Chapter 41: The Miracle of Fane's Folly

Baron Fane's estate had never been a place of much excitement. It was a modest holding of rock-strewn fields and thin woods, his title a hollow echo of a more prosperous time. But now, it was the site of a burgeoning miracle. The mage Fane had hired, a man with more ambition than sense, had successfully cast the Time Acceleration spell on a small, fenced-off plot. The cost had been exorbitant, nearly bankrupting the Baron, but the results were undeniable.

From the strange, hard little seeds the black dragon had "traded" him, new plants erupted. They were not the familiar, spindly wheat or hardy barley of the region. One grew into a thick, towering stalk, far taller than a man, sprouting strange, silk-tasseled ears. The other grew into a low, leafy bush, hiding its bounty beneath the soil.

"What is this madness?" the mage muttered, watching the plants grow at a visible rate, their life cycle compressed from months into a single day. "This is no plant I've ever seen in any grimoire."

Fane, however, saw only gold. He paced the edge of the plot, his eyes wide with avarice. "Faster! Can't you make it go faster?"

"My lord Baron, any more mana and the spell matrix will collapse!" the mage protested, wiping sweat from his brow.

By what should have been dusk, the accelerated day was over. The tall stalks were heavy with their golden ears; the bushes were ready to be uprooted. Fane, with his few remaining servants, harvested his prize. When they shucked the first ear of the tall plant—corn, as it was known on another world—and saw the rows of plump, perfect kernels, a gasp went through the small crowd. When they dug up the first bush and found it laden with a dozen heavy, nutrient-rich tubers—potatoes—they fell silent in awe.

They cooked them over a fire, tentatively at first, then with growing excitement. The flavor was new, but the sheer substance, the starchy, fulfilling weight of the food, was unlike anything they had ever tasted. A single potato was more filling than a loaf of their coarse bread.

"We're rich!" Fane crowed, holding a roasted potato aloft like a scepter. "We're rich! This isn't Fane's Folly, this is Fane's Fortune!" He imagined presenting his discovery to the Duke, perhaps even the King. He would be granted new lands, a greater title. He would be a legend.

A short distance away, disguised by illusion as a traveling merchant, the dragon Bamas watched the proceedings with a cynical eye. Mortals were so easily impressed. He sent a brief, telepathic report to his new master, a surge of information and images conveyed through the slave contract. The first harvest was a success. His task here was done. With a final, contemptuous glance at the celebrating baron, he melted back into the shadows of the forest, his mind already calculating how much of his own hoard he would have to sacrifice to break this accursed bond.