Chapter 17.

THE GREAT GLACIER OF ZENDIKAR,

PLANET ZEIST ( SUNSET)

The shadow dragon landed before the mouth of an ice cave. Whereupon, it folded its wings backward, against its sides, before slowly advancing inside without disturbing its rider in the slightest.

"Your prey lies ahead of us, Lord Soth," it telepathically intoned "Ready your lance."

The newly reanimated Death Knight did as commanded. A few moments later, he and his unconventional mount emerged from the ice cave's narrow tunnel into a much wider chamber towards the back.

"There he is!" the shadow dragon telepathically exclaimed. "Nicobolas the Gold!"

The shadow dragon might as well have been shouting out loud. For the massive creature so identified lifted his head, almost instantly. Thereby, the shadow dragon unfurled its wings and sprang forward into the air. The Death Knight's lance pointed straight at where the gold dragon's throat met the rear hinge of his lower jaw.

"A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-ARGH!"

At that same moment, far out at sea, Helene Frisson suddenly found herself clutching at her forehead, in pain, using both hands. Following which, she started to slump to the floor of the Black Rose's dining room. With only Kaulder's proximity-enhanced quick reflexes preventing her from completing that descent! She was therefore unaware of being carried to her cabin as fast as Kaulder could negotiate the corridors between there and the dining room. Nor she was conscious of being gently-but-hurriedly placed on her bed. Indeed, the only thing she did perceive was being in a strange throne room!

With the throne in question occupied by a lovely young woman with short brown hair and a tiara decorated with three gems of ever-changing color.

"Wow!" exclaimed the latter. "I never expected to see you two, again. At least, not here."

"You know those PTB's. Always doing the unexpected."

It was another woman who uttered that reply with such odd phrasing! One that Helene could not see anywhere before her. Yet, whose voice was strangely familiar.

"We can't allow you to do to these people what you planned to do back on our world," added a male voice somewhere to Helene's left. "I sincerely wish there was another way, Cordie! But..."

"The name is Glordelia!" snapped the scantily clad monarch, springing to her feet, indignantly.

"How about we split the difference?" countered the second woman. "And just call you 'beeyotch.' "

Whereupon, Glordelia grinned... like a hungry shark.

"I forgot what a great team you two make. Right down to the feeble banter preceding a a big fight scene! Why not save yourselves a lot of trouble and join up with me, instead?"

"You mean, 'come over to the Dark Side?' Do either of us look like Luke Skywalker to you?"

"I had a different look in mind."

Whereupon, Glordelia thrust both her arms forward; the palms of her hands vertically pointed upward. This was followed by a white flash of light... and twin screams of agony.

Valendra Greycloak was a moon-elf of partial Crinti descent.* Consequently, she had been born with a natural affinity for psionic talents like telepathy and psychometry. Talents that she had been trained to refine soon after being inducted into the Moonstar Rangers. That, in turn, allowed her to scan Helene Frisson's mind while the werewolf huntress lay unconscious. And to say that she had been astounded by what she had observed, therein, would be an understatement!

"Her 'skeleton' is more like the jointed wooden framework of one of those string-operated puppets the Faerunians call 'marionettes'. Except, it's made of something akin to iron, yet shiny like silver. While her 'flesh' is really several layers of alchemically treated sculptor's clay. But, that is not the discovery that confounds me most. That distinction belongs to the fact that her mind holds the life essences of three_ women! Each one's original body being the spitting image of the other two. Yet, the essence of the one called Helene is not directly related to the other two!"

Kaulder tried to wrap his head around this as he asked the obvious question.

"What made her collapse like that?"

"She had a vision of someone using a lance, tempered with powdered scale of black dragon, to kill a _gold_ dragon! That vision being an unanticipated side-effect of the magic potion used to give this golem its semblance of life!"

"I don't follow."

Valendra paused to consider how best to explain.

"What do you know of a sword called 'Stormbringer?' "

SUNNYDALE, CALIFORNIA

MAR. 27, 2014 (6:00 PM/PST)

"Dr. Wilkinson, I presume?"

Ben Wilkinson had already signed out for the evening, and had just reached his car in the hospital's underground parking lot, when he heard that unmistakably female voice call his name.

"May I help you?" he asked the somewhat older woman standing behind him.

"I'm Lynn Smith of the Daughters of the Phoenix. And I'm here to escort you to New York City... to meet with the Witches' Council."

Ben's initially annoyed facial expression turned to one of wide-eyed nervousness, bordering on panic, when he heard that last part.

"I b-b-beg your pardon?"

"You heard my mom," replied a new and younger voice. "Move!"

The prodding of something very sharp, against the small of his back, made Ben decide that they were not bluffing. Moments later, the three of them shimmered into the necropolis of St. Chrysostom's Cathedral in Manhattan. There, Ben was introduced to the Lady Glaeser; High Arbiter of the Witches' Council.

"We are informed that you have been serving as middleman in an illegal transaction between the Children of Knowledge and a chaos-worshiping Baali named Ethan Rayne! We wish to know the particulars of that transaction. How thoroughly you recount those particulars will determine the level of severity in the consequences meted out to you."

Ben could not help gulping before beginning his reply with a semi-rhetorical question.

"Have you ever heard of 'the elixir of bio-essence transference?' "

Lynn and Bianca Smith silently listened to the explanation that followed. Wide-mouthed with shock at the enormity of the plot they had stumbled across (and just barely survived through their mastery of post-pyrokinetic regeneration). And, when they relayed this information to Amal Gam and Dolan 36, a few hours later, the latter pair were no less flabbergasted!

The eight-hundred-year-old witch hunter arched his eyebrows in amazement.

"Just a very old legend from my world. Of a continent called Lemuria that was eventually permanently submerged as the result of a global flood. That, prior to this flood, half its nation-states were ruled by reptilian beings called 'Dragon Kings'. And that the very last Dragon King, Chandrasearavitriol, was finally overthrown by a pair of human warriors named Elric and Thongor. The former being the owner of a sword called Stormbringer that could magically drain the life force of whoever it was run through! Are you saying...?"

Valendra nodded. "A shard from that sword was used as the main ingredient in the aforementioned potion."

BALDUR'S GATE (THREE MINUTES BEFORE EIGHT-OF-THE-CLOCK)

"Halt!" ordered Captain Vrackmul. "Identify yourselves and state your business."

"I am Lord Nicolaas Thann of the Vintners, Distillers, and Brewers Guild (Mystaran branch). Here are my credentials!"

The gaudily dressed aristocrat handed the Flaming Fist watch commander a scroll bound with a red ribbon. The latter undid the ribbon, and unfurled the scroll. He then spent a good minute or so reading it from top to bottom.

"Well?!" exclaimed Lord Thann with mounting impatience.

"Your credentials do seem to be in order, Milord. Unfortunately, there are no airjammers available at the moment!"

"But, that's an outrage! I have _twelve dozen_ casks of mushroom-wine bound for the nuptial feast of Queen Glordelia in Pylea. It must get there before the week is out."

"And it shall, Milord! Provided you can wait till tomorrow morning. That's when the Flying Huntsmen will be bringing in a recently confiscated pirate vessel. Once they do so, I can approach their commanding officer and request that he _loan_ us the airjammer on your behalf."

The slightly older man pondered this for a moment. Then, he smiled and nodded.

"That will be satisfactory."

tbc

*Crinti: a drow sub-culture partially descended from humans and half-elves captured in slave raids on the surface.

Elric of Melnibone: an albino barbarian hero created and owned by s-f/fantasy author Michael Moorcock.

Thongor of Lemuria: Lin Carter's answer to Conan the Barbarian.