a little longer just for spite, Madra then urged the horses out of the trees and along the smoother trail leading up to Timit's place. Smoke poured from all three chimneys. She would always think of old man Timit, though his son had been the heart of the farm for many years. A small bell announced their entrance, the tinkling sound not quite sweet.
"Greetings, Miss Madra!"
"Greetings to you, Timit son of Timit."
"I see you've brought your wagon," Timit said while peering out the window. Chelby chuckled.
"Feed my boy before he starves," Madra said.
"I want one of those and two of those," Chelby said before Timit could respond. The baker put the pastries on a wooden paddle and slid them into the closest brick oven.
"How is business?" Madra asked.
"Slow," Timit said. "Rumors of war in the east. Talk of dragons attacking villages. People don't want to leave their homes."
"Well, that's good," Madra said, and Timit looked confused. "I'm going to need everything you can sell me."
"What? Are you building another army?"
"I've decided to remarry," Madra said. "I can't have all my suitors starving while they wait their turn."
Timit was flummoxed.
"Here's what I need," Madra said, handing him a strip of parchment.
Timit's eyes went even wider. "I can't do that. I'd have to turn away all my other customers."
"Are your other customers here?" Madra asked, the coins in her hand making a clinking sound. "Did your other customers pull you from your momma and smack your bottom?"
"But--"
"Do you want me to put you back where I found you?"
"No, ma'am," Timit said. Madra put coins in the young man's hand. "Do you want anything else?" he asked Chelby, who nodded and pointed, his mouth still full.
"About my wagon," Madra said.
* * *
The Portly Dragon flew without joy. Beneath them passed a landscape reeking of death and wrongness. Soon the entire Jaga would be a rotting quagmire. Along the edges of the corruption, where lush greenery could still be seen, gathered the animals. Trees bent low, laden with creatures never meant to live so close together. The lack of feral dragons brought no comfort. Kenward suspected a multitude gathered around the heart of this madness. There, too, he would find the most complex and fascinating creature he'd ever known.
Allette Kilbor was the one thing Kenward Trell wanted most but could not have. He knew unrequited love. He'd known the sting of rejection, but this was different. She felt the same for him. He was certain. He'd seen it in her eyes. Someone or something else had stood in their way and kept them apart. It infuriated him and gnawed at his soul. When the Noonspire appeared on the horizon, Kenward quailed. Nothing he'd imagined prepared him for the scale of what had been buried under the swamp. The Noonspire sank beneath ground level to dizzying depths. The land around it had been thrust away, a wall of plasma and fire holding the soil, rock, water, and everything else out.
Rock formations with symmetry and order formed an intricate architecture protruding through the plasma barrier. A ripple passed through the column, making it breathe. Feral dragons clinging to the structure moved like a single organism. In the spire's light, they basked.
How could she survive here amid such evil? Kenward asked himself. He'd come here to save her from whatever influence this place had, but it was not simply the place. He could feel it now. There would be no negotiations; they were already at war. "Stoke the fires!" he shouted. "Full thrust!"
The massive Noonspire facets reached out to them, pulling them closer. Within the crystal, shadowy occupants could be seen. Madness, hatred, and impatience waited there. Kenward saw fear and worry and guilt but also love. Which feelings came from which figures, Kenward could not know for certain, but he could guess.
Go away! a voice boomed in Kenward's mind, knocking him from his feet. Farsy ran toward him, but Kenward could not hear his friend's