, something humorous, not something that he really believed in. "Here's the theory," he began. "There is a world apart from this one that we know and love. A world of fantasy, a world of ghosts, goblins, dwarfs and flying horses. Maybe more than a single world, maybe several worlds, some with ghosts, some with goblins. Some of us, Tom maybe, see into this other world when conditions are right."

"Like when Tom has had too much to drink," added Peter Jacobs.

"Right," continued Gordon, grinning. Maybe if he made light of the theory then the guffaws would be minimized. He tried to grin while explaining, but it wasn't all that easy. "Which world Tom sees is problematical. Maybe the world of ghosts, maybe a world of dwarfs. Only Tom has the special power to observe this other world, and only sometimes. But when he does, then we all have the same opportunity if we are in contact with Tom, physical and mental contact."

Dan Woller cocked his head and squinted. "Like, I'm supposed to give Tom a big hug when he sees a ghost, then I'll see it too, right?" he said, his grin too wide.

"Something like that," said Gordon, trying hard to maintain his smile. He really didn't like Dan Woller. "Now Dan, pay attention," he continued, lowering his voice and wiping the smile from his face. "Maybe you'll learn something. When Tom sees into another world I hypnotize you. You hold on to Tom, I hypnotize Tom, you're both in a trance, you're in communion, you see the same things, experience the same things. You can enter this other world at the precise moment that Tom has established the opening. You take advantage of Tom's special power and enter with him."

Dan began to laugh, first softly, then with head held back, roaring with laughter, his greased hair splitting into a dozen pointed, shaking strands. "I enter another world, with Tom. Kicking and screaming. Holding on to Tom. Quite a handful I'd say."

Peter leaned forward and looked at Gordon. "Did I hear you say that _you_ would hypnotize Dan?"

Gordon smiled again and nodded, then raised his hands to either side of his head, shaking them and shaking his head. "T'ain't jes Tom who got dose magic powers. Lordy, no."

Dan began again to laugh and Gordon's smile turned quickly to a frown. He _really_ didn't like Daniel Woller, never had. Dan was stunted in his creative abilities, had a brain like a benign tumor, criticized every new idea, laughed at things he didn't understand, expounded on things about which his knowledge was infinitesimal. But Dan was his boss. Why they had selected Dan as the head of mathematics at Corrigan College was a mystery. Perhaps being critical of everything and everyone is a necessary prerequisite. It wasn't necessary to have any ideas of your own, just as long as you were sufficiently critical of the ideas of your colleagues. Perhaps their colleagues at the college saw this critical response to any novel idea as an indication of intellectual enlightenment. Gordon knew better; Dan was a mental midget.

Gordon stared at Dan for a long time then leaned forward and whispered. Dan stopped laughing and listened. Gord whispered again.

"What? Hypnotize me?" Dan frowned only for a moment, then began to laugh again, but stopped when he saw that Gordon was serious. "Okay. Sure. Go ahead. Try it." Dan crossed his arms across his chest, squinting as he often did, to indicate disbelief.

"Hey! This should be good, that I guarantee," said Tom, putting down his glass and swallowing hard the last of his quarter-sandwiches.

"Gordon? This could be dangerous," said Peter warily. "Where did you learn the art of hypnotism?"

"Don't worry. He won't succeed." Dan grinned and now put his hands on his hips. "Go ahead, Gord. Try it."

This would be good. Gordon felt better than he had for some time. This was going to be a good evening after all. He rose from his chair and stared down at Dan. "Let's go into the other room. I need some darkness and some quiet and some comfortable chairs."

They followed Gordon to the living room. Dan sat on a chair, still grinning, and Gordon stood in front of him. Peter turned off the music. Tom took a gulp of his whiskey and leaned back to enjoy the show. Gordon looked around, turned on a single light, placed his hands on Daniel's shoulders and whispered:

"Be still, be quiet, think of nothing, look at my finger, it moves so slowly, back and forth, it brings the sleep, it brings the night, your mind goes blank, down, down, into darkness, into sleep -"

Tom's mouth was open, egg salad perched precariously on his lower lip. It was working. By God, it was working. He saw the grin fade from Dan's lips, saw his squinting eyes develop into a blank stare, saw that Dan was now in a trance. Tom leaned forward. Peter Jacobs stared intently, not at Dan, but at Tom Barclay who seemed almost in a trance himself, his hands placed delicately on his knees, his eyes glazed.

" _Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan._ "

Peter turned to Dan Woller. That was Dan speaking, wasn't it? What did he say? Peter rose slowly from his chair, worried. Hypnotism was nothing to play with; it could be dangerous.

Gordon Chaplain smiled then raised his hand and Peter sat down again. _This is too good to be true_ , he thought. His first attempt at hypnotism and Dan had gone under like a rock in a cesspool. He was tempted to make Dan do something stupid, embarrassing, something which the math department could laugh at. At the next departmental meeting, he could bring up the subject of hypnotism. _And now gentlemen, under Other Business, our leader has some words of wisdom, words wrenched from another world for our edification. Professor Woller? You have the floor. Tell us of these other worlds. Borgo-nom achewan, if you please._

"Gordon?" whispered Peter. "You've got to wake him up. This is dangerous."

Gordon looked at Peter. Yes, he must bring Dan out of the trance. Too bad.

"Daniel Woller, you will awaken, slowly, rise from the darkness, rise to the light, open your eyes, you feel fine, you feel good."

Daniel Woller opened his eyes very slowly, blinked twice, looked about, saw Peter Jacobs frowning, then smiled.

"See? I told you Gord wouldn't succeed."

Peter started to say something but Tom blurted it out: "But he _did_ succeed! He did!" Thomas Barclay was on his feet. "Gord had you under ... hypnotized ... you were really gone, really gone, that I guarantee!"

The smile vanished from Daniel's face, replaced by a scowl. "What are you talking about?" He looked up at Gordon. "What the hell is he talking about?"

Gordon smiled, his eyes slits of pleasure. "He's right, Dan. You were indeed hypnotized. But you won't remember a thing." He leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped behind his head, smiling.

Dan rose quickly from the chair, scarlet blotches rising in his cheeks. "I don't believe it! You can't hypnotize me, I'm, I'm, it just can't be done."

"Hey Dan," said Tom. "You were talking funny. You said something like _Borgo borgo borgo._ "

"No," said Gordon slowly, enjoying the moment. "What Dan said was this: _Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan_." Gordon said it carefully, enunciating every word. He stared directly at Dan, still smiling.

Daniel began to sweat, his forehead shining in the dim light. "Okay, that's it for tonight," he said quickly, jumping to his feet. "Game's over, no more poker, time to go home, go home." Dan walked to the hall closet, confused. He fumbled with the closet door, pulled out his coat and turned to open the front door. He stopped and leaned heavily against a wall. It was _his_ house. He looked at the floor and whispered, "please guys, go home now. It's time to go home."

They all left immediately, without a word. Gordon Chaplain turned at the door to look back at Dan, to explain, to apologize if the experience had upset his boss. That was the least he could do. Dan Woller was clearly disturbed by the event. Gordon hadn't meant it to be a harrowing experience, but it had been, for Dan. Perhaps he had gone too far.

Gordon didn't have a chance to apologize. Dan shut the door, stood there for a moment, then walked to the living room and collapsed in a chair, his face ashen, his cheeks wet with perspiration.

"Prince of Woller, you are a fool."

It was Kathy. His wife was standing by the door, frowning.

*****

The departmental meeting was over and Gordon waited as the others left. Soon he was alone with Daniel Woller.

"Dan? You're not upset about the other night are you? You asked me to try to hypnotize you, and I did, apparently. I'm sorry if you were disturbed by the -"

"Nonsense! I wasn't hypnotized. It was a joke, just my little joke. The evening was pretty dull and I just wanted to liven it up a little. I pretended to be hypnotized, just to amuse you guys."

Gordon watched Dan collect the papers from the desk then followed him down the hall. Dan was walking quickly without looking back, trying to ignore him. This was stupid. Why was Dan denying the fact that he had been hypnotized? Everybody there saw it, would confirm it. _Why am I feeling guilty?_ Gordon thought. _He asked me to hypnotize him, hadn't he?_ He really didn't like Daniel Woller.

" _Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan._ " Gordon was right behind Dan and whispered the words.

Dan stopped without turning, paused for a moment, then continued down the hall. Gordon followed him to the departmental office and stopped at the door as Dan entered.

"What does it mean, Dan?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. What were you saying? Those words, what do they mean?"

Dan slid into his chair and turned to face Gordon.

"Say it again, slowly."

"Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwat," said Gordon, slowly, making an intentional error in the last word.

"No-nopawno agerwan," said Dan without thinking. "I mean, uh, I don't know what it means. I don't know what you're talking about. Now, if you'll excuse me I have to clean up these minutes of the meeting."

Gordon turned and walked down the hall toward his office. There was a smirk on his face. Dan was hiding something. What did those words mean? Earlier that day he had spent more than three hours in the library looking up languages. If it were European he would have recognized it. It must be from the East. He had talked to his friends in the language departments of Corrigan College; it was foreign to all of them. Yet it was very real to Daniel Woller. He had been able to reproduce the last phrase, to correct it when mispronounced. Gordon's memory was phenomenal but no one he knew could recall such a phrase from memory, not even Dan. Not unless it meant something to Dan. Not unless it were a language Dan knows, or knew at one time. Not unless Dan had heard it before, several times.

Where was Dan while hypnotized? Was he in some other world? Was he speaking the language of that other world? If so, then it wasn't the first time he had visited that other world. He knew the language well enough to speak it fluently. _How do I know it was fluently spoken?_ thought Gordon. He shook his head. It didn't matter; maybe it wasn't fluent. Nevertheless, Gordon was sure that Dan had been there before, wherever _there_ was.

Maybe Kathy would know. He would ask Dan's wife. If Dan had spoken that language before, maybe during a dream, then Kathy would know. He would ask her.

He unlocked the door to his office and looked briefly at his calendar. He had a class at 3 o'clock and another meeting at 4:30. It was now almost noon and he could drop by to see Kathy right after lunch and be back by 3:00. Kathy was a very pretty gal, very smart, very wise, a quick wit, he enjoyed talking to her more than he did to her husband.

Gordon slid into his chair and stared out the window. It had rained all night and the morning was filled with a heavy fog which now obscured the view of the campus. Normally he could see Laurel Creek and the willows bent in silent homage to the halls of academia and the distant fields of corn and even, on clear days, the hazy blue hills of Burnhardt County. Now, all was dull gray and depressing. He looked about his office. His desk was cluttered with open books, papers, pencil stubs and the wall above his desk was festooned with notes to himself. Dan's office was neat and tidy and free of any sign of activity. Perhaps that was a reflection of his mental prowess. Daniel Woller: not a very nice person, but his wife, Kathy, she was pretty nice. He put his feet on his desk.

How did she get to marry that jerk? Well, never mind. Marriage is not an arrangement to be admired. How could anyone expect two people to see each other every day of the week, every week of the year, take every holiday together, sleep every night together, cook and eat together, precisely the same meal, how could any two people agree to this ... and even enter into a marriage contract which ensured perpetuation of these constraints. God, it must be awful.

But Kathy was very nice. He would enjoy the visit, right after lunch. He opened a desk drawer and took out an apple, slightly withered, then swung around and took a bite and stared again at the fog now lifting to reveal the first evidence of Laurel Creek.

*****

"Gordon, how nice to see you. If you've come to see Daniel I'm afraid he left about 15 minutes ago."

"Hi Kathy. No, I've come to see you as a matter of fact. May I come in?"

"Certainly. Have you had lunch? Can I fix you something?"

"No, thanks. I usually do without lunch. Fattening you know."

Kathy led Gordon to the living room. He sat in the largest chair, Dan's favorite chair. Kathy sat opposite him on the sofa. She waited for him to speak.

"Uh, well ... how shall I say this? Last Thursday, poker night you'll recall, the sandwiches were great by the way. I know how everybody hates my cheese sandwiches, but your sandwishes were great." Why had he said _sandwishes_? He wasn't nervous, was he? Kathy was staring. He wanted to say more about the sandwiches but couldn't remember what kind they were, so he continued with the subject of his mission. "Anyway, I put Dan in a hypnotic trance and while he was -"

"Hypnotic trance? Dan?" Kathy didn't frown or smile or even seem that interested. It was as though she was simply providing an expected response.

"Well, yes. You see, I happened to mention that I could do this and Dan didn't believe me, said I should try it on him, so I did. It lasted for no more than two minutes, I assure you. Nothing to worry about." Gordon waited for Kathy to respond. She just stared at him without any noticeable expression of concern or disbelief so he continued. "While he was in this trance he spoke some curious words. He doesn't recall saying those words; I asked him this morning about it. I was wondering whether he's said anything like that, speaking in some strange language, while he was asleep, during a dream perhaps."

Kathy looked at him with a straight face, expressionless. "Why are you interested?"

"Why? Well, uh ... I was worried about Dan. He's been acting rather strange lately," he lied, "and I thought I could help. If I knew the language he was speaking I might be able to deduce the cause of the strange behavior."

Why did he say that? That was really stupid. God! He was making a fool of himself. He was no doctor, no psychiatrist, and completely unable to deduce causes of mental stress from dreams or words spoken or anything else for that matter. And Kathy would be smart enough to see that.

"What strange behavior?"

Gordon was now in trouble. Dan was his usual self. What strange behavior could he conjure up to satisfy Kathy, to encourage her to talk about Dan's speaking in his sleep, to get himself off this painful hook?

"Dan has confided in me and I wouldn't like to undermine that confidence," he mumbled, now seeing the proper continuation. "If you don't mind, I'll let Dan tell you himself. Of course, he probably won't want to say anything until he's had a chance to see a doctor. Perhaps I was mistaken in coming here. I shouldn't have said anything to worry you, it's probably nothing at all." Gordon rose to leave but Kathy pointed to the chair.

"Gordon, please sit down. Let me answer your question about that strange language. Yes, Daniel speaks in his sleep, often. And yes, it's in some strange language. It's a derivative of Arabic but you won't find it in the books. Daniel studied Arabic when he was younger, as did I. When we married we invented a language which only we two could understand. It was very convenient. We could talk in a restaurant or a party without being understood. We could criticize a hairdo or a plaid jacket or a gaudy tie, you know what I mean. Nobody would understand a word."

Kathy leaned back and crossed her long legs, her face still expressionless.

"We haven't used that language construct for years. It was an exercise, a bit of mental gymnastics if you will, to create a language from scratch. Of course we borrowed from the Arabic because we were both students of that language. Does that answer your question?"

Gordon nodded his head and rose. He just wanted to get out.

"Kathy, many thanks. You've really taken a load off my mind. That certainly explains it. Dan was just regurgitating the language you had created. Perfectly understandable."

Kathy walked to the door, opened it and stood aside to let Gordon through. She was about to close the door when he turned and said:

"Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwat."

Kathy smiled and said, slowly:

"Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan."

She had corrected the last word.

Gordon asked: "What does it mean?"

Kathy answered. "It means: _Gordon Chaplain, you are an asshole_."

*****

He had almost believed her, until she told him what it meant:

Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan.

Gordon Chaplain, you are an asshole.

Impossible. His name embedded in an invented language? Impossible. Besides, if it really meant that, then Dan would not have denied saying those words, he would have been delighted to admit to saying them. Kathy was lying, but why?

He took another gulp of Coke Classic and looked at his watch. It was nearly 11 p.m. and time for the news. The meeting that afternoon had been boring and he had found it difficult to stay awake. Why did everybody insist upon adding to the discussion even if they had nothing to contribute? Did they feel that speaking out on every item on the agenda somehow validated their membership on the committee? Did they simply want to have their comments recorded in the minutes, regardless of how vacuous? He picked up the remote and switched on the TV. The football game was still on and he turned down the sound. Football was a stupid sport. He leaned back in his chair.

Why was Kathy lying? Maybe she was just joking. Maybe she was protecting Dan. He really did talk in his sleep and she didn't have a clue as to what he was saying so she invented that story about a private language. That made some sense. Dan spoke gibberish while in the trance, he often spoke gibberish in his sleep, Kathy creates a story to cover up this abnormal behavior. Yes. That must be it. _Gordon Chaplain, you are an asshole_. He laughed out loud. Kathy was certainly some gal. What a sense of humor. Wait until he saw her next. She would laugh and remind him of what those words meant. How could he have imagined a language from another world? He had spent so many years thinking of _other worlds_ that he saw other-worldly behavior in the most innocent of events. Stupid.

" _Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan._ "

Gordon opened his eyes and stared at the TV. Somebody had said those words on TV! Just now! He turned up the volume and listened. The announcer was speaking:

"... die en route to the hospital. The police are looking for relatives but have found none so far. If any viewer knows this man then please call your local police station."

The picture on the screen was of an old man, unshaven, with wisps of white hair and dark, hollow eyes. Gordon cursed beneath his breath. What had they said before he paid attention? Who said those words? Was it the announcer? Who was the old man? He was certain that he had just heard the same words, precisely, as Dan had uttered the other evening. An invented language? Not likely. Whatever language it was, whatever it meant, somebody else spoke it, just now, on TV.

The phone rang and Gordon jumped. He picked up the phone.

"Hello. Chaplain here."

"Gord? This is Tom. Did you hear the 11 o'clock news? The _borgo borgo_ stuff? It's just what Dan said, I think."

"Did you hear it too? I missed it. Tom, what did they say? I mean, how did that _borgo_ stuff come up? I tuned in late and missed it."

"It was on the wall and it sure looked like what Dan had said. Remember? That night you hypnotized -"

"Yes, yes, I remember. What wall? Written on what wall?"

"The wall of the building. It was painted on the wall."

"What building? Tom, can you start from the beginning? I'm very interested in everything you saw or heard on the newscast."

"Well, it seems they found this old man in an alley besides the Georgian apartments on Sylvester Street. You know the apartments, they've got those god-awful purple awnings. Terrible."

"Keep going Tom!"

"Yeah, well, some kids found him and called the police. The police can't find any relatives but if you recognize the picture, they showed his picture on TV, then you're supposed to call the police. That's it."

"The words on the wall. You forgot the words on the -"

"Oh yeah. Sorry. It seems the old man has been seen several times in that alley, usually dead drunk, going through the garbage cans and stuff like that. Some folks think he lives there, right in the alley with his garbage, and his booze. He doesn't seem to have a job so how does he pay for the booze? Damned if I know. They didn't say that on TV, I guarantee."

"Tom! The writing on the wall!"

"Oh, right, the writing ... uh, well, it seems the old man often preached to passersby, or is it passerbys? Never can remember. Anyway, he said the end of the world was coming, something like that, and he would write his sermons on the wall and invite people into the alley to read them, or maybe to hear them. They didn't say which on TV. The words, the _gorbo_ stuff, was written on those walls, right there in the alley."

"But I heard somebody say those words. Who said it, on TV?"

"That was a reporter who was there in the alley, reading off the wall."

There was a long pause during which Gord could hear Tom breathing heavily on the phone, apparently waiting for Gord to say something. Finally he did.

"Bye Tom. Thanks for the info." Gord hung up the phone.

So, it wasn't a secret language invented by Dan and Kathy. And the old man on TV would hardly be calling Gordon Chaplain an asshole either! The old man and Dan and Kathy, how were they all related? This was strange, very strange.

Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan.

That was strange. It meant something to Dan, and to Kathy, and to that old man. What did it mean?

CHAPTER 2

Thomas Barclay

When Thomas was young he aspired to the towers of finance. He saw himself as part of corporate machinations, international investments and financial wizardry. When he failed to graduate from high school many of his dreams were set aside, but only temporarily. After spending five years working as a minor player in an investment house and taking night courses at college he started his own firm on money management. The stock market was booming, everybody seemed to have funds to invest and he had attracted a sizable clientele. _Monarch Money Managers_ was now big business and many of his clients were faculty members at Corrigan College. Thomas had a style and manner which inspired trust. He had an infectious laugh, an abiding interest in other people, an obvious desire to please and a keen knowledge of what was happening in the world of finance. To most of his clients he was a friend rather than a financial advisor and he nurtured that relationship.

When he was invited to join the weekly poker games with Dan, Gordon and Peter he accepted, gladly. Sharon, his wife, had put up a small fight but Tom insisted that the gang would come to their house only one night a month and he would make all the sandwiches. Sharon knew that making the sandwiches was not a chore for her husband. After all, the most exciting meals of the week were those that he made, or invented, or created. He actually preferred his own cooking to hers anyway, so she agreed to the weekly poker games.

When Tom had heard the 11 o'clock news his first impulse was to phone Dan Woller. Surely Dan would be interested in knowing that somebody else spoke that _gorbo gorbo_ stuff. He had actually started to dial Dan's number when Sharon stopped him.

"You said Dan denied having said that, so why would he be interested?" she had suggested. Tom thought about it, agreed, and hung up the phone. It was too good to just ignore, so he phoned Gordon, rather reluctantly. Gordon was a strange fellow with his theory of _other worlds_ and when the conversation got around to this, which seemed altogether too often these days, Tom understood little hence could contribute little and felt left out of the discussion. Phoning Gordy might initiate another of these discussions and Tom would again be a listener and not a participant. Gordy liked to lecture. His students must be bored out of their minds. But Tom had to tell somebody, so he phoned Gordy anyway and was pleased at the response. There had been no lecture on _other worlds_ , just a keen interest in what was said on TV. Now the ball was in Gordy's court. Maybe at the next poker night Gordon would have some other news, an expansion of Tom's report, maybe he would ask Tom to reiterate what the 11 o'clock news report had said. Tom would then become a participant. Maybe he should spend some time thinking about Gordy's theory. Maybe he could dust off the encyclopaedia, read something about hypnotism, ghosts and dwarfs and contribute to the discussion.

Either that or turn the conversation to matters of money markets, the price of gold and mutual fund investments.

*****

Tom arrived early at Peter Jacobs' place, as usual. He could nibble a sandwich or two before the poker game started, maybe even sneak in a whiskey. Peter's wife would encourage him to do just that.

Gloria met him at the door. She was real pretty with short curly hair, taffy-colored, and blue eyes that just sort of glistened and made you feel good all over.

"Tom! You're early tonight. I made something special, just for you. Come in and nibble a little, before everybody else shows up."

She always said that, looking around furtively as she said it, and he always arrived early. He really liked Gloria. She made him feel important, intelligent and rather than making fun of his gargantuan appetite she encouraged him with these invitations to sample before the others arrived.

"Well, I really shouldn't, but if you insist." Tom smiled and Gloria smiled; a standard ritual. Tom hung up his coat and wandered into the kitchen. Corned beef sandwiches on pumpernickel with hot, hot mustard. Terrific. He ate three and Gloria watched. The others never mentioned the sandwiches, never thanked her, never showed any sign of appreciation so it was gratifying to watch Tom wolf them down, humming his pleasure all the while. When Tom was finished he bent over and gave Gloria a kiss on the cheek, then wiped his mouth.

"Oh, sorry Glory," he said, watching her wipe the mustard from her cheek. "I did that in the wrong order I'm afraid. I mean, the mustard -"

"Aha!" Peter cried in mock anger as he entered the kitchen. "Tom's after my wife and her cooking, again."

Gloria pushed Peter and Tom out of the kitchen as the front doorbell sounded. Gordon Chaplain and Dan Woller arrived together and the poker game started almost immediately. Thomas Barclay couldn't concentrate on the game. There was absolutely no discussion about the _gorbo_ stuff or about the news report. By 11:30 he could wait no longer. He put down his glass, swallowed the last of the sandwiches and said:

"I was thinking, about the _gorbo gorbo_ stuff, you know."

Dan Woller interrupted. "I don't want to hear any more about it, and that's final."

"Hold on Dan," said Peter. "This is my house and you know the rules. I decree the _gorbo_ stuff to be a valid topic of conversation." He turned to Tom and smiled. "Tom? Go ahead. I'd like to hear this."

"Well," said Tom, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands on his stomach, "I was thinking about Gord's theory, you know, the _other worlds_ stuff. I think that the old man that was on the news the other day might be from another world, or know of this other world. They said that he -"

"Old man? What old man?" asked Dan, squinting beneath shaggy brows.

"The 11 o'clock news reported that an old man was preaching to passersby about the end of the world," said Tom, repeating the explanation he had practiced for days. "It seems this old guy had written his sermons on the wall, in an alley beside the Georgian apartments on Sylvester Street, the one with those god-awful purple awnings."

"So?" interjected Dan, still squinting.

"Well, I think that he was preaching that the end of the world will come because of an attack, from this other world, or something like that."

"What does his preaching have to do with some other world?" asked Dan, now apparently losing interest in the discussion.

"The _gorbo gorbo_ stuff," said Tom emphatically. "The _gorbo_ stuff. His sermon was about _gorbo_. A reporter read it off the wall. _Gorbo gorbo_."

Dan put down his drink and stared at Tom. "What the hell kind of _gorbo_ are you talking about?"

" _Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan_ ," said Gordon softly, waiting for Dan's reaction.

Dan Woller stood up, his face white. His hands were trembling and his voice shook. "This is ridiculous! You should stop talking about something you know nothing about! I've had enough!" He stalked to the hall and slid his coat from the closet. "Anybody coming home? Gordon? I'm leaving now, and you came in my car."

Tom stood up and put his hands on his ample hips. "I'll drive Gordy home, if he wants to stay."

"I'll stay," said Gordon.

"Me too," said Peter, smiling. After all, it was his house.

Dan Woller slammed the door and Gloria came running.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"No, honey," said Peter. "Dan's decided to retire early tonight. Tom has volunteered to drive Gord home, so we'll sit around for a while and chew the fat."

When Gloria had left, Tom turned to Gordon. "Danny was really upset. Did I say something wrong? I just reported what was said on the news." Tom was quite sure that he had said it correctly.

"No, you didn't say anything wrong, but there's something funny going on here." Gordon was standing, but now sat down. "Last week I went to visit Kathy. I asked her if Dan spoke in his sleep. I asked if he spoke in some strange tongue. She said he did." Peter looked surprised. Gordon continued. "She said it was a language they had invented, the two of them, as a mental exercise. I asked what it meant and she said it meant: _Gordon Chaplain, you are an asshole_."

Tom opened his mouth and frowned as though trying to comprehend, then he began to laugh, his belly rolling like a tidal wave. Gloria poked her head past the door, saw that Tom was laughing and left smiling at the sight. Tom was like a giant panda, lovable and sometimes laughable but always in good spirits. She had heard from Tom's wife, Sharon, that Tom had a violent temper when he did get angry, which was only rarely. It was hard to imagine Tom as a violent man. He was just a big panda bear.

"Anyway," continued Gordon, after Tom's laughter had subsided, "I heard the same phrase, the same strange language, on TV. I missed most of it. Fortunately Tom heard it and called me that same night and told me about the old man who died and how he had written -"

"Died? No, he ain't dead," interrupted Tom. "He didn't die. He's in the hospital, in bad condition I understand, but still alive, I guarantee."

"But I thought the news report said he died en route to the hospital," said Gordon.

"No. The reporter said he was in such lousy shape that the medics were worried that he would die en route ... but he didn't."

Gordon stared down into his glass without saying a word. Peter and Tom waited for him to speak. Finally he said, "We should talk to this old man, find out what he was preaching." He looked up at Peter, then at Tom. "Tomorrow. I'll drop by tomorrow and talk to this old guy."

"Let me go," said Tom, a little whine in his voice. "I'll say he's a client of mine and I'd like to talk about the allocation of his assets in case he kicks the bucket."

Peter smiled and Gordon nodded his head and Tom was pleased. He would have another contribution to make to this _other world_ thing.

*****

Thomas Barclay was an imposing figure when he entered the hospital and walked to the desk. He was huge in vertical as well as horizontal dimension. His face was pink, his blue eyes were twinkling and when he put his massive hands on the desk the nurse kept her eyes on his hands as he spoke.

"That old guy who was brought in here from the Georgian Apartments, the one with the god-awful purple ... uh, where is he staying? What room?"

"You must be speaking of Mr. Woller. He's in room 219, but no visitors are allowed. Doctor's orders."

Tom bent over the desk, mouth open. "Woller? Did you say Woller?"

"Do you know him?"

"Uh, yes, of course. He's a client of mine and I would like to talk to him about his assets. You see, if he should kick the bucket, I mean, if he should demise, if you know what I mean, then I have to know what -"

"Please, wait one moment mister ... mister?"

"Thomas Allen Barclay, president and general manager of Monarch Money Managers." Tom stood as straight and tall as he could manage.

"Yes, Mr. Barclay, please wait."

The nurse spun about in her chair and picked up the phone, whispering something which Tom could not hear. When she spun about again to face him, she said, "Constable Kochewski will be with you in one moment."

"Constable ...? Hey! I don't want to talk to no cop." Tom turned to go and ran into a police officer even taller than he was.

"Mr. Barclay? I'm Constable David Kochewski. I understand that Mr. Woller is known to you, that he is a client of yours. Is that true?"

"No. Of course not," stuttered Tom. "I never laid eyes on the old bugger before."

Constable Kochewski looked at the nurse who nodded her head.

"Then why have you come to see Mr. Woller?"

"His assets ... uh, I just thought, you see, I don't know him from a hole in the ground."

"I repeat, why have you come to see him?"

Tom remembered that they were seeking information on the old guy. Anyone who knew him was supposed to contact the cops. Why had he said that he knew him? That was pretty stupid. Now what?

"Woller. His name is Woller," grunted Tom, now certain that he knew how to proceed with this discussion. "Dan Woller is a client of mine. I assume that your Mr. Woller is a relation of Dan's. I look after Dan's financial investments and if this old guy is related then I feel obliged to offer my services. If the old guy drops dead without regard to the appropriate disposition of his assets then he'll get it in the ass ... uh, the neck. That is to say the government will step in and -"

"I see," said Constable Kochewski. "Mr. Barclay, may I have your address and phone number? And this Dan Woller you speak of, can you give me his number?"

"Look officer. What's the chance of my talking to this old geezer?"

"If the old geezer, as you put it, if he feels up to it, then you most certainly can speak to him. That's his decision, not mine."

Tom gave Kochewski his own and Dan Woller's address, he couldn't remember the phone number, then walked down the hall to room 219. He could hear the old man rambling on, even before he entered the room.

"Will you shut that jerk up," said the only other person in the room. "Bloody idiot keeps talking about the end of the world, day and night. I can't sleep more than thirty minutes before he's at it again."

Tom walked to the side of Woller's bed and sat down. The old man stopped talking, looked at Tom for a moment with beady eyes peering from hollow sockets, then started in again.

"When they come you won't be able to stop 'em. They'll take over, everything. They're mean, they are. Mean and powerful. And they'll just take over. The Lord of Darkness will descend, his armies will come from Wilo-ard, from Dragomir, from the Mountains of Mune and from the Black Abyss. When they cross over you won't be able to stop 'em. When they come -"

Tom raised his hand to stop the flow of words and the old man stopped talking. Tom smiled.

"Where will they come from, these armies and this darkness guy?"

The old man looked left and right then whispered, "He comes from the World of Sharlain."

The old man was about to continue but Tom again raised his hand and asked, "How do you know all this?"

The old man began to shake, then answered, "I am from Sharlain. I have come to warn you. The Lord of Darkness -"

"Yes, I understand. He'll come and get us. But how did _you_ get here? How did you get from this Sharlain place, to here?" Tom looked around as though he needed to explain where _here_ was.

"The Door of Monash ... it was opened to me by Mune, the King of Light. I cannot say more. I must not say more. He will know, and I will be taken, and I will be punished, and I will be destroyed."

"Okay, but what about this _gorbo gorbo_ stuff? What about that?"

The old man frowned, his white hair falling into his face. " _Gorbo?_ "

"Yes, you know. The stuff that was written on the wall, by the Georgian Apartments. What about that? What does it mean?"

" _Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan_."

"Yeah! That's it!" cried Tom. "Yeah! What's that mean?"

"The words of Monash, known only to the Ghost of Chalma and the King of Light."

The doctor walked in and frowned.

"I left strict orders that this man was to be left alone. He is not well, so I would ask you to leave."

Tom stood up. What a story he would have for the guys at the poker game next week. They would all listen to him, not saying a word. He would have their undivided attention. Maybe they could move up the poker game. Next Thursday was a long way off.

The old man was still talking:

"You must warn the others. You must warn them of the danger. The time is near, very near. He comes ... soon."

"Okay, old man. I have to go now, but I'll be back tomorrow. Don't talk to nobody about this. Keep it to yourself; wouldn't believe you anyway. I'll be back tomorrow."

Tom walked out and stopped at the door, looking back at the old man who was still talking. Then he continued down the hall toward the desk. This would make a great story. Gordon would really be pleased. It sounded very much like some other world. This old man Woller really thought he had come from another ... Tom stopped.

"Woller?" he muttered.

"I beg you pardon sir?" said the nurse.

"Uh, nothing. His name is Woller. Right?" Tom turned and walked quickly back to room 219. The old man was still talking and the doctor was gone.

"Mr. Woller?" The old man stopped talking and gazed at Tom. "Is your name Woller?" The old man nodded, then continued talking. Tom raised his hand and the old man stopped. "I know somebody named Woller. Dan Woller. Do you know him? Are you related?"

The old man put his hands to the sides of his face, his eyes turning to slits, his face becoming white and ashen. He said something which Tom couldn't hear.

"Beg pardon?" said Tom, now leaning over the bed.

The old man whispered, "Daniel of the Dark Lord, Prince of Woller." Then he slipped down into his bed, pulling the covers to his chin.

"Prince of Woller? Then who are you? King of Woller? You're both Wollers, right?"

The old man closed his eyes, his face grim.

"Thanks buddy," said the man in the next bed. "Whatever you did, at least he's stopped talking. How'd you do it? What'd you say? I'll have to remember that: Prince of Woller, right? When he babbles, I just whisper _Prince of Woller_. Great! Now maybe I can get some sleep."

Tom wasn't listening. He repeated his question, but the old man had stopped talking. Soon Tom left, promising to return the next day and glancing back for one last look at the old man.

The next morning they found the old man, dead. In his hand he clutched a small amulet. Since no relatives had appeared to claim the amulet, the nurse had simply put it in her purse.

CHAPTER 3

Peter Jacobs

Peter Jacobs and his father had never seen eye to eye on Peter's future and when he had refused an offer to join his father in the construction business, that was the end of their tenuous relationship. His father wouldn't talk to him and refused any financial assistance to support Peter's studies at the college. He and Gloria had always planned on marrying and when she suggested that they marry early and she could support him while he continued his studies, he had accepted.

They were married after his first term at Corrigan College. Gloria often worked evenings at the local market which left Peter free to study. She would make supper, put it in plastic wrap and place it in the microwave with instructions that he simply push the button when he was hungry. He was grateful and said it often. "One day," he would say periodically, "I'll make it up to you. I promise. One day, when I'm a successful attorney, you won't have to work. I never intended this. I always expected to be a big success, buy a house, have a huge bank account, _then_ marry you." She would never let him finish, explaining that she was delighted to contribute to their future together.

Then Peter's father died. His father had left nothing but the business and without any other source of income his mother was at a loss as to what to do. He had little choice. Peter Jacobs dropped out of college and took over. He was twenty-two. He was completely ignorant of the mechanism by which buildings arose from the heap of materials delivered to the building site. The workers had been accustomed to his father who would show up with dirty overalls and heavy boots and pitch right in, giving directions, operating the machinery, delivering lumber and making last minute decisions on structural design. Peter couldn't hammer a nail straight and the workmen knew it. He was the subject of jokes and obvious looks of disdain. He soon learned that working alongside the carpenters and bricklayers and electricians was not the way to go, so he hired a foreman and spent his time making contacts, signing contracts and learning the mysteries of architectural design.

He changed the thrust of the business from large buildings, factories and apartments, to private homes. Gloria had jumped right in to help. She was eager to be a part of the business. They would spend hours in the evening discussing what people wanted in a home: young couples, business executives and senior citizens. Then Peter would design a home to suit the needs of the prospective buyer and Gloria looked over his shoulder, providing much of the input. Within five years the _Jacobs House_ was well known in the area. It was a matter of pride to say that you owned one, and business boomed. When he and Gloria visited the site of a new home, which was nearly every day, the workmen would stop and wave and invite them for a coffee from their lunch pail. They now respected and admired Peter and were in awe of his wife. Gloria had a visual image of what the home should be like, every home different, and would speak to the tradesmen at length before Peter could drag her away from the site. It was a good life and they were in it together. That made it special. Had he become a lawyer as planned, then maybe, just maybe, they would not have grown so close.

When Gordon Chaplain first approached Peter to build a house for a bachelor, Gloria admitted her ignorance of a bachelor's needs and it was Gordon himself who supplied the rough plans: a single large room with components for cooking, eating, living, reading and sleeping. She thought it was ridiculous to sleep in the same room as you ate. Guests would sit at the dinner table and stare at the bed covers. Ridiculous. However Peter regarded it as a challenge and secretly envied Gordon his freedom to build an environment independent of the rest of the world, without regard for resale value and without having to please anyone but himself. When the project was completed even Gloria was pleasantly surprised when she and Peter were invited for dinner. Gordon was a terrible cook and the meal was awful but the ambience created by the various components was exciting. Although Gloria did gaze for some time at the bedroom area the lighting was subdued so it wasn't intrusive as she had expected. Indeed the lighting was subdued in every area except where you cooked, or ate, or slept, or read ... and there was an air of spaciousness without losing intimacy.

The three had grown so close that terminating their friendship seemed out of the question so when Gordon suggested that they devise some mechanism for getting together periodically both Peter and Gloria enthusiastically agreed. A weekly poker game, however, was not what Gloria had in mind.

*****

The phone rang and Peter Jacobs answered. It was Thomas Barclay.

"Pete, this is Tommy. You'll never guess where I've been -"

"Don't tell me ... you've been to see the old man from another world."

"Yeah, how'd you know? Well, let me tell you. You'll never guess what his name is."

"Don't tell me ... it's Barclay, old man Barclay."

"Jesus, that's close. It's Woller. Can you believe that?"

"Woller, like Dan Woller?"

"Yeah, just like Danny."

"Any relation?"

"No ... uh, I don't think so. When I asked about Danny the old man said he was a Prince or something, I mean, Dan was a Prince. Can you believe that?"

"That's hilarious. Dan, a Prince? Have you told Gordon?"

"No. Couldn't get a hold of him. Must be out of town or something. Anyway, just thought you would be interested. I'm going to talk to the old man again tomorrow. What do you think I should ask him?"

"Find more about this Woller business. That's really funny. Maybe all the Wollers talk that weird language. A sort-of Woller dialect. Did the old guy say anything about that _gorbo_ phrase?"

"Yes, I asked him what it meant and he said ... uh, he said, Jesus, I've forgotten. Anyway, whatever he said, it didn't make much sense to me, that I guarantee."

"Well, I'm looking forward to Thursday to hear the next chapter in this mystery. It's at Dan's place isn't it? Hmm, Dan won't like that at all. He'll insist that -"

"No, no, it's at my place. _Thomas Thursday_ , don't you remember? I make the house rules and that'll be the first rule: all conversation must be on the topic of Wollers and other worlds and the _gorbo_ stuff."

Tom began to laugh so loudly that Peter held the phone away from his ear. Gloria could hear the laughter from the kitchen and smiled. Tom was a lovable panda.

*****

When Peter Jacobs arrived at Tom's house, Gordon Chaplain was already sipping his first drink and Tom, as expected, was shoving sandwiches into his mouth. Tom's wife, Sharon, had gone to visit her mother. She didn't look forward to these weekly events, especially when they occurred at her house, so she always arranged to visit her mother at Victoria Retirement Lodge. Dan Woller hadn't arrived so the others sat at the poker table and waited. Although Tom was bursting with information he wanted to share, it was Peter who first brought up the subject of old man Woller.

"So, did Tom tell you about his visit to the hospital to see that old man?" Peter was careful not to say too much, knowing that Tom wanted to break the news to Gordon. Gordon shook his head and looked at Tom.

"He's dead," was all that Tom could say. "I don't understand it. I saw him one day then, the very next day, he just dropped dead, I guarantee."

Gordon nodded his head and said, "Yes, I visited him too. His name is Woller. Did you know that?"

Peter looked at Tom who was clearly disappointed that he had not been the one to break that news.

"Yeah, I know that," said Tom, a clear note of dejection in his voice. "He called Dan a Prince. He said that the world is in danger. Some army is going to invade. We should all watch out." Tom tried to remember all that he wanted to say.

"The Prince of Woller," said Gordon, staring at Tom. Then, realizing that Tom wanted to tell the story he stopped talking and waited but Tom could think of nothing else to say so Gordon put the words into Tom's mouth, along with the last of a chocolate chip cookie.

"Didn't the old man talk about Mountains of something?"

"Yeah, mountains on the moon, I remember," said Tom enthusiastically.

"And Drago-something?"

"Yeah, Drago-something. I remember that too."

"Dragomir. And something about an abyss."

"Hey, that's right, a Black Abyss."

"And a door, the Door of something?"

"Yeah, yeah, the Door of Something."

"The Door of Monash. And Dan is the Prince of whatever."

Tom leaned back and smiled. "The Prince of Woller. That's what he said, the Prince of Woller."

"Well Tom, you sure got quite a bit of information from that old guy. Now, what do you make of it?"

There was a minute of silence with Tom screwing up his face to think of something to contribute. Finally he said:

"Another world. That's what it is, another world called Woller. Dan is the Prince of this other world. There's a place called Drago-something and the Black Abyss and there's some mountains on the moon, I guarantee. You get from there to here through this door, the Mono-door ... or something like that."

Tom was pleased with himself. He had it just about right. They could all see that. He seemed less concerned about what it meant so long as he could put it all together. Peter Jacobs grinned at the panda.

"I think you have it, Tom. Now, do we believe any of it? Is there an invading army we should worry about?"

Tom's smile turned to a frown.

"Invading army? That's crazy. The old man is crazy." He looked at Gordon. "Isn't he?"

After a time Peter looked at Gordon who was clearly the most inventive of the group. He would almost certainly have a theory.

"Where's Dan?" was all that Gordon said. He looked around the room as though to emphasize Dan's absence. "I'd like to ask him about the name Woller." He stroked his chin. "Tom, how long have you known Dan?"

"Uh ... two years, I think."

"Peter? How long have you -"

"Last year, when we started this poker night. How about you, Gord?"

"Five years ago Daniel Woller joined the math department at Corrigan College. I was on the appointments committee and saw his curriculum vita. He had a distinguished career, mostly in Europe, had written numerous mathematical papers and came highly recommended. Three years ago he was appointed, elected, I should say, head of the department. But now that I think of it ... strange."

Gordon stopped talking and stared at Peter, deep in thought. No one spoke. It was clear that Gordon would continue, so they waited.

"We wrote to various people about Dan, people who could comment on his mathematical research. We sent along several of Dan's research papers and the response was enthusiastic. They agreed, to a man, that Dan was a first rate mathematician and his mathematical results were novel and exciting and broke new ground. But, now that I think of it, the responses were strange: they had never heard of this guy before. I remember going through the library trying to find the journals which had published his papers. Corrigan College is pretty small as colleges go and the library didn't subscribe to any of the journals. No one in the department had heard of the journals either, but that's not too surprising. Dan's area of research was pretty abstruse. There were perhaps a dozen people in the country who worked in the area, no more. And not too many journals carried research papers in that area."

Peter Jacobs frowned. "Where _is_ Dan?" he asked. "He should have been here half an hour ago. Tom? Can you give him a call?"

Tom heaved himself out of his chair and left the room, stopping by the kitchen for a sandwich on his way to the phone.

"So, what do you make of all this?" said Peter.

"Here are the facts," said Gordon, as though he were giving a lecture. "Dan spoke the words _Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan._ His wife, Kathy, she knows the words too, but tries to cover up with some story of an invented language, based upon Arabic. Then there's an old man who also knows those words. Tom and I both speak to the old guy. He has the same last name as Dan and seems to recognize Dan as Daniel of the Dark Lord, Prince of Woller. The old guy speaks of a World of Sharlain within which there lies a place called Woller, and places called Wilo-ard, the Mountains of the Moon, the Kingdom of Dragomir and the Black Abyss. The old man says that he and Daniel of the Dark Lord are both from Woller, beyond the Door of Monash, and that the Lord of Darkness will soon invade our world with his armies, through this door. Then, suddenly, the old guy dies."

"Jesus! Is that what I got from the old man?"

Tom was standing, filling the door to the kitchen, holding a tray of sandwiches, his mouth open.

"You bet," said Peter, grinning at the panda. "That's what you got from old man Woller." Then Peter turned to Gordon, his voice becoming more serious. "Gord was about to give us his theory, based on the information you got from the old man. Have a seat, Tom. Gord? Keep going."

"There's not much more to say. I believe that there really is this World of Sharlain and that the old man somehow got out, through the Door of Monash, to warn us of the imminent invasion of our world by the Dark Lord."

"But," complained Tom, "I thought Danny was the Dark Lord. Didn't you say ... uh, didn't _I_ say _Daniel the Dark Lord?_ "

"No, you said Daniel of the Dark Lord," replied Gordon. "I think that Daniel is a Prince who serves the Lord of Darkness." Tom was about to say something but he saw that Gordon was thinking, so he waited. Gordon finally said, "Dan won't show up tonight. In fact, I believe, I am _certain_ that Dan is no longer in this world."

"Jesus!" cried Tom. "That's why there's no answer at his house. In fact ... in fact, the operator cut in. She said the phone has been disconnected! Jesus! Jesus! Danny has gone back to the World of Sharly-or-whatever. We gotta do something. This ain't no joke anymore. We're about to be invaded by ghosts and dwarfs and the dark guy with his bloody army!"

*****

"How was the game tonight dear?"

Gloria always asked even though she had no interest in the answer. It was her duty to look interested, to ask the right questions, to feign curiosity when none existed. Peter Jacobs did the same. Each realized when the question was a manifestation of this duty and each responded briefly when this was the case. As expected, Peter's response was brief.

"We didn't play poker."

Gloria's lack of interest vanished. She stopped knitting and waited, but Peter seemed reluctant to continue.

"Why?"

"Dan didn't show up."

"But it's past midnight. Why so late? If you didn't play -"

"We were talking about ... about, well, it's not important."

Gloria knew immediately that something was bothering him and pointed to his favorite chair. No words were necessary. Peter sat down, wearily, then looked at Gloria for a long time, in silence. She waited.

Peter was slight of build with sandy hair that always rose in curious spires from his head, just above the part at his left ear. He continually pushed them down, even when they weren't there. He was pushing his hair now as he told Gloria the story of the old man, the strange words, Dan's disappearance, Gordon's theory.

"But how do you know that Dan has really disappeared?" she said. "If his phone is disconnected, that could mean many things. Maybe he -"

"No. Dan is gone. We spent the last few hours trying to track him down. Thomas knows the bank manager at Dan's bank, asked him to check Dan's account. It was after hours and against bank policy to give such information, but you know Tom, he talked him into it. The manager complained a little but drove to the bank." Peter paused, pushing at his hair. "Dan withdrew all his money yesterday and closed down his account."

Gloria quickly responded. "There could be another explanation. Maybe -"

Peter continued without waiting for Gloria to finish. "We drove to Dan's house. It's locked up tight as a drum. Nobody is home. We talked to the neighbors. Well, Tom did most of the talking. They said that Dan and Kathy haven't been around for two days. Then Gordon phoned some of his colleagues. Nobody at the college has seen Dan for two days. In fact there was a meeting of all department chairmen yesterday. Dan didn't show up."

Gloria got out of her chair and walked to Peter who was obviously distraught. She stood behind his chair, put her hands over his shoulders and kissed him on the cheek.

"There's something else isn't there?" she asked.

Peter's voice was shaky when he responded.

"Yes. Tomorrow, we look for the Door of Monash."

Second Interim

Now I will rest for some minutes, for you will understand that I am old and this story makes me weary; it makes me sad. Yet, you see that it was as I said: skepticism and disbelief. But can anyone really say that it could not be so? Stranger things have happened. I have witnessed stranger things. But, to search for a door, as though such a portal of wood or stone existed? Don't you see? It is a natural assumption by those who live in a world free of ghosts or dragons. And the old man who preached the end of the world. It is very strange, is it not? Who would believe in him? Truth cannot, by its nature, identify itself. I now think that, were he to have green hair, perhaps that uniqueness would have elicited increased interest, greater concern for his message.

But no, for when the dragon visited the world, was there a greater understanding?

Yet, I get ahead of my story.

CHAPTER 4

Assassination

"How do they expect us to keep our eyes on everybody in the crowd. There'll be over a fifty thousand people lining the square."

Clayton Chaplain was in charge of security and he didn't like it. If anything went wrong he would undoubtedly be charged with negligence. The governor would give his speech in Memorial Square, on a stand that was visible to everyone in the audience. The governor had insisted. Closed circuit TV was out. He refused to stand within a transparent dome. _The world is at peace_ he had said. _There is no reason to expect a threat on my life._

But there were nuts in the world who would assassinate the governor for no other reason than to see it described in the newspapers, or to emphasize their outrage at some increase in taxes or simply to massage their own ego: to show that it could easily be done by an individual with enough brains. Clayton threw up his arms.

"We have less than a week before Memorial Day. There will be a thousand police and army personnel and over three hundred plainclothes officers in the crowd. Every building roof will have marksmen with telescopic sights. Every one of our people will be checked out and have special badges issued the morning of the speech. Anyone without a badge won't be allowed beyond the fences. Reporters will be issued badges just minutes before the governor appears on stage. Everyone will be in radio contact. Our communication center will monitor the images from a hundred TV monitors placed around the square. If anybody in the crowd looks suspicious we can have a man on him within ten seconds."

Clayton went over the preparations as though he needed the recitation to convince himself that no stone had been left unturned. He was new to this job, and he was very nervous.

"Ten seconds, just enough time to kill the governor," grunted Tony.

Clayton put down his pencil and stared at Tony Shugart.

"Yes ... enough time to kill the governor. But that will require a weapon and everybody will enter the square through gates. The gates have been fitted with metal detectors."

"Sounds good to me."

"No! I don't want you to find the precautions adequate. I want you to find them inadequate!" Clayton leaned forward and stared at Tony. "If you wanted to assassinate the governor how would you do it?"

"Look Clayton, don't expect me to think like a criminal. I'm a -"

"If you can't think like the enemy then you shouldn't be in security!"

Tony Shugart leaned back and took a long drag on his cigarette.

"Okay. I drive up to the gates in a white truck. I'm with city sanitation and my men intend to clean the square before the big day. We tamper with the metal detectors, at the gates, just enough to make them ineffective but not enough to show, visually."

"No good. The guards require identification. Besides, sanitation has been turned over to the army. City staff is out of this."

"Hmm ... I rent an apartment, top floor. I did this six months ago. I have a rifle with sights. The apartment has a window with a view of the square, and the stage."

"Nope. All residents within rifle range have been thoroughly checked out, especially ones who moved in recently, and six months is recent. Besides, windows which look onto the square will be scanned by people with telescopes placed on every rooftop. You wouldn't be able to poke a fork out the window without getting your hand blown off."

"Okay, I fly over the square with my private plane and -"

"C'mon, Tony. You know very well that nothing will be allowed to fly over. Every pigeon is suspect."

"I give up. How would you assassinate the governor?"

"Keep going Tony. I've already asked myself that question and have plugged every loophole, so _I_ wouldn't succeed. Now I need another mind working on this. Keep going."

"I still like the idea of a rifle in a room with a view of the square. If I poked a fork out the window I'd get my hand blown off. That's what you said. But I don't need to poke anything out the window. I could pick him off from inside the room. I just need a window with a view."

"But we've already checked out everybody who lives in the area."

"Fine. I break into one of these apartments or hotel rooms, into a room with someone you've already checked out, I bump the guy off and use his window."

"Yes ... you could do that I suppose." Clayton picked up his pencil and scribbled something in his notebook. "Suppose we restrict access to the hotels and apartment buildings. We can do that starting today. Memorial Day is still a week off and if you wanted to break into a room you'd do it just before the day of the speech. Right? If you broke in and killed the tenant too early then somebody is bound to get suspicious and you would want to avoid that. Good. Have every tenant checked in and out of the buildings around the square, starting immediately."

Clayton put down his pencil and got up from his desk. When Tony left he sat down again and ran his hand back and forth across the top of his head; he was almost bald, with thin sandy hair running close cut around the back of his head, from ear to ear. Maybe premature baldness went with the job. He was also putting on weight. Maybe that went with the job, too.

He was having dinner with his brother tonight. He would ask Gordon the same question:

How would you assassinate the governor?

*****

"Assassinate the governor? How the hell would I know?"

"Let's hear it, Gordon. Go ahead. Tell me how you'd do it. You're a math professor. You should have some ideas. I'd like to have your input. Christ, you're a lousy cook. Maybe you're better at assassination."

Gordon Chaplain looked carefully at his brother. Clayton had recently been promoted to the position of Chief of Security and this was his first big job. It was clear that he was a little nervous, and deadly serious.

It was rare to have Clayton ask Gordon for an opinion. Since they were children Clayton had been the silent one, wise and silent. He would stand no nonsense, could tolerate no deviation from the topic under discussion. He often regarded Gordon as somewhat backward and a good deal less than serious in every situation. He thought it his duty to protect his younger brother from the dangers of the world, and Clayton saw danger everywhere. The bullies who lived on the next block, the winter winds which roared across the back lot, the teachers at school who stayed behind closed doors to hide their secret deliberations. But Gordon was a dreamer, oblivious of any danger lurking in the shadows, living in a world of his imagination. It was no surprise when Clayton joined the Department of National Security. It was more surprising that Gordon accepted an invitation to teach mathematics after graduation from university. Perhaps mathematics lent itself to flights of imagination. Perhaps the inventive Gordon was attracted to the mysteries of algebra and functional analysis and the very characteristics of a dreamer that often frustrated Clayton were necessary to a fruitful study of mathematics.

But somehow they had grown closer as the years passed and Clayton no longer saw his younger brother as an irrational and erratic youth. Well, not always.

"Okay, let's see," Gordon began, looking as serious as he could, even though he thought it was a useless exercise. "We'll do this logically. I wouldn't try to get near Memorial Square with a weapon; too many of your men about. That also leaves out planting some timed device, a bomb. I'm sure that your guys will have checked every nook and cranny and you'd find a bomb. That means I'd have to do it, with some weapon, from a distance. A window looking onto the square is no good. Too close. You'd have checked out all nearby buildings. A weapon that could be fired from a great distance. What's that? A shell maybe, fired from a cannon? How to fire a cannon without attracting attention? It's not something I could hide in my pocket." Gordon grinned, scratched his chin. "On Memorial Day there's a military parade, with armored vehicles and tanks and probably mobile rocket launchers. The parade starts ... where?"

"In Holland Field, about three miles from the square. Keep going Gordon. You're doing great."

"Okay. I'd arrange to have one of my people, an evil colleague, in the army, on a mobile launcher. The rocket would be armed. I understand that you can hit a beer can from ten miles away with one of those laser guided rockets. That's what I'd do, except it would be from three miles and the target would be center stage in Memorial Square."

Clayton smiled and finished the last gulp of his wine.

"Not bad, baby brother. Of course you'd have some problems getting one of your people on a mobile launcher. All the army personnel will be checked out thoroughly and the rockets won't be armed with explosive warheads."

"Then I'd hire somebody from the World of Sharlain who would materialize right on the launcher, complete with rocket. He'd just walk through the Door of Monash and -"

"What in God's name are you talking about? World of Sharlain? Door of Monash? Let's be serious." Clayton didn't think it was funny, even though his brother was grinning. Protecting the governor was an important task that warranted a serious discussion.

Gordon was glad to have changed the subject. There was little he could contribute to the security of the governor, but a discussion of the imminent invasion by the Lord of Darkness might be of some interest to his brother. He had to make it sound plausible. That wasn't going to be easy. Even when they were kids Clayton never liked stories which involved ghosts or dragons or wizardry. Gordon would sit for hours, enraptured, listening to his mother read tales of knights and elves and magic potions. Clayton would fall asleep. Realizing this, their father would tell the tales of Alexander the Great, of the Mongol hordes, of the Roman conquests. Clayton would listen intently. Gordon would fall asleep.

Although they differed significantly in personality they did have one thing in common: they were both bachelors. For Clayton it meant freedom to pursue his goal of becoming Chief of Security. For Gordon it meant freedom to travel and study strange cultures. Although they saw each other often, they really had little in common, little to talk about. Clayton was always serious, down-to-earth, speaking of the problems of security, always concerned with worst-case scenarios. Gordon was a dreamer, speaking of the untapped powers of the human mind and man's ignorance of the true nature of the universe. In spite of the differences they _were_ both bachelors and they _were_ brothers (and both prematurely bald) and somehow that kept them together and provided a strong bond. That bond had been strengthened since the sudden death of their parents in an automobile accident more than five years ago. Gordon had been shattered, but Clayton had taken it calmly, without a tear. Nevertheless Clayton visited the cemetery each year on the anniversary of their death whereas Gordon refused, claiming that only the bones were buried there, not his parents. Clayton never understood the comment.

*****

Gordon walked to the wall and flicked some switches. The dining area lighting was dimmed and the living room lights were brightened. Clayton smiled, walked over to a large leather chair in the living room area and sat down. It was clear that Gordon and his imagination were about to be given free reign. That might be a welcome relief. His stomach had been in knots for over a week. He needed some one to take his mind off the security of the governor and Gordon was clearly the best person for the job. His brother had a wild imagination which would normally disgust Clayton, but Gordon had a way with words which made even the nonsensical seem fascinating.

"Several weeks ago, at our weekly poker game, I hypnotized Dan Woller. He insisted that I couldn't, so I did. While he was in a trance he muttered the words _Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan._ He denied having uttered those words, but when I later talked to his wife she knew the words too. In fact I made an intentional error in pronunciation, to both Dan and later, to his wife Kathy, and in each case they corrected the error. Then, a day or two after that, I was listening to the 11 o'clock news." Gordon leaned forward and gazed at his brother, lowering his voice for effect. "An old man had been picked up in an alley, drunk, sick. The old man had been preaching the end of the world to anyone who would listen. One of the phrases this old guy used in his preaching was ... guess what?"

" _Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan_ ," mumbled Clayton. "Yes, I remember hearing something about that on the news."

Gordon grinned and leaned back in his chair. Clayton knew the phrase, word for word. It was a delight to speak to someone who had a memory as keen as his own. It was also a sign that Clayton was paying attention.

"Right! A day or two later I visited this old guy in the hospital. Guess what his name was?"

"How many guesses do I get?"

"His name was Woller. I asked him -"

"Woller? As in Dan Woller?"

"Precisely. So I asked him if he was related to Dan Woller. The old guy became very nervous, agitated. He then told me that Daniel was the Prince of Woller, a servant of the Dark Lord, that Daniel came through the Door of Monash from the World of Sharlain, that the Dark Lord would invade our world with his armies, soon."

"My God, Gordon. I hope you're not taking this seriously. You talk now just as you did when you were ten years old. I can still remember when Dad told you that story about -"

"Clayton, remember," whispered Gordon. "Dan Woller denied having uttered that phrase, yet the whole community heard the same phrase on the 11 o'clock news. Dan must realize this. That phrase ties Dan to the old man, somehow. Another thing that ties the two together is the common name: Woller. That also is now known to the whole community and Dan must realize that too"

"And what does Dan have to say about all this?"

"Dan is gone. His house had been closed down, boarded up, he hasn't shown up to work for over a week."

Clayton frowned. "And his wife? Kathy, didn't you say? Is she gone too?"

"Yes, both gone, vanished, Kathy and Dan. I checked the airlines and trains, through a friend of mine on the police force. No one by the name of Woller bought a ticket out of town. The police found Dan's car, abandoned, empty, out on Peel Road. Dan's house, although boarded up, still has all the contents, apparently untouched: clothes, dishes, furniture, etc.."

"The old man in the hospital, Woller. What about him?"

Gordon whispered. "Dead."

Clayton got out of his chair. He walked around the room, thinking. Gordon was pleased. It had been a long time that his brother had taken him seriously. "Dead? Jesus Christ, are you kidding me?"

"Cross my fart," said Gordon, "and hope to fry." It was a phrase they had used as children. It always evoked a laugh, at least a smile. Clayton stopped and grinned.

"Do you know how the old man died?" he asked, leaning over the back of his chair, his grin changing to a frown.

"Poison. The coroner can't identify the kind of poison, but she's sure that it is poison. Okay big brother, answer the following question for me: If you wanted to invade this world, how would you do it?"

Clayton sat down, slowly. "So, you're getting back at me with these questions of security. Let's see ... I'd start by killing the heads of state, starting with, with -"

"The governor?" volunteered Gordon.

"Jesus Christ," muttered Clayton under his breath. They were silent for some time, then Clayton began to smile, slowly at first, then a wide grin. "Look, Gordon, you almost had me sucked into this scenario you've created. How could I let you do that? I should know better. For years I've listened to your tales of fantasy. That's all it is, fantasy. The World of Sharlain? Rubbish."

"Suppose it _is_ true. Just suppose an attempt on the governor's life _will_ be made on Memorial Day, by forces from another world. How would you protect him. You're Chief of Security. You can't dismiss this out of hand."

"I can, and I w-w-will."

Clayton got up. He didn't say a word, but it was clear that he would leave. Gordon followed him to the door. It was a warm night and they both walked down the driveway to Clayton's car. Gordon watched his brother slide into the car, back out of the driveway then disappear around the corner. There was hardly a word spoken but Clayton _had_ taken this threat seriously.

He had stuttered for the first time in years.

*****

The newspapers had been filled with articles describing the unusual precautions which security had taken to avoid any incident. Reporters complained bitterly of the restricted access they had to Memorial Square. Even the army complained that their personnel were being questioned and the vehicles inspected, more than once. Clayton Chaplain had refused to give interviews to the press or to explain why the precautions were more extensive than in the past. On the morning of Memorial Day, a hundred security officers had gone over the army vehicles once again. When the procession of vehicles started to leave Holland Field, security officers checked them one last time.

"What about the fence patrol?" Tony Shugart sat in the communication van, still providing Clayton with input even to the last minute. Tony was a short, stocky man with wiry hair and square chin and swarthy complexion. He seemed to have unlimited energy, never seeming to tire of details or long hours or filling out forms, and he smoked almost constantly, the cigarette hanging precariously from his lip.

"What about it?" responded Clayton.

"You know how easy it is to incite a riot. Just a few crazy nuts could get the crowd so excited that they'd break through the fence and surge forward, toward the stage. Then some nut with a gun -"

"Okay, I see what you mean. Can you put extra men on fence patrol? And put a double fence along the square in front of the stage area."

The phone rang. A technician was sitting in the communication van with Clayton and Tony, checking the instruments. He answered it, then handed the phone to Clayton. Clayton listened without speaking. When he put down the phone he looked worried.

"Tony, let's go. They've found a bomb in the trunk of a car, three blocks from the square."

*****

There were still several hours before the parade would start, but the streets were already crowded. When they reached the car, the bomb demolition squad had already arrived.

"Mr. Chaplain, good morning. I'm Frank Harris, head of the bomb squad. The bomb is the work of amateurs. Stupid. It wouldn't have worked anyway. Some people can't do anything right." The head of the bomb squad frowned and shook his head. He loved bombs and thought every one should know how to build a functional explosive device.

"Take it out," Clayton barked. "Don't take any chances. And whatever you do, don't let the reporters get this story." Tony peered into the trunk of the car. Clayton was looking up the street toward Memorial Square.

"Tony, what good is a bomb back here? Even if it did go off it wouldn't do any damage, kill anybody, except maybe a few pedestrians. Curious, wouldn't you say?"

Clayton walked slowly toward Memorial Square, stopping occasionally to look intently at the buildings on either side of the street, then he looked back at the car.

"A diversion," he muttered. "Just a diversion. There's another piece to this."

"Beg pardon, Clay?"

Tony started to follow Clayton, trying to hear his comments. A crowd began to gather around the area. People began to point in the direction of the car with its open trunk. Clayton stopped and looked up at an open window. Somebody was peering out, then disappeared.

"Tony! Get somebody up there, that window. Frank, check that bomb again. Does it have a remote or is it timed?"

Tony ran into the building, followed by three security officers. Frank Harris walked up to Clayton and stopped, staring up at the open window,

"It's a remote ... needs a transmitter to set it off."

"What range is needed, for the transmitter?"

"Depends on the power of the transmitter. Just milliwatts would do, somewhere within a mile or two. But the bloody bomb would never go off. Work of a rank amateur."

Gordon and the head of the bomb squad were standing directly in front of an old brick apartment building. Tony was now looking down, out of one of the windows.

"Clayton?" he shouted. "We got him. Be there in a minute."

Soon two officers appeared at the door holding a thin man with moustache and dirty overalls. Clayton Chaplain walked toward the man and ran his eyes down to his boots then up to his dark, frightened eyes. His face was streaked with grease, his eyes betrayed his fear.

"What were you doing up there?" Clayton asked.

"I ... I live there. I was jest waitin' fer the parade to start." The man was shaking. Frank Harris grabbed him by the collar.

"Amateur! You didn't really expect that thing to go off did you? Bloody amateur. The wires are crossed, the red wire goes to the receiver input, not to the output. And the ends are frayed, shorting out the -"

Clayton put his hand on Frank's shoulder and Frank looked around, surprised, then stopped talking.

"Sir, do you have any identification?" Clayton spoke in a soft and quiet voice.

The thin man reached inside his pocket and removed a worn leather pouch, handing it to Clayton. His hand was streaked in grease, and shaking. Clayton opened the pouch and slid out the plastic Visa card, reading the name: Joseph Kanke.

"We'll have to take you in for questioning," Clayton said, still looking at the card. "With luck you'll be back before the parade starts."

"What!" shouted Frank Harris. "You'll be back after a term in prison. You know what the penalty is for -"

"Frank. Shut up." Clayton spoke softly, but stared fiercely at the head of the bomb squad, and Frank shut up.

Then the bomb exploded.

Tony was just coming out of the building and was hit by a small fragment, a red streak leaping across his forehead. Clayton pushed the man, Joseph Kanke, against the building, shielding him. Frank Harris fell to the ground, bleeding from the neck.

Clayton looked in the direction of the car. The vehicle was demolished, pieces of fender and trunk scattered across the road. The crowd of pedestrians was running toward the square. Two men from the bomb squad were lying on the street, motionless.

When the ambulance arrived, Frank Harris was dead, a piece of blackened metal sticking out from his neck. Two men from the bomb squad were also dead, faces shattered by the explosion. Four onlookers were slightly hurt. Tony had a slight red scratch. Clayton was unhurt as was the nervous man with the moustache and dirty face.

"You ... you tried to save me," the man whispered to Clayton. "I didn't do nothing. I didn't put no bomb nowhere. Honest, I didn't." He looked at Clayton, tears running down his cheek, a thin path free of dirt. "But you, you tried to save me." The man looked admiringly at Clayton, then at the ambulance receding down the street, carrying the body of Frank Harris and two of his men. Then he became angry. "That bastard! He though I did it. Got what was comin to 'im, he did. Thought I did it, but I didn't ... honest, I didn't." He looked back at Clayton, his eyes pleading.

*****

In less than thirty minutes Tony had checked the man's credentials. Joseph Kanke was a plumber, had lived in that building for over four years, had been separated from his wife for a year, had one kid at college, one at home still living with his wife, he was paying all the bills for his wife and his kid in college.

"He's clean, figuratively speaking," said Tony with a grin.

"But the bomb. Why three blocks from the square?" Clayton was frowning, looking at the map hanging in the communication van.

"The car was out of gas. I guess it was supposed to be parked nearer the square and it just ran out of gas."

"Who does it belong to?"

"Stolen from a car lot, the other side of town." Tony sat on the small chair beside Clayton, pulled on his cigarette, inhaled deeply. "Can you imagine that? Somebody plans to leave the car near the square, a bomb in the trunk which will go off when it gets a radio signal from a transmitter, miles away, and he forgets to check the gas tank. Just runs out of gas, three blocks from the square."

Clayton turned his head and looked intently at Tony Shugart. Tony waited for him to speak and when he didn't, Tony continued.

"Whoever planted the bomb did in fact set it off. Right? It did go off. Why? What good would it do? What did it accomplish?"

"Evidence," muttered Clayton. "Destroy the evidence. Finger prints, components of the bomb purchased in some electronic supply store, hair, mud on the floor from some area of the city. The guy wasn't too stupid, in spite of what Frank Harris says."

"Well, he ran out of gas didn't he? That's pretty stupid."

"Yeah, pretty stupid. An amateur. But Frank, Christ, how could he have been so wrong? _The red wire goes to the receiver input, not to the output_ he said. _The ends are frayed_ , he said, and _shorted out something_." Tony grinned. Clayton had remembered the diatribe, word-for-word. "How could Frank have been so wrong? Tony, there's a lesson for you. Take nothing for granted. Expect the worst. Christ. Frank Harris, and two of his men, dead ... and the parade hasn't even started yet."

Tony looked at his watch and muttered around the cigarette, out the side of his mouth.

"Soon, Clayton. Soon."

*****

There was nothing else he could do so Clayton sat in the communication van and watched the TV monitors. He was nervous. He hadn't slept in days. He thought of the story his brother had told, of the World of Sharlain. He tried in vain to dismiss the story but couldn't. An assassination from another world? How could he, or anyone, cope with that?

The high school bands had passed the VIP stage and, in the distance, Clayton could see the flags atop the leading army vehicles. First came the soldiers, marching stiffly, eight abreast, with exaggerated precision. He held his breath when they all turned their heads to the stage. Did those rifles really contain blank cartridges? Had they been checked?

When they continued past the stage he breathed again.

"So far so good Mr. Chaplain," said the technician.

"Y-y-yes. So far."

He thought of a black figure materializing in front of the stage, a long and sinister device in his hands. A dark figure leaping through the Door of Monash, raising his weapon, firing before security could rush to intervene, a bright blue flash, the governor falling back, burning, his body a cloud of gray ash.

Clayton shook his head to dispel the image. Concentrate. The army trucks were arriving, mounted with machine guns. Clayton leaned forward and peered at the nearest TV screen. Did he see bullets hanging in straps from the sides of the machine guns? Surely not. He had insisted that the guns be disarmed. Not even blanks. But they _did_ have bullets, didn't they? Christ. Had somebody neglected to carry out his orders?

Clayton picked up the phone.

"The machine guns, on the armored trucks. Do they have bullets? Hmm ... okay, okay. Good. Just checking."

"Do they, Mr. Chaplain?" asked the technician.

"Yes, plastic bullets, for show only, for parades and Memorial Day celebrations. Christ. Why didn't somebody tell me that?"

He held his breath as the column of trucks passed the stage. There were too many. Only a dozen trucks were approved. How many were there? He began to count: one-two-three ... yes, only twelve. He let out his breath. Christ. This was taking years off his life.

He imagined a UFO, materializing above the stage, a huge circular, rotating disk bristling with armaments. _World of Sharlain_ was written across the bottom. A door slid open and a small sphere fell out. The stage vanished in a whoosh of bright flame as the sphere hit.

Clayton again shook his head. In twenty minutes the parade would be over. Then the governor would make his speech. That was to last less than ten minutes. Then the governor would leave the stage, to the rear, where bullet proof cars were waiting. He would drive down the avenue inside a plastic bubble, bullet proof, waving at the crowd. That would last only four minutes. The procession would then turn off, leaving the square at high speed. Clayton looked at his watch, for no reason. The departure would be along a road that was known only to him and to the drivers and a very few others. Had the drivers all been checked out thoroughly? What if the driver of the governor's car took off down the wrong road? Security had been arranged only along the Avenue of Presidents. Perhaps it was too obvious that they would leave by that Avenue. Another more obscure exit route should have been chosen. Christ.

Clayton picked up the phone. "The driver of the governor's car. Who is he? Hmm ... okay. That's okay."

He put down the phone.

"Anything wrong, Mr. Chaplain?"

"No, nothing wrong."

"Is the driver trustworthy?"

Clayton looked at the technician and smiled weakly.

"Yeah, trustworthy. It's the governor's chauffeur; been driving for at least five governors. Hope he likes th-this governor."

When would this be over? Clayton began to perspire. He saw a crack develop in the ground about the stage; a large circular crack which surrounded the stage. He saw the stage vanish into the ground, then a flag rise from the cavity. It waved in the light breeze. It said: _World of Sharlain_.

Clayton shook his head. No more daydreaming. Concentrate. The first of the tanks had pulled abreast of the stage, its cannon seeming far too long for the length of the tank. The crowd was cheering. Why? Maybe they had been cheering constantly and he hadn't noticed. Yes, that must be it. He scanned the monitors which scanned the crowds. The children in the crowd were waving small flags and everyone was shouting.

The phone rang and the technician answered.

"Com van, Chuck talkin'. Sure. Hold on." He handed the phone to Clayton. "It's for you, sir."

Clayton Chaplain took the phone and listened without saying a word. Then he looked at monitor fifteen. It showed a group of security officers dragging somebody from the crowd and into a car. Clayton continued to listen without talking, then looked at monitor five. Two security personnel were standing on a balcony of the Hanna Hotel with binoculars. Clayton put down the phone.

"Everything okay, Mr. Chaplain?" asked the technician.

"Yes ... uh, okay. Just some jerk who was carrying a toy rifle, his kid's toy. They saw him ... uh, from the Hanna Hotel. They've taken him off ... somewhere." Clayton's voice trailed off. He stared at the monitor.

The last army tank was now opposite the stage, its huge cannon angled upward to the dark sky. They had predicted a warm sunny day with few clouds but they were wrong, as usual. The gray clouds moved quickly and even the tank looked Grey with its cannon moving slowly against the dark sky.

Moving?

"What the hell it that?" Clayton shouted. "Is that cannon moving?"

He watched, mesmerized, as the great gun swung slowly in a wide arc and stopped, pointing directly at the stage. He grabbed the phone.

"Stop that tank! Get the governor off the Goddam stage! Drag him back -"

It was too late. He saw the bright flash, heard the thunder of the cannon, the stage exploding in a tower of flame, then the cries of panic from the crowd, then the mad stampede, then the horde of security personnel converging on the tank. Clayton watched in horror. This couldn't happen. Was he daydreaming?

No, this was real. He was stunned.

*****

By the time Clayton reached the army tank, a dozen men had already surrounded the vehicle, crouching, weapons raised. Tony Shugart was waiting for him.

"There isn't any way the driver could have escaped. Did you see it on the monitor? We were here in seconds. He couldn't have got out. He's in there now." Tony seemed breathless, but nervously pulled a cigarette from a wrinkled pack and lit it.

"What about the governor?"

"Dead."

Tony lowered his head.

"Sorry, Clayton. We had everything covered. There was nothing else we could do. Bloody hell, the stage just went up in a ball of fire. Nothing we could have done. Nothing." Tony paused, then, in an angry voice. "But we've got the bastard in the tank." The cigarette dropped from his lips.

Clayton wiped the bald circle atop his head. It was glistening with perspiration. He waved his hand at the tank.

"Send someone in. Drag the bastard out. I want to get a look at him."

Tony walked to a group of security men and spoke to them and two climbed to the hatch. It was open and one man peered in, then looked at Tony with a quizzical look, then climbed down into the vehicle. When he reappeared his look was one of amazement, then fear.

"It's empty," he muttered. "Jeesuz, it's bloody empty."

*****

Two days had passed since the assassination of the governor. Clayton Chaplain had been interviewed a dozen times. His name was on everyone's lips. When he explained that the army tank was empty, that no driver was in the vehicle, that security personnel had done everything they could to avoid a tragedy, the response was quick and painful. He had not done enough. The tank could not have been driven by a ghost. The culprit had escaped with ease, even with the extra measures security put in place. Clayton Chaplain was incompetent, without the experience necessary to assume the duties of Chief of Security.

*****

Gordon Chaplain had been unable to contact his brother for at least 24 hours after the tragedy. When he did, Clayton gladly accepted the offer to stay at Gordon's house for a few days. It was Saturday evening and they both had several drinks after dinner.

"A lousy dinner as usual, baby brother," grumbled Clayton with mock dismay. "Nothing has changed. You haven't learned a thing."

"And how long has it been since you invited me to a dinner? As I recall, the last time you provided dinner it was at a restaurant. Am I to infer that even the basics of culinary science are beyond your ken?"

During dinner, Clayton had spoken of nothing but the assassination. Gordon was pleased to see that his brother was now joking again, relaxing and even getting a little drunk. Then Clayton gulped a swig of brandy and spoke softly, as though in a daze.

"Somebody from the World of Sharlain, materializing right in the tank, walking through the Door of Monash."

"Huh?"

"Isn't that what you said, Gordon?"

"Yes. You have a good memory, big brother."

Gordon put his drink on an end table. The room lights had been dimmed and there was a low fire.

"Are you saying that you now believe in this World of Sharlain?"

"I don't have much choice. I've tried my damnedest to think of some other explanation. Ever since you told me of this other world I haven't been able to get it out of my mind. When we found nobody in the tank, that's the first thing that jumped into my head. For two days I've wanted, desperately, to provide _that_ explanation to all the questions I've been asked, to the reporters, to the public, to the inquiry, but, of course, no one would believe me."

"So what do you want to do now?"

"Gordon, do _you_ believe in this World of Sharlain, or were you just putting me on?"

Clayton was leaning forward, his face screwed up into a frown. An assassin from _another world?_ It was clear from the tone of his voice that he now considered it a definite possibility.

"I wasn't putting you on," said Gordon. "Cross my fart. In fact, ever since Dan Woller disappeared, the remains of our poker group has been meeting to discuss what we should do."

"You _all_ believe in this other world?"

"Yes."

"And have you discovered anything? Do you have any other information? Do you have any ideas? Do you -"

"Hold on. No good ideas have emerged from our discussions," Gordon interrupted. "The three of us, that's Peter, Tom and me, we take it very seriously, but we haven't the faintest idea where to look for this Door of Monash. We've spent hours looking up and down the alley where the old man spoke of the end of the world. That, apparently, is where this old guy lived; right in that alleyway. We found a makeshift enclosure. His house if you'd call it that. Cardboard and tin and wood, and empty bottles of wine. Even if we found the Door and entered the World of Sharlain then we haven't any idea of how we would stop an army from invading. We've thought of approaching the police or the military, but, as you've said, they wouldn't believe us. We're meeting tomorrow night, here, at my place. Want to join us?"

"Tomorrow night? Count me in," Clayton said, involuntarily looking at his watch.

"Good! Now, let's get some sleep. You need it. And sleep in tomorrow morning. I'll make something special for breakfast. How about bacon and egg and cheese omelet?"

Clayton groaned at the thought.

CHAPTER 5

The Door of Monash

Sandra Brickle was tired. It had been a long day at the hospital. Two patients had fallen out of bed, Mr. Kailey had spent the day pressing the emergency button for no reason except to complain about the nurses, the keys to the supplies cabinet had been misplaced for over an hour, a doctor had reprimanded her for the delay in administering a medication, the night nurse had arrived nearly an hour late and she had had to stay on.

But now she could relax, soaking in the bathtub, eyes closed, soft music playing in the other room. Tomorrow was Sunday. Her day off. She lay in the tub for nearly thirty minutes. When she finally opened her eyes the water was only lukewarm. She climbed out and pushed her way into a fluffy bathrobe and didn't bother to empty the tub. She was too tired. Just relax for a while. She leaned on the low sink and stared into the large mirror, pushing her long blond hair from her forehead and running her finger over the small mole on her chin. She was slightly overweight and had a double chin, just a little double, maybe just one and a half. She wasn't really beautiful, but she _was_ pretty; well, if not pretty at least she wasn't ugly. She stared into her eyes, blinked twice, smiled. Her front tooth was a little crooked, from a childhood accident. She closed her mouth and frowned into the mirror. She let the robe slip slowly, slowly from her shoulders, watching intently in the mirror. She smiled, but paid no attention to her teeth. Her body was being revealed, the shoulders, her ample breasts, her stomach, belly, rotund.

She grunted then turned and walked quickly into the living room, pulling the robe tightly about her.

By eleven o'clock Sandra had forgotten the trials of the day and began to leaf through her diary while nibbling on a chocolate eclair. Somehow, writing excerpts from her day made the tribulations seem more remote, as though she were describing what had happened to someone else. Indeed, that was the manner of her prose; she would write _nurse Brickle did this or that_. Then she could also say _nurse Brickle is exceptionally talented_ and refer to _the beautiful and excellent nurse Brickle._ It didn't matter that she wasn't beautiful; she _was_ a talented nurse and she knew that for a fact. Her patients meant everything to her. There was nothing she wouldn't do for them. The hospital was her whole life and even if she had few girl friends and even fewer boyfriends - well, maybe no boyfriends \- it wasn't that important. All the patients loved her and that was what really mattered. And she seemed to have unlimited energy, filling in for other nurses even if it meant a double shift, sixteen straight hours.

She read with pride the entry from two weeks ago when Doctor Marsh had congratulated her on the rope she had arranged to keep the pressure off Mrs. Kronkite's ankle. It was just a little thing. Mrs. Kronkite had complained about the pain in her ankle so the beautiful and excellent nurse Brickle had placed her ankle in a foam cuff and tied it up to the frame about the bed, removing the weight and the pressure. Mrs. Kronkite had tears in her eyes when she thanked nurse Brickle, and later, the beautiful nurse Brickle had cried too. It was a little thing, just a foam cuff, but it was greatly appreciated and that made it important.

There was the entry when the fire alarm had scared everyone on the floor. Mr. Grouch - that wasn't his real name, but all the nurses called him that - he had started to yell and shout. The other nurses had left him to the last, taking the other patients carefully down the hall past the fire doors. That was when the beautiful and excellent nurse Brickle entered his room and kissed him on the cheek. Mr. Grout - that was his real name - was so surprised that he stopped shouting and had actually smiled. He didn't have a single tooth in his head but that gummy smile meant everything to the beautiful nurse Brickle. She wept quietly in the staff room.

Then the entry where she had taken the amulet from Mr. Woller's drawer. The old man had preached the end of the world, continuously, then he died ... poisoned ...

She put down the diary. The amulet? Where had she put it?

She got up and searched through her oversized purse until she found it in a side pocket. It was a small ring of gold with some inscription and what looked like a rectangle embossed on a tiny plate bordered by the ring of gold. She couldn't understand the inscription, but it was a pretty piece of jewelry and she promised herself that she would wear it, one day. She felt just a little guilty for having taken it. The beautiful nurse Brickle should not take things that belonged to the patients. She stared at the amulet. She had forgotten it. Could she bring it back? Give it to someone? But the old man didn't have any relatives and it would probably wind up in some police officer's pocket, a present for his wife no doubt.

Old man Woller was a strange fellow. The end of the world. Didn't all street preachers speak of the end of the world? But he was a sweetheart. He ate little and was emaciated and she often had to force him to drink to avoid dehydration from his prolonged speeches of, of what? An invasion from another world. He warned that the Prince of Darkness would come with his armies and take over our world. He was a sweet man.

Sandra Brickle gazed at the brooch in her hand. Maybe she could invent some meaning for the words, just in case some one asked what it meant. It was a present from a patient, in his own language. It said: _to the most talented and beautiful Sandra Brickle._ No, it was a gift from the Nurses Association in recognition of years of exceptional service.

She pulled the lamp shade up to illuminate the piece and looked again at the inscription, closely:

Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan.

Meaningless. She opened her purse, put the amulet inside and placed her purse carelessly on the edge of the coffee table. It slipped off and fell to the floor, the contents spilling out across the carpet. She lowered herself to her knees and crawled about the floor and collected the various items, placing them carefully in the appropriate pockets. But she couldn't find the amulet. She looked under the sofa and saw it glowing in the dark.

"How nice," she exclaimed with delight. "You shine in the dark."

She reached under the sofa, pulled it out, wrapped it in a tissue and placed it in her purse. It was late so she went to bed, lying there for some time. Then she got up. She had forgotten to make a single entry in her diary. Maybe just a short one, just about Mr. Kailey and his constant pressing of the emergency button. She wanted to forget the reprimand from the doctor for the late medication. It wasn't her fault anyway.

She saw the glow from her purse even before she sat down. When she removed the amulet from the tissue paper she looked at the inscription again, mouthing the words silently, then saying them aloud, slowly, whispering:

"Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan."

The amulet still lay on the carpet, glowing, but Sandra Brickle had vanished ... gone to the World of Sharlain.

*****

On Sunday evening, Thomas Barclay and Peter Jacobs arrived at Gordon's house together. Clayton Chaplain met them at the door, shaking hands. How long has it been since we last met? Put your coat in the closet, have a seat, have a drink, relax, Gordon will be down in a minute. When Gordon Chaplain arrived he was dressed in a robe, his hair still wet from the shower.

"Guess you guys won't mind if I don't dress up for this," he quipped. "Many a fine idea arises from a clean body and -"

"- and soggy gray cells," added Clayton.

"Just wet hair, big brother. Tom? Did you bring the map?"

"Here. A map of the county. All the roads are marked, even the dirt ones, I guarantee."

"Why?" asked Clayton. "Do you expect to find the Door of Monash on that map?"

"Not exactly," said Peter. "We just thought that the old man must have entered this world from someplace not too far away. He wouldn't just appear in the middle of a crowded street so it must have been somewhere just out of town, then he could walk into town. If we check out the roads leading into town we might find someplace that looks ... well, that looks like it might be the Door of Monash." It sounded ridiculous, just as soon as he had said it. Peter pushed at the hair sticking out from the side of his head.

"I see," said Clayton, sitting down and running his hand over his bald spot. "You think this door is an actual entrance from that world to this. A place that can be located on a map. I don't think so." He waited for a response, but none was forthcoming so he continued. "I think that this door is not a place at all. It was called a door by the old man simply because that was a convenient description. Did Daniel mention any door?"

"No. Dan denied the existence of another world," Gordon commented. "If you don't think it's a door through which you pass from here to there, what do you think it is?"

"I don't know. I just don't think it's located at any particular place."

"Gord?" Peter asked. "When you first brought up the subject of other worlds you said something about getting in and out via hypnosis."

"Hey, that's right, Gordy," said Tom. "I remember that. Maybe Clay is right. We get in by hypnotizing somebody and that somebody just sort of slips in."

"I've changed my mind about hypnotism being the key. I can't really believe that Dan or Kathy or the old man were hypnotized. There's some other key, but I don't know what it is."

"Maybe we have to be somewhere special," said Tom, "and we have to be in a trance at the same time." He seemed pleased at this contribution to the discussion.

"In the alley, where the old man lived," said Peter. "Gord hypnotizes Tom while we're in that alleyway. Gord tells Tom to enter the, the -"

"The World of Sharlain," said Clayton.

"Okay! Hey man, that's good. Let's go to the alley. Let's try it." Tom seemed eager to be the first to enter the new world. That would be a great story. He could tell his grandchildren how he passed through the Door of Monash. He got out of his chair with such enthusiasm that the others just followed.

"I don't think this is going to work, but, what the hell. What can we lose?" Clayton was now speaking like a true believer, thought Gordon.

They had all driven to the Georgian apartments in Tom's Lincoln. It was dark and Peter's flashlight seemed altogether too small to illuminate the dark alley which ran off Sylvester Street. Tom grunted once at the sight of the purple awnings, then marched straight and tall down the dark alley and vanished into the darkness. The others followed warily. At the end of the alley Tom stopped and looked around. Peter shone the flashlight into the corners, up the wall of the apartment building, across the rows of garbage cans and wooden boxes. There was a clanging and Peter jumped back, dropping the flashlight. The cat scurried down the alley leaving an overturned garbage can rocking on the asphalt. Tom seemed not to notice. He raised his huge head in the air and sniffed mightily, his eyes closed, his baby skin gleaming in dim light. There was a pleasant smell in spite of the garbage.

"A kitchen," said Tom, grinning. "Somebody's cooking fried chicken. Great." Then he turned to Gordon. "Okay, Gordy. Hypnotize me." He was clearly enthusiastic.

"Jesus, Gordon," whispered Clayton. "Are you sure you can do this? I mean, I never knew you were capable of hypnotism."

"Just watch me, big brother. Okay Tom, come over here. I don't want you to hurt yourself so sit down on this box." Tom obeyed. The box collapsed, crushed, but Tom just stayed on the ground, sitting, looking up at Gordon, an ear-to-ear smile covering his face, his hands firmly on his knees which just barely protruded beyond his stomach.

"Tom, you are going to get sleepy. Tom? Tom?"

Thomas Barclay was already in a trance.

Peter shone the flashlight on Tom's face. Tom had a curious smile and was staring straight ahead.

"Well, Gord. Might as well keep going."

"Tom, can you hear me?" Tom nodded, but retained the blank stare.

"Tom, look about you. You see a door, the Door of Monash. Go to the door and look through. Do not enter, just look through. Tom? Do you see the door?"

Tom nodded again, then opened his mouth as though to speak. The others were silent, listening. Eventually Tom spoke. "I see a door."

"Christ," whispered Peter. "He sees the door. Tell him to be careful."

"Tom?" said Gordon. "Tell us what you see. Look through the door and tell us what you see. Whatever you do, don't walk through, just look."

Tom began to babble, but no one could understand what he said.

"He's speaking another language," Peter whispered. "That _borgo_ phrase."

Tom began to speak louder and they all leaned forward and listened intently. "Goo-goo-goodie. Cooky-cooky and milky-poo."

"Tom," whispered Gordon, "tell us what you see."

"I see a crib ... red ... blue ribbons ... filled with toys. My toys. My teddy bear. My Beulah. My ringo-poo."

Peter looked at Gordon, then at Clayton.

" _Gorbo_? That doesn't sound like _gorbo_ talk. Do you think he's looking through the door of whats-it?"

Gordon groaned. "No. He's not looking through any Door of Monash. I think he's looking into his own bedroom. A bedroom with a crib. Maybe his own bedroom, when he was a kid." Gordon spoke directly to Tom. "Tom, come back. Wake up, you feel fine. Now, wake up."

Tom shook his head and smiled.

"Did I do it?" he asked Gordon. "Did I go into the other world?"

"No, I don't think so, Tom." After a pause: "Who's Beulah?"

Tom looked embarrassed, still sitting on the crushed wooden box. "Beulah? Beulah's my ... uh, my teddy bear. How'd you know that?"

"And who is ringo-poo?"

Tom blushed slightly and looked at his feet. He looked ridiculous, sitting on the crushed box, his hands now placed firmly on the ground, leaning back, his large frame extending before him. "Ringo-poo is my teething ring. Uh, Gordy, I guess I didn't go through that door, huh?"

Gordon shook his head. They stood for some time before Clayton began to walk to the street. They all followed. Tom was the last to leave. He rolled to his side and rocked himself to a standing position, looked one last time up the dark alleyway then turned slowly and followed the others to the car. He was silent all the way home. He had missed his great chance.

*****

It was nearly a week after their visit to the alley beside the Georgian apartments when Clayton ended his stay at Gordon's house. The newspapers were filled with analyses by experts on how the governor was assassinated, but Clayton was off the hook. Details of the elaborate security precautions had been released and a reporter had written a long story comparing security arrangements made by Clayton's predecessor with those made by Clayton Chaplain. Other papers had climbed on the bandwagon and soon Clayton was almost a hero. Never had there been such attention to detail. Never had there been so much personnel involved. Then, slowly, the complaints changed from amazement at the extraordinary security arrangements to the cost of the arrangements. It had cost a fortune. Clayton Chaplain should be reprimanded for excessive expenditures. He was a servant of the state, entrusted with tax dollars.

That didn't bother Clayton at all. He slept like a log, for the first time in days.

*****

It was Gordon Chaplain who first read of the missing nurse, Sandra Brickle. It was a short article on page ten. Usually he only read the longer articles, but this one was intriguing. The header had been simply: _Nurse missing_. He would not have continued except that the photo looked familiar. He had seen her at the hospital the day he visited old man Woller. He needed to know more about this nurse. How had she disappeared? Were there any clues? Did she just vanish, like Dan and Kathy Woller? Anyone who had spoken to old man Woller, then disappeared, required some further investigation. He phoned Clayton. He needed a favor.

The next morning they both went to the police station. Gordon didn't have a class or a meeting at all that morning and Clayton felt that Security must be involved with any invasion from another world, so he went along too. Gordon let his brother do the talking. Clayton was by now well known because of the security discussions after the assassination, and the Chief of Police was eager to be as helpful as possible. Clayton asked for details of the disappearance of nurse Brickle and the officer on duty was pleased to make the report:

She was reported missing after she failed to come in to work and her girl friend could get no answer on the telephone. The police had visited her apartment. There was no sign of a break-in. Her clothes were still in the closet. The bathtub was still filled with water, obviously left there after a bath, so she must have left in a hurry. Even her purse was still there, on the floor, as though it had been dropped, a small piece of jewelry had fallen out. An ring-shaped brooch with funny words and ...

"Funny words?" asked Gordon. Until now he had said nothing.

Clayton pointed to Gordon. "My assistant," he said. "Can we see the jewelry?"

The officer looked at them both, carefully. They looked like twins, both almost bald. Does everybody in Security look the same? He left, returning shortly with the amulet which he removed from an envelope. Gordon scooped it out of his hand before he had a chance to place it on the desk. Gordon silently read the inscription:

Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan.

"Look at this, Clayton. See?"

"Does that stuff mean something to you?" asked the officer.

"No, nothing," said Clayton in his most official voice. "But it's clearly in some sort of code. We've seen this kind of thing before, you know. Could be important. Our department has experts in this area. Can you ask the Chief if we can take it, borrow it?"

"Sure, go ahead. The Chief has already told me to be as cooperative as I can. Just sign this form, and it's yours. When we want it, _if_ we ever want it, we'll just ask. I know where to contact you, that's for sure. Okay?"

"Okay." Clayton signed the form and left, with Gordon clinging to the amulet.

"Hey!" shouted the officer. "When you break that code will you let us know what it says? Imagine that, a secret code."

Clayton shouted back over his shoulder. "You bet!"

*****

The front seat of the Clayton's car was covered in books, newspapers and Clayton's briefcase, so Gordon sat in the back seat.

"Well, what do you think, Gordon? Is that nurse from Sharlain?"

"Yes, I think so. And now she's gone, just like Dan and Kathy, back to Sharlain. And this little thing is also from Sharlain." He held up the amulet. "I don't know how, or why, but it's surely got something to do with this other world."

"What else does it say on the brooch, anything?"

"Nope, just _Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan._ "

"Hmm," Clayton grunted, "I'll tell you my theory. I think that you hold in your hand the key to the Door. I told you it wasn't a place, didn't I? The Door is wherever that thing is. It makes sense. From Sharlain you just rub that brooch and maybe chant a few words and you're here, in our world. You bring the brooch with you so you can get back the same way. God only knows where you'll wind up when you enter this world, maybe on a street corner or an alleyway, like the old man. You could probably arrange to show up inside a building. Christ! Inside a bloody tank! And who knows where you'll end up in the World of Sharlain, when you go back. But, who knows what the magic words are? You rub the brooch and chant ... hey, know what? Maybe you say _Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan._ Maybe that's how you activate the brooch! You rub it like some kind of Aladdin's lamp and say those words. That's why Dan and the old man both knew the same words. They used them to enter this world. What do you think, Gordon? Gordon?"

Clayton looked through the rear view mirror, but couldn't see his brother. Just past the next intersection he pulled to the curb, stopped the car and looked over his shoulder.

Gordon Chaplain had vanished. On the back seat lay an amulet, glowing.

"Jesus Christ! You said the words. Gordon, _you said the bloody words!_ "

*****

Day came early to the mountain and the slopes were laden with morning mist of gray. Dark lay the valley below, the silver stream wending its way with a shining that came ghostly through the haze. The giant bird moved darkly across the amber sky, wings arched, gliding into the maw of the valley, dissolving in the glow that was Dragomir.

Gordon Chaplain opened his eyes, staring up from where he lay, listening to the thin sounds of the morning wind which swept down the mountain into the valley. For some time he lay without motion, without thought, without word more than a breath.

He raised himself to his elbow, turned to see down into the valley with its gown of mist, still and silent but for the whispering wind. He rose unsteady to his feet and gazed into the distance, his hand arched above his brow. Across the emptiness, across to the far side of the valley rose the dark and shadowy hills, rising from the shroud, soaring into the dim light of morning.

He stood on a ledge, a finger of stone which ran across the scarred face of a mountain. Before him, the valley. Behind him a black cavern, a dark and open mouth in the face of the cliff which rose vertical and cold from his feet to beyond his vision. He staggered back against the hard rock, into the cave, into the darkness until the day was but a circle of light. There he fell, collapsed, closed his eyes, collected his thoughts.

Had he come to the World of Sharlain?

Gordon Chaplain opened his eyes, sat up, breathing heavily the thin air, feeling the cold stone by his side, gazing at the mouth of the cave. How long had he lay, dreaming? His eyes began to see in the darkness, walls rising to a vaulted ceiling, the depths vanishing into black. He rose and walked into the blackness, against the cold wall, groping. From the floor a dim light illuminated a stairwell. He placed his foot upon the first step, breathing softly, his breath a mist before his face. The light brightened and he took yet another step and it brightened once more and he took another step. Twenty seven steps, down into the belly of the mountain, each step brightening his way until he reached the cavern below, bathed in ochre light, ceiling soaring to unimaginable heights, the far wall too remote to observe. He stood on the last step and gazed out across the vast expanse; spires of stone rose forbidding to the ceiling.

A path of small tiles wound its way to beyond the spires and he stepped onto the first tile, warily, his arms raised to either side, and he followed where it led until the path stopped before a golden tower of stone. Embedded in the base of the tower a plate of gold surmounted by two embossed dragons, each with nostrils flaring, flaming.

An inscription:

Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan.

The words to open the Door of Monash, from the World of Sharlain. He reached out to rub the brass, to repeat the words, to reenter his world. There was a noise, scraping, approaching from the depths of the cavern, then a wheezing. He turned and peered into the darkness. The light that had emanated from the stairs now vanished into a black void. It came closer, the scraping, the wheezing.

*****

They all met at Peter's house that same night: Thomas Barclay, Clayton Chaplain, Peter Jacobs and his wife, Gloria, who insisted upon staying and listening.

"I tell you he just vanished ... right out of the back seat," groaned Clayton.

"C'mon Clay," said Peter. "He must have fallen out of the car or maybe got out at a stop light or maybe -"

"No, he just disappeared. He had this amulet in his hand and said the words _Borgo-nom_ ... no, I won't say it. If I do, I might just vanish too."

"Hey!" cried Tom. "I got it! That's the Door of whatzit, you just rub the amulet and say the words and presto! Gone through that goddam door." He turned to Gloria. "Sorry for the swear word. Just got carried away."

Gloria smiled. "If that amulet is the way to get into this other world," she said, "then what do you want to do Clayton? Do you want to test this theory?" She looked in turn at the others. They were all silent.

"This is crazy," muttered Peter Jacobs. "Rub this thing and enter another world? We can't really believe that, can we?"

"But I thought you and Clay _did_ believe in this other world," cried Tom. "You two were always talking about it, I guarantee. And what about the report I made on old man Woller, at the hospital? Doesn't it sound like _he_ came from the Sharly-world?"

Peter grunted. "We should stay right here. We shouldn't try to go where we don't belong."

"Anybody game to try?" Gloria whispered, certain that it would dismay her husband, but eager to test the theory.

"Me!" cried Tom. "I want to go!"

Peter moaned and they all looked at him. "It sounds pretty weird to me. If it really is the way into this other world then we should be pretty careful. I mean, we should try it on a dog or something."

"That's great," said Gloria. "We just teach the dog to say that _borgo_ phrase."

"I'll try it!" shouted Tom. "Let me try it! I'll be the guinea piggy!"

"I don't think any of us should try it," said Peter.

Clayton coughed twice and they all looked at him, waiting for him to speak. He looked so much like Gordon and they always deferred to Gordon when he wanted to speak. Clayton coughed once more, then spoke slowly.

"I've got to follow Gordon into the world of Sharlain," said Clayton. " _You_ don't have to, but he's my brother. I _do_ have to go."

"I'm going too," said Tom emphatically. "You ain't leaving me behind, that I guarantee."

"Maybe two is enough," moaned Peter. "Maybe somebody should stay back, just in case."

"Peter Jacobs," said Gloria sternly. " _You_ stay here. I'll go along with Clay and Tom."

"What! Not on your life!" cried Peter. "This isn't a joy ride and -"

"A joy ride? Is that what I'm supposed to think? Why? Because I'm a woman? If anybody goes to Sharlain, I'm going along. And that's final."

Clayton couldn't keep from grinning. Gloria was full of fire and he had learned to admire and respect her in just the hour since they had met. She was also as smart as a whip and he, for one, would vote in favor of her joining him. Come to think of it, it might even be better if Peter _did_ stay behind.

"Peter, maybe you're right," said Clayton slowly, as though he was about to say something cerebral. "Somebody does have to stay back. If those who go don't return in some prescribed length of time then the person who stays behind must send in a, a -"

"Posse," Tom said, grinning. "Send in a posse."

"Right. Okay, let's decide who goes. I'm going for sure. Who else?"

"Me! That I guarantee," cried Tom.

"Right. Tom goes." Clayton waited, knowing who would speak next.

"And yours truly," said Gloria, frowning at Peter. "Don't worry dear, I'll be sure to pack my lipstick and face powder."

"That's settled," said Clayton. "Peter, you'll stay behind. Here's the phone number of my number two man, Tony Shugart. He's the person to contact if -"

"No! Gloria doesn't go!" cried Peter. " _I'll_ go. Gloria can stay back and -"

"Not on your life, to coin your phrase," said Gloria quietly. "If you want to come along then somebody else can stay behind. And don't bother to argue. I have the amulet and it's the key to the Door, right?"

"You have the amulet? How did -"

"Uh," muttered Clayton apologetically, "I just let Gloria see it, after we sat down. I guess she's got us, Peter. She does indeed have the amulet." He covered a slight grin with his hand.

"But she doesn't know the words! You can't get into Sharlain without the words!" Peter leaned back, exuding confidence for the first time.

" _Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan_ ," whispered Gloria, a huge grin on her face.

"Wait! Don't say it! You'll just vanish ... uh, you're still here? You didn't disappear," said Peter, staring at his wife, then at Clayton.

"Because she doesn't hold the amulet," said Clayton. "Gloria. Can you get the thing? We should start right away. Who knows what trouble Gordon is in, already."

Gloria left the room. Peter was sweating. "How did she know the words? I can't even remember them?" he muttered.

"They're written on the amulet, and she has a good memory it seems," Clayton said.

When Gloria returned she was carrying a large knapsack filled with sandwiches and soft drinks. She had also changed into jeans and a sweater. On the sweater was the amulet, shining. She stopped for a moment, gazed at the others sitting around the kitchen table, then continued into the living room. They all followed her, sitting then waiting for her to speak. It was clear that she was going to be a force to reckon with and Clayton was pleased.

"Clayton, you go first," she said, handing him the amulet. "Don't hold on to it, just put it on the table and place your hand on it. I'd like to have it remain here after you're gone. Tom, you're next. Then I go. Peter, sweetheart, remember the phone number Clayton gave you. If we're not back in ... what, a week? If we're not back in a week then send in the troops."

They watched Clayton, no one daring to breath. He laid the amulet carefully on the table and held his hand poised over the small gold ring. He took one last look at the others staring at him, not saying a word. He took a deep breath, rubbed the amulet and chanted the words:

"Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan."

It was Tom who gasped. Clayton had vanished.

"I didn't really believe it could happen," Tom said softly, then, excitedly, "I still can't believe it! He just ... just, poof, gone. Can you figure that? It's a miracle, I guarantee."

Peter's mouth was open, staring at the place where Clayton had been, then at the amulet. Gloria pointed to Tom, then to the seat next to the table. She seemed so calm.

"Tom, just touch it and say the words."

Tom lowered his hulk slowly into the chair where Clayton had been, placed his hands carefully between his knees, raised his head, closed his eyes and began to mumble as though he were praying:

"Borgo borgo ... uh, borgo."

"Here, Tom," said Gloria. "I've written it out for you." She handed him the slip of paper. Tom placed it beside the golden brooch, on the table. He leaned back and closed his eyes, his hands still clasped together between his knees.

"Tom?" whispered Gloria. "The amulet. You've got to touch it."

Tom opened one eye, slipped out one hand and placed it gently on the amulet.

" _Borgo nom achewan no nopawno agerwan."_

Tom said it slowly, carefully enunciating each word.

Then he vanished.

Peter's mouth was still open, then he looked at Gloria, then he grabbed for the amulet.

" _Borgo_ ... _borgo_ uh, what the hell is it?"

He picked up the amulet and began to read the words from the inscription.

" _Borgo-nom achewan-"_

"Peter! No! Don't hold on to the amulet!"

Gloria screamed and jumped over the table and fell sprawling on the sofa. Peter immediately dropped the amulet and helped her up.

"Gloria! I'm so sorry sweetheart. Are you hurt?"

" _Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan,"_ she chanted, quickly.

And disappeared.

Third Interim

Now everyone would enter the World of Sharlain and see, themselves, the strangeness of this world, for here do horses fly and ghosts dance in a night sky. Seeing is believing, perhaps. But with seeing, does understanding come easily? I think not, for I understand but little of this world. I am old, yet I understand but little. With age comes wisdom. Is that truly so? I might ask, and you attempt to answer: why two vaulted caverns beneath two mountains, yet only one with golden tower and guardian beast? Alas, I know not ... but let me continue, for you will be the judge and you may possess the understanding when my tale is ended.

CHAPTER 6

The World of Sharlain

Gordon Chaplain heard the wheezing, the scraping, saw the dim shadow, the long arms. He looked left and right for an exit, but there was none. An arm rose, claws silhouetted against the dim light, then a second clawed arm, and the creature hurried forward, eager, wheezing. Gordon staggered back, felt the tower, turned and stared at the inscription at the base. It was too dark, yet he knew the phrase.

His hand slid across the smooth plate.

He mouthed the words:

"Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan."

When he opened his eyes he was standing on a grassy plain which reached to the horizon, to blue hills rising against a bright sky, a sky without sun but glowing eagerly in burnt sienna and orange. To his right a mountain rising from the plain, a dark patch near the peak betraying the presence of a cave with its ledge of stone. Within the sinister mountain, unheard, the beast cried out and the scraping continued.

Now, behind him, the sounds of pounding hooves. He turned and saw the flowing capes of dark horsemen, racing, their beasts winged and black. Of a sudden they rose, five horsemen on winged creatures, rising easily into the air. The pounding stopped and Gordon Chaplain stood in silence, watching the approach, until they hovered above him, the voice of the beasts hoarse and deep.

The largest creature descended, not a horse but a black devil, the robe of the horseman swirling violent and ebony about him, a long arm extending from beneath the black robe. Gordon Chaplain was dragged into the folds, the beast howled, snorted, rose with a great beating of wings.

They disappeared beyond the blue hills, beyond the sky of burnt sienna and orange, and Gordon Chaplain was afraid.

*****

A day in the World of Sharlain passed into tentative and starless night and a new day began.

Clayton Chaplain found himself on a ledge reaching precarious from the rising stone that was the mountainside. He turned quickly and walked into the cave, saw the opening in the cold floor, descended the stairs and they brightened with each step, and he reached the path of tiles and set out across the expansive vault toward a golden tower with an embossed plate at its base. He knelt before the gold plate and read the familiar inscription.

Then, a noise, beyond the path of tiles, to the stairs which led to the cave on the side of the mountain. A scraping, a wheezing. Clayton moved past the golden tower and peered into the darkness, now brightening, now glowing amber in increments. Clayton Chaplain waited, staring past the spires of stone. A dark hulk appeared on the last stair, tall and grotesque, moving slowly across the tiles, hunched, moaning, hands stretched before it, groping. Then a voice, weak and trembling.

"Clay?"

It was Thomas Barclay.

"Thomas! Over here!"

Thomas almost collapsed when he heard the voice of Clayton Chaplain echoing from beyond the golden tower.

"Jeesuz, Clay. Where the hell are you?"

Clayton walked out from behind the tower, hands raised, waving at the frozen figure standing darkly against the glowing vault. When Thomas Barclay reached him, he pointed a finger at the golden plate at the base of the tower.

"That's how we get back. The words, the _gorbo_ words, they're written on the plate."

"I don't like this place one bit. Let's try it now."

Thomas Barclay reached toward the plate, but Clayton Chaplain held his arm.

"No, we have a job to do, and we must do it here, in Sharlain. Let's go back to the stairs. Gloria should be there now."

They retraced their steps across the path of tiles and stood at the foot of the stairs. Tom placed his foot upon the first step and called up into the dark hollow which rose into the ceiling.

"Glory! Are you up there?" He waited and called again. _Glory?_ Why had he called her that?

A rustling, across the floor, wheezing, beyond the first spire of stone. A long and hairy arm, then a bulbous body, slimy and green, a head with jaws opening to a red tongue which flickered in the light. The giant creature slithered across the floor toward the stairs, dragging several thin black arms terminating in toothed claws, its head rising as it approached, with eyes yellow on stalks which shivered above its head.

"Christ," shouted Thomas Barclay, too loudly. "A monster! Get up these stairs!"

Up the stairs, dimming with each step, they reached the cavern now dark but for a shaft of light streaking across the floor from the mouth of the cave. Thomas stopped, breathing heavily, but Clayton continued until he stood on the ledge, gazing over the valley now bright without mist in the glow of a sky without sun. He saw the grassy fields below, the silver stream winding across the valley, and several dark birds winging toward the blue hills.

"Pretty sight, eh what?"

Gloria Jacobs spoke. She stood in the shadows, just inside the mouth of the cave, gazing in awe at the blue hills and bright sky.

A cry from inside the cave. Thomas Barclay, in the grasp of a giant creature with arms that stretched twenty stairs. Clayton ran to his side, scooping a rock from the floor of the cave, hurling it at the hairy black arm. Gloria screamed at the hairy beast, running to Thomas' side, pulling at the arm.

"Wait!" Thomas yelled. "I'll take care of him!"

He pulled the thin black arm to his face and bit it off. The creature scraped and wheezed and vanished, slithering again into the stairwell.

"Not exactly lobster bisque," Tom grunted, backing toward the mouth of the cave, spitting pieces of scaly flesh to the floor. Gloria cried with delight, putting her arms about his huge frame, planting a kiss on his reddened cheek.

Clayton grinned. His face gleamed with perspiration, but he grinned. "One down, how many to go?" he whispered, as though the walls listened.

Gloria walked to the ledge, peering to either side, down into the bright valley.

"We can make it down. See? The rocks, jutting out from the cliff. It'll be enough."

Thomas looked over her shoulder at the narrow projections, then at his own belly, then back at Clayton who stood in the mouth of the cave. Gloria began the descent without further comment, her slim body hugging the rocky cliff, her feet carefully placed in a crevice, the knapsack swaying on her back. Clayton walked to the edge and looked down.

"Thomas, can you make it?"

"I don't think so. I can't stand heights anyway. I'll fall for sure, that I guarantee." He looked back into the dark cave. "Tell you what. I'll meet you at the bottom. I'll go down the stairs and get out that way."

"Are you crazy? That, that creature -"

"Don't worry. I'll just bite off his arms if he gets too close."

"Thomas, don't go. There's got to be another way down."

But it was too late. Thomas stalked back into the cave, determined, his head rocking from side to side. Clayton followed him to the top of the stairs and watched as he stepped down, the darkness vanishing with each step.

"Good luck Thomas. Thomas? Can you hear me? Are you okay?"

Tom spoke from deep within the mountain, the darkness having enveloped the stairwell once more.

"There's a bloody big lobster here, but I think he's afraid of me. I'll eat the whole goddam thing if I have to. Don't worry Clay. See you outside, at the bottom."

Clayton heard the scraping, the wheezing. He should never have let Thomas go alone. He started down the stairs, hesitantly, but the light did not brighten with each step. He waited, listened. Silence. He slowly backed up the stairs and walked, shaking, to the ledge.

*****

Gloria reached the base of the mountain, walking onto the grassy plain and turning to watch Clayton descend. Together they searched for an exit from the base through which Thomas might appear. A dark cavity glowered from the side of the mountain part way up a gentle slope and they climbed to it, pausing at the entrance. Clayton entered, waited for his eyes to see the interior, walked to the innermost wall and ran his hand across the wet rock.

"There's no way in. I can't see any door or hole in the wall or any way that Tom could enter here, or get out." He ran his hand slowly across his head. "Let's keep looking."

For an hour they looked, finding several caves, dark and wet, but always without entrance other than that which opened onto the grassy plain.

"That stairway from the cave up there, where we entered, surely it leads somewhere."

"Yes," said Clayton. "It leads down into a large room, with rocks jutting up from the floor and one which has a golden plate with those words written on it. The _gorbo_ stuff, as Tom would say. I didn't get a chance to look at anything else in there, but I agree, there must be an exit which leads down the mountain. Why else would one build such a place? What purpose does it serve?" He groaned. "I never should have let him go back in. But if he makes it to the golden plate, he'll be safe."

"Safe? How so?" Gloria asked.

"He just has to read the _gorbo_ words, touch the plate and he'll be safe, back in our world."

"Are you sure?"

"I think so. Anyway, there will surely be a way out."

"Well, it's easier to find your way out than your way in," Gloria said. "Haven't you noticed that? From the center of a city it's easy to find the suburbs but just you try to find the center from the suburbs. Anyway, we'll just wait here. It's a fine day and I'm hungry."

Gloria dropped suddenly to the ground, crossing her legs and pulling the knapsack from her back. She shook her hair and looked up at Clayton.

"Egg salad sandwiches okay?"

Clayton stared. She seemed unperturbed, as though a picnic in Sharlain was a natural event.

They ate little, waiting as the sky darkened, a cool wind blowing across the plain and up the side of the mountain.

"Gloria, I have to go back up there and down the stairs, to find Thomas. I never should have let him go alone. I should have gone with him. God, I'm stupid. That bloody monster was down there. What was I thinking? That Tom would just eat another leg off?"

"Lobster bisque," said Thomas. "Not bad, actually."

Gloria jumped to her feet and spun on her heel. Thomas Barclay stood tall and smiling, his face streaked with dirt, his shirt torn.

"Tom! How did you ... uh, what the hell -" Clayton began.

"Hey, let me tell you guys what happened. I went back down and across to a big huge rock which stuck up from the floor. That bloody lobster, I could see it hiding behind another huge rock. I shouted at it. It didn't move. Coward. Then I looked around for a stairway, to get down here. I kept my eye on that lobster and I looked for a long while. The room was bright, then it got dark again. I couldn't see a bloody thing, I guarantee. Uh, sorry Glory, for the swear words. Then I heard it coming at me, scraping and making a weird little cry. I hid behind the biggest rock, gold sort of. The lobster opened its mouth and the room got bright again. The light was coming from his bloody mouth, I guarantee! His tongue was slithering in and out, then one of those long hairy arms reached out. It was bigger than I remember. No way I could bite it off. Anyway I grabbed it and bit it. A chunk came off and the lobster moved away, but came at me again, this time with two arms. I thought I was gone, it was the end of poor old Tom Barclay. It threw me against the big rock. I was biting off chunks as fast as I could. God-awful slimy! Then it came at me with that bloody big mouth open, red and full of tongue. That's when I saw those words, the _gorbo_ stuff. There it was, right on the rock. I read the words. Christ, I could hardly see them, I guarantee. I had to get the lobster's mouth to light them up so I could see 'em so I shouted at the bastard again and it came at me with open mouth all full of flame or something. I just turned and leaned against the rock and read out those words even though I could hear it coming for me. Then poof! I was out in this field. See? Safe and sound, I guarantee"

Clayton Chaplain stood, frowning at Thomas.

"What's wrong Clay. Aren't you glad to see me?" Thomas Barclay said it with a whine, like a child, his eyes glinting in the failing light.

"This is bad," muttered Clayton. "Very bad. That plate on the golden tower. I just assumed, I just thought it was the Door of Monash, to get us back home again. But it isn't. It just gets you from there to here, wherever here is." Clayton looked around at the now darkened plain. "I haven't any idea of how we'll get back. Christ. I should have thought of that when we were back home. Chief of Security? How'd I ever get that job."

Gloria held her hand against the dark sky, a glow appearing from the ends of her fingers, faint but visible to both Clayton and Thomas.

"The amulet! Glory, you're a genius." Clayton bent over and kissed Gloria gently on the cheek. Thomas waited his turn and repeated the gesture then stood back, staring at the amulet.

"But ... uh, wait. How is Pete going to send in a posse?" Tom asked. "I mean, if he doesn't have that thing then -"

"We need it more than he does," said Gloria. "Okay gentlemen. Where do we go from here?"

Clayton stared at her. She had kept the ring, thinking they could use it to return to their world. But what if it behaved like the plate on the golden tower. What if they just reappeared somewhere else in Sharlain?

"Maybe we should try it, now," he said.

"Try what, Clay?" Tom said.

Gloria held up the amulet. "He means this," she said. "Clay thinks this may not get us back home."

"But it got us here, right?" Tom grunted. "Then sure as shootin' it'll get us -"

Gloria vanished.

"Wait! Glory! Wait for us!" Tom was frantic. He rushed to where she had stood.

Gloria reappeared, bumping him aside and smiling eagerly.

"Where did you go?" Clay leaned toward her, face twisted as though in pain.

"Home," she said, "then back again. It's okay. We can get back whenever we want."

*****

They all looked across the grassy plain, to the blue hills faint in the evening light, to the sky now dark and foreboding and without a single star.

"We stay here until morning," suggested Clayton. "I get the impression that day and night are pretty short in this world, so we better get some sleep before our journey."

"Journey?" Tom asked.

"To find Gordon," Gloria said, gazing at the dark sky.

Thomas looked down, sheepishly, then at Gloria. He leaned in her direction. "I'm hungry," he whispered.

Gloria laughed and handed him the knapsack.

"Help yourself, Tom. Egg salad, okay?"

*****

The first light of day met the trio marching across the misty plain toward the distant blue mountains. They had debated the direction and had agreed to head for the blue hills, the only visible landmark other than the mountain which housed the golden tower. Throughout the morning they continued, throughout the bright of day and into the early evening when darkness settled upon the plain and the sky grew gray with wisps of yellow cloud hanging motionless over the hills. Throughout the next morning and day until, on the evening of the second day, they entered a forest which lay at the foot of the blue hills, stopping by a stream which laughed clear and cold on the mossy ground.

"Great ... I'm thirsty," cried Thomas. "This is just like camping back home. It's the walking I ain't so fussy about."

Thomas collapsed by the cool stream, scooping the laughing water to his mouth, drinking until his thirst had gone, falling back onto the soft green earth, his shirt streaked with dirt and sweat, his stomach rising berm-like before him.

"God, that tastes good," he muttered, then fell fast asleep by the stream beneath a tall tree which curved gently to hide the darkening sky.

"Tom isn't exactly built for walking," whispered Clayton.

"Don't criticize. Did you see him bite the claw from that ... that creature? We're going to need Tom in the days ahead." Gloria drank from the stream and lay against the tall tree, eyes closing into deep sleep.

Clayton did not sleep but crossed the stream, walking deeper into the forest now dark but for a dim glow from the last light of day. When he reached a small clearing he stopped and gazed up into the evening sky, noting the two great birds circling, hovering, circling, then soaring beyond the trees toward the hills which rose black and sinister. Days were without sun and nights without stars. He turned, walking slowly through the darkness to the stream which laughed, sitting on the moss then closing his eyes, falling back into sleep.

When they awoke Gloria was gone.

"Tom, did you see her leave?"

"No, I was ... uh, sleeping I guess. Maybe she just went for a walk."

"Then let's keep going, toward those hills. That's where she would go, if she did decide to walk ahead."

Together they walked, passing the small clearing now bathed in the amber light of morning, into the dark forest of tall trees rising into the glow of a coming day, gnarled trunks, roots twisting from out the moss. For hours they walked and the day grew bright but the forest guarded its darkness beneath the towering trees.

It was Thomas who first heard the voices in song:

Begin the day and end the night.

Guide our way Mune, King of Light.

Take to thee this plaintive cry.

Set us free before we die.

Clayton Chaplain knelt on the mossy ground and crept beyond a scarlet bush, peering over a fallen trunk to the circle of light. A fire flickered with tentative flame, small figures moving in dark silhouette against the ruddy glow.

"Jeesuz, Jeesuz," whispered Thomas. "They're bloody small, those guys."

The ring of bodies stopped, turning to gaze into the dark of the forest, to the scarlet bush and fallen trunk which lay at the edge of the clearing.

"Jeesuz. I think they know we're here," whispered Thomas.

They were gone. Only the fire's red glow remained, as a jewel to light the gnarled trunks arched high over the clearing. Clayton turned away, creeping from the fallen log.

"I don't know who they were, but they seemed afraid of something."

"Of us," grunted Thomas. "Did you see how small they were?"

They rose, walking cautiously in a wide arc about the clearing, into the forest depths, through the tall trees and beyond to the first gentle slope rising to the blue hills.

"Clay? Do you intend to climb up that hill?" Thomas stopped, breathing heavily, and gazed with apprehension at the hill. "What do you think is up there? It looks pretty desolate, don't you think?"

Clayton Chaplain stood by the edge of the forest, gazing up the slope to the blue hill rising above the mist, then back at the rotund figure of Thomas Barclay gasping for breath.

"Maybe we should find a way around those hills. If we walk along the base, through these woods, we may find a path through the hills." Clayton paused, looking to left and right along the base of the hills. "That stream back there. It was flowing rather quickly. Probably comes down this slope, somewhere. Let's find it again and follow it, back to and hopefully through these hills."

Thomas groaned, turning to follow Clayton back through the forest, back to the laughing stream beyond the clearing where the fire still glowed.

"Wait ... listen," whispered Clayton.

Again, the song announcing the start of day, to the King of Light the plaintive cry: _Set us free before we die._

They were surrounded.

From every tree sprang a small figure, cap of green and beard of red, sword raised, glinting in the early light.

Thomas immediately put up his hands.

"Okay, you got us. Don't shoot."

CHAPTER 7

the Miriens of Dragomir

Clayton waited, hands held before him to illustrate their emptiness.

"We have no weapons," he whispered. "We come in peace, to find a friend."

Through a gap in the circle of small people came one without a sword but a robe of white and ruddy face and beard of red.

"Why do you come to the green forest which clothes the feet of the blue hills, to the land of the Miriens, my people, who live in peace and wish no harm to any but those that follow the Prince of Darkness and why do you drink from the Stream of Life which flows from the Mountains of Mune beyond which lies the Black Abyss and the evils of the Dark Lord who seeks to enslave and destroy those that wish only peace? Why do you come to the Kingdom of Dragomir?"

Thomas had been holding his breath and let it out in a long low whistle. Clayton stepped forward, one step toward the one in white, holding out his hands, palms up.

"We come to find a friend, now two friends, and we think they may have come this way. One came a day or two ago, well, maybe a week in Dragomir." He scratched his chin. Days seemed to be short and somewhat random in length. "Another friend we lost just this morning when we woke by the ... uh, the Stream of Life, I guess." Clayton turned and pointed. "This is Thomas Barclay. I'm Clayton Chaplain. This morning we lost another comrade. Her name was -"

"Gloria Jacobs."

Gloria stepped past the ring of Miriens and stood beside the one in white, the small people bowing in her direction, the point of their swords rising to the vertical.

"Gloria!" cried Clayton. "How did you get here? We thought, Thomas and I thought -"

"I'll tell you everything in due time. Now, we should follow Charlie back to the cave."

"Charlie?" Thomas stared at the one in white, saw him bow deeply, a red smile opening in his red beard, teeth white, green cap pulled off, sweeping in a low arc.

The small man spoke:

"Challia er Woller au Potria umbo-Laurion bonderwan Prescille -"

"That's enough Charlie," said Gloria, placing her hand on the locks of bright red hair. "He talks a good line and sometimes you just have to butt in, but he's a real sweetheart."

The procession wound its way back to the Stream of Life, following the laughing brook to the foot of the blue hills, into a narrow valley with sides of stone rising straight and cold from the green forest which ran alongside the clear waters. Then Charlie stopped and the procession stopped and the one in white stepped carefully out from the green forest onto a rocky slope.

"That's it," said Gloria, pointing to an opening barely visible in the side of the cliff. "That's home, but we must go in quickly."

One by one the Miriens darted across the slope bathed in the yellow light of day and into the dark opening. Thomas reached the opening, fell to his knees but would not fit. Four Miriens pushed fiercely from behind and Clayton pulled from inside the wall of stone until, with an anal sigh that whispered past the four small people behind and continued down the slope, Thomas Barclay vanished into the black orifice.

"I think I'll spend the rest of my life in here," groaned Thomas. "Matter of fact, I might have to. Jeesuz, I'll never get out again."

Charlie bowed deeply, sweeping his green cap from his curly head.

"From our home within these walls of stone there are many exits onto the Kingdom of Dragomir, to the cool green forest, to the blue slopes beyond the hills and down to the sandy shore which kisses the river that runs to the sea that spans the horizon and even beyond to the -"

"Okay Charlie, thanks," muttered Thomas. "That makes me happy, I guarantee." Thomas leaned forward and whispered to the one in white. "Uh, say Chuck, you wouldn't have something to eat, would you? I mean, maybe a hamburger or something like that. Even a cheese sandwich would do just fine."

The one in white placed his green cap firmly upon his head and let his arm continue in a wide arc, pointing at the last of the Miriens vanishing into a cavity that opened to beneath the rocky floor. Charlie smiled and Thomas grinned and they began to descend the stairs which brightened with each step until they reached the bottom.

Thomas stopped and gazed across the cavern bathed in ochre light, ceiling soaring to unimaginable heights, the far wall too remote to observe. He stood on the last step and gazed out across the vast expanse, spires of stone rising to the ceiling. A path of small tiles wound their way to beyond the spires and he stepped onto the first tile and followed where it led until the path stopped before a golden tower of stone.

"Jeesuz, I've been here before," Thomas muttered.

"Yes, it looks familiar, but it's not the same place," said Clayton. "C'mon Thomas, follow me."

Thomas Barclay gazed at the golden tower. There was no _borgo_ inscription.

The one in white had gone ahead and Thomas and Clayton followed to beyond the cavern, through a low door which swung open to let them pass, except for Thomas Barclay.

"Oh no, not again," he groaned, frowning at the door of minute proportion. "Maybe I'll wait out here. Charlie? Can you get me something to eat?"

The one in white placed his hand upon the door of stone and the opening grew and a light shone from within. Thomas grinned, stooping and passing through the larger opening into the chamber beyond.

"Gee, thanks Chuck. Now, how about that cheese sandwich?"

The chamber was bathed in a golden light and the circle of Miriens sat about a pit from whose depths the light came. Gloria sat among them, beckoning to Clayton and Thomas.

*****

"So tell us Gloria, how did you wind up joining the ranks of the little people?" Clayton gulped the last of his red wine to wash down the bread and fruit. Thomas was supplied with trays of fruit and long spears of green vegetable and loaves of dark bread. The one in white apologized for a lack of cheese sandwiches, providing a flagon of red wine in its place.

"Well," Gloria began, "I woke up early and wandered along the stream a ways. It was pretty dark and I couldn't see much, but I knew I could find my way back. Before I knew it, I was surrounded by the Miriens. They looked pretty fierce with their little swords all pointing in my direction. Then Charlie stepped forward and made a little speech, well, not so little actually. I was scared I'll tell you, but he talked so softly and looked so cute I couldn't imagine that he'd hurt me. Anyway, I put up my hands. Isn't that what you're supposed to do? That's when he saw the amulet. It shines in the dark you know. Charlie looked at it and mumbled something to the others in a language I didn't understand and they all pointed their swords straight up and started to bow in my direction. Charlie was bowing too. I felt ten feet tall. I bowed too; I didn't know what else to do. Then they led me back here and Charlie told me that the Dark Lord had spies everywhere and they thought I might be a spy."

Gloria sipped from a silver chalice of wine and looked at the one in white who bowed and tipped his green hat. She smiled sweetly and continued.

"He told me that the Dark Lord was taking over the whole world and they were worried he would soon come to Dragomir. I think this Dark Lord lives in some other Kingdom in back of these hills. I'm not sure and I hate to ask Charlie too much. He takes forever to say anything."

Clayton Chaplain leaned forward and whispered.

"What about the amulet? They must think it's magic or something."

"Yes, it makes me a goddess, actually. They recognize it, or so it seems, and it sure is potent. Did you see how they all bow when I go by? I never got that kind of respect back home."

"We've got to find out where Gordon is," Clayton said in a low voice. "Let's ask Charlie if he's seen anything." He turned to the one in white and spoke aloud. "We have lost a friend, my brother. He came to your world some days ago, or maybe it was just yesterday, and we have come to find him. Can you help? Have you seen him?"

The one in white raised his hand and the chatter from the circle of Miriens ceased and they waited for him to speak.

"We have not seen a stranger in this land except for the dark and evil birds which soar for the Prince of Darkness, across the sea of grass to the blue hills where we make our home, hidden from the eyes of the hordes and from the evil gaze of -"

"Charlie, thanks for the info," said Thomas. "But how do we find Gordy? That's his name, the guy we're looking for: Gordon Chaplain. Where do you think he is?"

The one in white took his green cap from his head, placing it in his lap and speaking softly:

"You must ask the Ghost of Chalma for she knows all that passes and all who breath the air of Sharlain from the green dragons of the abyss to the creatures of the sea whose fountains of foam rise from the blue waters to the -"

"And where will we find this Ghost," interrupted Gloria, hoping for a short answer. The one in white was about to speak when Gloria raised her hand, then continued. "Charlie, answer my question in ten words or less. That is what I command." The one in white lowered his head and pondered the request, then spoke:

"By the Mountains of Mune."

"And where are these mountains?"

"They lie beyond the blue hills where the light of day seeks refuge from the dark of starless night that sweeps across Dragomir to the far side of the -"

"Uh ... that's good, very good." Gloria placed her hand upon his head and the one in white blushed red with eyes that sparkled amid a tangle of beard. "Tell me Charlie, is he really a ghost, this Ghost of Chalma?"

"She is the ghost of the Wizard of Chalma whose mortal body was taken by the King of Light after the battle of Kloma in the last Age when the Wizard fell before the hordes of the Dark Lord and the King bade the ghost arise from the body of the Wizard so that the Wizard need never again fear death and might battle forever the evil Lord at the right hand of the King, as she did, placing the Dark Lord in the Black Abyss so that the World of Sharlain would be free of -"

"Charles," said Clayton, "if the Wizard died during the battle of Kloma, then came back as a ghost, then defeated the Dark Lord and put him in the Black Abyss - I assume I've got it right so far - then how come the Dark Lord is out again? Why isn't he still in the Black Abyss? And while you're at it, you might explain how the Ghost of Chalma got him into the abyss in the first place, and whether you think he could do that again?"

"In ten words or less," chuckled Thomas.

The one in white thought for a moment, took a deep breath and began:

"Dragons guarded the door to the Black Abyss, dragons of Monash, with powers beyond those of the Dark Lord, given them by the King of Light, but the power to corrupt is a power of evil and is greater than the power of good and the Lord is master of these powers so the dragons were corrupted and placed the Door at the entrance to the Black Abyss and gave to the Prince of Darkness the words that would open the Door and the Dark Lord used these words and came again to the World of Sharlain and he corrupted the Beasts of Filope so they would carry the black horsemen at his command and he corrupted the Ardens, people of Wilo-ard, so they would fashion the weapons of death and he corrupted -"

"Uh, could you go on to the last part of my question: how did the Ghost of Chalma get him into the Abyss in the first place and can he do it again?" interrupted Clayton.

"Clayton," said Gloria with a wide smile, "you must realize by now that the Wizard of Chalma, and subsequently the Ghost of Chalma, she's a she, she's not a he."

The one in white continued.

"The Dark Lord pursued the Ghost of Chalma and was led to the Black Abyss and the dragons of Monash were placed at the entrance so that the evil one might not leave but the ghost might leave, as she is a ghost, and she did so, returning to Sharlain in victory and we rejoiced and planned the Feast of Chalma which we celebrate to this day so that all may know of the -"

"Okay ... now, could he do it again, uh, could _she_ do it again? Could the Ghost get him into the Abyss again?" Clayton leaned forward, intent upon the response.

The one in white hung his head and lowered his voice so that they all leaned forward to hear him.

"The dragons of Monash are now in league with the Dark Lord and have renounced the King of Light."

Gloria smiled at the remarkable short sentence. She lowered her voice as had the one in white, and spoke:

"This Door, provided by the dragons of Monash, to the Dark Lord in the abyss ... would you call it the Door of Monash?" She raised her hand and added, "Yes or no."

"Yes."

"How many such Doors are there? A one-word answer would be just fine, Charlie."

"One."

Thomas looked excitedly at Clayton. "Hey! Didn't we see that Door inside the mountain with the golden tower, with the bloody big lobster?"

The one in white whispered once more.

"There is but one Door and it lies within the Black Abyss, beyond the Mountains of Mune."

Gloria whispered to Clayton. "It seems that a whisper will elicit a short sentence. We must remember that." Then she continued, loudly. "Tomorrow, we'll head for the Mountains of the Moon." She frowned. "Funny, they don't seem to have a sun in this world, or stars. Why would they have a moon?"

CHAPTER 8

Wilo-ard

The amber light of morning had turned to the yellow of midday when the small band of Miriens reached the end of the line of trees. Clayton stopped as did Thomas and Gloria, waiting for the one in white to speak.

"The Stream of Life flows through the blue hills and here we must leave the arms of the forest to walk into the glare of the day, seeking to hide from the watchful eye of the Prince of Darkness, from the messengers of doom, the Beasts of Filope which soar in the sky to carry the news of our coming to the Dark Lord that he may -"

"Charles," said Clayton, "shouldn't we wait until dark? That way we might be able to get to those mountains over there without being seen. I take it they're the Mountains of the Moon."

The one in white nodded and raised his hand and the Miriens began to chant:

We seek your strength to fight this day,

to guide our step and show the way.

Give us courage that we may die

with swords of honor raised on high.

We seek thy favor but shed no tear.

This day we fight for Dragomir.

"Jeesuz," muttered Thomas. "Are we going to fight something? Chuck? What's this all about?"

The one in white pointed to the sandy plain which reached to the far mountains rising white-peaked on the horizon. He said no word and Thomas leaned to see more clearly the dark shapes that swept across the distant sky, soaring and circling and closing to the small band at the edge of the forest.

"Beasts of Filope, alone, without the black horsemen," grunted a Mirien.

"Looks like trouble," said Gloria, turning to the one in white. "Shouldn't we go back, into the woods?"

The one in white shook his head and reached beneath his robe, withdrawing a stout blade of steel which shone in the yellow day. Gloria stepped back into the shadow of a tree and gazed at the approaching horde, thirty in number, winging their dark way to the laughing water which spilled down the side of the blue hills to vanish into the sandy plain. She counted the small band of Miriens, swords raised to the light, side by side, waiting. There were seven and she felt afraid, not for herself but for the courageous little people who stood valiantly before her.

The first winged creature swung low, hooked jaw raining white foam, yellow fangs glimmering beneath wild red eyes, arched wings stiff above a horned back. The first Mirien cried out and the winged beast dropped upon him, down in a cloud of black and flailing wings, down onto the little man with his sword of steel. The glint of metal, a cry of pain and the beast drew up, its head severed from its body, its head with wild red eyes, lying on the sand, jaws snapping open, then closing for the last time.

The first Mirien staggered back, his hand bleeding and his stalwart blade broken.

"Jeesuz he's good!" cried Thomas. "Did you see that little guy? Let me have his sword. The next one is mine."

Thomas leaped forward as the second winged beast descended. He pulled the broken blade from the bleeding hand of the first Mirien and raised it against the neck of the beast, running it through, twisting it, pulling it back into a stream of blood. The great beast fell screaming to the ground.

"Good going, Tom!" shouted Gloria, jumping with glee.

The winged creatures rose and hovered for some time, bleating shrill screams of anger. The Miriens stood to either side of Thomas, swords raised against the horde, like a delicate fence running to either side of a giant post. Clayton ran to the end of the line, without a weapon but with his fists raised in defiance. The one in white stood on the right hand of Thomas, a red streak running jagged across the back of his robe.

"Charlie! You're hurt!" shouted Gloria. "Watch out! Here they come again!"

Three beasts descended, red mouths open, yellow teeth gnashing, wings curved. Thomas reached for the first, drawing the broken sword across its neck and the beast collapsed, covering Thomas. Two Miriens swung an arc of steel and a second beast fell, head severed. The third beast fell upon the one in white, his blade flashed and the blood of the beast leaped as a fountain, the bone of a wing severed. The one in white rose, held in the black claws of the beast with wings beating wildly. It rose then fell, one wing shattered, then rose again. Clayton leaped and grasped the broken wing and the brute fell to the ground. Thomas climbed from beneath a dead creature, saw the one in white in the grasp of the third beast, cried out in a rage, leapt upon its back and cut off its head.

The black horde rose and swung away, screaming toward the distant mountains, leaving four of their dead on the sandy plain below.

Gloria stared wide-eyed at Thomas Barclay. He was growling, his huge frame towering in defiance, the thin line of Miriens by his side. Then Thomas turned and knelt beside the wounded body of the one in white.

"Chucky, say something. Where did the bastards get you? Can you talk to me?"

The wounded Mirien opened his eyes and smiled at the giant who stood over him with tears on his cheek.

"My friend, this day you have honored yourself against the Beasts of Filope and the ... the people of Dragomir shall sing your praises in song that will last ... last a thousand years until the day of reckoning when ... when -"

"Listen Chuck, just don't say nothing. Okay? Just relax. You're gonna be all right, I guarantee."

*****

The small band gathered about the glowing fire, silent but for the warm wind which hummed across the sandy plain and ran up the narrow valley where lay the Stream of Life. The evening grew dark and the Mountains of Mune rose blackly in the distance against the night sky.

Clayton Chaplain said to Gloria: "I can't believe the quiet in this world. I haven't heard a bird sing or a cricket chirp. Silence, deathly silence."

"Charlie told me that, one time, long ago, there was laughter everywhere, that's the way he put it, laughter everywhere. In the forest and on the plains, filled with animals that laughed and played. And there's a legend: when the stars come again to Sharlain, the world begins anew." She paused and they looked up at the starless sky. Gloria continued: "Now only that stream, it still laughs, the Stream of Life."

"Why _the Stream of Life_?"

"I don't know. Maybe, maybe it, well, I just don't know."

The one in white raised his hand and the Miriens which sat about the fire hushed and looked at their leader, faces filled with pain and sorrow.

"When the King of Light ruled the world and all the animals laughed and the Prince of Darkness lay in the Black Abyss, then it was said that life sprang eternal to those that drank ... of its waters -"

The one in white lay back, breathing heavily and Thomas placed upon his knee the head of the Mirien, and the Mirien closed his eyes, then continued.

"- but the Evil One returned and the night sky darkened, each star winking its last, each bird silenced, every animal quiet ..."

"Shhh," Tom whispered, and the one in white breathed deeply then fell fast asleep. "Good," and Tom wiped a tear from his cheek.

Clayton spoke quietly. "The Door of Monash, there's something funny there. What did the old man say, old man Woller? Something about this Door being opened to him by the King of Light. Did we pass through the Door when we rubbed the amulet and said those words? Charles said the only door was in the Abyss. Why didn't we pass into the Dark Abyss? If the King of Light opened the Door for old man Woller then ... then that old guy must have been somebody special. And what about the golden tower we saw in the mountain with the lobster? It had those words. Was it a door? Another door?"

"Yeah," said Thomas. "I read the words on that tower and wound up outside the mountain. It must be some kind of door."

"Another thing," said Clayton. "I don't know whether you've noticed, but that Stream of Life runs down this side of the blue hills and disappears into the sand of this desert. But it also ran down the _other_ side of the blue hills. Now that's curious, don't you think? Does the Stream originate within these hills? And another thing: the days and nights seem short, and of random length. And another thing -"

"Too many questions," said Gloria. "We'll have our answers one of these days. In the meantime we'd better get some sleep. Tomorrow we head across the desert to the Mountains of the Moon."

*****

On the morn they began, and for two days they traveled across the plain, sleeping on the warm sand at night, with no fire that would guide the Beasts of Filope. Before them, rising from the desert, lay the Mountains of Mune. Thomas carried the one in white on his shoulder, resting only to drink and to eat. On the evening of the second day the Mirien spoke to them:

"Tomorrow we will see again the Stream of Life which comes from out the ground and vanishes again until the blue hills behind us, and we will follow these waters until the foot of the mountain where we will enter a forest where dwell the Ardens of Wilo-ard and they are corrupted, being in league with the Dark Lord, and they wield the weapons ... which only they can fashion." The Mirien rested, breathing heavily, then continued. "We may not engage in battle with the Ardens, not in their land of Wilo-ard, else we shall die."

They waited for the Mirien to continue but he did not and Gloria asked the question which was on the minds of all.

"Then what do we do?"

The Mirien whispered: "We ask guidance from the Ghost of Chalma."

Clayton was about to speak, but waited. The one in white breathed deeply and began to sing and the other Miriens joined him in song:

We sing to wisdom, we sing to right.

We ask for guidance this day, this night.

Come to us O Ghost of Chalma.

Bring the knowledge, the truth, the light.

Thomas looked with open mouth at the Miriens, each on a knee with head bared and bowed, right hand placed firmly over the left shoulder. He waited. They all waited. Then came a glow in the dark sky and the glow descended and illuminated the small band, and the Miriens remained with heads bowed until the light shimmered and coalesced into the shape of a woman with golden hair which fell to her waist.

Thomas sucked in his breath. "Gawd amighty, she's beautiful," he whispered.

The apparition looked at Thomas and smiled, then walked to him and placed her hand upon his head and he bowed and waited, breathing heavily, his right hand now placed over his left shoulder.

"It has been some time since I have been called beautiful, Thomas," she said in a low voice.

"You ... you know my name," Thomas stuttered, looking up into the eyes of the Ghost of Chalma.

"I know all that passes in the World of Sharlain." She looked about at the others, her eyes resting on Clayton. "Your brother has been taken to the Black Abyss by the horsemen who ride the Beasts of Filope. He is alive and well, but it will not be easy for you to free him from the grasp of Eba-evin."

"Eba-evin?" asked Clayton.

"Eba-evin, the Dark Lord," answered the Ghost of Chalma. "He seeks to rule the World of Sharlain, and all other worlds. Eba-evin has spies in your world, Clayton Chaplain. They will destroy the leaders of your world, one by one, then invade and conquer."

The Ghost paused, raised her hand and the Miriens all stood, then slowly dropped to the ground, sitting in a ring about her. She smiled and Thomas took a deep breath, gazing at her slim body.

"Miriens," she continued, "you seek my guidance and you shall have it. Do not enter the forest of Wilo-ard for the Ardens have been warned of your coming and will surely destroy you. Return to Dragomir. Store food and water from the Stream of Life. Seal yourselves in your caves. Wait, and I shall come when it is time for you to leave. Then you shall fight a great battle in the land of Dragomir, and it shall be on your soil, and the Ardens will fall to your swords." She turned to Clayton and continued. "You may not continue through Wilo-ard for the Ardens wait with weapons of death. But you carry the Door of Monash and you may use it to rescue your brother and the girl."

The ghost raised her hand, a slender finger pointing at the amulet which now glowed brightly at Gloria's breast.

Thomas closed his mouth and stuttered. "Rescue Clay's brother and the girl? What girl?"

"Her name is Sandra Brickle and she is hiding from Eba-evin. She entered this world twenty-seven days ago and travels the River of Monash to the sea."

Clayton coughed and the Ghost turned to gaze upon him, so he spoke. "I'm n-not sure I understand how we got here. We do have an amulet and we spoke the words _Gorbo-nom achewan No-nopawno agerwan_ and we wound up in that mountain with the golden tower. I assume that's how that girl, Brickle, how she got there, since she also had the amulet before we got it. There was an old man named Woller in our world who also spoke those words and somebody named Daniel Woller who knew the words, and his wife Kathy. The old man said that Daniel was Daniel of Woller."

"Wait," said the Ghost softly. "The place called Woller is beyond Chalma, beyond the Black Abyss and beyond Filope. It is an old kingdom and many clans of Sharlain originated there. Challia, the king of the Miriens, has ancestors from Woller." The leader of the Miriens blushed and lowered his head and the Ghost continued.

"Woller, it is ruled by Daniel of Woller and his queen. I suspect that the one you call Kathy is his queen. He is ambitious, as is his queen, and early joined Eba-evin in this quest for world domination, all worlds. At the request, nay the demand of Eba-evin, Daniel of Woller entered your world to study its weaknesses, as a preamble to invasion."

"But the old man, his name is also -"

"Woller, yes. He was sent to your world by the enemies of Eba-evin to warn your people of the imminent invasion." The Ghost paused, gazed at Tom, then: "May I ask you a question?"

"Yeah, ask away," said Tom, still staring open-mouthed at the Ghost. She looked at him and smiled, and he held his breath.

"The old man you call Woller. Did he succeed in warning your people? Is that why you are here in Sharlain? If so, you must have powers beyond that which are visible to me for I see only three helpless persons, without weapons, save the amulet."

"Uh, we ain't got no weapons," said Thomas. "We just came here to find Gordy. We'll go back the same way when we find him, rub the amulet and say that _gorbo_ stuff."

"And the old man, Woller, he did not succeed in warning your people?" The Ghost of Chalma looked first at Thomas, then at Clayton. Clayton answered, with head bowed.

"Well, you see, the old man spoke of impending doom. He stood on the street, dressed in rags, and spoke of the end of the world." Clayton looked up at the Ghost, glowing in the night. "You see, in our world, there are so many old men who preach the end of the world ..." His voice trailed off.

"Aah, I see. Then you will certainly not succeed against Eba-evin, for he is powerful and you are powerless."

"Then you can help us," said Gloria eagerly. "You did it once, I understand. You defeated the Dark Lord. You can do it again."

The Ghost of Chalma rose from amidst the small group and hovered, shimmering, in the air. Before the glow vanished in a glimmer she spoke:

"I cannot do it again for I am no longer a wizard but a ghost. I have not but wisdom. But now I must leave you. Challia er Woller au Potria, take the Miriens to your caves in Dragomir. Thomas, you and your friends must follow the edge of the forest of Wilo-ard until you reach the river. I will be there again. But be warned: do not enter the forest."

And the ghostly figure dissolved and was no more and all was silence for some time.

"I hope she comes back," said Clayton to break the silence. "I have a million more questions. What does the _borgo_ stuff mean? We say the words when we're inside the mountain with the golden tower and we find ourselves on a grassy plain, outside the mountain. If we say it now, rubbing the amulet, we get back to our world, I think? Where did the amulet come from and what other powers does it possess? Who sent old man Woller into our world? And why is his name _Woller_?"

Thomas stood as tall as he could and spoke in a commanding voice.

"Okay you guys, enough questions. We're going to follow the edge of the forest, just like the lady says, but we ain't goin in 'cause it's too dangerous. We'll keep going until we get to the river. Let's go, now!"

They all stared at Thomas but none moved. Gloria walked to Thomas and put her arm about his and looked up into his face and said in a low voice: "Tom, do you think we might stay here until morning, and get a little sleep before our journey?"

Thomas looked about and saw that it was dark and nodded his head.

"Yeah, we'll sleep for a bit. Then we head for the river."

Gloria smiled, raised herself on her toes and kissed Thomas on the cheek and he blushed.

"Charlie," said Thomas, "which way to the river?"

The one in white pointed to beyond the sandy plains and spoke:

"The great river which flows from the sea and runs to beyond Filope and Woller, the barren lands of our ancestors, and divides the lands of Dragomir and Wilo-ard from the Black Abyss where lives -"

"Gee, thanks Charlie," said Thomas. "I think we can find it now."

Clayton frowned and Gloria stared at him.

"That's pretty weird. The river flows _from_ the sea, not _to_ the sea as you'd expect. Like that funny Stream of Life; it flows both ways from the blue hills of Dragomir. Sure is a strange place, this Sharlain. And what seems like days turns out to be weeks? Didn't the ghost say that the Brickle girl has been around for weeks, yet she vanished from our world only days ago. And I'm sure the Ghost said that the river went _to_ the sea, not _from_ the sea. Strange."

"Somehow I feel it may get stranger," muttered Gloria.

"Don't worry none about all that," grunted Thomas. "I'll see that we get to where we're going, that I guarantee."

*****

The light came filtered through the mist of morning and Gloria awoke to find that the Miriens had left. She woke Clayton and Thomas and they took the knapsack and began to walk in the direction indicated by the one in white, toward the river which flows to, or from, the sea. On their right lay the forest of Wilo-ard and beyond rose the Mountains of Mune. On their left stretched the sandy plain which now stood brightly to the distant hills.

It was midday when Thomas began to groan. "I'm real hungry. I think we should go into the forest, just a little way, a few feet maybe, and find us something to eat."

"Like what?" said Clayton.

"Mushrooms," said Gloria. "maybe some berries and maybe we can fill our water bottle. It's almost empty."

"Right! Let's go," said Thomas with enthusiasm, and he turned and headed quickly across the hot sand toward the green forest. The others followed. When they reached the edge of the woods they stood for some time, peering into the dark interior.

"Thomas," Clayton said, "didn't the Ghost say we shouldn't enter? Didn't she say ...?"

"Yeah," Tom muttered, "but I ain't goin' right in. I mean, just a little ways, just to find somethin' to eat."

Thomas stepped forward and entered. It was cool and green and they quickly lost any apprehension they may have had as they searched for edible fruits. It was Gloria who found the yellow berries clinging to small bushes which ran down a gentle slope into a clearing in the woods. They followed, picking and eating from the bushes as they went, until they entered the clearing. Clayton stopped and looked about and they all stopped. There were voices approaching, from beyond the clearing, and they went to a large tree and hid behind its gnarled and twisted roots.

Twelve figures tall and thin emerged from the forest into the clearing, tunics and hair of bright green, each carrying a long staff with metal tip that glinted in the dim light. They spoke among themselves, a strange guttural tongue, pointing and waving their staffs. Of a sudden they stopped and turned to stare at the large tree which held the hiding trio and the tallest walked to the tree and spoke:

"Nepawn-chawn ole-worgo."

The trio said nothing, but waited. The tall one walked about the tree and stared down at the crouching three, then pointed his staff, poking Thomas in the side. Thomas jumped to his feet and roared in anger, seizing the tall one in both hands and raising him into the air. The other Ardens simply gazed at Thomas, waiting. Then the tall one mumbled something and rubbed his staff across Thomas' side and Thomas fell heavily to the ground. He didn't move.

"What have you done to him?" Gloria shouted, rushing to Thomas and stroking his brow.

The tall one cocked his head and spoke. "He is dead."

"My God," moaned Clayton. "You've k-killed him!"

He rushed to the tall Arden and swung his fist, knocking him off his feet and the tall man lay on the ground and began to smile, and soon all the Ardens were smiling, and they approached and stood in a circle about Clayton and Gloria, smiling, and soon the tall one arose and spoke:

"You will not die. We will take you to Eba and he shall decide your fate."

The tall Arden pointed his staff at Gloria and she fell unconscious and he pointed at Clayton and he fell beside her. The Ardens carried the two unconscious bodies from the clearing, deeper into the cool green forest.

When they awoke they found themselves in a house of straw with several tall Ardens standing at a wall. It was dark except for a broad shaft of yellow light reaching across the dirt floor. Then, suddenly, it went dark. Gloria gasped and stared at the outline of the large creature by the door, with nostrils that flared and spotted head waving to and fro. Then the head was gone and she blinked at the sudden bright band of light, shaking her head. What had she seen?

The tall Arden who they had met in the forest approached and spoke.

"I am Choo-lan, most big of the Ardens of Wilo-ard."

Gloria looked tentatively at the door, then jumped up and cried out. "You beast! What have you done to Tom?" and she beat Choo-lan on the chest, but he smiled and stepped away toward the door beyond which lay the creature with spotted head and he spoke some word to the beast.

Clayton began to shout, but it was too late. The great head of the creature slid into the hut and took Gloria in its jaws and slid out once more, and vanished.

Clayton ran to the door but Gloria was gone. He held his head in his hands and Choo-lan spoke again: "To Eba goes the dragon of Monash. Eba-evin will decide."

*****

Gloria struggled and beat on the head of the dragon until it unfolded its wings and rose into the air. Then she closed her eyes and clung to its neck, not opening her eyes until she felt the slow beat of its wings. Below lay the snow-covered peaks of the Mountains of Mune and behind, from whence they came, the green forests of Wilo-ard.

Suddenly the dragon plummeted to the ground and Gloria again closed her eyes and clung to its spotted head until it stopped and she felt the cold. When she opened her eyes they were on a rocky and snow-draped projection on the side of a mountain and the dragon slid back from the ledge and lowered its head and spoke.

"Keeper of the Door, I seek thy forgiveness."

Gloria gasped and stepped back, almost falling off the ledge, but dropped to her knees and stared at the cowering dragon.

"You can talk! Keeper? Keeper of what door?"

The dragon extended a clawed hand with extended bony finger and approached Gloria until it placed its finger gently, slowly, on the amulet which hung from her breast. Gloria stood stiffly, then smiled.

"Yes, the Door, of course. I am Keeper of the Door."

The dragon slid back against the rocky wall and lowered its head and Gloria stood as tall as she could.

"Who are you? What are you? Answer me at once!" she commanded in a most authoritative voice.

"I am of Monash."

"Are you ... uh, a dragon of Monash?"

The creature nodded its great and spotted head.

"Then you know all about these Doors. Didn't you give one to the Dark Lord, Eba-something?"

"Yes, but it was not I, my fellows sought to acquire powers beyond those of the Door, it was promised them by Eba-evin."

Gloria walked to the dragon and stroked its spotted head and it began to weep.

"That was a grave mistake. But tell me, what are the powers of the Door? Where did the dragons of Monash get these powers? How do they use the Door?"

The dragon with the spotted head began to speak and Gloria listened intently.

"In the days before the last Age the King of Light gave the Door to the dragons of Monash that they might travel to the far corners of Sharlain, to talk to the peoples of Dragomir and Wilo-ard, to take note of conditions in Filope where live the beasts that now serve Eba-evin, to travel to the ancient kingdom of Woller where came all life in Sharlain, to consult with the Wizard of Chalma, to investigate the creatures of the Sea and to report to the King of Light. That was our task and well we served the King of Light."

The dragon lowered its head and continued.

"Then we discovered that the Door opened onto other worlds and the leader of the dragons of Monash then sought to use this power to extend the kingdom of Monash to these other worlds. The King of Light sent the Wizard of Chalma to Kloma, the principle city of Monash, to speak to Eba-evin and warn him of the dangers in using the Door to travel to other worlds, and so began the Battle of Kloma, for so it is told, as I was so young, but I -"

"Wait!" interrupted Gloria. "Are you saying that Eba-evin, the Dark Lord, the Prince of Darkness, is really from Monash?" She leaned forward and said loudly: "Is he a dragon?"

The dragon raised his head at Gloria's rising voice and nodded.

"Yes. Such shame have we, that our Eba-evin is now the leader of all the evil forces in Sharlain."

"Okay, tell me ... uh, dragon-" Gloria frowned. "I can't just call you dragon. What's your name?" she asked.

"Forty-seven," answered the dragon.

"What! That's terrible. Who gave you a number instead of a name?"

"Eba-evin."

"Well, I will give you a name." Gloria stared up the side of the mountain flecked with snow, closed her eyes, then looked again at the dragon and grinned. "From now on your name is _Freckles_. Do you like your new name?"

"Freckles, my name."

"Okay, now I want you to take me to Eba-evin. I must talk to him. He has a friend of mine and I want him released."

The dragon began to shiver, its nostrils flaring, its great head wavering.

"What's wrong? Are you afraid of Eba-evin? You have the power of the Door don't you? Don't all dragons have that power? If he gives you trouble, just go through the Door. That's what I intend to do. See?"

Gloria took the amulet from her sweater and held it up. "It even has the words written on it, but I've memorized them:

Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan.

The dragon began again to weep, for Gloria had vanished.

Fourth Interim

Please, bring me the wine that I might drink and continue ... weary though I am. And be thankful that you will stay and end your years in this land of plenty, of harmony, of love, of understanding beyond all reason. But thanks comes from recognizing your blessings, does it not? Were you to accept that which you have, without knowledge of those who have not, then the pleasure would be diminished. Perhaps it is for this reason that I tell you this story, that you may be thankful for your life, such as it is.

Ah, but I must continue for the days grow fewer.

Listen well, my children.

CHAPTER 9

River of Monash

She had been frantic that first day, clinging to the cave mouth, gazing out at the alien landscape. Almost immediately she had begun the descent, crying out for help, but no one answered her call. When she reached the grassy plain she fell to her knees and wept.

"Oh God, where am I? How do I get back? What was that thing I touched, the glowing amulet? Dear God, please help me."

She staggered across the plain, falling often and crying and struggling once more to her feet, wrapping her robe about her substantial figure. When night fell, suddenly and without an evening to herald its coming, she collapsed and cried herself to sleep.

Morning came and she awoke to find herself in better spirits.

"No makeup, no purse," she muttered. "The beautiful Sandra Brickle arises to a new day with naught but her robe and a sense of adventure ..." She wept once more.

Then she heard the gurgle of a laughing stream and she crawled to its edge and drank deeply, and the stream laughed once more then grew smaller and vanished among the dry grasses. Then, once again the sound of rushing waters and the stream rose up and bubbled from the ground and she followed it, scrambling, frustrated, and yet again it vanished. Soon she collapsed, exhausted, and soon the sky darkened into starless night and she crawled beneath a tree and slept.

She awoke to a new day of whispering winds and golden sky and she cried once more, the tears of today flowing upon the tears of yesterday. Her legs were bruised from the descent of the mountain and her robe torn from its clutching rocks. She gazed across the plain and saw the mountain rising above the golden grasses. Now she lay huddled beneath a twisted tree, the sole feature in an otherwise featureless plain of grass.

Sandra Brickle crawled from under the tree, gathering her robe about her, and began again to follow the bubbling stream which now grew in size and urgency, rushing ahead, frothing, laughing, until it came to the Lip of Monash and leaped into space. She crept carefully to the edge of the great cliff and gasped at the sight of the vast river below.

"Good God," she whispered, "how can I follow my stream down that ... that ?"

"You can, my child," came the silken voice, and Sandra rolled to her side and stared up at the luminous figure hovering above her.

"Oh God!" Sandra sucked in her breath. "Oh God, who are you?"

"I am the Ghost of Chalma and you, Sandra Brickle, must descend to the River of Monash and follow the river to its source for then will you be saved."

"Saved? Saved from what? How did I get here? How do I -"

But the figure shimmered and slowly faded and Sandra looked down at the river once more and cried, and as she looked, huge shadows moved slowly across the great water and she looked up to see the giant birds wheeling, then descending.

"Oh God, they're coming this way!" she cried and turned to run when the ground shook and opened and a dark hollow formed and she fell into the crater and fainted.

*****

It was dark when she awoke and her back hurt and her head was filled with ache, but she heard the sound of rushing water. She pulled herself to her feet and squinted but could detect no thing, for the light was dim. Slowly she made her way toward the sound, groping and finding a wall of rock, stumbling and finding stones at her feet, yet the sound grew louder and she could feel a fine mist and she felt refreshed and sank to her knees.

"I can't go on," she muttered. "The cliff ... I may fall ... I must rest," and she pulled her robe tightly about herself and closed her eyes.

When she opened them once more, day had come and she was at the base of the cliff, and a column of laughing water fell by her side. "My stream," she whispered. "My wonderful stream." Sandra stretched and dropped her robe and stepped naked into the falling waters, raising her head to see the slender stream which leaped beyond the lip of the cliff above and plunged onto the stony beach and thence into the River of Monash. Her energy restored, she once more pulled her robe about her and started across the stony strand toward the river, mumbling to herself.

"And the beautiful and courageous Sandra Brickle followed the River of Monash to its source, and she was saved." She shook her head. "Now what does that mean?"

When she reached the river she stopped and sat on the shore and whispered: "Ghost? Are you there? What do I do now?" But there was no answer and she said, "You're on your own, Miss Brickle," and she looked about and saw a dark object on the still water and she stood and the object approached and she saw that it was a row of logs lashed to form a raft, and the raft came to her and slid upon the shore.

"Thank you, Ghost," she murmured, and stepped onto the raft and it slipped once more into the river and she lay on it and closed her eyes. "The beautiful Sandra floated peacefully on the smooth waters ..." then she fell silent. "I was just taking a bath," she whispered to herself, "then I went to add something to my diary, then I saw the amulet and it was glowing and ..."

She pushed herself to a sitting position and looked upon the great River. "This is surely a dream ... but when do I wake up? And why didn't I bring my purse, and why didn't I bring something to eat." Suddenly her eyes brightened and she reached into the pocket of her robe and removed a small plastic package of peanuts and she tore it open, eagerly, and poured the contents into an eager mouth. "If you're still around, Ghost, I do thank you for this - but, if you don't mind, I'd like to wake up now."

It was late on the second day - or perhaps the third day, she couldn't tell for sure - that she saw the lights and heard the noises, on the great River, then the frantic splashing and she grew afraid and slipped over the side of her raft, clinging to its side, shaking. A shadow appeared beyond her raft and rose to a great height and hovered above her and she closed her eyes and slithered beneath the raft so that only her head was visible. The shadow, silhouetted against a darkening sky, unfolded great wings and a monstrous head and flew cackling across the river and vanished and the lights flickered and other gigantic creatures arose from the dark waters and winged their way to the distant horizon.

"Oh God, Oh Ghost, please help me."

"Help you?" the voice murmured, and Sandra froze and a small and scaly head appeared beside her and the tiny beast clambered upon the raft and gazed down at her. "Can I help you?" it asked.

"Oh please, don't hurt me," Sandra cried. "I'm just dreaming and I'll wake up, soon." She looked closely at the creature with its horny head and flaring nostrils. "Who ... what are you?" she asked.

"I am a dragon of Monash, of course," it answered.

"And those ugly beasts that flew away? What are they?"

"Also dragons. Have you never seen a dragon?"

"Well ... yes, of course, in storybooks," she said. "In fact I remember distinctly the story about PeePod the Dragon, and his friends PeeWee and PeeWoo. Perhaps this dream is just ... uh, this is a dream, right?"

A second head appeared by Sandra's side and clambered upon the raft.

"Wouldn't you feel better up here?" it said, and extended a bony wing. Sandra hesitated for a moment then reached out for the wing and held tight as the small beast pulled her aboard. "Now, isn't that better?"

"Yes, but where am I and when do I wake up?"

The two baby dragons looked at each other, stared at the strange hulk wrapped in her robe, then spoke at once.

"This is Kloma, the City of Monash, and you really shouldn't be here because all the warriors are gathering to fly to Woller for a great battle ..." said one, and the other interrupted to say " - and they won't let us go because we're too small."

Sandra looked about and saw only lights rising from deep beneath the surface of the river, but no city. "What city? I don't see any city."

"Then we'll show you!" the creatures shouted and leapt from the raft and vanished into the dark waters, and she waited and soon they reappeared, their heads bobbing by the side of the raft.

"Aren't you coming?"

"Coming where?" she asked.

"To Kloma, of course."

"But ... but where _is_ this city of Kloma?"

"Beneath the waters of the River of Monash. Where else would it be?"

Sandra Brickle laughed, a wavering, frightened giggle.

"If you don't mind I'll just float on by, thank you both very much." And she pulled her wet robe tightly about her and shook her head. "The beautiful and talented Sandra Brickle refused the invitation and continued on her journey to the source of the Monash River."

The dragons mimicked the shaking of the head and said at once: "Then we wish you a safe and happy journey," and they both vanished, leaving but a ring of bubbles to mark their passing.

"Ghost? Are you there?"

*****

The raft shook mightily as the river changed course, the roiling waters carrying the small craft to the far shore, to a rocky coast that received the jarring surf. Sandra opened her eyes and jumped to her feet. Behind her she could see the distant flock of dark-winged creatures rising from the waters, gathering in large number above the submarine city of Kloma, then heading in formal array down the river. The horde was staggering in its immensity and the amber sky grew black with their number. She crawled from her raft and lay shaking by its side. For an eternity the waters gave birth to this ascension of brutes and when the last dragon vanished from sight, she held her head and cried.

"Please, let me wake up ... now."

When she opened her eyes she was lying before a glowing figure which shimmered in the morning light.

"Sandra Brickle," the Ghost said gently, "you are fortunate to have passed the city of Kloma without incident."

"Oh Ghost," Sandra cried, jumping to her feet. "Thank you for coming. Now, please, let me wake up. I really must get dressed and I think I should call the hospital to check on Mrs. Kronkite and I know that Mr. Kailey needs me and -"

"My child, you are not dreaming. You now stand on the shores of Filope, yet your journey has not ended, for you must continue to the mouth of the River. But beware the Beasts of Filope for they -"

"No! No! I must wake up now! I really must! My patients, they need me and I haven't brought my makeup and ... Ghost? Don't leave me!"

But it was too late. The Ghost dissolved to a glimmer then faded and Sandra fell to her knees and cried.

When she once more pushed her raft into the river it was quickly swept away and she held tightly to the coarse logs, but the flow had changed and craft headed unsteadily back to Kloma. When she reached mid-steam, the raft spun about and she was thrown from the heaving platform into the dark waters. With difficulty she climbed once more to the raft and watched as the river swirled about her. Ahead she could see the great bend in the river, then, with horror, she saw the whirlpool.

"Oh Ghost, please, I don't need this. Really, I don't."

Suddenly the raft leaped forward, then stopped and the sucking maw quieted and the river calmed and she stood to see the glassy surface stretch in either direction without a single ripple to break its surface.

"Thank you, again," she said, bowing in the direction of Filope and the last sighting of the Ghost. She drew her robe about her, standing defiantly, her hair whipped by a swelling breeze.

"And the beautiful and fearless Sandra Brickle wandered slowly down the river once more, to its mouth ... and to her salvation."

CHAPTER 10

Again into Sharlain

Peter Jacob was frightened. Gloria had vanished into some other world and he was to wait for a week then go after her, but she had taken the amulet with her. How could he follow her?

He read the words that Gloria had written on the slip of paper, for Tom.

" _Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan,_ " he chanted, but when he opened his eyes he was still on the sofa. He sat there for some time, shivering. A week? He was to wait a week then send help, to this World of Sharlain. Yet, he had no way to enter this other world. He closed his eyes and shook with anger and fright. Then, a noise, and he opened his eyes and saw her. Gloria stood before him, smiling, and he jumped to his feet but she vanished and he fell back onto the sofa again.

He hadn't waited for a week. Clayton had left the phone number of his number two man in Security and Peter had phoned Tony Shugart that same night. He had tried to explain the strange events which lead to the vanishing of Gordon and subsequently Clayton, Tom and his wife Gloria. Tony had listened patiently, then suggested that he come to Peter's house the following evening.

*****

Peter jumped when the door bell rang. He hadn't eaten, shaved or slept for over 24 hours and looked disheveled and tired when Tony walked through the front door.

"Hi. I'm Tony Shugart." Tony stood for a moment, staring at Peter. "You look a mess. Can I come in? Maybe you can tell me once again what happened."

Peter wandered to the living room and they both sat, Tony waiting for Peter to talk, a cigarette poised in one hand, a match in the other. After a time, Peter began.

"After Gordon vanished we all got together and -"

"Peter, can you start right from the beginning? Clay did mention some _other world_ and seemed concerned that it had something to do with the assassination of the governor. I guess I didn't pay much attention." Tony lit his cigarette and leaned forward.

"But weren't you worried when Clayton didn't come in to work today?"

"He's taken a vacation. After the Memorial Day tragedy he deserves it. We don't expect him back for ten days. Now, can we start from the beginning?"

Peter Jacobs leaned back and closed his eyes, then took a deep breath and began:

"It started, I guess, when Gordon hypnotized Dan Woller during one of our poker nights. Dan's a prof at Corrigan College, head of the math department. While hypnotized, Dan said some strange words."

Peter pulled a slip of paper from his shirt pocket and repeated the words. " _Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan_ "

"Dan denied having said the words. In fact he wouldn't even admit to being hypnotized. Later that week Gordon heard the same words on TV. Some old guy had been found in an alley, sick and dying, I think. The old guy preached the end of the world to passersby and these same words were written on the wall of the alley where he lived. Both Tom and Gord visited the old guy in the hospital. His name was Woller and he said he came from some other world, and that Dan Woller came from the same place. A few days later the old man died, poisoned. Then Dan Woller and his wife Kathy disappeared. Their house is now boarded up and they're just gone. Then Gordon read about somebody, a nurse, who also disappeared. God, looks like everybody is disappearing."

Peter put his head in his hands and Tony waited. Soon, Peter shook his head and continued.

"Gord and Clay went to the police to get some amulet which had belonged to the nurse, or at least was found in her apartment."

Tony leaned forward and coughed lightly and Peter stopped talking.

"Peter? Why did Gordon think this nurse was involved?"

"I'm not sure. I think she worked at the hospital where old man Woller was taken."

Tony nodded his head and Peter continued.

"This amulet had the same words inscribed on it; the _borgo_ words. According to Clay, Gord spoke the words while holding the amulet and vanished, right out of the back seat of Clay's car. That's when we all got together, here, right where you're sitting, and they decided to follow Gord into this other world, and ... and I was to wait for a week then ... then, send in a posse. That's what Tom said: _send in a posse_."

Tony got up and walked to the window, puffed for a moment then walked back to the sofa. Peter watched him without speaking. Tony sat again and stared earnestly at Peter, the cigarette still dangling from his lips.

"The amulet, where is it now?" Tony said.

"Gloria took it with her." Peter raised his voice, partly in anger, partly in fear. "How did she expect me to follow her into this other world if she, she -"

"Take it easy Pete. We'll figure something out. What about the alley where the old man was found? Maybe there's a way into this other world from that alley."

"We tried that, before we had the amulet. No luck." Peter looked at the floor and mumbled. "How did she expect me to follow her? How could I, if she took the bloody amulet? She must have known I couldn't follow her. She must have -"

"Look Pete, there must be another way into ... what's the name of this other world?"

Peter mumbled, almost inaudibly: "Sharlain."

"We've got to find out how Dan Woller got back to Sharlain. Tomorrow night we'll visit his house. You say it's boarded up so we'll just let ourselves in and look around. We may find something. In the meantime you'd better get some sleep. I'll be around to pick you up at, say, 7 o'clock tomorrow evening. Okay?"

Tony got up and looked down at Peter Jacobs. Peter nodded and Tony walked alone to the front door. Before he left he looked back. Peter hadn't moved from his chair. Tony watched for a moment then let himself out. Before he left, Peter said something.

"What's that?" Tony asked.

"The World of Sharlain," Peter muttered. "You don't seem surprised. Do you believe it? I was skeptical at first. I thought it was pure Tolkien, imagination, fantasy. But you seem to accept it. Maybe you know something -"

"No, no, I don't know a thing about this World of Sharlain," Tony said. "I only know that Clayton couldn't get his mind off it. For days after the assassination, that's all he could talk about. Skeptical? Yes, I was. Maybe I still am, but if Clayton believed in it I can't dismiss it out of hand. Clay is a realist. He isn't easily taken in by stories of the supernatural. I gotta take this seriously." He paused and looked at Peter, sitting dejectedly on the sofa. "Get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow."

Then, Tony left.

*****

The next evening at 7 o'clock sharp Tony rang the bell and waited on the front porch. It was a warm, bright evening and he could hear birds chirping from inside the small juniper bush beside the porch. After a few minutes he rang again and waited, but there was no answer. He tried the door, but it was locked so he walked around to the back and found that door locked as well. He peered into the windows then stood on the lawn with his hands on his hips, thinking. A neighbor was looking at him from behind a curtain.

Tony got into his car, drove away then stopped at the end of the block, frowned as though deep in thought, got out and walked back to Peter Jacob's house. He walked to the back of the house, kicked in a basement window and slid inside. He made his way up the stairs to the second floor and looked into each room. He found Peter sound asleep in the master bedroom. Tony smiled and sat on a wicker chair in the corner. He would give Peter a little more rest before he woke him.

The drapes had been drawn and the room was dark so Tony turned on a light and pulled a book from the night table. _Principles of Architectural Design_. He leafed through the pages then stopped when the doorbell rang. He leaned out of the chair then decided not to answer it and sat back again. In a few minutes he heard noises, then footsteps, coming up the stairs. He turned out the light, walked quietly to a closet and slipped inside.

A dark figure entered the room and walked to the bed, standing over Peter Jacobs. Tony could see the revolver. The figure leaned over the sleeping body and Tony leaped out of the closet, bringing his hand down on the neck of the dark figure. It collapsed, Peter awoke and Tony turned on the light. On the floor lay a police officer.

Constable David Kochewski rubbed his neck and took another drink of coffee. Peter began to explain, but Tony interrupted.

"Sorry old man but when I saw a revolver in your hand I assumed you were going to shoot poor old Pete here. I didn't really expect a nosy neighbor to call the police. Are you okay?"

The police officer grinned. "Yeah, just a sore neck. The neighbor said you broke into the house. Why?" He was staring at Tony, frowning.

"I didn't hear the door bell," said Peter apologetically, turning to Tony. "Sorry. I wanted to stay awake until you arrived but I was so tired, I haven't been sleeping too well."

Tony nodded. "Peter and I had an appointment, to go somewhere at 7, and I was worried when he didn't answer the door. So I let myself in."

"And you two are friends, and Mr. Jacobs, I assume you don't want to register a complaint."

"Yes, I mean no," stuttered Peter. "Tony? Should we tell him what happened?"

Tony got up and held out his hand. "Glad to have met you David. It's good to know the police are on the job. Hope we didn't put you to any trouble."

Constable Kochewski looked at Tony's extended hand, put down his partially full cup of coffee and shook the hand, then walked to the door.

"No. No trouble at all." He left, looking slightly confused. Tony watched him drive away then closed the door.

"Peter, if we tried to explain about the World of Sharlain he wouldn't believe us. I think we're in this alone." Tony paused, leaned toward Peter and said in a low voice: "Now, are you ready to visit Dan's house?"

Peter nodded vigorously and they left without delay. The neighbor was peering out from behind the curtain as they drove by.

*****

It was quite dark when Tony's car drove slowly past Dan Woller's house. He continued for a block and parked. They both got out and walked back, trying to avoid being seen. The neighboring houses were dark so they walked directly to the back of Dan's house and Tony broke the glass in the back door, reached through and unlocked the door. In a few minutes they had drawn the drapes to those windows that weren't already covered in plywood and went about investigating each room. Each had a flashlight and they stayed together, starting on the first floor and making their way to each room, then on to the second floor. There was nothing unusual. Except for the dust and boarded windows it seemed as though Dan still lived there, or had left in a hurry. There were still clothes in the closets and drawers, the kitchen cabinets were filled with canned goods and the fridge was full of food.

"Let's try the basement," whispered Tony, "but I have a funny feeling that we aren't going to find anything unusual, or anything that would help us into Sharlain."

They climbed down the stairs to the basement and shone the flashlights into every corner: boxes, stacks of books, a small workshop with saws and hammer and cans of screws and nails. There was a small room in the corner. They pulled on the door, but it was locked.

"Must be a key around here somewhere," muttered Tony.

"I think we're wasting our time. It's an ordinary house. And I don't quite like this breaking in. It's not legal and -"

Tony raised his hand and Peter stopped talking. Tony reached up between the ceiling joists and pulled a key from a nail, placed it carefully into the lock and turned. The door swung open and they both thrust their flashlights into the small room. It was empty.

"Dan obviously locked this room before he left," said Tony, stepping inside the room and running his hands over the concrete block walls. "Yet it's empty. Why would he lock an empty room?" He stepped out.

Peter peered into the room and shone his flashlight over the opened door, then down the walls, then across the basement floor.

"Tony, there's something fishy here. The inside of the room is too small. Look at this. The room was built for cold storage. It's directly under the back porch and has walls of concrete blocks inside. But the basement wall, on the other side, it's wood studs and drywall. Not concrete. That means there's a false wall ... here."

Peter placed his hand on the basement wall next to the storage room. Tony stood back and nodded his head.

"Okay, let's tear it down."

"Hey! This isn't our house. We can't just tear down a wall."

But Tony Shugart was already pulling at the drywall. Soon Peter was pulling as well, and as the wall fell away in pieces they could see the dark space between the wall of the basement and the concrete wall of the storage room. They stopped and shone their flashlights. The space was empty.

"Wait a minute," grumbled Tony. "Why would anybody build a false wall outside the storage room, with an empty space inside, then lock the door to the storage room, and it's empty too? It makes no sense."

"Unless the space behind the false wall did hold something, at one time, and Dan took it with him." Peter paused, then whispered: "Tony, I think we should get out of here. I don't like the idea of breaking into Dan's house. Let's go back to my place and we can talk about it."

Tony murmured something, looked about quickly, then nodded agreement.

It was almost 10 o'clock when they arrived at Peter's house. They sat around the kitchen table, each with a cold bottle of beer, munching on pretzels.

Tony opened the conversation. "If Dan Woller didn't have a secret door to this other world, then how did he get back there? And why lock an empty storage room? And why build a false wall with nothing inside?"

"Maybe Dan had one of those amulets with the words on it. Maybe he just rubbed it, said the magic words and got back that way."

"Then we won't be able to get into Sharlain without an amulet. If we're to get into Sharlain we have to assume that there's another way, another entrance. Besides, that doesn't explain the locked, empty room and false wall."

They both drank and chewed and thought about it, without saying a word. At 11 o'clock Tony left. They agreed to meet again the following night.

The following evening, Peter waited until after 9 o'clock, but Tony never showed up. Peter called the Security office and they said that Tony wasn't available.

In fact, Tony hadn't showed up for work at all that day.

Peter called Constable David Kochewski and tried to explain, over the phone, the mysterious events that led to the vanishing of his wife. David came to Peter's house the next morning and Peter repeated the story.

"I don't believe a word of this," grunted David. "But I checked up on Tony Shugart. He's a big chief in Security. If he believed this story then I assume he went back to that house again. How did you get in the last time you went?"

"We broke the glass, the back door of the house."

"Christ," muttered David. "Okay, let's go. We'll go in the same way."

When they got to Dan Woller's house, David stared for a moment at the broken glass, hesitated, then pulled the door open. He waited for Peter who went directly to the basement.

They found Tony's body on the floor of the storage room. He was dead. Peter moaned softly as David Kochewski bent to examine the body. The body was covered in bright red welts and the left hand was missing; ripped from the body.

At the base of the concrete wall several blocks were missing. From the space beyond the blocks came a soft light and they both pulled away the remaining drywall just outside the storage room and found the opening: a hole in the block wall which lead into a dark vault. David stepped through the opening, but Peter hesitated. A house built with a hollow vault, beneath the ground? He looked about for a light switch. There was none. Why a hollow? A wine cellar? A cold storage, for preserves?

Then he followed David.

Their eyes began to see in the darkness, walls rising to a vaulted ceiling soaring to unimaginable heights, the far wall too remote to observe. They gazed out across the vast expanse, spires of stone rising forbidding to the ceiling. A path of small tiles wound its way to beyond the spires and they stepped onto the first tile, and followed where it led until the path stopped before a golden tower of stone. Embedded in the base of the tower a plate of gold surmounted by two embossed dragons, each with nostrils flaring, flaming. An inscription:

Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan.

"Christ," muttered Peter. "Oh Christ. Those words. Are we in Sharlain?" He turned to David. "Are we?"

David did not speak, but stared at the cavern, then at the golden tower. Then they heard the scraping, the wheezing, and David backed slowly away, still staring at the tower. It was Peter who first saw the creature, but it was too late. A long arm reached out and clutched David's leg in a jagged claw. He screamed as the claw snapped his leg. Peter saw the great lobster-like creature and staggered back, falling against the tower. David lost another leg, torn bleeding from his body. He was being devoured and there was nothing that Peter could do. David's screams echoed in his head as he climbed back through the opening in the stone wall, finding himself in the basement again. He looked about, frantically, saw the tools in the workshop: a hammer, boxes of nails, an axe. He grabbed the saw and axe and climbed back through the opening. David was on the floor by the tower, motionless, the creature swaying above the body, wild red eyes flashing. Peter screamed and leapt forward, attacking the creature, hacking through its long arms with the saw in one hand and the axe in another. The beast backed away, vanishing among the shadows. Peter was shaking, but he dragged David's body through the opening, across the basement floor, as far from the opening into Sharlain as he could manage. He fell exhausted on the bottom stair, gasping for breath, still holding David and listening for any sound, but it was quiet but for his own breathing.

*****

David Kochewski spent two weeks in the hospital. Both legs were gone and his left arm was torn and failed to respond to stimuli, but he was alive. Peter Jacobs visited him each day. It wasn't until the second week that they spoke of the Door to Sharlain.

"You know, I really didn't believe any of that crap you told me," said David in a hoarse voice. "But Christ, did you see that bloody monster that attacked me? There's nothing in this world like that. I really think we entered some other world, through that hole in the basement wall. I don't think I'd like to live in Sharlain. Is that what they look like, the creatures of Sharlain?" He paused then said, slowly: "What about your wife? How could she survive in that world?"

Peter was sitting on a stool beside the bed, hands folded in his lap. He felt like crying.

"She went in another way, with the amulet. Maybe ... maybe she didn't run up against that, that thing." He paused and spoke in a low voice. "David, I really am sorry. It's my problem, not yours and now, look what I've done."

"Listen old man, I went in with my eyes wide open and I wouldn't have come out alive if you hadn't come in with that saw and hacked away at the beast. I appreciate that, believe me, I really do."

There was a long silence, then Peter said: "I have to go in again. I have to find Gloria. She has the amulet and I assumed that she could use it to get back, but for some reason she hasn't." He hesitated.

"Peter? What's wrong?" David said.

"After Gloria left, into that other world, I was in shock. I just lay on the sofa, trembling, with my eyes closed. When I opened my eyes I saw her, just for a moment. Maybe she did come back. Maybe ... " He shook his head as though to clear it. "I have to go in again," he said firmly.

David knew it was no use to argue. If he were in Peter's shoes he would do the same thing: reenter the World of Sharlain.

"I understand," he said. "But be careful will you? And take that axe, or, better still, take my service revolver. You'll find it in the closet over there. Take it, and take a box of bullets."

Peter rose from his chair and they stared at each other for several minutes, then Peter turned and walked to the closet. He fumbled for a moment, removed a revolver from a jacket in the closet, then a small box half-filled with bullets, then left. David watched him go, then said a silent prayer.

It was dark when Peter Jacobs drove up the driveway and parked the car. He had just locked the car door and turned toward the house when he saw the light in the living room.

"Oh Christ. Oh Christ." He reached into his coat and removed the revolver, checking that it was loaded, then went to the window and looked into the living room. Sitting on the sofa, reading, was his wife. His legs felt like wax and he nearly fainted.

"Gloria!" he cried, and Gloria looked at the window, squinted at the dark window, then smiled.

They sat for what seemed like hours. Gloria made coffee, but Peter drank none. She had told him of their adventures in Sharlain and he had described the Door in Dan's basement. Then she said: "Peter, we have to go in again. Tom is dead, but Gordon and Clay are still in danger and we have to do something. I realize now that when I rub the amulet and say the words I'll just reappear back here, precisely where I was when I left. You can imagine how surprised I was when I left that snowy ledge on the mountain, that big old dragon staring at me, and found myself sitting here on the sofa. But this time we'll go back with something from this world that will give us an advantage. I've been browsing through the phone book, trying to get some ideas of what to bring."

Peter held up the revolver. "Like this?" His voice was cracking.

"Yes, just like that, but more. When we go back in we'll show up within a mountain and I don't really like the idea of walking for days through the blue hills and across the desert. It'll take forever to get anywhere and we don't have that much time." Gloria looked about the room as though she expected to see what to bring.

"Let's take our car. We can drive across the desert," suggested Peter.

"If we sit in the car and rub the amulet and say the words, will we both go into Sharlain, with the car? We can't be sure of that."

"But when you went last time you carried your clothes with you. They were on your back and they went too, didn't they?" He paused and frowned. "Or did you show up naked?" Peter looked worried.

"Don't worry darling, I was fully clothed. Anyway, we can't take the car even if it would go with us. We'll wind up in the cave, in a mountain. We need something that will take us around Sharlain and yet be portable enough to get off the mountain."

They were both silent, thinking, then Peter said, "A balloon. How about a balloon? We can take the pieces in, one at a time, then just float off the mountain. How about that?"

"Do you know how to operate a balloon?"

"Well, it should be easy enough. Don't you just fill it with hot air and float and drop bags of sand or something, to go up, and release the air to go down? Besides, what other choice have we?"

Gloria looked about the room again, then at the ceiling, then at Peter.

"I have another idea," she said. "How about motor scooters?"

"But how do we get them down a mountainside?"

"Maybe we don't have to. The last time, Tom went down some stairs, from the cave, and came out on a grassy plain, at the base of the mountain. We can do it that way." Gloria paused. "There's just one thing. There's some horrific creature at the bottom of the stairs. We'll have to deal with it."

"Horrific creature? Does is have long arms and claws and does it bite?"

"Yes, but Tom handled it quite well, and he didn't have a gun."

"No! That's out, definitely! Do you know what it did to David Kochewski! That's out!" Peter rose to his feet, shaking.

"But how do you know it's the same creature? How do you know -"

"No! That's out!" he shouted.

"Okay sweetheart. We'll just have to think of some other way." Gloria pointed to the chair and Peter slipped into it, breathing heavily. "We do have a gun, so we can protect ourselves, just in case we meet something like that creature." She was looking down into her lap, then looked up at Peter. "I wonder if a gun would kill such an animal?" She waited for a response.

"Yes, I think it would," he murmured. "Have you seen the size of the bullets? Enormous. It would tear a hole ..." Peter paused, stared at Gloria, shook his head. "I'm no hero, but I did go in with just a saw and axe and scared it away. Okay, let's try it," he grunted. The image of the creature was still vivid in his mind and he clutched the revolver.

The next day they bought two small motor scooters, pushed them into the garage and sat on them. They held hands and Gloria rubbed the amulet and said the words, and they vanished, together, again into Sharlain.

CHAPTER 11

Dragomir

The haze of early morning sat in the valley and the silver stream below made its way with a shining that came ghostly through the haze. In the distance, across the grassy plains of ochre, rose the blue hills of Dragomir and beyond, the misty peaks of the Mountains of Mune. At a dark opening in the mountain, two figures stood.

"Sharlain," muttered Peter. "That's Sharlain." He turned to Gloria. "Where do we go from here?"

Gloria was standing on the top step which led to the cavern below, the scooter by her side, her gaze intent upon the dark stairway. She began the descent with bouncing scooter and the light increased with each step and Peter followed until they came to the path of tiles which wound its way to beyond the spires and they stepped onto the first tile, and followed where it led until the path stopped before the golden tower of stone.

"This must be it," said Gloria quietly. "I think if we just touch this tower and say the words ..."

Peter gasped. The floor was covered in blood.

"My God! Look at the floor! The blood! This ... this is where David lost his legs. This is where we came, from Dan's basement. There's a dreadful monster around here." He pulled the revolver from his pocket and turned to gaze across the glowing cavern. There was no sign of any entrance to Dan Woller's basement. They listened, but no sound came. Gloria spoke softly.

"We should forget the monster. Let's just get out of here. Peter, the words are inscribed on this plaque. You go first. Just touch the plaque and say the words, then wait for me. If I'm not mistaken you'll find yourself out there on the plains."

"But what about the entrance to Dan's house? It must be around here, somewhere? If we look around -"

"Why? We came to find Gord and Clay and Tom." Gloria dropped her gaze. "Well ... not Tom, I guess." She put her hand on Peter's shoulder. "Sweetheart, please. Do as I say."

Peter held tightly to the scooter, placed a free hand on the plaque and said the words: _Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan_. He vanished as did the scooter and Gloria pushed her scooter to the tower. There was a shuffling noise behind her and she knew she was in danger and she clutched the scooter tightly with clenched hands and said the words, but nothing happened. She moaned and the scraping, wheezing sound came closer and she turned to see the first long arm with snapping claw raised above the tiled path.

"Touch the plaque," she groaned. "I must touch .."

She leaned against the tower and touched the plate and held the scooter and said the words, and the creature blinked to see its prey vanish.

Peter held his breath until Gloria appeared beside him in the long grass and they headed bouncing across the plain toward the blue hills and the day brightened into yellow and the sound of their scooters echoed against the Mountain of the Golden Tower.

When they reached the green forest they stopped and pushed the scooters into a cool glen.

"Do you know the way?" Peter said. "Have you been here before?"

"Yes, but now I'm thirsty. Follow me." She pushed her scooter to the edge of a small stream and drank from the its waters. "The Stream of Life," she murmured, then continued along the bank to the valley that ran through the blue hills.

"That cave, see? Up there, up that slope?" Gloria pointed.

"Yes, I see it," said Peter. "What is it?"

"That's where Charlie lives. We're going in, just to say hello and see that he's all right."

"Charlie? Okay, anything you say, sweetheart," groaned Peter without enthusiasm.

They left the scooters at the edge of the forest and climbed the slope and entered the cave, continuing to the stairs that brightened with each step, descending into the cavern below.

"Wait!" Peter whispered hoarsely, pulling the heavy revolver from his belt. "We've been here before. That monster, it's -"

"No, a different cave. This one's safe. No monster."

Gloria walked to a small door and pushed, but it would not move. She began to shout:

"Charlie! It's me, Gloria! Let me in!"

Peter looked about at the familiar surroundings expecting to see a creature with long arms terminating in snapping claws and he trembled. The small door opened and a small man in a white robe emerged with cap in hand and hair of red. Peter held his breath. The little man bowed deeply and spoke his name:

"Challia er Woller au Potria umbo-Laurion bonderwan Prescille van der Crae-irn."

"Charlie!" cried Gloria, holding the small man in her arms and lifting him from the floor. "Peter, this is Charlie. Charlie, this is my husband, Peter. I'm so glad you made it home safely. May we come in, just for a while? We must continue to Wilo-ard and get Clayton."

"Hello Charlie," said Peter, bowing deeply to mimic the small Mirien. "Are you sure there are no monsters in here? We met one in a cave, just like this -"

"Our home within these walls of stone are free of monsters, from the blue hills to the cool green forest, to beyond the hills and down to the sandy shore which kisses the river that runs to the sea that spans the horizon and even beyond the river to the lands of Filope where monsters do indeed dwell, but -"

"Thanks Charlie," said Gloria. "I think Peter gets the idea." She turned to Peter and whispered. "He does go on, so think hard about any question you may have. Is it worth waiting for the answer?"

They entered through the door and the band of Miriens stood in a long row and waited with heads bowed and chanted as Gloria passed.

"They seem to think highly of Charlie," said Peter. "Look at that. They're all bowing as he goes by. He must be their leader, don't you think?"

Gloria smiled and nodded, then stopped and Charlie continued, but the Miriens turned to Gloria and bowed deeply and chanted:

Lady of the golden glow, Mother of Dragomir

Give us thy blessing, give us thy tear.

"Say," whispered Peter, "I think they mean you. Mother of Dragomir? Golden glow?"

Gloria rubbed the amulet on her sweater and it glowed brightly and the Miriens fell to their knees and chanted anew:

Darkness has fallen upon this land.

Shed a tear upon this sand.

Each Mirien arose and spilled a handful of sand at Gloria's feet and backed away and fell again to their knees. Gloria bent to a knee and placed her hand upon the sands.

"A tear," she whispered, her voice shaking. "A tear for Thomas Barclay."

And a tear fell from her cheek and wet the sand and the Miriens clapped their hands and arose and she followed to the center of the room where a fire flickered and she and Peter then sat and the Miriens marched slowly about the fire, chanting.

"I say, dear," Peter whispered, "what do they think you are?"

"Special," muttered Gloria. "Quite special."

The one in white came forward into the light of the fire and sat by Gloria and she listened to his words.

"When last we met the Ghost of Chalma instructed us to return to Dragomir and await her command and we did and we have feared to leave this mountain except with special care to seek food from the green forest where one of our number did go and returned with a friend who we now ask to come and give you his blessings as we all do bless you -"

"A friend? Charlie, did you say you found a friend? What friend are you talking about?" Gloria looked worried. Peter was confused.

The one in white arose and smiled and raised his hand and the Miriens ceased to chant and formed a line from the fire to beyond the circle of light and from the darkness came a figure, large and slowly it came until it stood before the fire and bowed deeply toward Gloria, its arms held out from its side.

"Thomas Barclay?" Gloria jumped to her feet. "Tom!" and ran to his side and he knelt and she threw her arms about his great head and cried. "You big old panda. You big old nasty man. We thought ... oh Tom, you're alive!"

"Yup. It's me all right, that I guarantee," said Tom. "Hi Pete. Welcome to Sharlain."

"Tom. I thought you were, you were -"

"Dead, yup, I know. That damned Arden knocked me out, but he didn't kill me, that I guarantee. Nope. Guess he didn't figure on my body weight. Gave me just enough of his zappo to kill an ordinary man, but I ain't so ordinary. So I woke up, a bit groggy, wandered around the woods for a bit then figured I better get out of there so I started across the desert, heading for Charlie's place. I was pretty hungry and pretty thirsty and pretty damned tired. I can't remember everything, but I think I fainted. Can you imagine that? Me? Fainting? Well, there I was out there in the desert without water or even a cheese sandwich and I dropped like a fly. When I woke up a bloody big dragon was carrying me in its jaws, just like I was a rag doll. Not on the ground mind you, but flying, half way to the moon. We was way up there and I looked down and saw these hills and hoped that it might just let me down gentle like, right on Charlie's doorstep. So I says: _You can drop me off at Charlie's if you like_. I was just kiddin' of course, but that old dragon dropped out of the sky like a rock and put me right out in the front yard. And I've been here ever since. I feel great and Charlie's a great host." Tom patted his ample belly.

Gloria swept the tears from her cheek and looked up at Tom and asked: "That dragon, did he have a spotted head?"

"You bet. Spots all over and -"

"Freckles! That was Freckles!" cried Gloria.

"Well, what do you know! That's what he said when he flew away."

"Said? What did he say, Tom?"

"He said _I am Freckles of Monash and I bring greetings from the Keeper of the Door_. Or something like that."

"Oh, Freckles. What a good friend. He's a dragon of Monash, but a good one. He saved my life when Clay and I were captured by the Ardens. Freckles saw the amulet and thought I was pretty important. The _Keeper of the Door_ he called me."

Peter stared intently at his wife. _Keeper of the Door. Mother of Dragomir._ That was his wife? His Gloria?

Gloria paused and hung her head and said in a low voice. "But Clayton, he's still a prisoner of the Ardens. We must save him, then go on to find Gordon."

The one in white approached them and raised his hand and the Miriens rose as one and listened.

"We wait until the Ghost of Chalma gives us the courage to seek your friends and the wisdom to walk the path which is right and the strength to defeat our enemies who reign in the land of Woller from which we all come and then will the Miriens of Dragomir join with our friends to march on the Black Abyss and -"

"Charlie," interrupted Gloria. "Did you say _join with our friends?_ Who are your friends? It seems that everybody in Sharlain is in league with Eba-evin, from the Beasts of Filope to the Ardens of Wilo-ard to the dragons of Monash to the Kingdom of Woller. Who else is there in Sharlain?"

"Beyond the sea lies the world of _Eire_ and those that live in that world have become our friends in this time of crisis when the Dark Lord seeks to enslave this and all worlds and when comes the Ghost of Chalma to set us on the path of victory against the tyrant, we shall join with those of _Eire_ and -"

"Wait a minute, Chuck," said Tom. "When was the last time you saw any guys from this _Eire_ place? How do you know they're still on our side? It seems everybody's joining up with that Eba-guy."

The one in white lowered his head and spoke in a low voice so few could hear, but they leaned forward and were quiet while the Mirien continued.

"Many of us have seen those of _Eire_ , for the Miriens have ships that ply the seas and each return tells of another meeting with the people of _Eire_ and they are good and gracious people who fear nothing and they have weapons which none can resist and when the Dark Lord -"

"About this _Eire_ place, Charlie," said Gloria, "can we get there by sailing across this sea? How did you first come to meet them? Did they originate in Woller, like everybody else in Sharlain?"

"They are not of Sharlain," said Charlie and they were surprised by the shortness of his words and they waited for him to continue and he did. "The people of _Eire_ are from another world. They know not of Sharlain but we know that they would not turn away in this, our time of need, and we need only wait for the Ghost of Chalma to -"

"Hold on, Chuck." Tom scratched his head, frowning. "Not of this world? You mean there's yet another world out there somewhere? This _Eire_ world? How do you get into it, this other world. Through some Monash door? That's really weird, I guarantee."

Peter coughed and they all looked at him and when they were quiet he spoke. "I think going to this other world is out of the question. We know nothing of the people who live there. Maybe they're dangerous. Maybe they have huge teeth and long arms and claws that'll cut you in half. If we want to go to another world for help why don't we go back to _our_ world? At least we know what to expect." He paused and gazed at the band of Miriens then at Gloria and Thomas Barclay then continued. "Of course they won't believe us, back home, so we take Charlie with us and maybe something else that's from Sharlain, maybe Freckles. That way they've got to pay attention and take us seriously."

There was a long pause and then Gloria spoke. "That's not a bad idea. What do you think Tom?"

"Sounds good to me. Where do we find Freckles? Will he fit, through the Monash door?"

*****

They stood at the mouth of the cave, the one in white and Gloria and Peter and Thomas and it was dark for night had fallen and the sky had not a single star. Thomas raised his voice and shouted the name of Freckles to the dark sky and they waited, but no sound was heard. Again he shouted, and again. Then came a glow from above and it descended and shimmered and coalesced into the shape of a woman for it was the Ghost of Chalma.

"My dear Thomas, why do you call? The night is full of the eyes of Eba-evin. Do not awaken his evil forces."

"Aah, Ghost," grunted Tom. "We're looking for a dragon named Freckles. We thought we'd take him back home, to our world, along with Chucky here. Then we'd come back with an army to defeat that Eba-guy. What do you think of that?" Tom grinned at the beautiful figure before him, clad in diaphanous robe that quivered gently in the warm wind.

Peter gazed with open mouth and could not speak, but repeatedly pressed the errant hair from the side of his head. The Ghost came forward and placed her hand on his shoulder and said: "Peter Jacobs, I greet you and wish you well, but it was a mistake to come to Sharlain for the evil dragon will soon be in these lands with his hordes."

"Dragon?" said Tom. "Did you say _dragon_?"

"Oh Tom, I didn't tell you," said Gloria, "but Freckles told me that Eba-evin was once the leader of the dragons of Monash, the chief dragon, I guess."

Peter closed his mouth and said: "Do you think we stand a chance against this Dark Lord, if we come back with an army from our world?" He was staring at the ghost. "We have weapons you wouldn't believe. Missiles, tanks, fighter jets, every imaginable weapon of destruction."

The Ghost shimmered and rose into the air and they heard her say: "It is dangerous to pass between worlds, as only the King of Light can do this thing. Yet, Gloria has the key to your world, given by the King of Light to one who left Sharlain and never returned from your world." Then she vanished.

"She must be talking about old man Woller. But ... but he died, poisoned. You can't count that," groaned Tom. "He was just an old man. What could he do in our world? Stand on a street corner and preach the end of the world? There's one of those guys on every street corner."

"It's dangerous to pass between worlds?" Peter said. "But we did, and so did Dan Woller and his wife, Kathy, and -"

"I think she meant something else," Gloria said. "I think she meant that it's dangerous unless you're sure of what you're doing, where you're going." She held up the amulet. "With this, we _are_ sure. We won't show up in a cave with some monster, or in the dark Abyss. I'm not afraid."

They stood silent on the slope and the sky darkened and still they stood until the one in white turned slowly and climbed the hill and entered the cave and they all followed.

The next morning the dragon called Freckles was waiting on the slope by the mouth of the cave and they came out and he greeted them and said that the Wizard of Chalma had told him of their wish and he had come to join them, for he still thought of the Ghost as a wizard and would not disobey. Then Gloria and Peter and Thomas and the one in white and the dragon touched each other, standing in a great circle, and Gloria pulled the amulet from her sweater and rubbed it and spoke the words: _Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan_ and they all vanished and the Miriens who stood on the slopes were afraid and returned to their cave and the faint glow of the Ghost appeared, but only for a moment, then dissolved.

CHAPTER 12

Eba-evin

When first they crossed the great river flowing from the sea, Gordon Chaplain was afraid, for beyond the river came the rent in the ground, a great trench running from horizon to horizon, and then the black rim which rose sinister and smoking as a volcano and he knew it was the Abyss.

The winged Beasts of Filope descended, the robes of the riders rising in the wind until they dropped into the Abyss and it was dark and still. All but one veered off and vanished into the blackness and Gordon Chaplain was taken with the one to a vault embedded in the side of the Abyss which glowed red with tongues of flame which swept up and he perspired until his face was covered in beads of sweat. He slid from the beast and it rose again and screamed into the dark void and Gordon stood before a pedestal with stony protrusions, rising amid the fires and atop the pedestal a giant creature with horned back and head that rose into flaring nostrils. The creature raised black wings and flames flickered from its nostrils and it leaned forward, red eyes glowing in the dimness.

"We are Eba-evin, master of the dragons of Monash and Lord of Sharlain. Welcome."

Gordon Chaplain shivered even in the searing heat and asked: "Why am I here? What do you intend to do with me?" He hesitated, then continued. "I come with friends, powerful friends who have weapons of destruction which -"

The evil dragon raised its head and laughed, a raucous, screeching cry that echoed from the stone and from the soaring ceiling.

"I know of your world and its weapons, but you come alone into Sharlain and you are here at my mercy. I know not how you came to be in my world, but I shall know this before the day is done."

The dragon raised a clawed hand and pointed a bony finger to just beyond Gordon. A noise, behind him, and Gordon spun about to see the figure of a man step from the dark to the ruddy light, a black robe rising in the red glow.

"Dan! Dan Woller!"

"Hello, Gordon," said Daniel of Woller. "Welcome to my world."

Gordon looked back at the dragon, then at Daniel Woller, stepping forward and saying in a voice at once quiet and fearful.

"Look Dan, how do I get out of here? It was a mistake. I had this amulet, I said some words, you know, _borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan._ The words that you spoke that night -"

The dragon screamed in rage and rose into the air and came flapping to the ground, towering above the two. It pointed at Daniel.

"You spoke the words so all could hear?"

The dragon was shouting, its voice a shrill cry of insanity born of anger. Daniel of Woller cringed and backed again into the darkness.

"My Lord, I did not speak the words. He is mistaken. It was the wise man of Woller, the one sent by the King of Light to warn the other world; _he_ spoke the words. I did not. Nor did my Queen, nor did any of -"

Gordon stepped forward and shouted so as to submerse the voices of Daniel and the dragon:

"Daniel of Woller! You spoke the words in a dream, a dream that I invoked. You deny this, but it is true!"

"Wait, Gordon, don't -"

The dragon rose with a sweeping of wings and came upon Daniel and the man fell to the ground and was silent and still and Eba-evin rose again and soared to his pedestal, folding his great clawed wings about him.

"A dream? You say he spoke the words in a dream? And how did you invoke this dream?"

Gordon was staring at the still body of Daniel of Woller, covered in a black robe that lay haphazard across his back. Then he turned slowly, confused, looking up at the dragon.

"I ... uh, it was a, uh, hypnosis. I hypnotized Dan, and he said the words."

The dragon rocked his head, the smoke from his nostrils rising in a spiral, his eyes flashing upon the man below. It spoke a single word, a query: "Hypnosis?"

"Yes, hypnosis. I can invoke such a dream. I can cause you to enter into such a trance-like state. I can -"

"Silence!" the brute shouted. "You can do none of these things for I am Lord of Sharlain!" Then he fluttered to the ground, towering over Gordon Chaplain. "If you have the power to do this thing, then I would see it done."

"You mean, you want me to hypnotize you?"

The great dragon fell silent and Gordon began to chant: "You are getting sleepy, you are -"

"Silence!" the beast roared and returned to his pedestal

Then came a flurry of wings and a second dragon, smaller and with head bowed, it came onto a stony protrusion below Eba-evin and bent to gain his ear and spoke in a low voice, a growl, a whimper. Eba-evin spread his wings and rose from the pedestal and swooped out over the edge of the vault, beyond the ledge which fell into the Abyss and rose up and vanished and the other dragon followed, and Gordon was alone with the body of Daniel of Woller.

"Dan? Are you hurt?" Gordon bent to the still body and drew his hand across the sweated brow. Daniel opened his eyes.

"Why did you tell him about the words? That _I_ spoke them. He could have killed me."

Gordon smiled and sat on the rocky floor beside Daniel.

"Look Dan, I think you're in hot water and maybe we should both try to get out of this, this place." Gordon scanned the vault, a semicircular chamber in the side of the volcanic core, well below the rim of the volcano. At the edge, the core dropped into a smoking pit, red and without bottom. The walls of the chamber rose on all sides into a spherical dome high above them. He turned again to Daniel. "How the hell did _you_ get in here?"

Daniel rose to his feet, staggered to a wall and sat again, on a rock.

"Eba sends for me. He sends a dragon or sometimes a beast of Filope and I come to him, sometimes here, sometimes -"

"You mean you don't have any way out of here? You mean you're stuck here too? You're kidding, surely. I thought you were some kind of Prince. Are you telling me that you're at the beck and call of this horny dragon?"

Daniel dropped his head and whispered. "Yes." He slipped from the rock to the floor, waited for a long moment then continued. "I am a Prince, of the Kingdom of Woller. That Kingdom is the ancestral home of most creatures of Sharlain and my family has ruled since the beginning. But now Eba-evin is in charge. He has almost all of Sharlain on his side. I - I -"

"Why did you leave Sharlain, for my world?" asked Gordon, sitting on a rock. "And how did you get there? And back here?"

Daniel of Woller sighed and began to speak, his head still lowered, staring at the stone floor. "The dragons of Monash have the power to create doors into other worlds. That power was given to them by the King of Light and they used it, Eba used it, to create a door from Sharlain directly into my house, an entrance into my basement, into your world. The entrance is guarded by a fierce beast. My mission was to study the people of your world, determine their weaknesses, prepare for an eventual invasion by the forces of Sharlain."

"And kill the leaders of my world?" asked Gordon.

Dan paused, looked up at Gordon. "Yes., one by one."

"Were there any others in my world, from Sharlain?"

"No. Just me and my Queen, and the old man."

"The old man that you killed, poisoned?"

Daniel did not answer, but once more lowered his head.

"Tell me how you killed the governor," said Gordon, his voice shaking slightly. "There was nobody in the tank. The tank that fired on the governor was empty. Who -"

"An Arden of Wilo-ard was sent to your world. It did what Eba instructed, then returned."

"You mean someone from Sharlain can just appear, anywhere in my world, then disappear again?"

"If that's what Eba wants, he can arrange it."

"Jesus," whispered Gordon. "That's hard to protect against."

Daniel of Woller rose to his feet and stared down on Gordon. "There is no way you or your world can protect yourself from Eba-evin. He will invade, entering your world at will, leaving just as suddenly, and he will win." Daniel walked slowly to the edge of the rocky precipice and the spires of smoke curled about him and thin tongues of flame rose from the depths. He turned and spoke again to Gordon. "The only way you can save yourself is to join forces with Eba-evin ... as I have."

*****

The light streaming dimly into the Abyss grew faint and the chamber dark but for the flames flickering at the edge which dropped into the depths, for night had fallen in the land of Sharlain. Then a loud cry, a rush of air and Eba-evin descended and carefully folded its wings, resting on the pedestal, horny head arched, nostrils aflame.

"Your friends have arrived in Sharlain, and left again. They are fools." The black dragon raised its voice in a harsh cry, a cackle, a sonorous bellow.

Daniel, Prince of Woller, stepped forward to address the Dark Lord, tentatively, head slightly lowered.

"My Lord, you must understand that they may return with weapons from the other world. If you intend to -"

"Silence!" The dragon screamed, its wings unfolding and rising sinister above its head. "Let them come! I am ready!"

Gordon laughed and the black dragon arose on its pedestal, shaking with anger.

"Listen Eba," Gordon said, "when they return with an army you're in big trouble. Flying horses and horny dragons are no match for -"

"Silence!" Eba-evin flew from his perch and Gordon fell to the ground as the black dragon swept out over the ledge and vanished into the depths of the Abyss.

"Gordon, don't make him angry," whispered Daniel. "He has powers you wouldn't imagine. He can vanish and reappear, anywhere, anytime."

"Wait as minute. Why is he the only dragon with these powers? Why not other dragons?"

Daniel slipped onto a rock and lowered his head, gazing at the rocky ground, then looked up at Gordon, standing before him.

"The King of Light gave the powers to the dragons of Monash so they might be his messengers, go anywhere, see everything, then report to him. Eba-evin, the King of the kingdom of Monash, was made the leader and given additional powers, I'm not sure what these are, but I'll tell you, the other dragons sure regard him as invincible. Of course, the King of Light didn't intend that Eba-evin use these powers for evil purposes, but when Eba discovered that he could enter other worlds he began to think in terms of domination of _all_ worlds, not just Sharlain. He's been planning this for some time."

"This King of Light, who is he? Where does he live? Is he still around? Can't he just take back these powers, so easily given?"

"The King is not a person, at least I don't think so. I've never seen him, or it, but I know he's been around since the beginning of time, in Sharlain, and -"

"Dan, can you tell me about Sharlain, from the beginning? It's a bit frightening, but also fascinating. Do you study the history of this world, in school or something?"

Daniel smiled weakly and leaned back and Gordon sat on the ground next to him and Daniel began the story of Sharlain:

When the world of Sharlain was created, by the King of Light, or so the legend goes, there was only the Kingdom of Woller. The people of Woller were good and lived from the land, growing what they needed and pleasing the King, but he was not satisfied and he created the Sea of Chalma so that all could delight in its cool waters and he ringed the Kingdom of Woller with the waters of the sea so that it was an island. And still he was not satisfied and created lands beyond the sea and named them Wilo-ard and Dragomir and he took children from Woller and placed them in these new lands that they might flourish and glorify him and he placed mountains in the land of Wilo-ard so that he may look down upon his creations and be pleased. But the Ardens of Wilo-ard and the Miriens of Dragomir fought over the lush forest which separated their lands so the King turned the forest to desert so that his children would have no cause for discontent, but the people of Woller looked with envy at the mountains in Wilo-ard and the verdant forest and built rafts to cross the Sea and invade Wilo-ard. The King was angry and in his fury he tore a great trench from the ground to separate the kingdoms of Woller and Wilo-ard, the trench running from the Sea to beyond the lands of Woller and he created the land of Filope to lie between Woller and Wilo-ard and placed beasts in this land, and the trench and the Beasts of Filope and the waters of the sea which now ran in a river were enough so that the people of Woller could not pass, and the King was pleased.

Now the creatures who lived in Sharlain were separated by trench or river or desert and no one thought to cross these barriers lest the King be displeased, so the world was at peace for many generations and the people adapted to their new environment, changing in physical characteristics, growing in numbers and soon they began to look again with envy to beyond their borders and the world had become too large and the King could not keep watch on all parts so he created the land of Monash, separated from Dragomir by a great cliff and he placed the dragons there and gave them powers to move at will among the lands of Sharlain and report what they saw.

Daniel shook his head and frowned and Gordon asked: "What's wrong?" and Daniel answered. "That's when the trouble began."

The Lord of Monash, Eba-evin, was to oversee these activities and was given the power to dominate the dragon-messengers of Monash. With such power came greed and Eba-evin soon placed secret doorways into every kingdom so that he might study the peoples of Sharlain and this he did and soon used his powers to dominate them, and yet it was not enough and the Lord of Monash sought to displace the King of Light.

Daniel of Woller stopped, arose from the rock and walked slowly to the lip of the vault, staring into the pit from which came wisps of gray smoke and tongues of flame, then he turned and stared at Gordon.

"That's when this, this Abyss was formed."

The secret doorway to Woller was placed beyond the River of Monash, beyond the land of Filope, beyond the Woller Trench, in the Kingdom of Woller and by the Sea, and Eba-evin entered Woller through this Door of Monash with an army of dragon-messengers and began an invasion of the ancient lands of Woller, and the King was angry and created the land of Chalma next to Woller and placed in this land a single Wizard with awesome powers, to defeat the Dark Lord. The Wizard entered the Door which led into Woller and turned it to a volcano and the eruption destroyed much of the army of Eba-evin and in his rage the Dark Lord pursued the Wizard of Chalma to Wilo-ard where she raised an army of Ardens, then to Dragomir where she enlisted the aid of the Miriens who joined with the Ardens. But they were afraid to do battle with the Dark Lord and the Wizard appealed to the King and water clear and sparkling appeared from his mountain and ran swiftly across the desert and through Dragomir and on to the lands of Monash and the King instructed all to drink of these waters and they did and the Ardens and Miriens became strong and fearless and sang songs of war and triumph and followed this Stream of Life to the land of Monash, to the principal city of Kloma where a great battle ensued.

"Hold on." Gordon raised his hand and leaned forward. "That volcano that destroyed the army of dragons, is that this hole? I mean, the hole we're in now?"

"Yes, the Wizard of Chalma created the Black Abyss to destroy Eba-evin, but he escaped the fires of the Abyss with many of his dragon-warriors and pursued the Wizard to Kloma. There, the Wizard would appeal to Eba-evin to give up his thoughts of domination over other worlds."

"That makes little sense, you know," grunted Gordon. "If this King can create the world of Sharlain surely he can eliminate Eba-evin with a flourish of his arm, assuming he has an arm. In any case, if he gave powers to Eba, surely he can remove them?"

Daniel waited patiently, then continued, smiling, seeming to ignore Gordon's comments.

During the battle of Kloma, the Wizard was killed and that enraged the King who sent her ghost to lure Eba to the Abyss. Eager to finish what he had begun, Eba-evin followed the Ghost of Chalma and when he entered the Abyss found that all his powers had gone. The King had taken what he had given, as you suggested he could, and the King exercised his domination over the dragons of Monash who then guarded the entrance to the Abyss to ensure that Eba-evin never left. Unfortunately, Eba-evin eventually had the dragons convinced that he was to be the next King and they let him escape ...

Daniel's voice dropped off and Gordon leaned forward, waiting, then asked: "Then what? How did Eba get back his powers?"

"He never lost them, not really," mumbled Daniel. "The King seemed able to temporarily suspend Eba's ability to use the powers, but they came back, and now he's even more powerful in the World of Sharlain than before."

"And the King? Where's he?"

"No one knows. Of course you must understand that much of this is legend. Nobody has actually seen any King of Light although many have seen the Ghost of Chalma. The current thought is that the King created this world for his amusement, became angry at how it developed, then just left us to our own devices."

"You mentioned the King living in some mountains, in Wilo-ard, I think you said. Are they the Mountains of the Moon?"

Daniel nodded.

"According to legend, Sharlain was created from the breath of the King and in the ancient tongue of Woller, the word 'mune' means 'breath', as well as the ancient name of the King; hence the Mountains of Mune. Not moon, as you may think, for there is neither sun nor moon in this world, nor are there days of constant length. Once there were stars, to please the eye and invoke the glory of the King, but when he became angry, the King darkened the night sky."

"Maybe he's still there? I mean this King, in the Mountains of the Mune."

Daniel shook his head negatively. "No. If he were, I'm sure he would have been angered by what's happened and done something about it. His silence has given Eba the courage to continue in his quest for world domination, this world and yours."

Gordon slid against a rock and mumbled, running his hands through his hair, then placing his chin upon his knees. Daniel watched, smiled and said: "So you see, Eba now has free reign and you should think seriously about being on the winning side."

*****

Gordon slept fitfully, moaning from time to time and rolling on the hard ground, waking, then sleeping once more. It was not until the dim light of another day glowed yellow about the rim of the abyss that he struggled wearily to his feet and saw that Daniel was gone. He was alone on the rocky ledge within the volcano and he walked about his small domain and inspected the walls to see that no exit existed save the way he had entered. He thought of the King of Light and whether he believed all that Dan had told him and he became determined to escape and make his way to the Mountains of Mune in search of the King.

Leaning out over the edge he could see the sheer walls that rose to the rim, but no way to climb. He held his breath so that the acrid fumes from the depths did not fill his lungs and he peered into the abyss. What he saw surprised him, for there were several chambers similar to the one within which he now stood, each deeper by several meters than his own, and running down beyond sight into the hot and smoking pit. He fell to his knees and inspected the rocky wall just beyond the edge, but found no foothold with which to descend. Yet the next chamber was no more than three meters deeper than his own and he lowered himself carefully over the edge, holding to the lip, feet dangling, fumes filling his lungs, the heat unbearable. The edge of the next chamber projected somewhat farther into the abyss than did his own chamber and, with luck, he could fall onto this and ... Gordon let go his grip and slid down the rocky wall, his shirt ripping, his chest scraping, landing precariously on the lower ledge and began to fall backward, into the flaming abyss, his arms swinging wildly. Then the rocks at the edge broke and he slipped straight down and reached out and held to the lip of the chamber, his body crashing against the wall, his fingers bleeding. Slowly he pulled himself up, into the dark chamber, out of the rising columns of smoke and crept on all fours to a cooler corner, turned and collapsed in a faint.

When Gordon Chaplain awoke he saw that this chamber was identical to the one he had left, with naught but sheer walls of stone. His chest hurt and his hands were numb and he lay until his head cleared. This abyss was, at one time, a Door of Monash. Isn't that what Dan had said? Did that mean that he might be able to pass through this door, wherever it was, into, where?

His sight became blurry and the chamber clouded into gray wisps of steam which began to glow, to shimmer and form the outline of a figure dressed in a white robe. He rubbed his eyes.

"Gordon Chaplain," said the vision, "you must not stay here for Eba-evin returns and will be angry. You must leave at once."

Gordon moaned. "Leave? How?" It seemed a dream and he fell back and closed his eyes, but the vision appeared in his mind and he saw that it was a woman, beautiful and ghostly.

"I am the Ghost of Chalma and you must use the Door of Monash which lies deep in the bowels of the Abyss. You will not be harmed by the fires which rise from the pool below. Have faith that you will succeed."

The vision faded and Gordon opened his eyes to see the smoke rising from the Abyss, but no woman in white robe. He crept to the edge of the chamber and looked down. He had been dreaming. There was no way he could reach the next chamber below as the flames licked the edge which lay beyond his reach; the flames which rise from the pool below. The pool below? Is that what the vision, the ghost, had said? Was there a pool below? A pool of what? A pool of water?

He sat on the edge, his feet dangling over the side amid the smoky haze. _Have faith that you will succeed_. That's what she said, but was she real or was she a dream? _The pool below_. A pool of water, cool and clear, from which the fires rose, he would drop amid the flames, through the rising column of smoke, his hands over his face, holding his breath until he fell into the cool waters. It was not real. It was simply a dream. Gordon looked down and shuddered, pushed himself to the ledge, then heard the angry roar from above, the scream of rage. Eba-evin had returned and was angry. Soon he would descend and find him. Gordon looked up to see the black wings of the dragon poised above, then the horny head with nostrils flaring, red eyes fiery in the dim light. Eba-evin looked down upon him, roared once more, raised his wings, leaped into the abyss.

Gordon closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and slipped over the edge and fell and fell.

When the searing heat seemed too intense to bear he slipped smoothly into the cool water and was carried in a swift current until his lungs seemed almost to burst and he was ejected from the side of a cliff, falling, falling into the blue-green waters of the Sea of Chalma.

Fifth Interim

Again must I rest, for I fear that my memory plays games. Can one so easily defeat the wrath of the Dark Lord? Perhaps it was not as I tell, for it was so, so long ago and my memory fades, but perhaps I have said that. You will understand that I cannot make clear a tale which propagates by force of magic. For surely this world is magic, don't you see? No, you do not see, for how can common occurrence be magic. Ah, but if the night sky were to fill with points of light, too many to count, and a great sphere were to rise to the heavens, white and bright, then ... _then_ would it not be magic? And yet, in another world, this is surely not magic but the common occurrence of stars and moon.

Ah, but I err, for this world too has stars and moon, does it not?

But I must continue, for the end grows near and I must reach it before my end.

Listen well, for you will not hear this tale again.

CHAPTER 13

a Dragon and a Dwarf

Clement Woods didn't often get drunk, but when he did the effects seemed to last for weeks. For this reason he avoided alcohol when he could. In fact, he didn't really like the stuff and tried to disguise his avoidance of the evil liquid by drinking straight Ginger Ale at parties, even feigning being slightly tipsy for the benefit of the other guests. Last night was an exception. His boss had filled his glass several times with rye whiskey, patting him on the back and placing the glass firmly in his hand. What could he do but drink the evil stuff? Now he would pay for it.

He crawled out of bed and staggered to the window to draw the drapes; a mistake. It was almost noon and the brightness of the midday sun hit him full in the face and he fell back and tried again to approach the window, his hand arched over his brow, eyes squinting. He reached up to close the drapes when he saw it, next door, the garage, the roof of the garage, rising into the air, closely followed by an ugly monster arising from within the garage, wearing the roof as though it were a hat. Clement fell back again, onto the bed, curled up and pulled the covers over his head. He stayed that way for some time, his head spinning with effects of the evil liquid he had consumed the night before.

What had he seen? The Jacobs were strange people and weird things had been happening next door. The wife seemed to have vanished, the husband was rarely seen, and just recently someone had broken into the house and he, Clements, had called the police who came, then left again without taking a hostage, or prisoner, or whatever. Now, there was something in the garage, lifting the roof right off. Weird. He must be mistaken. Maybe the way the morning sun glinted off the roof. Yes, that was surely it.

Clements opened his eyes again and crept to the window. He was right the first time: a monster rising from under the roof of the garage. He blinked several times, then saw the garage door open and Mr. and Mrs. Jacobs came out. Where have they been for all this time? Living in the garage? Then he saw the boy, their son. But they didn't have any children, he was sure of that. Clements blinked once more, rubbed his eyes, leaned against the window. It was not a boy, but a small man with a white robe and a funny hat and red hair. A dwarf.

Clement watched as the trio stopped on the driveway and looked up at the garage roof, now perched precariously atop the head of a spotted monster, and they started to laugh. Well, Mrs. Jacobs was laughing, he was sure of that. Then another man appeared, larger than the others, and he, too, began to laugh.

Clement spun on his heel and ran to the phone. The number of the local police was written in large figures on the wall. He dialed as quickly as he could.

"Yes! Yes! A monster, rising right out of the garage, and a dwarf too. Sure I'm sure! What? I don't drink, well, except last night, but that was an exception. You see, my boss insisted and ... Hello? Hello?"

Gloria stopped laughing when Peter put his hand over her mouth.

"Look, this isn't all that funny," he mumbled. "Let's get to the police and tell them what we know. Can you tell that dragon to, sort of, fly up out of the garage?"

But Freckles had already shaken the garage roof from his head and was now hovering in the air, his great wings flapping slowly, his neck arched, his eyes glowing brightly red. Gloria called to him and he plummeted to the lawn, landing in a heap, burying Charlie beneath his wings. Painstakingly, Gloria and Tom pulled Charlie free, clambered onto the dragon's back and when they were secure, Gloria pointed down the street.

"Peter, take Charlie to the station, with the car. Freckles! That way!"

And they went that way. A bright green Chevy ran into a privet hedge. A concrete truck ran into a tree, its load of concrete running out over the grass. All cars ignored the traffic lights at the corner of Philips and John Streets and piled into each other, drivers leaning out the window to see the monster fly by. Old Mrs. Schenley, reading on her porch, fell back onto the sofa and clutched her heart.

When Tom Barclay pushed open the door to the police station he found the room in confusion.

"Fifth precinct, Constable Gerrard speaking. Where? Yes, we've heard about the flying dragon. We're sending a squad car to the area now. Just calm down and go indoors, and hide." No sooner had he set down the phone than it rang again. "Fifth ... wait, slow down. We know all about the monster and we have the situation under control. Just stay inside your house and off the streets."

Tom was waiting impatiently by the front desk and when Bob Gerrard put down the phone Tom pounded on the desk gaining the attention he sought. Bob stared at Tom who then spoke up. "I'm Thomas Allen Barclay and I've come to tell you about a -"

"Don't tell me," interrupted Gerrard. "You've seen a flying monster."

"Not exactly, though I actually flew here on a dragon, that I guarantee. But I'm here to tell you about -"

Another officer had overheard and began laughing. "Hey Bob! This guy actually flew here -"

Tom pounded his fist on the desk once more, but the officers kept laughing. They stopped laughing when a huge spotted head appeared at the window. Gerrard dropped the phone.

"My God," he grunted, falling back against the wall.

Bob Gerrard listened intently, mouth open, scarcely blinking, as Gloria and Peter Jacobs and Tom Barclay took turns in telling the story of Sharlain and the imminent invasion by the forces of the Eba-evin. When they stopped talking, long enough for a response from Gerrard, he could only cough to clear his throat and mutter softly: "Call David." Then, more loudly: "For God's sake, somebody call David Kochewski!"

Constable David Kochewski arrived, in a wheelchair, within the hour. He sat for a moment, beyond the crowd of onlookers which had gathered outside the station, stared up at the spotted head and flaring nostrils and the small man clinging to the back of the dragon. Shaking his head, David pushed his way to the door. After his encounter with the monster of Sharlain, nothing surprised him.

"Dave!" cried Bob Gerrard. "I am a believer. I know, I thought your story was, well, a bit far fetched, but now I really am a believer." Bob looked relieved, as though David Kochewski had the experience appropriate to the situation.

"Hi David," said Peter Jacobs, pushing at his hair. "Good to see you up and about."

David smiled weakly, then slipped out of his wheelchair and into a more comfortable upholstered chair with a sigh. "I see you went back to Sharlain and returned with some reinforcements. What do you intend to do now, Peter?"

"I have to convince somebody that this world will be invaded, and that we have to strike back, before the invasion takes place, with rockets, bombs, planes, everything we can muster."

Bob Gerrard was staring at David Kochewski. Four other officers stood by. The phones were ringing, but were ignored. The crowd outside was relatively quiet. In the distance horns honked and a siren sounded. Everyone in the station waited for David to say something.

"Peter, we'll go to National Security. I was contacted recently about Tony Shugart and tried to explain, but I knew it was useless." David swung once more into his wheelchair and Bob Gerrard jumped forward to help him.

Gloria had been strangely quiet. Now she spoke up. "We'll fly there, on Freckles. Then they'll have to take us seriously."

Bob Gerrard stood by, still dazed, as they left the precinct. When the door closed he picked up the phone which had been ringing continually.

"Fifth precinct, Constable Gerrard speaking." He waited, then: "Yes lady, that was a dragon you saw, nothing to worry about, just a visitor from the World of Sharlain."

*****

Harold Becker returned from the National Security office and collapsed onto the sofa and his wife promptly brought him a gin and tonic which he finished in a single gulp. Peggy sat in the chair opposite and waited. Harold would tell her when he was ready, but he was clearly too upset, or confused, to say anything just yet, so she waited. After a minute or two he looked at Peggy and smiled, then opened his mouth as though to say something, then fell back against the pillow and chuckled. He spoke, slowly.

"Tomorrow we assemble the troops, over a thousand, with two hundred tanks and rocket launchers." He chuckled once more and held out his glass. Peggy jumped up and filled it from the decanter, he gulped it down and continued. "Then we invade Sharlain, but listen to this. We have to hold hands, all thousand marines, holding hands. Then we say some magic words." He laughed loudly at the image. "Then we show up inside a mountain and climb down, a thousand marines in full battle gear, down the side of a mountain. Then come the tanks, but they don't hold hands, oh no. They drive into some some guys cellar, Dan Woller, used to be head of math at Corrigan. They go in one at a time. The first tank destroys the beast."

Harold laughed. "The beast is waiting, you see. The first tank blasts it, then says the magic words and winds up on some field and waits for the marines. Then come the other tanks, one at a time. Then they assemble at the base of this mountain." He swallowed hard. "Are you getting all this Peg? It makes sense, right?"

Peggy smiled. It usually took three martinis for Harold to become illiterate. Now, just two sufficed. She smiled again.

"Then we, uh, attack. Well, first a march, uh, and maybe we pick up a few dwarfs with little swords. Little dwarfs with little swords, according to Charlie, you see." Harold fell back again and closed his eyes. "Charlie is, after all, a dwarf himself. But get this." He leaned forward, shakily. "We might have to fight dragons, too. Flying dragons with spotted heads. How do I know that? Because Freckles says so, and Freckles is, after all, a flying dragon with - with -"

Peggy smiled and took the glass from his hand. Harold's promotion since the death of Tony Shugart was too much for him. Poor Harold. She covered him in a blanket and turned off the light. He needed his rest. Poor Harold.

*****

"I'm not sure that's the best plan," said Gloria. "It'll take some time to assemble at the base of the mountain. What if Eba-evin gets wind of this invasion and attacks before we're ready? Surely there must be a way of entering Sharlain somewhere else. I mean, do we always have to wind up inside that mountain? When we come this way we don't always show up in the same place. I came back, right into my living room, but old man Woller didn't show up in my living room, did he?"

Peter Jacobs frowned and pushed his chin into his hands. David Kochewski had left and they were alone with Charlie who was sitting cross-legged in the corner of the room, staring at the TV. Freckles was curled up inside the garage, sleeping. Tom had left and promised to return as soon as he could. He just had to check in with his wife.

"Charlie?" Gloria waited but the little man in white was listening carefully to _the Young and the Restless_ _._ "Charlie!" she said, more emphatically. Charlie jumped to his feet and spun about.

"Yes, I am at the command of the Lady of the Golden Glow and wish only to please her so that all the people of Dragomir may know -"

"Okay, okay. Listen. When I rub this amulet I wind up in Sharlain, inside the mountain. Can I get into Sharlain some other way? Can I rub and say the words and enter somewhere else?"

"Which are the words so that I may know what entry you request and may advise you of alternatives into the land of my people who suffer the ills of the Dark Lord -"

"Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan," said Gloria slowly, careful not to touch the amulet pinned to her blouse.

Charlie squatted by the sofa and stared up at Gloria. "You call to the God of Light, that he may bring you to the place of your dreams, that you may experience your fantasies, that you may live out the pleasures and fears of your nature and -"

"Hey! Do you mean that _I_ determine the place where I enter Sharlain? That I can show up somewhere else, provided I dream of that other place?" Gloria was excited.

"But why did we always end up inside that mountain?" asked Peter.

"Maybe that's the default location. If you don't ask for anything else, you get the mountain." Gloria jumped to her feet. "I'm going to try somewhere else. I'm going to think of the grassy plain at the base of the mountain." Gloria closed her eyes and rubbed the amulet.

"Wait! Gloria!" Peter Jacobs jumped up.

" _Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan._ "

Gloria vanished. Peter stared, open-mouthed, at the empty sofa, then at Charlie. The little man in white first looked confused, then returned to watch TV. "The Lady of the Golden Glow will not be happy when she returns," he muttered.

Peter was surprised at the brevity of Charlie's statement.

"What do you mean?"

"She must dream, she must dream," Charlie whispered, then turned his attention again to the commercial on TV.

Peter waited, staring at the empty sofa. Gloria should return almost immediately. He looked at his watch and waited. He jumped when the phone rang.

"Hello, Peter Jacobs speaking," he muttered, still looking at the sofa.

"Peter, I'm not where you think I am."

"Gloria! Where in God's name are you?"

There was a pause, then Gloria answered. "I'm phoning from some little coffee shop out on Cranberry Road. Don't ask me how I got here. I was inside that mountain, in Sharlain, then I closed my eyes and thought of the sofa in our living room and said the words and wound up here. But don't worry, I think I have it now. I'm going to try again."

"No! I'll drive over and pick you up. Gloria!"

But the phone went dead.

Then Gloria was sitting on the sofa, obviously pleased with herself. Charlie looked around and smiled.

"Did you dream?" asked the little man, with remarkable brevity.

"Not exactly," said Gloria. "But I did wait until I had a clear picture of where I wanted to be before I rubbed the amulet."

"What happened last time?" asked Peter desperately.

"I thought of the fields beside the mountain, and wound up inside the mountain again. Then I thought of our sofa and wound up on the street outside that coffee shop." Peter was about to say something but Gloria continued. "The street was Cranberry Road. Does that ring a bell Peter?" She didn't wait for a reply. "Next to the coffee shop was the furniture store where we bought this sofa. Don't you see? I thought of the sofa and wound up at the furniture store. So, next time, I thought very carefully of the street where we live, our living room, this particular sofa. Presto!"

Peter gulped and let out his breath in a low wheeze.

"Look Gloria, don't fool with that thing. Who knows what will happen the next -" Peter stopped. Gloria's smile was too wide, her eyes too bright. She closed her eyes and rubbed the amulet, and whispered, and vanished.

"I think she has it," said Charlie.

CHAPTER 14

The Mountains of Mune

Gordon Chaplain swam in the cool waters of the Sea of Chalma, away from the cliffs from which he had been ejected, carried by the waterfall which crashed with showers of silver foam into the sea. He swam until his arms could move no more, then he rested, upon his back, staring into a sky of amber with striations of burnt sienna, then he closed his eyes.

The Ghost had said a Door of Monash awaited him, but there was no door, just a violent river that swept him from the abyss, out the side of a cliff, down into the sea. Perhaps the Ghost regarded this method of exit as a _door_. Perhaps that was the real meaning of the Doors of Monash: an exit from one place, an entrance to another. But why 'Monash'? It made no sense. Surely the Doors of Monash were somehow connected with the amulet and the _borgo_ incantation. Perhaps only the inhabitants of Monash were able to use such _doors_ with naught but an incantation; others needed the amulet.

He lay floating for some time and when he opened his eyes once more he stared into a face, bemused, smiling.

"Hi there," it said, with lips so red and cheeks of rose and eyes that twinkled with the delight of new acquaintance. "Fancy meeting you here."

Gordon spun about in the water and stared up into the face. It was a woman, her hair falling in golden ripples to her shoulders. She peered over the edge of a large boat. Nay, a log raft.

"Welcome aboard, stranger. It's very much drier up here."

The woman held out her hand and Gordon reached out and held it and clambered onto the rough logs and fell exhausted onto his back. The woman smiled and her smile held the warmth of a summer day and Gordon knew that he dreamed.

"My name is Sandy," said the woman, still smiling at Gordon. "You're the first person I've met since I, uh, I arrived here, wherever here is." She looked around at the sea, then gazed once again at Gordon.

Gordon sat up and leaned forward.

"Sandy? Your name is Sandy? Do you live in this world?"

"Not on your life. I just sort of popped in and have been wandering around for days. I found this raft and floated down a river and found myself in this lake."

"But, but, how did you get here. I mean, in this world?"

Sandra Brickle frowned, then smiled again, but only momentarily.

"I was in my apartment. I remember looking at some little brooch and saying the words written there, then I found myself on a mountain. I climbed down the mountain and walked for days it seemed. Then I found a stream and followed it. I always assume that waterways are good bets when you're lost, don't you? Anyway, my stream ended by going over a cliff, so I climbed down and ... well, come to think of it, I'm not exactly sure how I got down that cliff. I guess I had a little help from a certain Ghost. So I then found a bigger stream, the River of Monash, and this raft was on the shore and I floated for days until, until -"

Sandra began to cry, holding her face in her hands and sobbing and Gordon reached out and Sandra reached out and they held each other for some time, saying nothing, and the raft rolled gently in the cool blue-green waters of the Chalma Sea. Then he pushed her away, carefully.

"Did you say something about a ghost?" Gordon asked.

"Ghost? Yes, and she was really very kind."

"Was she beautiful? Was she sort of - how shall I say it - ghostly?"

"Yes, quite ghostly. She came and went, just like that. A vision, a light which appeared and ... Beautiful? " Sandra pulled her robe about her and pouted. "Yes, I guess you'd say she was beautiful."

They stared in silence at each other, Sandra wanting desperately to be held tightly, safely in his arms.

"I've been frightened," Sandra moaned. "For days I've not seen any living creature except for black creatures in the sky. I had assumed ... I just thought ... a dream, this was all just a dream. But now I know. I'm stuck here, wherever _here_ is. I'm so glad you're here, too."

She looked up at Gordon Chaplain and he drew her near and caressed her cheeks wet with tears and whispered gently. "It's okay. We'll find our way back. I have an idea." He raised his arm and pointed toward the far shore where rose the Mountains of Mune. "See those mountains? We've got to get to them and talk to, well, to somebody who lives there, I think."

Sandra gazed through watery eyes, holding tightly to his chest, and asked: "Who lives there?"

Gordon paused only for a moment before answering. "The King of Light."

Gordon lifted himself from the water where he had kicked for hours, pushing the craft before him. Night had fallen, black and silent, and now they rested from their efforts to steer the small raft toward the shore at the base of the mountains. A cool wind swept across the raft and Gordon shivered and Sandra held him close and he felt the warmth of her body and together they lay, in each others arms, and Gordon felt the rush of blood, of passion, and he kissed her gently and Sandra kissed him eagerly for she had been long alone and afraid. With one quick motion she drew her robe aside and pulled his body to her breast, panting, sobbing. Gordon held back but she eagerly followed, and he fell backward upon the raft and she ripped the shirt from his chest and fell enthusiastically upon him, kissing his neck, caressing his thighs, running her hand eagerly across his throbbing organ, and they moaned in the delight of their bodies ... and the raft rolled violently in the cool blue-green waters of the Chalma Sea.

When the first bright lines of light rose from beyond the distant shore and the sky turned to gold, Gordon awoke to find Sandra clinging to him, yet asleep. He gazed onto her face until her eyes opened and she blushed a hue of rose that lit her cheek and she buried her head in his chest.

"I'm not that kind of girl, you know. It's just that I've had such a dream before and I always wake up, right away and ..."

He placed his finger across her lips and whispered. "I know, I understand. Yet, it was right. Didn't you think it was right?"

She did not speak, but smiled and raised her head and kissed him gently in affirmation, pulling her robe about her as though to hide her shame. Gordon fell slowly to her side so that they lay together, holding each other, breathing heavily and, with a single mind, they made love once more in the still sweet hours of the dawn.

It was Sandra who first saw the dark line form above the cliffs, like black trees rising slowly from the rim, from horizon to horizon. She pointed and Gordon pulled himself from the water and stared.

"Jesus! I think they're Beasts of Filope, gathering before the Dark Lord, getting ready for, for -"

Sandra looked terrified. "Beasts? Dark Lord? What do you mean? Getting ready for what?"

Gordon turned his head slowly and saw the terror in her eyes and began, quietly, explaining the intent of the leader of the dragons of Monash to invade the world of Man. He held her closely as he spoke and did not see the horde rise up from the cliffs and stream across the Chalma Sea toward them, as a cloud of black smoke rising from the fires of hell.

"Look! They're coming toward us!" Sandra cried.

Gordon looked at the approaching horde, then toward the distant shore. "We'll never make it to the shore in time. But we've got to try."

He slipped again into the water and began to kick fiercely, and Sandra slipped into the water beside him and the small raft leaped forward.

The Beasts of Filope were overhead when the raft crashed upon the rocks just offshore and Gordon and Sandra swam and a harsh cry rose above them and the first black brute descended, its dark shadow cast before the two. Without need for words they dove and the beast cried out and rose once more to the horde which waited, screeching. When the two bodies rose again, gasping to the surface, a beast fell upon them, its talons extended, its red maw luminescent in the morning light, but the two bodies vanished once more beneath the cool waters of the Sea of Chalma and the beast screamed in anger.

When Gordon rose for breath he was standing in shallow water and he pulled Sandra to her feet by his side and together they raced to the shore, but the shore was lined with beasts by the score, crying out, screaming with rage. The two stopped, looked back. The raft was gone. The sky was black with creatures. They fell to their knees, exhausted. There was no escape.

Then came the hum of distant thunder, a rumble that shook the ground, and bright flashes rose jagged from the mountain before them and descended to the shore and they could hear the cries of anguish and smell the burning as the beasts rose shrieking from the beach.

In minutes it was over. Several dead and charred bodies lined the shore and the black horde retreated before the rippling light which rose from the mountain and Gordon and Sandra climbed wearily upon the warm sand and rested.

"I think your friend, in the mountain, came to our rescue," said Sandra.

"He's not exactly my friend, but you may be right about his rescuing us. Anyway, I think we should climb to the top and thank him, don't you?"

Gordon smiled, a weak and tired smile, but Sandra laughed loudly and flung herself upon him and they fell upon the sand and laughed, a laugh of relief, of pain, of love and understanding and a bond that would not easily be broken.

"First things first," whispered Sandra. "Our words of appreciation, to your friend in the mountain, they can come later. But first, the beautiful and brave Sandra Brickle will delight and enchant you with her abundant talents." Her robe fell to the sand. "Abundant, yes?"

She began feverishly to unbutton his shirt and Gordon closed his eyes. Would she never be satisfied? Was it Sharlain that evoked this passion? Would he survive it? He smiled and fell backward upon the sand and Sandra kissed him violently.

He managed to whisper: "You said you weren't that kind of girl." But Sandra was not listening. Neither saw the wispy shape that rose from the sands. The Ghost of Chalma stood for only a moment, then vanished again leaving only a smile upon the sand.

*****

Eba-evin stood on the edge of the cliff and gazed out over the Sea of Chalma and Daniel of Woller stood by his side, silent. Then the great dragon roared and rose into the air and the horde cried out behind him and he turned and shouted.

"The time has come! We have the World of Sharlain, now we will have the World of Man!"

From the edge of the cliff to beyond the rising peak of the Abyss, the black armies of the Dark Lord shouted their approval: Beasts of Filope, dragons of Monash, armies of Woller and the fierce Ardens of Wilo-ard. Eba-evin rose and circled the black horde, nostrils aflame, dark wings beating. From the depths of the Abyss came a roar and the fires of hell erupted and the ground shook and Eba-evin soared to beyond his armies and they followed and he lead them to battle. Half the horde rose into the air on beating wings, and the warriors of Woller and of Wilo-ard began their march.

Beside Daniel of Woller stood his queen, Katherine of Woller.

"He goes to engage the armies of the other world, by the Mountain of the Golden Tower," he said quietly, without emotion.

"And ignores the anger of the Mune. Foolish," answered Katherine.

"Perhaps the light from the mountain was not of the King. Perhaps -"

"Fool! Ten beasts have died from this light, these bolts flung with anger from the mountain. Eba-evin ignores the King. That is folly."

Daniel was about to speak but Katherine marched to the edge of the cliff and looked across the Sea of Chalma, myriad points of light glinting from its surface, the distant horizon clothed in dark mountains still glowing from the battle with the beasts. Then she swung about and marched resolutely down the hill toward the waiting army of Woller.

The amber sky faded to starless black and the long shadows enveloped the land and the armies of the Dark Lord halted their march, the flying creatures nesting restlessly on the slopes of a rocky hill, the Ardens sitting about fires flickering in the night.

Daniel sat on a ledge overlooking the darkened plain, a small fire burning by his side. As far as he could see there were small fires and a curious murmur as the armies of the Prince of Darkness bedded down. When he saw Eba-evin approach he jumped to his feet and bowed, only slightly. Daniel was, after all, a Prince of the Kingdom of Woller and commanded respect, but Eba gave none for he neither feared nor respected any man or beast.

"At the first ray of light I shall guide my armies through a Door," said Eba with a flourish of his wings, shaking his head, thin tendrils of flame whispering from his nostrils. "We shall arrive in Dragomir and destroy the forces of Man before the day has ended." He threw back his great head and roared with laughter and the Ardens nearest him drew back in fear and the roar carried to the farthest fires and all that heard shivered.

"But the King of Light, do you not fear his wrath?" asked Daniel.

Eba leaped into the air and screamed in anger.

"I am the Prince of Darkness and I am the King of Light! I fear no thing!"

"But, the light from the Mountain. They killed -"

"Silence! When I have destroyed the armies of Man I will level the Mountains of Mune, for I will be Lord over all worlds and no false God will stand in my way! The old Age has ended and a new Age begins!"

Daniel was about to speak once more, but Eba was angry and Daniel hesitated and lowered his head to appease the Dark Lord and the great dragon hovered for a moment then dropped to his side.

"Daniel of Woller," spoke the dragon of Monash. "When the morrow ends and we are victorious on the plains of Dragomir, you will guide my armies through a Door of Monash and take the lands of Man for none can withstand the -"

"Foolishness!" came a voice from the dark.

The dragon commander of Monash, the Dark Lord, Eba-evin spun about, his wings rising to his sides, his neck coiled, his nostrils flaring. "Who speaks such to the Prince of the World?"

A slim figure approached and it was Katherine of Woller and she was beautiful in the flickering light of the fire.

"You have angered our God, Mune, the creator of Sharlain, and he will not abide your -" began Katherine.

"There is no God but Eba-evin!" shouted the great dragon and he cried out: _Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan_ and vanished.

"Katherine, you must not anger Eba-evin," whispered Daniel, "for he will surely remember your harsh words."

"Daniel, we have lived in the world of Man and know their strength. Eba cannot defeat them." She paused, then continued in a whisper. "Perhaps he will win a battle against the army which has entered Sharlain, but he will not win against all the forces of Man."

Daniel dropped to the ground and sat with his head hung low, his hands clasped about his knees. He spoke: "Yes, you are right in this. But he will not listen. And Woller? What will become of the Kingdom of Woller?" He looked up at Katherine, a dark frown on his face, his eyes appealing. He looked so small, insignificant, this Prince, and Katherine went to him and sat by his side and caressed him.

"Daniel, Prince of Woller, you know what we must do." Daniel nodded and she spoke again. "We have spoken often of this. We must return to the world of Man, there to live out our lives, far from the anger of Eba-evin, far from the vagaries of Sharlain. Our life there was good. It can be good once more."

She stroked his head and Daniel closed his eyes and wept.

*****

Clayton Chaplain stared with dismay at Choo-lan. The tall Arden was stripped to the waist and now knelt by the door, mumbling and raising his hands to stroke his head, his hair as green as the forest that encircled the clearing. Then his captor leapt to his feet and turned to face Clayton.

"I must go now, for Eba gathers the armies of Wilo-ard and I must lead my warriors to battle."

"And me? Wh-what do you intend to do wi-with me?" stuttered Clayton, still staring at the figure silhouetted against the early light of day streaming through the door. For three days, Sharlain days, had Clayton lain on the straw mats, eating of the yellow fruit and green shoots and gray tubers which had daily been placed before him. Gloria had been taken to Eba-evin by a dragon of Monash, leaving him alone with Choo-lan, leader of the warriors of Arden. For the last day there had been much commotion, groups of Ardens had gathered, brandishing their long spears and shouting and then, one by one, the groups had left. Now few remained and those few were gathered just beyond the rim of the clearing. They too would leave and he would be left to die. Was that his fate? He waited for Choo-lan, the most big of all Ardens, to speak.

"Choo-lai will feed you. When the battle is won I will return. Then Eba will decide."

Clayton watched as the tall Arden turned and left, walking quickly to the head of his warriors then beyond and they followed and soon only the whisper of the wind spoke of his solitude deep within the forest at the foot of the Mountains of Mune. Clayton sighed and slumped and closed his eyes. _When the battle is won_. What battle? _Choo-lai?_ Who was he, or it? Where was Gloria? Gordon? He had slept little and his questions sapped his strength and he fell asleep, prone on the straw, his feet still tied to the post, his hands bound, and he dreamed of the world of Man, far from Sharlain.

Clayton Chaplain awoke to the sweet voice of a slim Arden kneeling by his side, stroking his forehead. _Collawna-poi, thio chero_ she whispered, and she held out the yellow fruit so that he might eat from her hand. He struggled to an upright position and found that his hands had been freed. He gazed in wonder at the beautiful girl before him. She blushed, her eyes lowered, her slim body wrapped in a light green film, her long hair shimmering green. Clayton gulped once, then leaned forward and ate from the fruit in her hand and the young girl blushed once more for _his_ hands were free and he could take the fruit into his own hand, but he did not. Clayton continued to gaze, eating from her hand until the fruit was nearly gone, then he took her hand and opened it and ate from her palm the last of the yellow fruit and she held her head lowered, a pink blush still upon her cheek as he kissed her hand, licked the sweet juices, taking her fingers one by one into his mouth.

"Oh God, you're beautiful," he managed to say at last. "I mean, uh, I think you're a lovely girl." Clayton, holding his breath, now let it out in a low sigh. "Who are you?"

"I am Choo-lai, and I am your servant," whispered the young girl, her head still lowered, her blue eyes gazing intently up at Clayton.

"My servant? You mean, you mean you'll do as I ask?" Choo-lai nodded. "Then can you loosen these ropes that tie my feet?" Clayton shook his head and frowned. "That's stupid, sorry, I can do it myself." He looked at his freed hands, then at the vines that bound his feet to the post and began to untie the binding. Choo-lai coughed slightly and Clayton stopped and saw that she held a short knife and he shivered, but she handed him the knife and he took it and cut the cords and jumped unsteadily to his feet. Choo-lai backed away and Clayton ran to the door and saw that the clearing was empty but for a few old female Ardens gathering wood. He was about to run, then turned and looked back at Choo-lai, sitting still upon the straw in the small hut, and he went to her and offered his hand and raised her to her feet.

"Why did you free me? Won't Choo-lan be angry? When he returns, won't you be in trouble?"

The young girl blushed and spoke softly. "I have watched you, tied like an animal, while my keeper took the food I brought for your use and placed it before you. I watched as you ate. I watched as you slept." She paused, looked frightened, continued. "The battle is against your people and you must warn them before the armies of the Prince of Darkness destroy them."

Clayton looked down upon the young girl, her filmy gown clinging to her slim body, her eyes now opening to his. He began to speak, but could say nothing.

"You must go, quickly," she urged.

"Where? And what will happen to you?"

"To the Mountain of the Golden Tower," she whispered, then lowered her eyes.

"And you?" asked Clayton, concern evident in his voice, his hand reaching out and stroking the shining green tresses.

"You must beat me before you leave." Her voice quivered. "I will say you freed yourself, beat me, ran away."

"I can't do that! You don't think I could -"

"Then I will die when my keeper returns," she said, simply.

"Who is this _keeper_?"

"Choo-lan is my keeper, and he will be angry and I will die for my misdeed."

Clayton looked about. The clearing was empty and the green forest stood but a few steps from where he stood. The clearing was bright with the amber light of day, but the verdant woods beckoned with cool shadows running to his feet. He reached out and swept up the slim girl in his arms and ran, vanishing into the green shadows.

An old woman, her arms filled with sticks of wood, her face unmoved by the sight, watched the abduction then turned and slowly walked into a hut.

*****

Gordon Chaplain opened his eyes, pushed himself to an elbow and looked across the beach all aglow in the morning light, then across the Sea of Chalma to the distant cliffs where dwelled the Dark Lord, thought of the visit of the Ghost and his miraculous escape from the Abyss, the attack of the winged beasts, then he thought of Sandy and smiled at her passion, her eager body too quick to receive him, her low cries of ardor. He rubbed the red welt on his neck.

"Sorry for that." Sandra Brickle lay by his side, a mischievous smile illuminating her face, her eyes sparkling, her robe hastily pulled about her and tied at the waist.

Gordon placed a gentle finger upon the dark mole that was on her chin, and she blushed.

"A mark of beauty," he said softly, gazing into her eyes.

"Nice of you to say it, but -"

"No, I really mean it. In some cultures, woman with beauty marks are very much in demand." He caressed her chin. "In South America, in the jungles of the Amazon, there is a tribe where the men worship the women with just such a mark. Other women are relegated to serve as beasts of burden, but those with such a badge of passion ...uh, of beauty -"

"Of passion? Did you say a badge of passion?" Sandra pulled him to her and smiled.

"Well, sort of," he said beneath his breath.

"And the beautiful and talented Sandra Brickle has such a badge of passion," she moaned, placing a kiss on his cheek, then smiling into his face. "And these teeth, somewhat misaligned, are they, too, a sign of, of-"

"Virtue, love ... uh, beauty," he stuttered. "Symmetry, uniformity describes a machine without soul or the capacity to love, but the individuality of these teeth -" He ran his finger across the smile and Sandra Brickle took his finger and sucked and pulled him to her.

"It's time to climb that mountain," said Gordon, pulling away, hoping to change the direction of conversation.

Sandra shook her head, looked wide-eyed up the steep slope. "Who lives up there?" she asked. "Can he get us out of this, this place, back to my bedroom?"

Gordon pushed himself to his feet, his pants falling about his ankles, and Sandra giggled and he quickly pulled them up to tie at his waist with a thin belt. He looked about and saw that his shirt had drifted out to sea. He grunted and began to walk to the trees which grew twisted and stunted at the base of the mountain. "C'mon!" he shouted, and Sandra rose, reluctantly, and followed.

For hours they climbed the mountain, clinging to rocky ledges, pulling themselves from wooden stump to gnarled root, and the day diminished and they rested on a ledge, bruised and weary.

"Do you know where we're going?" asked Sandra, breathing heavily, her terry cloth robe torn and streaked with dirt, her gaze directed up the face of the mountain whose top seemed hazy in a gray mist.

Gordon leaned back and spoke slowly, gasping for breath between words. "I saw, earlier, something, uh, a glow or something, maybe a cave, can't say."

Sandra squinted against the bright sky. "I can't see anything."

Gordon closed his eyes as though asleep, then he answered. "Neither can I, not now. But we'll keep going. I'm sure there's something up there, where the light came from, the bolts of light that killed those, things." He looked down and saw the dark shapes strewn across the beach, far from where the two had spent the night in each others arms. He remembered her eagerness, the inexhaustible energy, and he fell back and sighed a weary sigh.

Sandra jumped to her feet. "Okay, let's go!" she cried and began again to climb and Gordon groaned and thought of her vigor, her passion, and he was tired once more, but rose slowly and followed.

The day faded into twilight and the dark shadows ran ragged down the mountain as they crawled to the entrance of the cave. It was cold and fine powdery snow lay about. They had seen the cave earlier, from farther down, glowing in the shadows, then it had vanished in the mist, then appeared once again. Now they lay exhausted at the entrance, breathing heavily, legs still hanging over the edge. It was Sandra who first saw the shimmer of light from the dark interior, nudged Gordon, then crawled into the cave, then stood and peered into the black depths. When Gordon looked up she was gone.

Then she screamed.

CHAPTER 15

Mountain of the Golden Tower

"Look! Over there!"

It was Thomas Barclay, standing on the lip of the cave, staring across the grassy plains, to beyond the blue hills. The sky was dark with cloud and he had not seen such darkness in Sharlain for it grew quickly and was of a shape more defined than a cloud, like an arrow that pointed at the mountain where they stood. Peter and Gloria Jacobs joined him and watched as the cloud approached. Below them, on the grassy plain, several thousand soldiers gathered, behind rows of heavily armored tanks and trucks bristling with rockets: the army of Man, come to defeat the Dark Lord. They could see the dragon, Freckles, hovering above the army and they knew that Charlie was on the dragon, but they could not see the small figure so they looked once more at the approaching cloud. Soon the army would move in just that direction, across the plain, around the blue hills, following the River of Monash, avoiding the great desert, until they had reached the narrows where they would cross the river and attack, through Filope, across the Woller Trench, to the Land of Woller.

It seemed hopeless.

Charlie had described in detail the course of the River, the deep trench of Woller, the volcano that held the Dark Lord. Gloria had insisted that she use her amulet to land in some more convenient location within Sharlain, but the commander had laughed. His troops could cross any river, any trench, negotiate any desert or mountain. Gloria had tried demonstrate her ability to chose the site of her entry into Sharlain, but with little success. The best she could manage was to enter on the grassy plain at the base of the Mountain of the Golden Tower, and that is precisely where the marines were now assembled.

And all watched the black cloud approach.

"The Beasts of Filope approach," came the whispered voice from within the cave. Thomas was the first to respond.

"Hey! Ghost! Are we glad you're here, that I guarantee."

"Good day, Thomas Barclay," answered the Ghost of Chalma, the luminescent glow willowy within the darkness, rising into the figure of the elegant woman that Thomas had hardly been able to keep from his thoughts. Now he bowed and smiled and held out his hand as though to guide the wispy shape into the light at the lip of the cave.

"Beasts of Filope?" asked Gloria. "And they're coming here?"

The shimmering figure of Chalma stayed in the shadow and spoke softly. "Eba-evin has gathered all his armies, the Beasts of Filope, dragons of Monash, armies of Woller and the black horsemen, the warriors of Wilo-ard, and he comes now to engage in battle with the army of Man."

"We'll give him a royal welcome!" cried Thomas, pointing to the plains below. "See that, Ghost? Them's our army and we'll blow ol' Eby right outta the sky, that I guarantee."

The ghostly figure wavered and began to dissolve, a voice only remaining, saying: "I will help as I can, but the forces of Eba-evin will not easily be beaten."

Then Thomas was staring into the blackness of the cave for the Ghost had vanished.

*****

"Sergeant Blake, keep those tanks in a straight line!" Captain Schroeder barked into his communicator, his eyes riveted to the dark cloud approaching. "Get their distance, set the guidance control to auto, fire when ready!" He stepped back and watched the rocket launchers rise against the glowing sky.

The officer by his side grunted. "I still don't believe this," he mumbled. "They look like flying dragons, but they carry no weapons, not that I can see." He lowered his field glasses and stared at the Captain. "They don't stand a chance." He paused, then added: "Wait till I tell this to the boys back home. They'll never believe me."

The barrage began with a scream of rockets, rising with tails of smoke, wavering momentarily then screeching straight and true toward the approaching cloud now distinguishable as individual objects against the amber horizon. They waited for the explosions to follow, the inevitable violence, the black bodies falling from the sky, the screams of anguish, but the rockets veered off to the right, toward the desert, vanishing in the haze of midday.

"Jeesuz! What the hell happened!" Captain Schroeder was yelling, his voice hoarse, beads of sweat running freely down his brow.

"Heat-seeking missiles, not much good against those flying horses!" someone shouted.

"Fire the laser-guided missiles!" Schroeder screamed.

Almost immediately another barrage of rockets rose unsteadily from the plain and headed in ominous rows toward the approaching horde. Then, points of light flashing on the horizon, then the staccato of exploding rockets.

"That's better," grunted Schroeder. "Okay, let's march!"

And the trucks began to roll forward, and the tanks, their great guns swinging about, then the rows of troops trotting behind, casting but little shadow on the grassy plain bathed in the brightness of day..

Thomas Barclay had seen the missiles explode amidst the black horde, then the divergence of the beasts, the splitting of the black cloud into thin streams approaching like giant pincers. He stood in silence and watched as the dragons fell upon the troops, bright flashes rising from the army below and striking the winged beasts, the shattering sounds of gunfire, the hoarse screams of rage as the dragons were hit and fell, the wave upon wave of beasts, falling then rising with the broken bodies of Man in their jaws. Then, against the ochre horizon, another horde approaching, the armies of Woller and of Wilo-ard.

"God amighty," Thomas gasped. "There's too many of 'em. They fall like flies, but there's more, always more. Now look. Foot soldiers, there, in the distance. I don't know if we're gonna win this one."

"We've got to get more troops here," shouted Gloria. She rubbed her sweater and spoke the words: _Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan_ and Peter Jacobs spun around to grasp his wife before she could vanish, but she stood there, still.

"What happened," shouted Thomas Barclay. "You ain't gone!"

Gloria stared down at her sweater. "The amulet! It's gone!" She moaned, a pained and woeful moan. "I must have lost it, somewhere."

"Oh God," muttered Peter. "Now we're in big trouble."

There was little they could say, and they watched as the day grew dim and the light waned and the shadow of the mountain lengthened across the plains and the battle continued, black beasts dropping upon the army of Man, rockets rising in screams to meet the warriors of Arden and of Woller, and everywhere, cries of pain.

*****

Clayton ran for some time, the slim body of Choo-lai clinging to him, her head against his chest, her eyes closed, her legs wrapped about his waist, until he collapsed by a small stream. Together they drank deeply of the Stream of Life and felt refreshed and Clayton again swept the girl into his arms, but she spoke in a soft voice and said: "I can run. You are tired. Together we must find our way to Dragomir. They will help us."

Clayton stared at the small brown face with shining eyes, the green curls that hung to her waist, the slim body with clinging silken gown. "Dragomir? Who will help us?" he asked, panting.

"The Miriens, for they are good and gentle people and will not harm us, but will give us food and drink and -"

"But you're their enemy, aren't you? I mean, aren't the Ardens enemies to the Miriens?"

Choo-lai lowered her head and spoke softly. "Yes, but they will help."

Clayton waited for a moment, then they began again to move through the green forest, eventually coming out onto the desert which lay between the kingdoms of Wilo-ard and Dragomir. Without hesitation they marched onto the hot sands, watching carefully the sky for signs of black and winged creatures. When the heat of day subsided and the sky grew dark, they saw the fires on the horizon, the flare of rockets, and they continued throughout the night until, when the first light of a new day greeted them, they were standing by the bubbling waters of the stream as it gushed from the desert sands at the base of the blue hills. They could hear the sounds of battle beyond the forests of Dragomir and Clayton knew that the Dark Lord was engaged in a great battle with the forces of Man, and, falling to his knees, he prayed that Man would triumph.

When he looked up he saw the rows of little men lined against the edge of the forest, swords raised and glinting in the early light. Choo-lai was bowing deeply, her hands held before her, her head down, muttering: _Gooda-wan Mirien-su nepawno_.

A small warrior marched forward, his sword held before him, until he stood over the girl, sword then raised. Clayton leaped up and ran to the Mirien who appeared about to strike the girl, then Clayton stopped. The small man grunted a word, lowered his sword gently upon the shoulder of the girl, grunted once more, then turned to Clayton.

"We must go now for the forces of Eba-evin are in battle with your people, and we must help. The Ghost of Chalma guides our way."

Without another word the small man spun about and marched to the others assembled, and together they walked resolutely into the woods. Clayton ran to catch up, stopping to pull Choo-lai to her feet, but the girl would not move.

"Choo-lai! Come on, we must go too!" he cried.

"No, for I am their prisoner and I must stay."

"Prisoner? Can't you see? They've already left. You're free to go where you please."

"No," she answered simply. "I must stay."

Clayton looked at her, then at the green forest wherein vanished the troop of small men, then again at the young girl kneeling on the sand.

"What did that little man say to you?"

"He said I am now in the land of Dragomir and, if I stay, I am a prisoner to them." She looked at Clayton, a single tear falling slowly from her eyes filled with fear. He shook his head, then turned to follow the Miriens. When he reached the forest he turned again and shouted to Choo-lai.

"Go to the cave, in these blue hills, and ask the Miriens to give you food and water! I'll be back as soon as, as soon as -"

But he knew not when, or if, he would be back. Then he ran into the cool green forest and when Choo-lai looked up he was gone.

*****

The battle continued throughout the night, the valiant army of Man now completely encircled by the armies of the Dark Lord, tanks and trucks crushed beneath a horde of dead beasts, soldiers weary, rockets ineffectual at such close range. When morning came several of the tanks had been cleared of bodies and now formed a row of armor behind which the remaining marines stood.

"When I give the word we'll crash through, to the mountain. We'll gain the higher ground and fight these bastards from there!" Captain Schroeder raised his arm, fired his revolver, and the tanks rumbled forward, but were met by a host of fierce Arden warriors who ignored the awful casualties inflicted by the guns of Man and marched over their dead, lances tipped with metal raised, advancing.

That was when Captain Schroeder first heard the cries of anguish from behind the line of Ardens. "Something's happening," he shouted. "They're turning about, running away. Follow the bastards!"

And they followed and the Ardens were trapped between the army of Man and the savage attack of the Miriens, arrived from the forest of Dragomir, swords glinting in the light, cries of victory rising from their ranks.

"Look at that! See those little guys! Let's go!"

And the Ardens turned again and fled from between their enemies and Schroeder ran forward and swept the first small Mirien into his arms, kissing him. "I love you, you little devil!" he shouted.

"Looks like we've won this skirmish, but hardly the war."

Schroeder spun on his heel to see Clayton Chaplain, bleeding from the cheek, the small sword in his hand dripping with blood.

"Are you, uh, their leader?" asked Schroeder.

"Hardly. Just a passerby," answered Clayton, smiling weakly.

At that moment a great spotted dragon fell among them and Schroeder jumped back, raising his revolver, but the Mirien he had kissed leaped forward and flung his sword so that it struck the gun and it fell from Schroeder's hand. Freckles bent his great head to the ground and a small dwarf dressed in white robe, now spotted with blood, slid to the ground and was greeted with cheers from the army of Miriens gathered there.

Challia er Woller au Potria

Challia er Woller au Potria

The cheers continued until Charlie raised his hand, then the small men gathered about their leader and together they marched toward the waiting army of Woller.

"Jeesuz!" cried Schroeder. "Who in hell is that little guy in white? I don't believe any of this."

"You'd better believe it." Thomas Barclay was standing by his side. "That's Charlie, chief of the little people and a great fighter, I guarantee. Just you watch."

Gloria and Peter were running to greet Clayton.

"Oh Clay!" shouted Gloria, leaping into his arms. "How did you get away? Where have you been? When did you -"

"Whoa! When this is all over I'll tell you everything. But now, I think we've got a battle on our hands. The Miriens have gone to do battle with the army of Woller." Clayton looked around quickly. "Is Gordon with you?"

Gloria frowned, her head falling to her chest. "Clay, I'm sorry. Gordon is being held in the Black Abyss. I'm not even sure that he's alive."

But they had little chance to contemplate the fate of Clayton's brother for the Woller battle cry rose in a crescendo, the flutes of war wailing before the advance of the army. As far as the eye could see spread the armies of Woller.

"Jeesuz! Jeesuz! Jeesuz!" cried Schroeder, standing on a truck and peering into long black binoculars. "We're outnumbered twenty-to-one."

"But look at those little guys!" shouted Thomas. "There's Charlie, leading the Miriens into battle. C'mon! We've got to help!" He jogged forward, pulling a Mirien sword from his belt, and the others followed and the battle was engaged in the rising light of day, with the Dark Lord circling overhead, black wings arched in silent flight, screeching defiance.

But it was hopeless, and Schroeder knew it and Gloria cursed the loss of the amulet and Clayton thought of his brother trapped in the Abyss and Peter moaned with despair.

CHAPTER 16

God of the World

Gordon scrambled to the dark interior, following the screams into the depths of the cave, Sandra Brickle's screams, of fear, of terror, and he found her standing before a towering creature, a spider of gargantuan proportions with a hundred arms, glowing in the darkness. He pulled her back and the spider rose up and a hundred glowing arms arched up and down and fell upon them both.

"The snake!" cried Sandra. "It's going to kill us! We're going to die, right here in -"

But Gordon dragged her to the mouth of the cave and together they stumbled down the rocky slope and then cowered in a crevice in the side of the Mountain of the Mune.

"I think we're safe here, for a while," groaned Gordon, gasping for breath, holding Sandra to his chest. She had her eyes closed, clinging fiercely to him, but he frowned and said: "A snake? You saw a snake?"

She looked up with fear in her face, tears in her eyes. "Didn't you see it? It was huge, and it was -"

"No! A spider! I saw a spider!" Gordon leaned back and took a deep breath. "You saw a snake. I saw a spider." He held her head in his hands, looking deeply into her frightened eyes. "Sandra, that was neither snake nor spider. That was the King of Light!"

He jumped to his feet, Sandra falling to the side, then he scrambled out and up the steep cliff, once again to the cave. Sandra cried out in vain for him to stop, but he entered the cave and went directly to the deepest area and stood defiantly before the dark wall. Then, from out the darkness, a spider rose with arms all shaking with anger and red eyes piercing.

"I know that you are neither snake nor spider," shouted Gordon, "but the King of Light, preying upon the fears of man, appearing as a nightmare creature, to frighten us, to -"

Gordon stopped, for the spider vanished and the cave glowed with a pale light that grew in intensity until it was blinding and he held his hand over his eyes, waiting. Then he heard a deep voice, at once vibrant and melancholy:

"You have come, unbeckoned, to the World of Sharlain."

Gordon closed his eyes. "Can you, uh, shine just a little less, please?"

Sandra entered as the light subsided and saw Gordon speak to the far wall which vibrated with a dancing Light.

"We'd like very much to leave, but I understand that Eba-evin, the Prince of Darkness -"

"Eba-evin is the prince of nothing."

"Well, okay, the prince of nothing is planning to invade my world and, I understand, is right this minute marching to battle with my people."

"The battle ensues at this moment, and your people do not fare well."

"At this moment? My God, can't you -"

"I am not your God, nor am I a God of your world."

"But, you created the World of Sharlain, did you not? You are Mune, are you not? Sharlain, born of your breath, and you can't stop this senseless bloodshed between your people and mine?"

There was a long silence.

"They are not my people. A world have I created for my pleasure, but it has given me little pleasure and if it chooses to destroy itself I will not mourn its passing."

"But what about my world? My people? Can you do nothing to stop the battle?"

"My creations, in battle with the creatures of another God? I find it amusing. "

Gordon groaned noticeably and Sandra crept to his side.

"I understand," said Gordon. "You have no control over the creatures of another God."

"They are in _my_ world! I control all that happens in my world!"

"I see, but you are afraid to anger the Gods of my world."

"Afraid? I fear no other Gods!"

"Aah, then you refuse to stop the battle because it is beyond your powers to do so, or because your armies may lose, or perhaps because Eba-evin is now in control -"

There was a flash of light, blinding, searing, and when they opened their eyes Gordon and Sandra were standing on a mountain top, gazing across a grassy plain strewn with the bodies of black beasts and bloodied dragons and dead soldiers of several armies and the sky grew dark and the sounds of battle ceased and all eyes turned toward a darkness which came swiftly from the Mountains of Mune, and the warriors of Arden fell to their knees and the armies of Woller cried out in fear and the figure of Eba-evin plummeted to the ground to land with a scream, wings flailing in anger.

In the silence that reigned came a distant rumble and Daniel of Woller ran to his queen and spoke to her. "The King of Light! I know it! He is angry!"

Katherine gazed sadly at the approaching cloud, then at Daniel. "We are too late. We cannot now return to the world of Man. The end is come."

Eba-evin stared defiantly at the approaching blackness and screamed his rage and leaped again into the air and soared, spiraling, circling, waiting. Then came a great bolt of yellow light rising silent from beyond the approaching blackness, and descending, jagged and bright, then the crash of thunder as the bolt flew at the Dark Lord, and he vaporized before the horrified eyes of his armies.

Then there was again silence and all stood motionless and the black cloud spread over the standing armies and slowly dropped to the grassy plain and it was night, blacker than any had seen, and then a miracle: the skies became filled with stars and all fell to their knees in awe.

Then the Miriens began to sing:

When the stars appear the story begins anew.

And the birds shall sing, the sky shall blue.

The Ardens joined the song, slowly at first, then their voices rising in chorus to the star-filled heavens.

Flowers and laughter amid fields of grain.

For the world begins again, the World of Sharlain.

And with that there was a blinding flash of light and the armies of Man were no more, but on the grassy plain were Miriens and Ardens, joined in song, and men of Woller singing, and dragons of Monash circling in wild abandon, and Beasts of Filope winging their way home, crying with joy.

And the world grew bright, and a red sun rose into a blue sky and birds wheeled overhead, and the grasses waved as wheat in the plains and a golden glow appeared over the Mountains of Mune and all was well and good in Sharlain.

CHAPTER 17

Home

Thomas Barclay knocked on the door and stepped back as it opened. Gloria smiled and held out her hands and Tom hugged her and lifted her off her feet.

"Well Thomas, you're early as usual, and the sandwiches are waiting in the kitchen."

Tom rushed to the kitchen and had barely time enough to wolf down three ham and cheeses when Clay and Gordon walked into the kitchen, followed by Peter and Gloria Jacobs. Tom gulped, coughed, pieces of cheese hanging from his lips, and they all laughed and carried the trays to the living room which was lit with a subdued and warm light.

Gloria spoke first. "I guess the King of Light decided to start all over again, a new Sharlain, all lovey-dovey and peaceful."

"Yeah, and he sure got rid of us in a hurry, that I guarantee," mumbled Tom between bites of a tuna sandwich. "I mean, the whole army, or what was left, just poof and there we was, all back home."

There was a moment's silence, then Clayton spoke up, softly. He told them of his release by the young woman Choo-lai and his words held such warmth that they all knew that he longed to see her again.

"It's all over now," said Gordon. "I even went with Peter to Dan's house, but the opening into Sharlain is no more."

"Just a pile of rubble and concrete blocks in the basement," added Peter Jacobs, stroking his hair, "and beyond that, good old Mother Earth. No more hole in the wall, no entry into the Mountain of the Golden Tower."

They were silent for some time. Gloria turned to Clayton.

"Choo-lai ... did you love her?"  
"Gloria!" cried Peter. "What kind of question is that?"

"No, it's okay," said Peter. "I guess I do love her, in some strange way, and I would have made love to her had the occasion arose. She was very kind and risked a lot by freeing me. I hope she's safe."

"Must be," coughed Tom, wiping his mouth. "They're all friends now, the Ardens and the little guys and dragons, everybody." He looked at his feet. "You know who I miss?"

"The Ghost of Chalma," suggested Gloria with a wry smile.

"Well, yeah, she was really neat. And she was beautiful, I guarantee. I mean, I never seen anybody that beautiful." He coughed lightly. "But it's Charlie I miss. He was a brave little guy and treated me royally when I was there, in his mountain. Did you see the blood on his shirt?"

"It was just a scratch," suggested Clayton. "I saw him go under a beast, swinging that little sword of his, then come out fighting, with just a little blood, nothing to worry about."

Gloria put her hand on Gordon's arm and they all looked at her as she spoke. "How's Sandra?"

Gordon blushed. "Fine, she's just fine. A little frightened, a little tired, weary, needs to rest -"

"That's not what you told me," grunted Clayton with a knowing grin. "Why, the beautiful and talented Sandra Brickle told me just yesterday -"

"Enough," Gordon said, giving Clayton a frown of mock anger. They all laughed.

"Okay, so she's not so tired or weary. God knows where she gets that energy. After what she's been through she _should_ be tired, don't you think?" He was looking at Gloria, expecting her agreement. She nodded and grinned. "But, right to the very end, she actually believed it was all a dream."

"So, when are you two gettin' married?" grunted Tom.

Gordon blushed only slightly, but all saw and smiled.

"We'll wait till Fall, then we'll decide," he muttered.

"And the beauties of bachelorhood?" asked Peter.

"What beauties?" Gordon groaned. "It's boring, frustrating and damned lonely."

Clayton Chaplain was gazing out the window. He said something, but no one heard. They all looked at him and waited. He said: "I saw Choo-lan fall, on the field. I think he died." They all knew what he was thinking. "That leaves Choo-lai without a keeper." He turned and saw that they were staring at him. All looked sad. All except Gloria who rose from the sofa and walked to his side.

"Want to go back, lover?" she said quietly.

Clayton looked up and saw that Gloria was smiling at him, her hand in the pocket of her jeans. He smiled weakly then stared again out the window. Gloria bent to kiss him gently on the cheek and he turned to her.

"If it were possible, I would seriously consider it," he said sheepishly. "Chief of Security now seems a rather pale and bland life. Paper work, reports to read and write, administrivia ..." He gazed again out the window as though deep in thought. "You know," he continued, "she was really quite beautiful. I suspect she's very lonely now. I haven't stopped thinking about her ..." His voice trailed off.

Gloria sat beside him, pulling her hand from her jeans.

"If believe you're right. She _is_ lonely. I can just see you and Choo-lai, living in peace and tranquillity, love and admiration, without the fumes of the city, the pollution, the noise and frustrations ..." She raised her hand. "We may slowly kill ourselves, destroy this tiny planet, but you and Choo-lai can live an idyllic life of bliss ..."

Before he had a chance to speak she held it up and the amulet shone brightly, even in the dim light.

"Hey! Where did you find -" began Peter Jacobs, jumping to his feet.

"The amulet! Great jumpin' fires of -" cried Tom, flakes of tuna falling from his lips.

Clayton reached out, cautiously, and Gloria carefully placed the amulet in his hand.

"It was just where it should be," said Gloria, still looking at Clayton. "Right where I left it when we last entered Sharlain. Remember? We all held hands, a giant ring of soldiers and equipment, out in Champlain field, each person touching a tank or rocket launcher and his neighbor, then I rubbed and said the words and we all jumped triumphantly into Sharlain. But the amulet wasn't pinned to my sweater and it fell to the ground. Luckily, I found it last week in the field, same place. Just a little muddy from the rain."

They all grinned at Gloria, then noticed Clayton. He stared curiously at the amulet, then at the group about him, then sucked in his breath and closed his eyes and began eagerly rubbing the glowing ring.

" _Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan._ "

Then Clayton Chaplain vanished.

But there was no surprise nor was there any fear or concern or anything but pleasure in their faces. Indeed, they all smiled at the empty sofa where he had sat and there was a long moment of silence.

They talked until nearly one o'clock in that morning, then, one-by-one, they went home. The weekly poker games would start in earnest next Thursday at Tom's house and Tom was pleased. He had a great idea for curried bacon and chicken sandwiches.

CHAPTER 18

The Story Ends

The old man leaned back and closed his eyes, and the green-haired youth smiled and carefully lifted the wine goblet from the withered hand. Turning to his sister he whispered, quietly, slowly, so that his father would not awaken.

"Do you believe all that he has said?"

The young girl giggled and pulled the green curls from her brow.

"Not one thing," she said. "Father began the story with a game. From that moment I was lost."

"Poker," said the young lad. "It was a game of poker, and the discussion of ghosts began with that game."

"Do you know of such a game? I do not, and I understood little after that."

The boy stood and offered his hand to his sister and he drew her to her feet, then caressed her hair and kissed her gently on the cheek.

"You are young and cannot accept that which is strange, or different, yet, I believe all that he has said." The boy smiled and looked again upon the sleeping man with hair so white, yet tinted green at the feathered ends which fell upon his shoulders. "Now he sleeps and we must go, so that he may rest before the morning comes."

Together they left the hut and wandered across the clearing lit by fires. The boy stopped and gazed into the dark sky and wondered at the sky filled with points of light, and a white sphere risen from beyond the trees to rest brightly in the heavens. Then he continued and entered the hut of his mother and there he put his sister to bed and left once more to gaze at the night sky.

Did he believe all that was said?

No.

But he loved his father and would not show his disbelief, not to him, not to his sister, not to his mother. Yet, the old man was dying and death was not common among the Ardens.

At the sound of footsteps he looked about, and saw Choo-lai. She knelt beside him, beautiful as he always remembered her to be, and together they gazed at the brilliant night sky.

"It was once dark, you know," she said gently.

"Yes, father has told me of the days before stars."

"And the sky is now filled with light ... because your father was so brave."

"Yes," he said quietly.

Then she rose and walked to the hut where her husband was dying, and the boy waited, but she stayed only a moment then returned to her son. He saw the dull glow of the ring on her finger, then, in the dim light of distant fires, he saw her face. She was crying and he hung his head, and knew.

His father, Man, master Clayton Chaplain, had died.
