The Dark Frontier

A Moonsea Adventure

Chapter 14

The Grika-aa

Clifftop, Mirtul 28

            The decision made, camp was set for the night. Without enough dry wood for a fire or tents to protect them from the elements, it was a cold and damp night for them all. In the morning Aksana was sent to fetch the sellspears, making her way as best she could without a guide, down the steep slopes to the lake. Fortunately she was able to recognize the way, and the mist wasn't too heavy for her to see where she was going.
            It was late afternoon before the sellspears reached the cliff, and they stared in disbelief when they were told how they would have to hang and work. It took some convincing, but between Spielos and Gannon they finally set to work in shifts with picks, digging at the dirt surrounding the window to widen the hole. There was some grumbling that if they had wanted to dig in the mud, they would have been farmers, but no one stood forward to express that opinion to the group.

Bandit lair, Mirtul 29

            By the middle of the following day, it was done; Anya, Emistil (looking much improved) and Rhia were able to climb the ropes back up to the top of the cliff. Anya led them back down to the blessedly warm caves, where a recovered Atjets Krel saw to Spielos and Anya's wounds, miraculously healing them to mere scars. "The two of you, you vill need new pants," he told Aksana and Spielos, raising an eyebrow at their ragged clothing.
            Then he turned to Emistil, who sat leaned against the wall, watching them. "Vhat about this von? Do I ask Grandmother Apple to bless... him, too?"
            Rhia shook her head. "Emistil hasn't earned that, just yet. Strip him, bind his wounds. I'll find some clothes for him somewhere."
            Gannon's dogs happily ran to him, sticking close beside him as he moved about. Gannon knelt to give his loyal dogs a good petting and scratching, his meaty hand thumping loudly against their rib cages. He was more relieved that he cared to show that both dogs were healthy again, and he would be sure to give thanks in his prayers. When he heard Rhia's instructions, he frowned, but decided to say nothing. The demon might have tricks hidden in its clothes, after all, and it was probably best to keep it from anything familiar to it. And in any case, he had decided to give Rhia the rope, and see what she did with it.
            Over the dogs' excited whining, Anya addressed Thaurlann. "I see the Atjets, he has healed you. I hope you vill try not to bravely kill yourself again before ve get back to the city." She smiled a little to take the sting from her words. "After all, it is not every outlander who proves themselves worthy in the eyes of the Gods."
            Thaurlann didn't bother to hide the grin on his face - more from seeing Anya alive and well than from her praise. Though that also warmed his cheeks a little.
            "I will only do my duty to Bane," he said, followed by a bow with hand over heart. "I would - " he stumbled a bit, changing his mind in mid-sentence. "I am glad to see that you accomplished your mission." Suddenly he shifted his attention to Spielos. His voice quieted to a more conversational level. "My friend, when you're rested, perhaps I could ask you a favor?"
            Spielos opened one eye sleepily. When it was obvious that nobody was trying to kill him he considered going right back to sleep. However, that would be very rude, and he needed all the friends he could get. He sat up and tugged the at the waist on pants he had scrounged up from Mandrake's wardrobe. They were a bit big, but a length of rope and judicious tucking into his boots solved that most of that problem until he could take them in.
            "As long as it does not involve badgers or anything else trying to kill me, I might be able to help," he replied as he absently picked up his drum and tapped out a rhythm on it.
            Thaurlann grinned with childlike enthusiasm, urging Spielos a bit farther from the others. In Chondathan, he said, <"Thank you, Spielos. I know I've said some harsh things at you in the past few days, so I hope you'll forgive me.">* He paused for a moment to see the other man's reaction.
            <"I am not good with words like you are,"> He continued. <"Your songs remind me of home, when I used to sneak into the tavern and watch the bards spin tales of faraway lands.>" Thaurlann's voice became much softer as he spoke, and his accent seemed to show much more of a Cormyr peasant than the noble tone he took whenever speaking Damaran. <"I want to hire you to write a song - or make it a poem, for me. I don't think my singing voice is good, so a poem would be much better.">
            Thaurlann paused, trying to work out the details in his own head. <"I feel as though I have truly become accepted by Bane and perhaps even His Chosen. I know you don't take much stock in their beliefs, and my duty to the Church should be to try and convert you, but I will not ask you that much right now.">
            <"Perhaps you can somehow help me to explain my feelings, for another. I know that you're an experienced traveler, much more experienced with women than I am. I might also seek your advice in that as well, since I know - well…"> Thaurlann's tone turned almost meek, as he continued, <"For a knight of Cormyr, this is no strange thing, as our chivalric code respects women too much to cheapen them with base degredations. But the Chosen of Bane are expected to take a wife, to pass on the knowledge and worship of Bane.">
            Thaurlann felt himself blabbering, and finally forced himself to take a breath. <"So, will you help me write a love poem?">
            Spielos stopped tapping on the drum and looked at Thaurlann as if for the first time. The bard was clearly dumbfounded. <"Wait, what? You mean you've never-"> He paused for a moment to get his thoughts. <"No wonder you're so damn uptight. This is a strange request, to be sure. For who do you wish to write this poem?">*
            Thaurleen seemed to take no heed of the observation. "Anya," he said without pause. <"I loved her since the first moment I saw her.">
            <"Hmph,"> Spielos muttered, <"I didn't see that coming."> It was hard to tell if he was being sarcastic or not. he declared, *
            Thaurlann beamed with excitement. He wrung his hands together as if somehow putting words into his mind with them. <"I want one of those poems that the knights sing to the fair ladies in the castle. No, wait, she's not a princess, she's a warrior. So it should say something about her courage on the battlefield. But, I mean, I don't want her to think I _don't_ think of her as a lady.">
            He sighed in exasperation. <"What would you say? I mean, if there was someone that you traveled with, looked upon every day, and needed some way to express your feelings for her?">
            <"We're not talking about me, we're talking about you,"> Spielos reminded Thaurlann. He sighed and thought for a moment.
            <"In this case, I think the best approach would be to pull her aside, in private, and tell her how you feel. I don't think a love poem would go over well. You're an outlander, she is a warrior and, well...">
            Spielos paused for a moment. <"I've heard things about these Moonsea women. Things that- Look, I don't even know how to explain it, but they're not like other women, okay?">
            Spielos waved his hands about in front of him, as if he was still trying to get a grasp on the idea. <"Just tell her how you feel, in private.> He finished the thought in his head: *And hope she doesn't gut you like a fish.* His face kept itself in check, betraying nothing, even though he wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. "If she is receptive to the idea, I'll help you write a love poem, but you shouldn't start with that. As with so many other things, it will just cause a misunderstanding, and I'm sure I'll get blamed.">*
            Thaurlann's face suddenly retreated back into its stoic shell, although his lips seemed to be frowning just a bit. "I don't want you to get into any trouble, certainly." The switch back to Damaran was sudden, but the blond-haired warrior kept his voice low, and his tone seemed sincere.
            His gaze slipped into the distance as he absorbed what Spielos had just told him. Before the silence became too awkward, he faced Spielos again and bowed. "Thank you," he said simply.
            He began walking towards where they had taken the prisoner, anxious to see if any progress had been made towards locating Mandrake. As he walked, though, something nagged in his mind, about what Anya had said to Spielos after the fight with the skeletal guardians. He struggled to ignore it, finally asking Bane for strength to block it out completely.

            Aksana sighed when Krel reminded her of how ragged her clothing had become. She rather wished now that she hadn't loaned out her spare set to Anya. She followed Spielos' example and poked around the cave a bit in hopes of finding something that would pass as acceptable until she could either mend or replace her own clothes.
            The clothes she found, all woolen sorochkas and leggings, were well-used, dirty and bug-ridden but in otherwise reasonable shape. After her search for clothing Aksana found a spot off to the side out of everyone's way and sat down. Leaning back against the cold stone of the wall she tried to relax for a bit. She watched the activities of the others through mostly closed eyes.
            Aksana's eyes watched Thaurlann and Spielos as they moved off and spoke in hushed tones. Her natural curiosity, enhanced by the training of the priests of Shar, would have normally made her wonder what they spoke of but she was so worn that she barely registered what it was she watched. It wasn't just that her body was tired but her mind was starting to tire from all the odd ideas that had been plagueing her lately. Her eyelids grew heavy and it became a struggle just to hold them open.
            She snapped her eyes open. Had she been sleeping? She wasn't sure but the vague feeling of lurking dreams made her reluctant to risk falling asleep again. She stood slowly and stretched. She discovered her arms were a bit stiff from hanging off the side of the cliff. A quick glance assured her that there was nothing that required her to stay in the cave. Walking outside she chose a spot just to the side of the entrance and began one of her stretching exercises. As she loosened her stiff muscles, the sound of quorking ravens drifted down from above. The sound of the ravens reminded her of the note still tucked into the pocket of her shirt. She had nearly forgotten it, but now did not seem the time with all the sellspears standing around. Having convinced herself that she was in the right not to send the note again she tried to return to her exercises.
            Sellspears hung about, talking in small groups, sometimes arguing, but never loudly - they would look around, then, as if unwilling to be overheard. Their faces were grim, but whenever their eyes fell on Aksana their expression would soften, and they would often give her a little grin. Normally such stretching helped her relax and find calm. Today, however, the sound of the sellswords kept distracting her. The looks they were giving her made her uncomfortable in a way she had never noticed before. She did her best to ignore them.
            One reached out in passing and ruffled her hair. "Our lucky little rabbit," he laughed, and those closeby laughed with him, watching to see how she would take the challenge to her rank.
            At the sellsword's touch Aksana froze in surprise. Something in her mind split; one part shrinking away as she usually did, but the other flared up at the challenge. The only thing she moved was her eyes which she rolled up to stare at the impudent sellspear. A dangerous spark flared in their green depths. A slow sneer spread across her face.
            "Lucky I may be…" She suddenly spun away from him in a quick, graceful movement that placed her just out of his reach. As part of the same fluid movement her dagger appeared in her hand from its sheath hidden on her forearm. "But I am no one's rabbit." Her body relaxed into a fighting crouch and she began to circle the man, gliding gracefully on the balls of her feet. The blade glinted as she flicked it in front of her. "Vould you like to say that again?"
            The side of her that normally shrunk from a fight screamed futilely in the background. The other part grinned and hoped that the man didn't back down.
            The sellspear was surprised, but more by her speed than her actions. He rubbed his short, bristly beard wryly, turning with her as she moved around him. "Not our lucky rabbit? Then it vill not be bad to skin you, neh?" He grinned, drawing a long, serrated blade of his own and holding it up for all to see. The other sellspears whooped (most, but not all, such as the husky one who had spoken to her earlier), teasing them both.
            "Looking to get your first scars, Ganev?"
            "Even scars vill not make that ugly face better!"
            "Our lucky rabbit already has all the scars she needs!"
            "Careful, vhen you reach in to grab a rabbit you may catch hold of a black devil!"
            Ganev was as young as Aksana, likely looking to jump his rank several places, but he had the greater reach and more powerful build, facts he seemed overly aware of as he postured for the little crowd. What he didn't have was her agility. He came at her like a bull, all force and forward motion, but she simply wasn't where his knife whipped through the air. He skidded to a stop, looking around to find her coming at him from behind, and barely managed to get into a defensive crouch before she was on him.
            He was an able enough fighter, good enough to keep her from sticking him deep, but her experience in keeping out of reach frustrated him, and he became increasingly daring in trying to cut her before she tumbled away in some unexpected direction. In the end it cost him a long, bleeding cut along his sword arm.
            He held out his free hand, fingers splayed in surrender. "No rabbit bites back so hard," he said with a grin. "It seems you are our lucky devil instead, neh? Your tail, I can let go of it now and go wrap my vounds?"
            Aksana held her defensive posture just a moment longer before she straightened up. "Da, go and tend your vounds." She grinned, an unusual expression for her. "And be more careful whose tail you pull." She used the edge of her shirt to clean her blade before sliding it back into its sheath. Having overcome her challenger she found that she felt much better than she had in days.

            Spielos could only shake his head as Thaurlann walked away. *He's twitterpated* he realized. *For the first time, most likely. He doesn't know how to deal with it at all.*
            The sounds of a pending scuffle brought him back to reality. *This might be worth a look,* he thought. He got up and dusted himself off.

            Atjets Krel looked up as Thaurlann approached Mandrake's cave, where the priest had insisted on taking the prisoner if he was to be stripped. Emistil's bloodsoaked clothing and armor lay in a pile at his feet. "The demon, he vaits inside. You may tell the maga he is dressed... and I do not know vhat to do vith this." He gestured at the pile. "It is more something for you to deal vith, perhaps?"
            Thaurlann shrugged noncommittally. "I'm not sure what to do with soiled armor, but I'll check it out. Maybe we can reuse it if it's not too damaged."
            His voice seemed distracted as he spoke. "I'll go get the Maga and let them know he's ready. Hopefully he can give us better answers this time." For a moment, Thaurlann wondered if he couldn't go in there and "motivate" the prisoner himself. After all, the power of Bane was fierce enough to convert nonbelievers. Having the two witches question him hadn't seemed to gain them much the first time, other than betrayal. Fear, though, gripped his heart. He didn't know what kind of tricks the elf might still have up his sleeves - as unimpressive as they might now be in borrowed clothing.
            Also, it wasn't his place to make that kind of decision. With that in mind, it was Atjets Gannon he informed first, carrying with him the pile of discarded clothing. "Atjets Gannon, Atjets Krel says the el - the demon is ready for questioning. Do you think - " he stole a look at Alethra, and thought about his next words before continuing. "Do you think we should bring the power of Bane against his will, first, since this might prove more persuasive against him?"
            Alethra's eyes narrowed with a touch of skepticism hidden behind them. She remained quiet, though, deferring for her master's answer.
            The Atjets looked at the pile in Thaurlann's hands and his face crinkled in distaste.
            "You are a brave one indeed, Ou- Thaurlann, to so villingly carry the clothings of a demon, before they have been checked for cursed magics, or traps." Gannon thought for a moment, then nodded to Alethra.
            "Take these to the Maga," he ordered, "let her decide vhat is to be done vith them."
            Thaurlann suddenly looked down at the pile as if it were infested with maggots. He hadn't considered the thought that they might be cursed - or, if he did, he must have assumed that Atjets Krels had cleansed them.
            Rhia heard her name - or what passed for her name as far as Gannon was concerned - and stood up from where she had been riffling through her pack at the far wall. Her face carried a look of interest, but she did not approach.
            Thaurlann held the pile held forward, as far from himself as his arms would take them. Alethra looked over the pile curiously, leaving the outlander uncomfortably holding his position for several long seconds. She whispered something almost inaudible, an echo in the shadows of the room. At last she took the pile - armor and all - and walked towards Rhia. The entire time she kept her eyes fixed down on the clothes, though it was obvious her weak arms struggled at the weight.

            Spielos walked out of the cave, blinking once or twice. Even the overcast skies presented a stark contrast to the dim, shadowy light in the cave. The usual cast of characters were milling about outside, but Aksana was there, and that was a bit unusual.
            Walking towards her, he asked, "What did I miss, Aksana?" He gave Aksana a double take when she turned around. "And why are you smiling?"
            Aksana held her smile when she saw Spielos, if anything it grew slightly wider, "nothing at all, ve vere just having a friendly exchange about names." She flicked a glance over at Ganev and his bleeding arm before returning her attention to the bard. The same part of her that had screamed to back down from the fight now wanted her to duck her head and act demurely. But she was still riding the adrenalin rush from the fight so that she stared directly into Spielos' very blue eyes. Somewhere deep down she acknowledged that she did so because he seemed to prefer that to her normal timid stance.
            The white haired bard laughed. "From your smile, I'd wager you got in the better word." He gave Aksana a good natured slap on the back. "Good on you!"
            He looked at the sellswords. His smile narrowed slightly, and his brow knitted into a slight frown. "They are a rough lot, and they are bored."
            Raising his voice, he called out, "Come on in, come to me, I have news to tell, come on, all of you!" He waited for the others to gather, gauging their mood as they came in. *It could be worse,* he thought.
            "We have captured the rogue demon, Emistil. The Mag and Atjets Gannon have seen to it that his powers are in check. We shall be putting him to the question before long, and then we move out to find and kill Mandrake. I do not know how long that will take." He paused and rolled his eyes, casting a glance around at the sellswords. His entire demeanor reflected the uninformed, bored plight of soldiers everywhere. "I am just a gypsy, they tell me nothing, yes? It could take days, or if the Atjets has his way, just a few hours."
            In a moment, his attitude changed, and he assumed a posture of command. "Until that time, do not let your guard down. We have seen the monster in the lake, and who knows what other creatures might find there past here. We will also need food for our journey. Arrange yourself in parties of three and search the area for game and edible roots. Two people search, one person guards at all times- be ready for anything! Fill your water skins before you go, and do not stray more than two miles from the cave. Getting lost will get you killed! If you encounter any bandits, do not engage them, but return here _at once._ The first party that brings back a deer or other large game will gets a silver penny each! A silver. Penny. Each!"
            He paused to let that sink in before he bellowed, "Why am I still looking at your ugly faces?"
            The sellspears stared at him, and at eachother. They didn't seem too eager to venture away from the cave, but the idea of fresh meat and, most especially, coin was persuasive. Besides, it was their storyteller asking; no one wanted to end up as a craven Vanka in one of his popular stories. They moved slowly, but they broke up into smaller groups, picking up their spears and scuffling a little to determine who would be in charge of each little unit. They began to wander into the trees, hacking at every other tree to blaze their trail, resulting in a lot of trees with bare patches in their bark. Still, it didn't seem likely that they'd get lost if they remained so diligent about it.
            "Come vith us," a few of them called back to Spielos and Aksana. "Our lucky little devil vill find us a deer, and you can sing about it!"
            Aksana arched one eyebrow as she watched Spielos take charge of the sellspears. She was even more impressed when they did as he told them. When some of them requested that they accompany the hunting party she looked at Spielos. Her green eyes sparkled with mischief, "shall ve? It sounds like more fun than staying here and vaiting for the Atjets to find some fault vith us."
            Speilos glanced over at Aksana. "We shall," he replied, smiling.
            He turned and bellowed at the sellsword who had asked them to come. "Damn right we are coming, look at how slow you are moving! You could not catch a dead turtle if you tried! You need someone who is not so slow, and also someone who has some thoughts in his head, yes?" Still grinning, he set off after the sellsword.
            With a laugh Aksana set off after Spielos. She still felt a touch giddy as she moved along side the others. Her normal fears of the forest and what dwelt within it were shoved aside for the moment. She wasn't sure how long it would last but she decided to follow it as long as it did.

            The four set off in good humor, the sellspears Logna and Mad Pavel not even bothering to challenge either Spielos or Aksana. Instead they talked of how they would spit any wolves or bandits they found on their spears (Mad Pavel's decorated with dried ears of dubious origin), and what they would do with the money Spielos would have to cough up when they brought down a deer or three. Finally even their rather amusing stories of how they would spend their coins ran dry, and they tromped through the budding trees in silence... or at least, what silence they could muster. Every step seemed to be into a patch of squishy leaves or onto a twig, thornbushes seemed determined to block their way, and their progress was marked by their obvious lack of forest skills. The only animal they saw was a crow that followed them from branch to branch, cawing mournfully now and then.
            The light began to dim, and Logna uneasily suggested they let the deer live another day and return to the caves. It was Aksana who spotted the glint of metal in a dark little hollow while Logna and Mad Pavel were busy hacking at a tree to mark their trail. A closer look revealed a small sack of coins, tossed carelessly at the broken stump of a tree. In another moment Logna or Mad Pavel would be back to see what she was staring at.
            Aksana nudged Spielos and pointed out the sack. "Another trap do you think?" she asked thinking of the one he had triggered in the swamp. She glanced over at the two sellspears with a frown. "They vill set if off for sure. Keep them back if they return." She approached cautiously trying to examine the area from all angles.
            For all she could tell, there was nothing untoward about the hollow, though the coins did seem unnaturally bright considering the falling darkness.
            Attracted by their focused attention, Logna returned, letting Mad Pavel do the trailblazing. "Vhat are you two looking at?" She tried to step around Spielos, who got in her way. Frowning at him, she tried to push her way past, but a cry from Mad Pavel spun her around. He was slapping at his head and shoulders madly, turning around and around. All around him were dark little flying things, swooping at him. Suddenly he froze, his arms still raised, and slowly turned to face the others.
            There were creatures on his shoulders, tiny people with delicate-looking cricketlike wings. They held small but sharp-looking blades to Mad Pavel's throat. "Do not move, or your friend vill die," said a tiny piping voice. "Ve have a task for you. If you do it, ve vill let him go and give you a rich reward. If you try to harm us, you vill never return to your homes again." The swooping people settled on the branches around the group, brandishing tiny weapons.
            "Forest spirits," Logna whispered loudly, looking pale. She made no move toward the little people, but looked from Aksana to Spielos, unsure of their relative ranking.

            Rhia watched Alethra coming, but held her tongue, as the elf woman was onviously in the middle of a Weave, and Rhia didn't want to break her concentration. When it appeared the elf was finished, Rhia spoke softly.
            "Find anything?"
            Alethra shook her head wordlessly as she handed over the pile. "The armor might be worth saving," she said, "Though I am not knowledgeable about such things."
            Rhia nodded, then set the pile down, separating the contents and taking a quick inventory. She was looking for anything that might be of use to one who could use the Weave.
            Thaurlann, happy to be rid of the clothing, looked back to Gannon. "So, shall we go press the will of Bane against the traitor?" He paused, adding in a bow. "I mean, if you think it wise, Atjets."
            "Thaurlann," Rhia called from the pile, "weren't you wearing scaled armor when we met you? Could you make use of this?"
            The big Baneite opened his mouth to reply to Thaurlann, but closed it as Rhia called to the outlander. Her call reminded him of his previous intent.
            "Go ahead, Out- Varrior. The Maga, she vill determine vhat vill become of the traitor. In the meantime, it is vise to ensure ve have available the best equipment."
            Sorting through Emistil's compartmentalized pouch, Rhia found a number of odds and ends that would serve as components in spells. There was also a large, flattened gem, its facets winking green in the light of the firepit.
            Emistil's armor would need to be refitted to Thaurlann's much broader frame before it would be useful. It wouldn't take long for an armorer to do.
            Rhia examined the gem more closely, even going so far as to pull the slate from her pouch and place the gem upon it. She held the chalk, waiting.
            Slowly her hand began to move, the chalk scratching against the slate in a dry whisper. _'The Heart of Will was ensorceled in the Year of the Black Wing by Feyram, utilizing dark pacts with the infernal to meld the living with both the living and the dead.'_ She paused a moment, then scribbled the rune for "inert" below the text.
            Alethra hovered nearby, watching Rhia closely, although not overtly. She knew that her master would want a detailed report on everything that the church-sworn witch did. Remembering the other mag, she whispered to Nut, "Go and keep an eye on Emistil, my pet." The bird silently slipped away into the darkness of the caves.
            Alethra read the words and analyzed the rune, and images of death and rebirth floated through her mind. Images she had seen in her former master's books, the kind of things that even he seemed hesitant to practice directly.
            Alethra's tongue slipped out in spite of herself. "Vhat sort of foul magic vas this rogue dealing vith, anyvay?" The voice, though not unharmonious, had an edgy fear very uncharacteristic of the elf.
            Realizing that she had spoken aloud, Alethra's eyes sunk to the floor. "Vhat do ve do next?" she asked - almost whispered - clearly deferring to the more experienced maga. "Should ve study the book the elf stole? Vas he using the crystal to gain power for himself, or supplement the vill of Mandrake? Either vay, Mandrake moves further avay with each day ve stay here, and my master vill not take many more delays."
            At Alethra's words, Rhia visibly started. *Stupid,* she berated herself, *you _don't_ let the church's spies watch you work, girl, _especially one who can understand what you're doing!_*
            "Sorry," she apologized to Alethra, "I was lost in thought." She put the slate away in her bags as quickly as she could, without giving the impression of trying to hide anything.
            "I don't know what he was doing-" Rhia stopped, and gave Alethra a quizzical look. "Did you just call him an elf?" No one in this cursed land had used that word in Rhia's hearing before now, and for Alethra, of all people, to use it was a surprise. Rhia looked at Alethra for several moments, then shrugged.
            *Did I?* Alethra asked herself. She had subconsciously thought about it a moment before the word left her mouth, and the word had almost been "demon." When she thought about what that would mean about herself, she - for the first time in her life, perhaps - didn't want to refer to herself that way.
            "Whatever you chose to call him, Emistil has much to answer for, I think. Let's look at the book first, then go question him. I'd rather not have any preconcieved notions before I investigate, and I'd especially like to avoid any input from Emistil coloring my view."
            With that, Rhia pulled out the book and sat down. After a moment's hesitation, she patted the ground beside her, inviting Alethra to sit and investigate with her. It was a display of trust, she hoped. Alethra hesitantly kneeled down, taking a traditional meditation pose, rather than getting comfortable.
            As Rhia had seen before, the book was in terrible shape - it looked almost as if someone had deliberately set out to destroy it, except that if they had, they hadn't done a very good job. Some pages were torn, other chunks completely shredded, some stained and illegible and a number stained so badly they were fused together, the ink blurred into meaningless gibberish. Yet there were passages amid the destruction that appeared to have been saved, and not by chance. It would take further study to reveal what the book contained, but the writing was in Ruathlek, and had the notations and mystic diagrams that meant _spellbook._ Again and again, the runes for life and death repeated themselves... and some of the illustrations were neatly executed references to the inner workings of bodies. In places the writing lapsed into symbols neither of the women understood, but Alethra remembered seeing a few of them on the wall in the shadowed alcove of the pool room.
            Rhia sighed, then spoke softly to Alethra, pitching her voice so that it barely carried to the elf woman.
            "I don't think we should tell the atjets about this just yet. We need information from Emistil, and if Gannon kills him now, we'll have no chance of getting it. I think the gem itself will damn Emistil once he stands for judgment, but we should make what use of him we can before that, don't you think?"
            Rhia assumed that necromancy practiced by anyone other than the proper priesthood authorities would carry a death sentence.
            Alethra thought carefully before responding. The last time she had agreed to an agreement without the atjets, Emistil had betrayed them and escaped. Still, she couldn't deny the curiosity to find out more about the gem, even if its dark power might be dangerous.
            "Very well," she said noncommittally. "Ve vill request to question him once more."
            Rhia nodded. "Thank you. Now, do you want to do the questioning, or shall I handle the talking, and you watch to make sure he's not lying?"
            Alethra looked over at Rhia. "Perhaps that vould be best. Let us go and find out vhat we can."

            Emistil turned from where he'd been regarding the small altar as Rhia and Alethra climbed the steps to the dark little cave. He was dressed in the dirty bandit's clothing they had given him, but it hadn't removed the smile from his face. He opened his arms expansively, gesturing for them to sit. "How good of you to visit me. Do make yourselves comfortable."
            "How gracious of you, elf." Rhia's tone was short and crisp. She wasn't being petulant, but she wasn't happy with Emistil, and it showed.
            "Did you know the book to threw to me was useless, or did you just come out lucky in a fifty-fifty situation?"
            He gave her a sardonic look. "There isn't a book written that is useless to the knowledgeable. I only meant to reward your part in my escape, though obviously that was a rash action on my part."
            "Attempting to escape in the middle of the battle? Yes. Very rash, indeed." Rhia gave Emistil an equally sardonic smile. "So you knew the book you kept was one of necromancy, then."
            He arched a pale eyebrow. "When else would you have had me escape without your priest charging after me? It seemed the most expedient course." He lifted his shoulders in a tiny shrug. "As for the book, what makes you say that? I hardly had the time to read it before the guardians rose, after all."
            Rhia shrugged, then made the captured crystal appear and dance on her fingers.
            "I don't know, Emistil, what could possibly make me think you were interested in Necromancy," she asked, the bite of irony clear in her voice. "Why would I possibly think, from our previous discussions, or from your actions to this point, that you might have known exactly what it is you were looking for? Or," she corrected herself, giving the elf some benefit of the doubt, "at least had a good idea of what you were looking for."
            Emistil laughed, a delighted sound, and his muddy eyes gleamed with good humor. After an initial glance, he seemed to take no undue notice of the gem. He threw his arms wide. "Touché, my dear. Yes, I had some idea of what to look for. Surely you wouldn't begrudge me that, your own field being so different. ...Or is it, after all? When the dead speak, after all, they do have such stories to tell. Is it greed - or shall we say curiosity? - for the cold Arts that sent you after me?"
            Rhia smirked, and made the gem disappear again.
            "Hardly. I'll admit to a certain... interest in the information-gathering aspects, but from what I've been told, the dead are less than completely reliable in that regard." Her face and tone had gone more cordial, if also more serious. It was clear she was actually engaging Emistil in a discussion now, rather than an interrogation. At least, she _hoped_ it looked that way to the elf.
            "You realize that posession of the crystal itself is a death sentance here, or close enough to it." Rhia shrugged, then moved to sit partially on the edge of the bed, still watching Emistil. She seemed to have forgotten Alethra completely. "Of course," she shrugged, "what isn't?" Rhia settled in with a sigh.
            "So tell me, Emistil, where do we go from here?"
            "Well, you might consider carrying through with the vow you made to me," Emistil said, his tone dry. While not oblivious to the other elf's presence, he kept his focus on Rhia. "I certainly lived up to my side of our bargain. I fail to see why possessing a harmless gem should result in a sentence of death. Surely simply stealing it from me should suffice."
            Rhia had had enough, and it showed as she stood from the bed and advanced on Emistil, one hand on her sheathed sword. Unnoticed by the maga, her countenance became even more stormy as her hand clamped down on the weapons' hilt.
            "You arrogant, idiotic moron!" Rhia rounded the end of the bed, making a beeline for the arrogant elf, the knuckles of her left hand going white on the sword hilt, her right hand jabbing towards his chest as she spoke.
            "The universe does not revolve around you! Get that through your thick fucking skull! I told you I would do my best to help you, _when we are finished here!_ Instead of being patient with that, you decide to do what you like, _when_ you like, and damn anyone else!" Her eyes flashed like icy blue fire, and her voice cracked like a whip. "What the _fuck_ is wrong with you? You're captured, and caught with an illegal item, and you refer to it being confiscated as us _stealing_ it from you!" Rhia stood nose to nose with the bastard, and her voice grated past clenched teeth. "You'd better learn, and learn quickly, you self-centered bastard. Your life is hanging from a _very_ thin thread. _You_ are _not_ in control here. Not even close. You have no advantage in this. We are not negotiating, I am not beholden to you, and you will come out of this, _at best,_ with your life. _Maybe._ At this point, it's possible that the best you're likely to get is a quick, relatively painless death. I don't know. I _do_ know that unless you change your fucking attitude, and give us _everything_ you can think of that will be _helpful._" She stepped back, and her eyes narrowed. "And don't try to overload us like a smart ass and tell us everything you know about everything. I'll tell you one time, elf. If I suspect that you've lost your usefulness to me, or that you are giving me a hard time, or, hells, if I don't like your tone of fucking _voice,_ I will kill you where you stand, and deal with whatever consequences Gannon feels like dishing out. Because, make no mistake, elf, it will be _worth it."_
            Emistil didn't seem surprised at her outburst, but his expression was thoughtful as he considered the mage. "On the contrary, I was assured by the priest I spoke to that my services for their church would be highly prized, hardly to be thrown away simply because of an item I might possess. But of course, as you say, you are hardly controlled by that same church. I shall endeavor to be... useful. Precisely what information is it that you would have of me?"
            Alethra, for her part, was content to remain in the shadows for this interrogation, almost forgotten by the other mags. She had no more strength left for conflict in her. It was all she could do not to ball herself up into a corner. She had failed her master in so many ways, and she could not see why he continued to let her, position with the Cloaks or not. She had allowed herself to feel sorry for a wretched traitor to the church, allowed her fear of a man long gone from her life to cloud her judgment, and allowed her own curiosity (and perhaps, though she dared not admit it, lust for power) ignore her duty to immediately report the existence of forbidden magic to her master.
            Had the years of Cloak training done nothing to steel her resolve? Had Gannon's "guidance" not solidified her loyalty? Was she not truly devout to her gods? She had exaggerated about Gannon wanting to hurry to continue after Mandrake; in truth, their only mission was to bring back Emistil. They had only stayed to investigate the caves further for any threats to the faithful people of the Moonsea. At the same time, might not Emistil be able to divulge this information back in the city? Why must they remain in this place any longer? It was her own doubts, she realized, that fed her desire to leave, as if a change of scenery might somehow return her to her former state of loyalty.
            The sudden outburst by Rhia tore Alethra out of her introspection, and she instinctively grabbed her own knife in reaction, though she kept it hidden beneath the folds of her clothing. Her mouth started to open, but Emistil's cool reaction kept her at bay for the moment, and she waited patiently to see how the situation would play out. Her concentration, though, was now completely focused on the conversation before her.
            "Which priest," Rhia asked, "the Talontar that was here with you and Mandrake?"
            At the sudden flicker of motion from Alethra, Emistil glanced her way, but there was no trace of what the enigmatic elf was thinking on her face. "Yes, that fellow. He seemed quite determined to win me over. I gathered it had something to do with improving his own standing."
            Rhia snorted.
            "Something, yes. Bringing you back as a convert _might_ serve to mitigate his sins in having helped Mandrake and your merry little band in the first place, _if_ he can claim to have turned you himself. At least, he certainly hopes that's the case." She shrugged. "Of course, if you care to believe the promises of a man who is willing to sell you into slavery in order to save his own skin, that's your own affair."
            Rhia realized her left hand was hurting, and was somewhat surprised when she had difficulty in releasing her sword - almost as if her hand didn't want to obey her. She didn't let her surprise show, but managed to remover her hand, turning away from Emistil and walking around the bed again as she did.
            "Alright, Elf," she said, turning again to face him, "Why did Mandrake make this place his base of operations? What was he looking for, and why, exactly?"
            Emistil spread his hands wide. "For all my talents, I was never Mandrake's confidante; it's Malvira who was his second and his lover. All I know is that he was looking for items of power, something to aid his bid for power in the Melvaunt region."
            Alethra's ears twitched imperceptibly, or, at least, no more so than Emistil's change in tone. She knew that the human didn't catch it, although Rhia's distrust for Emistil would drive her to question the statement regardless. Still, the curiosity was enough to bring Alethra to speak.
            "There is something more to vhat you say," she lilted softly, though her sudden participation in the conversation certainly drew attention to her. "You vould be vise to remember that you are in the presence of the Raven, the Eyes of Shar, finder of lost things, seeker into men's souls." Her voice remained constant, her eyes fixed on the other elf's without flinching. She did not often bring up her reputation, or brag of her abilities, but, as they had always reminded her, she must use every advantage when facing her adversaries.
            Emistil's murky brown eyes met hers, and he kept the gaze for several seconds before nodding minutely. "Very well; it is no certain thing, but I suspect Mandrake may have had contact with infernal powers to find this place. I'm reluctant to speculate, for obvious reasons, but there were hints about him that lead me to suspect supernatural intervention in his plans."
            Rhia snorted, and her hand went - seemingly unnoticed by the maga - to her sword hilt again. "In this land, elf, _you're_ considered a demon. Between you and the dog-thing we killed in the other room, I think it's safe to say the Church already has him pegged as someone with demonic consorts. Unless you're referring to _actual_ demonic help, this is nothing new." Her voice picked up a sharp edge again, and her left hand stopped stroking the sword pommel at her side, instead clenching the hilt. "And don't think I didn't notice that Alethra had to call you out to get the full story from you. If you want to live, that won't happen again."
            Emistil bowed. "If you want speculation, I can supply that in plenty. As for Mandrake's demon, I'm sure there are many kinds in local parlance, but I only call one _demon."_
            "Speculation that is relevant and topical, based upon observation, yes. Think about it this way, Emistil; you give me everything I want, before I ask for it, and you might just get out of this alive." Rhia smiled, but there was no warmth in it.
            "As for demons, do you have any idea as to which one, or which kind, at least?"
            "There was never any direct evidence of his dealings, if that is what you wish to hear. Were I to _speculate,_ however, I imagine it couldn't be a very powerful one, or he'd have no need of his little army."
            "True enough," Rhia agreed, frowning in thought. "He also probably doesn't have much control over it, or he wouldn't have needed to wait here so long trying to get into the tomb." She looked at Emistil, eyes squinted. "Mandrake has shown no ability to Weave. How would he have managed to summon such a being? Would Malvira be able to do something like that?"
            Emistil raised an eyebrow, his smile taking on a cast of superiority. "Malvira? She is no practitioner of the Art. Nor is Mandrake, it is true. Perhaps the demon sought him out for its own purposes."
            Rhia raised an eyebrow. "If that's the case, he's in danger from more than just us." She frowned, "but he's likely to be used for more than just banditry - even large-scale banditry - before the demon devours him."
            "Still," she changed subjects, "Malvira showed use of the Art. Her invisibility, using the wand, if she is not a Weaver, how does she do these things?"
            Emistil shrugged. "Mandrake is known to at least a few of the denizens of this wilderness. On occasion they have traded with him. Some magics take no particular talent to use."
            "You're saying she uses devices then? Or inborn talent of some kind?" Rhia bit her lip in thought for a moment.
            "The wilderness folk who deal with Mandrake, do they have...strange abilities? The ability to ignore wounds, for example?"
            "Some are odd and others monstrous, but I do not know what abilities they possess. They were not used against us, and we did not assault them."
            "Do you think these denizens will be rallied to attack us directly? Now that Mandrake has lost his base of operations, he might get desperate. Do you think it likely he'd be able to arrange attacks upon us through these groups?"
            Outside, Rhia could hear the clanking of metal. Either Gannon was approaching, or his patience was wearing thin, and he'd begun pacing. Either way, she knew this interview was going to have to come to a conclusion soon.
            "I think it likely that Mandrake will muster whatever power remains to him; whether that includes the forest dwellers depends on what he might offer them. You've taken most of what he had, but he is a resourceful man. On the other hand, they are hardly his minions. He may have too little to hold their interest. However, I doubt his first act was to wander the wilderness in search of them. If you catch him quickly, he may not have the chance to make any offers."
            Rhia nodded. "Yes," she said, "I'd reached that very conclusion my self. Is there any possible advantage remaining here for us to uncover? Other than your own, immeasurable talents, of course."
            He laughed, the sound loud in the little cave. "My talents are indeed the greatest advantage to be had here... but I presume you've thoroughly looted the tomb while I was away. Tell me, what did you find?"
            Rhia looked like she'd been poleaxed. She opened her mouth to say...something...anything, really, but nothing came out.
            "Vhat do you think ve are, idiots, like the dog, Mandrake?"
            Gannon's voice rumbled as he stepped past the curtain and into the room.
            "Is there something you expect that ve have found? Something you know remains, that vould be of use to us?"
            Emistil shook his head, but after a glance at Gannon his sharp eyes stayed on Rhia. "What I saw of the inner tomb looked to be ruined, much as the book I had."
            Rhia shut her mouth. Her face away from Gannon's, she let a look of hot anger cross her features, before she very carefully schooled them back to blank obedience. She gave Emistil an inscrutible look, then turned to face Gannon.
            The Baneite chuckled. "Vhat, maga, you thought I vould be stupid enough to send the sellspears to loot the tomb vhile ve vere gone?" He turned to Emistil, "Vhat of the other areas of this place? You have most obviously been here before, demon."
            Taking his cue from Rhia, Emistil's voice was carefully neutral as he replied. "I wouldn't take the dark tunnel down, were I you. It could prove hazardous. Short of that, you no doubt know as much of this place now as I."
            "Everything in this cursed place, it has proven to be 'hazardous,' demon," Gannon snorted. "The Hammer of Bane, he has proven moreso to those that vould oppose His vill." Gannon wasn't boasting, Rhia could see that. The Banite simply had the conviction of his faith. To him, the fact that he'd come so close to death was unimportant, because his god had seen to it that Gannon lived, and his foes had not. It was that simple.
            The maga closed her eyes and took deep, deliberate breaths.
            "And so," Gannon continued in his deep, confident voice, "Vhat is it that makes this tunnel so 'hazardous?"
            Emistil smiled, scratching idly at his dirty clothes. "One of the denizens I spoke of to, ah, your maga," he said, eyeing Rhia, "seems to reside at the bottom now and then. Difficult to deal with, I believe it was."
            "Difficult for bandits," Gannon rumbled.
            Rhia cut him off, gently. "What kind of 'denizen,' elf? And what do you mean, 'now and then?' Where does it go?"
            The elf raised his eyebrows. "I'm sure I don't know the comings and goings of every creature in this forest, woman. For all I know it goes south to visit relatives in warmer climes. Once I learned of its presence I saw no need to tempt fate by taking a closer view of it. I have never gone down the tunnel myself."
            Rhia gave Emistil a cold smile. "Well, perhaps you saw no need in the past, but _I_ see one now. I think you and I are going to take a little walk."
            Gannon raised an eyebrow, but said nothing immediately. It was clear to him that Rhia hadn't been nearly as... lenient with the forest demon in this conversation as she had in the earlier one. Still, here she was, again suggesting that the demon assist them in a dangerous exploration.
            "Vait," the atjets rumbled, "Vhat is there to be gained by such an exploration? As you have said, maga, the demon, it is possibly of use to us. To force it into... 'formidable' circumstances, unarmed - and I vill not give it arms - vould be to vaste it, yes?"
            The big Banite shook his head. "No. Ve vill leave it here for now, vith sell-spears to vatch it, and ve vill spend some time..." He gave the demon an appraising stare, then obviously changed his mind. "doing things I vill not speak of in front of it. Alethra, come."
            Gannon turned and swept from the room, obviously expecting Alethra to follow. It was implied that Rhia should as well, of course, but he hadn't said so. He wanted to see what she would choose to do.
            Alethra nodded obediently, but she took one last look at Emistil before she followed. Her gaze seemed to be searching for something, but for what, perhaps she did not even know.
            After leaving the room, she approached Gannon, being careful not to outpace him. "Master," she whispered. "I am vorried if ve leave him in the care of the sellspears, he vill regain his strength and overpower them. I agree vith your visdom as always, but perhaps some additional precaution should be taken?"
            Gannon shook his head. "Ve do not leave it for more than a few hours, and ve vill be only in the tomb. If it tries to escape, ve vill kill it."
            The big Baneite made his way to a couple of the sellspears that weren't currently too busy (no one was too busy to assist when a Chosen demanded it), and told them to guard the room Emistil was being kept in. "If it tries to leave the room, varn it one time. If it tries to leave again, kill it."
            Uneasy at being ordered back into the tunnels where a priest had died of a curse, the sellspears looked even less enthused at the idea of guarding a demon mag. Gannon had the feeling that they would have refused had it been anyone else who ordered it. Nevertheless, they did as they were told, and were unlikely to fall asleep at their post, by their nervous looks.

            Rhia looked at Emistil for a beat after Gannon had left.
            "He will kill us both, without thought, pity or mercy, if he thinks we've betrayed him, or that we're going to betray him. Believe what you like, but I _am_ helping you. If I hadn't come up to help capture you, he'd have killed you. He trusts me - barely - to keep you in line, and that's the only thing keeping you alive. If you want that to continue, I suggest you shut up about me 'living up to my oath' to help free you. Especially when he can hear it." She turned to leave, then turned back. "Oh, and anything Alethra hears, Gannon will know about." She swept from the room without waiting for an answer, the curtain falling into place behind her.

            "Ah, Maga," Gannon rumbled as Rhia caught up to them, "These," he indicated the sellspears, "vill guard the demon, Emistil. If he attempts to leave the room, they vill kill him. Ve are going to explore the tomb, to see vhat is useful. You vill tell the demon of his restrictions, but not vhat ve are doing. Then join us at the tomb." Without waiting for an answer, Gannon led the way to the tomb.
            Rhia did as she was bid, informing Emistil he wasn't to try to leave his current location, on pain of death, then made her way to the tomb again.
            The smaller tomb-within-tomb off the pool room was as they had left it - a total wreck. Beyond the strange, attenuated remains of the skeletons they had brought down, what looked to be a fortune's worth of glass lay shattered on the floor and massive block of a table along with scraps of parchment, long-dried ink, scorch marks and corroded flasks. The empty sarcophagi, too short for the guardians to have lain outstretched in, yielded nothing. Sifting through the wreckage, Gannon, Thaurlann, Anya, Rhia and Alethra were unable to find anything of value, though Alethra saw some similarities between what the room had once held and her former master's laboratory.

            Aksana ignored Logna's return continuing to concentrate on finding the trap she was sure was there. Pavel's cry was the last straw, her concentration was ruined. With an annoyed sigh she turned to glare at the noisy sellsword. Whatever angry words she might have said died in her throat as she watched his mad dance.
            Her breath caught in a small gasp and her eyes grew wide. Even before the tiny voice pipped up she was frozen in place. Her fear of the forest, forgotten earlier, rushed back tenfold. All the demons and spirits used to terrify her as a child had crawled out of these cursed trees. At that moment she wished nothing more than to be back in the city where she had grown up.
            The bravery that had sent her into the forest with the sellspears and the outlander evaporated like it had never been. As she retreated back inside herself her outward manner reverted back to the shy girl that had never step foot outside the city. She tried to speak but her first attempt came out as a mere squeak.
            Before she could get enough moisture in her mouth to try again Spielos moved and spoke up. He took only a single step but somehow it helped to reassure her and she was able to hold her ground while he negotiated with the forest spirits.
            Spielos quickly took stock of the situation. Without thinking, he took a step towards Aksana. His eyes frowned, but he was smiling and his tone was light and pleasant as he spoke. "You contradict yourselves, good forest people. You say that you have the power to kill all of us, and yet you say you need our help. If you have the power to kill us, why would you need our help? I am from Westgate; you can not bullshit a bullshitter. Something is amiss here."
            "So tell me. With what could an impressive force such as yours need our help?"
            There was a tiny snort, and one of the little people flew to a branch near Spielos' head, making Logna duck away with a startled oath. The tiny woman made a disdainful gesture. "It takes no great power to kill. An unlucky fall, it can kill you. Ve could kill you like breathing. Vhat ve need is your muscles, and your vords." She cocked her head, eyeing Spielos. "Now ve vill lead you. Do not resist!" Pairs of the little people buzzed onto the three's shoulders with long strips of cloth, making to blindfold them.
            Aksana lost ground again when the spirits flew closer to them. She backed up nearly running into Spielos. When they landed on her shoulder and made to blindfold her she flinched away involuntarily. The touch of the tiny people made chills run down her spine. As the blindfold closed on her eyes she flung her hand out and clutched Spielos' arm. Her breath came in short panting gasps and she clung to the bard like he was the last sane thing in her world.
            Despite the situation, Spielos started laughing. "No," he replied. "No, you shall not bindfold me! I am Spielos, the White Terror, bard of Westgate, twice a slave, three times dead, and now alive and free!" I shall never see my home again. Your threats do not scare me." Somehow, his drum had left his hip and appeared in his hand while he spoke, and he drummed a little stacatto to emphasize his point. "We will parley like civilized people, or there is no deal. I am inclined to help you, but I will not make a deal without knowing what we are dealing for. You know who I am, and I am a man of honor, Tymora burn me if I speak a lie. To whom do I speak?"
            The branches rustled with the movement of tiny wings, and Logna hissed at him, "Are you mad?" Mad Pavel rolled his eyes fearfully before they tied the blindfold about his head. But the little people didn't attack. Instead the one who had spoken put her hands on her hips and frowned at Spielos.
            "A name for a name, is it? Very vell. You speak to Krii-kee of the Grika-aa, Man of Honor. For one so honorable, you risk your friend's life easily." Mad Pavel made a thin, hopeless sound deep in his throat. Logna slowly reached out to touch Aksana as the two of them were blindfolded as well.
            Krii-kee considered Spielos for a long moment, then shook her head. "I vill tell you this. Our home is in danger thanks to you big folk, and it vill take you big folk to save it. This you must do. As I said, your reward vill be great." She gestured, and the buzzing of wings rose up on either side of Spielos' head, the blindfold floating before him. "Ve vill not show you the vay to our home, but you may see again vhen you are there. Vonce you have aided us ve vill see you safely back."
            "We will help you, Krii-kee of the Grika-aa." The bard had a hard time making the name sound right; there were too many varying resonances several octaves out of his range. "I have but one request. I understand that you don't want the location of your home known to blundering big folk. Would you grant me the honor of riding in my hand as a gesture of food faith? My companions are terrified, as you can clearly see."
            Spielos pointed at Pavel, and continued, "Look, he has pissed himself. Also, as you yourself said, death is but an unlucky fall away, and we will be walking without our eyes to see." Speilos swallowed and gestured to have his eyes covered while he waited for the answer. With his left hand, he reached for Aksana and grabbed her shoulder, and he held out his right to let the small person land.
            "You are a clever von," Krii-kee said, and laughed. The blindfold was tied securely. A moment later a weight landed on his hand. A cool sliver of metal rested against his thumb. This close, the high-pitched chirr of her voice seemed quite musical. "Start valking. You vill not fall."
            "We will be alright," he said to the others. "Krii-kee, as we walk, perhaps you could tell me the story of you people, and perhaps I could tell you some of ours? Elsewise, I will sing a song to lighten the mood of my fellows."
            Spielos' laugh scared Aksana almost as much as the forest spirits. He was either the bravest man she had ever met or the most foolish, she wasn't really sure. Despite her doubts she continued to hold onto him grateful that he had not shaken her off. She squeezed her eyes shut tight behind the blindfold as tears of fear started to gather. She was embarrassed and rather glad that the two sellspears were likely as blind as she so could not see her. When Logna reached out to her Aksana accepted the touch. Without relinquishing the hold she had on Spielos she used her other hand to grip Logna's. She gave it a squeeze to reassure the woman in a way that she did not feel herself.
            To try and distract herself from her fear Aksana concentrated on what was being said. Her lips twitched with a smile defying her fear as she rolled the bards words about in her head. These were the kind of chaotic imagry that kept drawing her to him. They created many questions that she would like to ask and have answered should they survive their encounter with the forest spirits.
            As he negotiated with the little creatures Aksana suddenly realized, to her vast astonishment, that she thought they would survive. She was still terrified of the spirits but faith that the man next to her would see them through solidified and dampened the fear down to a controllable level. The reassuring squeeze she gave Logna this time actually carried some conviction with it.
            Spielos' touch on her shoulder was unexpected but welcome. She moved closer to him and drew strength from his presence. The fear faded further back as something else just as elemental stirred deep inside her. She listened to the familiar tone of his voice and hoped the little spirit would decline to speak so that she could hear the bard sing instead.
            "Sing or talk as you please," Krii-kee answered. "Have no fear of the forest this night. No volf or boggin vill trouble you now."
            Holding hands in a row, with Mad Pavel at the rear, they followed the whispery buzz of wings. The forest that had seemed so difficult to pass seemed to melt away, and they climbed a rising path without once catching their clothes on a bush or tripping over a root. The Grika-aa directed them by tapping Spielos' head; they didn't speak, seeming content to listen to Spielos' song, or maybe the howling of the wolves. The light faded to darkness, and the path dropped again, leading them down. Before long Krii-kee flitted away, and they were invited to remove their blindfolds.
            They found themselves under the far-reaching branches of a great oak, its trunk covered with huge yellow fungi. The scene was lit by hundreds of little colored lanterns hanging from the branches above. By their light it was obvious that something was wrong with the tree; it had a sickly look, and in places the bark had shelled off, leaving pale gaping wounds. Several of the mushrooms sprouting from it were blackened and sagging, and a few near the bottom were torn apart, the remains shriveled. Mostly, though, it just had a sense of unwholesomeness about it. Still, the Grika-aa buzzed busily around it, hopping from one mushroom to the next in impressive bounds. Smoke drifted from tiny chimneys set in the fungi; the things appeared to be their homes.
            Lying in the dirt and old leaves some distance from the tree was the body of a man. Krii-kee and her band led the humans to it, bouncing along the ground in great leaps rather than flying. The smell was horrible. By the tracks in the groundfall, it had been dragged there recently.
            Aksana was loath to release her hold on Spielos to remove her blindfold, for reasons not solely associated with her remaining fear. The need to see what was around her won out and she finally reached up and took the cloth from her eyes. The multitudes of little forest spirits buzzing about made her nervous. Her eyes were drawn to the huge oak that served as their home. Even afflicted with some sickness she thought it one of the strangest, and woundrous, things she had ever seen.
            She had never heard tell of a person finding the home of a forest spirit and living to tell about it. Looking at the body lying nearby she could see why that might be. She held one hand over her nose in a futile effort to stave off the smell as they were led near the dead man.
            "This von thought to capture us and hold us ransom for our treasure," Krii-kee said with great disgust. "Now he kills us and our home slowly. The Elders say you must take him to his home and have von of your priests lay him to rest. Then you vill be rewarded."
            "A prizrachnji," Mad Pavel said with fear in his voice. "To take it vill be the death of us!"
            Logna elbowed him sharply. All around them the Grika-aa had gathered, looking grim; there had to be a hundred of them. To a one, they were armed with tiny but still sharp-looking weapons.
            "The spirit haunts us, not you," Krii-kee said. She folded her arms, staring up at them. "You must do this quickly, before it claims more of us."
            Aksana looked over at the sellspear understanding dawning in her eyes. When she looked back to the body her eyes were wide with the beginnings of new fear. She crowded close to Spielos, not quite touching him. "A spirit of the dead," she whispered in case he was unfamiliar with the word. "They seek to hold in death what they had in life." A shiver shook her frame as she spoke of the dead. "It is a priest of Myrkul ve vill need to lay this soul to rest." A worried frown creased her brow, "vhere ve vill find such in this vilderness is a great difficulty."
            Krii-kee frowned at her. "I told you, you must take him to his home and see to him there. You must take him vith you back to your lands. Surely you can find your priest there."
            Spielos looked at the others, frowning. "This word you say, I do not know it," he admitted. "But I gather from what is being said we need to bring this body to a priest and them look to it."
            He turned to Aksana. "Would not Gannon or Krel do for this?"
            He turned to Krii-kee. "The priest, Gannon, he wishes us to hunt bandits. He will not be swayed from this task, no matter what we say. He is stubborn, and your plight would mean nothing to him. He is also practical; if there was some way you could help him or make him see that it is better to help you than not, we can fix this problem for you. The best we can do now is to take the body as far away as we can. I do not know how long the hunt will take."
            "Unless..." He looked at the body and back to the small winged creature. "Do we have to take the whole body back? Would only a piece do? We could move the body away, so its rot does not sicken your tree, and perhaps carry his head with us on our task."
            Krii-kee considered the body. Its head was as tall as she was. "If it is your custom only to deal vith the head, then take it. If you must have it all, then take it all. The tree, it is not the rot of the body that sickens it. Ve had moved it avay before."
            Aksana swallowed hard at the thought of decapitating the body. "We can take the body vith us back to the cave and consult the atjets, yes, but I think it is a priest of Myrkul ve vill need for the final rest." She glanced at the two sellswords then back to the intimidating little spirit and Spielos. "A travois ve should fashion to carry the," she gulped again, "remains." She gathered her courage to address the spirit, "vonce ve have done that you must show us back to our camp."
            The bard looked around and licked his lips. "We will stay here, or you will see us back to our camp, yes?"
            "Ve vill take you back to your camp. Remember, if this task is not done qvickly, there vill be none left to reward you... or perhaps, none left to reward." She glanced at Mad Pavel, who swallowed audibly. Neither he nor Logna looked especially thrilled with their choices.
            With Aksana's help, the two sellspears quickly constructed a travois from branches the Grika-aa brought to them. Then, hefting the corpse, the four were blindfolded again and led away by Krii-kee and her band. As before, the journey went easily, despite their added burden. Wolves howled now and again both near and far, but if any approached them they never knew it. At last Krii-kee said, "The gratitude of the Grika-aa is not a poor thing to have. Fare vell, honorable ones."
            When the four pulled away their blindfolds, they found that the little people had led them back to the shore of the lake, within sight of the caves - just as well, as none of them had light with them, and it was now full dark. Of the Grika-aa there was no sign.
            Aksana shivered as she removed the blindfold, and it wasn't just from the chill in the night air. What they had seen and done this evening made her flesh crawl. She tried not to look at the body they carried but thinking about it made her eyes drift in that direction. She swallowed and snapped her eyes back to the front. She concentrated on placing her feet in the dark so as not to stumble.
            "Should ve leave it… him outside," she wondered aloud? She did not relish the thought of bringing the unholy thing in to where they were going to be sleeping but she also did not care for the thought of what might happen if scavangers got to the body.
            "If we had a pot big enough, I would say we should boil the flesh from the bones." Spielos paused for a moment. "We still could do that, if we dug a hole, filled it with water and used hot stones to boil it." He looked around at the faces of the others, wondering what the would think of his outlander notions of expediency. Surprisingly, both Logna and Mad Pavel nodded, making no comment on the grisly idea.
            Aksana turned to stare at Spielos with her mouth hanging open. "A, a joke you are making, yes," she asked hesitantly? She snapped her mouth closed not sure she wanted to know the answer to that question. "Perhaps outside is best. You two," she indicated the two sellspears hoping to distract them before the odd words sunk in to deeply, "go and get the Atjets. The outlander and I vill vatch the body." Mad Pavel and Logna glanced at each other, then left without a word, though Mad Pavel did shoot Spielos a dark look on the way.
            Aksana looked out into the darkness to keep from looking at the body but did not find that any more comforting. Instead she focused on Spielos as the closest thing that did not make her skin try to crawl off of her body. "Is it customary vhere you come from to," she had to swallow before she could force the next words out, "to boil the body?" She didn't really want to know but she needed to fill the silence that seemed to press in around them.
            "Uhhh..." Spielos looked around again. "No, but it would work. It would be a lot less messy, too."
            "Forget I said anything," he blurted out after an uncomfortable moment or two had passed. Then, he got an evil grin on his face. "I am famished. I bet there is some good stew cooking inside." He gave Aksana a friendly push towards the cave. "Come on," he taunted, "you can try it first and tell me how it tastes."
            Aksana wrinkled her nose. "Stew vould not be my first choice of food just now." She felt a bit queasy just thinking about boiling meat. "And ve can not leave him vith no guard." She waved vaguely at the body. "Vhat if there are volves about?" She wrapped her arms about herself and shivered. "I have had enough of this vilderness. I should never have left the city." She shut her mouth realizing that being tired and feeling sorry for herself was making her more talkative than usual.
            "We keep at least one guard posted all the time," Spielos noted. "It would be just a small thing to have them watch the body as well, and maybe one of the Ajets can do something with the body."
            He gave Aksana a wink. "Besides, you did leave the city, and now you are stuck out here with us until we catch the bandits. It is not all bad, is it?"
            Aksana did want to go inside where she felt at least a little bit safe and the bard's cajoling was starting to sway her. She flashed him a quick smile, "Not all bad, no." She blushed furiously and looked away. "You do not fear the wrath of the forest spirits should something happen to the body," she asked quickly trying to change the subject.
            "I do not know," he replied, looking a bit puzzled. "I am not afraid to die, but I am having a lot of fun. I suppose it would be better to make allies out of the forest folk. However, I am more comfortable with the body closer to the outside. Perhaps under a few rocks or something for the night."
            "Boiling it would make it simple. We would not have to worry about the stink drawing in creatures. Of course, the boiling might also ruin it.
            He sighed and shook his head. "This is beyond me. At best I could make a guess as to how much we need for them to do whatever it is they need to do, but I could just as easily be wrong. We really should ask the Atjets what to do."
            Aksana sighed inwardly relieved that her tactic to change the subject had worked. She listened to his words attentively. A small smile touched her lips when he said that he was having fun. She wasn't sure this was what qualified as fun in her book but was somehow pleased that he seemed to think that it was. She nodded her head vigorously. "Yes, this is the realm of the Atjets. Let us do as you suggest and ask the guard to vatch over it. As long as ve do not ask them to come near the body it should be fine." She had the sudden impulse to take his hand and pull him towards the guard but she resisted the urge. Instead she took a step backwards and beckoned him to follow.
            Spielos shook his head and followed. "This will not end well, you know. Once we involve the Atjets, everything is going to get complicated." They stopped a short distance away from guard on duty, who was bantering with the men who had come back from the forest.
            Spielos impressed on them how important it was to make sure nothing came of the body. He did this mostly invoking images of very irritated _magical grasshopper people_ who, if given half the chance, could even slip under a locked doors to cause ill to those they were angry at to bring the point home. Yes, there were thousands of them, and they could fly. To sweeten the pot, he also put in a rider about how irritated he, himself, would be if anything happened and how he would compose songs of mockery to anyone guilty of letting the body come to harm and spread them far and wide across the Moonsea.
            Soon, he was reasonably satisfied that his orders would be carried out, but still promised to check in from time to time. As they walked towards the cave, he asked Aksana, "So, would you like to share a cup or two of wine after we talk to the Atjets? I am quite sure we are going to want some refreshment after we are done."
            Aksana stood next to Spielos as he spoke to the sellspears. She wasn't sure if she should be afraid because she believed the forest spirits really would come after them or laugh because she knew he was embellishing the tale slightly for his audience. In the end she just bit her tongue, let her hair fall forward and did her best to keep a blank face.
            She breathed a sigh of relief as the walked away. She shot him a wry smile, "yes, the Atjets, he is likely to make us miserable for our little adventure." She nodded her head as if making some internal decision. "I think that I vould like that, to share a cup of vine vith you vhen ve are done." She didn't look at him, afraid that if she did so she would lose her nerve.
            Aksana moved ahead into the cave, away from the dark and the body they had left outside. She hoped the atjets would know what to do about it; she really didn't want the wrath of the forest spirits to fall on her head. She was disappointed and relieved at the same time to see that Krel and not Gannon was the only one besides the blond outlander in evidence near the fire, besides Logna and Mad Pavel.
            She fell to her knees near the priest ignoring Thaurlann completely. "Atjets, ve have encountered a problem." She swallowed, back in the relative security of their camp she began to question the wisdom of bringing the haunted body back with them. "Ve found a prizrachnji who plagued the spirits of the forest. The spirits, they threatened us should ve not help them." She rushed on afraid that her nerve would fail her. "Ve hoped that you vith your visdom could help us." She looked at the ground afraid to look into the priest's face.
            Atjets Krel knelt before her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "These two, they have told me this same thing. I am no Myrkulite, child, but let us see the body and think on vhat to do." Turning to Thaurlann, he said, "Kindly tell the Varden and Atjets Gannon that they have returned, and vhat has been said here. I vill be outside."

            Outside, Krel covered his mouth and nose with a sleeve as he regarded their stinking burden. He held a torch above the body, but didn't get too close. "The gypsy's suggestion is a good von, I think. Let the flesh be boiled from it, that ve may carry it vith us... unless the Atjets Gannon, he determines othervise." He glanced at Aksana. "Unless you vish to examine the body first? Vhat things he has, he does not need them now."
            For his part, Spielos had let Aksana broach the subject of the body to the priests. Finding Krel first was a welcome surprise. "Hah, I knew that was a good idea," Spielos said softly as he followed the Ajets. "I would wager a silver Gannon tells us to leave it here. His ass is not the one on the line, after all."
            He whistled through his fingers at a group of idling sellspears. "There are shovels just inside the cave, bring them here, with extras for us. We must dig a pit, and quickly."
            The sellspears brought the shovels readily enough, but nothing could convince them to dig. "Ve have done enough digging in the dirt. Ve are not prospectors," one of them summed up for the others, to grunts of agreement. Instead they watched as Logna, Aksana, Spielos and Mad Pavel dug the pit by torchlight, sweating in the cool night air. The work went quickly enough, and soon they had a pit to fit the body they had dragged back with them.
            Spielos was frustrated by the sellswords' lack of co-operation, but he wasn't really surprised. Instead he made himself busy building a fairly large fire near the pit. He then gathered some good sized stones and set them nearby.
            "This is not going to be fun," he told nobody in particular.
            Aksana made a disgusted face but she saw the wisdom in Krel's words; besides they could not complete their grizzly job without removing his possessions anyway. As Spielos tried to coax the sellspears into helping them she gingerly searched the dead man's body. She could taste the bile rising to the top of her throat and had to swallow heavily several times to keep the contents of her stomach down. She didn't go so far as to remove the man's shirt and pants but she set everything else aside in a pile.
            Her hands felt dirty when she was done. No matter how many times she wiped them on her pants she could not get rid of the cold, clamy feel of the dead. As they dug the pit sweat and dirt mixed in until she thought she would never feel clean again.
            Anya stood waiting with Krel, apart from the circle of sellspears watching the work. "Vhat is this I hear of a prizrachnji? Vhat madness took you out into the voods alone?" Krel touched her arm, and she sighed and relented. "Vell, it is done now. The Atjets tells me he or Atjets Gannon can banish the spirit if it comes to haunt us; ve must take care it does not catch anyvon far from them." She shook her head. "Come in vhen it is done. Ve must speak." She left amid the murmurings of the sellspears, none of whom dared to approach the body.
            When Anya scolded them Aksana concentrated on digging, not wanting to look the ranger in the face. She did not want to talk to anyone right then. All she really wanted to do was try and wash the grime off and then drink herself to forgetfulness.
            Spielos was also silent as they worked, falling almost into a trance as the shovels cut into the earth. His thoughts drifted here and there, but mostly centered on exactly what he was doing digging a pit to boil a body hundreds of miles from home.
            In what felt like minutes in his fugue state, they were done. Without any ceremony, he kicked the body into the pit, then turned and looked at the stones he had set near the fire. "The stones are already smoking," he observed. "It will not take long to boil the rot off of the bones."
            He smiled and gave a wry laugh. "Then, we can eat stew of a different sort, I hope. It is a good thing the bandits we ejected from the caves had the sense to stockpile good wine."
            Aksana stood at the edge of the pit watching the bard work. Her face turned just a bit greener when he kicked the body in. She looked up at him, "I am not sure I can eat anything right now." She tried a smile and almost succeeded in pulling it off, "but the vine, it vould be good." She found herself wiping her hands again and frowned. The smell was beginning to make her nauseous again. "Do ve have to stand here and vatch it the whole time?" The look she gave Spielos as she asked clearly said that she didn't want to but that she would if necessary.
            Spielos regarded her curiously. "You have never found yourself without a pot, have you?"
            Aksana shook her head. "Never," she confessed. She started to say more but realized that she was supposed to be a seasoned scout, not a city girl out of her element.
            "In order to boil the water, we have to keep adding hot rocks and taking out the cool ones. It is going to be a disgusting, smelly job. _You_ do not have to stay, but someone does. Since I got us into this trouble, I was planning on doing it alone."
            "Not all alone, storyteller. Ve vill help." Logna elbowed Mad Pavel, who grunted in resignation. She tucked a strand of hair back with a grimy hand. "The forest spirit, it gave the job to us. I do not vant to be cursed for doing nothing."
            Aksana sighed. "I vould not leave you alone any more than they vould." She nodded at the two sellspears. "If an outlander, he can do this, then I can as vell." She managed a small smile at her jab but she wasn't convinced even though she tried to sound like she was.
            The white haired bard nodded. "It is agreed then. We will all do our part. This job, it is not pleasant, but at least we are not the ones in the pit."
            They agreed to do the job in shifts, leaving the others free to rest in the interim. The rest of the sellspears wandered off to their own pursuits, though they still wouldn't enter the deeper tunnels. From the sound of them, Spielos wasn't the only one to have thought of the wine.
            "Come inside," Atjets Krel invited as Logna began the first shift. "Eat, drink. The others, they vait."
            Spielos poked a stone into the shallow pool, where it hissed and sputtered for a second. He turned to Logna and said, "We will be back when we have eaten. Pavel, please stay with her. It will not be long. I will have someone bring you both some wine." Then he turned and went into the cave.
            Aksana took one last look at the pit with its gruesome occupant before turning to follow Spielos and Krel into the cave. Once inside she felt slightly better, if not cleaner. She had not eaten in hours but the thought of food did not really appeal to her.

            Inside the cave, the others had gathered around the great firepit, discussing their failure to find anything of value within the ruined laboratory. As promised, there was food and wine, and bowls and cups were procured for Spielos and Aksana. There was no sign of Emistil, but they were told he was being kept in Mandrake's comfortable little cave.
            "That ve found nothing, it does not mean there is nothing to find," Atjets Krel said, resuming his argument.
            "It is time ve vere gone from this place," Anya said, seated between Rhia and Alethra. "Mandrake, he gets avay, farther each day!"
            Thaurlann, for his part, verbally agreed with Anya, ignoring a part of him that still wondered what other threats to Bane's Chosen people might lie further in the caves. Also, he had yet to discover the cause of Parjev's death, though he didn't mention this to the others. He wondered whether one of the vengeful sellspears might have taken out their frustration on him, but the body had no wounds, and none of the hired swords would dare strike an atjets, suspected traitor or not. He intended to at least broach the subject with Gannon before leaving.
            Alethra stayed close to her master, as usual, remaining tight lipped about the laboratory – perhaps even more so than usual, answering questions in monosyllables. She kept her pet raven's attention fixed on Emistil's temporary prison, lest the rogue elf try anything while their attention was diverted. Her minimal requirement for sustenance, combined with her malaise, led her to avoid the food altogether.
            Aksana quickly downed a cup of wine as soon as it was handed to her. She hoped that it would soften the edges of her memories of the day's experiences. When she had been briefed on this job nothing like what had transpired in the last day had been mentioned; after all who could have even imagined such things happening to anyone, let alone her. It was near overwhelming to the city-born scout. She picked at the food given her and listened absently to Krel and Anya. It mattered little to her at that moment whether they stayed or went. The silence of the others weighed heavily on her and in a rare moment of initiative she turned to the bard next to her. "Perhaps there is something you could play, to lighten the mood, vhen you are done eating," she suggested in a soft voice. And before we have to return to the pit, she added silently to herself.
            The gypsy smiled. "Of course," he replied. He settled his drum on his lap and tapped out a soft, soothing rhythm. After a few moments he began to chant as well; soft, nonsense sounds that wove a melody to the rhythm that recalled waves softly breaking on a beach. He played and listened to the others, content to listen for a time.
            Rhia, her forehead previously creased in a frown as she argued with the others, heard Spielos' melody, and the similarity to the waves of her home island was not lost on her. She gave the bard a soft smile, and her face eased.
            "Atjets Krel is correct," she repeated her position, though less stridently than before, "and Emistil seems to think there should be _something_ to find. Mandrake wouldn't have kept his men here for so long if he wasn't sure there was something useful to be gained by it. Still," she sighed, "Anya is correct as well. I don't like the idea of leaving something potentially valuable - and dangerous - behind to be found by others, but..." Rhia shrugged, indicating her surrender.
            "If Mandrake thought he _needed_ whatever was in here to succeed in his plan, and we've driven him off without it, we can probably defeat him without having it in our possession, as long as we know _he_ doesn't have it. Perhaps we should go after him in the morning then."
            Gannon, who had been relatively silent, shook his head and spoke. "The bandit Mandrake, he is but a minor annoyance to the Church. If the Lord Tjesnitjérs, he cannot control banditry in his own lands, perhaps they should not _be_ his lands. If not, the Church vill replace him, and the new lord vill see justice done. The evil kept vithin this tomb, however, it is of direct interest to the Church, and must be secured. My mission, it vas to collect this rogue demon mag, Emistil. Mandrake, he vould have been a nice bonus, but he is not important." The Baneite shrugged, though his gesture was very different from Rhia's.
            "Ve vill search the tomb for another day. The demon mag, it vill help us. If ve cannot find vhat ve search for, ve vill seal the cave, and return to the Church vith the demon. Varden," he turned to Anya, "If, vhen ve are done here, you vish to return to your duty of hunting the bandit, you may do so, after you have led us from here to the roads again."
            This time, Gannon didn't bother to pretend Anya was still in charge. His pronouncement carried the weight of the Church, and as Lord Tjesnitjérs held his title at the sufference of the Church, his orders were secondary to the decisions of the Church's representative. Frankly, Gannon was tired of this mess of a misson. He had a duty to fulfill, and he intended to do so, but then, he was going to go home, embrace his wife, play with his children, and get some rest. Then he would do as his God demanded, again. For now, he had wasted enough time and resources running in circles. He had Emistil. By tomorrow, he would either have the treasure this cave held, or he would deny that treasure to anyone else, and take the demon to the Church's embrace.
            Anya frowned at the commandeering Banite, but she made no argument, knowing the continued obedience of the sellspears was now hinged on the presence and protection of the Church more than the promise of silver. "Von more day, then. Get your rest now, for then ve head back into the open vilderness."

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The Second Cycle