8-14 Metisto 3020

After a memorable and informative breakfast with Captain Tafas in the wardroom of the Queen Ariela, the bulk of the day after the final battle with the Mi-Go and their human thralls was spent in meetings with the Prince Palatine and his advisors. In fact, it took several days to entirely wrap up all the loose ends involved, to the satisfaction of the Prince. One of the last bones of contention to be resolved was the fate of the six surviving alien weapons.

“I really must insist that the Imperium retain possession of these infernal devices,” Prince Rapareth finally ended the debate. “We appreciate all that you have done Cantor Ser Vulk, you and all of your companions. But these devices are simply too powerful to be allowed to drift about the world, much less the Empire, unguarded.”

“They would hardly be unguarded, your Highness,” Vulk objected. “As I think we’ve amply demonstrated, we are capable of protecting them. And we haven’t yet even figured out how to make them work, so it is not as if they could be casually used, even if one were to fall into the wrong hands.

“But, we understand your Highness’ point,” he continued at the Prince’s frown. “You’ve indicated that it is the wish of Lord Kavyn, the Imperial Myrmytron, and of his Imperial Majesty himself, that these should be taken for study in Avantir. We, of course, would not dream of gainsaying such authority. Therefore, we relinquish our claim on the devices, and turn them over herewith.”

Devrik stepped forward and set a largish iron-bound box of oak on the table before the Prince. He handed the major domo, Karl Esfantor, an iron key and stepped back. It had in fact been the major domo, a fellow agent of the Star Council, who had convinced the Hand to relinquish their claim on the weapons. The servant opened the box, revealing the six silvery disintegration pistols, set in form-fitting indentations of blue velvet. The Prince nodded, then cocked an eye at Vulk.

“Reports of my agents indicate there were seven of these things,” he said mildly. “Yet here I see only six.”

“There may have been seven, your Highness,” Vulk agreed diffidently. “In the myriad confusions of that day, it’s hard to be sure. There were the three we recovered from the triple ambush, two were recovered from the Bonding House battle, and finally there was the leader’s weapon, recovered from the Azure Rose. If there was another, we have not found it, though we searched for it. As did your own agents, I believe, your Highness?”

“Indeed. I had men going over every inch of the Bonding House yard, the docks, and every street and alley between the two places. They practically dismantled that flophouse where the last of the enthralled dock workers had been housed. If a seventh weapon existed, I suppose it may have gone into the harbor, during the final confrontation around and aboard the Azure Rose… I have divers searching, of course, but so far nothing. Ah well, we may never know, I suppose.”

Vulk bowed in agreement, and after a few last pleasantries, he, Devrik, and Mariala departed the palace. “Now perhaps we can focus on selling our cargo,” he sighed in relief. Mariala agreed, but Devrik seemed sunk in his own thoughts and didn’t indicate he’d heard…

∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆

Korwin had absented himself from all of the meetings at the palace, after that first mid-morning debriefing on the day of the last battle with the aliens and their thralls. After finally explaining his reasons for fleeing the Empire to his companions, they now understood his reluctance to draw more official attention to himself than was absolutely necessary. They were more than willing to help him in the endeavor, making excuses as needed to explain his absence. In any case, someone had to take care of the repairs on the Wind of Kasira, and re-crewing her, and he was the natural choice.

Two days after the battle of the docks, on the 7th of Metisto, Korwin and Mate Grünby spent the morning at the Seaman’s Guildhall, recruiting new crew members. They had accepted three candidates, from the dozen or so who had applied, and were just leaving to find a decent tavern for lunch, when Korwin heard his name called out. He turned in sudden fear, ready to bolt if it was some Imperial soldier wanting to arrest him – and then let out a surprised bark of laughter.

“Rathir! Belith! What in the name of Tyvos the Mighty are you two doing here?” he cried, embracing his older cousin enthusiastically, and then his son. The two men returned the greeting just as enthusiastically, grinning and back-slapping as Yonas looked on in bemusement.

“Well, we’re here on business, of course,” Rathir K’Jorul replied. He was a tall man, with dark hair, graying at the temples, and gray eyes. He was the nephew of Korwin’s adopted mother, and currently the head of a successful trading family out of the Kunya-Kehsdan city of Tem-Nathar. “But the real question, cousin, is what are you doing here? Last we’d heard…” his smile faltered for a moment, and he looked doubtful. “That is, the news that reached us…”

“Was not good, I’m sure,” Korwin finished for him, with a heavy sigh. “But I assure you, whatever you heard, it’s likely not true. It’s a long story, but I’m glad for the chance to explain it all to you… we were just headed to find some lunch – oh, I’m sorry, this is Yonas Grünby, Mate to my role of acting Captain aboard the Wind of Kasira. Yonas, my cousin Master Trader Rathir K’Jorul and his son, Captain Belith K’Jorul.” The three men exchanged handshakes and the usual courtesies.

“But Korwin, you say you are Captain of that amazing ship that’s been the talk of the city the last several days?” Belith asked. He was two years older than his cousin, as dark-haired as his father but lacking the gray, and possessed of hazel eyes. Taller than his father by a head, he had a heavy, very fit build, and voice that commanded men and made women swoon. Korwin loved him like a bother, but had always been just a little envious of his good looks. “The most outrageous stories have been circulating, which I’ve been discounting for the most part… but if you’re involved, cousin, then perhaps I was wrong! We’ve even been down to look at her ourselves, haven’t we Father?”

“Yes, and I have so say, I’ve never seen a ship like her before,” the older K’Jorul agreed. “Nothing drastically different, and yet… not quite like anything else. That figurehead, though… might scare off the pirates, I suppose! But seriously, how do you come to captain such a vessel, Korwin, and what of these wild tales..?”

“As I said, it’s all a long story… if I’m going back to when I left the Empire, quite a long story. Do you have time to join us for a meal and a pint, cousins?”

As it happened, they did have the time, having recently concluded their business in the city, and being at loose ends until their ship sailed on the evening tide. Rathir directed them to an unassuming building that proved to house a surprisingly upscale public house, clearly the haunt of merchants, traders and ship owners. The food at the Silver Chalice was exceptional, and there were several more than just a single pint before Korwin had finished giving his relatives the broad outlines of the last year or two of his life.

He’d been forced to leave out any mention of the Star Council, of course, and tried to downplay the more uncanny aspects of some of his adventures with the Hand of Fortune, but there was enough left to make a good yarn. He refused to downplay the recent events on Arapet, however, feeling his cousins deserved to know truth about what might still be lurking out there… they thought they’d rooted out the infestation, but then they’d believed that before, on Arapet…

Both Rathir and Belith had serious looks on their faces as he finally wrapped up his tale with a recounting of the battle on the docks two days earlier. “And now we’re trying to hire a crew and proper captain for the Wind, so we can return to Ukalus and our various responsibilities there.” Korwin took a deep swallow from his ale… tale-spinning was thirsty work.

“But Korwin, now that you’re back in the Empire, shouldn’t you be clearing your name?” Rathir said. “I mean, it’s all well and good to have the confidence of a king and queen, even of some distant, feudal realm, I suppose. But you can’t let that scheming nobleman drive you from your proper place in the Empire!”

“Or, if you’re truly willing to give up on Oceania, you can come to Tem-Nathar,” Belith added. “We can certainly find you a place in the family business, right Father? And a water mage is always in demand at sea.” He turned to Yonas, who had sat mostly silent through the meal and long tale, only occasionally adding a laconic confirmation to some part of the recent events he’d been a part of. “Did he ever tell you of the time – what, five years ago now, I suppose – when he and his master saved my first command from the Keldan pirates?”

The mate allowed as how he hadn’t heard the tale, and Belith proceeded to regale him with the lurid story. Korwin pretended to object, saying it had been nothing, but he was secretly pleased that his cousin remembered it so vividly. Truth be told, it had mainly been his master’s magics that had turned the tide, as it were – he’d been an apprentice then – but his own little flourish with the whirlpool had certainly played a part there at the end.

The afternoon was wearing on as the meal finally came to an end, and the K’Jorul’s had to think about getting back to their ship, but the elder trader raised a hand as Korwin reached for his purse. “No, no, lad, the meal is on me… the tale you spun was more than worth the cost. But before we part, I have an offer to make you.

“What do you say to selling the Wind of Kasira? It would make a spectacular addition to the family’s fleet, and I’m in a position right now to offer you and your friends a generous price for her. Plus passage on our fastest ship back to the eastern lands, if that’s what you all want – or for them alone, if you decide to stay, cousin.”

“Ah, an interesting offer, cousin,” Korwin replied thoughtfully. “But I doubt my friends would agree to such an arrangement. There are… complications I can’t explain, but… no, I think I know their answer. But I can certainly ask, of course.”

“Hmmm, well I thought that might be your answer, and really I can hardly blame you. It is a simply magnificent ship!” Rathir paused, looking down at the table for a moment. When he looked back up his eyes were calculating. “But you say you’re looking for a captain, as well as a crew? What about this – take Belith on as your captain, and give the family the right of first refusal if and when you and your companions decide to sell the vessel. I’d even be prepared to lease her, if it came down to it, although on somewhat less generous terms, of course.”

“Of course,” Korwin said, smiling. “That might actually be attractive to the Hand, the right of first refusal thing, not necessarily the leasing. Although maybe that too, once they were all back home. And Tyvos knows, I’d love to have Belith aboard as our captain! I can fill the role, but I just don’t have the experience… or the temperament, truth be told… to fill it well.”

The next half hour was spent hammering out the terms of Belith’s contract as captain of the Wind of Kasira, to the satisfaction of all parties. Yonas said little, but he was satisfied too… he liked the little blue water wizard well enough, but he had worried about his ability to command a seasoned crew at sea, as opposed to the little jaunt they’d just taken with a crew of lubbers. He knew the K’Jorul family by reputation – it was generally a good one – and he’d been impressed over the last several hours by the men themselves. He was sure the young master would be up to the task, and that was a relief, to be sure.

“Well, I must retrieve my duffle from the Sea Wolf,” Belith said as they prepared to go their separate ways outside the Silver Chalice. “I’ll meet you and Mate Grünby at the Wind of Kasira at, let’s say the first turn of the Dragon watch?”

Too late in the day to do any more hiring, Korwin and Yonas headed back to their ship, Korwin smiling to himself. He was truly fond of his cousin, and excited to have him aboard, but he was also looking forward to Vulk’s reaction. Belith was nearly as tall as the Kasiran cantor, and perhaps even prettier… and Korwin knew his friend would love that hairy chest! But he also knew his cousin was the rare but not unheard of man who had eyes strictly for the women. One way or the other, this should be fun…

∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆

Over the next six days Korwin ceded the task of finding a crew to his cousin, with good will. Belith and Yonas would leave each morning for the Seaman’s Guildhall, and return in the afternoon with a new lot of men. Korwin and a few of the others made an occasional spot check the first day or two, but when it was clear their new captain knew what he was doing, they left him to it.

Devrik was not one of the Hand who concerned himself with how the new captain was doing. He’d met the man that first night, over dinner, and had liked him well enough, as had everyone else. But the fire mage was very much focused on only one thing at the moment, and he spent many hours a day secluded either in his cabin or down in the always-burning forge on the lowest deck of the ship. As the crew roster filled out, his friends made sure that everyone knew not to disturb him and never, under any circumstances, to interfere with the fire in that forge.

Ever since the events on Arapet Devrik had been developing a spell he had long contemplated, but until now not been motivated to pursue. The time and effort involved were considerable, and he had not previously seen much utility for it. But now, with their distant exile and Mariala’s supply of entangled paper running very low, both on this end and the supply they’d left with their friends and family at home, it took on new urgency.

The Far-flung Fire Flame One™ spell, as he’d mentally dubbed it, was a variation and hybridization of several other spells. It would allow two-way communication between widely separated sources of flame, both visual and auditory. He had initially been able to unite two flames about 8 kilometers apart, but that was not remotely what he sought. Everyday, spending at least an hour in deep meditation and intense concentration, he had managed to double the range. Each new remote fire source, be it a peasant’s hearth fire, a burning shrubbery on a wilderness mountain, or a cooking fire on a ship at sea, became the anchor for the next doubling. But he must maintain the fire he had started with – if it ever went out, he would have to start again.

Similarly, if the remote fire was extinguished before he could use it to leap to the next flame, twice as far away, that too would force him back to the beginning. Fortunately, most human-made fires tended to be kept burning, and it wasn’t a problem to rest between castings. The burning shrub on the mountain, however, had been a natural event, no doubt ignited by a lightning strike. He couldn’t risk that it would still be there in twelve hours, and he’d been forced to do a double shift so as not lose all his progress. It had exhausted him, and he was pretty sure he had freaked out the old man he’d briefly spoken to through the flames… but it had worked.

On the 10th of Metisto he finally achieved his ultimate goal with the spell, making contact with the hearth fire in Raven’s quarters at Kar Gevdan. It had been worth all the exhaustion, lost sleep, and strain just to see his wife’s reaction when his bust, in living flame, appeared in her fireplace and spoke to her. Once she had calmed down and finished cursing him out for startling her so – “I most certainly was not frightened, husband! I am a Hunter of the Great Marsh, and I bear the Spearmark… I was merely startled.” – they quickly fell into a talk, sharing all that had happened with themselves in the month since they’d last been together.

Devrik admitted that the strange, precious year they had spent in that mysterious bubble of altered time, in the dead city of Xaranda*, had spoiled him more than a little. Especially the joys of watching their son grow older. “Perhaps it’s time I followed Draik’s lead, and give up this adventuring life, retire to spend his days raising their family with her.

“Oh, my dear husband,” Raven had laughed, her flame-construct head showing every crinkle around her eyes in a thousand shades of orange, yellow, and red. “You’d die of boredom within a year! The only reason you stayed sane in that strange, timeless place for so long was because you had the mystery of our imprisonment to solve, a quest to free us and return us to where we belonged. I fear your memory is playing tricks on you, if you imagine you were content in that bucolic trap.

“Yes, we both made the best of it, and I treasure that mostly-uninterrupted time we had together… I know Aldari certainly adored having so much of his Da’s time. You were there for his first steps, and his first words, as you might not have been in the true flow of time… who knows for sure?

“But there wasn’t a day when you weren’t gnawing at the puzzle, seeking the solution, fighting (and remember, not always just in thought) to break the spell that held us there. You’d not have that in the real world, my love, and you’d not be happy for long without a real challenge, one of life and death. Maybe someday, but not now, not in the prime of your life, with important work yet ahead of you. And I am content with that, even as I miss you.”

Devrik wanted to argue the point, but in his heart he knew she was right. He was torn between his love for her and Aldari, and his love for the life he led in the Hand of Fortune and as an agent of the Star Council. But until now, he’d never been away for more than a month or two; this time, the separation promised to be much longer.

“How do you feel about you and Aldari joining me here, in the Ocean Empire. I have no idea how long it will take us to get home, but if I had you with me, it wouldn’t really matter. And I hear travel is good for the young, broadens the mind and all.”

“And how would we accomplish this feat, love? I thought travel through the Gates was too dangerous still, else you’d be home yourself by now.”

“Too dangerous for us in the Hand,” he agreed. “We know that Vortex bitch can snatch us, even if we don’t yet know for sure how. But Vetaris agrees that it is unlikely she can seize just any random person, at any given time. He agrees that it should be safe for you to travel out, even if we can’t yet travel back. And it’s a very large ship, it should be safe as houses here for you both.”

“Around the Hand of Fortune?” Raven laughed again, her flame image flickering with her amusement. “Unlikely! But I’d still trust our friends, and you, and my own skill, to keep our son safe. So say on, my husband, how may we make this idea of yours come true?”

∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆

While Devrik had immersed himself in his attempts to reach his wife, Toran and Erol had also spent much of their time deep in their own arcane studies. The Guild of Arcane Lore had a modest but fairly comprehensive library in Tishton, and they both took advantage of it. Toran sought a way to increase the damage done by his weapons, especially the subtler thrown weapons such as his taburi and shuriken. He had seen similar effects demonstrated by the monks at the hidden monastery of his training, and was certain he could create something similar.

On the night of the 10th, the same night on which Devrik finally broke though to his wife, Toran succeeded in the first casting of his new Iron Sting spell. It imbued any iron weapon with an energy that was released on throwing, more than doubling the damage the weapon could inflict on a target. Still not going to take the place of his battle-axe, of course, but in the right time and place, it could make a difference.

Erol had less immediate luck with his own spell development, but then he sought to move considerably greater forces. Given their reliance, for the foreseeable future, on a sailing ship for transportation, it had struck him as wise to focus his energies on a spell, or spells, to command the winds. He knew, in theory, much about such powers, but his memories of the great Asakora were growing ever dimmer, and he was forced to rely more and more on actual study… and practical research. The Tishton Guild’s resources proved helpful, but the biggest stumbling block remained experimentation and practical tests of his theories.

No one aboard the Wind of Kasira was anxious to have him experiment while they were at sea, and on land there were few enough places to risk it either. Bringing a tornado down in a heavily populated area was unlikely to win him any friends. Still, he found a spot not far outside the city walls, on a headland overlooking the sea, that let him test out various ideas… and he quickly learned that he’d been wise to take that precaution. It was unlikely anyone would miss that particular section of cliff face, he was certain…

Still, even failures taught you something, and by the time they were ready to sail, he was quite certain he’d be ready for more controlled experiments at sea. Just maybe not when anyone else was around to witness them… plausible deniability, if not by that name, was something he understood instinctively. And he was making progress, it was just a matter of time.

Meanwhile the hiring of the crew went on apace. Each day the ranks grew, and Mate Yonas had more and more to do. The new sail had been put in place within a few days, using some of the store of the strange, very strong canvas already in the Wind’s hold. Similarly, cordage and spars had been available from the existing stores, although he did wonder what the effect would be when they eventually ran out of the alien materials. Still, they were exceptionally durable, so it might be awhile before they had to deal with that problem.

Piet “Stinky” Garhan, and his twin brother Yon “Badger” Garhan, the first of the new hires he and Korwin had made that first day in port, were proving themselves a good investment, especially when allowed to work together… separately each was a decent enough seaman, no complaints there. But put them together, and it was as if they became one mind with four hands. Yonas swore the two of them accomplished the work of three when yoked in unison.

On the 11th of Metisto the Mate was surprised to see a woman amongst the latest batch of recruits. Female sailors were hardly unheard of, but they were uncommon… but this was no sailor. More a lady, really, which was explained when Captain K’Jorul introduced them.

“Mate Grünby, let me introduce you to our new ship’s surgeon, physician Lurin Ar’Hanol. She is a very skilled doctor from my own land, and I feel we’re quite lucky to have her. She travels to the east to study new healing techniques, and so her goals fit well with our needs. Please show her to the surgeon’s quarters, and assign a man to act as her batman and general assistant until she can select her own, once we’re fully crewed.”

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” he said, taking the proffered hand, careful not to grip it to hard… but her own grip was surprising firm. Perhaps not a surprise for a surgeon, he realized. She was not a classical beauty, perhaps, but very compelling in her own way… not unlike the Lady Mariala, he thought. He’d have to keep a weather eye out until the crew became used to her, to make sure no one offered her offense. Although he suspected that she, like Lady Mariala, could take care of herself.

∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆

On the 13th of Metisto the Hand had their first debate over one of Captain K’Jorul’s crew selections. For the most part they had all remained aloof, even Korwin, respecting his expertise and his prerogatives as commander. But the choice of a pilot was critical, and they opted to sit in on the interviews with the four candidates up for consideration. The owners-aboard and the Captain were agreed on the first candidate, Kardeth M’Yud, another native of Kunya-Kesh. K’Jorul apparently knew him by reputation, and didn’t care for what he knew, and both Vulk and Mariala gave definitive “no’s” after a few minutes of questions. The rest of the owners accepted that without demurral, and the man departed, not graciously.

No one felt strongly about Astan Lyir, a middle-aged man from the city-state of Agara, on the Wild Coast, while Captain K’Jorul preferred Akel Quangar, of Ormen in the Three Kingdoms. He was an Imperial, and knew the Archipelago well, with what Belith felt was the proper balance between experience and age. Most of the owners, however, leaned strongly toward a younger man, Arus Salasin of Aldeath, on the island of Thorkin. Also an Imperial, he had an enthusiasm and energy that the adventuresome group appreciated.

Since K’Jorul’s main objection to the man was his relative youth, and therefore inexperience, and nothing more substantial, in the end he acquiesced to the owner’s desire and agreed on their choice. It was not a bad choice, and it was the only time the owners-aboard had shown an inclination to interfere… so far. Besides, his cousin had whispered in his ear that, at 28, he was a bit hypocritical to hold up another man’s youth as a disqualification for a post.

∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆

On the 14th of Metisto the owners-aboard, perhaps to smooth over any hard feelings they imagined might exist over the pilot question, had deferred completely to Captain K’Jorul on whether or not to take on a passenger. Domus Tomas Biswyk, a tall, skinny youth of noble family and substantial means, approached the ship about booking passage, having understood that they intended to travel across the Empire.

“I am what I like to call a “Naturalist,” he’d explained, “that is, one who studies the natural world, from its geology, climates and geography to its plant and animal life. I am particularly involved in developing a personal theory of mine, regarding the origin of species and their development over time, and to further my work I need to study various life forms in as many isolated locales as possible. A tour throughout the Archipelago would be eminently suitable for this purpose.

“Now, I would prefer to hire a ship devoted solely to my own endeavors, but my funds do not allow such a luxury. I am the youngest child of seven, and while my father is inclined to indulge my studies, my oldest sister, and his heir, thinks them merely the foolish fancies of a dilettante, of no practical worth. She is a very practical woman. And since, the second she inherits our father’s title and estates, she will cut off most of my allowance, I have decided it is time to pursue my studies while Father is still hale… and indulgent.”

Those of the owners who took an interest in the matter seemed amused by the near-sighted, clearly sheltered and naive young man, but they left the decision entirely to their captain. Belith was rather amused by the fellow himself, although he was inclined to agree with the sister about the value of his ideas. Still, they had the room, and Biswyk was willing to pay the going rate for a private cabin, so why not?

The next day, the 15th of Metisto, once Domus Tomas had brought aboard his surprisingly large collection of books, crates and cases, the Wind of Kasira set sail on the afternoon tide…

---

*An untold story that will be fully explored in the semi-near future.

29 Sarnia – 3 Metisto 3020

On their return to the surface the Hand of Fortune found a dazed and bewildered populace stumbling out of their homes into the dawn light. The previous day’s overcast had disappeared during the night, and the new day promised to be clear and hot, Korwin sensed. It seemed that, with the severing of the connection between Novendo and the alien dimension, the mind-altering effects of the aliens had entirely vanished – as had the mysterious obelisk in Fisherman’s Square.

Unfortunately, the townsfolk who had been taken “down underneath” to have their brains stored were not restored, nor were those whose bodies had been worn by the foul invaders. The initial joy in town at their sudden deliverance was quickly tempered by grief when it became clear that some 150 souls had been lost during the terrible episode. Everyone seemed to remember the last several tendays both clearly, and yet with a certain glassy detachment… as if it had all happened to someone else.

“I r’member t’all right clear,” Vidalo Karvek tried to explain to Mariala. She had seen him and his son stumbling, dazed and bewildered, out of a house as the Hand made their way – slowly, for the sake of the man Erol and Devrik carried in their make-shift litter – in search of the residence of the town physician’s. She had realized almost at once who they must be, for the boy bore a strong resemblance to both his sister and his father. “Clear… but more like t’were a story I once heard… not like a real t’ing what ‘appened to me, if’n you take my meaning, Lady.”

She’d been pleased to tell him that his wife and daughter were safe, and where they could be found – a relief to her soul in the face of the night’s horrors. He in turn was able to both identify the injured man as Danir Alvador, the local mercantyler who ran the town’s only chandlery, and to lead them to the sought-after physician. As soon as he’d seen them properly arrived, Vidalo and his son had departed to reunite with their family. From Enab’s Steading the news of the visitor’s work overnight would spread quickly, and by afternoon the entire island would come to know of the town’s rescue.

Once they had delivered their burden safely, Devrik insisted on returning to the caverns to make sure that none of the Mi-Go (as several of the formerly enthralled natives insisted the aliens were named) had survived his sterilization efforts. Erol, Korwin and Toran accompanied him, leaving Vulk and Mariala to address the growing crowd of bewildered and frightened townsfolk, who had begun to gather outside the physician’s house.

Vulk used every trick in the herald’s playbook, as well as all the teachings of the Eldaran Church, to calm, reassure and console the people. By the time the others returned with the welcome news that not a trace of the alien infestation remained, the crowd was ready to begin the process of reclaiming their lives. The grieving could begin, now that the survivors were assured of their safety; but Mariala suspected the nightmares would go on for the rest of their fractured lives.

By noon the Hand were able get away from town and return to the Legate’s manor to report on the nights events. They had discovered two of his men still amongst the living, but had found no trace of his guard captain. The confused memories of the two surviving men indicated that the captain had been heavily involved in planning the ship’s route, but what that route supposed to have been they had no idea… they themselves been mostly used as strong backs for building the vessel.

“A pity,” Legate Charkress sighed on learning of the probable fate of his man. “Frongar was a good man, conscientious and capable. No doubt why those… creatures… found him useful. He also knew a great deal about the geography of the Archipelago and the capabilities of the Imperial military, naval history being a particular hobby of his.

“I wonder if his brain ended up in one of those hideous jars you described…” He looked pale and shaken at the thought. He had listened in horrified fascination as the Hand related the terrifying underground events of the previous night, and he now passed around a crystal decanter of very potent rum. His hands were too unsteady to pour for his guests. “I cannot express my gratitude for what you have done sers , m’lady. I fear the debt which the Empire, indeed the world, owes you can never be wholly repaid in this matter, but what ever I can do, rest assured I shall!”

“Well, we just did what any group of highly trained and personally powerful professional adventurers would have done, my lord,” Korwin said modestly. “But it’s nice to be appreciate, ser. As for reward… what are your plans for that ship in your harbor?”

As it turned out, neither the Legate nor any of the townsmen wanted anything to do with the “accursed nightmare ship” and were more than happy to let the Hand of Fortune take it off their quay and their thoughts. Korwin immediately took on the job of getting the vessel fully seaworthy. Thankfully, most of the final outfitting work had already been completed — the ship would have been ready to sail in a day or two. Less good was the fact that none of the townsfolk seemed now to remember anything of the shipwright’s arts… nor wished to set foot on the vessel again, even if they did.

Fortunately, Korwin and the local fishing fleet had enough expertise, between them, to suffice for what remained to be done… even if would take them a bit longer without the efficiency alien mind control and implanted knowledge. The water mage had been worried that finding a crew might prove impossible, but once it was learned that the heroes of the hour would be sailing away in the ominous vessel, a trickle of islanders desperately wishing to get off of Arapet became, if not a flood, at least a solid stream.

One exception to the general feeling of loathing evoked by the ship was Yonas Grünbay. A retired merchant sailor of 60, he had returned to his native island after a full career at sea — almost 40 years before the mast. Childless, and a widower now in the wake of the recent tragedy, there was nothing holding him to Arapet, and too many memories driving him away.

“And whatever her origins, she’s a right beauty,” he’d told Korwin when he approached the mage the next day, as he was beginning to assess the task he faced. “Tightest ship I’ve seen in two score years at sea, Ser, and I’d be more’n happy to be yer mate for the chance to sail her… as long as ’tis far from this acursed island.”

The man was certainly right about the tightness of the vessel. Korwin had just come up from the bilges himself, and been shocked at the almost total absence of water there. All ships leaked to some extent, and new ships were notorious for the amount of water they took on until everything settled into place, with time and usage. But not this ship – and he rather expected that she’d remain tight under sail.

With a few minutes of questioning Korwin quickly realized what a gem he’d lucked across. Although he had studied under a master shipwright, and knew his way around the basics of building and maintaining a vessel, the water mage knew his own limitations. Growing up in a fishing village, in a fishing family, he was certainly a passable sailor; he was even a member of the Pilot’s Guild (although he suspected his dues were probably somewhat in arrears by now). Nonetheless, having a man who had spent his life aboard ship, serving as everything from deck boy to mate, would be a godsend. Or maybe a goddessend…

He accepted Yonas’ offer with alacrity, and immediately turned over the task of interviewing the growing line of people, mostly young men, who wished to sign on. “It’s a relief,” he assured his compatriots over supper that night with the Legate. “He’ll do a much better job than I would’ve, sorting out the utterly hopeless from the merely clueless. I just hope we can find enough likely candidates to properly man the — hey, what are we going to name her, anyway? She has to have a name!”

“Well, The Norn seems like an obvious choice,” Toran offered. “If it wasn’t for his direction we never would have come here in time. So if we’re really taking possession of the thing, maybe we should name it after her.”

“A ship is always a “she,” my non-sea-faring Khundari lout, never an “it”!”” Korwin corrected his friend, laughing. “But that’s actually not a bad name.”

“Yes,” agreed Devrik, reluctantly. “But I feel it’s really Kasira we should be thanking for this victory… and so many of our others, too. Besides, no one else in the world has ever heard of the Norn, nor are they ever likely to. Maybe a better name would be something like… Kasira’s Wind?”

“I think you’re on the right track,” Vulk said, smiling. “But frankly, that sounds like the Lady is passing gas. How about… Wind of Kasira, instead?”

There was a brisk discussion about which sounded more pleasing to the ear, but by the time the dessert wine was being poured a consensus had been reached – Wind of Karsira it would be.

The next day was the first of Metisto and the Shalaran holy day of the Fête of Wisdom. Her friends, with the enthusiastic help of the townsfolks, used the occasion to throw Mariala a belated birthday party. Control of the event quickly slipped out of Vulk’s hands, however, under the relentless enthusiasm of Erala Karvek and her cronies. It quickly grew to encompass a day of thanksgiving and remembrance for the town, a bon voyage for those leaving, and a christening ceremony for the ship, on top of the birthday.

After a bottle of wine was broken across her prow, formally naming the Wind of Kasira, Legate Charkress opened his manor to the town, and the party grew so large that it spilled out onto the Residence’s grounds, with tables set up on the lawns and under the trees. It was a beautiful summer night , and the combined birthday celebration and wake went on until well past midnight. Speeches were made, toasts were offered – to the birthday girl, to the town’s saviors, and in memory of the towns dead.

After accepting universal congratulations for having achieved 26 years, and once the tone of the event turned somber as the evening (and the wine) went on, Mariala slipped away to the small Eldaran temple at the edge of the town. As with all such rural places, it was made to do duty for all 16 of the Immortals venerated by the Church. She knelt before the small alcove dedicate to Shala and, for a turn of the glass, offered up her usual holy day offering of deep meditation.

In the end she didn’t feel it had been her best offering, however… she was still too shaken by the horrors she’s witnessed, and the disturbing implications that such things could exist anywhere in a rational cosmos. With one last fervent prayer to Shala that such things might never again find their way into her world, at least, she rose and stepped outside.

Reaching into the scrip at her waist she pulled forth a small ceramic vial, and broke the wax seal covering the stopper. A sharp, astringent scent wafted up and sent a thrill down her spine. She lifted the vial to her lips, then paused… this was the last dose of Lyrin oil she had, and she’d been putting off using it, despite the increasing cravings. But she very much feared that it was her semi-withdrawal that had caused the terrible misfiring of her Fire Nerves spell two nights ago in the caverns… and she couldn’t afford such a mistake again.

But they would be home in a few days, no more than half a tenday, surely… and then she would be able to renew her supply. She might even be able to acquire more in this larger town, Tishton, they were sailing for tomorrow… the Legate had said it was actually a city of some size, a minor provincial capital. Of course it was a minor provincial capital of the Ocean Empire, and Lyrin was most certainly illegal under Imperial law. Not as frowned upon as more dangerous substances, perhaps, but in a land unfamiliar to her it would be foolish to try and procure any illegal drug. Probably. Not unless the need became dire…

But surely it wouldn’t! The Legate assured them there was a Nirtaran Portal on Chakal, and once they located it Vulk or Devrik would have them home in a trice! With a firm nod, she tossed back the vial and let the cool liquid pour down her throat, its blue electricity lighting up her mind…

• • •

The Hand had expected to sail the next day on the morning tide, but circumstances quickly dashed that hope. Mate Grünbay had chosen the 22 most likely candidates from the fifty or so who had applied. But all save four were landsmen, and two days had not been enough to prepare them to crew a vessel the size of Wind of Kasira.

As this morning’s fiasco with the rigging, the sails, and the crows nest had proved, Korwin thought sourly. Nothing was damaged beyond repair, and there were no actual deaths, so perhaps the fiasco had had a salutary effect on his would-be crew. Yonas assured him he’d seen worse… although when pressed he couldn’t say where, exactly.

But the near disaster had made it impossible for them to make the morning tide, and there was not a chance in all of Korön’s eight hells that Korwin or the Mate were going to risk the evening tide and a night sailing. Not with this mob of eager but mostly inept “sailors.” Under Yonas’ withering gaze the four experienced seamen spent the remainder of the day leading the ‘lubbers in several more runs through the various most vital shipboard tasks. Which left Korwin more time than was probably good for him to go over his plotted course again… on the other hand, it also allowed him time for a project he’d had to set aside earlier, under the press of events…

That evening at dinner, once again at the Legate’s table, more bad news was waiting. Mariala, looking paler than usual and with a certain unusual tension in her face, announced that she had heard back from Master Vetaris via her entangled parchment. Given the limited writing area, and the need to conserve the limited sheets each possessed, he had been forced to brevity and bluntness.

“In short, his mother is still at large, and the Star Council has yet to determined how she was able to hijack us as she did when we gated last winter. They believe it has to do with our auras – each person’s is utterly unique – but with no way to counter it, they advise that we would be foolish to travel via Nitaran Gate just now. I gather he is avoiding such travel himself, and the rest of the Council is using it only in urgent cases. No one is certain whose auras she may have… captured.”

This news upset everyone, to some degree, but it hit Devrik particularly hard. He and Raven had been in communication via the entangled paper Mariala had given them, and both had been eagerly anticipating a heated reunion in the near future. He very much feared his wife would take this news even worse than he was… and by the Void, at this rate would his son even recognize him when he did make it home?

“How long will it take to sail us home?” he demanded of Korwin once the news had sunk in.

“That’s… hard to say,” his friend replied, calculating madly in his head. He was no more pleased than Devrik at the looming prospect of having to sail the entire length of the Empire, if for other reasons. “No less than two months, and that’s assuming we can hire a competent crew and pilot. I wouldn’t even try it with the lot we have now, frankly.

“We might shave some time if we make for the Gulf of Kildora, then travel overland through the Republic and the Savage Mountains. But that could also end up taking longer, perhaps much longer, depending on… well, a lot of things we can’t control.”

It was a peeved and disgruntled Hand of Fortune that retired that night, and only Erol slept completely soundly. Toran, while not feeling any urgent need to get home quickly, was nonetheless more than a little apprehensive about an extended sea voyage. A few hours from Arapet to Tishton had seemed relatively bearable; but two or more months on the ocean?! Umantari folk legends notwithstanding, the Khundari were not made of stone, and some few of them could actually swim. But you’d never prove it by him, Toran reflected glumly as he lay awake that night – he would sink like a stone, straight to the bottom!

He’d survived several short voyages on the Sea of Ukal without undue stress (however, not with no stress), but those had been, well, short. And on a sea he was assured was relatively calm and placid. And shallow. The Shattered Sea was quite another matter! Not, he supposed, that drowning in 10 meters of water, as opposed to 1000 meters, would really matter.

One bad storm, one rogue wave, and he could find himself sleeping with the fishes forever. If he could operate a Gate himself, he’d be inclined to take the risk, but he doubted the others would agree. And he now bitterly regretted the loss of the key to the Fane of Gheas! If that still worked, he’d take his chances with its random travel in a heartbeat, ship and ocean both be damned!

The next morning, in the pre-dawn light, the Hand stood on the quay, saying goodbye to Legate Chakress and many of the the locals who had risen to see them off. The Legate handed Vulk a satchel, sealed with the Imperial Seal.

“I was up quite late, polishing the draft we worked up yesterday recounting… recent events. I appreciate your taking on the duty to deliver my report to the Prince Palatine yourself. In the past I might have used the excuse of my gout to avoid traveling, but it hasn’t bothered me since your treatment, Brother Vulk. The truth is, I simply cannot leave my charge here at this time. I failed to protect these people once, but I am determined to do all that I can to get them through the aftermath.”

He leaned in close and spoke for Vulk’s ear only. “Thank you as well for your spiritual guidance these past few days, Brother. Your counsel has brought me back to my faith in my darkest hour, and I will not falter again.” The two men clasped forearms and Vulk made a simple benediction over the older man’s bowed head. Then the Legate stepped back and turned to address the group.

“I wish for you to have this, as remembrance of your work here and of me, as you voyage forth today.” He opened a second boiled leather case he carried, revealing the beautiful spyglass they’d all peered through that first day. “I have no heirs to leave it to in any case, and I can think of no fitter place to bestow it than upon the Hand of Fortune. I’m certain that old Degalith himself would be proud to know his handiwork was so well given.” Mariala accepted for the group, amid their grateful murmurs of surprise and gratification.

While this was going on, and the last of the supplies were being taken aboard, Vidalo Karvek and his family pushed through the crowd, seeking Korwin. The smith (with the death of his master, no longer an apprentice) handed him a small bundle wrapped in a blue cloth. They spoke quietly for a moment, and Korwin tried to give him some coins, but the man refused them, gesturing to his smiling family. Korwin shrugged, and bowed acknowledgment of the point.

When the family moved off to speak with Mariala the water mage looked around for Toran. He found him near the gangway, staring moodily down at the dark, shifting waters between the quay and the ship. The Khundari looked up at his friend’s approach and smiled wanly. “Looking forward to your first command, Korwin?” he asked diffidently.

“Oh, I suppose so, if I wasn’t so nervous,” Korwin replied in a burst of unusual frankness. “Oh, maybe I shouldn’t say that out loud – aren’t captains supposed to be inscrutable and never show any doubt or weakness?”

Toran gave a genuine laugh at that. “Yes, that’s what they tell you in any command training – never let your people see your doubts or fears. And for good reason, I now realize – you’re words do not inspire great confidence in me, I must confess.”

“Ah, well, maybe this will do a better job of easing your mind, then,” Korwin said. “I know you do not love the water, with some reason.” He had tried to teach the Shadow Warrior how to swim last summer, and it had not gone well. After the wet, angry Dwarf had finally stomped off a wet, frustrated Korwin had had to admit he had a point.

Now, with a flourish, he held out the small blue-wrapped bundle. With a quizzical glance at the taller man, Toran took it. Folding back the cloth he found two bronze armbands, simple but clearly well made. The traditional ancient Oceanian key design was chased in silver around the center of each band, and the hinges and clasps were made of black steel.

“They’re very nice, my friend, but the last thing I need to ease my… concerns… is more weight.”

“Ah, but these are not what they seem,” Korwin said with barely suppressed excitement. “I had our friend Vidalo make these, and in the forging I imbued them with Avikoran Principle, in the form of a spell of buoyancy. Wear these around your biceps while we’re at sea, and even if the ship and all the rest of us go under, you’ll still be bobbing around on the surface like a large, hairy cork.”

Toran looked at the armbands for a moment, too surprised to say anything. Despite Korwin’s penchant for being abrasive and irritating at times, he’d always rather liked the Oceanian. And he had certainly shown his courage and worth in battle in recent months. But such generosity and thoughtfulness was… unexpected, to say the least.

“Thank you, my friend,” he said at last, clasping forearms with the other man. “It’s the most thoughtful gift that, I pray to Gheas, I’ll never have to use!”

“Yes, I hope so too,” Korwin laughed, gratified his gift had gone over well. “I’m sorry there’s no time to test it out before we sail, but even so I hope that it will ease your mind. Vidalo tested it out on young Borin not an hour ago, in the quenching tank at the forge. Worked like a charm, no pun intended, kept the lad afloat and right-side-up – couldn’t even push him under by main strength, he reports.”

This allayed some of Toran’s unvoiced concerns, to be sure. But he was still determined to test it himself… as soon as he could find some suitably shallow water, of course… he certainly wasn’t going to just jump into the sea!

The last surprise of the morning, or so Korwin sincerely hoped, eyeing the frenetic motion of his crew as they prepared to depart, was the breathless arrival of Danir Alvador, the man Vulk and Devrik had saved from vivisection five nights ago. He had a duffel bag over his shoulder and seemed dressed for travel.

“Wait! Wait for me!” The man called out as two men were preparing to draw up the gangplank. At a nod from Korwin they allowed the man to board, and he paused to catch his breath, rubbing absently at his belly. Envisioning the terrible scar that must still be there, hidden by the man’s clothes, Korwin shuddered inwardly. Vulk, stepping down from the poop deck where he, Devrik and Mariala had been watching preparations, looked concerned.

“Master Alvador!” he called. “Are you alright? It’s good to see you up and about, but it’s probably too soon for much strenuous exercise. What brings you here so urgently?”

“To put it bluntly, Cantor Vulk, I wish to accompany you, and offer my services to you all as a guilded mercantyler.”

“What? But what about your business? Who will run the chandlery?” Vulk was taken aback by this sudden offer. He had been down each day to check on his patient, given that the local physician was completely out of his depth in such a case. Having mixed Alvador’s blood with one of the remaining undifferentiated Baylorium doses that first morning, he’d finally been able to administer the specific curative just yesterday. Still, he was surprised at how well the man was doing, the miraculous powers of Draik’s elixir not withstanding.

“Oh, my apprentice is well able to take over running the business… as he’s been telling me for several years now,” Alvador chuckled. “And in any case, I don’t think there will be much business on Arapet in the coming years. Even before this tragedy it was a dying place.

“But that aside, I owe you my life, you and your friends. And this is the way I can best begin to pay back that debt. I understand you have a load of strange goods aboard, left by… those things…” His face darkened momentarily at the memory of his torturers, but he quickly shook it off. “I don’t know how much you know of such things, but it will be difficult to sell them on your own… the Guild frowns on its members doing direct business with unguided persons, and the black market is chancey at best.”

Vulk considered the man’s words thoughtfully. His experience overseeing the Fortune’s Favor’s trading voyages meant he was well aware of the prickliness of the Merchant’s Guild – it’s why that ship’s captain was also a member of that organization. There was no denying it would be handy to have a mercantyler aboard to handle the trading, especially one familiar with the Empire… and truth to tell, he’d not been looking forward to handling the matter himself.

But he was concerned about this idea that Alvador had about owing any debt, to Vulk or the others. The man had told anyone who’d listen about his dramatic rescue from the horrific death he’d been in the middle of, and there were all too many eager ears ready to hear his (admittedly quite vivid and well-told) story. His enthusiasm for the Hand of Fortune, along with that of Erala Karvek’s, had gone a long way to fueling the accolades the town had heaped upon them at the big party, and since.

“Well, whatever you’re going to decide, Vulk, it needs to be now,” Korwin growled as he went up the steep stairs to the poop deck. “The tide is moving, and we need to be doing the same. Now!”

Vulk smiled at the mercantyler and gestured toward the rear cabins. “Let’s step into the captain’s cabin and discuss this further, Master Alvador,” he said. The merchant grinned back and hefted his duffel…

A moment later the last ropes were cast off and the ship began to pull away, warped out her berth by two rowed longboats. Despite a few tense moments, once they were far enough out the inexperienced crew of the Wind of Kasira managed to get her out of Arapet harbor without fouling her rigging or running her aground. With the morning sun on the starboard bow and a favorable wind at her back, the sails were hoisted and the ship glided into the future to the fading cheers of the townsfolk gathered on the quay…

The Hand returned to Zurhan in the mid-afternoon of 21 Sarnia, and immediately reported to the Chancellor and Master Vetaris on the bizarre events around Hart’s Lodge. The King was indisposed just then, but the Chancellor assured them he would pass on the full report. He also reported that their interrogation of the Darikazi slaver/spies that Erol and Mariala had captured, the few that had survived, had yielded very little.

“The most we’ve learned is that they were based in Gevdan Town,” the Chancellor reported with a sigh. “And that one, possibly two, of their number remained behind.

“As grateful as we are that you exposed them, I could wish you’d left rather more of them alive. Only two of the survivors were actual Darikazi; the rest were merely locally flunkies who knew almost nothing.”

“The Korönians were never going to give up easily,” an unrepentant Erol shrugged. “We really had no choice, they seemed determined not to be taken alive.”

Mariala looked at her friend with a raised eyebrow, but said nothing. At that moment a knock at the door interrupted the conversation. A courier from Kar Gevdan had arrived with an urgent message for the Baron’s nephew and his friends.

It seemed that some strange going-ons had been occurring in the town below the castle. Strange animals had appeared in the streets, there were reports of ghosts and even the dead rising up, and several people had gone missing. Lord Tynal’s own men had investigated, but aside from killing a few stray beasts, including a silver-back bear, had been able to learn nothing… aside from a strong desire to avoid the Low Town, apparently.

The Devrik’s cousins were with the army, preparing for the spring campaign, so the Baron wondered if his nephew and his boon companions might be free to come and investigate themselves… it seemed very much in their wheelhouse. He reported that Raven and his grand-nephew were fine, nothing uncanny had yet penetrated the castle, bur they missed Devrik.

“I had been preparing to send my own investigators to pursue this matter of the Darikazi,” the Chancellor said, looking thoughtful as Vulk finished reading the message (Devrik had handed it off to his friend to read aloud, once he’d perused it himself). “If it is your intention to accede to Baron Gevdan’s request, might I impose upon you once again? If you could look into this matter of the remaining spies at the same time, the Crown would be grateful…”

“We’d be happy to find the remaining slavers,” Erol said before anyone else could reply. “I assume we’re going, right Devrik?”

“Well, I’m going of course,” the warrior-mage growled. “I’d appreciate the rest of you coming, of course, but I know it’s been a tough several days…”

“Oh, of course we’re coming with you,” Vulk said, to the nods and murmured agreement of the others. “The Hand sticks together, after all!”

“But I assume we won’t be haring off this evening,” Mariala added with a hard look at Devrik. She knew his obsessiveness when it came to any danger to his family, however remote. “So I suggest we find ourselves a decent meal and then retire early. An early start will get us to Kar Gevdan with plenty of time to investigate.”

Devrik agreed with a grunt and a shrug… he had been planning on leaving at once, but his friend was right. It would be well after dark before he could arrive, and there seemed little enough danger to his family… and he knew his uncle was fully capable of protecting them, if it came to it.

As the Hand departed the royal castle to find a decent inn for a hot meal, Maser Vetaris accompanied them as far as Execution Square, filling them in on his own activities and the Council’s plans for the upcoming campaign to mop up the last of the late, but not lamented, Laravad’s mercenary forces.

“Vox has proved very capable on the last mission upon whichI sent him, spying out enemy positions in the west,” the older man concluded. “I’ve asked him to travel with the army for now, so he may not rejoin you for awhile.”

With that he waved them on to food, suggesting the Ample Eel as a good choice, and turned to make his way to the Ukalus embassy he was calling home these days. The Hand took his suggestion, and agreed that it was, indeed, a fine choice… Haplo tried not to think of it as a last meal, but who knew what the ‘morrow would bring?

The chest in the chambers of the Winter King proved to be a treasure trove indeed, and well worth the time it took for the Hand to defeat its final protection. Even with the Gynatari wizard dead, the natural power of the Avikor sanctum continued to oppress rival powers, most especially Devrik’s. But with the malevolent presence of the Winter King removed, Korwin was, quite literally, in his element.

Nonetheless, if took him well over an hour to sublimate away the block of magical ice that had encased the chest. The others explored the rest of the complex as he worked, but found nothing of any great interest, All were gathered back in the treasury room as the last of the ice fell away. It took Toran and Korwin’s combined strength to open the lid, and their eyes widened at what lay within.

Toran’s hands immediately reached out to lift up a blue velvet-lined tray that held six cut gemstones, and he avidly examined and appraised each one, a deeply Khundari glitter in his dark eyes. There were two chrysolites, a diamond, a garnet, an emerald and the most perfect sapphire he’d ever seen.

“These gems are… staggering,” he told the others. “Their cut, their clarity, their size – these are literally the sort of gems that end up in a kingdom’s crown jewels! I’m not the expert that some of my cousins are, but I’d guess these stones to be worth close to 70,000 silver pennies in any Umantari land… and more in a Khundari realm.”

“Maybe crown jewels was exactly what the Winter King intended to use them for, once his conquests were complete,” Mariala suggested, lifting up the emerald to admire the verdant fire in its heart. Green had always been her favorite color…

But as compelling as the gemstones were, there were other items in the chest that generated awe, curiosity and puzzlement. One by one the various pieces were lifted out and examined, and everyone kept an eye on Korwin. There were four jars or vials, the contents of which were not immediately obvious; three written works, all apparently from the Early to Late Imperial Age; two pieces of jewelry, a somewhat garish ring and a stunning circlet of platinum; a wand of bone or ivory; a gladiator’s net and a round shield; and finally, the most puzzling object of all, a small stone-looking vase with a rough stone sphere floating just inside its mouth.

All three of the written works were in what appeared to be an archaic form of the Gyantari native tongue Ruzuvic, written in the Razali script of those people. No one spoke or read the language, but Toran pointed out that their Gyantari friend Ergaboreth presumably still waited for them at home in Shalara, and might be able to help translate.

As they packed up all the treasures for transportation back to Zurhan, Korwin handled each one in an attempt to determine something of their nature or history, while the other mages cast various spells to detect any magical energies. Everything except the vials and books had some touch of the magical, some more strongly than others. The odd vase/sculpture/object d’mystery was more ambiguous – until Korwin touched it. The instant headache and tingling in all his limbs was proof enough that it was an Ancient artifact.

As they were preparing to leave the Halls of Winter King for the last time, Devrik revealed that he would be leaving them for a side trip of his own. He had realized that they were not all that far from Dor Dür, in a direct line, and the old widow in Winter’s Forge had told him of mountain trails that would get him there without too much trouble, even in winter. He planned to collect Raven and Aldari and bring them to Kar Gevdan.

“We’ll return by the southern roads, of course,” he explained. “Then take ship in Tyendus, down the Silvereye up the Arakez Canal, and finally a sea-going ship from Lirilal to Gevdan. I expect to see you all in less than a tenday, if the weather holds.”

The journey back to Winter’s Forge for the others was relatively easy, and they decided to spent the night there again. Mariala and Vulk were invited to stay with the widow Arella, while the others made do as before. For most of the townsfolk the Hand offered up vague comments about their trip, the thrill of being so close to history, blah, blah, blah. But for Arella, the two friends told the entire story. The old woman was enthralled, and thrilled to have been proven right – both in her fear of the imprisoned giant-sorcerer and in her accurate assessment of the group.

They left early the next morning, but took a more leisurely pace, not least because Vulk was thoroughly entranced by his new staff, pausing often to play with it. Or, as far as the others could tell, just sit and stare at it intensely. But the weather was very fair, if cold, and no one was in a particular hurry. The group arrived back in Zurhan in the mid-morning of 25 Novara, just ahead of a major winter storm. By that afternoon they were closeted in an intimate, fire-warmed room with Master Vetaris, the King and the Crown Princess, relating all that had unfolded in the mountains as the snow blanketed the city.

Three days later was Devrik’s 26th birthday, and the Hand was back at Kar Gevdan, when Devrik surprised them all by arriving that afternoon with his wife Raven and their son the wee baby Aldari, having made record time. Devrik seemed strangely glad to see his friends, hugging them each in turn with some heartfelt words of greeting. Even Korwin.

“By Kasira, you act like you haven’t seen us in a year,” Vulk laughed, feeling to make sure his friend hadn’t cracked any ribs. Devrik smiled at him oddly.

“You don’t know the half of it, old friend,” he’d sighed. “I’ll tell you all about it, but not tonight… tonight we party!”

Indeed, the Baron decreed a celebration that night to mark the return of his nephew, and the arrival of his niece-in-law and grand-nephew. It was attended by all Devrik’s local family, their friends, and a significant portion of the surviving Tharkian nobility. The latter were mainly there, Devrik thought somewhat cynically, because the Crown Princess Relina was a guest herself.

Vox had returned from his own visit to the south the evening before the party, to Haplo’s relief – he wouldn’t be the only relative newcomer at the celebration. At the dinner Vox treated him to that night, at the finest inn in Zurhan, he realized he’d really missed the wandering bard and his story-telling skills. He wasn’t sure how much of his tale of southern intrigue and danger he believed, but he enjoyed it anyway.

Both men were, surprisingly, instantly taken with Devrik’s son when they met him the next day. The boy seemed enthralled by Haplo’s silver hair and Vox’s violet eyes, and they both readily agreed to take charge of the babe when his mother needed a break, competing to see who could make him laugh the most.

“Although, you say he’s not yet a year old?” Vox had said to Mariala, once Raven had gone off with Princess Relina to help her prepare for the party. “I don’t know much about children, but he seems… much older than that to me. I mean, I don’t think I was talking at this age…”

“Well, yes, he does seem to have grown tremendously since last I saw him,” Mariala admitted, playing pat-a-cake with the… well, no longer a baby, really… and frowned in puzzlement. “Still, he’s a rather special boy, so maybe he’s just a fast grower, amongst his other… talents.”

The birthday itself was a relatively restrained affair, thanks to the presence of the Princess, but once the royal and noble guests had departed the next morning, the party had continued for another two days, in typical Olvânaali fashion. While the men reveled in the drinking, contests of strength and epic story telling, Raven had had quite enough after that first day, and retired with the baby to the chamber the Baron had given over to the use of his nephew and niece. Mariala joined for some quiet talk, having had enough of the carousing herself. The two women had always gotten on well, but this was the first time in a long while that they’d had to just enjoy one another’s company. They shared stories of their respective, and very different, youths and Mariala was able to provide a different perspective on the tales of the Hand’s adventures than Devrik shared with his wife.

It was also where Mariala learned what had really transpired on their recent trip from Dor Dür. Suddenly Aldari’s amazing growth spurt made more sense! She entirely agreed with Raven’s request that they keep the story private, just another secret of the Hand.

Most of the men, meanwhile, were variously incapacitated over the three day celebration by sex, drink, and ballads… and a few fights, none of them fatal, thankfully. The Baron did opine, with apparent sadness, that this latter fact was proof of the decline of his proud folk into the decadence of “civilization.” But that not withstanding, he declared the celebration a success – just before he passed out over his mead horn.

The first of Margas finally saw the company sobering up (and nursing hangovers at differing levels of legendary). Raven was adamant that the celebration of her son’s first birthday, a tenday hence, would be a quiet family affair. Even Lord Tynal hesitated to argue with her implacable certainty on the matter, and left the matter entirely to the mother, Mariala and his own daughter, Nina. Princess Relina herself added a few suggestions, and a small purse, when she visited again for the celebration of the Midwives’ Festival on the 5th.

In between their own studies, sparring workouts and the on-going examination of the items recovered from the Winter King’s treasury, each member of the Hand of Fortune worked on a gift for the wee baby Aldari. Each gift was meant to be a unique reflection of themselves for their honorary godson to remember them by as he grew older.

The day of the party was gray, wet and cold, but the Great Hall of Kar Gevdan was warm and well-lit with two large fires, scores of candles in chandeliers and sconces, and bronze braziers scattered about the tables. The blue and silver decorations of the winter season festooned the walls and windows, and Vulk invoked the Immortals’ blessings before the feast began.

While the guest of honor was mostly oblivious to the festivities, he did enjoy gnawing on a bone that Brann kept eying forlornly from his spot beneath the child’s highchair, and was particularly taken with the colorful scraps of cloth and ribbon that wrapped many of his gifts – if not so much with the gift themselves. His parents, however, were greatly moved by the treasures that their friends offered up to their son, each one clearly the result of great personal thought and deep love.

The following 35 days, until the quaternary celebration of spring on the Saridás, were spent in various individual pursuits and the occasional pairing up of two or more of the friends. The tail end of winter in Tharkia was colder, and brought more snowfall, than usual, but was also interspersed with stretches of bright, clear days which, if still colder than the area’s maritime climate was used to, made enjoyment of the city and countryside’s winter wonderland a delight.

Devrik, Raven and the wee toddler Aldari spent most of the time at Kar Gevdan, enjoying a long stretch of uninterrupted time together as a family. They visiedt their friends twice at their quarters in Master Vetaris’ former safe house, now the official consulate of the Kingdom of Ukalus, when the weather allowed. The toddler was somewhat bemused, on these visits, at the number of snowmen (and women) his putative uncles and aunts insisted he build with them… although he actually seemed more interested in learning to throw snowballs.

On the night of the Banquet of Delights, the holy celebration sacred to Kalura, the Immortal of Love and Beauty, Vulk, Erol and Vox attended an exclusive party at the House of the Blue Moon, one of Zurhan’s most elite entertainment establishments. It was to be a festive night, but took on a different quality as they became embroiled in the Mystery of the Missing Courtesan.

The proprietress of the house, Misandril went suddenly missing, and through a wild and dangerous night the three pursued the matter. By an hour after sunrise they had returned the grateful lady to her rightful House, slain a number of miscreants, and brought the mastermind of the plot to the King’s Justice.

They were amply rewarded in ways that pleased them all far more than mere money would have. Vulk was in a slightly melancholy mood as they headed home in the gray dawn, but Erol soon cheered him up with the reminder that they still had a significant line of credit at the House of the Blue Moon…

Korwin’s 26th birthday followed just two days later. He skipped out of town, despite Mariala’s attempts to throw him a party, to spend a few days at Kar Gevdan… and by the slate-gray sea. Raven and Devrik insisted he join them for a sedate (by their standards) family dinner on the evening of his birthday, but for several days after they left him to his own devices. His time spent walking the strand and, on one occasion, taking a small skiff out on the waters of Borathet Bay, seemed to recharge his soul and he returned to Zurhan more relaxed and centered than he’d been in a long time.

Toward the end of Margas Haplo and Toran, after several long days together investigating the powers and possible command words for the strange wand recovered from the halls of the Winter King, spent a raucous evening making the rounds of some of the more disreputable gambling dens and drinking houses of the city. An unfortunate misunderstanding over what may, or may not, have been illusory gold used to place a bet and unfounded accusations of Khundari manipulation of a certain roulette wheel, led to a spectacular brawl, a running fight through the alleys of Cheapside, the burning down of two taverns and a brothel, and ended in the appearance of a massive blue dragon on the roof of a tenement.

The dragon’s ear-splitting roar and fierce display of the prodigiously long and sharp teeth lining its gaping maw, brought the chase to a sudden halt. As the beast stooped down upon them, its great wings stretching across the street and blocking out the almost-full greater moon, the denizens of the ghetto suddenly realized that perhaps their grievances with the Dwarf and the silver-haired human were not that important in the larger scheme of things… and simultaneously remembered pressing engagements in quite distant parts of the city.

As the dragon took to the air and vanished over the roofs of the city, Toran and Haplo quickly made their way back to the better part of town and home… down a little gold perhaps, but richer in experience and knowledge. Haplo was particularly happy that he’d figured out how to use his new Wand of Draconic Illusion, at least in part. They both agreed it had been a great night and they should do it again. But maybe not soon…

Mariala spent much of her time, when not engaged in personal study or the examination of the loot from the Winter King, visiting with the Crown Princess Relina and her chief Lady-in-Waiting Nina Askalan, forging significant bonds with both women. Relina, at 21, was a very self-contained and reserved woman, but with a quiet and wicked sense of humor, when she let it out. Mariala noted many similarities, and a few stark differences, between the Princess and Queen Miralda. She also developed a positive fondness for Devrik’s cousin, Nina, just a few months younger than herself, and possessed of both a fierce intelligence and great physical courage.

Lady Nina occasionally joined Mariala for her twice-weekly training sessions with Ser Erol, both to learn from the ex-gladiator’s varied combat techniques and to share her own Northern battle training with her new friend. But it was just Mariala and Erol on the afternoon of 11 Sarnia when he asked her if she’d care to join him that evening to help him celebrate his his 658th birthday (or at least his body’s birthday; his… spirit’s? Soul’s?… 26th birthday wouldn’t be until Vento).

They enjoyed a pleasant evening of good food and wine at the Singing Mermaid Inn, talking about the metaphysical puzzles of Erol’s unique situation and her own evolution as a mage and adventurer. Pleasant, that is, right up until they stumbled across a Darikazi ring of spies and slavers operating out of the inn… the resultant contretemps affected only the wing of the building directly under the collapsed cellar, fortunately, and did net half a score of brain-fried spies, seven dead ones, and a dozen youths freed from bondage.

Two days later, in the early hours of the morning of 13 Sarnia, a moderate earthquake shook the region around Zurhan and Kar Gevdan, waking everyone with a jolt. Several buildings in the city suffered minor damage, and five people were injured, with similar causalities reported from Kar Gevdan and its town. Things were quickly cleaned up, and the event was barely a road bump in the preparations for the upcoming spring equinox celebrations.

The big three day festival to celebrate the end of winter and beginning of spring began on 15 Sarnia with the Alean festival of the Blessing of the Rains. It was followed by Sardiás itself, the High Holy Day of Spring, and concluded with Kasira’s own Festival of Luck. Cantor Ser Vulk was asked to preside over the King’s own household celebration in the royal castle, and all the Hand were present, along with the Baron of Gevdan and his sons and retainers.

The day after that very auspicious Kasiran celebration Vulk, Devrik and Mariala were summoned to the King’s private audience chamber for a breakfast meeting. Master Vetaris was there along with Tamor Lahanus, the King’s brother-in-law and Lord Chancellor of the realm. The formalities were somewhat perfunctory, as everyone already knew everyone else, and the group was quickly seated at the large table under the great chandelier that lit the windowless room.

“We have asked you here,” the Lord Chancellor began, “because His Majesty has a request of you… that is, of your adventuring company, the Hand of Fortune.

“Although you are agents of the crown of Ukalus,” the King took up the thread,” nonetheless you have proven more than once to be friends Us, Our family and Our realm. With the advice and consent of Master Vetaris, We would ask you to undertake one more task for Tharkia before you leave Us.

“No, no,” he smiled when they demurred. “I know you all long to return to your own homes and your own affairs, and I suspect you have tarried this long only because Ser Devrik’s family was able to join him here. But the weather has turned with the season, and in no more than a tenday, two at the most, the roads will begin to be passable.” He frowned suddenly at that, a suffered a small coughing fit.

“Forgive me,” he said, sipping from a goblet of heavily watered wine. “I just can’t seem to shake this cough. In any case, once the roads are clear the spring campaigning season will begin, and the remaining mercenary forces that my… that were brought into my realm are not under my control. Before a peace with Ukalus can be cemented these alien forces must be rooted out and the Crown regain full control of the realm once more.

“In the meantime, a most disturbing bit of intelligence has come to Our Lord Chancellor from a small village in the Verduth Woods in the south. It seems that a great many people have gone missing in recent months, and strange, perhaps uncanny, events have plagued the area. With the kingdom still in such disarray, and Our forces so scattered and divided, the usual resources are not available to Lord Tamor.”

“Indeed,” the Chancellor agreed with a sigh. “When word first reached me, I perhaps did not take it as seriously as I should have… but given the disarray of the city and… well, suffice it to say, I sent two men-at-arms, all I felt I could spare, to investigate the matter. It’s been over a tenday and there’s been no word… until today, when another messenger arrived from the Reeve of Hart’s Lodge Village. More lurid and confused tales and the vanishing of the King’s Men…”

“Given the possibly arcane nature of the problem,” Master Vetaris said, “it was thought that the Hand might be best equipped to deal with… whatever awaits in this isolated woodland village. Assuming you’re willing to undertake the quest, of course…”

The Hand’s return to Tharkia with the rescued princess and her entourage was a triumphant one. The king was overjoyed, the people jubilant, and the Baron of Gevdan both relieved and deeply impressed with his nephew and his nephews boon companions. Once the initial celebration was spent, he insisted that Devrik and the others spend some time at Kar Gevdan. The king granted them leave to do so, but only for a span of days, as he much desired their council as he set about reordering his kingdom and trying to end the war with Ukala whilst keeping his kingdom intact.

After being hosted by the Baron Gevdan for three days most of the Hand were quite happy to return to Zurhan and their comfortable quarters in the former safe house Haplo had set up for Master Vetaris. None of them considered themselves lightweights when it came to partying, but the Olvânaali took the sport to a whole new level. Although Devrik remained to enjoy time with his family, and Vox joined him for the stories, the others were content to return to sobriety and even politics.

Master Vetaris himself spent much of his time at Kar Zurhan, meeting with the king, his military advisors and the surviving Tharkian nobility who had managed to return to the city once it was freed. But he had felt it proper for neither himself nor the Hand (they were, after all, official agents of the Crown of Ukala) to actually stay in the royal castle. Mariala, Vulk and Toran often accompanied him to the castle, however, as witnesses for their own rulers, as did Haplo, ostensibly the Gray Mage’s private secretary. Erol and Korwin, with little interest in the local politics, spent much of their time getting to know the city in which they seemed destined to spend the winter.

While they were all anxious to return to their own homes, most especially Devrik, who missed Raven and the wee baby Aldari intensely, no one was in any hurry to find out if Madame Vortex had booby trapped any other Nitaran Gates. Master Vetaris thought it unlikely, and himself used the local Gate occasionally to return to Shalara, but he was still working out exactly how his mother had done what she did in the first place, and he couldn’t guarantee their safety. With a harsh winter in full swing and enemy troops still thick between Zurhan and the Ukala border, it seemed the Hand were stuck.

When not meeting with the Tharkians, Vulk spent much of his free time going over the papers and scrolls that Mariala had liberated from the vestry of La’Urantu (as he’d learned the Ur-Tel’naru priest they’d killed in the Golden Skull Shrine was named). He still retained a moderate facility with the Dark Telnori tongue (Reshki, they called it), and since they used the same Omünish script as the true Telnori he could read it, if haltingly.

Almost a tenday after their return from Barasina Island Vulk stumbled onto a reference that caught his full attention and, after doing a little research in both the library of Kar Zurhan and that of their own house, he called the others together to discuss it. Devrik had finally returned from Kar Gevdan, and was running out of entangled parchment with which to communicate with his wife, making him restless and more than a little snappish.

“Are you all familiar with the old Legend of the Winter King,” he asked as everyone tucked into the breakfast he’d arranged in Vetaris‘ study. Everyone made agreeing noises around their food and hot chocolate, if not terribly interested ones.

“The one about the Gyantari wizard who became a master of the Avokari Convocation and called himself the King of Winter?” Mariala finally offered, taking pity on her friend, though she didn’t see why he was interested.

“The Winter King, actually,” Vulk smiled. “The stories are always very uniform on that point. But yes, that’s the one. I found a reference to the tale in the papers you recovered from Barasina, and notes on the actual location of the Winter King’s mountain fortress.”

“Really?” Mariala’s interest was suddenly piqued. “I had no idea the story was that old.”

“It’s not, which is part of what caught my eye, at first… it’s a disturbing point, if it means the Ur-Tel’naru have received outside information since their imprisonment. As far as I can tell in doing my research, the story is about 1300 years old… the events that inspired it must have happened at least two centuries after the Dark Telnori were exiled to Barasina.”

“Intersting, if true,” Korwin said, pouring another cup of chocolate. “But more of a long term issue for the Star Council to address, rather than an action item for the Hand of Fortune, I should think”

“If that’s all it was, yes,” Vulk said. “But the night after I discovered this information I had a dream. And it was one of those dreams… I think most of us have had them? The kind that are more than just dreams.”

All of the Hand who had been at the lost city of Yalura, and been possessed by the Great Beasts, suddenly looked more serious… the others just looked confused.

“I dreamt of the battle between the Winter King and Hasora-Tar… which was the Telnori mage’s actual name, not Hastor as the modern story would have it. It was as if I was truly there, and it was a massive arcane fight. Although it didn’t last for  three days – more like three hours, which was impressive enough. I saw the two retreat into the Winter King’s fortress, but the vision didn’t follow… after a time Hasora-Tar reappeared, alone and without his staff. He was badly injured, but he left the mountain top alive, and at that point the dream faded and I woke up. It’s still as clear in my mind as when I first awoke.

“Then I had the dream again last night. Identical in every respect, as if it truly was showing what had, in fact, occurred… like one of those stories made of moving images we saw on Areth. And, in that way you know things in a dream, I knew that Hasora-Tar was also the mentor and teacher of Dügora Oakheart, the Telnori who became the Great Beast of Earth, Ghoratok. The mentor who bequeathed me my own Torazin powers.”

“What are you saying Vulk?” Devrik asked, eyes lighting in sudden interest.

“I think Dügora is telling me that I – we – should find and recover the Staff of Summer.”

The Hand of Fortune had little chance to dwell on their strange visit to the distant past and the world of Areth, original home of the Immortals, once they were returned to their own time and place. With the counter-coup against the rebel Crown Prince Laravad and his Vortex puppet-master still very much balanced on the edge of a blade, they were forced to immediate action.

While Haplo filled them in, as much as he could, on what their bodies had been up to while possessed by the heroes of the Emerald Tower, they took steps to secure the city from any counter-counter-coup, manning the main city gate with men loyal to King Balen, and either arresting or otherwise eliminating those mercenaries who resisted the new order. Vox was introduced in his actual form, and accepted as a provisional member of the group.

Master Vetaris arrived back in the city in the late morning, thrilled both to see the Hand alive and well, and to find that ending Laravad’s foolish war was suddenly a real possibility. Although anxious to hear the whole tale of their strange journey, there was little time for more than a quick summary before he closeted himself with King Balen. Around noon the two emerged and runners were sent about the city to summon the citizenry to gather in Execution Square.

When as many as possible of the wine-sick and hung-over denizens of Zhuran had gathered in the weak winter sunlight, squinting and murmuring in speculation, the King addressed them from the Royal Stand atop the palace’s Great Stairs. He told them that his traitorous son had been defeated and taken alive, the foreigners behind his treason either killed, taken or fled, and that the Crown was returned to the head of the rightful ruler of Tharkia.

It was gratifying to her the real enthusiasm with which most of the crowd cheered this pronouncement – Laravad’s not-brief-enough rule had obviously not been popular with the majority of Tharkia’s subjects. A few people, looking suddenly worried and furtive, began drifting out of the Square as the news sunk in, and Mariala thought it likely that the coming days would see a flurry of accusations of collaboration and treason amongst the general populace… and possibly some reprisal violence as well…

Even as the crowds were cheering the King’s restoration, a blast of horns from the main city gate announced the arrival of the Baron Gevdan and a large contingent of troops from his own demesne. While the majority of the men-at-arms spread out to join the loyalist troops at strategic points around the city and on the walls, the Baron and a core contingent of his men parted the crowd like a ship cresting the waves and entered the castle.

As the crowds dispersed excitedly to spread the news to their fellow citizens who had been too hung-over (or still too drunk) to attend the Royal Announcement, King Balen, Master Vetaris, the Hand and the Hand-adjacent, and the Baron Gevdan met in the Throne Room to discuss their next moves.

“My lord Baron, you have my eternal thanks, and the thanks of my House, for the loyalty you have shown Us during this troubled time.” Balen’s voice was strong, despite the still-frail appearance of his body. His eyes were clear as well, and held a smoldering spark of rage.

“In the days and months ahead, there will be much reordering to do in the kingdom, but rest assured, you shall be richly rewarded for all that you have done for the House of Targahenas. We do not forget.

“But before we can begin any of that, I pray that you might have some word on my daughter… rumors fly like gulls around the docks, and a few of these say that the Princess fled to Kar Gevdan the night of the Crown Prince’s treason.” Devrik noticed that the king hadn’t spoken his son’s name since he’d been freed.

“It brings me great pleasure to be able to assure your Majesty that those rumors, at least, are quite true!” The Baron Gevdan was a large man in his mid-forties, well-muscled and with a great mane of flaming red hair. His slight Olvânaali accent was a surprise, given his title and position in this southern kingdom.

“Princess Relina and her husband, along with a company of the Royal Guard he commanded, arrived at Kar Gevdan just before dawn on that infamous day, sire. I naturally gave them sanctuary, and learning then all that had happened, I took steps to secure my lands against the usurper.

“The Princess and Marshal Masadin were with us for many months, but we thought it wise to keep that as secret as possible – the usurper seemed content to let my refusal to acknowledge him or give him material support go unpunished, at least until he had dealt with more pressing issues; but if he knew his sister was with me… well, it seemed wiser to keep him in the dark. I’m afraid some of those rumors you spoke of were spread by my own agents, to further muddy the waters.”

“You say they “were” with you,” the king leaned forward urgently. “Are they not still at Kar Gevdan then?”

“No, your Majesty,” the Baron shrugged regretfully, “In the last month the usurper managed to get two assassins into my castle.” He growled then, his face darkening in remembered anger. “Both were dealt with, as was the rat in my own walls, when the second assassin was taken alive and… questioned.”

From the glint in the Baron’s eye Devrik rather imagined the would-be killer had not long survived the interrogation. Smiling in grim reflection of the nobleman’s own expression, he suddenly realized there was something oddly familiar about the man. He studied him more closely, but couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was…

“I should have preferred to tell your Majesty this in more privacy,” the nobleman went on, reluctantly, “but… well, the short of it is, the Princess is with child. Some six months along, I’m told by the midwives who attended on her. I’m afraid, after the second attempt on her life, she began to mistrust the safety of my walls.

“I argued with her, indeed I pleaded with her, as did her husband… but you know your daughter, she is never one to be gainsaid once her mind is made up. In the end I provided the ship she requested, and hired another as escort. She and her entourage, including my daughter Nina acting as her lady-in-waiting, set sail two days ago for Lairial, in Serviar.”

The range of emotions on the king’s face was quite something to see – shock and joy at learning he was to be a grandfather, concern that his daughter had taken ship (and to Serviar!), and over it all a great relief to know that she was alive.

“This is wonderful news indeed, my lord,” Balen said, composing himself. “I will dispatch messengers to Lairial at once, to inform her of events and summon her home!

“With that burden taken from my mind, let us now get started on the great work before us, how we shall take back the realm from the evil that has befallen it. Baron Gevdan, let me make known to you these brave souls who have been instrumental in bringing about Our restoration.”

Master Vetaris was introduced first, and he then asked the Hand and company to name themselves, as he’d scarcely had time to learn the new-comers’ names yet himself, beyond Haplo’s. It was all very pro-forma until Devrik stepped forward and announced himself. The king looked startled and Baron Gevdan looked positively pole-axed.

“Devrik Askalan?!” he bellowed in a surprised but pleased roar. “Not Seria’s young whelp, surely?! But yes, I can see it in the eyes… and those ears!” He strode forward and engulfed Devrik in a great bear hug. “Nephew!”

♦  ♦ ♦

Devrik was feeling a little pole-axed himself later that evening, as he and his friends gathered around a table in the small royal dining chamber that King Balen had given over for their use. His uncle and cousin, Wirdon, sat on either side of him, both of them taking turns slapping him on the back as they caught up.

“Actually, it’s Ser Wirdon, as of three years ago,” Tynal Askalan said proudly, looking across at his elder son. “And young Rudir was knighted this past spring, just before… well, all this royal unpleasantness.”

“But, uncle… how did you come to be a nobleman in Tharkia? And a baron, no less?” Devrik asked, deeply curious. “I visited our homeland earlier this year, for the first time since that one visit Mother brought me on when I was nine or so. I asked about you, but no one would tell me anything except vague comments about “moving on” and such. Mother would just get silent and shrug, and even Aunt Kathela was tight-lipped about why you left Olvânaal.”

“Ah, well lad, that’s a dark and unpleasant story, and not one I care to go into just here and now. On the other hand, how I came to be Baron Gevdan… now THAT’S a story worth telling! And worth hearing, eh Wirdon?”

Devrik’s cousin rolled his eyes and took a deep drink from his tankard, but he grinned at his father as he slammed it back down on the table. “Oh, aye old man, I can never hear that one enough!”

Tynal reached around Devrik to cuff his son, who dodged easily, then took a long pull from his own beer before settling in to his tale.

“I arrived in Tharkia, indeed at Gevdan itself, back in ’06. I had the boys with me, of course, and their sister Nina, and 10 loyal men. Oh, and old Besitha, the children’s nurse… she passed on two summers ago…

“Anyway, the Baron Gevdan back then was Lord Usted Tasarin, and he hired me and my men as mercenaries. For five years we served him, and it was an education. The man was a notorious wenching drunkard, and a fool, to boot.

“Now don’t get me wrong, I enjoy my cup and a good woman as much as any man, and a lively wager can be a thrill… but old Usted had no control over his appetites, he was a mean drunk and, worst of all as far as I’m concerned, had no idea how to run his barony. Gevdan controls Tharkia’s only port, and the man had no idea how to make money off that – not for the realm, and not even for himself!

“On top of it all, he was a gambler… he’d wager on anything, from a horse race to tomorrow’s weather, to the color of a lady’s undergarment. And one day, while deep in his cups, he wagered with me – by then I was the captain of his guard – he wagered me his barony that I could not lift his horse off the ground.

“Well, I did the deed, and held the beast up for ten seconds, just for good measure. The old drunk tried to renege, of course, but there were scores of witnesses, including the king himself. Had it been another noble, no doubt my claim would have been rejected, but his Majesty had long been displeased with old Usted’s mismanagement of his fiefdom… cutting out a cartload of legal oxshit, he upheld my claim!”

“Said he was well-rid of a fool who would wager his own birthright away,” Wirdon added, smiling. “That was nine years ago, and last we heard the man was drinking himself to death somewhere in the Sydoran League.”

The rest of the evening was spent with the company regaling one another with tales of their various adventures. It was very late when they finally retired to the various rooms set aside for them in the royal keep.

♦  ♦  ♦

The next morning, as the king and his new cadre of advisors gathered in the more intimate space of the royal war room, a messenger burst suddenly through the door. Dressed in the livery of Clan Askalan, the youth was clearly exhausted, obviously having traveled at speed from Kar Devdan.

“M’lord, your Majesty!” he gasped, kneeling before the two men and offering up a courier’s case. “An urgent message from Ser Rudir at Kar Gevdan!”

The Baron’s younger son had been left in charge of the skeleton garrison at the castle, and for him to have sent out one of his limited men meant the matter must be urgent indeed. Lord Tynal took the leather cylinder and pulled the parchment from within, tilting it so his liege could read it as he did. Both men turned suddenly very pale.

“Uncle, what is it?” Devrik asked, stepping forward in concern. Mariala caught the king as he sank back, nearly missing his chair, his eyes suddenly blank and bleak.

“Disaster,” the king muttered in a quaver, his head sinking into his hands.

“Disaster,” Tynal agreed grimly. “Report has come to Gevdan that the Princess’ ship has been driven aground on the northern shore of Barasina Island… a storm came up suddenly the night they left, and it drove them off course… the escort ship fared better, saw them run aground, and saw survivors on the beach… but they would not risk their own precious hides, the cowards!

“No, they turned and fled back home to bring this terrible news… for that is a fell and haunted island, and no mariner would willing set foot on it, for none who have done so has ever returned…

“And now our daughters are stranded there, and what hope is there for them?”

“Right” said Devrik. “Hold my beer…”

After escaping back up the hidden spiral stairway to the surface, Devrik carrying the body of Karina, the group found Erol and Jeb waiting for them. Grover was hunkered down across the Erol’s shoulders, while Cherdon perched nervously on the Jeb’s. The reason for the animals’ anxiety was immediately obvious – soaring up out of the Vale of Rekorgo and then diving back down into it was the magnificent blue dragon Ulsarinas.

As the group moved closer to the cliff’s edge they could see how the gülvini, whether Hovguvai or Gramlini, fled from her attacks in screaming terror – only to be frozen solid, smashed by her massive tail, caught in her cruel talons to be taken up and then dropped from a great height, or rent to pieces by her enormous mouth.

“She doesn’t seem to be eating them, though,” Erol noted conversationally, absently stroking Grover’s fur.

“She probably filled up earlier,” Taeland suggested.

“Yes, it looks like she’s already cleared out the interior – the gates are shattered,” Mariala agreed, her aching head momentarily forgotten.

“Just taking care of the loose ends at this point, I imagine,” Vulk offered, stretching out his arm for Cherdon to transfer to.

“She does seem tidy that way,” Toran agreed.

“Certainly not something you see every day,” Korwin observed. “Even in the Empire.”

“Do you ever really get used to things like this?” asked Jeb, shaking his head in wonder.

“Huh,” grunted Therok, wrapping the cloak he’d lifted off Jardath’s body more tightly around him, against the chill blowing out of the vale below.

Devrik said nothing as he laid the body of Karina down near the cliff’s edge.

♦ ♦ ♦

Two turns of the glass later, Ulsarinas alighted with a weary, but very satisfied, sigh on the clifftop near the Hand .

“Thank you, my little friends, for the lovely advice about this place,” she said graciously, in her deep, sensual and seductive voice. “That was the most fun I’ve had in decades!”

“Thank you, milady,” Korwin replied earnestly. “Your timely arrival provided the critical diversion that allowed us to complete our business here.”

“Did it? Well, it wasn’t really my intention… but if you found it beneficial, I suppose I don’t mind. But was your business successful? You all seem rather… battered since last we met. And this one looks quite dead. A friend of yours?”

“No,” Devrik said before Korwin could speak. “An enemy, but not one who deserved to die as she did, by stealth and treachery.” He stepped up to stand beside Karina’s body. “Your magics are very strong, Lady Ulsarinas… can you revive her?”

The dragon cocked her head as she stared for a moment at the fire mage, then bent down to peer more closely at the corpse, sniffing it and eyeing it from every side. Then she pulled back her massive head, shaking it firmly.

“I’m sorry man of the Flame,” she said. “I can do nothing here… I have great powers of healing, true, but I’m afraid they do not extend beyond the borders of death. And this one is dead indeed. Perhaps, if she were only mostly dead…”

Devrik bowed his head, fists clenched in frustration, and stepped back, saying nothing more.

“But if I cannot do as you ask in this matter,” the dragon went on after a moments thought, “I can at least aid you in your own hurts, weary as I am from my day’s sport.”

With that she again bent her neck down, bringing her massive head level with the group. Her silver-blue eyes glowed with a brilliant light, and her mouth opened to release a silvery-blue mist that settled over them all. They again felt the chill tingle as her magic healed every hurt, absorbed their fatigue, and even evaporated the alcohol from Mariala’s bloodstream.

“There, try not to get so damaged again for awhile,” Ulsarinas said in an amused and indulgent tone, pulling back to her usual great height.

“We may have little choice in that, my lady,” Mariala said, feeling clear in her thinking for the first time in hours. “This was but an outlier of the evil that threatens to bring war, not only to these mountain, but to the entire North. It is our job to oppose it.. although how is not entirely clear at the moment.”

“War! Well, it had better not come here,” the blue dragon said, suddenly peevish. “This was fun, for a day, but I came south for some peace and solitude. I wish to enjoy my new home without annoying distractions.”

“Mmmm, if that is the case, milady,” Korwin interjected smoothly, “this may not prove to be the very best place for you to make your lair. Aside from the very powerful Gray Mage whose base this was, and who is likely to send her forces against you… well, Rekorgo lies fairly close to several human trade routes, especially the Talorin Trail. I fear you may be discommoded fairly often, once word of your magnificence spreads.”

“Have a care, little water mage,” Ulsarinas said coldly. “I sense that what you say is what you believe, but your flattery doesn’t hide the scent of manipulation. I am not a tool to be wielded to your own petty ends – do not let my slight fondness for you lead you to think otherwise!”

“No indeed, milady,” Korwin agreed hastily, turning a bit pale. “But I think ‘manipulation’ is unfair – I can’t deny that I see the advantage you would be in our struggle, but if your own desires are congruent with our needs, is it so wrong of me to hope for your aid?”

“Hmmm… well, you have the wit not to deny it, anyway,” the dragon replied, somewhat mollified. “But I am not yet convinced that our needs and desires are truly congruent. I shall think on it, however.”

With that she spread her tremendous wings, and with a blast of air that staggered the humans she took to the air. Turning, she dove down into the vale, angling towards the shattered Main Gate, into which she quickly disappeared.

“Well, that was as nerve-wracking as ever,” Vulk said, letting out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding.

“Yes, we have to be very careful how we deal with her,” Mariala agreed. “Korwin, she clearly likes you best, but I think you should… minimize the flattery and just be upfront with her.”

“Hey, I’m playing this all by the seat of my tunic,” Korwin snapped. “It’s not like I’ve ever dealt with a dragon before. I’m doing the best I can!”

“I know, I know,” Mariala agreed placatingly. “This affects us all, so I think we should all have some say in it… but at the end of the day  you’re the one with the rapport, and you will always be our liaison with Ulsarinas. We just want to help make it all not so much, um… by the seat of your tunic, yes?”

Mollified himself, Korwin shrugged and  let it go.

♦ ♦ ♦

The Hand decided to make camp near the great stone chimney while they figured out their next move. The smoke had stopped pouring out from it some time ago, the fires no doubt extinguished by Rekorgo’s new mistress. For two days they rested and combed through the material they had taken from Avira’s chambers, and discussed their options.

But before that discussion could take place a minor Korwin-crisis divert everyone’s attention. The water mage, once the others had settle down for the night, had pulled the ring he’d purloined from Karina’s corpse, and examined it closely. An ugly thing, it’s lines subtly unpleasing to the eye, the gem an unsettling shade of violet, it nonetheless seemed to pulse in his hand with an almost subliminal power.

He hadn’t stolen it, of course… merely taken it for safe-keeping in the heat of the moment, while things were still so uncertain. He’d hand it over to the group, naturally, but not until he’d had a chance to plumb its mysteries first. Once he learned what it was, what it did, then he’d share it with his allies… almost certainly…

He was not a fool, obviously, so he didn’t simply slip it onto a finger. Instead he focused his psionic gift of psychometry on it and opened his mind to its history… and it was like coming suddenly on a precipice, a vast gulf of space opening without warning before ones feet. But it wasn’t space, it was time – so much time! His mind reeled, rejecting the immensity that threatened to swallow him whole… a speck in an immensity beyond human comprehension…

Toran, who was on first watch with Vulk, heard Korwin’s strangled cry, and the two sentinels found their companion convulsing on his sleeping roll. The cleric recognized the symptoms, having learned months ago of his Imperial friend’s susceptibility to the falling sickness, and immediately knelt beside him.

“He’s having a seizure,” he told the shocked Khundari. “He’ll be alright, as long as he doesn’t spasm himself into the fire or swallow his tongue. Hold him down while I force this stick between his teeth!”

The seizure slowly passed, and eventually Korwin returned to a hazy, painful consciousness, to find the entire group gathered around him. In his attack he had closed his hand tightly around the ring, so tightly that the others had been unable to prize his fist apart to see what he held. Now his grip loosened, and the ring glinted in the firelight.

“Ah, the ring that Karina was wearing… and seemed so reluctant to give up,” Erol said, frowning. “I wondered where that had got to.”

“And I hadn’t even know it existed,” Mariala said, plucking the bauble from the dazed man’s hand before he could react. “What exactly were you doing with it, Korwin?”

“Trying to – argh,” the Imperial replied, trying to sit up and failing as his head threatened to shatter. “Ugh. I was trying… to read its… history… be careful! It’s powerful… whatever it is… and very, very old… so old… it must be an Ancient artifact… so old…” he trailed off into an incomprehensible mumble.

“It must have caused a psionic backlash,” Vulk said, lifting his friend’s eyelids and peering at his dialated pupils. “Which in turn triggered one of his epileptic seizures… he should be OK, with some rest; although I doubt he’ll be able to use any psionic abilities for awhile.”

“Hmmm,” Mariala said, shaking her head. “I think we’ll leave the rest of the items we recovered alone, until we’re somewhere  a little safer. Don’t you agree/” she asked, looking around at her friends.

“I’m not sure it’s wise to taken unknown, and potentially dangerous, artifacts into a combat situation,” Devrik frowned.

“I agree,” Mariala replied. “All the more reason to travel to Maser Vetaris and his expertise, rather than rushing headlong into battle again.”

And so the debate about their next course was reignited…

It was almost a certainty that at least a few gülvini had escaped the carnage of the dragon, despite Ulsarinas’ best efforts… there were too many small bolt holes and secret escape routes in any hive. Which meant Avira would probably learn of the debacle soon enough. The question was, what would she do? Which way would she jump? And how could the Hand and the Star Council use this to their advantage?

Mariala desperately wished to communicate with Master Vetaris, both to pass on what they had learned to the Council and to get his advice. To that wend, she counseled a return home, to confer and to plan. Devrik, however, was of the opinion that time was of the essence, that Avira would be off balance with this latest blow to her power, and a surprise, focused attack where it was least expected (her home base) might bring her down for good.

The discovery, amongst the papers, scrolls and books from Avira’s chambers, of a detailed Portal map of the entire North hadn’t helped the debate. It showed not only the Portals that were generally known, several of them already used by the Hand, but also a series of secret or hidden Portals. Mariala believed, based on some margin notes and other clues, that Avira had spent years altering documents all across the kingdoms of the North, deleting or destroying references to these Portals so that only she and her allies now knew of them. And there was one just two kilometers from their current location…

Using her spooky note paper, Mariala had learned that Master Vetaris was currently in Zhuran, no doubt working on some plot to disrupt the Usurper’s plans and bring an end to the Tharkian war. Portaling to him would leave them closer to the action here in the mountains than going home, she suggested to her companions. Devrik argued that the delay was really the same either way, and that the element of surprise was steadily slipping away, an argument that made a great deal of sense to most of the others.

The next morning the Hand used the nearby Portal to travel to Zhuran to consult with Master Vetaris…

Like his new acquaintances, Taeland was more than happy to leave the clean-up of the successful ambush and massacre of the invading gül-Hovgavui to their wronged, and very grateful, cousins. He set up his tent in their camp outside the colony, nearby but beyond the sights, sounds and smells of the Gramlini victory celebrations.

Sitting around the large bonfire at the center of the circle of tents, they seemed willing to listen to his advice as they discussed their next move. Given what they’d seen recently, it seemed obvious that some human agency was moving amongst the Gülvini of the southern Sarajis Mountains, but who precisely, and with what motivation?

“I have patrolled this region for four years,” Taeland said, taking a deep drink of the quite decent ale the Gramlini had provided the group. He hadn’t been inclined to question how they’d come by it, although he recognized the brewer’s mark on the barrel – a well-known tavern at Noneth Bridge.

“In the last year I have heard more than one rumor of mysterious people, coming into contact with the Gülvini tribes. They stories varied, sometimes it was a man, sometimes a woman, but always they were captured, only to make friends of the beastmen. But I paid scant attention, I’m afreaid, being more concerned with the happenings amongst the Firilani and Ethmoniri – someone, the same people or others, I couldn’t say, have been recruiting amongst the tribes.

“This isn’t unheard of, of course, but I’ve never seen it on this scale. The Firilani are usually too fierce and hostile to outsiders to be worth the risk, and the Ethmoniri generally too peaceful and unwarlike to find many useful recruits save for a few outcasts. Now though, young Firilani males are going south in shocking numbers, given how the Tanarian knights of the Republic are press ing their people so hard. And more amazing, the Ethmoniri, or at least a large faction of them, have rejected their Way of the Sha, and turned violent.

“I’d been fearing an invasion of Tharkia this spring, but by summer it seemed obvious what had happened – Tharkia had made alliance with both tribes to invade Nolkior… an insane plan, although the Prince Regent seems to be making it work…”

“Prince Regent?” Mariala asked, frowning. “We had heard he had deposed his father and taken the crown himslef.”

“No, not exactly,” Taeland sighed. “Apparently he claimed the King had taken a sudden madness, and somehow convinced the Council to confine him – for his own safety, of course – and make Laravad Regent. And within a tenday, he had launched his mad invasion, which must have been long, if secretly, planned. The internal politics in Tharkia right now are… fraught…”

“You seem to know a lot about it,” Devrik commented warily, “for someone who spends his times patrolling the wilderness.”

“I don’t usually spend my winters in the mountsin,” Taeland said, smiling. “I’m usually in Dagarin town or Zurhan for two or three months each year. And I have… connections… both high and low in the kingdom.”

“So you are Tharkian then, by birth?” Vulk asked equally warily.

Taeland smiled again, and leaned back. He’d been expecting this, of course, given the current state of arrairs between Tharkia and Nolkior. Or rather between Tharkia and the new united Kingdom of Ukalus… he rather suspected that the royal rat Laravad hadn’t seen that coming.

“Partially,” he replied easily. “My mother was Tharkian. My father was from Serviar. So you see, I am a man of two countries – and while I rather like King Balen, I’ve no use for his usurping son. If it helps, think of me as Servari – I did spent half my youth there.” And that was all he intended to say on the complicated subject of his birth and upbringing, at least for the moment. But it seemed enough, everyone relaxed, and they picked up the thread of the conversation again.

“Well, I can see you think the tribal recruiting and the Gülvini issue are unrelated,” Mariala said, giving him a smile. “But I’m afraid we can’t rule out a connection. You see, there’s this organization called the Vortex…”

There followed a rather long story about the group’s (they called themselves the Hand of Fortune) violent history with this secret organization. He was surprised to hear that the eruption of Mount Katai back in the spring, had been instigated by this Vortex.

“Well, technically, my infant son was at least partly responsible for the eruption,” Devrik added, looking slightly embarrassed. “But since it prevented the bastards setting off a sting of eruptions up and down the Sarajis Range, I think he can be excused.”

Taeland blinked at this, but didn’t actually disbelieve any of it. He trusted his own well-honed natural ability to sense lies, and while he certainly knew there was much these people weren’t telling him – there were awkward gaps in the stories, for one thing, something left out – he was confident that what they did relate was the truth. And the suspicious timing of the Darikazi civil war, the troubles in Arushal and Nolkior, and Prince Laravad’s almost simultaneous grab for power, made a powerful argument that they were all tied together.

“So where should we be looking next do you think,” Toran, the usually quiet and always watchful Khundari asked, reaching past him to open the tap over his empty mug. “Based on these rumors you’ve been hearing?”

Taeland thought about it for a moment, then replied, “Rekorgo.”

“Rekorgo… that sounds familiar,” Mariala said frowning.

“It should,” Toran said, then paused to drink deep. “It’s the oldest Gülvini colony in the southern Sarajis Mountains. And, because of its proximity to the Salt Route, it’s also one of the most troublesome.

“It was originally called Zhulakim – the site was first settled as a joint Telnori/Khundari settlement during the Co-dominion Period. During the Age of Chaos the area was abandoned by both races, I’m afraid. Sadly, all that remains to be seen from that era is my people’s silver mine.”

“Yes,” agreed Taeland, taking up the tale. “And that mine was eventually rediscovered by the Tarim Umantari as they moved south… for several centuries it was used by them as a source of flint and iron. But it was again abandoned during the years the area was dominated by the Ocean Empire.”

Korwin started to say something, but Toran continued before he could get started on the wonder of the Empire.

“It wasn’t occupied again until the years of the Great War, and this time by gül-Nomai. Deserters from the Necromancer’s armies, legend has it that they avoided his wrath by paying him a generous tribute in both raw iron and finished weapons… at least until he was finally put down at the Battle of Harkathir.”

“Since then they have only grown in size,” Taeland sighed, “been at constant war with the Firalani and the Ethmoniri, and preyed on travelers and caravans along the Salt Route. We think they number around 2,300, which would make them the largest Gülvini colony known in the North.

“What is known for sure is that a swarm from Rekorgo established the colony at Felgoth, as well as two other small colonies that were subsequently destroyed by the Firalani. Other swarms have been exterminated by the Ethmoniri before they could even get established, but no one – not the tribes, not the flower of Nolkiori or Tharkian chivalry, not the Khundari,” he nodded to Toran, who shrugged in agreement, “have been able to destroy Rekorgo itself.”

“Sounds formidable,” Erol said, though he didn’t sound particularly concerned about it. “So why there?”

“Because it is one of the two places most associated with these rumors of human involvement in the colonies… and because the other is Jha-Kusk, the most remote and difficult to reach Gülvini colony in the Savage Mountains. Besides, Rekorgo is closer, and I know the backcountry trails that should get us there unobserved.”

“Us?” Mariala asked, raising an eyebrow slightly, but with a smile. She really was rather attractive, on closer aquaintance. It was the intelligent eyes, he rather thought.

“Yes, assuming you don’t mind the company. The safety and well-being of this wilderness is my concern, and I would see this matter through.”

The others exchanged brief glances, and Vulk nodded, reaching across to shake his hand. “Welcome aboard, my friend! We’ll start out first thing tomorrow morning, if you’re ready.”

In the aftermath of the Battle of Fächnor, after the last Gülvini were dragged screaming from their hiding places and summarily dispatched, after the gestating eggs had been burned, and after the last tunnel had been searched, the cleanup began. The Khundari were as fierce in their determination to cleanse the old mine colony of every vestige of the hated occupiers as they had been in their desire to retake it in the first place. But while his soldiers took to their tasks with gusto, Prince Rhoghûn and his principle advisors attended to the more somber job of laying to rest the bones of the murdered children of the last Governor of Fächnor and their eternally loyal guardian Zarak Firefist. Vulk was consulted, having actually interacted with the the revenant spirt of the long dead mage, but it was the Dürkonian High Priest of Gheas who performed the rites, as was only proper.

As a gray, rainy day dawned above, the children were properly interred in the family crypt, and Zarak’s bones were given a place of honor between them. Amongst the mourners was Gorath Graymantle, a great-grandnephew of the old Governor and a loyal troop commander of the Prince’s army. When the rites were done for the moment (the clerics would be busy for days sorting through and properly laying to rest the scattered Khundari bones throughout the mines and crypts), the Prince announced that Commander Graymantle would be taking over as the new Governor of Fächnor, tasked with reopening the mines and re-peopling the colony. Many families who had ancestors who had died here had expressed a desire to return in the coming months.

Once the ceremonies were concluded Mariala and Vulk retired to the large tent the Khundari had provided for the Hand’s use. It lay outside the colony, but within the mostly intact palisade the gül-Bogabai had built, which suited Mariala just fine – she had no desire to spend a minute more in the charnel-house that had been the Gülvini colony. While Vulk began to sort through and catalog the contents of the magic chest that had once belonged to the mage Zarak, she began to sort through the papers she’d taken from “King” Gunük’s room as well as the few scraps she’d found in the chamber of the mysterious “priestess” Zeliona. What began as a perfunctory examination quickly turned into a compelling look into the mind of the dead Gülvini.

After more than an hour of intense reading, several times waving Vulk to silence when he tried to tell her what he’d found, Mariala sat back with a deep sigh and a thoughtful look. After a moment, noticing her friend’s sardonic (but very silent) look, she shook her head and motioned to the sheaf of papers. “It’s amazing, Vulk! These pages are the personal journal of Gunük, begun when he seized control of his colony. I’m stunned… and don’t quite know what to think…

“It’s rare enough to find a Gül who can read, but finding one who can write… especially like this… it’s almost unique!”

“I should think so,” Vulk replied with a laugh. “But what do you mean ‘write like this?’ It can’t possibly be any good –”

“That’s what I thought myself, when I began to read. But… his style is crude, to be sure, but there’s a heartflet passion that comes through in his words – there’s a true desire to see his people secure and safe from their enemies, and a surprisngly sophisticated meditation on the possibilities of his species and their place in this world. He also expresses doubts about the long-term utility of the “Death God” that this Zeliona woman brought to his people… but recognized its usefulness in creating a unity of purpose in them. Here, read for yourself… I have to think about this. And there’s some interesting factual information in there, too.”

Vulk took the papers with a dubious look, but within a few minutes he was as engrossed as his friend had been. The ideas expressed by the young gül ruler were as thoughtfully… human… as anything he’d read in his philosophy classes, if more crudely formed. When he had finished he looked as thoughtful and nonplused as Mariala.

“You’re right,” he said after a moment. “This is amazing; and I think we need to preserve these pages. I know several people in the Church who I think should read them…”

“And I’m sure Master Vetaris would be interested,” Mariala agreed. “We’re so conditioned to think of the Gül as more beast than human… but if even one of them can think, and write, like this…”

“Well, let’s not get carried away, Mariala. This is one gül, and Kasira knows the ones we generally encounter seem to more than live up to their reputation! And this Gunük certainly didn’t seem like a poet-king when he was almost bashing in Toran’s head.”

“True… but really Vulk, who among us is only one thing, all the time?”

To that the cleric had no answer, and the conversation moved into more practical channels.

“You noticed that bit where he was talking about the night he killed his predecessor?” Mariala asked, glancing through the pages to find the passage. “He mentions that one of the first things this “priestess” did when they got into the King’s Chamber was to got through the chest and remove three ‘objects of interest,’ claiming them as her god’s price for “taking in” Gunük’s people.”

“Yes, and I wonder if our young scholar noticed the double entendre in that statement?” Vulk asked, laughing. “Taken in indeed. It did seem like he was inclined to argue with her… but her claim that the items were of no use to him seemed to lull him… and I think, as she made no move to claim the Horn of Kergis, which he knew he needed and could use, he was content to let her have her way.

“Did you find anything interesting in those scraps we gathered up in this Zeliona woman’s chamber? Anything to hint at what those “objects of interest’ were?

“Not really,” Mariala sighed, riffling through the bits of parchment again. “About all I could gather was that she had an obvious desire to collect arcane artifacts. My sense is that she was doing this for someone else, a woman probably, though I can’t prove it. I found only one solid bit of information, a name.” She held up a torn scrap and Vulk read “Avira will be well pleased that the rebel found nothing in Vabasht,” written in a tight, neat hand.

“Well that’s frustratingly obscure,” he groused. “Avira is hardly an uncommon name… and who is this rebel that’s mentioned and what does Vabasht have to do with anything?

“Well, I wonder if Keegar, the Hovgavui King of Zabel might be the “rebel?” Mariana pondered. “Gunük writes extensively that this Keegar seeks to dominate all the gül of the southern Sarajis Mountains. He sought tribute not just from Fächnor but from the gül-Gramlini of nearby Vabasht.

“Zeliona suggested an alliance with the Gramlini, and other tribes, to turn the tables on Zabel… if someone really is trying to unify the gülvini… I wonder if Zeliona tried this ‘Death God’ scam on Keegar first, but he turned on her?”

“A possibility, to be sure,” Vulk agreed, scanning through the papers again himself. “Yes, here it is… Fächnor’s initial overtures to Vabasht were rebuffed but then, about month ago, Vabasht lost several hundred gül to a swarm… in the aftermath Zabfel attacked and looted the smaller colony. But after looting it, they didn’t actually enslave the Gramlini – Keegar just declared it tribuary to Zabel, leaving no occupying force, just a promise to return for tribute on the alternating dark of each Lesser Moon.”

“Which is coming up soon,” Mariala noted. “And I’m particularly intrigued by this rumor that Keegar used an Umantari, wielding fire magics, to subdue the Gramlini… if what we surmise is true, is there dissension in the ranks of our enemies, whoever they may be?”

“The Vortex, surely,” Vulk replied, surprised. “Who else?”

“Almost anybody, really,”Mariala laughed. ” I’m afraid we may be getting to the point where we see the Vortex behind every bush and under every bed. But as Master Vetaris pointed out, there are other powers at work in the world, other plots, other agendas. Maybe this is one of them?”

“Possibly, possibly,” Vulk reluctantly agreed. ‘But then there’s the matter of the ‘Death God’ alter this so-called priestess installed in Fächnor. I spent some time examining it earlier, and it’s clearly of very skilled craftsmanship, not made by any gül… it’s surprisingly sophisticated, actually, and incorporates bits of several deities in ways both obvious and subtle. I detected hints of Korön, Zelist, Naventhül and, rather surprisingly, Cael.”

Mariana raised her own eyebrows at that.

“And I can’t figure out how the damn woman got it into the colony. Even Gunük’s journal doesn’t help – he just says it ‘appeared miraculously overday’ shortly after his coup d’tat.”

“Well, I hear the Prince has ordered it destroyed, so maybe we’ll learn something when the Khundari break it up,” Mariala offered, shrugging. “And what did you find in our new magic chest? Which is going to be wonderfully useful, I suspect, once we get it home!”

“Yes, it’s very powerful, the ultimate in security… at least for anything that will fit in a space 1 meter long, 40 cm wide and 50 cm deep.” Vulk reached over to the box of dark red wood and polished steel, lifting off a sheet of parchment. “Let’s see… there were several leather bags of silver, totaling 1,217 coins, of various northern realms; a large bag of 116 gold coins, oddly enough mostly Valtiran Rose Nobles; a small casket with 6 rubies which I’m guessing are worth over 2500 sp; and a second casket containing four fire opals and a single spectacular sapphire. That last is probably worth 1,000-1,500 sp alone! The opals are fine, but I doubt they’re worth more than a few hundred.

“And even with all that, there was still plenty of space for other items – specifically, the missing three ‘objects of interest’ we were just discussing. And, of course, the Horn.”

“And which still worry me,” Mariala sighed. “If they were anything like as powerful as the Horn, I hate to think what our enemies will do with them…”

♦ ♦ ♦

The Hand spent next day in various activities around the recovered Khundari colony... Jeb and Therok pitched in with the dirty work of cleaning out the filth of five centuries, Toran and Korwin aided the Prince and his advisors in seeking lost treasures and artifacts (with little success), Devrik and Erol went out on patrols with the Khundari scouts, and Mariala and Vulk continued to study the captured papers, a few more of which had been found during the previous day. Grover and Cherdon frolicked in and above the forests, although not together.

Over a late supper that night Mariala found herself seated next to Gorath Graymantle, the new Governor of the recovered colony, and in the course of their conversation she mentioned the cryptic note she’d found referring to a rebel who “found nothing at Vabasht.” The Governor, a youngish man not over 70 and rather outgoing for a Khundari, looked surprised.

“Well, my lady, I may be able to shed some light one that,” he said, surprising her in turn. “The legends and lore of these lands are a special interest of mine, you see… something I’ll have to give up I suppose, with my new responsibilities… but never mind, never mind. I’m thinking of the stories surrounding the founding of the Vabasht colony… it is said that the gül-Nomai who discovered the natural cave complex were deserters from the armies of the Necromancer…and the cursed wizard apparently took a very keen interest in these particular deserters – something he seldom did, being content to have his minions wreck havoc in any way they might – which was noted at the time, and remembered… he sent one of his lieutenants, a monstrous being called Vordulon the Wolf, to “seek the thieves and return their prize,” as a surviving fragment from the journal of one of the many scribes Pürshok Vindu kept around himself, to chronicle his glory… that same scribe later reports that “…the Wolf found the traitors on the shoulder of Muntursk’s Mount…” and destroyed them all… but apparently failed of his second task… “for the prize was secreted deep in the land, far beyond the grasp of the Wolf’s claws…” well, as you can imagine, my lady, this has led to centuries of speculation… what was this “prize” that the Necromancer sought so urgently? Where was it hidden? Is it still there to be found? Most scholars I’m aware of agree that it was probably Vabasht that was the site of the Wolf’s massacre… it’s the only gülvini colony on Mount Muntursk, having been reoccupied by a tribe of gül-Gramlini about twenty years after the Battle of Harkathir… the Gramlini have always been the most honorable of Vindus’ creations to my mind, if such words can properly be used about such creatures… most of my fellows would sharply disagree, of course, so we’ll say no more about that… never mind, never mind… well, many men, and a few women, have sought this fanciful treasure over the years, but no one has claimed to have discovered it yet… so, when I hear of someone having “found nothing” at Vabasht, well naturally my mind turns to this old tale… can’t say what the rebel part means, of course… but there you are…”

This blast of information gave Mariala a moments pause as she took it all in and considered its implications. She had several questions for her interlocutor, but had no chance to ask them as loud voices were suddenly  heard outside the dining tent, demanding to see the Prince at once. When they were admitted it turned out to be the scouting party that Devrik and Erol had gone out with that afternoon. Lekorm Darkeye had led the group and he now knelt before his Prince.

“We passed far north, my lord,” he began without preamble, “casting a wide net. Near dusk we came upon a large mass of gül-Hovgavui, 40 of them I estimated, just breaking camp for their night’s march. As they were headed east, and thus no apparent threat to you here, we decided to watch for from afar for a time, to see if we could determine their destination or purpose. But soon after they began, ten of the foulspawn broke off from the main group and began heading south… directly towards us, as it happened.

“There being five of us, and all skilled warriors, I determined that we overmatched these gülvini, and should lay an ambush. My Shadow Warriors and Ser Erol took one side of a narrow glade, Ser Devrik and I the other, and so we took the goblins by surprise. We slew all but one, whom Ser Devrik managed to take alive for questioning. The creature was defiant, but in the end he broke and babbled all he knew… which was little enough… the larger party goes to demand tribute from the hive nest at Vabasht, while the smaller party was being sent to demand the Bogabai of Fächnor swear fealty to Keegar of Zabfel. I took some pleasure, I admit, in telling the creature that Fächnor was again in the hands of it’s rightful lord, and the gül-Bogabai all dead, before I killed it.

“We hurried back to bring this news, my Prince, as I deem it likely that this Keegar creature may take it into his head to attack us here, when his embassy fails to return – perhaps thinking he attacks the late King Gunük, if he has not yet had rumor of our victory.”

Dinner broke up as the Prince and his chief advisors retired to the ruler’s more private tent, while the rest of the Hand gathered around their two returned friends to get more details…

♦ ♦ ♦

The next day the Hand of Fortune departed Fächnor with the Prince’s blessing, to scout out the environs of Vabasht and learn what they could…

In the days following their dispatching of the self-made litch and serial killer Torgoth Kemptor, the Hand basked in the adulation of their New District neighbors. Rumors of their involvement in a number of royal events had long been circulating, of course, but as facts were sparse and the heroes reticent, little fuss was made as they went about their daily lives. But the fear that had been aroused by the seeming return of the terror from a generation earlier had brought tensions in the district to a fever pitch – and the relief at the very public rescuing of several of Kemptor’s victims, and the monster’s final demise, was explosive. All the survivors had witnessed the battle between the demonic canary trainer and the Hand, as well as his decapitation and immolation, and they were not reticent about sharing the tale with everyone they knew.

The Green Tower, already a draw for visitors from out of town, quickly became popular with the locals as well. People gathered in the streets around it hoping to catch a glimpse of the heroes coming or going, and repeating all the tales, rumors and garbled history of the Hand of Fortune in breathless admiration. For a tenday vendors insisted on extending bargain prices to all the members of the Hand when they refused outright gifts, folks on the street and in the taverns regarded them with exaggerated respect, and invitations to the homes and social events of the gentle and noble classes increased seven-fold. Alligator skin accessories were a boom business as enterprising entrepreneurs offered belts, shoes and bags allegedly made from the skin of Kemptor’s pets.

Eventually the excitement began to die down, but the perception of the Hand of Fortune as the New District’s own “hometown” band of heroes was firmly established. Through it all, the various members of the Hand dealt with this wave of adulation in their various ways: Mariala was embarrassed but gracious; Vulk was modest and self-depracating (but took every opportunity to bed his new admirers, who were abundant); Devrik was stoic and even more tight-lipped than usual (although Raven and Blackhawk both encouraged him to enjoy the well-earned praise); Erol was gracious and a bit smug (taking it as only the respect due him and his companions); Korwin was smug and aggressively entrepreneurial (he had thought his plans for Canary Killer Ale were as dead as Torgoth Kemptor’s victims, but maybe not…); and Toran was gratified and proud (the neighbors had always been glad to see a Dwarf back in Khundari House, but now they were downright friendly).

But outside the glare of public attention, behind the scenes, the immediate aftermath of the Kemptor Affair had been a scramble to assure that the demon which had given the mad canary trainer his evil half-life would never possess another host, human of otherwise. With the creature trapped within Barsol’s Bowl, it was temporarily helpless… but how long that might last was uncertain.

The very night of their return from the sewers Mariala and Vulk took the Bowl to High Cantor Verdun Rhay at the Great Temple. He had been preparing the rituals necessary to banish the demon back into the Void from whence it came, in anticipation of the Hand’s succeeding in destroying the host body and capturing its essence. While Mariala watched, Vulk took his place within the circle of clerics to chant the blessings of his goddess while the High Cantor began the Ritual of Banishment. It was a long, exhausting night, fraught with danger for all involved, but just as the first hint of dawn began to lighten the eastern sky Verdun Rhay held aloft the Bowl. In a flash of anti-light the demon was torn from the ancient artifact and sent hurtling back into the Void. Mariala, nearly as exhausted as the clerics from the tension of the night, almost thought she heard a faint, receding wail…

The High Cantor collapsed almost immediately, to be caught by several of his cantors and lowered to a nearby couch. In his swoon he clutched Barsol’s Bowl tightly to his breast, and even after he recovered somewhat, and was able to sit up and speak, he seemed reluctant to give up the artifact.

“This is truly a powerful and holy relic,” he said wanly to Vulk and Mariala. “It could do great good in the hands of the Church…”

“That may be, your Eminence,” Vulk said quickly, forestalling Mariala’s sharper retort. “But the Bowl belongs to the Margrave of Green Tower, and both she and we, the rest of her companions, need it in our line of work. As you well know, and acknowledged when she lent you the device, sir.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Rhay replied with a weary sigh. His face was gray with fatigue and strain. “But still, I could wish…” Reluctantly he handed the Bowl back to Mariala, who took it graciously… but quickly tucked it into the folds of her gown.

“Should you ever decide you no longer have a need for the Bowl, m’lady,” the High Cantor added as his acolytes helped him up and prepared to lead him to bed, “please think of the good the Church could do with it, and send it back to us.”

“Should that day come, your Eminence, I will certainly think first of the Church,” Mariala said with an ambiguous smile. The cleric smiled wanly in return and turned away on the arms of his supporters. Vulk and Mariala turned in the opposite direction and their own beds.

♦ ♦ ♦

By the time the furor and excitement over the Kemptor Affair had begun to die down, and life started to return to normal for the Hand, or as normal as it ever got, the news of the war with Tharkia and the Vortex seemed good. Kar Urkonis had fallen to the Queen and King’s assault within two days, thanks in no small part to the mission the Hand had undertaken at royal request, and since then the military operations in east-central Ukalis had mainly been mopping up scattered pockets of reisitence. Most of that came from mercenary companies in the employ, directly or indirectly, of the Vortex, and caught between the pincers of the royal army in the south and the army of the Earl of Kinen in the north, they were overcome relatively quickly. But Tharkia still held the city of Tyendus, and the war was far from over…

On the morning of 30 Turniki, the latest of a string of cold, wet autumn days that had followed the gray, wet summer of the troubled year, Toran arrived at the Green Tower with a message for his comrades. Jeb was sent to get the others, and when all were settled in around Mariala’s great dining table (which had become their customary gathering place for Hand business) he began.

“The official Legate from my Prince arrived awhile back, as you all know.” The others nodded; the relationship had gotten off to a rocky start, but seemed to be settling down to a workable arrangement between the legation staff and the agent of the Shadow Warriors.

“This morning the Legate informed that he has received an urgent communique from his Highness, and requests that the, how did he put it –‘the company of the Hand of Fortune‘ – should meet with him at Khundari House at their earliest convenience. And by that, I take him to mean now, today.”

“What does he want?” Devrik rumbled. “Why such urgency?”

“I don’t know,” Toran answered with a resigned sigh. “I suggested it might help speed things along, if the matter were so urgent, if he would brief me first. But Undayar Goldfinger is a stickler for protocol, and the Princes’ orders were apparently to present the matter to the entire group, so there’s an end to it.

“Actually, he’s turned out to be not such an ass as I’d first thought,” he added in an aside. “We’ve developed a decent working relationship when we have to interact, and his staff seems finally to have figured out they’re more guests in my home than the other way around. But his wife remains a frigid old biddy. She dislikes me, which is fine since I return the sentiment heartily, but I swear if she makes one more cutting remark to poor Ergaboreth…”

“Anyway, the matter of Prince Rhoghûn’s communique does seem urgent… I’ve never seen Goldfinger look so distracted before, distracted and worried. So if you are all agreeable, I suggest we return to Khundari House now.”

The group agreed readily enough, but when Vulk suggested they take the tunnel to avoid the constant drizzle falling outside, Toran was compelled to object. “Sorry Vulk, but you’ll just have to risk frizzled hair… none of the legation knows about the tunnels connecting our homes, and I’d like to keep it that way. Which would be difficult if you all showed up, dry and unmuddied, in the basement of Khundari House.”

A short time later the Hand found themselves seated in the study of the Legate of Dürkon, sipping mulled wine. The ambassador was short even for a Khundari, his usual dark hair liberally streaked with white and his beard almost entirely gray, still dark only around his mouth. His clothes were extremely rich, and his fingers bedecked with rings of gold and silver, many set with rubies, emeralds and sapphires, and his chest adorned with a glittering array of gold chains.

“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” he began once the servants had distributed the drinks and left the room, closing the heavy brass-bound door behind them. “As young Toran will have told you, I have received an urgent communiqué from my liege, on a matter of grave importance. His Highness requests your help in this matter, and while only his own Shadow Warrior is honor-bound to obey, he hopes that the bonds of trust and friendship that have grown between you and the people of Dürkon will cause you to lend your aid as well.

“Before I get to the specifics, let me first give you some history, a lesson most germane to the matter at hand, I assure you. As you know, Dürkon is the last surviving city of the ancient Khundari Great Realm of Akazdarön. That kingdom once ran from the northernmost peaks of the Sarajis Mountains to the southernmost, from Mount Tesharün to Mount Kurbik, and ruled over both Khundari and Umantari peoples with wisdom and justice.

“But in the great Mage Wars that ultimately brought the Age of Chaos to an end, Akazdarön was shattered and its glory brought to ruin by the deeds of others. For while the Dwarven kingdom took no part in the wars of the Wizard-Kings of Thardol and Vorkin, it suffered just the same in the Great Cataclysm they unleashed. The northern portions of the realm were destroyed as whole lands sank beneath the waves, mountains erupted in flame and earthquakes rent the continent.

“The southern portion of the realm was not destroyed, although it suffered greatly in that time, as did all the lands of northern Ysgareth. Eventually our people rebuilt, and the new kingdom of Akaztamyr arose from the ashes. For almost 15 centuries the new kingdom survived, pursuing in general a policy of isolation from the Umantari and Telnori kingdoms around it. Until the coming of the Necromancer.

“With his foul armies of the hated deathspawn, he overran the North. We fought, long and hard, but the numbers were overwhelming…”

Here the Legate paused, overcome with emotion for a moment, his hand covering his eyes as he gestured to his listeners for patience. Toran’s face was grim and fierce as well, following this recitation of a history he knew well, a history kept close in the hearts of all his people.

“Forgive me,” the Legate finally went on, regaining control. “The centuries between have not served to dull the memory of the Rape of Akaztamyr, nor of the Carnage of Zakiruth, in the souls of my people, nor dim our everlasting hatred of the Necromancer and all his foul works – the gülvini most of all!

“But those two great cities were not the only ones to fall… many smaller cities, mining colonies and outposts fell in the year after the twin cities died. One of these was the mining colony of Fächnor, a great source of silver, iron and, in the last century before the fall, gemstones. With the surviving Khundari settlements of the North desperately trying to avoid a similar fate, and sending our armies to fight with the Umantari and Telnori allies to defeat the Necromancer, it seemed a lesser matter, if still a grief.

“No attempt was made to recover the colony in those tumultuous years, nor could such an attempt have succeeded then. It was not until two years after the defeat of the Necromancer at the Battle of Harkathir that our thoughts turned again to our lost colonies, and to Fächnor in particular. For you see, it lies less than 50 kilometers from Dürkon itself, the largest and nearest of the gülvini hives that to this day infest the Sarajis Mountains. The Prince of that day took thought for the safety of his people, as well as for the riches still entombed in the mines, and determined to retake Fächnor.

“But the army he sent was defeated, the survivors returning home demoralized and ashamed. Over the next 400 years the princes of Dürkon made six further attempts to recover Fächnor and drive out the gül-Bogabai who infest it. But all were failures, in various degrees… we successfully destroyed some of the lesser off-shoots from the Fächnor hive, but have never been able to retake the colony itself.

“In the last century our late Prince was content to keep a close watch on the gülvini hive; but his son, Rhoghûn, our current Prince, has long desired to make another attmept to retake it. He has increased the watch on Fächnor, and to good effect. His spies now report signs of both increased organization under the new, and very young, “king” who took power earlier this year, and a population spurt of such extent that a swarm seems likely very soon.

“Normally such an event would be welcome, if it led to civil war, rather than swarming – with as much as three-queaters of the gülvini dead, it would be a perfect time for an attack. But the signs of organization are disturbing, and rather than just a swarm, which would be bad enough, we may be facing an actual coordinated attack. Plus there is the matter of… well, it has long been asserted that the gül of Fächnor have some sort of supernatural aid. In going through the archives and reading the written accounts of each past battle, the Prince’s scholars have found that a horn was heard at the height of fighting… and always afterward our warriors were filled with dread and hopelessness, but the Bogabai seemed energized and even more vicious.

“Prince Rhoghûn has determined that we must strike soon, before whatever plan this new “king” of Fächnor is hatching can come to fruition. Not least because until this threat is removed, he dares not send more than a token force to the aid of your new kingdom, alliance or no. But if the beastmen do, indeed, have some supernatural aid, then it is likely we will face defeat once again, no matter how many men we send, and that we can ill afford.

“And so we come to the heart of the matter – Prince Rhoghûn requests that the Hand of Fortune return to Dürkon at once, there to meet with him and his advisors before going to Fächnor yourselves. There he would ask that you use your own arcane and martial skills to scout out the interior of the old colony, assassinate as much of the leadership as you can and, most vitally, discover and either capture, destroy or otherwise neutralize whatever arcane help they might use against us.

“A dangerous task, there can be no question, but both the Prince and Lekorm Darkeye have faith in your ability to pull it off. For our army will be hidden as close as possible, without risking discovery, and will await your signal to attack. Then, mayhap, Fächnor may ounce again come back into the possession of we who first built it.

“Will you undertake this charge from the Prince of Dürkon, gentlemen, lady?”

♦ ♦ ♦

The Hand would agree only to think deeply on the matter for the moment, but promised an answer within 25 hours. They returned to the Green Tower to discuss the difficulties and possibilities of such an undertaking, but were surprised to find Master Vetaris seated at the big table, sipping a cup of hot chocolate. He smiled up at their bemused faces, and motioned them to sit.

“Your lovely lady-in-waiting let me in,” he explained to Mariala. “She’s upstairs taking a bit of a nap right now, however, as what I have to say is not for anyones ears but your own.”

Once everyone was seated and had poured their own cups of chocolate from the pot in the center of the table the old man jumped straight to the point.

“I know where you have just been, and the nature of your meeting with the Legate of Dürkon. I also know what it is his Prince has asked of you, and I imagine, but do not know for sure, that you have not yet given an answer… yes?”

“As usual, your information is correct, sir,” Mariala replied with an arched eyebrow. “Although I suspect your claim of not knowing what we said to Legate Goldfinger is a mere fig leaf to preserve the idea of our autonomy.”

“Not at all my dear,” Vetaris said mildly. “I don’t deny that I keep various eyes on you all, as on all agents of the Council; but not to the extent of spying on you, truly.”

“Well, it’s pleasant to think so,” Devrik replied drily. “But what is it about this current proposal that brings you to us so promptly on our meeting? Do you wish us to refuse it?”

“On the contrary, I wish you to accept it, dangerous as it surely is.”

“The Star Council believes there is something involving the Vortex going on then?” Vulk inquired, leaning forward intently. “Do you think they are behind this sudden organization within the Fächnor hive?”

“Certainly they head the list of any possible authors to this trouble, if authors there really are, or indeed any real trouble. It is possible this is simply the work of an exceptional young ruler – it does happen, even amongst the gülvini.” Vetaris smiled and took another sip before continuing.

“But the Vortex, while taking up so much of our attention these days, is not the only possible author of trouble and chaos in this world. Our agents throughout the southern Sarajis are reporting increased organization, and growing populations, in a number of gülvini colonies. I won’t bore you with the details, but a pattern is emerging, and it seems likely that someone is attempting to organize all the tribes of the region into a single horde.

“If it is the Vortex and “Captain Chaos” as you have so colorfully dubbed him, then it can only be to set them onto the civilized kingdoms of the region to further destabilize them. But if it is some other would-be Pürshok, they results are likely to be the same – gülvini hordes descending on civilized lands, bringing death and destruction with them. In either case, they must be stopped, whoever they are.

“To that end, we feel Prince Rhoghûn’s actions are in the best interests of us all, and that you should help him in every way possible. And after your mission to Fächnor–”

“Assuming, of course, that we survive it,” Korwin interjected.

“Yes, assuming you survive it,” Vetaris agreed equably, “then we would like you to investigate several other key areas: Rekorgo, the largest and oldest gülvini settlement in the Sarajis Mountains, Jha-Kusk, the most remote, and Wabaft. I think you should plan to be away for two months or more, if you undertake this assignment.”

♦ ♦ ♦

And so it came to pass that the Hand of Fortune Gated through to Dürkon on the evening of 1 Vento, having taken the day to plan and organize what they would need. Korwin spent the early hours silently meditating to celebrate the holy day of Tyvos, the Bounty of the Deeps. They met that night with Prince Rhoghûn and Lekorm Darkeye to get the latest intelligence on the lay of things around Fächnor, and what little they knew of the interior. Lekorm presented them with a copy of an ancient map, some 600 years old, of the layout of the mining colony.

“I wouldn’t rely on it too much,” he sighed. “In five centuries I’m sure the cursed gül have made a few changes…”

The next morning they set out on sturdy Dwarven ponies, in the van of the Khundari army, northwards to the slopes of Mt. Gelim… and 1,200 savage gül-Bagobai warriors.