Jam was floating about seven inches above the ground.

  Gord, who had been in a sunlit green space with trumpet flowers, was now in a dark dungeon with baleful torchlight. It took him a moment to organize his senses. He saw that Jam was not floating of his own power; a man in green armor held him above the ground.

  "I said, 'Put him down'," Lita demanded. "He is harmless. And he is under my protection."

  "But he said he was a slayer," the guard said. "A slayer!"

  "I said I was a Slayer fan," Jam said. "Isn't everyone?"

  There were two other guards behind the first. One was grinning in a non-threatening way, and the other had drawn his sword and hardened his jaw.

  Gord took in his surroundings. They had appeared under an archway that was the same size as the trumpet archway, except it was made of stone. Red moss, in the form of runes, clearly marked the spells that powered the arch. On the floor was a symbol that reminded him of the pentacle Slayer used on their albums. He was not a fan of Slayer and had tossed their Hell Awaits cassette out of his car in 1985 while he was speeding down the highway. And that was before the first song had finished. So Jam had seen the pentacle and said something stupid, and the guard had responded. Gord's third observation was that the only door out of this room was behind the guards in green armor. There were no windows.

  "Tell them you aren't a slayer," Gord said. "Come on, Jam."

  "But besides DeathFace Blitzkrieg, they are my favorite band."

  Gord was tempted to ask him where Anvil was on that list but decided against it. He needed to keep his cool.

  "Lower him, please," Gord said. "He is very far from being a slayer or a fighter or… well, a threat." These men were soldiers like him, and perhaps he could find a bond. "He hasn't even slain a rabbit."

  The guard holding Jam looked at Gord. For a moment, Gord thought maybe he would reach out and grab him with his other hand and lift him to a similar height as Jam, which, judging by the size of the guy, would be possible. Instead, he dropped Jam, who crumbled onto the floor. "Rabbit slayer," the guard said, and he and the other two guards laughed. "Rabbit slayer."

  Jam pulled himself up from the floor, glanced imperiously above their heads and opened his mouth to speak.

  Gord stood in front of him and said, "I was told there is green beer here."

  That got another laugh out of the guards.

  "I am Lita, Great Green Witch of the Vale of Silent Lucidity!" Lita's voice was deeper and raspier—she was clearly using some kind of effect. "And you didn't let this man go until another man told you what to do."

  "My apologies," the big guard said. "I did not recognize you, Great Green Witch."

  "Well, by the powers invested in me by King Fidds the Great, I demand passage. I will not demand a sacrifice from you."

  The soldier paled a little, then nodded at Lita and gestured towards the door. One of the other guards opened it. Gord saluted them, and they returned his salute with a confused look. Then he followed Lita, pulling Jam along.

  They entered a hallway lit by lines of glowing green lichen on the floor and ceiling. The door closed heavily behind them, which suggested to Gord that it needed to be heavy to protect against big and heavy things that might come through that portal.

  "Usually, the portals aren't so heavily guarded," Lita said. "And those men, despite their inability to recognize my greatness, were some of Fidds's elite soldiers from his Close My Eyes Forever legion. Their specialty, of course, is closing people's eyes."

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  "They were not that smart," Jam said. "It's great that I can judge people right away by seeing their numbers!"

  Gord turned to Lita. "Where exactly are we?"

  "You are in the hall of the all-powerful druid, King Fidds, ruler of the realm of Balladria." It was not Lita who said these words. In fact, it was a male voice. Gord turned towards it, looking down the hall. A glowing man stood there, dressed in what looked to be green velvet, with leafy green-sleeved arms and leafy covered legs, and even his beard was green. The man wore a crown of flowers. "The great King Fidds who rules over the plants and beasts and any who walk upon his land. He who is the greatest mind of his generation and loved by all his subjects. He who is the hammer of the metal gods: Fidds."

  Lita was already on the floor, her head pressed to the ground. "My all-powerful and wondrous lord." She waved for Gord to get down, and he knelt. Jam stared above the green man's head, his mouth wide open, as he whispered, "OH MY GOD."

  Gord pulled Jam down and pushed his head so that he was looking at the druid king's sandaled feet. Gord had bowed to Queen Elizabeth once and felt that same historic power of the throne in this man.

  But this king glowed with actual power. A song was whispering around him, and it took Gord a moment to recognize 'The Battle of Evermore' by Led Zeppelin. This man was very much like Robert Plant if he'd grown a green beard. He glowed so brightly that he was lighting up the dimly lit hall. So much green power that Gord felt as if it were growing into every crack in the hallway. From his position, he saw that Fidds's sandals were made of leaves with vines that stretched out onto the floor in order to balance him.

  Right now, the sandals were tapping. It took Gord a moment to realize it was because King Fidds was laughing. "Oh, Lita, as always you are hilarious."

  "My cat would not agree," she replied.

  "Hey, she's standing," Jam said.

  Gord glanced over to see Lita standing above them, chuckling. He looked up at the druid king, who grinned down. "Yes, you may stand in my presence." He made a motion with his hand. "The Great Green Witch of the Vale of Silent Lucidity is having a laugh."

  Gord slowly rose.

  "I have known King Fidds for more years than I dare count," Lita explained. "I couldn't help indulging our shared sense of humour."

  Gord wondered how well they knew each other, and a moment of his own greenness came over him. But he remembered his protocols. "I am unsure how to greet you," Gord said.

  "Just call me Fidds, all my friends do."

  "It is a pleasure to meet you, Fidds," Gord said. "I am Gord of Earth."

  "Yes, I smelled you were spawners. And you?" His smile and kind eyes turned towards Jam. But Gord could see he was measuring them. He was one of those men who could smile with warmth, but that didn't mean he was soft underneath.

  "I am known as Jam the Great," Jam said. "Forsooth," he added.

  "Well, Gord of Earth and Jam the Great, it is a pleasure. Welcome to the Dream On Palace in the kingdom of Balladria."

  Lita tapped King Fidds on the shoulder, which made a few of the vines in his outfit stroke her hand. It was the first time Gord wished he was a vine. "It is unlike you to be strolling the lower levels without guards protecting your wise and valued personage."

  "I wanted to be alone with my thoughts. Then the arrival bell rang, I came here, guessing it was you."

  "And why such a hurry to see me?" she asked. "Normally, you would make even an old friend wait to be in your presence."

  "Is that a complaint?" he said. Then drew in a breath. "There has been an attempt on my life."

  She brought up her staff and looked over her shoulder. "Recently?" she asked. "By whom?"

  "I misspoke. I have been in too many conversations with my seer. She, well, you know Ann of Hart. She is drifting in her Dream Boat even when on land. So, I am time-befuddled right now."

  "So, you haven't been attacked?" Lita asked.

  "No," he said. "But I will be. She warned me. It is strange. I was at the Dream Theater this morning. So, that is why I am temporally mixed up. The attack was foretold. Or foresaid."

  "Or forsooth," Jam added.

  Gord, who didn't know Old English that well, was suspicious that Jam was misusing the word.

  "Ann of Hart was insistent that I protect myself from this threat. But we are not at war with any great powers at this moment. Nor do I think that there is a threat other than the one who likes to look into mirrors."

  "Blayre," Lita said. And even in her tone of voice, Gord was certain there was a bit of derision there.

  Fidds ran a hand through his literally velvety hair. "Yes, he has always been jealous of my green flowing locks."

  "Is this the same Blayre you mentioned earlier?" Gord asked.

  "Yes. And good of you to remember." She tapped Gord's shoulder. "Fates have woven these strands together, for Blayre is the reason I have brought these spawners to your kingdom. They were intended to be spawned in Blayre Palace."

  "And you interfered with that spawning?" Fidds asked.

  "Yes, yes, I did."

  "Then you are even wiser a witch than I have understood. We have much to discuss." He turned, and Gord noticed lumps of green all along his vertebrae. "Follow me," he said, looking back. "This is the kind of conversation that one should only have over green morning beer."

  "Amen," Gord said. "Or rock on. Whatever you say in this realm."

  Fidds slapped Gord's shoulder. His tiny vines didn't extend though. "You are a wise, wise man. No matter what world we are from the song remains the same."

  He led them down the hall.