As grateful as the ogre mage was, he wondered in his mind if he was truly worthy. How long would his education in magic take? The great knowledge of the High Ogres surely took decades of study and learning, possibly more years than he had left in life.
But as if reading his thoughts, the robed shade said reassuringly, “Fear not, dear Dauroth … the gifts we give to you will not take so long to collect and understand.”
Then the shade pointed a long, tapering finger ending in a black talon at him.
Dauroth let out a gasp as his head filled with incredible visions. The visions flashed one after another through his mind, sinking deep into his consciousness. Each lasted scarcely a second, yet the aggregate left a profound impact upon Dauroth. With each vision, his view of the world, of his place in the scheme of things, grew. He saw and understood, faster than he would have deemed possible, what needed to be done to achieve the resurrection of the ogre race. In a quick blur of time, he learned all the powerful spells that would need to be cast.
And most important of all, he saw how he himself could become as perfect as his ancestors had been. He saw how he could become the first of a new age of Ogre Titans.
The moment the visions dimmed and retreated, Dauroth cried out from gratitude. Tears flowed down his cheeks. He questioned nothing that the spirit had granted him, for never in a hundred lifetimes could he have learned all that he knew. The ogre knew the spells, the history … he knew it all.
“You are the beginning,” the shade proclaimed, slowly dissipating. “You shall be the end. You shall bring to Krynn the Golden Age again, and all will sing your name.”
Then Dauroth had found himself alone again, but no longer did he feel alone. Indeed, the ogre mage felt surrounded by others, for the ghosts of all the High Ogres stood with him.
Thinking back, he had been so eager to begin. He had grabbed his paltry findings and possessions and, in only minutes after that grand encounter, had headed in search of what he knew he would need to accomplish his goal, including one of the most important and rare ingredients-the blood of elves.
So much had happened since that time, so much that continued to propel him closer to his goal. Yet there had been setbacks along the way too. At times Dauroth wondered if he was still on the right path, whether things were happening too slowly.
Dauroth had prayed for some sort of sign, some hint that he was still the chosen one. For the longest time, his prayers had gone unanswered, and he’d feared the worst. Then, just when he was growing desperate, the golden teardrop had fallen into his hands.
Dauroth stared deeper and deeper into the artifact, staring at his own face looking back at him until-it was like a transition to dreaming-he suddenly stood within the teardrop, staring out at his colossal form. Then the huge Dauroth faded and the one within the teardrop turned and slowly began to drift in an ecstasy through a golden land.
He knew that place, for, despite its brilliant hue, it was the very valley in which his sanctum lay. Dauroth’s astral form came upon a blinding, sun-drenched tree with a crown that swept across the sky. Pausing, he knelt at its base, paying homage. Yes, there at those roots he had spotted the tiny, glistening object. It should have been easy for anyone to find, but it had lain there waiting for him. The moment that he had plucked it up, he had known it for what it was and how it had been meant to stir anew his determination to succeed.
Dauroth’s spirit form drifted on eagerly. In the sky distant creatures that might have been birds or something much larger soared by. The land below was lush with vegetation, all of it bathed in the same wondrous gold. Even Dauroth’s flesh-or the facsimile of it-had taken on that warm hue.
Hovering a few inches above the ground, the Titan easily rose over one hill after another. His speed multiplied. In barely the time it took to blink, Dauroth crossed the edge of the hidden valley-
And froze there, completely in awe despite the fact that he had witnessed that sight in his mind several times before.
It was a gleaming city cast in mirrorlike gold and sparkling diamond colors. Banners fluttered from its proud, turreted towers, and mingled within, Dauroth could see the sweeping, arched roofs of other great structures. Unfortunately, there was little more to see, for a vast, metal wall surrounded the city, a wall several times the height of the Titan. Above the roofs, sleek avian creatures soared in great numbers.
With an almost shy, childlike expression, Dauroth darted forward again. Perhaps he would be permitted …
But a huge ball of light suddenly burst before him. As he shielded his eyes, Dauroth made out something in the midst of the light. He did not need to see it coalesce to know what it was, for each time he sought the golden city, the guardian materialized.
For a brief moment, it evinced the shape and color of a Titan, but then it turned into something else equally astonishing. It was a being forged of magnificent gold. Dauroth sometimes termed the being a male, although there was nothing of either gender apparent in its appearance.
The golden guardian raised a hand toward him. Although it had no mouth, the Titan heard in his head words of a musical tongue; that which he himself spoke was but a pale imitation. As it had been since his first time there, Dauroth understood each word clearly as if he’d been born to the language.
It is not yet earned… not yet… soon perhaps.
In the mortal world, Dauroth’s body nearly jerked awake. Within the teardrop, his spirit form briefly lost cohesion. Only his strict discipline enabled the Titan leader to recover.
Each time he had confronted the guardian in the past, it had uttered those same words. More times than Dauroth cared to recall, he had been sent back with those words echoing through his mind like a condemnation. It is not yet earned… not yet…
But never before had the guardian added the last two words.
Both the body and spirit of Dauroth smiled. He was close to achieving his ultimate goal. The city was in reach.
The city held the final secrets that he needed to restore the glory of the ogre race and transform all of Krynn.
Its hand still raised against Dauroth, the guardian repeated one last time, It is not yet earned… not yet…
The last two words-those words of tremendous hope-were not repeated, and Dauroth feared that perhaps he had imagined them the first time. The city, the landscape, and their golden guardian began to fade. Dauroth felt the tug of his mortal shell, demanding that he return to the earthly plane. Yet the blue-skinned sorcerer fought to linger in the vision, silently demanding to hear the encouragement he had heard earlier.
And as the last of the guardian faded, those words came again.
But soon perhaps… it said in its toneless voice. Soon perhaps… it echoed, much to his delight.
With that, Dauroth ceased his struggle to remain free of his corporeal form. The tension built up by his resistance caused him to snap awake in the meditation chamber, his body wracked with pain and his head pounding so harshly that it felt as if it were about to explode. Yet those sensations quickly passed, urged away by his utter exuberance. Dauroth leaped to his feet, stretching one hand out to catch the teardrop, which suddenly no longer had the power to hover and was about to fall.
With utmost reverence, the robed spellcaster placed the artifact in a small ivory chest atop a shelf in the wall. Dauroth uttered a single syllable and a faint red glow surrounded the chest. A moment later, the container itself faded away, as though it were smoke blown on the wind.