The Dark Frontier

A Moonsea Adventure

Chapter 12

The Tomb

            Aksana considered the man carefully. "If a Talontar you are, vhat do you here?"
            The man's hopeful expression faded a bit, and he wiped his face with a dirty, ragged sleeve, leaving a trail on his face. "I had recently arrived to serve one of a few small villages vhen they came raiding. The leader of them, Mandrake, he has no respect for the Gods!" Paryev's outrage at this was nearly palpable, but he subsided again quickly. "I do not know vhy they follow so Godless a man, but they took me at his command, and I... I have been forced to tend their vounds vhen they return from their raids. Even those of the..." he shuddered, his voice falling to a whisper, "drekavac."
            He looked from Aksana to Spielos, face questioning. "If it is not I whom you have come for, vhy have you come?" He watched Aksana closely, his eyes going from her scars to her hair and back. "And how did you find this Godsforsaken place? I vas told the vay here is dangerous, and I believe it. Sometimes the raiders, they do not all make it back."
            Aksana spit on the ground. "A fitting end for such as them." She relaxed slightly and gave a barely perceptible nod to Spielos. "Ve came to drive these godless dogs from this land. Vhere vould they go from here? Some of our company, they have been taken, and ve must find them."
            The Atjets pursed his lips. "I do not know vhere they vould go - this place, this hole in the ground, it is the only place I have known vith them.Vhen they vere not raiding, they vere here; it seemed important to Mandrake - their leader. And to the demon, for that matter."
            Spielos nodded. "Did you see which way they took the others?"
            Atjets Paryev shook his head slowly, absently wiping the sweat from his bald pate with his sleeve. "I only saw them take the vomen deeper into the tunnels, tovard the tomb - if they have left vith your companions, I do not know to vhere they might go."
            "Help our fallen friend. If you are false in any way, you will never leave this cave," he stated flatly, coldly regarding the priest.
            The Atjets paled further, his dark eyes wide. "I vill do as you say, please," he whimpered, scuttling over to kneel by Alethra. He turned her over with care, shooting Spielos and Aksana nervous looks as he tended to her wounds.
            "Thaurlann is taking too long," Speilos observed. "I will help him." He turned to Aksana as he quickly lit a torch. <"If he does anything suspect, kill him!"> Spielos said to her. His wide grin, the drying blood spatters on his face and his words all combined to make him seem the crazy gypsy the sellswords had named him.
            Looking at the blood on Spielos and the way he moved Aksana wanted to tell him to stay. Her mouth opened and just as quickly closed as she watched him make his way down the tunnel where the other foreigner had disappeared. Instead she turned back to the priest. "Can you help the demon," she gestured to Alethra, "she serves the church of Shar and the Banite priest."
            "Ah, I see," Atjets Paryev said, sounding somewhat relieved. "I can stop the bleeding, and I vill do vhat I can for the vounds, if you vill allow me to fetch my salves. I think it vill be fine, if allowed to rest." He gauged the wounds with a critical eye, seemingly unmoved by the flesh he had bared. "Vith the correct salves, von full day of rest may be enough. It vill not be painless, but it vill not slow the demon, either."
            Aksana watched the Atjets look over Alethra but her mind was busy trying to process all that she had heard. "The salves, vhere are they?" She asked absently. A cold feeling was filling the pit of her stomach. The more she thought about the tomb he mentioned the worse she felt. <"Speilos, I think ve should hurry,"> she called back down the tunnel. "You," she focused on the Atjets, "you must help the outlanders vhen they come back." Her frown deepened, "Ve must be able to help the others and they cannot do so injured." She wished fervently that Krel had come with them. "I have seen an Atjets, he vas able to miraculous things for the vounds of my friend; healing many of her injuries in the course of a single night. Can you do such?" Her green eyes blazed with intensity.
            "You have seen von of the Chosen do this?" Atjets Paryev paused in his ministrations, eyes wide. "Truly the Gods, they are vith her!" At a sign of impatience from Aksana, he hastily cleared his throat and returned to his work. "But I am not so blessed, obviously, haha. No, I deal vith vounds the old vay, vith steel and thread. Speaking of this, I vill need my things to finish here, and vater to clean its vounds." He pushed a lock of hair back from Alethra's brow, fingers lingering over her pointed ear. He started and looked up; Alethra's shadows had finally subsided into the flickering firelight, leaving only their mundane counterpart behind.
            "Thank Shar," the Atjets breathed.
            Aksana was disappointed that he had not Krel's talent but not surprised. She had never before seen one blessed as he was. Her fear for the white-haired outlander made her temper short with the priest. She gestured impatiently with her crossbow. "The salves, they are near here?" She kept glancing down the tunnel, searching for some glimpse of Spielos returning. In the quiet, Aksana could make out a faint rumble.
            "They are just here, by the sleeping mats," Atjets Paryev said hurriedly, standing and making his way gingerly between the still bodies to one of the niches. He shuddered as he gazed at the drekavac, who lay in a crumpled heap nearby, then quickly dug out a basket from the dirty bedrolls. Taking it back to where Alethra lay, he rummaged through what appeared to be a number of pots and pouches, drawing free a small pot and a roll of clean bandages.
            "I must still vash the vounds," he said, a measure of confidence in his voice that had not been there before. "If you do not have vater, there is..." He paused, staring at Aksana, then continued, "The lake vater is fresh. There are buckets in the stores."
            The thought of going outside by herself made Aksana shudder. She was so distracted that she nearly forgot the waterskin in her backpack. Setting her crossbow down she slipped the pack off and rummaged around until she found the skin. She handed it to the Atjets, "Here, this should do for now. Ve can get more later if you need it, vhen my companions come back." He took the skin with a nod of thanks and, with a clean cloth from his basket, he set to cleaning the wounds. She crouched down near the priest and watched him work.

            Thaurlann sighed heavily in the darkness. "Of course the gypsy contradicts me. Why did I expect this time to be any different," he muttered under his breath.
            Finally locating Gannon, he found the priest to be alive for the moment. He wouldn't be able to tell anything until he could get him into a lighted area.
            Despite Spielos' plea for help, Thaurlann would not leave the atjets to die in the dark. Besides which, it would take him time to navigate back through the darkness anyway.
            He hefted the heavy man, armor and all, over his shoulder as best he could. The weight threatened to bring him to his knees as it pressed down on his injured side.
            Suddenly, something sparked his mind and sent a wave of adrenaline through his body.
            "Anya!" he said aloud.
            As fast as he could manage carrying a 250-pound body in total darkness, he headed back towards the firepit, knowing he must endure the pain for as long as it would take.
            Spielos didn't have to travel far before coming across the hulking form of two warriors together - one being carried over the other's shoulder.
            Both appeared to be in bad shape - Gannon remained unconscious, and the entire left side of Thaurlann's armor had been rent asunder, fresh blood still visibly sticky beneath the tear.
            Thaurlann paused as Spielos came into view. His eyes narrowed in, as if preparing to give a stern retort of some kind. But the corners of his face softened in the torchlight as he eyed Spielos up and down. He paid close attention to the blood staining the white-haired man's rapier and the bruises evident along parts of his body.
            Thaurlann nodded wordlessly, his expression displaying muted admiration for Spielos' obvious martial deeds.
            "Is the battle over?" Thaurlann asked, changing to a hurried tone. "We need to find Anya."
            The white haired man shook his head. "No, it is not over until we find the others. We killed many of the bandits, and some got away, but I think there might be some left in the cave."
            Spielos sheathed his rapier and moved to help Thaurlann carry the Ajets. "We surprised them with our ferocity and broke their ranks, so there is a good chance the Anya and Rhia are still alive. When we find the others we should then tend to our wounds before we give chase. We do not know the area and running about in the dark is a bad idea in any case," he opined.
            Thaurlann nodded sourly. "Fine, we can rest for an hour. Then Anya can help us track the rest of them down. Our mission is not complete until we bring back the leader himself."
            "By the way, we rescued another Ajets," Spielos added, grinning and glancing sidelong to see how the other took the news.
            Thaurlann's face turned from disappointment to mild anger. "It must be the cowardly Talontar. If the blessed Atjets Krel had been in his place he would have at least sought to aid his so-called `rescuers.' "
            Spielos started to laugh, but it hurt his ribs, so he kept talking. "Outnumbered two to one, if not more and fighting them on their home ground and we still put a boot in their asses! Clearly, the gods must be with us," he finished.
            Thaurlann almost started to ask which gods he meant, but it was not his place to be an evangelist for the Faith - he could leave that for Gannon once he woke up. Thaurlann's role was merely Bane's blade, to be pointed in the direction of the Faithful's enemies.
            "Yes, they were," he said flatly. "I will admit your trick with the drums and that demon-elf's trap certainly gave us the initial advantage."
            Before long they stumbled into the firepit area with Gannon. Spielos helped Thaurlann set the slumbering man down near Alethra. Atjets Paryev immediately descended on the man, loosening his armor.
            "We must find the others, they could also be wounded and in need of aid," Spielos said. He regarded the craven wretch who called himself an Atjets for a moment and gave a small sigh.
            <"We will have to trust the Atjets for now and hope for the best, we can't afford to leave someone to guard him. He doesn't strike me as the type to run away into the night.">
            Aksana looked at Atjets Gannon lying next to Alethra on the floor. Next she looked at Thaurlann and Spielos. The two outlanders were covered in blood; most of it their own. "Bane help us," she muttered. "Spielos is right, ve must not wait. The Atjets," she pointed at Paryev, "said that the others, they vere taken deeper in the cave, to a tomb of some sort." She shuddered when she thought about her next statement. "The bandits, they dealt with foul demons; I fear there may be more such or some other foul magic in this tomb. Vhy else stay in this gods forsaken place?" She sighed heavily at the thought of what the two headstrong foreigners might do. "I vould recommend a more stealthy approach than ve have taken thus far." Her red hair was matted with sweat and blood and straggled into her face but they could see the pleading look in her green eyes.
            Thaurlann seemed uncomfortable at the mention of leaving the spineless priest alone with their two companions. He seemed even more uncomfortable at the mention of a "stealthy" approach.
            "Fine," he said noncommitally. "Let's grab what we need - some extra torches perhaps - then we can let you go ahead," he addressed Aksana, "since you aren't burdened by noisy armor. We will travel some distance behind, but not too far."
            He turned to stare Atjest Parjev in the eyes. "I would recommend tending to the Banite first, blessed Talontar. I hope that you will find the courage to stay and tend his wounds, rather than to rejoin the bandits that we are sworn to destroy to the last man."
            The Atjets shrank back, crouched over his salves and pouches. "Of course, of course," he burbled, "I am grateful to be free of them, I do not even know vhere they have gone, I vill stay right here and help the Atjets and his demon-" His babbling continued as Thaurlann went to search the cave stacked with crates and barrels.

            As it turned out, it didn't take long to find the women. The northeast passage descended down a crude earthen stairway to a stinking pit the bandits had apparently been using as a latrine, then rose again to a low, rubble-choked passage where Anya and Rhia had been dumped. Piles of stone and chunks of masonry were everywhere, revealing the tunnel as a new excavation, but special effort seemed to have been taken to make a low 'wall' around the hole to the north. A very dim, flickering light filtered in from the north wall, with the area beyond fashioned of carved stone. The passage connected to the northwest tunnel Spielos had seen, forming a ring that ended with the opening into the tomb.
            The cold stone chamber of the tomb was faintly illuminated, as was the passage before it, with flickering torchlight passing through the open doors to the north. Six ancient sarcophogi rested within, their lids unsealed and perched precariously atop the tombs. On the floor lay a man, clearly a bandit like the others, his blood dried to a dark stain around him.
            Aksana looked into the tomb but was reluctant to enter it. The open sarcophogi made her skin crawl; she made the sign against evil. "That man," she pointed to the dead bandit without approaching any closer, "is he von ve killed?" She looked nervous and uncertain, clearly she didn't think so.
            Thaurlann shook his head. "Regardless, he got what he deserved."

            Once Anya and Rhia were consigned to the care of the Atjets Aksana relaxed just a bit. The pressures of the day started to catch up with her and her hands started to shake. She quickly tried to hide the tremor from the others. Remembering the keg of wine Thaurlann had found in the store room she allowed herself a wicked grin. Not only would it help her calm down but she was sure Spielos would appreciate it. "Ve promised ourselves a drink vhen this vas done." She turned her sly smile on Spielos. "Now seems as good a time as any. The gods only know how long before the others, they are fit for travel."
            Thaurlann looked over at Aksana and shouted, "No! We must return all the goods to their rightful owners when this is done. Every drop must be accounted for!" Aksana nearly jumped out of her skin when Thaurlann shouted at her. She stared at him like a startled deer, her green eyes wide.
            He let the statement sink in for a minute, and then suddenly a wry grin crossed his face. The smile turned into a chuckle, lasting only a moment, but leaving a boyish grin on his face that seemed to remove years from his appearance.
            "See, I can tell jokes, too, Spielos," he said. "Maybe you can make me an honorary gypsy."
            Spielos cocked one eyebrow and seemed to be on the verge of drawing his rapier before Thaurlann started to smile. Spielos laughed and gave Thaurlann a good natured jab to the shoulder before he went looking for wine.
            After he revealed his joke, Aksana blinked. Once. Twice. Then the corner of her lips twitched. A sound that started sounding like she was choking forced its way out and revealed itself to be laughter. All of the tension from the last few days released itself in one sudden outburst. Aksana laughed, she laughed so hard she bent double. She couldn't stop herself. Tears streamed down her cheeks and her breath came in gasps by the time she could.
            Thaurlann's smile, though, went away almost immediately as he turned his attention back to the unconscious remainder of their group. As if the grim concentration had never left his face, he began pacing back and forth before the Talontar.

            It was an hour before Anya came to, clearly battered and groggy; beside her Rhia, Alethra and Gannon slept on. "Vhat has happened?" Anya asked, grimacing as she rubbed her head, then again as it pulled at the knife wound Atjets Paryev had bandaged. She looked up at the others with sudden alarm, struggling to rise to a sitting position. "Mandrake, he is dead?"
            Thaurlann had finally sat down on the floor as the wound in his side made pacing interminably painful, but had remained sitting vigilantly near the wounded. As soon as Anya spoke, he jumped up and rushed forward to her.
            A relieved smile crossed Thaurlann's face, mixed with other emotions harder to read. "We defeated them, but -" He stuttered, not wanting to continue, but finally forced himself to speak. "Mandrake barely escaped my blade." He turned his eyes downward. "I failed Lord Tjesnitjérs," he said. And you, his eyes seemed to add as they arose for a moment, but were unable to meet Anya's.
            "But, he is badly wounded, so tracking him down should be easy. He had only one good fighter still with him, so we should strike quickly before he can re-gather any of his troops." He directed the last statement at the others, anxious to continue as soon as possible.
            Far from being angry, Anya looked oddly relieved at Thaurlann's confession. Reaching for her saber only to find it missing, she looked about, spotting it lying where she had fallen. Rising laboriously to her feet, she stood swaying a moment before going to fetch it with slow, uncertain steps.
            Rising with it in hand, Anya cast a look over the group and slowly shook her head. "Octarov, he downed me vithout raising a sveat. I do not think Mandrake, he vill be easier to deal vith, even vounded." Her voice was filled with reluctance, but she went on. "Maybe ve should vait for the others to rise." She seemed far from certain of her suggestion, looking toward the tunnel mouth with hungry eyes. When she looked back, her eyes fell on the Talontar crouched quietly by the others.
            "Vhat is he doing here?" she asked, scowling. The Atjets cringed, looking with wide eyes to the others. Anya advanced on him, her face dark with anger. "Vhat have you told them?"
            "Nothing! I svear it, I have said nothing," Atjets Paryev whimpered, scuttling backwards on all fours. "Only vhere to find you, that is all!" Anya hesitated, then turned away from him, disgusted. She looked to the others, repeating her question with less venom. "Vhat is he doing here? If the bandits got avay, vhy did they not take him vith them? He is their healer," she added, turning to frown at him in disapproval.
            "He vas separated and left behind by the bandits." Aksana said trying to fathom where Anya's anger was coming from. "He vas the only von ve had to heal you." She shrugged helplessly slopping some of the wine she was drinking. "None of us," she gestured to Spielos and Thaurlann, "could have done it." She stood up, lost her balance and caught herself against the wall. "Yes," she grinned crookedly, "vaiting for the others vould be best."
            Spielos, who had been uncharacteristically quiet as he slowly nursed a hearty glass of wine felt moved to answer.
            "He is here because I thought it would be an affront to the gods to kill him," Spielos drawled. "Also, as Aksana said, he was the only one around who stood a chance of healing you. With his aid, we will be in better shape than Mandrake and that other, Octo-what-ever his name was. They are both sorely wounded."
            He took another sip of wine. It was goat piss compared to some of the finer vintages that passed through Westgate, but its aroma recalled in his mind cheap taverns and easier days, so it tasted of nectar.
            Anya stared at him and Aksana for a long moment, then nodded. One hand rose to the knife wound Malvira had dealt her, now neatly bandaged. "It is vell. Let him serve a purpose. You also should let him tend you," she said, gesturing at the wounds Octarov had dealt him. "Now ve must decide vhat to do vhile ve vait."
            Spielos figured the wine and the fire would be the last comforts in quite some time, so he was determined to make the best of it. "We shall eat. I thought I saw some vegetables in the storage area, and salted meat. With a bit of water I'll make us a tasty stew. I am sure Mandrake has not been starving himself as we have while getting here, we should turn this food to our advantage and build our strength for the chase."

            With the decision to wait made, Anya helped Spielos deal with the last of the dead and the dying, making sure that each received a slit throat and spit on the face before dragging them off. Paryev was vastly relieved by the removal of the drekavac, and seemed more cheerful afterwards. The faint rumble coming from the northwest tunnel was ignored for the time being, no one feeling up to exploring. For Thaurlann and Anya the wait seemed longer than it was, their desire to head out after Mandrake moving them to fidget and pace, til finally Paryev suggested they lie still and allow him to tend their wounds. Spielos' stew was a welcome relief to the hunger pangs and weariness they all felt.
            Spielos stripped off his shirt and mail and submitted to the ministrations of the priest. In the firelight, it seemed as though his torso was covered in reddish snaking worms, but it was just the scars on his pale skin reflecting the firelight. Spielos hissed in pain several times as he was poked and prodded, but seemed glad to have someone qualified to tend wounds looking him over. Paryev smeared them with the same green paste he used on the others, a mixture that stung at first but then slowly ate the pain of the injuries away.
            It took several hours more until Rhia, as the last of them, blinked awake again in the flickering firelight with a pounding headache where Mandrake had struck her. Gannon, too injured to move, lay resting near the fire with the Atjets working over him, seeming oddly helpless without his usual encasing of steel. Alethra lay close by, silent under the watchful eye of her raven.
            Spielos spent a bit of time sorting through his belongings and gathering up his drum. He remembered seeing the lute in the other room and went to pick it up. Picking at the strings for a moment, he smiled. It was in tune. He wasn't the best lutist in the world by any means, but his training had included the rudimentary aspects of all of the instruments. He only knew a few chords, but that was enough to pass the time while they waited.
            "Well," Rhia's voice was scratchy, and she sounded somewhat foggy still. "We're all still alive? 'S'good. Did we win, or are we prisoners?"
            Spielos looked up from his lute. "We won the battle, but some bandits escaped. There is food and wine. I made the food, so it is quite tasty. The wine is passable. You should eat," he advised. "Stay there, do not move."
            He walked over to the firepit, got Rhia some food and brought it to her. He also poured her some wine, cutting it halfway with water.
            Rhia took the food with a murmured thanks. She seemed content to eat what she was given. She certainly wasn't enjoying herself, but after the knock to the head she'd received, waking up to food and wine was a far cry better than the alternatives.
            As he settled back in with his lute, Spielos cast a sidelong glance at Aksana. "You are going to make yourself sick," he chided. "We have not eaten well the past few days, you can not afford to puke up your food. Besides, if you delay our pursuit of the bandits, I am quite sure Anya will stab you."
            Anya shot him a look, but Thaurlann very nearly allowed another chuckle to pass his lips.
            The wine quickly calmed Aksana. Her hands stopped shaking after the first glass so that she was encouraged to drink a second, and then a third. She had watched the Atjets tend the wounds of the others with some interest; comparing his methods with those she had seen Krel use. At first she had felt good, better than she had since she had been forced to leave the city of her birth. But the dour mood of the others soon doused her wine induced euphoria. She sat slumped against one wall staring into the fire, a look of fixed fascination and horror on her face as she watched the flames consume the wood. Spielos' voice penetrated the fog enveloping her mind slowly. She looked up at him. Her green eyes, normally shining with some hidden purpose, were dull. At first she did not appear to recognize him, or perhaps she just hadn't heard what he said. Never the less, when her cup was empty she just sat staring into it rather than fill it again.
            Spielos rolled his eyes. "We are alive and we've got food in our belly, and you are being a wet blanket. Come over here and I'll teach you a few notes on this beautiful lute." He laughed to himself. "Then you will be able to play it as well as I can." He smiled warmly, but thoughts of snuggling up with either Aksana or another cup of wine were interrupted by Tharulann.
            Seeing the others finally on the mend, Thaurlann decided to allow the priest to minister his wounds. His now-useless armor clattered to the ground in a heap, revealing a tunic soaked with blood both fresh and stale. He lied down in front of the priest, keeping his eyes warily on the Talontar. The Atjets took his tunic as well, wrapping him tight with bandages that seeped to red as he watched.
            After finishing stew and wine, the maga sighed and sat back, examining the cave and the people in it. She was glad to see no one had been killed - no one that mattered, anyway. Sheer guts and stubbornness seemed to have won them the day. Gannon's school of tactical combat, no doubt, she thought with a grimace.
            Thaurlann looked over at Anya while the priest worked. "While the others are still gaining their strength, perhaps Spielos, Anya and I should check out that tomb. We should make sure all the bandits are truly dead - and that the dead that rested in those coffins rest in peace - before we leave this place."
            Never mind that you'd be in one of those coffins yourself if not for Bane's grace, he rued.
            "Vhat tomb is this?" Anya asked with a frown, setting down her bowl.
            Spielos frowned as well. He really didn't want to do any more work as his ribs ached and there was wine for Bane's sake.
            He is clearly mad, the white haired gypsy thought, time to stall.
            "I did not check the coffins when we were clearing the bodies out," he admitted, "but I assure you that all of the bandits are dead and stacked like firewood at the mouth of the cave. Anya and I saw to that. The coffins are not far, if you want to check them, go right ahead."
            "As for me, I am going to have more wine and a bit more stew, then go to bed." He gave the other man a smirk. "You do know we will get the worst watches, right?" Anya gave him a cool look, but said nothing to refute him.
            Rhia rested quietly, feeling her headache fade, and her strength returning. She snapped back to consciousness when she heard someone mention exploring.
            "What? Oh, if you need help, I suppose I could go with you. Where now?"
            Thaurlann turned his head over towards Rhia in surprise. "I just think we should -" he looked over at Spielos, who had already left the conversation. "I could have sworn I heard a faint - what would you call it? A rumble? From the tunnel," he continued. "The bandits dug their way into a tomb, and who knows what they unearthed there. We should make sure they haven't released any more evil into the world."
            Thaurlann paused for a moment, looking back at Anya."But not to the point of letting Mandrake get away."
            "No, not so far," Anya agreed, checking her weapons. She slid her scratched sword back into its scabbard with a rasping noise. "But I do not vish to rest in the tunnels vith a threat at my back." She rose and came over to examine Atjets Paryev's handiwork, frowning. "Your vounds... you are sure you vant to do this?"
            The Atjets slowed in his work, finishing tying off the bandages and wiping the residue of the salve from his hands onto his stained robe. "Bevare the tomb," he finally said, his words quick and hushed. "It is cursed! Mandrake, he tried to get inside, but something drove him back. The men and vomen, they vere terrified to go near it again. Only his pet demon did not care, but even it did not go in again." He shuddered. "The demon, it vas bad enough before, but since first they vent into the tomb it vas..." Paryev made a helpless gesture with his hands. "Mandrake fumed for days vhen he could not make the others go back in. They respected and feared him, but they vould not go. There is something... something unnatural there." His eyes slid towards Alethra, and he swallowed loudly.

            Still smiling, Spielos poked a foot at his tipsy companion. "Aksana, do you want to learn how to play the lute a little bit or not?"
            Aksana looked up from her empty cup, studying Speilos through the curtain of her hair. His smile spread a warmth through her that was not entirely due to the wine. She did not bother to even glance at Thaurlann when he spoke. She had drowned the day's events in wine and the last thing she wanted to do was start thinking about them again. She tried to decide if the white-haired man was making fun of her or not. Finally, with the liquid courage running through her veins, she decided she did not care if he was or not. She nodded her head just slightly and used the wall to help push herself up. She stood where she was, hand braced against the rough stone wall, for a moment while she collected herself and made sure she was not going to fall. With a deliberate effort not to wobble too much she move over beside the bard. She sat next to him with slightly less grace than she normally demonstrated. She sat close to him but not quite touching. She did not look up at him but stared at the lute he held in his hands.
            "Here, it is easier to learn by doing with instruments." Spielos flipped the lute around and thrust it at her. "Also, you are going to have to look at me, and I would appreciate it if it was not through your hair."
            Surprised, Aksana took the proffered instrument, nearly fumbling it with her wine numbed fingers. She struggled to clear the fuzziness in her head. Despite herself she felt a grin tug at her lips; this was more like the Spielos she had come to know. Brash, to the point. She looked up from the lute she held. Slowly she reached up and cleared the hair from her face. Her cheeks were a bit flushed from the wine. Her wide green eyes stared at him, waiting.
            <"If the truth be known, my ribs and shoulder ache so bad I can barely hold the thing,"> Spielos admitted. Smiling, he held up his left hand and flexed his fingers into a chord, "First, do your fingers like this, then strum the bottom three strings."
            Aksana dropped her eyes to Spielos' hands and watched the way he held his fingers. Continuing to fight the fog in her head she struggled to hold her fingers the way he was demonstrating. What he made seem easy felt like she was trying to stretch her fingers impossibly far. Placing them on the strings felt strange. She strummed clumsily making an off tune sound. Even to her dulled ears it sounded bad.
            "Again, please," Spielos asked, "this time with feeling. Every note you play or sing must come from somewhere inside you. Happy notes from happy places, sad notes from sad places."
            He poured himself another measure of wine and settled into a comfortable position.
            Aksana looked at Spielos as he casually adjusted the placement of her fingers on the strings. The touch of his fingers lingered on hers like ghosts. Looking back at the lute she allowed her hair to fall and cover her face, her scars. She strummed the strings gently. With the correct placement of her fingers the sound was better, not perfect, not good, but better. "There must be many more sad notes than happy ones then," she said quietly.
            "That was better, but again with the hair!" Spielos scoffed. "There is no reason to hide from me, we are friends. We have even killed men together." He took a sip of wine that became a gulp.
            "There are no happy notes or sad notes," he remarked, recovering himself. "As I said, the feeling the notes have comes from within."
            He produced his drum and stood up. "I will show you. We must sing the spirits of the dead off to their rest in any case."
            Spielos began to tap our a slow rhythm, like a heartbeat on his drum. After a few moments, he began to chant; not with words, but with primitive sounds that blended in with the drumbeat and called to mind the calls of birds, the gentle lapping of waves and the blowing of the wind.
            He continued on like this for a little while, before the drum beat began to speed up, and he began to mimic sounds like those of a battle. He increased his tempo, building to a crescendo before suddenly stopping his verbal acrobatics, leaving only the drumbeat with slowly faded as well, leaving only silence.
            Spielos quickly and tipped back the rest of his drink and swallowed loudly into the sudden silence. "Be merry," he said, grinning widely, "our drums still beat, and we shall hear the calls of the birds and feel the wind on our face yet another day."
            When Spielos called Aksana friend she was filled with an emotion she did not really understand. Her eyes followed his every move. When he stood she stood as well, the lute held loosely at her side. She brushed the hair from her face; partly to see what he was doing better, partly because he wanted her to.
            She had never heard such music before. She was fascinated by it. It spoke to something more wild and free than anything she had encountered in the Moonsea.
            She had taken a step closer to him without even realizing it. When he grinned at her she grinned back; a small smile that quickly grew. Standing there, staring at him from entirely to close, the self-pity she had felt earlier seemed suddenly far away.
            "I've never heard anything like that." Her voice was soft and breathy; maybe it was the wine.
            "It is a dirge based on the music from The Nalanther Isles- " he began, to say, but then he noticed what had happened. Aksana was close enough for him to smell the wine on her breath. She wasn't hiding behind her hair, and he could see her eyes clearly.
            "Oh," he said. "I, uh... oh." Having lost his train of thought, and without any wine in his cup to hide behind, Spielos was reduced to smiling back at Aksana for a moment before his brain started working again.
            "Yes, the Nalanther Isles," he recovered. "Meant to mimic the passing of an enemy you did not know," he finished, giving a little laugh.
            The moment had seemed to stretch on and on. Reality snapped back into place with an almost physical blow. Aksana blinked, color rushed up and turned her face almost the same shade as her hair. She took a step back and stumbled nearly dropping the lute. "I, uh..." She looked anywhere but at Spielos.
            Without thinking, Spielos stepped forward and caught Aksana by the arm to steady her. "Careful," he admonished, though his smile was still warm. "You had quite a bit of wine."
            "For a minute I thought you might have been- " words failed him again, and he broke off. "What is the word?" He searched his brain, but came up empty.
            Spielos shrugged. "Huh, I don't think I ever heard the word for it spoken in this language."
            When Spielos steadied her Aksana had automatically put her hand up and ended up with it pressed against his chest. She found herself looking into his blue eyes at close range for the second time in quick succession. "Do all outlanders have such blue eyes?" Somewhere in the back of her mind under the fog of wine she knew she should pull away, but she did not.
            "No," Spielos said. "I am a bit strange looking no matter where I am."
            "What of you," he asked, drawing closer, and letting his touch on her arm linger. "I have not seen too many people in these lands with red hair."
            Although Aksana did not pull away from Spielos she stiffened a bit. Complicated emotions flashed across her face in quick succession. "No," her voice was bitter, "my father's mother, she vas outlander." She looked away from his face, staring instead at his chest. "My sister and I, ve vere alvays... different." The hand she held against him clenched, the nails digging in slightly.
            "That must have been difficult," he gasped, surprised by both what she said and the nails in his chest. He started to take a step towards her, blinked once, slowly, then but stopped. The moment was ruined. Spielos released her arm and tapped Aksana's nose. Grinning widely, he said, <"You've got very pretty eyes.">
            Stepping away, he added, <"I don't know your customs, but if we keep standing so close..."> he trailed off for a second before finishing, <"not that I don't want, uh... never mind."> His pale skin flushed crimson, and the wine and firelight only made it worse.
            "I think I hear the others coming, anyway," he added, lamely.
            Aksana swayed a bit as Spielos released her. Her eyes, wider and deeper than normal, seemed to echo his words. Mention of the others brought a fresh wash of color to her face. "Our customs," she repeated quietly, her voice trailed off as a dark knot twisted deep in her soul. Something passed through her eyes that might have been fear. She snuck a quick peek at the unconscious Atjets near the fire.
            Not willing to completely let go of whatever it was between Spielos and herself she sat back down and fingered the lute. When she looked back up her eyes were normal again with just a hint of mischief. "I vould like it if you vould teach me another chord," she smiled crookedly up at him.
            Still smiling, he sat down next to her. "Of course," he said.

            The tomb was as they had first seen it, empty in the dim, flickering light but for the body on the floor. Skeletons decked in blackened armor could be glimpsed in the nearest open sarcophagi, lying at rest beneath their precariously perched lids. Anya frowned at the scene, staring at the man whose rotting stink could be smelled from the tunnel.
            "Vhat killed him?"
            Rhia looked around the tomb, eyes searching carefully. Her slender fingers fished a prism from its place at her belt, and she began to whisper the words to a weaving. When she felt the power release properly, Rhia held the prism to her eyes and examined the room again, peering through the lens. A faint hint of magic ran along the skeletons' bones, dormant, almost hidden. Nothing else in the room appeared out of the ordinary.
            After a few moments, Rhia raised her arm in warning.
            "There is something mystical about the skeleton. Something hidden, or dormant, like a trap, or something long unused. I would approach it carefully, if at all, my friends."
            Thaurlann had already been feeling uneasy since hearing the Talontar's tale about the tomb. This new piece of information - that magic was involved, gave him further pause.
            "If the bandits could not enter this place, then perhaps there is no point in entering. I am sworn to destroy evil, but I also hold an oath to Lord Tjesnitjérs to bring the bandits to justice. As long as Mandrake is free, I should concentrate on finding him."
            He worried that the other two might be disappointed, but he also knew his heart no longer held a burning desire to enter.
            After a pause, he added, "Someone should probably keep watch over this place while we remain in the caves, just in case something in the tomb means us harm. In the mean time, we should get the elf's bird to -" He hesitated as he thought about what he was about to say. It made no sense, yet he could not deny it was true. "To tell Krel and the other sellswords to bring the horses and dogs to us."
            Anya nodded decisively. "Vhat you say is vise, out... Thaurlann. Ve must find Mandrake; this cursed place is of no matter." She cocked her head at his suggestion to use Alethra's pet to contact Atjets Krel. "The bird did come to tell us of your situation earlier," she said slowly. "And it vould not risk running into any bandits that escaped our trap. The Atjets, though, he might run into them." She waved her hand abruptly, dismissing the matter. "He must come to us; ve cannot lose time going to him. Let us send the bird and see vhat the dawn brings."

Bandit lair, Mirtul 26

            The morning brought a drizzling rain, but also Atjets Krel and a handful of sellspears, looking a bit ragged and muddy but cheerful. The horses whickered and champed at the smell of blood, and Alethra's cage of crows made muffled quorks beneath their cover, but all were present and accounted for. The sellspears immediately crowded around Spielos, unable to tell him enough of their bravery and skill in the 'fight' with the bandits, and eager to hear of the exploits of the group. The stack of bodies by the cave entrance brought forth whistles and claps of admiration, and they immediately fell to looting the corpses of what little they carried, though at Krel's request two saw to the horses instead, watching the others with envious eyes.
            Spielos listened intently to the men's tales of what happened on the lake and through the night. When his own turn came, Spielos relayed in speech and pantomime what happened in the cave to the crowd around him. He glossed over his own part, saying that while he and Aksana snuck around to flank the bandits to hit them from behind, Rhia and Alethra used strange magics to smite their foes. Then, giving credit where credit was due, he talked up how Thaurlann and Gannon rushed in, weapons swinging, striking down foes with every step, even while the foes flung their own magic at them and made everything go dark.
            Atjets Krel was calm and collected as ever, confirming the success of Rhia's plan and the decimation of the band of bandits that had come looking for them. "Vith the monster on von side and us on the other, they had no chance," he said with a little smile. "I counted at least five dead before the creature, it came ashore and forced us to retreat. Some got avay, of course, but not enough to be a threat."
            Atjets Paryev all but threw himself at Krel's feet on learning that he was the Favored of which Aksana had spoken, thanking him for his rescue and sticking closeby thereafter. Krel examined the wounded, then knelt to pray, leaving the others to discuss the tomb and their plans for Mandrake.

            Aksana's sleep was troubled. Her body twitched and jerked and the occasional moan escaped her lips.
            "Where am I?" She wondered aloud. She found herself walking the streets of her childhood home, Melvaunt. She looked around; it all seemed eerily familiar to her, but she couldn't quite place it. A sound behind her let her know someone was following her in the darkness. Whirling around Aksana confronted them. It was Tanya, her sister, just as she was when they were children. "Tanya," she called out. She tried to take a step towards her sister but something held her feet. The ground had turned to mud and she could not free herself. "Tanya," she cried out again.
            Tears streamed down Tanya's cheeks. "Don't leave me Sanna," she whimpered in a small helpless voice.
            The harder Aksana struggled the farther away Tanya seemed to be. A dark figure loomed behind Tanya. Laughter, strangely light and cheery, echoed all around Aksana. It rose in volume piercing her very soul.
            "Come! ve have been vaiting for you!" the figure beckoned.
            Aksana screamed falling to her knees. The mud rose up and trapped her hands, sucking her down farther.
            Tanya was gone. In her place was a woman, dirty and wearing ragged armor; her eyes wide with astonishment. "You," she said as blood started to drip down her face until she was completely covered. She melted into the ground.
            The figure loomed over Aksana. "Give it up girl." It was a different voice this time. "Enjoy your freedom and live your life. Forget this foolishness. She is paying you for this, yes?" The figure formed into a dark-haired man with a full beard; he would have appeared noble if not for the raggedness of his clothing. He seemed to be addressing someone over Aksana's shoulder.
            The mud was gone but strong hands held her from behind. She struggled to turn and see who it was. Something warm ran down her forehead and into her eyes, blinding her. All she could see was a blur of white hair. Licking her lips she tasted the coppery sweetness of blood.
            "There is money here, plenty of silver." The dirty nobleman said. "Vhy risk your life vhen I can go and you can get the silver? You can not spend it dead." He faded and there was only a dark void.
            "Sanna!" Her sister's voice screamed in the darkness. "Don't leave me!"
            Aksana struggled harder. She managed to free one of her hands and wipe the blood from her eyes. Now she could make out who held her.
            "Spielos! Help me!" She cried out loud. She surged up straight out of her bedroll. Sweat soaked her clothing and made her hair hang in ragged mats, clinging to her face. Her breath came in ragged gasps. The unreality of the dream still hung thick around her. Tears began to trail down her cheeks as she tried to make sense of her surroundings.
            As she stared at the rough hewn walls of the cave her memories gradually caught up with her. Unfortunately they brought a searing headache with them. The tears ran faster; she wasn't sure if it was the pain of the headache or the lingering terror of the dream. She wiped her nose on her sleeve and tried to stifle the sobs that were starting to rack her chest. The uncontrollable shaking of her body brought an unwelcome queasiness to her stomach. With a small whimper she jumped up and ran down the passage towards the fresh air. Ignoring everyone around her she threw herself to the ground behind some bushes and heaved out the contents of her gut. Long after she was empty her body continued to convulse trying in vain to bring up more.
            It was Anya who knelt by her, easing her away from the mess. She stroked Aksana's back, pulling her into a gentle hug. "Yeni, yeni. Vhat is wrong?" Her voice was full of concern, without the harsh judgement Aksana might have expected for such a display of weakness. Instead she rose, supporting Aksana, and led her a little farther into the bushes for privacy. "You are in no danger," she soothed, keeping an eye on their surroundings even as she lowered Aksana to sit on a fallen log. She knew better than to let her guard down in the wilds. "Vhat is wrong, little von?"
            Aksana struggled to bring her body back under control. She felt weak and ashamed but there seemed to be little she could do about it. She scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. The nightmare visions kept chasing themselves through her head. "The bandits," she sniffed loudly, "they seemed to know me." She blinked her eyes rapidly trying to stop new tears from flowing. "But never have I seen them. Vhat if," she paused. Her thoughts made very little sense to herself; what would they sound like to Anya. "I think maybe it vas my sister they saw." She looked up at Anya. Her eyes were large and shinny with unshed tears. "I have to find them. I have to know." She gripped Anya's arm tightly. "Before ve kill them I have to know, have they seen Tanya." She knew it was a long shot at best but she was desperate for any sign of her sister after all of these years. She would chase any hint, no matter how unlikely.
            Anya's eyes widened, but she didn't look convinced. "Ve vill find them, Aksana, and you vill ask of them vhat you vant... but your hopes, do not set them too high. These dogs cannot be trusted." Her hands tightened for a moment in anger on Aksana's arm, but it wasn't she who was the target of Anya's rage. "They are nothing but motherless svine. Ask vhat you vill of them, but do it qvickly. Bhaal is hungry for their blood."
            Anya rose, offering Aksana a hand up. "Now dry your tears. Come, eat. Ve vill see vhat the future brings. If the Gods vill it, you vill find your sister again."

            "It is done." Krel's voice was strained, his face painted with sweat as he sagged back from the last of his prayers over Alethra. His face was flushed with effort, the veins standing out against his skin, and his breathing was ragged as he slowly tipped over, his eyes rolling up in their sockets. Atjets Paryev caught him and eased him to the ground, pushing Alethra from her sleeping mat to give Krel a softer place to lie. She moved without a word of objection, seating herself away from the light of the firepit. Her eyes gleamed like a cat's as she watched the little priest.
            "I have heard of this vonder, but never I have seen it," Atjets Paryev whispered, awe in his eyes as he gazed at the unconscious Talontar. Gannon came up behind him, the blood on his clothes and the scars on his skin the only signs remaining of his terrible wounds. "He sleeps the sleep of the blessed," he rumbled, making the fist of Bane over him. "Let him rest. He has earned it."
            "Now," he growled, turning to Rhia. "Vhere is the dog Mandrake?"
            Rhia looked up at the Banite, and her eyes narrowed. "That is a good question, Atjets. Apparently he and one other managed to stab our brave Thurlann in the back, and escape. I will consult the Weave, and find him for you."
            Rhia got up from her spot near the fire and went to her things, carefully removing the crystal ball and its stand, and excusing herself to a spot away from the others, where she could work unseen and undistracted. Settling herself in, Rhia brought Mandrake into her thoughts, as she had seen him last, and concentrated on finding him in the swirling crystal before her.

            Thaurlann looked away as Rhia and Gannon spoke, but his face betrayed uneasiness. When Rhia had stepped out of earshot, he walked over to the Atjets. "More magic?" he said, under his breath. "Shar protect us."
            He paused for a moment, and then looked back at the others. "Anya could track the dog down, even in this weather," he said confidently, but not loudly.
            Thaurlann made his way to the entrance of the cave, looking out at the never-ending gloom. He stood shirtless, having no reason to put his torn tunic back on for the moment. He idly scratched at his side, which only hours ago had been torn flesh, yet now revealed only a heavy scar.
            No matter how often Atjets Krel worked his miracles, Thaurlann could not help but give praise to the Gods for their blessings in amazement. It wasn't just the healing that he gave thanks for. Somehow he felt a closer bond to Bane since the previous night's battle. Thaurlann felt as if Bane and the other True Gods had somehow finally accepted him into their flock. When he had said his morning prayers he almost felt the presence of someone listening to him in his mind.
            "Lightning?" Thaurlann suddenly noticed the return of his horse - the mount was standing together with the rest of the horses and two very unhappy-looking sellswords. He walked out towards Lightning, letting the rain fall coldly onto his bare skin. He strode directly towards the horse, scratching his steed's forehead.
            "All is well, now, friend," he said, ignoring the sellswords nearby. "Now that you have returned we will ride down the bandit leader and fulfill our duties as a knight of Bane."
            He felt around in his pouch, still strung around his waist, and pulled out the silver horseshoe. He held it up against the gray sky, where it still seemed to shine despite the lack of sunlight.
            "Then, we will find the evil force that brings the Forest Things into the daylight and destroy it."

            To find an out-of-the-way spot, Rhia was forced to use the small cave Mandrake had emerged from, which turned out to be the room of her first scrying attempt upon him. A set of widely-spaced steps wound up into it, barely lit by the guttering brazier. Once fed, the light revealed a wide bed of fine furs in a niche, with the floor covered by a thick crimson rug. A second niche held an altar carved in bas-relief with black lilies and a pattern of three teardrops in a triangle, and was set with a skull and chalice.
            Alethra followed her, making a curt gesture towards the main cave in explanation. "He vishes me to observe." There was no question as to who "he" was. She settled herself nearby, not close enough to be a distraction, but close enough to see what Rhia did. Her raven fluttered to perch on the skull adorning the altar, watching them both with beady eyes.
            Rhia concentrated on the crystal ball, willing Mandrake to appear. As before, the swirling mists of the crystal seemed to draw her in, pushing the outside world away. It was as though she was brought to him, standing nearby as the narrow-faced man panted over the body of a man. His leather armor was torn and bloodstained, and he moved with the careful deliberation of one whose wounds were severe. Still, there was an aura of command about him as he looked upon the pale, still faces of the bandits surrounding him. "I vill alvays keep my vord," he said, wiping his dripping sword on the trousers of the man he had felled. His voice was low and even. "Do not fail me as they did."
            Among them stood Malvira and Octarov, though Emistil was nowhere in sight. There was also a dwarf dressed in chain, an axe on his back, who held Mandrake's horse as the man pulled himself laboriously into the saddle, then was pulled up in turn. Rhia counted five other bandits, men and women who seemed a bit the worse for wear, looking ragged and a little lost. All were mounted, though not all the horses were saddled. The band moved on at a signal from Mandrake, pushing their way through a swamp, heading east by Rhia's best estimation. They left the body lying facedown in the muck, taking with them the bow it had been clutching and the quiver on its back.
            "Ve vill lead them close," Mandrake said through clenched teeth, sweating despite what Rhia knew to be the cool air. "A trap for their trap, and ve vill lose them on the road." The dwarf sitting behind him grinned, a horrible display of yellowed teeth. They rode on in silence, keeping a relatively good pace through the bog despite Mandrake's wounds.
            Once she had watched long enough to be sure of Mandrake's position and direction, Rhia sat back and let the vision go. She looked up at Alethra with a glitter in her eye.
            "He's hurt. Hurt, tired, and struggling with his own men. He means to lay a trap for us, but since we know this, we should be able to turn it on him and finally take him, I think." Rhia's eyes narrowed in thought. "I think he left something behind, though." She then bent her will to the crystal again, this time picturing the hated elf, Emistil in her thoughts.
            She found herself at a dizzying height, far above the lake. Emistil was crouched at the edge of the cliff, watching the activity far below with his bow close beside him, his short sword hanging at his belt. The sellspears appeared no larger than ants from this high up, but he watched them as though he could see their faces, read their minds. He looked in no better shape than Mandrake had; blood darkened the scales of his armor, and the rain trickled down him in pink rivulets, plastering his hair to his head.
            The damned elf was still smiling.

            Leaving the sellspears to talk among themselves, Spielos made a point to stop by the sellswords who were tending the horses and share a drink of wine and a joke with them before seeking out Thaurlann.
            Spying the other tending to his horse, Spielos went over to him.
            "You're looking better," he said to the other man. "What did you learn about the tomb?"
            Thaurlann shrugged his shoulders. "We found nothing but cursed bones," he said. "I thought we should come back and rest rather than continue any further."
            He looked back at the cave entrance thoughtfully. "Still, it makes me curious what the bandits sought. We will have to wring the information out of Mandrake before we bring him to justice."
            Thaurlann looked back at Spielos, who nodded and made a gesture for him to continue. He took the stopper out of his skin and sloshed the contents around a little.
            "You seem to be looking better yourself. Obviously you enjoyed yourself last night while we were in the tomb. You and Aksana make a good pair. Although I did not see you in action, I could tell after the fact that you were very skillful with your weapon, and your prowess obviously encouraged her to display her own assets as well."
            Spielos' eyebrows leapt towards the heavens, and the gulp of watered wine that had moved halfway down his throat sped towards his nose. With a supreme effort of will, he swallowed it again and avoided choking or laughing. Instead giving two dignified coughs to clear the wine from his esophagus as he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve to cover the smile on his lips.
            Thaurlann nodded approvingly. "You are both welcome to fight alongside me any time."
            He inhaled the humid morning air with vigor. Without a trace of emotion, he said, "Today is a good day for a hunt."
            Having recovered enough to speak again, Speilos nodded. "Yes, it is. Before we go I am going to have a look at the tomb. Maybe I can figure something out." With that, he turned and made his way back into the cave.
            The tomb remained as they had left it, the odor of rotting bandit and musty air leaking out into the passageway. A careful examination (or at least, as careful as it could be from outside) of the room revealed nothing more telling than Rhia had found; the tombs were open, and the skeletons within them armored for war. Still, there was something about that armor... Spielos realized he had seen armor like it before, but only illuminated in books. It was of an ancient style, one not seen in hundreds of years; he had read of it in a history of assaults on the Dalelands, characteristic of a Moonsea force.

            Still shaken by her nightmare and suffering from a hangover Aksana wiped vainly at her eyes. They were red and puffy but at least they had stopped leaking tears. She stood and followed Anya back to the others. She kept her face lowered, hidden behind her hair.
            As they walked, Thaurlann stepped in front of them, eyes narrowed. "Spielos went to go check out the tomb for himself, and now he's recruited several of our sellswords to go back with him. He can handle himself, I'm sure, but we cannot lose so many if he runs into danger."
            Aksana's hadn't thought that her stomach could feel any worse than it already did, but when Thaurlann told them what Spielos was doing it clenched up even tighter. Her eyes behind the curtain of hair widened. She pulled away from Anya and followed Thaurlann into the cave. She slowed only long enough to grab a pair of her daggers as they passed by her hastily abandoned bedroll. She tucked on into her belt and kept the other naked in her hand.

            Rhia let the image go, and sat back again. "That elf is beginning to annoy me." She met Alethra's eyes and nodded grimly. "Emistil is above us, on the cliff. He's watching us - probably to tell Mandrake what we do. Mandrake and five other bandits are riding East, through the swamp. They have Malvira, that nobleman, and a < dwarf> with them." She let out a breath and packed the crystal ball away. "Let's go tell him." Alethra followed her without a word, her raven flapping to perch on her shoulder as they passed from the curtained alcove.
            When Rhia found Gannon, she quietly told him and the rest of the companions what she had discovered - quietly, and away from the sell-spears, so as not to alarm them. "I think we should deal with Emistil first, if at all possible. We don't want him at our backs, or warning Mandrake of our course. I - " She stopped. "Son of a bitch!"
            The giant Banite, already frowning at the news Rhia had given him, frowned even deeper at her sudden cursing. He shot a look at Alethra, but the demon woman looked just as puzzled. Gannon turned his stern gaze on the heathen woman, silently demanding that she explain.
            The look on Rhia's face was not a good one. "Atjets Gannon, I believe we have a problem. Mandrake's room - there's an altar. It has power. I know this, because it tried to hide from me when last I scryed that room. I think you should look at it. It seems to be partially dedicated to Talona, but... there are... differences." She shrugged, uncomfortably. "I am no expert on the Gods, Atjets, but..." Rhia trailed off. It could be that the altar bothered her simply because of who and what she was, or it could be something else. Either way, Gannon would likely know better what the thing represented.
            "Of course you are 'no expert,' you are a heathen outlander, and a vitch." Gannon rumbled, though his tone seemed less that he was being accusatory and more that he was merely stating the obvious. "This altar, you vill show it to me. Now." With a curt nod of his head, Gannon directed Rhia to walk before him, and Alethra to follow. Together, they went to the small room the wretch Mandrake had called his own.
            Upon seeing the bed, Gannon snorted. This man wasted time and resources on frivolities, while real warriors-
            Gannon's line of thought was interrupted when his eyes came to rest on the altar.
            It was small, of stone rather than the more usual worm-riddled wood that the Talontar seemed to prefer. The maga had been right about the markings, which were clearly Talonite as well. The stone was unpolished, but long use had smoothed its rough edges. The skull and copper chalice atop it had likely been stolen together with it, for they wouldn't be out of place in a Talontar shrine (and care had best be taken with the chalice, lest it had held poisons).
            Gannon had never heard of an altar that defied dark magics, but then he hadn't specifically heard that they didn't, either. In all likelihood it had been taken from a village in a raid, unless Mandrake had been waylaying Church caravans, and Gannon had not heard of such a thing when in the city. Whatever the case, the man Mandrake had the most outrageous nerve in taking from the Church. Who would dare such a thing?
            Gannon ground his teeth audibly. "Vhat is this man? He dares to attack noblemen, to imprison them in their own homes, he dares to attack a Chosen of Bane, and he vill steal from the very church!" Gannon spat on the floor of the cave. "This man, he vill ansver for his audacity, I svear it."
            Rhia looked confused. "This is an actual altar then? Holy to Talona? It has not been defiled, or used for evil?"
            The Banite turned his stormy gaze on the maga and managed to avoid snarling. She was trying, and without her aid, things may well have gone much worse last night, he reminded himself. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. He looked again at the altar, eyes narrow, looking for any sign that the altar might have been... misused.
            There was a dark stain atop the stone, but sacrifice was to be expected of the Talontar, and the blood did not look recent. Apart from that, even under close examination the altar appeared unharmed, the carvings whole and unmarred. Perhaps Mandrake was not fool enough to deface a holy object.
            Gannon caught the eyes of the demon witch, Alethra. "The Talontar, the von who served the bandits, bring him to me. He vill tell me vhat he knows of this."
            Alethra nodded wordlessly, and as her head came back up her eyes flitted - only for a moment, almost imperceptibly - back to the skull where her raven continued its watchful vigil over the proceedings. The image reminded her of a darker time, but she did not let the momentary recollection affect her expression.
            She backed almost silently out of the room, her quiet footsteps no louder than a child's whisper.
            He turned then to Rhia, for the idea that either Alethra or the lesser priest would disobey him was one he would never have considered. The Maga had moved closer to the altar, looking at it intently, as if seeking to find its secrets. Her face hovered very close to the chalice and skull.
            "Do not touch it, outlander!" His voice cracked like a whip. When Rhia practically leaped back from the altar, he nodded, then explained. "The cup, it could have held poisons."
            Her heart pounding in her chest, Rhia nodded. That man scares the Hells out of me! As well he should, she reminded herself. For the remainder of this mission, her life could be forfeit to the merest whim of the giant Banite. The only way to survive was to out-mooneye these thrice-damned mooneyes. Re-sticking her courage, Rhia moved closer to the altar again. She waved one hand in the sign of 'the Watcher,' and the other in the sign of 'the Assassin.' The ancient Ruathlek words for 'toxin' and 'revelation' passed her lips in a rush of air. When she inhaled, Rhia felt the power of the Weave enter with the breath.
            Suddenly, she could smell nearly everything. The scent of the leather thongs around her neck combined with her sweat, which they had absorbed over time, mingled with a thousand other smells in the room. Gannon's steel and leather, the fur on the bedding, the earth and stone, she could smell them all. Even a faint hint of the sea tickled her nostrils for a moment, before she managed to sort things out, and tell what was here, and now, from what had been. As she began to separate the various scents, and focus on each one in turn, Rhia realized that she could also taste them, faintly, and that the flavor and scent grew stronger when she concentrated on them. Her vision also blurred slightly, and she could see faintly glowing auras around the sources of certain odors. Gannon, when she looked at him, pulsed with the rich brown of leather, the dull rust-grey of steel, and the dark red of blood.
            Carefully, she turned her attention to the chalice on the altar.
            The cup tasted of metal so strongly that it was difficult to catch the hint of bitterness within, but Rhia's careful thoroughness paid off. Under the tang of the copper was a trace of sour death. There had been poison in the chalice, though it had been washed clean since. Now only the faintest residue remained, harmless enough, though one might think twice before drinking from it.

            Spielos licked his lips and cracked his knuckles. Things were now interesting. He hadn't seen Aksana in little while, and he did want to talk to her, but these ancient relics demanded further study. Frowning in thought, he debated going in there alone, but knew it was folly. Without another thought, he went see if he could round up a brave sellsword or two to watch his back, or at least pull his body out if it came to that.
            The sellspears were leery of the tomb after hearing Atjets Paryev's warning, but several followed Spielos to the entrance nonetheless, gripping their spears tightly and spitting between their fingers until it was a wonder the packed earth didn't turn to mud. They clustered behind Spielos and peered inside at the dead man, waiting expectantly for the bard to take the lead.
            Heavy footsteps echoed behind them, and a dim light grew brighter and brighter.
            Thaurlann, fully dressed again in his damaged armor, strode confidently towards the entrance with shield in one hand and torch in the other. His hair was still wet from the rain, slicked back neatly. He had shaven again, once more differencing himself as an Outlander, yet also making way for his sharply-chiseled jawline to make his determination at his current task known.
            Thaurlann thrust the torch expectantly to one of the sellswords, and then quickly drew his own sword from its sheath. As he pulled the sword out, it was evident that his belt was more heavily laden than before - no less than six torches adorned his belt like knives ready to be thrown at a moment's notice.
            Aksana peeked out from behind Thaurlann trying to catch a glimpse of Spielos. A breath she did not realize she was holding released in a sigh when she caught sight of his white hair standing out among the sellswords. Almost against her will her eyes slid past Spielos and looked into the tomb. She spit between her fingers in the same fashion as the other Moonsea natives.
            "You said you were going to take a quick look, not start an expedition," Thaurlann said to Spielos, a slight grain of irritation in the swordsman's voice. "I think Rhia and Gannon are discussing what to do with her," he huffed dismissively, "visions, so we have a little time before we must move out."
            Spielos stood there, mouth agape. Thaurlann was like a runaway ship in port- there was no telling when he was going to crash into something, but when he did, it was sure to be both dramatic and devestating for all concerned.
            He looked around at the sellswords. "Touch nothing. These are the remains of the dead, and are protected by Myrkul's grace." They looked at him uncertainly, clearly unsure whether the bodies in a cursed tomb were really under Myrkul's heavy hand.
            He strode forward without another word, walking right past the unseen barrier that seemed to keep everyone at bay. Aksana watched Thaurlann walk forward with wide eyes; she stayed where she was near the sellswords.
            Thaurlann had only taken a few steps towards the barrier when Spielos reached out and grabbed his arm. <"Wait, you big oaf!"> the white haired man blurted out, clearly irritated. Spielos stabbed one finger at the tomb while waving the other hand at Thaurlann he continued, <"We can't blunder into that tomb without saying the proper prayers first! Are you mad? That armor is hundreds of years old. For everything to be in such good shape there must be magic at play here! Don't you ever think before you go rushing into things?">
            This was the first time that Aksana had heard any of the outlanders speak of prayers or gods. She was interested despite the pounding headache that threatened to push any intelligible thought out of her head. She listened and watched with red-rimmed eyes but remained standing where she was.
            <"Do you?"> Thaurlann countered, pushing away the shorter man's arms. His earlier moment of respect for Spielos seemed to have evaporated. <"I know that magic protects this place - the mage told us last night. But if we're pretending to be concerned with such things at all, then where's the priest to give the prayers? Where's the mage? Instead you grab the nearest dragon bait and lead them to their doom, just like Mandrake!">
            Thaurlann breathed heavily down on Spielos and waited for a response. Though his stance showed defiance, his eyes betrayed a hint of regret at throwing so harsh an insult at his comrade. The sellspears looked between the two, lack of understanding plain on their faces. What were the two outlanders jabbering about? Behind them, Anya's voice rose in annoyance.
            "Vhat are you fool men up to? The tomb, it is of no vorry to us. It is the bandits ve should be vorrying about." The Warden was too blocked by the press of bodies in the narrow tunnel to see what was going on, but she didn't advance, keeping her distance from the sellspears.
            "Vait," Aksana said quietly to Anya, "I vant to see vhat they do." She glanced quickly at the warden and then back at Thaurlann and Spielos. "They must vork this out." Without waiting for a reply she used her small size and nimble body to work her way to the front so none were between her and the two outlanders.
            Spielos took a step back as if he'd been struck with a blow. He didn't give any indication of having heard the Warden as he asked, very quietly, "Is that what you think?" The look of shock on his face faded quickly his eyebrows drew down into a frown.
            <"Yes,"> the gypsy spat, <"I think all the time, and most of the time it seems I am the only one who does so!">
            Spielos' anger faded quickly. Sighing, he pointed towards the sellswords. <"That is why I told them to stay back and to only get involved if I got into trouble. They were to run for help or try and get me out but only if they thought it was safe. I was giving them a chance to earn some bragging rights by coming along with me. Did you even bother to ask what was going on before you came charging in here, accusing me of evil deeds?">
            The smaller man didn't wait for an answer, he supplied one. <"No, you did not.">
            Everyone is looking at us, Spielos realized. For the smallest fraction of a second he throught about stopping, but he was on a roll. Thaurlann needs to hear this, but I don't want to embarass him in front of everyone else, either.
            He continued on in their outlander tongue. <"As for the prayers, I was just about to start them before you interrupted me. I don't need to have my head stuck up Gannon's ass all day long to seek favor from the gods. A simple prayer of permission to enter the tomb from Myrkul and a request to Shar for guidance in finding something important should suffice- and if it doesn't the only one who gets hurt is me! Maybe you should start using your head to think for yourself and stop relying on your sword so much. You're a fine warrior, but that is all you'll ever be unless you can back it up with a bit of wit and wisdom.">
            Aksana stood and listened carefully to the two men. She tried to keep her face blank so that the sellspears would not realize that she understood everything that was being said. Only her eyes showed her interest, and possibly something deeper, as she watched the two clash against each other.
            <"My only aspiration is to be a warrior for good,"> Thaurlann said through tightened lips. <"I do not agree with everything you said, but I was presumptuous in assuming your intentions; for that, I apologize.">
            He sheathed his sword calmly, taking a step back from the other Outlander. "This is a good discussion, but it must wait for duty."
            Thaurlann turned around towards the sellswords, spotting Aksana's curious eyes. "Listen to Spielos if you wish, but mind your duties to Any - to the Warden," he told the men.
            Thaurlann walked towards the men, waiting impatiently for them to part. They stepped aside for him quickly enough, but by their faces they didn't understand which of the two outlanders outranked the other. What had they said in their strange tongue? Who had won the argument? Unsure of whom to follow, they shifted nervously, looking to Anya for direction, but she remained silent, her face unreadable.
            <"I rely on my sword because I cannot rely on people,"> Thaurlann said offhandedly as he exited.
            Spielos watched Thaurlann exit with a roll of his eyes. He was tired of having to fight for everything.
            <"Myrkul allow me safe passage into this tomb. Shar guide my eyes so that I might see,"> Spielos intoned. <"I speak to you plainly in my native tongue, without guile or direspect."> The sellspears reacted to the familiar names by lowering their heads and muttering prayers of their own.
            And Tymora watch over your humble bard, he thought as he turned on his heel and walked into the tomb.
            Bony fingers clutched at the sides of their sarcophagi, raising ancient warriors into the flickering light. Their mouths opened and shut as though they were trying to speak some warning or threat, but the only sound that came was the dry chatter and click of bones. They clambered down from their tombs clumsily, keeping hold of the heavy shields and scimitars they had lain with.
            The sellspears shouted in alarm, backing away from the tomb entrance with their spears leveled. Anya was pushed back, and drew her blade with an oath. "Vhat is going on in there? Spielos, come out!"

            When Alethra found Atjets Parjev, her green eyes met with his as she spoke, as if she sought to peer into his very soul.
            "Atjets Gannon requires you," she said. A creature of few words, each one came out quietly, but melodic, not soon to be forgotten.
            Parjev scrambled to his feet immediately, tearing his gaze from hers and looking everywhere but Alethra's eyes. He spoke no word to her, but edged around her, wringing his hands nervously and glancing at where Krel lay, unconscious, before scurrying through the curtain and up the steps to where Gannon and Rhia stood. He shot a look behind him to see if Alethra had followed, then bowed his head to Gannon. "Vhat is your vish, Atjets?"
            Gannon looked away from the maga and her strange fascination with the chalice. His eyes settled on the little man before him, and his gaze was implacable.
            "This altar, how and vhere did it come from, and how did these slovotchka make use of it?"
            Gannon didn't need to point out that as a Talontar, the altar should have been the little man's responsibility, nor did he need to mention the oddity of just why the altar was here, in Mandrake's bedchamber, rather than in a place of honor, where it could be properly tended - presumably by the Talontar himself. He definitely didn't need to point out whose responsibility it was to make sure the thing wasn't misused. Silently, like a gathering storm, Gannon waited for answers.
            Paryev cringed under Gannon's unspoken accusations, his hands twisting about each other anxiously. "They must have taken it from the shrine, the shrine in my village. I vas not allowed in here, they kept me in the big cave. I could not... I do not know vhy he vanted it, vhat he used it for. He is a godless man. Unless... Atjets, if I may?" He stooped over the altar, fingers running along the carvings, and when he pressed the stone swung open, revealing a tiny cabinet. Peering inside, he shook his head. "They discovered the hidden catch. The tithes, they are not here... but there is more. Books, a pouch, a chest..." He poked about inside, and his watery eyes widened. "Pearls! Black pearls, and... the chest, it is full of silver!"
            "The tithes then, they have been replaced, though the debt this man owes the Church cannot be repaid with monies." Gannon's voice was implacable, his eyes narrow. His hands clenched, as if itching for his spiked flail, or Mandrake's neck. In truth, either would make him feel better. He opened his mouth to give further instructions, when the sounds of commotion and fear echoed from outside.
            "Vhat is this now?" Gannon growled, turning towards the cave opening.

            Thaurlann cocked his head at hearing Anya's voice, but continued walking. Obviously she had enough of his dawdling, he thought.
            Spielos turned around and to see the figures moving in their tombs. He couldn't stand it. Everyone but Aksana was always giving him a hard time, and now the gods were in on it, too. <"Fuck you, Myrkul!"> he shouted.
            Aksana hissed in surprise and fear. Her mind rebelled aginst what her eyes were seeing. Her fear for Spielos quickly pushed the shock back so that she could function again. She grabbed the nearest sellspear and forced him to look at her. "Atjets Gannon, go and get him!" She gave the man a shove back in the direction of the main cave, and he left at a run. She did not advance farther into the room but called to Spielos. "Spielos, come back."
            When Thaurlann heard the order for Gannon, and the shouted curse by Spielos, hairs pricked up on the back of his neck.
            His instinct wavered between letting the man to his fate and going back to fight. In the end, though, his concern for the entire group won out over selfish spite.
            Rather than rushing headlong back to the tomb, though, he hurried in the opposite direction, searching for Gannon with a sellspear at his heels.

            Rhia's eyes were sharp, and she examined what she could of the treasures hidden in the altar, over the little atjets' shoulder. The books were of interest, though more for curiosity than anything else. The black pearls, now, she could think of a few Weavings in which they could be useful, though she doubted she'd be allowed to make use of them.
            Her head turned at the sounds, and Gannon's response to them, though she kept one eye on the little atjets as well.
            Alethra likewise held an interest in the items found in the altar. Although she had no vantage point with her small stature, her raven kept a close eye on the proceedings for her.
            With the noise outside, though, she knew this would have to wait. The muffled voices sounded perfectly clear to her, her sensitive elvish ears easily picking up the distant conversation.
            "Atjets, for your assistance, the red-haired one calls," she said, with a very slight urgency in her voice. "It sounds like they found something - unholy - in the tomb." Alethra whistled softly, and Nut flew down the stairs with a soft flutter. She then turned and followed quickly behind, emerging into the central room just in time to see the golden-haired Outlander and sellspear coming from that direction.
            "He woke something in the tomb," Thaurlann told Gannon, not specifying the "he", although he felt it was obvious. "I'll let you tell me how we should deal with this."
            "Valking dead men!" the sellspear moaned, looking back fearfully, as though he expected a ghost to be coming for him.
            The giant Banite actually smiled. It was not a look to inspire jocularity. After the building rage and frustration of having Mandrake slip through his fingers, something unholy to dispose of would give him an outlet for his rage, and allow him to glory in doing the will of his God.
            "If something unholy has been avakened, The Bane of All Evil vill 'deal vith' it, Outlander. He vill do so vith His fist clenched." Gannon strode forward towards the tomb. He did not hurry, but his stride was long and determined, and thus the man moved quite quickly. He shook loose his fearsome chain flail as he walked, and his other hand brought forth the medallion of his god. His dogs, who had been resting by the fire, came to trot at his heels.

            Snarling, Spielos drew his rapier. These foes had no flesh. He suspected his rapier would not be as effective as he liked, but it was all he had. He brought the edge down on the forearm of the skeleton to his right as he backed out of the tomb, but the blade skittered along the bone harmlessly. He felt a sharp pain stab him as he crouched to slip through to the tunnel passage. The dead warriors crowded forward, but fortunately the opening in the wall was too narrow for more than one to stand in. They stopped behind the one Spielos had attacked, and it stood waiting for his next move.
            Anya pushed her way to the fore of the sellspears, sword out and ready, waving away the raven that came fluttering with her. She paled when she saw the armored skeletons standing of their own volition, but unlike the cursing sellspears she didn't back away. As the one in the opening traded blows with Spielos, the sound of footsteps echoed up through the tunnel.
            As he approached the sellspears, Gannon's look was one of confident determination, designed to remind these men with whom they traveled, and what Church they served. He shouldered and shoved where he had to, to make room for himself, but was careful not to impale anyone on his spiked armor - not for their sakes, but because to do so would have slowed him down. Once they realized he was there, the sellspears parted before him like water, allowing him and the others through.
            Spielos heard the shouts as held the doorway as best as he could, mindful that he couldn't keep this up for very long. He thought he heard the metallic noise Gannon made wherever he went. Thank the gods he wouldn't know quiet if it bit him in the ass, Spielos rejoiced. I might as well try to milk some respect out of this while I can, too.
            "Back, you dusty relics," Spielos shouted, brandishing his rapier in a defensive posture, "you stopped living hundreds of years ago, back to your tombs! You will go no further."

            Paryev seemed relieved as much as worried when Gannon was called away - until he realized that Rhia hadn't moved to follow the Banite. Giving her a nervous smile, he slipped out of the cave, hesitating by the entrance, his eyes flicking between Atjets Krel, Rhia and the tunnel that led outside. "You must follow your master, Maga," he said, eyes still roaming. "If they have run afoul of the curse, you must help him." He shuffled a slow step toward the tunnel, hands wringing again.
            "What curse do you mean, Atjets" Rhia asked sweetly. The sound of her sword clearing its scabbard was decidedly less sugar-laden, as were her next words.
            "If you know what it is they are facing, it is your duty to assist the higher priesthood, is it not, Atjets?" There was a decided pause between 'not,' and 'Atjets,' and the final word was spoken with a deliberate emphasis. Rhia took a couple of steps, moving simultaneously to block the little man's access to the tunnel leading outside and to cease blocking the man's path towards the tomb.
            Atjets Paryev stared at the strangely striated sword as though it were a poisonous serpent, unable to tear his gaze from it. He didn't appear to notice her inexpert grip on the hilt... but then, inexpert or not, she was still holding a very sharp-looking sword. His watery eyes bulged, and he drew back against the wall.
            "You... you vould not harm a m-man of the Church!" His alarmed squeak told her he wasn't too sure of that. She was, after all, a maga - dangerous people - and a foreign maga to boot. "I, I can be of no help against the curse! I am no Chosen!" He edged away from Rhia's bared blade, his back to the firepit. "I did vhat I could - I varned you of it! I varned you!"
            Rhia's voice was as implacable as Gannon's usually was when dealing with heretics.
            "You claim to be a man of the Church, and yet you have served bandits who robbed your own congregation, and who used your own altar as nothing more than a place to hide their ill-gotten gains. You claim to be a man of the Church, yet rather than go to support the higher priesthood, as is your duty, you instead cower and slink to imagined safety." Rhia's eyes were steely grey, and her face could have been mistaken for an angered goddess. "Oh yes, you little worm, I saw your eyes, your glances, and your shuffling. You will not escape here to tell your master Mandrake of our goings-on. I will watch you, little atjets, and rest assured, if by some miracle I do not see you, the Gods will. Look there!"
            Rhia pointed towards the stairs with her sword, her other hand twisting easily into an ancient sign of power. She whispered Ruathlek words, and bent her will to the Weaving.
            A soft green glow began to emanate from the stairway leading to the surface. Slowly it grew brighter, and eventually its source was revealed, as a glowing, man-like shape stepped into view. It raised one ghostly arm and pointed directly at Paryev.
            "You see, little traitor? The Gods have marked you, and a spirit has been sent, at my asking, to watch you." Rhia's voice was soft, but iron-hard as she spoke into Paryev's ear. "You may yet be redeemable, 'man of the Church,' but know that your safety is in my hands, and that of the Atjets Gannon, Hammer of Bane, who even now goes to smite the feeble curse you fear so greatly. Fail him, fail the Church again through your own cowardice, and nothing will be able to save you."
            Rhia stepped back out of the way once more, conveniently towards the exit, and gestured towards the tomb.
            "Don't you have somewhere to be, atjets?"
            Paryev sweated under Rhia's tongue-lashing, shaking his head vehemently in protest, but when the glowing figure pointed at him he nearly fainted with fear. Staggering back on watery knees, his mouth working helplessly, he gaped at it as Rhia spoke. A stain spread over the front of his robe, and without so much as another squeak he turned and bolted, rabbiting up the tunnel to where the others had gathered outside the tomb. Looking back over his shoulder, he crashed past Alethra and into Thaurlann, to whom he clung desperately, sobbing and gibbering with terror.

            Aksana stood behind Spielos with her heart in her throat, her breath came fast and shallow. The unnaturalness of the walking dead in front of them made her mind rebel and her stomach clench. Seeing the effect of his rapier on the abominations she held little hope that the dagger clenched in her fist would do any better. Yet there she stood next to the white-haired outlander, refusing to abandon him. She was strangely pleased by his show of bravado before the walking dead men.
            Gannon approached, sizing up the situation mid-stride. The gypsy had done well to get back to narrow ground, but now was time for serious work to be done. Gannon motioned to the women to pull back and to his right, out of the way.
            "Gypsy," the voice of command echoed down the halls, "vhen I count three, pull back and to your right, and I vill crush it." The sound of Gannon's flail whistling through the air was ominous.
            "I am ready when you are!" Spielos readily agreed. "Fighting the dead really is not my specialty!" Aksana spared a quick glance for Gannon before looking back at the skeletons. She obediently took a step backwards, clearing the way. She tensed up waiting for whatever was about to happen.
            On the count, Spielos backed away... but the skeleton failed to follow him. Instead it stood ready in the opening, guarding it. Unperturbed by this, Gannon stepped forward and swung his flail, his armor creaking with the effort. The solid metal crunched into the skeleton's ribs, breaking off brittle splinters to fall to the floor.
            Gannon raised his medallion, stamped with the likeness of a clenched gauntlet.
            A sense of power filled the narrow tunnel, so heavy it almost choked them, a power implacable and hateful. It crushed the air around them, and the skeletons closest the opening cowered, drawing back through their fellows and behind their sarcophagi. The rest crowded forward, the closest nicking Gannon with its sword.
            "In the name of the One God do I command you! Foul unholiness brought you from the grip of Myrkull's rest, but you cannot escape the might of the Bane of All Evil. Bow before His might!"
            A sense of power filled the narrow tunnel, so heavy it almost choked them, a power implacable and hateful. It crushed the air around them, and the skeletons closest the opening cowered, drawing back through their fellows and behind their sarcophagi. The rest crowded forward, the closest nicking Gannon with its sword.
            "You dare defy the Will of Bane?" Gannon's incredulous roar, tinged still with the power of his god, seemed loud enough to bring down the tunnel in which he stood. His hand snapped forward again, as did his will, as he once more brought forth the power of his authority as a Chosen of Bane.
            "BOW before His might, or be destroyed!"
            The skeleton in the opening took a step back, banging into the shield of the one behind it. Then it turned and fled, pushing past the others with a dry clatter of bone and ringing of metal. It went through the open doors of the tomb, disappearing from sight, but the others pushed forward, undaunted.
            Spielos laughed when the skeleton ran away. I guess he does have a use after all, the outlander mused. Being careful to give enough room for the other man's flail, Spielos moved behind Gannon, ready to follow the Atjets's lead into the tomb. Gannon's dogs milled back and forth behind him, growling and barking in short, sharp bursts, but they too knew better than to crowd the Atjets in a battle stance.
            Spielos' laugh startled Aksana so much she nearly dropped her dagger. It also broke her frightened gaze away from the skeletons and made her realize just how close she was standing to him. She had an almost irresistible urge to lean forward and touch him. As her eyes ran across him she suddenly noticed the blood where the undead had nicked him. <"You are hurt,"> she hesitantly brushed her fingers near the wound, <"again."> Her voice was a whisper meant only for him to hear.
            Spielos quickly ran his hand over the spot Aksana had touched. I was more surprised and scared than I thought to have missed this, he thought. <"I'm fine,"> he said to Aksana.
            Thaurlann had his sword out, but was keeping a fair distance from Gannon, trying not to crowd into an already overcrowded space. The way he wrung his hand around the hilt, though, it was obvious he was waiting for a chance to jump in.
            "Even the dogs will get to the action before I will," he muttered under his breath.
            Alethra, on the other hand, stood back patiently, watching very closely at the action in front of her. After a moment she came to a realization.
            "The skeletons, they are guarding the tomb, but they do not seem to leave it," she said, more as an aside to herself than a warning to anyone else. "If ve back avay, they vill probably stay in the tomb." She knew the Atjets would want to defeat the creatures anyway for the glory of Bane, so she saw little point in attempting to convince him otherwise.
            Just in case things got out of hand, though, she would be ready. She began to focus on the distinctive silhouettes of the others as the torchlight plastered them against the walls. The shadows were hers to command, should she wish it; she need only give them direction.
            Only a split-second recognition prevented Thaurlann's battle-readied senses from bringing down his sword on the hapless priest who latched onto him, sniveling. He looked down in disgust at Paryev's cowardice, as well as the smell coming from him.
            He looked back down the tunnel, trying to perceive what had spooked the priest so badly. "Don't worry, Atjets," Thaurlann said, trying to keep the edge of anger out of his voice. "I will protect you from whatever you fear. But you must let go of me so that I can do my duty effectively."
            He resisted the urge of shoving the elder man away, as any disrespect, however small, would violate his oaths of devotion to the gods.
            Alethra likewise looked backwards, anticipating some newfound evil attacking from behind. Like Thaurlann, even her sharpened senses saw no sign of danger. She wondered, with a much understated grin, if the witch had spooked him. Either way, it was worth checking out. With an almost inaudible whistle from its master, Nut flew back down the passageway towards the main cavern.

            A quick glance at Gannon told Spielos that the impasse was about to end, one way or another. He readied himself to move forward. "I am right behind you, Gannon," he assured the other man.
            Surprisingly, he then began to sing.
"Brave soldiers of the Moonsea
follow me, follow me!
The dead may walk, but we yet live,
follow me, follow me!
End the curse on your ancestors,
follow me, follow me!"
            The handful of sellspears who had followed him, now crowded far back in the tunnels, gave a ragged cheer and brandished their spears. Gannon released his medallion and swung his flail, but the dead warrior was surprisingly quick to parry his blows, and its armor held despite its age, but neither could it break through Gannon's deadly defense.
            The two tested eachother time and again, but Gannon had a brute strength the fleshless warrior could not match, and when his furious blows connected bone cracked and shattered, falling to the floor. It did not come without cost; the dead warrior sank its blade deep into Gannon when he was slow to recover from an attack, and blood spattered the floor with the shards of bone. Still, Gannon's attack was ceaseless, and finally the skeleton fell and did not rise again.
            But the ones behind it stepped forward.

            Rhia chuckled to herself, dismissing the phantom figure she had summoned back into the Weave. Left to herself at last, she ducked past the hide curtain leading to Mandrake's cave, moving to kneel before the little altar. It seemed the cowardly Atjets had brought to light all he had found; beyond the books, the pouch and the little chest, the altar appeared empty. She scanned the titles of the books - 'A Treatise On The True Nature of Demons' was ironbound, penned in Damaran; 'Worldwalking: Planes of Existence' a thick tome in Chondathan, and oddly enough there was a tome of elvish history in Espruar, the flowing script of the elves.
            She was interrupted as Alethra's tamed raven flew over her shoulder to perch atop the skull on the altar, blinking beady eyes at her. Nutwolcnum had flown a circuit of the main cave and the entrance tunnel and, seeing neither anything alarming nor Rhia, had sought her out. She tried to ignore him as she breathed a spell of detection and examined the altar again.
            This time there was something to see; a haze of magic hung about it, as she had expected. Her concentration increased, and she took no note of the bird flying off again to report to its mistress. The haze of magic surrounding the altar seemed to congeal about one of the books, limning it with faint light in intricate whorls of the Weave. From what she could tell, the book was under a spell of abjuration.
            Releasing the Weave, Rhia looked at 'A Treatise On The True Nature Of Demons' and wondered.

            With a mighty roar Gannon crashed into the defending skeleton, taking grievous wounds as he drove it back past its lone standing fellow. His dogs jumped at his heels, snapping and snarling at the unnatural warrior, but unable to get past its defense. Thaurlann shoved the now somewhat more calm Atjets Paryev aside, pressing forward to where he could see into the tomb. He was closely followed by Alethra, who brandished a candle and bag in her hands as she began to chant.
            The mighty Banite felt himself growing weaker as the blood coursed out of him. He realized he might be feeling the results of arrogance, but pressed on. The Gods help those who help themselves, he reminded himself. He took a quick step to put his back against stone, and simultaneously flank the undead creature facing his faithful hound. From there, his flail snaked forward, seeking the thing's leg. With a jerk of his arm it crashed to the ground, arms waving madly. At Gannon's word, his dogs fell upon it, worrying at its armor.
            Paryev, looking back the way he had come, was, despite Spielos' clear, calming voice, thoroughly unnerved to find Rhia approaching. The cowardly Atjets drew back against the wall, eyes bulging as he searched behind her for the dreadful apparition he had seen.
            Rhia cocked an eyebrow and shook her head at the cowering atjets. "You are not at Atjets Gannon's side?" She murmured idly, just loud enough for him to hear. Her hands were empty, and she realized quickly that she could be of little use in the struggle happening inside the tomb. Instead, she merely waited, a half-smile on her face, just for Paryev.
            "You are mad," he whispered hoarsely, turning his head towards where Alethra worked her dark magic. Trapped between two witches, Atjets Paryev clearly wished the walls would open and swallow him up. Instead he remained plastered to the rock, while sellspears crowded around him, appearing no happier to be caught between the two. Some furtively spat between their fingers, though none would meet Rhia's eyes.
            Thaurlann looked over at Spielos with almost pleading eyes. "Let me through first," he said. "I can take more of a beating than you can."
            The comment was made in deadly earnest, with no trace of haughtiness. Partly he was protecting Spielos, mostly protecting the wounded Gannon. As he held his sword tightly, though, he also felt something else in his mind, that told him that, just as the Banite could repel the abombinations with his faith, so could Thaurlann channel his own faith into his very sword, unleashing it if his sword struck true. He felt the energy in him, a palpable power that he had never felt before.
            Spielos smiled without humor. "Get in there, then. We'll follow behind."
            Alethra's eyes stared into the candle as she spoke, her dark words sending a chill through the spine of those who heard. The candle was unlit, but seemed to almost glow with a dark aura around it. Nut left her shoulder to perch on the stones ripped from the wall, watching his mistress, and the sellspears nearby shoved each other in their haste to get farther away.
            Beneath Gannon's two hounds, their very shadows pulled away from them, slinking under the dead warriors and Gannon until they reached the back of the room. Then, they gained form somehow, rose up and snarled a silent hiss at the skeletal creatures, flowing like water to tear at the things. The skeletons that had hidden themselves behind their caskets moved to attack them, rising into view again.
            Taking a bold pose, Spielos pointed with his rapier at the struggling Banite. "The gods will not look favorably upon us if we let his Atjets fall! To battle, into the tomb, to battle!," Spielos yelled before resuming his song, hoping that would be enough. The sellspears moved forward reluctantly, but it was impossible to get through the press at the tomb's mouth without crowding Thaurlann with his ready blade (and coming too close to Alethra).
            Am I the only one who uses their head at all? Spielos wondered to himself.
            "Do not crowd the door, make way" Spielos yelled, "the more of us in there the better!"
            Taking a better look around, he stifled a laugh. "Alethra, step aside, you're scaring the others." Alethra smiled wickedly back at the Outlander. Addressing the sellswords he added, "Why are you scared; she is flesh and blood, just like us! Get in there, go!"
            Alethra backed up to the wall, her dark cloak seeming to meld into the darkness. She stood as still as a statue, her eyes focused narrowly into the room, watching her master's progress carefully. The sellspears came no closer to her, watching her as much as the fight in the tomb. "Vhat about the spiders?" one hissed, bumping against Spielos. "You said she vas covered in them!"
            "The Chosen, he vill destroy the unnatural dead," another said, but there was uncertainty in his face as he peered in at the beleaguered Atjets.
            "Vhy do you not go?" the first one asked, and they all turned their eyes to him, staring.
            Spielos reached out and touched Alethra lightly on the cheek. "You don't scare me" he quickly said to her. "I ask a favor of you. If anyone stays in the hallway, summon a shadow demon to haunt them. Your master's best chance of survival is if everyone here fights."
            Alethra recoiled at the touch as if bitten by a serpent, her eyes widened with incredulity as he spoke. Nut flew to her aid, perching on her shoulder with its beady eyes joining its master's haunting gaze. She started to reply, but the nimble Spielos had already moved away.
            Without missing a beat, he grabbed the closest slack jawed, staring sellsword and dragged him into the tomb. "Follow me!" he bellowed. "You get paid to fight," he chided, "earn your keep or face the demons in the hallway!"
            Alethra backed up against the wall again, keeping her eyes fixed on Spielos. The sellspears watched her fearfully, and muttered among themselves as Spielos dragged their comrade past her. Taking care not to cross her line of sight, they edged closer to the tomb, but it was too crowded to enter.
            "Do not mistake me for von of your gypsy shalavas," a voice echoed in Speilos' ear. Alethra was mouthing the words, but even though she was several feet away, it sounded to him as if she were pressed up against his cheek. The sound seemed only to be meant for him, unheard by anyone else. Her arm was outstretched with one finger pointed at him, and something shiny curled beneath the other fingers. "I vill serve my master how I see fit."
            Beneath her cloak, unseen, her other hand held tightly a silver dagger, ready to lash out should the Outlander touch her again.
            The eerie message did not slow Spielos down, but he did turn and roll his eyes at Alethra, mouthing the words "Who put the burr in your undergarments," and he shoved the sellsword towards the tomb. The others followed carefully, with many a muttered prayer, the group bristling with spears.
            Rhia's eyebrows flew up when she witnessed Spielos's daring contact with Alethra. It was fortunate for the gypsy that Gannon hadn't seen. Then again, the Banite was sure to hear of it later. Rhia wasn't sure whether to hope Spielos survived the conflict or not.
            Gannon, feeling his faith well founded, now that allies were moving to his aid, roared a challenge and brought his flail down towards the fallen foe at his feet as it tried to rise under the weight of the dogs both flesh and shadow-born. He realized Alyosha and Dobrynya were not being effective with their teeth, and even as his flail swung again, he pointed towards the open door behind him and commanded them, "Guard!" The dogs leapt to do his bidding, but Alyosha was stabbed as he ran, letting out a pained yelp but nevertheless taking a guarding stance at the doors to the crypt, where a moment later the skeleton who had vanished through them returned to face the dogs.
            As the dogs moved so did Thaurlann, rushing into the tomb with his sword raised. The sellspears seemed unwilling to follow his lead, but Anya had no such compunctions. She leapt up onto the casket by the opening with a yell, straddling two as she struck at the dead man below her. Distracted by her, the skeleton completely failed to shield against Thaurlann, who struck it a blow that shattered its skull and sprayed stumps of bone and bits of ancient armor to all sides. It fell in a heap over the reeking body of the dead bandit, and the young fighter shouted triumphantly at the pile of bones before moving to the next target. He raised his sword again, ready to continue delivering Bane's justice.
            Gannon moved with the flow of his allies, stepping past the shadow dogs to stand behind his faithful living hounds. Alyosha's yelp had not gone unnoticed, and the Baneite vowed that the dog's loyalty would be rewarded. His wicked flail whirred through the air.
            Aksana's mouth was dry and it felt like her heart was in her throat. She tried to swallow the feeling with little success. You are veak and a coward, she berated herself. Gritting her teeth so hard it felt like she might chip them she mustered herself for action. Brushing past Spielos she leapt lightly onto the first casket next to Anya. She crouched low on the stone, fighting to appear braver than she felt. She clutched her dagger tighter as if she could draw some comfort from the small blade. Seeing the crushed bones littering the entrance helped; the foul creatures could be brought down.
            Rhia, seeing the massive cluster at the tomb opening, stepped back a few paces, giving the sellspears (and Paryev) room to move. She debated briefly the idea of pressing herself back against the wall next to the little atjets, but decided that enough was enough. Painful memories of just how and why she was here in the first place brought her into check. Still, she would not let the little coward pass her in the hallway. It was too likely that he would flee to Mandrake.

            Alethra's shadow-hounds bayed, an eerie, neck-ruffling sound, then melted away into the chaos of shadows in the room. Anya gave Aksana an encouraging look and slid down from the casket, running to jump up onto another closer to the dead warriors. One rose to meet her, clambering from where it had been keeping the shadow-hound at bay onto a tomb, but when it struck it aimed for Thaurlann. Not expecting an attack from above, Thaurlann felt the skeleton's sword slice past his ruined armor; he turned the worst of it aside, but blood ran in a hot trickle from his arm.
            A pained grunt sounded over the cacophony of metal on metal, and Alyosha fell to the floor, twitching, his hide laid open in gruesome cuts. When his dog went down, Gannon roared. His hand pointed at the offending unnatural skeleton, and the power of Bane began to gather around his Chosen. "Begone!" Gannon's roar was mighty, the power of his anger and his faith given form, amplified by the touch of his God.
            The skeleton rocked back, its jaws closing with such force that its teeth burst from its jaws, leaving ragged snarling stumps. The tinkle of loose bits of bone sang from within its armor, falling to the floor beneath it like hailstones. It staggered back into Dobrynya's jaws, fighting to loose itself from the enraged dog. Kicking Dobrynya away, it stepped over Alyosha with a measured stride to attack Gannon, mindless determination in every motion.
            The dead men fought well, showing no pain at the blows they took themselves but wearing away at the intruders of their tomb. Their armor shielded them well, but still their bones were cracked and shattered from the group's assault, some dangling, some missing altogether. The skeletons concentrated their attacks on the two heavily armored men, ignoring both Anya and Dobrynya's increasingly desperate attacks. Still, it was a shock when the powerful Banite collapsed, bleeding profusely from his wounds. Thaurlann was in little better shape, barely able to lift his sword any longer.
            "Ve must get out of here!" Anya yelled, trying to divert the skeletons from Thaurlann. She and the one she fought balanced precariously on the open tomb lids. "You, sellspears, take the Atjets!"
            Anya's call to get out made Aksana's stomach clench. She stood just a bit higher to see over the sellspear's heads. She couldn't see Atjets Gannon but from Anya's request to get him out she guessed that he had gone down. She was sure that nothing short of victory or death would make the big man retreat; and this was definitely not a victory. Fear for Anya, now face to face with the dead warriors, overwhelmed her fear for herself.
            "Get out," she hissed between her clenched teeth barely audible. Then again surprisingly loud, "get out!" She shoved the nearest sellspear in the opposite direction as Spielos was shoving him. Her body became a tightly coiled spring ready to move as soon as there was room to maneuver.
            Having seen the chaos in the tomb, Spielos changed tactics. "We are too late, back into the cave!" he shouted. "Grab the others and move back!" The sellspears were quick to obey this time, climbing back through the hole in the wall with alacrity.
            As soon as she saw her master go down, Alethra began weaving the spell she had known she might need in case he failed. Her chanting was more powerful this time, echoing in the outer hallway like the screeching of a bat. The sellspears hurried past her, muttered curses trailing after them.
            Thaurlann spit out blood, reeling from the crippling hits he had just sustained.
            "I do not leave until Gannon is safe," Thaurlann said, defiantly staring down one of the creatures that had just attacked him. "Bane protects me, and casts down evil!"
            His sword rose up again with strength seemingly impossible for his injuries, shattering bone into shards with incredible force. The skeleton exploded with the blow, sending sharp fragments whirring dangerously through the air. Incredibly, reduced to nothing but a head, shoulder and arm clad in the sad remains of its armor, still the living dead thing reached for him.
            Spielos couldn't believe what he was seeing. With Gannon down Thaurlann was still trying to win, when all they had to do was step out of the tomb and regroup. Gods, they are both every bit as stupid as I thought they were, he realized.
            "Get out of the fucking tomb," Spielos shouted as loudly as he could. "They won't follow you and you can smite them or whatever it is you want to do later!"
            Beneath the tomb, the floor seemed to move and twist, as the darkness below the combatants congealed, slick strands of blackness bubbling up from the ground. A dark form rose up, looming larger than the tallest of anyone in the room. The creature was manlike, but bulkier, its face primitive and bestial. It stepped towards the skeletal warriors who had just felled Gannon. The hulking arm swung harder than seemed possible for the shadow's ephemeral nature. The creatures locked in battle, the strangely manlike shadow-beast roaring in a hair-raising voice.
            A second shadow formed by Gannon, this one hovering above the floor. Recognizing it, the last of the sellspears to flee dropped his guard to haul Gannon onto it, paying for it as the skeleton's blades stabbed into him. Abandoning the Atjets to Alethra's magic, the sellspear fled, clutching his grievous wounds. The shadow-disk followed him, floating sedately back to Alethra with Gannon atop it, his arms and legs dangling over the side, limp. Aksana leapt to take the injured sellspear's place, her tiny blade all that stood between her and the dead warriors' swords.
            Staring at the shadowy creature glimpsed through the bones of the skeleton Aksana nearly lost her nerve. The frantic beating of her heart continued to choke her making it feel like she couldn't get enough air. She brandished her sorely inadequate dagger before her in an attempt to deflect the dead warrior's sword, but the blade forced down the dagger to cut her arm. A sudden flare of pain and a wash of blood accompanied the strike, greasing her grasp on the dagger.
            Thaurlann nearly passed out from the exertion of swinging the blade with such force. And, even worse, with Gannon down the dead warriors seemed to be focusing all their efforts on the outlander warrior. An untouched warrior thrust its sword at him, aimed directly for his heart. Thaurlann could not even lift his shield to block the attack, and for a moment knew that he would die, a result of his own arrogance.
            He felt woozy, and stumbled a half step to the right to regain his balance. Somehow, it was enough to create an angle that deflected the blade, still piercing his arm painfully but staving off death for the moment.
            "Bane be praised," he muttered. "Move out, but don't let turn you backs to them," Thaurlann shouted to Aksana. The poor girl had no hope against these things, and he knew it, so he could only hope that she listened. Anya, meanwhile, could handle herself at least far enough to get out.
            With Gannon safe for the moment, Thaurlann backed away from the creatures, keeping his shield raised defensively. He nearly backed into Spielos, but was able with a quick glance to get his heading and move towards the doorway. Aksana followed, keeping her eyes on the skeletal warriors. For his part, Spielos had grabbed a spear from one of the passing sellswords, and was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.
            Now that her master was out of harm's way, Alethra relaxed a bit, but she knew that the outlander would probably fall next, and her master would be disappointed if she left anyone behind. She tended to her master's wounds, while keeping one eye on the battle in the tomb. At her call Doby came running, scrambling back through the hole in the wall without a scratch. He whined and lapped at Gannon's face, sticking close to the disk that bore him.
            With Gannon out of the tomb Atjets Paryev seemed relieved, but he hesitated at getting close enough to tend him with Alethra and her magic so close. Instead he said, "Quick, take him to the fire. I vill... I vill see to his vounds." He turned to face Rhia, his eyes flicking between her and the hand she had on her sword. He licked his lips. "I must vake Atjets Krel now, Maga. Let me pass vithout your devilry!"
            Rhia looked surprised at Paryev's words, then shook her head.
            "You are schooled at healing, Atjets, I am not. Would it not be better if you stay and see to the wounded, and I go to get Atjets Krel? Those wounds look bad, and the sooner they get competent help, the better. I would be wasted here, as my talents lie... elsewhere." Without waiting for an answer, Rhia turned and hurried down the hallway to find Krel.
            She stopped after a step or two, turned, and called to the others, "Don't leave his dog in there. You know how important they are to him."
            Alethra had pondered whether she even could get the other dog out, without draining her energy too much. She had already begun to feel the draining effects of using her powers, and it was still early morning. Her shadow disk would remain for a short time, but she had no way to get the dying - if not already dead - creature on it.
            Anya was the last of them to exit the crypt, and when she ducked through the hole the remaining dead closed around the shadowy man-beast Alethra had summoned. It managed to crush two before its roars became distant, as though it were traveling away at great speed. The howls and the beast dwindled away to nothing, and the dead men silently watched it go.
            Aksana stood outside the room breathing harder than she should have been. Her eyes were overly large. She stared at Thaurlann in his ruined armor and blood without really seeing him. Feeling something dripping down her arm her head turned slowly, almost against her will, to look at it. Looking at the bright crimson run down her arm instantly made the pain more real, more sharp. She felt cold and her knees started to feel weak. She leaned against the wall to keep from falling and clasped her hand over the wound to stop the bleeding. It was nothing compared to the two men but she had never really been cut that badly before. She gritted her teeth against the pain and nausea and tried to keep it together. She was sure the others saw her as weak as it was, she did not need to make it worse.
            Spielos disgustedly threw the spear to the ground. It was going to be too short for what he had hoped to do. Gannon looked terrible, though, so there was little chance they would be moving out today.
            Gathering his drum, he stood near the doorway, but out of reach of the undying guards and began to tap a beat that quickly grew in volume. Alethra stood up with curiosity at Spielos' actions. It might not be inconceivable that they could defeat the undead warriors still.
            The notes seemed to vibrate on the edges of hearing for a moment before he released them in a concussive burst of sound. The noise rattled the skeletons' bones within their armor, clinking and clattering. Dirt sifted from the ceiling, drizzling down on them. One dropped its shield arm, the noise of the shield striking the floor nothing compared to the sharp drumming Spielos had unleashed on them. It turned from where the man-beast had vanished, shuffling to the hole knocked in the wall of their crypt... but as Alethra had predicted, it remained within, staring sightlessly through at those who remained in the passage.
            Atjets Paryev paled at the sight of it, whispering a prayer to Myrkul. He backed down the passage, out of its sight, and beckoned Thaurlann and Alethra to follow with Gannon. The sellspears trailed after him, the wounded one stiff-faced and sweating from the pain.
            Thaurlann leaned up against the wall near where Gannon and Alethra stood, seemingly obvlivious to everything else going on around him. His eyes stared in the direction of the hole in the wall, but they were unfocused, as if looking past the tomb somehow.
            After a few minutes he finally began unbuckling his armor, letting it fall to the ground with an echoing clank of metal on stone. Fresh blood soaked through his tunic and stained this inside of the banded mail.
            He slumped down to the floor, keeping his back against the wall. He stole a momentary glance at Spielos, then into the tomb to see the results of the drum thumping. His eyes widened with surprise at the dead warrior's seeming invulnerability, but then moved away, staring off into darkness of his mind once more.
            Spielos continued to drum. All of the usual flash and style was gone as he made impossibly loud sounds on his small drum. Sounds like the bones of the earth grinding together escaped his lips and sweat dripped from the tip of his nose.
            He built to a crescendo and yelled, another burst of sound slamming into the crypt. At this range it proved too much for the battle-worn skeleton, and it crumbled to pieces, an echo of Thaurlann's mail hitting the ground. The last dead warrior thudded against the tombs lining the wall, hesitating as if confused.
            Alethra looked compassionately into the room. Surely Aly could not have survived this long, especially with the bone-shattering noises now blasting into the room. Doby had obediently followed his master down the hall, perhaps unaware of his brother's demise. She felt a deep sadness for a moment and a tear nearly fell from her eye, but she held it back with stoicism on her face.
            The corner of Spielos' mouth tugged upwards, but he did not stop his terrible song. Once more the sound built, and once more it rolled out from the bard, the concussive force striking against the staggering skeleton. Before the sound had faded, Spielos picked up a large rock and rushed into the room.
            Alethra followed behind the musician at a safe distance, still staying several feet away from the tomb. She could, perhaps, expend a bit more energy to help prevent yet another casualty.
            "Deep dwellers of shadow, hear my call," she whispered. "For I require your services once more. I command this of you, as a servant of Shar, the Lady of the night."
            She then began to intone the mystic words that would twist the darkness to her will. She could feel the energy drain from her body as the spell took effect, her joints throbbing painfully for a few seconds until she finished the spell.
            Again the shadows congealed, the already dim light dipping lower as something tore its way from nothingness through to the world. A dog of inky shadows ran from the dark knot at the sole remaining dead warrior, savaging its bony leg and leaping for its arms, eerily silent.
            The warrior ignored it, focusing its attention on Spielos even to its own detriment, but Spielos paid the price of its focus. His blows echoed against its armor, but it warded him away with its shield as often as not, and Spielos had only his own agility to save him from its quick sword.

            Anya chivvied Aksana down the passage after Paryev, giving the crypt and its silent inhabitants a wide berth, though it meant brushing against Alethra on the way. Aksana took one last look at Spielos standing in front of the crypt, but she allowed Anya to steer her away and down the tunnel.
            "The Atjets, they are busy vith the men. I vill do vhat I can for your vound, Aksana." Anya threw a glance back down the tunnel, hesitating a moment as she watched Thaurlann, but then she pushed Aksana along, taking her to the cave with the firepit.
            "It vas madness to go in there practically unarmed," Anya chided as she freed a cloth-wrapped bundle from her pack. Unwrapping it, she revealed several small pots and rolls of bandages, and chose from among them with quick, efficient motions. "Madness, but... you may have saved the outlander's life. You are very brave, Aksana." Anya shook her head, washing off Aksana's arm with her waterskin before turning to the pot she had chosen and layering a smelly green compound over the wound.

            Rhia jogged down the hallway and into the 'main room' of the cave system. It took a little looking, but she found Krel rolled up in some bedding. He had already given so much of himself last night, and she hated to wake him, but needs must, and so Rhia knelt next to the slumbering atjets.
            "Atjets Krel? Atjets?" She spoke softly but insistently, even going so far as to place one hand on his blankets and shake slightly. "Atjets Krel, there are wounded, Atjets Gannon is hurt."
            Krel's eyes opened only slowly and at first they seemed unfocused with confusion. He blinked a grittiness from them and raised a shaking hand to his temple, massaging the scarred flesh against the blinding pain of his headache. Then his vision seemed to focus and he groaned.
            "Vhat is it, Maga? The bandits, they have returned?! How long have I slept?!"
            He rolled to his side and then his knees, the fatigue like the pressing of a thousand stones on his flesh. He closed his eyes momentarily and whispered a prayer to Talona. "Grandmother Apple, I am your vessel and your healing hands. I thank you for your healing. To feel the veight of your years in my bones is little price to pay, but I am called to aid Bane's Chosen now. Give me strength to bear the load."
            He pushed back the fatigue and stoically rose to his feet, his stance unsteady. "Go, Rhia. Lead me. And I vill need my poultices."

            Krel came down the tunnel toward them, eyes dark with fatigue, and saw the sorely wounded Banite being carried. "Bane protect us," he whispered automatically and motioned for the big man to be set down. "You," he said pointing at Paryev, "vill you join me in giving Talona's aid to the Atjets? Come kneel beside and help me remove his armor."
            His placid eyes roamed the warrior's body, measuring which wounds were gravest. "He must be stabilized first or all is lost." Drawing a small bale of heavy cloth from his bag, he quickly cut a tidy stretch of it and folded the bandage into a thick pad. Pressing it to the most dangerous wound inside the crook of the Banite's right arm, where blood pumped strongly from a savage cut, he leaned down hard. "Take this, Atjets." he said quietly to Paryev and gave over the the already sopping bandage to the man's care. With heavy breath at the exertion, Krel quickly tied a tourniquet about Gannon's calf to control the deep wound in his leg and then he leaned back to survey.
            In the time following, Krel competently applied poultices to the man's bruises, and stitched flesh as well as any cobbler had ever stitched boots. Thaurlann had finally hobbled into the room with the others, shuffling over momentarily to look at the state of Gannon.
            When all else was done, Krel drew a wooden handled rod of iron from his pack and asked Thaurlann to put it in the fire for a few minutes. Once it was returned to him, glowing red as an apple, he took it, pushed Paryev's hands from the gaping wound, and touched the iron to flesh with a sizzling pop. A poultice of well-chewed Emmeset leaves followed, and Krel breathed a sigh of relief.
            Looking up gravely at the gathered companions he said quietly, "I have done vhat I can. The Atjets vounds are bad, but not fatal. It is good that you came for me so quickly or they might have been vorse. As it is he vill need at least a day before he can be moved. Perhaps vonce I have slept, Talona might vork her miracles through me to hasten the process, but if I tried now, I fear I vould join him. I am sorry, friends."
            His eyes sought Anya's in the dim light and held them a moment with compassion. Of them all, he perhaps had the best understanding of what had been done to her and he knew the rage she felt. He could not long meet her gaze though and he turned his eyes once again to the wounded man.
            "Vhat is the meaning of all this? Did the bandits return?"
            Thaurlann could not stand for long, so after he had handed Krel the heated iron he had retreated back to the safety of a firm wall at his back, slumping once more to the ground. With Gannon seen to, Atjets Paryev turned wordlessly to him, washing his wounds with water as best he could before pulling out a needle and thread to stitch him back together.
            When Krel raised the question, though, Thaurlann knew that he must answer. "The gy-" he started, then bit his tongue, in spite of himself. "We were investigating a tomb, which appears to be guarded by the same dead warriors once laid to rest there."
            He shifted his position on the floor, nearly yelping in pain. Atjets Paryev muttered an imprecation, leaning close to see his work by the firelight. "Atjets Gannon sought to send the creatures back to their eternal slumber, but there were too many, and the narrow entrance slowed the rest of us from coming to his aid. Our faith was strong, but still he fell." Thaurlann felt a nagging uneasiness at his decision to share the blame, but as much as he currently disliked Spielos, he did not see the need for him to burn for the same mistake Thaurlann himself might have made.
            Krel looked confused. He looked down at Gannon sadly. "It is surprising that von such as he vould dare to disturb the realm of Myrkul, but it is not for me to judge. It is clear that the dead vere mighty. You yourself do not look vell, Outlander. Come and sit. Let the Atjets Paryev and I tend to your vounds. I hope that you found something vorth all this blood vithin."
            Though his limbs were heavy, still, with the age pains of his goddess, Krel worked diligently to patch up those who Myrkul had spared.

            When she had finished with Aksana, Anya gave the woman a comforting pat on the back and rose, looking about for Rhia. She stalked over to her, pulling her away from the others for a whispered conversation.
            "The Atjets, he has ensured that ve cannot catch up to Mandrake," Anya hissed. It was clear that she didn't mean the Talontar, and anger was plain in her voice. She glanced about warily to ensure that no one else was listening, then continued, "Ve cannot let him escape. I cannot! If ve must vait for the men to heal enough to travel... can you find him again?" She pressed Rhia's hands in her own, staring her earnestly in the eye.
            Rhia returned Anya's grip with a strong, comforting (she hoped) squeeze of her own.
            "I am sure of it, unless he is taking steps, which I doubt. I don't think he knows how we found him this time." She shrugged. "The only thing that worries me is Emistil, the elf. This morning, I saw him above us, on the cliff, smiling as usual. If he is still allied with Mandrake, he may be spying on us the same way I can see them. He may make it... difficult." A savage look suddenly crossed Rhia's face.
            "Unless... are you up for a demon hunt, while the Atjets sleeps?"
            Anya shot a look back at the others, lowering her voice further. "The bandits, they are routed. The Atjets and Alethra vere sent only to capture the rogue mag. Vhat if they refuse to go after Mandrake vonce Emistil is dealt vith?"
            Rhia frowned, thinking. Then a bright, somewhat wicked smile lit her face. "The woman, Malvira, she used magic. Both back at the keep, and here as well, I think. In fact," she looked Anya directly in the eyes, "I would swear to it." Rhia held Anya's gaze a moment longer, then continued.
            "When last I looked, she was with Mandrake. If we take down the elf now, we would still have to go after Mandrake and his other 'rogue witch.' Gannon couldn't leave her roaming free - especially knowing that she's with Mandrake."
            Anya nodded slowly, the tension in her easing a bit. "It may vork. If ve vant to reach the top of the cliff, it vill take hours. Ve should leave now." She hesitated, then asked, "Alone?"
            Rhia shook her head. "Against Emistil? Hardly. If the atjets hadn't been in such a hurry..." She cut herself off with a sigh. "Perhaps we can convince the gypsy to come with us, and maybe Alethra - she's supposed to hunt down people like this." Rhia shrugged. "We won't get sellspears, and frankly, they'd just be targets. I'll go see if I can find him again, to pin down his location. You go get the others, agreed?"
            "Agreed." Anya gave a decisive nod. She knew it would take a bit before Rhia was finished, and intended to gather a few thing before finding where the others had gotten to. As Rhia returned to her crystal ball, Anya went to rummage in her pack.

            Aksana leaned against the wall not far from Thaurlann. Despite the pain in her arm she heard the outlander's slip. She studied him through half closed eyes, trying to figure out what it meant. Thinking about Spielos made her realize that he had not followed them back to the fire pit. It had taken several minutes for Anya to bandage her arm and she started to worry about what other trouble he may have gotten into.
            Looking around the room she realized that Alethra was also missing. A sudden flash of the way the white-haired outlander had looked at the forest demon when they first met filled Aksana's mind. A sudden jealousy filled her. She was surprised and a little dismayed by the intensity of the emotion. She pushed herself up, wincing when she inadvertently used her injured arm. She quietly slipped back down the tunnel towards the crypt. As she moved along silently she tried to figure out where this unreasonable jealousy came from.
            She found Alethra outside the crypt, from where the sound of rock on metal sounded. Within, Spielos now stood alone, the dog that had aided him swallowed back to whatever nightmare realm it came from. Spielos struck at the warrior again and again with a large rock, but the unwieldy weapon was useless to defend himself with, and he bled from several wounds.
            By the time Aksana got to the crypt she still hadn't had time to fully analyze her feelings. She saw Alethra standing cool and alone near the entrance to the tomb and suddenly felt very foolish. She couldn't see Spielos anywhere but she could hear noise coming from inside the tomb. Walking up next to Alethra she peered inside. She gaped at what she saw, momentarily speechless.
            Snarling in frustration, Spielos drew his rapier to better parry the blows of the skeleton and withdrew beyond the doorway. He had hoped the thing would lose an arm or leg and be immobile, but nothing was ever so easy. The rock was a good idea, but without more oomph behind it he just couldn't get past the thing's armor.
            Spielos gave a little happy snort. Another idea had come to him, but he'd need a big stick.
            Aksana glanced briefly at the forest demon before she spoke but quickly decided that Alethra probably knew all of Aksana's previous training anyway so there was little to hide. <"Vhat are you doing?"> Her tone was somewhere between anger and fear. <"Do you have a death wish?"> Against all her better judgment, that was crying for her to stay out of the crypt, she stalked towards the bard and his foe.
            "I am leaving the tomb. I need a big stick," Spielos said matter of factly as he backed away from his foe, unwilling to divert too much attention in Aksana's direction.
            Aksana froze mid-stride. She stared at Spielos as several conflicting emotions passed over her face. She finally settled on anger. Spying Gannon's flail laying discarded on the floor she scooped it up. With a feral snarl that ended in a scream she swung the flail, narrowly missing Spielos' head. She channeled all of her frustration into that one swing.
            The blow sailed over the warrior's raised shield, striking its head with a satisfying crunch. Its helm bounced and rolled away, most of its skull still within. The rest of the body stood for a long moment, as though prepared to go on regardless; then it fell, the clatter seeming to go on for a long time in the echoing chamber.
            Aksana fell upon the remains, taking all of her confusion and frustration out on the now lifeless skeleton. She continued to pound the bones as if she was determined to crush them into dust. When she was done she simply stood and stared at what she had done, the flail slipped from her fingers with a loud clatter.
            Alethra looked in amazement at the human's triumph. She didn't know where Aksana found such strength, or fury - although she suspected the reason for the anger from her observations.
            "Th-That..." Spielos stammered, clearly taken a bit aback, "that was an outstanding idea! Since I had its attention you were easily able to move in and smash it." He stepped over and gave Aksana a big hug. "Now Tharulann can get some functional armor," he said into her hair. And we can see what is in the other room, he thought.
            Alethra watched the scene with slight amusement. She whistled softly, and her raven alit from its perch to settle on Alethra's outstretched arm.
            "Ve must inform our master," she whispered softly to the bird, her words barely audible even in the echoing stony corridor. "And vatch over him," she added, "Vhile I tend to his lost flock."
            Alethra seemed to float into the room behind the others. As Spielos hugged Aksana, Alethra saw Aly on the ground several feet away. She rushed to the dog's side, hoping for any signs of life in the animal. The poor beast lay in a smear of his own blood, and hardly seemed to be breathing, but Alethra's keen eyes and ears were able to detect the life struggling to remain in the dog.
            Aksana froze momentarily when Spielos first hugged her but she relaxed into it almost immediately. The adrenalin drained out of her body and she began to shake again. She clenched her fists in his tunic in an effort to keep from sagging to the ground. She buried her face in his chest and tried to regain some control of herself. Her eyes burned and she could feel the tears threatening to embarrass her. I vill not be veak, I vill not be veak, she kept repeating to herself. If she repeated it enough times surely it would be true.
            Spielos felt Aksana's thin frame shaking, and held her for longer than he otherwise might have. She really should be eating more, he thought.
            A voice interrupted Aksana's thoughts. The words echoed all around her, as if emanating from every shadow in the room. "Vell you have done, servant of Shar." The melodic voice could be none other than Alethra's, though it didn't appear as if Spielos had heard it.
            Behind her, the forest demon had stopped tending to the dog for only a moment, making some motions before returning her eyes to the dog. Her mouth however, whispered and it's quiet sounds traveled through the dark places of the room before reaching out to Aksana's ears. "I'm sure our masters vill be eager to hear of this discovery, and the defeat of the bandits, if you have not already sent vord yet this morning," Alethra continued in near silence.
            The spell was a mere glamour, a trick she had learned at the hands of her first master early in her "training." But she found it often provided a mystery and significance to her words. Except to the Outlander, who had been unimpressed by her magicks. Perhaps in the South, "demon witches" roamed the lands freely, unhindered by the strict control of the Church. She allowed her curiosity to roam for only a moment, before returning to her task.
            Aksana's trembling stopped her whole body suddenly stiff with terror. She drew back from Spielos just enough to look into his face her eyes wide and frightened. It seemed clear to her that he had not heard the whisper. She spun around and found Alethra much closer than before. She would have taken a step back if it had not been for the man behind her. Instead she pressed herself up against him as far as she could go.
            Her hand automatically made the sign against evil. "Stay out of my head demon," she spat through clenched teeth. "You know very vell that a report it has not been made since your ravens it is that vould have done it," she hissed, practically spitting the words at the other woman. Spielos stood agape, one hand halfway to his rapier. His thoughts died on his tongue and he could only stand and watch.
            Alethra stood up from where she had been kneeling, her bloodied hands disappearing into the long sleeves of her velvet cloak. Her eyes gazed at Aksana innocently, almost fearful. "Your forgiveness, I ask for, mistress. I did not mean any disrespect. I only spoke in silence because the man -"
            A pregnant pause followed. In her mind, Alethra had been ready to drive a wedge between the two. Aksana's feelings for the gypsy were clear, though his feelings in return were difficult to read at best. She wanted revenge for his action, his touch upon the cheek, the same way that he used to touch her, indicating his mastery over her: mind, soul and body.
            Jealousy, though a powerful lever, was unpredictable, and Alethra had already brought far more attention to herself than she preferred. She truly did wish for the other woman to follow her orders and report back, but the added bit of theatrics had not had the exact result she wanted. Alethra's place was the shadows, watching from afar, with subtle manipulations, not bold threats. Plus, she risked the wrath of her master by acting so audaciously without his leave.
            Alethra continued, "I did not know if he knew of your mission, and I felt an urgent desire to send vord of this incredible discovery; and, I vas awed by your skill in combat. I am sorry."
            She bowed her head in deference to the other woman, remaining as still as a Weirwood tree during the still of summer.
            "What mission?" asked the gypsy.
            Aksana mistrusted Alethra's motives and did not believe that anyone would be awed by her, combat or otherwise. She seemed to suddenly realize how close she was standing to Spielos. Her face heated with embarrassment, that combined with her fear and turned to anger. She stepped away and faced him, careful to keep as far from Alethra as she could. "I am a spy, you knew that. Did you not think that I vould report to somevone?"
            "Yes. I did know that, but I never knew what your exact mission was. It is none of my business, I should not have asked. I did not mean to make you angry, and I am sorry to have given offense," he said with sincerity. "We are friends, and I meant none."
            Turning to Alethra, Spielos nodded his head at her. "Likewise, I am sorry to have offended you. It was out of turn and rude to touch you without your leave. The soldiers are scared of you, and I thought perhaps it would help them into the tomb faster. I am sorry it did not work and Gannon was hurt. That was never my intention. We must contine to work together, so please understand I only wanted to help." His words seemed genuine, but his eyes were hard it was obvious he was speaking with great care as well.
            Aksana stared into Spielos' cobalt blue eyes and found she could not stay mad. It was not really him she was angry with anyway. Her face softened and she gave him a small smile, barely there before it was gone again. <"Ask me again vhen ve are alone.">
            Spielos recognized the look. I'm not sure being alone with you is a good idea, he realized.
            Saying nothing, he nodded and kept his attention directed at Alethra. She could be trouble of a different sort, one more likely to involve dungeons and troublesome questions.
            Alethra nodded without emotion. "Your apology, I accept, Spielos," she said, her tone melodic as she said his name, as if singing it. "I might have reacted too hastily. I'm sure you vish to look around the room, but ve must be vary of anything else Myrkul might send us. Perhaps you vill allow me to examine the room vith you?"
            "Mistress Shar, I ask for your blessing," she said, her voice almost flat. She followed with a few quick words in another tongue unknown to those in the room with her. Alethra's glimmering green eyes seemed to glow darkly, though she averted them from the others. Her gaze traveled around the room, along the floor, paying careful attention to every item on the floor, every decoration on the sarcophagus, every detail of the wall.
            Aksana watched Alethra silently through narrowed eyes. She made another sign to ward off evil when the demon's eyes began to glow. She touched Spielos' arm to keep him from following Alethra as she wandered through the crypt. <"You said vonce that if I vished to know something of you simply to ask,"> she whispered fearing Alethra might be able to hear and understand. <"I vould vish there to be truth between us. You may ask the same of me, but you must be careful vhen and vhere you ask such."> Her eyes darted to where Alethra was peering into the far corner, <"She is the eyes and ears of the church even more so than myself.">
            Spielos gave a nod. He'd expected as much Now, more than ever it was clear to him that he would have to flee this land as soon as he could. Perhaps once he got a horse he could make his way back to Melvaunt and from there back south.

            The sarcophagi now lay empty, their yawning deeps bare of anything of note. The dust that had settled over everything was now disturbed by the battle that had taken place, and blood spattered the floor here and there, but nowhere amid the scattering of bones and armor was there even a glimmer of the magic Rhia had detected earlier. However, Alethra did find a dagger, so small as to be nearly useless and with a knob in place of a hilt, amid the debris of one of the fallen warriors. It was marked with runes and symbols that she recognized as some form of magic, the markings now so faded and scratched that they were easily wiped from the blade at a touch.
            Spielos smiled. "Perhaps the dagger is a key to open the doors," he offered. "It makes sense that the guards would carry the key."
            The room beyond the crypt was softly illuminated by three flickering torches mounted in sconces in the three intact corners of the room. It appeared that the chamber was once a symmetrical octagon-shaped space, but much of one corner had collapsed into rubble. Along each of the main walls to the east, west and south, short flights of stairs ascended to a set of double doors carved of the same bluish stone that made up the rest of the chamber. The northern staircase was only partly visible, leading up to a narrow gap in the rubble with a shadowy space beyond. The doorways to the east and south were shut, their faces pitted and scarred with cracks and chips. Dominating the center of the room was a serene pool twenty feet across. The water seemed to reflect and amplify the flickering torchlight, casting an ever-shifting pattern of luminescence on the vaulted ceiling thirty feet above.
            After a long silence while searching the room, the forest demon finally spoke again. "The magic that gave life to the dead bones is fading," she said without really looking at the other two in the room. "Something … unsusual lies in the next room, something supernatural in the shimmering water, light that never fades, the echo of ages long past."
            Alethra carefully wrapped the dagger in an extra length of bandage pulled from the seemingly endless folds of her robe. "If you vill excuse me, I take my leave to bring Alyosha to rest vith his master."
            She paused at bending over to lift the bulky form. She tentatively rose her eyes at Spielos, forcing her eyes to meet his. "Spielos, vould you carry him for me? He is at death's door, but perhaps if ve bring her to the healing care of the Talontars, the goddess vill spare him Myrkul's grasp." She thought for a second, and then added, "Unless he is beyond their help, in vhich case ve should spare him further misery."
            Her own opinion seemed to lean towards the latter, but she knew her master would be upset if she did not at least try to save his faithful companion.
            Spielos looked at the dog with a studied eye. "I will carry the dog. If it has as much will to live as it showed to protect Gannon, I think it will be fine."
            Aksana watched Spielos pick up the dog and start back up the tunnel. She didn't want to be left behind in the crypt so she followed a small distance behind. As they walked she retreated back into herself. Her mind roiled with too many thoughts for her to sort any one out.
            As they walked back, Alethra said, "A key, you say? That might make sense. Perhaps I vill take one more look vhen we get back to the fire pit. If not, then I suppose our other ... 'vitch' could apply her talents."
            The last few minutes, she'd said more to Spielos than she probably had said to the entire group (minus Gannon) since joining them. It felt somehow dangerous to her, and she half desired to disappear back into the shadows rather than walk side by side this stranger. Perhaps, once they joined back with the others, she would.

            Thaurlann forced himself up, fighting the desire of every part of his body to remain stationary. He saw fatigue in Atjets Krel's face, and felt a surge of guilt. He comforted himself, though, by remembering that the Chosen of the gods are simply tools of the gods' will, just like himself. And, just like Krel, his own duties overshadowed any personal desires or comforts.
            As Thaurlann sat through the ministrations of the priests, he silently searched the room. Neither Alethra nor Spielos had followed him back, although Aksana had already gone back to look for them. Some noises had echoed from the corridor, making him wonder if Spielos hadn't made another go for the tomb. Anya and Rhia seemed to be discussing something intently away from the group, and he felt another twinge of guilt at realizing that the warriors' injuries would greatly delay their pursuit of Mandrake.
            He looked up at Krel meekly, the youth of his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the nearby fire. "Atjets, if a knight disobeys a priest, but it is for the greater good, will the gods forgive him?"
            Krel looked at the strange Outlander curiously. It was disconcerting to see zealousness and such ignorance in the same body. It made him feel almost unclean ministering to him, but the man was one of the faithful, brought back to the True Faith and so should be celebrated, not condemned.
            His shoulder's fell. He was still weary and there had been a deep sadness in Krel since his reprimand by the church. He felt unworthy himself in many ways and he certainly didn't want the foreign knight to look to him for leadership.
            "The Gods are a mystery even to the Blessed, my son, and no-one may know Their true minds. He who believes he does is in mortal danger of Blasphemy. I am no Banite to expect obedience and so if it is me you plan to disobey," he smiled wanly, "don't fear my anger. I am not even 'chosen' anymore. I am a student of Talona's teachings and I share them vhere I can but it is not for me to make you follow my advice. As for vhether the gods would be angered were you to disobey a priest, there is never a guarantee. Bane teaches both strength and obedience. A man must valk the razor's edge between the two. Vhat is you vish that you fear vould be disobedient? Or did you disobey Atjets Gannon and now you fear his wrath?"
            Thaurlann hesitated before answering. "No, I don't think so, anyway. But I wonder if perhaps I should have pulled him away from the evils of the tomb, rather than allowing him to be hurt. He is a strong and capable fighter, the very Hammer of Bane. But, I knew he would not be able to face all those enemies alone."
            Krel passed a hand across his eyes and mumbled, "I am no longer certain vhat is true, friend Thaurlann. If you did it vith a pure heart, then you must trust that Bane vill speak to you there and guide you vell. Do not ask me for right and wrong. I have done wrong and have yet to understand my sins. Ve are all veak but ve must strive for strength. If the Atjets had died, vould Bane have been served? Myrkul certainly, but vould Bane have been pleased to lose his 'Hammer'? Perhaps and maybe Myrkul deserved his sacrifice, but Bane is the greater and I believe your aid to his Atjets vas good. For vhat it is vorth. I believe you did right. Now, if you vould be a protector, then you should go and check on those too stubborn to leave Myrkul's realm untouched. They have been gone long. I vill be here if I am needed."
            Thaurlann nodded gratefully, bowing his head to the floor with arms behind him. Then, he stood up and headed towards the tomb. He followed the priest's orders so quickly that he almost forgot about his injuries, and it was only after a few steps forward that he clutched his side in agony.
            He leaned forward for a moment, and then forced himself back up. As he raised his head, Thaurlann thought he noticed something in the shadows along the ceiling. In the darkness, a pair of beady eyes caught the firelight for just a moment.
            The bird, sensing the human's gaze, glided down in a circle around the fire, swirling narrower and narrower until it was directly over the unconscious form of Gannon. It made a few more loops before flapping its wings almost silently, returning to another corner of the room away from Thaurlann's gaze. The sellspears in the room shifted uncomfortably, watching the raven with suspicious eyes, but they continued talking quietly among themselves.
            Thaurlann shuffled forward a few more steps, groaning loudly again. "Forgive me, Atjets," he said, clutching his stomach and gasping for breath. "I do not have the strength to walk down the tunnel. Perhaps Rhia or Anya can check on them?" he asked, looking up to see if the pair was still nearby.
            "This is true?" Krel thought of the powders he still carried in his bag - those for which he had already been censured. Powders which could control pain. It was admittedly the Maiden's realm and he as a Talontar had no business delving into such things. Sacriledge, some called it. But he was as drawn to it as to healing in many ways, though he knew that pain taught lessons. In fact he had learned them himself more than once, but he never could watch another suffer. It was his weakness. Now the Outlander was being weak, but Krel could not blame him. His valour showed in every rent in his armour.
            "Then lie here if you vish. I am sorry to have asked that of you, my friend. I can ..." He grew cold inside and looked about him for witnesses. "I can make you a tea to ... make you heal faster then and ve vill talk more as you rest."

            To Paryev, Krel beckoned with his hand even as he slumped against the wall. "Vill you sit and talk vith me brother? Perhaps ve might even pray to the Grandmother Apple to lend us her visdom. There has been much violence and wrong. It is for ve healers to make it whole, no?"
            Atjets Paryev nodded to the sellspear whose wounds he had finished sewing, blessing him and accepting his thanks before hurrying over to where Krel sat. Piling some of the bandits' bedrolls together, he sank into his comfortable seat with a sigh. "Long I have prayed for Talona to send me succor," he confided, making a pillow of the bedding to lean against. "I am most honored that she vould send you, holy von. And the Chosen von, Gannon," he added hastily. His eyes rested on the still form of the Banite, then darted about the cave, searching for Alethra's raven. Unable to locate the dark bird in the shadows, he shook his head and looked at Krel. "I did not expect the personal attention of the Brotherhood, though." He sounded less than happy about that.
            "You are not the object of their scrutiny, my friend. No more than any of us. It is the Maga - the Magas, truth be told. And perhaps myself to a minor extent. There vill be questions for you, though, of your association vith Mandrake and his men vhen ve return. This you must know."
            "Q-questions? But I did only as I must to live!" Paryev wrung his hands miserably, eyes casting about for the raven once more. "The bandits, they vere stronger than I. Vhat else could I have done?"
            Krel eyed the nervous atjets with compassion. Reaching out, he patted the other man's hand. "Your trials must have been sore indeed, friend, among the infidels and heretics. Loviatar can test us most strongly, it is said, but the Grandmother Apple has a gentle hand for healing vonce the testing is done. Vill you talk about it? I offer my ears as a balm for your spirit."
            Flattered by Krel's attention and familiar treatment, Paryev spoke readily of his time with the bandits, and how he was left in the care of the terrible drekavac. As they talked, Krel crumbled leaves for tea into a bowl in his lap. He did not look around for Anya - he knew she would be watching with those pain-forged eyes and he could not stand her pain right now. She would not understand, but he had the Goddess's work to do - he just didn't know which Goddess. A scarred hand scratched at his stubble in pensive mourning for the simple man he had been.
            Krel listened sympathetically to the nervous atjets's story, nodding reassuringly from time to time. "A harrowing experience. One that must have sorely tested you, Atjets. Sorely indeed. For a healer and disciple of the Grandmother to be forced into the company of such demons. Terrible."
            Krel lifted a large pot from the fire in which water had been rolling, and he filled a cup, first with several pinches of Despaar leaves and two segments of Lanes root. Instantly a soothing fragrance filled the air. He handed the cup carefully to the Outlander warrior and smiled at him with exhaustion in his eyes. "I am sorry, I could not do more for you, Thaurlann, but I hope this will be of some comfort."
            Either through sheer thoughtlessness or just the pain clouding his mind, Thaurlann took a large gulp from the tea when Krel finally presented it to him. The steaming hot tea scalded his lips and throat. He choked the first swallow down, opening his mouth for gulps of air to soothe the burns. He looked around to see if anyone else had noticed his blunder, then began taking more wisely-apportioned sips.
            His eyes floated back up to the ceiling where he had spotted the bird, only this time he found nothing there. The tea took effect far more quickly than Thaurlann had expected. The fierce, throbbing pain in his shoulder, where the skeleton had struck him from above, dulled to a numb tingling. If anything, the worst pain in his body now stood in his mouth, where the hot liquid had burned him.
            Thaurlann took several minutes to finish the tea, stopping frequently to enjoy the aroma, which brought back memories of his boyhood. He had contracted a severe fever, and the local healers assured his mother that it would be fatal. The young boy lasted almost a month, drifting in and out of a waking sleep, in which nightmares fell upon him every day and he had only his mind to ward them away, his body frozen in time. Occasionally he would wake up just long enough to enjoy his mother's home-brewed tea.
            One day, he got out of bed just like he had every other day before getting sick; starting his chores without any inkling of what had happened. It was only later that his mother explained to him how ill he had been, what a miracle he was, how he was blessed by the gods.
            "The gods test us all, and those who are the most worthy are tested the hardest," she had said. Thaurlann had trouble now remembering the voice, so long ago and so far away. "I hope my mother will forgive me, if I do not recognize her right away in the afterlife." But surely he could not forget?
            Thaurlann chuckled silently in spite of himself. He wondered why the past had come into his head. Normally he had no reason to drift from the present. "I am happy where I am. Evil exists, and it tests me every day. But every day I am victorious." No doubt Bane had finally accepted the Outlander back into the fold, as a lesser son, perhaps, but still part of the family. Bane does not tolerate the weak, but Thaurlann was not weak.
            He thought of the words Krel had told him, interpreting them in his own fashion. "As long as I stay true to my heart, I will be virtuous and victorious."
            Thaurlann had the strangest feeling that the others were planning something - another trip into the crypt, perhaps? He desperately hoped they would not be that foolish - especially not Anya. As the herbs numbed his mind, his thoughts drifted off the path of the righteous way. Only hours ago, he had been willing to sacrifice Anya for the greater good if need be - but, then again, would she have approved? His eyes stared longingly at the hide curtain hanging from the wall.
            "The others are beautiful in their own way, but I would not trade all the fairest maidens in the world for just a single look from Anya's eyes."
            Of course, in the old world of Cormyr, rescuing fair maidens was what a knight did. In the cold lands of the Moonsea, though, women had learned to be strong as well. Perhaps that's what made him all the more entranced by Anya's spirit, her fierceness, her single- mindedness.
            "I am but a foolish boy, though, and no doubt she sees me as nothing more than an Outlander sellsword too stupid to know when to retreat." Thaurlann's eyes opened wide, suddenly, as he heard his own words. Apparently he had been mumbling for the past few minutes, completely oblivious to the world around him. What's more, he was speaking in Damaran, making his words clear to anyone who might have heard; and, he had no idea how loud he had actually been speaking. His face would have turned red, but it was already a light shade of crimson from the warmth of the tea. Despite his sudden moment of awareness, his eyes became heavy again and this time he slid down the wall sideways and fell into a peaceful slumber, no longer troubled by the conflicting thoughts in his head.
            Krel knelt by the man's side until he saw the tea begin to affect him and then he drew a blanket over the slumbering form. The big warrior had mumbled something about Anya, as if reminding Krel, but Krel needed no reminding. The shock, sacrilege and crime of what had been done to her had been present in the back of his mind since he had treated her wounds. Sometimes a wound became infected and needed to be lanced, other times it took a victims life swiftly and as the goddess willed. Other times, a chirurgeon was offered the choice to cut away the diseased limb to save the patient. In those cases, it was always the goddess who decided that one should survive while another died. There was disease among the people of Mandrake's clan.
            Standing, Krel murmured quietly to Paryev, so as not to disturb the slumbering warrior. "Come, brother, let us retreat a little distance where we might pray to the goddess in these trying times without disturbing the injured. I need guidance and so, I believe, do you."
            Krel poured off the rest of the tea into Thaurlann's cup and wiped the pot. Then he took from his pouch a mix of herbs and berries that smelled of sweet jasmine. With more of the boiling water, he made another infusion in two cups, tasting deeply of one and handing the other to Paryev while wordlessly walking some twenty feet down a corridor to find a seat and motioning for the man to join him.
            "Let us speak of the atrocities committed by Mandrake and his men, brother. Did they commit them on your person as vell? How did you live vith the knowledge of vhat they did?"
            Atjets Paryev settled himself across from Krel, leaning forward a little to avoid the cold wall at his back. The cold seeped through his tattered robe from the earthen floor, making him shift uncomfortably, but he was almost pathetically eager to speak with Krel. "Oh, it vas terrible, terrible," he moaned. "The drekavac, always it vas vatching me, tormenting me. It did not hurt me - Mandrake had some hold over it, and he forbade it to hurt me - but alvays it vas looking for a chance vhen Mandrake and his people, they vere not looking. How it vas to live, alvays to fear being alone vith it...!" He took a long sip of his tea, only slightly more careful than Thaurlann had been, and grimaced.
            Nudged back on track, Paryev continued, "The atrocities...? You are meaning the raids? Most often I vas kept here, and I did not see them. But yes, atrocious! To live as a thief, to take from the Favored People... Vhat man vould cast avay the True Gods? Kidnap a man of the Hand?" His voice rose shrilly at the last in righteous indignation, and he took another sip of tea to calm himself. "It vas difficult, of course, the choice I had to make. But in the end, does not Bane say the strong, they vill rule? You must understand, Atjets, Mandrake, he is very strong."
            Krel's placid and sad-eyed face hardened but his voice remained empathetic. "No, brother, I refer to the atrocities perpetrated on Anya and the Gods know how many other vomen. Vere you forced to vatch? To participate perhaps? Vhat kind of mad hold did Mandrake and his tame demons have on you? I vould not vish to have been in your shoes."
            Krel continued to drink deeply of his tea, and he watched the other man's face for the truth of his reactions - for some sign of remorse. So far, he had made himself the victim. It was unworthy of an Atjets.
            Atjets Paryev blinked in surprise, gaping at Krel for a moment. Then he huddled about his cup of tea, turning it nervously in his hands. "The girl? But she is a..." He hesitated, peering at Krel. "She is a friend of yours? Yes, I see... To my knowledge, Mandrake never did this thing before. At least, vhen they spoke of it... they spoke as if... I... I did not have to participate, thank the Grandmother. He did not ask it of me." He mopped his brow with his dirty sleeve; it seemed even in the cold of the tunnels he was sweating. He threw a nervous glance down the tunnel towards the cave where the others had gone.
            Krel made hushing noises to the nervous man and gestured with his scarred hands for him to settle. "No, Paryev. No. Please be calm. This not the time for fear. Ve are talking as brothers."
            He looked sadly at his fellow atjets and smiled grimly. "I am not vithout error, my brother, and I am not judging you. I vish only to understand. Vere there many things you vere forced to do? Many things Mandrake asked of you? Like treating the infidels? Like giving the Grandmother's healing to demons?"
            Paryev mopped his brow again, panting, and shrank back at Krel's words. "It vas not... I had no choice-"
            Krel moved to his knees and covered his face."Ve should pray together now, Atjets Paryev. Pray for forgiveness and succor. Perhaps the Grandmother will favour us vith her healing hand and shelter our sinners hearts."
            Hesitantly Paryev joined him, sweating rivers that stained his robe darker in patches. The stink of urine and sweat was thick around him. He sucked in air in whistling gasps, his face contorting in confusion as he croaked out the first few words of a prayer, then paused. "It is terribly hot, yes Atjets Krel? Perhaps ve can move to..." He choked on his words, arms flailing as he tried to breathe. He rolled onto his side, upsetting the last of his tea onto the cold earth, and his eyes bulged out at Krel. "You...!" he managed, his voice barely a whisper, pointing an accusing finger at Krel, clawing at his throat with his free hand.
            The poison, it was not a gentle one. It gave the victim ample opportunity to feel its touch searing them - to learn the intimate secrets of their body's death like the creases of a lover's hand. The Grandmother, she was not concerned with the pain of those she ministered, or those she passed on to Myrkyl. That was Loviatar's domain and Loviatar's loving whip was what Paryev now felt.
            Krel tried to remain at peace as he watched this sad, flawed man die. The Grandmother would not intervene - that was clear already. He tried to feel the appropriate sanctity of the moment, but even as Atjets Paryev began to arch and bang his head off the cavern floor, even as the grey-green froth bubbled on his lips, Krel could feel a howling panic rise in his own chest. That was not right. But the pain.
            Krel had always been a healer. Since he was a child, he would mend birds wings and even go quietly behind the other children, gathering the twigs of discarded stick-men and reassembling them carefully in the shelter of a river-bank, there to lie until a raven came and made a nest of them. And he hated pain - in others, at least. He knew it was a flaw. His own pain, he did not flee. All his life had been a trial of pain in flesh and bone, the aftermath of the Burning Plague. But in others, he always struggled.
            The weight of his punishment was heavy on him now. Paryev had chewed his tongue clean through, and still the man would not die. Something in Krel snapped. "I am a killer..." he whispered in horror. Moving up to Paryev, he cradled the man and leaned in. "Shush, shush, shush now, brother."
            With trembling hand he drew open the strings of his belt pouch and lifted a handful of the Dagass moss from its hiding. Paryev's few remaining teeth had shattered and he was mewling, but Krel forced his fingers past the gnashing gums and opened his jaw. With forcefulness, he shoved the moss deep into Paryev's throat and watched as the older man's tortured, confused eyes cleared and pain fell away. In a few minutes it was done.
            Krel knelt quietly, broken. He had done it. He had gone against his church, his Goddess, his orders. And he had called on the domain of Loviatar again without permission. He felt cold ... dead himself. He was a murderer - he who had never harmed another living thing. He knew it had had to be done, and yet there was no certainty, no feeling of justice; just emptiness and the sure knowledge that he was damned.
            And no one had witnessed but the gods.

            "Ah, there you are." Anya met the others as they emerged from the tunnel leading from the tomb, giving the dog in Spielos' arms a glance before gesturing for them to follow. "Come, set the dog down and speak vith Rhia and I. She has an idea." With a final glance back at Thaurlann, Anya pushed past the hide curtain hanging before the opening to Mandrake's private cave.
            Spielos sat the dog down and followed. Considering how infrequently the Warden had spoken to him, he suspected he was going to be asked to make himself useful in some way.
            Alethra paused, allowing herself one last look at the blade. "Shar, give me sight to unravel the vords before me," she whispered, the words soft but sharp. She always tried to say a prayer before attempting to weave the Art to her will. The words she spoke to conjure the magic, though, were words bound to an ancient tongue, one no longer recognized by most gods-fearing creatures.
            The symbols on the blade, faded almost beyond all recognition, hummed and glowed, becoming clearer to her eyes. The writing, though, held no words of power, just symbols. "Life and death," she whispered. The light of the symbols suddenly vanished, as the sound of the others shuffling up the stairs into Mandrake's room tore away her attention. She once more wrapped up the delicate object, as gentle as if swaddling a newborn child. She followed them cautiously, unsure what to make of the summons, or the idea that they would propose.
            She was used to having someone from the Church telling her what to do, but the Warden - while leader of the bandit hunting party - was not her master. She took one last look down at the fallen dog, and her fallen master, before following the others.
            Aksana hesitated at the edge of the firepit room. Her eyes followed Spielos as he joined Anya behind the hide curtain. As the curtain fell back and cut off her view her eyes drifted back to Alethra. She watched the demon cautiously, not sure if she was praying for the Atjets or the dog, or doing something else entirely. She shook her head; she didn't want to know if it was something else.
            As much as she didn't want to admit it, Alethra was right. She had been neglecting her duties to the church. She really did need to send a message back to her master. What was wrong with her lately she wondered. And what exactly was she going to tell them? As Alethra joined the others in the other room she followed her.
            She slid past the hanging hide carefully. She really didn't want to accidentally run into Alethra. The thought of touching her just then was repulsive. She couldn't believe Spielos had willingly done so. Of course all of the outlanders seemed to look at the demon differently. Were demons common place where they came from? She had always been taught that outlanders consorted with demons, she just hadn't thought about it much. Finding a spot as far from the witch and the demon as she thought she could get away with she leaned against the wall and half listened to what was said.
            As she waited she poked at the confusion she was feeling whenever she was near Spielos. She had known him barely a fortnight and already she had trusted him with more information about her than anyone else. She was normally much more suspicious of people than that.
            When she had first seen him she had found him pleasant to look at, but Thaurlann was also that. She had thought him amusing but lazy by Moonsea standards. Eventually she had realized that he might be able to help her in her quest to find her sister. A desire to befriend him to help her had somehow slid much farther than she wanted it to.
            Her mind tried to shy away from the subject but she stubbornly forced it back. She studied the gypsy where he stood across the room. He was wholly unlike anyone she had ever seen before, from his white hair to his cobalt blue eyes. Rather than find him strange looking she found the unusual qualities somehow appealing. Even now, when she was trying to analyze and distance herself, she grew warm just looking at him.
            She shook her head, grumpy with herself. You are in over your head here, you fool.

            As the others entered, Rhia was sitting on the bed, putting something away. She looked up, counting heads. When Anya nodded to indicate everyone who was supposed to be was in the little room, Rhia nodded and spoke.
            "The elf, Emistil. He did not flee with Mandrake. I think he's spying on us, likely to tell Mandrake of our actions here. He's by himself, on the cliff above us this morning, last I looked in on him, he was pushing boulders around - possibly to make a defensive position, possibly to try and trap us in here with a rock slide, or even just an attempt to drop rocks on us when we leave the cave." She shrugged. "It doesn't really matter. What matters is that he's here, alone, and within reach of us. We're hurting, what with our wounded, but I think this is a chance we have to take. I say we go up the cliff and remove him, now."
            "Then let us go, we are wasting time and daylight," Spielos remarked.
            Anya nodded agreement. "It vill take time to ride to the top of the cliff, hours - and ve vill be exposed to the bloodhawks on the vay. Gather vhat you need, and I vill see that the horses, they are saddled and ready."
            Rhia stood and nodded. "Right then. If you don't wish to come, don't be at the cave mouth in ten minutes." She waited for the others to file out of the room, gave the altar a wary look, then went to collect her things.

            Alethra watched the reactions of the others as she considered the situation. She felt somewhat uncomfortable leaving her master behind, even in the care of another Atjets, but this might be their best chance to catch the rogue before he could rejoin Mandrake. She walked back out into the main room and sat down next to Gannon, her cloak flowing gently down to the floor with her.
            The mage had bested her once before, but this time she would not allow herself the same mistakes. She closed her eyes, focusing on the battle of the previous night, replaying the elf's every movement back in her mind.
            After a minute she stood back up, keeping her eyes focused on the sellswords out of one corner. She whistled softly at Doby, who approached with attentive eyes. She leaned over and whispered to the dog, "Our master, guard him vell until my return." The dog returned to its post, sitting vigilantly next to Gannon and Aly.
            With a subtle glance upward by the forest demon, the roof seemed to shift, and from the shadows sprung forth the wily raven. It soared down to land on Alethra's shoulder, its cawing surprisingly loud for the small creature. She held her hand up and the raven snatched something from her fingers, and then gulped it down greedily. Keeping her head tilted to the side just enough so that the sellswords might catch her gaze if they watched her too closely, Alethra left the room and headed to the mouth of the cave.

            Aksana heaved a great sigh and followed the others out. The last thing she felt like doing was climbing up the cliff to hunt this elf, whatever that was. She furrowed her brows in concentration; hadn't she heard Spielos use that word in relation to Alethra, or was had it been Heimdall? It was an outlander word, of that she was sure. She wasn't sure exactly what it meant and was even more sure she didn't really want to know. Just what she didn't need was to come face to face with another demon.
            What had she done to deserve this she wondered. She cringed inwardly as soon as she thought it. There were lots of things she had done recently to deserve having demons plague her. It seemed that she had become derelict in her duties to the church almost as the moment she set foot in these cursed woods. She really would have to write some sort of report as soon as she could. Providing she survived another day, she thought ruefully.
            She studied Spielos' back as he walked ahead of her. He didn't seem tense or worried, in fact he seemed eager to plow forward into yet another fray. If she continued to be drawn after him she was sure that writing her report would be the least of her worries. She cursed herself inwardly as she caught a small smile trying to curve her lips upward. As she fought her mouth she lost control of her eyes and they wandered lower than the eyes of any self-respecting Moonsea girl aught to go. Her face flushed bright red and she quickly let her hair drop forward to hide it.
            Without really wanting to be there Aksana found herself standing at the front of the cave ten minutes later with the others.
            Spielos also was at the designated sortie location. He looked relaxed as he ate an early lunch.
            "I hope you all ate something," he suggested to the others. "There is no telling how long this will take and you will need your energy."
            At the mention of food Aksana's stomach rumbled loudly. She clutched at her offending midsection and looked embarrassed. When she woke up this morning she had felt so bad the last thing she wanted was to do was eat. It felt like days ago now as her body continued to insist that it was hungry. Thinking about how bad she had felt when she woke up led her to think about the cause of her discomfort. Her face flushed for the second time in just ten minutes. Trying to cover her embarrasment she started to rummage in her horse's saddlebags for some rations to help quiet her stomach.

            Before they left, Alethra pulled Rhia aside with a gesture.
            "Far sight, it can be clouded, disrupted, even misdirected," Alethra whispered, keeping her face away from the others. "Are you certain you know that is alone? Shall I have my little von fly ahead, and make certain?"
            Rhia shook her head. "We don't-"
            Suddenly the forest demon's eyes shot up and to the left, as if she had heard a noise in the distance. Her eyes returned to Rhia's, their gaze softened somewhat, clouded by worry. She leaned forward, speaking in hushed tones, her melodic voice deepening slightly. "The rogue, he barely seemed fatigued vhen he felled me. He is powerful, more so than either you or I. I only vish I knew…"
            Her voice trailed off for just a moment; her eyes drifted down and back up again. "His choice of spells - I have seen necromancers use these types of spells before, and they are capable of doing terrible things to their targets." Her eyes drifted back to the others for a moment, perhaps an indication that the discussion of dark magic was not meant for their ears; or, perhaps as if indicating that the others would be the targets of that dark magic. "Ve must be cautious."
            "Indeed," Rhia said, softly. "Which makes me think we should be cautious about sending your companion to scout for us. We don't want Emistil to be warned by seeing him." She shrugged. "But if you think your companion can stay unnoticed..."
            Alethra nodded. "I agree. He might recognize the raven and become avare of our presence."
            Rhia looked at Alethra for a moment, searching. Then she spoke softly. "You've done a lot of Weaving today. Do you have anything left?"
            Alethra tried to hide her concern over that very subject, but in the end decided that she must be as forthright as possible at this moment. She shook her head softly. "I have some pover left, not enough to stand up to Emistil toe to toe. But I think if ve can distract him long enough, he cannot hold up to the blades of the varden and the gypsy."
            She paused for a moment, shifting her gaze back to the others for a long moment. "Also, if ve are careful enough ve could surround him and attack from all sides."

            Finally finding something to eat in the bottom of her saddle bag, Aksana slumped down with her back against a tree. She noticed that her choice of spots had placed her near Spielos, not too close but still near. She hadn't even done it consciously; that almost worried her more than if she had done it on purpose. She took a bite of the nearly tasteless dry tac. She absently watched an ant as it made its way along the ground in front of her.
            She reflected back upon the dream that had woken her this morning. Had it just been a nightmare as Anya seemed to think or had there been some truth buried in it? She closed her eyes and leaned back, reliving that terrible day in her head.

            Aksana walked down the darkened streets of Melvaunt confidently. She loved to be out in the city at night; there were so few people about then. It had been three years since the fire but she was still uncomfortable when people stared at her. She wore her hair long to help hide the scars but still people would look at her, some with pity, some with horror. That was why she liked the night.
            As she walked she stared up at the sky admiring the stars. She was thankful that the priests trusted her enough to run errands for them now. For so long she had felt out of place and lost after the loss of her parents. She and her sister, Tanya, had been taken in by the Church of Shar. There they had been cared for and all of their bodily wounds tended. But some wounds might never heal.
            Shaking her head Aksana concentrated on her job. She was to take a note across town to Atjets Gregor and then return to the Church with his reply.
            A crunching of gravel behind her made Aksana's heart beat faster. Someone was following her. Without turning to look behind her Aksana's keen eyes started assessing what was in front of her: an alleyway to her left, a closed market stall to the right, the street corner only a few paces farther on. Settling on the corner she firmed her steps and continued on.
            As soon as she turned the corner Aksana ducked behind a rain barrel sitting at the corner of the building. Crouched down her hand drifted to her dagger. It was a small one, fit for a child. It had been a gift from her mentor Atjets Brunal. He said that she was not yet ready for an adult's weapon. Aksana was not so sure but she accepted Brunal's judgment without voicing protest.
            She could hear the soft footsteps coming nearer. Whoever was following her was attempting to be stealthy but Aksana's sensitive ears picked out the telltale sounds. The steps hesitated at the corner as if whoever it was had stopped to peek around the corner. The footfalls abruptly picked up pace and came around the corner apparently hurrying to catch the unseen girl they were following.
            Aksana waited for the person to pass before stepping into the street. "Vhy are you following me." She demanded with as much authority as her twelve-year-old voice could muster.
            The figure before her gave a frightened yip and whirled around. "You scared me `Sana." Tanya pouted up at her sister.
            Aksana's mouth fell open. "Vhat are you doing here?" Her astonishment quickly turned to anger. "You are not supposed to be out this late at night." She glared at Tanya.
            "I don't like it vhen you leave me," answered Tanya plaintively. She stomped her tiny foot as if to show she wouldn't stand for it anymore.
            Aksana threw up her hands in exasperation. "You can not come vith me. You have to go back." She turned away and started up the street. "I do not vant to." Tanya's voice trembled.
            Aksana looked back. Tanya was still standing on the corner, arms wrapped around herself. "You can not come." Aksana reiterated and turned to continue up the street.
            "Do not leave me `Sana." Tanya's words trailed off into a sniffle. Aksana stopped. The words had struck a cord deep in her heart. She loved her sister dearly, she was the only family she had left. "All right," she relented, "you can come."
            Silence answered her.
            "Tanya?" Aksana turned. Her sister was not standing behind her. She ran to the corner. "Tanya?" she called a bit louder. There was no answer, no sign of her sister.
            Panic started to well up in her chest. "Get a hold of yourself," she muttered, "she has just gone back to the church like you told her." Despite the reassurances she repeated to herself a cold feeling settled in the pit of her stomach, made her feel like retching.
            Her mission forgotten Aksana's feet carried her swiftly back the way she had come. She had not been far from the church, only a dozen blocks, and the familiar building was soon in view. She flew up the stairs her feet barely touching the treads in her haste.
            In her great hurry Aksana nearly ran into Manakja Sara, barely dodging around her in the narrow hall. The priestess stared after the panicked girl. "Aksana? Vhat is wrong?"
            Aksana threw open the door to the small room she shared with Tanya. It was dark and empty. She stood in the doorway breathing hard. She stared into the empty room as if Tanya would suddenly appear out of thin air.
            "Vhat is it child?" Manakja Sara stood behind Aksana. She reached out and touched the girl on the shoulder.
            Aksana jumped at the touch as if she had been burned. Whirling she sped back down the hall leaving the confused Sara staring after her. "Tanya!" Aksana called as she raced back out into the streets.
            The night no longer seemed friendly or comforting. Suddenly the shadows held unseen dangers that she had never noticed before. She stumbled and fell, scraping her knee, but stubbornly pushed herself up and ran on.
            Finally Aksana stumbled and was unable to get back up. She lay in the street tears streaming down her cheeks. Her lungs were on fire and she couldn't seem to catch her breath. Blood dripped from numerous cuts and scrapes. But the only thing she could think of was her sister.
            "Tanya," she whimpered. "I should have protected you. I should have been there for you," over and over as the sun crested the horizon with the light of a new day.

            Aksana's hands clenched, crushing the ration she held. When she opened her eyes they were shiny with unshed tears. There had to be truth in the dream, there just had to be. She clutched at the slim hope as if it were the only thing that would sustain her. Her over bright eyes fell on Spielos. He had agreed to help her, did he really mean it? Would he still help her? She had to know.
            She glanced over at Anya and Rhia, they still seemed to be discussing whatever play they were about to execute. She stood and slowly walked over to Spielos. She half sat half collapsed in front of him. For a moment she stared at him with wide green eyes unsure of what to say. Finally she just blurted out the first thing that came into her head. "Do you believe that dreams, they can hold truths?"
            Spielos' expression was inscrutable, but he replied without hesitation. "I don't believe in dreams. Dreams do not get you anywhere." He patted his rapier and tapped his head. "I believe in good steel and clear thinking." He gave a short, humorless laugh. "They have gotten me further than dreams ever did."
            Aksana's face, hopeful when she asked the question, fell. "Oh," she said, "then you think as Anya, that my dreams of my sister are nothing." She was crushed and forgot to hide it. He would not help her as she had hoped. As if realizing that she was showing too much she hastily tried to change the subject. "Vhat do think ve vill find at the top of the cliff." She looked out across the lake to keep from looking back at him.
            Spielos' face softened. "No, Aksana, no." He almost reached out to touch her, then remembered where that had gotten him with Alethra. "I think your dreams of finding your sister will not find her. We will have to do it ourselves, that is what I was saying."
            "As for the cliff, I think we will find a man who does not yet know that he is dead, but will find out soon enough."
            Aksana continued to look at the lake. "I hope that you are right," she said quietly. Whether she meant finding her sister or what they might find on the cliff she didn't say. After a few moments she asked, "Vhat is an elf?" Her voice was vague and distracted as if she were simply speaking to fill the quiet.
            "Alethra is an elf," Spielos replied, somewhat taken aback by the question. "Emistil is an elf. They are a noble people, long lived, beautiful and skilled in magic."
            He reached out and he did touch her this time, placing his hand lightly on her shoulder. "Come, do not be morose. Finish eating and be glad, we go to battle soon."
            Aksana looked away from the lake down to the hand on her shoulder. Slowly her eyes traveled up Spielos' arm until she looked into his cobalt eyes. She gave him a small smile. "Vhen you are not confusing me you do make me less morose," she said with a hint of humor. Her brow furrowed, "but this vord elf, I do not understand it. Alethra is a forest demon. Never have I heard noble or beautiful used to describe such a one." She gave him another quirky smile, "and skilled in magic is not something to be proud of in the Moonsea."
            "I know," he replied, a hint of aggravation creeping into his voice. "I hate it here."
            Aksana studied the man before her; watched his face, tried to read his body. He truly did hate it here she finally decided. "You will leave then," she observed. In a corner of her mind she had always know that, but had simply ignored it. Ignored his unhappiness. She thought about what that meant for her. This was her home; before she had met Spielos it had never even occurred to her to leave. Yet something ached deep inside her at the thought of not being around this wildly chaotic man. "I am sorry that my homeland, it makes you so unhappy; I would not have it so." She tried to keep her face carefully blank and spoke quietly as if afraid of being overheard. "If the path to my sister, it is here, I must stay and follow it to the end."
            She debated on what else she would say to him, what else she could say. He seemed to value truth and she had said that she wanted only truth between them, but she was not sure what the truth was right at that moment. She reached out slowly, tentatively. The fear on her face said that she expected to be slapped down, figuratively or literally. Her fingers stopped just short of actually brushing his cheek. They hovered just over the warmth of his skin for a brief instant before she lost her nerve and dropped her hand back down.

            A few minutes later, as the party gathered at the cave mouth, Krel appeared, his face placid and unreadable as always.
            "I have instructed the sellswords in vhat must be done to treat the vounded and they are vell for now. I believe I vill go vith you. Though I am no varrior, I may find a use for myself, yet. And I vas instructed to act as varden to the Maga. So I vill go."
            Dragging his prematurely aged carcass into the saddle of a placid mare, he fell in with the warparty.
            Alethra glanced over at the healer curiously. The Chosen man had stayed behind with the sellswords when they had attacked bandit lair, and now he was offering to come with them after a lone mage. Perhaps he had some secret fear about the cave that drove him away. It did not matter much at the moment, but Alethra silently made a note to investigate this matter further. Her thoughts drifted back to Gannon, and the untold vengeance that would await the sellswords if they failed in their duties.
            When all was ready, Anya led them back along the sheer cliffs bordering the north side of the lake, following the narrow path that jutted from its side. The ride to the top of the ridge went quickly enough, though the softly misting rain made it dreary, but at the top the path began to wind down the far side of the ridge, and the ground along the top of it proved too steep and treacherous for the horses.
            As Anya put it, their choice was to leave the horses at the bottom of the ridge and attempt to continue on foot along the top of the ridge, in sight of the many bloodhawks circling in the sky, or to follow the trail down the side to the hills to the north and circle around to the east, hoping to find a path up the ridge again there.
            "I think that ve should keep the horses," Anya said, squinting up at the sky. "Ve may need to move qvickly, and the horses, they are not safe here." She stroked Silkymist's neck, but her gaze was on the others, daring them to argue.
            Spielos noted the challenge, and smirked. "You know best, Warden," he drawled. "Your taste for revenge has not led us astray... yet."
            Alethra began to speak, but stuttered, not loud enough for anyone to hear, she thought. Time and time again, she had been instructed to assert herself when the time called. Still, she knew the others did not respect any authority she might have - some even might hate her for it, she wryly thought as her eyes drifted among the other party members. And, the Warden's lust for revenge, as the gypsy pointed out, had not yet led to any rash decisions.
            At the same time, they needed more subtle tactics to take on Emistil. "If ve cannot leave the horses here, then send someone back vith the horses to lead them down the mountain," she spoke softly, her voice nearly carried away by the noises of the wild. "Ve must approach this one vith stealth, not speed. He vill be sharply attentive for our approach."
            Rhia frowned, thinking. "Much as I worry about that elf, I'm not so sure he'll be super-alert. When last I saw him, he was rolling large rocks. By himself." She shrugged. "Yes, we need to hit him as unexpectedly as possible, but we also need to hit him fast, before he has time to get away, or set up an ambush. I say we go with speed for now."
            Krel looked from the Maga to the forest demon and back. When he quietly spoke, the fatigue - or something - weighed his voice to a mere mumble. "The forest demon Emistil, he vas not so far ahead of us, yes? Certainly not many hours ahead. It seems to me that there must be a qvicker vay to the top. Some vay secret, perhaps? But then if you say he vas pushing rocks, perhaps he means to roll them down on those who follow. Forgive my premature speech."
            Anya shook her head slowly, eyes turned upwards again, wary of the bloodhawks. "I do not know vhat vay he took, Atjets, but this von is the only vay I see. Maybe he can become a bird, as you did, Rhia? As for stealth, ve vould be exposed on the ridgetops, for longer than if ve only circle around. If the bloodhawks, they see us and attack, it vould draw more attention yet. Besides, who vould ve send back vith the horses? To take Emistil, I think ve all are needed."
            Aksana listened quietly to the discussion but offered no input of her own. Feeling out of place in the woods she felt that Anya would be much more knowledgeable than herself. She waited patiently for the others to decide upon a course of action.
            Alethra bowed her head in deference. "Of course, it is your decision, varden."
            Something in the tone of her voice suggested that she didn't necessarily agree with the decision, but she would not make any further arguments.
            Rhia nodded. "Let's go then, Warden. Whatever Emistil is doing, the sooner we get there to stop him, the better."
            Krel bowed his head in acceptance. "It is as you say, Varden, Maga. I vill try not to slow the company vith my horsemanship."

            With a quickly-smothered look of relief at the lack of argument, Anya led them down the far side of the ridge, where the light mist obscured the sky. They followed the recent tracks of the bandits' mounts as they wound through the hills, and not long after Anya reluctantly led the mounts aside and over another ridge. Fortunately, no bloodhawks fell upon them as they climbed. As they came to the final towering ridge to climb, Anya motioned for them to remain silent, picking her way up with care, Silkymist trailing her obediently. It was especially difficult for Krel and Rhia; being unused to the wilderness, every rock seemed to turn the wrong way when they set their feet on them, and they clattered down the steep slope. Having to lead the horses made matters no easier.
            They were nearly at the top when Emistil's cheerful voice called to them from the mist. "Come to finish me, have you? No need for that, now. Take me to your masters. I formally surrender to the Brotherhood of the Cloak, under the auspices of the Church. Assuming, of course, that you are loyal servants of that Church, and you won't murder me out of hand."
            Rhia, trying hard not to pant with the exertion and stress, sighed.
            "I don't plan any murders, elf, that's Mandrake's game. But don't test me, it's been a lousy few days. Come down where we can see you."
            She hoped the sound of her blade leaving its sheath wouldn't carry too far, or if it did, that the elf would consider it only prudence on her part, and not premeditation. Anya, on the other hand, had a murderous glint in her eye as she drew her own sword a moment after Rhia.
            "You cannot mean to take him alive?!" she hissed down to Rhia.
            Alethra's eyebrows furrowed in frustration. She turned to her shoulder and whispered softly to Nutwolcnum, "Find him, my pet." The bird left its perch and vanished into the hazy fog. Alethra tightened her hold on the horse, bringing it to a complete stop. She closed her eyes and reached out with her other senses for some clue as to the enemy elf's whereabouts, somehow suspecting that the dark mage would not give up as easily as his words indicated.
            The noise of careful steps skidding down the steep slope came from above, but the mist played tricks on Alethra's ears, and she couldn't seem to pinpoint just where above the noises sprang from. Nutwolcnum proved a better guide; shortly he returned to her shoulder, croaking into her ear. Emistil had approached to just above them, just out of view in the mist.
            "Why don't you come to me? You'll have to come up anyway to turn your horses," he called down to them. "But first, perhaps you can offer me some better assurance of your intentions. You understand, I'm sure."
            Spielos narrowed his eyes and looked around. Emistil had a better position, and didn't seem to be above trickery.
            Softly, he said to the others, "Make him walk down with his hands behind his back, turn backwards 20 feet from us and we can tie him up. I do not trust him."
            Aksana strained to see anything in the mist around them. She felt exposed and vulnerable. She envisioned the rocks mentioned by Rhia raining down upon them. At the demon's mention of turning the horses Aksana looked about them. Her inexperience with horses had meant that she had not realized the precariousness of their situation until it was pointed out to her. Now that it was she felt the beginnings of panic nibbling at the edge of her mind. She crowded as close to her horse as she could, not sure what cover it would offer, but sure that it was all that she had right then.
            Rhia motioned the others to be silent, and to spread out, as much as was possible.
            "You need assurances, elf? I'm not the one who was consorting with demons, robbing temples, and kidnapping nobles in their own homes. How do I know you haven't got an ambush planned up there? Walk out where we can see you, hands empty and in plain sight. If you do that, I won't murder you."
            "Consorting with demons? Haven't you heard that I am one?" He chuckled. "I must assure you now, however, that I had no part in robbing temples. That was the work of Mandrake."
            A few rocks clattered down; then Emistil emerged from the mist. His hands were empty and outstretched to keep his balance, though it seemed he didn't need them. He moved with a smooth grace reminiscent of Alethra despite the way he favored his side as he skidded down the ridge. There was a short sword at his belt, but he appeared to be otherwise unarmed. He paused ahead of them, eyeing their bared blades, and smiled genially.
            "Perhaps now that you see I am in earnest, you will give me your guarantee that you will let no harm come to me in your care. You may not murder me, but others might, you see. Surely that is little to ask of civilized folk in return for such a prize as I to return to your masters?"
            Conflicting thoughts crisscrossed through Alethra's mind as she listened. She knew that the others probably lumped her in with Emistil as kin. She knew that Anya would never let Emistil off the mountain alive if she could help it. She knew that any discord in the group would be seen as a weakness by the enemy mage, and that he would take advantage of that weakness. And, Anya commanded the group, but he had asked for the protection of the church, which surpassed any feudal titles.
            Most important of all, Alethra knew that the outlaw was right - the Church would welcome him as a great prize. They had already asked her and Gannon to bring him back alive, if possible. And she dreaded the punishing fist of Bane more than even the vengeance of Anya. Still, her hands trembled slightly as she prepared herself for the coming confrontation.
            "Do you think us fools?" came a voice from behind Rhia. "I am the Raven, the Eyes of Shar." Alethra's musical voice was dark and haunting, like the funeral dirge of a Myrkulite. "I see through your deception to your true intentions. I know of the trap you have laid for us."
            With the downward slope, her face remained mostly hidden even behind the shorter woman in front of her. "And, even Shar is a servant of Bane, so none here can make such a promise of protection as you request. Ve have a Chosen of Bane back in the cave that might listen to your petition should he be so inclined."
            She let her words hang in the air for just a moment, to make sure the other "demon" understood his situation fully. "You have two choices: Von, lie face down with your hands behind your back, and ve vill send somevon up to bind you. Second, you vill die vhere you stand." She looked over at Anya, standing firm and hoping that the Warden did not contradict her again and doom them all. Anya stood her ground, the muscles in her jaw working, and said nothing.
            Emistil tsked gently, shaking a finger at Alethra. "Your refusal to make so simple a promise reveals your intent. You have no intention of letting me live, have you? Then I'm afraid I must refuse your offer of-" His eyes widened, and he dove aside as Alethra flung her hand out toward him. The horses whickered uneasily as something passed between them two.
            Scrambling to his feet, he threw something at her, a shard of bone that splintered in midair and pierced the other elf's body with such force that she nearly fell down the ridge. Then he turned and ran back into the mist the way he had come, grace abandoned for speed as he lurched along.
            Despite the intense pain dealt to her by Emistil, Alethra actually managed a slim smile - just for a moment, imperceptable except to anyone who might have been staring straight at her.
            Now Emistil is off balance and vulnerable, she mused. Of course, she had left her own allies off balance as well, and she suddenly cursed herself for not giving them fair warning, or at least using a different spell to confuse Emistil long enough for them to prepare their strike.
            Either way, the result was not optimal, but better that then let the sly elf trick them, Alethra thought. Better to have the others hate her - if they hadn't decided to do so previously.
            Anya, swearing, had abandoned Silkymist to clamber after Emistil. Alethra tried to shrug off the pain so she could assist in the pursuit.
            Aksana crowded closer to Raisa. She wanted nothing more than to bury her face in the horse's side and wish everything away. The Wood demons made her nervous without all of the black magic they were prone to throwing around. While she was able to keep from hiding her face she wasn't able to force her body to react in any useful manner as she watched Emistil disappear back into the fog.
            In that moment she realized that she was well and truly out of her element. She had failed her sister, her church and herself. For a fleeting instant she wanted to leave all of this behind. Let the demon go. Forget about Anya and her revenge. Flee her conflicted feelings for the outlander. Self doubt kept her frozen in place.
            "Son of a bitch!" Elves! Rhia swore and tugged at Sarai's reins, pulling the horse ahead. She'd have preferred to go alone, but to do so would leave the others stuck on the ledge. Frankly, she would be just as happy to kill either elf at the moment, but she had no time to waste on recriminations, mental or otherwise. Her sword in hand, Rhia hurried into the mist after Emistil, words of power on her lips.
            Krel was in shock. As they had ridden a black fog had settled over his mind and Paryev's voice had whispered it's final recriminations over and over in his mind. Never ... never had he killed a man. Never. He knew he had done right to put the man in the Grandmother's hands for judgement, but then he had acted against that very judgement, had he not? When he took the man's pain from him? Perhaps the Maiden had moved him.
            Whatever it was, by the time they had intercepted Emistil, Krel was nearly in a blind panic. Not that anyone would know. His face, as always was an unreadable and passive thing - the Mooneye stare his people were so famous for, taken to its extreme. He was beyond his wits, though, when the forest demon called for the church's sanctuary and he had delayed too long while he tried to grasp for an answer. Then the tame demon had taken matters into her own hands. Fear like a beast clawed at his throat as he saw all his failures piling up in a great ruin around him. All he could do was follow and hope the Goddess still answered his call. There would certainly be bloodshed now.
            Hands weaponless, Krel climbed into the saddle, clung to his mount inexpertly and drove his feet into its flanks, trying to stay close to the others. His horse snorted, trying to clamber up the slope to get around Silkymist; the rugged ridge was far too steep to head straight up with the horse.
            Spielos likewise mounted and kicked his horse forward, urging it faster once he cleared the main body of the group. <"Run him down with your horse, do not waste magic on him unless you have to,"> Spielos shouted, hoping Rhia could hear him. His horse did its best to hurry up the slope, but it was rough going and the mount had to move across it as much as up.
            In spite of the situation, he grinned. He'd got himself a horse, and he'd be blasted if he let anyone take it away from him. If he had his way, soon after the bandits were dead or captured, he'd be on his way home. As he rode, he could only hope the thing was trained to run down foes, or he might be in for a rude awakening.
            Nutwolcnum cawed from somewhere in the mist. There was a sharp sound of stone on stone from above, and small boulders appeared from out of the fog where Emistil had gone. Anya cried a warning and leapt out of their path, but Rhia and Spielos were not so lucky. One clipped Rhia as she dove aside and narrowly missed Sarai, while another bounced straight at Spielos, thumping heavily into his horse. The mount lost its balance and fell with a scream, and the bard wasn't quite fast enough to leap clear in time. The beast skidded down the ridge with him, leaving a long gouge of mud after it but fetching up against an outcropping of rock before it rolled over him entirely.
            The rest of the boulders passed harmlessly on by (though in Aksana's case it was a close call), crashing away down the ridge. Concentrating furiously despite the pain, Rhia raised her sword as it took on a golden glow that cut through the mist easily. It revealed Emistil at the top of the slope, looking surprised. He turned and hurried away, vanishing over the top. Nutwolcnum followed him as he limped along, ready to fly back and report at his mistress' command.
            Out of sight of the sword the mist became a worry once again, and the raven had to fly close to the elf to keep him in sight. In the end it was inevitable that he be spotted. The elf turned, mouthing words that had no place in the natural world.

            Aksana watched the boulders bounce past, close enough she would have been hit if she had flinched, with an air of unreality. The scream of a horse being felled snapped her out of her fear induced trance. "Spielos," she cried out. She watched helplessly as the outlander was caught up with his fallen horse. For a moment she thought he would continue on down the slope to his doom. She abandoned Raisa to fend for herself and struggled across the slope to help the fallen bard.
            Dazed, Spielos spit out a mouthful of rocks and dirt. His dry mouth made it difficult, and he sucked in air struggled to free himself of the horse and rocks. His ribs, already in bad shape, felt like they might have punctured something.
            The horse didn't make it easy, it made horrible sounds as it tried to trash about and right itself. All it managed to do was twitch and squirm a bit. As he slid out from underneath it, Spielos realized it was done. Feeble pained noises issued from its mouth, one of its legs was clearly broken but that wasn't the worst of it. The back end of the horse remained unnaturally still, its back was likely broken. Ignoring his own wounds, Spielos' thoughts as he wheezed for breath were on the horse. Fuck, fuck, fuck, the horse, the fucking horse! How am I going to get out of here now?
            Reality crashed in on him, interrupting his worry of the horse. His vision swam; he wondered why there were stars visible in the cloudy sky. Distantly, he heard shouting and realized they were not out of trouble yet. He should probably go help.
            He tried to take a step up the slope, but his foot wouldn't move. He blinked twice, slowly, as blood ran into his eyes and the world grew red and dim. Great, the horse bled all over me, the bard wrongly concluded. Then he crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut, tipped over and slid a small distance further down the slope.
            "Fucking elves and their fucking rocks. Fuckers," he wheezed softly before the world went dark.
            Aksana knelt next to the fallen bard, listening to the others. The quick glimpse she had of the shadow beast had frightened her more than the demon Emistil had. There was little to see in the fog and she could not tell if they were supposed to capture the demon or slay him. She decided that unless the demon came to her she would let the others handle it. After all it was three to one, four if you counted Alethra's unnatural beast, surely they could take care of him.
            She did what little she could to staunch Spielos' wounds but kept her dagger close at hand. Cradling the man's head in her lap she was able to study his face more closely than she ever had before. With no fear of being seen she was able to drink in every detail. She only wished that she could see his marvelous cobalt eyes. Of course that would mean that he could see her and her shyness would make her look away. She had to laugh at her own foolishness.
            Spielos' eyelids fluttered a little but he didn't wake up. Very softly he mumbled, <"That feels so good!"> He started to reach out with a trembling hand as he continued, <"Oh, yes, a little more to the left, A-,"> but a fit of heavy coughing interrupted his rambling, and he sunk deeper into slumber.
            Alethra took no heed of the Outlander's words, nor even of the boulders cascading past her. You've failed, she silently spoke to Emistil, as if he could hear her. Audible words followed, the dark words of an unnatural quality.
            The gray mist muted the sunlight, making the shadows weak and tenuous. Still, there were enough shadows cast by the rocks for her to draw power. From the ground, a large shadow formed, though nothing supported it. From the inky hole in the ground a set of antennae sprung, followed by a black mandible and eyeless face. It dragged itself out of the formless hole with first two, then four, then six spindly legs. The creature seemed to be almost endless, more and more pairs of legs emerging from the ground as it slinked forward. At last the tail emerged, and the creature began skittering up the mountain towards the enemy elf.
            Alethra gasped for air as she released the mystic energy, breathing as heavily as if she had just run the entire way up the mountain. Though fatigued, her unnatural appearance changed little - no beads of sweat formed at her head, nor did her pale face turn flush. She knew she could withstand very little more before the power of the Weave tossed her to the ground like a fallen leaf.
            "You are one dead fucking elf," Rhia muttered. If she hadn't been willing to murder Emistil outright before, she sure as hells was now. She lurched to her feet, and the words that snapped from her lips were, while familiar to her, ancient and perhaps slightly unnerving for those around her. She felt the magic of the Weave coalescing before her as she struggled up the hill behind Anya.
            The first to clear the top of the rise, Anya was met with a barrage of shards from Emistil's hand. She bowed low over herself in pain when they struck, not seeing the horrendous shadow-insect that scuttled over the brink nearby, headed for Emistil.
            How he had clung to the mount with all that clatter and scrabbling, he had no idea, but now the beast had the bit in its teeth and was taking its own path. The sounds of bodies falling and the screams of the wounded mounts made Krel frantic, but saw as he might at the reins, his stubborn animal wouldn't slow. Instead it bounded up the tricky rock-face after Emistil, seeking safety and something to lash out at.
            Krel's face was drained of colour, leaving it a sickening patchwork of purple pock-marks and white flesh. Out of desperation, as they neared their quarry and the panicked beast looked ready to run Emistil down, he clung to the animal's neck even as he called out "Vait! I can speak for the church, demon. It is not too late to live!"
            The elf leapt for his life with a joyful whoop as Krel thundered past. He turned to face the slope once more even as he spoke. "Speak then, priest, and end this! Give me your assurances and rein in your minions, and I vow I will go along quietly." His eyes were on the scuttling shadow-thing approaching him. A golden glow suffused the air as Rhia crested the rise, her sword bare and radiant in her hand.
            Alethra's slender eyebrow raised slightly at the priest's timing. She had assumed that his silence during her own ultimatum meant he had implicitly approved of the terms. His actions themselves did not surprise her, as he had already demonstrated his enormous capacity for compassion.
            Alas, the creature had already been unleashed, and as long as Emistil remained a threat, it would continue to attack him. It would only remain on this world for less than a minute, but long enough to inflict its poison. Regardless of Atjet Krel's efforts, the elf would not be taken alive, Alethra mused.
            Desperately sawing at the reins, Krel finally managed to bring his heaving horse to a stop and turn it, all the while in fear of his life at the precipitous cliff-edge. He cried back to the elf, "Do not be a fool, demon! You have no assurances but that the church vill hear your vords and judge you justly. I have no more authority than that, and you must know that. Throw down and surrender or Bane's fist and Loviatar's caress vill end you. There is no vay for you to leave this place except through the Gods - either dead or Their mercy! Do not make me fight you. The others vill tear you limb from limb for vhat you have done if you do not throw down now. Do so, and I vill protect your life until you may be judged."
            "And I am no-one's 'minion,' Elf." The Maga seemed almost an avenging avatar of a goddess, as the unnatural golden glow reflected in her eyes, and the air shimmered protectively before her.
            "If you wish to live beyond the next few minutes, you'd best give me a very good reason, and give it fast."
            Despite Rhia's display of power, a haughty look of contempt passed over Emistil's face, but it dissolved into a good-natured smile as he shook his head and clucked at her. "That's no way to speak to a fellow Cloak-to-be... comrade. I surrender to you, priest - now make good on your word. Or is our little friend not subject to the will of the Church?"
            Alethra's creature, uncaring of the noises emitted by its prey, didn't hold back. Twisting about the elf, it darted in to bite him with its sharp mandibles. Emistil yelped, leaping aside too late, and drew his sword, facing off against the thing. His blade bit into its body with expert skill, but it tore loose from what should have been a mortal blow, its flesh insubstantial as the shadow that had borne it. Anya, who had been circling closer, hesitated, though whether it was the shadow-thing the length of a tall man lying or the priest's promise that held her back was unclear.
            "NO! Vait! Let us do vhat ve vere tasked to do! Demon, lie on the ground and put your hands flat! Please, friends, vait!"
            Krel was unsure how he had come to stand forward like this - it was not his way and he was unworthy to call himself Atjets after appropriating Loviatar's way, but he somehow knew that the forest demon had something the church needed to hear and butchering him out of hand would be a sin. If nothing else, he should stand trial and be judged by the gods, not by men.
            "Waiting gets good people killed, Atjets." Rhia's voice was harsh with anger and hatred. Without hesitation, she stepped forward, glowing blade lifted high. Snarling, she stepped towards Emistil, and brought her weapon hurtling down.
            Onto the shadow creature.
            Rhia felt a faint urge to act on her hatred, to turn the blade against Emistil as she wanted to do, but she quelled the feeling easily. Still, the moment's hesitation and her inexperience with the heavy sword allowed the shadow-thing to twist out of the way. Behind Emistil, Anya stood ready with her own sword, but she didn't step forward to aid Rhia. Her stormcloud eyes stayed on Emistil, burning with some dark emotion.
            For his part, Emistil ignored the Atjets' plea, jumping to stay away from the shadowy insect's mandibles. He proved quicker than Rhia, stabbing the monstrous thing cleanly through its body. It curled about the wound, flipping onto its back as it writhed, its myriad legs churning slower and slower as it died. Emistil watched the ichor evaporate from his blade in smoky streams as the monster began to do the same, then sheathed the shortsword as he turned to face Krel.
            "I don't think much of your protection, priest," he said, bending to rub the bite he had suffered, then rising with a smile. "Let's go on back to the caves, now. I'm feeling a bit wobbly, to tell the truth."
            "Good. Wobble your ass down the cliff, elf." Rhia managed, barely, to restrain her desire to shove Emistil down the cliff, and then thought better of things.
            "Wait," She rested her naked blade on Emistil's shoulder from behind, edge towards his neck. "What exactly were you doing up here?"
            Again she felt the faint urge to cut the elf, quickly squelched. Emistil paused, glancing back at her. "Why, spying on you, of course. The cliff-edge is not far from here, and we are above the cave mouth." His smile faded and he slumped slightly, touching a hand to his forehead. "I'm really not feeling well at all. I think I've been poisoned by that pet of yours. The sooner we reach the caves, the better."
            "Praise Talona then, demon, for she tests you. If she vill not harvest you today then perhaps she vill be merciful vhen ve bring you before the church in Melvaunt." Emistil made no reply, only smiling his seemingly eternal smile.
            Krel was uncertain. He was unused to putting himself forward and yet he had stood in the way of his companions and their wishes to save the life of an unrepentant demon. He could only pray that he had acted on the whisperings of Shar in his heart, for now he was responsible.
            Rhia couldn't quite dismiss the urge to kill Emistil as her own, internal hatred. Something niggled at her memory, something about Valkur, and the sword, but she couldn't pin it down, and now wasn't the time to be daydreaming. Still...
            "What, exactly, did you expect to see us doing? And who were you spying for? Mandrake?"
            "I'm afraid Mandrake won't be pleased to see me after I abandoned him to you. I thought you'd leave quickly enough once the light of day came, since you didn't follow Mandrake when he fled, but you remained. I do hope no one was seriously injured?" he added solicitously, raising his eyebrows in inquiry.

            Thaurlann awoke with a start. At first he had the strangest notion he was back in the tavern at Arabel, sleeping in the kitchen near the hearth, curled up under one of the counters so nobody would see him.
            As the haze left his eyes, he remembered his location, and age. The tea's effects still dulled his pain, but his left shoulder radiated with fire, numbing his arm to the point of near-uselessness. He looked over at the sellspears and noted the absence of two of the atjets. "Where are Atjets Krel and Paryev?" he asked.
            After hearing their response, Thaurlann frowned. He had no idea how long he had slept, but concern crept through him with a newfound urgency. If they had gone back to explore the cave further, who knows what fate they might have found? He shuffled himself back into a sitting position, and then pushed himself up with his good hand. Excruciatingly slowly, he found a torch and lit it, then started down the hallway towards the entrance. Along the way, he had to carry the torch with his right hand at the same time as he supported himself with it by leaning against the walls.
            At last Thaurlann found his way to the entrance with no sign of trouble. He counted the horses, and guessed that both of the atjets might have left, if they shared a horse. He sighed briefly, hopeful that this meant they were well.
            Thaurlann painfully forced himself into a praying position - the strain on he left shoulder nearly knocked him out again. "Our Mighty Leader Bane," he began. "We thank you for the power to drive back the forces of evil long enough for our friends to escape. We humbly ask your protection over our friends in the wilderness, as they serve the Hand of Bane with their task."
            Thaurlann slowly resumed a standing position, and then started back towards the fire pit. As he reached the entrance, he paused for a moment. To his left, he saw the dark tunnel leading down to the haunted crypt. Fear did not cloud his mind when thinking about the living dead in the tomb, but he still felt unfinished business down there. He had no strength to fight, but someone - the gypsy came to mind - might have been foolish enough to return and perhaps need assistance.
            Bolstered by concern, Thaurlann limped his way down the corridor. Looking straight ahead, he almost tripped over something in the hallway. He heard a startled growling bark, and the torchlight revealed Dobrynya, Atjets Gannon's dog, standing near a body on the ground. The dog, seeing a member of his master's newly adopted pack, relaxed its stance and went back to its task of sniffing the body curiously.
            Thaurlann brought the light closer and then gasped with horror. He saw the grisly, yet somehow serene face of Atjets Paryev. Teeth had broken loose with violent gnashing, blood and foam splattered from his mouth, but his eyes were closed as if entering a peaceful sleep. Thaurlann suddenly caught the retched odor of the sticky fluids coating the ground.
            Thaurlann instinctively reached for his sword, which no longer hung from his belt. He fell silent for a moment, and heard nothing nearby. It took him a minute to drink in the situation. Surely the living dead could not have done this? Then what - or who? At last he knelt down over the man, idly scratching the nearby dog behind its ears. "You were a pathetic excuse for a man," Thaurlann grumbled, "And an even worse example of an atjets. Nonetheless, you were a fully ordained servant of the Hand of Bane. For that, I owed you my allegiance and protection, and I failed."
            Thaurlann looked off into the darkness suspiciously, still waiting for something to jump out at him and deliver the same fate. "I swear on my very soul that whatever brought you to this unnatural end shall feel my vengeance."
            The sellspears' reactions when they saw the dead Atjets were a good deal less calm. "It is the curse!" one whispered harshly, staring wild-eyed down the dark tunnel leading to the crypt. "Strong enough to kill an Atjets!" said another, hairy jowls quivering. There was a good deal of spitting and gesturing even as they moved the body, slowing them considerably. Still, Atjets Paryev was handled with reverence, and they set him down gently near the firepit, holding several silent seconds of respectful silence before hurrying off to tell the other sellspears what had happened.
            Those who remained speculated wildly on what was bound to happen to them if they remained so close to an unholy place, and before long the warm cave was all but abandoned. The sellspears huddled in the outermost caves, talking about when they would leave this godsforsaken wilderness and eying the corralled horses thoughtfully.
            Thaurlann resisted the urge to reprimand the sellspears for forgetting their duty to the living atjets who still lay unconscious near the fire pit, but gave each of them a stern look as they made their way towards the exit. He retrieved his sword and shield, dragging them along the ground loudly until he reached Gannon's body. He sat cross-legged, sword and shield across his lap. "I am afraid of no curse," he shouted hoarsely. Even after the meager serving of tea, his wounds parched his body.
            Thaurlann had abandoned his curiosity about the tomb for the moment, instead taking a weary vigil over the wounded priest. Anya would lead the others back here soon, he was sure of it. And, Bane help any sellsword who tried to leave before then.

            The slow journey back down to the caves was broken only once by attacking bloodhawks that had spotted the party despite the fog. They seemed attracted to Spielos' limp body, slung over the back of Aksana's horse as his own had to be put down. Fortunately the hawks managed only a few bites before being driven off, but they circled low over the party for some time, the last of them flying off only once most had been shot down. No doubt they would fall on their dying broodmates, Anya said indifferently, keeping an eye out for others as they led the horses up and down the steep ridges.
            The commotion with the bloodhawks seemed to draw Speilos into semi-consciousness. <"Gotta get some horses and get out of here,"> he managed to wheeze before his breath failed him. He spent a few moments wheezing and gasping as he tried to refill his lungs.
            <"Lies. It was all lies,"> he continued, <"but maybe Aksana will come with me. Nah, why would she do that?"> Again his battered and broken ribs failed him and he was left gasping. This time the strain of trying to breathe sapped what little strength he had left. He fell silent and limp, and remained so for the rest of the ride down to the cave.
            Emistil proved no trouble at all, even offering a hand up to the others on particularly tricky stretches. When the bloodhawks swooped down, his bow brought down more than one of them. He seemed cheerful but weary, showing none of the easy grace he'd possessed earlier as he scrambled over the rocks together with the others.
            It was dark by the time they rode the final stretch along the lake, moving quickly to avoid the notice of the abomination lurking beneath the black water. Their arrival was heralded by the shouts of the sellspears, who rushed out to meet them. Some took their horses while others all talked at once; it took some time to glean that an Atjets was dead, killed by the curse in the crypt.
            The sellspears shouted down the tunnel, calling for Thaurlann to come out, but not appearing too certain that he would. They kept their distance from Emistil as they did from Alethra, muttering about evil magic, but some clustered about Spielos, taking him down from the horse and carrying him into the shelter of the cave entrance, though they took him no farther. They crowded about Krel and Aksana, asking what was to be done of the former and demanding to know what had happened of the latter. Emistil merely stood by, a faint smile on his lips, waiting for instructions in the misting rain.
            Aksana fended off the sellspear's questions with short monosyllable answers. In her concern for her wounded friend she cared little what the others did with the demon Emistil.
            Spielos stirred as they moved him, and managed to hold on with a fair bit of strength, despite his pallor. "I need some wine," he croaked, still having trouble getting air past his broken ribs. His face brightened momentarily as a thought struck him. "Or something stronger, if you can find it."
            Aksana pointed at a sellspear. "Get some vine. I care not if you have to go back in to the thrice cursed cave to find it." The sellspear stared at her challengingly, not budging, but another came forward with a wineskin that she passed to the injured bard.
            The thought of powerful drink seemed to give him strength. "Everyone, did they come back with me? We did not lose anyone, did we? Is Aksana alright? Where is she?" he asked in a rush of words, before a fit of wet sounding coughing sized control of his body.
            After a moment the bard's eyes snapped open, and he tried to sit up. Spots swam before his eyes, and he slumped back on the ground. His breath came in shallow, gasping wheezes, but he reached out and grabbed a startled sellsword by the wrist with surprising strength. "For fuck's sake, tell me there are still some horses left in the pen," he demanded.
            Spielos' coughing brought Aksana's attention back to him. She moved into his line of sight and knelt down. "Alvays vith you it is the horses," she smiled gently, pleased that he was awake again.
            "Morcha and Javel took two vhen they left, but there are still plenty," the woman who had passed him the wineskin assured him. "Enough to pay us all vhen they are sold."
            Stumbling with the pain of the saddle, Krel's face nevertheless showed nothing of the stabbing agony of his sores. Reaching out with calming gestures, he replied, "Shush...shush... bring the gypsy to the fire. He vill live vith the blessing of the Baba Apple and vith rest. He vas a casualty of his mount more than the demon. Mounts ... they can be painful."
            Following the sellswords deeper into the cave, Krel buried his fear under a veneer of competence. Brusquely, he instructed the sellspears, to lay the man gently and to bring vater. "I vould do more if he vere not an infidele..." he muttered to Aksana by way of apology, before kneeling to wash the dirt and blood gently from the man's wounds.
            Spielos stirred as they moved him, and managed to hold on with a fair bit of strength, despite his pallor. "I need some wine," he croaked, still having trouble getting air past his broken ribs. His face brightened momentarily as a thought struck him. "Or something stronger, if you can find it."
            The thought of powerful drink seemed to give him strength. "Everyone, did they come back with me? We did not lose anyone, did we? Is Aksana alright? Where is she?" he asked in a rush of words, before a fit of wet sounding coughing sized control of his body.
            Aksana fended off the sellspear's questions with short monosyllable answers. In her concern for her wounded friend she cared little what the others did with the demon Emistil. Aksana pointed at a sellspear, "get some vine. I care not if you have to go back in to the thrice-cursed cave to find it." The sellspear stared at her challengingly, not budging, but another came forward with a wineskin that she passed to the injured bard.
            Krel winced at the thought of dilluting the man's already depleted humours with alcohol and he even raised his hand to protest, and then he dropped it. It would dull the man's pain, and Krel would be innocent of it. Burying his objections he returned to his task, attempting to remain silent and unobtrusive as he worked in the somewhat charged atmosphere between the outlander and Aksana. Something was developing there that was not for him to know.
            After a moment the bard's eyes snapped open, and he tried to sit up. Spots swam before his eyes, and he slumped back on the ground. His breath came in shallow, gasping wheezes, but he reached out and grabbed a startled sellsword by the wrist with surprising strength. "For fucks sake, tell me there are still some horses left in the pen," he demanded.
            Spielos' coughing brought her attention back to him. She moved into his line of sight and knelt down. "Alvays vith you it is the horses," she smiled gently, pleased that he was awake again.
            "Morcha and Javel took two vhen they left, but there are still plenty," the woman who had passed him the wineskin assured him. "Enough to pay us all vhen they are sold."
            Krel's eyes widened slightly as the gypsy spoke harsh words before them. "Calm yourself, gypsy." he said gently. "The horse vas not your friend. There are others, but before you try and ride again, you must first heal your leg, else you vill risk an infection of the bone vhere it is broken."
            He wanted to help, but the strictures of the church were clear. He was an infidele. Nevertheless, there was something that could be done. Digging in his pack, Krel brought out the Sheepstongue root and four dried leaves of the Ermigot. Placing them in Aksana's hand, he wrapped her fingers about them. "Boil these vell, and let him drink that instead of vine. It vould be best."
            Aksana stared at the dried herbs in her hand. She was disappointed that Krel would not help Spielos more but she was not surprised. Her new and outlandish feelings for the man did not change the fact that he was an outlander in her homeland. She knew he could not expect to be treated any better anywhere in the Moonsea.
            She had a sudden insight as to why he was always looking for a way to return to his own home. She looked at him and her eyes were sad. She wondered if he had really meant any of the fevered rantings of the ride back to camp. She also wondered what she would do if he left; when he left, she told herself. With her new found understanding she realized it was only a matter of time.
            She smiled but her eyes still held the shadows of her new realizations. "I vill make for you the tea Atjets Krel has recommended. Do not take one of the horses and run avay vhile I am gone," she joked weakly.
            Spielos turned his gaze towards her. A smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. He tried to squash it, but the humor was still evident in his eyes.
            <"I wouldn't dream of it,"> he replied. <"I intend to ask you to come with me when I go. The world is a big place, and not everywhere is as wretched, dismal and depressing as this cursed land. You should see it. I think you'd like it.">
            His face was already pale from the strain speaking, but he realized he was giving too much away. Quickly, he added, <"Besides, if I stole a horse, Gannon would probably recover enough strength to ride me down and sucker punch me again."> He tried to laugh, but his breath gave out once again, and all he could do was wheeze.
            Aksana's face turned nearly as red as her hair. She glanced quickly at those who were near them. She was relieved to see no sign of Alethra. <"Ve should talk of such things vhen others are not near."> She stood, "I vill go and make the tea now," she announced to no one in particular. She lingered, staring down at the white- haired outlander, her eyes were wide and dark. She suddenly seemed to realize what she was doing and shook her head as if waking from a dream. She turned quickly and went to fetch some water for the tea.
            Aksana's thoughts were racing so fast she had trouble pinning one down so that she could examine it. She bit her lip and tried to concentrate solely on fixing the tea for a few minutes to calm herself. She poked at the leaves floating in the water willing it to heat faster and at the same time thankful for the time alone to think.
            What was she doing, she asked herself for the hundredth time in the last few days. All of her fancies of leaving her home had been just that, fancies. Suddenly Spielos' words had made the possibility real. As she thougth about him she found herself smiling without meaning to and she quickly smothered it.
            What was she to do? What of her duty to the church? What about Alethra? She still wasn't sure what the demon was doing out here but it couldn't mean anything good for someone considering abandoning the church. And what of her search for her sister, Tanya? Spielos had said he would help her, but would he really if it meant staying in the Moonsea longer.
            She shook her head, tears of frustration threatened to spill over. She scrubbed at her eyes fiercly forcing the tears back. It doesn't matter right now, she told herself, he can't go anywhere right now. Unless Krel could be convinced to go against his tenets the injured outlander was going to have trouble just keeping up with them on their hunt for the bandits.
            Finally the tedious task of waiting for the tea to boil was done. She poured a cup and carefully carried it back to where the bard was lying near the front of the cave. "Here," she held the cup out to him, "it might still be a little hot."

            After listening briefly to the sell spears, and finally (she thought) figuring out which Atjets had fallen, Rhia caught Anya's eye. "I think we should ask Atjets Krel to see to the fallen, while you and I have a chat with Emistil here. Unless you'd rather deal with the sellspears, and let Alethra and I handle him?"
            Anya's eyes flicked to the rough men and women, and for a moment a grimace twisted her face, but it was gone as quickly as it came. She took a deep breath. "To deal vith them, it is my duty. Call for me if you need help vith... that." She jerked her chin at Emistil, eyes filled with dark emotion; then she stomped off to shout at the sellspears, who reluctantly got out of her path and took away the horses. The sellspears stared as Rhia and Alethra took Emistil down into the cursed tunnels.
            Alethra's first thought was to tend to her master, but she trusted Atjets Krel to tend to him. Well, not so much that she completely trusted him yet, but he was a man of the Church and his skills had more than proven his value.
            The wayward elf was her first priority, and she accompanied him warily, her eyes watching his weakening form with constant suspicion. She tried not to take joy in the result of her creature's attack, yet at the same time she felt that he justly deserved it.

            Rhia motioned for Emistil and their escort to precede her into the bedroom, while she paused a moment outside the curtain. Quietly, she flipped her polished copper coin into the air, whispering words of power, then ducked under the curtain, focusing her thoughts on Emistil.
            <"Why would you do this? Why would you sell yourself to the Cloaks?">
            Emistil gave her a blank look. "I beg your pardon?" In his mind there was nothing but slight puzzlement and a well of patience; he hadn't understood her words.
            The surprise was almost enough to break Rhia's concentration on her Weaving. What in the Hells? Did all elves just stop speaking their own damned language?
            "I asked why you seem so eager to join the Cloaks. Aside from saving your own skin, I mean. Surely there were other options?"
            For the briefest of moments a book flashed through Emistil's mind; then he thought of a cluster of men and women being instructed by an elder mage as the Weave twisted visibly between them, followed closely by poring over ancient scrolls. He tilted his head to the side, watching her and Alethra. "I learned from our late friend what benefits a Cloak might enjoy; is it so strange to want the power that will come with the name? Of course, saving my skin was a not inconsiderable bonus." His smile widened, his muddy eyes gleaming with humor.
            Even as Alethra watched the wily elf, she felt the desire to melt back into the shadows, avoiding his looks in her direction. The kinship she shared with him intrigued her, yet at the same time repelled her, everything about him reminding her what she had learned to hate about herself.
            Rhia just looked at Emistil for a moment, as if studying him, concentrating. "Power, or access," she asked. "You're risking your soul in order to gain a modicum of power, power that those to whom you'll be selling yourself will never truly trust you with. Are you quite certain you wouldn't rather search a library somewhere?"
            Rhia knew she was treading a fine line with Alethra right there and able to understand her words, but a certain level of honesty was probably the only thing that would get Emistil to reveal himself to her - whether he knew it or not. Much as she was tempted, Rhia didn't try to extend her spell to Alethra's mind, Emistil was too important - and dangerous - to risk any distractions.
            Emistil raised an eyebrow. "You don't sound happy with your lot, I must admit." Mentally he reviewed what he had seen of Rhia's casting, though there was little enough of that, and he recalled the shadow-insect Alethra had set upon him. His smile remained good-natured, but a calculating look slid through his dark eyes, and his thoughts turned to his two captors, judging their gestures and paraphernelia.
            "Perhaps the little priest lied, and there is little to gain through joining the... exalted Brotherhood of the Cloak. It remains my only option should I wish to remain alive... does it not?" He spread his hands helplessly, thinking of Atjets Paryev's wide, watery eyes and quivering chin as he spoke to the elf. The man looked both relieved and nervous, gesturing widely and casting frequent glances at the drekavac seated nearby. "Though if you have any libraries in mind, I'll certainly take that into consideration."
            "We're in similar situations, as far as the Cloaks are concerned, Emistil," Rhia said, her hand resting pointedly on her sword hilt. "But don't for a second let that fool you into thinking I wouldn't kill you where you stand, given a reasonable excuse, or that I will ever trust you, or relax my guard where you're concerned." Rhia shrugged. Emistil bowed his head in polite acknowledgement. His smile never wavered.
            "The truth is, as far as the Brotherhood is concerned, it's join or die. Of course, they could just as easily decide that you're to die, without the chance to join up. Your best bet would be to tell us everything you know about Mandrake and his plans here, what he's done and what he plans to do. If you're cooperative and honest, we'll pass that along, and it could help your cause. If not..." Rhia shrugged again, her hand caressing her sword hilt unconsciously.
            Alethra frowned slightly. The human wizard had certainly taken control of the conversation, which Alethra had allowed for several reasons. In some ways, the words spoken rang true for Alethra. Much as she felt eternally grateful to the Cloaks, she also knew that she was just as much a slave now as she had ever been.
            Agreeing with Rhia might actually help convince the elf to talk, Alethra mused, but at the same time might give him ammunition to turn against her should the opportunity arise. Instead, she chose a different avenue altogether.
            "That is enough questioning," Alethra blurted suddenly, her melodic voice sharpened by anger. "I vill not sit here vhile you besmirch the name of the Cloaks. I vas villing to let you talk to him first, but it is obvious he vill not give us anything useful. I vill go now and get the Hammer of Bane. He vill already be angry at us for not vaking him for the hunt, and I vill not risk further angering him by vasting time vith this unrepentant sinner."
            She glanced over at Rhia as she walked to the door, making sure that the human met her eyes before she left. Her eyes then darted to the side, making a subtle signal at the captive elf. Without waiting for recognition, she pulled aside the fur curtain to the room and walked towards the fire pit.
            Her raven, Nut, stayed behind for a moment with its beady eyes fixed on the remaining occupants. Then, with a soft cawing noise it flapped its wings and followed its master.
            Emistil sat on the soft furs that made Mandrake's bed, leaning back against the rock wall comfortably. "I will tell your master all when he wakes, rest assured - assuming that isn't a corpse the fellow outside is sitting vigil over. Speaking of rest, perhaps your healer would tend my injuries now that we've returned to safety? I still feel quite ill." His face and his thoughts were the very picture of innocence; in fact, he was thinking of speaking to Gannon already, though the man he pictured wore a helm that hid his face. By the armor, though, it was definitely Gannon.
            Alethra had indeed caught Rhia's eye, and the human maga had seen the miniscule gesture, but its nature had confused her. She didn't know what Alethra had wanted, and there was no way to ask her. When Nut left the room behind its enigmatic mistress, Rhia thought she might have understood, and decided to act quickly. She stepped closer to Emistil, though not close enough to be touched, and spoke quietly, but urgently.
            "I may not like you elf, in fact, I may well hate you, but I wouldn't see this inflicted on my worst enemy. I'm here, Alethra is here, because we can't go anywhere else. To even think too loudly of escape is to court death. To join the cloaks is to voluntarily enslave yourself. Gannon will not be lenient, nor will he be gentle. He's very devout, and his devotion includes treating workers of magic - especially non-human workers of magic - as property. Property to be used and then discarded when no longer useful. He won't help you. He won't allow any other atjets to help you. If you die, he'll see it as his god's will. You heard him earlier; he truly believes that if I were to die at the hands of Mandrake and company, I would be better off!" She shook her head.
            "Tell me what you can, and I'll do my best to get you out of here...somehow."
            Emistil cocked his head at her; she had his full attention now, and what little he knew of her flickered through his mind once more. Snippets of Paryev's cringing voice, glances at the rabble that had formed the bulk of Mandrake's army. A glimpse of scribing runes onto a scroll, riffling a thick tome, a library of books with shelves that touched the ceiling. Then he came to his decision, and Mandrake replaced them in his rapid review of the past. There was little of the man in his memories, though of course more than there had been of Rhia.
            "Mandrake means to become a warlord worth reckoning with and rise from poverty to a station he believes befits him better. He believes he has found an ally in that aim, one that provided him with the minion you killed - a drekavac, I believe the priest called it? I don't know what he paid or promised for its rather pathetic services, nor whom. I'm afraid I don't know much more than that on the matter; he isn't free with his information.
            "I know he meant to have the little keep close to the trade road to be able to dictate who might travel it freely, but you've thrown a stick in the wheels of that plan. Now he hasn't the loot he had accumulated to buy his new army with, either; there's no telling what he'll do. He is a resourceful enough man; he may well recover from the blow you've dealt him."
            "Maybe he could, if this were the only blow we intended to strike," Rhia answered Emistil, storm clouds evident behind her words. "If you've been honest with me, after we destroy Mandrake and company, I'll do my very best to get you out of this. You have my word. Hells, I'll likely be doing my best to get us both out." Rhia looked Emistil in the eye for a moment, holding his gaze.
            "With what I've said, you could easily tell Gannon or any other atjets who questions you that I intend escape, and offered you the same. Doing so would likely serve to grant you favor in their eyes, since I probably wouldn't be able to hide the truth if they got serious about verifying it. I hope you realize that no amount of favor such an action would earn you would ever be enough to make slavery worthwhile."
            "No, slavery is not suited to me," Emistil said with that secretive smile. "By all means, let us leave it to those who fit the yoke." For a second he thought of a strange small creature, shaped as a man but with a tail and wings; then the thought was gone, his full attention on Rhia once more.

            Alethra returned several minutes later, without her master in tow. She immediately faced Emistil and anticipated his response. "Do not get your hopes up," she scowled. "He is not a corpse, nor vill he be one any time soon." Emistil raised his hands as if to ward her off, grinning a little. His mind's eye, though, flashed for a moment on a sea of pale faces raised blank and waiting in a driving rain, all armored and armed to the teeth.
            She turned to Rhia and nodded in greeting. "Atjets Gannon still requires more rest before he can deal vith this one," she said. "I vill vatch him if you need some rest. I-" she paused for a moment, but in present company found no reason to hide her unusual nature. "I have no need for sleep, although at some point I must meditate to cleanse my mind and refocus my powers."
            Alethra walked over to the other side of the room, and her constant companion flew in behind her, perching once more on the strange skull that Alethra tried desperately to ignore. Instead, Alethra fixed her eyes impassively on Emistil's face.
            Rhia watched Alethra for a few moments, then nodded. "I'll return after I've had my sleep then, thank you." The maga glanced at Emistil, then turned to leave the room. Once she stepped past the curtain, a shiny copper coin fell into her hand from seemingly nowhere. With it seemed to come a heavy weight, and Rhia's shoulders slumped. Wearily, she went to find her blankets and a bite of food from her pack. It took very little time for her to fall asleep, for betrayal was proving to be tiring work.
            Emistil yawned, lying back on the thick furs covering the bed. "If you'd be so kind as to send in your healer, then?" he called after Rhia, propping up his legs and making himself comfortable.
            When the diviner had gone, Emistil turned his head to meet Alethra's stare. In the near-dark of the brazier light his eyes seemed almost black. He studied her silently, his eyes lingering for a moment lower than was polite. "You don't seem to share your comrade's sentiments," he finally said. "Are you happy in your service to the Cloaks? How did you come to serve your masters?"
            At her continued stony silence, he only chuckled to himself and nestled into the warm furs, closing his eyes. If she didn't know any better, Alethra would have said he went to sleep.

            Aksana dreamed…
She walked through a forest of towering trees. It was not like the forests she knew in the Moonsea. Those forests are close and dark, hidden dangers behind every tree. This forest was bright. She looked up expecting to see the sun, but all she saw was the thick foliage of the trees. The light seemed to come from all around her and from nowhere. Even with this strangeness she did not feel afraid.
            Ahead of her there was a flash of movement between the trees. She walked towards it in a sort of bemused daze. There were no sounds in the forest but those she made herself. No birds, no animals, not even insects disturbed the stillness. She saw the movement again, more clearly now. It was a person.
            Her bare feet padded along a lush carpet of thick grass. Suddenly realizing that she did not have her shoes on, she looked down. She was clothed in a simple white gown quite unlike anything she normally wore. Rather than find it odd she accepted it in the same way she had accepted the strange forest.
            She could see the person ahead of her disappearing and reappearing between the trees. She sped up slightly but seemed to get no nearer.
            A sweet childish giggle rang through the forest.
            Aksana stopped. She knew that sound. "Tanya?" She questioned the forest about her.
            The only answer she got was more laughter and a flash of red hair in the distance.
            She started to run but she could not catch the elusive sprite before her. The forest started to grow dark around her. Losing sight of her quarry in the gathering gloom she stumbled to a halt. Fear gripped her. She was alone in the forest. "Tanya?" She said to the darkness around her, but more quietly this time. A lump formed in her throat and she started to tremble. She did not want to be alone. Not again. She fell to the ground and curled into a tight ball, hiding her face.
            "Aksana," a man's voice called to her, "Aksana."
            She thought she should know the voice but in her state of hopelessness she could not place it. She curled tighter willing the world to go away.
            "Aksana," the name was whispered in her ear. A soft caress trailed down the back of her neck.
            Her body stiffened at the touch but something deep inside her stirred. Slowly she opened her eyes and looked up. At first her she was dazzled by the unexpected light shining behind the man's head. All that she could see was a silhouette. The man shifted slightly and she could make out a shocking burst of white hair.
            "Spielos?" She asked in a quiet child-like voice. She felt the stirring again, stronger this time.
            The white-haired bard smiled at her and helped her to her feet. She stared into his cobalt blue eyes; it felt as if she were staring into the endless deep blue of the sky. He did nothing, said nothing, simply stood and let her gaze into his eyes. His eyes became everything to her, surrounded her, absorbed her.
            Her own face was reflected back at her, her outlandish red hair, the hideous scars running down the left side of her face. Dismayed she lifted her hand to touch the ruin that was her cheek. This was what others saw when they looked at her, she thought. The reflection smiled cruelly; it laughed, loud and mocking. "No one could truly want you," her reflection sneered.
            Aksana screamed. The reflection cracked and shattered, falling away into the dark nothingness that now surrounded her. Tears felt like lines of fire as they ran down her face.
            A serpentine shape arose from the abyss; a darker black in the absolute gloom around her. She felt it more than she saw it. It circled her and she turned slowly to keep it in front of her. Soft laughter surrounded her, deep and warm. It caressed her skin like a living thing. "What do you desire?" a voice filled with the promise of thunder whispered in her ear. The shape stopped circling and opened its eyes.
            They burned like living flames. Aksana could feel their heat wash over her body like a physical blow. She fell backward with a gasp. She tried to shield herself from the flames. No matter what she did she could still see them. Still feel them.
            "What do you desire?" the dragon whispered again as it glided closer. It was warm and soft when it touched her, not at all like the snake it resembled. It coiled around her, leaned over her shoulder. She could feel its breath hot in her ear. It reached around, one clawed hand on either side of her.
            Terror held her immobile, helpless against the beast. A small moan of fear escaped her lips.
            It cupped its hands with their dagger sharp nails in front of her. "Is this what you desire?"
            Despite her fear she felt compelled to look down. Down at whatever it was the dragon cupped in its hands. At first it was only a small sphere of light. It slowly resolved into a humanoid figure. Aksana could make out white hair and smiling blue eyes. "No," she denied, knowing it was a lie as soon as it passed from her lips.
            The clawed hands clapped together violently, smothering the light. "I think that it is," the voice whispered in her ear. The dragon's coils held her tightly and she could not draw a breath. Its eyes flared brightly and the heat blistered her face. "I will consume you," it roared. Black flames licked along its body and crawled onto Aksana's skin.
            She screamed.
            And she woke.

            The night was very late, and Krel sat at the cave mouth staring out at the darkness. His knees clasped to his chest, the man stared and thought of the church and its teachings. He trembled to think of the ways in which he had failed Her and yet Krel could not abide suffering. Always he had done what he believed best for those he treated. The Grandmother Apple, though, she was sometimes stern with her wayward brood, and Krel had been wayward. Pain was the Maiden's world - the pain of first love, the pain of birth, the pain of loss. Krel had no place interfering. But did not Loviatar also speak to him? Perhaps it was she who had prompted him to intervene.
            Krel's mouth tightened. No. It was his own broken nature. "Grandmother, forgive me." But there was no forgiveness in the black night skies.
            He was conscious of those in the cave behind him that needed him. Ganon, the Hammer of Bane. His place was at the man's side. Speilos - he was an outlander and an infidel, yet he had stood with Krel against the forest demons and there was something growing between him and the woman. His duty was clear. He should denounce her for being corrupted by the outlander. Encourage her to put him aside and seek a husband from among the faithful. Krel sighed bitterly. He would not. He, too, was corrupt. Why did Talona trust him with her mercies when he was so froward?
            Krel's mouth hardened. He would do it and the goddess would decide his fate. If she did not turn from him, then he would not turn from his deviant path. With the ever-present pains in his body pushed aside, Krel got slowly to his feet like an old man. Moving quietly through the cave to the sick room, he touched the shoulder of the sell-spear on watch and said, "Go and rest now, friend. I cannot sleep and so I vill watch. Sleep."
            Once the man had left, Krel carefully scanned the chamber. Did everyone sleep? Krel moved through the company of fallen, careful to make no noise that could wake his patients. Creeping to the side of Speilos in the darkness he felt his head. A bit feverish. His eyes sought Aksana in the darkness. She was seldom far from the gypsy. Whether she knew it yet, she was lost already. It was only time before he took her away to the heathen south. So. Krel would make it easier for them. "Say nothing..." he whispered to her sillouette.
            In a low voice the priest began to chant, imploring Talona's aid in the darkness. Gently he laid a warm hand on Speilos's injured thigh and asked the goddess to heal it....just a little .... just enough so that the man could ride again.
            Aksana sat in the darkness, her body still trembling from her dream. She was surprised when Krel appeared at Spielos' bedside. She said nothing, only watched with wide eyes. When it became clear what he was about she gave him a look so full of gratitude it was near pathetic.
            At the touch, Spielos' eyes snapped open. Reflexively, he reached for his dagger, but it was for naught. His arms felt like lead, and the sudden movement made pain stab up through his body.
            With a sigh, he instead reached and clutched something at his chest, and the ice in his eyes was gone. "Let me at least say a prayer and stand, so that I might die on my feet," he said quietly, resignation heavy in his voice.
            With a lopsided smile Aksana leaned forward slightly and whispered, "Be still, the Atjets is not here to kill you." She glanced over at the still form of Gannon. "At least this one is not."
            His placid eyes glinting in the reflected light of the dying embers, Krel just hushed the man and pushed him back down gently. "Do not be fool, gypsy. Lie down and let me see to your vounds. Stop fussing. If you vish to do something to prepare your soul for death, stop being a mad infidel and give your soul to Talona. It vould help us both."
            Spielos' eyes moved from Krel to Aksana and back again. He realized that he had made a fool of himself and the priest was only trying to help him, though that did little to stop his tongue from wagging.
            "I am not an infidel," Spielos countered. "I've faith aplenty for your god as well as my own." When Krel found a tender spot on his leg, the outlander rasped, "Though Shar is much more to my liking."
            Krel gasped quietly, his eyes seeking the slumbering form of Gannon nearby in the darkness. "Do not be more a fool than you already are, infidel. Vhat you just said vould have you answering qvestions for the church - answering for a very long time if another heard you. If I vere a good atjets, I vould denounce you now... luckily for you, I am not. I am a poor atjets. Be grateful and stay silent.
            "Your god is a demon - That is teaching of the true church. Vould you spout blasphemy not two feet from vhere the Hammer of Bane lies sleeping? You are a brave if foolish man if you vould.
            "Now. I have done vhat I may."
            Spielos bit back his reply. Krel was helping him, and giving good advice. The bard had forgotten himself for a moment. Another such lapse would seriously impinge upon his plans.
            Looking to Aksana, Krel said more harshly than he wished, "You vill say you treated the man and he made a strong recovery." Then his brown eyes softened and he patted her hand. "And you vill flee vith him before the both of you make a mistake. You understand? Now, I must see to Atjets Gannon."
            Spielos caught the other man by his shirt. "Thank you, Krel, for everything." His eyes slid over to Aksana. "Though I do not think we will be leaving just yet, she is not ready for the journey. I will be more careful."
            Aksana stayed silent during Krel's ministrations, nodding when he instructed her to say she had done the bandaging. Hearing the two men speak of leaving made her remember her dream; she had momentarily forgoten it during the healing. The trembling returned hard enough to make her body shake as if she were cold. She pulled her blanket around her tighter. Not sure she could go back to sleep and afraid that she might, she stayed crouched next to the outlander.

Bandit lair, Mirtul 27

            He woke with a start, though it did not show in his face or body. It would never do for the Hammer of Bane to show fear, nor surprise that could be confused therewith. And so he lay there, eyes closed, and listened.
            Eventually, it became clear to him that he had not died, nor been captured. Though it was nearly silent around him, the noises he could hear were familiar to him, and Gannon turned his attention inward, taking stock of his own body. Aside from a strong hunger and thirst, everything seemed to be fine. Which meant he had been blessed by Talona's healing touch, and spared death, again.
            In the faint light of the faded fire, Gannon's eyes snapped open. There was a faint whine of greeting and relief from his feet - Doby, relieved to see her God awake again. Gannon sat up, seeking to reassure the dogs, then stopped.
            "Vhere-" the atjets broke off into a fit of coughing, until he found a cup nearby, filled with water, which he quickly drained.
            "Vhere is my Alyosha?" No answer was forthcoming, for no one else in the room was awake, and no one appeared to have been set to watch over Gannon. The thunder clouds began to form on his brow as his famous temper rose, and Gannon pushed himself somewhat unsteadily to his feet. He sucked in a breath to call for someone, then let it out explosively at the sight of the bundle of bandage and blanket that was his pet and companion.
            The mighty Hammer of Bane fell to his knees, the anger gone from him as if it had never been, replaced by the deep creases of anxiety as he quickly checked for signs of life. The lines eased somewhat as Gannon found a weak but steady heartbeat. As if to a child, the big man's voice was gentle, soothing and slightly pleading as he spoke, his hands gently caressing the unconscious animal.
            "Shhh, there now, Alyosha. Your Master is here, rest easy. Shh, your courage, it is not doubted, nor your loyalty. Good dog, stay vith us, and your Master, he vill care for you. He vill care for you. Shhhh shhh."
            An observer might be forgiven for wondering if the Atjets' words were for Aly's comfort, or for his own. After some time, Gannon pushed himself to his feet, took a glowing branch from the fire, and made his way down the tunnel, determinedly clearing his mind, as he prepared to petition his own Master.

            There was no difference between night and day in the tunnels, but eventually a sellspear called out to those deeper in the caves, sounding as though he believed that the curse of the tomb had killed them all and he had lost a bet in having to sound out their spirits. There was some surprise when it turned out that everyone was still alive - everyone barring Atjets Paryev, of course.
            Thaurlann awoke with a start. He had not meant to sleep, but the drowsiness and fatigue of his injuries overwhelmed him at some point during the night. He reached up to rub his aching shoulder, and found fresh bandages there. "I told him not to worry about me," Thaurlann muttered to himself.
            As he became more aware of his surroundings, though, he realized that Krel had spent most of his energies on Atjets Gannon, who had left his resting place. Thaurlann hadn't bothered to ask about the others when they came back from the hunt, or even ask about the captive elf they brought in with them. Thaurlann merely insisted that Krel take care of the Banite, although the other priest obviously had that intention from the beginning.
            Now that he saw Gannon back to health, though, his thoughts turned elsewhere. Thaurlann shifted to regain his standing and fell sideways. He hadn't eaten anything since the previous morning, and the sudden wrenching pain throughout his body turned his stomach inside out. He forced himself to hold back the bile. It took a good minute for his senses to return, at which point he forced himself to overcome the pain in order to stand up.
            The night had not been a restful one for Krel. He had broken not one, but two tenets of his faith in one day - the first was not killing Paryev, though he felt a wretched guilt over that strong enough to gnaw his guts. No, the first had been to end the pain of his poisoning for him. The second, though, was what had Krel in shock. The Baba Apple had healed through him, and had healed an outlander. The night was long as he pondered that mystery, and when he at last fell asleep, he fell heavily so. Morning was late in coming to the scarred and earnest priest.
            When he did arise and saw Thaurlann up and about, though in obvious pain, he stifled an inward groan. But of course, the goddess's hand was needed still this day and its great weight would fall on him. He smiled at the thought. It was a penance, a joy, a punishment, and a hammer to forge him more strongly - those were the teachings and he still believed them. It was just so exhausting.
            Krel crawled to his feet like an old man, but he kept his face passive as he approached the other outlander. At least this one was not heathen. He needed not fear the wrath of Bane for healing him, though it too felt strange.
            "Come, Thaurlann. It vill not be the first time I have ministered to vounds you received recklessly, nyes? But you vere brave I am told und you saved the Hammer of Bane. For that there vill no doubt be praise. For now, though, please sit und let me work on you. I have no praise for von who gives me more vork und treats my old vork vith such disrespect."
            There was the slightest hint of a smile on the moon-eyed face, but it could have been a grimace of pain against the disease scars he still bore from childhood. Opening his bag, Krel went to work.
            Thaulann nodded apologetically, the obvious penitence in his eyes far greater than if he had just pushed an old woman down a flight of stairs. "Of course, Atjets. I meant no disrespect to your work, which is true has saved me on many occasions." The sentence ended with an unspoken "but" from the inflection in his voice, though his face showed nothing. He sat down on the floor and waited patiently for Krel's ministrations.
            "I'm guessing that some might want to explore the crypt further," Thaurlann said, not bothering to hide a sidelong glare at Spielos. "I do not believe in curses, but it's very odd the way Atjets Paryev died with no signs of attack. I have prayed to the great Bane for an answer to this question but received none. Maybe it's a sign from the gods that he was unworthy, but perhaps also a sign that we should leave these caves and be done with them. I'd feel better if I knew before we traveled any deeper into the tomb."
            Thaurlann spoke the next words awkwardly. "With your - skills - in working on the body, would you be able to - tell? What killed him? I'd like to know whether we all face the same fate. And, if I could have saved him."
            Krel did not look up from his work. He just replied in a curt and business-like fashion. "Do not afear yourself of the atjets's death. He vas taken by the Grandmother Apple for his sins. Paryev vas put to the test und he failed. Talona, she is kind, but she is stern. Think on yourself, son, und your own healing. Paryev vill be buried here and let the vorms of the earth take his remains and make them clean as it should be."
            Inside, his guts twisted with conflicted feelings, but Krel placid mein gave new meaning to the term 'Mooneye stare' and his face remained calm.
            Thaurlann at first decided to let the matter drop. He felt uneasy at the way Krel referred to the deceased man. Yet, Tharulann had nearly threatened the man himself for his behavior. If the gods had chosen Paryev's fate, then it didn't really matter, he thought. Best to just let it go, as the Atjets said.
            Then again, Krel seemed to be an expert at letting things go that clearly needed attention. He had all but abandoned Thaurlann to his fate against the Forest Things. Who knew whether the creatures might be terrorizing the unprotected hamlet as the group hunted down a common bandit?
            No, you are being stubborn again, he told himself. If we had listened to the Atjets we wouldn't have been alone in the Forest to begin with.
            Thaurlann closed his eyes as Krel worked on his shoulder, wincing, as one might expect. The look on his face, though, did not indicate pain, but rather a fearful plea to Bane in his mind to set his mind at ease and point his sword in the right direction.

            Spielos awoke with a start. The drugs had made him sleep deeper than he was accustomed to doing, but he did feel much better. His breath came normal, but he was still stiff and bruised.
            Aksana leaned against the wall of the cave not far from where Spielos had been sleeping. Fear and worry had kept her from sleeping much and there were rings under her eyes. She watched the others move about the cave preparing for... For what, she wondered. It seemed to her that little had been resolved in the last few days. Her eyes sought out the demon they had brought back with them last night. She had been too worried about Spielos' injuries to pay much attention to the newest addition to their group. Would he be able to answer some of her questions? She did not think that this was the appropriate time to ask them. So she sat and observed; it was what she did best after all.
            Spielos looked around and everything was almost as he expected. Thaurlann was talking with the priest, Gannon was resting, Aksana was looking worried about something. However, the sellswords were, for the most part, missing.
            "Where is everyone? Are we getting ready to move out?" he asked to the room in general, not really expecting an answer to either question. Rising, he stretched his limbs. He felt well enough to ride, and that was good.
            Anya paused on her way out of the cave, her gaze coming to rest on Krel. "The d- the sellspears vill not stay in this cave because of vhat has happened to Atjets Parjev vhile ve vere gone." She gestured towards the priest's body where it lay in repose; death had not improved his smell, and the scent of urine mingled with the smoke in the air. His face was still screwed into a lurid grimace. Anya did not appear overly concerned with him, though.
            "Atjets Krel, vhat is your vord? Are ve all vell enough to hunt down Mandrake?" She spat the name, her now-healed hands clenched. It was apparent that if it stood to her, the bandit leader wouldn't live out the day. Still, her eyes slid to Thaurlann, and she approached to frown at him. "You did a brave thing to save the Atjets, outlander. Bhaal might have taken you for it." She hesitated a long moment, staring at him, then said, "It is vell that you lived through the night." She turned away then, quickly, looking to Krel for his answer.
            "Vell, indeed." Gannon's deep voice spoke from behind Anya as the big man stepped into view. He was not in his armor yet, apparently having just returned from his devotions, further down the cave. "I thank you for...assisting me, outlander." Gannon gave a brisk nod, then turned to his bedding, where the bundle of blankets still looked as if a man were encased within them. With familiar ease, he began to strap on his armor.
            Krel sighed and dusted his hands on his robe as he stood from his work. "The sell-spears should put more faith in Bane and less fear in Bhaal. Death comes vhen it should. Paryev's passing is nothing but the Gods calling their own. That is my judgement on the matter."
            With Gannon's arrival, Krel breathed a quiet breath of relief. Now that the larger than life Banite was awake once again, Krel would not be looked so much to for answers. He was a healer, and not a proper man to speak for the church. While Gannon drew attention he made his way to Anya's side and looked her right in the eyes, saying softly in a voice laden with meaning, "Sometimes, even an atjets may be found unvorthy by the gods. It is for each of us to look to the day of our own judgement. Paryev vent to his death vith dirty hands and Bhaal chose to take him." His quiet puppy-like brown eyes studied her own with compassion. "There are others for whom judgement still avaits. I have not forgotten."
            Anya stared at him, her face unreadable. Still quietly - his voice was never raised - but loud enough to be heard Krel said to everyone in the chamber, "Ve are ready to travel. Vhere vould you have us go?"
            "Ve hunt down the bandits," Anya said immediately, then caught herself and looked to Gannon. "If that vill suit you, Atjets," she added.
            Gannon frowned, an echo of vaguely remembered anger and pain flashing behind his eyes briefly.
            "Vhy is there doubt? Vhat else have ve to consider?"
            Something niggled at the back of his mind, cutting past his concern for his pet, and his discomfort at having to thank an outlander for help.
            "The tomb, and the abominations... Vhat has become of them?"
            Alethra answered the question, "The tomb, it seems, still holds more mysteries to be explored. But the abomoniations, ve have destroyed them, my lord."
            If she had any surprise at the speed of his recovery, she did not show it. Nor did her face betray any emotional reaction to her master back to full speed. "But of course ve have even more important matters. They have told you, yes?"
            The forest demon bowed curtly. "A thousand apologies, I spent much of the night guarding the prisoner, and have only just now recovered my energies. I assumed somevon vould have informed you that ve have captured the rogue mag."
            A gleam of pride seemed to form in her eye at the statement, but it was a fleeting shadow that disappeared when one looked directly at it.
            "Vhat?" Gannon's reaction was like that of an angry bear that has been stabbed by spears from opposite sides; he wasn't sure which direction to strike. He took in a deep breath, then started again.
            "How long have I been...asleep?" The big man's voice rumbled softly, like the thunder of a distant storm - frightening in its potential, but as yet nonthreatening. He seemed to accept the abominations having been destroyed as a matter of course, but. "Vhat of the mag? Who captured him? Vhere is he now? And vhy vas I not avakened for this?"
            The storm crept closer with every question.
            Alethra felt the storm circling her, and soon it would be upon her. She had forgotten, during her day of relative "freedom," the anger that this man could summon. Gannon would see it as her responsibility, she was certain, for anything that happened while he was asleep. She waited for several moments to see if anyone would respond before finally accepting her fate.
            "You have been unconscious for nearly a day," Alethra answered straightforwardly. "You vere too injured to be voken, and ve needed to intercept the mag before he could report back to Mandrake."
            She hesitated before continuing, knowing the wrath she might endure for any of this. She kept her sparkling eyes pinned to the floor as she spoke. "The rogue surrendered to Atjets Krel, asking for protection in the name of the Brotherhood of the Cloak. The church- sworn vitch, she,vatches him in Mandrake's chambers."
            Gannon stood quietly for quite some time. Eventually his voice rumbled, like far-off thunder.
            "He surrendered to the Talontar? In the name of the Brotherhood?" Alethra couldn't be sure if the disbelief she heard was for the idea that Emistil had surrendered, or for whom he had given himself up to.
            "And vhy vas Atjets Krel taken on such a-" The big man cut himself off, though Alethra knew there would likely be repercussions for having allowed a priest of Talona into harm's way like she had, Gannon seemed to think other matters were more important. For now.
            "The vitch, she vatches him, eh?" Without further word, Gannon stormed towards the curtained-off alcove.

            Spielos took that moment to exit the cave. He'd wanted to go as soon as Gannon made himself known, but thought that there might be some choice information to be had. Smiling, he walked out into the grey haze that passed for morning here and made his way among the sellspears, waving to those that caught his eye. They exclaimed at his return to health, slapping him on the back on his way past in a way that made his ribs jab him sharply. Still, they seemed friendly enough, or at least friendly by Moonsea standards. A few who were settled into a niche in the wall where a few boulders served as seats and table called for him to join them for breakfast, no doubt hoping for a tale of his exploits, but only shrugged as he walked on by.
            Approaching the guards near the horses, he sat down near them. "The Ajets Krel, he said Paryev died because he failed an Ajets test and Grandmother Apple struck him down. There is no curse. You should get some breakfast, talk a bit. The others will want to know."
            As he talked, his eyes ran over the horses. Spielos discounted those that he knew belonged to the others, but decided that the choice unclaimed horse would be his. He was done walking.
            The men by the horses asked no questions, abandoning the mounts to Spielos as they hurried over to warm themselves by the fires and talk to their fellows. Spielos was left to look over the animals to his heart's content. They were a varied lot, from plowhorses and nags to what appeared to be decent enough riding horses. The one he picked seemed hale and gentle, and no one appeared to argue with him over the horse he chose.
            After letting the horse get used to him, Spielos inspected the animal with care. He picked a few burrs out of its coat and looked at its shoes and general state of being. All things considered, the horse was in fairly good shape. Singing a soft song that he was taught calms horses, he mounted the animal and walked it around the pen. He felt sore and bruised, but he was able to ride without that much difficulty.
            He slid off the horse's back. As he landed, something squished beneath his feet. The pen needed mucking if they were going to stay here much longer or else the horse's hooves might suffer. I need to stretch my muscles, in any event, Spielos thought.
            He moved to the edge of the pen and called out to some of the sellswords, "You two there, bring a shovel and a few buckets of clean water and some feed. The pens need mucking, and the horses need to be fed!" They started to grumble a bit, but moved to do his bidding once it dawned on them that he intended to do the work himself.
            The discovery that he could ride had put him in a fine enough mood that he sang a jaunty work chant as he mucked the pen. Absently, he wondered what was being decided inside the cave, but knew well enough that events would be decided the same way with or without his input. Besides, the urge to stab either Gannon or Thaurlann in the eye was much easier resisted from this distance away from them.

            Scrying the depths of her crystal, Rhia found that Mandrake had stopped his flight and set up a camp in the wilderness. His ragged assortment of followers busied themselves skinning small game, improving the lean-tos they appeared to have slept under, or otherwise striving to appear busy while he rested silently by the campfire.
            Emistil had caused no trouble during the night, and his thoughts were pure innocence as he watched Rhia work, but as she ended her scrying he cocked his head as though he'd heard something. "They mean to leave without searching the tomb?" He sighed. "The guardians are terrible, it's true. Mandrake couldn't get his followers to go back against them after the first time, and he is a man others obey. I suppose you aren't interested in whatever he was after." His thoughts had faded from her mind some minutes before, but it was clear from his expression that he, at least, was interested in what Mandrake had been looking for.
            Rhia looked up, blinking the remnants of her vision from her mind. She looked confused for a moment, then shook her head.
            "Why did Mandrake want what's in that tomb? Depending on what it is, keeping it from him - or anyone else - might be more important even than hunting him down. What can you tell me about it?"
            Emistil gave her a considering look. "Magic," he finally replied. "Powerful magic, and treasure. I can't tell you any more than that of what he was seeking, but I can tell you that it's guarded by the unliving. I wouldn't try to enter without... without strong protections. Particularly the room beyond the tomb." His smile became faintly unpleasant, some trick of light or motion giving his eyes a gloating look. "Mandrake's men couldn't fight what lay beyond - they didn't even try. You'd need help, I daresay."
            Rhia quirked an ironic eyebrow. "Help from you, you mean?"
            Emistil's smile became pure arrogance. "My skills are unsurpassed by anyone among you. My aid would prove instrumental in dealing with the problem." Somehow the look seemed more at home on him than anything else she'd seen.
            Rhia smiled back, somewhat less arrogantly, but with a hint of frost. "Unsurpassed, are they? Remind me, Emistil; who's fled from whom in the past few days?"
            Emistil's arrogance and, for the first time, his smile slipped from his face, and he gave Rhia a dark look. She could almost see the thoughts slithering behind his eyes, but he blinked and stilled his face, studying hers with a tension that hadn't been there before. Then, almost inevitably, the corners of his mouth curled up again, and he broke into a laugh, shaking his head, all tension gone. "Perhaps my talents have been ill-used. What can be expected of a mere warrior?"
            With a shrug, Rhia let it go. "More seriously, however, how would we convince Gannon to let you be useful? If you're in position to be useful, one could easily expect that you're also in position to be dangerous."
            He matched her shrug. "I'm sure you know the man better than I. However, I promise you that I will be no more dangerous then than I am now." He patted the sword that no one had taken from him and smiled genially, then added pointedly, "Unless, of course, your healer gets around to seeing to me?"

            After many long, drawn out minutes passed, Aksana tired of watching the routine of the others. It seemed nothing new would come of having Emistil with them; at least not right now. She stood and walked slowly to the front of the cave. She could feel the stiffness of her muscles from sitting tense on the hard stone most of the night. She moved a short distance away from the mouth of the cave and away from where the sellspears were gathered. She began a stretching routine that she used to do every morning back at the temple in Melvaunt. Concentrating on each movement she emptied her mind and tried to lose herself in the familiar workout.
            Somewhere in her routine Aksana found that a sellspear had followed her, and now sat watching her with his spear on his lap. He was a portly fellow with a thick beard and hair sticking out to all sides from under his steel cap. He seemed strangely familiar, beyond what could be expected of the sellspears she had traveled with, but she couldn't place him anywhere but among that lot.
            Aksana tried to ignore the man but her eyes kept slipping back to him. She managed to finish her routine but the relaxation and calm she had been aiming for was ruined. With a deep breath to bolster her courage she turned to face him. "There is something I can help you vith?" she inquired, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice.
            The man grunted, aborting a motion to scratch his wild beard. Instead he dug at an armpit beneath his bulky leather breastplate as he spoke. "You can stay vith the others. The vilderness, it is dangerous," he said in a mushy voice. He sounded familiar as well. Turning away from her scrutiny, he rose, leaning on his spear, and gestured for her to preceed him back to the caves. "Your crazy friend, he mucks the corral, but he does not go near the voods, neh? Vith such bright hair you might call down the bloodhawks, or even so close be taken by a nightmare cat. A scout, she knows these things," he added quietly.
            It bothered Aksana greatly that she could not place the man. So many people knew she was not a scout now she wondered why she continued to try hiding it at all. She puzzled over the man's words and they filled her with a cold dread. Finding a spot closer to the cave she leaned against a rock outcropping and returned to her silent watch of the camp. Her mind continued to chase circles around the strange sellspear.
            For his part, the strange man abandoned her to her musings, going instead to the corral where Spielos worked and where the hunters had left their own horses among the others. She noted that the horse he chose to tend was her own, Raisa. He kept to himself, not bothering Spielos, and he returned to the other sellspears not long after.
            Also kept in the caves with the sellspears was Alethra's cage of crows, their plaintive quorking reminding her of other duties left undone. It would be impossible for her to use them now without raising suspicion, of course - if there was anyone left in the camp who didn't know her affiliation - but she knew that sooner or later she would have to answer to her superiors... on more counts than one.

            Krel lurked in the mouth of the chambers where he had 'delivered' Atjets Paryev, and he listened to the Banite as he began charging about like bear at a baiting. He mopped his scarred forehead with a scrap of cloth and breathed a small sigh. Whatever came of the forest demon now would not be responsibility.
            Krel was not cut out for such things. He was a healer - all he had ever wanted to do was to nurse things back to health (or barring that to deliver them into the Grandmother Apple's wisdom). The voyage was a trial as it was meant to be, but if he were meant to be forged and tempered into a stronger tool for the church by it, the results were in question. He felt weaker, less decisive and most of all deeply despairing that people existed who were capable of such hate. And he knew already he had failed twice. If Ganon or his tame demon learned of the healing he would be in grave danger. Of the easing of Paryevs in his extremity, there was no one here capable of determining such things.
            Once Gannon had left, he too came wearily forward and with a long- suffering silence began to make preparations to boil bandages. He spoke aloud to Alethra, "So ve stay then?" He nodded without need for reply. "Then there vill be bloodshed. I vill need to be prepared. Vill you cut the cloaks of the fallen for me? Into strips like this?"

            Spielos went down to the lake. Once there, he stripped off his outer garments and gave them a good scrubbing with sand to remove most of the dirt he'd picked up traveling and mucking out the horse pen. Once he was satisfied that they were was clean as he could get them, he stripped off the rest of his clothes and jumped into the cold water. The shock to his body felt good, but the water was cold enough to set him shivering. Quickly, he scrubbed himself as best he could using some more sand, rinsed himself off.
            If we stay here for any time at all, I am going to dig a sand pit and have a hot bath, Spielos told himself.
            Once out of the water, he dressed quickly and made his way back to the cave. He hoped he'd have at least a little bit of time to dry his sodden clothes. Now that he would have a horse, it might make sense to try and get some spare clothes from the cave as well; he was sure he'd seen some discarded here and there. Mandrake, at least, would surely have had some other garments to change into.

            Aksana brooded where she stood against the cold rock. The sellspear's words bothered her greatly. Unconciously she reached up and touched her red hair; catching herself she dropped her hand angrily. She was able to forget how the Moonsea viewed those different than the norm until it was pointed out to her. It had been one of the things that allowed her to survive childhood. If she had let such things linger in her mind she whould have left the Moonsea long ago.
            Her eyes sought out the white hair of Speilos where he worked with the horses. Despite her foul mood the sight of the bard brightened her face. She sighed, she was loosing this particular fight; she simply had to admit that to herself. What she intended to do about it was something else entirely. Something that could wait a bit longer she decided. After all, Spielos himself had said he would not leave just yet.
            The crows were another matter. One that could not wait much longer she knew. I vill send a message just as soon as I can do so vithout rousing anymore suspicion, she thought to herself. The contents of said message still escaped her, but she had time. She would figure something out.
            With her decision made she pushed away from the wall and walked towards the corral. She leaned against the makeshift fence. <"You are a strange man, you know?"> she said. <"No von I know vould do such a thing vithout prompting."> She waved vaguely at the mess Spielos was cleaning up.
            Spielos did not look up from his work as he answered. <"I was out here deciding which horse I was going to steal when I ran away,"> he deadpanned. <"Yours is best, but now you've caught me and I guess I'll have to stay."> He smirked slightly but didn't pause. <"That, or I needed to stretch my muscles to test my injuries, pick which horse I am going to ride when we chase the bandits and also needed something to get me out of the cave before Gannon annoyed me too much, which he can do just be being awake.">
            <"Pick which one you think is true,"> he chortled. <"Also, you realize the sellswords look at you as though you have two heads when you talk to me like this, don't you?">/font> He flicked his eyes at the sellswords, who were staring at them.
            <"I don't know if it is because you're talking to the crazy outlander, or because you can speak crazy outlander languages or because you're speaking to a crazy outlander at all when you avoid most people and hide in your hair.">
            "This is an improvement, though," he said, looking at her but indicating the work he'd done in the pen, his grin not giving away which one he meant more.
            Aksana looked at Spielos blankly for a few moments while she decided if he was teasing her or not. Deciding that he was her cheeks reddened a bit and she ducked her head. Catching herself she looked back up stared directly at him. Her neck prickled at the thought of people watching her but she refused to turn and look. <"People have stared at me like that my whole life,"> she shrugged with an indifference she did not feel, <"vhat are a few more.">
            The vague smile that was on her face faded, <"besides, a scout I am not. If any here still think me so they are fools."> She shook her head, <"a poor decision on my part it vas to be such.">
            She shook it off refusing to sink back into her morass. She looked at the pen. "For the horses a vast improvement, but for you…" She wrinkled her nose and made a disgusted face, but her eyes twinkled with surpressed mirth.
            "You are right. Get the sellswords back over here by telling them anyone not on guard duty is going back into the crypt. I need to take a bath."
            Aksana watched him go with a smirk. Turning back to the camp she tried to ignore the stares of the sellspears. Without the bolstering effect of the outlander nearby old habbits kicked in and she let her hair fall into her face again. She made her way back to the cave.
            Once she had assured herself that most of the others were still in the side room she rummaged through her pack. Pulling out a small vial of ink, a pen that was a bit worse for wear and a sheet of parchment she sat down and quickly scribbed a note to the church. She blew on the ink to dry it faster, desperate to be done before anyone got to curious as to what she was doing. Rolling it up, she tucked it in a pocket until she could use one of Alethra's crows.
            She finished up just as Spielos returned to the cave.

            Thaurlann walked away from the others, leaving them to their plotting. They would call for him when needed, and he must be ready to lead the charge. His dented shield refused to die, so he wore it proudly. His sword fared almost as well, with the nicks and scrapes from hacking into bone clearly evident. His armor stood nearly useless, and he wondered whether he would get any benefit from putting it on.
            Perhaps he could find something else to take its place temporarily? The ancient armor the dead warriors had been garbed in sprang to mind...
            Thaurlann wandered back to the tomb while the others prepared, careful not to venture past the entryway where they had defeated the skeletons.
            Thaurlann pondered at the ancient battle gear as one might examine a vase or painting. To Thaurlann, though, these objects held far more beauty. He tended to treat his armor and weapons as tools, to be used, not framed and hung on the wall. The armor decorating these defeated living dead, though, had withstood the test of ages as well as holding back his fearsome blows. Surely, then, this armor befitted a knight of Bane.
            With an expert eye he could see that the armor was of an obsolete design, but it was well-crafted, a dull black under the dust of centuries. As he removed it from the warrior who had fallen in it - or rather, as he removed the loose bones from the armor - he found a tiny dagger piercing its ribcage over the heart, a match for the one Alethra had found earlier.
            Thaurlann paused momentarily to look at the oddly-shaped dagger, but quickly decided to toss the strange artifact into his sack rather than dwell on its details. His thoughts turned to stories of ancient blood rituals, where soldiers were sacrificed to dark lords, and the thought stayed with him as he continued to clean the armor. "Noble soldier," he said aloud to the pile of bones on the ground. His voice almost sounded sympathetic. "You followed your duty even after death."
            Thaurlann considered placing the remains back into a sarcophagus, but knew the others would be ready to move soon. "Before we leave, I will lie you to rest," he promised.
            The echo of his words came back to him from the room beyond the crypt like an omen.

            Gannon threw the curtain aside with near contempt, and some part of him was irritated by the fact that neither of the people on the other side of it seemed startled - or fearful - at his entrance. The mighty Baneite took a moment to analyze the situation, and his face went as stone.
            The supposed prisoner lay - still armed, Gannon noted - on the fur-covered bed, looking quite comfortable, while the foreigner stood across the room. From the looks of things, they had been having a cordial discussion. The Maga at least had her hand on her sword hilt, Gannon realized, but still.
            “Maga, report.” He didn’t look at her, because he shouldn’t have had to. Gannon gave a command, and he expected it to be obeyed. The woman was a witch, and a heathen, but she was also church-sworn now, and knew the penalty for disobedience. The demon, on the other hand, he required watching, and so Gannon watched him. Carefully.
            “Ah, my lord Atjets,” Rhia seemed somewhat at a loss for words. It took only a moment for her to compose her thoughts, but that single moment weighed heavily in the room’s suddenly charged atmosphere.
            “This is the Dem- Elf mage, Emistil. He surrendered to us yesterday, atop the cliff. I have interrogated him, and he has been somewhat forthcoming with what he knows, both of Mandrake’s plans, and of what may be in the tomb. He has offered his aid to us, and his service to the Brotherhood.” She seemed about to say something more, but stopped, simply shrugging instead.
            Gannon studied the smiling face of the elf in silence for the space of several breaths, apparently absorbing the maga’s words.
            “It has svorn the oath?”
            Rhia looked confused. “Ah, I’m not - I mean, he swore to Atjets Krell that he would give himself to the Brotherhood if we accepted his surrender, but there was no formal oath-binding beyond that. I am not an atjets, and Atjets Krell is a Talontar. I thought perhaps you would be best suited to-“
            “Then the ansver is no.” Gannon cut her off, a touch of his exasperation showing. The woman was a foreigner, he knew, and she desperately needed instruction in the Faith. But that was for later. For now, he had this to deal with.
            “Vhat help has it offered?”
            “Emistil has pledged his skills in the Art, and his physical aid as well, such as it is. He was wounded, and weakened by poison from one of Alethra’s creatures. He has requested healing.”
            Gannon looked hard at Emistil. “It looks comfortable enough, and that smile tells me it will live. Or, if the Gods vish it, it will die. Vhich creature?”
            “Sorry?”
            “Vhich creature struck it?”
            “Oh, um, a giant centipede, I believe.”
            Gannon nodded. “It vill live, then. Vhat else?”
            “Um, else? Oh, ah, his knowledge. He will tell us everything he knows of Mandrake and of the tomb. Actually, he’s told me quite a bit already, and I was just asking about-“
            “So, vhat vas it that Mandrake hoped to find here?”
            “Er... an object of power, that he hoped to use to throw down the nobles here, and set up his own little kingdom. I’m not sure exactly what it was, yet, but he seemed to believe it would allow him to ignore the wishes of the Church, and now that the guardians are defeated - “
            “Ve vould be neglectful of our duty to Mother Church if ve left such a thing to be claimed by other heretics. Yes. Very vell. Ve vill claim this artifact for the Church. The demon comes vith us.” Finally, Gannon’s eyes left Emistil and locked with Rhia’s. She did not consider it an improvement. “You vill vatch it. If it betrays us, you vill kill it, or die trying.”
            Rhia blinked, but somehow managed to nod.
            Gannon grunted, nodded, and turned to leave the room.
            When the big man returned to the fire, he made the announcement.
            “Ve search the tomb.”
            Anya ground her teeth, but there was no question of disobeying the Banite. Hand clenched on the hilt of her sword, she said stiffly, "As you vish. The sellspears, they vill not enter the deeper tunnels, and two have fled vith horses already. I do not think they vill be useful in the crypt." She frowned at those gathered in the dim and smoky cave. "The rest of you, get up. Ve vill go in together this time, in case there are more surprises. And you," she gestured curtly at Spielos, "No more blaspheming."
            Spielos finished stowing his new clothes in his pack. He ignored the command, but instead remarked, "You set yourself up for failure, Warden. Since two sellswords have fled with horses already, it is likely more will flee if we leave them unsupervised. While we are all in the cave disturbing whatever evil is in there, they will be working themselves up into a panic about what will happen if they stay here. Ajets Krel should stay with them. His presence will soothe them, and they do not dare flee if an Ajets watches them."
            He stood up as he spoke the last few words. "As for the rest," he drawled, "we will need a better plan than to do a frontal charge on whatever it is we find and hope we can bash it down before we are cut to pieces."
            "It seems to me that there must be magic powering this place. If we conserve our strength and use hit and run tactics, we can likely wear it down. With nobody here to replenish it, we will come out ahead if we use our brains."
            Her note tucked away Aksana had watched bemusedly as Spielos began to rummage through the bandits old clothing. When Anya spoke she started out of whatever daydream she had been lost in. She stared at the other woman with wide eyes. This Anya was so unlike the wounded girl she had first met. She had liked that one and had felt protective towards her; this one needed, nor wanted, protecting and Aksana found her quite frightening.
            She jumped to her feet but then stood at a loss as to what to do next. As usual the words out of Spielos' mouth sounded blasphemous to Aksana's ears just by their tone, despite what the warden had ordered. He seemed to care very little about what others thought of him and she secretly admired that; not that she would ever admit it out loud.
            On the other hand, his casual talk of magics in the cave frightened her. She wanted to flee the suddenly confining cave into the open air. She wanted to grab him by the arm and say that they should take their horses and flee before they died in this dismal place, but her feet remained rooted and her voice mute. Only the widening of her eyes and the pallor of her face revealed how scared she really was.
            Anya frowned at Spielos, but considered his words. "Vith everyvon here and Atjets Gannon avake I do not think they vould dare flee," she said slowly, looking towards the tunnel. "The dogs who ran, they took their chance vhile ve vere avay." She spat on the ground dismissively. "They vill not make it back alone. But the others... maybe you can convince them to stay calm. The Gods know vhy, but they seem to like you. If Atjets Krel vishes to come vith us, it cannot hurt to have two Chosen on our side."
            Krel just turned his placid calf-eyes on the outlander and regarded him awhile in silence before responding. "The sellspears vill not abandon us now. The veak have culled themselves. Those that remain know their duties."
            He passed a hand over his eyes, the only overt sign of weariness, and continued, "My place is at the front, vhere I can help assuage Myrkul's fury."
            Spielos took Anya's backhanded compliment without comment. Instead, he simply nodded and walked out of the cave.
            Anya turned to find Aksana in the flickering light. "It is true that it vould be unvise to charge in. Perhaps ve should send our scout..." She trailed off as she got a look at Aksana's face, then continued briskly, "ahead vith me to see that there are no traps vaiting for us. Vhat else do you suggest?" she asked, looking around at those gathered. Her eyes fell on Alethra and Rhia, and she said, "Are there some magics you can use to aid us? Maybe send von of your shadow- things ahead, as ve used the boginki?"
            Aksana did not miss Anya's hesitation. She was ashamed. She was no better than the sellspears cowering outside like whipped dogs. I should have never left home, she thought, none of this would have happened if I had just stayed in Melvaunt. The copper tang of blood filled her mouth and she realized she was bitting her lip.
            She took a deep breath. None of the others are afraid, she thought looking around, maybe Krel, but he looks more uncertain than afraid. There is nothing to fear, she continued trying to bolster her courage, we destroyed the tombs guardian's already. She thought back on how she had picked up Gannon's flail and ground the aberration into the dust. She had done so to protect one who was closer to her than he should be.
            If you do not do this, she told herself sternly, you know he will get into some mischief that the others will not help him out of. Deep down she knew that was not wholely true but it seemed to help her push aside the fear that threatened to consume her so she let it go. She took another deep breath and willed her feet to move. Pausing near Anya she said, "I can do this," just loud enough for the warden to hear, then she moved to the mouth of the tunnel leading to the tomb. Stopping she turned to face the others and waited for them to finish their preperations and join her. Her face was still pale but she seemed to have it under control for now.
            Alethra seemed much quieter than usual since her master had woken up, and she did not immediately respond to the Warden's question. After Aksana spoke, she finally added, "The creatures I summon, they do not follow the rules of this vorld. I can only hold them here for a short time, not long enough to do any scouting."
            She tried to keep the tone of her voice flat, removing any trace of condescension she held at trying to explain such things to a common soldier. "But I can send my pet ahead to get a general feel for the area."
            Her eyes flitted over to Aksana for a moment, then back to Anya. The forest demon then bowed deeply, waiting for her leave to send out her own scout.
            Thaurlann felt discomfort at the elf's words, laced as they were with references to the dark magic she wielded. What's more, the elf who had felled Alethra earlier seemed to be ready to accompany them on the journey. What proof did they have that either one of these two might not stab them in the back? He wondered.
            Thaurlann's mind suddenly drifted to how the locals called all elves "demons," and had to smirk. No wonder they see these creatures as demons, if every one they meet turns out to be a dark sorcerer.
            Thaurlann walked away from the others, leaving them to their plotting. They would call for him when needed, and he must be ready to lead the charge. His dented shield refused to die, so he wore it proudly. His sword fared almost as well, with the nicks and scrapes from hacking into bone clearly evident. His armor stood nearly useless, and he wondered whether he would get any benefit from putting it on.
            Perhaps he could find something else to take its place temporarily? The ancient armor the dead warriors had been garbed in sprang to mind...

            Outside, Spielos called all of the sellspears to him.
            "We are going to go back into the tomb," he stated. "We will need all of you to at your posts and guard against any attack by Mandrake or wild beasts. Mandrake, he is hurt badly, so it is very likely the only thing you will see is a bear. Keep the fires burning and scare anything that comes near off. If Mandrake does come, one of you will have to yell for us in the tomb."
            He looked around at the faces. Some of the mercenaries were giving him the mooneye stare, others were blank while still others showed visible signs of fear. Spielos assumed an air of grim determination. "The Warden, she said those that ran will last one, maybe two days before they are eaten by the creatures of the forest. Stay here, there is hot food, shelter and an easily defended position. Do your duty and live another day. In our turn, we will beat the defenders in the tomb. There is no telling what ancient treasures await us. There might be silver for everyone."
            The quality of the sellspears' subsequent mutterings was reassuring; a few even ventured so far as to clap Spielos roughly on the back and assure him they'd bet in favor of his coming back out alive. By the time he went back in, the betting had begun in earnest.

            The crypt was as they had left it. Piles of bones and armor lay where the dead warriors had fallen, as did the still body of the dead bandit. The six caskets from which the warriors had climbed gaped open in the dim light. Gannon's flail lay where it had been discarded before the open double doors that led to the room beyond.
            Gannon scooped his flail from the floor, checking it for damage. A small fragment of bone still hung from one spike, and Gannon caught Aksana's eye long enough to give her an approving nod. Then he shook the detritus from his weapon with a quick spin of the chain.
            The larger room was softly lit by three flickering torches. Much of the northeastern corner had collapsed into rubble. The center of the room was dominated by a large pool, the water seeming to reflect and amplify the torchlight, casting an ever-shifting pattern of luminescence on the vaulted ceiling.
            "Be vary," Anya warned them in a hushed voice at the doorsill. Her sword was out and ready, gleaming weirdly around the jagged scrape it had received in the fight against Mandrake.
            Aksana stood in the doorway with Anya. She tried to swallow her fear, or at least not let it show so blatantly. She scanned the room carefully from where they were, searching for anything that might be a danger. With every sense at full alert she gave a last nod to Anya and took the first step into the room. She eyed the pool of water warily and stayed near the wall.
            Anya went with Aksana as they slowly circled the room, descending and climbing the short flights of stone steps that led them to the southern doors. Studying the doors carefully, Aksana noted that they were of the same bluish stone as the rest of the room, pitted and scarred with cracks and chips; peering closely, she thought there might be faint scratches around the handles, possibly tiny runes. Anya made no move to open the doors, waiting patiently as Aksana completed her examination, eyes scanning the room as though she were expecting Mandrake to leap out of thin air to attack them. At Aksana's nod they moved on.
            The eastern doors, directly across from the crypt, looked as though an army had tried to break through them. They were stained in places, scratched and chipped everywhere, and marked with what appeared to be huge claws. Scorch marks and stress fractures marred their surface, but the doors showed no sign of giving way. The bent metal handles had no sign of little maybe-runes about them, or at least none that had survived the onslaught of whatever had tried to break the doors open.
            Skirting the rubble of the collapsed wall on their way to the shadowed area to the north, the two were forced into the center of the room, where the pool gleamed. Casting a quick look into it, Anya yelled a warning an instant before a huge skeletal head crested the surface, making the coruscating water reflect dizzying patterns on the walls. Long spines that had once supported wings stretched up, sparkling droplets spraying from them. Water gushed from between sharp fangs in a muzzle longer than a horse's head, and the bone dragon opened its jaws as though to roar.
            Acting on instinct, Rhia dove to the side, past Emistil, covering her ears and doing her best to be out of sight of the thing, while her mind tore through her mental library, seeking any scrap of knowledge she might have that would let the group defeat this monstrosity. She shouted for the others to cover their ears, her voice loud in the quiet of the tomb as she threw herself into a stone coffin.
            Spielos expected more skeletons, but not one quite so very large. His reflexes took over where his brain failed, and he readied himself for combat by pulling out his drum.
            "Get out, get back here! The thing might not fit through the door!" he yelled to Aksana and Anya.
            He began to beat a steady rhythm on his drum. He chanted about heroic feats of strength, the glory of combat and the will to win. The words made his fellow's blood pound in their ears and filled their limbs with incredible vigor.
            No matter how well prepared Thaurlann thought he was, the emergence of the creature startled him. It didn't prevent him from shoving past Gannon, though, and rushing towards danger as he always seemed to do. The smaller skeletons had proved almost too much for them, so he knew that they faced almost certain death without a quick response.
            "The power of Bane send you back to your rightful place along Myrkul!" the young outlander shouted as he rushed forth, only to find that the monster was too far into the pool to reach. He readied himself for when it approached, watching it from over his shield.
            Alethra frowned as the warrior rushed into the fray. Staying in the tomb, they might have some advantage over the large creature. Instead, he had put himself out in the open.
            Her eyes glanced over curiously at the other forest demon. She waited anxiously to see his reaction to the situation. As she waited, her mouth began whispering the words that others might have become accustomed to over the past few days, though it made their sound no less chilling. For his part, Emistil threw himself into the stone coffin beside her, mirroring Rhia's actions.
            Aksana's fear of the pool had proved more justified than she could ever have imagined. She stared up at the monstrosity before her and felt the icy chill of Myrkul run through her veins. The dagger she clutched in her hand seemed laughable against the skeletal figure now confronting her. Her first instinct to run was reinforced by Spielos' voice urging her to do the same. She kept her wits about her just enough to remember to dodge and weave as she moved away. The monster struck at her, but she twisted out of its way and scrambled out of reach.
            Jaws still gaping, the monster churned the water as it waded towards those who had dared to approach it - and Thaurlann was waiting. His sword smashed into the thing's side, sending splinters of bone flying. In retaliation its serpentine neck snapped forward to let it bite - not Thaurlann, but Anya, who barely managed to avoid being dragged into the pool. Thaurlann didn't escape its notice, though; it reared up to scratch him over his shield with its remaining claws, and its skeletal wings slammed into him like weighted bars. Anya used the reprieve to get clear of its reach, warily circling around the pool and back to the others.
            Now that they had a better look at it, it was clear that it was in poor shape. Battered and chipped, its claws were dulled and many of its teeth were broken into jagged stumps. It was missing an entire foreleg as well as its tail. That didn't remove the blood from its fangs, though.
            Aksana glanced over her shoulder at the skeletal dragon. Her original burst of fear had not been lessened by her near escape from its jaws. She barely glanced at Thaurlann moving past her to engage the creature as she continued her retreat away from it.
            Thaurlann silently thanked Bane that the scout had been able to escape. Behind him, he heard familiar drum beats that seemed to be building to an impending crescendo. "Spielos!" Thaurlann cried without looking back. "Can your drums bring down the rest of the wall on this beast's head?" He motioned to the collapsed wall on his left, and noticed a slender niche that one might squeeze through if they wanted to lure the creature further that way. For the moment, though, Thaurlann did his best to keep striking at the creature as violently as he could.
            Gannon felt an unfamiliar sensation in the pit of his stomach. This... thing... of myth and nightmare chased something primal free from the iron grip Gannon usually kept on his soul. What Gannon felt could not be fear, for Bane's Hammer was above such things - at least, where his own health was concerned - but whatever it was, it was uncomfortably similar to fear, and that angered the big man, in fact, in enraged him. How dare this abomination try to shake the faith of Bane's mighty Hammer? How dare it?
            Slamming his visor down and raising his shield, Gannon marched resolutely forward, wrapped in the protection of his God. His mighty flail shook free and began to spin at his side, as the Mighty Hammer of Bane, in all his righteous fury, went to battle.
            "By the Might of the Bane of Evil, to the last, I will battle with thee; from His holy heart, I will stab at thee; for Hate's sake, I will spit my last breath at thee!" Bellowing the last, Gannon rushed to join the fight, his voice ringing with the anger, fury, and hatred of his God.
            His flail smashed into the unholy thing with one sharp crack after another; the bottom of its ribs gave way, falling to sink into the bright pool the bone dragon had emerged from, and jagged teeth sprayed from its maw as Gannon and Thaurlann hacked and smashed at the thing together. Behind them Dobrynya barked madly, the sound filling the echoing chamber.
            Spielos continued his song as he moved, sliding past his companions as though dancing. Emistil cautiously poked his head out of the stone coffin he had jumped into. When nothing ill came of that, he clambered out of the coffin and slipped out after Spielos, readying his bow as he went.
            Krel was trembling with fear at the sight of Myrkul's child, though buried in his robes, the shaking was not immediately obvious. As usual his face read more ernestness than what he truly felt. Fighting every urge inside him, all of which screamed at the man to flee, instead Krel stepped closer and pulling his arm from his robes, he thrusted forward the Tears of Talona, calling out to the Grandmother to convince Myrkul to relent.
            He was tired. He knew he could not run, so this was an act of faith. For failure here would mean death, and not the death of a true Talontar. Perhaps this act would make up for his earlier weakness. He tried to hold steady the will of Talona within him, but now the monster was only a few feet away, and his concentration suffered at each lunge that was met by the men in front of him. Try as he might to will true death upon the beast, there was no sign that Talona had heard his call.
            Realizing her fears of terrible attacks coming from the mouth of the dragon hadn't quite been realized, Rhia pulled herself to her feet.
            "It is a tool, and nearly as mindless as one! If it has orders to guard, it will likely do only that," She called to the others, though from the look of things, she was probably too late. "Maybe it only guards the pool," she called, half-heartedly.
            With a sigh, she squared her shoulders. If they were going to do this thing, she would do her best to be of use. Moving to where she could see the beast, Rhia began Weaving her Art. Her words wove together with Alethra's weird chanting, oddly similar but working to different effect. Peering around the corner of the tomb, Rhia sought to draw the magic out of the dragon, leaving it as lifeless as it ought to be.
            Flickers of an unwholesome greenish light flickered about the skeleton, seeming to seep from the bones only to evaporate into the air. The dragon paused in its terrible assault, sagging back into the water as Gannon and Thaurlann took advantage of its failing. But much as Rhia was able to reel the thick ropes of Art back away from it, more took its place, silent testimony to the power of the one who had set the monster here. When she could hold no more of its Weaving, she was forced to release that she held, and it slithered back into the dragon's bones like something alive.
            The bone dragon surged forward, smashing dumbly past the men's defenses with no regard for itself, rending and wrenching them even as its wings crashed down, nearly tumbling the fighters to the floor. Water slopped over the edge of the pool, making the stone floor slick and dangerous. Anya, seeing they were in need of aid, ran forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with Thaurlann by the pool.
            Seeming to coalesce from the shadows dancing on the floor behind the men, the shadow-mockery of a man rose as it had from the darkness of the crypt. Baring inky teeth, it loped around Gannon to grab hold of the bone dragon's neck and twist it, making a sharp crackling noise echo in the room.
            "Dobrynya! Back! Defend the Maga!" Gannon ordered his loyal hound back, away from this abomination, which could likely kill his precious pet without even noticing. Commanding Doby to defend Alethra should keep the dog safe enough. Setting himself against the pain of his own, new wounds, Bane's Hammer went back to work, pounding at His enemies...
            The dog obediently turned and ran back to pace about Alethra, growling and whining with excitement. Alethra watched the situation seemingly dispassionately, but her mind raced. She had no experience with tactics, but she silently agreed with Rhia's assessment that the dragon would stupidly stay put rather than following if they backed away. As quick as it was, though, Alethra knew that they had no choice but to face the creature where it stood.
            Perhaps she could at least slow it down? Her voice began chittering, like a giant insect threatening from the dark of night. The shadows on the ground began to twist and move in unnatural ways, climbing up from the very ground to ensnare the dragon with inky tendrils - only to dissipate in the bright gleam of the water the monster stood in.
            Suddenly Spielos let loose a thunderous drumming that made pebbles and earth sift down from the broken wall in an alarming manner. The wall held but the bone dragon was jarred by the noise, several of its spines and bones breaking loose and sinking below the surface of the roiled water. The combined effect of the assault upon it was showing; fractures ran up and down its long arm, and chunks of bone had been struck loose from its head, leaving its eye sockets gaping far up into its forehead.
            Aksana turned when she reached the doorway. Watching the skeletal remains pummel the two men she could only wonder in awe how fearsome the beast must have been in life. Her fear was still great but she could not retreat any further without leaving the others; that was a measure of cowardice she was not yet ready to show. She glanced down at her dagger, definitely not the weapon she needed now. She looked around the area for a more suitable weapon and was surprised to see Emistil standing next to her. Her green eyes narrowed, "You knew this vas here," she hissed at him.
            "I knew," the elf agreed, favoring her with a winning smile. "I did warn you... or rather, one of you." He circled past Spielos, trying to get a clear shot at the creature. His aim was good, but the arrow bounced off the ancient bones ineffectually.
            Gasping from the effort of her failed Weaving, Rhia wiped sweat from her forehead and eyes. Pushing off from the wall she had sagged against, Rhia moved across the open doorway to the other side, mindful to keep Alethra's line of sight open, and prepared another Weaving, should it be needed. Her sword glittered in the reflected light from the pool, silvery and red.
            Alethra watched the human with interest, studying her skills and techniques with great interest. She filed away the information for later dissection. The other forest demon, on the other hand, did little more than fire uselessly at the creature. The toxin flowing through his veins still wore at him, she noted.
            Regardless, the beast would soon fall apart under its own weight, as battered as it was. She could offer little more aid now than to watch over her master and make sure he was allowed to finish the job.
            Even engrossed in the heat of battle, Thaurlann still felt the body heat of Anya nearby. Her warmth, and the scent of her battle-fueled sweat, sent a nervous shiver down his spine. Now is not the time for such feelings he chided himself, trying hard to ignore her proximity. If anything, though, the combat frenzy pumping through his veins intensified the feeling, and he half wanted to grab her and declare his feelings for her at this very moment.
            Thaurlann shook his head briskly, shaking away the thoughts for the moment. The dragon seemed to be ailing now, and he continued to take his chances with wild swings backed by as much strength as he could muster.
            Under the onslaught of the three fighters and the shadow-man the dragon was literally worn away; the end came when its remaining foreleg shattered, and it collapsed under the blows of its opponents. The weight of its hindquarters slowly dragged it back into the pool, where the ragged remains of the fearsome bone dragon settled to its final rest.
            Breathing heavily, Anya cautiously leaned over the water to make sure that the thing wasn't merely gathering itself for another strike. She signaled a military sign for "all clear," but nevertheless backed away from the shimmering pool before looking away.
            "It is dead, I think," she ventured, taking stock of the group's injuries. "And none of us fell. A victory! Now, let us take vhatever it vas that it vas guarding and be done vith this place," she continued briskly, sheathing her sword.
            Gannon did not stagger. The slight swaying movement that an unwise observer might have called staggering could just as easily been put down to being careful of the wet ground next to the pool. Still, the Hammer of Bane decided that sitting on the edge of the pool while he contemplated the group's next move might be a wise choice, for more reasons than two. While seated, the atjets spent an inordinate amount of time studying both the dragon and the pool it was in.
            Aksana paced along behind Emistil. Her fear of the dragon beginning to evaporate as the warriors wore it down. She saw it fall and sink back into the pool but her eyes were mostly for the forest demon. "Vhich von did you tell," she asked softly, her voice icy. "Vhat else of this place do you know? That door," she pointed slightly with her chin, "it has been tampered vith." She continued to speak softly so that only someone near her could hear.
            "You," Rhia's voice was soft but frosty as she stepped through the door. Her blade was still pointedly bare. "You knew this was here." Aside from the accent, she could have been an echo of Aksana. "You knew this was here, yet you didn't tell me what it was. You offered your 'invaluable abilities,' to help us, and yet those abilities appear not to include clear memory or full disclosure." The blade in her hand twitched, as if trying to leap free and cut Emistil down by itself.
            Emistil looked from one to the other, an aggrieved expression on his face. "I told you it was a powerful undead guardian... though not so powerful as I had thought, it would appear. What more would you have had me tell you? I am not to blame for what assumptions you may have held."
            Rhia's eyes flashed, and Emistil never knew just how close to death he had come. The blade flashed, slicing through the air, as Rhia sheathed her sword. She felt a moment of grievance as she did so.
            He turned to look at the door Aksana had indicated. "Mandrake's men never made it past the guardian; it could not have been they who tampered with the doors, as you put it." He peered at the doors, then turned to squint at the battered eastern doors beyond the inky tendrils of Alethra's spell. "I'd say they were more than tampered with, they were assaulted... yet they still stand. Good workmanship always shows."
            The elf approached the pool, kneeling down to take a handful of the water. He splashed it over his face, then cupped both hands to drink from. "Mmf, terrible. I suppose that's to be expected with a dragon marinating in it all these years." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes distant.
            The big man had looked up at the forest demon's approach. Gannon watched impassively as Emistil drank and commented.
            "You spoke of aiding us, demon, yet you did nothing but loose two arrows and slink to the back. The magas, they brought forth beasts, and drained strength from the foe, they vere of use. You..." Gannon trailed off, eyes narrow, evaluating. Emistil watched him with dark eyes, silent, but with that damnable smile on his lips.
            "The Cloaks, they take only those that can be of use. A smart mag does all he can to prove his value to the Church, he does not leave things to be 'assumed.'" Gannon's face went dark, and his voice rumbled with promise, despite the pain behind it. "If ve fall, you vill not survive. Do not dare to think othervise." Emistil bowed, his sly smile never faltering.
            Alethra quietly entered the room, gazing in muted awe at the craftsmanship of this place. Her attention focused on the pool, where tendrils of her spell had faltered, leaving behind a half-formed construct of shadow on the ground behind it. Something more than just the undead dragon fueled the magic in the pool.
            Still standing back from the pool, Alethra softly uttered the words of power to give her second sight. As always, she added a silent prayer to Shar thanking Her for Her blessing. Alethra walked forward towards the pool, almost oblivious to the other forest demon or her master.
            An aura of magic sprang up in her vision, strong as it had been at her first look. The gleaming reflection of the water made it difficult to see into it, but leaning close she could see the badly mauled dragon's skeleton about ten feet down. If there was magic remaining in the sorry remnants, it was impossible to tell for the water. The water... silhouettes seemed to form and dissolve again in its wavering surface, gone before she got a good look at them.
            "It is a scrying pool," Alethra said matter-of-factly. Rhia's head snapped around, and she strode over to examine the water. Gannon looked suspiciously down at the water beneath him, then decided not to stand up.
            In truth, not only did her fascination with the pool keep her attention, but the utter disdain with which Gannon treated the newly- captured mag only reminded her of her own subservient status. To Gannon, Emistil was no more than a "thing," and how could she be any different?
            She brushed away the idle thoughts from her mind. She had already allowed herself to become too emotional in the past couple of days, and it had led needlessly to conflict with the other members of the group.
            After a thorough examination of the pool, Alethra continued to the doors, reading the runes for any clues as to their origin, as well as examining the dagger they had found for any correlation. The handles had an aura of their own, not quite as strong as that of the pool. A cursory comparison between the dagger and the door showed no real similarities; the dagger's fragile runes merely spoke of death, whereas the runes on the door, faint though they were, appeared to be part of a spell - evocation of some sort was her best guess. A careful study of the keyhole beneath the handle revealed nothing sinister or benign; there was no light behind the doors. Truly, with the condition they were in it was a wonder that Aksana had spotted the minuscule runes at all.
            "Some sort of evocation spell is written on the handles as vell," she announced. "But I cannot discern its true purpose."
            She looked reluctantly over at the other two mages. She hated to admit any failings on her part, but she also didn't want to have the group walk in on another dragon. "You two," she said, more loudly than she would have liked. "Vhat do you make of this?"
            Rhia quirked an eyebrow. "I'm a diviner, so I'll probably be able to tell you more about the pool than the door, but just off-hand, I'd say the handles are probably trapped, and it's likely you shouldn't touch them." She shrugged. "Maybe you should compare the markings to the ones on the horn Thaurlann found?"
            Rhia returned her whole attention to the pool, searching the stones and the area around it, as well as the water itself (and anything in it) for some clue as to how to make use of it. Without seeming to notice, she began idly rubbing the pommel of her sword as she thought. It lightened her mood a bit, and she found herself smiling slightly as she examined the pool.
            Spielos looked at Emistil as the others looked around. There was something about him that just didn't fit, somehow, but he couldn't place what it was.
            "You know," Spielos began loudly, looking the elf up and down again, "Emistil wants to be near the front when we get the doors open. Sure, he thought before that hiding in the back and hoping the dead dragon would weaken us was a good idea. That way, he could finish us off and go running back to Mandrake. Now, though, he wants to walk with all this cold steel behind him."
            He turned to Emistil. "Tell me, strange < elf >, do you know that the < bards > of Westgate are trained to combat mages?" He pointed towards a small, hairy pouch at his belt. "We take their scalps as decoration. Your head is so large it would make a fine bag, and your hair would look simply fantastic woven into a cord."
            Emistil chuckled, but he edged away from the bard as he did so. "Minstrels and tellers of stories against mages? That seems an unfair match. Be at ease, bard - I doubt Mandrake would be pleased to see me. I will go where your diviner tells me." He shot Rhia a significant look, but she was still absorbed with studying the pool.
            Having finally caught his breath, and, ostensibly to get out of Rhia's way while she worked, Gannon stood and moved away from the pool of foul, magic-tainted waters. Instead he pulled a skin of clear, pure water from his belt and drank of it. When he was finished, he offered the skin to Thaurlann, with a few words of measured praise.
            "You fought vell, outlander. The Bane of Evil, He vould have accepted such service as vorthy, I think. Though, if you vish to become a sword in His hand, you should be less reckless. A little."
            "Recklessness seems to be in his blood," Anya said, but her tone was amused. "And there is enough of that leaking out to check. Atjets Krel, vould you beg Talona's mercy and bring healing to us? It vas brave of you to come vith us as you did, but I see that you have paid the price of such courage."
            Thaurlann grinned boyishly at the barb. Then, he took her meaning and checked his face with his hands. One of his eyes had been bruised badly by the dragon, and it stung him to touch it. Blood trickled out of a few nasty cuts on his face, though he knew from experience that they looked worse than they were. His internal injuries, however, seemed much worse than they looked. He felt like the heavy blows had jarred his bones loose, and they were just swimming around inside his body, poking at him with every movement. An experienced healer would likely just find some bruised ribs, but the simple warrior had no concept of the body's internal workings other than where to strike to cause the most damage.
            Thaurlann's concern for himself evaporated, though, when he saw the state of Krel. The healer had ventured too close to the dragon's fangs, and had suffered his own injuries by the bite. "Anya is right, your courage puts us all to shame. I shall endeavor to take more care of myself so you have no need to be brave yourself." Thaurlann finished the statement with a half-grin. The quick victory over the dragon seemed to have lightened his mood, much as it could be.
            Thaurlann looked back at Anya and Gannon, gladly accepting a drink of water that didn't taste like goat's milk. He swallowed, wiping away the water and more blood from the sides of his mouth. "We need strategy," he said. "I am no good with it. I just charge forward when I see an enemy. But even I cannot discount the help of Spielos and the - " He hesitated for a moment. "Even the maga. When we all work in concert there can be no end to our victories."
            "Mags bring something to a battle," Anya agreed, then glanced sourly at Emistil. "Vell, some of them." Emistil made no reply, staring down at the waters of the scrying pool as the images in them shifted.

            The battle had exploded with a ferocity Krel had never witnessed before. True he had been in some skirmishes - on the sidelines - and it wasn't the blood that shocked him. It was a complete paralysis of thought. He had been sure the goddess would destroy the creature, and then .... nothing. He had stood in harms way like a fool, his mind devoid of thought, awakened finally from its torpor when the unnatural beast had torn flesh from him with its infernal jaws. Then he had crawled to safety, adding nothing by his presence.
            The wound burned, but Krel was so used to pain that it was but a minor inconvenience. Worse was the heat that his weariness from healing and the exertions of battle had conjured in him. Heat had always been a threat to the man, since disease had scarred him so badly he couldn't sweat. Now he stood blowing hard through his lips, trying, in his shame, to keep out of the way. He should have stayed behind.

            Fascinated by the ability to see places she hadn't before, Rhia settled in for some serious experimenting. She decided to start with the other side of the mysterious, trapped doors, and go from there.
            The flickering reflections on the water obediently shifted beyond the doors, but showed only an inky darkness at odds with the brightness of the rest of the surface. At first the other pair of doors showed the same, and she was about to give up on the attempt when the vision swam past another heavy fall of rocks to show a corridor lit by torches, a match to those lighting the pool chamber. There were broken blocks from the ceiling here and there, and doors on either side of the corridor, some open to show the ancient detritus of what once had been stored within them, others closed and the rooms beyond them dark. The corridor ended in another rockfall, beyond which she could find nothing. Curious, she checked behind the rocks that had fallen in the pool chamber, but found only a point of light where one of the torches lay buried, still burning.
            Trying not to break her concentration, Rhia glanced at Emistil. "You're seeing this? Ideas?"
            Emistil peered at the water, bending over for a closer look. The pool responded to him as readily as it had Rhia, returning to the corridor rooms and panning slowly over their contents. "Only rubbish left, it would seem. Well enough, as it's behind all that rubble in any case." There was a note of disappointment in his voice.

            Aksana stood off to the side of the room watching the others. At Alethra's and Rhia's assessment of the doors she snorted quietly. Other than the nature of the magic on the door, which she cared little about, they told her nothing she hadn't already figured out for herself. Any fool could see that the doors were trapped, she thought to herself. Her main concern now was how to open the doors without getting killed in the process. She approached Emistil, watching him cautiously. "You knew of the thing in the pool, yet you said that Mandrake never made it past the guardians." Her eyes narrowed, "so how did you know?"
            The elf made a vague gesture towards the crypt. "The soldiers didn't rise until the first of us had passed through already; it became a matter of fighting our way back to the tunnels. One of the men didn't make it, as I'm sure you noticed, but neither the dragon nor the soldiers followed us out. So you see, Mandrake's followers never made it past the soldiers - but a few of us ahead of the rest did." Emistil moved to where Rhia was busy with the pool, watching the images therein over her shoulder. He cast a glance back at Aksana and Spielos, eyes unreadable over his faint smile, then turned back to the water.
            Aksana's eyes followed Emistil. Something about him bothered her. Something more than just the fact that he was a forest demon, but she could not put her finger on it. She walked over to stand next to Spielos. "That vone, he knows more than he tells," she muttered. With a sigh she put it aside for the moment with all the other mysteries that seemed to be plaguing her lately. "The trick you do vith your drums, it is very handy," she said changing mental gears.
            "I do my best to be handy," Spielos replied, but he seemed distracted. His gaze roamed the room for a moment.
            "I want to look at the doors. Did you look at the doors?" Without waiting for a reply, he started walking. He half turned to Aksana as he moved away and flashed her a smile. "Come on! I might need help if I cause more trouble."
            With a crooked grin at what was likely to get them both in trouble Aksana followed Spielos. "The doors, they are likely trapped; as the vitch so obviously pointed out for us," she said with a sour glance in Rhia's direction. "The other doors, they likely had such foul magics upon them as well," she said as she pointed out the tiny runes for him. She looked over at the other set of scorched doors, "before somevone tried to open them." As she watched Spielos to see if he found anything she had missed she racked her brain for someway to disable the traps laid on them. Had they been merely mechanical obstacles she would have tried her hand at opening them but her fear and mistrust of magic stayed her hand for the moment.

            Nearly sealed off by the collapse that filled the northeast corner of the pool chamber, only a five-foot gap at the top of the short and mostly-buried set of stairs allowed Alethra access to the shadowy alcove at the north end of the room. There was something unsettling about the area, a mental stink of something wrong that the elf felt even before getting a good look at the walls.
            The rocks and masonry were completely covered by countless unintelligible markings and obscene pictographs depicting devils performing unspeakable acts, all jumbled together and apparently scratched into the rocks and masonry by tiny claws.
            Alethra felt an unnatural shiver run down her body at seeing the images. She clutched at the obsidian symbol around her neck. Nut, disturbed by the sudden change in his master's mood, fluttered off her shoulder and quietly back into the center chamber.
            Alethra felt as if someone or something were watching over her shoulder, the same way she had felt the first time he had caught her reading a book she knew to be off limits. The elf's eyes darted furtively around the floor, as if looking for the creature that carved these markings to still be lurking. Curiosity finally replaced the trepidation that had momentarily overcome her, and she approached one of the walls.
            "Shar," she whispered, "I ask for your wisdom, as your humble servant." A few words of magic passed her lips, and she looked the walls over again, distasteful and chilling though it proved. If there was magic in the scratchings, it was of no sort she could perceive.

            Thaurlann's concern for himself evaporated, though, when he saw the state of Krel. The healer had ventured too close to the dragon's fangs, and had suffered his own injuries by the bite. "Anya is right, your courage puts us all to shame. I shall endeavor to take more care of myself so you have no need to be brave yourself." Thaurlann finished the statement with a half-grin. The quick victory over the dragon seemed to have lightened his mood, much as it could be.
            Krel grimaced slightly and bowed, even that minor exertion painful. "I vould Lady Anya, but I am vinded from this mornings prayers. The spirit it is only so strong, und like my body, mine is veak. It vere best if I marshall my strength in case disaster finds us. I vill, of course, bind the vounds of those who need them."
            "Of course, Atjets," Anya said, coming to help him walk. "Ve are grateful for all that you may do."
            Finding a seat near the entry, and eying the bewitched door with fear, Krel huffed and gasped his healing herbs free. "Come and gather. The bandages, they run low, but there is enough. Tonight, I vill boil a blanket if better bandage can not be found."

            The sound of sorellets clanking on the cold floor heralded the approach of one of the sellspears. Tall and broad of build, the stiffness with which he moved seemed to have less to do with the heaviness of the splint mail he wore, polished to an even shine, than it did with his discomfort with the nature of the place he found himself in.
            He carefully avoided glancing at any of the strangeness the others had discovered, head held high, clean-shaven chin leading the way, mouth set in a near grimace. Still, despite his obvious reservations, he moved with a near clockwork precision, eyes fixed on his employers.
            "Sellsword Brahm," he intoned, offering a clipped but respectful bow towards Gannon, greatsword held level in its sheath, "at your disposal."
            Anya glanced at the man, then around the now-empty room. She shook her head in disgust, turning back to Thaurlann and Krel. Gannon gave the sellsword a stern look, as if evaluating the man, and finding him lacking.
            "So, now that the dragon, it is destroyed, you are at my disposal, eh?" Eventually, the big man relented, and nodded. "Lost a bet, did you?" His voice still rumbled, but the tone was somehow slightly softer, and Brahm could recognize both the joke, and the inherent command for explanation.
            "There vas... disagreement regarding vether to advance or not," Brahm admitted, somehow standing even more stiffly at attention. "Mine vas the minority opinion, and my attempts to convince the others to this vere unsuccessful. I am hoping to serve as inspiration to help them get over their reservations."
            Gannon gave the sellsword a slightly less hostile re-appraising look, and a grunt that was something between approval and witholding judgement until further proof was available, then nodded.
            "The outlander Thaurlann, he speaks vell. Ve need a strategy, if ve are to continue to explore this place, and if ve are to survive. You," he somehow pointed at Brahm, without actually pointing anything, "vill go in the front, vith Thaurlann. Behind the scouts, in front of me, the outlanders, and the mags." He didn't clarify which category each person in the room fell into, but the point was made, and Gannon seemed not to expect disagreement.
            Brahm offered another stiff bow to Gannon, quietly pleased to be trusted with such a dangerous position. After a moment he offered a second bow, just as stiff and just as deep, towards Anya before near-marching over to take up position next to Thaurlann. Anya shifted a little away from the men, gesturing for Thaurlann to accept Krel's bandages first. She looked over Brahm critically. "So. The others, do they follow you?"
            "I have no official authority over the others," Brahm explained. "Ve are all but sellswords. I do try to inspire, to lead by example, to show them the value of glory and honor. Even if it is not in their nature to risk themselves here, it is in my nature to give them the opportunity."
            Anya shook her head, waving away his explanation. "I meant, do they follow you now, into the tunnels to aid us? But I suppose they vould have come by now if they had." She paused a moment, then added in a neutral tone, "It is good that you vish for honor as vell as glory. It is vorth more."

            "Maga," Gannon turned to Rhia, "vhat have you found?"
            Rhia gritted her teeth, but kept the expression from her face. Without turning to look, she answered the atjets. "It seems some more of the tombs are passable, but buried behind more cave-ins. Also, I cannot see beyond the trapped doors. I can show you in the waters, if you wish, Atjets." Emistil moved away as she spoke, circling the pool across from Gannon to follow Alethra towards the shadowed alcove to the north.
            Spielos studied the doors for a moment. As he traced the patterns of some of the runes in the air with a finger, he hummed a catchy melody. Several times he bent closer to take a better look, and then resumed humming and tracing. After a few minutes of study, he stood up.
            He hrrumphed and then said loudly, "The trap, it is written in Ruathlek. Does anyone know Ruathlek? I must confess, I did not study it that well, it is an ancient language of magic, not used much any more." He cast a twinkling eye at those assembled around the scrying pool. "I am sure one of our mages studied it, since they are more adept as such things." He chuckled deeply at his own horrible pun.
            Anya turned towards the mages, her face serious. Maybe she didn't get the joke. "Alethra, she has studied the trap already. Rhia?" Her face soured as she glanced at Emistil; she didn't invite his opinion.
            Alethra emerged from the alcove, walking briskly past the pool and towards the doors once again. "Your forgiveness, I beg, Varden, but I vould like to take von more look."
            Anya shrugged, wincing a little as it pulled at her injuries. "I do not stop you. Look, then tell us how ve open it." There was a note of impatience in her voice, and she followed Alethra to stare at the doors as though she might will them to open.
            With Alethra's mind in tune with the fluctuations of the Weave, the runes on the doors seemed to spring into focus in a way that transcended her normal perception of reality. Several of the markings seemed to associate in a way that described fire, meant to scorch those who would open the door without the key.
            Alethra at last shook her head, and then turned back towards the others. She addressed Anya's question, but faced Gannon as she spoke. "Ve do not open it vithout a key, lest the vords of power release a fire that cannot be quenched vith vater."
            "We do not?" Spielos sputtered. "What kind of defeatist-" he began before he clamped his jaws shut. Instead, he tapped his foot impatiently. He was a bit out of his element, and he knew it, but it pained him to be so close to ancient secrets and possibly not be able to see them.
            Her green eyes sparkled in the impossibly everlasting torchlight, highlighting the melodic mystery in her voice. "Of course, ve could try to open it from a distance," she added after a moment. Her gaze drifted over towards Emistil for a moment, then flitted quickly back to Gannon.
            "Excuse the interruption," Spielos broke in, without any trace of apology in his voice. "If somebody made the spells on the door, could not someone else unmake them also? Maybe Emestil could do it. If I understand it right, every Weaving or whatever you call it he does weakens him, right? Better him than one of you. Besides, it might make up for slinking in the back and shooting arrows at a creature made of bone."
            "Would you have had me dive into the pool to reach the beast?" Emistil scoffed, turning from the alcove. "At the very least I raised more than my voice against it."
            Alethra kept her attention on Gannon as she responded. "The more powerful the veave, the harder it is to unveave, and the unveaving could set off the trap, vithout destroying the spell. So, I humbly agree vith the gypsy that ve ask the mag to try his skill."
            She looked over at the other elf, more directly this time, her expression impenetrably stoic. "Vhile the rest of us remain at a distance, as I said." She bowed back to her master.
            Emistil didn't move from the edge of the rockfall, one foot up on the steps. "Much as I would enjoy demonstrating the power I might bring to bear on your little problem, I fear I cannot do what you ask. The ritual necessary to unravelling the Weave is not among those I have prepared, nor can it be without my spellbook to consult."
            Rhia sighed, there was little more to be learned from the pool, it seemed, though the fact that it could show things she hadn't seen before was quite the curiosity to her. Nevertheless, she turned away from her studying.
            "I have some talent at this, it seems," she said to Anya and the others. "Everyone back out of the room, except Emistil, and someone to make sure that if something else comes through that door, we're not caught defenseless." She eyed the newly arrived sell-sword. Fresh was good, but the man was also previously unknown, though she thought she remembered him acquitting himself rather well against the lake monster - as well as any of them had, anyway.
            "Perhaps Sellsword Brahm might stay with us, while the rest remain in position to provide support, should it be needed?"
            "I vould be honored to serve," Brahm replied solemnly, with a slight bow, "in vhatever capacity is reqvired of me." With a glance at Gannon, Anya gestured for the others to precede her out of the room, not one to wait when action could be taken.
            Aksana grabbed Spielos' arm and pulled him closer to her. She was so startled by the fact that she had done so that she nearly forgot why she had done it. Her green eyes stared up into his blue at much closer proximity than she could remember doing so before. It was just for an instant before she remembered herself. "The demon, I think he lies," she hissed quietly into his ear. "This book he speaks of, I think it may be dangerous." She glanced over her shoulder where Emistil stood. "Regardless of vhy, I have a very bad feeling about him."
            Although Alethra didn't notice the human's reaction, she had the same suspicion in her mind about the elf. He had been incredibly tolerant - to the point of being pleasant - about every barb heaped upon him so far. Even the numbing effects of the centipede's poison he treated as a passing concern. Now something was just a bit "off" about the way he spoke, perhaps an anger in his voice that hadn't existed up until now. She couldn't place her finger on it, but she silently wondered if the other elf shouldn't have stayed away from drinking the stagnant pool water.
            It also seemed odd to Alethra that Emistil would be traveling without his spellbook. Perhaps he left it somewhere in the caves when he fled the battle, but the group had yet to come across it - unless it had been hidden in the altar in Mandrake's quarters?
            Unlike Aksana, though, Alethra chose not to share her suspicions with anyone else for the moment.
            Alethra whistled to Nut, who returned faithfully to his master's shoulder. She whispered into the raven's feather-covered ear, "Keep an eye on him." It was clear who she meant, and the bird fluttered back into the shadows of the vaulted ceiling.
            Thaurlann paced back and forth anxiously, waiting for the others to leave the room before he would leave. Part of him almost felt jealous of the newcomer's duties to protect the mage from the inevitable evil that would come through the door; yet, he also knew that his injuries made him little more than a stumbling block should something powerful emerge.
            After the others finally moved back into the altar, he followed them, sword drawn and ready for battle at the first sign of danger.

            While the others worked out their reactions to her suggestion, Rhia stepped closer to Emistil and spoke softly. "What do you have prepared for today? And where is your book?"
            Emistil raised an eyebrow. He kept his voice as soft as hers. "You haven't found it? I had assumed that you or the elf were keeping it. If it wasn't in Mandrake's cave, that woman must have taken it. Malvira, second in command of the brigands," he clarified. "Am I to understand that I'm free to keep it once the brigands have been captured?
            "As for magics... I have a few offensive spells readied for emergencies, a cantrip or two, a shielding I'll cast beforehand with your permission, but nothing more than that. I would prefer to keep them for true need, relying on this." He patted his sword with his free hand, his smile brightening. "I should be pleased to use it in your defense once you open the door." He slung his bow as he spoke, moving to the wall. Stretching up, he grasped a torch and lifted it from its sconce, striding to a position to one side of the trapped doors.
            He looked back at Rhia. "The shielding, if I may?"
            Rhia nodded, but drew her sword as well. She didn't expect Emistil to betray them - not yet, anyway - but it was always better to be safe.
            A gloating look passed over his face, just for an instant. He began the ritual gestures, muttering under his breath, concentrating on the spell. Rhia watched him carefully, and quickly recognized the spell he was casting - a shielding, as he had claimed, though it differed from her own in small ways, seeming to take a little more effort to cast.
            Then he was done. There was nothing to be seen as a result of his casting, but that was not entirely unexpected. He looked back at her, eagerly waiting for her to begin her own spell.
            The intensity - even hunger - in Emistil's gaze left Rhia feeling somewhat uneasy about practicing her Art in front of him, as if doing so would somehow reveal something of herself - something intensely personal and vulnerable - to the elf. Which, of course, it would. That was the nature of the Weave, after all, and one of the reasons each mage kept her book of weavings so closely and virulently secret. A person's connection to the Weave was intensely personal, and no two practitioners of the Art wove in exactly the same way, despite the detailed exactness of the required rituals. To allow another, trained in the Art, to witness her weaving, was to make yourself vulnerable to them.
            Still, Emistil hadn't objected to her watching him, and it would be both foolish and dangerous to chase him from the room now. With a deep breath, Rhia began.
            She first let her senses free, seeking - and finding - the traces of the Weave stored in the ring upon her finger. As she had before, Rhia pulled the strands to herself, gathering them in, returning them to their home in her mind, and in her soul. Finally, with effort, they snapped into place, thrumming with silent, constrained power.
            Rhia's eyes snapped open, locking onto the runes at the door. As the words of power left her lips, the runes seemed to flare to orange, flickering life, though only Rhia could witness it. With a final, commanding shout, Rhia released her weaving, and ribbons of white power began to wrap themselves in, around and among the flaming orange runes.
            To Rhia, and anyone with the ability to see the interplay of the Weave, it was beautiful - beautiful and deadly. As the strands of white interlaced themselves with the runes, the runes exploded. A sphere of searing hot power exploded from the door, and Rhia felt the force of the energy slamming into her mind. Gritting her teeth, she settled in for the battle of wills that would determine which weaving was stronger.
            Rhia staggered under the onslaught, but it was the strength of her mind that mattered, not the body. Bands of white flew quickly, moving to contain the force of the blast in a constricting sphere as the orange light sought to escape, to reach something, anything, and kill it. Rhia felt the hatred and the need to destroy as it reached out for her. It was powerful, too powerful, she knew, and Rhia saw her death coming for her - promising to burn and to sear. In desperation, Rhia brought up her sword, clamping both hands upon the hilt, as if hoping to cut back the tendrils of death that escaped her own white ribbons.
            It worked. The blade sliced through the first tendril of orange hate, cutting it free of its constrained body, where it instantly dissipated, rolling over Rhia as nothing more than a hot breeze. In an instant, the blade leapt to cut the next one, and the next, and the next. Rhia didn't have time to be stunned. She seized upon her only chance without hesitation. She bent her will to shrinking the sphere of white ribbon, squeezing the life and and power from the ball of flaming hatred it contained, while the blade in her hands, seemingly of its own volition, cut down any of the orange tendrils that managed to escape.
            Slowly, grudgingly, the ball began to shrink, though the destructive force within it continued to slam against its prison, and spears of orange death forced themselves through gaps in the white, trying desperately to get to Rhia - to kill that which was preventing it from fulfilling its reason for existence. Each time, the sword in Rhia's hands would leap forth and cut down the attacks.
            To the others, Rhia stood in an empty room, she gestured, spoke some words, and then staggered. Teeth gritted, she began almost instantly to sweat, and stood as if struggling against some invisible force, while staring at the door. With a despairing cry, she staggered back, bringing up her sword, as if to shield herself with it. Almost instantly, the sword began to dance in her hands, moving as if wielded by a grand master. True aficionados of the noble art of swordplay would not be able to help but be in awe - if she had be facing an enemy they could see. Even without an enemy visible, the display was impressive enough. Rhia seemed to fight her way back to an upright, stable stance, and what must have been an unnatural wind blew her hair free from her face to stream behind her, while orange light seemed to flash from the blade of her sword, reflecting in the white-hot steel-blue of her eyes.
            After some time, Rhia relaxed, her sword dropped to her side, and she stood, looking exhausted. She wiped sweat and what looked like soot from her face, and looked over at the others.
            "It is done."
            "You disarmed the trap." If there was a touch of incredulousness in Emistil's voice, there was also a new respect. He gave her one of his calculating looks. "Well done... if you are certain of it." The elf gingerly placed a hand on one of the handles, took a breath, and turned it - then leapt away with a nimbleness that belied his claims of poisoned dizziness.
            No fire broke loose to burn him, but neither did the door open. Emistil returned to his position beside the door. "It seems you did indeed disarm it. Now there's only the lock to contend with. Have you a spell for that as well, I wonder?"
            I wonder if making Gannon angry enough to bash it down counts, Rhia wondered idly to herself. Obviously she was feeling the giddiness of surviving certain death, multiplied by the emotional rush of working the Weave. That always affected her in a predictable manner though, and for a brief moment, even Emistil looked somewhat attractive. He did move well, didn't he? But a wave of revulsion and hatred swept over her, at even the lightest consideration of that thought, and Rhia's hand tightened on the hilt of her sword.
            "Vell," the big priest asked from his position at the door, "the trap, it is harmless?"
            At Rhia's affirmative nod, Gannon strode back into the room. He did not stagger, and the slight limp he couldn't prevent he put down to the dent in one side of his knee-guard, which was pressing on a nerve.
            He glared at the door as if affronted that such a thing would dare to stand against him. Rhia had come to realize that this was what Gannon looked like when he was thinking his way through a problem.
            "Atjets? The door is locked. What would you have us do now?"
            Gannon turned his glare on the vitch. "Open the door, vhat else?"
            He heard the Maga sigh. In truth, he only barely managed to hold back his own, matching sigh of frustration. Then it occurred to him.
            "Scout! You seem to be of better use scouting indoors than out. Vhat tricks have you for 'scouting' behind locked doors?"
            Aksana turned red at the Atjets' accusation, true though it was, about her scouting abilities. She sucked it up and approached the door slowly. She kept a wary eye on Emistil still not trusting what the demon was up to. She reexamined the door carefully not quite believing that the foul magics were gone. She produced a small pouch from one of her pockets. "Please," she said in a quiet voice, "I vill need light to see so do not stand so close as to block it." She hoped that would be enough incentive for them to back off. "There may still be other traps," she added just for good measure. Rather than backing away, unfortunately, Emistil instead held the torch he had taken closer, so close it was nearly a distraction in itself.
            She had never had so many staring over her shoulder while she worked and it made her nervous. In fact, she had no one watch her since her master had instructed her on how to open locks without keys. It was not exactly something she liked others to know she could do. Using her body to shield as much of what she did as she could she took two small tools from the case and placed them in the keyhole. She closed her eyes, giving lie to the need of light, as she concentrated on what her fingers felt and what her ears heard.
            Spielos watched what Aksana was doing, frowning with interest. He'd opened a lock or two during his training, but didn't pursue it very far at all. Folk were always hungry for news, song and stories, and he had been welcome everywhere he went until he came to the Moonsea. He suspected knowing how to disable a lock might prove to be useful if he stayed here for a extended length of time.
            After he watched her for a moment and got the feel for what she was trying to do, he began to sing softly of their need to get past this door. His efforts notwithstanding, the going was slow as she tried to coax the lock into opening. This was no simple lockbox, and after two failed attempts she had just about judged it too difficult when one pick slid in just so, the other slowly turned, and the quiet click of the lock disengaging seemed as loud as a branch breaking to her ears.
            Without being asked, Emistil immediately swung the door on his side open and stepped through. Nutwolcnum cawed suspiciously, and Aksana saw Emistil stride over broken flasks, mortars and pestles and other exotic paraphernelia littering the floor to a granite block serving as a table in the wreckage of the room. He picked a tattered open book of faded parchment from amid glass fragments, corroded flasks and other debris; she could see a second book on the table, small and bound with a cord that matched its black leather binding.
            There was a heavy scraping sound, and Aksana saw that the room held four stone sarcophagi similar to those in the crypt that had held undead warriors... and their lids were being pushed aside by impossibly long white fingerbones. Wide-eyed, Emistil tucked the tome under his arm, grabbed the second book and ran back out into the pool chamber.
            "Guardians!" he called as a warning, throwing the little black book Rhia's way before pushing past Brahm and Anya, who stood near the now open doors. Anya cursed and moved up to the steps. "Aksana! Come avay from there!"
            Emistil gave Rhia a sly wink. Turning to face the doorway, he pulled something from his belt pouch and swigged it, dropped a tiny vial, and began the gestures of a spell.

            Aksana's pleasure at having finally defeated the lock was short-lived as Emistil pushed past her. Her eyes grew wide as the guardians rose from their sarcophagi. She didn't need Anya's urging to scramble back from the door. She turned once she was next to Spielos; it put her uncomfortably close to Emistil. Her dagger was in her hand but she remembered how miserably it worked against the first set of guardians. Never the less she gritted her teeth and held her ground for the moment.
            Alethra hissed silently as she felt the mental alarm from her companion. She pushed past Thaurlann just in time to see the other elf fleeing the room with some sort of ill-gotten treasure. She walked down the stairs, her cloak fluttering as if daring to touch the ground but continuously retreating. She held her ground, waiting for whatever new threat would emerge, but also keeping on eye on the mischievous Emistil.
            Thaurlann inhaled deeply, pledging to himself to maintain his self- control this time. He moved forward, painfully obvious that his injuries were slowing him down. His sword had already been drawn in anticipation of a confrontation, so he seemed almost calm as he approached the coming battle.
            Rhia hurried over to the small book Emistil had tossed at her, scooping it up and quickly unwinding the leather cord that bound it shut. Riffling through the pages, she found what appeared to be journal entries in a neat hand, as well as a few sketches of the internal workings of various animals - and people.
            Anya's attention was all on the doorway, and what might come out of it. "Draw them out of the room," she called, readying her sword to strike whatever came near. "Let them come vhere ve all may strike them!" She moved down the steps, stopping before Rhia to protect her.
            Atjets Krel trotted after Thaurlann, murmuring a prayer under his breath. He grabbed hold of the warrior, and Thaurlann's knees buckled as a terrible weakness and burning swept through him... but as it passed, he felt the ache draining from his battered body, though a tearing hunger replaced it. "Honor Talona, and fight in the name of the Gods," Krel finished his prayer, releasing the fighter to sag back, panting.
            Spielos sighed. At least everyone wasn't rushing pell mell into a melee. It showed that they could learn, if they lost enough blood.
            "Let me weaken them," Spielos shouted above the commotion. "I have some music left that the guardians will find distressing." He began to tap a beat on his drum that already had the air thrumming with held back power as he walked towards the door. "If I fall, drag me away quickly," he asked nobody in particular.
            Pausing at the edge of the doorway, Spielos peered into the gloom. Something moved there, pale against the dark stone. They were huge, skeletons that stood like men but were far too large, their heads nearly scraping the ceiling ten feet above. They had the muzzle of a predator, long fangs jutting from long jaws, and they came at Spielos with fingers sharpened into daggers.
            The first shock of the bard's music gave them pause, but they rallied quickly, crowding the doorway in their haste to reach him. Spielos dodged and twisted from their flailing claws, but between the two of them he was soon bleeding.
            Brahm backed up until he hit the edge of the pool, eyes wide. Thaurlann showed no such fear, running up to the doors and raising his sword into position. Like Thaurlann, Gannon's face betrayed no fear as he slammed his visor down and readied his flail.
            Behind them, Emistil threw a sidelong glance at Alethra. As she began to chant he finished his spell, which did... nothing, apparently. Turning, he bolted back into the crypt, laughing.
            Rhia began to swear, long and sulfurously, as Emistil's betrayal became clear. A surge of white-hot anger surged through her, tinged with the slightest edge of...what?...exultation? But she couldn't just leave the others here alone. Quickly, she pulled a small vial from her pouch and handed it to Gannon. "Healing," she said, by word of explanation. "Now I have to kill me an elf."
            The giant man gave Emistil's back no more than a fleeting glance. "Your duty, it is known to you," he said to Rhia, as he set his flail spinning, "as mine is to me." His flail pointed at the fleeing elf, Gannon barked a command to his pet. "Dobrynya, kill it!" Orders given, Gannon gave no further thought to the fleeing Emistil, returning his attention to the enemy before them. The small flask Rhia had pressed into his hand he tucked into a pocket on his belt.
            "Let them come!" Gannon's voice bellowed. "Let them come into this room, and face their end at the hands of Bane's Mighty Hammer!"
            Aksana cursed silently as the demon made his escape. She had known he had been up to something, but what could she have done about it? She thought the others were fools to have trusted him so but her opinions meant little to one such as the Hammer of Bane. She thought briefly of trying to stop him but one look at the blood running from Spielos' wounds stayed her. The demon would have to wait until the guardians had been taken care of. She glanced around the room for something that she could use as a club.
            Son of a bitch, Spielos thought, these things move faster than I thought. He kept tapping his drum, building up the sound even as he stepped backwards, trying for a better angle.
            "Four of them, bigger than the others," he shouted over his drum. "I think only one can fit in the door at once," he finished up. "Stay back for now, I am not sure they will come out, and I can blast them again."

            Dobrynya leapt from where he had been standing at Alethra's side, lips skinned back over long white teeth. He lunged at Emistil - and passed right through the elf with a confused yip.
            Alethra struggled for a moment to catch her breath, reeling slightly from the exertion of her summoning spell. And the damned rogue elf had waited for her to finish her spell before running, leaving her unable to react in time. A tempest brewed in her mind, but her visage retained its usual complacency. Even if it took all her strength, though, she vowed to bring the rogue elf down. He had become her primary focus.
            Leaving the shadow creature to help defend her master, Alethra bent her will against the Weave once more. Her pale hand emerged from the folds of her robe with finger outstretched. She felt the Weave channeling through her body, a palpable charge forming around her hand. At first, it merely appeared to disappear back into the shadows of her robe. After a short moment, though, the shadows of the robe actually seemed to extend outward, creating a tunnel of darkness that cut through the very air itself.
            The ray found its way straight to the rogue elf, fracturing into a hundred streams of darkness. To an untrained eye it looked like the shadows from an object spun in front of a torch, but they burrowed their way into his body, rather than disappearing with the light. Alethra gasped in exertion as her body expelled the mystic force. That was nothing to the sound Emistil made; the rogue elf roared in a decidedly un-elven manner, cursing her as he stumbled against a now-empty sarcophagus - and halfway through it. Picking himself up, he ran on through the hole leading to the tunnels, his torch lighting the dim passage.
            When Alethra caught her breath again, she forced her legs into movement, her other hand emerging from her robe with dagger in hand.
            Alethra turned her gaze to Rhia, the elf's eyes glimmering like crystal in the unending light of the pool room. "He has turned himself insubstantial," she said. "If you have another counter spell to use, now vould be a good time."
            "Indeed." Fire flared in Rhia's eyes, and she rushed through the doors and after Emistil, gathering strands of power as she moved, and whispering words of power under her breath. Once she had cleared the tunnel and laid eyes on the elf, her sword came up, pointed at Emistil's back, and with a shout of power, Rhia released her Weaving - through her sword and at the elf's back.
            Her focused will took hold of the energy and sent streaming it on its way, crackling along the sword to leap at Emistil. It struck his shield first, and the elf's Art melted away beneath her spell. Then it crashed over him like a wave, sucking at the power that suffused him. Nothing was apparent to the naked eye, but Rhia felt the rush of magic leave her and had to hope that it had taken effect on the elf running ahead of her. The residual vibration of the Weave told her something was happening, but whether her spell had drained Emistil's of its potency remained to be seen.
            Despite the other elf's hasty departure, Alethra appeared to be in no hurry to follow. She calmly turned her head over her shoulder and whistled softly. Her winged companion glided from its perch down to where she stood. "Follow him," she whispered in the bird's ear. To her master's four legged companion, she gave the same command.
            Dobrynya was already on his way, scampering through the crypt, up through the hole in the wall and past Rhia, lunging for Emistil. This time he didn't pass through the elf; Emistil yowled as the dog bit his leg deep and savaged it. Glancing back over his shoulder, Emistil's face darkened at the sight of Rhia on his tail. "Myrkul take you, woman, we had an agreement! Treacherous wench!"
            As Alethra rounded the wall of rubble and bore down on him, he kept running, though Alethra's silver dagger flashed once and drew blood. Desperation and rage painted his face as he skidded to a stop in the storage cave, turned to face his enemies with an arcane word on his lips - and disappeared with a soft bamf, torch, tattered tome and all.
            Agreement? Did we? Rhia frowned, while a part of her mind tried to catalog Emistil's actions and words, and discover what kind of Weaving he'd performed. Ah, I suppose we did, at that, but I don't remember it including me letting him escape with whatever was in the tomb.
            Almost of it's own accord, Rhia's free hand began unlimbering the crystal ball from its pouch. Dobrynya, unsure of what had become of his prey, whined and trotted back down the tunnel toward the crypt.
            Alethra's eyes shifted back to Rhia, suspicion in her mind if not on her face. Certainly the outlander's actions proved she wasn't in league with Emistil, yet Alethra couldn't help but wonder if she could trust the so-called church-sworn witch.
            Seeing the crystal ball, Alethra felt a small hope that they might track down the rogue elf before he made it too far with his prize. On the other hand, she wasn't even positive he had actually gone anywhere. Mystic words passed her lips, familiar to the other maga just next to her. The elf's eyes brightened as if some unseen cloud had passed away and let in the sun. Immediately the haze of magic present glowed around her, taking time to resolve itself into individual auras.

            Glass shattered and items on the table were shaken to the floor as Spielos again thundered on his drums. Cracks appeared in the long, yellowed bones of the guardians, but they followed as Spielos moved back, one turning its attention to Thaurlann as the other reached out with long arms to swing its claws at the bard. They stupidly remained in the doorway with their foes in reach, though behind them more of the guardians waited to emerge. Alethra's hound of wavering shadows harried the one that had tried to strike down Thaurlann, and it stopped its approach to deal with this new annoyance.
            Spielos took another couple of steps backwards. He blinked rapidly as blood flowed into his eyes. I've got to get a helmet, he thought.
            Aksana spotted a rock of a size that looked manageable, and she darted forward to pick it up once she was certain that Spielos hadn't fallen under the guardians' attack. Thaurlann actually heeded Spielos' words for once, backing away until he stood in line with Gannon and Anya. He seemed to pay little attention to the apparent betrayal of Emistil. He kept his eyes locked on the doorway and the guardians within. Brahm moved up behind him, apparently having rallied his courage and decided not to flee. Atjets Krel once more muttered his prayers and sent a wash of sickness through Thaurlann, replacing his wounds with renewed vigor.
            As the wave of sickness passed, Thaurlann found his blood pumping even stronger than ever. The thirst for battle began to twitch within him, to send these foul beasts back to their graves. "They are bottled at the doorway!" he shouted to the others. "We should attack the first one together, forcing them to fight one at a time!" He raised his sword, but looked to the others to see if they would follow.
            Spielos quickly changed the tempo of his song. "Do that," he shouted, "I can help you with that!" The drum beat became steady Unless I pass out, he realized as some blood ran into his mouth. Anya didn't wait; she ran forward to draw the thing's attention from Spielos as he backed away. Aksana eyed the shadowy form of one of Alethra's beasts as it brushed past her. Not wanting to stand next to it she slipped around the back of everyone and came up on the far side of Spielos. Biting her lip she stared at the tomb's guardians and prayed they would not come through the door.
            "Indeed," Gannon answered, unwittingly echoing the Outlander Maga. In fact, he'd had himself an idea, and launched towards the giant beast, legs pumping beneath him, forcing a grunt of pain as he moved. The heavy ball of his flail lashed out at the guardian's knee, wrapping the chain around it tightly. Bracing himself against the steps, Gannon heaved, and the skeletal monster slipped towards him... but then it pulled back in return, and the flail was nearly torn from Gannon's powerful grasp.
            To make matters worse, another of the things shouldered its way out the door, sending Anya reeling with blood coursing down her armor. Thaurlann charged up the steps, making good use of the open door to duck behind as he struck at the monstrous guardian, but his sword, like Anya's, had little effect on the hard bones of the creature. Atjets Krel raised his voice in sonorous prayer to Talona, and without even the touch he had granted Thaurlann, she staggered, then raised her face in startled awe.
            Without a word the sellspear Brahm moved to flank the second guardian to emerge. Occupied as it was with Gannon, it couldn't avoid him as he swung his greatsword, smashing through its arm and ribs. Its severed arm twitched on the floor as the magic that animated it slowly failed. Anya, too, finally managed to deliver a series of telling blows despite having to balance on the stone steps below. The monsters clacked their menacing jaws as they clawed at the intruders, blood decorating the yellowed bones of their hands and abnormally long arms.
            Gannon roared with effort and frustration. By brute force, he hauled the flail's chain free, only to bring it whistling down again at a kneecap - this time aiming to shatter, rather than entangle. The skeletal guardian shifted away, and Gannon's wild swings failed to connect with its long legs.
            "Do not let them pass! Hold them at the door so that we may finish them!"
            The guardians seemed to focus on those who had struck at them last, and one of them lifted the shadow hound from the floor, snapping its jaws shut around it. It dissipated as the monster tore it apart, leaving nothing to show for its savage death.
            "The legs! Veaken the legs, and I vill pull them down!" Gannon swung again at the legs of the abomination before him, hoping that this time the efforts of the others would help him to trip the thing, so he and the others could bash it to powder, while its thrashings kept its companions trapped in the other room.
            Under the combined onslaught the guardian had no hope of standing. It crashed backwards into the skeleton behind it, bearing them both to the floor.
            Atjets Krel's voice rose over the clangor and barking, beseeching Myrkul to turn away these unnatural monsters. This time the Gods heard his prayer; the battered guardian still standing turned and lurched away, back into the shadowy gloom.
            Untangling themselves, the guardians that had fallen to Gannon's quick flail struggled to rise as the warriors pounded at them. One took the place of its cowering fellow, and yet another appeared behind those in the doorway, stupidly waiting its turn to rend living flesh.
            "Keep at them! Knock them down, then smash them as they try to rise!" There was a fierceness in Gannon's bellow of instruction, and something else... if they didn't know better, his companions might have thought the big Banite was actually enjoying himself. The fiercely bared teeth Gannon showed as his flail snaked out towards the leg of his next opponent could have been taken for a grin, in the same way that an offer to slaughter the children of unbelievers so they could die in a state of grace, rather than be allowed to grow up into heretics could be taken as a move to save the children's souls.
            Thaurlann likewise displayed a grin of bared teeth, but his look could hardly be interpreted as anything but such. Every blow dealt to the enemy seemed to widen his lips a breath further, and he found himself almost unconsciously timing his blows to the beat of Spielos' tune.
            Thaurlann acquiesced to the atjets' commands, focusing his attention on distracting the creature so that Gannon could get a clean blow. "See," he said as he poked tentatively at the guardian, trying to draw away its attention, "Teamwork." He glanced back at the others, and his eyes unintentionally met Anya's face - she was flushed, eyes flashing, and looked incredibly alive as she swung and parried the monstrous guardian. He left them for a moment too long, then returned his focus to the fight.
            Atjets Krel stood bowed behind the fighters, wracked by the sickening-sweet bite of power that seemed to settle in his bones and fester. Still he called upon Talona's healing power, again and again, with fervent prayers that she forgive her priest's demanding needs, his words underscored by Spielos' steady chant.
            Drawing back after granting the Grandmother's touch to Gannon yet again, he turned his head towards Aksana, eyes closed to counter the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him. "Help them," he rasped breathlessly, raising a shaking hand to wipe at his mouth. "Talona has marked you, as She marked me. Do not fear the pain-" He caught himself, panting heavily, his skin flushed an ugly red with his efforts. "There are many vays to fight," he said quietly, his voice nearly lost in Dobrynya's barking. Opening his eyes, he gave Aksana a significant look, then turned back to the fighters, lips moving and hands raised in prayer.
            It took several tries, but the guardians didn't seem to learn from the group's attacks, and before long they pulled the most battered of them to the ground again while Brahm held the attention of the other. The ball of Gannon's flail arced high into the air, then came crashing down into the thing's skull, shattering it. He paid for it a moment later as the fourth guardian lashed out at him from where it had been waiting behind the others, fingers stabbing deep despite his armor. It slid a little as it stepped on the exanimate remains of its fellow, but stood ready to block them from entering the room full of wreckage.

            Rhia sat down like she'd been hamstrung, all her focus on finding Emistil. Willing the elf to appear, she stared into the crystal ball. Emistil's face slowly coalesced from the mists within the orb, lit by the torch he had taken with him. He stood in what appeared once to have been a study, but was now merely a cave decorated with the rotted carcasses of what might once have been furniture and the rubble from the collapsed ceiling. A thin sliver of light pierced the darkness from one wall, half-buried in fallen rock.
            The elf was leafing through the tattered book he had stolen, but he didn't appear especially pleased. He snarled silently in the orb, flipping through pages that looked as though a child had thrown a tantrum and torn through the book. Every now and again he would stop, his face smoothing into thoughtful lines as he peered at something in the tome. Then he moved on, fingers gently turning the torn and stained pages.
            Rhia began describing the scene aloud to Alethra, and Emistil's actions. Then she set her will to the orb again, seeking to move the viewpoint, trying to locate a way in, or a way to get to the smug elf.
            The caved-in room Emistil sat in didn't appear to have any visible exit, or at least not one close enough to the elf for Rhia to see. Collapsed bookshelves and the moldering remains of particularly hardy tomes lined the wall; Emistil hadn't bothered with the ruined furniture, but had chosen a largish chunk of stonework to sit on rather than the dank-looking stone of the floor.
            He was, however, close enough to the half-buried wall that Rhia could tell that it was a window that let in the dim glow of morning light, though the window was by no means large enough for a person to fit through. By the dimness of the light, which Emistil wasn't bothering attempting to read by, the window had to be facing west - or at least, not east. Unfortunately the crystal wouldn't show her what lay beyond the window.
            Alethra saw the presence of magic flare as Rhia called on the power of the crystal ball. When the wash faded, the elf found the auras had congealed about the diviner - or rather, the crystal ball... and the sword at her side. More magic seemed to leak from the pack she carried, leaving Rhia awash in the auras she wore.
            Alethra's eyes drifted away, staring off into some region of her own mind. The thought of so much power belonging to someone so unworthy - either Emistil or Rhia, she wasn't sure who moreso - vexed her sensibilities. She had seen others who betrayed Bane with their unfettered weaving, him most of all.
            She found it strange, in the midst of battle, to find her attention focused elsewhere. Normally, she focused all attention on the task at hand, and she normally stayed reserved in her emotions. Now, she had actually threatened one man, and drew blood from another, in the course of two days.
            Alethra had seen battle before, of course, but the feel of her blade striking flesh, the sight of blood dripping from the polished silver - it was more real than the ephemeral shadows where she felt at home. Even as Rhia spoke of finding Emistil, Alehtra unconsciously shifted her cloak further up her shoulders against an unseen chill.
            It had started when she saw Nut perched atop the skull in Mandrake's room, she was sure of it. The image - not that image, but the one it had reminded her of - was now burned in her mind's eye. Not to mention the man in the image.
            Alethra's mind suddenly trapped her body back in that place, with no escape from his insatiable need for power and pleasure.
            Nutwolcnum fluttered onto Alethra's shoulder, stepping into her hood to croak softly into her ear. The motion snapped her mind out of its trap, though she had to almost catch her breath from the fierce beating of her heart. He had found nothing suspicious in the cave or tunnel, only Alyosha resting and Paryev at his final rest.
            Rhia sighed, then rattled off a description of what she was seeing to Alethra. With one more look, to be sure she hadn't missed anything that might help her identify the place, she let the vision go.
            "I think he might be in another part of the ruins here. Somewhere with a window. Perhaps the pool can show us, I don't know..." She stopped, giving Alethra and the raven a speculative look. "Do you think Nut could locate something that looked like a window, if he were to fly around the area here? Judging by the light, the window should have been facing West - or at least, not East. That should narrow it down some... right?"
            The sound of weapons clanging against stone and bone echoed from the chamber behind them, and Rhia looked briefly guilty. "Or perhaps this should wait?"
            Without looking over at the other maga, Alethra shook her head. "My master, he can handle himself. And, if ve let the svolotch escape with his prize, then the atjets' fight vill be in vain." The insult sounded unnatural coming from her lips, like a proper lady attempting to swear for the first time. "I vill have my pet search as far as he can - there are a few passagevays ve have not seen yet - but I think the pool, it will be our best bet at this point."
            Rhia stood, putting the crystal orb away. With a grim determination, she followed Alethra back to the scene of the battle.

            Gannon bellowed as the warm wash of Talona's curing was cut short by the tearing heat of the abomination's attack. Spitting blood into the face of his opponent, the Baneite swung again at the bone leg before him, as if fully willing to continue this process until the chain of his flail flew to pieces. His rage was that of the Mighty Hammer of Bane, and neither the Bane of Evil nor His servant would be denied vengeance. "Bring it down!" The command was nearly strong enough to be an attack on its own.
            They aided the Banite as he yanked the tall skeleton off its feet again and again, and they all fell on it as it strove to rise, their swords less effective than Gannon's heavy flail against the hard, yellowed bone. Atjets Krel's prayers had become a hoarse and shaking benediction on them as he struggled to keep them standing against the cruel gashes the monsters stabbed in their flesh. Brahm, however, was on his own against the guardian whose attention he commanded, and finally the thing caught him up in its claws, teeth snapping at his neck as it raised him close.
            He broke loose with a cry, levering his huge sword to pry himself away, and went stumbling back toward the crypt, his blood spattering the blue stone of the floor. Krel went after him, staggering as much as the fighter as he reached out with trembling hands. The guardian, freed of the distraction, turned on Gannon together with the other.
            Gannon was forced to back away, taking the vial Rhia had given him and raising it to his lips. It smelled strongly of almonds, but he swallowed it down - and felt a surge of strength wash through him, with none of the putrid sickness that Krel's healing prayers gave. He had never felt stronger in his life, in fact.
            Dobrynya leapt into the breach in the line they had formed, snarling and snapping as she strove to keep these unnatural bones from her master. Krel, realizing that Brahm did not intend to return to the fight, turned and tottered back himself, his face turning an unpleasant purplish shade. He reached for Thaurlann, the sorely wounded man still fighting at full fury, as evidenced by the crack and splintering of bone. Perhaps shamed by the Atjets' actions, Brahm stopped his flight, turning to call to the others, "The curse is too strong! Leave them and come vith me!"

            Nutwolcnum returned to Alethra's shoulder surprisingly quickly, settling his inky feathers before croaking his report. The tunnel she had sent him to reached downward at a steep slope, the air growing increasingly damp as he glided down into the darkness. It ended before long in a cave with a small waterfall and pool, and there were no other exits the raven could find.
            Rhia had more luck, her concentration complete despite the racket in the echoing chamber. The pool formed a rippling image of the room Emistil was in, moving to display roughly twenty feet on the two sides that hadn't been covered by the ceiling's collapse. This time she had no trouble moving the view out the narrow window, and found that it was on a sheer cliff face; more than that was difficult to say, given the mere ten feet the view showed.
            Rhia did her best not to look away when the big sellspear called for retreat. She was reassured somewhat by Gannon's quick reply and the sound of continued fighting. Still, quicker was better, and she focused on the details of the scene in the pool before her.
            "Alethra, the stone. Does it look like the cliff we climbed yesterday? Like he's still here, in the ruins somewhere?" Desperately, Rhia shifted the view, looking for anything that might more concisely locate the 'bastard elf,' so she could go kill him. Her grip on the sword at her side was tight enough to turn her knuckles white.
            Alethra's eyes studied the scene, also looking for any clue that might lead them in the right direction. "He had to have known vhere he vas going, or at least seen it before."
            She talked through the possibilities aloud, processing them in her mind at the same time. "The only tunnel ve have not explored goes downward. The vay beyond this room is blocked, although Emistil might have misled us as to their progress. He vatched us from the cliff, he could have found the room, although I don't remember passing anything this steep."
            She peered into the water, wanting to take control and move the scene herself. The image in the water flickered, forcing Rhia to concentrate harder to retain control. Alethra allowed the diviner to keep the reins for the moment. Still, frustration gnawed at her, fueled by the desperation in Rhia's voice, as well as the sounds of battle behind her.
            "Can you move the vision further down the cliff? See how far down it goes - or rather, how far up the vindow lies?" she asked.

            Gannon didn't have time to be amazed at the effects of Rhia's concoction. The morale of his troops - indeed, even the troops themselves - stood dangerously close to shattering. Swinging his chain once more in mighty arcs, the Hammer of Bane stepped into the fray, rallying his troops as he went.
            "There is no curse, except the one these abominations, and those that created them, shall suffer at the hand of the Bane of Evil! The might of His Fist is vith us, He commands all, even the Gods, to serve him. See how Talona's chosen is given power beyond his own to heal Bane's servants in their time of need! You, Scout, even you can do so little as to trip a valking pile of bones! Ve vill crush them! Bane vills it!"
            "Dobrynya! Back!" Gannon's voice snapped the command, and as his loyal hound withdrew, Gannon stepped into the breach, the chain of his flail snaking forward again. Without the coordinated efforts of his companions, however, he didn't have any luck in bringing the towering skeleton down. It jerked its leg from Gannon's grasp with impressive strength, then fell on him, a fury of claws and teeth seeking to tear him apart.
            Aksana continued to cower in the back as the battle raged before her. As the desperation of the others became greater she tried to bolster her courage with little success. Finally Krel's look and his wearied demeanor spurred her to move. She slipped past Spielos and moved up between Anya and Thaurlann. Still so scared she could barely function she mainly swung her improvised weapon at the abomination to distract it from the wounded outlander. Anya gave her an encouraging yell, pushing up the steps to drive back the guardian.
            Thaurlann felt a bit betrayed in the back of his mind by the flight of Brahm, though the assistance of Aksana made up for some of that. She did not go into battle lightly - but when she did, she showed the true strength of her Moonsea heritage.
            Bolstered by her support, and by shouting from Atjets Gannon, he felt confident that the creatures would soon be powdered dust beneath his boots. I should hit faster, not stronger, he thought. His sword whipped through the air, making two attacks for every one the gangly skeleton before him managed. Finally the bones lay hacked apart in a deep pile at the top of the steps, a pile Thaurlann waded into as he moved past the open door to face the monster Gannon was struggling with. Aksana, unable to press forward between the fighters, ran across the steps to aid Gannon as well.
            For his part, the bard sat and played a song to bolster the courage of his companions. He felt weak from bloodloss, but his voice was strong and level as he sang. Perhaps by chance, perhaps by design, the rhythm he beat on his drum matched that of the blood dripping from his nose onto the floor, pitter-pat, pitter-pat, pitter-pat.
            The ragged skeletal guardian savaged Gannon, claws and dagger-teeth straining to tear him limb from limb. It picked him off his feet, the jagged remains of its ribs pressing into his armor, ignoring the blows his companions rained upon it until Thaurlann managed to pry the limp Banite away by breaking its arm off. Brahm moved to drag the Atjets away, painfully slowly. As he hefted Gannon, he left himself exposed to the skeleton - and he paid for it. The monster raked him, and he almost dropped Gannon as he staggered away. His face was pale as he tugged the heavy man away towards the crypt, blood streaking the ground after both of them. "They vill kill you all! For love of the Gods, come vith me!" Dobrynya, at least, followed him, whining anxiously as she sniffed the blood trail.
            To make matters worse, the guardian that had disappeared back into the dark room swiped at Thaurlann from the shadows, forcing him to split his attention between the two. Anya cursed, chopping ineffectually at the one she could reach. "If only they had Bane-blasted flesh to cut! These cursed bones dull my sword more than my sword breaks them!"
            With a burst of speed Thaurlann struck the final telling blows against the blood-streaked guardian that had laid Gannon low, hacking the jittering bones into stumps that rattled down the steps around Aksana and Anya's feet. Anya gained the top of the steps, putting her on equal if uncertain footing thanks to the bones lying everywhere. Together she and Thaurlann made short work of the last of the guardians, leaving the rooms suddenly and strangely quiet, but for Spielos' steady voice and drumming.
            Krel fell down the steps, collapsing at the bottom. Dragging himself on his hands and knees, he crawled to the scrying pool, thrusting his entire fiery head and chest into the water, disrupting Rhia's carefully held image. He went limp there on the lip, facedown in the water, arms drifting as though reaching for the dragon at the bottom. From the crypt came the pained grunts of Brahm as he tried to lift Gannon through the hole in the wall.

            Aksana nearly collapsed with relief as the last of the guardians went down. The fear washed out of her body and left her feeling shaky. She turned to see where Spielos was and caught sight of Krel face down in the water. "Atjets!" she exclaimed, rushing to pull his limp body from the pool.
            Rhia jerked back as her view was interrupted. At first she was angry, but a quick look around quickly quenched that. "This is...not good." Quickly, she grabbed Krel and hauled his head out of the water.
            Krel gasped in a strained whoop of air, coughing as Aksana and Rhia pulled him from the water. His skin was hot to the touch and still flushed red, but no longer the dark shade it had been. "I am sorry," he croaked, patting at the hands tugging at him. "It vas so hot... I can see... the Holy Mistress..." He fell silent, still breathing heavily.
            "Alethra, make sure he doesn't drown." The sea-captain voice was back, and Rhianna was snapping orders.
            "Brahm, stop right there! Not another step or you'll both die!" She fished in her pouch, pulling free another two vials, like the one she'd given Gannon earlier. She winced at the thought of using them all so close together, but the need was great.
            "Anya, Thaurlann, sit down before you fall down, both of you!" Her gaze snapped to Aksana. "You, the gypsy looks like he's bleeding to death, do something about it. Get his shirt off, bind those wounds. Now!" Rhia didn't wait to see if people followed her orders, she just moved.
            Kneeling next to Gannon and Brahm, she opened one vial. "You brave, stubborn bastard," she whispered, seeing the extent of the damage the man's body had taken. Without further delay, she began trickling the potion past Gannon's lips, stroking his throat to encourage him to swallow.
            Brahm, his back to one of the sarcophagi, slid to the floor in exhaustion as Rhia tended to Gannon. He slowly began taking off his own armor, wincing and cursing under his breath. "The Chosen... he vill live?" he asked Rhia, weakly tugging at his mail shirt.
            "He should, I think, but we'll have to see. I hope so." Do I? Rhia surprised herself with the thought. If Gannon died here, she would have far more freedom to move. Krel was obviously too weak to prevent her from doing anything, at the moment. In fact, she could probably have given Spielos the potion she was currently pouring down Gannon's throat, and the two of them could have taken horses and run. Alethra might have proven a bother, but she seemed unable to Weave much - if any - more today, and Rhia was confident she could have beaten the elf, if it came to that.
            So all I have to do is be willing to let these people die, or kill them myself, and then be willing to let Harkon and his daughter face the music when I run. That, or kill everyone here, make it look like the guardian things or Emistil did it, hide until the sell-spears outside run off, and then sneak away and hope they think I died as well. She shook her head. Somehow, I don't think Valkur would approve. And now, more than ever, trapped in a land of heathens, who would demand she give her soul to those that would see her own god slain, her god's approval was important to her. Important enough to keep her here, saving those same people who would spit on that approval. The irony was not lost upon her, but somehow she failed to appreciate it fully.
            Rhia was pulled from her self reflection by Gannon coughing and spluttering in her lap.

            Anya gave the dim room the guardians had protected a suspicious look, but nothing else moved there, and she finally sat on the steps, head bowed as she mouthed a prayer of thanks. She turned her head to look at Thaurlann, brushing the hair from her eyes with an arm. "You fought vell," she said, and didn't even sound surprised. "You have the bravery to match your skill... unlike others," she added darkly, scowling towards the crypt.
            She raised her voice, looking to Spielos. "And you, gypsy. Your song... it vas like nothing I have heard before. It vas..." She groped for words, shaking her head. "Amazing... helpful." This time she did sound surprised.
            Spielos looked at Anya through glazed eyes and gave her a winning grin. Making a sweeping gesture with his hand, he countered, "You did the hard work. The blow that abomination dealt me had me seeing stars." He laughed, nervously, and swabbed ineffectivly at the blood on his drum.
            Aksana hesitated next to Krel for a moment, making sure he would continue to breathe, before going to Spielos. She knelt beside him. "I think you vill be needing a new shirt," she joked softly. She tried not to let her face show how badly injured he looked. "These cuts, they need to be vashed and bound." She glanced at Krel sitting exhausted by the pool. "I do not think there vill be any late night mercies for you this time," she whispered.
            The smile Spielos had been wearing out of reflex twisted into a sour grimace. "Dumb fuckers," he muttered, "we were supposed to pull back if it got tough. We had all damn day to wear them down and those stubborn asses kept fighting toe to toe anyway."
            "We would be ready to go after the bandits if only these..." He grasped ineffectivly for the right insult, but it wouldn't come to him. Instead, he tried to stand up, but in his frustrated state, he moved far too quickly. His knees buckled. By reflex, he reached out and caught Aksana around the neck, dropping his drum to the floor. He began to say something, but it turned into a groan as his eyes rolled back in their sockets.
            Aksana tried to hide her smile at the bard's complaining, it was exactly what she had come to expect from the man, but she was pretty sure that he wouldn't appreciate her humor at his expense. when he tried to stand Aksana automatically leaned toward him to try and help. She was caught by surprise when he collapsed against her. His arms around her neck she fumbled a bit before catching him around the chest with her own arms. Sagging under his weight she eased them both back down to the floor before she dropped him. She ended up sitting awkwardly on the floor with Spielos cradled in her arms.
            Within a moment of being supine, Spielos recovered and quickly took in his surroundings. "I stood up too fast," he realized, hoping his blasé tone covered his surprise. "I appreciate the help, but please tell me you are not sitting on my drum."
            Aksana stared stupidly at him for a moment, "drum? What? Oh, no, it's over there," she nodded in the direction it had rolled. Her face reddened as she tried to think straight with him still in her arms.
            After a moment he sat up straight. "I seem to still be bleeding a bit. Can you bandage my head, please? The shirt is ruined anyhow, and I picked up a spare or two here already."
            He plucked at his shirt. "I would not have washed it if I knew this was going to happen, though." He sighed as he noted exactly how much blood was all over him. "And cleaning blood out of mail is such a pain in the ass."
            "Oh," she felt abashed that she had forgotten the reason she had come to him in the first place. "Of course." She started to help him with his shirt then hesitated again her face turning even redder despite the presence of the mail between her and him. Once the shirt was off she stood quickly and moved to the pool. She was so flustered that she gave little thought to the fact that there may have been magic or some other evil in the water.
            She tore the ruined shirt into several strips and saved some of the less blood soaked ones aside. As she soaked the rest of the strips in the pool she watched the blood seep out in small rivulets to be diluted and mix with the rest of the water. Taking a deep breath she turned back to Spielos nearly in control of herself. "Sit," she commanded, "it vill be easier for me to vash your vounds." Concentrating on what she was doing rather than who she was doing it to she gently washed the blood from his wounds binding them with the dry strips.
            Spielos looked around after he was bandaged. His head ached, and he felt tired. "We are in no shape for much of anything," he observed, "but I am not so sure that is going to stop Gannon or the Warden. We will be lucky to get a day's rest, I am sure of it."
            Aksana glanced over at where Krel sat exhausted then over to where she could barely see Rhia tending Gannon. She shook her head with an unhappy look on her face. "Not this time, I do not think."

            Gannon coughed, and his eyes snapped open. The Maga sat above him, holding an empty glass vial, an expression of concern and...thoughtfulness?... on her face. His mouth tasted faintly of almonds, and his body felt fine. Perfect, in fact, except for those places where his armor no longer fit quite right.
            He sat up, looking around the room, assessing. Quietly, he asked Rhia, "Status?"
            Equally quietly, with a quick glance at the wounded sell-spear sitting nearby, Rhia answered him.
            "The guardians are defeated, but not without cost. You nearly died - likely would have, had not the sell-spear dragged you to safety. Anya is little better than you were, and the same for Thaurlann and Spielos. I have one more of these potions, and three of you in need of it. Atjets Krell seems near death himself, nearly drowned, in fact. Alethra and I are unhurt, mostly, and I think I know where Emistil is - we just need to go get him. Unfortunately, I don't know if we have anything left to go get him with." She shrugged, uncomfortably.
            Gannon rolled his neck, stretching, and flexed his shoulders - as if testing himself. He nodded at Rhia's report, without comment. He'd discovered a few things, and his mind was processing the input. Tactics, recovery from near-death, objectives, things of that nature. After a moment, he lifted an eyebrow to Rhia.
            "The healing drinks, how are they made?"
            Rhia looked flustered for a moment, then shrugged. "I know the theory, but the actual making of them is still beyond my skill."
            Gannon looked disappointed, but nodded, stoically. "Very vell. Von is left, you say? And you have located the treacherous demon?"
            Rhia hesitated, only briefly, but long enough for Gannon to frown to himself. She would need to be taught to obey instantly, if she was to be of use to the Church. "I have one, and I'm pretty sure I know where Emistil is, yes."
            Gannon sucked in a deep breath, squinted his eyes, then made a decision. The might Baneite heaved himself to his feet. He casually slapped Rhia across the face, backhand, knocking her to the floor.
            "You do not know how to make these potions, vich means you have had them vith you the whole time. They are of great value and usefulness, and yet you did not tell me of them before now." He shook his head, while she wiped blood from her split lip. "Your grasp of the forbidden povers, it is great, but you lack visdom. The mere fact that you have dabbled vith such forbidden things proves your lack of visdom. Never, for one moment, let yourself believe that your visdom is superior - or even equal - to mine. If you have, or know of things that are of use to the Church, you are to present them to me. Immediately. I vill decide vhen and how they are to be used. Do you understand?"
            Rhia looked up at him and nodded, quickly, appropriately cowed. As she should be.
            Silently, he held his hand out to her. Rather to his surprise, she did not mistake the gesture as an offer to help her up. Instead, she gave him the remaining glass vial, filled with the magical fluid.
            Gannon nodded, giving her a grunt of approval. Turning, he looked at Brahm, slumped nearby, and shook his head.
            "The Bane of Evil, He makes use of all tools He has to hand - even the covardice of such as you. In running, you vere in position to pull His Chosen from death. Not all can be His Chosen. Those who cannot, like you, serve those of us who are. You may vear your scars as reminders of your service." Brahm made no reply; it was uncertain if the slumped sellspear had even heard the Banite's proclamation. Gannon turned away, and approached the rest of the group.
            "The Maga, she says she has located the demon Emistil. She has given to me a vitches' brew that may heal von of you. The cost of such healing is that you vill accompany us to destroy the demon. The remainder vill rest, here. Tomorrow, ve vill take this thing of pover that the demon has stolen, and ve vill use it to crush the bandits. Now, who vill come to destroy the demon mag?"
            Aksana's eyes grew wide when Atjets Gannon walked into the room. She had seen him injured so badly she was sure he would expire from his wounds. At his mention of this healing brew she turned her wide, frightened eyes on the maga standing behind him. She unconsciously took a step closer to Spielos, as if one outlander would keep her safe from the other.
            Rhia watched as Gannon addressed the group, wincing at the pain of her split lip, and of his definitive announcement. Probing gingerly at the cut with her tongue, Rhia frowned. She wasn't surprised that Gannon showed her no gratitude. In fact, she wasn't surprised by his reaction much at all. She was bothered by the potential of his reaction when - and if - he ever discovered that she had yet another of the healing potions hidden away. She glanced at Brahm, gauging the sell-spear's reaction to his own dressing-down (his eyes were closed and his panting was shallow, giving little evidence of what he thought), before rising to her feet and moving to stand behind the Chosen of Bane. She was curious to see who would volunteer to go after Emistil. She also wondered who would understand the opportunity not going after Emistil represented, and take advantage of that.
            More disturbingly, she wondered if she had actually located the elf. She had her suspicions, but suspicion was far from proof. Then again, this is the Moonsea. Rules of evidence don't seem to apply here.
            Spielos' eyes slid over to the Atjets. His head ached fiercely and he wanted nothing more than to take a good, long rest, and Gannon was being his usual, blustery self. It was doing nothing for his temper.
            What an asshole, Spielos thought. The man couldn't really be much more of a pain if he tried. Pity he's the one I have to impress.
            He glanced at Thaurlann. Any second now, his lapdog will hop up and beg to go. I'd better say something fast.
            "I'll go," he offered. "Though my songs are sung, I do have some other tricks up my sleeve." He grinned, recalling the browbeating he had just given Rhia. Ok, mister 'tell me everything, I am the church, grrrr, grrr!' let's see you put that in your pipe and smoke it.
            Aksana thought that maybe she had heard wrong at first but a glance at the look on the bard's face convinced her that she had heard right. A moment ago he had been bemoaning the fact that Gannon would not let them rest. Now, when Gannon had confirmed his fears, he suddenly jumps up and offers to go along voluntarily. She looked again at the vial Gannon held. She wondered if maybe he just wanted the healing the Atjets spoke of. She was sure he would get such aid from Gannon no other way. Conflicting emotions coursed through her: fear of the unknown magic, joy that Spielos might be miraculously healed, dread that even if he were healed Gannon would drag him away and try to get him killed again, gladness that he would be with them when they hunted the missing demon. Unsure of how to react to all of the feelings she felt she simply stood and watched the two men waiting to see what happened.
            The big Banite raised an eyebrow, then nodded curtly and tossed Spielos the small glass vial.
            "I should have guessed that a gypsy vould not be afraid of such magics." After a moment, Gannon gave Spielos a grudging look of respect. "And to risk further injury, even death, vhen you are not required to do so, it speaks vell of you, Gypsy."
            "Dead by magic or dead by sword, it is all the same. You are still dead," Spielos countered as he deftly caught the vial. "Living, now, that is the fun part, and fortune favors the bold."
            And maybe you won't be such an asshole if I go, Spielos thought to himself. He considered it pretty foolish of Gannon to toss such a fragile and valuable tool as this miracle potion. Then again, he didn't think much of Gannon's ability to reason quickly in the first place. Maybe if you let him sit about and think things out for a while and drew him some pictures he'd be alright, but thinking on his feet didn't seem to be a strong point.
            Gannon wouldn't survive a week in Westgate. In fact, with his demeanor, he'd likely be dead in an hour, maybe two on the outside.
            The bard gave the vial a perfunctory look before uncorking it and drinking it slowly. If he was drinking magic, he'd damn sure roll it around on the tongue and see what it was all about. The smell of almonds was almost enough to make his eyes water, but the flavor was nowhere near as strong. Those impressions were eclipsed by the sudden surge of strength and vitality he felt on drinking it. Short-lived though the feeling was, the wash of power took with it every trace of pain in him, his cuts and wounds closed as though clay that had been smoothed over, without a trace of the sickening jolt Krel's healing gave.
            Gannon looked around the room once more.
            "The atjets, he vill stay, and rest. Scout, you are unharmed? You vill come to kill the mag. Outlander," he turned to Thaurlann, "you are brave, and fought vell. The Bane of Evil has seen your service, you have earned a rest, I think. I vill not reqvire you to come - I vill not be the von who sends you to join His legions this day. Varden, you are injured as vell? The decision to join us, or to stay vith the atjets, I vill leave it to you." There was a brief, awkward pause as Gannon remembered who was supposed to be leading this mission. "Of course, if you vould have us do othervise..."
            Pulling out his own toenails would probably have hurt less.
            The Warden shook her head, making no comment on Gannon's usurping of her command. Her voice was flat, but that might have been from the weariness and pain that the Banite no longer felt. "I vill do little good hunting the mag vithout rest. If you are certain that you do not need me?" Her eyes moved to Rhia. "Then I vill go and bandage myself, and see to Atjets Krel."
            Krel sat up with some difficulty on hearing his name, wiping his flushed forehead. He still looked terrible. "No, forgive my babbling, I am not... Let me give to you my bandages, and I vill see to all of your vounds." He looked around, trying to see how many required his skills, and belatedly realized he was practically in Alethra's lap. While he struggled to rise without appearing to be scrambling away from the elf, Anya answered him.
            "No, I vill see to my own vounds. I vill use the small cave; do not enter there." Without waiting for further argument, Anya rose with considerably more decorum and made her way back into the crypt. Krel staggered after her, his exclamation at finding the broken and bleeding sellspear loud in the now-quiet chamber.
            Spielos whispered to Aksana, "You did not think for a moment Gannon would let you stay here, did you?"

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The Second Cycle