A brilliant white light flashed into existence where the man had stood. It began to expand in an oval until it was seven feet tall, energy crackling at its edges. Once its growth stabilized, a foot emerged, followed by a knee, and the rest of a heavily armored man. Not two seconds after, a form bent with age hobbled out, his bald crown ringed by long, white hair leading the way. A handful of other humans brought up the rear, dressed in a similar fashion as the one who had summoned them. The portal closed with another flash.
"You have done well, Daikon," the old man said as he directed the others to begin setting up some strange rods around the cleft.
"Thank you, Master."
"Now, who do we have here?" The old man came to stand before Gromann. Bent over as he was, he stood only a little taller than the gnome.
"I am Froga Gromann, elder of Ieirithymbul." Gromann straightened, pride in his voice.
"So you are, so you are." He patted Gromann's head patronizingly then turned back to the others and said, "Are we ready? Daikon, please position the bait. Quickly, now. The dragon should be arriving any minute. I made sure our arrival was suitably announced."
Daikon dragged Gromann a few feet until they were in the middle of the circle of rods that had been planted into the ground. He used the amulet again to transform into Merem and drew a dagger from his belt.
"Night, night, old one."
He swung the hilt at Gromman's head and everything went black.
Palarandusk drifted, invisible and intangible, up the hillside toward where he had seen the flash of light. The little one, Burlmarr, should have been home in bed by then. An interesting gnome, that one. Palarandusk would have to keep his eye on him.
As he climbed into the foothills, the dragon realized he was nearing one of his many stashes of treasure that were hidden around the valley of Felrenden. Then he saw the two gnomes huddled at the base of an outcropping. He surged forward, worry growing in his heart. One of the gnomes looked hurt.
When he was within a few feet, Palarandusk slowly materialized his head. One of the gnomes shrieked. The other, older gnome lay motionless. Palarandusk could see a large bruise forming on the side of his head. Was that Elder Gromann?
"Do not be afraid, little one," said the dragon. "Are you hurt?"
"Y-yes," the young gnome stammered, "I–I mean, no. I'm fine, but Elder Gromann is hurt. I came to find him when his wife said he hadn't come home from the celebration."
"What was that flash of light?"
"I don't know. I just got here myself and found Elder Gromann lying on the ground. I can't get him to wake up. Can you help us?"
"Let me see what I can do."
Palarandusk moved forward and began to materialize fully. A scent in the air stopped him. There were men about. Palarandusk had been the target of adventurers seeking trophies before. Perhaps the elder had been kidnapped by them to use as bait. In which case, he had walked right into their trap. In fact, he then noticed the rods spaced at intervals around the outcropping.
"Fool, it is too late. There will be no escape." The young gnome had become a human wrapped in a hooded cloak, slinking toward the edge of the ring.
"Erans ne!" another voice cried out to Palarandusk's left.
The dragon whirled to face it. Recognizing the command phrase, he began to dematerialize. Arcs of energy shot toward him from the ends of the rods, each arc a different color. As they neared the dragon, rather than striking him, they encircled him from his snout to the tip of his tail. He was suddenly solid again, and he couldn't move.
"Welcome, great Palarandusk." The old man who had shouted the Draconic words came forward to stand in front of the dragon at the perimeter of the snare. "You have been bound in an anti-magic stasis field. You are immobile, cut off from the Weave. You are mine. I could kill you, if I wished."
"Fortunately, you have something I need. I know that you possess magic from the fallen Empire of Netheril. I know you have used that magic to prolong your life. As you can see, I am not exactly young anymore." The man chuckled at his own joke. "In exchange for the magic you used, I will set you free."
Burlmarr tiptoed into his home. It was a few hours before sunrise, and he'd hear no end of it if he woke his parents. He slipped off his shoes and trousers and snuggled under the covers. There was too much to think about to fall right to sleep, however. He had spent the last few hours-he had lost track of just how long-talking with the Unseen Protector. He still couldn't believe he had spoken with a dragon, let alone a childhood-story-come-true.
The subject of their conversation had been just as amazing. Palarandusk had questioned him extensively about his sickness and his ability to apparently link to the dragon's senses of sight and hearing. After casting several spells, it had been determined that the ability was not magical in nature. Palarandusk knew of some individuals who had learned to manifest mental powers through a regimen of strict discipline that took months, even years of subconscious scrutiny and introspection. That Burlmarr did so without such training meant he was likely some sort of "wilder." The sickness was probably a symptom of his inability to control the power, a result of overtaxing his mind. It would lessen-and eventually go away, Burlmarr hoped-as his mastery over the ability grew.
That still left the reason of why Palarandusk was the target of the link. It might have been because of the place the Unseen Protector held in the subconscious of Ieirithymbul, but the dragon had never been more than bedtime tales to Burlmarr. Palarandusk felt it was more likely connected to the various spells that sustained him. Perhaps one or more of them were natural attractants of mental energy.
Burlmarr yawned and rolled onto his side. All his thinking had finally exhausted his mind. His eyes were dry and his eyelids heavy. He quit trying to keep them open.
No sooner were his eyes closed than he began to dream. He was up in the hills surrounding the valley the gnomes called home. It was night, but the area was lit by arcs of multi-colored energy. The arcs held him trapped, staring straight into the face of a bent old man.
Burlmarr sat bolt upright in bed. It wasn't a dream. Palarandusk was in trouble. He leaped out of bed and pulled his pants on. His mother rushed into his room as he was fastening the laces of his shoes.
"Is everything all right? Are you sick, Burlmarr?"
"I'm fine, Mother. I have to go."
"But it's the middle of the night."
"I'm sorry. A friend's in trouble. I'll explain later."
He brushed past her and raced out the door.
As Burlmarr climbed out of the valley, his pace began to slow, allowing his thoughts to catch up with his actions. Questions crept forward from the back of his mind. How was he going to find Palarandusk? He hadn't recognized anything in the quick view he got from the dragon's perspective. What was he going to do when he got there? He was no great hero, like Ardabad, Braeder, or Pheldaer. He could barely control what little power he did have. If something was powerful enough to capture the great dragon, what hope did he have against it?
Burlmarr shook his head, trying to break free from the doubts. It didn't matter. Palarandusk was his friend. He would find a way to help.
At least locating the dragon wouldn't really be a problem. Burlamarr could see a flickering, multi-colored light in the distance already. It was probably the energy that held Palarandusk.
After another hour of walking and climbing, Burlmarr ducked behind a boulder only a few yards away from Palarandusk and his captors. He couldn't tell if the dragon was in any sort of pain, but he knew he probably didn't have long to think of something. He had to disrupt the arcs of energy.