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…”

 

While his companions were pursuing the kidnapped girl underground, Drake followed his own pursuit of the Maid Carissa on the surface. The Constable’s townhouse was not far from Khundari Square, where the snatch had occurred, and a five minute dash through the relatively quiet streets of this fashionable side of town found him outside the shuttered and silent mansion.

While he paused in the street, considering how best to continue (should he try and break in, just knock on the door, create some elaborate diversion?), he heard a sudden hiss from behind him. Whirling around, he was confronted by two Hand of Vengeance mercs, motioning him from a doorway across the street.

Rigan and Justav were part of the round-the-clock watch that Colith One-eye had put on the Ser Danyes’ residence since the Hand had arrived in the city. They recognized Drake, and wanted to know what he was doing, trying to blow their cover?

Once he had explained the situation, they immediately fell in to plotting with him on how best to proceed. But before any decision could be reached an armed & armored figure was seen hurrying up the street and going straight to the door of the townhouse. His pounding soon brought a response, and he quickly slipped in through the narrowly opened door.

It was less than 10 minutes later when the door opened again and both the man and Ser Danyes himself emerged and set off down the street at a brisk pace. The Constable wore a cloak of dark green silk, pulling the hood up over his head and concealing his face. It took no time for Drake to decide to follow the pair. Sending Rigan to seek out Colith and bring him and the Hand back to the townhouse, he took Justav with him to act as a relay.

For 15 minutes they followed the Constable and his henchman through the streets of the city. Although less trafficked than usual, due to the Summer Fair, there were enough people on the streets to make avoiding detection easy, despite Ser Danyes’ constant looking from side to side…

They eventually arrived in a more commercial, and much less genteel, part of town, near the city walls along the river docks. There, the two men entered a moderately sized two-story warehouse. The sign out front said Kardeth & Son, Bonded Merchantyler.

After watching outside for a few minutes, Drake and Justav decided their only course was to follow them in, pretending to want warehouse space if necessary. Inside they found a mostly empty space, only a few crates and barrels scattered about, and no sign of the Constable or his minion. The only person seemed to be a guard, who politely inquired after their business.

A few minutes of question brought only bland, generic responses and the suggestion that they seek out Master Kardeth at his home office. Finally Drake had had enough and decided to attack the fellow, subdue him, and search the premises.

Unfortunately, being Drake, his attack fell a little short of success, and the guard managed to grapple him into a choke hold. With Drake holding him back, struggling to break the grip, the man seemed determined to reach a pulley on the nearby wall.

Luckily for Drake, he had Justav with him, who managed to knock the watchman senseless with his sword pommel just before he could grasp the pull. Nothing was said as they tied the fellow to a post… Drake trusts no unfortunate stories will be making the rounds in the Company…

Uncertain if the pull worked an alarm or a secret door, the two decided to search the building before doing anything rash, a rare show of good sense. Twenty minutes of careful poking about finally bore fruit in one of the four smaller rooms that lined the back wall.

The last one was an office, with desk, chair, and bookcase, and it was here that Drake discovered a secret door behind the latter. How jejune, but sometimes the classics work best. One he figured out how to open it, he sent Justav running back to the Constable’s townhouse, there to rendezvous with Rigan and Colith and company and direct them back here.

As he took a torch and descended the narrow stone stairs into darkness, he wondered what the hell he was doing…

♦ ♦ ♦

Elsewhere, and somewhat earlier, with the secret door in the sewers pried open, the rest of the Hand of Fortune began their own decent further into the depths below the city. With two torches to light the way, Devrik led them into a passage that slowly widened to 10 feet, with a flat ceiling 8 feet above them. More room than the 6-foot barrel ceilings of the sewers, and definitely drier, but creepier, somehow, with stonework that was cruder, simpler than the sewers, if not seemingly much older.

For some fifty feet they could sense the passage gradually sloping down-ward, until ended in a flight of very steep stairs. Pausing, nothing could be heard or seen from the depths, so Devrik continued on, Erol and Vulk at his back with torches, and Mariala bringing up the rear.

At the bottom of the long flight, an archway opened into a semicircular room some 30 feet across at the widest point. The style of stonework here was obviously much older than anything they’d seen so far, with bold, almost brutal lines. Mariala would later recognize the architectural style of the Necromancer. Another archway could be made out across the room, and two to either side.

But Devrik, Erol and Vulk barely had time to register that much, when a skittering and sudden hissing told them they were not alone. Mariala was still on the last few steps when a pack of taloxta, the much feared Eaters of Eyes that had just a month earlier almost cost Devrik an eye, and maybe his life, leapt out of the darkness and on to their prey.

Four each attacked the three men, clawing and biting and trying to gouge out an eye. Devrik was grimly pleased with the effectiveness of his new 3/4-helm, bought for just such an occasion – though they ripped and tore at his clothing and armor, none of the little bastards caused a scratch.

Vulk was less lucky, taking some hits to his neck, shoulder and upper arm, though none were serious. He managed to cripple one of the little killers, hamstringing it’s left leg, leaving it running in circles on the floor, and Mariala cast a Firenerve spell on another.

Erol was the one who came closest to disaster in the encounter, when the initial rush allowed one of the raptors to strike at his face with it’s claws, barely missing his eye and leaving a nasty gash down his left cheek.

Once over the initial shock, the group rallied and managed to beat off the rest of the tiny monsters, although Devrik’s method was the most spectacular – grabbing a seed fire from Erol’s torch, he stepped aside and cast a Fireball spell, slamming it down on his own thigh. This engulfed both him and his attackers, stunning or killing all of them and doing no real damage to his well-armored self.

Once the rest of the attacking beasties were dispatched, and the stunned or wounded ones crushed, stabbed or otherwise sent out of this world (Devrik took great joy in running his sword through their eyes), there was time to look around.

The switch which released the taloxta was concealed, although not hidden, to the right of the door, and it was obvious that Jarath had pulled it as he passed through, opening the four small grates that covered the openings into the creature’s lair. But which way had he taken Carissa from here?

It was about 15 feet down the central passage that Mariala caught a flash of something on the floor – a very distinctive button from one of maid Carissa’s dresses. Mariala knew the dress, and estimated she had 15 buttons in total… if she was being clever, and leaving a trail, tracking her might be easier than they’d expected.

They continued on, passing branching passageways, as the corridor curved gently to the right. But at each possible juncture, they found another button some 10 feet into one of them, and they made good time, even if it wasn’t fast enough for Devrik.

In about 15 minutes, after another set of stairs, less steep and long, the group came to a long corridor, at the end of which was a set of double doors, made of age-blackened ironwood, with crusted hinges and hardware. The doors were slightly ajar, and a faint light could be seen from within, and voices could be heard, raised in argument.

Erol snuck forward to peer in and listen. He could see a large room, and in his line of sight two men, a large table with alchemical looking beakers and jars, and a large iron grate in the floor. A third man, unseen to the left of the other two, was speaking, chastising one of the two.

This turned out to be the Constable of Dür, chastising his lieutenant Jarath Pudos for bringing “the girl” to their lair. Pudos had understood his boss to have said that the missing girl could be a great advantage to them, and when the opportunity had arisen to seize her from the crowd, he’d taken it.

But Ser Danyes angrily explained that what he had meant was, with almost all of the Earl’s men and retainers out searching, and the man himself distracted and fearful, this was the perfect time to attempt one final assassination. Nothing fancy or baroque this time, just send in men to kill him and burn his evidence of the Constable’s skimming. He had just been sending out his hit squad when Ferdak had arrived with Jarath’s message and had pulled him away to this distraction.

The second man, who was named as Darith, was soft spoken and suggested that the girl might yet prove useful to them. He said it was a shame that this matter of his skimming should be distracting from the real business of the Vortex, and suggested that he would be saddened if the Constable were to be seen by their mutual masters as more liability than asset.

At this point the group had heard enough, once Erol had relayed it to them, and they decided to act. Mariala was the first through the door this time, hurling one of the flash grenades that she had taken from Ser Andro into the group of four men (which included the previously unseen Ferdak, to the left of the Constable). When this had blinded the miscreants, the others would rush past her and fall upon them like wolves!

Sadly, the plan sputtered out as the crystal globe smashed to the stone floor and went “pfffft” with barely a glow to mark its passing. It did achieve the result of surprising the gathered men, but unblinded they had time to react before the fighters could close on them.

Ser Danyes retreated to an alcove in the rear corner of the room, where Carissa was chained to the post of a bunkbed, the mage Darith stepped back, shielded by his lab table and equipment, mumbling and gesturing, and the two fighters, Jarath and Ferdak leapt forward to the attack.

Devrik successfully cast Gorten’s Brand on his sword, and with a single thrust dispatched the hapless Ferdak to the Void with a smoking hole in his chest… perhaps the poor man had been hampered by the push cart partially blocking his path. Although it seemed to pose little problem to Devrik…

Meanwhile, Erol engaged with jarath, who proved to be a skilled and dangerous opponent. Although Erol’s trident did manage to find one of the few unarmored points on the man, he still suffered several serious blows himself.

Vulk cast his serpent staff down and sent it to attack the mage, while he himself moved forward to engage the man with his sword. Unfortunately, about this time, the machinations of the slight wizard became clear, as vines suddenly began to shoot up from the three drains in the room: nine from the large central grate, and three each from the two smaller ones to the sides and in back of our heros.

The thick, tough and very fast moving vines whipped around the room, striking at each of the fighters, although Mariala remained out of reach in the doorway. While they managed to dodge many of the twisting vegetables, Erol soon had one wrapped around his thigh, while Vulk had one around both thigh and chest.

Devrik managed to hold off the first wave of vines, but was soon ensnared at his left hand . And each time one of the companions managed to burn off or sever a vine, two more would start to rapidly grow from the wound… the more they killed , the more they had to fight!

Mariala attempted to take out the Constable from across the room with her Firenerve spell, having already wisely cast Resistance on herself, but even as she stepped into the room to do it, she felt a heavy, oppressive weight in her mind… her spell achieved nothing. She now suspected there was a dampening field of some sort in effect in the room, probably negating other convocations of magic aside from Darith’s own. And if it was a Sanctum, then it would be enhancing his own magics…

Devrik turned his attentions to Jarath, who now had both of the group’s best fighters pressing him, but he held his own, even wounding Devrik, however slightly, in the neck. Erol’s erratic temporal ability kept him in the fight, even as Darith managed to turn Vuilk’s snake back on him, forcing the cantor to revert it to staff form, as more vines attacked him.

Despite the powerful shielding effects of his holy defenses, Vulk found himself hard pressed by the vines, and unable to move closer to engage the enemy mage directly. Mariala was soon busy defending herself from the vines, now that she was in the room. Ser Danyes simply held his hostage before him and watch the battle with avid, smug eyes.

And it seemed he might have good reason to be smug. For the next action that his T’ara Kül ally took was to cast a spell over the room that tried to put everyone but himself to sleep. And it succeeded devastatingly well… Although Carissa and the Constable, while they felt the pull of sleep, managed to resist it, as did Erol, Devrik, Mariala and Vulk all dropped like stones. As Vulk fell his torch dropped from his grasp and landed amidst the bubbling alchemical glassware around the lab table, causing one of the vessels to burst into flame. A sea of flaming liquid began to spread over a quarter of the room, blocking the rear exit.

The fallen were quickly bound by more vines; only Erol was left to battle Jarath. Things looked grim. But it was at this moment that Drake, having followed the Constable’s trail from the warehouse, burst in upon the scene. He immediately leapt over Mariala’s prone form to come to Erol’s aid. He instantly swung at Jarath, and struck a mighty blow to the villain’s sword arm – the man’s sword spun from his grasp, clattering to the stone floor, and he staggered back, clutching his arm as blood oozed between his fingers.

Seeing Jarath apparently on the ropes, and confident Erol could finish off the wounded man, Drake decided to take the fight to what was obviously a wizard cowering beyond the now-burning and tilted table, near the back wall. Leaping across the table in an amazing acrobatic move, he hurled himself through the smoke toward the dim shape. The force of his impact sent them both crashing against the table against the back wall, overturning more lab equipment. The mage seemed unfazed, however, even as Drake seized his robes and prepared to smite him. The man just smiled and  raised his hands to grasp at Drake in return…

…and the world went black.

Erol just had time to gasp in dismay as he saw Drake stiffen in the grasp of Darith, a gray wave washing over him almost faster than the eye could see. The form of his friend seemed turned to stone! Daith struggled for a moment to rip his robes from Drake’s now frozen grasp, and then he was moving away from the encroaching flames.

But Erol’s shock at this sudden reverse just lent fury to his trident, once again time seemed to slow down, and he struck a vicious blow to Jarath, wounding him again, even as the man scrambled to regain his sword, left-handed. Jarath staggered up and back, as the color drained further from his face, apparently as determined as ever to continue the battle.

More of the damn vines prevented Erol from following up with a killing blow, as they succeeded in grasping his sword arm and both legs at the groin, squeezing the hell out of his poor balls. But using the torch he freed his arm and, though he took a bit of burn damage to the crotch, he emulated Devrik and used the flame to free his legs (or, more pressingly, his balls).

By that time Jarath had shaken off the initial shock of his latest wounds, and was moving in for the attack once again; Erol met this assault with a flurry of jabs, and Jarath found himself impaled on the trident, a look of surprise on his face. This time he dropped to the ground, blood gushing, as his life ebbed away.

Erol instantly bent to try and wake Devrik, noting that the vines that had bound his friends had begun to slowly blacken and turn to foul-smelling mush. It took only an instant to rouse his friend, and Devrik surged to his feet, feeling for his throwing spear at his back.

His first semi-coherent thought, seeing the petrified form of Drake through the increasingly smoky air, was “How long was I out? When did they have time to carve a statue of Drake?”

His next was focused on Ser Danyes, who had moved forward to stand next to Darith, hold Carissa before him as a shield, his dagger at her throat. He prepared to throw his spear, trusting to his aim to miss the girl and take out the man, before the flames could engulf them all. He stood on the edge of panic, his pyrophobia threatening to seize control; only the danger to Carissa kept him in the burning room.

“Stand down, both of you,” cried the Constable of Dür. “Drop your weapons or the girl dies.”

“She’s your only leverage,” Erol retorted. “Kill her and you follow next.”

“Perhaps,” Danyes sneered. “But I doubt you’d care to explain to her father how you got her killed.”

Erol ignored that and turned to try and wake Mariala, despite the Constable’s barked order to desist. At that moment Devrik’s eyes, already white rimmed in fear, widened a bit more as he saw a blade drop from Carissa’s sleeve and into her hand. With a determined and fierce grimace, she jammed the blade into her captor’s right thigh, making him scream in shrill agony.

His grip loosened, she dropped to her knees and scrambled away from him, even as Devrik loosed his spear at the man’s heart. But in the smoke, confusion, and most of all fear of the flames, his aim was wide and the Constable shivered at the wind of its passage by his head.

As Erol leapt forward to engage Ser Danyes, who drew his own sword, Darith leaned in, grasping his esrtswhile ally by the shoulder and the left wrist, and spoke briefly into his ear. The Constable seemed confused for an instant, but managed to block Erol’s first blow. Darith faded back into the smoke, and it seemed to him Erol that he slipped into the very stone of the wall. In any case, with the next eddy of smoke, the mage was gone.

Ser Danyes was a competent enough swordsman, but against Erol, even wounded and bleeding in half a dozen places, he stood little chance. When he suffered a wound to his arm that caused him to drop his sword, he decided discretion was indeed the better part of valor, and he yielded.

He was noble, after all, and what did they have on him? He might yet save his life, maybe even his position… he did have a great many powerful connections, many of whom owed him favors. And many more with vulnerabilities they would not want exposed… yes, better to take the affronted nobleman pose, and bluff it out to the end!

Erol looked around for Devrik, but found both him and Carissa gone. As soon as Devrik had snatched her from the floor, his instincts had taken over and he had fled the flames as quickly as possible. The smoke, the heat, the flickering light, it all brought back the terrifying memories of his childhood, when he had struggled to save his stepmother and brother from the inferno of their home, an inferno he had created, however unintentionally…

Carissa had pounded on him and yelled at him, trying to get him to go back and save Mariala, and the rest, but he stumbled on in the dark until the air cleared and the coolness soothed his jagged nerves. As his breathing slowly calmed, and he regained control, Carissa sat next to him and patted his arm, telling him it was OK.

As he was preparing to stand up and try to find the way out of the catacombs with no light, they heard the sounds of approaching people and saw the glow of a torch. In a moment they were joined by the rest of the Hand of Fortune, including Drake’s petrified body, which was being hauled in a push cart by Vulk.

“I can’t wait to show Drake this statue they made of him,” he explained to Devrik, who was equally puzzled at the strange artifact. “He’ll be amazed!”

“Er, that is Drake,” Erol offered, limping up, supported by Mariala, who had draped his arm over her shoulder and had hold of his belt. “He was turned to stone by that damned warlock… he showed up after you’d all fallen asleep… not sure how he found us…”

“What?!” screeched Vulk. “And you just left him there? If I hadn’t gone back in to get my staff, he’d still be in there!”

“Well, he didn’t seem to be bothered by the flames,” Erol explained. “I figured we’d come back for him later… and the fire was already dying out…”

They had continued trudging along, slowly, during this argument, and were drawing up to the side passage that had been cut into the older tunnel. From that tunnel they now suddenly heard the sound of many feet, and exhausted as they were, they drew weapons and prepared to fight.

But it was Colith and a squad of Hand of Vengeance mercenaries, led by Rigan and Justav. Colith was overjoyed to see them, with both Carissa and Ser Danyes in train, and better yet, Danyes in chains. But when his eye fell on the petrified form of his brother, he fell back, stricken. He turned to Vulk for answers and was horrified to learn what had happened.

“Yet one more thing to add to your butchers bill, you bastard,” he grated into the Constable’s ear as he hustled him up the passage toward the light of both day and justice.

After the capture of the traitorous, murderous Ser Andro Valador on the docks of Shalara’s Alienage, the bodies of three of the would-be assassin squad were carted away by the City Watch, while the three surviving assassins and Ser Andro were taken into the custody of the Royal Guard, by command of the Constable of Kar Landsar, Ser Haldar Venera.

The Hand of Fortune, with Ser Vulk as their spokesman, met with Ser Haldar in his office in Kar Landsar. He accepted the group’s credentials as official representatives of the Earl of Kinen, and was polite but cool. He made it clear he was responsible for the law in Shalara, and that the prisoners were now his responsibility.

All of the renegade knight’s possessions confiscated from his person were safely locked in the Constable’s own secure chests, and two guards were posted outside his prison door. Being a nobleman, however charged with felonies, he was to be accorded the basic courtesies of his rank – a clean, if small and sparsely furnished, room on the top floor of the castle’s Red Tower.

Vulk managed to convince the Constable, with lurid tales of the seemingly infinite reach of the conspiracy they believe to be behind Ser Andro, to allow one of their own to stand watch with the Royal Guards. Devrik volunteers for this duty, to be spelled in the evening by Erol.

He also convinces the Constable to allow them to see the three badly punctured surviving assassins, in the hopes of eliciting vital information from them. Five of the would-be killers had already been identified as known associates of the local Zalik-mal, but the apparent leader was still unknown.

Unfortunately, the Cantors of Mara who were just finishing up their care of the prisoners, in the dungeons beneath the castle, were adamant in their insistence that any questioning now would threaten their patient’s lives. The three were still in healing comas, from which they refused to rouse them. To the groups chagrin, the Constable backed the Healers, although Vulk and Mariala were allowed to examine the men.

Mariala confirmed her earlier discovery of the unique “anti-league” tattoo on the left wrist of the supposed ring-leader; Vulk confirmed that they were well tended, and likely to eventually recover. It was grudgingly agreed, on both sides, that morning would be the time to attempt questioning.

Leaving Devrik outside Ser Andro’s prison door, the group visited the Temple of Alea & Mara to seek treatment for the various wounds and injuries of the recent fight. They were given treatments, and after making suitable donations to the temple, they retired to the Earl’s townhouse to get some much-needed rest. Two days of 25-hour-a-day surveillance of the Swift Wind, and the fruitless search for Ser Andro’s hiding place, had left everyone exhausted.

After a half-day of rest, the group dines at a local inn, where they hear various tales, already growing distorted, of the now-infamous Gold Coin Riot of several days ago. The best version, to Drake’s annoyance, has the felonious knight Ser Andro Valador as the one who threw down the coin, seeking to hire an army of ruffians – variously, to cover his escape, mount an assault on the Earl of Kinen, or (mostly wildly) to assassinate the King. But the beloved Constable was on the job, and the renegade nobleman is now languishing in the dungeons of the royal castle, awaiting the King’s Justice!

After eating, Erol repaired to the Red Tower to relieve Devrik on guard outside Ser Andro’s door. Devrik elects to stay, getting some sleep in an adjoining, unoccupied, cell. When a serving girl brings up the prisoner’s supper, Erol is suspicious and examines it closely… half a capon, stewed vegetables, a small loaf of bread, a wedge of hard cheese, a small bowl of salt, and a skin of sour white wine.

Despite tearing the meal apart, Erol found nothing suspicious, and questioning the serving girl revealed the kitchen had taken the usual precautions against poisoning. Nonetheless, he insisted the wine skin should not be given to the prisoner, setting it aside as he took in the tray. Ser Andro questioned the lack of wine, and sneered at the quality of the food, but didn’t refuse to eat it. He was sprinkling salt over the chicken and the veggies as Erol exited the room, the Royal Guard locking the door behind him.

It was only a few minutes later that the guard closest to the heavy door thought he heard a strange noise. The others gathered close and listened, at which point a thump and a crash were clearly heard. Unlocking the door in haste, they entered the room to find their prisoner laying on the floor amid the wreckage of table and chair and meal, his body twisted as though on a wrack, and his face contorted into a frightening rictus of pain and fear.

Erol was the first to his side, but the staring eyes told the tale even before he checked for a pulse – Ser Andro was dead! He instantly dispatched one of the stunned guards to alert the Constable, and left the other to watch the body as he went to wake Devrik.

Devrik’s first reaction, on hearing the news, was to head for the kitchen to seek the assassin. He soon had the cowering cooks, scullery maids, and kitchen boys terrorized almost into incoherence. Eventually the Constable’s men arrived to save them, and a proper timeline soon emerged.

The food had been prepared, and the usual esoteric means of detecting poisons had been employed, before being put on a tray by the cook, who then looked around for a serving girl to take it up. The cook claimed he sent no salt up, but the girl maintained that the small ceramic bowl of salt, and the wooden salt spoon, were on the tray when she picked it up. Several people remembered seeing a nondescript man in the kitchens around that time, but no one could place him near the tray with any certainty.

Meanwhile, Erol had quickly found a castle page and sent him to the Earl’s townhouse to summon the rest of group. By the time they arrived the castle was in a turmoil, and the investigation well under way. The Constable was furious, as were the Hand, and both blamed the other for awhile.

But once Drake was able to identify the poison as White Death, a rare and insanely deadly poison used only by professional assassins, and the news from the kitchen revealed the method, people calmed down a bit. Mariala and the Constable quickly realized the other prisoners might also be in danger, and rushed down to the dungeons to check.

But Vulk was determined not to lose their best shot at convicting the Constable of Dür and exposing whatever conspiracy he was involved in – he once again decided to push his healing gift to the limit, and try to revive the dead knight. Despite Drake’s arguments that he had no antidote for the poison, and that none existed, Vulk prayed to Kasira for luck laid his hands on Ser Andro, focusing his healing energies into him.

And Kasira smiled on him – sort of. With a gasp, Ser Andro drew in a sudden breath, and turned his head to look into Vulk’s eyes in amazement. But before he could draw a second breath, his body arched wildly and his face once again writhed in incredible agony. Vulk heard bones snap as the man’s body twisted itself beyond its limits in his second death throes.

In less than a minute Ser Andro was dead again.

Mariala and the Constable arrived just in time to witness the poor bastard’s second passing, bringing equally bad news from the dungeons. While the two Zalik-mal prisoners were alive, if still sleeping, the supposed leader was not. No sign of struggle or trauma could be seen – the body looked as peaceful as the others, but was quickly cooling. The only odd thing Mariala had noted was that the tattoo on the left wrist was now gone – vanished as if it had never existed!

Despite being near to collapse from his attempt at psionic resurrection, Vulk acceded to Mariala’s wishes and headed for the dungeons to see if he could have more luck with this new corpse. But even as he laid hands on the body, he sensed something different about this one… nothing he could explain, just a feeling of even deeper emptiness than he had felt with Andro.

The resulting aural shock from this second failed attempt at revivification, despite his prayers to the Lady of Luck, caused Vulk to collapse in a pale and shaking heap on the dank stones of the dungeon. His friends were able to revive him after several minutes, but he was still weak, and required the help of two husky men from the Royal Guard to assist him back up to the constable’s office. He seemed to rather enjoy that part of it…

The Constable was now much more open to letting the Hand look through Ser Andro’s possessions, in the hope of salvaging some clue from the fiasco of the last several hours. Drake cataloged the items, which consisted of several sets of clothes in the duffle bag, a leather scrip containing 5 gp, 50 sp, 7 pearls (worth 100 gp total he estimated), an aquamarine worth 50 gp, and 3 rubies worth 100 gp each, and his dagger with the family crest on the hilt.

And best of all… a handwritten list of names and towns, tucked into an inner pocket of one of his tunics:

Joet Garin – Zebarin

Yon Cass – Shalara

Savin Dolastar –Kolosür

Jarath Pudos – Shalara

The group recognized the first name as that of the assassin who had poisoned the woreen at Zebarin, killing several people and almost killing that keep’s Constable.

The second name, Yon Cass, was recognized by the Constable as a known member of the local Zalik-mal, and in fact one of the would-be assassins killed in this morning’s fight on the South Haven docks. He also thinks the last name, Jarath Pudos, sounds familiar, but can’t quite but his finger on it, but immediately dispatches a rider to Kolosür, with a request to the authorities there to seek out and detain the third man listed, Savin Dolastar.

At which point there was little more to do until the Earl arrived. The surviving prisoners were vigorously questioned the next day, the 29th, with Erol and Mariala in attendance, the latter to use her truth sensing spell. As expected, they could shed no light on their mysterious leader… Yon Cass had assembled them, the stranger had directed them, and that’s all they knew.

The bulk of the 29th was spent resting, contemplating recent events, studying, praying, reading the Tarot, and shopping for various needed items… Vulk bought coudes to protect his elbows, which were finally recovering from recent wounds, and very good leather gauntlets to protect his hands. He also got a pair as a gift for Devrik.

The Earl’s steward arrived in the early morning of the 30th, to prepare the mansion, and around midday Lord Clarin and his entourage arrived. His first action, once dismounted, is to seek out Ser Vulk and the others to demand a report on his renegade brother-in-law.

He is understandably furious when he hears the whole story, but the bulk of his ire is directed at Ser Haldar, once the whole tale is told. He does grouse that Vulk should have insisted on holding Andro at the townhouse, but in fairness recognizes that the group was hardly in a position to oppose the legal authority of the capital city.

As much to avoid the disruption as the entourage settles in as anything, he quickly sets out to see the Constable of Kar Landsar. It is a rough meeting, but in the end the Constable is able to placate the Earl’s anger by agreeing that his agents could have free reign in the city as they work to uncover the agents behind Ser Andro’s assassination (and, almost certainly, behind the attempts on the Earl’s own life).

The next several days are spent moving about the town, seeking answers, enjoying the vast, tumultuous Summer Fair, guarding the Earl as he attends to the business of his fiefdom (wool prices, cloth contracts, etc.), and watching the movements of Jarath Pudos.

The identity of the man was revealed on the evening of the 2nd of Kilta, when the Earl attended a dinner at the town home of Lady Ethalyn Landsar the Elder, the King’s niece. Vulk and Mariala were guests, to fill out the company (most of the city’s nobility had already relocated to Kolosür for the upcoming Tournament), while Drake acted as their table servant and Erol and Devrik mingled with the guests’ armsmen and groomsmen in the courtyard, kitchens and stables.

Ser Danyes Bernan, the infamous Constable of Dür, was also in attendance, much to the annoyance of Lord Clarin. The two men sparred all evening long, in a subtle duel of verbal wit that the Earl came away from the victor, at least on points. It was during the meal that Drake and the others realized the Constable’s table servant was Jarath Pudos.

Drake made a foray with Jarath, in an attempt to perhaps infiltrate the Constable’s household, but was rebuffed with a contemptuous sneer… while it didn’t seem that Ser Danyes had recognized him as Draik Bartyne, it was obvious they knew who their enemies were in the Earl’s camp.

As Devrik, Erol and Drake spend the bulk of their time over the next several days taking turns watching and following Jarath, Mariala spend much time with Carissa, exploring the city and the Fair. During this time she heard much about the young maiden’s unhappiness at the her father seemed determined to marry her off to some old lord or another, when what she really wanted was to become a Healer of Mara.

Mariala did her best to try and explain the ways of noble life and a noblewoman’s responsibilities to her clan and house, but Carissa was buying none of it. It all came to a head on the 4th, when the Earl and much of his entourage took a day trip to Meluka, the seat of the Archkleros of Nolkior, for a meeting and formal luncheon.

When her father made it clear he was negotiating to send her to the abbey’s famed boarding school for a year or two of “finishing,” she flew into hysterics and ran off. It took an hour of searching before she could be found; Mariala was the one to finally coax her from her hiding place and convince her to dry her tears and make a fitting apology to her father and the Archkleros, as well as to all the servants who had been put out looking for her. The Earl’s countenance promised this was not the end of the matter, but nothing more was said on the ride home, or that evening.

The next morning the confrontation was again delayed as the Earl took Vulk with him to visit the Enclave of the Holy Oak, the Herald’s College of Nolkior. He wished to examine various family records concerning several young noblemen he was considering as prospective bridegrooms for Maid Carissa.

When they returned for the midday meal in the Great Hall of the townhouse, Lord Clarin summoned his daughter to discuss her behavior of the day before. But a panicked serving woman came back to cry that the girl was missing! A quick search of the house and grounds soon revealed that the Earl’s young squire, Arbos Urhano, was also not to be found.

No horses were missing from the stables, but immediate fears of kidnapping were allayed by Mariala’s discovery, with the girl’s maid, that her two best dresses and various pieces of jewelry were also missing. None of the squire’s meager possessions seemed to be missing, however.

The Earl, quietly furious and very grim, gathered every noble, guildsman and servant on the estate to the Great Hall and ordered that no public outcry was to be made. Only the City Watch and the Royal Guard were to be alerted. He dispatched guards to every city gate and to the docks, and split the remaining members of the Progress into groups of 4-6 people, commanding them to scour the city.

The Hand of Fortune, considered by the Earl at this point to be his most effective retainers, is given free reign to search as they see fit. Mariala and Devrik consult their Tarot decks, but gain little certain insight. The Temple of Alea & Mara is, of course the most obvious destination for the runaway, but they report no sign of her.

By sunset, as the searchers filter back and the rain begins to fall, the atmosphere at the townhouse is somber – no clue can be found. A sleepless night for the Earl, and no news by morning, lead him decide on a public announcement. Against Vulk’s advice Lord Clarin also offers a reward of 100 gold Crowns for his daughter’s safe return.

Shortly after the criers are sent abroad with his announcement a merchant and his apprentice roll up to the estate in a cart. In back is the dazed, bloody and battered squire, Arbos Urhano. He had been the first to notice Carissa was missing, but rather than raise the alarm, and thinking to spare her father’s ire, he sought her himself. Unfortunately, he picked the wrong alley to investigate, and was beaten, robbed and raped. He was lucky to be found by the merchant’s apprentice, who carried him home. He was cared for overnight, then brought to the Earl’s home, his livery telling them all they needed to know.

The town went crazy looking for the missing noble girl… everyone who looked even vaguely like her was being accosted in the streets. The HoF did their best to disperse and discourage such actions, but it was a losing battle. The City Watch had their hands full containing the growing frenzy.

Around midday the group came across two mobs in a violent tug-of-war over a girl. On closer investigation, they realize it really is Carissa, but before they can fight through the crowd to her, she was snatched by a shadowy figure, dragged into an alley.

The group followed quickly, but there was no sign of the girl or her captor in the dead-end alley. The only possibility was the large sewer grate at their feet! While most of the party, led by a relentless Devrik, leapt into the sewers in pursuit, Drake decided to return to Ser Danyes’ townhouse, in anticipation of that being the kidnapper’s ultimate destination.

Light and sound ahead proved that they were on the right track, and Devrik dashed into the dark, determined to catch up with the villain and dispatch him quickly, followed close by Erol. Mariala followed more slowly, with Vulk guarding the rear.

In a large circular junction chamber, where two torches on the far wall gave flickering illumination, they found four large, burly street toughs arrayed against them. Behind the wall of muscle they caught a glimpse of Carissa and her captor, who was revealed to be Jarath Pudos when the struggling girl knocked back his hood. With a triumphant sneer he whisked his victim into the right side tunnel, disappearing from sight.

Devrik never slowed down, plowing straight into the two men on the left, while Erol strove to drive through the men on the right. Both rushes threw back their adversaries a pace or two, but neither succeeded in breaking the line. Which, in the end, was unfortunate for the thugs.

It only took a few blows for Devrik to kill one opponent and wound the other, and for Erol to dispatch his own, the first of whom had his sword snap in half at the first parry. Mariala tried to help with Firenerves, but the spell’s failure had little impact on the fight.

Devrik paid no attention to the fallen men, but rushed on after Jarath, who had gained critical ground during the brief fight. Erol was close on his heels, followed by Mariala, while Vulk fought a brief, sharp fight with the remaining thug when he attempted to follow them. Despite briefly losing his sword, Vulk managed to badly wound his opponent into unconsciousness, leaving him to no doubt bleed to death in the sewers.

As they came to the next junction chamber Devrik heard the grinding of stone-on-stone and just glimpsed a secret door in the far wall closing. Unfortunately, before he could leap across the pool of murky water in the center of the chamber, a reptilian horror rose up out of it – a scabrous creature of bilious green and putrid yellow, with the body of a great serpent, the head half lizard/half man, and the long, muscular arms of a man, towering 10 feet over him, it’s head brushing the ceiling. Sharp, thick talons tipped each of the fingers of the hands on those arms, and the body coiled and writhed as the massive tail thrashed about, darting in and out of the pool.

Blocked by the monstrous creature, Devrik tried to slip past it, but was forced to fight. His first blow did little but nick the thick, scaly hide of the beast’s arm, while it’s tail landed a great blow to his own shoulder. Erol also leapt into the fray with his trident, nicking the monster’s other arm but doing no real damage.

Mariala didn’t hesitate to get into the fight herself, instantly summoning her water elemental. It took form in the very pool that the creature still occupied, rising up around it like a murky, translucent octopus, grappling it in coils of solid water.

This allowed Devrik to finally slip past it, and focus his attention on the wall, behind which Maid Carissa must be. But in the heat of his fury and the dim, flickering light of two torches, he was unable to puzzle out the secret of the hidden door. He tried brute strength to move it, but with no luck.

Vulk, coming up behind him, made his own attempt at opening the door, but also failed. As he contemplated the efficacy of prayer in this situation, Devrik turned in frustrated anger and leapt to attack the lizard-creature from behind. Distracted as it was by it’s life-and-death struggle with the water elemental, the monster never saw it coming, and Devrik’s blow almost cut it in two. It died with a last plaintive gurgle, sinking into the fetid waters of the sewer.

Mariala, rather than releasing the water elemental, sent it instead to try and open up the secret door. The elemental seeped into the cracks of the door, cracks too small for an Umantari to gain a hold, but enough for water to get in. Hydraulic pressure soon began to force the door open slightly, enough for Devrik and Erol to get a grip on its edge and force it open all the way. A dark tunnel was revealed, stretching away into darkness…

Mariala was able to “diagnose” Erol’s complaint of headaches and strange phenomena as an emerging psionic talent: amplification. She explained that this allowed him to increase the power of any existing arcane or holy energies within his range (about 20’). It doesn’t increase the chance of a spell, ritual or psi-talent being successful, but it does make the results of a success (or a failure, for that matter) more powerful. For example, a fireball might be twice as explosive as normal, or a healing touch doubly effective; or a misfire that might have just caused a crack in the wall might blow out the whole side of the room.

Erol has an awareness of his ability now, but still very little control – he can make an effort to use it, but it can also manifest on its own, as it’s been doing since he joined the group. Devrik and Vulk both realized why their portal openings have sometimes been “wider” and longer-lasting than they should have been, and why Devrik’s flaming sword was especially effective recently.

Mariala also divined that Erol possesses another psionic ability, one he has been controlling better, if only half-consciously: extratemporality. This gives him the ability to sometimes “slow down” the world in a crisis situation, allowing him to take two actions where others could only take one. It can also grant a special clarity in other situations, a moment of epiphany, where he suddenly grasps the gestalt of the moment.

After settling the matter of Erol’s new abilities, the Hand of Fortune agreed to take up the Earl of Kinen’s request to seek out his renegade, murderous brother-in-law. Doing a tarot reading, boosted by Erol’s newly manifested psionic talent, Mariala was able to determine that Ser Andro was most likely looking to escape by sea, from Shalara, not only the capital of the realm, but its only major port.

The portal map captured earlier in the month was carefully studied, and it was determined that the group could portal from the nearby Rivona Abbey, where Lady Lania was recuperating, directly to Shalara. Although Andro had a several day head start, it was felt this might just give them a jump on him. The Earl provided them with letters of introduction and authority to act in his name in seeking the outlaw knight, and the Abbess granted them access to the abbey’s vortex.

This is located in a special chamber beneath one of the abbey buildings, and she informed them that the vortex at Shalara is actually in a grove of trees outside the village of Lyndon, northeast of the city, near the Amphitheater. The companions decided not to take the horses, and Cris was left behind to care for them as the Progress continues on it’s way. The Earl expected to arrive in the capital on the 30th of the month, about 6 days away. Raven and Black Hawk will also stay with the entourage and under its protection.

Vulk tried to open the portal, but fails; Devrik then tried his hand at it, and succeeded. It’s mid-afternoon when the group steps through, arriving in a moss-covered stone circle set in a small wooded clearing. Before they took more than a few steps, they were confronted by four men of the City Watch, who questioned them as to their identity and purposes. Satisfied that none of them are the fugitive knight they’ve been warned to watch for, they direct the group to the nearest city gate, about a half mile southwest.

Once in the city, they make there way to the Earl’s town estate, where they are given temporary rooms by his steward. They’ll have to vacate when the Earl arrives, of course, but until then they may make free with the nearly empty mansion.

After some discussion on how best to proceed, the group visited the Harbor Master, or more accurately the Assistant Harbor Master (who actually does the day-to-day business). He had already been warned to watch for the runaway knight, but when pressed named three local ships whose captains might turn their hand to smuggling out an illicit passenger. But he felt that the foreign ships anchored across the river in the South Harbor Alienage would make a more attractive option for such a person.

Mariala again turned to the tarot deck, and the results lead the group to a dark, smoky dive in the Alienage called the Wretched Seagull. In an amazingly elaborate and strange plan, Mariala cast her Wallflower spell and entered the dive unobserved, while Devrik and Vulk watched the front and back entrances. She was followed shortly by Drake and Erol, who pretend to be drunken sailors having an argument, to draw attention to themselves, while Mariala stealthily searches for any sign of Andro or where he might be hidden.

Possessed by who-knows-what, Drake slammed a GOLD coin down on the bar, after Erol tossed a drink in his face, and said it was for anyone who would take out his “friend.” In the ensuing riot they barely escaped, bruised and abraded, before the local constabulary arrived to calm things down.

Once the Watch was in control, Vulk, Devrik and Mariala reentered the tavern to interrogate the barkeep, using the Earl’s warrant as their authority. The captain of the Guards accepted this, and hauled off a few miscreants. Mariala used her ability to detect lies while Vulk asked about Ser Andro.

Lies were forthcoming, until money was offered – despite having been the one to grab Drake’s gold piece, the greedy barman was eager for more. He admitted that a man such as they describe, clearly trying to fit in, but clearly too good for this place, met a Sydoran ship captain there the day before. They took a private booth in back, and he knows nothing of what they discussed. But he did provide an adequate description of the captain.

Outside, Erol was certain he noted someone lurking in the shadows and watching the tavern. Night had fallen by this time, and as Erol moved forward in full stealth mode to confront the fellow, he suddenly tripped, hitting a lamp outside the tavern, and barely escaped being burned as the flaming oil made a bright river of light along the dock. Whoever the shadowy figure might have been, foe or innocent bystander, he or she slipped away into the shadows as people rushed to douse the flames. Ah, critical failure rolls…

It was decided to try and find the ship belonging to the captain Andro met with, that very evening, in case they planned to sail with the morning tide. While this was being debated three bells rang out over the Alienage, and although the group wondered why, they shrugged it off and carried out their plan. It wasn’t hard to determine that three vessels from the Sydoran League were currently docked in the city: the Dark Tide, Verdik’s Pride, and the Swift Wind.

Unfortunately, it was too late to expect any of them to be receiving visitors, so the friends decided to retire to the comfort of the Earls manse, and return before tomorrows tide. Even more unfortunately, they hadn’t been told that the gates to the bridge that connects the Alienage to the main city are locked each night… hence the warning bells. Forced to take accommodations in this less fancy part of town, they ended up in a dormitory room at the Khandar’s Rest, a middling establishment next to the Khundari Gate. Mariala didn’t sleep well…

The next morning the group split up to check out the three possible ships Ser Andor might be booking passage on. Vulk and Mariala posed as gentlefolk wanting passage to Sydora at the Dark Tide, but were turned away by a captain who didn’t at all resemble the description they’d been given. Meanwhile, Drake and Erol pretended to be able-bodied seamen, seeking work on Verdik’s Pride, but failed to realize they lacked the proper guild tattoos; they were summarily tossed overboard

Our heros continued on with the Earl’s Progress, leaving Kar Urkonis,the seat of the newly-rescued Earl of Yorma, on the morning of 18 Emblio. On the way to Dolint Abbey, the seat of the Kleros of Gostrial, the cure that Ser Petral (who apparently also answers to the name “Petras”) and Drake had developed began to show some effect on the Earl’s wife.

The two days at Dolint were spent relaxing, mostly, and going over the pieces of the mystery that seems to lurk behind recent events, while the Earl met with the Kleros in private conclave. Some unfortunate excitement came on the second day, during the garden party held by the Kleros in honor of his noble guest.

The Earl intended this event as a means of introducing his youngest daughter, the Maid Carissa, to various eligible young bachelors of the district, in the hopes of getting her excited about the prospect of a marriage. Unfortunately, one of the youths, the newly-knighted Ser Methwin, scion of a minor noble family, got obnoxiously drunk and loudly made a number of crude and cruel remarks about the girl within her hearing.

She fled the party in tears, and her father, who had also overheard the remarks, was enraged. But propriety and the quick removal of the drunken lout by his embarrassed friends prevented any immediate reprisal. The Earl, however, was not content to let this be; he approached Devrik and requested that he seek out Ser Methwin later in the evening, and teach him a stern lesson in manners. Preferably one that involved a number of contusions, and if bones were broken, so be it.

Devrik was surprisingly squeamish about outright assaulting someone, even though he was also upset about Maid Carissa’s embarrassment. Erol might have had no problems, but he was out prowling the town, looking for hints of the drug smugglers or other elements of the Zalik-mal. Fortunately, when Devrik confronted the stupid young rake, the dolt seemed determined not to take a hint, and actively pushed Devrik’s buttons. The resulting thrashing was not fatal, but as the cavalcade left town the next morning, it was obvious to all (including a blushing but pleased Carissa) that Ser Methwin wouldn’t be doing… well, much of anything, for quite some time.

Belthin Keep was the next stop, and before they arrived the Hand of Fortune (and kudos to Davey for coming up with the informal name of our little band of adventurers) worked out a plan to smoke out the evil-doer behind the various murders and attempted murders that have plagued the Progress. They let it be known to a select few suspects that they had suborned an informant who would be meeting them in Belthin to blow the lid off the conspiracy. Ser Andro and his wife were at the top of the list…

Once the seed was planted, Vulk and Drake went to the faux meeting, in the local cemetery, where the others had hidden themselves earlier. But the hours passed with no hint of an attack. Eventually the group gave it up and went back to the castle, only to find it in an uproar. Flames leapt from a tower window, and they soon learned that it was the room given to Ser Petral.

The group rushed up to where the bucket brigade was attempting to douse the flames, only to see the physician’s prone form laying in the middle of the room. Devrik attempted to control the flames, and his fears, and rushed in to try and save their friend. Mariala took a minute, but soon realized she could use her water elemental to fight the fire… as she summoned it, water leapt in a chain from bucket to bucket up to the roof cisterns, then back again in a rushing cascade that smothered most of the flames.

Sadly, Ser Petral wasn’t just overcome by smoke – he’d been stabbed in the back! The fire seemed to have been intentionally set in his traveling case of potions and papers, all of which were destroyed. Vulk tried valiantly to revive the doctor, even to the point of collapsing in aural shock after attempting resurrection. But it was not to be. The fire was soon put completely out, and Vulk taken to his tent to recover, while the Earl pulled Drake aside, distraught that the potions that seemed to be curing his wife had been destroyed along with his friend.

But Drake was able to relieve him of that fear, at least, as the potions had been stored in Lady Lania’s wagon. They were checked, found to be safe, and guards posted on the wagon. Later that morning Cris brought something to the group’s attention – his groom friend, Esar, had a bandaged hand at breakfast this morning. Further investigation revealed he had burns, which he claimed to have suffered while fighting the fire. Certainly others had suffered similar slight injuries, but no one could actually remember Esar being present at the bucket brigade.

Furthermore, the tip of his dagger was observed to have been broken off. When Vulk was sufficiently recovered to examine Ser Petral’s body, he found a small triangle of metal lodged in one of the man’s ribs where he’d been stabbed. This was good enough for the Hand of Fortune, and they made arrangements to get the groom alone in the stables for questioning. He stuck to his story, at first, but both Mariala and Vulk were wielding their arcane truth-sensing abilities, and when the metal from the doctor’s wound exactly fit the end of his dagger, the surly lad broke.

He fingered Ser Andro as his employer, revealing that the knight had recruited him to help arrange the Earl’s death, promising great rewards when Ser Andro’s weak nephew came into the earlship, with Andro himself as the power behind the coronet. He feared his sister’s recover would weaken his position after the Earl’s death, as she would likely wield more influence than he, and so had Esar commit his first murder…

Esar thought that Ser Andro had others who were helping him, people the knight seemed afraid of; but the groom knew nothing more than that his lordship sometimes met secretly with strange men in odd places. Ser Vulk instantly alerted the Earl of this development, and despite his initial incredulity, Ser Andro was order to appear before him. But his brother-in-law was nowhere to be found. His weapons, traveling clothes and best horse were also missing, along with a large sum of money and most of his wife’s jewels. Forced to divest herself of her arcane protections common to the nobility, truth-sense questioning soon revealed that she had nothing to do with her husbands plots; she is a broken and bewildered woman at this point.

The first full day at Zebarin had cool and partly cloudy, but dry, and the Earl had decided to hunt boar, having heard from the Constable that a particularly large and dangerous one had recently plagued the area. Several of the noble retainers and guests, as well as a slew of servants, had accompanied the Earl and the Constable on the hunt, including Vulk and Ser Andro. The latter had seemed in an unusually foul mood since they had arrived at Zebarin, and he barely spoke to his companions, save for the Earl himself, and their host the Constable. Indeed, to Ser Coreth he seemed almost maniacally polite and excruciatingly proper.

Drake and Devrik were also along as beaters, which turned out to be lucky. When a group of rokiriki, the vicious harpies of popular legend, had attacked the party it had been a near thing for the Earl. When the shrieking, stinking winged creatures had dropped down on them, the Earl’s horse had reared, and his saddle straps had broken, sending him to the ground. Briefly dazed, he had been vulnerable, but Devrik had managed to divert his attackers long enough for the Earl to regain his feet and his spear.

The fight was short and bloody, but with no casualties on their side apart from cuts and abrasions, none terribly serious. The party returned to Zebarin with no boar and many questions. Why had the rokiriki attacked? No one had smelled the tell-tale stench that would have placed them near to a nesting area; the nearest cliffs were over a mile away, in any case.

Why had the Earl’s saddle strap parted? Examination was inconclusive… the leather had broke near the buckle, and looked worn rather than cut, but that was easy enough to fake. The groom who had saddled the horse swore he’d checked it, but was beaten anyway by the head ostler for his incompetence.

They had seen no sign of the boar, yet discreet questioning had revealed that several peasants had indeed reported experiencing its predations in the last tenday, although no one was quite sure who exactly it had been; it always was someone’s brother who heard, or a visitor from the next village over who told the tale, which was passed on to the Constable’s men. Was it possible they had simply missed the beast, or sought it in the wrong area?

Both Ser Kovar and Lord Clarin were impressed by the quick reactions and combat skills of Vulk, Drake and especially Devrik. The Earl actually thanked Devrik for the fierce attack that had kept the beasts off him until he could regain his feet, and Ser Kovar decided to move him up closer to the Earl in the standard marching order on the road.

Bit the next two days were to be spent with the Earl and the Constable going over the books for the fief, leaving the rest of the entourage free time to do as they would…

 

Through the Portal on Chalkman’s Hill

In the days that followed Vulk’s knighting by the Earl, Vulk, Devrik and Mariala threw themselves into their studies, while Drake, with Erol’s assistance, made all the preparations for the journey to Nolkior. While the arcanists spent almost every waking hour buried in the art and science of Vortex control and spell research, Drake and Erol purchased supplies, collected the (very substantial) profits from the Fortune’s Favor, exchanged money for gems and promissory notes, honed weapons and polished armour. On the 28th the two rode out to Elidar Manor, where Erol purchased a fine horse from Vulk’s uncle at quite a reasonable price.

The next day both Vulk and Devrik announced that they felt able to handle the rigors of a Nitarin Vortex, and that the attempt should be made that very night. Dusk found the group, along with Master Vetaris, gathered outside the ring of standing stones on the hill overlooking both the town and the sea.

“Good luck, my young friends,” the older mage said. “I’ve every faith that you’ll achieve the end you seek. But I have business of my own to attend to now, so I bid you farewell.”

With that he gestured towards the ring of towering stones, stepped between two of them, and vanished in a ripple of light whose color the eye failed to really comprehend, able at best to perceive it as a sort of violet just beyond the edge of sight.

Then Vulk and Devrik stepped forward, with Mariala, Drake and Erol just behind them. It had been decided that Vulk would make the first attempt at opening the portal, with Devrik there to back him up should he need it. But in the event, it seemed no help was needed – making the ritual gestures and speaking the prayer he had been taught, Vulk staggered back in surprise as a flare of non-color erupted in the heart of the circle, then faded, leaving the air rippling like the water of a still pond after a stone has been dropped in.

“That was… unexpected,” Vulk said, shaking his head. “The power was so much greater than I expected; I almost lost control.”

“Hmm, but you didn’t” Devrik grunted. “Impressive. The goddess must truly favor you; when I opened the portal, it was much smaller and didn’t last long… this seems very… solid.”

“Perhaps,” Mariala interjected, “ but there’s no telling how long it will stay open, so if we’re going, let’s go!”

With that Cris brought forward the horses, and Vulk, taking the reigns of his own steed, led the way into the rippling air of the Vortex. Mariala followed with her horse, then Erol, Drake, Raven, Blackhawk, and Cris leading Kemis the mule. Devrik and Brann brought up the rear, and as they stepped forward into the portal and vanished it flared once again and was gone.

♦

At that moment, almost 400 miles to the east, the group walked out of a cleft in a tall cliff face that was flanked by two ancient standing stones. The cliff topped a hill that overlooked a long, narrow valley, and a winding path led down into a dark wood. In the distance, to the southeast, could be seen the dark bulk of a large castle and the faint lights of a town.

“Well, I think we made it,” Drake exclaimed, slapping Vulk on the back. ‘I’d know this country in any light. We’re about five miles from Vinkara! So, do we try to make it there tonight, or camp in the wood below until dawn?”

Joining the Cavalcade

The next three days were a cyclone of activity for everyone in Vinkara, including the group. Entering the town at dawn on the 30th, they quickly sought out Drake’s brother amidst the excitement of the second day of the Earl’s tournament. They found him, encamped with the rest of the Hand of Vengeance, just outside Kar Vinkara.

After introductions to the new members of the mercenary company Colith/Alakor led the friends to their first meeting with the Earl of Kinen in his private solar in the castle. They were greeted first by Ser Kovar Delcanus, the Captain of the Wyvern Guard, an intense young man who obviously took his responsibility for the Earl’s safety very seriously.

“I should warn you about Wyvern,” Ser Kovar told them before they entered the solar. “His lordship’s great wolfhound is always nearby, and is very protective of the Earl – never make sudden moves towards his lordship unless you wish to lose some flesh! The earl considers Wyvern a good judge of character, so do your best not to show fear to the beast…”

The meeting with the Earl was equally intense, even after they had each apparently passed Wyvern’s sniff test… though the dog, laying at his master’s feet, never took his eyes off the visitors. A tall, imposing man, with dark hair just beginning to be shot with gray, and penetrating slate-gray eyes, the Earl spent an hour questioning the companions about their abilities and recent adventures. It was hard to read his rather stoic expression, except when it came to mention of his wife – there, his depth of feeling came sharply through his noble mask.

When the talk turned to the Constable of Dür, he listened to the tale that Drake told, companion to the one he’d already heard from Colith, but gave little indication what he thought of it.

“My agents in the capital tell me that there has been a notable increase in illicit drugs in the city of late,” he said when Drake had finished. “Deaths have resulted, and increased violence. With a possible Succession Crisis looming, this is another bit of instability the realm can ill afford. If it could be proved that the Constable is involved in this, then he would surely be hanged.

“But I’m afraid the unsupported word of two commoners, who could be perceived to have a grudge, is insufficient. Forgive my bluntness, but that’s simply the way of it. Personally, I don’t doubt your story… I’ve long wondered at the sources of Ser Danyes unexplained wealth, beyond the peculation I’ve already uncovered. This drug trade could explain much.

“A few months ago, my own agents finally obtained a copy of the accounts paid by the Constable to his liege, the Earl of Buran. I then sent them traveling from manor to manor, comparing what was paid out to what the Earl received. They confirmed, and documented, that Ser Danyes is skimming large amounts from the fiefdom of Dür. I intend to present the evidence of this to Lord Torad in Kolosür, during the tournament.

“Which will certainly mean the man’s dismissal from his post. But if he is indeed involved in this epidemic of drugs that threatens the realm, then I want to see him hanged, alongside those with whom he conspires. If you can find proof of his complicity, then I will present it myself to both the Earl of Buran and the King.”

In the end he agreed to make space in his entourage for the party, and grant them leave to seek out evidence against the Constable of Dür over the course of the Progress, if they would render certain services in return – Mariala he wished to provide arcane protection for his wife, fearing such an attack against his wife if his enemies couldn’t harm him directly; Vulk he assigned as junior herald to his Chamberlain and chief herald, Ser Gorlin Faragar.

“He has held the post of Herald for more than 25 years,” the Earl said, “and been my Chamberlain for 16 years. His knowledge of Kinenshire is unsurpassed; indeed, I often suspect that Ser Gorlin directed the Immortals as they put Kinenshire on Novendo’s green face.

“He speaks with my voice, and oversees every aspect of my household, with the exception of security, which is handled by Ser Kovar. You will be under his authority while a part of my household.”

Drake, as Cantor Vulk’s batman, would of course remain near Vulk, while Devrik and Erol were to be assigned as men-at-arms by Ser Kovar as he saw fit on a day-to-day basis. The “servants” would simply blend in with the rest of the noble household help.

After their meeting with the Earl, the rest of the day was spent meeting the various members of the household and integrating into the developing cavalcade, with enough free time to attend the final melee of the day at the tournament.

Gathered in Colith’s tent after supper, the group compared notes and impressions. It was agreed that Ser Gorlin seemed quite decent for such an elderly fellow, if a bit brusque and distracted with the work of getting the household ready to move. Alakor said that the Chamberlain and Ser Kovar worked closely, and had a very good relationship – it would be wise to stay on the good side of both men if they hoped to accomplish their goals!

Mariala had been introduced to the Lady Lania, the Earl’s crippled wife, and the Maid Carissa, his youngest child. The lady was abed in her chambers within the castle, attended by her daughter and Hila, the former nursemaid to all three of the lady’s children, and now in charge of her mistress’s care.

“It’s very sad,” Mariala said. “She seems to be aware, I think, but she can’t speak or move except to blink… at best she makes noises, and I can’t tell if she’s trying to speak, or… but mostly she is silent and just lies there.

“It’s obvious the Earl loves his wife very much, and is greatly distressed by her condition… I watched them together before he left us alone, and he was so tender…”

“Yes,” offered Erol, “I heard a minstrel singing a song today at the tourney, about the eternal love and devotion of the Earl for his lady wife. The crowed seemed moved by it, though it seemed rather mushy to me.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that in front of the Earl, or any of his people – they all seem very devoted to him, and to his wife,” Mariala advised.

“Maid Carissa is a very sweet girl, about 16, and seems very bright. After her mother drifted off to sleep she questioned me relentlessly about my “adventures” in the world. She claims she wants to become a healer of Mara, but that it was a secret because her father disapproves, and she has no desire to marry some old knight, and do I know real magic… her questions left me quite breathless!” Mariala laughed.

“I was less amused by the Lady Milosia Valador, Lady Lania’s sister-in-law,” she went on. “She showed up while Carissa and I were talking, and made it quite clear that she was in charge of Lady Lania’s chambers, as the senior noblewoman (after Lady Lania, of course) of the Earl’s court. She seems a terrible bully to the maids, but once Carissa mentioned my family name, and the fact that I was “a powerful sorceress,” the lady became rather less huffy with me.

“I was inclined to chastise the child for blurting out my status as T’ara Kul, but on the whole I think it was for the best, if I’m going to have to spend much time with Lady Milosia.”

“Well, we had the pleasure of meeting her husband, Lord Andro, after the melee today,” Vulk offered. “Drake and I were introduced, and I thought for a moment he wouldn’t deign to speak to a mere cantor, never mind his “man,” but when he heard my “Ser” he unbent enough to offer a greeting.”

“A rather cool greeting,” Drake added. “And he hardly more than glanced at me before dismissing me.”

“He is Lady Lania’s younger brother, and a long-time confidant of the Earl,” Alakor said. “He’s a bit of an ass, as far as I can see, but seems harmless… unless you’re a groom who gets in his way; he’s known for having a quick hand with his riding crop or cane.”

“I heard several of the men-at-arms talking about him this afternoon,” Erol offered. “They say he was deeply offended when the Earl made a “jumped-up peasant” the Constable of Zebarin three years ago, rather than a nobleman ‘who can trace his ancestry back to the Restoration…’ himself, I’m guessing.”

“Yes,” Alakor agreed, “I’ve heard much the same, but I don’t know which actually chafed him more: the fact that he was passed over, or that it was Ser Coreth Lothlar who got the position. Ser Coreth was born to peasant stock and knighted for bravery in the battle where he lost an eye… something I can relate to,” he added, touching his own eye patch. “But Ser Andro is very proud of his long lineage…”

“Has anyone met the Lady’s physician yet,” Vulk asked. “I’m to meet with this Ser Petral in the morning, to go over his prognosis before I attempt my healing touch.”

“I’ve met him, of course,” Alakor said. “He seems a decent fellow, and very devoted to m’lady. A little brainy for my liking, but that’s to be expected. He’s said to be quite skilled by those he’s treated, though the Hand has yet to need his services.”

“Well, I suppose tomorrow will bring me the chance to observe the man myself,” Vulk sighed, rising to take his leave. “But I’m exhausted, and my bed is calling!”

With that the party dispersed to their various bivouacs and rest.

On the Road to Zebarin

The morning of 2 Emblio started in a light fog, shrouding the departing cavalcade in a muffled blanket of swirling white. But by the second watch the mist had lifted and the day proved to be a warm and clear one, with a gentle breeze.

It was a short trip, just a few leagues, to Zebarin Keep, the first stop on the Earl’s Progress, and they traveled slowly, giving Ser Gorlin the opportunity to work the kinks out of the order of marching and correct any last minute deficiencies. It also gave the group a quiet time to reflect on what they had learned in the last two days in Vinkara.

Vulk’s meeting with the physician, Ser Petral Aswain, had gone quite well. The man was clearly a skilled physician, part of a clan well known in northern Nolkior for its healers. He was more than willing to show the young cantor the nutritious potion of his own devising, which he calls “Torazium,” which keeps the Earl’s wife alive.

“But Lady Lania is slowly dying,” he told Vulk bluntly, before they went ion to see her. “And there is little I can do except make her more comfortable. My greatest fear is that the long, rough trip ahead of us will be the death of her… but the Earl fears that without help, she will die anyway.

“With some noblemen, I would be in great fear for my own well-being, but the Earl, for all his stoic demeanor, is a compassionate man; he has reassured me more than once that he knows the risks and will not hold me responsible if she dies. But I would give much to see that that does not come to pass… she was… is a kind and noble lady…”

The group had considered, based on a certain logic and several rumors picked up in the last several days, that perhaps Ser Petral was in fact slowly poisoning Lady Lania with his “Torazium,” but they could find no evidence of it, and both Vulk and Mariala grew certain, the more they interacted with the man, that he was not capable of such a crime.

Mariala did find a faint trace of the arcane in his potion, but it was benign, not malicious; now they wonder if Ser Petral knows that his potion has been given a “magic” boost, or was it someone else? In any case, it seems to be doing her no harm, and may in fact be keeping her alive…

Ser Petral was not surprised when Vulk’s healing touch seemed to have little effect on Lady Lania, beyond perhaps making her rest more comfortably. He was sympathetic, and seemed more than willing to talk shop with the cantor, imparting a great deal of information about the healing arts as they prepared the lady for the journey. Vulk wondered if he should introduce Drake to their talks on healing; perhaps he could glean something that would help with their own researches into the Baylora Fungus…

♦

Mariala rode in the special wagon the Earl had commissioned to make his wife’s journey as painless as possible, along with Maid Carissa and Nursemaid Hila. Inside, it has a custom-built bed with a thick feather mattress that is suspended from the ceiling by braided leather straps to minimize jarring. Both Ser Petral and Lady Milosia spent some of the journey in the wagon with them, tending to the lady’s needs or just sitting with her.

In the days leading up to the departure Mariala spent much of her time in the company of both mother and daughter, and came to be quite fond of the Earl’s youngest child. A romantic teen, with dreams of life beyond the lonely solitude of Vinkara, the girl took instantly to Mariala and her perceived aura of adventure and excitement. She found Raven, presented as Mariala’s bodyguard, to be very exotic, but also a little intimidating. She grew more quiet during those times when Raven rode in the wagon with them, at least at first/

Talking together when they were alone (save for Lady Lania), the girl’s loneliness became obvious even as it lifted, and a truly sunny disposition emerged. Her father’s Progress was obviously the most exciting thing ever to happen to the sixteen-year-old – she had never before been outside Kinenshire. The opportunity to visit her elder sister (Lady Thalisa, wife of the Earl of Yorma), see Rivona Abbey (Carissa fancies herself a Maran), greet her cousins at Wynalis, see the fabled city of Shalara and go to the Royal Bellanin Tournament in Kolosür have her positively jumping for joy. Even on this first day, she was making plans for all the things she and Mariala would see and do over the next two months…

♦

Vulk rode near the middle-front of the cavalcade with Captain Ser Kovar and Ser Petral, with Drake several files back amongst the noble retainers – close enough to be called for, but clearly not a part of the noble circle. Fortunately Drake found this more amusing than anything else, and got his own back by teasing his friend mercilessly about his new high station when they were alone.

Devrik, Erol and Blackhawk were scattered amongst the men-at-arms that guarded the noble procession, each of them making friends of both mercenaries and feudal retainers. It was from these new contacts that they first heard rumors of strange flying creatures have been spotted in increasing numbers along Rüniral Ridge; that Sheriff Tulath Kalafon is deeply in debt to an usurer in Shalara; and that Ser Denyes, the Constable of Dür, was caught recently on a compromising position with the wife of Ser Ertus Namas.

They also took every opportunity to get on the good side of Taral Plair, the Earl’s cook, cellarer and food taster. An obese man, no matter the temperature, he seems to sweat constantly, repeatedly mopping his brow with his dishcloth. Seemingly always on the verge of a heart attack, he struggles to keep up. Friendly, helpful and polite, he was appreciative of any kindness, and the companions were quick to befriend him. Now they often find themselves the sly recipients of sweetmeats and dainties slipped from the Earl’s table. With His Lordship’s permission, the Wyvern Guard get the leftovers from the Earl’s table, and Taral makes enough to ensure they eat very well.

In Vinkara, he is assistant cook under Sweldur Gron, but for this trip, he works personally for Lord Clarin. A favorite of the Earl, he is also well liked by Ser Gorlin and the other servants; his fine singing voice and endless supply of hilarious and bawdy trail songs make him the centre of attention around the campfire.

Cris and Kemis ride with the baggage portion of the train, and the young former street urchin has begun to turn into a fairly savvy intelligence gatherer amongst the servants – he has turned out to be surprisingly good at keeping his ears open and his mouth shut. It was he who heard a disturbing, whispered story that Lady Lania’s palsy was caused by the Earl himself, when he struck her in anger and she hit her head on a stone fireplace.

He has also become friends with Esar Keriel, apprentice to the Ostler Donar Harabor. Though old for an apprentice, at 23, Esar seems clever, strong and brave; he has to be to risk life and limb tending warhorses. On the night before the journey began Cris saw him break up two battling stallions, showing a self-confidence that the horses could sense. As could Cris, who seems a bit smitten with his new friend…

♦

In the early afternoon the Earl’s train arrived a the Keep of Zebarin, where they were greeted by the Constable and his chief retainers. The nobles rode on to the keep for a welcoming feast, while the common retainers remained to set up the camp on the local Common. They would be here for three days, during which there might be time to investigate Dür, only five leagues south…

Erol’s Story

Erol had been disappointed but not terribly surprised when the captains of both Arushali trading ships had refused him a berth… merchants weren’t terribly generous at the best of times, and with the Tritani failing to show for the annual Spring Sea Fair they looked to be losing a great deal of money. And it wasn’t like he was an Able Bodied Seaman, of course – he’d picked up plenty of practical skills in his months with the pirates, but that meant little to an honest captain.

The atmosphere in the small town had turned worried when the Merfolk didn’t appear, and after the ships departed it turned positively dark and sullen – overnight it seemed. Indeed, it was the same day that he’d noticed the sudden lack of children playing in the streets that he began to get dark stares and angry looks from townspeople who had previously been friendly enough, if not gregarious.

Paying for another night at the Mermaid’s Arms, the only inn in the village, the proprietor had been distinctly frosty again yesterday– Erol got the impression, as he had for the last several days, that the man would have liked to turn him out, but couldn’t for some reason. Of course tonight was likely to be another story, since those had been his last coppers. This place was too small to turn to thievery, at least successfully…

It was with great relief that Erol saw the purple and gold sail of a new ship round Stingray Point and turn into the harbor in the early afternoon. One way or another, he needed to be on that ship when it sailed! But even as he began turning over the arguments he might use to talk his way to a berth, he noticed that the few townspeople who were on the streets seemed more worried and anxious than excited by the new arrival…

As he watched the ship (Fortune’s Favor it said on the bow in flowing gold letters) made fast by the oddly reluctant longshoremen, Erol also noted the creepy fellow he’d been seeing around town for the last half tenday. He was lounging against the corner of a warehouse and watching the disembarkation of the ship’s captain and… passengers?… with intense, if veiled, interest.

The man, whose name Erol had never heard spoken, seemed to be everywhere recently, always grinning a disturbingly wide and toothy grin. He wore dark blue and yellow clothes in the style of the southern kingdom of Tolus, including a (ridiculous, to Erol’s eye) floppy hat with two great plumes. He seldom seemed to speak, and if the townsfolk gave Erol suspicious looks and hard glares, they gave the grinning stranger worse – when they would look at him at all. Most people avoided his mocking gaze altogether. Every fighting instinct he possessed screamed that this man was dangerous…

Now the fellow peered slit eyed and unsmiling from beneath his shadowing hat at the group who stood talking to Port Master Edigar, a portly man of middle years who seemed nervous and ill at ease. The captain of the ship was obviously the older, one-armed man in black, but the leader of the group seemed to be the tall, handsome young cantor (of Kasira if the garish magenta and purple clothes he wore meant anything). The short, wiry fellow next to the cantor seemed to be a fighting man of some sort, but it was the redheaded woman in green who first seemed to notice the gaze of the lounging stranger. When she turned to speak to her shorter companion about it, the beplumed man pushed himself off the wall and, giving her his creepy wide grin, sauntered off down the street into town.

The Port Master soon led the group to his office/home, a four story stone building directly back of the Trading Pool. Erol wandered for a few minutes between the marble pillars that supported the Pool’s great coral dome, but soon realized it wouldn’t do to ambush these people the second they reappeared. If they intended to spend the night in Kethim, or even take a meal, they would have to go to the Mermaid’s Arms. He would “run into them” there…

♦

There were few people in the common room of the inn that evening when the group, minus the captain, came in and called for a hot meal. Of course the grinning stranger in his floppy hat was one of the few, settled in a dark corner near the door where he could see the entire room. Erol was also there, near the door to the kitchen, also a good place from which to survey the room.

From what he’d been able to piece together during the day, these three were friends and co-owners of the ship tied up at the quay, the one-armed captain their employee. Which meant they were the ones to get in good with… he considered what he’d learned, and decided in this case the truth, or at least most of it, might serve him best…

When he overheard the cantor, whose name was apparently Vulk, ask the innkeeper about his children, Erol saw his opportunity. As the nervous ‘keep hurriedly excused himself to pressing business in the kitchen, Erol stood and approached the group’s table.

“Ah, you’ve noticed the lack of children in town,” he said, raising his mug of cider in greeting. “And that no one wants to talk about it!”

The obvious tension in the town had made the group wary, but their desire for information quickly outweighed their caution. They invited him to join them, and after brief introductions they began questioning him about all he knew of recent events in Port Kethim.

“I’ve been her for a couple of tendays, after, um, leaving my previous ship rather… abruptly.” Actually, he’d jumped overboard that last night when it was obvious the captain had learned of his attempt to foment mutiny amongst the crew. Better to risk the swim to the unknown shore than certain death at dawn! It had taken him three wet, miserable days of slogging through the southern marshes of Oessa to reach Port Kethim, but he felt he’d chosen wisely.

“This place seemed pretty nice, when I arrived. The people were friendly and there was a lot of excitement over the upcoming Sea Fair. Even after the Merfolk failed to arrive the people only seemed concerned, nothing more.

“It was after the trading ships from Arushal left (pissed off and empty, I can tell you), that things got strange. On the day the ships set sail, there were the usual number of children playing along the Great Quay and in the streets. The next day there were none to be seen… I didn’t notice right off, but I did notice a lot of tense, angry townsfolk.

“Being a stranger, I wasn’t invited to the town meeting the Port Master called that day, but it was after that meeting that I began to get angy glares and hostile words from everyone in town, even the people I’d come to know a bit. But the hostility was only in looks and a few words; no one actually physical, though it felt like they anted to… they all seem afraid, if not of me, then certainly of him.” He nodded in the direction of the grinning stranger.

Erol then explained what he knew of the man, and his new companions debated what they should do. Gradually a plan evolved to confront the man – they seemed to think they could get the truth out him, which seemed unlikely to Erol, but it wasn’t his call. Unfortunately, it almost seemed as if the stranger knew what they were planning, because just as Vulk and Drake prepared to stand, he gave Erol (the only one looking directly at him) his toothy grin and slipped quickly out the door.

Drake followed quickly behind, but the man was gone by the time he stepped into the dark street. The friends seemed greatly annoyed at this lost opportunity, but at least they didn’t blame Erol – they agreed to provide him a berth when they sailed. The warned it might be a day or two, but he didn’t care, as long as they took him with them!

They escorted him back to their ship, where Vulk had a short private conversation with the captain, who seemed more bemused than upset at having a new crewman thrust upon him. After introducing them, the companions declared they were going to see the Port Master again, and set off down the quay. Before they left, as he was stashing his meager possessions, Erol overheard Mariala asking Captain Levtor to have the crew keep their eyes and ears open during their shore leave in town.

There was certainly something very odd going on in this town, Erol thought, and he was glad to be getting out of it. But his new benefactors seemed curiously intent on discovering what the story was, and his own curiosity had always been over-strong… he should just accept his luck, leave his new acquaintances to their own business, and mind his own… yes, that’s what he’d do this time…

As he slipped off the ship Erol noticed a darker shadow moving between the warehouses that lined the Great Quay – a shadow that revealed itself in the flickering light of the Great Beacon atop the coral dome of the Trading Pool to be the grinning stranger, floppy hat and all. As he moved across the open space towards the Port Master’s home, Erol slipped into shadow himself, and followed at a discreet distance.

It was obvious the Grinning Stranger (Erol had begun to think of him in capital letters by this time) was trying to overhear what was going on in the Port Master’s house, and equally obviously was failing to do so. He paced in frustration around the building, peering into windows, as Erol watched from a distance. In his impatience the man almost missed it when the Port Master and his guests slipped out the back and furtively made their way towards the north edge of town.

The Grinning Stranger followed the group, and Erol followed the Grinning Stranger. Both moons were still new, and it was hard to keep their quarry in sight until a dim glow flared from Vulk’s hand, to light their way along the rocky shoreline cliffs. About half a mile beyond the northern arm of the Great Quay, where the rising land began to level out, the group suddenly vanished from sight.

Erol soon realized they had descended into a cut in the cliffs, following a path down into some secluded sea grotto. The Grinning Stranger perched on the rocks above the grotto, peering down, but Erol couldn’t get close enough to see or hear what was going on, not without risking detection.

After several turns of the glass, just as Erol was beginning to nod off, despite the cool sea air, the Grinning Stranger suddenly darted from his hiding place, disappearing amongst the rocks. Erol soon saw why, as Vulk, Drake, Mariala and the Port Master rose again from the rocky crevice and headed back towards town, their way again lit by the cantor’s spirit light.

Erol ducked down as they passed, and once his own quarry had also passed in pursuit, he stealthily brought up the rear of this strange parade. They slowly made their way back to town, but not back to the Port Master’s house. Instead they slipped between the pillars surrounding the Trading Pool, to stand staring down into its depths.

The Grinning Stranger slipped around the Port Master’s house, and Erol was torn – should he follow him, or stay to see what transpired at the Pool? His dilemma was soon resolved, however, when he saw the distinctive dark form appear again in the shadows on the far side of the Pool.

And so both watched as the Port Master opened secret panels in two of the pillars and pulled out mysterious piles of some type of clothing. It was a dark blue-green, and seemed made of fine scales, and when the three companions began to don it, it was skin-tight. Erol, like the other men, looked away as Mariala shed her gown and slipped into the new outfit, but he noticed the Grinning Stranger leaned forward a bit and ogled her.

Once they were fully clad in the scaly costumes each of the three friends took a clay jar from the satchels they carried and opened them. They then proceeded to nick their thumbs with knives and let several drops of blood drip into each jar. A few minutes later they tossed back the jars and swallowed the contents in a gulp. From the looks on their faces it didn’t taste too good…

At that moment the Grinning Stranger stepped out from the shadows.

“So, you little busybodies just couldn’t mind your own business” he said, his voice harsh and grating, like two wet stones grinding together. “And now it seems you propose to go for swim… well, let me help you on your way!”

As he spoke his body had begun to change… the hat fell from his head, his clothes slid off or tore apart, as he grew… his head shifted grotesquely, becoming wide and bullet-shaped, as his mouth grew wider and wider, revealing rows of jagged, sharp teeth… his back bulged and stretched, flowing away behind him, becoming a fluked tail… his skin turned gray and rough… in a matter of seconds he had become a hideous mixture of man and shark!

Like those within the circle of the pillars Erol stood frozen in shock as this transformation occurred. Before he could think or even move, events exploded. The creature launched itself at Mariala, its mouth closing on her left shoulder, the force of the leap carrying them both backwards and into the dark waters of the Pool.

As Drake and Vulk both cried out in shock, the Port Master yelled a word and slapped the base of the pillar he stood near. Sudden light flared within the Pool, not terribly bright, but enough to dimly reveal Mariala kicking frantically away as her attacker finished his transformation into a very large shark. Erol noted two other dark shapes suddenly appear, moving up from the still-dark depths.

Drake dove into the water, but he immediately resurfaced, sputtering and thrashing, as if drowning. One of the dark shapes moved towards him, even as Vulk leaped into the water on top of his friend, bearing them both down. It almost seemed to Erol that he was trying to drown the smaller man!

After that, things got confusing… the water roiled and churned, refracting and breaking up the dark shapes moving within the pool. Suddenly a great wave of water leapt up, bearing the shark and two strange creatures onto the stones – Erol was drenched by the wave even as he stumbled behind a pillar.

The shark quickly thrashed and flipped itself back into the water, and the other two (who appeared to possess the tails and heads of sharks, but the torsos and arms of men) were not far behind, wielding flukes and tridents to dive again into the fray. For a moment it seemed to Erol that the water took the form of a shining, translucent woman, then all was swirling chaos once more.

The water turned dark with blood as a third figure hurtled up from the depths, a silvery flash in the underwater lights glinting off skin and trident. But this figure attacked the shark-men… a few moments of churning chaos, and suddenly the shark flew up on a great spout of water, slamming down with tremendous force on the stone paving, clearly quite dead. It was followed a few seconds later by the two shark-men, equally dead.

After a moment of silence, as the waters slowly calmed to relative stillness, a silver-haired head broke the surface, calling to the Port Master, who stood stunned amidst the dead bodies.

“We go now to Sha Hesima my friend! Tell Captain Levtor what has transpired, and that his friends will return as soon as they can… I hope…”

With that he turned and dove deep, a long tail of silvery scales flashing out of the water behind him. Erol realized he must be one of the fabled Tritani, the Merfolk. But if that was a true merman, then what were those shark-men? He’d thought for a few minutes that they were mermen…

Port Master Edigar jumped nearly out of his skin when Erol stepped out from behind a pillar to survey the carnage, and his hand flew to his dagger.

“Peace,” called Erol, holding out his empty hands. “I’m a friend.”

It took him a few minutes to convince the Port Master that he was now a member of the Fortune’s Favor’s crew, and not a minion of the Arcutha (as he learned the shark men were called), but once he did the man seemed greatly relieved to have company. And help.

“Come,” he said. “If you are truly a friend then help me get these bodies hidden and this blood removed – if the Arcutha have other spies amongst us, they must not learn what went forward tonight!”

As he spoke he turned towards the body of the great shark, only to gasp as he saw that it was gone – replaced by the bleeding, torn body of the no-longer Grinning Stranger. He exchanged a look and a disbelieving shake of the head with Erol before they both reluctantly bent to grab the body.

They both nearly jumped out of their skins when a deep, harsh voice boomed out behind them.

“What in the Eternal Void is going on here!?”

Devrik’s Story

For hours after the Fortune’s Favor sailed Raven stormed about their room, furious that Devrik had stayed behind because of her. “I am a warrior of the Rethmani! I do not need your constant guardianship! You dishonor us both by abandoning our friends in their hour of need!”

“It’s always their hour of need,” Devrik pointed out, then ducked as she hurled a boot at his head. He then carefully didn’t point out that he’d rescued her twice already from certain death, but she seemed to sense the thought anyway.

“Oh, you lop off a cow’s head and think you’re a hero! And I wouldn’t have been in danger with that crazy Korönian if not for you to begin with!”

Sensing the time for a strategic retreat, Devrik mumbled something about checking on his horse, and made a quick exit. He collected Brann from the inn’s kitchen, where the fast-growing puppy had been gnawing on an old soup bone the scullery girl had given him, and they headed down towards the docks.

Along the way he saw three finches on a rooftop and a black gull suddenly stooping on them, only to be driven off by two falcons… the finches darted to safety. On the docks he noted three kittens frolicking amongst the fishheads, as a mongrel dog slowly crept up on them. But even as the dog pounced on his prey two scarred tomcats leapt from the shadows, and in a whirling chaos of yowls, fur, and blood drove it off.

He restrained Brann from trying to play with the kittens himself, as he doubted the older cats would appreciate the difference in intent, and turned away from the dock. As he headed thru an ally towards the inn, he saw three rats cornered by a terrier…

“Yes, yes,” he grumbled in annoyance, hurrying past. “I get the message already!”

Back in his room Raven was calmer, but no less adamant that he must help their friends. She handed him the case that held his Tarot deck.

“if you don’t believe me, at least see what the cards say.”

“I’ve had enough with the portents today,” Devrik growled, but a reading was, in fact, why he had come back so quickly.

While Raven curled up on the bed, he sat down at the small table near the fireplace and began to lay out the cards… five minutes later he was out the door again, with just time to grab his weapons, heft his pack, and plant a lingering kiss on Raven’s lips.

Half an hour later he was pounding on Magister Vetaris’ door. When the mage finally appeared Devrik dropped his pack with a thump, frowning.

“I’m afraid I’ve made a mistake,” he said. “And i need your help…”

♦

The sun had set several hours later, as Devrik fianlly looked up from the scroll he’d been reading. His head hurt, but he thought he had finally grasped the concept of folded space-time. He turned to explain it to Vetaris, who sat reading a book by the fire.

“Yes, I think you have the essence of it now my boy,” the older man said, smiling. “But let us put it to the test.”

He got up and Devrik followed him out of the house and into town, his pack on his back once again. Passing through the town they climbed the seaward hill east of the Great Temple, called Chalkman’s Hill. There, overlooking the bay, was a circle of ten stones, each of them three meters long, one meter wide , and half a meter deep, and almost hidden in the grass.

“This is not a secret circle of course.” Vetaris spoke for the first time since leaving his house. “But only a few in town know it’s here. It is an open Nitaran Vortex, and if you have properly memorized the location I gave you, as well as mastered the mental shape of control, you should be able to open a gate into the basement of the Port Master’s house in Port Kethim.”

“Can’t you just open the vortex for me?” Devrik asked, not for the first time. “We don’t have time for this, especially if I fail and end up on the Greater Moon!”

“I could, but where would the lesson be in that for you?” Vetaris smiled in reply. “No , I’m quite certain you’ll do just fine, Devrik.

“Oh, but I wouldn’t try this with any other portal… you still have a lot to learn before you’re ready for free-form Gate control!”

At his gesture Devrik reluctantly stepped into the stone circle… yes, he could sense the power here now. How had he missed it before, back in the caves with Hanol? It seemed so obvious now… but could he control it?

He framed the structure in his mind, saw it all from start to finish – where he was, where he wanted to be, and how to get there. Then he opened his mind and let the Principle pour in…

There was a blinding flash of non-color that he was pretty sure was only in his own mind, a moment of vertigo, and suddenly everything was pitch black. He wasn’t on the hilltop in Devok, overlooking the bay, certainly… but was he where he was supposed to be?

After several minutes of stumbling about in the dark, bumping painfully into heavy objects, some with sharp corners, he finally steadied his nerves and summoned the will to call up a small flame. By its flickering light he saw that he appeared to be in a cellar, one crammed with barrels and old furniture. And over there were the stairs…

He carefully made his way through what was obviously someone’s home, but there seemed to be no one around to stop him or question his presence. Stepping out what he took to be the front door he saw a circle of white pillars surrounding a pool of dark water. Yes, this was exactly as Magister Vetaris had described! He’d made it!

With a fierce grin he drew his sword and headed towards the two figures he could see standing within the circle of pillars, dimly lit by a greenish glow from the water. What he saw when he stepped into the circle made his draw drop momentarily… what had been the body of a rather large shark suddenly shifted and seemed to flow, and in its place lay the bloody body of a naked man!

As the two living men bent to lift the body Devrik suddnely boomed out “What in the Eternal Void is going on here!?”

Joining Forces

The two men jumped like they’d been struck by lightning, and dropped the body. The smaller of the two, and the youger, reached down and grabbed up a trident that lay on the stones near his feet. The older, portly man reached for his dagger.

“If you are in league with these monsters,” the older man cried, “you’ll not get the chance to your master!”

“Hold, hold!” replied Devrik. “I know nothing of these creatures, though it’s obvious something uncanny is going on. I suspect my friends are thick in this business – I come seeking them.”

“And who might these friends be?” asked the younger man, keeping the trident level and steady. It was obvious to Devrik that he was a trained fighter, and no stranger to the weapon he held.

“I seek Vulk Elida, Mariala Teryne, and Drake Bartoff,” he answered. “I am Devrik Askalan.”

The older man seemed unsure, but the younger one lowered his weapon fractionally. “It’s possible.” he said to the older man. “This afternoon, in the inn, they did mention a companion who was not with them, a man named Devrik. Of course, anyone in the common room might have overheard that…”

“It’s easily resolved,” the older man said. “If he is who he says, then Captain Levtor will be able to identify him.”

“Of course Levtor knows me! Yes, let us seek him out and resolve this matter… I fear my friends may have need of me, and I mistrust this delay!”

Captain Levtor was surprised to see Devrik, but confirmed to the Port Master that he was, indeed, who and what he claimed. He also told Devrik that the others had asked him to make a berth on the ship for the younger man, whose name was Erol.

Once identities had been established the four men retired to the captain’s cabin to discuss the night’s events. The others knew only pieces of the story, but Devrik was able to piece enough of it together to realize that he must follow his friends under the waves.

“Captain, do your charts show the location of Sha Hesima? Could we find it from the surface?”

“Only in a genreral way, I’m afraid,” the captain replied. “The merfolk are wary of letting us surface dwellers know precisely where their cities lie.”

“If only I had the water breathing potions I’d been given, this would be easier,” Devrik brooded. “But I gave mine to Mariala…”

Erol brightened at this, as he pulled around a satchel he’d been carrying. “Mariala had set this down while she changed, and she never had time to pick it up. Maybe…”

Devrik snatched the bag from him and started to rummage around. With a pleased grunt he pulled forth two white jars, sealed in blue-green wax and marked with a trident sigil.

“Billiant! Get me near the city Captain Levtor and I’ll find the others now, dropping in from above!”

“We’ll find them,” corrected Erol. “There’s no chance on or under the waves that I’m going to miss this! Besides, I owe your friends for their kindness to me…”

Devrik eyed him briefly, then nodded.

“Captain, gather the crew! How long until we can sail?”