The sun was beginning to rise by the time the group managed to get all of the injured and unconscious away from the Tower and into Baylora’s Sanctum. None of the people who had been enslaved by Viradus for 15 years or more survived the plant’s death… Kelyn Teros, once Baylora’s personal attendant, had been enslaved for over half a century.

Vulk was able to identify Ser Ansel Luderyn, one of Viradus’ warrior slaves whom they’d killed in the tower, by the heraldic device on his tattered clothes. He had been the knight in military command of the Guild of Arcane Lore’s expedition of 3005; Orric Westar, the mage found dead in the same chamber with Ardath, had been the Guild’s representative and overall leader. Who the Northman was remained a mystery… probably one of the mercenaries who made up the bulk of the expedition.

The surviving Hand of Vengeance mercenaries, including Colith… or Alakor, as they now had to think of him… were all weak and dazed, with only spotty memories of the last several days… it seems each had been trapped in some sort of nightmare realm, the shared mind space of the killer plant. Each described a different scenario; some fought battles with monstrous foes, occasionally winning, but more often losing; in either case only to repeat it again and again. Others strove to please a parent or teacher, or competed in tournaments, or fled from unseen horrors. Whatever the specific situation, they remained locked in constant battle.

Ardath and Black Hawk remained in comatose states, despite Vulk’s best efforts and the healing energies of the island itself. The others also slipped into deep sleeps after being laid out in the beds of Baylora’s former students and servants. Drake worried over his brother’s unconscious form until Baylora formed a face from the wood over the bed.

“He will live… have no fear… I sense no lasting taint of the Rot in him… or the others… the power of this place will soon give them… strength… and health… once more.” With that her presence faded away again.

With this assurance, and Marik’s promise to keep watch over the sick, Drake allowed his friends to convince him to return to the Tower to make sure the vicious vegetable was really dead and roasted.

It was mid-morning by the time Devrik, Vulk, Mariala and Drake reentered the ancient tower, and the smoke pouring from the second floor windows had tapered off to occasional wisps. Inside, they found the charred remains of the two enslaved warriors on the blackened and still hot second floor, as well as a carbonized lump where Viradus’ great pod-like body had been. Upstairs the bodies of the serving girl and the Guild mage remained bound in vines that were quickly beginning to shrivel and rot.

In the cellar Devrik hacked apart what seemed to be the plant’s tap root, sunk deep into the stone-lined well they found there, to ensure there’d be no vegetative resurrections. After Drake returned to the Sanctum to seek help for the Gray Ooze fungus he inhaled, the others surveyed the contents of the many crates and boxes in the Tower, and salvaged what seemed worthwhile.

Once the looting was done, Mariala and Vulk drenched the remaining vines and roots of Viradus with oil, while Devrik piled up all the wood he could find on the first floor – crates, boxes and furniture. When all was ready, and his friends were safely outside, he called forth the fire and sent it into the old, dry wood. In minutes, the Tower was ablaze from base to crown, with flames shooting out the windows.

As they watched it burn and, the stone begin to crack, they agreed it was a fitting pyre for the victims of the evil plant’s malice. Mariala noted with some relief that the branches of the Sanctum Oak seemed to pull away from the Tower, up and to the sides, evading the flames, save for a few singed leaves… none of them had considered the Tree when they’d decided to torch the place!

♦

They spent the next three days on the island, the companions camped out in the Garden while the injured remained in the Sanctum. All injuries healed at an amazing rate, every cut and puncture gone within a day, and deeper wounds disappearing in two. By the third day even Ardath and Black Hawk were awake and able to move about.

Ardath remained mentally frail, however… he had been awake and fully aware as Viradus died, and had experienced the agony of the flames in his mind, if not with his body. Mariala felt sorry for him, despite his having brought them all to this point with his impatience and desire for power.

And it was impatience and ambition, not malice or evil intent, that had led Ardath to copy his master’s grimoire and undertake to uncover Baylora’s secrets. He talked, especially to Mariala, as he recovered, and he had no strength or will left for deception or guile. She learned much of his state of mind and his thoughts as he rambled his confessions to her. He dreamed of becoming the greatest Torazan mage of his generation, but he lacked the patience to do it the hard way… he had thought his master foolish for not using more of his own mentor’s (Baylora’s) work, and when he saw a chance to do so himself, he seized it.

He faced serious sanctions by the Guild and his own convocation when they returned to civilization, but she suspected that he might come out of it all a more humble man, and better for it. At least she hoped so. Devrik, on the other hand, had little patience for the battered mage’s “excuses,” and little interest in his ultimate fate – just as long as he failed to profit from this fiasco he’d dragged them all into.

Drake spent his own convalescence studying Baylora’s personal copy of Hyrak’s Living Herbal, a work she had greatly expanded. The tangle of roots and shoots that formed the “binding” of the tome drew nourishment from the Oak, and removing it from the library without damage would be impossible, but he learned an amazing amount in his days of study. He also avidly consumed the treatises on alchemy that he found, and by the time they were ready to leave he was bursting with new ideas.

Vulk was similarly impressed by the volumes on medicine that he read, as well as the ones on herblore and alchemy. He came away feeling that he had gained some considerable insight into the workings of the human body, and how to heal it. And it was a particular section on the efficacy of certain molds to halt infection that led him to wonder about the mounds of faintly glowing green mold that used to be Baylora and her assistant… both Mariala and Devrik agreed that they radiated intense Torazan energies, and given the general healing properties of the island…

In the end he discussed it with the spirit of the Tree, as best he could.

“Yes, I think it likely that the… dross that was once… my body…” she said when he told her his thoughts. “How strange to think of… having once had such a form… but yes, I think it may well impart some beneficial… effect… it was a great healing spell I was working on… when the Release… occurred…

“It would please me… to think I might yet… help heal some of… the hurts of the world… take what you will…”

With Drake’s help, Vulk gathered several samples of the mold from each mound, storing them in solid ceramic jars, with various growth mediums in each. When they returned to civilization, between the two of them, they would see if they could find a way to use this gift…

Both Mariala and Devrik spent many hours perusing Baylora’s worn, but serviceable, copy of Parting the Veil, painfully drawing nuggets of insight about the arts of divination from the author’s scrawled meanderings. It was late in the final afternoon of their time on the island that Devrik had a psionic breakthrough.

As they poured over the book together, a vision of Cantor Kirdik Hanol, the Korönian adversary of his youth, overwhelmed him – Hanol, in full religious garb, in a high-ceilinged stone chamber, lit only by firelight, laughing in triumph over a dark-haired woman bound in chains before him.

The vision left him shaken, angry and afraid, although he couldn’t say why, exactly. Mariala was very sympathetic, recognizing the signs of what she had gone through when her own Second Sight manifested itself several years ago.

“No doubt being around me,” she said, offering a goblet of cool water, “and our constant practice with the tarot decks, has stimulated the latent talent within you. Now that you know you have the Sight, using the cards or stones should become easier!”

Devrik merely grunted in reply, though he did throw her a weak smile as he went to lay down. His mind was in a whirl… this was what he had always wanted, a way to see the future, to be sure he would do no harm if he used the fire… now, maybe, he could be sure. Especially if he managed to work out the secrets in the spell scroll he had found in the Library – Xydona’s Flame it was called, and it promised to give him the power to see the future in the flames themselves…

In the end, they packed up all of Baylora’s books, including her journals, as well as most of the treasures she had gathered during her travels around the world. They also took much in the way of mundane items, from 300’ of fine silk rope, in 30’ and 60’ sections, to grappling hooks, spikes and dozens of exotic and common spices. Not to mention the still mostly full keg of very fine brandy.

Two of the boats that had brought Ardath and the Hand of Vengeance to the island were damaged beyond repair, but the smallest was fixable. Thus, they were able to load everyone and their loot into four overloaded boats on the morning of the fourth day, after their farewells to the spirit of Baylora in her great oak tree.

For much of their stay within her Sanctum the group had heard and seen little of the surviving essence of the great mage, and what they did hear or see was often confusing. It was clear that whatever she was now, Baylora was no longer very human in her perspective. Her “speech” was hesitant, as if trying to remember the meaning behind the words she spoke, and it was filled with references to “the Green” and other, even less comprehensible ideas.

But she did make if clear that the humans who had defeated and destroyed her “great mistake” were welcome to take what they were able to from the worldly possessions that had once been hers. Her only demand was that any maps or written descriptions of the location of her island be left behind.

“With Viradus… gone… and the Rot… vanquished… I am content in the Green,” she told them all as they gathered in the Garden Room, beneath her statue, through which she “spoke.”

“I am done… with the strife and… contention… of the human world… I wish for no… other visitors… and I ask for your… word… that you will keep the… secret… of my home…”

The companions, as well as the mercenaries and Ardath, all agreed that they would tell no one else of the location of her island and Sanctum. As they spoke the words a sweet, tangy aroma rose all around them… the smell was both exhilarating and a bit dizzying, but both sensations quickly passed.

As they turned to go, and the mercenaries filed out the door and across the stepping stones, Baylora spoke one final time, specifically to Mariala.

“Sister… I would ask a boon… of you…”

A section of the living wall opened near Mariala, and the jorum box with which Viradus had hoped to destroy its creator appeared within.

“Take this… jorum… away from here… do with it as… you will… but I will risk its presence… no more… yet you may find… it useful… it bears my… signature? Mark? Those who knew me… will know it… is mine… if any doubt… the story you will… tell…”

With that the statue became just a statue again, and they knew Baylora was gone, back into the Green, whatever exactly that was. Mariala lifted the ornate box from the gap, which quickly closed up again, and they turned to leave the Tree for the last time.

♦

With the boats so laden with loot, they took their time polling through the waters of the marsh, but even so, Baylora’s island disappeared into the mists behind them quickly enough. Black Hawk directed them, impatiently, towards an area where they could expect to meet his people, and receive their help.

He had at first been suspicious of the “outlanders,” but too weak from his ordeal to do much about it. But as he healed and heard the tale of how they had come to the island, he began to relax. When Devrik told him of their encounter with his sister, Raven, he became quite talkative.

It seemed that the particular nightmare he had been trapped in, within the mind of the plant, was one wherein he tried to save his sister from the coils and ravenous jaws of a huge marsh serpent. Sometimes he succeeded, only to have her slip away into the mists and be taken again; other times he failed, and would be sunk in despair until he heard her cries again.

It was a great relief to hear from these strangers that she lived and was unharmed, but he would not truly believe it until he saw her again. And so he drove the group on as quickly as they would go, if not as quickly as he wished.

♦

It was mid-day when they came upon a small hunting party of the Golana, who at first were inclined to flee what seemed to be the ghosts of those who had entered the taboo waters. But with much coaxing and explanation Devrik and Black Hawk were able to convince them that they still lived, and had escaped the dread area.

The hunting party then quickly led the party to the Golana village, a collection of reed huts and longhouses built on floating platforms an arrangement that could be altered in configuration or moved to a new location with relative ease and quite quickly. In the time Black Hawk had been enslaved they had moved several times, in fact.

It was a joyous and amazed reunion, once everyone came to understand what had happened. Raven was torn between her happiness to have her brother back, and Devrik’s safe return. Over the course of the two days the party spent with the Golana Rethmani their hunting chief, Red Snake, several times offered Devrik a place in the tribe.

“I am honored, my friend,” Devrik replied finally, at the third offer. “But I have responsibilities elsewhere, and I cannot linger here, much as I might wish to.”

Red Snake accepted this, and made it clear that Devrik, as well as his friends, was welcome amongst them at any time. Raven was less understanding, but when Devrik made a counter offer, that she accompany him out into the wider world, she grew quite.

“I am torn, my love,” she said at last. “My heart pulls me to you, as does the promise of adventure, excitement… but I have only just regained my brother, and my family needs me…”

In the end they were forced to recognize a stalemate, and again prepared to say good-bye. Their love-making that last night was both passionate and bittersweet.

It was during their time with the Golana that the group began to realize that they had no real memory of exactly where Baylora’s island was located.

“If we ever return to the Island,” Vulk was saying to Mariala, “it should be an easy matter, even without the maps. We just…”

He paused, looking puzzled.

“Yes,” agreed Mariala. “It’s not difficult once you know… the… landmarks…” she tapered off into her own confused silence.

“I can see the island, remember everything that happened,” Vulk went on slowly. “But when I try to remember how we came there… or even how we left…”

“It’s all a blank,” Mariala agreed. “Baylora must have tampered with our memories somehow!”

After questioning the others who had been on the island, they soon realized that none of them could remember exactly where the Island was, or how to find it again. This news only reinforced the Golana’s inclination to keep up their taboo on visiting the area, and they agreed to Devrik’s suggestion that they guide no one else there in the future.

♦

The trek back up the river proved delightfully uneventful. In Pelon Ferry they were able to sell back their boats, although at a fraction of what they’d paid, and Drake even managed to get back Kemis the mule.

The overland journey through the northern wetlands back to Oroth was equally placid, with only the thrill of the hunt to break the boredom of the march and the annoyance of the biting insects.

Drake and his brother spent a great deal of time together, talking quietly, heads bent close together. It was during this time that Drake finally got the whole story of his brother’s disappearance so many years ago.

“I stumbled upon our dear uncle one night… I had snuck out to meet Alica Joreton, for a tumble in the old grange storehouse… Uncle Querdon was there, which I thought very odd. He was dressed, as always, in black, and seemed… furtive.

“I soon realized why when two other men entered – Ser Danyes Bernan and a small, rat-like man I didn’t recognize. I could hear them quite clearly, for all that they spoke quietly, and they fell quickly to business – criminal business! The small man seemed to be with the Zalik-mal, but deferred in a cringing sort of way to Ser Danyes… as did our uncle.

“I didn’t understand everything they said, but it was soon clear that Uncle Querdon was selling illicit plants and herbal preparations to the knight and his pet thief, who were then turning them into drugs to be sold in the larger market towns.

“I would have moved away then, and run to summon the Guard, but I was undone by an ancient, rusting hoe. I stumbled over it, and in a flash the little rat-like man was on me… I was young, and knew little of fighting then, as you know… still I managed a good blow with that rusty hoe!”

He paused, raising a hand to his scarred face and missing right eye.

“But all that did was enrage him, and that’s when I lost my eye and gained the first of these scars, at his dagger’s point. I was on the ground, only semi-conscious, when Ser Denyes and our uncle came to stand over me. The last thing I remember was Uncle Querdon hissing my name in anger, before the knight’s boot kicked me into darkness.

“When I awoke, I was still in the old grange hall, but the place was in flames. I stumbled up and towards the back, where the heat seemed less, but the flames were everywhere. I ran through them and out the back door, but my clothes caught… if I had not run almost into the arms of Alica, I would have been much more badly burned, perhaps have died… but she managed to put me out, and only the side of my face and my right arm was badly burned.

“I was dazed, in terrible pain, and could hardly walk, but I knew I was dead if Ser Danyes learned of my escape… somehow I convinced Alica to take me to her father’s shop, by the back streets… it wasn’t far. By then men had begun to fight the fire, and we slipped into the shadows just in time…

“Old Joreton took care of me, as I mumbled out my story, and agreed I must remain ‘dead’ for my own safety. He seemed unsurprised to hear of the crimes of Ser Danyes, much less of my uncle, though he said little, beyond agreeing they were ‘a bad lot.’

“In a day or two he arranged to smuggle me out of town in a shipment of his pottery, bound for Tendus, in the south. I was still semi-delirious, but I made him swear he would get word to you, to get you to safety as well…”

“I never heard a word from him,” Drake said. “But eight years later I found a note, wedged under the door jam of our uncle’s back door… it had obviously been there a very long time, yellowed and moldy. It was in a feminine hand, and said you had discovered our uncle was a criminal, and paid the for the knowledge. It was that note that led me to follow the old man, and see him handing over poisons to Ser Danyes. I left home that very night, fearing they’d murder me, as they must have you.”

“Hmmm, I wonder if Alica defied her father, and tried to get word to you,” Alakor wondered. “I think he must have decided it was safer to leave you be than to get further involved in such dangerous matters… I suppose I can’t blame him, though I wish he’d been… well, he was good enough to save me, and we’re together now, so all’s well that ends well, eh brother?”

“Except that it hasn’t ended yet, has it?” cried Drake. “That bastard Ser Danyes is now the Constable of Dür, and our vile uncle continues to thrive, providing drugs and poisons to him and the Zalik-mal!”

“That is true, Draik,” Alakor replied with a slight smile. “But not for very much longer, I pray.

“I have spent all the years since I fled seeking out a means for my revenge… when I never heard from you, I feared you had been killed, perhaps that very same night if the conspirators wanted to take no chances. So I became a mercenary and always I sought evidence of the crimes of Ser Danyes Bernan.

“Over the years I brought together good men, eventually seizing control of the Hand when our former captain threatened to ruin my work. By then I knew you were alive, of course, as you had found your way to my side – I think your allegiance to Kasira is a wise one, I remain amazed at our luck!

“But when you didn’t recognize me, I thought it best to remain hidden. Perhaps it was a mistake, but I had kept my secrets so long, it seemed easier, and safer for you, to keep you in the dark.”

He looked directly at his younger brother then, and put a hand on his shoulder, his eyes suddenly full of pain.

“I hope you can forgive me, Draik, I–”

Drake pulled his bother to him in a fierce embrace.

“Of course I forgive you, I just thank Kasira you’re alive. And now that we’re together again, nothing will stop us from destroying both Danyes Bernan and our damn uncle!”

After a moment they pulled apart, looking away from each other, embarrassed by the water in their eyes. Eventually Alakor slapped Drake on the back and they continued walking.

“I think we may be close to achieving that goal, brother,” Alakor said, slapping at a swarm of gnats around his face. “This mage Ardath has information about the Constable’s activities, information that may just be what we need to bring him down. It’s why I took the job with Ardath, you see…”

♦

Arriving in Oroth after dusk, the party decide to break up and make their way to several different inns, so as not to draw attention to themselves. Cris is thrilled to see them, especially Drake. He’s kept an eye on all the horses, and has come to know many of the stable hands (some quite well). After a day of rest, keeping a low profile, they manage to get all the horses and gear back together, and leave town at dawn of the next day.

The road back to Devok was almost a pleasure after the journey through the swamps, although there was a little tension as the by-passed the town of Ujen. But the trip was uneventful, and they reached Devok in the late morning of 16 Metisto, a beautiful spring day full of promise and life.

♦

The next month was a busy one for the four companions and their friends, as they set about tying up the loose ends of their latest adventure. Master Vetaris was the first to hear the full tale of the discovery of Baylora’s Sanctum, and was able to verify its truth through the agency of the jorum Mariala had brought back. The journals also provide a less esoteric confirmation of their story, for those not versed in the arcane arts. The mage agreed to take custody of Ardath, as a “guest” in his home, until they could decide what to do with him. The younger mage offered no resistance.

While Vulk saw to the affairs of Fortune’s Favor, Drake and Devrik saw to the disposition of the mundane loot taken from Baylora’s Sanctum, and worked with Alakor for a fair division amongst the group and the survivors of The Hand of Vengeance. Alakor himself began seeking out new recruits to build his company back up to full strength. Mariala spent much time closeted with her mentor, and occasionally Ardath, studying the arcane materials recovered from the Island.

Once the finances were settled, and other aspects of life seen to, it was agreed that Ardath must be taken to the Guild of Arcane Lore’s great hall in Lothkir, were he could best be brought to task for his actions. Master Vetaris, Mariala and Devrik, along with two of Alakor’s mercenaries, undertook the journey. They also bore such of Baylora’s artifacts and tomes as they had decided to turn over to her former chantry.

They were gone for two tendays, and returned with much to tell their friends – of Ardath’s judgement by the Guild Council, of the reception of the news that Baylora’s Sanctum had been found, and of the excitement of the big city. Vulk and Drake also had tales to share, of their voyage aboard the Fortune’s Favor on her latest trading voyage, and adventures in the south.

In the days that followed, they all settled into a quiet routine of study, training and relaxation. The only real blight was Devrik’s occasional nightmares, which he could never quite remember, except that they involved fire and fear. Until the night of 9 Agras, when he woke with his vision still seared clear in his mind – Raven, belly swollen with a child, wreathed in flames and screaming in the combined agony of childbirth and burning. He didn’t get back to sleep that night.

It was two days later, as the companions and some friends were enjoying a warm almost-summer evening supper at their inn, that the quiet calm of their existence was suddenly disturbed. The door to the common room burst open suddenly, slamming against the wall as a tall figure staggered in.

“Devrik!” the figure cried. “I must find Devrik…”

It took a moment for the companions to recognize Black Hawk of the Golana Rethmani – his face was bruised and swollen, his bandaged and in a sling, his leg swathed in bloody rags. Devrik leapt to his side even as the other patrons of the inn recoiled.

“Brother,” he rasped, “what has happened to you?”

“Devrik, they’ve taken her…” Black Hawk sagged against his friend. “…Raven…”

“Who?! Who has taken Raven?” Devrik pulled the injured man to the nearest table and pushed him onto the bench.

“Gulvini… we were travelling to find you… to tell you…” Black Hawk seemed to have trouble focusing. “In the hills… they left me for dead… but they took care not to harm her… or your unborn child.”

With that he collapsed onto the table, unconscious, as Devrik stared in shock at him.