20-27 Metisto 3020

Compared to her arrival in Tishton, with her novice crew, the Wind of Kasira’s arrival in Thermexold was almost anticlimactic. The experienced crew shook out nicely over the five day voyage, and Captain K’Jurol seemed well pleased, Mariala thought as she watched the sailors making the ship fast to the dock. The trip had been rather exciting, between seeing fighting sea monsters, volcanic eruptions, pods of whales and dolphins – and of course the discovery of a derelict ship and its sole survivor. She frowned as she considered their unwanted prisoner, still being held in his cabin aboard the Owl of Shalara.

They really needed to get him to the authorities post haste, along with the evidence of his perfidy and foolishness… she patted the bag slung over her shoulder which contained Verin Kalworn’s journals and notes, along with her translation of his coded entries. She still didn’t know what the man had been trying to do, or what he actually had done, but it clearly wasn’t good. Erol and Korwin would be here shortly with the prisoner, and then they could let the authorities sort it all out…

Devrik, watching the docking from the forecastle as well, drummed his fingers impatiently on the railing. He had been surprised to find himself diverted at all from his focus on getting his family safely to his side, but the volcanic island of Moruh had been stunning. Watching the mountain spewing smoke into the air and pouring rivers of lava into the sea at sunset had been awe-inspiring, and his visit to the island the next morning had left him energized and excited. Korwin had been right, it was certainly worth the stop.

Nonetheless, he wanted to get this business with that idiot Kalworn over with, so they could make their way to the Gate that would reunite him with his family. The pilot, Arus Salasin, had been able to give them a general idea of the Nitaran Portal’s location, but they would need specific directions from the locals to actually find it… hopefully, whatever authority to which they turned over the Owl of Shalara and its lone survivor would be able to provide that needed information. And here was Korwin and Erol now, with their prisoner, still looking rather sick, between them…

•••••

In the event, the Harbor Master had been willing to take charge of the Owl of Shalara, and to facilitate the salvage payment that was due them for its recovery. A thin, wiry, gray-haired older woman, she was familiar with the vessel’s owners, had known the captain as well, and was upset to learn of the fate he and his crew had suffered. She sent her own men to summon the Baron Sagalarin’s soldiers, rather than the City Guard, and turned a cold eye on Verin Kalworn, who shrank under her glare.

“This is not the first ship to vanish from the western waters in recent months,” she said once the man had been taken away, still protesting his utter innocence and victim-hood. “Although I guess the Owl hasn’t actually vanished – only its crew. Still, I suppose it would have joined the missing list, had you not happened upon it when you did… I wonder if this fellow of yours has had a hand in those other cases?”

“He’s certainly not “our” fellow, I assure you,” Mariala said with a grimace. “And reading his journals, I really doubt he’s done anything like this before… but of course I can’t guarantee it.”

“Hmmm… well, in any case the Baron’s inquisitors will have the truth out of him soon enough. And I doubt they’ll be gentle, either. These missing ships are beginning to worry the Imperial government, at last, and once the Emperor learns of it, you can be sure something will be done!”

“No doubt, no doubt,” Devrik interrupted before she could get started on the manifold virtues of the Emperor Gil-Garon. “But perhaps you could help us with another matter. We are seeking a Nitarin Gate which –“

“Ah, well you’ve come to the wrong port, I’m afraid,” she said with a dry chuckle. “The island’s main Gate is near the capital, in Aldetha to the south. And the other one is controlled by the Cult of Tanar, I understand, at their keep of Dor Ark… and that’s on the complete opposite side of the island.”

“Yes, so we understand,” Devrik said, grabbing patience with both hands. “But we understand there is a third Gate, somewhere west and north of Thermexold, up in the mountains…”

“Humph. Well, on this island pretty much everything is ‘up in the mountains,’ as you may have noticed,” she replied with a snort. “But I’m not familiar with it, if such a thing really exists. I think your best bet would be to check with the Cartographer’s Guild. It’s not far, just one district over, in Hammerhead.”

Grinding his teeth, Devrik smiled and thanked the Harbor Master for her help…

Neither Toran nor Korwin was particularly interested in a visit to another Cartographer’s Guildhall, given their experiences at the last one, and instead volunteered to find rooms for the group at a nearby inn. Captain K’Jurol had recommended the Inn at Hammerhead, and when it proved to lay on the direct path between the Port Authority and the guildhall, they seized the opportunity to secure accommodations. Although she planned to stay aboard the Wind Mariala joined them, while Vulk continued on with Devrik.

In just over an hour, as the sun was disappearing behind the mountainous interior of the island, the two men were back at the inn, with detailed directions and two mountain pack ponies. Devrik had secured them, on advice, immediately after leaving the guildhall, not wanting to risk leaving the matter until morning. While Vulk found the others in the common room, Devrik saw to the stabling of Vorodan and Nelalwe.

“Does anyone understand what the sign for this place means?” he asked as he sat down a short while later at the table his friends had secured. He picked up the flagon of ale they had waiting for him and quaffed half of it in a single go.

“Well,” Korwin offered,” it’s a hammerhead shark, which appears to be delivering a soliloquy from the waves, to that crowd of people on the headland above, while various whales and dolphins look on. I gather the name is sort of play on words… the bluff this inn sits on, and for which the district is named, is Hammer Head.”

“Alright, fine, but why do the whales and dolphins look so annoyed?” Devrik pressed, wiping the foam from his lips.

No one had an answer for that, and the group turned to ordering food and more drinks. The inn was a very nice one, with a generally higher class of clientele than would have been found closer to the docks. The Hand had arrived in time to claim the table that sat in the central half-circle bay of windows that overlooked the sea. The two moons, as they rose in the east, cast rippling light roads of pale blue and rose on the wine-dark dark waters and set the stage for romance.

Korwin made numerous efforts to impress the barmaids with tales of his adventures, and despite a marked lack of success he seemed undaunted and undeterred. If this were a just world, Toran chuckled to himself as he took a gulp of his third beer, such perseverance would be rewarded in the end. Much later in the evening he looked around to see how his watery friend was doing and discovered he was nowhere to be seen… maybe there was more justice in this world than he’d believed!

As the evening progressed the common room of the inn became quite crowded, hot and noisy. At one point Mariala ended up at the central bar, flirting with several young men who seemed to have taken a fancy to her. Vulk and Devrik, holding down their table, watched from afar and amused themselves with a running commentary.

“I imagine she starts,” Vulk said owlishly, only slurring his words slightly, “by saying, in a dead “sexy” voice, that she can set a man’s nerves on fire. They grin, and she gets serious and says—

“—No literally, I can set your nerves on FIRE,” Devrik finished the thought, and they both laughed like hyena’s, Vulk snorting beer out his nose. “And then the guy beats a hasty retreat!”

Which may have been more-or-less what actually happened, for a few minutes later the would-be swains were nowhere to be seen and Mariala had returned to the table with two fresh drinks in hand and one annoyed look on her face. Wisely, neither of her friends commented.

Not long after striking out Mariala was ready to return to the Wind of Kasira, although Erol appeared to still be going strong, arm wrestling with Toran as a crowd of yelling patrons looked on and placed bets. But on seeing her preparing to leave, he gallantly insisted on escorting her down to the docks. “I want to put in some time on that spell I’m working to develop, actually… I’m getting close, and I’m feeling inspired tonight.”

“Inspired?” Mariala laughed. “After five flagons of beer and a shot of rum… or was it two?… I should think so. But are you in a fit state to be working magic, Erol?”

“Oh, pshaw! I do some of my best work in an altered state! Milady?” He offered her his arm, and with a shrug and a laugh she took it. It was certainly a relief to leave the overheated common room and step out into the cool night air…

•••••

The next morning Mariala returned to the inn, minus Erol who had decided to stay behind “to keep an eye on the ship and get some work done.”

“My cousin is not going to abscond with our ship,” Korwin had said coldly when he learned of this, and Mariala made a placating gesture.

“I’m sure that thought never even entered his mind, Korwin. He truly is making progress on that new spell of his, and he doesn’t want to break his concentration at this point… and apparently that Telnori body of his doesn’t suffer hangovers, either.”

“Bastard,” Korwin muttered bleakly, and rubbed his temples, squinting in the morning light. Several others muttered grumbling agreement with the sentiment. Devrik was not one of them, however, and he cheerfully got everyone up to speed on their journey, eager to get started.

“Do we really need pack horses?” Vulk frowned at the early morning enthusiasm, and belched. “Why didn’t you get riding horses instead?”

“You were there, Vulk, didn’t you listen to what the map fellow told us?”

“Eh, I was more focused on his fetching smile, truth be told,” Vulk admitted sheepishly. “And his large–”

“Well, to reach this Karvex’s Portal, as it’s called,”Devrik went on hastily, “it’s a three day journey into the Urgatha Forest, which is not only heavily wooded, as the name suggests, but also very rugged and mountainous. He strongly recommended that we not try to ride, and said it would be hard to find an ostler who’d rent us horses if we did. So I hired these sturdy mountain ponies,” he patted Vordon’s flank and scratched behind his ear, “to carry our gear up and Raven and Aldari back down. The road is not particularly hard to find or follow, but the land is wild and little-peopled… “

“You didn’t say anything about camping out last night,” Korwin grumbled. “Maybe I should stay behind too… to keep an eye on Erol…”

“Oh, don’t be a pansy,” Devrik scoffed. “It’s wild, but there are a handful of small, remote settlements along the way, I’m told. We should be able to find some accommodations, but of course it’s always best to be prepared. Now let’s get this show on the road!”

•••••

Two days later, everyone was fully recovered, and actually enjoying the outing. The land was indeed rugged, but also quite beautiful, with the oaks, beeches and larches of the coastal lowlands giving way to the dark pines and firs of the higher elevations. Morning mists shrouded the trees in mystery, burning off slowly as the day progressed, only to return at nightfall. Streams chuckled and chattered down mossy slopes, often falling in gorgeous cataracts over rocky cliffs as they climbed higher and higher.

Late in the afternoon, some two hours before sunset, the mists were beginning to rise again, and the ancient smell of woodland mould and pine was strong in the cool, moist air. Suddenly, a light flickered through a break in the heavy foliage, about 100 meters ahead… as they moved toward it they saw that it came from the windows of a single modest cabin. The glow from those windows tinted the mist a warm gold, and Korwin hoped it meant he wouldn’t have to sleep under the stars again this night.

But before the Hand got much closer what seemed to be mere mounds of moss, mouldering leaves, and vines suddenly began to heave up from the forest floor around the group… roots and vines began to thrash and twitch, twisting and knitting themselves together, with shocking rapidity, into some ghastly parody of humanity. Four mossy, muddy, vaguely human shapes, as tall as Vulk, rose up around them with multi-throated pulpy roars that momentarily froze them all in place.

As the first of the hideous plant creatures reached its gnarled vine-arms toward him Toran broke the spell of horror that had rooted him momentarily in place, pulling his battle-axe from his back. With a roar he swung it in a mighty overhand blow, bringing the blade down to sever the thing’s right limb, which fell to the ground, writhing obscenely. He nimbly dodged away from the clutching grasp of a second creature…

Mariala touched the pale green stone set in one of her rings and triggered its power – her mind opened like a flower blossoming and she reached out to seize control of the strange vegetative life forms around her… and met resistance. It was like a wall of thorns, almost painful in its defiance of her attempt to control the plants. Some other will was behind these creatures, she realized, and it was stronger than her own, even amplified by the power of the ring Master Vetaris had given her years ago. She staggered back, forced to abandon the attempt…

Devrik pulled the Sword of St. Helathor from it sheath on his back, muttering the incantation for Goraten’s Brand as he did – “Flame on!” The sword burst into flames over his head with a welcome whoosh of heat, and he brought it down on the nearest Root Beast, cleaving the thing into two smoldering halves. Two others moved in from either side…

Korwin, on seeing the terrifying horde of monstrosities rise up from the forest floor around them, immediately began to gather his energies to cast Ice Needle of Burkon. But his Form was flawed, and the spell sputtered out in failure as four balls of slush slammed into the nearest creature’s head, body and leg… causing it no damage at all. It lumbered forward, its twisting, grasping arms reaching hungrily for him, but as he leapt clumsily aside, his foot caught on a stone. That stumble may have saved him, for the thing missed its grab, and he rolled away to scramble back to his feet…

Vulk had his broadsword out in his right hand and the Staff of Summer in the left, and managed to cut the leg out from under the Root Beast attacking him, with a savage counterstrike. The Staff was whispering in his mind… something is causing a disturbance in the Green… an insight so obvious that he’d have rolled his eyes if he wasn’t so busy fending off an example of that very disturbance…

Toran was locked in a stalemate of attack and counterattack with a particularly large Root Beast, until he saw his moment. Realizing that the things tended always to attack, whatever the situation, he feinted left. When the vegetable monstrosity lunged forward, he pivoted right and brought his battle-axe around in a tremendous arc that cut the thing in half at the waist. As the two halves hit the ground, twitching, he spun away, looking for his next target…

Meanwhile, Devrik was engaged by two of the creatures, coming at him from either side. He lopped a flaming limb from one, only to be caught by a powerful blow to his chest from the other. He went flying backward, narrowly missing Vulk, and collapsed unconscious to the forest floor. As his battlesword fell from his nerveless grip the flames along its shining blade flickered and went out…

Seeing her friend go down, a surge of adrenaline hit Mariala, and she touched her Ring of Plant Control again. Knowing what to expect, this time she was prepared for the resistance. Focusing her will like an iron spike, she plunged it through the virtual wall of thorns, shattering it and breaking its control over a single plant beast. Before the creature had time to realize it was free she had seized control of it herself… only to reel back in shock as Korwin severed one of its “hands” with his Frost Blade-enchanted cutlass.

Vulk had parried several blows and dodged an equal number of attempts at grappling from his own opponent, and now drove his blade into its abdomen… to no effect at all, of course. It wasn’t like these unholy abominations of animated plant matter had internal organs, he realized, chagrined. Perhaps it was time for him to summon the earth elemental, as the Staff kept whispering to him…

But before he could act on the impulse, a chanting voice came high and clear from the direction of the isolated cabin ahead. Through the trees a woman was rushing toward them – beautiful, silver-haired, dressed in simple robes, she ran toward the melee in exactly the graceful way a deer wouldn’t. In her hands were bundles of dried, burning sage, and she commanded the beasts to be gone as she waved the flaming herbage at them… the smoke seemed to grow suddenly in volume, enveloping the Root Beasts. Shrieking in terror, the things reeled away, then quickly began melting back into the mould of the forest floor…

As the shadowy woods grew quiet, the woman let the burning brands drop to the ground and turned to greet the travelers.

“Well met, my friends… I swear, it is all a woman can do to get by on her own out here… terrible things stalk these dark woods! But if you know their weaknesses, they are easily dealt with… I am Arasina, an acolyte of Drina, and this is my home. Welcome! Won’t you allow me to extend the hospitality of my modest hearth to you, after your fright and exertions? Night will be falling all too soon, and these woods are no place to be astray after dark.”

Arasina was beautiful, Mariala thought, with more than a hint of the ethereal about her, which probably meant at least some Telnori blood… as did those silver-blue eyes. But her beauty did nothing to allay Mariala’s suspicions about this convenient rescue… there had been some other controlling mind behind those plant-things, after all…

“Your offer is very kind, Arasina,” she said, careful to mask her wariness. “But our friend is injured and we must see to him before anything else. Vulk, how is he?”

“I’m afraid there are broken bones in his left hand, a couple of cracked ribs at least, and a possible concussion,” the cantor/healer replied absently. He had rushed to Devrik’s side as soon as the Root Beasts had faded back into the ground and had quickly sunk into his healing trance. Extending his consciousness into his friends body, he’d traced the damage and begun the process of knitting tissue and bone back together. Without Baylorium, even the generic form, it was going to be a slow recovery though, despite the cantor’s psionic power. It would take a miracle…

“Actually, I think we should take the lady up on her offer,” Vulk said suddenly, coming fully out of his trance. “I’ve begun the healing process, but I need quiet and a safe place for what I want to try next. You say you’re an acolyte of Drina, ma’am… are you a Druid then?”

“Indeed,” the mysterious woman replied, smiling. “And I have many beneficial salves and unguents in my home, as well as some skill of my own in the healing arts. I would be pleased to help you in any way I can.”

Devrik groaned then, and began to stir. Vulk helped him to his feet as the fire mage fought back a wave of nausea. His head was pounding, his left side throbbed, and the pain in his left hand was sharp and pulsing in time to his own heart beat. Even so he could tell that Vulk had already been at work, dulling the pain. He allowed his friends to help him to the silver-haired woman’s cabin, and quickly collapsed on her offered bed with a deep sigh.

“Devrik, I am going to try a ritual to invoke Kasira’s blessing for my healing,” Vulk whispered as he helped his friend onto the pallet. “If it works, and the Lady smiles on us, I should be able to heal you almost as effectively as the Baylorium would.”

The fire mage nodded and relaxed. Even if his friend’s prayers went unanswered, if Vulk could just get his head clear, then he could at least wield his own fire magic again safely… well, as safely as he ever did, anyway… and he wouldn’t be entirely defenseless then. Of course, if they could make it to the Portal and retrieve his wife and son, they’d be bringing another batch of Draik’s Baylorium with them… and then this cursed broken wrist would be history.

While Vulk went about his preparations to ensure the success of his ritual invocation, Arasina bustled about the spacious interior of her surprisingly comfortable and homey cabin preparing her own healing concoction, which she assured her guests would mend all their hurts and even banish exhaustion. A bewildering variety of plants, herbs and leaves hung from the rafters, in various stages of drying, and the shelves along the wall were crowded with pots and vials of clay, wood and glass. A fire burned cheerily in a large fireplace, filling the room with heat and light, accented by a few flickering lamps in the corners. On the hearth a pot of savory-smelling stew simmered and hand-carved totems decorated several walls. A small trap door lay in one corner, no doubt access to a root cellar.

At a workbench under a window the woman added various elements to a small bubbling pot set over a modest flame, and as she worked Korwin and Mariala watched. Toran restlessly prowled the perimeter of the chamber, uncertain what it was that was making him so unsettled and on edge…

“So, milady,” Korwin said, smiling. “Your eyes are so beautiful, and your hair is a most unusual color… so lustrous. I would guess that you have the blood of the Star Children in you, no?”

Mariala rolled her eyes at her obviously-smitten companion’s attempt at flirtation, but never took her gaze off their hostess’ work – while seeming not to watch her at all. Arasina just smiled at the water mage and nodded with a demur glance from beneath her lashes.

“Indeed, I am Aunari, ser,” she replied, crumbling a dark purple herb into her pot. “My grandfather was Telnori, and I’m told I’ve inherited his looks… though I’ve never met him myself.”

“Why do you live out here in this wilderness?” Korwin asked. “So far from the safety of civilization…” He was indeed quite besotted by their hostess’ beauty and feminine grace. So much so that he’d barely even noticed how he’d resisted the urge to nick several shiny baubles she had laying around the place.

“Far indeed,” the Druid laughed. “I find it much easier to contemplate the great gifts of Drina here in the midst of them, rather than surrounded by the trappings of so-called civilization. And it is easier here, by far, to find the rare herbs and plants that allow me to offer healing to your friend, and to yourselves.” She stiffened and turned suddenly, to stare across the room.

Vulk was kneeling at Devrik’s side, his hands clasped in supplication over his friend’s form, and a lambent golden-green light seemed to slowly surround the two men. In its glow, the cantor laid his hands on the injured man’s hand and side, head bowed in concentration. The light seemed to gather and intensify around his hands and the places on Devrik where they touched… after a moment he moved one hand from his friend’s ribs to his head, and the light seemed to follow, leaving a ghostly trail. Everyone, including Arasina, watched as if in a trance themselves.

Eventually the glow began to fade, and Vulk sagged back to sit on his heels, apparently exhausted. Devrik stirred and lifted himself onto one elbow, flexing his left hand and smiling in delight as he did so without a hint of pain.

“Well, it seems you have brought a miracle into my humble home, ser,” Arasina said, breaking the hieratic spell with a quick silver laugh. “Still, I imagine your divine efforts have left you in need of some healing succor yourself. I’m sure this decoction of mine will aid each of you…” She dipped a small cup into the pot and came up with a dark, steaming liquid that smelled of elderberries and spice, which she offered first to Korwin.

“No!” Mariala cried, stepping forward to stop her friend from taking the cup, at the same instant that Vulk’s head whipped around and he echoed her admonition. The smell had reached him, and he’d realized what Mariala had already known – the offered beverage was no healing draught, but a powerful soporific. Years spent with Draik had trained him to recognize the smell, and her to recognize at least some of the ingredients the woman had used.

The beautiful face suddenly twisted into a mask of rage, causing Mariala to step back in shock. “Clever girl,” Arasina snarled, and reached up to grasp a silver amulet at her throat. With a muttered word her form suddenly shifted into a silver, misty version of itself. Without another word, only a hate-filled glare, she turned and simply walked straight through the workbench and the wall beyond it, vanishing like a ghost.

“What the blue blazing Void?!” exclaimed Korwin. “What just– I don’t–“

“I don’t know what her real agenda is,” Mariala said grimly, “but she was attempting to drug us all with that concoction of hers. Not poison us, I don’t think… if she wanted us dead, she could have just let her guardian Root Beasts finish us off.”

“Wait, what? Her Root Beasts? But she scared them away…” Korwin’s confusion slowly began to fade away as he belatedly put the pieces together. “Oh, you mean she…”

“Yes, I sensed another presence controlling those things… I couldn’t be sure it was her, but I was suspicious. Not being blinded by her appearance,” she added, with a pointed look at Korwin, “I watched her make that potion, and I recognized at least three elements that could only be meant to induce a deep sleep.”

“Yes, and I recognized the smell,” Vulk added. He was in the doorway of the cabin, sword in hand. “But maybe we should join Devrik and Toran in pursuit now?”

As soon as Arasina (if that really was her name) had turned all silvery and walked through the wall, Devrik had been on his feet. Toran had handed him his battlesword, which the Dwarf had carried in, having retrieved it after the fight, and the two were instantly out the door. Vulk had waved them on, still recovering from the experience of the Immortal’s presence within him.

But now he was recovered enough to lead the others outside and around the building to the side through which their putative hostess had fled. They came around the corner of the cabin in time to see Toran fire off a flight of Stavin’s Arrows at Arasina, who stood in the middle of a large clearing, surrounded by a dozen of her Root Beasts…

Toran grimaced as the witch dodged his ghostly blades of energy. As he prepared another spell the two of them briefly locked eyes – and he froze. For an instant her eyes seemed black pits of infinite depth, and he felt her will beginning to pull him into those pits. But he was not untrained in mental defenses, and his shields slammed down automatically – the moment passed. He smiled as she hissed in frustration.

It was the last thing she did.

Devrik’s Orb of Vorol exploded directly in front of Arasina, engulfing not only her but most of her guardian Root Beasts in a tremendous ball of fire. In fact, the fire mage felt that this was one of the strongest spells he’d ever cast — the results were beyond his expectations. He had no doubt in his heart that it was due to the healing power of the Immortal Kasira which had so recently flowed through Vulk and into him… he’d never felt so energized, so alive!

“Well, I had hoped we’d have a chance to question her,” Mariala began, walking up to the still-smoldering corpse. Then she looked down at it and stopped, momentarily frozen. The body, which she had expected to be badly burned, was certainly charred in places… but it was not the body of the beautiful Aunari they’d briefly known. Instead, coarse, withered flesh like the bark of a tree hung gaunt on her bones, and tangled gray-green hair like swamp moss wreathed her head, from which two rough horns curled backward. At the end of her arms claw-like hands, with needle-sharp talons tipping each finger, were curled as if to attack…

The group stared at the horribly altered corpse in shocked silence, until Vulk broke the mood with a sudden oath. He had turned at some faint sound, and saw that the cabin they had just left had also undergone a terrible transformation. Instead of the cozy, welcoming shelter they had first seen, it was now a decaying shell of sagging, rotting wood, its moss-covered roof partially collapsed. The glass in the few windows that still possessed any was cracked and broken, many boards were missing from walls and floor, and a riot of woody vines seemed the only thing keeping it standing.

“I could swear I heard–“ he began as the others turned to gape at the structure. “Yes, there it is again! It sounds like… children crying?”

Vulk and Toran rushed up to the porch, but quickly stopped and waved the others off as they made to follow. “These boards are rotten,” Toran called. “We’ll be lucky if they hold us, much less the whole group.”

Pushing open the tilted door, sagging on a single rusted hinge, they peered into the cold, dim interior, lit now only by the glow of embers from the fireplace. Through chinks and gaps in the creaking floorboards they could see the pale, tear-stained faces of at least a dozen children looking up at them in frightened uncertainty.

In the event, the interior floor proved sturdier than it looked, and the pair soon found the trap door that lead down to what must have once been a root cellar. Now chains were driven into its stone walls, and manacles on their ends restrained twelve children who had gone silent and wide-eyed at the appearance of their rescuers. Toran immediately pulled out his magical Key of Opening and had the restraints undone in moments. Vulk, with much experience of his many Elida nieces, nephews and cousins, spoke calmly and gently to them, and soon had them following him up the steep wooden stairs to freedom.

The children ranged in age from about seven to maybe 14. Tears had carved runnels through the dirt on their faces, although none were currently crying… they seemed torn between hope and uncertainty in the face of these rather imposing, strange adults. Motioning the others back, Mariala knelt down and gestured to the oldest child, a boy with brown hair and an unruly forelock of white, who reluctantly came forward.

“My name is Mariala, and these are my friends. We’ve… taken care of the… woman who had you chained up in that cellar, there’s no need to fear her any more. She won’t hurt anyone ever again, I promise. Can you tell me who you are, where you come from?”

The boy hesitated, clearly intimidated, but Mariala just smiled kindly and waited.“‘M’name’s Teron,” he mumbled at last, looking up at her through lowered eyelashes. “Teron Ziggs. This is ‘m little sister, Tara.” He gestured to the youngest child, who had followed him forward and stood half hidden behind him, peering cautiously around his side to see the fancy lady. “We’s from the village of Wallenwood.”

“Well hello Teron, Tara – I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.” Mariala leaned a little to one side to smile at the girl, and was rewarded with a shy, gap-toothed smile in return. Apparently the child had recently lost both her upper front two teeth. “Is your village far from here? Your parents must be very worried about you… how did you all come to be here?”

Teron shrugged. “Dunno, really… Arasina said it was ‘cause we been very wicked. I guess we musta been, un that’s why our parents brung us here. They said we hadda do what Arasina said, for our own good.”

The Hand were a little taken aback by this, but gentle questioning of the entire group, as they grew comfortable with the strangers and opened up some, confirmed the tale. Their parents had brought them to the cabin, which hadn’t looked all scary than, and told them Arasina would watch over them, for their own good. But she had been cruel and had started pinching and poking them as soon as the parents were gone, before locking them up in the cellar. They were scared, hungry and cold, and they were soon begging the strangers to take them back home – their village wasn’t too far.

“Maybe two kilometers?” Teron guessed, somewhat diffidently when pressed. He had quickly taken to his role as spokeskid for the group, and had developed a fascination with Devrik… whether in despite of his scary voice or because of it the man was unsure. His giant battlesword might also have had something to do with it.

“Do you want to hear a joke?” the boy asked the fascinating warrior, once the adult questioning had petered out.

“Um, sure,” Devrik replied, somewhat bemused at the attention, but willing to indulge it. All these little ankle biters made him think of his own son, and he hoped he would be seeing Aldari soon. It also made him a bit grim, as he considered that these children’s parents had some explaining to do. He took care to hide his emotions from Teron, though.

“OK, so, there is this horse, and he’s in his stall when a thief comes to try and steal him, but he kicks him really hard and sends him flying, and calls the thief a “neigh-ve.” He paused and looked up expectantly, and Devrik broke into a wide grin and a loud guffaw.

“Very good! You should go tell my friend that joke – he’s the short fellow over there, with the beard. His name is Toran, very similar to your name, and he loves a good joke.”

Teron beamed in delight, and quickly scampered off to tell his joke to the Khundari – who scared him a little bit, even if he had opened the lock on his chains. But if Devrik said it was OK, then it would be fine…

His little sister, who was now tightly holding Mariala’s hand, had overheard the conversation, and sniffed disdainfully. “He tells everybody that joke, all the time, and poppa said he’s gonna whup his ass if he ever hears it again,” she confided to the pretty lady.

Not to be outdone in confiding secrets, eleven-year-old Elizabet Bower, who had also attached herself to Mariala, took her thumb from her mouth long enough to whisper “I can speak to birds, you know… I know what they’re saying, and they understand me, too. Momma says I shouldn’t tell strangers that, but you seems nice, so I think it’s OK.”

Mariala was inclined to smile at the child’s tale, but looking into those pale blue eyes, she realized there might well be Telnori blood somewhere in the girl’s ancestry, and the possibility of odd ‘talents.’ “Well, if that’s so, what does my friend’s falcon there have to say? What does he think of us?” She indicated Cherdon, who had settled sleepily on Vulk’s shoulder once the cantor had, with Korwin, finished despoiling the forest hag’s body.

The girl looked at Mariala with sudden doubt, a little frown line appearing between those blue eyes. “Well he’s not talking right now, is he? So I don’t know. But I can ask him when he’s not so sleepy…”

Properly chastised for her adult cluelessness, Mariala laughed, and turned her attention back to the rest of the Hand. They had all been more-or-less claimed by two or three of the children. In addition to the two girls Mariala had acquired a runny-nosed 10-year-old boy named Gordie Weaver. Devrik was orbited by Teron and his friend Zeke Brindle, 13, along with another 10-year-old boy, Yaro Thiran.

Korwin had collected the oldest girl, 14-year-old Majari Bellows as soon as she’d learned he was “a wizard,” at which she had declared that she planned to be a wizard herself someday. She’d been quickly joined by 9-year-old Hanna Brindle, Zeke’s sister, who announced she, too, wanted to be a wizard, just like Majari. Majari rolled her eyes, but didn’t otherwise reject the obvious hero worship of the younger girl.

Vulk found himself the custodian of Yaro’s twin sister, Sky, who clutched a stuffed toy bird and seemed fascinated by Cherdon. Norana Thiran, at 12 the twins’ older sister, joined her, but seemed more interested in the cantor’s dreamy good looks than in his bird. Vulk assiduously ignored the embarrassing cow-eyed gaze she kept rapturously locked on him.

Toran, somewhat to his dismay, found himself the warder of Alton Larks, 12, a boy with bright red hair braided in a complicated weave that hadn’t yet come undone, even through his travails. With him was his best friend, 10-year-old Ulros Dyar, a boy who was missing his left pinkie finger and started every time he heard an owl hooting. When the Khundari had asked why, he’d explained that they were the ghosts of dead people, and therefore very scary.

With the assurance of the children that their home village was not very far, it was decided that they should make for it as quickly as possible, despite the quickly deepening twilight. The sky was still blue above the towering fir trees, but already dusk had fallen in the woods around them. Devrik was the last to leave the clearing where Arasina’s cabin stood, and at the wood’s eves he turned and muttered a phrase… a ball of flame shot from between his outstretched hands and streaked toward the crumbling structure. To the delight of the three boys at his side, the fireball exploded spectacularly, and the old cabin was fully engulfed in flames in seconds. Yaro seemed particularly fascinated, and had to be urged away by his friends.

“He’s always like that around fire,” Teron explained to Devrik as they caught up to the others.

“Yeah,” agreed Zeke, “cause he never gets burned! Him or his sister.” Yaro shrugged agreement, and turned to catch one last glimpse of the burning building through the silhouette of the trees. Devrik eyed the boy speculatively even as he herded him along…

•••••

Within a turn of the glass full night had fallen in the woods, although the sky still glowed with purple light and only the brightest stars had begun to appear. Vulk had considered invoking the holy light of Kasira, but he was unsure it would work on so many, and even if it did, might well freak out the children. They’d had enough strangeness for the time being, and so he passed out the three torches from his pack, which Devrik lit with a flaming snap of his fingers, to the children’s delighted “ooohs” of wonder. Korwin considered taking out the Elder God’s glow stone he’d nicked from the Mi-Go’s alien dimension, but the torches were sufficient and he wasn’t in the mood to explain himself…

Half a turn of the glass after they’d lit the torches, a chilling howl suddenly pierced the misty forest gloom, very loud and much too near. The sound of it froze the blood, and it hit Vulk and Devrik particularly hard, rooting them momentarily with a paralyzing dread. Suddenly a pair of red, feral eyes could be seen glowing from the blackness of the the surrounding forest… then they were gone. But there was the sense of something massive moving just out of sight, and the feeling of dread intensified.

The children all screamed in terror, and several of them bolted off in unthinking panic. Both Gordie and Tara slipped from Mariala’s momentarily nerveless grip, heading into the darkened woods in two different directions. Yaro dashed madly away from Devrik, who was so lost in his own sudden fear that it took him a moment to notice. Toran struggled to restrain the two boys with him, but the terrified Ulros broke away and vanished into the night.

With a sharp curse, Mariala waffled for an instant, unsure which child to pursue… but Gordie had already vanished into the gloom, while Tara was both smaller and slower. Pushing Elizabet at Toran, who folded her in to his side, keeping the other arm tightly wrapped around Alton, she dashed off in pursuit of the girl.

Devrik, after making sure Teron and Zeke were under control, quickly caught up with Yaro, not least because the small ball of fire he conjured to hover over his head caught the boys attention and clearly both fascinated and calmed him. As they made their way back to the group Devrik was rather surprised to see the lad reach up to touch the flame… and come away unburned!

Korwin, thrusting his charges at Vulk (whose paralyzed grip on his own young wards had prevented any of them from escaping), had plunged into the forest after young Ulros. The kid led him a merry chase, but the water mage managed to keep him within the circle of light from his flickering torch, if just. When he eventually caught up to him, and had managed to calm him down, Korwin looked around him in some trepidation… whatever was out here, whatever had made that horrible sound, he was now out here with it… the light of his torch was a comfort, but it only made the darkness around them all the more impenetrable. And made them very visible targets…

Fortunately Devrik had enlarged his ball of witchfire and lofted it several meters above the group, making a perfect beacon to follow. Korwin and Ulros arrived back in the circle of relative safety just as Mariala returned, carrying a sobbing Tara. Only Gordie was still missing, and Vulk had sent Cherdon aloft to track the hysterical boy.

“He’s gone to ground,” Vulk said. “Hiding under a fallen log, in some bracken… about 30 meters that way…”

It took Devrik a few minutes to find the cowering boy, but once he did Gordie gave no resistance to being picked up and carried back to the others. At Korwin’s suggestion, they pulled Vulk’s magical Cord of Qorelia-Sym from Toran’s pack and roped the entire group together around their waists. Only Devrik and Toran remained untethered, taking point and rear guard respectively for the rest of the journey.

It was a nerve-frazzled group that finally stumbled into the rustic hamlet of Wallenwood well after true night had finally fallen. No more paralyzing howls had come, but the sense of being silently stalked from the darkness never left them. On occasion the red, feral eyes could be seen on one side or the other… The relief when they entered the village was palpable, and not just from the children!

•••••

Wallenwood turned out to be a small collection of simple-but-sturdy wooden cottages with thatched roofs, all clustered around a moss-covered stone well. Light could be seen glowing behind shutters and under doors, and as the last ember glow of the setting sun faded to purple behind the black bulk of Mt. Iaurn (ee-OW-urn) the stars began to come out, a profusion of diamonds scattered on dark velvet.

The villagers at first seemed oddly reluctant to leave their homes, even after Vulk announced, in his best Herald’s voice, the return of their children. At first they merely peeped out from between shutters or cracked doors. But when the children called out for their parents, the doors began to open and the adults slowly gathered, murmuring in amazement.

Vulk gave the word of command that released the Cord binding the children together, and quickly began coiling it back up. As he did the children, surprisingly hesitant, began moving towards their families. To keep their minds occupied during the nerve-wracking journey the Hand had encouraged the kids to talk about their families, so they now had a pretty good idea who was who as the small village common began to fill with people.

Despite the apparent complicity of the parents in their children’s captivity, Mariala had still held out hope for a tearful, happy reunion… but she quickly realized the adults weren’t amazed, they were horrified.

“No! What have you fools done,” cried Matilna Bower, a gaunt, gray-haired elder who made the gesture to avert the evil eye, aborting her granddaughter Elizabet’s rush toward her. “Where is Mistress Arasina? Why have you taken the children from her?”

“Quickly, you must restrain the children,” bellowed Brendo Thiran, father of Yaro and Sky. “Why did you release them? Are you mad? Or do you want to see us all destroyed?”

This seemed to release a torrent of questions and indignation, even occasional outright abuse, from the adults, aimed mostly at the “interlopers.” Most of the reactions to the children seemed more mixed, a combination of relief and fear, and Mariala began to get a sinking feeling…

Devrik broke through the brabble with a roar that abruptly silenced the crowd, and more than one person turned pale. “Now shut up, and tell us what the Void is going on here, one at a time.” He gestured to old Matilna, who seemed some sort of elder village leader.

“Our children suffer from a terrible curse,” the distraught old woman said curtly. “They’ve had the curse of the wolf placed upon them, but the wise-woman Arasina promised to keep them safe, Immortals bless her. But now… now you’ve interfered and endangered us all – Aranda is going to rise at any minute… and then… and then…”

“For the love of the Mother, use that rope of yours to restrain the children,” said Remi Ziggs, grabbing for the collar of his large dog as it growled and lunged toward the kids. “Oh, why did you release them?”

“Because we brought them to their homes, where we figured they’d be safe,” a peeved Korwin replied. “And what do you mean by ‘the curse of the wolf’ anyway?”

This started another round of muttered imprecations, which forced an increasingly impatient Devrik to again roar for silence. It took longer to achieve this time.

“All of you are under the thrall of that forrest hag,” Korwin demanded in a scathing tone. “You have abandoned your children, and you well deserve the fate which we will rain down upon you if you don’t start making sense!”

For some reason, this threat failed to restore calm, indeed seemed to incense many of the village folk, and Devrik decided something more dramatic was in order… it was his most difficult spell, but if it worked it would certainly intimidate this crowd of inbred yokels into cooperation.

But as he poured his Principle into the Form that would result in his transformation into a being of living flame, he belatedly sensed the small flaw his anger had embedded into his spell structure… too late to abort safely, there was barely time to try to re-direct the now wildly flaring energies… almost instinctively he sensed the cold antithesis of his own convocation, deep beneath his feet, and…

With a scream of effort, as the rogue energies burst out of him, Devrik channeled them down into the well beside him. The earth shuddered beneath their feet, and a tremendous roar drowned out both his voice and the terrified screams of the villagers as a geyser of superheated steam blasted from the well, ten meters into the air. The vapor cooled quickly in the brisk mountain air, to fall as a warm rain, soaking the stunned villagers and visitors alike… more or less as I had predicted, Korwin thought, smug even in his surprise.

As a means of intimidating the crowd, Devrik’s actions had certainly worked, however unintentionally. But it had also turned them implacably hostile. While they weren’t foolish, or desperate, enough to attack a party of well-armed, obviously noble (and clearly magical) strangers, neither were they inclined to accept their help at this point. Clutching their children or grandchildren tightly, they hustled them into their homes, slamming and barring doors, drawing shutters tight. Dervik’s diversion had at least broken through the adult’s reticence, Mariala thought with a sigh, and showed that they did care about their children…

“Leave now, you fools, while you still can!” Matilna Bower cried, glancing up at the night sky as she slammed and barred her own door.

In the silence that followed the friends looked at one another in some consternation. Had they done the right thing? But before anyone could speak, the Greater Moon rose over the treetops to the east. Almost at once, an eerie, high-pitched howling began to come from the the closed-up cottages around them… and at the edge of the woods red eyes suddenly appeared. Out of the deep shadows beneath the trees an enormous silver dire wolf stalked, a silent menace, into the pale blue light of Aranda. It paused for a moment to stare at the group, as the howling indoors intensive, joined by a counterpoint of screams, oaths, and prayers. Then it padded slowly towards the Hand. As it did it fluidly transformed into a naked, 8-foot-tall woman-wolf hybrid with short silver fur and flowing silver hair… the red, burning eyes shifted to a glowing yellow as she completed the transformation and again paused.

“I am Vinara, and those are my cubs,” she growled in a deep, yet wildly beautiful voice, gesturing at the surrounding structures. “Promised to me by Arasina, and I come now to claim them for my pack, to replace those stolen from me!” Then she moved, with a speed so shockingly fast even Toran’s ninja senses could barely track her.

Vinarra leapt first for Devrik. Her claws slashed at his face and belly, but she was foiled by his helmet and a swift counterstrike, which knocked aside her arm and left a gash on her hip. She seemed to hesitate at the touch of the sword, crouching low with a feral hiss, glaring balefully at the silvery blade as blood trickled down her leg.

Toran seized her momentary distraction to loose a cross-bow bolt at her, and it flew true, striking her in the chest, just below her right breast. She whirled away from Devrik then and, pulling the deeply embedded bolt from her body, she tossing it aside contemptuously, glaring in rage at the Khundari.

But it was a feint, and the werewolf leapt again for Devrik’s throat. In a blur of motion she was on him, only to be blocked once again by the holy sword, which seemed almost to move of its own volition. Then it was Mariala’s turn to take advantage of the creature’s momentary retreat, hitting her with a solid blast of Fire Nerves. The monster just seemed to shrug off any pain, however, with a growl and a fierce shake of her head. Vinara turned her burning eyes on the witch-woman, baring her gleaming fangs in a feral grin…

She howled suddenly, and several of the children burst through doors or windows – no longer children, but rather small wolf-human hybrids, as feral and savage-looking as their would-be pack leader. They began circling the group, seeking for openings… and one made a leap for Toran, with a high-pitched growl. The Dwarf recognized Alton Larks, whose reddish fur mane still bore traces of the boy’s complicated braid… regretfully, he swung his battle-axe, but striking the were-cub with the flat of the blade. It was a solid blow to the thorax, knocking the breath from the child and sending him to the ground, senseless. Before Toran could do more than vent a quick sigh of regret, two more of the were-cubs were leaping to the attack…

With Vinara distracted by the arrival of some of her “children,” Devrik aggressively pressed the gigantic lycanthrope, and with a flurry of blows his immense sword scored a deep cut along her arm. Blood flowed, but she countered with a tremendous blow of her clawed hand at his head, almost too fast for him to see. Both combatants reeled away from one another, Vinara dripping blood almost black in the flickering torchlight, while Devrik’s sword wavered as he half-collapsed to one knee, his head ring like a bell.

Toran, having momentarily beat back the attacking wolf-children, kept a wary eye on the circling pack until he saw Devrik stagger back, apparently stunned. But Vinara also appeared wounded, clutching at her arm. With a cry of “the power of Kalos compels you!” the Dwarf loosed a concentrated bolt of Stavin’s Arrow at the monster. She twisted and dodged, but the ghostly bolt pierced clear through her left calf, bringing her to one knee as well. With a howl of pain, rage, and outrage, she turned her full glare on Toran… and this time it looked like she meant it!

Mariala took advantage of the creature’s distraction to rush to Devrik’s aid. Vulk did the same, only pausing to unleash a blast of the Weaver’s Webs at the werewolf to keep her distracted. However, a wolf cub, sensing an opening, leapt at Mariala before she could reach her friend. Her dagger managed to keep the cub’s teeth from her neck, but a clawed foot ripped through her riding leathers to gash her inner thigh. With a cry of pain she knocked the wolfling across the temple with the butt of her dagger, stunning the poor child. By Shala, she thought desperately, how can we stop all these poor wolf-children without hurting them?

Unable to fight the wave of dizziness caused by his ringing head, Devrk sank to both knees and began to topple sideways, blackness dimming his sight… then he felt hands catching him and holding him up… Vulk no doubt, he thought, with his healing touch… a pity we’re were out of Baylorium…

“You must really learn to trust your blade, my friend,” an unfamiliar voice said in his ear. It was a deep baritone, and laced with a hint of humor beneath the serious words. Not Vulk then… Devrik tried to focus on the man, but he was behind him, supporting him… and his vision was so blurry… he had a sense of immense, powerful arms and great strength, but no clear image of the man…

“This creature is not one of the Necromancers’s Gülvini spawn, ’tis true, but it threatens the children, and that, above all other things, I will not abide!”

“Saint Helathor?” Devrik gasped in sudden inspiration, a shiver running up his spine. “Are you–“

The voice laughed, and he felt the rumble of it in the chest supporting him. “Saint? I don’t know about that, my friend… but I am… a memory, at least, of Helathor of Xaranda. Perhaps a fragment of his soul? I truly do not know… but I do know I have a purpose!”

“Helathor!” Devrik cried. “Aid me as I seek to save these children, as you once used this blade to save the children of your city, long ago!”

There was no response, but he felt a sudden surge of clarity and purpose… and his vision was suddenly clear…

“Hold still and stop your mumbling,” Vulk said, and Devrik realized it was his friend supporting him, laying one hand on his aching head. He recognized the gentle warmth of the cantor’s healing power as it flowed into him, but… in the past, he had experienced Vulk’s healing touch as a golden glow, at least in his mind’s eye (there was never anything to see with his actual eyes, of course), but this time, as in the forest hag’s cabin, there seemed a cooler, greenish tint to the gold… like sunlight through summer leaves…

Vinara had truly turned her attention on the tiny male who had wounded her with magic… she hated magic. Leaping the five meters across the common, she landed in front of the interfering Khundari, and knocked aside his great battle-axe with one powerful arm. She raised the other to rake her talons across his insolent face — only to cleave air as he executed a backflip and roll that took him out of reach. Before she could pursue, however, a blast of cold washed over her, a cold so deep it solidified the moisture in the air around her, trapping her lower body. The terrible cold began to sap the life from her, leaving her stunned…

Korwin, who had stepped back into the shadows when the werewolf had first appeared, had stepped forward again as she leapt for Toran. He unleashed the powerful Breath of Arandu as soon as his friend, moving almost as fast as the damn wolf-woman, had rolled away. The immense creature’s lower body was now encased in ice, and she appeared stunned and immobile… at least momentarily. Korwin instantly leapt onto her back and yanking back her hair to expose her neck. His dagger poised to cut her throat, he yelled at the top of his lungs “Stand down NOW, or I cut her throat!”

For an instant the circling wolf-children paused… and then they swarmed forward in a blur of motion. Korwin barely managed to fend off the attack and was forced away from the still-dazed Vinara. Toran laid in to the pack, using the flat of his blade to stun two more of the children, only to be bitten by another on his left calf… his mind froze for a second, realizing what that might mean…

He didn’t want to kill them, but there were so many, and they were so fast… his mind raced, looking for a solution… and then they all dropped to the ground, shrieking and howling as they writhed in pain. Mariala lowered her (only figuratively smoking) hands and stepped out from behind the shield of Devrik’s broad back. His protection had given her the time to cast another Fire Nerve spell, and whatever immunity the mature lycanthrope might possess, her newly minted “offspring” apparently did not. It pained her to attack the children — she could still recognize many of the faces, beneath the terrible transformations — but if they were to have any chance at saving them…

As Devrik had fought to give his friend time to summon her magic he had thought he could still faintly sense that presence within the sword… had it always been there and he was only now noticing? Or had these circumstances awakened something in the blade? In heartfelt supplication he implored the spirit of Helathor, or whatever it was, to aid him in saving the children, just as he had in his vision… dream… whatever it had been. And he felt a wordless answer…

As the were-cubs writhed on the ground, Vulk slammed his staff into the earth and muttered the invocation to summoning Garigorak, its earth elemental. The Staff buried itself several inches into the handpacked dirt as if it was freshly turned soil, and a wave of green light rippled out from the point of contact. The ground began to tremble and bulge upward in front of him…

At the same instant Devrik drove the point of his holy blade into the ground at his own feet with all his strength, crying aloud the saint’s name. A wash of silvery light flowed out from where blade touched earth, and met the ripples of green energy flowing from Staff of Summer. When they touched, a wave of shimmering silver-green light rebounded outward, engulfing everyone in the village common. Coruscating ribbons of the silvery green energy wrapped themselves around each living being present, limning them in light…

It lasted only a few seconds, but as the beautiful effulgence slowly faded away, seeming to sink back into the ground like rain on parched land, every adult present felt suddenly reinvigorated, as if they’d just woken from a deep and healing sleep… the bruises, cuts, and abrasions of the day’s fighting faded away with the light… a profound silence fell on the village common…

It was broken by a roar which sounded to Mariala more like anguish than rage. With a sudden flexing of her muscles Vinara shattered her bonds, scores of icy shards flying outward. Ducking the razor-like slivers, and still dazed by… whatever had just happened… the Hand were unable to react quickly. With a single mighty leap, Vinara vanished into the dark woods.

“Look!” Mariala cried suddenly, pointing to the children… no longer howling or moaning, they were climbing slowly to their feet – entirely human once more! Confused and bewildered, to be sure, they seemed otherwise unaffected by what they’d just been through, including the Fire Nerves and other injuries.

“I – I’m not quite sure what just happened here,” Vulk said, looking a little confused himself. “I tried to summon the earth elemental…”

“And I invoked the spirit of St. Helathor, channeled through his blade,” Devrik said, nodding. He seemed the only person not stunned or confused by the event… he seemed, in fact, strangely serene as he re-sheathed his sword. “I believe the life-enhancing power of your earth magic combined with the holy power of the saint to create a very specific miracle. One that healed everyone touched by it, including removing the curse of lycanthropy which afflicted the children.”

“Well, it also seems to have had an invigorating effect on the big werewolf, unfortunately,” Korwin grumbled, climbing to his feet and recovering his cutlass. “Didn’t seem to cure her of the curse, anyhow. Should we try to go after her… it… whatever?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Devrik said thoughtfully. “She didn’t seem to like our miracle much, and I don’t think she’ll be back here any time soon. It also seems like pushing our luck… and blessing… to go after a creature like that at night, in a forest she knows and we don’t.”

No one seemed eager to argue his logic, and the Hand turned to deal with the villagers who had begun to emerge once more from their cottages. Alternatingly sheepish and grateful, they gathered up their miraculously cured children with undefined joy. Numerous families vied for the honor of putting up the heroes of the hour, but it was the children who decided who slept where, tugging at their personal favorites to spend the night at their house.

The next morning, as the Hand prepared to depart on the last leg of their journey, they discovered a hidden blessing in the form of Teron and Tara Ziggs grandmother, Joy Hillson. On hearing of the heroic stranger’s destination, and their uncertainty of its exact location, she laughed in delight.

“Why, that’s no problem at all,” she cackled, and her pleasure made her granddaughter, hanging on Mariala’s hand, wiggle in reciprocal happiness. “I can tell you exactly how to find that portal of yours… even show you a short cut to it, in fact. You see, I’m the one as discovered it, back when I was no older than young Tara there. And Tara, stop tugging on the poor Lady’s arm, you’re like to pull it off!”

With a little prompting, the old woman recounted how, more than six decades ago, she had stumbled onto a cave, on a remote hilltop, and found a wonderful doorway to the Immortal Lands. Or so her childish fancies had thought it, until disabused by the learned men who had come, once word leaked out about it. Karvex, the old man who’d led the team from the Imperial College in distant Aldetha, had rather condescendingly informed her that it was a Nitaran Portal, and that she was very lucky not to have come to a bad end, playing about with it as she had.

Apparently it only opened spontaneously every few years, for a matter of months, and she’d been lucky not to have it close while she was on one of her trips to the other side. With a nostalgic sigh, she recalled the fierce punishment her parents had given her for her escapades.. but with a wink at her granddaughter she’d confided it had all been worthwhile. Of course she’d gone back to check after the clever men had left, but by then it had closed and she didn’t have the magic to open it.

“Well, I hardly think it should be named after this Karvex fellow,” Vulk said indignantly, once she finished her tale and given the guests directions. “It seems to me it should be called Joy’s Gate, and I think I’ll see what I can do to rectify that injustice, when we return to Thermexold!” The old woman blushed, and insisted there was no need for such a fuss, but it was clear she was pleased at the suggestion. And Tara was over the moons.

As Korwin helped Toran strap the last of the saddlebags on Vorodan he noticed the Khundari occasionally looking down and rubbing his left calf. “Still worried about that werewolf bite,” he chuckled after the third such event. Toran shot him a surly glare and shrugged.

“It’s nothing to joke about, Korwin,” he growled, pulling a chinch a bit tighter than was strictly necessary on the bag containing his half of the silver-tipped bolts a villager had insisted on gifting him and Mariala with. “You’d not be so cavalier if it was you who’d been bitten.”

“Oh, come on, Devrik and Vulk’s miracle cured the wound along with the kids — I’m sure it eliminated any lycanthropic taint you might have acquired, if that’s really how it’s transmitted. But if you did become a short, stout werewolf… would you be less hairy?” Korwin barely dodged the kick Toran aimed at his ass, and skipped off with a laugh.

While the others finished preparing the horses for travel, Mariala managed to slip Tara’s enraptured grasp and find a quiet moment to speak to Elizabet Bower. “So, now that Cherdon is awake and about, can you speak to him? I’d love to know what he thinks of us humans…”

“Oh yes, we was talkin’ earlier,“ the girl said brightly. “And first thing is, she’s not a him, she’s a her. And she thinks you all sleep too late, all the good hunting is gone by the time the two-legs are up.” She giggled at that. “All birds think of peoples as “two legs”… but anyway, she really likes that cantor fellow, Vulk, thinks the sun rises and sets on him… but she doesn’t really think too much about the other two-legs, I don’t think. ‘Cept maybe a tall fellow, someone not with you here… a very pretty man, with a ferret… she thinks the ferret looks tasty, but knows she mustn’t eat it… it makes her sad, when she’s hungry… which is a lot.”

•••••

With the shortcut revealed by Joy, the Hand reached the portal site before the sun was even halfway through its climb to the noon zenith. It was a rocky, heather-covered plateau just above the tree line, which sloped gradually up to the edge of a cliff which dropped several hundred feet into a deep, tree-filled ravine. On the far side of the ravine the rocky slopes of Mt. Iaunu soared up towards its glacial peak. Although still several kilometers away, it loomed majestically over them in the brilliant morning sun.

In the center of the large open plateau a stone mound arose, some 20 meters high. At first glance it seemed a natural formation, but closer examination reveal a symmetry seldom found in nature. In many places the packed dirt of millennia had fallen away to reveal fitted stonework, worn and pitted by countless winters. At the southeast foot of the great mound three massive slabs of stone formed an open doorway into darkness… it was within that the newly renamed Joy’s Gate would be found.

Standing just inside the tree line at the eastern edge of the plateau, the Hand paused to let Vulk send Cherdon ahead to scout the lay of the land. His familiar relayed a visual survey to the cantor, and after stooping on a lone hare (thereby removing any possible Leporidian threat to the party), gave the all-clear. As the peregrine dined on her kill on a rocky outcropping the group approached the mound and began to set up a temporary bivouac just east of it, out of the steady, cold wind blowing down from the peak.

Derik and Vulk entered the underground chamber together, both men extending their arcane senses to feel for the discontinuity that would indicate a potential Nitaran portal. It quickly became obvious there was, indeed, an activate-able gate in the small oval chamber at the heart of the mound. Devrik hurried back out and scrawled a quick note to Raven and Master Vitaris on one of the few remaining linked parchments Mariala carried. Within the hour the reply came back that they were ready on the Dor Dür end, and Vulk returned to the chamber to activate the gate. Ten minutes later, grinning, he led a small party out into the daylight.

Raven, holding a wriggling and obviously excited Aldari, was expected, of course. But she was followed by Jeb Harlson and Therok of the Firilani, both carrying large packs while a sturdy chest swayed between them. But most surprising was the sight of Draik Bartyn, Vulk’s best friend and a founding member of the Hand of Fortune, retired these two years past. Greetings and hugs ensued all around, and if Devrik was more focused on his family, it was only to be expected… as was Vulk and Mariala’s excitement at seeing Draik again.

“It was my idea,” he explained as things calmed down a bit, and everyone settled around the fire Devrik had kindled, for an early lunch. “It took some convincing, old man Vetaris did much like it at first, but in the end I convinced him it was better to know for sure, one way or the other. I didn’t think our old friend Captain Chaos… I know, I know, but I still think of her that way… I didn’t think she had my aural pattern. She snatched you all, as I understand it, including the new guys, like Korwin and Haplo, so she must have got her information, however she got it, after I’d retired to the quiet life of a country apothecary.”

“But you couldn’t be sure, you idiot,” Vulk said in exasperation. “What if she’d grabbed you?” He glanced across at where Devrik was grinning at his wife as their son climbed all over him. “And the rest of the party with you?”

“Well, my logic proved sound didn’t it? And in any case, I came through after the others were already through, to avoid just exactly that problem. I was willing to risk myself, but I’m not suicidal – I’d never want to face Devrik again if I’d gotten his family captured!”

“So are you returning to us?” Mariala asked, as Vulk punched his old friend playfully, shaking his head in fond exasperation. the cantor’s face lit up at her question, but Draik shook his head.

“No, as you probably guessed – I’m hardly dressed for it, am I? No, this was just a test-of-concept… plus, I wanted to deliver this in person.” He hefted the satchel, which had been the only item he’d carried, from between his feet. “It’s a double shipment of my latest Baylorium, which I hope will last you until your return home. Although, if it doesn’t, at least now we know I can Gate to you, if you can’t yet Gate to me.”

“Bayloriuma 8?” Vulk asked, taking the proffered bag and glancing within. Several dozen pale green ceramic jars were securely packed in neat rows, dark green wax sealing their stoppers.

“No, I’m afraid I’ve hit a wall,” his friend sighed. “Baylorium 7 seems to be the best I can do… I appear to have reached the natural, or supernatural, limits of what the stuff can do. The unique blood activation was the last major improvement, I’m afraid.”

Mariala accepted her friend’s insistence that he needed to return home – his brother was recently married, as they knew; the business was booming; and he still had avenues to pursue in his search for Better Baylorium™ – but Vulk was relentless. Eventually Mariala threatened to Mental Bolt him if he didn’t back off.

When, after the meal and some more exchanges of news all around, Draik headed back to the Gate, Vulk accompanied him for a last goodbye. Seeing his old friend again had reminded him just how much he still missed him, missed having him at his back, his ridiculous sense of humor, his clever ideas… even his stupid ideas…

Looking around on his return, he was distracted from his depressed reverie when he failed to see Devrik or Raven. Aldari was playing some hand slapping game with Mariala, but… Therok’s grin and nod of the head toward the tent they’d set up (as much for a wind break as anything), enlightened him. With his own grin, he joined the others in keeping the toddler entertained and pretending not to notice the muffled sounds coming from the tent…

It was mid afternoon when the Hand finally broke camp and headed back down the mountain. They’d loaded most of the gear Jeb and Therok had brought through onto the two mountain ponies, and Aldari perched happily atop Nelalwe. Raven had just laughed at her husband’s suggestion that she ride atop Vorodan. “The poor beast is burdened enough, and I have two good feet, the same as everyone else – I’ll walk, husband!”

The trip back to Wallenwood hamlet was short, in any case, and the residents were pleased to see them, and at the obvious success of their journey. They insisted the party stay the night once more, and the children were happy to entertain a new friend in Aldari. The evening became a game of Capture-the-Flag between the girls and the boys, as the adults looked on with amusement.

The villagers had lost their fear of the Hand, but it had been replaced with an almost equally painful awe, which made socializing a bit awkward. But the newcomers, especially Raven and Jeb (he’d grown up in a village, and with folk, much like these), helped put them at ease and kept the conversation going until everyone relaxed. In the end a good time was had by all, and no werewolves interrupted the festivities.

Bright and early the next morning the Hand were back on the road, bidding a final (they hoped) farewell to Wallenwood and its denizens. They were all anxious to return to their ship and to begin the voyage home – still their ultimate goal, if now somewhat less urgent on a personal level. Jeb reported that Cris, with the surprisingly effective help of Mariala’s cousin and chatelaine Seria Teryn, was doing a very good job of maintaining their various estates, collecting rents, resolving disputes, and generally keeping all the balls in the air. The situation with occupied Tharkia was under control, and the new kingdom seemed to be functioning well.

So perhaps they could all relax now, and simply enjoy a pleasant cruise through the fabulous islands of the legendary Ocean Empire…