It was obvious to Devrik that there was no way they would be able to alter the course of the massive island-ship, but he didn’t interfere as some of the others focused their energies on various possibilities. He was just relieved to have Raven and Aldari back with him again and safe… although the latter state might be only temporary. In point of fact, he had no desire to change their course. This vessel was taking him exactly where he wanted to go – the source of the threat to his wife and child.

And the source of the danger to the Empire, he supposed. But if he was honest with himself, that theoretical concern for justice took a distant back seat to the threat these people posed to his family. If stopping them proved beneficial to the world at large, well and good… but what actually drove him was a hot rage that his loved ones had been placed in jeopardy — again. He fully intended that those responsible would come to see that as a terrible mistake… before paying for that mistake with their lives.

Korwin had suggested that perhaps they had already defeated the architects of this mechanistic horror show, with the destruction of the two clockwork overseers. But as poor Captain Rünalt had pointed out, someone had to have created those two to begin with. However much autonomy those constructs had appeared to possess, they certainly hadn’t created themselves.

As he stared down at the still-smoking form of the four-armed wizard automaton, Devrik had a nagging feeling that he was missing something. Eavesdropping on the creatures’ conversation, during the brief interlude before the fight, he had felt an odd sense of familiarity with the wizard, as if he should know who it was. But that seemed impossible… unless, maybe, he had known the man whose mind had been used (stolen?) to animate the thing? Just as Captain Rünalt’s had been taken to power the form he now wore…

Certainly Devrik had had no such feeling on hearing the much larger clockwork “commander” speak, no sense of familiarity there. Only an aura of immense arrogance had come through the thing’s cold, mechanical voice. Devrik glanced over to where Toran’s battle axe was still firmly embedded in the sparking, twisted wreckage of that massive metal chest, a thin spiral of smoke rising up to dissipate in the cool, damp air. Not so arrogant now, he thought with a grim chuckle.

“What’s so funny, Papa?” Aldari asked, momentarily distracted from his fascination with the undersea vista visible through the forward windows.

“Oh, just thinking about how very much our enemies are going to regret their actions, son… and how very soon,” Devrik said, clapping his boy on the shoulder. Aldari grinned in return and nodded enthusiastically.

“That’s right, now they’ve got the Hand of Fortune on to them, and we always win!” Fortunately the boy didn’t catch the glare directed at his father that his comment elicited from his mother; but Devrik had no trouble interpreting the meaning of it, and just shrugged in amused agreement. Really, it was hardly his fault if the lad thought of himself as part of the Hand, after all.

In the end his friends reached the same conclusion Devrik had already arrived at – they were going to this mysterious island base, this Teshunir (tesh-oo-NEER) will-or-nil, and they had best make use of their time to prepare for whatever they might face there. Easier said than done, of course, with so little information to work from. They could see little outside the great crystal windows of the control room, aside from the dark waters of the ocean through which they traveled. They needed some sort of reconnaissance to plan properly.

“Now that we no longer have to worry about alarms and such,” Toran suggested, finally pulling his axe from the clockwork corpse with a shriek of tortured metal, “why don’t we open that cursed hatch and see what is topside?” Putting action to his words, he strode over and gave the metal wheel in the center of the door several strong twists. There was a sudden hiss, and the bronze and brass portal swung open.

“I know we’re assuming this leads up to the surface of this artificial island,” Mariala said somewhat diffidently. “But if so, shouldn’t we be worried about all those clockwork animals that attacked us the last time we tried to explore it?”

“I don’t think that’s something you need to worry about, m’lady,” Captain Rünalt offered, his cold, mechanical monotone in some ways more disturbing than Devrik’s grating voice. “I have… I don’t know how to describe it… there are lists, of a sort, in my head… or maybe they’re more like structures… it’s very hard to describe. But the point is, they tell me about things around me, and tell me how to control some of those things. I have nothing about the control of this strange vessel, but I do know other things… the guard routines, the controls for cells and lights and such… and the signals to control the mechanical animals that patrol the surface. Or at least cause them to ignore anyone that I tell them is off limits.”

With that assurance, the Hand ascended the long ladder beyond the hatch. It led to a steeply slanting corridor and, eventually, to another hatch, this one overhead. Erol, being the tallest amongst them, had to open it, a feat he managed with minimal trouble. Captain Rünalt insisted on being the first through, however, should any of the island’s guardians prove to be awaiting them.

None were, however, and the party found themselves once again on the constructed island façade which covered the top of the gigantic whale-ship, it’s artificial rocks and trees giving an almost, but not quite, perfect simulation of the real thing. They stood on a rocky bluff not far from the geyser-like “blowhole” which shot steam 50 meters up into the air at regular intervals. With none of the artificial vegetation blocking the view forward, they could see clear to the horizon as the great vessel plowed through the ocean towards its home base.

“From what those two were saying, I thought we were close to our destination,” Erol said, scanning the horizon for any sign of an island. “But I don’t see even a cloud bank… we must be some ways off yet.”

Before anyone could answer, there was a strange rippling in the air in front of the island-ship – and the leading edge of the vessel seemed to waver and vanish. The eerie rippling effect seemed to eat everything in its path, sweeping toward the gathered adventurers so quickly that they had time to do little more than turn toward the open hatch, ten meters away. Before they’d made more than a meter the ripple passed over them – and suddenly they could see the entire ship once more. They could also see the jagged peaks of a volcanic island directly ahead of them… less than two kilometers away, Korwin estimated.

“Ah,” laughed Mariala in sudden understanding. “Some sort of concealing shield must lay around this place, a great shroud of invisibility. Which explains why the Imperial Navy hasn’t been able to find these people yet.”

“By Tyvos!” Korwin exclaimed. “What power such a spell must require! If they’re capable of shielding an entire island like this, though, why didn’t they do the same for this ridiculous whale-island-ship of theirs? Why go to all the trouble of disguising it as an island?”

“A good question,” Devrik agreed. “Perhaps we’ll have the chance to ask them about it directly… before we kill them all. Vulk, can you send Cherdon aloft to scout out the island for us before we arrive? I’d really like to have some idea of the lay of the land before we’re forced into action on it.”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” Vulk agreed, and he threw up the arm upon which his familiar rested, casting the falcon to the skies. As he slipped almost effortlessly into the trance which allowed him to see through the bird’s eyes, Toran led him to a nearby boulder, helping him into a comfortable sitting position. It took the familiar several minutes for the bird to cover the distance, even as the great whale-ship drew closer to the island, and the others waited in tense silence. While the adults anxiously anticipated the report, Aldari stared at Uncle Vulk in fascination… he wondered if he might somehow contrive to acquire a familiar… Brann II was great and all, but a pet just wasn’t the same as a creature you could almost become…

“I see… it looks like a large sea-cave carved into the shield-wall directly ahead…” Vulk spoke in the distracted, almost dreamy cadences he slipped into during his vision-sharing trances. “Ah, the island is definitely volcanic… I see the circle of a great caldera… high cliffs all around a central plain… a lagoon… no, two lagoons, one near the caldera wall close to the cave… maybe the cave is a tunnel through the shield wall? The second lagoon is larger… a great crescent around the far inner plain… but… by Kasira!” Vulk’s voice took on a more urgent tone.

“There are a few small buildings… crude stone structures, the largest no bigger than a small manor house, I think… but on the central plain… there must be thousands of them! Clockwork soldiers, rank upon rank of them… all perfectly motionless, as if in formation drill… as if awaiting orders… they all face inward, toward the center of the island… where a great circle of metal and… I think crystal… is embedded in the ground…”

Vulk answered his friends’ questions as best he could – no, he saw no sign of non-mechanical life… no, none of the clockwork soldiers had yet moved… his best guess? There were at least 5,000 of the soldiers, and perhaps 500 clockwork animals as well… no, Aldari, there didn’t seem to be any clockwork children… Eventually the cantor released his grip on Cherdon’s senses and let the bird take a perch on the crest of the shield wall overlooking the great sea cave.

It was decided that they were already in the best position to observe and take advantage of whatever opportunities might come their way when the island-ship docked. Vulk had assured them that the cave opening could not accommodate the entire vessel, and Captain Rünalt was sure the process of unloading was carried out entirely by rote instructions… instructions he could sense but by which he was not bound, for whatever reason. It was entirely possible that the absence of the wizard and commander might not be immediately noticed, although it was unlikely that such a state of affairs could last for long. If they didn’t report, eventually someone must come looking for them.

The leading edge of the island-ship proved to fit very snugly, almost like a puzzle-piece, into the wide, arched opening of the sea cave. Two great sections of the faux-topography, complete with trees and rocks, cantilevered up as two wide metal catwalks extruded from the darkness of the cave to fit perfectly into the openings. Within minutes, ranks of clockwork men began marching out of the guts of the great ship, each carrying massive loads of material plundered from the many captured ships. Including Captain Rünalt’s ship… even in his mechanical form Mariala could sense the man’s terrible anguish as he watched, knowing that some of those clockwork slaves were his own sailors and passengers, as horribly changed as he, but lacking his miraculous possession of free will.

It became clear after a time that the unloading of the great vessel would take awhile. Some of the plundered loot vanished down side tunnels, while some was loaded onto a series of barges within the cavern and then moved on to the inner lagoon, where it was unloaded once more. It was also clear that the absence of the two masters of the vessel was raising no immediate alarm. Vulk was preparing to send his familiar in closer, perhaps even into the cavern itself, when Korwin stopped him.

“Listen, what do you hear?” he asked suddenly, laying a restraining hand on Vulk’s shoulder. Everyone had been as silent as possible since the docking of the island ship, but it was only now that the unnatural quality of the silence around them fully caught their attention. Aside from the sound of waves on rock, the wind, and the clanking of metal feet on metal catwalks, there was no other sound – most especially, none of the perpetual cacophony of seabirds that should be natural to this setting.

“Right, no bird sounds,” Korwin went on as he saw the light dawn on his friends’ faces. “And does anyone see any sign of life, anywhere? Cliffs like these should be swarming with the nests of many species of sea birds, the skies should be full of their wheeling and turning and diving for fish… and I don’t see even a scrub bush anywhere.”

It was true that, aside from a grayish-green lichen or moss, there seemed to be no more plant life than there was bird life – and although his attention had been rather diverted by the clockwork army, Vulk agreed that he’d seen no sign of plant or animal life in the island’s interior, either.

“Something does seem to have made a trail, however,” Toran observed, pointing toward a faint, narrow track that began near the tideline on the right side of the cave entrance. It wound up the steep face of the encircling wall, vanishing behind outcroppings every now and again before reappearing higher up. “As fascinated as I am to explore that sea cavern, and all the passages that appear to branch off from it, perhaps we would be better off infiltrating our enemy’s lair this way?”

After some debate, it was agreed that the outer path was the better option, not least because it would, eventually, give them the high ground and an opportunity for everyone to see for themselves the lay of the inner island. With Mariala’s Wall Flower spell cast over them all, the group made their way off the island-ship and onto the true ground of the ancient island of Teshunir…

The climb up the winding, narrow, crumbling path proved to be far more arduous than anyone, except perhaps Toran, had anticipated. In some places it was indeed more of a climb than a walk, and it was at one of these points, more than halfway up the 100 meter high volcanic ringwall, that disaster nearly overtook them.

Toran was in the lead, his expertise at finding and avoiding the weakest parts of the clearly ancient path making him the obvious trailblazer. Korwin was following close behind, and it was his foot that slipped on a crumbling bit of stone which the Khundari had bypassed. With a startled cry he reeled backwards, arms windmilling as he managed to snag Toran’s boot, pulling the Dwarf off balance as well. Devrik, immediately behind Korwin, was struck by the water mage’s other flailing arm – a glancing, harmless blow in itself, but enough to upset his own precarious balance and begin a chain reaction.

Devrik slid into Aldari, knocking the boy ass-over-tea-kettle, and only Raven’s quick reflexes saved their son from going over the edge. Unfortunately, as she yanked her son back, she overbalanced herself and staggered into Vulk. This sent the cantor wheeling backward in a spray of gravel and dust. His staff, flailing out as he tried to stop his slide, caught Mariala behind one knee even as she tried to leap aside, sending her crashing instead into Erol, who was bringing up the rear beside the Clockwork Captain.

Although momentarily staggered, Erol’s Telnori strength and reflexes allowed him to not only brace himself, stopping his own backward tumble, but also to grab Mariala and Vulk, bringing their own sliding falls to a halt. Above them, Toran’s own ninja-like reflexes clamped one hand onto a secure rock outcrop, and he instinctively invoked the Joining of Merkünon. Instantly his hand and feet became fused to the rock of the mountain, stopping his slide. The magic flowed through his other hand, which gripped Korwin’s arm, immediately locking the water mage into place; in turn, Korwin’s desperate grab caught Devrik’s cloak, sending the Tykizu energies through him as well, to arrest the fire mage’s precarious teetering on the brink. For a moment the world seemed to hold its breath, the only sound the clatter of stones bouncing down the cliffside…

A short time later the Hand resumed their climb, more cautiously, more subdued… and considerably more slowly.

Eventually, they reached the crest of the caldera wall, a little bruised and somewhat shaken, but alive and essentially uninjured. The view was much as Vulk had described it through Cherdon’s eyes – the handful of crude stone buildings, the innumerable ranks of clockwork soldiers and animals, and nothing moving beyond a wisp of smoke rising from an open forge near the largest of the buildings. The stillness and utter silence were eerie, and more than a little unnerving Vulk thought, shivering.

As they quietly debated their next course of action, a bored Aldari peered avidly down at the tableau below. He knew his parents were unhappy that he was with them and in constant danger, but the fact was, he himself couldn’t have been happier. This was what he had wanted, ever since they had left the cabin in the woods where he’d grown up and returned to the so-called “real world.” To be a part of his parents’ tales of adventure and excitement, to fight bad guys and save princesses, and–

His somewhat fevered daydreams were interrupted by a movement down by the small lagoon that connected with the sea cave. With a startled gasp he tugged hard on his father’s sleeve and pointed. The strange, undead, spider-legged clockwork monster which had abducted him and his mother aboard the Wind was now scittering off a barge and up the small dock toward the shore. At Devrik’s growl the others all craned forward to see, and Vulk gripped his Holy Baton tightly, paling a little. Why did it have to be the undead? he thought bleakly.

As the Hand warily watched the mechanized undead horror, secure in their hidden redoubt, it scittered from the dock up to the largest stone building nearby, and vanished within. They observed the structure intently for several more minutes, but the creature did not reappear, nor did any of the other, more mundane, clockwork constructs follow it inside. Instead, as they finished their unloading work, the mechanical soldier/slaves joined the motionless ranks of the existing army, forming several new files of unmoving figures.

A furious, whispered debate later, the Hand began moving cautiously down the trail on the inner side of the caldera wall. Although even steeper than the outer trail, this one seemed to be in better shape, less weathered and not so prone to crumbling. Taking care to stay out of sight from below as much as possible (although the clockwork men gave no indication of awareness once they joined the frozen ranks of their brethren), the party made their way down to the edge of the central plain of the island.

Once on relatively level terrain the Hand had Captain Rünalt lead the way, as if escorting prisoners. The subterfuge appeared to be unnecessary, however. Even passing within a few meters of the rearmost ranks of the amassed soldiers elicited no response at all. In some sort of sleep mode, supposed Toran, although he wasn’t inclined to test that theory by speaking aloud in their presence. At the stone building they found that there was no actual door, merely a wide, tall arch in the stone wall that opened into a single large, dimly lit interior room.

Entering cautiously, the Hand saw a great fireplace on the wall to their left, the hearth cold, with no sign that any fire had been lit there for a very long time. No windows pierced any of the other walls, and to the right, a wide, steep staircase of dressed stone led downward into darkness. No sign of the spider-like Zamora could be seen, and it was obvious that the only way forward was down, into the darkness…

The wide, high-ceilinged passage proved not to be so dark as all that – some ten meters in and down, faint reddish glow stones appeared near the ceiling, giving enough ruddy light to see by, once Umantari eyes adjusted. To Erol and Toran, of course, the light was as adequate as that from a bright torch. At 20 meters the stairs ended in a wide, tall corridor, itself some 20 meters long. A second set of stairs then descended, less steeply and not as long, to another length of corridor, which ended in a very tall, very wide archway.

Stepping though the arch, the group found themselves in a very different environment. Whereas the structure until now had been made of ordinary dressed stone, if somewhat cyclopean in size, the space wherein they now stood was… strange. The material of walls, floor and ceiling was a peculiar greenish-gray, almost black, stone-like material. But it was not cut from blocks, dressed and fitted together, but seemed rather to be of one, solid piece, as if the structure were carved from living stone… a stone that not even Toran recognized.

His first thought was Torlixam, the almost impervious pseudo-stone of the Ancients. But this material had an oily sheen to it, as if it were wet. Torlixam, on the other hand, he knew to be bone-white, with a hard, matte finish, and always fairly cool to the touch, no matter how warm the surrounding environment. When he laid a strangely reluctant hand on a dark wall, while it felt dry and matte, it was also ever-so-slightly giving… and disturbingly warm. With a brief wave of nausea, Toran had the sudden idea that the material seemed almost alive… which was absurd! Nonetheless, he removed his hand very quickly, wiping his palm on his sleeve.

An eerie, gray-green light seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once, illuminating the stairs which spiraled down to their left with a luminance brighter than the glow stones, but still cold and oddly unsatisfying to the eye. The scale of this new architecture was even grander than that above, as if made for giants… or gods… and the indefinable sense of tremendous age was almost overwhelming. With a shrug, everyone silently acknowledged the need to press on… as well as everyone’s complete lack of real desire to do so, except perhaps for Devrik. And Aldari — the boy seemed entirely oblivious to the oppressive weight of eons, focused entirely as he was on the grand adventure of it all.

As a precaution Mariala renewed her Wall Flower spell, and they moved as quietly as possible, winding down the wide stairs in double combat formation, with Toran and Erol in the lead, Devrik and Mariala close behind, Raven and Aldari in the middle, and Vulk and Korwin bringing up the rear with the Clockwork Captain. Strange, inexplicable machines and engines occasionally appeared, either extruding from the walls or set into great alcoves.

“The look like giant metal ducks,” Aldari observed, evoking a shushing from his mother and a brief laugh from Vulk.

After a time, Toran broke the almost hermetic silence with a whispered observation. “By my calculations, we must now be almost directly below that great metal and crystal disc we saw set in the center of the island. “

At the center of this level they found a great pit going down into darkness and, as Toran had predicted, up to the underside of the immense disc far above them; a great, deep thrumming sound emanated from below, and a faint green glow in the darkness. The only egress seemed to be more spiraling stairs along the outer wall, and perforce they continued downward.

The next level had a great engine of utterly alien design at its heart. The power coming off it was palpable, and set every T’aran sensitive amongst them on edge. While the others explored the walls and crannies of the strange room, Mariala and Toran both tried to determine if the markings, observable in several areas, were a language.

“Aaarrrgh!” Mariala cried after moment, clutching her head and wincing in obvious pain. “I don’t know what they are, but if they represent some language, it’s not remotely an Umantari one. Dear Shala, the psychic backlash…”

“Nor any Khundari language,” Toran agreed, rubbing his own temples and grimacing. “And I’d wager not any language of Telnori or Immortal, either.”

Korwin declined to try his psychometry on the ancient machine.

To the north the alien wall had been breached, and a passage of actual Torlixam led away from the central shaft. While obviously old, it was still much, much younger than the surrounding shaft, Toran was certain. “By an order of magnitude, at least,” he muttered as they passed into the new section.

Unlike what had come before, the newer area consisted of rooms on a more human scale and of more conventional design… they soon recognized several examples of Co-Dominion technology. “Similar to what we’ve seen before,” Mariala noted, ”and yet not identical. The style is unmistakable, though, even if the functions remain inscrutable…”

Moving cautiously through the various chambers, they eventually found a room full of strange coffin-like beds, similar to the one once used to keep the doomed Earl of Ukonis in stasis. Similar, like the other technology they’d seen, but not quite the same. “Like tools made by different smiths,” Toran suggested.

Vulk cautiously cracked the next door, which opened onto a wide catwalk arcing around to his left and overlooking a large circular chamber. Twelve of the strange stasis-pods, upright, lined the walls, and those he could see were occupied by immobile bodies. Thick translucent cables connected the pods to a strange apparatus of pipes and beams in the center of the room. Four glowing spheres lay at the heart of the apparatus, about on level with the catwalk, while thicker conduits of the same translucent material rose up to vanish into the shadowy ceiling above.

But what was more immediately arresting, and stopped Vulk in his tracks, was the sight of the two most majestic and beautiful clockwork beings he’d yet laid eyes on. One was in the form of a stunning woman in silver and gold, the plates of her metallic form beautifully engraved and inlaid with bright enamel. Standing almost two meters tall, a glowing red crystal shone in the center of her steel breast, and her eyes pulsed with an actinic blue-white light. Somehow, despite her mechanical form, Vulk thought her body language radiated impatience.

Next to her was an even more impressive and much larger figure, well over two meters tall. It was the most elaborately gorgeous, even regal, clockwork construct of all. It… he, beyond doubt… was encased in massive, intricately filigreed armor that appeared to be gold (but which Toran, who had come up next to Vulk, was quite certain must be something much stronger) and a large golden diadem orbited his head, held in place by some unseen force.

Like his female companion, his mechanical features were far more expressive than any the Hand had yet seen, and both the deep satisfaction and cold cruelty of his gaze were clear as he stared down at the still form of the Myrmitron of the Ocean Empire. Lord Kavyn was encased in a horizontal stasis pod, another of the translucent cables running from it to the central core. The look of satisfaction on that metal face quickly gave way to something more like annoyance, however, as he turned to address his companion.

“I fail to see why we should move up our timetable, Lucinda Var… the discovery of our disguised ship-killer is a mere inconvenience at this point; one made even less of a problem by our opportune capture of Lord Kavyn.” Unlike every other construct the Hand had so far encountered, his voice was deep, resonate, and very human-like. “There’s now no chance of him learning of our plans untimely, nor of him marshaling Imperial forces to oppose them. But we still need at least another thousand soldiers to be sure of overwhelming force in every theater of our planned offensive.”

Lucinda Var shook her head in obvious exasperation. Why does she seem so familiar? Vulk wondered… something about her voice? It was as human-sounding as her companion’s, and obviously female, as if her form wasn’t clue enough…

“We need to move quickly, my Prince,” she was saying, “I sense the touch of those meddling interlopers, the so-called Hand of Fortune, in this! You would do well to heed my advice and not underestimate them! Do not give the little bastards the slightest opportunity to unravel my – our – plans when we are so close to success.

“In any case, you are too cautious, Quorün – the troops we have are more than sufficient to our needs, so long as we retain the element of surprise. But having been forced to move on Kavyn Stormborn, we must now advance the entire timetable. I assure you, the Myrmitron’s disappearance will spark a response in many quarters… and not just in the mortal kingdoms. Should certain of the Immortals learn of it…”

The clockwork Prince Quorün looked surprised and shot his fellow conspirator a worried glare. “You assured me that we were free from the interference of any of the Immortals, here on this hidden island of yours! Do you now say they might yet be a threat to us? You swore this shield was impenetrable!”

“And so it is,” Lucinda Var waved an elegant hand, as if swatting away an irritating fly, “as long as none suspect its existence. The shield has kept this place hidden, even from prying Immortal eyes, for more than four millennia. And I have taken care to follow the Strictures to the letter – there is no chance of our plans unleashing a new T’aran War, which is really all the Immortals care about, at this point.

“Once our blitzkrieg has overwhelmed the opposition and you are on the Coral Throne, it will be a fait accompli, and no direct war magics will have been used. In the end, my mechanical men are no different than the various support magics which the Strictures do allow, and the Immortals do not concern themselves with mere political shifts in mortal power. Trust me, my Prince… have I yet led you astray?”

Prince Quorün shrugged acquiescence, seeming somewhat mollified at her words. His voice remained a bit peevish, however, as he gestured at the pods lining the wall. “Well, I admit your plan to defang the insufferable busy-bodies of the thrice-cursed Star Council has proven almost flawless. Has there been any word yet from the last of your undead minions, from Servia?”

“No,” the sorceress admitted. “We must assume that the attempt to capture the Telnori King has failed. But I had already accounted for that likelihood – he is now the head of a Council with no body, and so is of little immediate threat to our plans. There will be time enough to deal with him once our power in the Empire is secured. But only if we move now, no further delay – if we give him time to think and to plan, I can’t guarantee – what the Void!”

Lucinda Var turned to stare up at Vulk, who had crept out onto the wide catwalk in the hopes of getting a better look at who else was trapped in those stasis pods which were beneath the catwalk. Even as he’d stepped out onto the metal grating, however, he’d had a sinking feeling… the subtle, almost subliminal pressure he always felt when Mariala’s Wall Flower spell was in effect, as if the air around him was ever so slightly compressed, had popped like a soap bubble as soon as he passed through the doorway.

With a curse he ducked down and ran along the catwalk. He had spotted an alcove halfway around the room, just at the head of the stairs that lead down to the lower level and the two clockwork villains. A large console filled the space, and if his time on ancient Earth had taught him anything, it was that consoles were used to control the thing they called “technology.” He was pretty sure that it was technology which was at work here…

As soon as it became clear that the jig was up and they were detected, Toran hurled a blast of Stavin’s Arrows through the doorway, aimed at the head of the female automaton, whom he assumed was the mage behind all this madness. If he could take her out, the big bruiser was just— he stared in amazement as the shimmering force of his spell dissipated just inches from his hand, wafting away like the memory of summer in mid-winter.

Before he could quite get his mind around what was going on, young Aldari had darted past him and out onto the catwalk. With a high pitched yell he hurled his small spear down at the Golden Prince… who snatched it out of the air one-hand, snapping it in two with a snarl. Toran faded into the shadows at the back of the catwalk with a muttered suggestion to Raven, as she darted out to grab her son and pull him back into the room, that she put a leash on the kid!

Moving stealthily around the catwalk, Toran felt the heavy, shimmering energies of B’Harik’s Cloak, the protection spell he had cast on himself moments earlier, being snuffed out in an instant. With a sinking feeling, he tried to focus the Bladesharp spell on his battle axe, but there was nothing… curse it, an anti-magic field must fill this space!

As his mother yanked Aldari back to relative safety, Erol pushed past them and attempted to cast Burning Shaft, only to find… nothing as well. He could not sense the T’ara at all. Even if he could have summoned up a Form, he was apparently cut off from any Principle with which to fill it. He realized at almost the same instant ads Toran that the area must be filled with an anti-magic field, and a powerful one.

Erol spoke quietly but urgently into his comm unit, telling the others of his suspicion, for which Toran was grateful as it allowed him to maintain his stealth. An anti-magic field was not good, Erol thought as he leapt over the railing, but on the other hand it also meant that neither of their opponents could wield any of their own arcane powers either. If it came down to a merely physical fight, they outnumbered them three-to-one – more if you counted the current auxiliaries… he stabbed his trident at Lucinda Var, who nimbly dodged the blow.

From the magic-rich environment of the room they were currently in, both Mariala and Korwin attempted to launch attacks into the magic-dampened area beyond the wide doorway. Mariala’s Mental Bolt, being psionic in nature and partaking not at all from the power of the T’aran field, was unimpeded by the deadening aura. Unfortunately, Lucinda Var had apparently shielded her metal form well, and was obviously a strong psychic herself – the bolt blasted back at Mariala, nearly knocking her off her feet.

Korwin, who had been working for days on a possible spell to summon the power of the lightning, attempted an instant casting of his prototype, hoping the physical manifestation of the electricity itself, although summoned by magic, would be unaffected by the field. Unfortunately, his Form failed rather spectacularly, and he was forced to abort before summoning the Principle. Damn, he might have to use the final charge from the jorums with which Lord Kavyn had gifted him after all…

Devrik, thinking along similar lines about fire and its physical application, summoned Goraten’s Brand – with a woosh of superheated air his holy sword burst into brilliant flames. But before he could leap onto the catwalk and then to the floor below, the brass and bronze arm of Captain Rünalt shoved him aside. The Clockwork Captain, seeing the architects of his ruin, his very murderers, could hold back no more. He crashed down to the floor below, making a three-point landing directly in front of the Clockwork Prince, bringing his glaive up in a blinding strike.

The move was almost too fast for even a temporally-sped-up Erol to see – and yet it was blocked by an equally swift turn of a royal arm. Roaring, the Prince pulled a tremendous sword from his back and swung a savage one-handed blow at Rünalt, who barely managed to block it on the haft of his glaive.

Devrik used the Clockwork Captain’s distraction to race out and along the catwalk towards the stairs, joining Erol in engaging Lucinda Var — and cursed in frustration as his ethereal flames flickered and died along the length of his blade… as he’d feared, summoned by magic but also sustained by magic. Oh well, he’d just have to do this the old-fashioned way… he vaulted over the railing to land in a crouch beside Erol.

As he and Raven watched Devrik leap into the fray, Aldari managed to slip his mother’s distracted grip, darting out after his father. With a shout of frustration the harried Raven pulled her sling and several stones from the pouch at her belt and charged after her willful son. Well, it wasn’t like she wanted her son to be a coward, of course… but was a little common sense too much to ask for? She gave a silent apology to her own parents, for all the gray hairs she’d no doubt given them in her own childhood adventures…

Just as Toran was reaching the set of double doors halfway along the catwalk, his stealthy Shadow Knight skills keeping him essentially invisible to their enemies, Aldari sped passed him… apparently as blind to his Uncle Toran’s presence as their enemies were. The Khundari gave an exasperated, but silent, snarl and reached out to grab the kid before he could get himself killed…

Aldari had seen his father and Uncle Erol engaged with the mechanical sorceress, trading powerful blows but not seeming to make much headway. His parents, particularly Mama, were always going on about strategy and smart thinking, and it occurred to him that if he could come up from behind the lady robot, maybe that would give them a… what do you call it…? Oh yeah, a “decisive tactical advantage.” There was a doorway behind her down there… maybe these doors up here would lead him to her, and a surprise attack form behind! He skidded to a stop and shoved on the heavy metal doors, which swung open with surprising ease – to reveal two of the large undead spider-zombies in their glittering crystal encasements looming over him!

Aldari whipped his dagger from his belt and went into a fighting crouch — as if on instinct, Toran noted, with distant approval. But that approval was overwhelmed by fear, because the kid didn’t stand a chance against one of those things, much less two… and there was no guarantee that this time they’d be trying to take him alive. Toran’s great battle axe, Egrokon, came down with an almost musical note on the clear casing of the nearest monster, cracking the crystal and momentarily staggering the undead pilot…but no more.

Aldari was shocked to see Uncle Toran appearing from the shadows beside him like a ghost, but seized the opportunity of his surprise attack to dart in and land a blow of his own to a joint on the other creatures forward leg. He knew his dagger wasn’t likely to take out one of these things, but if he could just cripple it, that might be enough… he attempted to summon Goraten’s Brand, surely the flame damage would help… but there was nothing… not having one of the Areth-made communication bugs, he was unaware of the anti-magic field within which he now moved…

On the floor below, Lucinda Var laughed as she almost effortlessly blocked blow after blow from both Erol and Devrik. As they pressed her, she whirled as she redirected their latest attacks and slammed a metallic fist down on a panel behind her. With a thrum of sudden power, the spheres in the structure at the center of the room began to glow, and Devrik saw a greenish energy engulf the unconscious form of Lord Kavyn. As the hum of power increased, energy began flowing along the cable from the Myrmitron’s pod into the central core.

“I should have known you children would find a way to interfere,” the Clockwork Mage growled. “But soon enough you’ll be outnumbered by my Star Council puppets!” She smiled as she watched the energy flow from Lord Kavyn, into the core, and then vanish up the pipes in the ceiling.

Devrik realized that similar flows of energy were moving from the other nine forms trapped in stasis pods around the room, also vanishing up the central pipes into the shadows above them. In a sudden flash of insight, he realized that this must be the process by which these villains drained the minds or souls of their victims into their mechanical constructs, creating their clockwork army — and that they planned to do the same to the Star Council!

But the thought was driven from his mind almost as quickly as it came as his eye, following the flow of energy, saw his wife and son on the catwalk above him, being threatened by two of those crystal-encased undead monsters. Erol, following his gaze, yelled “Go! I’ll handle her!”

Devrik didn’t waste an instant, and was racing for the stairs even as Erol drove a wicked thrust at Lucinda Var, forcing her away from the control panel… too late to stop the process, unfortunately.

Vulk had been desperately studying the strange console in the nearby alcove, and had been able to make neither head nor tails of it. The labels were in what he recognized as the ancestral alphabet of his own Alfaic script, but thousands of years of usage and evolution had rendered the two mutually unintelligible. As the battle raged below him he finally decided he’d better just take action – what was the worst that could happen? And at best he might bring down the anti-magic field or at least awaken the Star Council… Kasira knew that would be helpful! It was about time their mysterious bosses pulled their own weight!

He began pushing buttons, but as Devrik barreled past him, face twisted into a snarl of fear and rage, he spun to follow his friend’s rush — and realized he was needed elsewhere. Two undead creatures threatened Raven, Aldari, and Toran, and even Devrik might not be enough. Vulk and his blessed Holy Baton, however, could literally turn the tide… pushing down the cold dread in the pit of his stomach, he pulled his Baton from his belt and ran after Devrik…

Meanwhile, the Clockwork battle between Captain Renaült and Prince Quorün continued in a blinding flurry of blows, the sound of metal on metal almost deafening in the chamber. Both were dented and scraped, but neither could seem to quite take the upper hand, although the Captain was being driven steadily back. As they moved away from the pod containing Lord Kavyn, Mariala saw her chance, and dropped down from the catwalk to land on the far side from the combatants… and felt her ankle twist beneath her as she landed, poorly.

Her involuntary cry of pain drew the attention of the Clockwork Prince, who realized the threat she posed. He turned to reach for her across the stasis pod, but the Captain was on him in an instant, wrapping an arm around the Prince’s neck and grappling his sword arm. At the same moment Korwin swung down from the catwalk next to Mariala, helping her to her feet. Her arm over his shoulder, he got her to the stasis pods controls, where she feverishly began trying to stop the draining process…

Realizing that even if she succeeded with Lord Kavyn, there were nine other mages being drained. They’d never save them all, not one at a time. With gritted teeth, Korwin fished one of the electrical jorums which the Lord Myrmitron had gifted him from his belt pouch and, muttering an incantation, he unleashed the full power stored within. An immense, eye-searing bolt of blue-white lightning erupted from his clenched fist, striking the heart of the columnar structure at the center of the room. The four glowing spheres didn’t so much explode as simply vaporize, and when his vision cleared all that remained were twisted, smoking metal pipes and bracings at floor and ceiling.

With a howl of rage, the Clockwork Prince Quorün flung the Captain from him into the wreckage and, despite the loss of his sword, he bore down on Korwin like a golden tidal wave. Eyes going wide at the wall of furious metal rushing at him, Korwin nevertheless felt strangely calm. He could sense the residue of the electrical energy from the jorum still within his body… as the Prince grabbed him, lifting Korwin up to crush him to his chest, the water mage laid his palms on that vast expanse of cold metal and released the last of the lightning within him.

While not as powerful as the bolt that had destroyed the room’s machinery, Korwin’s second bolt nevertheless blew clean through the Clockwork Prince’s chest, and out his back… leaving a jagged, smoking hole where his artificial brain had been. His metallic face locked in a final expression of surprise and disbelieve, the glow in Prince Quorün’s eyes faded out and his tall, once-powerful body toppled backward to crash to the floor, inert. Korwin kicked free as it fell and landed in a crouch at the former Prince’s feet.

On the catwalk above Toran, Raven, Devrik and Vulk stared down in surprise, and Aldari let out an enthusiastic cheer. Devrik, one hand clasped over a deep cut in his left bicep, nodded down at Korwin in impressed approval. In the room behind them, the clockwork zombies struggled feebly in the mass of webs within which Vulk had imprisoned them, after having driven them back with his holy symbol of office. Below, Erol and Lucinda Var also paused in their battle to stare in equal surprise at the fallen Prince.

“You— you—“ the Clockwork Woman seemed choked with sudden rage. “Once again, you somehow manage to bring my plans crashing down around me! Well this is the last time, you meddling fools, the very last time!” She whirled and darted out the door behind her, ignoring Erol’s parting trident thrust, which skittered along her flank. She couldn’t ignore Toran’s axe quite so easily, however — his masterful throw embedded it in her neck as she staggered out of the door. Pausing in the hallway beyond, with a shriek of tortured metal she wrenched the weapon from her body, throwing it to the floor while she slammed her other hand down on the door’s control. But even as the door slid shut, Aldari’s throwing knife flew through the narrowing opening to embedded itself in her right knee…

Erol immediately tried to force open the door, but it was viciously hot to the touch, and he snatched his hands back with a yelp. “Curse it, I think she’s melted the thing shut,” he grumbled, sucking on scorched fingers.

“Still, I suppose we’d better find a way to follow,” Vulk said wearily, as the rest of the Hand descended the stairs to join the others. “Kasira knows what she might get up to, even yet.”

“Of course you have to follow her!” a querulous voice said from the other side of the room. They all turned to see Master Vetaris, grey-faced, weak and obviously shaken, leaning against the stasis pod from which he’d just been freed. Once Mariala had managed to get Lord Kavyn out of his own stasis tube, and despite his own debilitated condition, the two had begun freeing the rest of the Star Council, starting with Mariala’s old mentor.

“Don’t you realize who this “Lucinda Var” is?” he continued, trying to straighten up, but almost collapsing until Korwin got an arm under his elbow. “She’s my mother, Alvira… the architect of all our troubles for so long. She must not be allowed to escape again! Hand of Fortune, I feel it in my bones… this is the moment the prophecies speak of… the fate of our world hangs in the balance, and only you can stave off doom.”

“Or cause it,” one of the other freed Councilor’s muttered darkly.

“He’s right,” Lord Kavyn called, ignoring that last comment. He was helping an exotic looking woman with golden skin and almond-shaped eyes from a stasis pod, but his voice was shockingly shaky and weak. “None of us are in any condition to confront her… a group of school girls would be beyond us just now, I’m sure… It’s up to you… you must go after her and stop whatever her failsafe plan might be…”

“And we all know she has one,” Master Vetaris sighed, sitting down cross-legged on the flooring and leaning against a stasis pod and waving a hand at them. “Go! Go!”

Despite the urgency of the situation, it took a few minutes for the Hand to find an alternate way out of the area, and to pick up Alvira’s trail. “I knew she seemed familiar,” Vulk said as they re-entered the more ancient section of the underground structure. “How could I have missed that?”

“We all did,” Devrik shrugged, rubbing his arm where the Staff of Summer had so recently healed the deep cut inflicted by that Void-cursed clockwork Zamora. “Blinded by that impressive clockwork body of hers, I suppose. Although it’s not quite so impressive anymore, eh?” He gestured at the trail of oily fluid on the ancient stone floor, which was leading them downwards once again. “Not sure if it was Toran’s axe or Aldari’s taburi, but she’s injured now.”

“Which only makes her more dangerous, my love,” Raven said, tension adding a certain vibrato to her voice. She had wanted to leave their son with the recovering Council members, despite the boy’s protests… she’d even tried to cajole Aldari with the idea that the adults needed him to guard them, in their weakened state. But he’d seen right through that bit of sophistry, of course; and when Master Vetaris had been so strangely insistent that the boy should go with them, she’d finally given in. The truth was, she did feel better having him under her own eye, given that there was danger here wherever they might leave him…

Her thoughts were brought up short as the group reached the next level down. They were all brought up short at the sight of five massive statues that filled immense alcoves evenly space around the circular chamber. The towering figures were vaguely humanoid, she supposed, if one were generously elastic with that word. They were truly alien, so much so that her eye had trouble interpreting what she was seeing… or maybe it was just the dim light… all she could tell for certain was that she didn’t really want to see more.

“Could these be the Ancients?” Mariala wondered aloud, unable to pull her own gaze from the disturbing images.

“Maybe,” Devrik growled, turning away after a moment. “But we don’t have time to dwell on the mystery now. Assuming we stop Alvira, we’ll have plenty of time to figure it out later. Let’s keep moving.”

It was on the next level down, the bottommost layer of this strange underground structure, that they finally found their quarry. Alvira stood beside a vast pit of glowing green, magma-like material, her back to her enemies. The space around the vast chamber was lined with alien machines, etched with lines and rings of glowing green energy. The Hand tried to move into the chamber, but made it only a few meters before being brought up short by an invisible barrier of some kind. It glowed with a translucent pale green light when touched, and proved utterly impenetrable.

Alvira’s new mechanical body was definitely a little the worse for wear, but was apparently still fully functional. She glanced over her shoulder as the would-be heroes rushed into the chamber to stop her and were brought up short by her shield. Her crystal eyes glittered with malice and hate, but she didn’t stop what she was doing at the side of the nearest of the great machines. Capacitors, actually, although she suspected these dolts didn’t realize that… or even know what a capacitor was. But they’d learn soon enough…

“Alvira, stop what you’re doing and surrender,” Devrik yelled over the tremendous thrumming of power from the pit and the capacitors. He could swear the sound was getting louder, the pulse faster, with each passing minute. “Lord Kavyn and your son are reviving the others, and soon you’ll face not only us but the entire Star Council. Even you must realize that you can’t succeed against us all!”

“Indeed not,” she screeched, her melodious artificial voice cracking for a moment under her sudden rage, splintering into a grating discordancy. “But you’ve ruined my plans for the last time, you meddling infants! I would have brought order and stability to the Empire, and eventually to the world; I would have ushered in a new Golden Age of learning, prosperity and peace. But you and your mewling masters just could’t let that happen, could you? Well, fine! If I can’t remake this world into what it could have been — I will unmake it altogether!”

“You’re mad, Alvira!” Vulk shouted. “However powerful this place might be, it’s not like it can destroy the entire world. Even if you’re only taking us with you, though, is some pointless revenge really worth your live? Life in defeat is life still —“

“You fools have no idea where we stand, do you?” Alvira cut the simpering cantor off with a malicious laugh. “This is the very spot where the Ancients first breeched the dimensional barriers and opened up this world to those truly alien beings we know as Chaos Demons – a mistake that ultimately lead to the death of their entire race, and the utter sterilization of this planet. For over a million years, until our precious Immortals came along and brought forth new life, this was a dead rock… but the Immortals proved to be no smarter than the Ancients, in the end.

“The Lost Immortal, the Unnamed, eventually discovered this place and just couldn’t resist tampering with what lay buried here. The Forgotten One and the four apprentices — oh, their names are remembered! Remembered and despised across the globe for unleashing a new plague of demons on the world and bringing down the Immortal’s shining Co-Dominion civilization. But they were never to blame… from what I have uncovered, I believe they all tried to stop the Immortal fool – Edergal, the Khundari, Zhezwan, the Telnori, and Besalyn and Trevon, the Umantari twins. But all were consumed by that first chaotic rush of demonic consciousness as it breeched the walls of our reality. Mortal and Immortal alike, their minds and souls were devoured, digested, merged — fated to become the core of Naventhül, the greatest of the new Demon Lords.”

“Wait, you have proof of this?” Mariala called out, momentarily distracted by this amazing tale. “There are legends… little more than fanciful rumors, really, but there’s never been any proof —“

“Oh, there has always been proof, at least amongst the Telnori… and certainly the Immortals know who was responsible, if not where exactly the event took place. The Lost Immortal, having found this island, placed powerful shields around it, reinforcing the fading ones left by the Ancients, and for millennia the other Immortals had their demi-godling hands full trying to undo and contain the damage unleashed by their wayward, and heartily cursed, sibling.

“But it was me, a mere Umantari mortal, who solved all the puzzles, broke though all the barriers and legends and lies, and rediscovered this place… although it took me nearly two lifetimes to do it. But unlike the Unnamed, I was smart enough not to tamper with the gates to realms which we were never meant to know. No, I stuck with the more basic technologies of the Co-Dominion and of ancient, lost Areth… and that’s all that magic is really, just another form of technology.

“With all the knowledge I gained here I would have — well, it hardly matters now. As you say, my plans are in ruins, and there is no longer a path to the victory I have worked toward for so long.” Her voice was calmer now, all the rage seemingly spent, and she finally turned to fully face her gathered enemies… Mariala realized Alvira’s hands had been busy the entire time she’d been speaking…

“You’re too late, my poppets! I’ve made sure that the tear between dimensional realities will be torn wide open – and this time there will be no closing it. If the world rejects my benevolent guidance, then so be it! It can die, instead! Yes, we can all die together!”

The rate of the pulsing thrum of power coming off the capacitors circling the pit had been steadily increasing in rate while Alvira had been working and talking, and now it reached a crescendo in a single blast of force that knocked everyone on their asses. As they staggered back to their feet, the Hand realized that the wall of force which had kept them from the mad clockwork woman was gone – and the pulsing light from the ring of capacitors had reversed itself.

They were now pumping energy back into the seething green magma pit, which was glowing brighter, the roiling energies growing more and more tumultuous. With the barrier gone, the Hand rushed forward to attack their old enemy — who laughed manically, and gestured toward the would-be heroes with a muttered a word of power.

Whatever she had expected to happen, she was clearly shocked by the actual outcome – her left hand flared with a blinding flash of light and blew apart into a thousand glowing metal shards. As she staggered back, glaring at her shattered limb, Erol unleashed a Blast of Norinos at her, sending shards of solid light into her metallic form. At the same time Mariala’s cross-bow bolt struck Avira in the abdomen, lodging between two plates. The Clockwork Mage staggered back another step.

Taking the opening, Toran leaped forward, his battle axe striking Alvira in the stomach. With a screeing of metal on metal, the blow did little damage, but kept her off balance, allowing Aldari to dart in and slam his now-flaming dagger into the sorceress’ right knee — the one already damaged by his thrown taburi. The limb sparked and buckled, bringing her to one knee, snarling in fury.

Korwin, who had held back, looking for the right opportunity, saw it as the clockwork villain staggered back up, reeling against the edge of the magma pit. He unlimbered his Ice Wand and muttered the control word to unleash a searing blast of super-cooled ice at Alvira – only to feel something go very wrong with the embedded spell!

Maybe it was the strange, seething energies of the magma, interacting with the opposite convocational power of the wand, or simply a poorly cast original spell; whatever the cause, instead of a lance of ice impaling the madwoman, a sheet of ice fanned out in a wide arc all around her. It briefly covered much of the magma pit… even as the heat blasted away the short-lived shell of ice, the rising thrum of power growing out of control slowed, and the frenzied pulsing of the capacitors noticeably decreased in rate.

Erol had followed up Toran and Aldari’s attacks to strike at Alvira with his trident, but she recovered quickly, taking the trident’s blow on her damaged left arm, at the same time seizing the ex-gladiator by the neck with her right hand. Lifting him off his feet as if he weighed nothing, she hurled him across the chamber.

As the mechanical woman tossed his Uncle Erol aside Aldari darted in for another attack… but this time she saw him coming. Her still-sparking left forearm backhanded him across the room as well, where he fell into a stunned, semi-conscious heap on the floor.

Raven, enraged at this attack on her son, sent a sling stone flying with all her skill, accuracy and fury behind it— the stone struck with a sharp crack, and the red crystal in Alvira’s chestpiece fractured. The damage, however, didn’t appear to greatly concern the madwoman, who seemed more focused on the sudden slowing of the energy build-up in the pit. Turning her back contemptuously on her enemies, she gestured at the slowly calming magma pit… and this time her spell worked!

A ball of orange-red flame burst forth from her undamaged hand and buried itself in the heart of the roiling energy. In a flash of brilliant green-white light the churning of the magma again began to increase in intensity, and the rate of pulsing light from the capacitors sped up.

Devrik, realizing that Korwin had inadvertently stumbled onto a way to stop Alvira, sheathed his sword and focused all of his concentration on his arcane mastery of flame and heat. In this place he felt his connection to his element bolstered, and the spell he unleashed felt more powerful than any he’d ever cast before. Quench radiated out from him to dampen the rising heat from the magma pit, absorbing much of the energy pulsing into it from the overloaded capacitors.

“We need to keep her from adding more energy,” he bellowed to his friends, sweat streaming down his fiercely contorted face as he struggled to pull in and redirect the massive energies in the chamber. “Korwin, more ice!”

Mariala, Vulk and Erol all began casting variations on Dispell, interrupting and deflecting Alvira’s further attempts to cast fireballs into the pit, while Korwin unleashed Korbid’s Icy Bite and Breath of Arandu in quick succession. The temperature in the room plummeted, and the throbbing sound of the building energies began to slow once more.

“No!” screamed Alvira. “You will NOT stop me this time! I’ve bound more than enough power into this new form of mine – and you’re exhausting yourselves already! I’ll see to it that you can never stop the overload!”

With that she turned and leapt for the edge of the magma pit. Glowing white webs flashed out from the Staff of Summer in Vulk’s hand, ensnaring the sorceress’ clockwork form… while the binding failed to completely stop her, it did slow her down. The tremendous strength of her constructed body allowed her to rip free of many of the clinging strands… and when her sparking left arm touched one of the glowing fibers it set off a flaming chain reaction that melted away the remaining webs, harming her metal body not at all.

She reached the edge of the magma pit and started to pull herself up onto its containment wall, laughing in psychotic glee in anticipation of her final, triumphant act – only to jerk to a sudden stop. Toran, taking advantage of Vulk’s delaying tactic and moving with his ninja-dwarf stealth, had grabbed her left ankle. Casting the Joining of Merkünon on himself, he was suddenly immovably welded to the stone of the chamber floor – and the power flowed through him to anchor her to him just as securely.

Alvira shrieked in rage and twisted to strike at the impudent Khundari, but between the angle, her foreshortened left arm, and his own reflexes she could land no blow that might force him to release her. As she struggled, the magma pool, under the combined assault of Korwin’s ice powers and Devrik’s psionic leeching of its heat, slowly settled back down to near its earlier levels.

Aldari, laying groggy and barely semi-conscious nearby, suddenly felt himself rising out of his body. Looking down in surprise, he saw himself sprawled on the strange stone floor… and he realized that this felt familiar. He had hovered outside his body before, he was certain of that, but he couldn’t quite remember when that had been…

Looking away from his dazed mortal body, the boy turned to glare at the evil clockwork lady, as she struggled against Uncle Toran’s grip. In his mind’s eye he saw the amber energies of the spell that anchored them both to the ground, as well as the violent, white power that was barely contained within her mechanical form; the roiling energy of the pit was something new, he realized, a color he couldn’t describe and that was difficult to even look at…

Aldari’s eye was suddenly caught by a strange ripple in the air over the pit… oh, he’d seen something like this before, more than once… but he had thought it was just in his dreams. In those dreams, when he had pulled at the edges of such a ripple, a doorway had opened… sometimes nothing came through the doorway, sometimes innocent creatures, like bunnies or deer, came through… but other times terrible things came through! Maybe that was why he never remembered, after he woke up, because was sure he’d done a bad thing… but the last time… he remembered that now! The last time, Papa and his friends had come through the door he’d opened in his sleep, to rescue Mama and him!

He sensed that he could open a doorway to anyplace now, anywhere at all. And he also felt his connection to the elemental force of fire so much more powerfully here than he ever had before – even that time he barely remembered, in the volcano chamber, when he was a baby. He felt like he could rip open a doorway into the very heart of the Fire – and with that thought came a sudden flash of inspiration!

He would open a doorway into the sun itself, the greatest fire there was, Papa had once told him! That would show that bad metal lady, she wouldn’t be able to resist their fireballs then! He and Papa would melt her right into a puddle! He reached out his astral hands and began to pull on the edge of that fuzzy place…

Then another sudden thought struck him, and he paused. The metal lady had been casting spells, too, including fire spells… she was obviously a Gray Mage, like Aunt Mariala had told him about. Maybe she’d be able to use the fire herself, if he opened a door into the sun… that wouldn’t be good. Then he thought about what Mama and Aunt Mariala had been telling him in his lessons, about using just the right amount of force to get a job done, no more. That more wasn’t always better. So maybe more fire wasn’t the answer, or more power…

Well, maybe he could send the bad lady away, instead… someplace cold and empty of power. He wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but he understood enough to know his friends did NOT want her to reach that strange pool with the color that hurt his mind to look at… and that bad things would happen if she did. Confident in his decision now, Aldari reached out again and grasped the edges of the slight ripple… and pulled.

Mariala saw the rift in the air over the pit as soon as it began to open. She watched in horror as it grew wider and wider, until it was nearly two meters across. Dear Shala, had they failed? Had that bitch managed to open the dimensional rift after all? But what she saw beyond the shimmering edges of the portal didn’t look like what she’d imagined the realm of pure chaos would. In fact, it looked more like a night sky, full of a billion stars, but each brilliant point of light steady and unflickering —

With a roar, the air in the vast chamber began to pour through the rift and into the vacuum beyond it. Every loose object for ten meters around was pulled relentlessly toward that sucking maw, the lighter bits of debris and unsecured clothing vanishing quickly into the void beyond. Mariala felt the tug and grabbed at the nearest fixed support, barely keeping herself from being sucked upward.

Erol wedged his trident into a crevice of floor and held on with all his strength, and when Aldari’s limp form skittered along nearby he reached out and snagged the boy as well. Devrik and Korwin were well placed to grab on to fixed structures, and Raven dropped down behind the nearest capacitor, while Vulk used the Staff to web himself in place. Toran was in no danger at all, of course, being magically fused to the planet itself… but, unfortunately, by the same token, so was Alvira.

“Toran, release her!” Mariala screamed over the relentless roar of outrushing air… was it getting hard to breathe, or was that just her imagination…?

Toran had already understood what was happening and needed no further urging — he relaxed his grip on the metal woman’s ankle, freeing her from the Joining at the same time. In the instant she realized what he was doing she screamed in inarticulate rage and reached out to grab him, to anchor herself to him with her great strength… but she was the closet of all of them to the sucking vortex, and her fingertips just brushed the Khundari’s arm before it lifted her like a leaf in a storm, pulling her up, up, and away. She spun madly through the portal, her screams unheard in the vacuum beyond… she shrank from sight with a shocking rapidity…

Aldari, transfixed by what he had done, suddenly realized that his family was now in danger… could he close what he had opened? Before, he thought his doorways had just closed on their own… but if he could open a doorway, he must be able to close it, right? He envisioned grasping the pulsing edge of the gateway and pulling it back towards its own center… and as he did the aperture began to grow smaller and smaller… in a few seconds it was gone altogether, and everything returned to normal…

Looking back at his body down on the floor, Aldari saw that his mother had reached him and was cradling him in her arms, patting his face, urging him to wake up, Uncle Erol kneeling next to them… and without volition he felt himself being pulled back into his physical body, as inexorably as Alvira Ketaris had been pulled into the void…

From the personal journal of Lurin Ar’Hanol, Ships Physician
aboard the Wind of Kasira

When I signed on to this vessel, I had some small inkling of what I might be getting into… rumors were already swirling around town about this group, and my previous experience with both so-called “adventurers” and wielders of the T’ara Kul suggested that the trip was unlikely to be dull. Well, I had no idea of what I was truly in for!

The voyage started off quietly enough, with a visit, at the insistence of Ser Korwin, to the Isle of Sulan. It was my first visit, as it was for most of the owners aboard. I had long heard the tales of the many pleasures available there, of course, and of the magnificent temple of End’a On’ann, seat of the Kaluran Cult. It was a short but pleasantly intense visit, especially the time I spent with Lady Mariala. She’s usually so reserved, even in private moments, but that day and night she really let her hair down!

The real excitement began after we sailed from Sulan, however. The usual amusements of our strange group, such as the spectacular failure of Korwin and Vulk in their absurd fishing contest, or the oddly disturbing duet of Devrik and his adorable young son Aldari, were interrupted when we came across an island where no island should be. The landing party, which consisted mostly of the Hand of Fortune, of course, came back to the ship with the head of some sort of mechanical wolf and reports of dozens of other aggressive clockwork beasts. Beasts they only escaped by using the power of lighting, which they had somehow contained… I didn’t fully understand Mariala’s explanation, truth be told. They also discovered that the vegetation of the island, which had appeared to be a strange mix of species from many different climates, were in fact all artificial.

The reason for this was revealed all too soon, when what we thought was an island turned out instead to be camouflage set atop a massive vessel — a vessel in the shape of a tremendous whale! This leviathan appears to be the cause of all the missing ships reported across the Empire in recent months… an assumption I feel justified in making, once I witnessed it opening its great jaws and swallowing the Aldetha Star whole! The Wind only managed to escape the same fate thanks to a fortunate wind and the speed bestowed by her strange design.

We celebrated our escape too quickly, however. Only a few hours after the whale-island-ship disappeared below the horizon behind us, a new danger was spotted – a giant sea serpent, coming up aft on us at an even greater speed than our own improbable momentum. That it was related to the whale-island became obvious when it drew close enough to see that it, too, was a clockwork construct — a thing of brass, steel and crystal. I was sure we were doomed as it attacked the ship, snatching up several of the crew and swallowing them whole or biting them in half, shattering railings and various spars, and tangling the rigging.

But the Hand of Fortune proved they were all quite formidable in their own right – they chipped away at the things defenses, until Mariala summoned a gigantic water elemental! Then, in a well-orchestrated attack, Devrik unleashed a tremendous fireball as the elemental grappled with the monster. The resultant explosion of steam badly damaged the construct and, combined with a hurricane wind summoned by Ser Erol, slowed the thing enough for us to escape. This time we didn’t celebrate, but kept an anxious watch, scanning the horizon for further attacks. This time, however, we seemed to truly outrun… whatever all that was.

With our ship somewhat damaged and in need of repairs, and the ship we had been escorting now taken, Captain K’Jurol decided to change our planned destination, instead making for the small port of Cumor, the closest haven on the heading along which the fading magical wind was driving us. Located on the north shore of the island of Sidon, it is a possession of the Telnori Princedom of Asmir, and I confess to some fascination at the chance to see firsthand an actual city of the Star Children. While I have met more than a few of that race, I have never traveled to any of the realms they rule directly… I have only known them as outsiders in Umantari lands, never as the lords of their own realm.

In the event, the town turned out to be a rather small and rustic place, not at all the magical metropolis I had half imagined. Apparently it is where the long-lived Telnori of Asmir come when they tire of other pursuits and seek a quiet seaside life for a time. I suppose when you measure your lifetime in many centuries, a decade or two doing almost anything (or nothing) seems a mere interlude. About one in ten of the residents of Cumor are actually Umantari, and the majority of those are transient T’ara Kul. This is due to the existence of a Nitaran Gate in the hills just outside the town, to the southeast. The Guild of Arcane Lore has built a Fellowship House around the Gate, and it is a place of study and contemplation for many of their kind.

We arrived in the late afternoon, and within an hour of our dropping anchor in the small, sheltered harbor, a messenger was rowed out with a summons for the Hand of Fortune. It seemed that Kavyn Stormborn, Mymitron of the Imperial House, First Minister of the Empire, and Sword Brother to the Emperor Gil-Garon himself, sought an interview and awaited them at the Fellowship House in the low hills just outside of town. How the man knew we were here, given that we ourselves hadn’t known where we were going until a few hours past, is a mystery to me… but then he is one of the greatest mages of our Age. I’ve even heard it rumored he might be an Avatar of an Immortal!

Naturally our principals departed the ship with all due haste… one does not keep the second most powerful man in the Empire waiting! Young Master Aldari had begged to go with his father, but both his parents were firm in refusing him — the Lord Myrmitron had summoned only the Hand. As it turned out, it might have been better had Ser Devrik’s family gone with him…

Several hours after their departure, after the sun had gone down in the west but while the gloaming light lingered for a time in the sky, the Wind of Kasira was atttacked. As the ship was too large for the relatively minor docks of Cumor, we were anchored several hundred yards from shore, and the assault came from the ocean side – and from below the waves.

Swarms of clockwork “men” crawled over the sides of the ship from the dark waters, and would have taken us utterly by surprise if it weren’t for the keen eyes of the lookouts – a watch the good Captain had insisted upon, despite being in the safety of a port. Thanks to that warning, he had a defense organized in seconds, the crew rallying with cutlass and knife to repel the boarders.

But the first few mechanical men were followed by a new monstrosity – what appeared to be an animated corpse encased in a bronze and crystal sarcophagus, with spider-like legs and arms. It radiated a deadly cold, and a palpable feeling of dread and fear seemed to sap the strength of the sailors nearest to it… I felt the edge of that black despair myself.

The mechanical men were difficult enough to fight, being almost impervious to blades (bludgeoning damage seemed more effective, I noticed), but that undead thing was impossible for any man to strike. Those who got close enough seemed to become enervated and weak, quickly falling back in terror. Unlike its companions the creature didn’t immediately attack, but instead seemed to be surveying the ship, its dead, dull white eyes scanning hither and yon.

Only when it spotted Raven and her son, who had been watching the colorful sunset from the poop deck, did it move, and then with purpose. It cut through anyone in its path, friend or foe, making a beeline for the two, its glittering metal claws reaching for them… Raven had only her dagger, but she drew it and sought some weakness in the creature bearing down on them; the boy drew his own small blade, evading his mother’s attempts to keep him behind her, ready to fight the looming threat whatever the odds. Certainly he is the child of two warriors!

From my vantage point in the shadows of the doorway to the lower foredecks I could see that they felt the miasma of fear the thing emanated, but while they faltered neither cowed before it. Unfortunately, neither did they seem to do it any damage, and in short order it had seized both of them in an unbreakable grip. With its prey in had, the creature turned and plunged over the side of the ship, and I cried aloud in fear for them. But a great vessel, in the shape of a whale, though of much smaller dimensions than the great island-ship we had encountered, had risen from the depths beside the Wind. The undead thing landed atop its streaming hull and skittered quickly to a hatch, which opened to receive it… and the captives.

The mechanical men it left behind seemed to show no inclination to stop their attack, though they were now suffering more damage as the crew began wielding spars and belaying pins – and why should they stop, as our losses where still the greater? I think it was Stinky Pete who slashed the ropes that held the boom in place, bringing that great arm down and around, to sweep half a dozen of the mechanized invaders over the side of the ship. The remaining constructs hesitate for a moment, seeing the odds so dramatically changed; then as one they turned and leaped over the railing and back to their waiting vessel.

Within seconds they were inside the strange ship, which began to sink quickly back beneath the surface, water boiling around it as it disappeared. A faint luminosity of the water allowed us to track it for some minutes, until in vanished entirely, swallowed up in the darkness of both the night and the sea. Once it was gone I quickly began moving amongst the downed men of the crew, doing a brief triage to determine where my medical talents might be best deployed. While there were fair number of wounded, there were only three outright fatalities and perhaps half a score of men with injuries which might yet threaten their lives if not treated quickly.

Fortunately for them, the Hand returned to the ship less than half a turning of the glass after the attack, and between the divine, esoteric healing powers of Cantor Elida and my own skill as a physician we were able to save all but one of the most severely wounded. While we labored, despite the sad, bloody nature of the work, I was glad it was the Captain, not I, who had to tell Ser Devrik of the capture of his wife and child. Although I’ve not known them long, the comradeship between these friends is strong, and I was surprised at the vehemence of the argument between Devrik and Mariala over what course of action they should next pursue.

As busy in my work as I was, I could spare little attention to the debate, but few on the ship were unaware of it. In the end I gathered that the Lady prevailed, at least for the moment, and most of the Hand departed the Wind once again to return to the Fellowship House to seek the aid and counsel of Lord Kavyn. I think it was the Captain’s insistence that the ship was simply in no condition to sail, even had we a certain path to follow, that swayed the fiery warrior to yield to this less direct method of tracking his family… the man can certainly become very… focused… when his family is threatened.

Unfortunately, he and his companions returned to the ship in less than two hours, bearing the shocking news that a creature, very similar to the one that had taken Raven and Aldari, had come through the Gate around the same time we were attacked. It had seemed to wield some sort of magic-dampening field, and had taken the Myrmitron by surprise. It had encased him in a bubble of shimmering silver-gray energy, freezing him in mid-movement and leaving him a virtual statue. I overheard Mariala say something about a “stasis field” and an “Earl of someplace or the other,” but I’ve not had time to enquirer further on the matter.

I gathered that the arcanists at the Fellowship House were initially inclined to blame the Hand for what had happened, but once that misunderstanding was resolved had proved willing to offer what aid they could. Unfortunately, that wasn’t much, and in no way useful in tracking our enemies. Hmmm, when did all of this suddenly become my battle? When they kidnapped a mother and child, I suppose… some things just don’t let you remain a disinterested bystander!

While Ser Devrik fumed and stormed about the deck in an agonized fury, and the Captain organized the crew to work through the night on repairs, there was a sudden strange humming in the night air. Glancing up from where I was re-bandaging a cut on one of the ambulatory wounded, I saw a faint blob of violet light appear in the air just in front of the mainmast. It quickly grew, expanding to a shimmering disk of rippling violet energy, pulsing at the edges.

The crew dropped whatever else they were doing, and grabbing up weapons prepared to repel whatever enemy might come through the… opening. Brave men, to be sure, but it was impossible to miss the fear and uncertainty they felt at this uncanny intrusion – I saw more than one make a covert gesture to ward off evil. But nothing came through the disk, which just hovered, humming very faintly… an invitation, perhaps?

Or a trap?

I couldn’t hear most of the debate between the members of the Hand (and the Captain), but I did notice Ser Devrik gazing for several minutes into the flame of a torch he’d had a crewman fetch. When he abruptly snapped his attention from the flame, he tossed the flaming brand overboard, drew his sword, and with a few clipped words to his friends stepped through the glowing portal. The rest of the Hand followed quickly behind, and as the disk began to shrink I saw Vulk’s tame falcon swoop down from its high perch in the rigging to glide through the opening just before it vanished entirely.

With a shake of his head the Captain ordered his men to return to their tasks of cleanup and repair, while I returned to my own calling and knelt next to the son of the ship’s carpenter, who had a gash over his left eye… spectacularly bloody, as most head wounds are, but not especially serious…

♦ ♦ ♦ 

From the private journal of Lady Mariala Teryne, 7th Margrave of Green Tower, Kolori of the Convocation of Xavar’na, Adept of the Order of the Violet Eye.

Korwin was clearly the most nervous of us as we approached the Sidon Fellowship House, but none of use were immune to some level of the jitters — the rest of us simply hid it better, I suspect. I was certainly doing my best to maintain a façade of cool indifference… but the truth is, my stomach was twisting itself into knots at the thought that I was about to meet the world’s most powerful living mage. Truly a man of legends!

The Guild’s Fellowship House was a collection of low structures, none more than two stories tall, scattered almost hap-hazardously along the top of a low hill about a kilometer outside of Cumor. Yet somehow the seemingly random buildings of white stone and red tile roofs made a harmonious and restful-looking whole. A short, stout figure stood at the main door of the central building, obviously waiting for us.

“Come in, honored guests,” he said, standing aside and gesturing us within. The keen look in his gray eyes quickly banished any thought I had that he was a mere porter. “”I am the Learned Gillasant, the rector of this House. Our other distinguished guest awaits you all in the Sunset Room, if you will follow me.”

We passed through a long gallery and out again into a wide central courtyard. At the center of the court was a low, elaborately carved stone dais, wide steps leading up to it from the four cardinal points. I wondered if this might be the location of the Nitarin Gate which was rumored to be the reason this place existed, but our quick pace left me no chance to ask. We entered another low-slung building on the far side of the courtyard, and at the end of a wide corridor Gillasant flung open two large, carved doors of black oak.

The Sunset Room was a surprisingly cozy space, given it’s rather grand name – creamy plaster walls above dark wood wainscoting, thick Kunya-Kesh carpets, a large fireplace on one wall, and a wall of carved stone windows inset with the clearest glass I’ve ever seen. The windows looked to the west, over the tops of trees below the hill-top compound, and the late afternoon sun cast a mellow light into the room. A large octagonal table of carved black ironwood occupied the center of the room, with eight matching chairs, upholstered in deep wine-red leather arrayed around it. A figure was seated at the table, with his back to the windows, silhouetted against the golden light.

Rising as we entered the room, Lord Kavyn Stormborn, Myrmitron of the Ocean Empire, Sword Brother of the Emperor Gil-Garon, Master of the Order of the Silver Star, and greatest living wizard of our age, gave us a slight bow and gestured at the other chairs.

“Please, my friends, be seated… we have much to discuss. Rector Gillasant, will you be so good as to have refreshment brought, and then see to it that we are not disturbed.”

As we took out seats, and while drinks and light snacks were being served, I had a chance to covertly study our host. He was a tall man, slightly taller even than Vulk, with long, jet black hair, currently tied in a queue at his nape, and the most piercing ice-blue eyes you can imagine. He was dressed entirely in black, save for the eight pointed star embroidered in silver on his breast. When the food and drink had been laid out, and the great double doors had closed behind the Rector and the last of the servants, he spoke again.

“Thank you for coming so promptly. I’m sure you have many questions for me, as I do for you. But let me start by confirming what your signet rings are already telling you – I am, indeed, a member of the Star Council. Which I doubt comes as any great surprise — everyone who is aware of the Council’s existence, or at least believes in it, assumes I am a member. So you may be sure that I know much about you all, and your adventures on our behalf.

“But what I don’t yet know is what you have learned of these depredations visited upon the shipping lanes of the Western Reaches over the past several months… the Council’s own attempts at scrying, divination, and both pre– and post-cognition have so far failed to yield any tangible results. Something I find both frustrating and very suspicious…”

Between us, we managed a more-or-less coherent narrative, filling in Lord Kavyn on what we had learned of the enemy currently ravaging the western Empire, including the presentation of the clockwork wolf’s head, which Korwin had thought to bring along in a poke borrowed from Stinky Pete. He was particularly impressed by Korwin’s discovery of what he called the “principal of electricity.”

“I myself am one of the few living practitioners of what is sometimes called the Seventh Convocation — the Convocation of Lightning,” he said, when he heard how our comrade had felled the clockwork beast. “It will be good to add you to that list, Master Korwin, if you manage to live up to this promising start.

“To that end, and to further your study and eventual mastery of electrical magics, I gift you these jorums. Each contains a concentrated dose of convocational principal that should aid you in your studies… or, at need, can power a spell or two. But I suggest you not drain them both until you have mastered the ability to recharge them yourself.”

He handed Korwin two small cylinders of metal, silver and gold with a red lightning bolt running down thier sides. On each, a small nub on one end was matched by an indentation on the other. Korwin was practically goggle-eyed as he accepted the Mymitron’s gift, stammering his thanks quite effusively. Lord Kavyn waved the gratitude away and smiled wryly.

“I suspect having more adepts wielding the power of electricity may become important soon, if this plot is as deep and far-reaching as I fear. It is clearly the great weakness of these clockwork constructs… the sooner you become adept, the better.”

Korwin kept turning and examining his new gift, distracted, as the Lord Kavyn continued to debrief us on our experiences. While clearly interested in both with the whale-island-ship and the alien infestation of the Arapet Horror, it seemed to me that the gray mage’s mind was already working on plans to confront and defeat the Empire’s latest foe. But his attention was wrenched aside when I, sensing that the interview was winding down, took the opportunity to ask him of his own mysterious past, a question that had burned in my curiosity for years.

“It is rumored, milord, that you are a man displaced in time and space, coming from the ancient home world of the Immortals themselves, the lost world called Earth… I have always wondered about the truth of—“

“Wait, did you just say Earth?” he interrupted me sharply, his mesmerizing blue eyes widening. “Not Areth?”

“Well, yes, isn’t that the correct pronunciation?” I asked, a little taken aback by his intensity.

“Indeed it is, my dear Margrave, but very, very few people on this world are aware of that fact. The Espar corruption of the word, Areth, is so deeply embedded in all but the most ancient lore… how did you come to learn of it?”

This naturally led to our recounting to him the tale of our strange trip to ancient Earth last year, when we exchanged bodies with seven heroes of that world for a short time. Which of course led to the even stranger tale of our most recent encounter with the Vanguard and the destruction and resurrection of the entire multiverse.

“Fascinating,” he said, as I handed him my small earbud communication device, one of the set which the armored knight, Scion, had gifted us at our parting. He pulled a magnifying lens from his belt and peered intently at the device. “Apergy Systems, according to this maker’s mark… which was the name of the largest clean energy producer in my own time, some two hundred years after the era you say you visited. Indeed, Apergy engines powered the vessel which brought the Immortals to this world.

“But as much as I would love to believe that it was my Earth to which you traveled, I sadly doubt that’s the case. Much was lost in the Great Collapse of the late 21st Century, but not that much – had there ever been an era of superheroes, it would certainly have been remembered in my own time. Really, the world you visited sounds like something out of an old comic book.” I didn’t understand the phrase, and he smiled wryly as he handed back my earbud. “But why not? This world is pretty much a live action D&D game… and the multiverse is infinite, they say…”

Our puzzled expressions must have been rather comical, for he laughed out loud. “I’m sorry, references to a couple of popular entertainments from old Earth. I’m afraid a literal translation of comic book into Espar doesn’t really convey the true meaning; and I’m not even going to try and explain D&D…

He was clearly anxious to questions us further about the Earth we had known, however briefly, but with great reluctance he pulled himself back to the more immediate responsibilities demanded by his Imperial duties. “Once we have resolved the current crisis I hope that you all will agree to spend some time with me in Avantir, to more deeply explore these matters. I can’t tell you how exciting it is for me to speak with others who have known even a variation of my birth world… even one two hundred years before my time… the truth is, not even Gil can really understand what my home was like, although he tries…”

We agreed that we would be most honored to spend more time with him, then returned to recounting every detail we could remember of our recent encounters on the high seas. By the time he decided he’d decanted all he could from us, at least for the moment, it was full dark outside and the lesser moon was rising in the east. We declined the Rector’s offer of a torch-boy to see us back to the docks in town, the way being fairly straight forward, and said our goodbyes to Lord Kavyn, who intended to return by Nitarin Gate to Avantir that night to report to the Emperor directly.

“Please remain here in Cumor, until I can get back to you with further instructions,” he requested. “It shouldn’t be more than a day or two, once I’ve informed both the Emperor and the rest of the Star Council, and I suspect you’ve all a part to play in whatever is yet to come.”

As Fate would have it, we would be seeing him much sooner than that… although he was right about our involvement in the stunning denouement that was soon to follow…

♦ ♦ ♦ 

From the recovered internal log of Clockwork Captain Essa Rünalt, late of the Imperial Merchant Ship Aldetha Star.

…trying to recall those first moments when I woke up in this hideous shell… the sight of my true body being dispatched by that four-armed monstrosity with a snap of my… its neck… it is still too much for my mind to bear! How I do not go insane, I do not know… perhaps I may yet…

Perhaps it is my unique position, insofar as I can tell, in this monstrous mechanical army that is keeping me sane. For unlike any of the others (including all the men and women from the Star, crew and passengers alike) I do not seem to be constrained in my actions by this cold form. I sense the restraints all around me… that is, around my mind… I know somehow what they would force me to do, but I am able somehow to… slip around them. I remain my own man, even in this terrible form…

…I found the woman and child, unconscious in separate cells, and recognized them as passengers aboard the Wind of Kasira, our hired escort ship. Was their vessel seized as well, somehow? I never saw it in the great internal bay where they are dismantling my own former command…

I managed to awaken the woman, Raven, and she explained how she and her son were taken by clockwork men such as myself. I assured her I was not like the others, and explained who I was… or at least who I had been before my forced transformation. She came to believe me, at least provisionally, which likely proved my salvation when her husband and friends arrived a few minutes later.

Once we had freed Ser Devrik’s wife and child I was able to lead the small group of would-be rescuers (whose explanation as to how, exactly, they had come to be aboard this terrible vessel made little sense to me) to the great internal bay where the mechanized creatures toiled, unloading and dismantling my ship. I told them of the vast store rooms I had seen, full of cargo and material from earlier reavings, and then showed them the room where I and many of my crew were… transformed.

The four-armed master-mind of this hideous operation, or at least I so took the creature to be, and the massive “commander” of the whale-ship were in the chamber, watching the dismantling of the Star below, but thanks to the powerful magics of the lady in green we were able to pass by them unseen.

We eventually made our way to the control center of the mighty whale-ship, although apparently by more circuitous routes than someone more familiar with the vessel’s layout might achieve— for we found the master-mind and the commander there before us.

Still under the cloaking spell of the lady, the dwarven warrior attempted to open the sealed hatch that we believed might lead to the surface. Unfortunately, some sort of alarm was set off by this attempt, and the two leaders became aware of our presence. In the fight that ensued, I feel I held my own, for the rage at the theft of my body, indeed my very life, empowered me… and it’s not as if I had aught to lose at that point… even if the process could be reversed, I had seen my own true body destroyed…

The two clockwork creatures fought well, and the four-armed one was clearly a wizard of some sort, although how a mechanical man could wield that power is beyond me. But we gave as good as we got, and better – even the child leapt into the fray, though his small dagger did little actual damage. It was the strange net wielded by the tall Telnori, containing the power of a lightning bolt it seemed, that brought down the clockwork wizard, and the Khundari with his mighty axe that caved in the chest of the so-called Commander. As I had suspected, that is where the brains of their… our… mechanical bodies reside, rather than in the skull…

Unfortunately, while we were now theoretically in control of the giant vessel, it made little practical difference. The mysterious navigation system seemed locked onto an unchangeable course, presumably to the hidden base we had overheard the two mention prior to the alarm and ensuing fight. Nothing any of these extraordinary folk did seemed able to change that fact.

What we might find on this island of Teshunir (tesh-oo-NEER) remains a mystery… did we destroy the true leaders of this monstrous enterprise? It seems to me to be unlikely, for although they seemed to possess more free-will than the other automatons (myself excluded), how did they come to exist, if not by the hand and mind of someone truly alive?

The hatch did indeed prove an egress to the surface “island” atop the great whale ship, although how that advantages us I am uncertain. Still, I will follow this “Hand of Fortune” to the bitter end, for what little hope I have in being restored to true life lies with them, I think. And if not, then I will have my revenge on the architects of my misery — oh, I do swear it!

4 Agras 3020

It was days before the local authorities were, more-or-less, satisfied with their investigation into what happened in the Hammerhead District on 29 Metisto. During the extremely thorough investigation the Hand of Fortune was kept constantly on call for whichever Imperial functionary might be currently running the show. Now finally, five days after the bizarre invasion of Savage Mountain gülvini via an inexplicable portal which opened in a nearby park, the investigators had grudgingly delivered a verdict of “unknown causes,” and declared everyone involved free to leave the island.

In fact, despite not a shred of evidence linking them to the event, beyond proximity and the rumors of recent events elsewhere, suspicion apparently remained in some minds. The Hand was not-all-that-subtly made aware that their departure from Thorkin, and especially the city of Thermexold, would be viewed with relief, and the sooner the better. Unfortunately, Master Alvador had several more days before the cargo he’d secured for the ship would be ready, leaving them all at loose ends for awhile.

He had sold the bulk of their remaining alien cargo, for a very nice sum, and everyone was flush for the moment. Vulk, more than most of the others, remained keenly aware of how expensive it was to run a ship in the Empire, but for the moment they were good, and he had a growing confidence in their merchant factotum’s skill in such matters. He was just sealing the latest letter he’d penned to his cousin Dugos (one of his uncle Hain’s eight children), describing the various inns and bathhouses he’d visit in his travels, and their varied amenities, when Mariala knocked on the door to his room.

“Korwin has invited us all to a celebratory meal in the common room,” she said after he’d bid her enter. “Apparently he’s learned that this place does a particularly fine version of something called a “Lubber’s Lunch,” a speciality of his homeland he insists we’ll all enjoy, and it’s his treat.”

“Well, he was certainly right about those “bear claw” pastries he introduced Toran to in Tishton,” he replied enthusiastically, stowing his writing tools and standing up. “I was able to track down a recipe before we sailed, from a friendly baker, and I think my aunt will love it… I included a separate copy in my latest letter to my cousin, to pass on to her.” He waved said letter jauntily as he locked his door and they headed for the stairs down to the common room.

Today it was just the core group, as Jeb and Therok were enjoying a rare day entirely to themselves, the doctor was making rounds to check on several recovering patients she’d treated for injuries in the aftermath of the attack, and both the captain and Master Alvador remained busy back at the Wind of Kasira. Aldari was running a slight fever and being a bit fussy, so Raven had opted to stay in their room with him. Taking what had by now become “their” table in the great window bay overlooking the sea, they ordered drinks and eagerly awaited the promised repast.

“I think you’ll all really like this,” Korwin enthused, clearly delighted to share a favorite treat with his friends. “Some variation of the ‘Lubber’s Lunch can be found almost everywhere in the Empire, and even along the coastal regions of Kunya-Kesh and the Wild Coast. The variations range from the basic and simple dish of working fishermen to the elegant, even sublime, interpretations of the upper classes.

“According to the seminal tome on dining in the empire, Taverns, Inns and Disreputable Shacks by the legendary epicurean Guyon Fiarius, the meal’s roots lie in the western islands of the Archipelago, some 600 years or more in the past. Sailors plying the great trade lanes of the Empire, but most especially those working the months-long kraken-hunting voyages out into the Western Ocean, longed for fresh food. The men would talk on deck of the feasts they imagined the landlubbers were enjoying back home, as they themselves gnawed on the last of the salted mutton and hard tack biscuit.

“Legend has it that the meal came about as a result of the efforts of the great kraken hunter, Captain Orto Canava, on the return of his hunting fleet from its greatest voyage. After almost two years at sea, the surviving three ships carried the largest haul of kraken oil, meat and azurgris ever seen, before or since. It made every man aboard wealthy… and Canava himself rich beyond the dreams of avarice!

“As a reward to his loyal crews, he sent word ahead, ordering a great feast prepared for their arrival, consisting of all the things he knew they’d dreamed and talked about over the long, long voyage. Tables were set up along the docks, lights were strung, and the larders of every inn and tavern in the city were emptied to prepare the meal, they say. A great many dishes–“

“So, what city did this event happen in?” Erol suddenly broke in. “Maybe we should go there, you know, for the really authentic version.”

“Well, that’s the thing, of course,” Korwin laughed, for once seemingly unperturbed at an interruption. “And why it’s considered legendary, of course… I know of at least six cities in the Western Reach that claim to be the home of Canava’s Landfall, and I’m sure there are others. Actually, Thermexold is one of the claimants for the title, so it’s possible that we’re already there.

“Anyway, as I was saying, there were an incredible number of dishes made for that first feast, but what stuck with the sailors and survived the centuries, were the simple dishes involving fresh greens, lamb, and goat cheeses. These western islands have long been famous for the variety and quality of their sheep and goats, and their amazing cheeses… as well as some of the most succulent lamb in the Empire. Over the years the idea of a homecoming meal for those long at sea became a tradition throughout the Archipelago, and beyond.

“The ’Lubber’s Lunch basically consists of cold roasted lamb, a selection of cheeses and lamb a’jus, often served with delicate greens and preserved fish on the side. It is said to invoke the very idea of the Empire – wrapping the thinly sliced lamb around the cheese represents the Archipelago surrounding the heart of the realm, Avantir, all of it floating in a sea of salty a’jus. That first, legendary, feast included smoked and pickled fish along with fresh greens, and in later tradition, sailors would brine, salt, smoke or pickle fresh fish the night before sailing, as a symbolic gesture of faith in their return. Additionally the last of the ships supply of pickled vegetables would be brought ashore for the salad, to be enjoyed by all – one possible reason for the belief that eating the last pickle aboard ship will bring bad luck to a vessel.”

“Indeed, the young Master is very knowledgable in the history of our cuisine,” their proprietor said, arriving at their table arms laden with plates and bowls. Quoran’s daughter Bethda stood behind him, with more dishes piled onto a large tray, and the two began quickly laying out the food. “But it’s no mere rumor that Thermexold was the location of Canava’s Feast, and the port to which he first brought his riches – it’s the simple truth! One of my own ancestors was a sailor aboard the Golden Fleet… indeed, ’twas he who founded our family fortune with his pay from that single voyage!

“Now, on Thorkin we are renowned across the Empire for our cave-aged blue sheep’s milk cheese and aged goat cheese, which you’ll note Bethda has there, while Thermexold itself is known especially for our own semi-hard aged cheese called kafylteri, as well as a beautiful smokey goat cheddar.” He set a large platter of cheeses down in the center of the table.

“We’re also well known for our salmon runs, of course, as our mountains provide many wide, cold streams for the fish. Here we have smoked salmon combined with fresh goat cheese and my own wife’s legendary tomato vinaigrette, on a bed of delicate field greens.” As he finished speaking he set the final bowls of salad down and stepped back, beaming in pleasure at his guests.

Vulk smiled to himself, noticing that the man had managed to lay out the entire meal without coming anywhere near Devrik, who seemed oblivious to the innkeeper’s obvious nervousness around him. Although, if you were that afraid of a man who could turn to living flame (fair enough, even if he had saved your life and those of your entire family), it seemed a bit cowardly then to let your daughter lean in between him and Mariala to lay down cutlery and drinks. But the smell of roast lamb quickly drove the thought away, and he dug in hungrily to the food.

The meal proved to be every bit as delightful as Korwin had promised, and no one was feeling much ambition to rise from the table afterward. They took their time, enjoying the astringent lemon tea and slowly nibble on the brillberry-rhubarb tarts Goodwive Helmün had sent out for afters, content to watch the waves crashing on the cliffs below and the gulls wheeling in the clear blue summer sky above.

“I do beg your pardon, learned ser,” Quoran Heldmün spoke sotto voce in Vulk’s ear, startling him from his comfortable reverie. “Would it be possible to have a bit of a private word with you, if it’s not too much of a bother?”

Not particularly wanting to get up, but suddenly curious at the usually bluff and friendly man’s worried look, Vulk nodded and stepped away with him to stand near the smaller fireplace. It was early afternoon, in the middle of the tenday, and the common room was sparsely populated just then… a private enough spot if they spoke quietly.

“What can I do for you, Quoran?” the cantor asked amiably, with his best professional smile of sympathetic curiosity in place. If having half a dozen wizards in his establishment had finally broken the man, and he was preparing to ask them to cease any and all supernatural activity and return forthwith to their place of origin or to the nearest convenient parallel dimension, Vulk had no intention of making it easy on the fellow.

“I hope this isn’t too much of an imposition on your learned person, and on your friends,” the innkeeper began anxiously. “But I was hoping you might be willing to look into a matter for me, something here at the inn… “ Vulk gave him an encouraging nod, and the man rushed on gratefully. “You see, one of my other guests, an itinerant book buyer named Velkin Maribold, a regular patron whenever he is in town, has not been seen in six days… not since before the, the incident…” he faltered for a moment, and his eyes darted from side to side, as if expecting gülvini to suddenly leap out from some unseen ambuscade.

“Do you fear he was caught up in the attack, perhaps killed or injured?” Vulk asked. “Have you checked with the authorities, the local houses of healing–“

“Oh no, no, it’s nothing like that,” Quoran said hastily, pulling himself together again with a visible effort. “No, you see, he went up to his room… ’twas the day before the attack… and retired for the evening. Bethda delivered his supper to him, as was his preference, not being one for the common room much… a bookish sort of fellow, though he hardly looked the part – almost a tall as you, domus, if considerably wider in the beam – but anyway, my girl was the last to see anything of the man. In the confusion the next day, I confess I clean forgot about him, and since… well I never gave it a thought until yesterday, when he was scheduled to depart.

“I tried for hours, knocking on the door and watching for his return in the common room – I’d assumed he was out, when there was no reply – but nary a sign of him. At last I became worried he might’ve been killed by those– those– things, and I used my master key to let myself in. But there was no sign of the man! His own key was in the door, meaning it had been locked from the inside.”

“I know he gave you repeat custom but… how to put this delicately… could he have, er, simply snuck out on the bill?”

“Oh, Not really, domus, no. He’d paid upfront, as is my usual practice, and all his belongings are still there in the room – a powerful lot of valuable books, or at least I assume they’re valuable, all left behind, along with his clothes and other personal items… and to make it truly uncanny, all the windows were closed and locked! That’s the thing that brings me to you, cantor – I know you folk are, um, skilled in these sorts of matters, and I was hoping you might be able to figure out what’s happened to the poor fellow!”

Vulk had to admit, he was intrigued. Assuming the man’s information was correct, it was a classic locked room mystery… would melted ice come into it somehow, he wondered? He agreed to speak to the others about the matter, and a turn of the glass later the entire Hand was gathered in the hallway outside the missing man’s second floor room as Quoran Helmünd unlocked the door once again. After the fabulous meal everyone was in a mellow mood and ready for what promised to be an intriguing, if ultimately minor, mystery… a pleasant post-prandial diversion.

“Wait out here,” Devrik growled as he passed the innkeeper, and the man shrank back, plastering himself against the hallway wall and turning pale. Mariala patted his arm sympathetically as she went by and gave him a smile, which he returned weakly. Wiping his sweating brow with a large bar cloth, he wondered if he’d done the right thing after all…

The room was spacious, near twin to the one that Domus Bizwyk occupied directly below, if not as large as the Imperial suite Mariala was currently renting. On the desk against the far wall, under a modest window, a large leather-bound book lay open, face-up atop a sea of scattered papers and pens. The remains of a half-eaten meal moldered on a brass tray in one corner of the large desk, and two valises full of books of various sizes, shapes and conditions stood half-opened next to it on the right.

More scattered papers, along with a few pieces of obviously male clothing, lay spread across the large bed and spilled onto the floor. Like those on the desk they were covered in notes, diagrams, formulae and lists, almost all in the same spidery, scrawling hand and an unusual red-brown ink. At Devrik’s macabre suggestion that this might be dried blood, Korwin shook his head regretfully.

“Nothing so outré, I’m afraid. This sort of ink, which was designed to look like blood, was all the rage amongst the Imperial nobility about a century ago. The fad eventually burned itself out, and these days it’s mainly popular only with the most hide-bound old noble fossils, pretentious scholars, and certain antiquarian historians, writers, and the like.”

In the margins of the large open book Mariala found other notes in a more elegant, and probably feminine, hand. After a brief examination of the visible text and the marginalia she flipped the book closed. Erol jumped, looking like he’d expected the thing to explode, or bite her hand off, or something similarly nasty, then shrugged sheepishly. Until he saw the cover, and then he discreetly took several steps back…

Bound in beautiful, thick red-brown leather, with a heavy locking clasp set with a large red carbuncle, the cover was heavily tooled with the likeness of a compelling bald man with a goatee and, even in bas relief, piercing amber eyes. The title of the volume was “The Joys of Extradimensional Spaces,” and Mariala’s eyes widened in surprise.

The tome was one of the more obscure works by the famed grey mage Darolithukan (dahr-oh-LEE-thoo-khan), the man best known for his creation, almost three hundred years ago, of the incredibly useful magical artifact type commonly called a “bag of holding.” He had been a prolific and inventive creator of practical artifacts and devices, and was perhaps even better known today then he had been during his own lifetime. Mariala had heard of this particular volume, considered one of his more difficult and cryptic works, but it being relatively rare had never seen a copy. She recognized his face, of course, which tended to be similarly attached to most of his works, one way or another – besides a genius polymath, the man had been a shameless self-promoter.

Now really intrigued, Mariala began shifting through the various papers and the marginalia in the book again, muttering to herself as she sank into her research trance, so familiar from her student days. The others recognized her deep concentration, and left her to it, variously studying the room for other clues. Toran searched carefully for any hidden doors or mechanical devices, while Vulk (after directing Korwin to stand near the door and keep his hands in his pockets) performed the ritual to invoke Kasira’s Key. Erol and Devrik undertook a more mundane physical examination of the room and its contents.

Toran’s search proved fruitless, as he’d expected – but of course you never find 100% of the hidden doors you don’t look for. Vulk found himself with a pounding headache when his ritual to search for dimensional rifts resulted in a sudden backlash of searing, violet psychic light, invisible to everyone but himself but extremely painful, nonetheless. The physical search yielded a few hints about the personality of the missing man, but nothing to indicate where he might have gone, or how.

“Actually, I may have an idea on the how, at least,” Mariala said in a distracted tone, when Erol mentioned the latter point. She started to read one of the notes in her hand aloud, then noticed the innkeeper still hovering in the open doorway. With a pointed look and a nod of her head at Korwin, who stood closest, the water mage deftly shooed the curious man away.

“I’m sure you have much to do, Quoran, and you can be confident we’ll report to you as soon as we find anything definitive,” he assured the man. He began to swing the door shut, then paused. “Oh, and if you hear anything… unusual… or see any unexpected lights, say, or smell something odd… well, don’t worry about it, it’s all part of the process!” The door snicked shut on the innkeepers worried face, and Korwin turned the key in the lock.

Once the Hand were alone Mariala continued, gathering up several papers from around the room and laying them on the desk about the re-opened tome. “I think the book contains clues to the location – or maybe the creation, it’s not entirely clear to me yet – of an extradimensional “refuge” of some sort… I think whomever wrote in the margins of the book figured it out, and from those clues, it seems that Master Maribold may have deciphered the puzzle as well…”

“So you think this bookseller opened up a portal to some weird dimension and simply stepped through?” Erol asked.

“Hmmm, stepped through or perhaps pulled through, it’s hard to say for sure,” Mariala replied, frowning in thought. “I do think, whatever this is about, it’s tied to the book itself, however.”

“Can you reopen this portal, or gateway, or whatever?” Devrik asked, eying the book dubiously.

“I think so,” Mariala said after a moments thought. “With their groundwork to build on, I think I’ve solved the clues myself now, and I believe I know the operant phrase required…”

“Well, if there’s a chance this guy got sucked into whatever he might’ve opened,” Vulk said, still rubbing his temples and looking a bit peeved, “should we be repeating his mistakes?”

“No, of course not,” Mariala said, somewhat cavalierly he felt. “I doubt very much he was actually forced through against his will, although I can’t rule it out completely, of course. But we’ll prepare ourselves, so hopefully we won’t be taken by any surprises. But really, if we’re going to rescue the poor man, we don’t have much choice, do we?”

A few minutes later, with everyone firmly anchored in various spots about the room, just in case, Mariala closed the book again and centered it on the cleared surface of the desk, clicking the jeweled clasp firmly into place. Then she picked up the scrap of paper she’d jotted down the operant phrase onto, and spoke the words aloud, in a strong, firm voice.

“Klevnartank Vorsoon!”

For a second nothing happened… and then a beam of brilliant red light shot out from the great carbuncle affixed to the clasp of the book, spreading wide to form a red, glowing-edged portal in the center of the room, between the bed and the door. Within its shifting, luminescent bounds two ironbound old oak doors seemed to be set. The magical portal hovered just centimeters off the old wooden floor, and nearly scraped the plaster ceiling overhead.

“Well, in for a copper, in for a crown,” Vulk sighed, and reached out with Toran to pull open the doors, weapons drawn. Immediately behind were Devrik and Erol, weapons at the ready, with Mariala and Korwin bringing up the rear as they all stepped through the gateway…

••••••

They found themselves in what appeared to be a grand foyer, about seven meters square. The floor was made of polished tiles of black and white marble, set in a pattern of alternating diamonds. The walls were of a dark green stone, carved in elegant geometric patterns to form a kind of wainscoting, but without visible seam or join — as if carved from a single piece of dark jade. The ceiling was five meters overhead and deeply coffered in rich, dark mahogany. Oak-and-bronze cloak pegs were set along either side wall, ready to receive any outer garments the visitors might wish to divest themselves of. Behind the group the two tall, iron-bound doors of dark oak stood open, revealing the room they’d just left, the image slightly dimmed by a pale red haze.

To either side corridors of similar materials and design stretched away, like the foyer lit by indirect light of uncertain origin… it almost seemed as it if the walls themselves exuded a soft, directionless glow, although a closer examination revealed it just wasn’t so. The light simply… was.

Directly ahead, and slightly to the left, a bronze-bound oak door, already slightly ajar, suddenly swung wide. In the doorway, warm candlelight flickering in the room behind him, stood a tall, heavyset man in wrinkled blue-gray robes and a black cloak-vest. He possessed a thick mane of gray hair, shot through with a few remaining streaks of black, and a thick gray beard that tumbled down his chest halfway to his belt. His brown eyes were rather bloodshot, and he looked both tired and extremely surprised to see a sudden gang of people.

“Bookseller Velkin Maribold, I pressume?” Toran inquired, setting the head of his axe on the marble floor with a musical ‘tink’ and leaning casually on the handle. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“Oh! Er, who are you people? How did you get in here?” the man said, clearly trying to catch up with events and eying the heavily armed strangers with some alarm. Devrik slid his sword into its sheath, and the others stood down as well.

“We are known as the Hand of Fortune,” Vulk said, in his best Herald’s voice, stepping forward, “and our mutual landlord at the Inn at Hammerhead, Goodman Helmünd, was concerned by your mysterious disappearance. He asked us to come find you, as we have some small skill in solving these sorts of mysteries.

“Ah, yes, well… that is uncommonly decent of him, I suppose. I know I’ve been gone a few days, but I am paid up through he middle of the tenday… still, still, it was very thoughtful of him to send help.” His doubtful expression rather undercut his words, unfortunately, and Devrik narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“Well, you have been gone for six days,” Vulk explained patiently. “You were to check out today… either that or renew your lodgings, I suppose… which is what drew us in, at the landlord’s request.”

“Six days?!” Velkin looked genuinely stunned. “That’s… that’s just impossible! It couldn’t be more than two, I’d swear it on by parents’ cenotaph! Why, those little beasts only fed me… well, no more than three times, I’m certain of that… no, wait, it was four. I’ve been so engrossed in the books, you know, but I’m not even hungry – it can’t be six days!”

The Hand assured him that it could be, and that it really had been, and after a moment he shrugged in resignation. “Well, this is a fascinating place, and I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised if time runs differently in here.”

“Um, yes, about that,” Mariala said eagerly. “Where exactly is “here”? I followed your notes, and the other’s, which is how we came to open the gate, but I’m still not entirely clear on the specifics…”

“Oh, yes, well this is an extradimensional space, a tiny pocket universe if you will, tucked away in the folds of our own greater reality… at least, I’m fairly certain it is. Karavina of Samokara was convinced of it, if I read her notes aright in the margin’s of Darolithkuan’s magnus opus. It was, after all, she who created this space in the first place.

“And then I believe she built this mansion within it, her own unbreachable, inviolate sanctum, a veritable fortress of solitude, if you will, to which she could retire at need to study and safely practice her art. And she did all this based off what she gleaned from the old master’s cryptical work.”

Devrik noticed that the older man kept conspicuously not looking at the open doorway behind the group, and the sight of his old room beyond it. And why did he continue to seem so very nervous? It might just be his nature, of course, and they were an intimidating bunch en masse, to be sure. Still… he continued to watch the man warily without actually looking directly at him, much as the fellow himself watched the doorway without ever looking right at it.

“This is truly the most amazing place,” Maribold was going on. “Indeed it is! I’ve barely had time to scratch the surface… six days you say? Astounding! But still so little time… and so much to discover! For instance, look at this carving. The detail is astonishing, the craftsmanship superb… I plan to take it back to see if the art or history experts at the University can identify its style and era.”

The object he pulled from a breast pocket of his vest cloak was a statuette, about 8 cm (3”) tall, of some kind of demonic creature. The craftsmanship was truly stunning in its detail and precision. It had the twisted, leering features one would expect on a Chaos creature, and its large bat-like wings were half unfurled, its legs bent, its claws outstretched as if leaping to the attack. It was carved from a glossy black material, perhaps onyx or obsidian.

“You work for the University, then?” Korwin asked, looking closely at the proffered totem before handing it back.

“Yes and no. I am technically a purveyor of books to the Unseen Library, but that gives me a certain entré with the University as well… I travel the world, seeking out rare and valuable tomes, as well as more mundane but still unique works, and provide them to the scholars… they are always hungry for new and fascinating works, and it pays for my own studies at the University and amongst the stacks… yes, I fancy myself something of a scholar as well… though perhaps with a more practical bent than those who make their home in the Great Library?

“But this trinket, while beautiful, is the least of the treasures here! Why, just step into the study, you’ll never believe the books, the sheer volume of knowledge –“ He turned to gesture back into the roomed from which he’d emerged, but hesitated when no one moved to follow him. With an annoyed frown he reached up to grasp something hanging on a chain around his neck…

Devrik’s suspicious mind saved him from being blinded by the sudden white-out sheet of light that enveloped everyone in the foyer… but the tremendous clap of thunder that accompanied it still left him momentarily deafened and lightly stunned. He reached to grab at Maribold as the man bulled through the others, knocking Toran aside and Mariala on her ass… a fraction of a second too slow. His fingers grazed the edge of the vest cloak, but he failed to get a grasp, and the man was through the doors and back in the inn in an instant.

Devrik dashed forward through his milling, blinded companions, but the tall doors began to swing rapidly shut as soon as the bookseller was through them. They slammed shut with a heavy boom just as he reached them. But in the instant before they came together completely everyone in the foyer heard Maribold’s mocking, relieved laughter turn into a scream of fear, followed by a sudden gurgling wetness… a sound itself quickly cut off as the doors boomed shut.

“Well, blast!” Devrik said into the sudden silence.

••••••

As soon as the others had regained enough of their dazzled eyesight to let them function again, Devrik and Toran had pushed against the entry doors while Erol stood at the ready with his trident. The portal had yielded with surprising ease, but what met their shocked gaze beyond was not the upstairs room at the Inn at Hammerhead. Instead a swirling, formless void of roiling violet… nothingness… stretched into an unknowable distance. Five meters or 10,000 kilometers, with no reference point beyond the faint whorls and streamers it was impossible to tell.

They stared into that void, and with a crawling sense of dread it soon felt as if the void might be staring back. They quickly closed the doors again, and Mariala attempted to invoke the operant phrase once more, but to not avail – when the doors were pushed open once more, all that could be seen was the violet void…

“Well, I suppose we’d better start searching this place,” Toran sighed, sheathing his axe and really taking a look around their temporary (he hoped) prison. “There has to be away out.”

“I suppose the place to start is that study the old bastard came out of,” Devrik agreed. The aroma of roasting meat wafting down the right-hand corridor, from somewhere beyond the staircase to an upper floor, might have been more tempting if they weren’t all still replete from their ‘Lubber’s Lunch.

The door to the door to the Study still stood wide open, and Toran cautiously led the way in. The room was dominated by bookcases at the far end, running the full 5 meters from marble floors to coffered wooden ceiling. Made of dark mahogany, with ebony trim and inlay, the shelves were crammed with books and more than a few scroll cases. While even more books were scattered around the room piled upon chairs and tables, the large central desk was free of clutter. The only thing on its malachite stone surface, aside from standard desk accessories, a picture, and a small candelabra, was a very fine mandolin.

Flickering light from wall sconces and candles scattered about the room warmed the cooler diffuse ambient light of the hallway and entry, and an attached ladder on wheels gave access to the room’s higher reaches of shelves. Two large paintings occupied the little wall space not taken up by bookshelves – a landscape on the “east” wall, depicting a green dragon emerging from a grove of pine trees; and a study of a winged horse in flight on the “west” wall. A third painting, a small portrait of a young girl standing next to a unicorn in a wooded glade, sat in a gilt frame on the desk.

A fluffy black cat was curled up asleep in the armchair behind the door, but woke and yawned, stretching languidly, at the sudden influx of strangers. After staring at them for a moment it mewed plaintively then hopped down and strolled toward the group, twinning between their legs. Most of the Hand ignored the beast, but Erol crouched down to stroke it, making it purr. He then fed it a couple of the ferret treats he carried for Grover, and the purring became a happy rumble.

“Why did you do that?” Mariala sighed in exasperation. “Now the thing’s going to follows around forever.”

At almost the same moment Toran said almost the same thing to Vulk, who had made a beeline for the beautiful mandolin. He’d picked it up and begun strumming a few chords, carefully adjusting the pegs, and Toran had been horrified.

“Why would you do that?” he’d exclaimed in amazement. “We’re in a bloody magic mansion in some bloody magical pocket dimension – how do you know that’s not some sort of cursed instrument, or a damn mimic, or some other damn dangerous thing?”

“Toran, my friend, you read too many children’s stories,” Vulk laughed, playing a short melody once he had the instrument tuned to his liking. The sound was as pleasing to the ear as the instrument itself was to the eye.

“And you obviously don’t read enough of them,” the Dwarf muttered darkly, turning back to his examination of the desk’s drawers with a shake of his head.

Korwin, searching through the pile of books stacked on a table below the dragon painting, managed to resist his sticky-fingered impulses, if barely… but he was the first to notice that the flames in the room, whether on candle or sconce, gave off no heat at all, only light. Devrik was fascinated by the phenomenon when it was pointed out, for they were more than mere illusion, and yet were not ethereal flame, either. he quickly fell to trying to figure out how that had been achieved…

For a full turn of the glass they searched the room, and in the end pieced togther some idea of what the place was. Almost all the books in the study were written by the same person, a grey mage named Karavina. As well as being a powerful mage she was also a consecrated cantor of Shala, and was most famously linked with the free-city of Samokara, on the Wild Coast.

“But didn’t she go missing a couple years ago?” Vulk asked, trying to recall what he’d heard on the subject.”And isn’t she generally presumed dead?”

“Yes, it was around the time Devrik and I took that fool Ardath back to Lothkir for his trial in the mess surrounding Baylora’s Island… two years ago I suppose it’s been now. Her vanishment, and presumed death, was probably the next-most-talked-about topic during the trial, after our revelations about Baylora’s fate, as I recall.”Devrik nodded in agreement.

“We heard about it in the monestary, as well,” Toran recalled. “She had been an occasional visitor, apparently, and was generally well-liked i believe. But I never met her myself, her last visit was a few years before my time there.”

“That’s right, I remember now,” Vulk said. “That was when Draik and I were down south in Tekolo, in the Theocracy, getting drawn into that whole mess with the one-armed priest, the apple seller and the courtesan… not to mention the sewers and the giant rats. I’m afraid I didn’t have much time for random news just then, but I do recall hearing something about it.”

“Well, according to some of these journal entries,” Toran went on, reading from a large black leather-bound book, “she credits her piousness, along with her work in expanding universal education to all, as the the reason that Shala “gifted” her with the understanding and insight to decipher Darolithukan’s cryptic work on extradimensional spaces. “

“Ah, that tallies with what I read in another journal,” Korwin said, sifting through a pile of books and pulling out a smaller red, leather-bound volume. “It was that insight which allowed her to eventually create a permanent link between her copy of his book “The Joys of Extradimensional Spaces” and a pocket dimension she’d managed to create, wherein she “…constructed a refuge for my studies, free from the distractions and dangers of the greater world at large.”

“Well, we know where we are then, more-or-less, and how she accessed her pocket dimension from the real world,” Devrik rumbled. “But how did she mange to get back, once she was ready to return?”

Erol looked up from a third journal, bound in green leather, that he’d been skimming. “She does seem to have been open to visitors, close friends and professional colleagues, and it looks like she worried that a guest might become trapped in the mansion… but she also worried about potential invaders and thieves, and had no desire to make escape easy for them. This entry says that Karavina hid the key to opening the portal back to her linking book “…on the spines of seven books, placed variously about the mansion.”

This set off a flurry of searching about the room, but with nothing else to go on, it was difficult to know what to look for. There were hundreds of books, at least, in a bewildering variety of styles, sizes and shapes, and hardly any two had the same spine treatment – some bore the book title, embossed or in gilt, some were blank, others bore designs or patterns, some simple and others complex, yet others had initials in different configurations.

In the end it was agreed they’d need to search further if they were going to unravel Karavina’s puzzle, and they decamped back into the foyer. Toran, Vulk and Erol decided to go down the left-hand “western” hallway, while Devrik, Mariala and Korwin took the “eastern” right-hand passage. They agreed not to head upstairs until they were together again, and to meet back in the foyer in any case no later than two turns of the glass hence.

The next room to the “west” of the Study appeared to be some kind of exercise space, and after a brief look around Toran dubbed it the Training Room. It was lit by the violet-tinted light of the Void streaming through a large window opposite the door, mostly washing out the usual ambient glow of the mansion. It was a sparsely furnished chamber, containing a battered wooden mannequin, one weapons rack holding staves and daggers, and another housing cross-bows. An archery butt was set up in the far corner of the space from the cross-bow rack, while two target boards were mounted on the “east” wall opposite the dagger rack, apparently for knife and dart throwing. Several diagrams and charts showing the humanoid body, attack and defense positions for staff and dagger fighting, and tables and text on ranged weapons were displayed in several places on the walls. Several tatami mats softened the marble floor, but both mats and stone were variously stained and scorched, as by blood and fire. A large bullwhip lay curled up on the nearest mat.

Most unusually, at the far end of the room a broom hovered in the air to the right of the window, methodically sweeping the floor, seemingly under its own power! Casting a cantrip, Erol concluded there was no invisible charwoman wielding the implement, just some sort of animation spell. Keeping a wary eye on the artifact, the three men spread out to examine the room, although it seemed singularly devoid of books.

All the weapons in the room proved to be of purely mundane manufacture, if of the very highest quality and craftsmanship. The first rack contained four fine daggers, three quarterstaffs (a fourth lay on the floor near it), and twenty darts in a fine leather bandolier hanging from it. Three taburi throwing knives were embedded in one of the boards, and Toran took all three, along with the bandolier of darts. If they stumbled across the owner, he could always return them, and if not, well it was a same for them to go to waste…

Vulk quickly became engrossed in studying the detailed information about staff fighting to be found on the wall diagrams and instructions. It was all incredibly well organized and presented in such a clear and lucid manner that he felt his confidence in his own quarterstaff skills rise as he studied. Erol likewise found the knife-fighting diagrams informative and deeply educational.

With the others engrossed in their reading, Toran stepped closer to better examine the animated broom. He briefly wondered what would happen if he grabbed it, recalling childhood tales of mountain hags and their flying broomsticks – the power of flight would be amazing! He then remembered his earlier criticism of Vulk and his careless playing of the mandolin, and with a sigh he stepped away from the industrious broom, leaving it to go about its business unmolested.

••••••

Down the “eastern” hallway, past the staircase, the others quickly found the Kitchen. The smell of mouthwatering cooking aromas wafting through the entry foyer became stronger as they approached, no doubt because the door was propped open with a wooden wedge. A large iron stove took up half the far wall, while the rest of the room was filled with large tables and racks lined with hanging pots, pans, and cooking utensils. Everything was sparkling clean, and at first glance the room appeared to be empty, despite the two steaks searing on a side grill of the stove.

Then the sound of flapping wings near the large table to the right of the door drew their attention. It took a moment for the sight to register, but two small humanoid forms flitted about, eventually coming down to land amidst the food and utensils on the table. They bowed low to their guests and in piping, squeaky voices greeted them with great enthusiasm.

“How can we be of help to our honored guests? Cooking? Cleaning? Mending your clothes, perhaps? We are at your service!” burbled the blue-tinted one.

“A guest is a jewel on the cushion of hospitality, most honored visitors!” piped the rose-tinted creature. “Please let us serve you to the best of our meager abilities!”

The three mages stared in open-mouthed amazement for a moment, before gathering their wits and bowing low in return to the charming little beings. They all recognized homunculi, of course, but what was so startling was the fact of their speech. Most such artificial creations of any T’ara Kul skilled enough to manage it, while able to understand their master’s speech, very seldom had voices themselves. It wasn’t impossible, but it was very rare, and to find two such…

Actually, that was another surprising thing… no mage could have more than one living homunculus at a time. That had long ago been proved to be quite impossible – any mage with an existing homunculus invariably found that all attempts at another such creation ended in failure. Yet here were two, nearly identical creatures… had Karavina somehow managed the impossible and broken the Homunculus Barrier?

“Greetings to you, worthy servitors,” Devrik responded gravely, in the prescribed forms for such conversation. He introduced himself and his companions, then asked after their own names.

“I am Cumin,” squeaked the blue homunculus proudly, standing up to its full 25 cm (10”) height. The rose one added equally proudly, “And I am Coriander.” It flapped its wings with a jaunty snap.

“Are you both the, um, servitors of Karavina,” Mariala asked, fascinated by the little creatures. She’d often day-dreamed about making her own, as a young student at the chantry, but of course it had been far beyond her skills then. Was now too, almost certainly, she thought wryly.

“Oh no,” tittered Cumin, obviously vastly amused at such a silly idea. “Lady Karavina is my maker, not Coriander’s!”

“My maker is Lord Elyoiat (el-YO-ee-aht),” Coriander added, also laughing. “Can we make you something to eat? We have steaks cooking, but we can make you anything you might desire.”

“Oh yes, please, may we cook for you?” Cumin piped. “Or maybe wash your clothes? Do you have any mending you need done? We’ve only had the cats and the faerie dragons to cook and take care of for such a long time, and they’re so boring! Now, to have four new guests so close together…”

“Four new guests?” Korwin queried.

“Yes, you three and Master Velkin… those are his steaks cooking, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind sharing. Actually, he hardly notices the food we prepare in any case, so if you’d like them intead…” Coriander squeaked suggestively.

“Ah, yes, well, we’ve just had a large meal, so we don’t really –“ Korwin started to explain, and the little creatures’ smiles vanished into looks of dejection, their wings drooping noticeably. Devrik interrupted quickly, giving his friend the stink eye.

“Actually, most worthy homunculi, I am feeling a bit peckish, now that I think on it. Might you manage some dal maharani, if you please, favored homunculi?” He named the most exotic dish he could thing of off the top of his head, just to see what would happen, and to give the little beasts a challenge, which they clearly loved. Indeed, they immediately perked right up, wings fluttering excitedly.

“Of course, venerated guest, at once! And for you, most lovely and charming of ladies? May we not prepare something for you as well?”

Following Devrik’s lead, Mariala smiled and nodded. “Well, I suppose a nice turkey and cranberry sandwhich might be just the thing right now. And is that berry pie there on the table? Perhaps a slice of that as well?”

In a thrill of excitement, the two tiny creatures began fluttering around the kitchen, darting into the pantry, grabbing ingredients, implements and crockery from shelves and racks, and firing up the stove. The humans tried to follow what they were doing, but in the blur of motion and non-stop chattering it was difficult to keep track of everything… in less than ten minutes, however, the homunculi were laying out the requested food for their guests on the kitchen table.

Devrik had never actually had dal maharani, only heard the name from Master Vetaris once in a discussion of favorite foreign cuisines, so he had no idea if this was a good example or not. But if it wasn’t, he really looked forward to trying the real thing someday, because this was amazing! And so spicy! He loved it.

Mariala was perfectly familiar with turkey, bread, cranberry sauce and pie, and she could categorically state that this was some of the best she’d ever had of each! She wondered where they could possibly be getting the fresh ingredients (there was no way any of this stuff had been dried, salted, smoked or otherwise preserved). And maybe that would prove to be a clue to getting back to the real world…

Korwin had been wondering the same thing, and while the cooking frenzy had been in full swing he had checked out the pantry. The small room was set behind the stove, its door just to the left, and inside were all the things one might expect to find in a well-stocked manor house’s stores. And yet there was something about them… a close look revealed that almost everything was a generic sort of item – starches, flours, grains, meats, spices, fruits – but he had a hard time identifying any specific foods… he suspected magic was at work here…

Stepping back out into the kitchen he could see that his friends were enjoying their snack, if slowly so as not to exploded from over-eating, and how pleased the homunculi were at serving them. He decided he’d better repair his accidental faux pas from earlier, and clearing his throat he caught the attention of Cumin.

“My pardon, favored servitor,” he said. “Could you tell me what polish you might recommend for my boots? As you can see, they’re looking a bit scuffed, and I –“

“Oh yes, absolutely, honored guest,” the creature fluted enthusiastically. “We have the very best here, of course, the Mistress and Master insist on it — Old Minster’s Leather Boot Polish and Dessert Toping! Here, let us take care of that for you, at once!”

Before he knew quite what was happening the two tiny beings had his boots off and were industriously buffing away at them with something from a can one had pulled from somewhere on a shelf. The stuff was dark and thick, and smelled like both leather and clotted cream… something that should have been nauseating he thought, yet wasn’t.

With the tiny servants happily busy, the humans were able to question them a bit. It was slow going, as the creatures were flighty and not very bright about some things – time for instance. They seemed not to have a strong concept of the passage of time, so when they said their masters had been gone “a long time” it was impossible to determine if they meant a month or a decade.

Their spatial acuity seemed better, and they were able to affirm that the house had “always” been the same size it was now, that the violet void had not been slowly encroaching on it. Although they had no idea what the void actually was, and seemed surprised at the question – perhaps even confused by it.

One thing they were very clear on, however, was their creators’ instructions concerning the books and artifacts in the mansion – the strict command that they were never to move or even touch any books that had single letters on their spines. They had no idea why, and it had never occurred to them to wonder. Their domain was mainly the kitchen and the adjoining dining room, and they seldom visited any of the other rooms in the mansion, beyond occasional maintenance or cleaning (or to free a cat, if a door got closed somehow).

“Something keeps dumping books into the middle of the floor in the Library, and making piles of them” Coriander said crossly. “It is very annoying to have to keep re-shelving them!”

“Yes,” agreed Cumin vigorously. “I’d think it was that terrible little imp the Mistress summoned that time – it caused ever so much trouble – but she gave it a proper time-out, and it hasn’t been a problem since!”

“You mentioned earlier that you only had the cats and the, um, faerie dragons to care for, since Karavina and Elyoiat went away,” Mariala said. “What are those, exaclty, and how many of them are there?”

“Oh just Krasinda and Methora,” Cumin said diffidently, with a flick of its wings. “They’re silly things, and they always want to play… it’s not like they have work to do, is it?! They always want to wrestle, even when we don’t have time!”

“But they don’t mean any harm,” Coriander piped in, clearly more fond of the creatures, whatever exactly they were, than its companion was. “Their mischievous though, so it’s just best for big folk to stay out of their way, I guess.”

“Easy to say,” sniffed Cumin, “when they’re –“

This flow of information was interrupted when the black cat who had befriended Erol (or vice versa) in the Study sauntered into the Kitchen and meowed imperiously. The homuncluli immediatly flitted away to scoop food into one of the four bowls set on the floor near the stove, where a second cat, a gray and white one with a crooked tail, appeared from seemingly nowhere. The two cats daintily began to eat, and the two homunculi cooed and petted them – however boring they found taking care of the cats, they clearly loved them.

It took awhile to get the homunculi to answer questions again, and somehow that effort turned into the little beings giving Devrik cooking lessons, while Mariala sipped a very nice cider and looked on in mixed amusement and horror. Korwin, growing bored, decided to check out the dining room, to the “east” of the Kitchen, and perhaps the Arboretum, which Mariala (who’d stuck her head in to briefly check out the room when they’d arrived in the Kitchen) had mentioned lay beyond it…

••••••

After exhausting the learning (and looting) possibilities of the Training Room, Erol, Toran and Vulk moved on to the final door along the “western” hallway, which proved to lead to what was obviously the Library. The large room was lit, like the hallways, with the cool, mysterious, indirect light, although her the soft white radiance was more like sunlight through heavily frosted glass, diffuse and pleasing to (and easy on) the eye… perfect for reading. Shelves of books lined the walls, and twin sets of double-sided shelves ran down the center of the space. Several rich, dark red carpets, with a strangely pleasing silver geometric patterns interwoven, helped soften the cold white marble floor. The 5 meter high ceiling was groin vaulted in carved arches of a deep red-brown wood, highly polished and, despite the universal light, slightly shadowed.

Four small reading desks, one in each corner, were paired with cozy scarlet chairs, and stacks of books overflowed the shelves in several places around the room. Toward the “north” end of the central aisle it appeared that one or more of these stacks may have been knocked over, with books scattered in a wide drift across the floor.

The three men began a methodical search of the books, although they still weren’t really sure what they were looking for. Erol started on the “west” wall, for the moment ignoring the bronze double-door that lead… who knew where?… to focus on the shelves. Toran took the reading desks along the “south” side, while Vulk headed “north” up the central aisle, scanning the shelves to either side, looking for a clue.

He was almost on the pile of toppled books, and just considering how to navigate them without stepping on or damaging any, when there was an almost subliminal hummmm – and the scores of fallen books suddenly levitated upward, swirly madly around as if caught in a cyclone, rising up to tower over the shocked cantor. Before he had a chance to gather his wits a “pseudopod” of books lashed out from the swarm, aiming for his head!

Vulk dodged under the blow, screaming for the others to beware, and trying to knock the conglomeration apart with his Staff. The books simply parted around his blow, however, like water, and he barely dodged a second blow, this one aimed at his legs. The third blow caught him squarely in the chest and he flew back down the aisle to collapse on the carpet, the breath knocked out of him. As he gasped and struggled to pull air into his shocked lungs Vulk was unfavorably reminded of being wapped across the back with a very heavy grammar book by a tutor when he was 12 years old. He’d been caught staring out the window at the sweating gardner boy instead of conjugating his verbs… The book swarm moved menacingly toward him, and he pulled his mind back to the present…

Erol and Toran appeared at the “north” and “south” ends of the central aisle respectively just in time to see Vulk stagger back to his feet, raggedly sucking air into his lungs and leaning on his Staff. Erol cast a Dispell at the obviously arcane construct, but it seemed to have no effect… obviously a powerful spell must be animating the thing! Toran fired a blast of Stavin’s Arrow into the heart of the swarm, but the swirling volumes simply opened up around the translucent energy blade, forcing Erol to dodge aside as it sailed through unhindered to splash uselessly against the “northern” bookcase.

“Erol, can you throw a net over it?” Toran called through the cyclonic thutter of the books, pulling his battle axe from his back.

“Excellent suggestion, Toran,” the ex-gladiator called back. “Maybe I could start a collection… unfortunately, I didn’t bring my net to lunch today.”

Just then the swarm lashed out again, just as Vulk was preparing to unleash a spurt of Weaver’s Web at the biblioarcanic maelstrom… three “arms” struck out, and Vulk dodged one, only to have the second knock his Staff out of his grasp and the third slam into the side of his head. Stunned and confused, he dropped semiconscious to the floor once more as the swarm reared up and prepared to descend on him like giant locust…

Toran leaped forward to stand over his friend, and swung Ergonkïr in an overhand blow, the shelves too close for the roundhouse cut he’d have preferred. But perhaps it was for the best, as he clove two books clean in half, and sent another half-dozen dropping, inert, to the floor around them. The book swarm reared back, as if suddenly wary… and Erol drove his trident into the heart of the mass. He’d been watching the thing closely, sped up in his temporal bubble of slowed time, and had noticed a massive red leather-covered tome, deeply tooled with a leering demonic face, that appeared to always orbit in approximately the same high circle, with the face always pointed outward. The “brain” of the construct perhaps?

His trident drove two tines through the back of the book and clean out the face of it, and instantly the swarm stopped its mad dervish whirling as every book dropped to the floor in a series of dull thuds. All save the one impaled on Erols trident, and he placed his foot on it, tugging the blades out.

“I think some of these might need new spines,” he said as he stomped over the inert pile to where Toran was helping Vulk to his feet.

“As long as you don’t expect me to shelve them!” the Khundari replied, looking around at the carnage. “So many paper cuts,,,”

“Thanks for the help,” Vulk said, winching at his now severely multiplied headache. “Now let’s get out of here and rejoin the others, it must be close to time.”

“I think we should see whats on the other side of that door,” Toran disagreed, moving towards the large bronze panels. Vulk ignored the throbbing in his head to get in front of his friend and hold his Staff across his torso to block the way.

“No! I think we’ve seen that this place is dangerous enough the it’s no longer a great idea to split the party. Let’s go back, regroup, and we can hit this again later.”

“We also haven’t made much of a dent in the books in here, though,” Erol said. “Pun intended. We should look for these keys a while longer, don’t you think?”

“No,” Vulk replied emphatically. “Who knows how many more of those book swarm things might be waiting to come to life in here? Better to come back in force…”

“Well, perhaps your right,” Toran agreed turning away form the door, and Erol shrugged. With relief Vulk lead the way out of the Library and down the hall. “You’ll see, this will work out better, really…”

In the Library Toran glanced at Erol with a shke of his head. “How long do you think it will take him to realize we’re not behind him?”

“Well, he took a pretty bad blow to the head, so… a minute of two, anyway.”

Toran pulled open the bronze double doors, letting a cascade of shifting violet light flood into the room, while Erol went back to examining the bookshelves, if a little more warily. It actually didn’t take long. On the top shelf of the “western” bookcase, his eye was caught by a medium-sized volume, bound in black leather, laying on its side. A gold foil-stamped ”R” was set vertically at the top of the spine… he’d seen something similar back in the study, he realized. He picked it up and read the title on the cover: “Back to the Madding Crowd,” by Tomas Arday. But what did the letter “R” have to to with either title or author, he wondered… and suddenly the light went off.

Tucking the book under his arm, he stepped out the bronze doors to join Toran on what turned out to be the Patio, and for a moment his clever insight was driven from his thoughts by the sight. The swirling violet light of the void stretched overhead, on either side, and out beyond the stone balustrade of the semicircular terrace that occupied the “western” end of the mansion. It was mesmerizing… and more than a little unsettling.

“Mesmerizing, isn’t it?” Toran’s deep baritone brought him back to himself with a start. “If you can pull your eyes away from the void, take a look at these statues, though. Exquisite stonework!”

On either side of the terrace where two large likenesses in gray stone – to the “north” was a representation of Shala, Immortal Patron of Knowledge, in Her classic cross-legged pose, reading a scroll (from Mariala, Erol knew that more modern interpretations tended to portray Her reading a book, instead). On the “south” side of the terrace stood a statue of her husband, Brindar, Immortal Patron of Music and the Arts, also in one of His classic poses.

“Beautiful craftsmanship,” he agreed, then waved the book he carried. “But I think I’ve figured out what we need to look for to get out of this place.” At once Toran’s interest in the stonework evaporated, and he listened intently as his sort-of Telnori friend explained his reasoning.

“Yes, I think I noticed that book you’re speaking of in the study myself,” he agreed. “Come, we’d better grab that one as well, and then find the others!”

Passing Vulk, who’d just been coming back to the Library when he’d realized no one was following him, Erol waved the book again and cried, “Come on man, there’s no time for dawdling! We know what we’re looking for now!”

“Yeah, come on Vulk, stop playing around,” Toran added with a grin as he sailed past, and the cantor’s eyes narrowed in annoyance… one of these days…

As they passed the Study, Erol darted inside and quickly found the volume he’d noted earlier — a large green leather-bound book titled “Freedom from the Expectations of Others”. Set vertically on it’s spine was tooled a large, dark green letter “I”, alone and unadorned. Now they had two of the seven keys…

••••••

They had little trouble finding Devrik and Mariala in the kitchen, and after a brief introduction to the house’s homunculi, Erol shared his theory about the books with single-letter spines. Any doubt that might have lingered was dispelled when Cumin piped up, saying “Oh yes, those are the books we’re not allowed to touch or move. Honored guests are allowd, of course,” it concluded graciously. “Are you fellows hungry? Can we fix you something to eat? You look like you could use an analgesic, domus…”

While Vulk took the creature up on the offer of a headache tablet, Toran inquired as to the whereabouts of Korwin.

“Oh, he wandered off a little while ago, during the cooking lessons,” Mariala replied, taking a big gulp of cider. She’d used the diversion of their friend’s arrival to discreetly spit the bite of Devrik’s cooking she’d bravely sampled into a napkin, which Coriander equally discreetly whisked away.

“I thought he was just going to check out the dining room,” Devrik grumbled, not having missed the byplay but refusing to dignify it with a reaction. To be fair, he’d have spit out his own taste if he’d been able to do it without losing face. “He should be back by now.”

“Perhaps we’d better go find him,” Vulk suggested, swallowing the two tablets Cumin handed him along with a small glass of the cider. “This place is not as benign as it appears, these charming little fellow notwithstanding, and he might be in danger!”

••••••

WTF happened to the rest of the story?

26-30 Metisto 3020

The journey back from Joy’s Gate and the hamlet of Wallenwood was uneventful. The Hand and companions were mostly occupied with keeping the wee toddler Aldari distracted and entertained – and preventing him from petting every wild animal they encountered along the way. It was late afternoon on the 27th when they arrived back in Thermexold, but it had been a fairly leisurely, mostly down-hill walk. After a brief rest everyone was ready to help Raven celebrate her 23rd birthday in style.

Once again they commandeered the round bay-window table in the common room of the Inn at Hammerhead, along with satellite tables to accommodate the enlarged party which, besides Raven and Aldari, tonight included Captain K’Jurol, Dr. Ar’Hanol, Master Salvador, pilot Arus Salasin, Domus Biswyk, Jeb and Therok. Korwin had invited the Mate, Yonas Grünby, to join them, but he had politely declined, obviously uncomfortable about socializing with his employers and captain. And with those he thought of as his social betters, Mariala suspected.

“Aye, it’s right kind of you folks,” he’d said when she’d had pressed him on it. “But I’m Officer of the Watch tonight, and I’d not be pushing the duty off on another just so’s I could party. T’wouldn’t be right, m’lady.” The two let it go then, and departed for the Inn and the evening’s festivities.

The party remained relatively sedate and pleasantly convivial while Aldari was awake. He was certainly the center of attention, which didn’t bother his mother in the least. Her tribe took rather a different view of birthdays than her husband’s folk –Golana Rethmani birthdays were considerably more somber, and limited to family and the closest of friends – a time for reflection and taking stock of the year past, and planning for the year ahead. But she was amongst “civilized” folk now, and she did her best to fit in, adapting their ways to her own when she could. The birthday thing was hardly the most difficult adjustment she’d made, she thought wryly… who didn’t like parties, after all… and gifts! And maybe tomorrow she could get some time to herself, to honor her own traditions.

Once he’d finally begun to nod off (but oh, how valiantly he fought not to yield to sleep!), Raven carried him up to the family’s room, leaving him sleeping under the watchful eye of the innkeepers youngest daughter Bethda. Jeb was the one usually tasked with babysitting duties (“I have 12 younger nieces and nephews,” he’d explained when she’d asked if he minded the duty. “I’m used to it, and anyway, I like kids!”), but tonight she’d wanted him at the party, so he could enjoy some time off… especially from Erol!

On her return to the common room she found the celebration had grown more boisterous. It quickly began to remind her of her own people’s celebrations after a successful hunt, when the hunters and fighters of the tribe would drink and dance around the camp fires, and tell ribald stories and outrageous tall tales. She supposed the immense fireplace was a decent enough substitute for the bonfire, and while the beverages were certainly different, the intoxication was pretty much the same.

Sending Devrik off to play some game of throwing skill with the other males, Raven settled in for pleasant talk with Mariala and the new woman who would be sailing with them, Lurin Ar’Hanol. She was a fascinating person, a healer of some repute in her own distant land – even in the Pelon Delta Raven’s people had heard tales of distant and mysterious Kunya-Kesh – and very friendly. They were soon all on a first-name basis, and Lurin was much interested by what Raven could tell her of the Rethmani healing herbs and compounds, as well as by her people’s culture. The doctor in turn shared several tales, some quite harrowing, of being a woman practicing medicine in a strongly patriarchal culture.

As they talked, one or another of the men would occasionally glance over at them, then worriedly whisper something to a companion. Both men would then frown in their direction before being drawn back into their sporting pursuits by the rest. Mariala laughed when Raven pointed this out, and Lurin smiled knowingly.

“They assume we must, naturally, be talking about them,” Mariala chuckled. “And they are desperately worried about what we might be saying about them!”

“Indeed,” agreed Lurin, her smile turning wry, “and males are generally so insecure about… well, about so many things!” With a pointed look towards the crowd of men the three women leaned in toward one another and lowered their voices… as they began a lively discussion on the current political situation of the Ocean Empire vis-a-vis Kunya-Kesh, and its effect on cereal grain production in the Southern Islands… several of the men began to look really worried, and Devrik burst suddenly into a Olvânaali love ballad, which was actually on tune for once, and bordered on actually pleasant! Toran joined him on the harmony, humming acceptably…

Eventually the two groups merged once more, and two bottles of Arkivian sparkling wine, one bottle of Kaluran brandy, and a dozen pints of the Inn’s famed Sea Salt Sour Beer and ThermexBold Strong Ale later, and well after midnight, everyone finally stumbled up to their rooms or back to the Wind of Kasira. Mariala and Erol had both finally joined their companions in taking rooms at the inn, once Master Alvador had made it clear they would be in Thermexold for several more days, at least. He slept aboard, as did the captain, of course, the pilot and Dr. Ar’Hanol. The latter accepted the arm and escort of Captain K’Jorul as they left the inn, and Mariala smiled as she watched them go… did she detect a spark there?

The next day was one spent primarily in recovery for most of the Hand of Fortune, with the exception of Devrik. He had, surprisingly Raven thought, imbibed only lightly the night before – something she had appreciated, too, one they’d retired to their bedchamber. Aldari was a heavy sleeper, thankfully – Devrik was so strangely appalled at the thought that their son might ever hear or be aware of their lovemaking! It was something she had yet to really understand, as Rethmani culture had little concept of what her husband called “privacy,” and all children grew up knowing all about the so-called “facts of life.”

Devrik did, at least, understand her people’s customs involving birthdays, and he surprised her by announcing that Mariala would be watching Aldari and Brann for the morning. He’d had the innkeeper, Quoran Heldmün, pack them a picnic basket and proceeded to take her on a private stroll through the large cliff-top park just northwest of the inn. They talked of not only the year past as experienced with their friends, but of the private years the three of them alone had experienced on that day back in Novara.

“Let us hope that the coming year will be less… eventful,” Devrik laughed, as they ate under a large plane tree overlooking the sea. “Although I’ll not tempt Vandor and Xydona by saying it must be so!”

Packing up after their lunch, Devrik returned alone to the Inn at Hammerhead, leaving his wife to her private contemplations. He found Mariala and Aldari sitting on a bench in the shade of the inn’s courtyard, deeply engaged in what he knew to be a particularly challenging Xavar’nan 3D puzzle of multicolored interlocking metal pieces. It had taken him half a day to solve it, the first time Mariala had shown it to him, he recalled. As he walked up his son slid the final piece into place, and gave it a twist to lock it solid, looking up at his father in delight.

“Look Da! I did it! Mar’la said it was very hard, but it wasn’t really!” His piping voice held both pride, and excitement at seeing his father. He ran to him and leaped up, wrapping his legs around Devrik, who caught him with a woof. “Where’s Mama?” the boy asked, looking around curiously.

“She is taking a little well-earned time to herself for the rest of the afternoon, my lad,” Devrik replied, spinning his son around by his feet, arms outstretched, his shrieks of laughter distracting him from further questions. Devrik glanced at Mariala and raised an eyebrow. She picked up the puzzle and eyed it thoughtfully, giving him a shrug before stashing it back in her scrip. Sh stood up as her friend lowered the boy to ground again and send him staggering dizzily onto inn, still giggling. The adults followed more slowly.

“He seems to have exceptional spatial relationships skills,” she said, shaking her head in bemusement. “Exceptional.”

“How quickly did he solve that infernal thing,” Devrik asked with a grimace, gesturing at her scrip. He still remembered his first go at the puzzle.

“In a little over a turn of the glass, almost as fast as my first time! And I had the advantage of experience with similar such concepts and puzzles… not to mention 15 or so more years of life experience. Well, we’ve known since the beginning that he was no ordinary child, right?”

“Yes, but I just wish there was something concrete to work with… most of the time he seems a pretty ordinary kid for his age – his actual age, not his technical age – but then he does something like this. Or sets off a volcano.”

“Well, to be fair, I’m not sure the volcano was entirely his own doing,” Mariala laughed. “I think Kirdik Hanol, and Alvira Vetaris, deserves some of the blame for that one. But this one was all him, yes.”

• • • • • •

The next day dawned clear and warm, promising to be a scorcher. Korwin insisted that everyone must join him for a trip to one of the city’s famous public baths. At the party both his cousin and Danir Alvador had been going on about the sybaritic pleasures of their own visits to several such establishments, especially the Turquoise Waters of Kalura’s Delight, while the Hand were slogging through the mountainous Argatha Forest. It had certainly piqued everyone’s curiosity, even the somewhat reluctant Mariala.

“It’s not one of the more… carnal… baths,” Korwin assured her, and added to Raven, “In fact, many families come there, and children are welcome in the main areas. Although, come to think on it, Aldari may be a little young to be allowed in the water…”

“It’s no matter, Korwin,” Raven replied with a smile. “ I intend to spend the morning in the park with Aldari… I noticed a great many dogs playing there yesterday, and you know how he loves animals. I think we’ll take Brann, and maybe we’ll make some new friends.”

Mariala offered to join her friend for the trip to the park (not least as an honorable, and plausibly deniable, way to avoid the baths), but Raven demurred. She was still in a contemplative mode, she confessed, and was looking forward to some more alone time, or at least as much as an active eight-year-old might allow. With a sigh Mariala gave in to the inevitable and agreed to accompany her friends to the, to her ear rather floridly named, bath house.

The Turquoise Waters of Kalura’s Delight was not far from the inn, as it happened, just a few streets over in the same district. The group strolled leisurely from the inn to the park, where Raven, Aldari and Brann left them, then continued on to their destination. The bath house was a large, lavish rectangle of pale pink marble overlaid with a riot of carved white limestone filigree work. It stood three stories high, in a park-like setting which occupied two city blocks. Surrounded by a low wall of sandstone, topped with wrought iron in the shapes of interlocking seahorses, the grounds consisted of wide expanses of verdant lawn and a number of large shade trees.

An immense dome of brass and crystal dominated the center of the roof, while two short towers rose on either side of it at the back, each one capped with a dome of warm pink stucco and more white filigree. A similar half-dome covered the grand entrance, whose five-meter-tall bronze doors were flanked by twin red marble staircases which rose to the second floor’s more discreet entrances.

Inside the opulence only increased, with floors of inlaid mosaic, white and rose marble, and complex patterns in wood, walls and doors of a myriad exotic woods in alternating shades of light and dark, gilt detail work at every turn, and warm glowstones set in brass and crystal fixtures and chandeliers illuminating it all. Along the outer wall of the building, to right and left of the main foyer, were the changing rooms, the scraping rooms, the mud baths, various massage rooms, and several steam rooms; on the second floor were a host of rooms and chambers where more intimate pleasures might be discreetly pursued.

And at the heart of it all was the main bath, beneath the great crystal dome. The geothermally warmed main pool was 50 meters long and an average of 20 meters wide, and lined in a dozen shades of blue tile. An immense statue in white stone of Kalura, arm outstretched to release her golden eagle (gilded in actual gold) to seek those of true heart and steadfast love, stood at the center of it all, towering over the blue-tiled pools and luxurious appointments.

Attendants of both genders were waiting to take each person in hand, once Korwin had shown proof that he had already purchased the full Imperial Package for himself and his companions. Each member of the Hand was led to a private massage room, where for the next three turns of the glass they enjoyed deep tissue massages and a final rubdown with fragrant and warming oils. After that, Vulk and Erol sought the upper gallery and its carnal delights, while Toran opted for the full mud treatment Korwin had thoughtfully arranged. The others went for one of the larger steam rooms, followed by an invigorating scrape-down.

Eventually they all ended up in the main pool hall where everyone, with the exception of Toran, slipped into the water. The temperature was perfectly balanced, but if one felt the need there were two smaller pools of cooler water, and two of hotter water, to invigorate or to stimulate. Families, groups of adults, and the occasional lone bather were scattered about the large space, but their numbers were less than a third of what could easily be accommodated there.

“Yes, that’s part of why I chose today,” Korwin said, when Vulk pointed out the relative scarcity of fellow patrons. “I learned that the day before the end of the month was one of the slower times for them, although tonight and tomorrow it supposedly becomes quite a hopping palce. And of course that also helped me get a better deal on the cost of our excursion.”

“Hey, Toran,” Erol called, and sent a great splash of water up toward the Khundari, who nimbly dodged it and continued on to the nearby purple, silk-covered divan he’d had his eye on. “Why don’t you come in? The water’s beautiful, and for Kalura’s sake, it’s only a little over a meter deep! Not even over your head!”

“Why in the world would I want to ruin the effects of the incredible mud bath I just finished,” his friend replied, too relaxed to get worked up at the friendly gibe. “Do you know, they used six different kinds of mud, and three different temperatures? It was the most amazing experience, and I owe you a debit of gratitude, Korwin, for convincing me to come along today.”

Vulk, laying back with a contented sigh, considered his two friends as they bantered. Most of the Hand had seen one another in the buff on occasion, of course, but this was the first opportunity he’d had to see Toran , and Erol in his new body, totally naked. He appreciated the chance to test the truth of some of the old folk stories regarding the endowments of both Khundari and Telnori…

Popular belief would have it that, as some sort of cosmic balance for the strength, extreme beauty, intelligence, facility with magic, and very long lives the Telnori enjoyed, their men were shortchanged in the matter of their private parts. If this was true, Vulk mused, then Erol had enjoyed Kasira’s own luck in landing in that Telnori body, for it certainly gave the lie to the tale! Actually, remembering other bathhouses they’d visited, Erol had come out much the winner in that regard, compared to his old body!

For the Khundari, the popular folk belief held that a Dwarf’s male member was much larger, especially in girth, than the average Umantari’s. Taking Toran as representative, however, Vulk didn’t think this folk tale held up either – while certainly rather wide, he felt it was only the comparison on the smaller body that made it seem so impressive… although his friend was even more hairy than he’d imagined, and with muscles like rocks!

Mariala’s slitted eyes betrayed no indication of where she might be looking…

After some time in the pleasant, soothing waters of the main pool, with occasional trips to the hotter pools and the cold plunges, the Hand were all extremely relaxed, even the still-dry Toran, to the point of limpness. Ambition was entirely gone, and all thoughts of worry or of the future seemed no more than vapor…

Gradually, over the echoing murmur of muted conversations, and the occasional higher-pitched laughter of children (none under 10, Devrik noted), a more disturbing sound made itself heard. Erol noted it first, but the others soon cocked their heads to listen as well…

Coming through the high, open narrow windows that lined the chamber, were the sounds of… a street fair? …an angry crowd? They all stood up, just begining to look concerned. “That sounds like steel on steel,” Devrik suddenly growled, and stepped up out of the water onto the tile deck.

“And those are screams… along with the sound of fires,” Erol added grimly, following his friend.

At that moment the double doors at the north end of the room burst open and the plumb, middle-aged attendant who had first greeted them at the entrance staggered in, wild-eyed and gasping for breath. “Flee!” he cried, making frantic shooing gestures at the patrons. “Out the side doors! The city is under attack… hideous monsters are in the streets, killing and looting! Flee!”

“Where did these ‘monsters’ come from,” Devrik barked over the rising babble, striding towards the man. “Is it an attack by land, or by sea, man?”

“I don’t know, domus” the fellow gasped. “They say they just appeared in the middle of Cliffside Park, as if from nowhere, but they – gurk!” The man looked briefly surprised at the foot of black steel suddenly protruding from his chest… then his eyes rolled up and he toppled sideways, blood gushing from his mouth.

Behind him a Black Gül stood arrogantly in the doorway, his tusks glistening with slaver as he yanked the blade from his victim’s back. With a roar, he motioned forward half a dozen more gülvini, many of them of the smaller nomai breed. People began to scream in terror and stagger out of the water, making for the exits in a chaotic panic. The gülvini surged forward with gleeful snarls and roars, eager to rape and kill.

Time seems to stretch to infinity for Devrik as the words “Cliffside Park” echoed in his ears… the very place he’d left his wife and son! And then it sped up again, and he was racing for the exit. A roundhouse blow from his fist lifted the gül-bogaba in his way off it’s feet and sent it sprawling to the wet tiles, unconscious. With a muttered invocation, he unleashed Arkel’s Fiery Ribbons, wrapping the commanding gül-hovgavu and one of smaller gül-nomai in its searing bands of flame. He barely heard their screams of pain as he bulled past and headed for the street.

As Devrik charged from the chamber, Erol was headed for the changing room and his weapons, when Jeb appeared, carrying his trident. Therok was right behind him, with Vulk’s sword in his grip. Erol and Vulk had treated the two men to their own separate time at the baths, and he was very glad of it now!

“Good man!” Erol cried, catching his favorite weapon as the yeoman tossed it to him. “You two grab the rest of our clothes and weapons and follow us to the park!” Without looking to see if he was obeyed, he cast Asakora’s Veil and vanished from sight. Only because he was looking for it did Jeb catch the wet footprints on the blue tiles, headed for the doors. With a shake of his head, he turned and followed his barbarian friend back to the changing room, to gather up the Hand’s gear.

Korwin, being literally in his element, had summoned up an Ice Needle of Burkon as soon as he’d realized what was happening. He’d impaled one of the gül-nomai clean through the left breast with it, as the creature was pulling a young woman up from the pool by her hair. She dropped back into the water, sobbing, and her would-be attacker toppled over behind her, sending a spray of water upward. As the woman struggled hysterically for the other side of the pool, the gülvini floated face-down in the water, an expanding pool of blood around it.

Realizing they needed one of these things alive, if they were going to figure out what was really going on, the naked Korwin’s next attack was a roundhouse punch to the face of another gül-nomai, which snapped its head back and stunned the creature. Slamming its head against the floor for good measure, Korwin grabbed a clawed foot and began dragging it towards were Vulk, the flickering glow of his holy armor shining around him, was tending to the wounded near the head of the pool.

Mariala, wrapped in a towel, came up from the other side, looking worried. An especially powerful blast of her Fire Nerves had taken out the rest of the invaders, and Toran, dressed now in a rather fetching armored codpiece he’d apparently cobbled together from a towel and a bronze sconce, was quickly and methodically dispatching them with sharp twists of the neck.

“We have to go, now!” she cried. “Raven and Aldari were in that park –“

“I’m well aware,” Vulk snapped, looking harried. “But Devrik has already gone, and – damnit, where the Void has Erol vanished to? Did he go after him? But there are injured here, and I can’t just leave them–“

“Go, I can handle this,” a woman’s soprano voice commanded, and then Dr. Ar’Hanol was thrusting Mariala’s clothes and dagger at her before kneeling at Vulk’s side. She had been trading physical therapy tips with several of the masseuses, until hearing the sounds of fighting. “Go, you’ve stabilized them, I can handle it from here!”

At that moment Jeb and Therok arrived with most of the rest of the men’s clothes and weapons, Toran right behind them, snatching at his own items as they ran and throwing them on. With a grateful nod at Lurin, Vulk also began to hastily dress next to Korwin and Mariala. Ordering Therok and Jeb to stay to guard the doctor and the wounded, in moments the friends were racing for the front doors…

• • • • • •

A few minutes earlier Erol, still cloaked behind Asakora’s Veil, had stepped out the main doors of the bath house and into a scene from nightmare. Thick black smoke was boiling up from a dozen places around the district, darkening the summer sky to almost twilight, underlit by the flicker of orange flames. Panicked people were running screaming down the streets, pursued by laughing, ravening gülvini of at least three breeds. The creatures stopped their pursuits only long enough to smash windows and batter down doors, dragging more shrieking victims out and gleefully torching the buildings.

Erol’s appalled gaze was torn from the carnage by the sight of Devrik, naked and still dripping, on the walk ahead of him just meters from the street. He seemed frozen in concentration, head bowed, fists clenched at his side… but before Erol could say anything there was a brilliant flash of orange light, and suddenly Devrik was gone, replaced by a wraith of living flame in his shape! This fiery manifestation hovered a few centimeters above the stones of the walkway, and as the former gladiator watched it began moving away, out into the street…

A flaming hand reached out and grabbed a passing gülvini by the throat, just before the creature could seize the young boy it pursued. The Deathspawn shrieked in pain, and in an instant its head burst into flames. Wraith-Devrik moved on, drifting at a steady, rather stately, pace towards the park, several blocks away. Erol could see that it would take much too long for his friend to reach their destination in this form, if he was more-or-less at the mercy of the winds…

A sudden burst of insight struck him, then. The spell he’d been working on for the better part of the month wasn’t really ready for prime time… not to move a ship, anyway. But he had certainly mastered a gentle zephyr… at least mostly mastered it… and directional control. And those were all that was needed here and now.

The wind in this coastal city was often blowing inland, as it was now, but he needed it to flow the other way. He summoned the energies of his spell, the Form was perfect… just a modicum of Principal now… he felt the wind begin to shift… a muttering, inconstant thing at first… but then the change came, all at once! Then, with a little push, he increased the force. Not a lot, just enough to move Flame-Devrik forward… at a brisk enough pace, in fact, that Erol had to trot to keep up…

By the time the rest of the Hand of Fortune dashed out of the baths, the flaming figure was nearly a block away and gaining speed. “Wait, is that Devrik?” Vulk asked as they began to run toward the park. “Did we know he could do that?!”

“Yes,” Mariala replied, hiking up her gown and wishing she’d worn her traveling leathers. But who could have predicted this? “He doesn’t do it often, it’s exhausting and very difficult, I believe… but you know Devrik. Nothing is going to keep him from his family!”

A few minutes later the companions bust past the tall hedge that surrounded Cliffside Park, to find the flame-wraith Devrik and a naked Erol decimating half a dozen gülvini. A few citizens, apparently taken captive and dragged back here by the creatures, cowered and sobbed in the middle of the fight. With a Khundari battle cry Toran whirled this battle-axe and leapt into the fray, neatly decapitating a gül-bogaba. Vulk, wielding his Staff, followed him, while Mariala and Korwin provided arcane support. In less than a minute there were no gülvini left alive in the lower end of the park.

“I don’t see them here!” The hissing shadow of Devrik’s usual voice still managed to convey his anguish and fear.

“It’s late,” Mariala assured him. “We were at the baths quite a long time, they probably just returned to the inn, that’s all.”

Her friend’s fiery expression lightened (she winced at her own mental pun) and he turned to head back toward the street. At a gesture from Erol, the wind picked up suddenly, and Devrik raced away from her, streaming flames behind him. fists clenching and unclenching. While Vulk tended to the injured people, the others dashed after their friend, back to the inn.

Gülvini still prowled the streets, but they seemed less in numbers, and the people were beginning to fight back. Armed men, and a few women, attacked individual Deathspawn, or small groups of the things, and the sound of metal on metal from several street away indicated the City Watch was finally rallying. In front of the Inn at Hammerhead, the group found several burning gül-nomai corpses, a few more in the courtyard, and the front doors smashed wide open.

The innkeeper was behind the bar, fending off two smallish gülvini with a long andiron from the fireplace and a flaming brand, while several patrons battled other güls from behind overturned tables. The Hand took the creatures from behind, and in seconds the place was free of living invaders. Mariala drove her Khundari dagger through the neck of the last one, which had been menacing the innkeeper’s wife in her kitchen as she fended it off with a butcher’s knife.

“Say, have you seen Ser Devrik?” Korwin asked the shaken Quoran in a bright, chipper voice, as the man emerged from behind his bar . “Looking a bit flamey and wraith-like just now, perhaps?”

The man, wide-eyed, just nodded and pointed to the stairs.

“Ah, of course, I should’ve guessed,” Korwin said, and headed up the narrow stairs two at a time, the others hard on his heels. But there was little need to rush, as it turned out. Erol was dispatching the last living gülvini with a trident to the back, while a once-more human (and naked) Devrik was pounding on the door to his and Raven’s room. It flew open and Raven and Aldari tumbled out, the latter red-faced and crying, the former pale and sheathing her longknife before greeting her husband in relief.

As Korwin summoned Effluvium to quench the flames on the still-burning gülvini corpses (and patches of carpet) scattered along the hallway to the Askalan’s room, Erol leaned on his trident and smiled at the happy family scene. “This is a very solidly built inn,” he remarked to Mariala. “That door there took quite a beating, and it could still take a blow or two, I’d estimate… still, good thing we arrived when we did.”

Mariala nodded agreement and handed him one of the towels she’d grabbed on her way out of the bath house, while pointedly not looking at him. With a grin he took the proffered bit of fabric and wrapped it around his waist. “Thanks, m’dear, but now that we’re here, I think I’ll slip into something a little more… armored… and go back out to make sure the Guard is really getting things under control.”

He became serious as he turned for his room, leaning down to speak quietly into his friend’s ear. “I suspect Devrik may get the same idea, eventually… you know how he is… but don’t let him. That Immolation spell of his leaves him weak and exhausted, and I have no desire to drag his corpse home to Raven!”

“Ha! Like he ever listens to me,” Mariala snorted. “But you’re right about that spell, its after-effects are brutal. Maybe with Raven to back me up, though, we can keep him inside…”

3-5 Metisto 3020

The day dawned clear and warm when the Wind of Kasira finally sailed away from Arapet. The green crew, under the guidance of the four experienced seamen aboard and the Mate Grünbay, with Korwin as acting captain and pilot, pulled together, gaining confidence as they trimmed the sails and turned the ship into the following winds outside the small harbor. No incidents beyond a few scrapes and bruises marred the vessel’s inaugural run… which, in the event, was short.

Two hours after departing Arapet they dropped anchor off the small port town of Fethik on the neighboring island of Eari. The island was small, by the charts and standards of the Archipelago, but was nonetheless almost ten times the size of Arapet Island. The town of Fethik was more than double the size of Arapet Town and, obvious even from a hundred meters offshore, in much better condition.

“Well, that was quicker than I’d awaited… but why aren’t we maneuvering into the harbor there,” a curious Toran asked Korwin, who was peering at the town through the spyglass that had been a gift from the Legate Charkress. The Khundari was feeling moderately happy about this first leg of their open sea voyage, he hadn’t gotten sea-sick at all.

“Because we’re not staying,” the water mage answered somewhat absently. “I promised the Legate that we’d check on the fate of his men, the ones he dispatched for help, and this is where they were headed. And… ah, yes… the Harbor Master is heading out now, no doubt to learn whether we’ll be paying an anchorage fee or the pricier docking fees.” He collapsed the elegant metal tube and tucked it into his sash, grinning down at his friend. “We won’t be paying either, of course.”

The local Harbor Master was a portly, middle-aged fellow named Karlin Vestor who, despite his bulk, came up the rope ladder amidship with surprising agility. He was disappointed to learn that he’d not be collecting any fees from this impressively large ship (his sleepy port seldom docked a vessel of such length!). He was, however, willing to answer their questions once they’d filled him in on the outline of recent events on Arapet.

“Yes, just such a skiff as you describe was found adrift by one of our fishing boats, about a fiftnight past,” he said grimly. “Two men aboard her, and both dead, though no wounds or illness were apparent. We’re too close to the Fuming Sea not to recognize the signs, of course… although not afflicted by its evil airs ourselves, thank Tyvos.

“No one recognized the men, nor the skiff… which was too small to have come far. We asked of other ships and fishing boats of neighboring islands, but no one could solve the mystery… honestly, I don’t think anyone even thought of Arapet. Eventually the bodies were given to the sea, with all due rites, of course.”

There was little more to say after that, aside from the harbor master’s assurances that no ships from Arapet had docked in Fethik in the last month. That was a relief to the Hand, who had feared the alien infection might have spread by means other than the one planned. The Wind weighed anchor and was under sail again before Master Vestor was halfway back to Fethik.

They sailed on through the late morning and early afternoon, with only minor nautical mishaps. As their duties permitted, the crew never seemed to tire of Master Danir Alvador’s lurid retelling of the tale of his rescue by the Hand and his miraculous healing by Cantor Elida, and of the devastation of the alien Mi-Go. Vulk also never seemed to tire of the story, although most of the others quickly found it becoming somewhat embarrassing.

By the third re-telling Korwin was reaching the eye-rolling stage. “I wish I’d just used my Pillow of Suffocation™ on the damned fellow, if only Devrik had let me,” he muttered to Toran. “Then we wouldn’t be suffering through this never-ending tale…”

“Do you sleep with that pillow next to your regular pillow?” the Khundari laughed. “Seems a bit risky!”

“No, no,” Devrik interjected, with a glower at Korwin. “He only carries it on the battlefield, where he can smother the wounded when they’re helpless.”

Korwin scowled back and opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment the lookout called down from the crow’s nest that land had been sighted. Everyone was immediately diverted by the work of preparing for arrival and docking. They had made good time, thanks to favorable winds, arriving near the end of the late afternoon flood tide, which made the journey up the Korin River easier. The westering sun lit the white walls and red, brown and blue tiled roofs of the city with a golden effulgence as the local pilot guided them into the wharf. Mariala expressed her fascination with the process of “parking” the “boat,” and Korwin’s eyes got another workout. Toran just shrugged.

“Don’t look at me,” he laughed. “I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout berthin’ no boats.” Kowrin ground his teeth as he stalked off to the waist, where Vulk was waiting with the pilot to disembark. She was a slight woman in her thirties, and seemed quite taken with the tall, handsome cantor. Vulk seemed oblivious, having his eye on a particularly muscular and hairy deckhand who was manhandling the gangplank into place.

As the gangplank was hefted over the side to thump down on the stone quay, the pilot was saying to Vulk “That’ll be 20 pence for my services, Cantor Vulk.” Grinning, she added “And let me just say, it was a pleasure… to pilot such a magnificent ship!”

His attention pulled back to the business at hand, Vulk pulled out his purse and counted out twenty silver pennies into the woman’s open hand, not without a wince. He was left with a few bronze and copper coins, a gold Crown, and a Khundari gold Imperial. He wasn’t broke, but he’d have to find a money-changer first thing… and then hope Master Alvador was quick about selling their cargo.

“I trust that concludes our business?” he said with a sigh as he dropped the last coin into her palm.

“Indeed, for all of me,” she agreed amiably. “But there’s still the matter of the docking and port fees, which – ah, here’s the Port Master’s agent now.” She nodded toward the tall, slender red-headed man striding up the gangplank. He acknowledged her with his own nod, and then turned to the two men.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen, I am Urno Kovith, from the Port Master’s office. So, which of you is the captain of this impressive – and very long – ship?” Wharfage fees were, of course, based on the length of a vessel. In the end Korwin paid for the first days fees using his last gold Crown and 20 of his 38 remaining silver pennies. He was left, like Vulk, with a little silver, a single Khundari gold Imperial and the hope that they’d be able to sell off the cargo soon.

As the port agent was departing the rest of the Hand arrived, ready to disembark themselves. Vulk and Mariala intended to head directly to the Prince Palatine’s palace, to deliver Legate Chakress’ report, along with their own observations. Erol and Toran decided to accompany them, but Korwin felt obligated to oversee matters on the ship, while Devrik seemed entirely uninterested. He had been even more quiet than usual since the caverns beneath Arapet, moody and introspective.

“I’m not fit company right now,” he said, when Vulk once again encouraged him to join them. “A tavern and a dark corner is all I want right now. But Korwin, are there any particular customs, traditions or taboos I should know about here in your Empire? I have no desire to accidentally offend.”

“Well, it’s hardly my empire,” Korwin quipped reflexivly, looking a little surprised at his friend’s unexpected concern for manners or social norms. But he gave the question some thought before replying. “Really, your uncouth accent will mark you as an outlander, which will excuse most slips. You don’t know enough to talk local politics, and with your scary voice… well, just don’t insult anyone’s mother or the Emperor and you should be fine.”

•••••••

The palace of Prince Palatine Rapareth stood on the northern side of the spacious Imperial Square, near the top of the central of the three low hills across which the city sprawled. The square was crowded with people in the early summer evening, and Mariala noticed that many in the press paused to toss a bronze coin into the large octagonal fountain at the center of the area. An immense statue of Tyvos, Immortal Lord of the Sea, loomed over the fountain, and the central jets of water leapt almost to the 10 meter height of his crown.

The palace itself was a beautiful pile of ancient stone, four stories tall in two major wings, with two smaller wings at right angles to east and west. Its roofs were tiled in the distinctive brilliant blue tiles of Oceania, and a central tower soared up 50 meters from its heart, its battlements the highest point in the city. Its was set in its own expanse of open courtyard and encircled by a 3-meter wall of white marble. Large gates of bronze, cast in twinning bars of seaweed and merfolk, stood open, ceremonial guards lining the stairs up to the main entrance.

It took the better part of an hour for the group to work their way through the various layers of bureaucracy, functionaries and minions that stood between them and the Prince, and it took the blatant use of Vulk’s Herald’s Baton and asserted rank as a representative of the King and Queen of Ukalus to do it at all. Eventually they were taken to a study on the third floor, clearly a working rather than a ceremonial space, where the Prince was seated behind a magnificent desk of ironwood and ebony, inlaid with polished gold coral.

“So, they tell me you represent an embassy from the newly united Kingdom of Ukalus, of which we have but recently heard,” the Prince said genially as he finished signing a document and laid down his pen. He was a large man, maybe 45 years old, dressed in gorgeous silks, and rather corpulent. A closer look, however, revealed the muscle beneath the fat and finery and, despite the friendly demeanor, his shrewd, intelligent eyes were cool.

“Yes, your Highness,” Vulk said bowing low, his Baton held out before him. “An accidental embassy, to be sure, but a true one nonetheless.” At the Prince’s sharp look he quickly went on to give a truncated and heavily edited version of the events that had led the Hand of Fortune to Arapet and the Empire. As he wound up his brief précis of the horrifying events on the small island he handed over the sealed folder containing Charkress’ report.

The Prince was really frowning by this time, and he quickly broke the seal, after a quick glance confirming its legitimacy. His frown grew deeper as he scanned the first few pages. After a moment he tossed the papers onto his desk and looked up at his guests with a heavy sigh. “It is clearly going to take more than a few minutes to come to grips with this bizarre happening, and my stomach is telling me it is past time for my supper. I shall be dining casually this evening, in the Old Parlour, and would be pleased to have you and your companions join me, Cantor Ser Vulk. After which we can all retire to more comfortable chambers to go over this incident in greater detail.”

The Old Parlour turned out to be a moderately-sized dining hall, and the “casual” gathering consisted of 30 courtiers and hangers-on seated below the salt, with the Prince, his current mistress, and his seneschal at the high table. Servants found places for Vulk and Mariala at the first table beneath the royal dais, near the large fireplace, while Erol and Toran were seated at a table opposite them.

The meal progressed uneventfully through several courses of game, seafood and vegetables, until just before the dessert course. At that point Mariala, Vulk and Erol each noticed a wine steward pouring out a cordial for the Prince from a crude looking ceramic bottle into a glass of elegant Telnori crystal… a brilliant blue cordial of shocking familiarity. All three leapt to their feet with an almost simultaneous chorus of “No, your Highness!”

The Prince paused with the glass halfway to his lips, surprised at this harmonized breach of decorum by the foreigners. Vulk stepped forward to explain, but Erol beat him to it, calling out from down the hall. “Please, your Highness, do not drink that liquor! The matter which we brought to your attention earlier, Ser, involves just such a beverage as this one appears to be. If we are mistaken in this, we beg your indulgence and pardon, but if we are right… the consequences are too grave to allow us to err on anything but the side of caution.”

“Indeed, Highness,” Mariala agreed. “Do you know, has any food taster yet tried this drink? How does it come to be served here this evening?”

Prince Rapareth glanced uncertainly at his wine steward. “Ejan? What say you to this? You told me this liquor was something new, but what do you truly know of its provenance?”

The servant drew himself up even as he bowed his head to his liege. “Your Highness, as I said, I came across this last month on my annual trip to the highlands and my progress through the royal vineyards. I’ve tasted it myself, more than once, and I can assure you that it is no danger to anyone.” With a snarky glare at Mariala he took the glass, which the Prince had set down on the table, and tossed back its entire contents in a single gulp.

Mariala, with her training, could see the small changes in the man’s body as the drug took hold, despite his rigid attempt to hide them. But it was Erol, with his Telnori-sharp vision, who could see the man’s pupils dilate until the black almost obliterated the brown of the iris – a symptom he had noticed in the blue-cordial drinkers on Arapet. But the Prince had noticed his servants eyes as well, and the man knew it. Before anyone could speak, the steward whipped out the small dagger at his belt and attempted to plunge it into the Prince’s neck.

Rapareth moved with a speed that belied his bulk, dodging the blow and knocking the blade from the man’s grasp with a powerful buffet. His expression of fury turned to one of shock as a crossbow bolt flew through the space his head had occupied an instant before, embedding itself in the wooden screen behind him. It had been fired by one of his own guardsman, stationed at the far door to the chamber!

Erol found himself almost unconsciously shifting into the super-heightened mental state that seemed to slow his perception of time to a crawl. He saw the bolt miss the Prince and turned to see the guard who had fired it frantically working to crank a second bolt into position. Erol wasted none of his accelerated time worrying about the fact that, aside from his dagger, he was unarmed – he raced full tilt at the man, covering the length of the Old Parlor in seconds. The guardsman never even saw him coming until Erol was ripping the crossbow from his hands and slamming his forehead into the man’s face. Cartilage crumpled, blood spurted, and the traitor slumped to the floor unconscious.

Toran, who had missed the initial clue of the blue cordial due to the fact that he was fully engrossed in savoring a dish of mushrooms that reminded him strongly of ghurpesh, a Khundari dish of his childhood that he’d not had since venturing out into the wider world. But his nostalgic reverie had been broken by the shouts of his friends, and by the time the crossbow bolt was fired he was standing on his bench, hand on dagger hilt. He sensed Erol move in a blur of action, but his attention was focused on the three guardsmen closer to the Prince, and to himself.

They were racing towards their liege lord, as was right and proper… and yet he had a distinct impression they were aiming their halberds at the Prince. There was no time for thought, and he let his Kahar-ün-Tem training take over. His hands came up, he murmured a phrase, and almost-invisible bolts flashed from his hands at the speed of thought. The nearest guard went down shrieking as one of Stavin’s Arrows embedded itself in his thigh. The second bolt missed his companion, who nonetheless also fell to the floor an instant later, writhing and gasping in wordless agony. The guardsman from the other side of the hall and the wine steward joined them on the floor in a similar state, and Toran glanced over to see Mariala lowering her hands, a gleam of fierce satisfaction in her eyes.

She and Vulk strode forward to put themselves between the Prince and any other attacks, as did several noblemen amongst the guests, but no further attacks came. When Erol dragged up the limp form of the crossbowman and dropped him next to the others Mariala used a foot to discreetly nudge the man’s bloody head off of the very expensive-looking carpet, letting the blood pool on the wooden floor instead.

“What in the endless blue Void is going on here?” the Prince’s baritone was surprisingly mild, considering the circumstances. His mistress was sobbing and clutching at him, and with an exasperated look he gave her a soothing word and motioned to the seneschal. “I think it would be best if Lady Erimin retired to her chambers, will you see to it Argalond?”

Once the weeping lady had allowed herself to be guide away by the elderly retainer, Rapareth immediately turned to question the Hand. It was obvious his suspicions had been aroused by the coincidence of these mysterious new visitors and the attempt on his life by previously trusted men. “Ejan Salaim has been my wine master for over a decade! Why would he try to poison me now, never mind actually draw steel on me?”

“Highness, I don’t think he was attempting to poison you, exactly,” Vulk answered. “Our understanding of the blue cordial is that it weakens the will and allows for the mental manipulation, even outright control, of those under its influence. If the… agents we spoke of earlier have indeed made it here, Ser, than I think this was an attempt to gain control of you, not kill you… not unless they should fail of the first goal, that is.”

“We have in the past noticed that those habituated to the drink have blue-stained tongues,” Mariala offered, and knelt to lift up the head of the semi-conscious wine steward. Forcing his mouth open, she tilted his head to reveal the blue-tinted organ, as predicted. “I think your steward was controlled in this manner, and probably your guardsmen too.”

At the Prince’s sharp command several of the vigilant nobles bent to check the tongues of the guardsmen, and all were found to have the tell-tale blue tongues. After himself checking the mouths of his would-be noble protectors, and finding them untainted, the Prince sent one to summon his Guard Commander and a squad – but to bring them only after the man had checked their tongues. He then ordered several others to check all the remaining folk in the hall for the tell-tale mark. When no more were found, he ordered everyone to depart, adding that no word of the evenings events were to be breathed to anyone who had not been present.

“Not that there’s a minnow’s chance in a shark frenzy that I’ll be obeyed,” he sighed once he was alone with the Hand and his newly arrived commander. A dozen armed and armored men, all vetted, had accompanied the commander and several were now efficiently binding the prisoners with manacles on feet and hands. Erol was increasingly impressed by the Prince – his sensual and epicurean bent clearly concealed a sharp and decisive mind.

“So, Ejan, is this the truth?” the Prince asked his steward, as the man was dragged to his feet between two guardsmen. “Have you been suborned, or was this treason a result of some mind control?”

“I have seen the blue vision of the paradise to come,” Salaim cried out in a hoarse but rapturous voice. The effects of the Fire Nerves spell had worn off, but he was disheveled and wild looking, his pupils still dilated as wide as they would go. “The angelic Mi-Go will come soon to carry all the faithful off to the eternal bliss that is to be our reward… they… I… wished to offer you the bliss, out of my love for you, Sire… but if you would not accept it, then death was to be your portion… none must stand in the way of the glory to come!”

Rapareth looked suddenly pale and, for the first time since the attack, shaken as he listened to this diatribe. “Take all four to to separate cells, Commander, as far from one another as possible… I don’t want them conferring before we can interrogate them properly.” He turned to Vulk and motioned him closer. “I think it’s time I fully read the report you brought from my Legate Charkress… and once I have done so I will wish to question you, and all your party, more deeply. Please return to the palace at the third turning of the Phoenix watch tomorrow, with all of your companions.”

“Of course, your Highness,” Vulk bowed in agreement. “May we be permitted to sit in on the interrogation of the prisoners? Aside from our personal experience with these matters, Lady Mariala and I both have some skill in discerning truth from those who would seek to deceive.”

“I will decide on that in the morning, once I’ve had a chance to assimilate all the information you’ve brought, and have questioned you all further. But if all is as you claim, I would be pleased for another set of eyes and ears in the matter. Now, if you’ll excuse me I–“

“Your Highness,” Toran interrupted, stepping briskly through the doorway from the kitchens. “Before you retire, I have some information that may affect your deliberations, if I may briefly detain you?”

“Certainly, Ser Dwarf, if you have knowledge I should possess, then speak on.”

“Well, Ser, I took it upon myself, once the immediate danger was past, to investigate your kitchens, to seek out any others who might have been suborned by the blue cordial and to learn more of your wine steward’s movements in recent days.

“I learned that the Steward Salaim has seemed, to his professional intimates, to be “a bit off” for the past couple of days, distracted and withdrawn, not his usual gregarious self. More importantly, yesterday he accepted delivery of a small cask from two rough-looking fellows, whom he seemed to know. This evoked no particular surprise, as I was led to understand that he was a rather egalitarian sort of man.”

“Yes, Ejan is not the wine-snob one might expect of a man in his position,” the Prince agreed, sadly. “He liked… likes anyone who likes wine, and likes to share when he can.”

“So his associates told me,” Toran went on. “And yesterday evening he shared some of the blue cordial from that mystery cask with three of the four guards on duty today, and with one other man – the First Warder of the Privy Chamber I was told is the man’s title.”

At this the Prince looked surprised, and he immediately sent off two men to locate the First Warder. But despite having been seen in the palace an hour before supper, no sign of him could now be found. An expanded search was ordered, and the Hand was allowed to go to investigate their own ship and see if the cask came from there, with a reminder to return at the appointed hour in the morning.

•••••••

While the bulk of the Hand were at the Palace, hob-nobbing with the royalty and stopping hostile alien takeovers and/or assassinations, Devrik and Korwin remained aboard the Wind. Or at least Korwin did, busy going over the cargo in more detail with Master Alvador, and the state of the ship with the Mate. Devrik took off not long after the others, seeking that tavern he’d mentioned, with little more than a diffident wave and a grunt to Korwin.

Korwin frowned as he watched his friend make his way up the quay and vanish into the shadows of warehouses and shops that lined the waterfront. But he had little time to spare on his concern, as he was also intent on finding a new crew. Most of the crew from Arapet had asked, and been granted, permission to go ashore, and neither neither Korwin nor Yonas expected to see any of them again. It had been tacitly understood that they simply wanted off of Arapet, and since they were not actually being paid, Korwin could hardly object.

As the shadows were beginning to lengthen that evening two men showed up at the gangplank, looking to hire on. They were twins, in their late twenties, Korwin guessed, and rather scruffy looking, even for sailors. But Yonas put them through their paces, they had their Guild tattoos and, when they worked together, even Korwin could see that they seriously out-classed any of the departed crew.

“Yay, they’ll do,” the Mate said laconically when he’d finished with them, and Korwin quickly signed them on. As the two men went below to stow their gear and pick their berths Yonas motioned to the acting Captain.

“I thought I should mention this , domus, though I’ve no mind that ’tis of any great moment… aye, probably nothing. But, you see that little fishing ketch moor’d ’t yon wharf across the way? I swear ’tis the Sailfish… one of the fishing fleet out of Arapet.”

“What?” Korwin pulled out his glass and peered intently at the vessel in question. No one moved on the small, rough-looking ship as it bobbed against the dock on the gentle swells. “Could it have come here before the… before the monolith appeared?”

The Mate frowned, and scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Oh, not too likely, Cap’n…’tis run by the brothers Yon and Yerino Akurta, with a usual crew of two to four other men, depending on t’ season. And I knows I spied ‘er on the Arapet Town docks around t’ time the recent…troubles… begun. Couldn’t say exactly when I last noticed her, though, not fer certain…”

Korwin didn’t like the cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was probably nothing, but… maybe he’d just stroll over and have a look. Probably turn out to be perfectly innocent… Leaving Yonas in charge of the watch on the ship, he set out down the dock and along the quay to the dock just north of their own.

Along the way he passed Devrik, chatting it up with a group of locals outside a rather seedy looking tavern. Korwin stopped to fill him in on the mystery of the Sailfish, and his concerns about it, but the obviously intoxicated fire mage waved him off with a belch and a broad sweep of his arm toward his companions.

“My new friends here have just shown me a lovely little place, the Leaky Keg,” he waved this time at the building behind him, “and now we’re off to the Barrel O’ Beers.” Only the slightest blurring of his vowels and the exaggerated precision of his movements betrayed the level of his inebriation. “When you grow bored of mysterious fishering boats, my watery friend, you should come join us.” He followed this with garbled directions, interspersed with corrections and clarifications from the others, before he and his new chums drifted off down the quay.

Shaking his head, Korwin continued on… he was a little concerned for his friend, he’d never seen him quite like this, but his anxiety over the dire possibilities represented by the Sailfish pushed that concern to the back of his mind. Passing a merchant ship named the Azure Rose, which was being unloaded by half a score of the local stevedores using muscles and cargo cranes, he approached the Sailfish, tied up at the end of the stone pier. The sun was low in the west, but there was still at least an hour of sunlight left he calculated.

Several barrels of fish sat on the wharf near the seemingly empty ship, and Korwin could see at least one other on her deck. By the smell they’d been left in the summer sun for several days, at least. Repeated calls brought no response, but before he took the step of boarding the vessel uninvited he decided to check with the locals – the stevedores and several vendors of fish, mussels, and other fruits of the sea with carts nearby.

Two storys emerged – the first was that the brothers Akurta often came and went, not unusual, nothing to see here, they’d be back soon no doubt, domus; the second tale, more common, suggested that it was all damn odd, and a shame. Yes, the brothers showed up, that wasn’t unusual… but they and four other men had left the ship an hour after it arrived, unloading only a few barrels but taking away several small casks and a largish bundled object that took two men to carry.

His suspicions now thoroughly aroused, Korwin decided he had no choice but to go aboard. If nothing else, perhaps something there might trigger one of his psychometric insights. The smell below decks was worse, with the combined smell of rotting fish and unwashed humanity, and the cramped crew quarters yielded little of interest. He was about to give up when he absently picked up a scrap of leather with a broken buckle, as from a belt or weapon harness. With shocking clarity, he had a vision of a man, well enough looking, in his mid-thirties… obviously a soldier, and an officer at that… he was speaking with the Legate Charkress in a room Korwin recognized, the Legate’s study… no sound accompanied the vision, but he felt with certainty that this was a vision of the past…

In an instant the image faded from his mind’s eye, but the man’s face remained clear in his mind. He had no doubt that he would recognize him if they ever crossed paths. He spent a few more minutes touching things and picking up objects, but he had no further flashes of insight. Able to stand the stench no more, he gratefully headed back up to the deck and the at least somewhat fresher air.

As he was leaving the Sailfish, however, an official-looking fellow accosted him, in something of a snit. A man of middling height, he had thinning hair and a rather nasal voice. “Are you one the Akurta brothers?” he demanded. “If so, we have the serious matter of your docking fees to discuss – you are three days in arrears, domus, and if you do not make good on your debt, then I–“

“My good man,” Korwin interrupted this barrage, raising a placating hand. “I am not one of the brother-owners of this disgusting vessel, I assure you. If I was, it would be in considerably better shape, you may be certain. In fact, I am looking for Yon and Yorino Akurta myself, and they are not aboard this ship – no one is, actually.”

“Then who are you, and why were you aboard their ship?” The man asked suspiciously.

“As for my presence, as I said, I’m looking for the brothers, rather urgently – when no one answered my hails, I went aboard. My name is Korwin Seaborn, and I am the master of the Wind of Kasira.” He gestured across the ways, where his ship floated, her dark wood and pale canvas looking especially dramatic in the golden early evening sun.

“Ah, indeed?” the man’s annoyance and supercilious manner dropped from him like a cloak. “What a fine vessel she is, domus! She’s been the talk of the docks since you tied up this afternoon. How long have you been her captain? Where was she built? I’ve never seen rigging quite like hers. Oh, I beg your pardon… my name is Arn Darvin, I’m a deputy Port Master. A pleasure to meet you, captain!”

The man’s enthusiasm was almost overwhelming, and he proceeded to pump Korwin for information about the Wind. Darvin himself was an aficionado of the ship building arts, apparently, and was fascinated with the unusual vessel. Somehow in the course of answering his questions the water mage managed to imply, if not outright state, that he was not only the captain of the ship, but her designer and builder. T only served to feed the man’s eagerness, and Korwin quickly regretted whatever impulse had led him to that little exaggeration. It was only by agreeing to meet for drinks “soon” that he managed to get away before the daylight was entirely gone. The two men also agreed to share any information they might discover concerning the whereabouts of the brothers Akurta.

Making his escape, Korwin decided to seek out the Barrel O’ Beers and Devrik. He eventually located the establishment, which turned out to be not quite the dive he’d expected, only to find his friend pretty far gone in his cups. So far gone, in fact, that he was flirting shamelessly with an attractive, if somewhat slatternly, young woman… the same one that had been hanging off his arm when he’d been introduced to the group earlier. What was her name? Oh yes, Winna.

“Devrik, we really should be getting back to the ship,’’ Korwin suggested a little desperately as the woman’s hand disappeared below the table, and the fire mage got a surprised look on his face. “I think Raven will be expecting us soon, no?” Fortunately, either the mention of his wife’s name or whatever Miss Winna’s wandering hand was up seemed to snap him out of his infatuated fog. Devrik stood up abruptly, and almost went over backwards, until Korwin steadied him.

“I’m sorry, m‘dear,” he intoned solemnly, “but ish true, I must be getting home now.” He let his friend lead him out of the tavern, studiously ignoring the vocal, and very uncomplimentary, complaints of his disappointed would-be paramour. As the door slammed on the raucous laughter from the tavern Devrik slapped Korwin on the back, half knocking the breath from him and sending him staggering forward. “No need to mention this to Raven, eh my friend?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” the water mage gasped. “My lips are sealed!” The rest of the walk back to the ship was silent.

•••••

The other members of the Hand of Fortune were just arriving back at the Wind of Kasira as Devrik and Korwin turned onto the pier. The sun had finally gone done, although the western sky was still a luminous violet, and the stars were just beginning to come out overhead. Gathering in the ward room the group exchanged tales of their afternoon and evening, and both Master Alvador and Mate Grünby were summoned. The former assured them that none of the casks of the blue liquor in the Wind’s hold were missing, having completed a new inventory less than two hours earlier; and Yonas was equally certain that none of the departing crew had left the ship with anything the size of a cask in their possession.

“Well, given the timing of the wine steward’s acquisition, we knew it wasn’t possible,” Toran sighed, “but we had to check.”

Despite his warning to Korwin, Devrik waxed a bit rhapsodical, and a little wistfully, about the charms of the apparently hot-to-trot Winna during the meeting. Vulk, already a bit worked up over Korwin’s description of the longshoremen he’d encountered earlier, was intrigued.

“Perhaps I should stop by this tavern and make the young lady’s acquaintance,” he mused, half seriously, as the meeting broke up. “I understand from Korwin that I missed a chance with our local pilot earlier today, maybe I’ll have better luck with this Winna…”

“Keep it in your breeches, Vulk,” Mariala interrupted before the glaring Devrik could speak. “This isn’t the time, we have an early meeting with the Prince in the morning, and we should all get a good night’s sleep. Right?”

“Yes, yes, I was just kidding,” Vulk said, rolling his eyes. “Sheesh, lighten up!”

Everyone dispersed to their cabins, but out on the deck Devrik grabbed Vulk’s arm and pulled him aside into the shadows near the stairs to the quarterdeck. “Shleep is a good idea,” his voice was still slightly blurred by drink, but no less grating. “But first I’m going to find a fire ashore, to seek guidance in the flames – and you’re coming with me, so I can keep an eye on you, you purple and gold weasel.”

Given his friend’s clearly inebriated state, and very large muscles, Vulk wasn’t inclined to argue. But he wasn’t keen on wandering the docks after dark, either. He knew the spell the fire mage spoke of, and it required as large a flame as possible for the best chance to gain a vision. “Can’t you use that fire you keep burning day and night in the forge below decks?”

“No! That is the flame I will soon use to talk with my Raven… it’s taken me a loooong time to build that shpell up to reach so far… I’m sooo close now… and the flames on either end mus’ never be allowed to die, or ’ll have to shtart over… and casting any nother shpell on them would have the same effect… and it takes forever to cast my Far-Flung Fire Flame Fone™ Shpell… “

Fortunately, it didn’t take long for the two men to find an appropriate fire. Toket & Son’s Chandlery was actually the closest building to their pier on the docks, and though it was closed at this hour it had a small forge in an open shed around back. It was banked for the night, of course, but it took Devrik only moments to fan the flames to full force. His movements were as graceful and cat-like-smooth as ever, Vulk noted, and if it wasn’t for the slightly blurred voice he’d never know the man was drunk…

The cantor stood patiently by as his friend muttered the incantation and sank into the trance, staring into the flames… Vulk also gazed into the fire, but he saw nothing beyond the eternal beauty of the flickering, shifting flames themselves. For almost a turn of the glass they stood silent… the evening was warm, and if not for the breeze off the river Vulk, at least, would have found the heat from the forge oppressive. He doubted Devrik would be bothered by it, of course, or even notice it… wait! Was the man in a trance or had he fallen asleep?!

Apparently it was the former, because as the flames began to die down the fire mage’s mind slowly rose up from its trance, back into the world of matter and time. He shook his head, as if to clear it, and looked over at his friend, as if surprised to see him there.

“So, did you see anything? Did it work?” Vulk asked.

“Yes, it worked,” Devrik replied slowly. The blur was gone from his voice, and he seemed entirely sober now. “Xydona granted me a vision… I saw a man, tall, handsome, a military man… an officer, I could tell… on his face was a terrible smile… behind him were a billion stars and beautiful, shifting nebulae of many colors… between his cupped hands he held the globe… Novendo spinning silently… and from his fingers hideous, insect-like creatures streamed down to the surface… the Mi Go were there, leading the way, but so were other things, even more repellent and terrifying… and they swarmed across the face of the world until they were all that there was…”

Vulk was shaken by the mere description of the vision, and he was suddenly not upset that he hadn’t seen it too. “Did you recognize the man?” he asked when his friend showed no sign of continuing.

“No, but from Korwin’s description of face and armor, I’d guess it was the same man he saw in his psychometric vision. The one who arrived here days ago, aboard that fishing boat.”

•••••

The next morning, back at the palace, the Prince and his chief advisors spent almost two hours questioning the Hand – about themselves, the events on Arapet, and their theories of what yesterday’s events might mean. In the end, the Prince was convinced that the group were what they claimed to be, and the horror on Arapet all too true. The man’s own native intelligence and wit no doubt helped him reach this conclusion, but it was aided by the confident support of his major domo, Karl Esfantor. By the testimony of the Star Council rings each member of the Hand wore, they knew he too was an associate of that secretive cabal – and knew that he must know it of them, as well. They would have to speak with him privately, later, but for now his support was theirs.

Once the Prince made his decision to let the Hand fully in on his counsels, they sat down to a more relaxed discussion over brunch. Domus Esfantor revealed that the last ship known to have arrived in Tishton after having stopped at Arapet was over a month ago – a full tenday before the mysterious obelisk had appeared there. Small fishing vessels, of course, were not so closely tracked, as vessels under thirty feet required no local pilot.

“But now we learn of this ship, the Sailfish, and the mystery concerning its arrival and the current whereabouts of those who arrived aboard her,” the Prince said, sipping his hot chocolate appreciatively. “What of this man both Ser Korwin and Ser Devrik have seen in separate visions? Have you any guess who it might be?”

“A guess, yes, your Highness,” Vulk replied. “Discussing it this morning, it seems likely that the man is Legate Charkress’ Captain of Guards, a man named Frongar. Or perhaps something wearing his skin, if the man was unlucky.”

“Frongar?” The Prince seemed startled. “Damn, I know the man… I chose him personally for Charkress’ mission, in fact. He is… was…is a fine, principled man and a doughty fighter, but not afraid to use his head before his steel. I had been planning to promote away from Arapet in a few months, in fact… I shall be greatly saddened if he has been corrupted or… worse. Do you think there might be a chance to save him?”

The others looked uncomfortably at once another, and it was Mariala who spoke. “Perhaps, your Highness… but I don’t hold out much hope. The Mi-Go seemed to take the brains of the best of those they enslaved, and to then wear their victim’s forms to interact with other Umantari… more direct control than second-hand, via minions, I suppose. On a mission like this, away from their… nest… that seems most likely…”

“But even if Frongar is merely controlled, can that control be broken?” Erol asked. “What of your own people under the spell of the blue liquor, Prince Rapareth? How do they fare this morning?”

“I’m told that they awakened this morning confused and disoriented. They each claim to have no memory of the last two days. I had planned to send my Arcanist Royal to examine them after this meeting… I know you are anxious to question them yourselves, so perhaps you would like to accompany her now?”

Mariala and Erol agreed, and they left with Leraned Kira Lestoron, the Prince’s advisor on arcane matters and his Chief Sorcerer. Several guards escorted them down to the dungeons far below the palace proper, while the others remained with the Prince and his other advisors, discussing possible plans to combat the possible alien infestation they faced. It was slightly more than two turns of the glass before they returned, somewhat to the Prince’s surprise.

“It went quite quickly, yes, my liege,” Learned Lestoron said grimly at his inquiring look. “We started with wine steward Ejan Salaim, as the one apparently longest under the influence. As reported, he seemed confused and denied any memory of his treasonous attack on your person, your Highness, and hotly denied that it could be true. It was quite a convincing performance, actually.”

“Performance?” the Prince sighed unhappily.

“I’m afraid so, sire. Both Lady Mariala and I had prepared our spells of Truth Sense before we entered the cells, and there could be no doubt. I have seldom encountered an instance where the lies were so starkly revealed in someone’s words.”

“Indeed, your Highness,” Mariala confirmed. “I was suspicious of this convenient amnesia from the start – everyone on Arapet remembered their actions while under the aliens’ control. The memories were distant and blurred, to be sure – as if they happened long ago or to someone else – but they were there nonetheless. As the Learned Lestoron says, your steward’s lies blazed like a beacon in the night… barely a word he said had truth in it. And I’m afraid the other three were much the same.”

“So… it would seem like there are three different levels of Mi-Go domination,” Toran said slowly, thinking it through. “There’s the basic control, achieved through the emanations from that cursed obelisk; then there is the stronger control provided by the blue liquor, which seems to increase suggestibility, as well; and then there is the wearing of the actual skin and form of the victim.”

“Well, the obelisk is gone now, as are most of the Mi-Go,” Erol observed. “Which leaves the blue liquor and the skin-wearing… is there any way to tell which we’re dealing with here? Were the men who arrived on the Sailfish mind-controlled Umantari, or Mi-Go in Umantari skins? Or both?”

“The only way to be sure, I’m afraid, is to find them,” the Prince sighed. “I have my men searching the city, and I will put as many more to the task as I can spare… but it’s a large city, and when we must guard against suborned and controlled agents amongst ourselves on top of it all…”

“The longer they are allowed to run free, ensnaring more and more people, the harder it will be to eradicate them,” Erol said. “But I have an idea that just might lead us directly to them…”

•••••

The plan that the Hand eventually hammered out with the Prince and his councilors could not be implemented until the wee hours of the coming night, which not only gave the royal agents more time to find the renegades first, but freed up the Hand to take care of their own business during the rest of the day.

Leaving the palace just after mid-day the Hand of Fortune split up to go about their various errands: Mariala and Erol planned to return to the Wind of Kasira, after a stop first at the chandlery whose forge Devrik had used the night before; Korwin and Toran sought out the local Cartographer’s Guildhall, looking to purchase sea charts covering their planned route through the Archipelago; while Vulk and Devrik were scheduled to meet Master Alvador at the Merchant’s Guildhall to begin the process of selling as much of their alien cargo as possible (excepting the blue cordial, of course) and acquire the coin they desperately needed.

Toket & Sons Chandlery was a modestly sized, two story building, with walls of pale stone and dark timber and windows of mullioned glass. Entering through the large front door off the main quay, Mariala and Erol found the place dim and cool, permeated with smells of preserved foods, spices, old wood and leather. The small entry vestibule widened quickly to either side, and a central block, containing staircases up and down, effectively divided the interior into two spaces.

Mariala rather desultorily began to pursue the various crates of pickled, dried or otherwise preserved foods to her left. She was beginning to feel that nervous flutter which presaged the very beginning of Lyrin oil withdrawal… she hoped someone here might have a connection to the black market. If they were going into a fight tonight, as seemed likely, she’d have to take some risks to resupply herself… maybe that young man across the room to her right, doing something she couldn’t quite make out behind a counter?

Erol, oblivious to his friend’s nervousness, headed straight for the back area, where the hardware seemed to be and the most likely place to find the glassware he was interested in. He really needed to create more weaponized spheres soon, preferably before tonight, assuming their strategy came off as planned. Two men were in the larger back section of the shop – an older man behind a counter on the north side of the room, and a younger man (by his looks Erol guessed one of the “sons” in the shop’s name) near a display of cast iron pans and pots to the south.

“Excuse me,” Erol began, approaching the younger fellow. “I’m looking for glass spheres, such as might be used for fishing floats, can you –“ He was interrupted by Mariala’s sudden exclamation of alarm from the front of the shop, followed by a crash and the very distinctive thunk of a cross-bow bolt into wood. He turned to see what was happening, and the young man in front of him lunged forward, trying to bury a dagger in Erol’s neck.

The former gladiator’s reflexes had not been diminished by being transplanted to a Telnori body, indeed, quite the opposite – he whirled back to knock the blow aside, while aiming a roundhouse punch to his attacker’s face. But the man was wickedly fast himself, and Erol’s fist merely grazed his jaw as he sprang back.

Mariala, who had managed to dodge the practically point-blank cross-bow bolt fired at her only because she was turning to address the young man who had fired it, crouched down behind the crate of purple potatoes she’d knocked over. Her assailant was quickly cranking his cross-bow to load a second bolt, and to her left she could see his brother slashing at Erol with a long dagger. Raising both hands and stretching her arms in a wide “V” she unleashed a blast of Fire Nerves at both attackers, and felt the energy slam into them – a solid casting, if not her best given the widely-spaced targets. Both men staggered, and her’s dropped his cross-bow… but neither collapsed in agony as they should have.

They were staggered, however, at least momentarily. Erol took advantage of his opponent’s distraction to slam his own forehead into the would-be assassin’s face. He felt cartilage crumple and saw blood spray, yet the man managed to counter with another swipe of his long blade, which sliced through Erol’s tunic to lightly score his chest. Before he could follow up, however, the older man behind the northern counter, presumably Toket himself, gave an inarticulate roar – and sighted down a strange, metallic object, grasping it with both hands.

Once again, his reflexes saved Erol – he instantly recognized the device as a weapon, very much like the “guns” they had encountered on Arath and its parallels, and knew what was likely coming. Shoving the son away, hard, he dove in the opposite direction, coming down hard behind a barrel of wooden spars.

He was still surprised by the beam of coruscating energy that flared from the muzzle of the old man’s weapon. Of a color his eyes were not built to see, nor his brain to understand, it sizzled past his head to blast out a large chunk of the stone wall two meters behind him. Instinctively, Erol dropped into slowed time, barely aware that he’d done it. Trying to keep his distance would be fatal with that weapon, his only chance was to get in close…

Why the old man didn’t fire again immediately he didn’t know, but Erol didn’t waste the opportunity. He hurled his trident, forcing the man to dodge, then he was across the room and leaping over the counter in a blur of motion. His left hand grabbed for the weapon as he body slammed the older man backwards. They rammed into the shelves behind, and Erol’s head snapped forward for another head butt. Like his son before him Garet Toket’s nose broke, and his head bounced off a solid wooden post with a sound like a melon hitting pavement. He slid down to the floor, unconscious. Erol shoved the alien artifact into his sash and turned…

Mariala, meanwhile, had her Khundari dagger in hand as her assailant rushed toward her, his own blade out and held like he knew what he was about. She didn’t wait for his attack, driving her blade toward his gut in a sudden thrust… but he was faster than he should have been, and dodged the blow. He feinted left, then punched his dagger into her side, and Mariala staggered back, a red-hot pain shooting up her right abdomen. Her cuirass had deflected some of the blow’s force, but the blade had slipped past the front and back plates and into her. The strength of the blow had been enough to knock the air form her lungs, and her vision dimmed for an instant…

Instinctively she whirled away from the next lunge, blocking it with her superior blade, and to the skree of metal on metal she danced backward, putting space between them. He pressed forward hard, driving her against a stack of crates, and they exchanged feints and thrusts for a moment. Mariala finally succeeded in getting a cut in on the man’s forearm, but he hardly seemed to notice… and that was why, she realized, catching a glimpse of his blue-stained tongue as he gasped for air and glared at her.

Then Erol was behind her assailant, and a single blow from the ex-gladiator’s fist to the back of the man’s head sent him pitching sideways into unconsciousness. Mariala straightened from her defensive crouch with a relived gasp of her own, then winced at the pain in her side.

“Are you alright, Mariala?” Erol asked in concern, seeing the wince and the blood on her green leathers. He reached out to steady her, and she shrugged, briefly leaning on him.

“I’m alright, it’s not deep… just bleeding like the proverbial stuck pig. Are you injured?”

“No, no, nothing beyond a bit of a headache… head butts are effective, but it is something of a two-way street after all.” His brief grin faded. “But what the hell is going on here? I have to say, this is the worst customer service I’ve ever seen!”

“Yes,” Mariala agreed with an involuntary laugh. “If they didn’t want to deal with customers today, one wonders why they opened their doors in the first place. But seriously, did you notice if the ones you fought had blue tongues?”

“Ah, no, that wasn’t what I was focused on to be honest… but it’s easy enough to check…”

They quickly discovered that all three men, presumably the Toket & sons of the shop’s name, all had the tell-tale blue stain. Which in no way explained why they had attacked two strangers, with never a word spoken in the whole encounter.

“It’s as if they knew us, and were waiting for us,” Erol said, frowning.

“Yes, and if that is true, what of the others? We need to contact them, warn them to be on alert!”

Unfortunately, giving in to Devrik’s argument that they should spare the “batteries,” the Hand had not turned on their Scion-made communicators, and it was hours yet before their scheduled check-in time.

“We’ll just have to trust that they can take care of themselves,” Erol shrugged. A sudden thought occurred to him then, and his eyes widened. “But we need to return to the ship immediately! If this was a trap laid specifically for us, they might well be trying to take the Wind even now!”

•••••

The Cartographer’s Guildhall was only one street down from the palace to the east, and as they were in no particular hurry Toran didn’t object when Korwin insisted they had to purchase a pastry that a particular street vendor was selling. It was indeed quite good, Toran and to admit, the almond flavor delightful, if a little sweeter than he generally cared for.

“They’re even better hot from the ovens,” Korwin assured him. “A little melted butter on top, there’s nothing better!”

“I was a bit worried when you said I had to try a “bear claw,” Toran laughed as he licked the last bit of filling from his fingers. “I’m glad they turned out to be so delightfully not what I was envisioning!”

The guildhall was a long two-story building of mellow golden stone with a red slate roof and large stained glass windows, and a narrow park-like yard between it and the street. In the beautiful and stately main foyer of rich mahogany walls and brilliant colored mosaic floors they were met by the stout, white-haired and dignified Master Cartographer, Larun Kelgrove.

“Certainly domi, we can accommodate your needs,” he beamed when he learned who they were and what was wanted. “Already your magnificent vessel is the talk of the town, and it will be a pleasure to provide her with charts appropriate to her stature. Let me just guide you to one of our viewing rooms and I will then gather several offerings which I think it will please you to consider.”

In his mind’s eye Toran saw their cash reserves shrinking like a snow ball in a forge. He certainly hoped that Vulk and Master Alvador were having luck at the Merchant’s Guildhall, finding buyers for their cargo…

Before Master Kelgrove could lead them anywhere, however, a younger man, apparently an apprentice by his deference to the older one, appeared from a side hall and offered to escort the distinguished guests to the viewing room, freeing up his master to bring the maps that much more quickly.

“Oh, why yes, an excellent idea Jaxim,” the master agreed, apparently surprised by his subordinate’s initiative but not displeased. “Yes, take the gentlemen to the East Room and I will be along shortly.”

The apprentice, a tall man in his late twenties with ash-blond hair, so light as to be almost white, and green-gold eyes, introduced himself with a tight-lipped smiles as Jaxim Hondül and motioned them to follow. The East Room proved to a luxuriously appointed chamber lined with bookshelves of oak and teak, filled with atlases and volumes on travel, geography and history. Deep rugs of classic Oceanian geometric designs covered the hardwood floor, and various tables and comfortable-looking chairs were scattered discreetly about. Flanked by two large stained glass windows on the south wall was a large antique globe in an ebony and gold stand.

Two men were already present in the room, standing at different bookcases and examining the offerings. Neither looked up as the newcomers entered the room… Toran’s trained ninja senses suddenly went into high alert — and then everything seemed to happen at once.

Apprentice Hondül had turned away, as if to leave the room, then whirled around, pulling what Toran recognized as a Mi-Go weapon from his tunic. At the same instant one of the strangers raised a cross-bow he’d been concealing, aiming it at Korwin.

Korwin saw the cross-bow, but not the alien weapon, and he dodged as the bolt was loosed. His attacker, tracking him, pulled the trigger just as he realized Hondül was now between him and his target. The bolt went straight through the apprentice’s right forearm, sending blood and the Mi-Go weapon flying across the room. Jaxim’s scream seemed as much from surprise and rage as from pain.

At the same instant the third man drew a bastard sword and rushed at Toran, aiming a mighty swing at his torso. Toran already had his battleaxe half drawn when the man began to move, and he counterstuck as he dodged. The sword scrapped along his armor, and might leave a bruise, but no worse; Toran’s axe, however, bit deep, cutting through coat, tunic and leather armor to send a spray of blood arcing out across the room. The man staggered back, barely avoiding the Khundari’s follow-through blow.

Korwin drew his cutlass, but realized he couldn’t make it across the room before the man with the cross-bow fired another bolt – he raised his hand and muttered a word. A shimmering sliver of blue ice appeared and flew straight and true — only to embed itself in the cross-bow his target had raised, with shocking speed, to block it. The effort had saved the man from taking the ice needle in the neck, but the weapon was ruined. He tossed it aside with a snarl and drew a curved dagger, rushing forward.

Korwin met him with his cutlass, parrying the man’s attack and cutting deep into his shoulder. The would-be assassin screamed and leapt back, but didn’t drop his blade. Only his slight shifting glance to Korwin’s left warned the water mage… he turned to see that Jaxim Hondül had retrieved the alien weapon he’d lost and was aiming it, left-handed, right at him. He leapt to the side, bringing his cutlass up between them – the beam of shimmering, alien color, a color his mind refused to see, struck the blade, which vanished in a cloud of glittering dust. The nimbus of the blast seared Korwin’s left side, and he crashed to the floor, dazed.

Toran, parrying another attack with his battleaxe saw his friend go down. Wielding the axe one-handed, he raised the other to send a flight of Stavin’s Arrows at Korwin’s opponent, sending the man staggering back clutching his arm, his dagger dropping from nerveless fingers. This caused Jaxim to shift his aim from the downed water mage to the dwarf, only to find his shot momentarily blocked by his accomplice.

Unfortunately, splitting his attention cost Toran — his opponent’s sword pierced his shoulder, and his battleaxe dropped from his suddenly nerveless grip. Rolling away from the follow-up attack the Shadow Adept loosed a split attack of Stavin’s Arrows – two of them took his attacker in the gut, causing him to double over and collapse; the other took Jaxim in the arm, and he almost lost his grip on his weapon again.

This byplay had given Korwin time to gather his scattered wits, and rising to one knee he launched another Ice Needle of Burkon at the disintegration-ray-wielding Jaxim. This one took the apprentice in the chest… he stared at Korwin in disbelieve for an instant before a gout of blood erupted from his mouth and he collapsed. The alien device clattered to the wooden floor and spun away under a chair.

This left only one would-be assassin, but Korwin could see that Toran was wounded and weaponless, while he himself had nothing but the hilt of his cutlass, with maybe an inch of blade. The lone remaining attacker was bearing down on him with murder in his eye, his long, curved dagger glinting. Burned and still a bit dazed, Korwin called on his reserves and prepared to summon the Effluvium, that magical, elemental water of his convocation, to encase the man’s head… he’d drown the bastard on dry land, by Tyvos!

His Form was good, but in his distracted and injured state it wan’t until he was pouring the Principle into it that he sensed the powerful wards that protected the building they stood in. Wards against fire, of course, in a storehouse of books, scrolls and paper – but also wards against water.

“Oh shit!” was all Korwin had time to say before those wards shattered his Form. Ethereal water formed around him in a maelstrom powerful enough to knock everyone still standing off their fee, drench the quick and the still alike, before blasting through the two large windows. Stained glass shattered as the water roared out to soak the narrow yard and the street beyond… but not a single book in the room was even dampened, a dazed and shaky Korwin noted.

Toran recovered first, and he quickly dispatched the last ambusher into unconsciousness with the flat of his recovered battleaxe while the man was still gasping and groping around for his own weapon. At that moment the door burst open and Master Kelgrove stood in the doorway, a bundle of maps and charts clutched in his arms, his eyes wide and his mouth agape.

“Out apologies, master,” Toran said as he sheathed his axe across his back and rolled over the last attacker with a booted foot. “But you seem to have a rather nasty infestation of assassins…”

•••••

Vulk and Devrik, with Brann frolicking happily around them (he’d been a very good dog during the long meeting with the Prince, content to gnaw the large bone his Grace had ordered brought for him underneath the table), had to wait for half a turn of the glass before Master Alvador was due to meet them. Sitting in companionable silence on a stone bench outside the guildhall, they watched the crowds going about their varied and sundry business in the large Imperial Square.

Vulk was worried about his friend. Although never a voluble man, he’d turned positively taciturn since the events under Arapet Town — at turns moody, uncommunicative, and distracted. They had all been deeply shaken by the horrors they’d experienced in those caverns, but Devrik seemed to have taken it particularly hard, and Vulk was unsure what to say to help drive his melancholy away. Maybe if they could get Raven here she might do it…

Master Alvador arrived precisely on time, looking very professional and competent in his best blue tunic, black hose and scarlet, ankle length vest cloak, embroidered in gold. He had a jaunty hat on his head, a leather folio of documents under his arm, and swung a silver-headed walking stick of ebony. Vulk had noticed that such canes were very common amongst the well-to-do in the Empire… or at least here in Tishton. He might’ve considered looking into one for himself if he didn’t already posses his much cooler Staff.

“Well, gentleman,” Alvador said after they’d exchanged greetings,” I imagine Master Ossar is waiting for us… shall we?” He gestured at the broad steps up to the rather grand entrance of the guildhall.

“I’ll just wait out here with Brann,” Devrik rumbled diffidently, staring at the cobbles between his boots. “I know little of these mercantile matters, and would be of little use in there.”

“What? Nonsense!” The merchant seemed genuinely surprised. “On the contrary, you must come in with us, Ser Devrik… you have a commanding, indeed dare I say intimidating, presence! And your voice… well, let us say that you will lend a very real gravitas to our negotiations. And the hound won’t hurt either!”

Devrik looked at Alvador at last, reluctantly. He’s been avoiding that recently, because whenever he did, he saw the man back on that slab, a tear running down his immobile face, only his eyes showing his horror as he was dissected alive. A sudden epiphany struck Devrik — maybe that was why he’d so foolishly flirted the night before, and came so close to making a terrible mistake – a desperate grab at life over death and horror. Sighing, he allowed Vulk’s added cajolery to “convince” him, and he stood to accompany them inside.

The interior of the Merchant’s Guildhall was every bit as ostentatiously impressive as its carved, inlaid and rococo façade had promised. Polished floors of intricately patterned black and white marble graced the large entry foyer, where graceful stone pillars upheld vaulted ceilings of cedar and mahogany and bronze lamps illuminated everything with a rich golden light. A sweeping staircase of red marble, carpeted in deep burgundy velvet, lay before them, curving up to either side at a landing dominated by a massive stained glass window, made brilliant by the sun.

An usher greeted them, and hearing their names and business led them through beautifully carved teak doors to their left, into an only slightly less grand reception room. She assured them that Master Ossar and his people would be with them presently, and invited the guests to partake of the refreshment provided on a side table. Bowing, she departed, closing the double doors behind her.

Before anyone could move toward the sideboard and the various decanters of wine and plates of savory viands, however, a door on the far end of the room opened and a tall, balding man in robes and vest cloak even richer than Master Alvador’s, strode in. He was flanked by two others, obviously apprentices or secretaries — a regal looking young woman with dark hair to his left and a boyish looking youth to his right.

“Ah, Vertan, it’s good to see you again–” Alvador stepped forward, as the group approached, hands outstretched, but stopped suddenly when the youth whipped up a cross-bow, and the girl and the merchant each drew knife and dagger, respectively. “What –?”

The cross-bow’s metallic thrum cut him off, and Vulk staggered back several steps and collapsed with a bolt piercing his left shoulder. His staff clattered to the marble floor and his vision darkened with pain. To his right, Devrik was taken by surprise by the knife that flew from the girl’s hand and embedded itself in his chest. He too collapsed, if only to one knee, clutching at the blade.

Master Alvador, shocked at the sudden and inexplicable violence, nonetheless reacted without thinking. His old acquaintance was drawing something metallic and glittering from his vest – and with a thrill of horror he recognized it as one of the alien Mi-Go’s terror weapons. Before Ossar had fully pulled out the weapon, much less aimed it, Alvador’s cane whipped up and came down on his hand with a crack that echoed off the stone walls. The master merchant screamed and the weapon clattered to the marble floor, spinning away.

The man’s male apprentice had been advancing on the downed Vulk, dagger now drawn, but at this turn of events he lunged instead at Alvador. The merchant tried to block the blow, but the youth was preternaturally fast and the blade drove deep into his belly. Alvador gasped… for an instant he was suddenly back on the alter of the aliens… his flesh was being cut open… then everything went mercifully black…

But his attack had been all the break his companions had needed. Before Alvador had finished collapsing Brann, with a savage snarl, leaped at the female apprentice, as she drew a second blade. His powerful jaws would have closed on her throat had she not ducked her head at the last instant – instead his fangs left bloody furrows from the top of her skull to her collar bone, and part of her ear was torn loose and swallowed. Screaming in pain and fear, her knife hand came up to knock the hound away, the blade grazing his side as he tumbled to the floor. Clutching at her bleeding face, she never saw the blow from the flat of Devrik’s sword that sent her spinning into unconsciousness.

Vulk, at the same moment, was crawling to his knees and grasping for his staff. Finding it, he raised it just as the male apprentice was turning away from the downed and bleeding Alvador, coming once more for Vulk. The cantor uttered a Word. White strands of shimmering energy shot from the Staff and engulfed the youth almost entirely, before snaking around and beyond him to ensnare the still yowling Master Ossar as well. Both men were immobilized, struggling futilely in the unbreakable bands of power.

“Vulk!” Devrik called form where he knelt beside the fallen girl. “Her tongue is blue!”

Cursing, Vulk fumbled at his belt, pulling out his Vanguard communicator and shoving it into his ear. As he clicked the power on Mariala’s voice came blasting through – “—one hear me? We’ve been ambushed by blue-tongued assassins! Vulk? Devrik? Toran? Can anyone hear me?”

•••••

The immediate aftermath of the three ambushes was chaotic. Devrik intimidated the guild page who’d burst into the chamber at his bellowing call into wide-eyed compliance, sending her to summon the Prince’s men. His bloody tunic no doubt helped establish a tone – although thanks to armor and a rib, the knife had done little real damage. Vulk, ignoring the cross-bow bolt in his own shoulder, knelt beside Danir Alvador and sank at once into his healing trance. He’d brought the man back from worse, and he’d be damned if he’d lose him to this! Fortunately, Alvador still had the specific Baylorium dose, keyed to his body alone, coursing through him. Combined with Vulk’s psychic healing, it meant that the wound, otherwise almost certainly fatal, was merely painful.

At the Cartographers’ Guild panic and bewilderment gave way to relieve when the Imperial Guard arrived, and Korwin blessed the communicators that had allowed him to tell Devrik to send help to them as well. The Wind of Kasira, thankfully, hadn’t seemed to be a focus of the coordinated attacks, and Erol and Mariala were able to leave Mate Grünby and the twins on watch and return to the palace to meet the others.

Once the Hand had regrouped there, the Prince ordered the palace essentially locked down and his Guard put on full alert. Between Vulk’s healing touch, the potions and skill of the Royal Arcanist, and almost the last of their Baylorium supply, everyone was back to full fighting strength not long after sundown. After a modest repast with Prince Rapareth and his key advisors, and a serious discussion over whether or not to continue, the plan developed that morning was set in motion…

•••••

Gilmon Thürkist sat listlessly on the stone floor of his cell, absently twisting a piece of straw into knots. His mind, never a powerhouse of activity at the best of times, was blank save for the visions of bliss that the Captain had placed there two days ago. The visions and the fear, running in an endless loop. He had failed to carry out his mission, would the angels still come for him when the moment came for the glorious Ascension? Those beautiful beings of a higher power, and the realm of light and wonder they came from. But he had failed, so would they still come for…

The loop of his thoughts was broken by the sudden clang and scrape of his cell door being opened. Two soldiers – he recognized them, Andresik and Portuno – shoved a third man into the cell, ignoring Gilmon with a studied contempt. As the door slammed shut again he saw that it was a small, wiry fellow who was picking himself up from the floor and dusting himself off. He was in his 40s, perhaps, with long dirty blond hair, clean shaven except for a thin mustache, and was dressed all in black. Both he and his clothes looked rather the worse for wear. No doubt the boyos had worked him over a bit, that being generally considered good sport amongst his fellow guards (well, ex-fellow guards now), whatever the poor sod had done. Or maybe it was because he…

“Are you a convert of the angelic Mi-Go?” he asked the newcomer eagerly. Perhaps he had succeeded where Gilmon had failed, and the apostate Prince was…

“The what of the who, now?” the man replied, sounding confused. His accent was… odd. “No, I’m no convert to anything, my friend. Just a very talented thief who apparently picked the worst possible night to steal the Prince Palatine’s concubine’s stash of jewels. How in the eight hells of Korön was I to know the palace would be in such an uproar? It’s damned unfair, if you ask me… it was such a beautiful plan!”

Gilmon slumped back, losing interest. Just a common criminal then, not a fellow acolyte, and some sort of foreigner to boot. He ignored the fellow’s attempts to draw him out, and after a minute the would-be thief gave up. But Gilmon’s attention was soon drawn back to his cellmate by the sound of metal on metal… the man was hunched over the lock on their cell door, doing something he couldn’t quite make out.

“What are you doing?”

The man glanced over at him briefly before returning his attention to his task. “I’m getting out of here. I’m sure the Prince’s hospitality is of the very highest quality, but I’d hate to think I was putting him out… so I’ll just…” there was a sudden click, and the cell door swung open… “be on my way.”

Gilmon stared in somewhat bovine amazement as the thief folded up some bits of metal and returned them to his left boot. Without another word or glance, the black-clad fellow slipped out of the cell and began moving furtively down the corridor. It took a minute to penetrate, but Gilmon suddenly realized that this was his opportunity to rejoin the others, to be sure the angels could find him when the time came. Scrambling to his feet, he followed the quickly disappearing thief.

Catching up with him at the entrance to the dungeons, he was just in time to see him release his chokehold on the lone sentry there, letting the unconscious man slump to the stones. The Palace must be in an uproar indeed if they only had one man on down here…

“Ah, you’ve decided to join me,” the thief’s greeting broke his tenuous chain of thought. “Good! Any chance you know your way around this pile? I had my routes well planned, but I never intended to visit the dungeons, I must confess.”

“Yes,” Gilmon nodded, and pointed to the left. “There’s a way out through the storage rooms, down this way.” He led off and the thief, after a brief hesitation, followed. After several minutes of twisting corridors, crate- and sack-packed rooms, and a crawl up a ladder, the two men stood in the shadows of the courtyard at the back of the palace.

“Well done my friend,” the thief whispered, slapping Gilmon on the shoulder. “Over that last wall and we’re home free!”

Aranda had already set… it must be well into the Owl watch by now… and the lesser moon was a mere sliver, low in the sky. Gilmon thought they had made it indeed, as they scrambled up the two meter high outer wall, more ornamental than defensive, that surrounded the Palace ground – until he heard the shout from behind them.

“You two there! Stop! Stop or we’ll shoot!”

With a curse, the thief made it to the top of the wall just behind Gilmon, who had dropped quickly over the side at the first cry. But before the thief could follow suit he gave a strangled gasp. Gilmon looked up to see the man shilouetted against the stars, turning sideways, an arrow embedded in his back. He seemed to pause for a moment before plunging over the wall to land at the former guard’s feet. He didn’t move.

Gilmon didn’t hesitate. Without another look back he took off across the street, disappearing into the shadows of the nearest alley before anyone from the palace was in a position to see him. He should be grateful to the thief for helping him escape, he supposed. But really, the man was a criminal, and his fate was no more than he deserved. The important thing was, now Gilmon Thürkist would be able to join the angels in their glorious Mi-Go heaven when the Ascension came…

•••••

Had former-Guardsman Thürkist lingered a moment and looked back, he would have seen the still form of his erstwhile cellmate suddenly shimmer, like a heat mirage in summer, as the arrow vanished from his back and his body shortened and thickened, his hair turning black and a beard sprouting…

Toran was just tucking his illusion amulet on its chain away beneath his tunic when Korwin stepped out of the shadows. Even then he was hard to see, a toneless thing of grays thanks to his spell of blending. He stuck out a hand and Toran took it, letting his friend help him to his feet.

“Mariala has Wallflowered the others,” he reported, putting a hand to his ear and listening. “Two streets down that alley, then to the right…”

As a Shadow Adept Toran needed no spells to blend into the night and pass unseen, and the two set off after their friends, all of them on the trail of their pigeon as he flew home to his roost.

•••••

Captain Emiron Frongar sat in the darkened office of the Port Master, and brooded. Or it would have appeared to his human minions that he brooded, had they dared to disturb him. But, in fact, the thing that wore Frongar’s form was not brooding – its species did not, generally, experience emotions the way humans experienced them, and so was incapable of brooding, as such. The Mi-Go did not experience love, or fear, or desire, or much else that a human might recognize… in point of fact, the only major emotion the two races shared was anger. And so the thing that appeared to be Emiron Frongar sat in the dark and contemplated its fury, that towering rage that burned in an otherwise cold mind.

When it had lost communication with its fellow colonists five diurnal revolutions of this planet past, Designate Xhr-Ajwuzkn-39 (which is as close as a human mind could come to how the creature thought of itself) had simply assumed it was a mere technical glitch. There were always some issues with the more complex mechanical and electronic devices in a new dimension, until they had adapted them to the local quantum conditions. It had not been overly concerned.

But when the Black Wind of Corruption had sailed into the harbor yesterday, several days early, it had known deep in its fungoid hearts that something had gone terribly wrong. Within hours it had learned that the vessel was crewed and commanded by feral humans, and had confirmed this by coming close enough to sense their mental vibrations – while some of the crew had clearly been tamed by the obelisk at some point, they were now reverted to their wild state; and the group in command had never been tamed at all, neither by the obelisk nor the blue binding beverage.

That was when the anger had begun to build. It only intensified when Xhr-Ajwuzkn-39 learned what had actually transpired on Arapet. Its score of tamed human mind-thralls had collected the garbled tales told on the docks and in the taverns, and its cold, analytical mind had synthesized them all into a version of events that it estimated to be 98.79% accurate. But how could it be possible? How could six of these disgusting, weak, mewling non-entities have managed to not only destroy the Mi-Go’s nascent colony but actually seal the dimensional rift through which they had come?

Self-deception and wishful thinking, however, were not Mi-Go traits, and Xhr-Ajwuzkn-39 wasted no time denying what it had calculated to be the truth. But the question of “how” remained important if it was to defeat the interlopers, recover the Black Wind of Corruption, and fulfill the Mi-Go destiny of taking this planet, and ultimately this universe, for themselves and the Elder Gods.

It seemed obvious that this particular group of humans possessed powers the Mi-Go had not previously encountered in this reality… admittedly, their initial sample population had been small. But the race had encountered other species that wielded what some called “magic” – the basic power of the Great Old Ones, and the cosmic background power that fueled their own technology – and it was certain these were merely more of the same. They could be conquered once one was prepared for them… they were, after all, merely human.

Unfortunately, Xhr-Ajwuzkn-39 had limited resources to claw. Aside from the several score of humans it had enthralled by now through the blue bonding beverage here in Tishton, it had three fellow Mi-Go, disguised in these repulsive human skins, each with two disruptors; the two human brothers; a handful of others in the city under its direct mental dominion; and its own disruptor… plus, of course, the idol.

Subterfuge and assassination had seemed the safest and surest route to destroy its enemies, especially after they had upended, within a few hours of their arrival, its plan to suborn and make a puppet of the human ruler of this island. Its tamed mind-thralls were sent out to learn all they could of the enemy, and ambushes were laid for when the group might split itself to various tasks. To ensure the humans could not bring whatever powers they possessed to bear, Xhr-Ajwuzkn-39 ordered its Mi-Go subordinates to give over one of their disruptors each, one to each group of human pawns, for overwhelming force.

And yet they had failed, every one of them! To make matters worse, the cursed humans now had three of their seven disruptors. It spent only a moment in useless regret that it had not sent its subordinate Mi-Go, as well… they would not have failed, it was certain… but it had dared not risk their future reproduction. In any case, the past was immutable – only that future mattered.

It was time to cut their losses. Time to take back the Black Wind of Corruption and flee, find a place to nest and to rebuild. With four of them (the Mi-Go had no gender, at least not in the sense the meat creatures did) they could build a safe haven and in a few years repopulate a new hive-colony. Between them they had the knowledge to recreate many of the Mi-Go weapons, even starting with the primitive technology of this backward world… in 10 circuits of the planet around its primary they would be ready to begin again…

They would need a distraction, however, something to draw this “Hand of Fortune” away from their stolen vessel long enough for them to re-seize it and escape… ah, it had just the idea! It would leave thousands of the alien meat creatures dead and their city in ruins, but what mattered that? It would keep the dangerous ones too occupied to interfere. Very well, first it would have to – a commotion from the yard interrupted it’s cold, precise thoughts.

The thing wearing Captain Fronger’s skin rose and went to the window that looked down into the main yard of the city’s principal Bonding House. A human had entered and was speaking excitedly to several of the minions… it recognized the creature, one of the island ruler’s guards, enthralled with orders to kill the ruler if he didn’t drink the blue – wait! All those thralls and been taken alive it knew. How had this one escaped…

Disgust was one of the minor emotions the Mi-Go shared with humans. The fool had been allowed to escape, of course. Which meant the useless tool had lead the dangerous feral humans straight to them. Its disgust slowly gave way to a cold calculation. This could actually save it some trouble, if the interlopers could be destroyed here, now, in the dark hours of the morning. It reached out and stroked the tentacles of the idol that stood next to the window, muttering an alien phrase three times… a phrase that would have driven any human hearing it quite mad…

Great Cthulhu might not be the Mi-Go’s preferred Old One, but it was certainly the one most ideally suited to this watery world. He felt the power of the idol begin to radiate outward in waves, and turned to go out to chastise that useless human… and wait for its enemies to make their entrance…

•••••

The Hand of Fortune gathered in the shadows across from the open gate to the storeyard of Tishton’s main Bonding House and quietly conferred on their next move. Sunrise was still some hours away, and both moons were now set; only the blaze of stars overhead and a few lanterns within the yard’s precincts gave any illumination. Within the walls, at the center of the wide yard, stood the man from Korwin’s and Devrik’s vision, the presumed Captain Frongar, alone and staring into the darkness of the street beyond the gates.

“He’s not alone, of course,” Vulk said sotto voce to the others. Cherdon was invisible in the night sky save for an occasional flicker of black against the stars, but its sharp eyes picked out every one of the dozen figures waiting in ambush. “There are at least 12 others hidden behind piles of crates and stacked barrels around the bonding yard,” the cantor continued. He quickly described their positions as his familiar relayed the visions.

“If some of us can get in behind them, before they know we’re here, we can turn the tables,” Toran said. “Mariala, how is your Wallflower spell holding up?” His friend muttered a few words and gestured at the Khundari and at Vulk, reinforcing the spell of not-noticing on them while letting it fade on the rest of the group. Erol took a moment to cast his own spell of true invisibility on himself, and the three moved quietly toward the partially open gates.

“Come, come, do not hide in the shadows,” Captain Frongar called out after a moment. His voice, a naturally pleasant tenor, had the unmistakable clicking burr of the aliens, removing any doubt that he was actually a Mi-Go wearing Frongar’s skin. “I know you allowed that idiot to escape so that he might lead you to me, and now here we are.

“No need to delay the inevitable… I do not know how you managed to defeat my companions, but it could only have been through stealth and surprise – two advantages you do not now possess. By the rising of your sun, you will all be dead, and the Black Wind of Corruption will be back under the control of we who built it.”

While the alien monologued, Vulk and Erol moved forward into the flickering torchlight of the yard. Toran followed, pausing in the shadows of the gate, while Vulk moved boldly into the courtyard to the left of faux-Frongar. Erol did the same to the right, equally stealthily. As the Mi-Go finished speaking the rest of the Hand stepped forward from the shadows into the middle of the street, revealing themselves. Devrik continued forward several more paces to issue a challenge…

And froze as a wave of sudden, gut-wrenching terror washed over him. His companions were all likewise rooted in place, muscles turned to jelly, hands suddenly sweating and nerveless on their weapons. The struggle to not curl up in a ball of mewling fear or, better yet, to run screaming into the night, was all consuming for a moment.

Eventually Devrik pulled himself together, and spoke… later, he could never remember exactly what he said, except that even in his own ears his voice had sounded tremulous, weak and uncertain. The rage this caused served to burn away some of the terror, however, and he tightened his grip on his battlesword, willing his nerveless fingers to new strength.

Frongar laughed at the challenge – and in a lightening move he lashed out with his fist, taking Vulk utterly by surprise as he stood frozen in horror and fear nearby. His last thought as he spun down to the stones and darkness was that he hoped Erol’s invisibility was more effective… damn aliens…

Seeing his friend go down so suddenly, so completely, pushed Erol into his hyper-time state, the fear stretching as his sense of time did. He attacked Frongar before it could move to finish Vulk, casting his net in a brilliant throw that should have ensnared the inhuman creature… but the alien‘s reflexes seemed as fast as his own, and it successfully snagged it in mid-air, hurling it to one side.

The Frongar-thing might be fast, but Erol was just a little faster – his follow-up trident attack pierced the alien’s side, and it leaped back with a shrill hiss of pain and anger. It reached for something concealed in its tunic…

While this was going on Toran was struggling to master the almost overwhelming fear. He called on all his Kahar-üm-Tem training, and gradually the terror receded enough for him to regain a shaky control. But his attempt to cast B’harik’s Cloak upon himself, to turn his skin to stone-like hardness when struck, fizzled and sputtered out into nothing. With a curse, he reached back and pulled his battleaxe, Ergonkïr, over his shoulder… fine, he’d do it the hard way!

Mariala, after a moments struggle, walled off the horror and fear in her mind. It was enough for her to cast a spell of Resistance on herself, and the success helped her to further calm her mind… although the terror remained, if muted. With a deep breath she drew her Khundari blade… given her current shaky state, combined with the early stages of Lyrin withdrawal, she was reluctant to cast further spells unless absolutely necessary…

Devrik, in a burst of fear-fueled rage, apparently had no such fears. He unleashed Arkel’s Fiery Ribbons, the rainbow-hued flames twisting up the blade of his sword before leaping out into the courtyard. He dared not aim directly at Frongar, with a now-visible Erol engaged with it and an unconscious Vulk laying nearby, so the colorful ribbons of fire arced out to either side.

A pile of crates to the right burst into flame, forcing three rough-looking longshoremen from their concealing shelter, cursing and slapping at smouldering clothes. To the left a stack of barrels also burst into flames, and they appeared to have contained brandy, for two men staggered screaming away, hair and clothes wreathed in flames. One was clearly human, who quickly fell to the pavement, his shrieks dying out as he burned. The other was equally clearly a disguised Mi-Go, for as it’s skin began to burn it struggled desperately to free itself of its disguise.

Paying no attention to any of this, the false Frongar fired the disruptor it had pulled from its tunic at Erol, at point-blank range! But Erol remained in his hyper state and twisted out of the alien-colored beam with an impressive twist-and-duck. The beam flashed over him, narrowly missing Devrik beyond, who was forced to release his fiery ribbons and leap aside as well. A section of the iron gates beside them disintegrated in a hissing cloud of silvery dust..

Korwin, having regained enough control of himself to push the fear down, had retreated to the shadows near the other gate, where Toran was preparing to enter the fray. The water mage touched him on the shoulder first, however, and then Mariala, as he cast Demokiran’s Freeze, exempting them both from the spell’s effects… as a sheet of ice spread rapidly from Korwin’s feet, fanning out into the bonding yard…

As he climbed back to his feet after avoiding Frongar’s stray death ray, Devrik found himself facing another of the disguised Mi-Go, its claws partially ripped through its flesh disguise, another disruptor gripped in one. It fired, and he dove to the other side, the beam narrowly missing him and instead disintegrating the rest of the gate.

Rolling back to his feet Devrik whipped a javelin from his back and hurled it with all his considerable strength at the creature. The shaft pierced the alien’s torso, knocking it back and pinning it to a large crate behind it, the disruptor spinning off into the shadows. The fire mage’s satisfaction was brief , however. He watched in suddenly resurgent horror as the thing pulled itself forward and off the javelin… and came at him, drawing a sword! Devrik stumbled back, slipping on the suddenly icy cobblestones and going to one knee…

Erol, feeling the world begin to speed up around him, focused his mind and renewed his psionic extratemporal ability, which allowed him to avoid a stumble as he slipped on the ice. But in trying to use his trident to disarm the alien Captain Frongar of his disruptor he slipped again, and this time he went down. But that stumble may have saved his life – a second disintegrator blast sizzled overhead to take out a stack of wine barrels behind him.

In its fury, Frongar ripped its second set of arms from its fleshy costume, ripping the first set free of the human arms as well. One clawed arm blocked Erol’s next attack, and two of the other three countered with a flurry of rending claws. Erol managed to avoid them all, if barely, on the now treacherously slick pavement.

Toran, meanwhile, had leapt into the fray unencumbered by the ice, wielding his battleaxe in a bloody fury against several of the alien’s enthralled minions to reach Frongar itself. He brought Ergonkïr around in a mighty overhand swing, but the creature deflected the blow with one of its chitinous armored limbs, somehow keeping its own feet on the ice. But ichor seeped from the injured limb…

Mariala, having disciplined her mind to suppress her terror, snuck up on the third Mi-Go, also partially out of its disguise. It was trying to stealthily circle around to take Toran from behind, and had failed to see the woman in the shadows. She aimed a powerful blow with her dagger at its back, but the creature managed to slip on the ice – she ended up pithing it through the skull, killing it instantly.

Vulk, meanwhile, was struggling to free himself from a seemingly endless cycle of nameless terrors that filled his unconscious mind, straining to pull himself back into consciousness and the light. But every time he thought he’d succeeded, the horrors pulled him back down into the darkness, to the waiting things that lurked there…

That same endless wave of terror continued to batter at Devrik’s rage-fueled will, until he suddenly had had enough. “To the Void with this,” he muttered as four more muscular and savage-looking men, and one naked and lightly singed Mi-Go, rushed to attack him. He Orb of Voroled the lot, setting the yard even further aflame. One man managed to escape the brunt of the fire ball with only moderate burns, remaining mostly functional; but the other three were entirely immolated. The alien… having previously shed its burning human skin at last, now found itself again engulfed in flames. This time it had no skin to crawl out of but its own, and it died a slow and agonizing death.

Korwin, cautiously entering into the fight with the cutlass he’d borrowed from Yonas Grünby in hand, saw the burning alien draw and attempt to fire a disruptor. In its death throes, however, it lost control, and the device spun away, skittering over the iced pavement. Korwin carefully reached out with his mind and telekinetically snagged the silvery alien weapon, drawing it slowly toward himself. Now if only he could figure out how to use it…

By this time people were stumbling all over the ice, slipping and sliding but still determined to fight. The longshoreman singed by Devrik, still on his feet and deciding a little guy might be easier prey, took a sword to Toran. The Shadow Adept countered, severing the man’s left leg at the knee, and then halfway buried his axe in the man’s neck on the follow-up stroke… the man’s dying thought was that maybe he should’ve stuck with someone his own size…

Frongar, holding off Erol and apparently still pissed about being wounded by the Dwarf, now aimed the disruptor at Toran while he was engaged in hacking apart the human thrall. Mariala, however, had snuck up behind the distracted Frongar and now knifed it in the shoulder. The shot went wild, taking out part of the yard wall, and it dropped the disruptor with a shriek.

Before either Mariala or Erol could follow up on the attack, however, there was a brilliant flash of white light. An intense pain, just behind the eyes, left everyone nearby by stunned and blinded. The pain began to recede almost at once, but the stupor lingered… one minute? Five minutes? No one was quite sure afterward. But as their vision cleared it became obvious that the thing that had been Captain Frongar had fled, and its one surviving fellow Mi-Go with it.

The disruptor was nowhere to be found, Mariala noted… but more importantly, the constant waves of terror that had been washing over her since the fight began were gone as well. It was like a crushing weight had been lifted, or going out of doors again after a long convalescence as an invalid. She felt lighter than air, and only now realized how much energy she’d had to expend to keep herself moving at all.

The others clearly were experiencing similar feelings, and Vulk finally began to come around, slowly pulling himself from the grip of the nightmares that had held him in agonized unconsciousness. Devrik, seeing them still surrounded by half a dozen burly longshoremen, attempted to ignite his sword with the Goraten’s Brand. The sudden release of the fear and rage, however, had left him spent and still a bit groggy, and the spell fizzled out in a few sparks. Erol, eschewing any magic, simply spitted the nearest enemy who came at him on his trident.

Their remaining enemies showed no signs of dismay at the defection of their leader, and seemed as intent as ever on killing the Hand. Fortunately, they too had been blinded and stunned, and Korwin’s sheet of ice still covered the cobblestones of the yard, impeding their movements. Devrik, Vulk and Erol, mindful of their own vulnerability to the treacherous footing, remained still and let them come to them.

“Look around you, you fools!” Devrik roared. “Your cause is lost, your leader has abandoned you – run now and save your worthless lives!” The light from the slowly dying fires of the burning crates, barrels and bodies cast dancing shadows across him, and his immense battlesword shone ruddy as it reflected the flames. For an instance the men stopped, but then began to slip and slide forward again, faces twisted into masks of blind rage, their own blades glinting in the flickering light.

Devrik sighed, and focused on unleashing another fan of Arkel’s Fiery Ribbons. His control, however, trained tenuous from tension and exhaustion, and the spell misfired, badly – to his horror he saw the fiery bands leap out toward both Mariala and Vulk! He tried to control them with his pyrokinesis, but he simply had no juice left…

Mariala, herself suffering from exhaustion and a shaken mind, had tried and failed to unleash a mental bolt on their foes, but her physical reflexes saved her now. She dodged away and the rainbow-hued ribbon of fire melted the ice where she’d stood an instant before. She shot Devrik an exasperated glare, which he entirely missed because his attention was focused on Vulk.

Still groggy from the blow to the head and the nightmares, the cantor made no effort to dodge, not even seeing the flaming ribbons until they’d engulfed him. But to both his and Devrik’s amazement, the fire seemed to arc around and above him, never touching him beyond a pleasant warmth.

“I guess that amulet of fire protection of yours is the real deal after all,” Devrik rumbled in relief, to which Vulk gave a shaky nod, fingering the charm on the chain around his wrist.

Erol, meanwhile, had grown annoyed with the uncertain footing and, indeed, of the whole affair. Taking a moment to gather himself, he carefully summoned and released a Blast of Norinnos. Silvery blades of solid light flashed out from his hands and almost half the remaining longshoremen went down screaming. Toran, unencumbered by the ice thanks to Korwin’s touch, laid into the rest until the few still able to, broke and fled.

“We need to go after the damn aliens,” Erol said as the Hand gathered outside the gates. “I don’t know what their genders were, but two of them remain and we can’t let them escape, possibly to breed–“

“No, we can’t,” agreed Devrik sharply.”But it’s pointless to go after them in the shape we’re in currently. We’re all exhausted and still feeling the effects of that flash and… the… whatever that horror was. And the Mi-Go have at least one of those cursed disintegration beam weapons. If they have range on us… Vulk, how much Baylorium do we have left?”

“Very little, I’m afraid… but I have one dose of the specific keyed to me. If I use it to restore myself, I think, between what’s left of the general Baylorium, my healing power, and the blessings of Kasira, I can remove the worst of our exhaustion and the minor injuries, at least.”

There was quick agreement to this plan, and while Vulk dosed himself and prepared his Kasiran ritual, Korwin toyed with the alien weapon he’d purloined. There was no obvious way to trigger the destructive beam that he could see, though he was careful to keep the dangerous end away from himself and his friends. Maybe if he tried a psychometric reading…

The resultant hallucinogenic trip almost overwhelmed his senses, as visions of alien stars, nebulae and planets combined with utterly alien sensations and feelings. His mind was swamped, and only Mariala’s quick response saved him from being totally lost in that terrifying otherness – seeing him go white and ridged, his eyes rolling up until only the whites showed, she knocked the device from his hands. He collapsed to the pavement, gasping in relief… his body had forgotten how to breath during the alien immersion… and now his head throbbed terribly.

Fortunately, Vulk’s circle of healing served to fix his new problems, as well as the older ones. The cantor’s native psionic healing powers combined with his Immortal patron’s blessing, and a golden glow spread out from him through the group’s linked hands. Like a spring breeze, it seemed to blow through each person in the circle, dissipating the fatigue and exhaustion, healing the aches, bruises and cuts, and leaving them all refreshed and reenergized.

There was little time to enjoy the feeling, however. Vulk had sent Cherdon aloft to keep track of the fleeing Mi-Go, a not too difficult task – the former Captain Frongar, once more in its true form, had taken wing as well, but it’s companion was too injured to fly, apparently. This slowed them somewhat, as did some large bundle the alien leader carried. They had entered a largish tenement building not far from the quay where the Wind was docked, where they had stayed for several minutes.

“But they’re leaving the building now,” Vulk reported grimly. “And they have close to two score new thralls following them. They look like more longshoremen and wharf rats… and they’re moving toward the docks.”

The Hand took off at a run…

•••••

Designate Xhr-Ajwuzkn-39 knew that the Dark Wind of Corruption was currently held by only a handful of humans, who would be no match for his mind-controlled mob. They should be able to seize the vessel quickly, and then it would use its disruptor to blast holes in the nearby ships to forestall pursuit as they made their escape. The weapon was running low, but it had enough charge to sink the two nearest and largest vessels, at least.

The Cthulu idol, quiescent for now, was heavy and it slowed them down, but it dared not leave it behind. Once they had the vessel– from the corner of its multifaceted eyes it caught sight of the cursed feral human rabble dashing out onto the quay from a side street. It gave the Mi-Go equivalent of a profane oath. They would never make the Dark Wind now, not before the feral humans were close enough to unleash more of their unexpected ranged energy attacks. A change of plans was called for…

It let off a burst from its disruptor, which narrowly missed the pursuers but did slow them briefly as they dodged debris from the building it partially collapsed. Xhr-Ajwuzkn-39 ordered its troops to make for the nearest pier, where a merchant ship was tied up – they would arrive in seconds and, with the human crew mostly asleep, perhaps take it quickly. It led the way up the unguarded gangway, slaying the sleepy-eyed sentry with a single blow.

The thralls spread out, dashing down stairs to kill the crew as they slept, while Xhr-Ajwuzkn-39 prepared to take care of the two remaining watchmen on the poop- and fore-decks. It needed to move quickly, so that it could fly up to the crow’s nest and gain the advantage of elevation… perhaps if it could kill the feral humans with the disruptor at range, there would be no need to use it on the other ships. It set the heavy idol down near the main mast, and moved forward…

Having dispatched the two humans, it was preparing to push against the oppressive local gravity and fly up to its selected perch, when another human, large and powerful-looking, with an eyepatch and roaring in rage, burst from a doorway, swinging a short-handled battleaxe. The alien didn’t quite dodge this furious attack, and ichor flowed from where the blade scored its side. But it quickly counter-attacked, its four vicious claws driving the human back, if only a step or two… it dared not use the disruptor down here, and risk damaging the vessel it so desperately needed to take…

•••••

Vulk was taking no chances this time, and invoked Virtue’s Armor on himself as the Hand ran through the pre-dawn streets and alleys of Tishton dockside district. He wasn’t going down at the first blow in this fight, he swore on the Golden Dice of Kasira! As they burst from the alley onto the main quay, he saw that they were only 50 meters or so behind the alien’s small army. He wondered how many he could bind with his Webs…

Suddenly a beam of light, of a color that his eyes even more than others’ refused to recognize, flashed out from the alien weapon. He jinked left. The beam missed him, missed them all, but it did hit the second floor of the warehouse they were passing — stone, brick and wooden beams came crashing down around them. No one was hurt, thank Kasira, but they were momentarily slowed…

“They’re not making for the Wind,” Korwin called out. “It looks like they’re going to try and take that merchant ship, instead – the Azure Rose!”

Half the mind-thralls were already aboard the merchantman by the time the Hand raced up, and had severed the ropes tying her to the dock. The ones remaining on the pier turned, prepared to fight as the ship began to slowly drift away. Mariala laid almost half of them on the ground in writhing agony with a blast of her Fire Nerves. Several, already on the gangway, fell into the dark waters of the harbor.

“Let’s try to be at least marginally mindful of our reputations,” she called out to her friends. “If we go around killing innocent people or sinking someone’s boat, we won’t be terrible popular around here!”

“If you keep calling them ‘boats’ you’ll never be popular around here anyway,” Korwin muttered to himself, as he summoned up the Strands of Lakmira to combine with the Webs from Vulk’s Staff of Summer to ensnare the Azure Rose, puller her back and binding the ship firmly to the dock…

Erol, once again in hyper time, had raced ahead of his companions, arriving at the dock just as the mind-controlled longshoremen, wharf rats and roustabouts began pouring onto the unsuspecting merchant ship… too many men even for him. His eye was suddenly caught by the large cargo crane nearby… the mechanism to turn the machine was simple, designed to be operated by a single man. An idea bloomed like a sudden light going off inside his head…

By the time he was running along the crane’s arm, which he had positioned directly over the deck of the Azure Rose, Erol could see the alien leader grappling with a large, gray-haired and one-eyed man who wielded an expert axe – by the look of him and his bellowed roars about “my ship,” the captain of the vessel. But when the alien saw the glowing strands from Erol’s friends binding the ship to the pier, it suddenly abandoned the fight, using it’s absurd-looking wings to fly up and hover three meters over the deck. In its hand glittered the beam weapon. The deadly alien ray shot out, moving between vessel and dock in a wide arc, disintegrating the web strands instantly (but without causing them to burst into flame, Erol noted).

The creature hovered almost directly below him, and the former gladiator realized he was never going to get a better opportunity – soundlessly he dropped off the crane. His feet slammed into the back of the Mi-Go leader, driving them both down to the deck, hard. His trident pierced the thing’s left thigh, pinning it to the wooden planking as they hit, and Erol rolled away and to his feet.

With a high pitched, ululating scream, the alien writhed and turned in away that should have been impossible, given it’s pinned limb, and must have caused it immense pain. In its claw it had retained the disruptor, and in a gut-wrenching instant Erol saw what it intended – if the Mi-Go could not have their ship, then no one would! The beam would easily hole a quarter of the length of the hull and send her to the bottom of the harbor in minutes.

The impact had knocked Erol out of his hyper time state, and he felt like he was moving in molasses as he reached for and began to draw his gladius. He wasn’t going to be in time, the alien weapon was coming up – but as it did the battle-axe of the one-eyed captain came down, severing the arm that held it. Claw and disruptor spun away in a spray of ichor, and the unnamable color flashed out… to strike into the sails of the Wind of Kasira. A large section of the main sail, several spars and a great deal of rigging vanished into silver dust, but the ship herself was untouched.

While this had all played out on the main deck near the stairs up to the poop-deck, Toran had hacked his way through a number of enthralled longshoremen, doing his best not to actually kill them, to confront the other Mi-Go. Although wounded, it had been trying to come to its leader’s aid, and it never even saw the Khundari axe that cut it in two.

Mariala had dropped another half dozen of the mind-controlled stevedores, while Devrik had followed up by going around and bonking those still on pier or deck on the head as they writhed in immobilizing pain… but gently and humanely, he assured her. He drew the line, however, at jumping into the water to rescue those who’d gone into the drink…

Fortunately for Mariala’s peace of mind Captain Rüla Tafas of the Imperial Frigate Queen Ariela arrived just then with twenty of her own men. With the Hand and the Azure Rose’s surviving crew cleaning up the last of the attackers, she ordered a couple of her men into the water to rescue the drowning longshoremen, at Mariala’s urgent request.

With that taken care of, Captain Tafas, Mariala and Devrik joined the crowd gathered around the severely injured alien leader. Vulk was attempting to convince Captain Oraka and Erol to not summarily kill it, but his usual rhetoric mastery seemed to have deserted him. His arguments were confused and unconvincing, and with the distraction of the others’ arrival Erol simply lopped off the alien’s head.

“What?” He said diffidently to the variously shocked, surprised or annoyed looks on the faces around him as he wiped the ichor from his blade. He sheathed it before tugging his trident from the body. “I was hoping to free the enthralled men from its mental control.”

Mariala just winced and shook her head, while Vulk stalked off in a huff. But both captains nodded with approval, gazing down in disturbed wonder at the hideous alien creature, while Devrik, Toran and Korwin just shrugged. Oh, that Erol…

Dawn was breaking as the sailors finished mopping up and restraining the last of the thralls (who didn’t seem to have been released with the death of the alien Vulk pointed out to Erol, who shrugged unrepentantly), and the Prince Palatine’s backup force from the palace finally arrived. They’d been a bit behind at every step through the night, and were chagrined at missing all the action.

They at least were able to provide corroboration of the fantastic tale the Hand had related to the two captains… not that the two dead aliens hadn’t already been rather convincing… and took all the prisoners off their hands. The latter was a relief to both captains and to the Hand, none of whom wanted to deal with complications they could see looming if the mental geas didn’t wear off soon…

Both of the captains seemed rather impressed with the Hand of Fortune, and neither one was lacking in experience or courage themselves, obviously. Captain Tig Oraka appeared to be about 60 years old, a grizzled veteran of the dog-eat-dog world of mercantyle adventurism in and around the Empire. Fairly tall at 5’ 10”, with dark hair and a full beard, both shot with gray, he was a solid, thickset man. Perhaps beginning to fill out a bit with age, most of his mass seemed still to be muscle. His right eye, covered by a blood-red leather patch, had been lost in a fight with pirates two decades ago, he had explained wryly. His remaining eye was a sea-gray color, giving him a piercing gaze which Vulk found quite fetching. He seemed generally well-liked by his crew, many of whom (especially his officers) had been with him for years, apparently.

Captain Rüla Tafas, on the other hand, was a staunch Imperial officer, her ship part of the local Imperial flotilla under the command of Prince Palatine Rapareth. She stood 5’ 5” and was also very solidly built, with auburn hair and green eyes. She was known as a skilled swordswoman, as Erol picked up from some of her crew, and was considered a no-nonsense and by-the-book officer. She achived her current rank ten years ago, and at forty years old she was now in the prime of her life. She aimed to command her own flotilla within the next five years, she’d confided to Mariala in a quiet moment. She’d been following the odd events going on around the docks over the last several days, and was on the alert for trouble, so when the attack on the Azure Rose began she’d been in a position to act quickly.

“Well, I want that horrifying idol off my ship,” Captain Oraka said, when the last of the attackers had been removed and his own dead and wounded were being seen to. “It gives me the chills just looking at it… I say we toss it over the side right now.”

Murmured agreements from the men close enough to hear made it clear his crew heartily agreed, but no one seemed anxious to actually touch the thing.

“Unfortunately, I can’t allow that, Captain,” Captain Tafas said, although her expression said she agreed with him, at least in principle. “There’s no telling what uncanny or arcane effects that thing might attract to itself, and I can’t have it sitting at the bottom of an Imperial harbor. I agree, it should go overboard, but only over the deepest part of the open sea i should think.”

Oraka didn’t look happy, but it was clear he understood her reasoning. Still, he had no intention of sailing with the idol aboard, and he motioned her aside to say as much. “Look, even if I wanted to, I doubt I’d have a crew to sail us out of the harbor if I proposed to keep it aboard for even a short voyage. No, it has to go, and the sooner the better.”

Tafas in turn understood his concern and reasoning, but seemed equally reluctant to take on the idol herself. Still, she was an Imperial naval officer, and it was her duty… unless the Prince wanted the damnable thing, of course…

Watching the woman trying to steel herself to do what she knew she should, Mariala sighed and gave Vulk and Devrik a glance. Vulk grimaced and nodded, and Devrik just shrugged.

“Captains, no need to trouble yourselves over this,” Mariala said. “We will undertake to dispose of this unholy artifact ourselves. We’re going to have to dump several tuns of that accursed blue liquor overboard anyway, one more item will hardly be a problem. And we do have some rich previous experience with this sort of thing. Sadly.”

Both captains looked relieved and grateful. Captain Tafas invited the Hand and Captain Oraka to join her aboard the Queen for breakfast, an offer Oraka reluctantly declined, being responsible to see to his wounded and dead first. The Hand, however, accepted with alacrity, and made an offer to host both captains aboard the Wind of Kasira in a day or two, when things settled down, an offer that was quickly accepted.