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dragged over the floor. The bald, wizened head shifted back and forth as the librarian drank in the chaos.
    He fixed upon Valea. “What sort of madness possesses you, my lady? Just look at this! I’ll have to spend hours trying to sort this mess out!”
    “My apologies!” Despite the fact that it might mean discovery, she added, “I’ll certainly help put them away—”
    The librarian—it was never known if he or, assuming there was more than one, they had names—cut off her apology and offer with a curt wave. Straightening to his full possibly four-foot height, he more calmly asked, “How may I serve you? What knowledge do you seek?”
    Valea looked around anxiously. “I—never mind! I must be going.”
    “As you like.” Without another word, the gnomish figure bent to retrieve one of the books.
    Cabe’s daughter started to concentrate on returning to the chamber of the tapestry. She already had a spell ready that would transport her away from any danger the golems might still present. What concerned her more was another matter.
    “Master librarian . . .” When he paused in his efforts to look up at her, Valea quickly asked, “Can you avoid mentioning that I was here?”
    It was a tremendous gamble. Simply by asking such a question, she revealed that her excursion here had not been one permitted by the lord of Penacles.
    “If he does not ask, there is no need to speak of this,” the librarian flatly replied.
    “Thank you,” she said, much relieved. Staring again at the books, the enchantress added, “I should truly help—”
    “There is no need.” With that, he returned to his task, his tone and stance utterly dismissing her.
    Biting her lip, Valea vanished.
    THE LIBRARIAN STRAIGHTENED. He dropped the book back onto the pile, then snapped his fingers.
    The books disappeared, moments later reappearing on the shelves as if never having moved.
    His eyes narrowed as he stared at where the enchantress had stood.
    “The phoenix . . . ,” the librarian whispered to himself. “May the land preserve us, he searches for the phoenix . . .”

III

IN THE SHADOW OF THE DEAD
    A CHILL COURSED through his bones, jarring him from the darkness. A sound echoed in his head, the clattering of hooves. The clattering was slight at first but steadily grew.
    Shade awoke and the sound ceased.
    His gaze focused, revealing a desolate land shadowed by night, with only the half-seen crimson moon, Styx, giving anything resembling illumination. The sorcerer knew instantly where he had sent himself, even though the casting had been random, or at least it should have been.
    “The Hell Plains . . . ,” he murmured.
    A sound again briefly assailed him. Shade stiffened, realizing that it was one heard with not his ears but rather his mind .
    Seizing the edges of his vast cloak, he wrapped himself deep within the garment. Only his eyes remained uncovered.
    Silence reigned again, silence punctuated by an occasional rumble of the ground. The Hell Plains never remained completely still, their seismic activity a reflection of their lord, the Red Dragon. Even though this particular Dragon King was young in comparison to the others—his sire slain by Cabe’s mad father, Azran, and Azran’s deadly creation, the sword mockingly called Nameless—he was still a potent threat.
    But it was not the drake lord whom Shade sought to evade. Barely a breath after he had secreted himself with his power, a huge, equine form charged into sight.
    The stallion was so black that he stood out even against the night. He was larger than any mortal beast and appeared as much shadow as substance. Ice-blue orbs without pupils glittered with a light of their own as the steed reared.
    The creature surveyed the area. Nostrils flared. The stallion snorted as if in frustration. Returning to all fours, the horse angrily scraped one hoof against the hard ground, and despite the volcanic heat having sealed it harder than ordinary rock, the hoof