The first great storm of autumn was raging across the North on the late morning of 5 Vento, but the members of the Hand of Fortune were aware of it only as an occasional rumor of thunder, warm and comfortable in the suite of rooms given over to them by Prince Rhoghûn.  They were just sitting down to enjoy what had become their favorite meal of the day, what the Khundari called “brunch,” when Toran was shown in by Cris, interrupting Korwin’s lecture.

“Brunch is actually an old Telnori innovation,” Korwin was saying as he poured syrup over the battered, toasted bread on his plate, “one still very much in vogue in their lands, at least in the Empire. The Khundari “borrowed” the concept long ago, though of course they would deny any connection–”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Toran rumbled as he strode in, and at Mariala’s gesture pulled up a chair to the food-laden table. Though now officially on detached duty with the Hand, while in his home city he continued to bunk in the trainee’s quarters of the Shadow Guard, joining the group for strategy sessions and occasional social gatherings.He poured himself a glass of sparkling wine mixed with pear cider as he continued.

“I’ve just come from a meeting with Commander Darkeye. It seems that His Highness wants the old Fhorgîn complex sealed up again, but before that happens he wants it thoroughly explored and made safe. Unfortunately, he is reluctant to expose any more of our own people to the possible taint of that old heresy… there’s enough unrest and anxiety in the City right now, we don’t need the malcontents latching on to another tool to promote isolationism.

“To that end, I have been given the job of asking you all if you will undertake the task with me, since you are hardly likely to be corrupted by Khundari Supremacist philosophy.”

He took a long gulp of his drink before adding wryly, “Apparently I don’t count… why risk a fully trained Kahar-ün-Tem, when an acolyte has already been exposed, eh?”

The group discussed the particulars over their meal, and by the time Cris had brought in the steaming cups of chocolate it had been agreed that they would undertake the mission for the Prince.

“Excellent,” Toran exclaimed, slamming his palm down on the table. “We’ll prepare this afternoon, and enter the complex tomorrow at the second hour after the lamps lighten!”

♦ ♦ ♦

The next morning found the six members of the Hand once more sifting through the charred ruins of what had been Arlun Parek’s secret bed chamber cum study. Although both they and the Shadow Guard had scoured the ruins on the day of the assassination attempt, it was decided it was worth one more fine-tooth-comb-search, for secret doors if nothing else.

But it proved fruitless, and once they were convinced of that, they moved on towards the lava chamber. At the end of the hallway opposite Arlun’s chamber they re-examined the small 3×3 meter chamber behind the ancient oak door. It took Toran only a few minutes to find a hidden door, and everyone tensed as he searched for the locking mechanism. But when the section of stone wall slid grindingly aside all that was revealed was another wall of tightly packed rubble.

“It looks like this was purposefully sealed off,” Toran informed his companions after a few minutes of close examination. “And quite a long time ago… no doubt when the sect was suppressed, so almost 600 years past.”

Since it was his considered opinion that it would take a team of engineers and miners several days to even begin clearing the blockage, it was agreed that they should reseal the door, note it, and move on.

Over the next hour, moving slowly and carefully along the long corridors and numerous steep stairways that led down to the lava chamber, Toran discovered four more secret doors. All of them were similarly blocked with solid walls of rubble, and were similarly resealed and noted in his ledger.

Coming at last to the heat and ruddy light of the great cavern, they stood once again on the pier of dressed stone that jutted out into the lake of molten lava. It seemed unchanged from the last time they’d seen it, save that the great gouts of lava that had been thrown up by the inter-dimensional portal had hardened to stone, encrusting parts of the platform. They began a methodical examination of the large, uncomfortably hot chamber, the almost subsonic rumble of the lavafall requiring them to almost yell… Devrik’s own low rumble of a voice was almost unhearable.

A close examination of the cavern walls accessible  to the platform, the pillars, and the platform itself revealed no hidden doors or other interesting features. The rocky shelves along the far walls of the chamber appeared inaccessible by any means at the group’s disposal, and so they turned their attention to the long shelf running west from the platform. It was about a meter-and-a-half drop from the edge of the stone platform, and the shelf was narrow, often little more than a meter wide, sloping down from the rough cavern wall into the magma.

No one was particularly anxious to risk the treacherous-looking path, and finally Toran sighed, and stepped forward.

“I’m more accustomed to this kind of heat, in any case,” he said, as he lowered himself over the edge, Devrik steadying him. “And the Commander did put me in charge…”

The others watched with varying degrees of concern and interest as he slowly made his way along the rugged shelf, one hand always touching the wall. He examined it closely for any signs of hidden doors or concealed tunnels, but he was taken completely by surprise when, near the end of the shelf, his hand went through the stone. The sudden loss of balance sent him tumbling, and from his companion’s point of view he vanished bodily through the solid rock wall.

The group stared in confusion at the place where Toran had been for a moment, and were just scrambling to go after him when his head suddenly poked out through the rough stone wall. His arm followed, and he waved.

“It’s an illusion,” he yelled. “This whole section of wall here is just a very realistic illusion… there’s a corridor beyond it!”

The rest of the Hand quickly, but carefully, made there way to Toran’s head, wary of the pebbles they dislodged that skittered and slid down into the molten pool, where they disappeared with a hiss. They soon joined him in a corridor of ancient worked stone, three meters wide and a little over two meters high – Vulk’s head nearly brushed the ceiling, and he had to resist the temptation to slouch. The light from the magma chamber filled the corridor, the illusion apparently only working from one direction, fading into dimness 10 or 12 meters down ahead of them.

Dimness, but not darkness they discovered as they moved slowly down the dry, crumbling passageway. Every five meters or so the way was lit by the low yellow glow of Khundari glowstones, dim with age but still casting enough light for even the Umantari to see adequately. The corridor continued west (or so Toran assured the others, who were completely lost direction-wise when underground) for twenty meters or so, where they were confronted with a steep flight of crumbling stone steps going up into dimness. As they climbed the steps, Vulk this time having to stoop to avoid hitting his head, the stonework grew less friable and more stable.

“The heat from the magma chamber has a corrupting effect on the dressed stone,” he explained to his companions. “Things should be in better shape as we go on…”

And go on they did, for several hundred more meters, as the corridor turned first north and then east, rising on several sets of steep stairs. By the time they reached the arched doorway at the end of a long, flat stretch of corridor Toran estimated they were more than 100 meters above  the level of the magma cave. They paused outside the doorway, examining what they could see of the space beyond. Eventually they step cautiously across the threshold.

The room was 10 meters square, with plain dressed-stone walls. On the far wall, opposite the doorway, was a small stone basin set at about chest height for the average Khundari. But what dominated the room was the ceiling – considerably higher than that of the corridor, and slanted up at a 20° angle from the wall the doorway pierced, it was carved in a likeness of the face of the Immortal Gheas, Lord of the Khundari, God of the subterranean places of the world. The visage was a stern, even angry one, staring down on the room’s occupants with deep-set stone eyes and a black mouth opened as if to pronounce judgment on those below.

Etched into the stone wall above the basin, and inlaid with bronze, were words in the Runic alphabet of the Khundari. Toran read them aloud to the others:

“Let the hot blood
of the Suplicant Child
be offered to the Great One
and thus the test begins
his worthiness to prove.”

 The bottom of the inside of the stone basin was a dark reddish-brown color, the color of old, dried blood, and the inference seemed obvious. A blood sacrifice was required, although for what was not really clear. Before considering that option, they searched the the walls and floor of the room for any sign of hidden doors or trap panels; but even Toran could find no hint of where an exit might lie.

“So whose blood do we use,” Erol asked at last. “And how much of it?”

“Well, it seems pretty obvious whose blood is required,” Korwin replied with certainty. “This is a Khundari construct, and apparently a racist Khundari one at that… if it’s blood that is needed, then surely it must be Khundari blood. Obviously.”

There was some argument about this, but in the end Toran agreed with the logic. He used his dagger to prick a finger and squeezed a few drops of blood into the basin. Nothing happened.

“I’m afraid they want more than that,” Mariala said regretfully, after a few minutes had passed. “Look at the basin, where the stain is darkest…”

The ninja-dwarf-in-training sighed, and cut a gash along his left forearm, letting the blood drip into the basin until it had reached the line of the old stain. As he was wrapping a strip of cloth around the wound there came a deep rumbling sound from behind them, and the group whirled to see a great slab of black stone drop down across the doorway. But before anyone could react, a second rumbling began and a section of the north wall began to rise slowly upward, revealing a room beyond.

This room was slightly smaller, a 7×7 meter square, again with plain dressed-stone walls. The ceiling was flat and unadorned, a bit less than 3 meters high – this time it was the floor that was of interest. The paving stones were laid out so as to make an obvious grid of squares, five by five, with the center square being a single stone, carved with a stylized sun and glowing with a soft yellow light. The rest of the light in the room came from five huge, gently glowing crystals of transparent faceted blue stone that seemed randomly scattered across the floor. There were also three stone “pillars,” each about a meter high, placed around the room. These were carved in the distinctive stylized faces of the most ancient of Khundari art, and atop each one was a raised circle of red stone, almost like a button.

Careful not to touch anything, the group spread out around the chamber, examining everything as closely as possible… the crystals seemed to actually float a hair’s breadth above the floor, while the carved “pillars” seemed solidly embedded in place. There was much quiet discussion about what it might all mean, although Toran was quiet, thoughtfully examining the set up.

Vulk finally shrugged and placed a hand on one of the faces of the crystal closest to him… it was warm to the touch, and even as he started to say so, the crystal moved away from his hand, gliding silently across the floor until it came to rest against the far wall. At the same time the door to the blood basin room slid shut with a grinding boom.

“I hardly touched it!” he objected over the sudden excited babble. When nothing more untoward happened, and no other door revealed itself, everyone quieted down, and began experimenting… it soon became clear the crystals would move in the direction desired with even the slightest touch on the opposite face, and would not stop until they encountered an obstruction – wall, bumper pillar, or other crystal. A person didn’t count as an obstacle, as Korwin discovered to his annoyance and the others momentary amusement.

Vulk pointed out, as Korwin picked himself and his dignity up off the floor, that once an obstruction was met a crystal could not be moved from that side, even if one reached across and shoved hard on the appropriate face. Apparently you needed to stand directly in back to make a crystal move forward. What the purpose of all this might be evoked some heated debate, until Toran finally spoke.

“I’ve seen something similar, during my training at Areth-Mar,” he said. “it’s a logic puzzle… Khundari priests and scholars use such things to train and test students or candidates. I’ve never seen one exactly like this, but if the form holds true, then the goal is to get a crystal onto the sun icon in that glowing center square…”

“Which one, though?” Erol asked, apparently somewhat bemused by the whole thing.

“If one was a different color, I’d guess that one would be the obvious choice. But since they’re all blue, I don’t think it matters.”

“But we’ve been moving them around now,” Mariala pointed out. “Several of the crystals are blocked now… is it even possible to achieve the goal at this point?”

“There is often a way to reset a puzzle,” Toran answered. “But not always… if this is some kind of fitness test…”

“Hmmmm,” Vulk murmmered, almost to himself. “Maybe…”

He reached over to the red stone “button” on top of the nearest bumper pillar, which he had noticed Korwin studying for several minutes, and pressed down on it. The circle of stone clicked and began to sink into the top of the bumper, not stopping until it was several centimeters below the surface. At the same time all of the crystals that had been moved began to slide across the floor, causing several of the Hand to jump hastily out their way. In less than a minute they had rearranged themselves into their initial pattern.

“It looks like the sect’s candidates, or whatever, had three chances to solve the puzzle,” Korwin said in approval. “One reset per ‘bumper’ pillar.”

“Yes,” Mariala agreed. “And now we’re in the same position, and have only two tries left. So what happened to the… whatever… if they didn’t get it in three? And what happens to us? ”

No one had an answer for that, however, and it seemed there was no choice but to try and solve the puzzle. Korwin, Vulk, Toran and Mariala discussed the various permutations and sketched them out with the tip of a dagger on the walls, while Erol and Devrik examined the walls for signs of a hidden door they might force open by main strength. But even knowing where the door by which they’d entered the room was, they could see no trace of it now that it was closed, and had no better luck finding an exit.

Eventually Korwin was certain he had the correct sequence of moves required to move a crystal onto the glowing center square, and the others took up stations around the room to move the floating stones at his direction. And in seven moves he was proved right, as the last crystal slid silently into place over the carved sun symbol. Everyone held their breath… and a section at the center of the north wall began to slide upward. They all exhaled in relief.

The new corridor that was revealed was dimly lit by the usual ancient glowstones, and ran flat for 10 meters before it jogged to the east. And 1o meters beyond that, it opened into another 10 x 10 meter square room. This one was bare of any ornamentation on walls or ceiling, but a black stone slab door was clearly visible in the center of the eastern wall, facing the party as they entered. Even as the last member of the group entered the room, and Devrik turned to consider how he might prevent them from being trapped should another door come down behind them – and one did, as another slab of smooth black stone slid almost silently into place, sealing them in once again.

“Damn it!” he bellowed. “Why did we all enter the damn room together?”

“Because it’s unlikely any of us being out there would do much good,” Toran pointed out calmly. “This place seems to be a gauntlet of tests, and probably designed to be run by a single candidate… two maybe. The mechanisms for opening the doors would not be inside the test area. There’s either a separate control area, or, given the bloodthirsty nature of this particular sect, it’s more likely that they won’t open until the tests are all either successfully completed or the candidate dies… of dehydration or whatever gruesome punishments failure might lead to. Then the ones in charge would simply come in and remove the body and get everything ready for the next run. Anyway, the other doors are already sealed behind us, so there’s really no option but to go forward…”

No one could argue with that logic, and since the combined strength of Erol and Devrik wasn’t enough to budge the door behind them even the slightest, they moved on to examine the probable exit door. Like the one behind, it was of a single slab of smooth black stone, but possessing a small hole in the center, just a bit wider than the average finger. The surface of the door below the hole, however, was streaked with what looked like the reddish-brown of old dried blood, and on the floor beneath it could be seen several small bones.

“They’re finger tips!” Mariala exclaimed as she pick one up to examine it more closely. “Ugh!” She let it drop back to the floor and surreptitiously wiped her hand on her dress.

The conclusion seemed obvious, and no one was anxious to stick their finger into the mysterious hole. Korwin shone the light from his lantern into the opening, and tried to peer within without putting his face directly in front of the hole, but could make out nothing. Erol borrowed one of Devrik’s spears to probe the hole, but found it too large in diameter. Toran drew out one of his blow darts and inserted it into the opening, but it went no further in than a finger’s length or so.

No one could decide what this might be a test of… courage? A willingness to sacrifice for “the Cause?” Cleverness? Toran did point out that he’d never heard that members of the Fhorgîn sect had only nine fingers, which would, after all, have been a bit of a give-away for a secret society. With a deep breath he stuck his finger into the hole. Rather than feeling the pain of a blade, he felt another opening to the left, and a solid pad he could touch when he crooked his finger. He pushed.

With a slight grinding noise the slab began to sink into the floor, and he hastily removed his finger from the hole.

“So maybe that was a test of the willingness to sacrifice after all,” he said as they moved cautiously into the corridor now revealed beyond the doorway. “But no sacrifice was actually taken.”

“This time,” Vulk muttered darkly.

The new corridor was only about 15 meters long, and ended in a narrow doorway onto a small room. Looking at one another, with a collective shrug of their shoulders, the group crowded into the 3 x 3 meter square room, and were unsurprised when another black slab slid into place behind them. Another plain, low ceilinged room, with only a large lever set into the floor at the center of the space. Before anyone could do more than glance at the pitted bronze handle, however, a deep, booming voice suddenly filled the room.

The words were Khundari, and both Toran and Mariala said at the same time “It’s counting down from eight!”

As the countdown reached its end, Mariala reached out and pulled the lever toward her with a loud ratcheting sound, fully expecting ravenous beasts or something to leap out at them. But instead the lever snapped back into place when she released it, and the booming voice stopped in mid-word. The silence stretched on for several seconds.

“Well, that turned out–” she began, only to be interrupted by the voice again beginning to count down from eight. Again she pulled the lever, again the countdown stopped, and again it resumed from eight after an eight second pause. Eventually the party all agreed that they would have to let the countdown complete without pulling the lever, and they braced themselves for whatever dire challenge would face them…

The countdown finished, and a hidden door to their right, on the south wall, slid open almost silently. After a few moments of waiting for something to come through the door, the group cautiously moved forward into the next corridor.

Less than 10 meters further on they found themselves in a somewhat larger room, about 7 meters deep by 10 meters wide. Directly ahead of them was a large alcove set into the south wall, in which stood a large mechanical device of bronze, iron and stone. Two levers stood at either side of the device, and above it were three tiers of what looked like stone gears laying horizontal to the floor. Each gear had eight faces, and on each face was carved a Runic number, from one to eight. The three faces that faced directly outward, towards the party, read, from top to bottom, 2–1–1.

Carved into the wall behind the strange contraption was another inscription, and like the one in the entrance chamber inlaid with bronze. Toran read it aloud to his companions:

“So honor Gheas who made us all
The Patriarchs who sired us
The Matriarchs who bore us”

While they pondered what this might mean, Korwin reached out and pulled one of the levers, causing the lower and middle gears to spin right, changing the numbers facing outward to 8 on each one. At this point it became obvious to everyone what was required – arrange the numbered gear faces so that they read down as a specific sequence. And while Devrik pointed out there were only 512 possible combinations to try, what the sequence might be seemed equally obvious, as almost everyone knew that the number of Khundari Patriarchs and their wives numbered seven each.

“That’s true,” Toran agreed when Mariala pointed this out. “But one of the heretical beliefs of  the Fhorgîn sect held Gheas himself to have been the First Patriarch, and Alea his wife to be the First Matriarch. They aren’t the only heretics to believe so, but it would weed out any adherents of the true Gheasin faith, who would likely automatically answer “seven”… so I believe the required sequence will be 1-8-8.”

“This seems rather simple,” Korwin commented as he reached for the opposite lever. “We’re two-thirds there already, we just need to move the top number to “1.”

He pulled the handle toward him and the top gear did indeed turn to the right, bringing the “1” into view. But the center gear also moved again, changing the center “8” to “7.”

“Not quite so simple as it seems,” Vulk murmured dryly. Korwin pushed the handle away from himself this time, and now the top and center gears spun to the left. When he pushed the opposite lever the lower and center gears moved left, and the sequence was back to 2-1-1.

“We just need to figure out the right sequence of pushes and pulls,” he muttered, his mind racing over the permutations.

“I don’t think it’s going to be possible to achieve,” Mariala said after a few minutes of considering the problem herself. “Not if the center gear always turns in lockstep with both of the others…”

“No, I’m sure it’s just a matter of the right equation,” Korwin replied distractedly.

“Maybe if we just held down–” Vulk started to say, but was shushed to silence by the deeply concentrating mage. After a couple more attempts to get through to his companion, Vulk simply reached past him and pulled down on one of the levers, holding it down while the top and center gears moved right. He continued to hold it, and while the top gear stopped moving the center one continued to spin until he released the lever.

“Oh,” said Korwin in surprise. “Yes, I see…”

It was but the work of a moment to spin the gears into the proper configuration, and when they did two things happened at once – a hidden door in the center of the eastern wall ground slowly open, and a compartment in the bronze bass of the the gear device slid open. Within the compartment was another inscription and a crystal vial of a faintly luminescent yellow liquid. Toran again translated the writing for the others:

“For one who honored our past, a gift – if you wish to go unseen by those with no eyes to see you, then drink.”

Vulk pulled the vial from its resting place to examine more closely, while the others discussed what it might mean.

“I think I know,” Devrik called from the newly opened doorway. “Undead!”

The others quickly gathered around him to peer down the long corridor beyond the doorway. It was very dimly lit, the glowstones giving off a low reddish illumination, about three meters wide and four meters high, with a barrel-vaulted ceiling. An arched doorway could be seen at the far end, perhaps 30 meters away, and a wide swath of red-stained stone ran down the center of the passageway, faded with age, but clearly once a deep Khundari red. On either side the walls were lined with alcoves… sixteen in total, as far as they could tell in the low light.

Each alcove was set half a meter above the floor, and contained a stone chair in which was seated a skeletal figure. The ones that could be clearly seen from the doorway appeared to be clad in ancient armor, pitted and corroded by time, the clothing beneath rotted and hanging in tatters. Korwin brought out his lantern and focused the light down the corridor, trying to get a better look at the skeletons… the first pair seemed to hold no weapons, but the second set of facing corpses each held a long knife, while the third pair seemed to be holding short swords…

Vulk felt a chill go down his spine and his stomach lurched as he stared down the long passage lined with what were almost certainly going to turn out to be the undead… he flashed back to that horrifying moment months ago when he first felt the icy touch of the Shadow, and the agonizing pain of feeling his very life force being sucked from his body. He was barely aware of the others as they debated who, if anyone, should drink the potion, and what their strategy should be, as he struggled to reign in his fear and master himself.

After a moment of this internal struggle, he suddenly straightened up, invoked his holy armor as he drew his sword, and strode into the sepulcher-like hall. His companions turned to stare in astonishment as he came abreast of the first pair of remains and stopped, ready for an attack. But after a moment, when nothing seemed to be happening, he slowly moved further down the corridor… only to find that when he was between the first and second set of alcoves the skeletons in the first pair suddenly stood and stepped down from their resting places.

Vulk whirled around and prepared to dash past the shambling things, but they were fast and very focused on him, reaching out for him with razor claws. His holy armor flared as one raked his chest, and he swung his sword wildly, panic again overcoming him. But when he had first stepped into the corridor Devrik and Erol had ended the debate over the potion, each one gulping down half the vial’s contents, and now they dashed in, weapons raised.

The animated skeletons paid not the slightest attention to the newcomers, and remained focused on Vulk, if only briefly. A single blow from Devrik’s battelesword and one thrust and twist of Erol’s trident left them two crumpled piles of bone, cloth and metal. With a relieved sigh Vulk stepped over the remains and the three friends stepped back into the relative safety of the gear room.

“Well,” said Devrik in satisfaction, “the potion seems to work as advertised. The cursed undead things didn’t seem to know we were there, even when we hacked them to pieces!”

“I’m not so sure they’re actually undead,” Vulk said somewhat shakily. “We’ve been in the presence of the real thing more than once, me more so than anyone else… I felt no chill of the Void, even when one of the things hit me.

“If these really are reanimated dead, I don’t think it is the Shadow of Torzhalo that’s doing the reanimating…”

“Well, whatever it is, they’re still dangerous,” Erol shrugged. “And since they can’t seem to see Devrik or me, it seems obvious the best way to solve this particular puzzle…”

And so the two fighters strode back into the hall, and passing down its length they systematically hacked each skeletal Khundari warrior into powdered piles of debris. Not a single skeleton raised even a finger bone to resist them. When the work was done the rest of the group moved cautiously to join the two warriors in the red-floored chamber at the end of the corridor… Vulk was quietly relieved when the piles of bone showed no signs of reanimating as the unpotioned living passed them by.

The red-floored room, seven meters square, had a bas-relief frieze running along the walls at about chest height for most of the humans. The colors that had once enlivened the scenes of Khundari military triumphs over Gülvini, Umantari and Telnori foes were chipped and faded now, and if the room had at one time held a test or trial, it apparently did so no longer. A doorway on the far side of the room stood open, leading into a short eastern-running corridor of the usual two meter width.

In their standard marching order the Hand made their way along the latest passage, which quickly turned south. Ten meters later it turned to the west, and for a long stretch of 60 meters or more it continued so, before debouching into the largest chamber they had yet encountered in this “Gauntlet of Gheas” as they had dubbed the complex. They all groaned as they viewed the scene before them.

“Not another one!” Erol complained as he viewed the dozen large blue crystals scattered about the large space.

It did seem to be another logic puzzle, but on a much larger scale. The room was L-shaped, with the long axis running 30 meters north to south and 12 meters wide, and the short axis jutting out from the southeast 20 meters wide and 10 meters wide. Twelve blue crystals, four carved stone bumpers, and two glowing sun-etched plates, one red and the other purple, were scattered about the space. The ceiling was a ribbed-arch barrel vault, five meters high at the center. The door the group entered the room by was in the eastern wall, just south of center, and no other exits were visible.

“Well, I think we know how this works,” Korwin sighed happily, and he immediately set to work puzzling out how to move a crystal onto each of the glowing squares. With the help of Mariala, Vulk and Toran, while Devrik and Erol again searched for the hidden door or doors, he soon had the solution worked out. The group didn’t need even one of the four resets the room’s bumpers seemed to imply, and as the last crystal slid into place a hidden door slid open a few meters south of the one they had entered by.

Forming up again, the group headed east once again, down another 30 meters of gray, dimly lit stone corridor. At the end of the passage they found themselves in the northwest corner of another 10 x 10 meter square room, this one with a domed ceiling eight meters above them, from which began to emanate a brighter than usual glow. This mild yellow light revealed a startling scene that stopped the party in their tracks. Three semicircular stone daises lined the walls of the chamber, one centered on each of the north, east and south walls, and on each dais stood a living figure!

Closest to the party, on the north platform, was a tall Telnori warrior, in shining armor and high, plumed helm, armed with a broadsword and shield. His cold, arrogant face twisted into a snarl as he turned to look at the intruders, and he instantly lunged forward to attack. But he was brought up short by a steel chain, attached to an iron collar around his neck, kept just out of reach of the group crowded near the door.

As the tall warrior leaped forward, so too did the figures on the other platforms – a snarling, foaming Gülvini, ebony skinned, blue haired, and heavily tusked, wielding an enormous curved mang, from the eastern dais;  and a well-muscled Umantari warrior with blond hair, a spear, and an equally enraged visage from the southern. But like the Telnori, they were brought up short by the chains and collars that restrained them. Although they were certainly within reach of one another, they showed no inclination to fight amongst themselves, but seemed totally focused on the group.

Or rather on Toran they soon discovered, as they moved about as much as they could while remaining out of reach of the slavering fighters.

“The three great enemies of my people, according to the Fhorgîn Sect,” he said thoughtfully, as he studied the figures. “Apparently I – or the would-be sect member – was supposed to slay these representatives of Khundari oppressors.”

“That seems obvious,” Mariala agreed. “But the real question is how could they still be here, alive? The Telnori, maybe, but even they can’t live out their long lifespans without food or water… this whole place is imbued with arcane energies, and I can’t sense any specific spell operating here. Could they be illusions?”

Erol stepped forward and jabbed his trident at the Telnori, who blocked with his shield. He felt the jolt up his arm, and almost had his weapon wrenched away before stepping back.

“Seems real enough to me,” he said laconically.

“Could they have been in stasis until we entered the room?” Devrik wondered, hefting his own weapon suggestively.

Attempts to communicate with the three chained warriors elicited nothing more than anti-Khundari rants from the Telnori and the Umantari, and grunts and howls from the Gülvini.

“Perhaps we could get by them if they could be calmed,” Vulk offered, even as he began the chant to call down the blessings of the Herald’s Peace on the room. True, it would make them all disinclined to fight, but since the Hand really had no desire to do so in this case, it didn’t seem to be a problem. The ritual completed, the strange calm settled over the group, and their weapons slowly lowered as any urge to combat faded from their minds.

Unfortunately, the chained warriors showed no similar inclination towards passivity… indeed, if anything, their efforts to reach the party redoubled as their defensive posture relaxed. For the next 30 minutes or so the group stood around and calmly discussed their options (always shying away from anything involving violence, of course), and waited for the effects of the ritual to fade.

Even after the Herald’s Peace wore off, Erol was still all for finding some way to bypass the three to find an exit, but it became increasingly clear that would be impossible. Eventually, despite misgivings about the true nature of the obstacle in their path, it was decided they had to take them out.

Toran unlimbered his crossbow, loaded a bolt, and aimed at the Gülvini… at least if they turned out to be real, he’d lose no sleep over destroying one of that cursed breed. The bolt struck the creature in the left shoulder, knocking it back on its dais. The second bolt took it between the eyes as it struggled to rise. Despite attempts at blocking and dodging, the other two chained fighters soon joined it in apparent death.

“Well, that was like shooting fish in a trough,” Toran sighed as he slung his crossbow over his shoulder. To the south, along the same wall they’d entered the chamber through, another hidden door ground slowly open.

But as the group moved toward it, Mariala held up her hand, looking about in some consternation.

“Wait! Don’t you hear that?”

The others all looked at her blankly. They heard nothing, and said so.

“I hear a voice,” she continued. “It’s in my head… so faint… and look at the bodies! There’s no blood…”

The group quickly saw that she was right, despite bolts through various bits of them, where there should have been large amounts of blood on bodies and floor, there was nothing. As Mariala put her hands to her head to concentrate on the voice in her head, Devrik gestured at the bodies and muttered an incantation of dispelling.

For an moment nothing seemed to happen, and then the bodies began to flicker slightly… and when they did, the watchers suddenly saw not Telnori, Umantari and Gülvini corpses, but rather vaguely humanoid clumps of clay. The two visions continued to flicker erratically across one another, as Mariala began to speak.

“It’s the soul of a Telnori warrior,” she said. “He is so weak… but he says they are trapped souls… captured long ago by… he says, ‘thrice-cursed Khundari wizard-priests’… imprisoned within shells of clay… bound all about by spells… of illusion and compulsion… he is the only one… with the skill to speak mind-to-mind… but only with one also trained to it…”

She stopped, looking up at the others, her face a mask of horror and grief.

“I can feel some of what they feel… just a fraction, but it’s so awful! We need to free them! If we don’t, who knows how long it will be before someone he can communicate with will come along? It’s only after they have been ‘killed’ that the spells weaken enough for him to try this communication… he says even a gül doesn’t deserve this torment!”

“But how can we free them?” Devrik asked, frowning at the flickering forms on the floor. “Destroy these clay puppets completely?”

“No. They need the blessings of a god,” she said simply, and everyone turned to look at Vulk.

“Well of course I’ll try,” the Kasiran cantor said immediately, and quickly began to prepare himself for the ritual that would call down the blessings of his goddess on these tormented souls. While the others watched in subdued silence, he prayed and sought Kasira’s luck, and then he began the ritual phrases to summon her blessing.

There was nothing dramatic, no beams of godly light or celestial music, but as the cantor finished the ritual there was a moment of silent peace and a lifting of an oppressive weight they had hardly been aware of since entering the complex. No one spoke even after the moment had faded to memory, until Mariala stepped up to Vulk, touching his arm, smiling through tears.

“It worked,” she said simply. “I saw them, ghostly images of the forms they must have worn in life, as they rose from their clay prisons. They bowed towards you, Vulk, even the gül, and then they turned to me and saluted before they just… faded away.”

It was a sober and reflective group that exit the dais chamber, leaving behind three lumps of clay and mud, no longer shrouded in even the illusion of life.

It was a long corridor they followed westward now, again dimly lit with dying glowstones. Eventually they came to a turn north, and a short while later, an apparent dead end. As Toran stepped forward to search for a hidden door and its locking mechanism, he once again found what he had expected to be solid to be in fact quite insubstantial. His hand passing through the wall was followed quickly by the rest of him.

When he didn’t reappear after a moment, the others decided there was nothing for it but to follow. The party soon found itself in a familiar room, with the stern carved visage of an angry Gheas staring down at them from the ceiling, the blood-stained basin on the wall to their right, and the once sealed entrance again open to their left.

“Let’s get out of here,” Toran suggested. “I think we have enough to satisfy his Highness, and the sooner his engineers seal this place up, the better.”

No one was inclined to disagree with that sentiment, and so they slowly made their way back up into the living Khundari city and away from the evils of a dead past.