CHAPTER THREE: THE TREE GREATER THAN THE FOREST
Andregas meditated before the great… oak? Ashen? He could not be certain what ancestry the great living tree-guardian represented. And he was not its only student. Close to him, undisturbed in its own meditation, something like a gnome, but its hands, feet, even ruddy nose, all seemed to be mossy stones. Not carved, but natural, as if suggesting all the stones in the world were just little people, sleeping.
Other creatures besides, slept in the grove, as Andregas drank from its pool of knowledge, sensing that his might was increasing, even as he fought his own frantic sense of losing time.
"What are they? They look like dragons, but they have no wings and are formed of stone. Are they some manner of worm?"
"You see accurately," the Ancient spoke. In his mind, wherever he was, and wherever he wandered now. "They are called Earthen Wyrms, and dwelled in the mountains long ago, burrowing out tunnels and rocks, which both Earthen, whom you know as "Dwarves", and dragons used for natural lairs and homes. And unfortunately caused a little fuss between the two races, I am told, dragons and Earthen both can be very stubborn people."
I thought this Ancient wasn't going to teach me about the past, he thought, momentarily ironic, but he listened.
Andregas had discovered that the Ancient's manner of speaking, thinking, all had become more familiar to him, so that he wondered if truly he was getting used to the being, or it was simply becoming accustomed to him, adopting words as easily as its student.
The mind-talk continued, thusly, "They are as at home in the earth as dragons are in the sky. And they tell us of the connection between all things, that dragons should exist in such opposites with no relation and yet being the same. Although of course we do not call the Earthen Wyrms dragons, only Wyrms, for they belong to a different place."
"Is this supposed to teach me something?"
He was answered by an odd, but invisible shrug, made possible by the mental arts Andregas was learning. "Everything is an answer to something," it said. "Maybe this will help."
Not likely.
Eventually his time ended there, but not his search for knowledge. Taking up a twisted staff of wood as his office, enchanted by minute traces of the world there, a root of his own, he left, without his answer from the Night Elves.
But what the Night Elves had lost, perhaps he could regain.
(*)
There was an accident.
He patted himself down, his robes tattered, but his defensive spells had protected him. It was chancy. Things on the other side fought back.
He tuned the crystals again. This time there would be no mistakes.
He had wondered if he could recreate the moonwells. Use their properties to heal and soothe his mind. They were the product of magic like anything else. He had studied them relentlessly and brought home copious notes and diagrams, but so far his botched experiments had yielded mostly interesting failures.
He knew he had to turn to deeper sources. Time was running out. It was the passion that mattered, not the act. Sorcerors were corrupted because they were corruptible, not because the enemy was corrupt.
He found he cared little enough for the question that he felt he was safe. Evil was no more threat to him than a sword through the chest if he were discovered. True, a demon would care not about his feelings, but Andregas intended to tackle this with the vigor and carefulness of a scientist. There would be no more mistakes. He would make this work.
But this time, he was not focused on recreating the wonder of the Night Elves, but seeking answers yet again, where the magic already existed – in the past.
When people wondered, years hence, how the sorcerer was able to perform such feats, they were answered by the bronze tablet Andregas had enchanted to stand for all time at the base of his tower.
Ask not where Andregas obtained this power, only that he had.
(*)
This time he had succeeded. As he knew he must. But it did not take place the way he had expected.
"You were so insistent that I felt I must invite you, and ask what the urgency was all about."
He looked up as soon as he had enough senses to do so, to detect the source of that awesome voice that seemed to come from the air like thunder itself. And saw a dragon.
The cavalier speech that had been so enrapturing from the Ancient of Sorcery, was daunting from this massive beast, eying him with an intelligence that belied the visible fangs it bared, easily able to snap him in two, and impervious to even his most powerful spells. He was no more a threat to it than some farmer with a pitchfork.
"Who are you looking for, little mage? For you have found Malygos, the Aspect of Magic, and I wonder why you daunt so courageously into times best left undisturbed." And so saying, the huge being turned, as if to some work interrupted, his tail slid across the base of the cavern so that for a moment Andregas thought he was about to be swept away. But no, the dragon was merely making itself comfortable.
The mage surmised he was in some kind of laboratory of the dragon, although the crystals, the odd artifacts that looked like so much decoration, both seemed familiar and alien at once. What need did a dragon have for such things, he did not know. But he did know that dragons were the oldest sorcerors in the lands.
Surveying his surrounding, Andregas got to his feet and brushed the dust from his blue magisterial robes, feeling the need for some dignity. And then the mage noticed that they were not alone.
"Who is that in the corner?" he asked.
"That – is Time," Malygos replied, amused.
The small boy looked at him with golden eyes, then after a moment, too, seemed as if some amusement ran through him as well – or perhaps the look was kindly, he was not sure. Then the boy lifted himself off the rock shelf, and scampered off before the Mage could think to press him with any questions.
Naturally. He thought, but audibly sighing, recognising the irony.
And such it was, he sighed again to himself.
