After much discussion about the significance of Mariala’s discovery, and what their next course of action should be, the Hand of Fortune decided this opportunity was too great to pass up. It was decided they would infiltrate the Kalosian holy site of Nah-henu before the scheduled meeting, in the hopes of spying out some of the important Vortex members as they arrived. Devrik pointed out that walking into the middle of a meeting of what had to be some pretty friggin’ powerful members of this mysterious organization was perhaps not the best plan, but when the others insisted it was simply a reconnaissance mission to gather intelligence, not an ambush, he shrugged and agreed.

After setting the now-abandoned cabin to rights, out of respect for the old hermit so ruthlessly murdered, the companions headed back to Dor Areson to prepare for the journey. Being a stop on the Pilgrim’s Road to Nah-henu, there was no trouble in finding vendors to sell them the accoutrement they needed – bits of yellow clothing for some, yellow armbands for others, and various amulets carried by the devout worshipper of Kalos. Vulk doffed all signs of his own religious affiliation, packing his vestments at the bottom of his saddle bags – and sending up a brief prayer to Kasira asking understanding and forgiveness.

Thankfully, the decentralized, even fractured, nature of the Cult of Kalos made impersonating pilgrims a relatively easy and safe gambit. Vulk, drawing on his comparative theology studies, schooled his companions on the broad outlines of Kalosian philosophy and worship, and more specifically on what he knew of the Order of the Ochre Hand, the monastic brotherhood who oversaw the shrine at Nah-henu and catered to the pilgrims who came to see, and sometimes enter, the holy place. Everyone, of course, was familiar with the ochre-glazed pottery, with it’s black interlocking geometric and serpentine motifs, that the monastery was famous for, if somewhat less knowledgeable about its theology.

They also knew that the Mad God’s creations, the often-monsterous kalovai, were said to enter the world from Nah-henu. But really disturbing to the group was the news that, while most pilgrims contented themselves with viewing the fabled tower and praying at the cave-shrine, the pilgrims who elected to enter the Triple Labyrinth did so in the hope that their souls would be taken up by the deity and used in his creations,  reincarnating them as kalovai. And about two-thirds of those entering the mazes never returned, presumably because their prayers were answered.

“Those don’t seem like great odds,” Mariala said nervously, as they rode down the trail into the wilderness south of Areson. “And we’re going in there?”

“If the Vortexians are using the place as a cover for their meetings, then it can’t be all that dangerous,” Korwin assured her loftily. “Most Kalosians are simple peasants… if the Labyrinth is merely dangerous due to traps or kalovai, it’s hardly surprising they would have a difficult time of it; but we are made of nobler stuff, eh? And if they vanish, instead, because they truly are considered worthy by their god, that’s even better – I doubt such as we are in any danger of qualifying, in the eyes of the Mad God, to be reborn as kalovai.”

Vulk thought there was a flaw in this argument, somewhere. But the decision had been made, so he said nothing, and they rode on in silence…

♦ ♦ ♦

The sun was setting in a brilliant display of reds and golds when the party crested the last hill and began their decent into the valley of the Yellow River. They crossed the broad ford of the river just as the last of the sun dipped below the western hills, leaving them in a rich gloaming shadow, with only the  ice covered peaks of Mt. Bowin to the south still bathed in a supernally beautiful glow of rose and gold. They rode up the west bank and soon found themselves in the large courtyard of the Monastery of the Ochre Hand, where a black-robed monk and several orange-clad acolytes met them.

After the ritual greeting (and the gifting of the customary tithe), the horses were led off to the large stables, and the companions were guided to one of the guest houses the monks maintained for pilgrims.

“You have arrived in good time,” the elderly, balding monk said as he escorted them to the large room they would be sharing. “We are beginning to fill up, as the faithful arrive for the High Holy Day… both moons full, on the night of the Höl Kopia! A rare and auspicious event, and we expect to be overflowing with pilgrims by tomorrow evening!”

Once settled into their clean but spartan room the group quietly discussed the plan for the next day until the bell rang for the evening meal. In the Guest Refectory they ate with over a score of other (presumably more sincere) pilgrims, and pursued a campaign of subtle questioning and misdirection. The latter was primarily supplied by Devrik, who dropped hints that might be construed as his scouting out new kalovai for the Taruthani Games in the Republic, on the theory that this might provide an explanation if their non-Kalosian status was discovered. Their fellow guests all seemed to be what they purported to be, with no sign of possible Vortex infiltrators.

The group decided to retire back to their room, once the Kalos’ Crook was bought out, thinking it best to avoid  the festival atmosphere that began to pervade the refectory as the drinking began. They were all quite certain that they’d need all their strength and wits for the morning, when they would enter the Triple Labyrinth…

♦ ♦ ♦

The next morning dawned gray and misty. After an austere breakfast in the refectory the group began the eight kilometer walk to Nah-henu. Several other groups of pilgrims were ahead of and behind them, all quiet and respectful as they wound their way along the well-worn path up into the western hills of the river valley, toward the tongue of headland that jutted out into Lake Everbrite. The vegetation grew more sparse as the hills rose, until they were walking through a rugged heathland of pale violet heather and black stones. Eventually they came around a small shoulder of higher land and saw before them at last the famed Ebon Tower of Nah-henu.

Less than a kilometer ahead of them rose a sheer cliff of gray stone, stretching from one side of the peninsula to the other, with more rugged heath running on north from the cliff top. It was as if some massive upheaval had lifted the northern part of the peninsula more than 100 meters up, shearing it from the rest of the land in one clean stroke. Their path led down to the foot of the cliff, and a tall but narrow opening into wall, with great pillars of basalt carved on either side of it, and a massive black lintel carved above. But what drew the eye and caused everyone to stop and stare, was the great black tower that rose atop the cliff, soaring high into the sky.

It was an eight-sided spire of black basalt, appearing to be as smooth and seamless as if it had been carved from a single block, and it rose more than 200 meters above the top of the cliff. It narrowed as it leapt upward, and this morning the five unevenly layered pinnacles that gave its top a jagged, broken look were wreathed in the white mists of the lowering clouds. No door, nor any window, could be seen in all that expanse of shiny black stone, and a sense of foreboding settled over the group as they began to move down the path again.

The subtle feeling of gloom and oppression increased as they approached the cave mouth, the entrance to the Shrine of Nah-henu, and it didn’t seem to be limited to the Hand of Fortune… the other pilgrims appeared also to be overcome with a sense of disquiet… or perhaps it was religious awe.

“It’s the nature of this place,” Vulk assured his friends quietly, shaking off the feeling. “It’s well known that Kalos has sealed the Nitaran vortex here, and that certain magics will not work within sight of the tower – flying, for instance. No doubt this feeling of disquiet is a result of these suppressions, nothing more.”

With that encouragement they entered the dark portal of the shrine, which was much wider than it had appeared from a distance – 10 meters wide, and some 30 meters high. They stepped past two silent, stone-faced guards with tall spears, into a vast and impressive space. The Shrine may have begun as a natural cavern, but over the centuries the priests of the God had shaped it and expanded it, and now it was a rectangle, 45 meters wide and 30 meters deep; the ceiling was an intricate series of arches, carved in basalt and looking like the ribs of some leviathan, and soared 40 meters above them, into impenetrable shadows.

The floor of the Shrine was covered in ochre tiles in which appeared to be imbedded the bones and skulls of a thousand different creatures – some human, some very clearly not – and no two tiles appeared to be the same. Along the walls jutted out of a series of triangular piers, maybe 1.5 meters deep and spaced two meters apart, lined, as were the walls between, with panels of basalt, inlaid with intricate Kalosian patterns in obsidian, onyx and jet. Each pier rose into the shadows above, but from the floor to a height of three meters the two sides of each pier were faced with panels of what appeared to be amber, within which were encased the skeletal remains of a myriad of creatures. The only light in the Shrine, aside from the gray daylight the entrance allowed in, was an amber glow from deep within these panels. In the center of the space a massive column of basalt and bone-riddled amber, like a 16-pointed star, rose into the darkness above, giving the impression that it might actually reach the base of the great tower above.

At the four corners of the Shrine were alcoves where yellow-robed priests counseled supplicants who wished guidance in their prayers, and along the back wall, beyond the central pillar, were five archways. Two were small, intimate spaces for private prayer, apparently, but three were large and intricately carved, and over these were symbols, the only colors other than black, ochre and amber in the place. The first, on their right, was the Aranda Gate, over which was an image of the blue moon, set against a field of silver stars; in the center was the Zira Gate, and a golden image of the sun on a field of brilliant blue; and lastly, on the left, was the Osal Gate, with an image of the rose moon set in flat black.

As they stood gazing at the Gates something moved in the dimness beyond the Osal Gate, and suddenly a hulking Northern Hill Troll lumbered out of it and into the Shrine. The score or more of pilgrims scattered about the chamber froze in a mixture of fear and religious awe, and the priests quietly began to shepherd them out of the path of the confused-seeming kalovai as it moved toward the daylight beyond the great entrance.

But one of the orange-clad acolytes, perhaps too new to his calling and not yet fully trained, stood gaping at his god’s creation. As the creature moved past him he cried out in apparent religious ecstasy, his arms stretched toward the stone-skinned behemoth. The beast barely turned it’s head toward the man, but it lashed out suddenly with one massive arm. The acolyte sailed through the air and slammed into the wall with a sickening thump and a sharp crack. His body slid to the floor and lay with head and both legs twisted at angles impossible for a living human to achieve.

As the troll passed out of the Shrine’s entrance and into its first morning, several priests rushed forward to take up the body of the fallen acolyte, while others gathered the now-murmuring pilgrims into small groups and began reciting passages of scripture, explaining the nature of the God’s creations and why they may not be molested by anyone while within sight of the Ebon Tower.

“Such is the fate we accept who guard the Gates of the Triple Labyrinth,” a dolorous voice behind the group intoned, startling them out of their shocked contemplation of sudden death.

They turned to see one of the priests of Kalos, a tall, thin man with a long, cadaverous face in which deep set eyes reflected the amber light. His long black hair was pulled back and bound with a golden ring, and his hands were tucked serenely into the sleeves of his yellow robe. He stood silently, and after a moment Vulk realized he was waiting for a ritual response. Vulk had made sure to confirm his memory of the correct phrasing the night before, with one of the monks, and now he cleared his throat before speaking it.

“We seek our own fates, brother – to pass these Gates, that we might test our mettle in the God’s crucible, and be reborn as one of His favored Children.”

If the priest seemed surprised that five people wished to enter the Labyrinth as a group, he didn’t show it; perhaps it wasn’t that uncommon of a request. He simply bowed slightly and then looked each of them in the eye for a long moment, as if reading their thoughts. Mariala tensed, but sensed no mental probe… if he was trying to read them, it wasn’t by magical means. At last he turned back to Vulk.

“Which path to the God do you choose, pilgrim?”

“We choose the path of the Blue Moon, the Aranda Gate, holy one,” Vulk replied, bowing respectfully in turn.

Without another word the priest moved past them toward the back wall, and after a moment they followed him. When they reached the Aranda Gate he stood to one side and again bowed toward them, this time a deeper bow, longer held. He watched with a stoic expression as the group filed past him, under the arch, passing into amber dimness. As Vulk passed the priest the man leaned forward and spoke sotto voce.

“Do try to stay together, brother,” was all he said, and Vulk thought he caught just a flicker of a smile on that haughty face. But perhaps it was just the dim light…

♦ ♦ ♦

The passage beyond the carved gate was lined with inlaid basalt, like the Shine itself, and was perhaps three meters wide; but it seemed narrower due to the triangular piers of amber-covered panels that jutted from the walls on either side – like the teeth of opposing saw blades, with us between them, Mariala thought uncomfortably. The ceiling was vaulted in arching ribs of black basalt, some five meters high.

Once into the corridor Korwin took the lead, with Vulk following him, Mariala in the middle, Devrik behind and Erol bringing up the rear. The passage slopped gently downward for perhaps 15 meters, then ended in a wall of old gray stone, pierced by a wide doorway. Beyond the doorway stretched a new corridor, three meters wide and tall, made of great blocks of weathered gray stone, and flagged in yellowish, well-worn stone. This continued on into darkness as the amber light faded behind them, but just as it seemed they must light a torch to go on, a faint blue light could be seen ahead.

As they advanced the blue light grew until they stood before a carved gateway, a replica in miniature of the Aranda Gate in the shrine above, save that there was no image etched above it. The illumination came from a shimmering curtain of light that filled the doorway, rippling like the play of the Greater Moon on a wind-touched pool of water. Beyond the translucent, shifting barrier could be seen either a narrow chamber or the continuation of the corridor.

“Why do I suddenly feel quite certain that the other side of this doorway is not really just three strides from this side?” Korwin mused quietly.

“Some do say that the Triple Labyrinth is actually in another dimension,” Vulk agreed. “But true or not, it’s where we need to go. I suggest, however, that we go in pairs, ahead and behind, with Mariala in the middle, and keep a hand on one another – I don’t want to risk getting separated.”

The others agreed with this plan, and so it was that the Hand of Fortune enter the Labyrinth of the Mad God for the first time. As they each passed through the shimmering curtain of moonlight there was a brief tingle, but no more, and then they stood in a corridor much like the one they had left, if not quite identical. The stonework of the walls appeared far more ancient, narrow slabs of rock fitted so tightly together that they needed no mortar, and the floor was of slate, blurred by drifts of dust and dirt.

Everything was illuminated by a blue light, exactly like the light of the full Greater Moon, except that this light seems to come from everywhere or from nowhere. No one cast a shadow on either floor nor walls, although they could see for perhaps six meters. The air was cool, yet somehow stuffy and oppressive, and the silence was thick – any sound they made seemed to be absorbed by the very air before it could echo off the walls.

After brief discussion, Korwin led the way down the wider corridor they stood in, rather than take the narrower one to the left. But after only ten meters the  passage bent left, then left again, and they were headed back in the direction from which they had come. It wasn’t long before they had all lost any sense of direction, and even Kowin’s vaunted eidetic memory seemed muddled and confused by the oppressive atmosphere.

The way twisted and turned, sometimes in sharp, 90° turns, other times in sweeping arcs, and occasionally would open into larger rooms or narrow into passages so tight that one person could barely squeeze by. Often they met with dead ends, and were forced to retrace their steps. It was during one of these detours that Erol noticed that their footprints on the dusty floors seemed to vanish after they passed. Devrik began to wish he’d brought bread crumbs, although he suspected they, too, would have vanished behind them.

It was hard to keep any sense of time, and Mariala was uncertain how long they had been navigating the maze, when they finally came upon something other than blue-lit stone and dust. They had previously passed a couple of  half-moon shaped alcoves recessed into various walls, each one about half-a-meter wide, a meter tall, and a meter-and-a-half off the floor. In the base of each alcove had been a shallow concave indentation, but nothing else. This time was different.

This alcove contained a crystal sphere, the size of a small melon, that glowed with the the brilliant golden light on the noon-day sun. After some discussion and a close examination of the globe and its alcove, Mariala reached out to take it. Despite its warm glow the sphere was cool to the touch, and perfectly smooth. When nothing happened, she placed the sphere into her scrip, and the  group continued it’s way through the maze.

It wasn’t too long after, as far as any of them could tell in the confusing, timeless atmosphere through which they moved, that they found another sphere, in another alcove. This globe, however, glowed with a soft rose-tinted light, as if from the full Lesser Moon. Korwin took up this orb, and again the procession continued winding through the blue-tinted corridors.

Some time later they turned a corner and found themselves in a short passage that lead into a circular room perhaps seven meters in diameter. Korwin was in the lead, and had taken only three strides into the domed chamber, when he simply vanished. With a startled huff of warning to Mariala behind him, Vulk pulled up short just as he himself crossed the threshold. Devrik and Erol quickly crowed close, and the four friends stared into the empty room.

“Great,” muttered Devrik. “Either he’s been disintegrated or he’s been teleported, and whichever it is, we’re in trouble.”

“I’m sure he wasn’t disintegrated,” Vulk absently assured his friends. “I was looking right at him, and he just vanished, like a soap bubble… no residue, no flash of energy… no, I think he’s been teleported. The question is, to where?”

“And should we try to follow him?” Mariala added.

“That odd Kalosian priest did tell me that we should try to stay together,” Vulk admitted. “I wonder if this is what he meant…?”

Erol snorted at the description of the priest. “An odd Kalosian – that’s redundant if ever I’ve heard it.”

The group quickly decided that it was best to try and follow Korwin, and hope they were taken to where he was and not some other random location. Bunching closely together, they stepped into the center of the room… and nothing seemed to happen. They were staring at the same arc of blue-lit stone as before, apparently, and had felt nothing like the gut-wrenching vertigo of stepping through a Nitarin vortex.

“Ah, there you are,” said a voice behind them, and they whirled as one, weapons coming out before they quite realized it was Korwin standing behind them. He was in the short corridor from which they had entered the room, and for a moment they all thought he’d simply been teleported behind them. But then the details began to sink in, and they realized it was not the same corridor at all – clearly the two ends of the teleport circuit were identical rooms.

After exiting the room and re-entering it, to no effect, they decided they had no choice but to continue on from where they were. But as they moved down the corridor toward the narrow exit, they found themselves slowing down, as if an invisible hand pushed back at them, sapping their will. A statue to the left of the archway seemed to be the source of the mental wall, a statue of a tall figure in a hooded robe from which two yellow eyes seemed to glow.

Each member of the party strove to push forward through the invisible resistance, focusing on reaching that doorway… and one by one each felt the pop, as of a bubble bursting, as they stepped past the statue. It took some longer than others, and several tries, but eventually the entire party was beyond the barrier, and they were able to resume their wandering through the pale blue-lit halls of the maze.

It was only a short time later, after just a few dead ends, that the party found itself in a square chamber, some seven meters across. The far wall of the room contained two alcoves, side-by-side, and in one of the alcoves was another yellow sun-orb. The other alcove was empty.

After some discussion and debate, it was decided they would try placing the rose-orb they carried into the empty alcove, which Mariala promptly did. Both orbs flashed briefly, and there was a distant rumble as of stone against stone. It faded away after a few seconds, and in the strangely muted atmosphere of the labyrinth it was hard to tell exactly where it had come from.

When no visible manifestation became apparent, Mariala reached out and lifted out the rose orb from its niche. Again the muted rumble of stone-on-stone, its origin still indeterminate.

“I feel like it was coming from behind us,” Mariala said, frowning. “And to the left, out that doorway. I think someone should step out in that direction while I try this again, to see if we can get a better idea of what’s happening…”

Devrik had already wandered in that direction, so Erol nodded to Mariala and followed after him. The two warriors stood in the dusty hallway, next to another empty alcove, and waited. A moment later they saw a brief flash of intense yellow light, and the silence of the maze suddenly seemed more profound.

“Mariala?” Devrik called out as he rushed back into the chamber, Erol on his heels. They both stopped short at the sight of the empty room. Of their friends there was no sign, and only one alcove held a sphere, apparently the golden one that they had found there originally. A quick search out the other doors of the room found no trace of their missing comrades.

“Well shit,” said Devrik, sheathing his sword. “What now?”

♦ ♦ ♦

While Erol and Devrik pondered their next move, Mariala, Vulk and Korwin were doing the same… elsewhere.

Once the fighters had stepped out of the room, Mariala had been preparing to place the Osal-orb back in the empty alcove when Vulk suggested they try the other sun-orb, instead. When no one objected, Korwin took out the golden sphere he had been carrying and set it into the waiting indentation of the empty alcove – and a flash of brilliant yellow light momentarily blinded the three. When they could see again, they were most certainly not where they had been.

The room they now occupied was not dissimilar to the one they had left – somewhat longer and with different exits, but with two alcoves, one of which contained a sun-orb, presumably the one Korwin had placed. But if the architecture appeared the same, the light most certainly was not. Instead of the pale blue light of a full Greater Moon, this area was suffused with a rich golden light, like that of a late summer afternoon, although it, too, seemed to come from nowhere in particular, or perhaps everywhere at once.

It took only a moment, once the initial shock wore off, to determine that their companions who had been outside the room had not been transported with them.

“Damn,” Vulk muttered as he paced the length of the room. “This is just what we were trying to avoid!”

“Where do you think we are?” Mariala asked, looking worried herself.

“I’d guess we’re still in the Triple Labrynth,” Korwin replied, his usual cool demeanor apparently unshaken by this separation. “But we’ve been taken to the section that lies beyond the Zira Gate, it seems most likely to me…”

“So,” Mariala said thoughtfully, “using orbs of two different colors does – well, we still don’t know what. And using two of the same color transports those in the room to the corresponding section of the maze.”

The others could find no fault with this reasoning, nor with her further conclusion that placing two blue spheres in the dual alcoves should return them to the Aranda maze, if not to the  precise point of their departure.

“That seems logical,” Korwin agreed. “But we haven’t actually seen any blue spheres… their existence is purely hypothetical at this point.”

“But they can be logically inferred,” Vulk countered. “Although I admit logic isn’t necessarily a given when dealing with the Mad – er, with Kalos.”

There followed a brief discussion about the advisability of searching this area of the Labyrinth for blue orbs, or waiting for their lost companions to find a second sun-orb and hopefully join them. With a sudden exclamation of equal parts annoyance and inspiration, Marial began digging in her scrip.

“My parchment,” she explained to the men. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it immediately. We may be able to contact the others, assuming my magic works in this place!”

“And assuming they think to look at their paper,” Vulk added, although he looked suddenly hopeful.

Mariala quickly took out a slip of her enchanted parchment, the one entangled with a slip Devrik carried, as well as a pen and small bottle of ink. She concentrated on conveying as much information on what they had deduced in as few words as possible. Then they could only wait, staring at the blank section of the paper, hoping for a reply…

♦ ♦ ♦

Back in the Aranda maze, Erol & Devrik had emptied out their own packs to inventory the resources available to them, and it was because of this that Devrik noticed the sudden appearance of Mariala’s handwriting on the slip of parchment he carried in his belt pouch.

“Of course,” he rumbled, with as much of a smile as he ever got, “should’ve thought of that myself!”

Once they understood what had happened, Erol suggested they use the rope they had to navigate as much of the maze as they could, looking for another Zira-orb; Devrik then conveyed their plan to Mariala using his own pen and ink.

With only 20 meters of rope, they had to move carefully, but they soon retraced their steps to the teleport chamber, and this time when they entered the room they found themselves transported back to the original room. From there it took some time and effort, but they eventually found another alcove containing a sun-sphere, and were able to make their way back to the circular teleport room.

This time, when they had been transported to the second room, they found it somewhat easier to force their way past the invisible barrier of the guardian statue. In a few minutes that had returned to the dual-alcove chamber, and were prepared to test their theory of how things worked in the mazes of Kalos. Devrik gently placed the second golden orb into the empty niche…

♦ ♦ ♦

There was no brilliant flash of yellow light on the other end of the “circuit” – to Mariala, Vulk and Korwin it seemed that their missing companions were simply there, standing before the alcoves, one of which now contained a Zira-orb. It was with great relief that the friends greeted one another, and compared notes. They all agreed they needed to be more careful with the potential pitfalls of sudden teleportation…

Their complement of crystal orbs now consisted of two golden Zira-orbs and one rose-tineted Osal-orb. It was agreed that they should be on the lookout for blue orbs, as this might very well play into the mysterious ‘Tripartite Light” they were looking for. They once agin ordered themselves into their exploration line, with Korwin in the lead, and began to puzzle out the Zira maze.

It was hard to be certain how long they had been moving (time, thought and memory seemed as fuzzy here as in the Aranda maze), but they eventually rounded a corner, only to be confronted by a hulking Northern Hill Troll several yards ahead, this one armed with a great mallet of wood and iron. Like the one they had seen in the Shrine, this troll seemed uninterested in them, even as they backed away from it.

It strode along, it’s loping gait long and easy, and they retreated before it, warily. They soon found themselves at a gate, much like the one they had entered the Aranda maze through – but this portal was covered in a shimmering curtain of yellow sunlight. The hill troll continued toward them, and the group was forced down a side passage, only to see the kalovai turn at the gate and, without hesitation, plunge through it. It’s bulk was quickly lost beyond the wall of golden light.

At this point there was some discussion of exiting the maze, as the troll had done, and reentering the Aranda Gate again. But they soon realized that it was likely they would not be allowed to do so by the priests – if they exited the Triple Labyrinth by any gate they would be seen has having failed the God’s test…

As they continued to wend their way through the Zira maze, they did indeed discover alcoves containing blue Aranda-orbs, as well as ones with the rosy Osal-orbs; but none containing Zira-orbs.

“Each maze must contain spheres of the other two mazes’ colors,” Korwin concluded, “but none of its own.”

No one disagreed, and now they had two of each orb color, enough to travel to whichever section of the Labyrinth they wished, once they found another dual-alcove chamber. But before they could do so, they stumbled across another of the Mad God’s creations, this one like nothing any of them had seen or even heard of.

It was a great, pulsating mass of reddish-brown hide, two meters tall and almost as wide, covered in scores of human-like mouths and large, bovine-like eyes of a deep, liquid brown. Pseudo-pods of flesh extruded in every direction, and it shambled forward with surprising speed for something without apparent legs.

Fairly certain that any kalovai they encountered within the maze would not attack them, assuming they didn’t attack first, the group was nonetheless reluctant to get near this grotesque and disturbing monstrosity. As they backed quickly away from the beast they suddenly found themselves in a largish room, at the opposite end of which they could see a flight of stairs going down into the golden haze.

Taking the stairs, they soon found themselves descending perhaps another 10 meters, into a short corridor that immediately turned right. Following this new passage for perhaps 20 meters, they came to a T-intersection, and with little debate, turned right. After 50 meters or so the golden light began to fade, and a blue glow appeared ahead of the group.

The glow came from another flight of stairs at the corridor’s end, down which flooded the light of the Greater Moon. They quickly ascended the stairs and soon found themselves once again in the Aranda maze, and began again the seemingly endless trudge down twisting corridors. Each member of the Hand soon began to feel that they had been in this maze forever, that they would continue on forever… until suddenly they stepped through another teleport spot, and ended up in a large, oddly shaped area of curved and straight walls, with no apparent way out.

The only thing to break the monotony of blue-lit stone was a small circular nook, three meters wide, in which stood a large anvil of black iron. Etched onto the surface of the anvil was a row of seven strange symbols, inlaid with bronze that shone brightly in the pseudo-moonlight. At the square end of the anvil, where the symbols ended, was a shallow stone bowl, filled with ochre-colored sand.

They pondered this conundrum for several minutes, debating what it meant, and what they were meant to do. Vulk experimentally drew a squiqqle in the sand, and for a moment nothing happened. Then, though there was no movement of the stultifying air around them, it seemed as if a breeze blew across the face of the sand, erasing Vulk’s mark and leaving the surface smooth once again.

“It’s obviously a sequence of some kind,” Devrik opined, “although I don’t recognize the symbol set… maybe it’s some Kalosian secret language?”

“Are we supposed to complete the sequence then?” Erol asked, studying the symbols intently. “Hey, doesn’t that one look like…”

“Yes,” Mariala agreed, suddenly animated, “and that one looks like…!”

From that point one it was quickly clear what the final symbol should be, and Vulk shook his head in amusement as he sketched it into the sand. As soon as he did there was a deep rumbling of stone-on-stone, and a section of wall behind them slowly sank into the floor, revealing a curving passage beyond.

Following this new path, the group soon found itself back at the first dual-alcove room they had encountered, where the group had been split. They groaned at the idea of doing it all over agin, but trudged onward, ever onward… and in time found themselves near the stairs via which they had reentered the blue maze. But now they found the way blocked by a savage looking gargoyle, one that showed little inclination to let them pass.

Not wanting to provoke a conflict, the party chose to back off, heading off into a part of the maze they had not yet explored. After an indeterminate time, at the end of another curving corridor, they once again experienced the shock of seeing Korwin vanish as he reached toward the wall that blocked their progress. With a sigh, the rest of the party stepped up and vanished one by one…

And once again found themselves in a room with no apparent way out, a room filled with the pale rose light of the full Lesser Moon. They were now clearly in the third of the Triple Labyrinth’s three mazes, the Osal Maze.

This time there was no anvil, no indication of any kind as to how they could exit this prison. They walked every inch of the floor, but found no hidden teleport areas. Then they began to examine the walls closely, looking for hidden doors, and it wasn’t long before they found one. It was really more concealed than hidden, once you knew what to look for, but with no obvious way to open it.

“There seems to be something about this stone,” Korwin said, examining a nearby patch of wall.

He pushed on the stone in question, and with a click it swung down, revealing itself to be a hinged cover over a recessed area in the wall. Within the recess was a panel of ochre sandstone, etched into a grid of squares, 5 x 5. In the center of each square was a hole, and along the right side and bottom of the grid, carved into the gray stone of the wall, were several numbers. In a deeper recess below the grid were five carved snakes of ivory, each one tinted a different shade and possessing three pegs protruding from its back. On the head of each snake was carved a number, from 1 to 5.

This puzzle took a little longer to solve, but in the end it was Korwin who came up with the correct placement of the snakes on the board. When the last snake had been pushed firmly into place there was a click and the door began to sink into the floor, revealing a chamber beyond, also bathed in pale rose light.

The working of the third maze was as tedious as the other two had been, as bereft of a sense of time, and as disheartening… until the moment they rounded a corner to see before them a small room, one meter by three, the far wall of which was lined with three empty alcoves. They hurried forward with a renewed sense of hope and purpose, and began pulling glowing orbs from scrip and pack.

There was no doubt amongst the companions that this had to be what they were looking for… Mariala, Vulk and Korwin each placed a crystal sphere of different color into the indentations of each alcove, in the sequence of the Gates in the Shrine above (or wherever) – blue on the right, yellow in the middle, rose on the left.

For a moment nothing happened. Then, slowly, the glow from the three orbs began to increase, and as it did tendrils of light began to rise from each one. Blue, yellow and rose, they flicked outward, twisting, questing, until they found one another and began to intertwine. They quickly formed a rope of three-colored light that hovered in the air briefly before stretching away down a narrow passage, still anchored in the three orbs.

Following the floating ribbon of light, the party jogged quickly along the corridors of the Osal maze, no longer worried about which turns to take, or trying to keep track of where they’d been. The Tripartite Light stretched before them and behind, and they had only to follow it now to the secret meeting place of the Vortex inquisitors…

After perhaps twenty minutes of twists and turns, the ribbon of tri-colored light brought the group to a narrow doorway beside which stood another statue of a a robed, hooded figure with glowing yellow snake eyes. The light continued on up the corridor beyond, before turning right and disappearing from view, but the companions were again stopped by an invisible wall of mental force. This time it seemed harder to push through, but in the end they all succeeded.

Jogging around the corner with the guiding light they found themselves facing a blank wall, against which the twined strands of light splashed and spread out, forming the shape of a doorway in a rippling wash of gold, blue and rose. With a glance at one another, they all shrugged and stepped up to the wall, and through it –

– to find themselves in a three meter by three nook, beyond which was a large chamber, lit not with the golden light of sunset, or the pale light of either moon, but with the gray, clear light of an overcast day. The chamber was square, 22 meters on a side, with a domed ceiling of pearl gray 15 meters above the floor. Four free-standing pillars of intricately carved stone dominated the center of the room, rising up 10 meters or so, ands the walls were well-fitted gray stone, ancient and weathered-looking.

For want of any sense of real direction, Korwin decided that the corner of the room with their nook was in the northwest… it was four meters above the floor and two flights of stairs, one along the “north” wall and one along the “west” lead down into the room. In the northeast corner of the room a single flight of stairs along the “north” wall lead up to another landing and an arched doorway in the same wall. To the southeast a larger nook/platform could be seen, like their own four meters up, but larger and with no stairs to reach it. The southwest corner of the chamber possessed two flights of stairs, but these met at a simple landing, with no attached nook. A metal sewer grate in the floor in this corner was the only such break in the stone surface he could see.

A faded red pattern of interlocking chains was painted on the floor at each corner of the room, each enclosing an uneven area of perhaps three square meters, and Korwin headed down the north stairs to get a closer look, and to examine the pillars. Erol went down the western stairs, also interested in the pillars, while the others stood irresolute on the platform above.

As Korwin was moving around to the east side of the pillars, and Erol examined the  southwestern one, there was a sudden shimmering in the air within the four corners enclosed by the floor markings – and then there were suddenly four more beings in the room.

In the corner beneath the nook where the party had appeared was a hulking shape, a muscular human body with the shoulders and head of an enormous bull, wielding a great battle axe – a recognizable type of kalovai, a Kulbar’kath. It snorted once, then sighted Erol and moved toward hi m with surprising speed and grace. Erol took one look and dashed for the high ground of the stairs in the SW corner, despite the appearance there of a large cube of bluish-green, translucent gelatin. At least it looked immobile…

Vulk, already at the foot of the stairs, and much closer to the Kulbar’kath, also decided the higher ground was a good idea, but realized he couldn’t lead it back up to where Mariala stood. With a muttered curse, he leapt down the last few steps and dashed after Erol, hot on his heels, praying to Kasira. But all his rituals seemed ineffective in what was, after all, the home of another deity…

Meanwhile, Korwin was confronted with a bizarre creature such as he’d never seen before – it’s segmented body, more than two meters in length, appeared to be made of a thick but flexible tree-like bark. It looked like nothing so much as a giant wooden earthworm, except that what should have been an innocuous head was actually a circular maw, filled with rows of sharp teeth, surrounded by four massive tentacles of the segmented, bark-like skin. He backed away from it in a stumbling rush, even as he drew his cutlass.

Unfortunately, he backed up into the range of the monstrous toad-like creature that had appeared in the SE corner of what now seemed to be some sort of arena. A mottled bluish-purple, it was perhaps two meters tall, with massive webbed hind legs, and two rubbery tentacles where its forelegs should have been. Two other tentacles grew from its hips, and all four appendages shaded into a brilliant magenta  before ending in mouth-like suckers. But most disturbing was the fleshy stalk that rose from the thing’s forehead, out of which grew a cluster of five eyes.

Even as Korwin swung his cutlass at the woodworm, striking a blow that seemed to have no effect, the toad-thing leaped at him, tentacles slashing. The beleaguered mage whirled to meet this new threat, his back now to the east wall. Even as he slashed at the toad Devrik raced down the stairs to engage the woodworm.

The Kulbar’kath had by then reached the stairs at the top of which Erol, with Vulk behind him, stood, trident poised. With a roar, the massive creature lunged up the stairs, swinging its battle axe, and the conflict was joined. Erol jabbed with his trident, Vulk reached around him to stab with his sword, and the Kulbar’kath hacked with the axe.

They seemed able to inflict only minor wounds on the great beast for quite awhile, until its whirling axe finally struck a solid blow to Erol’s left leg – as the blood spurted from the wound, Vulk lunged forward and stabbed into the right thigh of the Kulbar’kath. With a roar of pain and fury, the creature’s leg buckled under it, and it toppled from the stairs. Fortunately for the beast the gelatinous cube was not actually immobile – it had been slowly moving toward the center of the arena, leaving a bubbling trail of greenish slime behind it – and so the bull-man didn’t land on top of it.

As the the behemoth struggled to it’s feet, shaking it’s great head groggily, Erol snorted in disgust.

‘Well, that would’ve been convenient,” he muttered to Vulk. “I’ve seen what those jellies can do in the arena – dissolve a man in a matter of seconds! Would’ve been nice to kill two kalovai with one stone…”

“Yes,” agreed the cantor. “And you know, I’m beginning to think this isn’t the meeting chamber of any Vortex inquisition…”

Before Erol could reply, the Kulbar’kath was back on it’s feet, and moving to the attack once more. Erol hurled his trident at the monster before it could reach the steps, but it ducked the blow with surprising agility for such a massive creature. But that momentary hesitation had given the former gladiator enough time to free his net from his belt, and whispering the trigger word, hurl it in it’s turn. This time the brute was unable to dodge, and it took the net full in the face and upper torso. A shower of blue sparks sizzled off the net, and without a sound the beast’s eyes rolled up in its head and it collapsed to the ground.

While this had been going on Devrik and Kowrin had not been having notable success with their own opponents, and had in fact both taken several hits. The woodworm’s tentacles seemed lined with small, but sharp, hooks that tore at exposed flesh, caught in clothes, and attempted to ensnare it’s opponent, to be drawn into the pulsating maw of teeth.

The toad-thing’s tentacles, however, seemed to ooze some sort of acid from the sucker tips, and Korwin had taken one good hit. He quickly realized it wasn’t just acid, however, as the world around him seemed to take on a dream-like quality of surreal dimensions. His blows became slower and his mind began to wander…

Fortunately Erol arrived about then, having retrieved his trident and net, and was able to put a quick end to the dream-toad, as Korwin had come to think of it. Devrik finally got in a couple of good blows on the woodworm, which retreated to it’s corner seemingly dazed and oozing clear, sap-like blood from it’s “head.” Mariala, whose attempts at spell-casting had been annoyingly ineffectual, came down from the nook where she had watched the combat to join her friends. With Vulk luring the gelatinous cube back toward the body of the Kulbar’kath, where it would be distracted consuming a hefty meal, the battle seemed finished.

There was no sudden movement, no dramatic entrance, no fanfare, but each of the five friends was suddenly aware of a Presence in the chamber with them. Turning as one, they all stared at the being who was simply there, between the four pillars – rising up as a living fifth pillar was a massive yellow-brown snake, it’s coiled lower body it’s pedestal, it’s large, flat head it’s capital, towering five meters above them. Golden, black slitted eyes glowed with a mesmerizing fire, and a red tongue darted out of the fixed grin of the serpent’s mouth.

There was not an instant of doubt in anyone’s mind that this was one of the 20 Immortals; was, in fact, Kalos, the Mad God Himself.

“Did you enjoy your playtime with My Children?” Kalos asked, his voice, deep, rich, and resonate, yet slightly sibilant.

No one said anything.

“You are not the usual sort My priests send Me… indeed, is that the whiff of one of My cousins I detect?” The head bent swiftly down toward Vulk, and the darting tongue played lightly across his face. He didn’t move, but neither did he look away from those great golden eyes, each the size of a plate, with the weight of 5,000 years behind them. “Yessss, Kasira has left her mark on you, little brother… it seems to Me that She chose well.”

With that the great body twisted and the serpent head moved to each of the companions in turn, the forked tongue darting over each face.

“You are indeed no followers of Mine,” the god said at last. “I can’t tell you what a relief that isss… I have little interest these days in the concerns of mortals, though some continue to think I should… they keep sending Me pilgrims, and since they will do so, I long ago decided to make use of them, if they prove worthy… you have certainly proved worthy… tell Me, do you desire to be taken up and changed, to become one of My true Children.”

It seemed to the companions that there was a hint of laughter in His voice as Kalos posed this question. It was Mariala who answered first.

“Meaning no disrespect, Immortal Kalos, but we have no desire whatsoever to become one of your… projects…”

Now the laughter was plain in His voice. “Wise as well as beautiful. Indeed, I do not use the clay of mortals so, to make My Children, despite what many think.

“But I see in your minds what really brings you to My home,” the deity continued, the laughter suddenly gone from His voice. “You believe My abode to be the refuge of some mortal conspiracy; indeed, you wonder if I am Myself behind this ‘Vortex’ that has caused you such trouble…

“As I have said, I have no interest in, or patience for, the games of mortals; and I have even less patience for being made a tool of mortals. It is clear to me that you were lured here, in the hopes that you would either die at the hands of my Children or, surviving them, that I would slay you Myself for bearing weapons into My Labyrinth.”

‘But we didn’t know weapons were forbidden,” Korwin burst out. “The priest who let us in didn’t say anything –”

“Indeed,” Kalos continued coldly, “it would seem this Vortex has penetrated my priesthood, for no true priest of Mine would permit weapons in the Shrine, much less the Triple Labyrinth. Perhaps it is time I paid more attention to what my mortal followers are up to… yesss, perhaps a Manifestation is in order…

“In any case, I decline to be made a party to whatever this ‘Vortex’ is up to… and while they have not irritated Me enough to trouble Myself with telling them so personally, I feel you deserve something to level the playing field.

“And now, before I go, I offer you a choice… while I do not use mortal clay whole for my… projects, as the lady calls them… I do take the essence of those I find… mmmm… interesting. And I find each of you very interesting, each in your own way. Will you give me a drop of your blood?”

There was a moment of hesitation, and it was Erol who shrugged and spoke first. “There’s enough of my blood on Your floors already, what’s another drop?” He stepped forward, holding out his arm.

The great serpentine head lowered itself toward him, the smiling mouth opening wide. It closed on the arm and a single fang pierced Erol’s skin, though he felt no more than a pin-prick. One by one the others stepped forward and offered their arm, and the procedure was repeated.

Only Vulk stood back at last, and as the great, lambent eyes turned to him he bowed deeply. “I mean no offense, Immortal Shaper, but I do not think I can offer this to you, vowed as I am to the Lady of Luck, my patron and guide.”

“I take no offense where none was intended. Each being’s essence is its own, even a mortals, and I do not take what is not freely offered. Perhaps you will think on it, and another time decide differently.”

With that the hugh snake began to undulate across the floor, rising up to mount the platform that stood above the SE corner of the arena. Once it had coiled itself into the space, it turned to look once more at the group still frozen on the floor below.

“I remind you that no magics save My own work in this place, unless I should allow it. And as I show you the way out, consider this – I despise cleaning house…”

With that Kalos turned and slithered silently through the archway behind Him, disappearing down the corridor beyond.

It took several minutes for the group to realize that the bodies of the kalovai that they had defeated were gone, vanished as unnoticed as the Immortal had appeared. And Erol was the first to notice that Kalos had left them a gift – the nasty gash in his leg was gone, as if it had never been. When he pointed this out to the others they realized they had all been healed of their wounds, indeed had never felt better. Only Devrik was silent about his own wounds, and seemed more inward than usual.

After a brief discussion it was agreed that the Immortal had intended them to exit by the same way He had, and they quickly rigged a way up to the stairless platform. As they began to walk down the corridor the hyper-real quality that had pervaded their senses began to fade back to their normal perception of the mundane world.

In what seemed to be less than 20 meters the group found themselves in a bone-basalt-and-amber passage much like the one they had entered the maze through. Indeed, it shortly revealed itself to be exactly the same passage, as they stepped out from the Aranda Gate, back into the vast open space of the Shrine. But now the Shrine was silent and empty, the glow from the amber panels dimmer, and beyond the tall entrance way lay the full darkness of night.

“We entered the Labyrinth just a few hours past dawn,” Mariala said, frowning. “I swear we weren’t in there more than… five, six hours?”

“No, it was longer than that… wasn’t it?” Vulk shook his head uncertainly.

None of the others could quite agree on how long they had traversed the mazes of Nah-henu, but they were all certain that it should not now be full night. Before they could ponder the question any further, however, they were interrupted by a yellow-robed priest coming toward them from one of the meditation chambers near the entrance.

“What is this disturbance? The Shrine is closed for –” the man stopped short as he recognized the group before him, at the same instant they recognized him – it was the cadaverous-looking priest who had guided them into the maze, the one they were quite certain was an agent of the Vortex organization.

The man’s eyes grew wide and his cool, smug demeanor slipped in shock. “You – I was certain – how can you be –” The surprise quickly gave way to a snarl of rage, and he raised his hands in in a gesture of power. The surprise that came over his face when nothing happened was, Devrik thought as he strode forward and punched him hard in the face, almost comical.

Looking around apprehensively for more priests, and wondering exactly how to explain this to them, the group soon realized that the Shrine was in fact empty. Devrik and Erol securely bound their prisoner, looking for the tell-tale tattoo on his wrist as they did so. Sure enough, the full mark of red and black was visible, indicating that the man stood higher in the secret organization than just minion or tool.

While they were doing this Mariala went to the entrance and peered out into the night, only to let out a startled gasp. Vulk and Korwin were quickly at her side, and stood shocked in turn. Low in the eastern sky, perhaps an hour risen above the distant mountains, were both the Greater and the Lesser moons – and they were both full. Their mingled blue and rose light illuminated the landscape around them  with surprising clarity, and to the south an orange glow, as from many bonfires, silhouetted the hills that lay between them and the monastery.

“It’s the night of Höl Kopia,” Vulk said after a moment, eyes still fixed on the moons in amazement.

“There is no way we were in that maze for three days,” Korwin denied, but his voice lacked conviction.

“Perhaps time runs differently there,” Mariala offered. “Or perhaps it is the doing of the Shaper. The Immortals are… quite powerful. In any case, it explains why the Shrine is empty tonight, everyone is at the monastery, celebrating the High Holy Day…”

“But what are the odds that the one priest we wanted happens to be the one on duty here tonight?” Korwin asked.

“It seems we are blessed by the Lady of Luck,” Vulk replied, smiling. “Although I won’t deny that I suspect the hand of Kalos played a more proximate role in this particular case…”

“The question now,” said Devrik, who had caught the end of the conversation as he and Erol dragged the false priest over, “is how we get this one out of here, to someplace where we can question him. Thoroughly.” His smile at the now conscious, if dazed, prisoner was not reassuring.

“You will never question me, you meddlesome gnats,” the man snarled. He stood taller, trying to regain his dignity and composure despite his bonds and bleeding nose. “The Vortex is everywhere, and you will die in agony, though you have bested me here! I now pay willingly the price of my failure!”

He raised his bound arms, the sleeves of his robe falling back to reveal his tattoo, and closed his eyes, his face almost rapturous as he accepted his death.

Nothing happened.

This time the look of utter shock on his face was without a doubt comical, and Devrik laughed out loud. The others were soon grinning as well, as the red and black tattoo began to smoke, seeming to effervesce into wisps of dark light that coiled like a snake, before being blown away on the night breeze. In seconds the mark had faded away to nothing, and the would-be suicide stared dumbfounded at his now unblemished wrist.

“Well, the big problem has been taken care of,” Korwin chuckled. “And I have an idea or two about how to solve the more mundane ones that remain…”

The Hand of Fortune decided their best course of action would be to accept the Khundari Shadow Warriors’ offer, and accompany them home to the dwarven city-state of Dürkon. They hoped to catch the trail of their current quarry there, assuming the trader known to the Dükonians as Arlun Parek was, in fact, the elusive mage that had escaped them during the herb hunt in the hills above Lake Everbrite. Korwin’s intelligence from Magister Vetaris, and their own experience, led them to feel fairly confident that this was the case.

Departing early in the morning hours of the 10th of Turniki, the friends had a sad parting with Draik, Raven and Black Hawk, the first time in months (although it seemed like years) that they had set off on an adventure without them. Vulk, in particular, seemed depressed at leaving his Shield Brother behind, although he said little as they rode off into the cool morning fog. The trees were just beginning to turn from their summer green, here in the mountains, and it seemed to reflect the mood of the group.

They made good time, despite the Khundari being on foot… they seemed to never tire and could keep up a pace that easily matched the Hand’s horses. The morning mists soon burned off, and the day proved to be a beautiful late summer day, warm but not hot, perfect for traveling. They reached Dor Zebarin before noon, and were enthusiastically greeted by Ser Coreth, the Constable, who seemed fully recovered from the baneberry poisoning two months past. He insisted that the companions stay at the keep, and invited both them and their Khundari companions to join him for a feast that evening.

Questioning both before and during the banquet provided no clue as to the location of Arlun Parek. The Constable was unfamiliar with the name, and none of the local merchants or guildsfolk he had questioned knew of the man’s whereabouts, although some recalled him from trading visits in years past. After a long and ale-filled evening, the Khundari retired to their inn and the Hand to their chambers.

♦ ♦ ♦

The next morning they were on the road again at first light, making for Dor Areson, the new keep the Crown was building on the Grevas River, at the eastern edge of the mysterious Torvin Marsh. Gold had been found in recent years in the Grevas and its tributaries, and the influx of fortune-seekers had prompted the construction of this new fortress. Lekorm described the building to his Umantari companions as they traveled, critiquing it as only a Khundari could. Although not designed nor built by his people, apparently the architect had been a student of a Khundari master builder, and had learned his trade reasonably well, Lekorm conceded. When they had passed through on their way south, the masons had been nearing the end of their labors – they expected to have the keep completed by Höl Kopia, just six days away now.

Of course the big question in Nolkior, one that Vulk and Mariala in particular had heard many rumors about in the last two months, was to whom would the King grant the fief . Every noble house in the realm was vying for the plum, some with subtlety and grace, others with bluster and boasting. The Caelite Order of the Lord of Paladins was also pressing the King to grant them the keep, which they hoped to make their new headquarters, the better to pursue their growing crusade against the Firilani barbarians.

They rode down from the hills into the wide river valley of the Grevas in the early afternoon. As they wound down the last kilometers to Dor Areson they had a breathtaking view – the shining ribbon of the river running through a gently rolling land, wooded and dotted with ripening fields, the keep itself bright new stone gleaming in the sun, and to the west, miles of sparkling green wetlands with the blue waters of Lake Everbrite beyond. And rising over the lake, blue in the late-summer haze, the snow-capped peak of Mount Ratonkül, beneath which lay the Khundari city of Dürkon.

The small village around the walls of the new fortress was abuzz with activity, and the sounds of wood and stone being worked could be heard from almost every direction. While the dwarves debated whether they would go on, after a brief rest, and try to make their city before nightfall, Vulk, Mariala and Korwin rode up to speak to the knight in charge of the keep’s construction, one Ser Arol Korvek, a heavy-set, red-faced man with thinning white hair and a friendly manner.

As it happened, he was familiar with the name Arlun Parek, who he was sure had only recently been in town. He was able to point the friends in the direction of the local apothecary, who might know more about the trader’s schedule and habits. Ser Arol himself knew little more than the name, this being essentially a booming frontier town, and himself very busy with the final details of his charge.

The apothecary did indeed know more about Arlun Parek, and revealed that the man had been in town  just the day before, and had gone into the marsh. He came several times a year, apparently, to trade with the old crazed hermit who lived in the marshlands west of them… Torkin Veldan was the old coot’s name, and he had lived in his cabin in the swamp for as long as anyone could remember… he claimed to be descended from ancient royalty, which was absurd of course, but he did know his plants and herbs and animals.

The apothecary traded with him himself, and the man’s goods were always top quality. Others came from as far as Kildora to deal with the crazy old guy, who had little use for money, but would take some very odd things in trade if the mood struck him. That Arlun fellow was from the Republic himself, in fact… no, he wan’t inclined to go into the marsh himself, it was a dangerous and unsettling place… he preferred to wait for Torkin to bring his goods out, although yes, he had been to the man’s cabin a time or two… he ‘d be happy to show them the path into the marsh, and give what directions he could, but they’d best be careful of the quaking bogs, the quicksands, and the poisonous snakes… not to mention the meredragons!

Rejoining their companions, and passing on the news that their quarry was potentially close at hand, there ensued a lengthy debate about what to do. Some were all for pursuing the elusive mage into the wetlands, others wondered if they shouldn’t wait for the man to re-emerge and take him then. Eventually it was agreed that there was no certainty that he’d return through the village, rather than exit the marsh elsewhere, but then came the argument about how to approach the man. Korwin wanted to rendition him to Dürkon, for questioning under the expertise of the Khundari, but the others were more concerned about surviving their meeting with him, and taking him alive to begin with.

The Shadow Warriors showed no interest in going into the misty, damp and fetid swamp, although they had decide to stay for the night in Areson, rather than push on for home. They would be leaving an hour after dawn the next day, and would prepare a welcome for the friends in Dürkon, whenever they might show up. Eventually the group got its act together and, leaving Cris and Jeb to guard the horses and baggage, followed their local guide out of the village and down to the margins of the wetlands.

♦ ♦ ♦

The old hermit’s cabin was said to be no more than four or five kilometers into the marsh, but as the path was ever-shifting and hard to follow, with dangerous bogs, quicksands and algae-filled pools at every turn, it took several hours to make their way there. It was shortly after Erol had sunk up to his knees in quicksand, and been pulled out by Vulk and his staff, that they found themselves on a patch of more solid ground amongst the reeds, bushes and water-rooted trees, on which sat Torkin’s cabin. Although clearly quite old, the wood dark with slime and algae, the roof thick with moss, it nonetheless appeared to be well-maintained. The area around was cleared, a large pile of wood was stacked agains one wall, and translucent scraped-hide windows covered the several windows. A solid-looking door was closed, but smoke was drifting up from the fieldstone chimney.

They approached cautiously, Erol trying not to squelch in his wet boots, alive to any sense of danger. Brann sniffed ahead of Devrik, while Erol’s ferret, Grover, ranged merrily along the fringes of the clearing, bright-eyed and curious. There was no sign of life, beyond the smoke from the cabin… eventually they approached the door and called out the old man’s name. After several minutes without a response, one of them tried the latch on the door. It was unlocked, and they slowly pushed it open…

The inside of the one-room cabin was dim, despite the light from four windows and a well-made fire in the fireplace, but not so dim that they didn’t immediately see the body laying on the floor, near the crude pallet that served as a bed. Vulk cautiously approached the figure, wary as he was these days of the undead, but soon determined that this one was well and truly, most sincerely dead. It was a leathery, wrinkled old man, with wispy gray hair, clad only in crude leather breeches, laying face down on the wooden floor. The cause of death seemed fairly obvious – vines, growing up through the cracks between the floorboards, appeared to have entangled the poor old fellow and to have strangled him. His eyes bulged and his bloated tongue protruded between purple lips. But there was little smell of decay, and what there was seemed to come from the vines themselves, which seemed limp and rotting.

“I’d say he’s only been dead a few hours,” Vulk said to Mariala as he rose to his feet.

“Torkin Veldan, you think?” she asked, gazing about the cabin.

“Probably…” Vulk began to look around the cabin himself now, and noted the crude crates piled up in one corner and the bales of dried plants stacked neatly in another, all looking like they were waiting to be moved out. The fire seemed well made, and couldn’t have been burning unattended for more than an hour or two. Whoever had killed this man wasn’t too far away, he felt sure.

While the others had busied themselves inside the cabin, examining the body and rifling through the dead man’s possessions, Erol and Devrik had both wandered outside to look around further. Devrik examined the area around the cabin more closely, occasionally listening to what was going on inside through the now-open windows. When Vulk pondered aloud whether or not he should make the tremendous effort to try and resurrect the dead man, Devrik snorted, and called in, “Are you really going to resurrect every dead body we come across?”

“I was pondering,” Vulk replied, giving his friend an annoyed finger. “And no, I’m not!”

Despite his first-hand experience with the dangers of the swamp, Erol headed off westward, Grover ranging beside and before him, following what looked like the marks of a largish number of shod feet. He had tried to quietly get his friends attention but, having failed, he shrugged and decide to investigate quietly himself. Not a hundred meters on he suddenly heard the sounds of conflict, and a deep roar of pain and rage. Creeping through the bushes and creeping vines hanging from trees, he peered out at the back of a curved section of ruined stone wall, jaggedly ranging from two to three meters high. The action, whatever it was, appeared to be happening on the other side of the wall, within the arc of what must have once been a tower, or maybe a temple… all Erol could see, off to the right edge was a single gülvini.

“Damn,” he thought. “More of those damn gül-gramlini. They sure get around…”

Moving around slowly and quietly, he made his way further to his right, to get a better look at what was going on. He soon saw at least some of the action – it was both several gül-gramlini and at least two gül-hovgavui attacking a huge reptilian creature that not only was backed up against the wall, but seemed to be ensnared by numerous vines that grew up from the ground and wound around its limbs, torso, neck and tail, all but immobilizing it. The gülvini ware using spears to dart in and stab at the creature’s head and exposed flanks.

Erol turned to make his way back to his friends and bring the warning, but he saw that they were already cautiously approaching, drawn by the roars now coming from the wounded meredragon. Aat least that’s what Erol assumed it was, from Korwin’s description on the hike in here. And probably one of the cowardly males, rather than the more aggressive females, given how it even now tried to avoid its tormentors, rather than attack them… and at that moment one of the spears must have pierced something vital, for with a plaintive cry the great creature suddenly shuddered and collapsed, one last bellows-like breath exuded as it died.

As the gülvini set aside their spears and took out axes to begin carefully hacking off the spinal ridge-plates of the dead dragon, Erol quickly brought the others up to speed. They then began to spread out, shielded from the view of the gülvini by the ruined wall, trying to see what lay beyond. And what lay beyond riveted their attention – some 15 meters beyond the massacre at the wall, two more urve, as Korwin insisted the meredragon’s be called, were struggling frantically in the grip of more vines holding them fast near the water’s edge, vines apparently being controlled by a human flanked by two gül-gramlini with spears.

The human had his back to them, and the hood was up on his blue cloak, but he was gesturing in clear control of the vines, and in his hand was a tall staff of carved wood and metal, with a large red crystal set in the head. Spread out along the wall, it was difficult for the friends to discuss options, but in any case it was quickly taken out of their hands as Devrik rushed to attack the mage.

The gülvini guarding the human sensed Devrik’s approach only at the last second, turning in time for one to take the charging warrior’s battlesword right across its right hand, causing it to collapse shrieking to the ground, blood gushing from a severed artery. Brann leaped at the throat of the second gülvini guard, but was knocked away with a backhanded blow.

Even as Devrik moved into the clearing, Erol loosed an arrow from his bow from a break in the ruined wall, aimed at what he was certain was Arlun Parek. But the shaft flew wide, missing not only his target but both the gülvini guards and the struggling urve. ‘Damn, I really need to get Jeb to give me lessons,’ he thought in disgust, notching another arrow…

As the battle was joined Vulk leapt out and cast down his Serpent Staff before the nearest of the large gül-hovgavui, then drove his sword at the nearer of the smaller gül-gramlini, sending the creature’s weapon flying from its hand. As the snarling creature scrabbled for the axe in the tangled vegetation at the foot of the wall, its larger companion found itself suddenly in the constricting coils of a massive 3 meter snake…

Mariala had been preparing to try and seize control of the vines ensnaring the two urve when Devrik charged into battle, and as he took down the first gülvini she focused her concentration on her Ring of Plant Control, and felt her mind expand outward. She touched the vegetable “mind” of the unnaturally moving vines, and felt the other mind that controlled their movements; she attempted to wrest that control away, but was rebuffed…

Erol shot his second arrow at a closer target this time; unfortunately, it was the same gülvini that was wrestling with Vulk’s huge snake. Not that it mattered much in the end, as the shaft sailed harmlessly into the trees and the water beyond. He cursed, dropped the bow, and reached for his trident…

From behind the wall Korwin unleashed the spell he had been preparing, and Damokiran’s Freezing Mist quickly began to spread over the area where most of their opponents were gathered. There was a shimmering in the air as the moisture was drawn from it, condensing into a slick frost that covered everything in a 10 meter circle. Even as the stones slackened under the spell, one of the gül-gramlini leapt to the top of the wall, preparing to attack Korwin from above – and it’s feet slid out from under it. With a shriek of dismay it tumbled to the ground at the water mage’s feet, as Korwin staggered back in surprise. But he kept preparing his next spell…

The battle began to take on a certain comedic tone at this point, Erol thought as time finally slowed down for him – the sun glistening on the frosted ground and wall, the gülvini slipping and sliding as they fought snakes or tried to move toward Devrik or leap onto the wall or die on Vulk’s broadsword – and he spitted the axe hand of one of the little white furry guys, right through the wrist, and the blood spurted out in that way it has…

To everyone else, it remained a confused, chaotic mess. Devrik repeatedly struck at Arlun Parek (there was no doubt now who his foe was, having seen his face), but no matter how mighty the blow, how certain the damage, the unarmored wizard seemed unfazed and undamaged. He never more than staggered back a bit, and he had delivered several nasty blows with his staff to Devrik’s chest, which felt like a rib might have snapped in there…

Another solid hit on Arlun, who just staggered a bit, gesturing with one hand even as he did so – and suddenly Devrik felt a sharp pain in his left shoulder. He blocked a blow from the gülvini guard to his right with one hand as he reached back to pull a throwing star from his shoulder… the damn thing was made of bone, yet it had pierced his armor and sunk into his flesh. And as he watched the object disintegrated in his hand, trickling to the ground in a cloud of dust.

He had no time to consider it, as the second gül-hovgavu slid up to him, unsteady on its feet on the slick ground, and he was forced to plunge his sword into its thigh, severing the femoral artery. It went down with a roar of pain and fury, but was quickly no more than a twitching mound of black fur and tusk. And then a second bone star pinged off the bracer on his left forearm…

Mariala and Vulk had both seen the sudden flash of the throwing star that had hit Devrik, but neither was sure where it had come from or who had thrown it. She was too engaged in her continuing mental battle for control of the vines to do anything else, but Vulk, having dispatched the gülvini near him, moved towards the area he thought the enemy must be. Skirting the icy area, moving fast behind the wall, he saw the second throwing star as it flew toward Devrik, but no enemy – the weapon had flown up and out from a small knapsack that lay apparently abandoned near the west end of the wall, behind his friend. Something should be done about that pack…

As he contemplated his next move he was startled into a girlish shriek by Erol, suddenly appearing from nowhere, running full tilt past him, calling out “On your left!” as he did. As his heart stopped twitching in his chest, he saw Korwin cast another spell of some sort, and a rolling bank of heavy fog suddenly enveloped the area behind Arlun, shrouding the two urve from view, and partially obscuring the enemy mage as well.

At the moment that the mists rose, Mariala finally gained the upper hand in her mental struggle with Arlun for control of the plants, feeling his will snap away. She immediately commanded the vegetation to release the meredragons, and although she could no longer see them, she sensed them obeying, falling away to quickly begin rotting back into the earth. Now maybe the dragons would enter the fray and take out that seemingly impervious mage!

And to help them along, she now set about casting a Dispell on Arlun, to try and break whatever enchantment he possessed that was allowing him to take Devrik’s blows as if he were wearing plate. But even as she cast it, she sensed it slipping off and away from her enemy. Whatever it was, she wasn’t strong enough yet to remove it. And now he was moving back into the mists, fading from her view…

As Brann again attacked the last gülvini guard, both Erol and Devrik had moved forward to attack Arlun, watching a thick fog suddenly come up behind him. But though they both struck solid blows with battlesword and trident, the mage seemed unaffected. He stepped back into the enshrouding mists, gesturing as he moved and muttering something unintelligible. Devrik was momentary distracted as he was forced to kill the gül-hovgavu that had slipped and slid its way to him, severing the femoral artery in its thigh.

Erol had already disappeared ahead of him, as Devrik prepared to follow Arlun into the mists, when there suddenly came surging out of that fog a second wave of vapor. But this one was a transparent green mist, not terribly difficult to see through, though it gave everything a greenish cast. As soon as everyone within the expanding cloud had drawn another breath, however, they knew it was nothing good – the smell was simply unbelievable, and completely unbearable, like a dead skunk that had been rotting for a week in a vat of steaming shit. But it was the hint of cinnamon underlying it all that made it almost impossible not to vomit uncontrollably.

Devrik and Erol both managed to avoid actually vomiting, as did most of the remaining gülvini caught in the cloud. But Vulk was not so lucky and he was quickly on his knees, regretting everything he’d ever eaten or drunk. Fortunately Mariala remained outside the range of the stinking cloud, but equally unfortunately the gül-hovguva that had been struggling with Vulk’s snake had finally inflicted enough damage to cause it to revert to its staff form, and he was also outside the green cloud. He staggered toward Mariala with murder in his beady red eyes and an axe in his hand…

Grover the ferret leapt from his spot on the wall where he’d been avidly watching the carnage, and ran straight up the gülvini brute’s leg and under his leather breast plate. With a shriek, the monstrous creature tried to hack at the small animal that suddenly seemed to be trying to chew through its stomach. Mariala was never quite sure, afterward, if Grover actually managed to sever something vital, or if the cursed creature managed to fatally injury itself in trying to attack the ferret; in any case, it suddenly toppled over, clawing at the ground as it quickly bled out. Grover snaked out from under, his jaws and fur bloody, and scampered up a nearby tree.

Meanwhile, Erol had staggered about, retching in the fog, seeking Arlun, and had managed another futile hit before losing him again. Devrik remained on the edge of the fog, trying to cope with the sudden weakness and twisting stomach the green gas had indicted on him. Suddenly,  there was a roar, loud enough to hurt the ear, and out of the fog a dark shape came hurtling toward him, to land crumpled at his feet – it was Arlun, stunned and shaken, but apparently not out just yet.

Following out of the fog bank was a mere dragon, larger and far more aggressive than anything they’d yet seen, its tail lashing ferociously back and forth, shredding the fog like a fan – a female, obviously! Moving faster than he would have thought such a huge creature could, she lashed out with one great claw at Devrik’s head. Instinctively, he swung his battelsword up and struck her knee, but the blade hardly penetrated at all, and was almost wrenched from his grasp.

Still in the grip  of the damn cloud, he staggered back – he had no desire to fight the innocent meredragons, especially a female one. As he retreated from the conflict, Arlun staggered to his feet and swung at the urve with his staff. The dragon caught it in her massive jaws, and the thing snapped like a dry twig, with a flash of violet light that only Devrik, Korwin and Mariala saw. Arlun was again sent staggering back, turning it into a stumbling run back into the now quickly thinning mists.

About then, several things happened at once – a gust of wind dispersed the last of Korwin’s fog bank, as well as most of Arlun’s stinking cloud, Mariala cast a Fire Nerve spell at the suddenly visible form of their opponent, and Vulk completed his ritual of Herald’s Peace, all at the same time that Arlun’s clothes crumpled to the ground and a large hawk rose on flapping wings into the afternoon sky.

Erol was briefly tempted to hurl his trident at the feeing bird/mage, wishing his bow wasn’t laying 15 meters away, but then felt a sense of peace and harmony flood through him and it seemed wrong somehow. The meredragon suddenly stopped and shook her head from side to side; she stared around the clearing at them all for a moment, and then turned and waded back out into the waters of the marsh, quickly disappearing from sight.

Once again the damn Torazin mage had escaped them!

♦ ♦ ♦

For the half hour that the Herald’s Peace lasted, the companions searched Arlun’s abandoned clothes and knapsack, discovering a significant amount of coin and gemstones, clothes, four remaining bone stars, and a rolled up map tube. In the latter item they discovered a map of the local area, centered on the ancient site of Nah-henu, supposed worldy home of the Immortal Kalos, called by some the Mad God. There was also a code-like writing in various places on the map, but no one could immediately decipher it.

They also discussed what to do with the five surviving gülvini prisoners they now found themselves saddled with, while Erol tended their wounds and Vulk saw to the healing of Brann, who had been badly injured by the last gülvini he’d fought. In the end they questioned the one who seemed most persuadable to cooperation, and learned something of what had transpired here…

It seemed that “the Master,” as the creature called Arlun, had come into a nearby gül-gramlini colony, with the two hulking gül-hovgavui already under his control, and demanded a hand of warriors to accompany him into the marshes. They had been compelled to obey him by the force of his mastery, a strange compulsion they hated but could not control. He had sent them into the wetlands, with strict orders to meet him at the small cabin, while he went into the human town. Why, he didn’t know, now did he?

When the Master had showed up he had gone into the cabin, and the two humans had argued… the old, wrinkled one whined about the swamp lizards being his friends, he’d never betray them… then the Master had spoken, and vines shot up through the floor and tangled the old one to death. It was very amusing, and they hadn’t felt so bad about following such a powerful master then.

He had used the call the old man had once taught him, to summon the lizards, and three had come… then the fun began. The Master lured one into the trap, then bound it there with his vines, and while his great servants dispatched it with spears, he had bound the other two… they were to be next, the Master wanted the oil from their spine plates… no, he didn’t say why… why do masters of anything? If it doesn’t involving killing or fucking, what’s the point, really? Anyway, then the stupid Umantari had interfered, and it had all fallen apart… they had been supposed to carry the bundles and crates in the cabin out of the swamp for the Master… did the Umantari want them to do the same for them now…?

About then, the two urve who had fled as soon as Mariala had freed them came tentatively back, obviously nervous and wary. But the group convinced them they meant no harm, and agreed that they could take their friend’s body away (fortunately Korwin had packed up the three spine plates the gülvini had already cut off, and Erol had taken the teeth he wanted). They confirmed that Torkin had long been a friend to them, and they were saddened at his death. They had traded in the past with Arlun, and were very confused as to why he had suddenly turned on them… they soon departed into the waters with the dead urve between them.

Once they were gone the others continued to argue about the fate of their now useless prisoners, and with the Peace gone, ideas turned violent. Vulk and Mariala returned to Torkin’s cabin to see to Torkin’s remains. As Vulk prepared the body for a proper cremation, Mariala took the key he’d found in the old man’s trousers and tried it on the small casket she’d found under his bed. It turned out to contain only a few copper and silver coins, an old, tarnished ring, and various bits of detritus that had apparently been precious to their owner, but trash to anyone else. She thought it was very sad.

She attended with Vulk at the byre, setting it alight as the sun set in a conflagration of red and orange in the west, and he recited the words of the Ritual of Farewell. The others soon joined them, seeing the smoke of the burning, and they all stood silently until all was ash and embers. The sun had set by then, though the western sky was still bright with half-light, and they all realized they’d be spending the night in the cabin.

As they left Vulk to attend to the final rites alone, walking slowly to the cabin, Mariala caught up to Devrik.

“So what did you decide about the gülvini?” she asked quietly.

“We didn’t, really,” he shrugged. “When the ideas degenerated to the point of forcing them into the water to let the female dragons eat them, he simply got up and walked over behind them and slit their throats. We left the bodies there.”

“Oh,” was all she had to say in answer. They went into the cabin.

 

It was a beautiful late summer morning, and Erol was well content.

He was actually glad he had decided to come up here with Drake, on his friend’s first visit to the manor he had been given when he was so recently knighted. He had always been a city boy, but he was finding it very relaxing to spend his time out in the fresh air, working at something constructive for a change. Getting the dilapidated manor back into useful shape was work, certainly, but at least you could see the results of your efforts made tangible.

Unlike, say,  the constant training for combat he’d spent most of his adult life performing… there, you only knew that your effort had paid off if you managed to survive other people trying to kill you. Which was a satisfying thing in itself, of course, but not as immediately obvious when you were doing the hard work. Still, he wouldn’t want to do this all the time, he knew he’d get bored pretty quick. A few days were fine, but a year of farm living and he was pretty sure he’d be homicidal.

Tarich Manor was a remote outpost in the southern Ganitor Hills of eastern Nolkior. Nestled in a narrow mountain valley, on the western bank of the small Ayax River that flowed down from the heights of Mount Eigarstal, it was less than two kilometers from the border with Tharkia. Thick evergreen forest, mounting up ridge upon ridge along the valley walls, surrounded the  long, narrow assart of the manor.

A light woodland of mountain oak dominated the cleared lands around the fields, and was currently encroaching on those fields. The fief had stood vacant for eleven years now, the previous holder having died heirless. Being so remote and isolated, no one had been anxious to claim it, and it had remained in the hands of the Earl of  Burnan, administered by a caretaker and his family. But the man’s wife had died and his sons had moved away to the excitement of the big city, and for several years he had been unable to keep up the place, much less plant the fields. The wilderness threatened to reclaim it.

But now it was the demesne of Ser Draik Bartyne, and he wanted to see it brought back to life. When he had arrived several days ago with Cris and Erol in tow, he had been shocked to see how run down the manor was, and how overgrown the fallow fields were. But the old man, Riken Horas, had assured him that with proper energy, and enough hands, it could be brought back in no time. Drake had decided to return to Dür and enlist some proper help, promising to send them back with his cousin Danyes. Erol and Cris had volunteered to stay and get started on the manor itself.

Tarich manor was a moderately sized building, two floors of stone and wood, surrounded by a palisade some 42 meters long by 36 meters wide. The palisade was well made, of seasoned logs 5 meters high and sharpened at the top, and a wide archer’s walk that ran along all side three meters above the ground. The oak and iron gates were also well-crafted, needing only some minor oiling of the hinges. Two out buildings, a stable and a workshop nestled under the walls at opposite corners of the yard, and a tall watch tower rose more than 10 meters into the sky in the northwest corner, providing a view of all the surrounding lands. Two majestic oaks stood on either side of the main door into the house, shading the yard and the well.

Too much brush and scrub had been allowed to grow close to the walls, too close for Erol’s liking, and that was the first thing he and Cris took care of after Drake had departed. They left old Riken to make a start on cleaning out the manor house itself. That evening, going through crates of old stuff stashed in the cellar and attic, Cris came upon several sets of old, but still serviceable, leather armor. He was delighted to find enough pieces that fit him to deck himself out fairly well. Erol smiled as the boy demonstrated his new costume for them by firelight, but figured if he was going to be hanging out with the Hand of Fortune, then he probably should be better equipped…

When Danyes arrived late the next day with three sturdy farm lads, Riken was happy to lay out the plan for the reclamation of the fallow fields. Too late for this year, of course, but they’d be ready for next year. All three of the new hands, Jeb, Benek and Korveth, were looking to start their own families, and Drake’s promise of land on his fief had brought them here to put in some sweat equity. The next day Cris lead the three newcomers out into the fields and Danyes waded into the cleaning and repair of the house with Riken. Erol spent the morning going over the defenses, fixing what he could, making notes about what would require more time.

It was as he was standing in the shade of one of the oaks, drinking cool water from the well and thinking how content he was, that Cris came bursting into the yard through the open gates, followed a moment later by the farmers.

“Gülvini!” Cris gasped, stumbling up to Erol and bending over, hands on knees, to catch his breath. “Saw them… down by the… creek… went to… cool off… coming down… from the… mountain…”

Erol handed him the ladle he’d been drinking from, told him to drink, breath, relax, and then start from the beginning. Which Cris did, after a moment.

As the morning grew warmer, and their work got sweatier, the men had decided they needed a break. Cris guided them to the creek that bordered the assart on the western edge, maybe half a kilometer from the manor. But as they approached the creek Cris had caught a whiff of something he recognized from an earlier encounter – the musk of gülvini! Urging the others to silence, and moving them off the road, he had snuck forward cautiously to see a band of small, whitish gülvini, and one large blackish one,  come down the hillside out of the forest.

They had come as far as the bridge over the creek, then had turned back and seemed to be making camp in a large clearing nearby. Cris hadn’t waited to see more, deciding he’d gambled enough with his luck. He made his way back to his companions, explained what he’d seen, and then lead them quietly away until he felt it was safe to run.

“There were at least six of ’em,” he concluded. “Plus the big one. They had armor and spears, that I saw; maybe other weapons. I think they know the manor is here, Erol!”

Erol wasted no time in ordering the defense of the manor. He sent the farm boys to sort through the old armor bits and outfit themselves as best they could. They were all most comfortable with a hand axe as a weapon, which maybe wasn’t the greatest choice against spears, but there were several round shields, and it would have to do. He was very pleased to learn that Jeb was considered the best shot in the hundred with a short bow, at least amongst the peasant families. They had a short bow, and twenty arrows, so Erol sent him to the archer’s walk to the right of the main gate.

By then Riken and Danyes had come out of the house, and had heard the gist of the problem. The gülvini were on the road between them and anywhere civilized, but the old man claimed to know forest paths that would get them around the beastmen and to the closest neighbor manor with little difficulty. He agreed to go, and Erol sent Danyes along with him, uncertain if the old fellow was really up for the trip.

By the time Riken and Danyes had set out to bring help Erol had his defenses in hand. Jeb on the wall with his bow, Korveth in the watch tower to alert them to any approach, and he and Cris to patrol the walls if an attack came… Korveth, too, once the enemy had been spotted, he supposed it was going to be hard to keep this much wall covered. He wished he’d thought to bring some of Mariala’s magic paper with him, then he wouldn’t have had to send two of his defenders away… but if there were only seven of the gülvini…

He decided he needed to see for himself. In as little armor as he felt was consistent with both speed and some protection, carrying his trident and his gladius (he’d rather take his battle-axe, but that seemed a bit bulky for stealth work) he had Cris open the gate to let him out.

“I’ll be back within the hour,” he said, hefting his trident. “Keep a watch, and if you see me running for the gates with the enemy behind, be prepared to open them just enough for me to get in, then slam ’em shut.

“And don’t worry,” he promised the worried-looking boy as he slipped out, “we can hold out until help comes, if we all just keep our wits.”

With that he set off down the road, or, more accurately, to the side of the road. He soon reached the edge of the near fields, wear the forest began to grow thicker, and crouched down behind a large oak that had apparently been uprooted in a storm last winter. He could see no sign of any activity on the road ahead, and eventually began to move slowly forward again, until he could hear the babble of the creek ahead.

Careful to stay under cover of the thick foliage beside the roadway, Erol cautiously approached the sturdy wooden bridge that crossed the rushing mountain stream. Even in late summer the water was running strongly and the sound masked any noise his approach might have made. He stopped to examine the woods ahead for sentries, and to consider his next move.

The banks of the stream were about 2 meters high at this point, steep and rocky, and he decided he’d make more noise (and be a more vulnerable target) if he tried to climb down and then back up, even assuming he could keep his feet on the algae-slicked rocks in the torrent. Just across the bridge the road curved to the left, around the ruins of a small tower whose jagged remaining wall stood about the height of a man. He could see no sign of Gülvini sentries in the brush or in the trees, but he could hardly expect to, depending on the breed…

He decided he’d have to risk a quick dash across the bridge, and then take cover behind the moss-covered, overgrown stones of the ruin. Feeling exposed, Erol made the dash as quietly as possible, reaching the cover of the ruined tower without apparent notice of any watchers. After a moment to be sure, he slowly worked his way along the south side of the wall, where it’s jagged top began to dip down toward the ground, until he had a decent view of the clearing Cris had mentioned on the other side of the road. Despite the shrubs and trees between the clearing and the road, he was able to make out four small gülvini, and one much larger one, gathered around a small campfire. They appeared to be gnawing at the remains of some woodland creature, hands and mouths dripping red.

The smaller ones were clearly gül-gramlini, with their white, tawny-streaked fur and almost wolfish features. That was something, Erol thought with a silent laugh; they were the least violent of the gülvini, and the ones most prone to actually treating with other races. Sometimes. But they were just as fierce and deadly as any of their cousins when it came to a fight, as he knew from experience, having fought the breed more than once in the arena.

The larger gül he was less sure of, as it had its back to him. Certainly one of the larger breeds, either gül-bogaba or gül-hovgavu, and given what he could see of its coloring, he was afraid it was the latter. The largest and most psychotic of the gül subspecies. He’d fought those, too, in the Games, and was glad there seemed to be just the one. No doubt the leader of this little group, he thought… whenever the breeds mixed, the bigger ones usually enslaved the smaller ones.

Cris had said he saw at least six of the small gülvini, which meant there might be a couple of more around somewhere. Of course Cris was young, and excitable, and high on an adrenaline rush, and could have easily inflated the numbers in his own head. On the other hand, it seemed unlikely that these war-like creatures wouldn’t have posted look-outs in unknown territory. Best to assume there were more…

Even as he was thinking this, Erol was moving further along the ever-lower ruined wall, trying to get a different angle on the clearing, to see if he could spot others that might be hidden by trees. Whether it was some small noise, or just his well-honed battle instincts, Erol could never say afterwards; but whatever the reason, he turned suddenly to find himself staring into the startled face of a gül on the other side of the now half-meter high wall.

With a silent curse he leapt from his crouch, bringing his trident around for a quick thrust even as the gül brought up his own spear. He knocked the blocking weapon aside, and took the creature in the chest. It went down with a shriek of pain and fury, to lay gasping wetly, coughing up blood amongst the stones and grasses inside the ruined ring. Erol cursed aloud now, all hope of ending the encounter unnoticed by the other gülvini having died with that shriek. He took no more than an instant to glance toward  the clearing, where the dying gül’s companions were leaping up and seizing weapons, before he was dashing back behind the ruined wall and then sprinting for the bridge.

He was a fast runner, and certainly possessed longer legs than the gül, at least the small ones… it was less than half a kilometer to the manor… he might just make it. Assuming they had no bows, of course. He felt his back itch at the thought, and just as his feet hit the wooden planks to the bridge, he caught a movement out of the corner of his left eye – a small white shape leaping from a tree across the road behind him. There had been six after all, he thought. Although why they’d missed him crossing the bridge he couldn’t imagine.

He was across the bridge and running hard now, in the steady rhythm they taught you in the Legions that conserved energy for the long haul. Ahead he could see the sunlight at the end of the shaded tunnel the forest made of the road, where it opened into the fields and meadows of the manor’s assart. Once into the light he’d be better than halfway there. The sounds of something gaining on him grew. He risked a glance back, and saw the hulking shape of the gül-hovgavu (and there was now no doubt about that) perhaps ten meters behind him. He put on a burst of speed.

But even as he sprinted into the sunlight he realized he wasn’t going to make it. He could see the palisade ahead, but it was too far and the Black Gül was almost on him as he passed the fallen oak. With hardly a conscious thought he skidded to a stop and whirled to far the oncoming beast-man, time seeming to slow around him. He had plenty of time to note the pack of five smaller gülvini, still far back on the road but coming fast, and the play of sunlight on the slaver pouring from the mouth of the black-furred monster bearing down on him, deadly mang held high for a slashing blow.

Erol crouched and the blade hissed, almost slowly it seemed to him, through the air where his head had been. At the same instant he thrust forward with his trident, striking into the leather armor of the beast’s chest, then ripping the points out again. Blood spurted and the creature roared in pain and anger.

Before the gül could pull back for another blow Erol had pivoted and thrust his trident forward again, trying for the disarming strike he’d learned in the arena. The gül tried to block with his mang, as Erol had hoped, and the tines of the trident caught his wrist between them. With a sudden twist, the creature’s weapon went flying from his grip, to land in the grass on the side of the road, and blood poured from a cut along the back of the hand.

Another roar, this time more fury than pain Erol thought, and the gül leaped to retrieve its weapon. Scooping it up and turning in one fluid movement, it was clear the creature intended to slash his opponent across the belly. But Erol was already moving in for his own attack, and this time the trident pierced the unprotected wrist holding the mang. Another twist and the hand came half off, blood spurting in  a red fountain. Almost beautiful in the midday sun, Erol thought dreamily.

The hulking gül, looking surprised more than anything, staggered forward one step, two steps… and on the third step he fell to his knees in the dust of the road, then toppled forward. Blood continued to pump from the almost severed hand, but Erol was already sprinting again, making for the manor’s walls with the pack of five snarling gül-gramlini on his heels.

As the palisade came into view, Erol realized he couldn’t make the gate far enough ahead of his pursuers to allow him to get inside – if they opened the gates for him, they’d be fighting the gül inside the compound. He’d have to make a stand outside, and hope the others could help from the walls… the kid with the short bow, at least might…

But even as these thoughts passed through his mind, Erol saw the gate open slightly, and a single figure slip out. As the gate was pushed shut behind him, Erol realized it was Cris, in the old armor and carrying a hand axe. At the same time he saw Jeb rise up over the points of the palisade wall near the gate and loose an arrow. A meaty thunk, a strangled cry, and Erol realized he had one less enemy to worry about. As he wheeled about to make his stand, next to the pale but determined-looking Cris, he saw the downed gül somewhat down the road, feathered shaft protruding from one shoulder.

The remaining four gül showed no inclination to withdraw – Erol could see that they were maddened by bloodlust and rage. It suddenly came to him that the gül-gramlini were known for a ridged code of “honor,” and that ranged weapons greatly offended that sense. Well, good, he just had time to think… an enraged opponent was not usually a thinking opponent, and that made them easier to kill… then they were on him. Two of the small white creatures went for Erol himself, while the other two closed in on Cris.

Time seemed back to normal for Erol now, although he tried to regain that place where everything slowed down. He thrust his trident at one of his attackers, who counter-struck with his spear, which slid past Erol’s shoulder even as his own weapon tore into the flesh of the creature’s upper arm. It snarled in anger as it’s companion lunged in with its own spear on Erol’s left, a blow he managed to block with his trident. This caused the gül to stumble forward, and Erol took advantage of the momentary imbalance to deliver a slashing wound to that creature’s arm as well.

Meanwhile Cris had swung his axe at the nearest of his opponents, knocking aside the beastman’s spear and thunking solidly into the armor on his hip. The creature staggered back, with a hiss, blood flowing from the wound, only to immediately leap in again to attack. Cris blocked the spear with his round shield, and almost blocked his second opponents thrust as well. But the point slipped past his guard, and gouged a burning line across his left elbow.

Another arrow from Jeb missed one of Cris’ opponents, but the next one took one of Erol’s in the abdomen, even as he succeeded in dodging the creature’s attack. The gül went down, writhing in agony for a moment before twitching into stillness. The remaining gül counter-struck again, as Erol thrust his trident at him, and this time Erol felt the spear punch through his light armor, plowing a burning furrow along his left side. But his own thrust took the gül full in the chest, and it went down gurgling blood.

Cris’ wound only seemed to energize him, as he leaped once again to the attack, dodging a gül’s counter thrust and driving his axe into the creature’s shoulder. This caused the gül to lose his grip on his spear, which clattered to the ground between them. Cris whirled to meet the attack of the other gül, and managed to land a glancing blow to the abdomen, but took another spear thrust himself, this time along his forearm, causing a gush of blood. He staggered back, and suddenly everything started to spin, and he felt very cold. As he slipped into unconsciousness the last thing he saw was the gül twisting away as an arrow narrowly missed him.

Erol saw Cris go down, just as he put his own last opponent down with a ripping thrust into the elbow that severed a major artery. Pulling his trident free, he was leaping to Cris’ aid before his last kill had even hit the ground. He saw the creature dodge the arrow that Jeb had loosed at him, and his own trident thrust forced the beastman to drop his spear and kept him from finishing off the downed boy.

Erol managed to get himself between the gül and Cris just as another arrow came from above, narrowly missing his own head and completely missing the growling gül, who had drawn a wicked looking mankar from its sheath.

“In the Hunter’s name, Jeb,” he shouted in annoyance , ” I have enough on my hands without having to worry about an arrow in the back from a friend!”

“Sorry,” the farm lad yelled back, but Erol was already leaping forward to the attack, dropping his trident and drawing his gladius. He’d rather have had his battle-axe, of course, but he’d make due…

And he did, knocking aside the counter attack and driving his short sword into the gül’s belly. As the creature fell at his feet he could hear the gates swing open behind him and Benek rushing out to Cris’ side. After making sure his last opponent wasn’t getting up anytime soon, Erol also turned to his fallen companion.

The boy had lost a fair amount of blood, but between the two they managed to staunch the flow and  carry him into the manor house. Hopefully help, in the form of the rest of the Hand of Fortune, would be here by tomorrow, and Vulk could make sure the boy didn’t take a fever. Until then his field training, and the knowledge of three youths raised on farms, would have to do.

Just as Erol finished wrapping his injury, Cris opened his eyes and looked around blearily. “What happened…?”

“You disobeyed orders,” Erol said gruffly, pressing the boy back when he tried to sit up.

“But they were right behind you,” Cris whispered, gravel-voiced. “We couldn’t open the gates… couldn’t leave you out there… alone…”

“I didn’t say you didn’t do well,” Erol smiled as he stood up. “Now get some rest. Everything is under control, at least for the moment.”

Leaving the injured youth to his sick bed, Erol took Jeb and his amazing short bow out to check on the bodies of the gülvini. By the time they got to them, all but one was dead, bled out  in the dusty country road. He decided it was worth keeping the one survivor alive, if he could, at least long enough for questioning. If there were more of their kind around, he wanted to know about it. In any case, they would keep a watch in the lookout tower until help arrived…

 

Answering Drake’s summons, the group gathered at his townhouse/apothecary shop by mid-morning. As they entered the still sparsely furnished living area the distant sounds of the Khundari masons, whistling their traditional working songs, could be heard on the cool mountain breeze blowing in from the east. While Brann frolicked in his enclosed garden, Drake seated his friends around the large dining table off the kitchen.

“I suppose it’s a good thing I sent my cousin up to the new manor, to help Erol and the lads get things in order, or I’d have had him start the fire in my room last night and most likely he’d have missed this,” he said, gesturing to a charred scrap of paper in the center of the table. “Apparently my uncle burned those of his papers that he didn’t carry away with him when he fled… but he was in a hurry, and several bits survived. None of any real interest, except this one…”

 

 

 

 

 

 

♦ ♦ ♦

It took the three friends and their newest ally, Korwin, several minutes to decipher the broken text, and come to the same conclusion Drake had already reached – Querdon Bartyne had discovered something that he considered potentially very valuable, and he wanted to keep it from his co-conspirator, the late Constable Ser Danyes and the Constables “masters.” That last comment alone might bear further thought…

“But who is this ‘Prince of the North’ he refers to,” Korwin asked. “I’m not terribly familiar with legends of the Outer Lands…” The others ignored this unconscious Imperial-centric comment, although Vulk did shoot him an annoyed glare.

“The name rings a bell,” Mariala replied, frowning into space. “But I’m not sure…”

“It refers to some ancient Khundari prince,” grunted Devrik, diffidently. “Back at the end of the Age of Chaos. He was some big master craftsman-type, and he and his older brother got in a tussle over who should rule what was left of their kingdom after half of it was destroyed in the Great Cataclysm. The prince eventually took off with a lot of artifacts and weapons and tools, and was never seen again…”

“That’s right, I remember now,” Mariala agreed. “The Lost Prince of Akazdurön, it’s a very popular legend among the more northern Khundari peoples. They believe this Prince… Dhaur’azym, I think he was named… will be reincarnated one day and lead his people to rebuild the lost kingdom. I don’t remember the details, I’m more familiar with the Khundari of the United Realms, I’m afraid.”

“I hadn’t put that together,” Drake said, “but now that I think about it, growing up I heard lots of tales about the Khundari… Dür was originally one of their outpost forts, and rumors of buried treasure always stick to places like this… one of the few memories I have from before my father died was me and Alakor digging up the garden, looking for Khundari treasure.

“Anyway, I remember hearing one tale about a great mason who made his hidden workshop here… he could supposedly make fortifications as indestructible as the Ancients’ own torlixam. We never gave it much credence, of course – the keep is very well built, and obviously by Khundari hands, but the stone is just stone. Well cut and fitted, but hardly indestructible. I mean, look at the repairs my brother is having completed right now.”

The group spent some more time discussing what exactly this fragment might mean, and what they should do about it. Some thought they should pursue this “traitorous cur” Rimbor, whoever he might be, while others thought it would make more sense to locate the “tomb,” if that’s what it was, that Querdon had discovered. In the end, it was agreed to search the basement for the implied secret entrance to the “escape route” mentioned.

Since Drake had removed most of his late uncle’s lab equipment (that’s how he liked to think of him, privately – as already deceased), the space was mostly empty, and it took Mariala very little time to locate the hidden catch in the stonework that opened a well-built hidden door. Devrik and Vulk each lit a torch, from the several piled in the corner, and the party entered the dark, dirt-floored passageway beyond the door. Devrik took the lead, with Vulk bringing up the rear, but when the cantor motioned Drake to move ahead of him, his friend just smiled and shook his head.

“Sorry, my friend,” he answered Vulk’s frown. “I’m out of this business, at least for now, so I have no need to force myself to go into that small, dark underground passage. But you enjoy! I’ll have a nice pot of chocolate ready for you all, when you return.”

Vulk tried to convince his friend that they needed him, that it was his uncle’s shit they were investigating, that it was perfectly safe… but with the others’ impatient calls to get a move on, and Drake’s adamant refusal to reconsider, he was forced to give it up and enter the passageway. Behind him, Drake spiked the door open with a sturdy shim and watched as the torchlight faded into the darkness.

Trudging back up the stairs from the basement, having left a torch lit in case his friends needed a beacon when they returned, Drake felt a monetary twinge of regret… he really did wonder what they might find down there, and a part of him wanted to throw caution to the wind and hare off after them. Caution be damned! But then the memory of a seemingly endless time trapped in darkness, not knowing if he was alive or dead, surged up and he shuddered. No, he never wanted to risk that sensationless void ever again!

It was at that moment, as he stepped into the kitchen to start the chocolate, that the world suddenly went black –

♦ ♦ ♦

Meanwhile, moving deeper underground, the Hand of Fortune found that the packed dirt floor and timbered walls of the narrow passage soon intersected an older, stone-lined passageway. The newer construction seemed to have broken into the older at some sort of juncture, with two of the three ways blocked by collapsed rubble. Moving forward, the remaining corridor of rough, dark gray stone sloped gently downward. Both the walls and rough-hewed stone floor were surprisingly dry.

After several hundred feet the passage ended in an opening into what was clearly a natural system of caves. The floor had been somewhat smoothed and worked, as had a few places along the walls, but for the most part is was as nature had made it. The sound of dripping water could now be heard, and the walls were moist with visible water. For the next two hours the group explored the twisting, turning passages of the cave system, and they soon came to rely on Korwin’s eidetic memory skills to keep track of where they’d been.

At one point, Vulk paused to consider the shifting, flickering shadows cast by the torches, thinking “Maybe we should stop and illuminate them to make sure nothing is hiding there.” As his friends quickly outpaced him, a voice in his head answered, “Yeah, right. What do you expect to be hiding there, ninja dwarves?” Scoffing at the ridiculousness of that idea, Vulk jogged ahead, catching up with his friends.

Going deeper, the walls and floors became wetter and covered in various slimes, molds and fungi. The footing was increasingly treacherous, and although passages would widened to a promising degree, they all soon narrowed again, eventually terminating in dead ends. The last one almost proved to be literally so.

Devrik, in the lead as always, jerked to a sudden stop just as he was about to enter a large cavern. Less than a foot in front of him the torchlight revealed a floor covered in a sickly pale mass of… something fungus-like. Looking up, he saw that the walls and even the ceiling of the cavern were covered in the same slowly pulsating, undulating mass. Small puckers in the surface were a sickly reddish-purple, like – well, the comparison was obvious and disgusting. Remembering the nasty spore-cloud that almost killed Drake back on Baylora’s island, he was disinclined to investigate any more closely. The others all agreed, and they backed slowly away from the potential death trap.

Moving back up through the cave system, they eventually came to a section of passages and small chambers that showed signs of recent activity. Various mushrooms and other fungi, as well as some molds and algae were clearly being farmed in this area – the growth was too regular and defined. They soon stumbled across various tools and gear that were clearly meant to be used in cultivating this underground “garden.” Korwin again proved, if not exactly useful, at least interesting, when he picked up a trowel and concentrated on it for several minutes.

“Psychometry,” Devrik explained to the others. “He was telling me about it the other day… sometimes he can “read” the history of an object, or see events that happened near it. It’s something he’s just learned to use, apparently, so don’t expect much.”

Despite his relative inexperience with the technique, Korwin did see an image: an older, sour-looking man with stringy dark hair and a pinched face, using the trowel to tend a row of mushrooms… of course, since no one in the group had ever met Querdon Bartyne, they couldn’t say if that was who it was. But the inference was clear – Drake’s unpleasant relative had been cultivating various sources for his apothecary trade down here, for both the legal and illegal halves, no doubt. Perhaps it was while doing this that he discovered… whatever he had discovered.

After more wandering through the twisting caverns of this underground labyrinth they came to a large chamber of several levels, with stone shelves acting as ramps both up and down, and a truly horrendous stench.

“Dear gods,” Mariala gasped, “what in the Void died down here?!”

But while Devrik was as repulsed as the others by the smell of rotting flesh, he was more concerned with the faint chittering and rustling sounds he could hear coming from the right… an all too familiar chittering, he feared. Drawing his sword, he moved forward cautiously, and after a moment Mariala shrugged and followed him. Neither Vulk nor Korwin seemed anxious to know what lay in the shadowy pit they could just make out.

Following the ramp down into the depression, maybe twelve feet below the level of the chamber floor, they found a recess beneath another shelf of stone, covered in closely set iron bars. The smell was far more concentrated down here, and both Devrik and Mariala almost gagged as he thrust his torch forward. In the flickering light they saw what lay beyond the bars – a nest of tolaxta, maybe a score of them, although it was hard to tell since they were all dead and mostly dismembered and chewed up. Dead, that is, except for two, who broke off their gnawing on the bones of their siblings while warily eyeing one another, to glare at the sudden light and movement.

Devrik was very much aware of how fast these damn Eaters of Eyes could move, so he was surprised at the slow dash they made towards the bars and fresh prey. It’s true, they moved faster than most creatures their size, even now, but it was nothing compared to what he and the others had faced in that Zalik-mal hideout in Zebarin. And they didn’t even try to leap, but instead bit and scrabbled at the bars, trying to get to him. His left eye twitched involuntarily, but he didn’t step back from the bars, even as Mariala did.

Eventually Vulk and Korwin joined them, despite the stench, and they briefly discussed the idea of killing the obviously trapped creatures. They guessed that, whoever was responsible for keeping this apparently common Vortex-related security system functioning, they had either died in the Dür massacre, or fled from it. In either case, the vicious little beasts hadn’t been fed in quite awhile, and had turned on one another, with only these two strongest surviving. Although not for much longer, from the looks of it.

Devrik wasn’t feeling too merciful toward tolaxta, and no one else wanted to linger, so the friends headed quickly back up the ramp to the main chamber, leaving the two animals hissing and snapping behind them. The last thing Devrik heard ask he walked away was a sudden squeal and a wet, ripping sound. And then there was one, he thought with a satisfied grin.

Now the group decided to take the upward reaching stone shelf/ramp on the left side of the chamber, and this soon proved to be what they’d been looking for. There were obvious signs of recent widening, and as the passage narrowed it began to slope steeply downward, coming to an end in a ragged hole that pierced a masonry wall of well-dressed stone. Stepping over the rubble around the opening, the group found themselves in a 10-foot wide corridor, with a barrel ceiling about eight feet high, stretching into darkness to both the right and left.

“This is the most ancient Khundari stonework I think I’ve ever seen,” Vulk whispered to his friends. The atmosphere of dignified age seemed to call for whispers…

After a brief discussion, the group turned  right and made their way down the corridor to where it made a sharp turn right. An alcove near the bend had clearly once held a statue of some sort, but was empty now except for debris and dust. As the new corridor stretched before them they noted a carved frieze of stylized Khundari symbols running down both sides, near the base of the ceiling’s vaulting.

Eventually another sharp right brought them into a very large chamber, which even two torches could not illuminate completely. It seemed square, perhaps 70 feet across, with a large square column, 20 feet on a side, rising up in the center of the space, from floor to the barrel-vaulted ceiling, which was perhaps 20 feet high.

Deep shadows flickered around the group as they stood staring at what lay ahead of them, to their left: a stone dais, perhaps 20 feet wide, was set in the back wall, between two square half-pillars. Three steps, covered in a faded, torn, and rotting carpet, deep red with gold trim, lead up to it on three sides. In the center sat a great stone sarcophagus, carved with exquisite artistry.

“The tomb of the Lost Prince, I’m guessing,” Vulk said quietly. The others nodded silent agreement.

Around the walls of the room, including those formed by the great central column, a bas-relief frieze ran. It seemed to depict scenes from the life of an ancient Khundari people, with one figure always larger and more imposing than any other… the occupant of the tomb, perhaps. On the section directly in back of and over the sarcophagus the figure was posed majestically, his gaze looking out and up to some unknowable distance, a mysterious tool or artifact in each hand. Or maybe one of them was a scepter? Hard to say…

Mariala quickly cast a spell to detect any arcane energies that might be present, and got a strong sense of magic from the area of the sarcophagus, and a milder sense of power, very faint, from the central pillar opposite the dais.

“Obviously the death trap will come from the pillar, when you try to open the sarcophagus,” Vulk said, being careful not to get between the two.

No one seemed anxious to get too close to the dais and its contents, so they spread out around the chamber, examining it in detail. Devrik focused on examining the sarcophagus from the foot of the stairs, careful not to step on the wide ceramic tiles set there. Vulk kept nervously peering into the dancing shadows that filled the corners of room, while Mariala examined the frieze more closely. Korwin discovered a cache of tools and torches stacked up neatly against the central pillar, on the far side from where they’d entered the room (there seemed to be at least two other exits that they could see). Mariala picked up one of the piled torches and lit it from Vulk’s, to better see the friezes.

As they moved about the room they quietly discussed their course of action. Devrik observed seven circular disks of carved stone set along the front edge of the sarcophagus, just below the lid. The central one was large, and intact, but the smaller ones, three to each side, appeared to have been chiseled to pieces.

“The last seal?” he asked, as the others gathered around at his quiet call. Mariala pointed out that there was one more damaged seal on the short edge of the sarcophagus (head or foot?), at which point Vulk noted the ninth seal on the other side, also damaged.

“Yes, it seems likely that this is the ‘last seal’ that Bartyne wrote of,” he said. “The one he couldn’t break without whatever that Rimbor fellow had, or knew…”

“But he seemed to think he could break it, eventually,” Devrik pointed out. “If so, then we certainly can…”

“But should we?” Vulk asked, frowning. “This is a tomb, after all. I’m not at all sure we should try to open the sarcophagus.”

“When did you get suddenly squeamish about, um, ‘archeological excavation’?” Mariala asked in surprise. “We’ve certainly taken our share of valuables from buried temples, tombs, what have you…”

“I don’t think a Naventhülian temple or the crypt of some undead monster really counts for much, as legitimate resting places go,” he replied. “And the Ancients don’t count at all. But this is a different matter, even as old as it appears to be… If we can find treasure that was buried along with this prince, I’m all for taking that, don’t get me wrong. But I see no need to disturb his bones!”

There ensued a brief discussion about the differences between grave robbing and archeological liberating, during which Devrik quietly made an attempt to dispel whatever enchantment guarded the sarcophagus. He didn’t mention it to the others until Mariala decided to try and do the same, after getting Vulk to agree they’d just look, and not disturb anyone’s bones. When she failed, he shrugged and admitted that he’d failed as well, ignoring the irate yammering about unilateral actions.

It was at this point that someone realized the three T’ara Kul could try to pool their energies and perhaps succeed where no single one of them had. Vulk again raised his objections to opening the actual grave, and suggested they focus their efforts on the seemingly weaker magic of the central pillar. Agreeing that this made sense, (and thinking privately that if it worked there, they could always try it on the sarcophagus), the three mages turned to face the pillar.

With Korwin at the center, Mariala to his left and Devrik to his right, the they each concentrated on merging their powers. Vulk stood well to the side, beyond Devrik (and hopefully out of range of any unfortunate side effects that might be coming), as he began his ritual to call Kasira’s blessing down on his friends’ attempt.

It was a simple spell, really, even with the effort to channel their energies together, and it took only seconds to cast. Just as Korwin released the combined energies at the wall, there came a guttural, shouted “NO!” and the shadows around them came suddenly to life! From all sides the group found themselves facing five short, very solidly built shadows in the shape of men.

When the first one struck a blindingly fast blow to Vulk’s chest with his open palm, sending him reeling backwards, he realized they weren’t shadows; just men dressed all in black – no, not men, Khundari! Even their beards were wrapped in black cloth, braided to hold them tight and close, and they wore some sort of light breastplate, with bracers on their forearms, all a flat black that seemed to absorb the light, as did their black clothes.

Two of the mysterious figures were attacking Devrik, and one each went for Korwin and Mariala. Devrik suffered one blow to the thigh that almost staggered him, but his counterstrike with his battlesword sent the second figure crashing to the ground unconscious and bleeding. Mariala and Korwin both managed to avoid the blurred, open-handed blows that were aimed at them, leaping back in surprise.

Mariala quickly cast her go-to spell in these situations, and was glad for all the practice she’d had – her mind was clear and precise, despite the fear, and the Fire Nerves spell brought her attacker to the ground in a writhing heap. She was a bit unnerved, however, by the utter silence with which he suffered what she knew to be agonizing pain.

Korwin cast a Frostblade spell, causing a blade of shimmering ice to form around his hand, and lunged at his own attacker, who leapt back in his turn, avoiding the blow. Devrik turned his full attention on his remaining attacker, who also avoided being struck – the agility and speed of these Khundari was totally unexpected. Strong that race was, certainly, and powerful warriors… but this kind of fighting, these moves…

The remaining shadow fighters prepared to leap at their targets once more, but before they could a deep, grinding rumble drew everyone’s attention to the pillar in the center of the room. The side of the pillar facing the dais was swiftly sinking into the floor, revealing a dark passage ten feet wide, with steps going down. Even as they all watched a dim light began to glow somewhere within the opening, and it silhouetted a massive shape that was slowly moving up the stairs. As it stepped into the light of the three torches, now laying on the floor, the same thought crossed the minds 0f all present: oh shit!

The thing was easily 12 feet tall, and massive, both wide and thick. It was roughly humanoid in shape, but only roughly, as it lacked much in the way of detail. There appeared to be only two indentations where the eyes would be, although these glowed with a red light, and when the mouth opened in an almost subsonic roar, it was not more than a gash across the thing’s face. The hands had three thick fingers and a thumb, while the feet had three splayed toes and some sort of dewclaw. The creature’s hide was a deep reddish brown, and looked more like rammed earth than skin. As it moved, cracks appeared in that hide, and a glowing orange substance oozed up to fill them, quickly darkening and thickening to match the surface. The total effect was of a spider web of glowing fissures that moved in random patterns across the thing’s surface, like magma leaking up from beneath a crust of hardened lava. And heat rolled off it in waves.

In the instant it took for all of this to register on the Hand of Fortune, the shadow fighters leapt again to the attack. But not, this time, at the Hand. Instead, two of them leapt upon the lumbering creature, drawing swords from sheathes on their backs as they did so. One of the dwarven fighters was sent flying back into the shadows by a tremendous blow from one of those massive arms, but the other managed to carve a slice out of the creature’s hide before bouncing away again. But even as he touched down lightly on the stone floor, the glowing magma began to fill and repair the wound. The Guardian lumbered forward…

Mariala cast a spell of confusion at the beast, but it seemed to have no effect. Korwin, seeing an opportunity, slipped behind the behemoth as it moved past him, dashing down the stairs. Devrik, of course, leapt to the attack and aimed a mighty two-handed blow at the monstrous form. Vulk, realizing he was going to be of little use as a swordsman in this fight, darted to where the third Khundari was trying to stop the bleeding of his companion downed by Devrik. Recognizing Vulk’s offer, the warrior immediately dove into the fight, drawing his own sword as he went.

But the battle appeared very one-sided. For every wound they managed to inflict, the magma soon healed it, and a blow from those massive arms threatened to decapitate someone if it ever landed. The first shadow fighter came limping back into the fray as Devrik aimed another blow at the damned thing, only to miss as it began to turn away. Its counter blow, though glancing, clipped his hand, breaking bone, tearing open flesh, and sending his sword flying to land with a clang on the steps of the dais.

What caused the monster to turn was Korwin. In the small chamber within and below the central pillar he had found a stone brazier full of glowing pebbles, the source of the light from within, and a statue of a noble Khundari, holding a stone tray on which rested a single object. It was about 18″ long, a narrow cylinder of smooth, white metal that flared into a bell shape at one end. Without thinking, Korwin reached for it…

In that instant, two things happened. The Guardian stopped its forward march and turned back toward the chamber it had just left, moving to regain the stairs. And Kowrin felt a presence in his mind, an alien intelligence, not necessarily hostile, but definitely in opposition to him. His mind reached out and battle was joined…

Above, the Guardian moved to crush the threat to its Purpose… it had no thoughts, as such, and little that might be called a mind, but it did have a Purpose. Devrik, despite the pain of his damaged hand, attempted to cast a fireball at the behemoth. But his control was imperfect, and the damn thing misfired, exploding against his own breastplate. He cursed furiously as he scrambled for his sword.

If Mariala had not cast another spell of confusion at that same moment, it is almost certain the Guardian’s Purpose would have been fulfilled, and Korwin would have  become a red smear. But instead the Guardian paused… it had no real mind to be confused, but it did have a Purpose, and suddenly that Purpose was… unclear… it shook its massive head… which way…?

in the chamber below Kowrin again reached out with his mind to force the intelligence in this Ancient artifact (for he knew now with certainty that that is what it was) to bend to his will. And this time, with a snap, it did. Suddenly he knew what it was and how to use it… At that moment the Guardian above shook off its confusion and took the first step down the stairs. Korwin aimed the device at the creature and issued the mental trigger.

Nothing visible happened at first… there was an unpleasant ultrasonic hum that set the nerves on edge, but no flash of light, no beam of energy. Then, as the Guardian lifted its foot for the second step, the hide on its torso, head and arms (which were reaching down for the intruder) began to turn white, as if all the color was being leached from it. In an instant the transformation was complete, and in that same instant Korwin realized he’d made a small tactical error. The upper part of the Guardian had been turned to torlixam, as he’d expected, but that meant it was much too heavy for the surviving lower body to support, and too unbalanced…

As the massive pseudo-stone corpse toppled down towards him, Korwin took a flying leap, got one foot on the head, and managed to roll across the back as the thing slammed into the floor. By the time his friends had moved past the steaming remains of the Guardian’s lower half and were able to peer down at him, Kowrin was posed jauntily on top of the fallen creature, his weapon held high and grin of triumph on his face.

♦ ♦ ♦

By the time they got everyone’s wounds tended to and everyone was able to breathe for a moment, things had calmed down enough for conversation instead of battle. The Khundari explained that they had been stalking the group, thinking they were the ones intending to desecrate the holy resting place of their Lost Prince. It seemed that an outlaw Khundari priest, named Rimbor, had discovered ancient clues revealing the location of the Tomb, and had shared that information with an Umantari who was in a position to help him.

Eventually, however, he had realized the man was of an evil bent; in the end Rimbor had balked at the final breaching of the wards, and fled from his patron. But he had feared the man would nonetheless find a way to breach that seal, and so had confessed his guilt to a priest of Gheas. When word reached the Prince of Dürkon, Rhogûn the Young, he had dispatched a squad of his most skilled Shadow Warriors.

Arriving under the cover provided by the Khundari masons, the seven members of the team had begun to reconnoiter. They knew it was an apothecary they sought, and fixated on Drake and his companions. They made there own way into the Tomb this morning, intent on putting an end to any plans to further desecrate the site. But on hearing the friends talk, they realized they were not the ones they sought, and so they waited, and listened further. Vulk’s clear respect for the dead gave them pause, and it was only when they realized that the group intended to open the Chamber of the Guardian that they had moved to try and stop them. They hadn’t known the precise nature of the Guardian, but they knew it would be powerful, deadly, and indiscriminate!

“But that artifact you hold,” Lekorm, the leader of the Shadow Warriors said, turning to Korwin, “is the rightful property of the heirs of Akazdurön. I cannot let you leave here with it in you r possession.”

Before his friends could say or do anything hasty, Korwin immediately handed the device over to the Khundari, with a bow and a smile. The Shadow Warrior seemed almost as surprised as the humans.

“Of course it’s yours,” Korwin agreed with a shrug. “I wouldn’t dream of trying to keep it from your Prince.”

“And I won’t mind being owed a big honking favor by the Khundari, either,” he murmured to the others as they all made their way back up to Drakes apothecary shop.

Along the way, Mariala pulled Vulk aside. “Lekorm said there were seven in his team,” she whispered. “But there are only five here. Where are the other two?”

Drake’s announcement that he intended to “retire” from active participation in the adventures of the Hand of Fortune caused quite a stir amongst his friends. Vulk in particular was dismayed to discover that his “little buddy” would no longer be at his side. The group wrangled over this for the rest of the evening, with some trying to convince him he was over-reacting to his recent bout of being turned to organic stone, and others simply offering comfort and support. But in the end he was adamant.

“I will always be there for you, my friends,” he assured them. “But I had a lot of time to think while I was trapped in my frozen body… not sure if I was dead, or lost in the Void, or what… I realized I’ve been incredibly lucky, both as a mercenary and as an adventurer. But this was a warning from Kasira, that my luck has run out, at least in this regard.

“So, I’m going to stay here, run the apothecary shop, and get really serious about my research. I have several ideas for things that might make a difference in a fight, and I’ll send those along to you, as they develop. But my main concern is perfecting the healing powers of the Baylorium… in the long run I think that may be the most important thing I’ll ever do.”

Even Vulk couldn’t argue with that, though he remained clearly unhappy. Still recovering from his latest brush with the Shadow of the undead, he was inclined to take his disgruntlement out on Korwin, who was himself slowly recovering from his own ordeal. Fortunately Vulk remained quite busy tending to the spiritual needs of the people of Dür, so their contact was minimal.

Mariala spent some time with Korwin, especially discussing the philosophical and practical aspects of her Ring of Water Elemental Control… he seemed particularly fascinated by her certainty that it was the same elemental that was summoned each time she used the ring. But most of Mariala’s time was spent deeply engrossed in her effort to decrypt the book they had discovered in the torture chamber beneath the keep.

It was actually Devrik who spent the most time with the recuperating water mage. Despite, or maybe because of, the opposing elemental magics they wielded, the two seemed to share a wary fascination for one another. Raven couldn’t decide if it was just a matter of each one sizing up the opposition, a macho interest in who’d win in a fight, or the beginning of a real friendship. She figured time would tell…

Arrangements had already been  made with Ser Alakor for Raven to take up residence in Dor Dür for the remainder of her pregnancy, and Black Hawk had agreed to stay as well, to act as her guardian. He would also take duty with the keep’s garrison. While she would have liked to have told both her husband and brother what they could do with this “guardian” crap, Raven’s growing belly had finally started to affect her ability to move and fight; she swallowed the irritation, and accepted the help.

The money that the group had discovered along with the encoded book had been turned over to the new Constable, which quickly proved to be a real boon to Ser Alakor. Repairs had been started on the keep over a year ago, but Ser Danyes had been diverting the funds to his own purposes in the last several months of his life. While scaffolding still covered parts of the structure, no work had been done all summer. Alakor had been afraid he’d have to either petition the Earl of Burnan for more funds or levy a tax on the town – neither seemed a good way to start his tenure.

But with the hidden stash of his predecessor, he could not only finish the repairs but also provide some assistance to the town itself, which had been sadly neglected. As if to confirm that Kasira smiled on him, a band of wandering Khundari arrived in town the very day he had thought to send to Vinkara for stonemasons. They were traveling south to the United Realms of Karac, seeking employment from any of the princes there, but were more than happy to stop awhile in Dür. Especially since the keep had originally been of Khundari construction, and they were adamant that the repairs could only be done truly well by Khundari. Within a day, the scaffolding was alive with dwarven workers, singing as they worked.

The day after the Khundari started working on the repairs to the keep, the new Eldari cantor for the local temple arrived. She had been dispatched from Tendus at Vulk’s urgent request, and arrived with two acolytes in tow. Vulk was more than happy to spend a day going over the affairs of the parish with Cantor Erina Kunora and then to leave them all in her capable hands. While he knew the work was important, and he’d been more than conscientious in fulfilling his duties, being the spiritual leader of a small backwater mountain town was definitely not where his calling lay!

Several days before that, Erol, Cris and Drake rode out to Tarich Manor so that Drake could finally assess his new property. Nestled in a remote mountain valley, it did indeed prove to be perfect for foraging for herbs and other plants in the surrounding forests. Having been without a master for several years, the property had run somewhat to seed, the caretaker being rather elderly and with no help. Drake decided to ride back to Dür and send his cousin and some sturdy lads out to get things in shape. Erol and Cris agreed to stay behind to get things started.

Returning to Dür, Drake quickly dispatched Danyes and three sons of local farmers back to Tarich Manor. The farm lads, having no hope of inheriting, being the youngest of their families, hoped to earn the post of Baliff from Drake… or Draik, he supposed he should start thinking of himself again. That night was cooler than any since he had arrived back home, and Draik decided a fire was in order in his bedroom.

While cleaning out the great pile of ash, however, he discovered something rather interesting… apparently his uncle had burned many of his papers that last night, but not everything was utterly destroyed… This was worth getting his friends together to see he decided, first thing tomorrow…

 

With the former Constable of Dür hanged and no longer a threat, the Hand of Fortune left Kolosür the next day, joining Ser Alakor, his ten new yeomen, and the newly refreshed Hand of Vengeance for the journey to Dor Dür. Both Drake and his brother would have left as soon as the trial was over, nine days ago, but were convinced by friends and advisors that such an abrupt departure, after the bestowing of such great rewards, would be… impolitic, at best. But both felt an urgent need to return to their childhood home to be sure their vile uncle didn’t escape justice.

To that end Drake talked Alakor into letting Vulk and Devrik open a Nitaran Vortex just a few hours ride from Kolosür. The mercenaries, however, were leery of such an arcane mode of travel and threatened to mutiny when informed of it. Eventually Alakor, Marik and Vulk were able to calm their fears long enough to get the whole cavalcade of 40 people, 60 horses, and three mules through the portal, though it strained the energies of both Vulk and Devrik to do so.

They arrived atop a low mounded hill at the center of a large clearing surrounded by thick woods. The only break in the trees was to the southwest, where they opened onto a vista of meadow and rolling cropland.

“Ah,” said Drake and Alakor in unison. “The Elvenwood!”

“This is the Elf’s Mound we’re on,” Drake continued to his friends as their horses ambled down the gentle slope. “It lies in the heart of the Elvenwood, a dense wood that lies just south of Dor Dür. It is believed to be an ancient Telnori site, and full of Telnori magic. The children of the village would dare each other to spend a night in here on a clear, moonless night – that’s when the ghostly spirits of the Star Folk are said to rise out of the mound and hold a feast in the clearing. And they just might take any mortal who saw them back to the Other Side!”

Once everyone was through the portal, the cavalcade moved out of the woods and onto the narrow dirt road that led north a short distance, into the small village that gathered at the foot of the bluff on which rose the tower of Dor Dür. The village, however, was strangely silent, and almost deserted… the few women or children they glimpsed were soon vanished behind slammed doors or hurriedly shuttered windows. It was with a growing sense of unease that the party approached the main gate in the curtain wall that stretched across the foot of the bluff.

Gathered outside the open gate was a cluster of perhaps forty men, peasant farmers and rustic tradesmen by their dress and crude weapons – pitchforks, scythes and pole hooks. Muttering and staring up at the dark gray, eight-sided tower, with its verdigris green copper roof, it took a moment before they noticed the large party of horsemen approaching. When they did, they whirled about in sudden alarm, weapons brandished inexpertly but forcefully, eyes white-rimmed and panicked.

“Halt!” squeaked one man, more-or-less thrust forward by his fellows. He was better dressed than most, if still in muted homespun browns and greens, and was clearly viewed as their leader. But before the man could say more, Alakor rode forward, signaling his followers to stop, and announced himself.

“I am Ser Alakor Bartyne, the newly appointed Constable of Dür, by judgement of His Grace, the Earl Burnan. Who are you to block my entrance into that which is now mine to hold ?”

“Oh, I, umm… we didn’t know,” sputtered the man, seeming both relieved and confused. “I am Roderog Hullman, the Reeve of Dür village, milord; these are the good men of the, er, the militia…” he looked embarrassed, whether due to the pathetic nature of his “militia” or because of his next question.

“You’ll understand, milord, I do hope, er, I wonder… that is… um, you have some proof of your claim…?”

Alakor blinked in surprise, but gave no other indication of what he thought of this presumption. He motioned to Vulk, who had been acting as his temporary Herald the past tenday, who rode forward and handed him a packet of papers. Drake, Mariala, Devrik and Erol rode forward with him, and now sat their horses a few paces behind, watching with interest as the little drama unfolded before them.

“You can read, I assume?” asked Alakor dryly as he pulled out a document from the bundle and motioned the man forward.

“Um, yes milord, I have my letters… I have to, to deal with the business–”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Alakor cut him off, handing down the document. “This is my commission from the Earl, commanding me to take possession of his keep here and to rule this fief in his name. Does this satisfy?”

Reeve Roderog made a show of examining the heavy parchment, with it’s beautifully calligraphed lines and thick seals… more for the benefit of his men than any understanding of the formal Court language. After a moment he handed it respectfully back to Ser Alakor, nodding solemnly.

“Yes, milord, this all looks quite in order… quite proper… er, I–”

Again Alakor cut him off, this time a bit less patiently.

“What is going on here, Reeve Roderog,” he asked. “Why is the… militia… gathered at my gates? Where is the squadron His Majesty sent ahead to seize Danyes Bernan’s co-conspirators and secure the keep?”

“It’s not our fault milord!” the Reeve cried, turning suddenly paler, and stepping back an involuntary foot. The crowd behind him suddenly started muttering again, and nervously hefting their weapons. Alakor took in the situation, and having no desire to begin his new post with a massacre of his own peasants, he motioned Cantor Ser Vulk forward.

It took a few moments of the cantor’s calming rhetoric and soothing words, but eventually the mob calmed again, and the story of the last several days began to come out. The Reeve mainly told the tale, but was supplemented with additions and corrections from the crowd, as they grew more comfortable with the idea that these armed men were actually here to help them.

It seemed that the Kings Troop had indeed arrived, three days earlier, swooping into the village with no warning, and seizing the keep with no real resistance. They had also seized half-a-dozen or more men of the town, taking them from their homes to be held at the Keep. The general consensus seemed to be that they’d all deserved it – none of those arrested appeared to have been popular with their fellows, having been thick with the Constable and his bully-boys.

“That’s why the militia isn’t, um, quite up to standards, ser,” the Reeve pointed out. “Ser Danyes didn’t like any but his… um, enforcers… to be armed or well trained in arms…”

“Yes, I don’t doubt it,” Alakor sighed. “Now get on with it. Why is the Troop Commander not here to greet me?”

Things had gone well enough for two days, it seemed. The common folk were cautious at first, but when they were convinced that their hated overlord had been convicted of treason and other high crimes, stripped of his titles, and sentenced to hang, they were clearly overjoyed. Perhaps a new era would begin, with a better Constable in charge…

Then, last night, something terrible had happened. In the middle of the night screams were heard echoing from the tower, and those brave enough to go out and look, or peer out their windows, saw flashes of green light flaring in windows up and down the tower. In less than ten minutes, most estimated, the screams and the lights ended. No one slept much the rest of the night, but nothing else happened, and nothing came from the Keep into the town.

At first light the Reeve, shaking and fearful, but knowing his duty, gathered those he could to investigate. Scaling the outer wall was no trouble, and once the gate was opened they made their way cautiously up the gentle slope to the top of the bluff where the tower itself perched on the cliffs overlooking the river. It took longer to get the main doors open, as they were barred from within, but eventually they succeeded, growing ever more fearful, but driven on by the Reeve’s will.

Once inside, however, even he wished they hadn’t succeeded. The entrance hall, with it’s high ceiling and beautiful stained glass window that looked into the inner courtyard, was strewn with the bodies of five of the King’s soldiers, hacked to pieces. But what caused the trembling villagers to finally break and run, was what they found further in… more bodies, but unbloodied, apparently strangled, and other burned and contorted. This clearly uncanny massacre was too much for these simple folk, and even the Reeve didn’t object to a very sudden withdrawal into the morning light.

The doors were closed, the men retreated beyond the outer gate, and there they had been dithering for the last five hours. Prepared to fight for their homes and families if whatever had caused this should come out, but praying to all the Immortals that it wouldn’t. The Reeve had dispatched boys to ride to the shire moot and the Sheriff, but hadn’t expected any help for at least a day. He was more than happy to turn it all over to the proper authorities, however unexpected their advent!

As they all sat digesting this grisly tale, Drake rode forward and addressed the Reeve.

“You said several men of the town were arrested and taken to the keep,” he leaned down urgently. “Did you find their bodies in there?”

“No, milord,” the man replied, surprised. “They’d be in the dungeons, I suppose, and we never made it that far…”

“Was Querdon Bartyne among those taken?” Drake demanded.

“Oh, no Ser… that’s another odd thing, really. He certainly should have been, we all know he was thick as thieves – er, that is, he was close to the Constable, and I’m sure deep into whatever mischief was being done. But six, no seven, days ago he just up and disappeared.

“That was the same night some folk claim they saw flashes of blue light up in the Keep… not that such things were unheard of these past ten years… but the next morning men came from the Keep to Querdon’s shop, and were quite angry to find him gone, along with his elder boy… what was his name…”

“Kimbar,” Drake snorted in annoyance, wheeling his horse around and heading back toward the village. “Alakor, I’m going to see what I can find at the shop!”

Alakor, already arranging his men in preparation for entering the abattoir his new home had apparently become, waved his brother on. Vulk and Mariala wheeled their own horses to follow Drake, while Devrik and Erol had already dismounted and drawn their weapons to follow Alakor.

♦♦♦

Drake arrived at the well-remembered and much hated door of his uncle’s apothecary shop in a spray of dust and gravel, pulling hard on his horse’s reins and leaping from the saddle. Mariala and Vulk arrived at a more seemly pace, and dismounted to find him already inside. Standing before him, looking dumbfounded and holding a broom, was a young man of about the same age.

“Danyes, my younger cousin,” Drake explained to his friends as they entered. The young man just goggled at Drake, apparently unsure if he was seeing a ghost or his living cousin… and which he should be more afraid of.

“We thought you were dead Draik!” he finally managed to blurt out.

“Well I’m not, no thanks to your father… or his friend the ex-Constable. Whom I’ve seen hanged, by the way; and I intend to see my uncle meet the same end.” Danyes didn’t seem particularly upset by this pronouncement, to Vulk and Mariala’s mild surprise. Drake turned to examine the shop, shaking his head in disgust.

“I see your father and brother made a mess of things before they fled… do you have any idea why they fled, cousin?”

“Not really,” Danyes replied, looking down at the pile of broken crockery he’d been sweeping up. “I’ve never been told much – just ‘do this’ or ‘do that, you stupid sod.’ Kimbar was the one who Father liked… and once you and Alakor were gone, he started training Kimbar more closely, and taking him off on his gathering trips and such. Things just got worse for me… you know how it was… and when Kimbar started treating me like a servant –”

Drake felt a twinge of reluctant sympathy for his cousin. It was true, Querdon hadn’t treated his sons much better than his unwanted nephews, and with his ire concentrated on two, rather than four, it could certainly have gotten worse. Drake firmly repressed the twinge.

“I ran away,” he said bluntly. “So could you have done, if it was so bad.”

“Right,” Danyes snorted, showing a sudden spark of anger. “I got no particular skills, I’m not very strong, or smart, I know that… where would I go? Just run off and starve to death, or get killed on the roads, or et by bears?”

“Well, I won’t argue your choices,” Drake shrugged. “But you have no idea why your father was in such a hurry to abandon his home and livelihood?”

“No, it was the night of the 13th… I saw some flashes of blue light up at the keep while I was out fetching water. When I told Father he rushed out to see for himself, and when he came back in he seemed… I dunno, even more pinched and angry than usual. He pulled Kimbar into the back while I fixed supper, as usual… it was strange, afterwards… Kimbar said he’d clean up – he never did that – and Father insisted I have another cup of wine, unwatered this time.

“I think he drugged me, because I got very sleepy after that… I don’t even remember going to bed. The next thing I knew the Constable’s men were pounding on the door, calling for Father to come out. I went to open the door, and saw that the shop looked like a tornado had blown through it… they didn’t believe me, that I didn’t know nothing about where they’d gone, and they took me up to the Keep…”

At this point he seemed reluctant to go on, however hard Drake pressed him, until Mariala stepped forward and made an effort to sooth him. Under her expert handling he calmed down, and with Vulk’s help she got the full story from him. Vulk’s subtle ritual of Truth Sensing didn’t go unnoticed, so she was able to concentrate on keeping the lad talking. He truly didn’t seem to recall much of what happened in the keep, but Mariala used her skill with hypnosis to pull back the veil of mental fog…

Danyes had been taken to the subterranean Great Hall of the keep, where a man he’d never seen before was sitting in the Constable’s chair on the dais. Under Mariala’s hypnotic coaching he was able to recall much about the man – he was not particularly tall, of medium build, with dark brown hair and piercing green eyes. Very pale of skin, his face was rather flat, with a squashed, wide nose that gave him an odd, frightening look. He was dressed in dark green and brown robes, with an emerald green vest cloak over them. He had rings on several fingers and chain of what looks like wooden beads around his neck, with a carved wooden pendant.

After several minutes of questioning by the man, which frightened the youth so deeply that no amount of hypnosis could recall the memory, he was released in disgust, and allowed to make his way home. Since then he had been sunk in a lethargic depression, making only occasional, half-hearted attempts to clean up the shop.

While this information was being extracted from his cousin, Drake had been taking a quick inventory of the shop. Much of the mundane herbs, ointments and potions remained, if in disarray, but all the valuable and esoteric items seemed to have been taken. The only exception were two vials of Heal-All, which seemed to have rolled behind a large jar of horse urine and been missed in his uncle’s haste to decamp. Drake pocketed them, and returned to the main room as Danyes finished his tale.

Under the watchful gaze of his friends, Drake eventually gave in to his cousin’s pathetic pleas to be allowed to stay on as his assistant. As they left the shop to return to the keep, leaving Danyes to clean up with renewed hope and energy, Drake considered that it might be just as well… he’d be needing a test subject for some of his ideas…

♦♦♦

Meanwhile, back at the keep, Alakor, Erol and Devrik had lead a squad of Hand of Vengeance mercenaries into the fortress. As the Reeve had reported, bodies were scattered throughout, including the places the villagers had failed to explore in their panic. From the ground floor to the fourth-floor solar, they found the entire Royal Troop, and its commander, stabbed, hacked, strangled or burned – some with weapons drawn, others seemingly taken by surprise.

Vulk, Drake and Mariala arrived back just as Erol and Devrik were preparing to head down the grand staircase to the underground Great Hall and the kitchens and cellars. While Alakor and Marik organized their men into body retrieval parties, the five friends gathered two mercenaries for torch-bearers, and started down the wide stone steps.

The Great Hall had only two bodies apparent, one on the dais, the other in the doorway to the kitchen. Taking the torches, Vulk sent the mercs back to arrange for body removal, and the group spread out exploring the level – the library, the Presence Room behind the dais and the two offices attached to it, the kitchen, and the pantry. It was in the pantry that they found the first of the arrested townsmen, strangled, at the top of the stairs that most likely led down into the cellars.

Examining the ligature carefully, Vulk was able to determine that the man was strangled by a vine of some sort – plant fibers and sap remained caught in the raw wound. Torches flickering before them, the group descended into the cellars, where they found the rest of townsmen’s bodies, scattered amongst the barrels, sacks and crates of the keep’s stores. All of them strangled, all apparently by vines.

“I don’t think there’s any doubt that we’re looking at the work of that same Torazin mage we met in Shalara,” said Vulk as they headed back up to the Great Hall. “The description we got from Drake’s cousin, and the evidence of murder by animated plants… it all adds up to Doriath.”

“True,” agreed Devrik, “But was he alone? Not all the murders were by plant, clearly… does he wield other magics, then, or did he have help?”

Unable to answer that question yet, the group split up again and decided to perform a more thorough examination of the level.

“This is a Khundari-built structure, after all,” Drake pointed out as he examined the wall corresponding to the one near the cellar stairs in the pantry. “Most of it would be underground, so there must be hidden access somewhere…”

In what looked to have been the Constable’s private office, though it was stripped bare of anything useful, and many papers had been burned, Mariala eventually found a trigger near the desk. A large section of floor and wall in the far corner of the small room suddenly dropped a few inches and then slid over to reveal a narrow flight of stairs dropping down into darkness.

The rest of the group quickly joined her, and led by Devrik, with Vulk holding one of the torches right behind him, they descended single-file into the gloom. Except for Drake. The staircase was narrow, steep and long, and as he set foot on the first step a wave of claustrophobic panic overwhelmed him. As the others descended, he retreated back into the room with the second torch, and began fumbling in his scrip.

Below, his friends had discovered that the stairs ended in a wider corridor that stretched away to both left and right. It was at this point they noticed Drake was missing, and Erol and Vulk headed back up the stairs to see what had happened, leaving an annoyed Devrik and Mariala in the dark.

Stepping back in the room they found Drake just lighting a small pipe and taking a deep lungful of smoke.

“If you can drag me down into the damn sewers,” Vulk said in exasperation, “then you can make it down this tunnel Drake. Now man up, and let’s go!”

“Claustrophobia,” Drake replied to his angry friend. “A toke or two of hero’s heart, and I’ll be fine…”

He offered the pipe to his friends, who looked at each other, shrugged, and said “why not?” Erol took the first hit, then handed the clay pipe to Vulk. All three quickly felt the tingling skin that meant the drug was working. In just a few moments Drake began to feel the rush of euphoria and loss of inhibition that would allow him to descend those stairs. Erol felt he was stronger, braver and keener of senses. Vulk mainly felt the euphoria and heightened senses.

But time was pressing, and Erol lead the way back down the stairs, murmuring soothing words of encouragement to Drake, who followed with a hand on his shoulder… and eyes shut. Devrik and Mariala, impatient and annoyed, sniffed suspiciously at their friends, but accepted Drake’s explanation that he had just needed a moment to calm his claustrophobia. The relaxing effect of the drug fully kicked in, and Drake was able to focus on his surroundings, while Vulk closely examined the stonework with a lazy smile…

“This is clearly an older Khundari style,” he offered, “but still in good condition, despite the all those centuries…”

Ignoring this bit of information, the reunited group decided to take the left-hand passage. They were soon forced to turn left again, then descend another, shorter flight of stairs. Another left turn and they found themselves in an even older section of corridor – but despite its obviously greater age, these passages appeared in even better shape, the work of the great Dwarven masters of the Age of the Codominon.

After another 150 feet or so, the corridor dropped down a short flight of steps, into a higher ceilinged hall. Immediately to the left was a corridor, and a second one, on the right, could be dimly made out 30 feet further down the hall, beyond which it looked like another flight of stairs going back up. With the well-oiled precision that came from months of exploring dark places together, the group decided to check out the first branching corridor, to the left.

It opened in to an L-shaped area of three prison cells, all empty except the center one. There they found a man, naked except for his grimy trews, chained to the back wall. His form was incased in the faint bluish nimbus of light that indicated a stasis field. As Drake started to pull out his lock-picking tools, Devrik simply stepped back and then kicked it in, sending splinters from the around the twisted mechanism flying.

Inside the cell, which stank of stale sweat, and other, less pleasant odors, they found a small ceramic vial amongst the filthy rushes on the floor near the prisoner’s feet. Mariala picked it up, sniffing at the slight black residue within. She wrinkled her nose and passed the vial to Drake.

“Smells nasty,” she grimaced. “Any ideas on what it might be?”

“Dolshiva,” Drake replied after a few seconds. “It is nasty stuff, used mainly to make rat poison, but perfectly able to kill a strong man, with a dose this size. And painfully…”

“Why would anyone go to the trouble of killing someone,” Vulk wondered, examining the chained body more closely, “and then performing a ritual of preservation? Or casting a spell of stasis, possibly,” he added , before Mariala or Devrik could correct him.

“I suppose the only way to find out is to dispel the stasis and try to revive him,” Mariala replied. “Of course without an antidote to the poison, we might just get a repeat of that horror show with Ser Andro…” She shuddered at the memory.

“Actually,” said Drake quickly, overriding Vulk’s indignant retort, ” I happen to have some Heal-All with me. It was one of the few things of value left in my uncle’s – in MY shop.” He pulled one of the vials from his scrip.

“Are you willing to try a resurrection?” he asked his best friend.

“Give me a few minutes to prepare the ritual and calm my mind,” Vulk answered. “And I suspect it may take Mariala a few minutes to focus her energies on breaking the stasis.”

“You realize this might well be a trap?” Devrik asked, somewhat resignedly. He knew them too well to know they’d be swayed by common sense in something like this. “We should just leave him, and finish our search. Maybe take him with us afterward…”

This sparked a debate, but as he had suspected he might be, Devrik was outvoted. But even he was surprised at what happened next.

When she and Vulk were both ready, Mariala had successfully dispelled the stasis field; but before the Cantor could even begin his healing ritual it proved unnecessary. As the blue glow faded and Vulk made to lay hands on him, the man suddenly gasped raggedly, and his face twisted in a sudden spasm of pain.

“Poisoned!” he gasped. “Help!”

Drake rushed forward and forced the man’s clenched jaw open, pouring the entire contents of the healing potion down his throat. After several shuddering moments, his breathing began to slow, and his face relaxed its pained grimace.

“Thank you,” he managed at last, in a voice close to normal. “Whoever you are, thank you… I was sure I was going to die…”

“Who poisoned you?” Vulk asked, moving in to closely examine the recovering but still chained man. “And who put you into stasis?”

“As to the the poisoner, I heard him referred to by his men as Lord Vendal… but I know no more of him. I was taken in the night, from my inn in the the town, and he questioned me, harshly, about my travels and my reason for being in Dür… but I learned nothing from him, he was very cold… very efficient… he came… what day is it?”

“Late afternoon on the 20th,” Vulk answered. “Of Kilta.”

“Ah, only two days then,” the man sighed. “My captor came to me two evenings ago, if I can judge the time of day by the meager bread they served me…and no water… he came to me and forced the contents of a small vial down my throat, laughing.

” ‘This will leave them a pretty puzzle,’ he said… I knew at once that it was poison… I could feel it taking effect…”

“So who cast the stasis on you?” Vulk interrupted impatiently. “It surely wasn’t the man who forced the poison on you…”

The chained man hesitated a moment before continuing. “No, after he had left I realized I had only one chance… there’s no point in trying to hide it… I am T’ara Kul, of the Avikor convocation, and I decided to try the almost impossible… praying to the Lady of Luck, I cast the spell of stasis on myself… it was my only hope…”

Mariala, Devrik and Vulk all looked shocked at this revelation, while Erol and Drake just shrugged.

“What’s the big deal?” Erol asked as his friends continued to stare at the man in amazement.

“Only a handful of people have ever succeeded in doing what he claims,” replied Devrik, eying the chained mage suspiciously. “Talorin Silvereye, for one… a few saints… actually, a very small handful…”

“Yes,” agreed Vulk. “Stasis, whether granted by ritual or cast by spell, can only be used on the dead… at best, a person in a deep coma might be successfully preserved. But i t is virtually impossible to force stasis on a conscious mind, even a willing one!”

“I knew the odds were against me,” the stranger shrugged, rattling his chains. “But I was desperate, there was no other way out… they’d taken my focus, kept me weak and far from my element… it was a hail Kasira shot, but it seemed to have worked…”

Mariala seemed willing to accept this amazing story, since she had been subtly using her Truth Sense on the man, and Vulk followed her lead, if skeptically, but Devrik remained suspicious. Questioning the man further, they elicited a story of passing through Dür on his way to Dürkon, the Khundari principality on the northwestern shore of Lake Everbrite, where he sought to gain a position as tutor to the children of Prince Rhoghûn.

“He’s lying,” Devrik snorted. “This whole thing stinks of a trap. How likely is any of this?”

While Mariala agreed that he was lying about his reason for being in Dür, or at least not being completely truthful, she also sensed that the man was fundamentally honest. While the argument raged on about what to do next, Erol wandered down the hall to the large, bronze-gated chamber at the end of the cell block. Pushing open the gate, he found a forge/fireplace, coals still glowing in a banked slumber, and a large semicircular stone basin of water, along with a great many implements of torture. What had once clearly been a Khundari smithy was now equally obviously an interrogation chamber. And hanging on the wall, across form the pile of stacked wood, was an iron ring of keys.

Taking the keys, he returned to the cell where the others continued to debate what to do with their unwillingly gained prisoner. Ignoring the chatter, he simply walked up to the chained man, found the correct key, and unlocked the iron fetters that held him to the wall. With a groan of relief the fellow collapsed into his arms, before staggering upright.

At his point Devrik threw up his arms, shook his head in disgust, and walked away. He knew a lost argument, having lived months now with both his friends and Raven; but he’d be keeping an eye on their new “friend” just the same. The others gathered around the man, offering water, first aid, and introductions.

“Thank you, my friends,” he said, after guzzling from Vulk’s water skin. “My name is Korwin Seaborn, of Kelic Isle, in Oceania.”

“I thought you had an Imperial accent,” Mariala said. “What can we do to help, Korwin… you probably need food, and a proper physician…”

“What I need most is to recover my possessions, especially my focus and my… well, I sense that you, at least, understand the importance of a focus to one in our line of work, lady.”

Despite Devrik’s continued grumblings, the group agreed to seek out Korwin’s possessions – his psionic link to his focus led him to believe that they were not far. And indeed, with Drake keeping a careful eye on him, he led the group out of the cell block, and back into the larger, sunken hallway. From there he went quickly down the hall and turned  into the corridor opening on the right.

This proved to lead into a barracks room, with five sets of bunk beds filling the space; and on each bed, the flickering torch light revealed a dead soldier, every one with his throat cut from ear to ear. Korwin barely glance at the corpses as he passed through the small room to the door at the far side, so intent was he on tracking his focus. Even as Drake called out a caution that the door might be booby trapped, he pushed it open and stepped through.

The room on the other side of the door proved to be a small bed chamber, no doubt for the captain of the soldiers who had bunked in the outer room. No corpse on this bed, however, and Korwin dove for the large wardrobe on the far wall. Flinging it open, he gave a glad cry and pulled out his stolen possessions. The first thing he did was put the silver chain, from which depended a crystal vial of clear water, around his neck with a sigh of great relief. The next thing he did was put on a simple silver ring, set with coral.

As he slid the ring onto his finger, several things happened at once – the finger began to tingle, the ring-bearing fingers of the member of the Hand of Fortune also began to tingle, and the corpses on the bunks began to rise. At the gasps of his friends, Drake, who had been standing in the doorway watching Korwin, whirled barely in time to block the grasping hands of the first of two undead zamoraz reaching for him.

Shambling and relatively slow moving the zamoraz might be, but in the close confines of the barracks room, their numbers made up for any lack of real fighting skill. Two grasped at Mariala, who drew her Khundari-forged dagger once she realized her usual tactic of casting Fire Nerves would be useless against the already-dead,while Vulk and Devrik each faced one; but it was Erol who appeared in the most trouble, backed into a corner with four of the undead clawing at him. With little room to maneuver his trident to it’s full effect, he shortened his grip up towards the head, and as he laid into them he felt time shift, and slow to a crawl…

Vulk, who had suffered the effects of the Shadow once before at the hands of a gülmora, had no desire to repeat the horrific experience. But even as he drew his sword a claw-like hand tore at the leather cowl around his neck and made contact with his skin – once again, he felt the numbing cold of the Void as he mentally fought to keep his life force from being drained away, and failed. He staggered back into the hallway, bringing his sword down and severing the arm that clutched at him, but the white-eyed horror shambled forward after him.

The respite was enough, however, and Vulk quickly chanted the invocation to Kasira for protection – in an instant he sensed the powerful golden glow of her armor surrounding him, and he laid into the undead monstrosity in a fury of fear and anger. Though it clawed and grasped in single-minded pursuit of his life essence, the zamora never landed another touch, and in a moment Vulk had dispatched it to the final death.

Devrik, meanwhile had been more or less absent-mindedly parrying the attacks of the creature trying to kill him, focusing instead on helping his friends, especially Mariala. This was her first physical fight using steel instead of magic, and she appeared somewhat panicked at first. One of the creatures landed a blow to her head, but she was able to fight off the assault on her mind by the Shadow. This seemed to give her renewed confidence, and with Devrik’s surprisingly calm encouragement she wielded her dagger with such skill that she severed the creature’s spine, sending it to dust with a single blow!

Marial new confidence, as her second opponent moved in, allowed Devrik to turn his attention to Drake – he was doing very well, actually, but there was an opening and Devrik tried to take it, thinking to aim a fireball at the wall behind one of the zamoraz. But in the close confines of the room, his fear of hurting his friends overwhelmed his skill, and the moment passed. With an annoyed curse, he returned his full attention to his own opponent, dispatching it in two quick blows to the torso, essentially cutting it in half.

While the others focused on their own battles, Erol had been systematically dispatching the four undead shuffling around him as they “looked”  for openings. To his friends, when they had a moment to notice, he seemed to move at blurring speed. Only a single zamora managed to land a blow, but the armor on his thigh turned the raking nails away without it touching his flesh. By the time Drake had dispatched the first of his own attackers, and begun on the second, Erol was pulling his gory trident from the skull of his last zamora. As Drake severed the arm of his last zamora, Erol hurled his trident across the room, piercing the creature’s spine and putting it down for good.

Devrik turned back to Mariala, who was holding her own against her own second undead warrior, but again Devrik saw an opening – and this time he succeeded. A spark of flame leapt from his hand and flew past the zamora to hit the wall behind it, erupting into a fireball that engulfed the creature while barely singeing Mariala’s hair. The zamora went up like a pitch torch, and in a few seconds had crumbled to ash and dust.

The battle was over, and only Vulk had taken serious damage – he was cold and shaken, and clearly very weak, but he insisted he could go on. Korwin stumbled from the chamber beyond, clutching his clothes and apologizing for not being of any help. He had tried, but he was weak, dehydrated, and much too far from an open water source …

“But I realize now that we may have more to talk about,” he added, casually letting Matriala see his ring, which was now open to reveal the sigil of the Star Council.

“Yes,” she replied, sheathing her dagger and showing her own ring. “We all sensed it a moment after you entered that room – I assume you put on your own ring at that point?”

“That’s right,” Korwin replied, as he pulled his clothes on. “Right after I regained my focus. But are you all associates of the Council then?”

Between them, the group gave him a brief recounting of their relationship with the Star Council, and he filled them in on his own short relationship with it.

“I had left the Empire last year,” he said, “and had made my way, by a twisting route, to the Sydoran League. It was in the city-state of Goleath, as I searched for a ship that might take me on as a sea-mage, that I met an older man who offered to help. I was suspicious at first, but when he secured me a berth aboard a merchant ship leaving for Arushal the next morning, I unbent enough to ask how I could repay him.

“He just smiled, and said there might be a ‘task or two’ I could help him with in Arushal. I had assumed, then, that he would be sailing with us, but it was not the case. You can imagine my surprise when he met the ship on the dock at Devok, and invited me to lodge with him at his nearby home –”

“Wait,” interrupted Mariala suddenly. “What was the name of this helpful older gentleman?”

“Kiril Vetaris… but why–”

There was a bit of a hubbub as the others explained that Master Vetaris was one of their own contact’s with the Star Council, and they all pondered what it might mean. Coincidence, or part of a larger plan? Who could tell, at this point? But several minds were made up then, to speak to the Gray Mage about it when next they met.

Vetaris had sent Korwin on several minor fact-finding trips north, sometimes into the Republic, other times into the wilds of the Savage Mountains. He always returned with apparently satisfactory results, and about a month ago his new mentor had finally told him about the Star Council and his own relationship to it. Korwin had accepted the offer of associate status, and the ring that went with it.

His most recent mission had been to try and track down what Vetaris believed to be a possible renegade mage, operating in the North. He had been seen most recently near the western shores of Lake Everbrite, in the company of barbarians, and it was there that Korwin had caught his trail. It had lead him to Dür, and then had gone cold. Learning from local rumors that the Constable was up to his eyeballs in dirty deeds, he had made a foray into the keep in search of further information on his quarry. What he had learned so far was little more that the man’s given name, Lorkad, and the hint that he was a Tykizu T’ara Kul.

It was while searching through the papers in the Constable’s private office, behind his Presence Chamber, that he had been surprised and captured by Doriath. Korwin had claimed to be a common thief, taking advantage of the Constable’s absence to pilfer what he could, but there was no hiding his arcane talents from a fellow mage. Fortunately, his mental defenses had been strong enough to keep the other man out of his deepest thoughts, and he was certain his connection to the Council remained hidden.

Vulk and Mariala then took turns explaining their own business in Dür, and the part they had played in the downfall of its former Constable. Devrik remained somewhat skeptical, but could hardly argue with the evidence of the rings. At least until he had a private moment to speak to Master Vetaris… When Korwin learned that they were searching for evidence of Danyes Bernan’s connection to a mysterious group who had been backing him, he recalled something he had seen just before being captured.

“It was an odd reference in what looked to be a draft of a letter… the phrasing caught my eye. Something to the effect that his ‘insurance should they turn on me’ was protected ‘deep, by fire and water.’ I barely had time to ponder it before I was attacked. I was dazed, as they dragged me from the room, but I saw this Doriath fellow stuffing all the papers into a brazier…”

On hearing the odd phrasing Drake had a sudden epiphany, and he quickly lead the others back down to the cell block, and the former smithy-cum-torture chamber Erol had first entered, where the fire still burned in the forge, across from the water basin. They hadn’t really thought about it before, but how was a fire still burning? It had been at least two days since anyone could have tended to it, and there were only cold hearths everywhere else they’d looked…

The group spread out to search the chamber, looking for any hidden doors, compartments or panels. Devrik stood before the forge, examining it closely and eyeing the suspiciously burning embers, while Mariala and Kowrin examined the stone basin of water. It was an amazingly fortuitous configuration, for just as Mariala detected a cunningly hidden latch on the lip of the basin, and released it, the fire in the forge suddenly flared to roaring life and a great gout of flame erupted from it!

Devrik, standing directly in the path, reacted instinctively – his inborn affinity for fire flared in response, and he threw his hands up as the flames engulfed him. But they didn’t burn him; instead, his mind seized the fire, wrapped it around himself, and hurled it back into the forge where it sputtered and quickly died down. Everyone else in the room stood stunned for a moment, the vision of Devrik wreathed in flame like one of the Fire Gods etched into their minds.

“Devrik, you saved my life!” Mariala cried as he turned toward her. “if you hadn’t been there, that blast would have roasted me. And maybe Korwin, too!”

Devrik shrugged,and said only, “Kasira must have been smiling today.” Then he gestured at the basin. ‘I think you found it…”

The water had drained from the great stone basin, and a close examination of the now-exposed bottom soon revealed a hidden compartment. Inside were two items: an oilskin-wrapped book and an oilskin bag full of coins and gemstones. Once unwrapped, the book proved to be a well-crafted volume of thick parchment pages, about half of which were filled with a coarse, blocky handwriting.

Vulk hefted the bag of coins and gems. “No doubt a part of the former-Constable’s insurance – enough cash to flee in comfort, should he need to, along with that book that just might reveal more about the Vortex than they would wish!”

“Unfortunately, it’s in some sort of cypher,” Mariala said as she scrutinized the pages. “I don’t recognize it right off, I’m sorry to say… but this is just the sort of thing we Xavor’na excel at… I think I can break this, in time…”

After safely securing book and bag about Mariala’s and Vulk’s persons, respectively, the group decided to continue on with their search, at Vulk’s insistence that he was fine. His wobbly knees belied that, but the others pretended not to notice, and they forged ahead. The next chamber they encountered was clearly an ancient Khundari entrance hall, with a set of great double doors at one end. These opened into a narrow cavern passage, perhaps part of the original mine complex Dür was built over.

They traveled down the more-or-less straight series of tunnels for about a quarter mile, ignoring the many side branches and treading warily at the signs of  Devrik’s favorite underground dwellers, the taloxta. The last stretch of tunnel opened up into the late afternoon sunlight through a crumbling stone arch, covered in tangled vines and large shrubs. Stepping through, they found themselves in the heart of the Elvenwood, with the high shoulder  of the Elf’s Mound visible through the trees to their left.

Rather than return to the Keep by the underground road (everyone was very aware of the spoor they’d seen of the Eaters of Eyes, and why ask for trouble?), they decided to go overland, through the village. Alakor and Marik were at the gate, arranging guard duties for the night, and looked somewhat surprised as they approached.

“I thought we’d left you exploring the basements,” he laughed. “Apparently I’ve got other routes in and out of my fortress to guard!”

♦♦♦

Ove the next several days things began to get back to normal at Dür. The bodies of the slain were burned in a special ritual performed by Vulk, the cantor of the local Eldari temple having been one of those arrested and then murdered, and the keep itself was cleaned and exorcised. Gradually the people began to settle down as Ser Alakor proved himself to be a fair and reasonable lord.

Dame Mariala rode out, with Devrik as escort, to take possession of the manor she had gained along with her title. About a half day’s easy ride from Dür, Tinion Manor was a pleasant fief of rolling fields and wooded slopes in the foothills of the mountains. It seemed well managed, and the current bailiff was more than pleased to continue on in that roll, “at least until milady makes other arrangements.” Mariala sensed that the man really hoped that he would be confirmed in his position, but as she also sensed an innate honesty in him, she was inclined to leave things as they were.

Vulk and Erol also visited the manor that had been bestowed on the cantor by the Earl of Kinen, which was a long day’s ride north. Delince Manor was also a decent piece of land, in a narrow valley with a moderate-sized stream running through it. But the bailiff there was not at all happy to see a new lord of the manor, and was doubly displeased when he learned said lord was a foreigner. Vulk was forced to leave the man in charge, being as yet unfamiliar with any suitable replacements, but when he and Erol departed the next morning he was quite certain there would be no problems, at least for the short term. Between the menace of Erol and the power of Abon’s Authority, the bailiff was quite cowed…

Drake spent much of this time sorting through his new shop, making arrangements for new stock to be acquired, and finding that his cousin was actually a decent assistant, eager and willing. He had little interest in visiting his other possession just yet, though he had been pleased to learn that Tarich Manor sat in an isolated valley deep in the foothills of Mt. Eigarstal. It seemed likely to be an excellent base for herb-gathering forays in the days to come…

Which brought him to his plan for the fifth night after their arrival in Dür. Drake called all his friends together for a dinner at his house/shop, including his brother, Raven, Black Hawk and Cris. After the meal, as he poured a decent brandy that had survived his uncle’s hurried departure, and Brann and Erol’s ferret curled up together near the fire, he cleared his throat for their attention.

“My friends, I’v got something I need to tell you all…”