…continues from Book #01, Chapter #09, Scene #01

Synopsis

The 25th Day of Ches in the Year of the Sudden Journey

With the recovery of some of Altair’s Talons and requests from the Blackengorge Town Council, the party are ready to set of for the east and to see the Nentir Vale for themselves.

With an ox-led wagon laden with goods and a large travelling party, they set off at sunrise with the well wishes of the townsfolk ringing in their ears.

Cast List

Scene Length

This scene starts on Monday 2nd April 2012 and is expected to be completed by the end of Friday 11th May 2012.

Players are expected to be able to post at least once a day.

The group rose early, greeting each other over a hearty breakfast, excitement tempered by the knowledge of a long and arduous road ahead. Khalin continued to make plans with Rhasgar and left the inn first to check on the wagon.

The dwarf was not disappointed with the vehicle as he inspected it on the guards’ drill field. The Drax craftsmen of Blackengorge had worked wonders in the time that they had - the wagon looked sturdy and defensible and strong enough to carry any load. It had already been laden with a number of goods as well as enough tents for all of the travellers and a tenday worth of food for them all. Khalin had ensured that a small set of tools - a bow saw, small hand axe, and hammer - as well as materials to replace any wear and tear on the wagon, including a spare wheel, had been stowed safely on board.

The wheels had been fitted with an iron rim, presumably crafted by Caldring or her apprentice Kaden Small, to ensure they lasted the journey intact. The yoke and reins for the oxen were supple deer leather. The main carcass of the wagon was built from pine from the trees of Deepdale, cured and hardened by the look of them. The shelf for the drover and some of the catches and clasps around the sides were of a softer wood, from the broadleaf trees towards the sea.

After checking that everything was tied down and secure and space remained on the rear plate for the combined groups’ packs, Khalin stood back and admired the wagon. It was strong, well crafted and the bands of iron would herald its coming. It would lead them into an old, and yet new, world. ’Amud Rur’ he named it in the dwarven tongue - ’Rolling Thunder’.

As the others bade farewell to the comforts of The Bronze Lion Inn and its diminutive host the oxen were brought in from the western pastures led by Robert Lowfield. The farmer, a quiet and unassuming chap with broad shoulders, strong arms and a long bushy grey moustache to match his silver hair, slipped the harnesses around the oxen, continually whispering into their ears.

He looked across at Khalin and the assembling group when he had finished, perhaps the hint of a tear in his eye.

‘They be good beasts, these,’ he started. ‘Look after ’em well. This one ’ere is Gaur,’ Lowfield continued, stroking the nose of the ox on the right side of the cart, ‘and this one is Zebu,’ he finished, turning to the one on the left. ‘I’m sorry to see ’em go, and hope to see ’em again.’ Lowfield cast a steely eye at the group. ‘Unharmed and well kept, of course.’

The group shuffled as one, almost uncomfortably, nodding, before Tymander Small, accompanied by a haughty-looking Tremak, a puffing Barghest and a great deal of townsfolk came upon them.

‘Ah, excellent,’ exclaimed Tymander at the wagon, clapping his hands and whirling about to find Khalin. ‘You have your letters of introduction?‘

The warlord nodded and patted the banded mail of his breast, the letters safely secreted within his jerkin.

‘Our sincerest well wishes go with you all - our hopes and ambitions lie within this venture. And you are all ready?’ the merchant continued, a glint of eagerness in his eyes as he scanned the assembled Talons and the heroes.

‘I think we’re ready as we’re going to be,’ piped up Tradden, a broad smile upon his face. ‘C’mon, let’s get going!’

Khalin nodded, more somberly than the young fighter. ‘Tradden is right. We have a long journey ahead and should not delay. Are we ready?’

The group replied in the affirmative, and Borik began to climb the plate and take the reins from Robert Lowfield. One by one the travellers began to stow their packs safely on the back of the wagon and take up the positions that Khalin and Rhasgar had agreed - the Talons at the rear, the heroes out front for now, until they passed the bend in the road where they had previously left to the north and into the forests near the ruined keep. Lee-da-Gaar would stay close to the wagon and assist Borik in any way he could.

It took a moment for Khalin to realise and then he hissed in frustration. Where was the scribe? Kireth had said Beltak would be coming along but he was nowhere to be seen, and Tremak was all tight-lipped.

Then, from the direction of the temple came the scribe, laden down with a large sack. He huffed and puffed through the throng and cast the sack onto the back of the wagon. Khalin simply raised his eyebrows in question.

‘Blank books and scrolls,’ Beltak stated, as though it were obvious. ‘Oh, and some ink and spare quills.’

Khalin turned with a sigh moving towards the front of the train.

‘And fine sand to dry the ink,’ Beltak continued as the dwarf walked on. ‘And a lanthorn so I can write in the dark evenings,’ the scribe kept talking, jogging up behind the warlord whilst he explained. ‘Oh, and a small travel desk to write on. All necessities for such a voyage you’ll agree.’

‘Indeed,’ replied Khalin blankly as he stationed himself at the front of the group, turning back to face them all.

The warlord was about to embark on precisely what he had dreamt about for years, the shadow of the knowledge of his forebears almost forgotten in his anticipation. The gathered townsfolk seemed to be waiting for him to say something, something profound and reassuring.

‘We depart as ambassadors for The Islands,’ Khalin began, the thought of a speech had been far from his mind. He paused for a moment to gather his wits and his words. There was an imperceptible movement from Kireth’s fingers in the direction of the dwarf and when Khalin continued his voice rang out clear and loud over the whole town. ‘Let us bring hope to those who thought their brothers were lost. Let us show the best of those who fled over sea. And let us keep our weapons at the ready for any, man, goblin or beast, who would try stop us bringing our brothers safely home.’

There was a rousing cheer from the crowd and the travellers, bringing a broad smile to the dwarf’s bearded face.

‘And a flagon of ale to toast our new friends and a prayer to Moradin, Pelor and Bahamut for a fair journey!’ he finished and thrust Aecris and his shield to the sky in salute before turning about and striding towards the gate.

‘Wagon’s roll!’ he shouted, with some jest in his heart.

With Khalin’s words ringing in their ears the group set slowly off through the eastern gate, the cheers and well-wishes of the townsfolk growing in volume. The guards on the gate lifted their spears in salute as they passed under the archway and out onto the grasslands to the east, heading for the sparse cobbles of the Old Road.

The pathway was quiet in the morning sun, the small creatures hiding away from the cacophony of the departure. Only a solitary raven, circling high in the clear blue sky above, followed their egress with the townsfolk halting just beyond the eastern gate to wave and continue their cheers.

‘Now we face the world alone,’ mumbled Khalin to himself. ‘Whatever that may bring.’

Gaur and Zebu were formidable animals and pulled the wagon along at a good pace, despite the rough and uneven ground. Borik controlled the wagon well, not letting the animals pull too hard or exert themselves too much, settling into an easy walking pace that suited all of the travellers.

Close to Blackengorge spirits were high and voices were often raised in some jest or exclamation. However, as the band moved further out into the eastern wilderness they became more subdued and wary.

The grassland soon gave way to the scrub land they had been accustomed to on their travels and they soon found the Old Road becoming less covered with weeds and grass and more convenient for the wagon. It trundled along with a clatter as the iron-shod wheels clashed against the old uneven cobbles and Zero winced at the noise they were making, but there was no other simple way.

Soon, though, they came within sight of the ruins of the Gorge Wall Gate and Khalin swiftly sent Zero and Rangrim out to scout ahead. It was not long before they returned and reported that the road and the area appeared to be clear of any creatures and the wagon train resumed its course.

The warlord called a halt to the march at the gate, suggesting they take a rest for some moments. They’d been on the march for only a little over an hour, but there was no sense in rushing too fast or exerting themselves too much, particularly when they would be travelling in unfamiliar territory very soon.

The carcass of the silk wyrm that the heroes had defeated had now been picked clean, with only the bones of the spine and skull remaining. The wolves had also been scavenged and lay about in the still air with flies buzzing around. Borik kept the wagon on the Old Road, to the westward side of the gate arch, and held out a couple of handfuls of grain from the wagon for the oxen. The rest took the opportunity to grab a piece of fruit and drink some water from their skins.

Zero leapt up onto the stonework as he had done before, climbing up to the highest point of the ruin and looking out to the east, scattering an insistent raven at the top. Before he had seen some mountains through the rain, but today was brighter and fairer weather, and he could see the peaks quite clearly off in the distance.

‘How high are those mountains, uhm, the Cairngorms?’ the rogue asked Sorrow as she passed beneath his spot.

‘You can see their peaks all the way from Hammerfast, which is some forty leagues away and high up itself, but only their tops, and only when the air is still and clear,’ the bard replied.

Zero hopped down gracefully and brushed off any dust from his embroidered tunic. He thought for a moment, frowning. ‘Then we are perhaps a little closer than that, thankfully, maybe two dozen or so leagues away as the crow flies.’

Khalin grumbled into his beard. ‘If the road stays fairly straight and even we can manage eight leagues or so per day I would think. After we stop tonight we should have another three or four days of travel to the foothills. Would that make sense, Rhasgar?’

The dragonborn thought for a moment, reliving his journey over the Stonemarches on foot and incarcerated in the cages. ‘Yes, that would be about right from what I can remember,’ he sighed, eager to return. ‘Perhaps we should get on with the journey?’

Khalin looked around briefly. Everyone seemed to be ready to leave. ‘Then onwards,’ he called, and marched through the archway along the Old Road. ‘We march until we get to where we left the road before. There was shelter there, and we can get some food and rest.’

Tradden groaned. The path to where Khalin indicated was four leagues away. A good five hours on foot. The warlord drove a hard pace. Still, the young fighter fell into line and the wagon train moved on through the countryside.

Progress continued along the Old Road for quite some time without incident. The weather remained good, clear and still and unseasonally warm Rhasgar had remarked. Some of the smaller scrub land creatures popped their heads up from the ground or from around a thorny bush and then scampered off, but other than these creatures and the occasional flight of birds the travellers appeared alone.

The Old Road progressed steadily eastwards, not quite straight but following some of the contours of the gorge, but gave Khalin more confidence that their journey may not be too long. At periods the cobbles were still tightly packed and although dulled by perhaps centuries of rain and disuse still very serviceable. At other times the cobbles were raised and bumpy, causing the wagon to jolt and creak. Tradden was given the job of spotting the larger of the obstacles and did a good job, enthusiastically pointing them out to Borik as they trundled along as though it were a game with its own rewards.

At other times the Old Road deteriorated into a dirt track, often overgrown completely with weeds and bushes. The larger of these had to be driven around, but Borik handled the oxen well, and Gaur and Zebu continued with the strength and stubbornness the beasts were famed for.

Occasionally, as the road rose up over hillocks, the forest to the north and east, and the cliffs of the gorge could be spotted in the distance, and to the south the haze of the marshes.

The group rested a few times every hour or so in some of the low bluffs, their numbers hopefully hidden from any scouring eyes across the land. Rations were broken out and some of the water and wines to keep up the morale. There was always a groan when the call came to move on again, but the mood was still light and there were no real complaints.

It was early evening when Zero let out the call that the woodland to the north came close to the road and he thought they were at the position they had previously turned north.

‘Thank the gods,’ Khalin breathed, the relief of having come so far without incident obvious on his face. ‘Let’s get the wagon into the trees, and we’ll take a long break for some food. I’m famished.’

Tradden and Aukan led the oxen forward into the treeline as the others cautiously approached the woodland. Nothing unusual appeared to lurk within the sparse trees, however, and they soon found a suitable spot to stop and take check. A fire was lit, but only with clean dry sticks, attempting to keep smoke to a minimum and some of the group set to making the rations into a good meal.

Khalin, Kireth, Tradden, and Zero returned back to the road, climbing up onto the large rock that Rindall had done so a tenday or so before and scanned the horizon to the east.

The sun was starting its final descent behind them and their shadows crept out like four slender fingers along the road to the east. It was difficult to spy much far off in the growing gloom, perhaps the hint of a snow-covered mountain top barely visible on the northeastern horizon.

Kireth managed to pick out the line of the Old Road as he saw it. They had been heading slightly northeasterly they reckoned as they headed towards the woodland, but the road began to turn back around towards the south, perhaps an east or southeasterly direction, slightly away from the mountains.

‘This may be a good sign,’ decided Khalin. ‘Kiris Dahn is at the southern end of the mountains, perhaps the road leads straight to it.’

‘Maybe so,’ replied Kireth, ‘but perhaps it may turn fully to the south and away to other lands. What are we to do then?’

Khalin stroked his beard and clambered down from the rock, the others following him in their own time.

‘Hmm, and should we rest now,’ the dwarf muttered to himself, ‘or continue for a while?’

Tradden overheard the dwarf’s mumbles and jogged up behind him, turning him by the shoulder.

‘Well, I think we should stay here,’ he said enthusiastically. ‘Looks a bit risky to me to keep going on. It’s hard enough spotting those rogue cobbles in the light, and we’d never see any ambush coming.’

The young fighter turned around to face the road once more, his eyes narrowing and his face growing wistful. ‘There’s an ambush out there somewhere, I’d bet Zero’s dinner on it!’

‘Maybe you’re right, lad,’ replied the dwarf. ‘We’ve a long way to go, and no sense in rushing in where caution would serve us better. Let’s set up camp and allocate watches.’

‘Yeah, a couple of people for a couple of hours each should do it,’ Tradden remarked. ‘Maybe one here by the road on the rock, and the other patrolling the perimeter of the camp.’

Khalin studied the young boy with a raised eyebrow. It was obvious that he’d thought long and hard about this all of the way from the Gorge Wall Gate. Perhaps a little reserve and planning was rubbing off on the boy. He smiled and clapped his hand on Tradden’s back. ‘A fair plan, my boy,’ he laughed heartily, pushing him towards the camp.

‘Oh, and Zero and I could head out now, a little along the road, just to stake it out a bit.’

It was clear that the youth had been thinking about this too.

‘Just while there’s a bit of light left, just to check the road and bits of this woodland.’

Maybe planning and precaution weren’t fully instilled in the young fighter after all. However, Khalin nodded and looked over to Zero.

‘Go on then - no more than half an hour. Zero, don’t let him out of your sight.’

The rogue looked around, blissfully unaware on what he had been volunteered for until Tradden came up, grabbed him by the arm, and pulled him towards the road.

‘So where are we going?’ mumbled Zero looking back painfully at the camp and the fire and the smell of food.

Tradden smiled at the rogue. ‘C’mon, we’ve only walked five leagues or so today, not far. Shake your legs out, we’ll only be a few minutes. We’ve an important job to do - checking the road for tomorrow.’

With one final glance at the ’luxuries’ of camp, Zero fell into step behind Tradden and as they moved out onto the road he slipped into his professional persona, sticking close to any falling shadows and moving as quiet as a mouse. Tradden tried to mimic the rogue as best he could.

As the Old Road had stretched out to meet the northern woodlands it now started to turn away and bend towards the south. Perhaps at one point there had been a junction where they had set up camp with a trail to the keep that now lay in ruins within the forest to the north. The road continued to be patchy at best and Tradden felt justified in the advice he gave to halt the wagon in the oncoming dusk. Here and there were raised stones, or worse, cavernous holes in the road that they would do well to avoid in the morning.

The road seemed to meander away to the southeast for some distance through similar countryside they had already passed. It wasn’t a direct line to the mountains, though, and Tradden could only hope that it turned back towards the east after a while. The land to the southeast appeared to be a series of rolling hills, many covered with what appeared to be thick forests in the distance, although difficult to tell with the failing light. Perhaps the Old Road wound its way through their valleys, the youth thought.

The pair walked for about half-an-hour, covering more ground than they would have done with the wagon, perhaps a couple of miles, but encountered nothing unusual or worrying. They would have to be careful with the wagon, but there was nothing here that appeared to be a hindrance to their journey.

At a low rise as dusk finally fell, Tradden called a halt to the expedition, scanning the horizon in all directions as best he could through the gathering gloom. The air was still and there were no clouds in the sky - it would be a cold night. No lights of fires could be seen in the distance, nor any sign of activity save birds flocking to their nests. After a moment stood on the rise he called to Zero to set off back to the camp, and the pair picked up pace, eager to get some food and some rest.

When the scouting pair returned to camp they found that food was ready and the tents had been erected. The oxen had been unharnessed and were happy grazing on the scattered grasses under the trees and favouring some small spiky bushes. Lots had been drawn for the watches and both of them were relieved to find that they had been drawn near dawn, so would get an unbroken sleep.

Kireth had perhaps drawn the worst watch, in the early hours of the morning alongside Rangrim. The mage suggested that he would take position at the rock near the road, his elven heritage giving him keener eyesight than even the dwarf outdoors. In truth, Kireth offered this suggestion so he could be alone, to gather his thoughts and contemplate the snippets of information and lore he was gathering.

When his watch came he was still awake, hardly dozing at all. The halfling Bekio whispered to him that all had been clear, only the occasional hoot of an owl or the prowl of a nocturnal animal. Kireth nodded, politely, and headed out to the rock by the road.

The night sky was a wonder to behold when he left the treeline. Stars in their thousands beamed down upon the mage filling him with starlight and illuminating the lands around in a pale blue glow. The moon, a thin waxing crescent hung in the western sky. The air was cold, though, and with every breath came a glistening cloud in front of the half-elf’s face.

Ignoring the moon, mocking him from above, Kireth clambered up onto the large rock and concentrated his efforts on the eastern horizon. There were no points of light, nor the movement of any kind. A desolate, barren wasteland, he thought. He began to turn his attention to his own thoughts, slowly unravelling and ordering things in his mind.

He was thrown out of his reverie by a twinkle in the sky, far to the east and to the north. A great shadow blotting out the night stars. It appeared to move swiftly, and with purpose, tracking the distant horizon and moving from north to south. It sent a chill down the spine of the already cold mage. After only a few minutes, but perhaps crossing many leagues, the shadow darted down towards the ground and was lost beyond the hills beyond.

Kireth calmed himself, furious that such a sight should send such a compulsive shiver down his back, and then climbed down from the rock, heading back to camp and the next volunteer for the rock, and to whatever rest he might find.

The rest of the night passed without any further incident and Tradden roused the troops just after first light. Bekio rushed to ensure the fire was stoked and gradually the smell of breakfast cooking brought everyone from their tents. Kireth relayed the events he had espied on the horizon during the night and this brought a silence to the morning’s repast followed by a vow to keep eyes well trained on the skies as well as the lands as they travelled during the day.

After their breakfast the travellers were ready for the off and packing the wagon did not take long. The fire was put out and the drowned ashes scattered. It would be obvious to any competent tracker that they had been here for the night, but that could not be helped.

With a creak of the wagon wheel and a shout at the oxen from Borik the wagon continued its roll along the Old Road, now turning to the southeast. Tradden kept his vigilant watch on the road surface, and Zero and Khalin headed out slightly ahead to watch for anything untoward.

Going was reasonable, despite the patchy conditions of the road. Tradden was vigilant in his role and prevented any untoward accidents a couple of times with quick shouts and directions. However it was soon after where the pair had halted the previous night that the cobbles began to disappear altogether, the track turning into nothing more than a dirt road, overgrown with the grasses and weeds of the surrounding scrub land. There seemed a trail, however, almost imperceptible, but there, winding its way slowly into the low hills, following the contours of the shallow valleys.

The wagon train rolled on into the winding hills, perhaps two leagues from their camp, before there came the sound of rushing water. The scouts up front, Khalin and Zero, slowed their pace, signaling back to the others to stop.

Keeping low and out of sight as best they could, they continued along the trail until around a corner they spied a cascade of water rushing down the side of one of the hills, the grass and soil eroded to leave smoothed boulders of rock jutting out. The torrent appeared to come out of the side of the hill from some unseen passage, perhaps even too small for one to venture down, but the volume of the water was great, and after what was likely a deep pool, a small river joined the side of the trail, following the same contour lines down to some unknown destination.

They decided to stop near the pool, Beltak testing the water for its purity, and then filling their flasks and drinking their fill. The water was cold and refreshing from the spring and raised their spirits once more.

The dwarves in the group argued for a few moments on the properties of the rock and the likelihood of such powerful springs, but could not come to a consensus on its nature.

It was left to Aukan to point out, in his soft manner, that the stone was soft in places under the hills, and it was likely that the whole place was riddled with underground pockets of water and caves, perhaps stretching all of the way to the sea.

Khalin grumbled and called a start to the march once more with the reward of a stop and some food after another league or two. They were still travelling southeasterly, and this suited the warlord for now. The road would need to turn eastwards soon, though, if they were to go direct towards the southern tip of the mountains.

The river began to swell, widening and deepening, as they continued their travels and started to push the trail to the east. Then, as the valley they were in broadened out and flattened, they spotted a bridge in the distance and the trail heading over the river and off to the south.

Khalin called a halt to the wagon’s progress before the travellers broke into the flatland and headed back to the main train.

‘We’ll stop and eat here,’ the warlord ordered, ‘before we go towards the bridge. I want some time to plan our progress.’

‘It would be a perfect spot for an ambush,’ muttered Tradden.

‘Aye, lad,’ replied Khalin, ‘and that’s why I want to plan.’

Tradden had already started making suggestions before Khalin had had time to think, the words just falling out of the young fighter’s mouth too fast to comprehend in his eagerness for the perfect plan. Khalin was about to shoo him away so he could think in peace, but some of the youth’s plans did have some merit.

It seemed to boil down into a distinct choice. Either cross the bridge as a single unit, with some of the troops hidden for a counter-attack should it be necessary, or to send a single person across, to test the water, so to speak.

Oddly it was Zero that cut Tradden off in his prime.

‘I don’t mind taking a look,’ the rogue offered. ‘It doesn’t look particularly hazardous to me. If anything leaps out I can always run!’ he added.

Khalin stroked his beard - something he was starting to do quite a lot he thought - and then nodded at the rogue. ‘Go on, then, m’lad. Signal when you get across and we’ll follow. Get yourself ready to run just in case, though! Get yer crossbow out, Tradden, and cover him. You too, Kireth, prepare some of your magics.’

The mage raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Zero turned, pulling his cloak around him and set off for the bridge.

The bridge was old, of that Zero was certain. It’s stones were covered in moss and lichen and ravaged by time. But, the bridge seemed to be sturdy, without any loose stones, and more than wide enough for the cart. It formed a small hump over the river with four or five arches underneath completing the span of about a dozen yards or so.

Cautiously the rogue stepped onto the stone, keeping his feet light and on his toes, scanning the surrounding countryside for any sign of movement or noise. There was nothing, but the breeze in the air, the rushing river and the occasional chirrup of birds or singing of crickets.

He glided across the bridge and across to the other side without any incident and then waved back to the party to follow after a couple of minutes.

‘Come on, then,’ growled Khalin. ‘But keep on your guard.’

The wagon train moved forwards and approached the bridge, the heroes out in front and the Talons behind.

When the wagon mounted the bridge the iron-shod wheels rang out with a clatter and Khalin winced. It did not bring down a hail of arrows or the cries of men or beasts, though, and they continued to cross.

At the other side they joined up with a smiling Zero.

‘Well, that was easy,’ the rogue grinned.

‘Too easy,’ replied Tradden, his eyes narrowing as he put his crossbow away. He scanned the tops of the hills with a stern look in his eye. ‘Far too easy.’

There were a couple of jeers at the young fighter before they all fell into line again, Khalin and Zero out front and the rest of them following, as they continued their journey.

Khalin stopped Zero only fifty yards or so after the bridge, pointing across to a rough area of ground on the flat, perhaps twenty or so yards off the general area of where the Old Road should be. Thorny bushes and tall reeds covered the area and Zero couldn’t see what the dwarf was pointing at.

‘Are my eyes deceiving me, lad, or is that area too square for it to be natural?’ Khalin offered when the young rogue screwed his face up.

Zero looked again once more at the patch of land, and indeed, with Khalin’s guidance, could start to see that the rows of spiky grasses seemed to align themselves quite neatly. Too much to be a coincidence. The pair moved across to investigate, finding hard ground underneath the grasses and the occasional glimpse of carved rock.

‘Looks like the foundations to an old building to me,’ Khalin suggested. ‘Fallen down years ago, probably decades, if not longer. A fort, perhaps, or a toll-house for the bridge?’

‘Maybe a travelling inn?’ mused Zero, his legs already aching and dreaming of a hot bath.

The pair searched briefly through the undergrowth looking for any further clues and were about to give up and return to the trail when Zero brushed aside a particularly spiky plant at the edge of the growth with the end of his shortsword that caught his eye.

‘Hey, over here, Khalin!’ he called, striking at the spikes with a couple of rough hacks to cut them down. The dwarf trotted over and the pair of them studied Zero’s find.

It appeared to be the only erect piece of stonework within the area, right on one of the corners, nearest the bridge. It was small, perhaps a couple of feet high and a foot wide and the same again deep. The stone was blackened, solid and ancient, although weathered and beaten. It was perhaps more narrowed at the top than at the bottom, forming what might have been an arch when it was first carved.

‘There’s writing on it,’ Zero said, pointing to the middle of the front face. ‘Though it’s mostly eroded away.’

Khalin flushed with excitement and bent down on his knees to get a better look. The young rogue was right, there were indeed the marks of runes, probably dwarven judging by their style, separated by a large line down the centre. To the right, as he looked at the stone, the runes were weather beaten past recognition, only a final solitary set of marks were visible, indicating the number six. On the left were some slightly more decipherable marks, although Khalin could only understand some of them, a piece of scoured text and then the number five, then some eroded text and the number eight.

‘Bah!’ he grumbled, rising up to his feet. ‘They’re too far gone for me, just some numbers. Maybe Borik or Rangrim could read them.’

Zero looked disappointed, and dropped to a knee himself, tracing the outlines of the marks in the hope they would reveal some hidden meaning. The etchings remained completely unfathomable. His trained fingers, however, felt the tell-tale lines of a crack in the front face of the stone, near to the top of the arch and his heart began to race with the familiar excitement of the chase.

Zero carefully followed the line of the crack, imperceptible to the naked eye but obvious to his fingertips, forming a square four or five inches in width. There seemed to be no lock, or handle, nor any kind of mechanism for him to crack. He let out of sigh of air in frustration. Then with a smirk and a shrug he simply pressed the stone hard, in the centre of the square.

There was a minor sound of grating and the square slid forwards out of the stone like a drawer, revealing a small compartment within. The musty smell of stale air greeted his nose.

‘My, my, my, lad, what have you found?’ enquired Khalin with excitement. Zero paused for a moment before looking inside the stone drawer.

There appeared to be a few coins, dulled by years and not of great value, coppers and bronze, as well as smoothed and carved stones or pebbles. A couple of the stones were exquisitely carved, depicting birds or flowers and had likely been valuable to their owner, if not of any real monetary value. Laid on top of the trinkets, however, was a solitary flower, a snowdrop, dried with age but still retaining a vibrant white sheen. Zero put in his hand to pick it up, but as he touched it it fell to pieces in a shower of dust, desiccated with age, and he withdrew his hand in shock as though he had been bitten.

It seemed obvious to the young fighter that there was some enchantment about the stone. Drawers did not simply appear in their faces with well preserved items inside without some spellcraft or exceptional masonry involved. Therefore the stone must be here for a reason, too costly to create without a distinct purpose. He nodded to himself - this deduction lark was easy.

He scratched his head, though, when it came to trying to match up the stone with anything he’d seen, heard, or read about. There were league markers between Deepingwald and Port Serena on the trade roads of The Islands, but they were simple square stones, disturbingly like headstones, with distances upon them. He’d never heard of any of them containing little drawers.

The only other thought that came to him was that the drawer appeared to be like a small shrine - a place to leave gifts for favour from the gods or to remember a loved one. There were a couple of shrines dotted around The Islands where people had met an unfortunate demise. There was one on the cliff’s edge near the broken feet of the statue where someone had fallen off one bad winter. Perhaps that was what the drawer was for.

The wagon rolled on through the shallow valleys, Khalin keen to put a little distance between themselves and the open area of the bridge before they stopped for a rest and to break out the rations. He didn’t wait too, long, however, another hour of marching and he was ready to stop.

‘Let’s take a break,’ the warlord offered. ‘We’ll strike out again when the sun reaches its peak.’

Thin clouds had started to gather across the sky and it looked as though the weather could turn. Khalin was keen to find some shelter along the way, rather than camping out on the grasslands if the rains fell.

‘C’mon, Zero, let’s go take a look at the route ahead,’ the dwarf ordered.

Zero groaned. He had almost grabbed a hunk of bread and a skin of wine, but it seemed to miss his grasp as he was pulled up the rise of the hill by Khalin. Scouts had to eat, surely?

The slope of the hill was easy to navigate, although it left them both panting by the time they reached the top. It wasn’t too high, but gave them a good view of the path ahead. It made Khalin stroke his beard once more, however. The winding trail appeared to continue along the valley they were in and away to the southeast. They really needed to be starting to head directly east soon.

Zero put his hand above his eye to protect against the glare of the spring sun and scanned the horizon. Away to the east and northeast were the peaks of the mountains he had spied from the Gorge Wall Gate. They were definitely closer, but the trail ahead wouldn’t bring them quickly to their foothills. To the north and south the now familiar cliffs of the gorge had all but disappeared, replaced by a mundane rolling countryside. To the southeast, along their trail, he thought he could see a dark forest spilling down the rolling hills, perhaps five or so leagues away. He pointed it out to Khalin.

‘Hmpf,’ growled the dwarf. ‘If the trail leads that way we’d be there by nightfall, perhaps. Perhaps shelter amongst the trees would be preferable to the road?’

‘As long as there are no wolves,’ added Zero, nodding. ‘Or goblins.’

‘Well, we shall keep vigilant,’ started Khalin, his hand resting on the handle of Aecris. ‘We can…’

‘Or kobolds, or spiders,’ continued the rogue.

‘Yes, indeed,’ said Khalin, irritated about the interruption to his monologue.

‘But as I said we can…’

‘Or ghouls or dragons,’ Zero persisted.

‘Yes, but…’

‘Or worse!’ said Zero, finally, and set off down the hill to search for his lunch, leaving Khalin to fume.

The next few hours fell into a settled routine. The wagon wound its way along the trail slowly but surely, avoiding the larger shrubs and holes and ridges along the way. The scouts out front saw no sign of any creature larger than a hare during the day as though the animals were awaiting the night to venture out to feed. Clouds continued to gather, darkening the sky and shading the sun, bringing a cold breeze. Cloaks and robes were tightened against the increasing chill.

They continued to head southeast, much to the disgruntlement of Khalin, but still felt they were making progress. The dwarf was impatient to reach the Vale and to fulfil some of his dreams and ambitions of his youth. When they eventually stopped for some more food he judged they were only an hour or so away from the edge of the forest, now a great dark swathe upon the horizon. They agreed to continue along the trail towards this forest, rather than make camp here.

In the gathering dusk they made their way slowly towards the treeline, caution their watchword.

A mile or so from the start of the trees it began to rain, a slow drizzle turning to a heavier shower. With it came a biting cold from the winds, curling and shooting down the valleys. The gloom of dusk and the rain reduced visibility of the trail ahead and the wagon jolted over a few holes and roots that Tradden began to miss. The treeline grew in size and it quickly became obvious this was an old forest, huge dark pines standing tall to the sky, swaying in the building winds.

The trail could be seen entering the forest, turning around a bend and heading off to the east. At least that was one welcome sight.

They picked up pace, a final dash, and plunged into the darkness beneath the pines.

Khalin ordered the wagon train to be stopped once they had fully entered the forest. The thick, dark canopy seemed to be holding off the rain, and although it was very dark it at least was dry. The group needed torches to be lit and a few sprang up as the wagon was backed off the trail and the beginnings of camp began to take shape.

The thick trees also took the edge off the breeze, the air was still and warm and sickly sweet with the scent of pine. Limbs were tired and aching, but Tradden once more offered to scout on a little ahead. Khalin was unsure about letting him go in the darkness, but the young fighter persuaded him, volunteering Zero to accompany him and the vow to shout like the Nine Hells should they run into any trouble.

Zero had just been about to sink his teeth into a cold turkey leg when the young fighter grabbed him by the shoulder, took the leg from his hand and placed it back onto the plate near the newly-started fire.

‘C’mon, you. Orders, you know,’ the young fighter stated with a low voice, pulling the bewildered Zero to his feet. ‘I don’t particularly want to go scout on up ahead either, but orders are orders. You know, secret orders,’ Tradden added with a tap against the side of his nose and a knowing look, hoping it would intrigue the rogue.

Zero just sighed, and with a longing look at the turkey leg and the leather skin of wine by the plate’s side headed off to the trail. Tradden followed with a smile, grabbing a lit torch from near the campfire and using his long legs to catch up with his friend.

‘We don’t need to go far,’ the young fighter suggested. ‘Just up the trail a bit - see what’s there, and then report back. Not long.’

‘Yes. Great,’ replied Zero in monotone.

Tradden ignored his friend’s reticence, holding the torch high and peering into the blackness of the trees as they walked briskly along.

The trail through the forest was rough, with a number of hidden roots and ridges that the pair tripped over in the darkness from time to time. It would be tough going with the wagon, although the needles that had fallen provided a soft matting over the trail to prevent any solid jarring. The trees were close together in most places, with only wiry shrubs and ivy cluttering the forest floor. From time to time clearings had sprung up where a pine had fallen, crashing down and bringing others with it. These clearings often had an abundance of other vegetation growing around it as they clamoured to rise up to the sunlight, small oases of broad-leaved plants, fungi, and colourful flowers. In the flickering torchlight, however, these clearings looked odd and frightful and the pair gave them a wide berth.

About twenty minutes march along the trail with no incident the pair were ready to return. Tradden was fairly happy that the trail appeared to keep a constant easterly direction, or at least that’s what he believed. There were many twists and turns, but it seemed to keep along the same line. The trail was wide enough for the wagon, almost unnervingly so, as if centuries since the path had been cleared and the forest had not yet had the temerity to recover it.

As the rogue grabbed his friend, though, he noticed the faint outline of a path leading southwards into the trees. The path was small and overgrown but was distinguishable as such even in the muted torchlight. He dropped Tradden back to the floor with a thud.

A number of old branches, rotting and covered by fungi littered the edge of the path and Zero gave them a quick poke with his boot. Underneath was what appeared to be the remains of some old netting, mostly rotted through, but some pieces still clutching to the branches.

‘Well, that’s not natural,’ exclaimed Zero, narrowing his eyes and straining to see up the trail.

‘C’mon, let’s take a look,’ grinned Tradden, getting himself up and shaking the dizziness from his head.

The path cut through the dense forest, turning a couple of times. Zero shuddered as he noticed a number of small animal skeletons littering the sides of the path at discreet intervals, too many and too regular to be a coincidence.

‘Let’s get back,’ the rogue said nervously, but the young fighter pressed on.

A few more minutes along the path and the forest began to clear, the remains of a building loomed up out of the darkness in front of them.

The building appeared to be ancient in the torchlight, crumbling and heavy, held together more by the vines and trees surrounding it than the mortar that once used to hold its stone together. Parts of the wall had already crumbled and fallen and the heavy shutters on the windows hung crooked from their hinges. The roof still stood, though, the main walls still supporting its weight.

‘I’m not going in there!’ stated Zero coldly and started backing off down the path.

Tradden began backpedalling softly too. ‘I think our orders were just to look and return,’

he said. ‘We’ve done the looking bit. Let’s return!’

The pair swiftly followed the path back to the main trail, each of them trying to walk slower than the other yet keep up a fast pace. Neither wanted to show their fear. Once they reached the main trail they set off at a fast pace back to the main camp - neither looking over their shoulders for fear of what might be there.

Khalin looked from Zero to Tradden and back again. He stroked his beard in contemplation, the stress of all of the decisions he was making recently playing on his mind. Kireth stood just behind his shoulder, quiet and withdrawn as he had been all journey, but with a smile of mirth and intrigue upon his lips.

‘Oh, for Moradin’s sake,’ exclaimed the dwarf as Tradden nervously hopped back and forth with anticipation. The boy was enthusiastic about everything, including exploring a crumbling dark building in a dark forest in the dead of night. He shook his head and stroked his beard once more. ‘What do you think, Kireth?’

The mage simply looked back at the dwarf with a dark twinkle in his eye and shrugged. He seemed content to follow Khalin’s lead on this one.

‘Yes, well, thanks for the help,’ muttered Khalin. ‘Right, Zero, get yerself of the floor, lad, and go find Beltak. If it’s dark in there I want some light, and what better than the Light of Pelor, eh?’

Khalin snickered at his own pun as Zero grumbled about ’orders’ and heaved himself up to go and find the scribe.

‘Rhasgar!’ Khalin called across the camp, and waited for a few moments for the dragonborn paladin to answer. ‘We’ll go and investigate this ruined building, you look after the camp. If you hear nothing from us in the hour, send a scout or two.’

The dragonborn nodded and wished the party a safe travel.

‘And don’t eat all the food,’ Zero added as he returned with Beltak, the scribe resplendent in his armour.

‘Let’s keep close together out there,’ Khalin suggested. ‘Tradden, lead on.’

The group made their way swiftly along the forest trail, Tradden holding his torch aloft and Kireth lighting the end of his staff. The pale blue glow of the mage’s spell cast stark shadows through the trees and more than once the group whirled to see bright reflective eyes staring back at them and then a crash of undergrowth as some nocturnal animal fled away.

After no more than fifteen minutes they arrived at the spot of the branched trail, Zero pointing out the netting and rotted branches. They slowed their pace and turned down the new path, Khalin at the fore and Zero to the rear. A few slow and silent minutes along the path and they could see the crumbling masonry once more.

The building seemed to loom out of the forest, square and rigid against the more natural forest. Where the masonry had crumbled it was as though the forest was trying to reclaim its shape and form. It was old and unkempt and appeared to be void of any residents, or at least any humanoid ones. There were no lights or flames, nor any noises other than from the forest itself.

An oaken door, mainly rotted, but still hung on rusted hinges was closed against intruders. Khalin silently signaled for Zero to take a look.

The torch cast a flickering glare over the room immediately behind the door. It seemed to be some sort of common room extending away from the light until it was cast into shadow, with a wall and accompanying rubble to the western side. Branches had managed to poke through the gaps in the shutters here and there, but mostly the room was devoid of the forest. In the centre, perhaps twenty or thirty feet or so from the door, stood a large round table, still appearing solid, albeit laden with what might be years of dust. Chairs were scattered about on the floor, on their sides or backs around it.

Zero stepped cautiously into the room, bearing the torch, and the others followed silently as they could behind. The walls to the west held another room, dark and hidden. The common room led away to the east, with another room in the southeastern corner in darkness.

Shelves along the walls still held some items, undisturbed and unidentifiable, but one had fallen long ago, lying collapsed and broken at an angle on the floor. A large stone pit, possibly for a fire, with an orange-rusted cauldron atop it, dominated one corner of the room next to a chimney pipe lying adjacent, idle and shattered.

Four dead bodies, laden with dust but not yet wholly decomposed, adorned the room. One near the fire pit, the others sprawled over the floor near the chairs.

The bodies looked as though they had been here for quite some time and even to the untrained eye it was obvious that they had died from wounds from combat. Their skin looked parched and paper thin, stretched taught over a white skeleton beneath. Here and there the pale bones could be seen jutting out where the skin had torn. Old leather armour, now useless, was draped around them, probably once strapped to their bodies. Two of them clutched rusty short swords in their fingers, one a mace, and the one by the fire pit a spear. The one draped over the table sported a rotting coat, trimmed with the remnants of fur. Another an old belt with pouch still intact.

Broken crockery littered the floor, dashed into pieces by whatever battle took place. Where the shelving had fallen it looked as though it had been smashed through with a blunt instrument, possibly a mace.

To the south, to the right of the fire pit over some of the rubble was another room although the contents were lost in the darkness.

The corpse Tradden examined, sprawled over the table, had been here for a long time judging by the state. Many, many years. There was no smell, just the faint sickly pallor of the skin. It was likely it had died from the wounds of combat, four or five gashes in its side from a light blade.

Beltak took a little more time to examine the corpse. His initial reluctance overcome by the fascination and absorption of information. The body he checked, nearest the entrance, was also old, but perhaps not as old as the one on the table. It had had it’s head stoved in by something heavy and blunt. He stood and moved onto the next body, the one furthest from the entrance, which seemed to be roughly the same. The one in the fire pit was older, perhaps matching the one the Tradden was looking at and had a great deal of dirt on it, embedded in the joints, as though it had once been buried and since disinterred. The scribe shuddered and took a step back.

The contents of the pouch were less than promising, though, some very stale smelling tobacco leaves were all that remained. Zero wrinkled his nose and his thoughts went to long clay pipes in the bars and inns of Deepingwald.

The northwesterly room was perhaps the most overgrown within the ruins, a riot of broad leaves and sweet-smelling fronds. It seemed to be quite pleasant until Kireth pointed out that the likely use for the room was for relieving oneself, and that the plants had likely grown due to all of the natural fertiliser.

Satisfied with that, Khalin moved back across the common room, heading for the room to the east of the crumbling building. At first glance it appeared to be some sort of bedroom, a pair of bunk beds lined the external wall with a wooden chest nestled between them. All looked in relatively good condition. The room also held a small closet in the corner, as well as a table with a drawer, surrounded by a couple of chairs. Stood in the centre of the table was a rusted lantern.

Before anyone touched any of the items, Khalin decided to move on, backtracking his steps and moving to the room to the west. The room was long and ran the length of the ruin, many shelves and cupboards lining its walls. A number of sacks and small barrels were strewn around the floor, the whole room in disarray. The sacks were split, leaving mouldy grain upon the floor. Some of the barrels were splintered, their contents longs since evaporated. A nasty blue-green mould covered much of the floor and up onto the barrels.

Lying beneath the mould, almost invisible to the eye, the scouting pair spotted a ladder. It drew their eyes up to the ceiling in the far southern corner of the room where there appeared to be a trapdoor.

Careful not to stand on the mould, Khalin moved to the room at the south end of the ruin, in the centre.

This room appeared to be similar to the other bedroom, but this one was completely wrecked as though some devastating battle had been waged here. The bunk beds were shattered into small pieces and Zero and Kireth needed to climb over the rotting wood just to get into the room. The table was overturned and there were scorch marks along the wall as though there had been a fire. Three unfortunates appeared to have met their end in the room. One lay near the entrance, buried in the debris of the bunk bed. A second was slumped in the corner of the room, a dagger lying between two ribs. The third was sprawled on the floor in the centre.

The bodies appeared similar to those in the common room. The body in the debris was wearing old tattered clothes and had a small shield and a mace. The body slumped in the corner seemed to be wearing nightclothes with a serviceable leather vest thrown hastily over, although now punctured by the dagger. An iron flask lay at this corpse’s side. The final body wore nothing of note. A slightly rusted short sword lay nearby, as did six daggers.

‘We’ll come back to this,’ offered Khalin, muttering a silent prayer. With that he moved on to the final room.

The final room appeared to be a mixture of a bedroom and a storeroom, with a solitary bunk bed and a number of barrels. Many of the barrels had split, with the same mouldy growth spilling out onto the floor.

Almost covered by the mould, next to one of the barrels, appeared to be a trapdoor, presumably leading down.

‘What now?’ whispered Tradden, breaking the contemplative silence.

The trapdoor creaked upwards and outwards, the rusty hinges complaining against the intrusion on their aeon-long rest. Tradden heaved himself up and onto the flat roof, being careful to avoid some of the cracks and treacherous moss and slime that perplexed his footing, shaking off his hands trying to throw away the remnants of the clinging mould.

It looked as though once the roof had been defendable, the remains of a rickety wooden structure and fencing all around. However, there seemed to be no sign of permanent defences in the stonework, as though the wood was an afterthought or late addition. Two large fence posts still stood, however. On one sat a huge crossbow-like device, pointing back towards the trail. At its side were a number of rusting iron javelins. Slumped against the second post was another body, a cutlass at its feet. Its leather tabard was riddled with slashes and cuts.

Tradden climbed back down the ladder, carefully testing his weight with each step. ‘Another body,’

he stated as he reached the floor, ‘next to a huge crossbow-thing. Nothing else.’

The young fighter rubbed the mould from his fingers on his cloak before looking up brightly. ‘Down that trapdoor, then?’ he asked.

‘Not so quick, lad,’ growled Khalin. ‘Let’s see what else there was in that bedroom. It’s been such a mess elsewhere, we didn’t look properly in that room. I want to see if there’s anything in that closet.’

The dwarf looked at Zero and there was an imperceptible nod from the rogue. The group then fell into line as they made their way back to the room to the east.

‘At least the decor appears to be better in here,’ said Kireth when they arrived at the room. It seemed as though this was the only room that hadn’t been touched by battle.

‘Chest, closet, or drawer, Zero?’ asked Khalin, ignoring the mage’s sarcastic comments.

The rogue looked at all three in turn. He’d had his fair share of hiding in closets in many of the noble houses of Deepingwald and they held a soft spot in his heart. ‘Closet,’ he stated, and turned his attention to the large wooden piece of furniture, still sturdy despite the ravages of time and nature.

‘Be careful,’ said Tradden, a line that the rogue barely needed.

With nimble fingers and a delicate tool in his hand he went to work.

The closet didn’t appear to hide any traps and certainly wasn’t locked. With one hand on his shortsword the rogue flung open the door with a flourish.

The rogue’s theatrics ended in disappointment, however. The closet only appeared to hold a selection of clothes, mainly moth-eaten. There were a few cotton shirts and a couple of linen trousers, full of holes and starting to rot at the seams. A larger fur coat seemed to have been spared the worst of the moths’ attentions, but still smelt as though it had been hung in the damp for many years.

With a simple shrug Zero turned around to face the table, containing the drawer. The lamp atop it was heavily rusted and Zero doubted whether it would actually work any more. The glass was dark and blotchy, as well as being thick and of poor quality. He ignored it for now and knelt down to size up the drawer.

The drawer appeared to be free and safe and slowly Zero drew it out. It was deep, perhaps nine or ten inches, and pulled out a fair way, revealing a number of objects, rattling around as the drawer came out. Most of the objects were small flasks and nearly identical, five in all. Zero softly uncorked one, revealing the sweet smell of lantern oil. There were some other trinkets, however, at the back.

Putting the flasks on top of the table, Zero reached towards the back of the drawer and pulled out a copper necklace, a cheap and worthless piece in the rogue’s estimation that he slung onto the table top with distaste. There were a couple of dried fruits wrapped in some leaves that were nearly desiccated by now that he gingerly removed and dropped next to the flasks with a grimace. He then pulled out a small lens, poorly made and passed it to Kireth, who simply looked at it with indifference and tossed it onto the table.

‘Aha!’ the rogue exclaimed with maniacal glee as he stretched his arm into the drawer. With a yank he pulled a small key out from underneath the tabletop, hidden within the darkness of the drawer. ‘Not a very secretive place, eh?’ he said. ‘They always stick keys there, y’know.’

He wafted the key around with a smile of victory.

‘So what’s it for?’ asked Tradden, fascinated with the rogue’s find.

Zero looked affronted at the young fighter as though he had asked a most personal question. ‘What’s it for?’ he asked incredulously, stalling for time Kireth thought. ‘What’s it for? Well that’s obvious, isn’t it?’

‘Erm, is it?’ asked Tradden.

‘Yes, obvious,’ restated Zero. ‘It’s for opening locks!’

‘Perhaps it fits that chest,’ offered Kireth, before Tradden could gather the wits to retort. The mage had no patience for the pair’s tomfoolery.

‘Well, of course it does,’ said Zero, moving towards the chest as though that had always been his original intention. ‘Of course it does.’

The key certainly looked the right size, but caution was always Zero’s watchword, and he checked the chest for any potential pitfalls before he inserted the key.

He was curiously sad not to find any, then put in the key and turned, opening the lock. He pushed back the lid, casting it against the end of the bunk-bed.

The contents of the chest were another disappointment to the rogue. He immediately grabbed a small leather sack that looked promising and peeked inside. There were a number of silver pieces in there and some bits of jewellery, but they appeared to be cheap costume pieces, barely worth the effort of taking. There were a couple of small swords, a number of daggers, and a heavy mace alongside the sack, all in reasonable condition, stacked below a pair of well-made fur lined gloves. Zero sniffed at these, ignoring them for the most part, and moved them to the side. To his disappointment the only other item was a fine bone map case. With a sigh he passed the case to Khalin and stood up.

Khalin raised an eyebrow at the case and cast a sideways look at Kireth whose interest had finally risen. Unplugging the stopper the warlord withdrew the delicate parchment within and asked Kireth to hold his light up high. He pushed the flasks on the table to one side and set the parchment down, unrolling it on the tabletop.

It was a map.

Khalin’s heart began to beat faster - this was perfect. It appeared to be fairly detailed and localised, perhaps only a dozen leagues or so across. A trail, or road, through a forest running west-east, reasonably straight. Towards the middle of the map, just inside the forest was a pointer to a building, perhaps even the one they were in. Not so long to the west as the road left the forest it turned northwest and just before the edge of the parchment was another scrawl signifying a building near a river.

Arrows pointed off to the northwest with spidery writing that wasn’t clear in the magelight. Arrows also pointed off to the east at the right of the map, still dominated by forest, again with similar writing.

Kireth pushed aside Tradden and pointed with a thin finger at the northwestern corner of the map.

‘Caulkin Keep,’ he uttered as he tapped his finger up and down on the spidery writing near the arrows, ‘and one other word, ’Light’.’ The mage withdrew his hand and cast it over to the east of the map, repeating the tapping on the writing on that side. ‘Here it says Kiris Dahn. We are perhaps on the right trail after all.’

Khalin grumbled and stroked his beard before rolling up the parchment and reverently rolling it back up and sliding it into the case. ‘Yes, well, as I always said, if we continue east we should be there or thereabouts.’ He stowed the case in his pack.

‘Right, let’s move on then,’ the warlord said. ‘That trapdoor you’re so keen on, Tradden. Lead the way.’

Tradden quickly moved towards the southeasterly part of the building holding a torch aloft to light his way. The bunk bed and barrels came into view quickly, along with the blue-green mould and the partially obscured trapdoor.

‘Hmm, let’s shift this barrel first,’ he declared and pushed the barrel blocking the trapdoor further back into the room. ‘Right, Zero, do you want to take a look?’

The rogue stood where he was, inspecting the trapdoor, half-covered in the mould. ‘Looks fine to me,’ was all he said.

‘No, I meant see if there are any traps, or locks, or whatever it is that you do,’ insisted Tradden.

Zero looked once again at the mould, wrinkling his nose. ‘If you think I’m going to stick my hands in that stuff you’ve got another thing coming!’

The trapdoor came up easily, without any resistance or great noise, almost startling the group. A gust of cold and stale air wafted up from the darkness below. Grabbing the torch from the floor beside him Tradden thrust it down into the abyss.

The flames illuminated a chamber below, reachable by a set of rickety wooden stairs. The room seemed to spread out further to the south, the limits of the room lost in the shadows beyond the light. The walls that Tradden could see were dug out of the earth, shored up here and there by wooden posts and in some cases unfinished. There were several barrels and crates as well as a table and chairs and a couple of bookshelves.

Spread out prostrate around the room were three more bodies, dim in the spluttering torchlight.

Nothing appeared to stir.

Tradden put his boot down onto the top step, bouncing slightly as if to test the solidity of the stairs.

They appeared to hold, creaking but firm. Slowly he descended, calling out for Kireth to follow with his light.

Once Tradden reached the bottom of the stairs it became easier to gauge the size of the room. It was about forty feet by forty feet or so, with a small annexe to the south holding a large door. The walls were indeed dirt and much of the floor contained heaps of mud and soil. It looked as though at one time the floor had been covered by stone slabs, and some of these were piled neatly against the walls.

In the centre of the room, close to some of the bodies were spades and shovels. As Tradden moved closer, however, he could tell that two of the bodies were not human.

They were humanoid, but much larger, perhaps seven or eight feet tall adorned in leather and metal armour. Their bodies were covered in blood-matted reddish-brown fur, spotted here and their with black patches or perhaps bloodstains. Tradden cautiously poked one of their heads with his boot revealing a hyena-like face with sharp feral teeth. Judging by the state of their flesh and fur, they’d only been down here a few months as the most. The human, however, looked as though it was years old, similar to some of the corpses in the common room above.

Tradden looked at Kireth questioningly.

‘Gnolls,’ barked the mage. ‘Feral, demon-worshipping creatures. They know nothing of mercy and think little of bloodletting. Savage butchers of anything that moves.’

Tradden continued to look questioningly at the mage.

‘Amazing what you can learn by reading,’ smiled Kireth at the young fighter. ‘Maybe you should attempt it one day.’

The young fighter ignored the jibe as best he could and turned his attention back to the creatures. They were contorted, as if they had been struck down in combat. Shovels and spades lay near their sides, whereas wicked axes hung at their belts. Huge carved horns, intricately decorated, were fastened next to them. The human held a short sword, rusted and bloodstained.

A large hole in the back of one of the gnolls’ jerkins indicated that it might have been stabbed from behind, perhaps with the short sword still held in the human’s hand. The other gnoll had been assaulted from the front, again with a slashing and stabbing weapon, perhaps before it had had time to draw its own axe. One of the gnolls had a hand on its carved horn, the leather strap tight against its belt. Tradden’s best guess was that it was raising it to call the alarm when it was struck down.

‘How very odd…’ the rogue was muttering as he viewed the scene. The room was arid and cold, most unexpected. With the mud walls the rogue had expected it to be dank and warm. There were a couple of bare tables, some shelves with odd looking vases and urns on them, as well as a set of barrels. Zero guessed this had been some kind of storeroom. There was a bookshelf against the western wall, but the books upon it looked ruined with age, not even the spines remained intact. Near the tables were two braziers, one in the far southeast and the other against the western wall. Without thinking the rogue grabbed Tradden’s torch and lit the coals before putting it back where he had found it. The braziers sprang into life in an instant, bringing some much needed light and a little warmth.

Apart from Khalin’s grumbles, Tradden’s ever-shifting feet and the crackle of the braziers he couldn’t hear a thing beyond the door. However, judging by the marks in the mud at the foot of the doors it seemed that it had been opened and closed fairly recently. He raised an eyebrow as he withdrew one of his delicate tools and checked the edges, hinges, and round-loop handles.

He wasn’t surprised not to find any traps on a door like this nor any locks, but was a little disappointed he wouldn’t get that little thrill of mastering their mechanisms.

‘It’s safe to open,’ he said after a couple of moments. ‘For somebody,’ he quickly added.

Khalin was greeted by a larger room stretching away into darkness. At the edge of the torchlight he thought he could see some stone benches, but was not sure. To his left, as he stepped through the doors cautiously, he spotted another brazier and decided to light it. As the dry coals sparkled into life the room was revealed in a flickering orange splendour.

It was wide, perhaps twenty yards and maybe a dozen or so yards deep. There were indeed two stone benches, both in ’L’-formations as though set to view whatever may happen in the middle of the room. Over at the southern side were another couple of braziers, and the far walls were lined with wooden struts.

To the west was a small closed door. Keeping a respectful eye on the door he crossed the room and lit the other braziers, motioning for those behind him to enter.

The wooden struts on the southern walls appeared to be old weapon racks, with rusted spears and swords littering the floor at their base.

‘A training room?’ Khalin asked himself.

Zero skipped lightly over the mud to the door. This one appeared to be smaller and more solid than the others. At one time it looked as though there might have been a window in the middle near the top, perhaps even with crossed bars fixed into the wood. A poor replacement seemed to have been constructed, though, out of another piece of timber, and the room beyond was hidden. However, the door’s latch indicated that it might be locked and the child inside him jumped with glee.

He didn’t rush his professional instincts, though, and placed his ear against the door first.

Again there was a deafening silence from behind the portal. His tools were in his hands without thinking, and he checked the door for any traps in a thorough manner.

He couldn’t find anything that was obvious and set to checking the lock. Here, he paused. The door itself was no longer locked, but the lock was engaged. The door jamb had been forced at some point as though the whole door had been kicked in. To open the door would be as simple as pushing it slightly. He shook his head at such needless brutality.

He backed off slowly and reported the whole affair to Khalin.

Khalin moved forwards slowly examining the door. With his hand gripped tightly on Aecris and his other holding a torch behind his shield he pushed the door inwards and took a look.

As the torchlight swept into the room it was disappointing to see another bare mud chamber. The far west of the room was lost in shadows, but otherwise it was similar to the ones they had already been in. The floor was bare, but along the northern and southern walls were rows of shelves, poorly braced into the dried mud at limp angles. The remains of barrels and clay pots were smashed over the floor.

Khalin stepped forwards into the room, holding their torch higher to dispel the gloom to the west. The room tapered off to the west to a small annexe after forty feet or so, the annexe being a dozen feet square. The rusted remains of a set of iron bars in square patterns lay on the floor as if it once stood as a gate to the annexe, almost like a prison cell.

Within the annexe lay a table pushed up against the far wall and upon it a myriad of small items. A golden glow reflected lavishly in the torchlight - a strange spherical object the size of mailed fist sat upon the table next to an open book. A chair lay sprawled on the floor under the table and a number of coins and shiny items lay strewn on the floor.

‘Come on in,’ the warlord called and the others filtered in behind him.

The air was cold in here and parched, as though it was drawn out into thin sheets of ice. Clouds of steam escaped the heroes’ throats as they breathed and the torchlight began to flicker.

Kireth’s eyes were immediately drawn to the strange object on the table emitting a faint dweomer. Beltak looked as if he were about to wet himself with the delight of spotting a book. Other than that, there didn’t appear to be anything else of major interest.

Zero moved forwards almost involuntary when he noticed the golden glow. It’s beauty seemed deep and compelling. He was stopped short by the haft of Khalin’s hammer across his chest.

‘Hang on, lad,’ Khalin said. ‘I don’t like the look of this. What do you make of it, Kireth?’

‘Without study it would be too early to tell,’ the mage replied without once taking his eyes off the radiant orb. ‘A moment, if you will.’

Kireth strode forwards boldly towards the table motioning for the scribe to follow and at last took his eyes from the orb to view the book open on the table before him.

The book was old, plain and bound together with thin leather strips rather than a proper spine. ‘A journal, perhaps?’ pondered Beltak.

On the left hand page as they looked were a number of scrawls and marks as though writing had been rushed and frantic, but with no legibility, some of the words were covered with blood or spit or even with mud. With a glance at Kireth and a returned nod the scribe began to leaf back through the journal. It was delicate, perhaps it had been left here open for many years, but most of the pages were usable. The script appeared archaic to the two scholars, but the words within were decipherable albeit in an odd grammar. Beltak began to read some of the passages from the front, whilst Kireth’s eyes strayed back to the orb, close, and almost in his grasp.

‘Here,’ said Beltak, ‘this is where the main bulk of the entries seem to start.’

Beltak kept reading on, muttering under his own breath until he came to another passage that caught his interest. ‘Whoever has written it seems to have kept a log about what he has stolen, but the whole tone seems to be, well, angrier!’

Beltak kept reading. ‘There’s lots here, repeated and repeated again, about how they don’t understand it, they can’t get it to work. The script is certainly getting wilder. Then there’s this bit.’

‘The writing seems to deteriorate from there. Erm, what’s a platolabe?’ the scribe asked innocently.

‘I assume it is our orb-like friend,’ said Kireth. ‘It must open somehow.’

Kireth adjusted his position, standing directly in front and square to the table, contemplating his next action. The orb sat on the table held within a small frame - four small feet at the bottom and a runner mimicking the orb’s curve to just above halfway on either side. The runners and feet were duller than the orb, probably bronze, blackened over time, but were intricately cast. Thin rods, of the same material of the orb itself ran from the bottom upwards, and from the runners across, to hold the orb in its central lofted position.

‘Well, what now?’ Tradden asked.

A sharp movement of the mechanism caught the mage a little by surprise and he jumped back with a jolt, causing the others to do the same, grabbing their weapon hilts and raising a shield. A circle suddenly appeared in the front of the orb, a doorway opening with only a mystical whisper, revealing an interior of swirling light. The orb then appeared to slice in two, horizontally, spilling an eerie light on the heroes.

‘What did you do?’ asked Zero frantically.

There was no time for an answer, though, the orb kept on changing. The hemispheres parted until the top hemisphere stopped at the limit of the vertical rod, the bottom clunking against the feet at the base. From within the orb three new spheres became visible, the left and the right moving outwards along the level rod. There it seemed to end, the insides of the main orb swirling with light, bright and blue and starlit at the top, dark and fiery at the bottom. The three smaller orbs produced their own light, swirling and coalescing with vivid greens to the right, blue and green and brown in the centre, and swirling dark shadows to the left.

‘What did I do?’ responded Kireth flatly without taking his eyes from the mechanism. ‘I opened it.’

The temperature in the room dropped, sending involuntary chills along the heroes’ spines.

‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this,’ muttered Tradden.

For a moment none of them moved, apprehensive about any chain of events the mage may have triggered. Their breaths were filling the room with icy clouds, starkly white against the faltering torchlight. The clouds were beginning to swirl in the room and coalesce near the table. The group began to move back as one, heeding Tradden’s last words.

The clouds continued to swirl and build until a figure could be seen, a man perhaps, as though he were sat in a chair with his head in his hands weeping. The figure hovered very slightly above the ground in a sitting position, likely where the chair used to be, beside the table, instead of sprawled across the floor.

The form appeared thick, but insubstantial, as though the figure could be dispelled by a simple waft of an arm through its swirling body. It continued to hold its head in its hands and rock forwards and backwards as though sobbing, muttering phrases over and over, so softly that they couldn’t be understood.

The roiling cloud did not answer, perhaps it did not hear the rogue from distance.

The heaving of the apparition’s shoulders appeared to calm and slowly and surely the hands dropped from its face. Khalin moved square to the thing to address it properly. Its head lifted and it looked straight at the dwarf.

Many things seemed to happen at once.

The pale insubstantial figure became a writhing throng of black tendrils at the boundary between solidity and insubstantiality. A white face, devoid of any emotion, held two jet black eyes that fastened themselves upon the dwarf in front of it. Wisps of long white hair flooded out from behind the face as though it were swimming in the depths of a clear sea.

The eyes bore into Khalin and he felt his will drain away.

The warlord’s eyes darkened, fixed with a glossy black sheen.