Devrik and the Khundari commander led the way up from the cellar of Draik’s apothecary shop, and as they did the dwarf called out loudly in his own tongue, something rapid and commanding. Devrik squinted suspiciously at him, but his reasons were quickly made clear as they entered the main room – two other black-clad Khundari Shadow Warriors were there, standing a surly guard over Draik, who was tied to a chair in the center of the room.

Indeed, he was very heavily tied to the chair, rather excessively so in fact; and he looked spitting mad, around the gag stuffed in his mouth and secured by a black cloth wrapped around his head. The two Khundari didn’t look any too pleased themselves. One had red, swollen eyes, still streaming as he obviously tried not to rub them, and the other one had a gash on one cheek and a decided limp as he turned to salute his commander.

“What in Kasira’s name is going on here,” Vulk demanded angrily as he pushed past the others, drawing his dagger and stooping to cut loose his friend.

At a motion from Lekorm the red-eyed Shadow Warrior checked his movement to stop the cleric, even as Devrik’s bloody hand went to his hilt.

“We took the obvious precaution of securing the likely escape route of the man, or men, we sought,” Lekorm explained. “But it seems things didn’t go as smoothly as I’d have thought, securing a single apothecary…”

By this time Vulk had removed the gag from Draik’s mouth, and his friend began an invective-laden account of the last few hours; this was quickly joined by the guttural shouts of first one, and then both, of his captors, sometimes in Yashpari, other times in Khundaic. After considerable amount of shouting on all sides, it was Mariala who finally managed to get everyone calmed down enough to extract a coherent story out of the three men.

It seemed that the two Shadow Warriors had not expected any great resistance from a mere shop-keeper when they’d jumped Draik as he came up from the cellar, slamming a bag over his head. But their target had had other ideas… between the various powders he carried, a kitchen knife and a frying pan, Draik had managed to cause some serious damage to the Khundari before they were able to subdue him. Enough damage, in fact, to lead them to take no chances when they finally secured him, thus explaining the excessive bondage in which his friends had found him. Fortunately, they’d had orders not to kill unless absolutely necessary, although they had been tempted…

Once the others had explained what had transpired below-ground, and the current detente between the two groups, Draik and his captors were forced to a grudging exchange of hand clasps and insincere apologies, under the watchful eyes of Lekorm and an increasingly pale Devrik. After which Vulk oversaw the removal of Devrik and the most badly wounded of the Khundari to rooms upstairs, where he could tend to them properly. Mariala set about making the hot chocolate that Draik had promised on their return, while he himself went out to his shop to get healing medicines for Vulk to use. Everyone else settled down around the dining table to quietly discuss the day’s events.

♦ ♦ ♦

Ser Alakor, informed by Vulk of the doings beneath his keep, had most of the Khundari moved to rooms in Dor Dür the next day, as honored guests. Whatever he felt about  secret missions and foreign subterfuge in his demesne, the Principality of Dürkon was too close, and trade with the Khundari too important, for him to do otherwise. He quickly agreed to sealing up the Lost Tomb again, to protect the honored remains that lay there, until such time as some better arrangement could be made. This would have to be done in consultation with his own liege lord and Prince Rhogûn, of course, which might lead to the tomb being moved, or perhaps opened to Khundari pilgrims… the more he thought about it, the latter idea had a certain appeal to Alakor, as it could bring considerable gold into Dür’s coffers…

The wounded Shadow Warrior and Devrik both remained at Draik’s residence, where they could be more easily tended by the cantor and Draik’s own healing potions. The other members of the Hand of Fortune spent much of the next day at Draik’s, keeping their friends company and discussing their next move. Thus it was that they were all together when Danyes Bartyne burst in late that afternoon to breathlessly announce that Tarich Manor was under siege by a gülvini horde!

Their initial shock and worry for Erol and Cris (and the others there too, of course) was somewhat mitigated as they questioned the excited youth. It seemed that he could only truly report, once they calmed him down, that less than a half-score gülvini had actually been seen, by Cris, and the “horde” was merely implied. Nonetheless, it was certainly possible that this group were only the outlier of a swarm, and that was something to take very seriously. When overpopulation and civil strife caused a large portion of a gülvini colony to flee, the results for anyone in the way of their search for a new home could be fatal.

Once the (slightly less-hysterical) word was taken to the Constable, he ordered a score of his troops to be prepared to mount up at first light the next morning, when he would personally lead them into the mountains. The Hand of Fortune, of course, insisted they would be at his side – including Devrik, despite both Vulk and Draik’s insistence that he wasn’t nearly recovered enough for combat. Even Raven couldn’t keep him from riding out with the others, although she did extract a promise from him to try to stick to magic rather than his sword if it came to a fight.

Lekorm also insisted that five of his Shadow Warriors accompany the party, as a sign of goodwill to the new Constable of Dür (and because the Khundari hate the gülvini with an undying rage, of course). He himself remained behind to tend to his wounded man (and to protect the Ancient artifact, Korwin suggested to his companions). Draik joined the party as well, it being his manor and all, donning once more his armour and taking up his sword (not to mention an arsenal of powders, potions and devices).

The war party, now 30 in number, reached Tarich Manor in the mid-afternoon, to find the situation under control. Erol had interrogated the one surviving member of the “horde” that may or may not have been planning to attack the manor, and had extracted much information before the creature died. Erol believed the gül’s story that they were a lone band, fled from their colony after a failed attempt to kidnap a “princess” (as female gülvini are called) so as to start their own colony. The big hovgavu hadn’t been their leader/master, but rather their slave – an unusual situation, only possible because the larger gül was extremely slow-witted and easily intimidated, except when he was in a fighting rage.

Despite this information, Ser Alakor felt it prudent to be sure. He and his men therefore spent the next two days patrolling far up into the mountains surrounding the small valley, seeking any sign of gülvini activity. The Shadow Warriors ran their own independent searches into the mountains, but like the Umantari soldiers, found no evidence of any nearby gülvini presence. When they returned to Tarich Manor, Alakor satisfied and the Khundari disappointed, they found the final repairs and improvements mostly finished, thanks to the efforts of Draik, his friends and the hired help.

Everyone spent one last evening and night at the manor, pretty much exhausting its store of food and beer in raucous carousing. When most of the party left the next morning to return to Dor Dür, only the old bailiff and two of the three hired farmhands remained behind. The third farm lad, Jeb, had jumped at the offer to become Erol’s batman, aide-de-camp, trainee… they never settled on an exact title. In exchange for his service (and skill with the short bow) Erol would teach Jeb the ways of the warrior, a prospect the rural youth found considerably more promising than that of being a peasant farmer.

♦ ♦ ♦

The day after their return to Dür, the 5th of Turniki, was Vulk’s 24th birthday, and he was very surprised to find a great celebration of the fact being held in the Great hall of Dor Dür that evening. It seemed half the town was in attendance, as well as all his friends and even the Shadow Warriors of Dürkon. Draik, in conjunction with his brother’s seneschal, had been planning the surprise party before the incident at Tarich Manor had drawn them away. Preparations had continued in their absence, on the assumption they’d return on time, and so it had been.

Protesting the such an extravagant fête in his honor, Alakor took him aside to explain that it was as much a celebration for the town, as for him. After all they’d been through under Ser Danyes’ harsh rule, and the terror of the garrison massacre, he felt they deserved a good drunken party. It would release the tensions of the past and hopefully point to a happier future. Vulk had impressed the folk of Dür during his brief tenure as their spiritual leader, so  his birthday was a convenient excuse for a celebration.

The highlight of the evening, however, was held privately. With just Mariala, Devrik, Raven, Erol and Cris present, Vulk and Draik exchanged the Oath of the Shield, administered by Alakor (as a lay brother of Cael), becoming Shield Brothers for life. Although brief, it was a very moving ceremony – and the emotion was soon buried under bawdy jokes and comments, which both the principals ignored with great distain. Vulk did feel somewhat better about leaving Draik to “retire,” afterward, and realized that this had been part of his friend’s reason for suggesting the rite.

The party went on late into the night, and a wonderful time was had by all, although the next day didn’t really begin for many people until well after the noon bells… and even then it was a dragging, wincing sort of start. But not for Vulk. He had retired relatively early, able to slip away despite being the supposed center of the party, to study a scroll that had been one of his birthday gifts. The new cantor of Dür’s temple had presented it to him with a wry smile, explaining that it might prove to be of some help to him on his chosen path. It was an Eldari ritual used by healers on the battlefield, to shield them and their patient from the notice of combatants around them, and Vulk immediately wanted to begin studying it.

Over the next several days the Hand of Fortune relaxed and recovered in the safety of Dür. Vulk studied his scroll, Mariala meditated and studied her own texts, as did Korwin, Erol began training Jeb in his duties as well as in close fighting, and Devrik continued to heal, his wounded hand improving quickly with Draik’s various experimental Baylorium potions.

In fact, an unexpected friendship had begun to develop between Devrik and Khandath, the Khundari warrior he had so badly wounded. Forced to recuperate together, they each seemed fascinated by the other’s particular special abilities – Devrik, by the Khundar’s amazing fighting style, Khandath by the Umantar’s fire magics. Of course, neither could share their secrets with the other, due to the strict rules of their respective organizations. Raven commented to Mariala that they were probably just wonder who could take whom, should there be a rematch.

Mariala herself had developed something of a rapport with Jehvar, the Khundari that Draik had hit with the frying pan. He was fascinated by her magics and her ability to speak his language, and she found him equally interesting in his  tales of Dürkon folklore and history. Gebtor, the Shadow Warrior she had taken out with her Fire Nerve spell, was wary of her, despite her efforts to apologize and draw him out.

Burlok and Verdolk, the two uninjured Khundari, spent much of their free time sparring with Erol and helping him train young Jeb in the ways of the award and axe. Their leader, Lekorm, spent a considerable amount to time in conversation with Vulk and Korwin, when they broke from their studies, and with Ser Alakor and Draik. ––, whom Draik had temporarily blinded with a burning powder, seemed to be always angry and wanted nothing to do with anyone, spending most of how time alone, honing his weapons.

It was during one of Lekorm’s conversations with Draik and Korwin that the subject of the mysterious mage/trader the Hand of Fortune was seeking came up. When they described the man, and the circumstances of their last encounter, he frowned and set down his ale.

“That sounds like Arlun Parek,” he said after a moments thought. “An Umantari trader in herbs and plants who has made several trips to Dürkon in the last several years.”

At his drinking companion’s surprised looks, he explained that as the Captain of the Prince’s Shadow Warriors, he made it his habit to know about every foreign visitor to the City. Unfortunately, he knew little more about this particular fellow – he had never gotten into any trouble nor had any complaints made against him.

“Indeed,” he concluded, “he might not be your fellow at all, except that I do remember the report of a distinctive tattoo on his wrist, the same one you describe as belonging to this ‘Vortex’ organization.

“If such an organization is operating in any way in our City, the Prince would want to know, and to root them out. I will bring word, but I would consider it a great favor if you and your companions would accompany us home, to give a first-hand report on these matters. And it may be you will find the trail of this man you seek, this Arlun Parek, in my City…”

The Shadow Warriors of Dürkon

Lekorm Darkeye – Captain of the Shadow Warriors

Khandath Stone Ear – Wounded by Devrik

Gebtor Grayjoy – Fire Nerved by Mariala

Burlok Coldhand – The most agile of the SW

Verdolk Firefoot – The youngest of the SW at 51

Grevimstor Starheart – Temporarily blinded by Draik’s powders

Jevhar Quicktongue – Wounded in leg and face by Draik’s frying pan

For several days his friends were afraid that Drake’s condition might be permanent… neither Mariala nor Devrik could make a dent in the enchantment, and Vulks prayers and rituals proved equally ineffective. Clearly the mage had been a very powerful Torazan, and the underground room his Sanctum. Which explained why other magics were so ineffectual, but did nothing to cure Drake’s horrifying condition.

Eventually Master Vetaris arrived, at Mariala’s urgent request, and was able to dispel the enchantment. He apologized for not arriving sooner, but explained that he had been on urgent business of his own in the far north, and had been unable to get away until it was resolved.

“Or at least stabilized,” he added with a sigh. “If things do not improve in that region, it may be a matter I’ll need you and your friends to look into for me.”

By his look Mariala understood that he meant for the Star Council. The others were focused on the dazed, but seemingly unharmed Drake, who was still shaking off the effects of his petrification. Vulk, at least, was a little worried about his long-time friend – while he appeared fine physically, he seemed strangely quiet and subdued, not his usual exuberant self. But perhaps he just needed time…

Certainly he perked up when his brother informed him that their hated nemesis, Ser Danyes Bernan, erstwhile Constable of Dür, was in chains in the dungeons of Kar Landsar, awaiting transportation of Kolosur and his trial before the King. Plenty of evidence was discovered in his townhouse after his arrest to connect him to the drug trade he had been running. Combined with the documentation of his skimming from his liege lord that Earl Kinen had gathered, it was enough to see him hanged, never mind the abduction of the Earl’s daughter.

Lord Clarin’s relief at recovering his daughter was only enhanced by the tale of the death of the man who took her and the capture of the mastermind behind the string of attempted assassinations on himself. He was inclined to dismiss the disappearance of the mage who seemed to be assisting Ser Danyes as of little consequence. When interrogation of the soon-to-be-former Constable by Truth Readers from the Great Temple showed no evidence of anyone else behind Bernan’s machinations, the official investigation was brought to an end.

“I appreciate that we all felt there might be some larger conspiracy behind all this,” he told the Hand of Fate the day after Drake’s recovery, as they all prepared to remove to Kolosür, for the Tournament and the trial. “But Temple Truth Readers are the final arbiters in legal affairs, and very skilled. If they say there were no other conspirators, beyond those Bernan has named or his papers revealed, then that must be so. We were wrong.

“The only conspiracy was the deluded plotting of a deranged man who thought to create chaos in the realm during the Succession, hoping to leverage it into a small kingdom for himself. Madness, of course, even in the event of a… crisis, Immortals forbid… he would never have been able to hold on to any lands he might’ve seized.”

“Not unless he had been promised support from some other direction,” Ser Vulk persisted. “From some more powerful force that he believed could provide him arms, troops, material… remember the barracks we found hidden in the mountains…”

“Yes, yes,” the Earl waved this away impatiently. “We’ve found no other such caches, and he himself haas revealed, under interrogation, that it was his only such depot, from where he planned to train and deploy his “troops,” such as they were… mercenary companies, the dregs of various taverns and jails, and so on. No, the matter is at an end!”

But none of the companions were convinced, having seen too much, and neither was Magister Vetaris, who had remained in Shalara after freeing Drake, and planned to travel to Kolosür with his young proteges.

“The T’ara Kül have no legal standing in Nolikor when it comes to Truth Reading,” he explained to them over supper later that evening. “Despite many of us being considerably more talented at it than many cantors of the Eldari… no offense, Cantor Vulk.”

“Unfortunately the two they sent from the Temple to Read Bernan during his interrogation were not of the highest calibre. I was able to be present during all of his sessions, and used my own abilities to probe his mind… the traces are subtle, to be sure, but they are there – the man has had whole sections of his memory  tampered with. I suspect large sections removed, and false memories used to fill the gaps and stitch it all together.”

“But I saw the mage, Darith, during that final fight,” said Erol, frowning. “I know nothing of magic, beyond the layman’s lore, but could he have done all that in the instant he had, just touching him at wrist and shoulder? It seems too complicated…”

“Indeed,” Vetaris agreed. “You are an astute young man. The effect on Bernan’s mind is not only complex, but exceedingly well done. I perhaps shouldn’t be so hard on the Templemen, I might have missed it myself, if I had not more experience than they in effecting such states in others.

“No, I think we may assume that this “Vortex” you heard them speak of has powerful magics at their disposal, and these tattoos are a part of that. We have seen that they can kill; I suspect with more valuable tools, they take more care. This spell was prepared and stored, either in the tattoo or on this Darith’s person, to be invoked quickly if and when it was needed.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” murmured Mariala suddenly. “This is very convenient for the Vortex… the official investigation is satisfied, they have their villain, and as the Earl said, it’s ended. If Bernan had simply died, the investigation might have dug deeper, uncovered something to link him to their organization…”

“So he was the fall guy,” Devrik said, nodding. “They cut their losses, give us a nicely wrapped package, and they remain in the shadows.”

“I think you have it exactly,” agreed Magister Vetaris. “They must know it is you who have caused them so much grieve over the past few months, but do they know how much you have actually learned or surmised about them? Do they think you fooled, as well as the authorities? And what do they know of the Star Council, or your connection to it? All good questions, and reasons to be cautious moving forward, my young friends.”

♦♦♦

The cavalcade, which included a solidly built and heavily guarded prison wagon containing Danyes Bernan and those of his minions taken alive, wasted no time on the road to Kolosür. What had been planned to take two leisurely days was instead done in one very long day, with the lead horses arriving at the Royal Seat just after sunset on the 10th of Kilta; the last wagons didn’t pass the gates until after midnight.

The next morning the Earl was formally presented to the King in the Royal Council Chamber of Kar Kolosür. Preparations for the audience began early in the morning, and everyone donned their newest and most stylish robes or dresses (many recently purchased in Shalara and in the latest fashion). For the Earl, the ladies of his household selected a luxurious velvet tunic of the deepest sapphire blue trimmed in gold thread and richly appliquéd with the Darhelim arms in silk. The Wyvern Guard and all of the Earl’s knights were flawlessly turned out, and the Hand of Fate were resplendent in rich new clothes, colors and style matched to each member, a gift from the Earl. Everyone was unarmed, of course – only the Royal Guard carry weapons in His Majesty’s presence.

At the appointed hour, the Earl’s party assembled in the Great Hall, Ser Kovar standing guard over two ironbound chests with heavy locks, a pair of muscular servants hefting each one. They contained a large portion of the Earl’s annual feudal obligation to the Crown. The king’s heralds announced the members of the party in order of precedence, including “Cantor Ser Vulk Elida of Arushal.” With everyone (of importance) introduced, the Earl maked his obedience to King Garinalt, personally presented his daughter, Maid Carissa, and then presented the two chests of silver. Devrik and Drake, standing closest to Ser Gorlin and Ser Kovar heard an audible sigh of relief when the Treasurer of the Exchequer accepted the fortune in coin.

Once those formalities were completed, the Earl had Ser Danyes brought forward in chains, to the gasps of many in the Great Hall. What was already a significant event for the Royal Court, as many of the courtiers and other nobles had never met the Earl of Kinen in person, suddenly became a major drama. In his most forceful speaking voice the Earl read aloud the complete list of charges against the erstwhile knight, ending with that of “high treason against His Majesty’s realm.”

The King and his advisors, of course, had already been apprised of Sery Danyes’ crimes, and had helped stage manage his public accusation. As Lord Clarin finished reading the charges his fellow Earl, Lord Torad Artelkes, stepped forward with a large sheaf of papers, declaring them to be evidence of his some-times Constable’s thieving administration of Dür, the which deprived both himself and the Crown of considerable revenues. The King then called on all all the Peers of the Realm there present to gather close and form a jury to hear the case.

It took almost four hours, but in the end Ser Danyes Bernan was found guilty of all the charges, was stripped of his knighthood, had all he owned attaindered to the Crown, and was sentenced to be hanged at sunset, on the last day of the Tournament, the 20th of Kilta. Screaming in disbelief, and foaming at the mouth in impotent rage, Bernan was dragged out of the Great Hall by the Royal Guard, to spend his last days deep in the dungeons of Kar Kolosür. Drake smiled and didn’t mention to anyone that today was his 26th birthday…

“My king,” said Earl Kinen, as the great doors closed on the prisoners cries. “As we have heard hear today, the bringing to justice of this foul miscreant, this blight on the honor of chivalry, was largely the doing of several members of my entourage. I would beg of boon of you, my liege, to reward them here today, in front of this august assembly.”

“Indeed, your Grace,” the King replied in a voice that may have been a reedy quaver, but which still held power and sharp wit. “They seem a remarkable group of youngsters, if we are to believe all we have heard of them… and we have heard more than has just been told, indeed we have… Baylora’s Sanctum, quiet surprising…” His voice trailed off as he got a distant look in his eye, as if remembering his own youthful studies of arcane matters.

The tall, strong-looking woman standing  behind him and to his right smiled and reached down to touch his shoulder. He turned to look up at her, and patting her and he smiled and nodded.

“Yes, yes, my dear, quite right. There will be time to hear the tale later. For now, I grant you your boon Lord Clarin. What reward to propose to bestow today?”

“I call forth Alakor Bartyne, sometimes called Colith One-eye; Draik Bartyne, sometimes called Drake Bartoff; and Mariala Teryne.”

Surprised, and some more embarrassed than others, the three stepped out from the crowd to stand in the center of the Great Hall, before the Earl Kinen, and beyond him the King on his throne. At the Earl’s gesture they knelt, and at a motion from the King one of the Royal Guards handed him a sword.

“It gives me great pleasure to make you three Knights of Nolikor, with all the honors and responsibilities that entails.” He tapped each one, first on the right shoulder, then on the left, then on the head, with the flat of the sword. “Arise now, Ser Alakor, Ser Draik, and Dame Mariala.”

To the cheers of the gathered nobles and gentry, the newly minted knights stood, looking both dazed and pleased. Mariala was blushing a bright red and cursing her coloring that so displayed her feelings. Drake looked thoughtful, while his brother just grinned proudly. As the applause died down, the Earl of Buran stepped forward and spoke.

“My liege, I too would make a reward to these brave souls, with your permission.” The King nodded and waved him to continue.

“With Danyes Bernan removed, the Keep of Dür has no Constable. It is my wish that Ser Alakor Bartyne should take up that office, to rule the fief as my liegman, if such is his desire… I know that he and his brother were born and raised in that place, and I believe that after the depredations of Bernan, it would be well to have those lands cared for by one who knows and loves them.”

“Will you accept this office, Ser Alakor?” asked the King.

“I will, Your Majesty, Your Grace,” Alakor replied promptly, bowing first to King and then to the Earl. Within moments the ceremonial words had been said and he stood before them the new Constable of Dür.

“That’s gonna take some getting used to,” thought Drake to himself. “Such bad connotations for so long, and now it’s my brother! This is the most amazing birthday!”

To the three new knights, and to Ser Vulk, a manor attained from Bernans former holdings was granted, each with all its incomes and households. It was given to Constable Alakor to divide such other lands as he saw fit to the members of the Hand of Vengeance who might want to settle down into yeomanry.

“I would make you all knights,” said Earl Kinen to Erol and Devrik as these ceremonies went on. “But you are sons of other nations, and it is beyond my purview. However, that does not mean rewards are not to be forthcoming for your parts in all this. If you will accept, I would like to make you members of my Wyvern Guard. I know this would be more an honorary post, as you will no doubt wish to continue on with your friends; but it will give you free movement in Nolkior as my agents, and the ability to invoke my authority wherever my writ runs.

“There is, of course, a monetary reward that goes with this honor,” he added, noting the polite but unenthused smiles that greeted his offer. “and I would see you outfitted as befits true warriors, with the best weapons and armor available.”

This met with much more enthusiastic smiles and glad acceptances of his Grace’s kind offer.

♦♦♦

The Royal Belanin Tournament began the next day, and ran for another eight beyond that. Vulk, Drake, Mariala and Alakor were the toast of Nolkior noble society, and even Erol and Devrik garnered more than a few invitations to gentle and even noble events as the days passed. The whole group, minus Alakor, was invited on the fourth day to a private dinner with the King and his consort, Dame Erila Kalafon, the knighted daughter of a Tharkian noble, and the Lord Privy Seal, the trusted keeper of the kingdom’s records.

There they were encouraged to tell, in great detail, the story of the discovery of and battle for Baylora’s Sanctum, the mystery of which had long enchanted Garinalt during his many years as a student. For all that he seemed a frail old man, the King was very sharp of mind and asked many penetrating questions, and in the end he sat back seemingly quite satisfied with the evening’s entertainment.

When the meal was over, as they all rose for the King to make his departure, Dame Erila handed papers to each of them, a token of thanks, she said from His Majesty. For the knights these proved to be inductions into the Order of the Silver Eye, the King’s own knightly order created when he first ascended the throne, and honor afford to very few in his realm, and even fewer foreign knights. A set of silver spurs and a silver ring incised with a stylized eye came with the honor.

For the two commoners, the papers proved to be patents of gentility, moving them up the ranks from base-born to gentlemen, at least within the bounds of Nolkior. Given that Devrik’s father was of the Equestrian class in the Republic, and that Erol’s father was of the scholarly class there, neither were actually base-born, even by Nolkior standards. Both men kept their mouths shut, smiled, and thanked the King for his generosity (which, to be fair, had also included a sapphire of considerable size for each of them).

Alakor and Drake were both hot to leave immediately for Dür, to be there when their uncle was arrested for conspiring with Danyes Bernan and trafficking in illicit drugs, but it was deemed impolitic to leave before the end of the Tournament. Alakor spent his time, when not at the tourney, working out the details of his new administration. He offered his brother the command of the Hand of Vengeance, but Drake had other plans. These he pushed forward one afternoon during a private meeting with the Earl Kinen.

Marik Canatori became the new commander of the Hand, or at least of those who remained. Half the company took up the offer to become yeoman farmers on manors throughout the fief of Dür, offering military service to their new liege lord in exchange for the land. Marik had little trouble recruiting new mercenaries in Shalara and Kolosür  to once again fill out the ranks.

On the last day of the festivities, after the closing ceremonies and the awarding of prizes and honors, as the sun touched the horizon, Danyes Bernan was dragged forth from the dungeons of Kar Kolosür. Haggard looking, his ample flesh sagging on his grey face, he was paraded through the town in a crude cart, to the jeers and crude comments of the crowd, and pelted with rotting vegetables. He was apparently too weak to continue his argument, shouted in his cell to no one who cared, until his voice failed, that he was a nobleman and so deserved the headsman’s axe, not the gallows.

But he had been stripped of his title, and thus made ripe for the gallows, and it was from the gibbet that he swung just as the sun dipped below the horizon. Drakes’s face was as set as if he had again been turned to stone as he watched his hated enemy dance on air… but Vulk, peering sideways at his old friend, saw a glitter of satisfaction in those hazel eyes.

♦♦♦

The day after the closing ceremonies of the Tournament and the hanging of the former Ser Danyes, Vulk, Drake, Mariala, Devrik and Erol made their farewells to Lord Clarin and his daughter before joining Alakor and his new yeomen for a fast ride to Dür. The Earl was gruff, but clearly sad to be losing such good retainers, while Maid Carissa was openly tearful… she hugged them all, but particularly Mariala and Devrik.

“I’ll miss you two most of all,” she sniffed.

Horses saddled , Kemis the mule packed to the limit with new clothes, armor, weapons and money, Cris astride one of Alakor’s spare horses, the group set out from Kolosür at the start of the second watch of the day. But though they had told everyone that they planned to ride hard and fast for Dür, Drake had proposed another idea to his brother and his friends.

“Vulk, Devrik,” he had started the night before.”You both know how to open the Nitarin Vortices, and we have need of speed and surprise, if we have any hope of catching my vile uncle before news reaches him of his master’s fate. So I was thinking…”

The Progress got off to a confused, late start the morning after the disappearance of Ser Andro Valador. His revelation as the man behind the murder of the physician Ser Petral, and the likely cause of the assassination attempts on the Earl, had the entourage in a great turmoil.

Lady Milosia, the fled man’s wife, was in a state of near collapse after her questioning by a deeply furious Earl Darhelim. But Vulk and Mariala were able to independently assure him that she was innocent of her husband’s treason and other crimes., and she was eventually put to bed in lady Lania’s wagon, with a sleeping draught.

Lady Lania herself continued to show almost miraculous improvement as Drake carried on with her treatment. The Earl, while grief-stricken at the violent death of his trusted friend and physician, was relieved that the man had thought to keep the balorium-infused potions near to his patient. He spent much of the traveling time to Zutlin Manor in her wagon, holding her hand.

On nearing their destination, however, the Earl was all business. Zutlin Manor was the family home of his wife’s people, governed by her oldest brother Ser Kiros Valador as vassal to the Earl. Lord Clarin, shaken by one brother-in-law’s betrayal, was disinclined to assume the loyalty of the other. The Progress’ arrival was more like a military occupation, with the Wyvern Guard, supplemented by the Hand of Vengeance, taking quick control of the house and grounds.

Ser Kiros, at first confused and outraged, quickly paled when his noble brother-in-law explained to him the treason of the knight’s younger brother. The outrage that had turned to fear and consternation returned in full as he realized what his brother’s murder of her physician might have meant for their sister’s fate.

“My lord, I am innocent of any knowledge of my brother’s actions or plans,” he declared when the full story had been laid out. “I publicly disavow him here and now – he is cast out from the clan, named outlaw and traitor!

“Furthermore, I submit myself to whatever examination my liege requires to be certain of my and my family’s continued loyalty.”

Saying that, he slipped a silver chain with a crystal amulet over his head and handed it to a servant, drawing a gasp from the crowd watching this fraught meeting. Giving up his protection against arcane mental intrusion was a strong indicator in itself of his innocence, but it didn’t stop the Earl from nodding to Ser Vulk (and casting a second, more subtle glance at Mariala).

In full cantor’s regalia, as a representative of the Church of the Eldar, Vulk invoked the blessing of Kasira and of Agara and proceeded to question Ser Kiros in the light of the Immortal’s power and justice. Off to the side, Mariala used her own arcane abilities to gauge the truthfulness of the now stoic knight as he responded.

When it was over she nodded fractionally to Vulk, who turned to the Earl and loudly addressed both him and the crowd.

“My Lord, in the light of Truth granted to me by my Immortal patroness, I declare that Ser Kiros has spoken the truth in these matters, and has held back nothing.”

The tension in the Great Hall of the manor house, where this meeting had taken place, was immediately broken as everyone present released a collective sigh of relief. The Earl visibly relaxed, and moved to embrace his brother-in-law.

“Let us take this to more private chambers, Kiros,” he said.

As the party settled down for the three or four days they would be staying at Zultin, the Hand of Fortune, as Drake had taken to calling their group of adventuresome friends, gathered to more closely go through the possessions that Ser Andro had left behind, looking for some clue as to his whereabouts.

But no amount of study or arcane tinkering brought to light any indication as to the direction the disgraced and outlawed knight had taken. In the end they returned his belongings to his wive, who remained in shock. She responded to Mariala’s efforts to comfort her badly, turning her face away in embarrassment and motioning her away violently.

♦ ♦ ♦

The next morning Mariala and Drake accompanied The Earl, Ser Kiros and a number of courtiers as Lady Lania, still ensconced in her wagon, made the short journey to Rivona Abbey, the Maran retreat famed for its healing mineral waters and the skill of it’s cantors. The Earl was bringing her there originally to pray for a miracle.

“But the miracle came upon us unexpected,” he said that morning as Drake administered the next to last dose of the potion he and Ser Petral had developed. “It seems the gods sent you and your friends in my family’s hour of greatest need… you may be sure I shan’t forget that!”

The cantor’s of Rivona had been told of their noble patient’s dire condition, and had prepared accordingly, their best rooms and most skilled healers being set aside for the invalid lady. They were clearly surprised to she her sitting up and interacting with those around her. The Earl took the Abbess aside, along with Drake, and explained the nature of the treatment that Ser Petral had been pursuing, with Drake explaining about the Balorium.

The Abbess was impressed, and once the Earl made clear that he had no intention of revoking the gifts he had promised the abbey, even pleased. She soon drew Drake aside, along with her top healers, to discuss in detail the nature of Ser Petral’s Torazin and Drake’s Balorium; they seemed little concerned with the fact that both used arcane, rather than holy, magics to achieve their results.

“Whatever works,” shrugged one elderly cantor-physician when Drake mentioned this. “That’s our motto, at least in practice.”

♦ ♦ ♦

As the party was preparing to return for the evening to Zultin Manor, and the Earl was taking leave of his wife, she suddenly reached out and grasped his hand, however weak the grip.

“Stay my lord,” she whispered, smiling up at him.

The astonished Earl immediately returned to his chair beside her, and bent to speak quietly to her. If anyone present noticed a sheen to his eyes, they discreetly failed to mention it. It was quickly decided that Lord Clarin would spend the night at the Abbey, while all but his immediate guard returned to the manor.

Drake offered to stay as well, to administer the last dose of the healing elixir in the morning, while Mariala was tasked with seeing that Maid Carissa made it safely back to Zultin. Even in his joy at his wife’s improving condition, he did not forget the (inappropriate, to his mind) fascination his daughter had with becoming a cantor of Mara; he wished to ensure she spent no more time than was needful in the presence of the Maran healers.

While the Lady Lania was being settled into her convalescence at Rivona, Devrik, Vulk and Erol joined Colith and the Hand of Vengeance, as well as elements of the Wyvern Guard, in riding out in all directions to seek news of the renegade Ser Andro. Vulk rode north with Colith and some of the Hand, Devrik joined Ser Kovar, Captain of the Wyvern Guard, as he and his men rode south, while Erol joined Marik and another contingent of Hand mercs to the east. Cris was dispatched with the Wyvern Guards that searched west.

It was to the south, on the road to Dorinsel Keep, that some news of the fleeing nobleman was finally heard. A farmer reported that he had woken at sunrise two mornings past to find a well-dressed man just leading a horse from the farmer’s barn. It was obvious the man had spent the night, without so much as a by-your-leave, in the barn; but when the farmer tried to speak to him the man leapt on his steed and almost rode the peasant down in his haste to escape.

While he didn’t see the face clearly, there was little doubt from the description of both horse and clothes that it was Ser Andro. Devrik said nothing, but he smiled quietly to himself. The night before he had cast the Flames of Xydona in the tent he shared with Raven and Black Hawk, and by those visions he had been certain that the traitor had fled towards Dorinsel. That was why he had volunteered for this particular scouting party.

♦ ♦ ♦

By the next afternoon, the 25th of Emblio, the group was together once again, gathered in Vulk’s tent outside the manor house’s walls. Using the slips of Mariala’s magic parchment, the members of the Hand of Fortune had been summoned from their various tasks. The Earl had been made aware of the news of his traitorous brother-in-law’s sighting, and had sent Ser Kovar and his party on to pursue the trail.

But he had agreed that the Hand of Fortune should pursue their own course in seeking out the runaway knight.

“You have proven your worth,” he told Vulk that morning. “You may be… Unconventional… but you get results.

“With my wife safely installed and recovering in Rivona Abbey, and the threat to my own person apparently removed, I task you now, if you are willing, to track down Andro, by whatever means at your disposal. I want him alive, most assuredly I do. And not only for the information on his accomplices he will be made to part with…

“I know you have your own agenda, concerning the Constable of Dür, and I continue to share that concern. But the evidence of peculation my agents have already gathered is enough to disgrace him and see him removed from office, once I present it to his liege. But this matter of Andro touches my honor deeply.

“Will you pursue my renegade brother-in-law? If so, I will pledge all my resources to finding evidence of capital charges against Dür, once Andro is caught.”

During the trip back from the hidden lair were the Earl of Yorma was being held captive in a strange Ancient artifact, the group spent a fair amount of time convincing the nobleman that he really had been missing for over a year.

“I swear, it couldn’t have been much more than a tenday,” he kept repeating. “They kept waking me up, and taking me to a large chamber, with a great dragon sculpture… I remember the glowing eyes… and then the nightmares would begin… I remember at least ten days… surely not more…”

When Mariala finally asked him if he had ever eaten during his periods of wakefulness, or if he’d even been hungry when he “awoke,” he fell silent for a moment before admitting he had neither eaten, nor been hungry.

“What’s the last thing you clearly remember?” Vulk inquired once the young Earl had begun to accept the truth of the nature of his imprisonment.

“We had tracked the escaped murderer north, pushing him hard. We finally cornered him in a narrow box canyon, one my man Yardin knew of old, being native to the district. There was no way out, other than the way he had entered.

“But when we pushed in after the villain, we found him already dead, killed by a band of Gülvini that seemed to have made their camp there. The foulspawn wasted no time in attacking the three of us, but despite their superior numbers I have no doubt we’d have done for them, if not for… the other.

“I only caught a glimpse of the tall figure behind the pack, but it was arresting – a man in deep midnight blue robes, trimmed in a pattern of golden flames, carrying a gnarled staff and wearing a golden mask. I remember it distinctly, despite the turmoil of the fight, for it was unnerving… the mask seemed a solid piece, without eyeholes or mouth!

“Yet he spoke clearly enough, if in a language unknown to me, and followed the battle closely enough. When it became apparent his minions (for so I believed them to be) would not subdue us, he raised his staff and cried out some chilling command that caused our limbs to grow suddenly numb and nerveless.

“Even as my sword and shield dropped from my hands, I saw my men bourne down my the Gül and torn to pieces.”

For a moment Lord Sedris paused, overwhelmed at the, to him, very recent loss of two good and loyal men. But he soon picked up the story, frowning in concentration.

“There’s little more to be said… I fully expected to meet the same fate as Yardin and Rosek, but before the snarling beast-men could pull me down the mysterious masked man called out an order, and they grudgingly backed away.

“The numbing effective was passing as quickly as it had come on, and I dove to retrieve my sword… but even as I did, the man raised his staff, I saw a brilliant light… and nothing, until I awoke the first time in that strange chamber where you good people found me.”

Further questions revealed little more… each time he had been awakened from his strange slumber there had been four figures, whether male of female he couldn’t tell as they were wrapped in black robes, and masked and gloved in black leather… these masks too, seemed to lack any opening for sight or speech, although the figures never spoke to him.

Each time he awoke he felt more confused and lost than before, and each session of nightmares reinforced the feelings. He claimed not to remember the specifics of his nightmares, but Mariala sensed a certain evasiveness from him on that score.

As they paused at the Nitarin Vortex that would return them to the environs of the Nebulon Chapterhouse, his wife, and his father-in-law, Mariala took out a sheet of her remote writing paper and jotted down a few words:

“Earl Yorma found. Ancient device involved. Secrecy not possible.”

Later that evening, in his quiet study just outside the port city of Devok, Master Vetaris did his daily check of the parchment slips he kept in his desk…

♦ ♦ ♦

Vulk convinced Lord Sedris that, given his long absence and the political roil currently going on around the potential Succession Crisis, it would be best if he arrived incognito at the conference that was going on between Earl Kinen, the Knight Commander Ser Remiu, the Lord Marshal of Kurikmarch Baron Bolnik, and the Lady Thalisa.

“Indeed, Ser,” the young Earl agreed, “never give up the element of surprise. One may not need it, but if one does…

“I’m glad to hear the King still lives; when you told me how long I’ve been missing, my first thought, after how my poor wife must be faring, was that the country might be in the midst of a civil war!”

“Not yet, your grace,” said Drake. “But His Majesty’s health is not improving… indeed, they delayed the Royal Tournament a month, due to his last illness.”

“Which turned out well for you,” added Devrik, “else we’d not have come this way and so found you.”

Arriving in Nebulon just after the evening meal, the group found that the conference had only just resumed in the library of the chapterhouse. Cris was full of information he’d managed to glean through judicious eavesdropping, and eager to share it, once he’d been assured that the cloaked and hooded figure with his employers was a friend.

“The Earl is trying to convince the others that his daughter should be made Countess in her own right, if her husband doesn’t return soon, and that they should back her with the clan succession council, which I guess is making noises about naming a new clan head.

“They keep talking about “keeping the North united” if things go bad when the King dies, and keeping Urkonis in Lady Thalisa’s hands is key…”

With his rescuers around him, and Cris trailing behind, Earl Yorma made his way into the Chapterhouse, pausing only to lower his hood and reveal his face to the startled guards outside the library.

His entrance into the room was perfect.

“Thalisa’s been running the fief brilliantly, and there’s a strong sentiment in her favour,” the Earl Kinen was saying. “I fear if we wait much longer, though, the Council –”

He stopped in mid sentence, his mouth hanging open in shock, as his son-in-law stepped into the chamber. Lady Thalisa, seated with her back to the door, gave her father a puzzled look before turning to see what had so undone her usually unflappable father.

“Sedris!” she cried, leaping up. “You’re alive!”

This was immediately followed by “Where the Void have you been?” before she threw herself into his arms.

The confusion and babble in the room went on for quite some time, as the assembled nobles questioned their returned peer and his rescuers. Eventually the whole story was told, and the real worry set in.

“This is clearly not the work of some brigand band,” Lord Clarin stated. “Much less the Gülvini. Even if such rude folk had stumbled onto this Ancient relic, and somehow divined its workings, Sedris’ capture and imprisonment seems much too arcane a plot.”

“Yes,” agreed the Baron Tirfall. “Ransom would be the goal of common outlaws, who lucked onto such a catch; and the Gülvini would simply kill and devour.”

Lady Thalisa paled at this, and held her husbands hand tighter.

“A mage of some power is behind this,” she said. “Could it be the same enemy who has attempted assassination on you, Father?”

The Earl frowned and thought for a moment.

“Possibly,” he said at last. “But if so, he’s playing a long game. The first attempt on my life was some months after Sedris’ disappearance. Is this, then, some plot aimed at me, or my family, directly? Or some larger plot to destabilize the kingdom when the King finally passes?

“Whichever, it becomes even more imperative then ever that we here form a united front; and that the king be made… well, encouraged… to name an heir.”

He turned to Vulk and the others.

“Ser Vulk, you and your companions have done a great service to both my family and to the realm,” he said. “Indeed, it is not the first such – I come to think taking you into my entourage was the best decision I’ve made in recent months.

“I know we share the pursuit of a common interest.” Even amongst allies, the Earl was too canny to reveal their joint animosity toward the Constable of Dür. “But I would ask that you now bend your efforts to uncovering what you can of this seemingly larger plot… it seems more vital to me than anything else just now, certainly to the Kingdom.”

“Of course, milord,” Vulk agreed, bowing. The others murmured their assent and dipped their heads, all except Drake, who looked mutinous. But he kept silent, and the Earl continued.

“And now we should continue our discussion, however wonderful this interruption has been!”

The friends took the hint, and filed out of the room. They soon found a quiet corner of the main hall, and had food and drink brought to them. When the servants had laid it all out and departed again, Drake finally burst.

“We can’t give up the search for evidence against Bernan! We…”

“Calm down, little buddy,” soothed Vulk. “No one said anything about giving up on our primary goal here, not even the Earl. We’re just going to expand our circle of interest.”

“And it’s not like we have anything much to go on at this point,” added Mariala. “It’s all still just rumors and innuendo.”

“Yes,” agreed Devrik. “And since we know even less about this other matter, we’ll still be casting about looking for any lead… we’re just as likely to find one that leads us to Dür as to this mystery mage.”

Drake seemed mollified by these assurances, and the group fell to talking about what they knew and what they suspected, talking long into the night.

♦ ♦ ♦

The return to Urkonis the next day was a major event. Thanks to the military discipline of Nebulon and the Order of the Lord of Paladins, no word of the Earl Yorma’s return preceded them to the castle. But once they entered the gates, the word spread like wildfire, up into the fortress, and down into the town.

The feast that night was spectacular, despite the short notice – the castles cooks and servants went all out to prepare a banquet worthy of their well-beloved lord, his lady wife, and their august visitors. And to the surprise of everyone except Mariala, one of those guests was the famed scholar Magister Viril Vetaris, who arrived at the gates late in the afternoon.

“I came as soon as I could after I got your message, my dear,” he explained after the meal, when he and the group had found a quiet spot in the library to talk. “The number of Ancient artifacts you people seem to stumble across is becoming quiet alarming!”

“Hey!” objected Drake. “This is only the second one we’ve uncovered.”

“Most people never uncover any, young man” the mage observed dryly. “Even those who actively search for them.

“But in all seriousness, what really concerns me is who found this artifact before you, and why were they using it to… restrain… the young Earl.”

The group then filled him in on what Lord Sedris had told them, of the attack by Gülvini, the masked figure who seemed to control them, and the silent jailers who led him to his torment. They also filled him in on the details of the mage they fought in the highlands above Lake Everbrite, and the drug trade that he seemed involved in.

Master Vetaris was sunk in deep thought by the time they finished, his frowning gaze fixed on the first stars appearing in the evening sky outside the windows.

“There is clearly something going on here,” he said at last. “Something deeper and more serious than I, at least, have suspected.”

“I think I had better take this all directly to the Council, as soon as possible… perhaps they know more, or we can piece together a picture from the reports of other agents…

“In the meantime, you’re the agents on the ground, and I think you should continue to do as you’ve agreed to do for the Earl Kinen. But keep me posted, as often as seems necessary!”

Before they parted he gave each of them several slips of Mariala’s Parchment that he had created himself, which he assured them would last indefinitely. With that he slipped off to wrangle an interview with the Earl Yorma.

The next morning, as the cavalcade prepared to set off on the next leg of the Progress, Master Vetaris was gone, departing before dawn according to the gate guards.

♦ ♦ ♦

It was a long days travel to Dolint Abbey, the seat of the Kleros of Gostrial, and the Progress’ next stop, but the mood in the cavalcade was merry. The unexpected return of the Earl’s son-in-law had pushed out the cloud of worry and fear that had hovered over them since the assassination attempt at Zebarin.

And it was the first afternoon of their two-day stay at Dolint when Ser Petral pulled Drake aside to tell him they were ready for the final stage of their potion to attempt to cure the Lady Lania. After several hours of mixing the final ingredients, they had six vials ready.

“One of these each evening, for the next six days, and if the effect is what we hope… well, we’ll see.” Ser Petral seemed equal parts nervous and excited as they entered Lady Lania’s room to give her the first dose.

Drake was a little disappointed not to see an immediate, flashy result, but Ser Petral assured him that they couldn’t expect much for several days. But in fact, he was wrong – the very next morning, Lady Lania responded to her daughters voice by turning her head and smiling at her.

The Earl, only half dressed, and that in mismatched pieces, rushed to his wife’s side as soon as the news was brought to him. Ser Petral at last told him all that he and Drake had been working on, and his hopes for the potion.

The trip back from the high heaths of Lake Everbrite was uneventful, although Vulk found the return portal opening to be more difficult than when they had gone out. It seemed to take more effort, seemed to open less “wide,” and left him more drained than the last two gates he’d opened.

But the transfer was successful, and the group was able to catch up with the Earl’s Progress in the town of Lorethal. Once they had unloaded both their own hard won herbal bounty as well as that captured from the tribesmen and mysterious trader/mage, they each went on to their own tasks.

Vulk reported to the Earl, in his guest quarters in Lorethal Keep, to inform him of the results of their search and the encounter with what might be yet another element of the drug ring operating in his domain. The nobleman was disturbed to find that the network was apparently not completely broken, but pleased that they’d suffered another set-back.

“Although I could wish that you had managed to capture this mage, or at least killed him,” he said as Vulk prepared to take his leave. “But I know how devilishly trick that sort can be… Keep me posted if you find anything of interest in his possessions.

“Also, Ser Vulk, I have a request of you…”

♦

Drake stayed with Ser Petral as he sorted through the harvest they’d brought, then accompanied the physician to the makeshift work tent he’d set up near Devrik’s tent. Ser Petral had divided the sample of the Baylorium Fungus they’d given him into several pieces, and already had it growing in various meat cultures.

“A fascinating discovery my boy,” he murmured to Drake as he prepared to make the first of the compounds they’d need to save Devrik’s eye and possibly his life. “I’m intrigued by the spectacular results you claim for it in that little kerfuffle in the Theocracy… I look forward to replicating it here!”

“Now pay attention, and I’ll walk you through the preparation for the making of the Elmithra elixir, which will take awhile…”

♦

While Erol helped Cris stable the horses and unload the captured mule, Mariala hurried into the tent that Devrik was sharing with Raven and Blackhawk, to check on their friend. The wounded man was sleeping, and though a film of sweat covered his face, she thought his color looked better, and the gashes that peeked out from the bandage over his eye not quite so inflamed as before.

“The phisicker has made him more comfortable,” Raven said, running her hand over his brow. “But, although the fever has slowed, he still burns too hot… and the eye…” she started to tear up, and turned away.

“We’ve found what Ser Petral needs to help Devrik,” Mariala reassured her, putting an arm around the pregnant woman. “He and Drake will soon have your man up and strong again, I promise you!”

♦

Drake didn’t join the group for dinner that afternoon, sending word via Cris that he and Ser Petral were deep in their work to create the medicines that were needed, not only for Devrik, but for Lady Lania and other sick and wounded in the entourage.

But Erol did join them, and announced the results of his and Cris’ search of the mysterious trader/mage’s clothes and saddle bags.

“The usual crap that men carry, of course.” he said as he sat down, dropping one of saddle bags on the table.

“A few coins, which I gave to Cris,” he said as the boy ducked out of the tent to fetch their food. “Some cheap jewelry, the bracers he wore, a dagger, and the clothes themselves. Nothing of interest, but you should probably check them for any… um, arcane energies… Mariala. They’re in the bag.

“But the thing I’m most interested in,” he continued, reaching into the scruffy leather bag. “ is this!”

He pulled out a narrow waxed leather tube, about 8” long and 1” in diameter. The black leather case was unadorned, but the end cap of red leather was stamped with strange, disturbing symbols.

“I missed this, but Cris found it in a secret pocket at the bottom of the bag, sewed into a seam.” He shuddered slightly as he handed it to Mariala. “I don’t know from magic, really, but this feels… wrong, somehow. Trying to read the symbols on the cap made me want to throw the damn thing away.

“I resisted the impulse, though, and popped the cap… but I don’t know what to make of the contents…”

Mariala studied the tooled symbols for a moment before opening the cap, and also shuddered, more deeply. It took a definite effort of will not to hurl the leather case from her and try to forget she’d ever seen it.

“Oh yes, there’s magic here,” she said grimly, as she pulled the cap off, letting it dangle from it’s attached cord. “And not clean magic.”

She turned the tube over and tapped it on the table to make its contents slide out – three tightly wound sheets of very fine vellum parchment, and a strange metallic object. She quickly set aside the case, and picked up the papers, glad to have the leather out of her hand. Vulk picked up the strange object, turning it in his hand.

After a moment of fiddling with it, he gave a start as what had seemed to be a single crooked arm suddenly snapped out into three, equally spaced around their pivot point. Each arm was of a different colored metal: bright silver, deep red copper, and a stange, almost translucent black metal. The body of the object was made of bronze; on each face was a raised disk of gold.

“I have no idea what this might be,” he admitted, setting it on the table. “Maybe it’s a paper weight…”

When no one else offered any better ideas, they all turned their attention to the papers Mariala still held, as s set them on the table as well. The three sheets immediately unfurled and lay perfectly flat. Each one was notched on one of the short edges, near the corner.

“Well, these don’t need a paper weight anyway,” she observed dryly.

As her companions watched, Mariala spread the pages apart and examined each one carefully, then placed them one on top of the other, with the notches aligned. She shuffled them into all the possible orders and combinations of sides facing one another, but the sheets remained utterly blank.

“Hmmm… I’m sure there’s an enchantment around these sheets, though I’ll have to… um, study them… more closely, to be sure. But I don’t yet know how to reveal whatever they may be hiding, if anything. What do you think?” she asked, handing them to Vulk.

But Vulk could make no more of them than she, and set the sheets down in frustration next to the metal object, which he had managed to retract into its original state. By then Cris had bustled back in with their food and laid the table, and everyone turned their attention to the meal.

It wasn’t until they had finished eating and she was preparing to take the papers and the strange paper weight back to her own tent that she remembered the leather tube – and then only because she stumbled on it as she stood up to leave.

“Oh, that’s right,” Erol said in surprise as she picked it up. “I’d forgotten about that creepy case.”

“Yes, so had I,” Mariala agreed with a worried frown. “I think this thing should be destroyed, and sooner rather than later.”

Thus, after stowing the blank vellum sheets in her locked chest in Lady Lania’s coach, she headed into the woods outside of town, accompanied by Erol and Cris. In a secluded glade she built a fire, and when it was at its hottest she tossed the leather map tube into the flames – although it took her a moment to remember why she’d built the fire or that she still held the case in her hand.

The flames eagerly devoured the waxed leather, turning a sickly green and producing a thick, oily smoke. Mariala made sure that they all stood far downwind until the fire died down to embers. Cris shoveled the remains into a pit she’d had him dig earlier, and tamp the earth over it solidly.

Maybe, she thought as they turned back toward town, I should have Vulk come out here and consecrate the spot…

♦

Vulk, meanwhile, was busy preparing to fulfill the Earl Kinen’s request of him – to act as the Crown Prosecutor at the Shire Moot the next day, where the surviving members of the Zebarin drug ring would be tried. It was more usual that an itinerant herald or cantor of Kasira such as he would act for the defense of commoners accused before the courts, but under the circumstances he was happy to let another take that job.

He worked long into the night, by the Light of Kasira, in the keep’s library, a room that the Sheriff apparently seldom visited and had been happy to turn over to his use, at the Earl’s request. By the time he finally retired to the small chamber he’d been given, he felt he was as prepared as he was ever going to be for his public debut before a Nolkiori court.

♦

The next morning Vulk accompanied the men-at-arms and the defense, a cantor of Agara, to the dungeons to retrieve the accused. Several other men and women, clearly peasants, were also brought out of cells and trooped off to stand before the moot court, but Vulk noticed one older man, clearly of higher blood, who was left in his remote corner cell.

The man caught his gaze and came to the bars, where Vulk could see that a ball gag was securely affixed around his head. But before he could do more than step toward the cell, the sergeant of the Sheriff’s guards rapped the man’s knuckles hard with his truncheon.

“Back, you!” he snarled as the prisoner shrank back in fear. “The Sheriff’ll deal with you in good time. ‘Til then be glad he ain’t ordered your tongue cut out!”

At Vulk’s surprised look the sergeant gave him a half-salute and a shrug, as he herded him back toward the group.

“He’s a bad ‘un, Brother, make no mistake. A dangerous warlock… charged with betraying the King’s Peace.”

Vulk had little time to ponder the matter, as they were quickly led into the Great Hall of the keep, where the Sheriff was seated in his Chair of Judgement. The Earl sat off to his right, chief among the spectators, stone faced and silent. Several score other folk, from gentles down to the meanest commons, lined the sides of the hall, though most of them were standing. Vulk caught sight of Mariala, Erol and Blackhawk in the crowd… Drake must still be working with Ser Petral, who was also absent.

Vulk thought the Sheriff, although about the same age as himself, and despite the rich clothes and the chain of office he wore, seemed rather young. He also seemed rather nervous at having the Earl present, given the covert glances he kept darting at the nobleman, who remained impassive. But he nonetheless took his job seriously, and dealt both fairly and quickly with the relatively minor cases on the docket first.

Within a watch he had disposed of them all, and the big case, the one that concerned the Earl and possibly the whole kingdom, was brought before him. His nervousness under the Earl’s gaze, which had faded during the lesser cases, seemed to return as Vulk stepped forward to present the Crown’s case against the accused drug smugglers and attempted assassins.

It took most of the next watch to bring forth all the witnesses and for both Vulk and the cantor of Agara to make their cases; although the older cantor was dignified and eloquent, Vulk had the evidence heavily on his side, and the best the other could do was plead for mercy.

The Sheriff seemed of divided mind at that point, but once the Earl rose and spoke forcefully of the chaos and disorder that this drug trade was already creating in the kingdom, with only the most oblique reference to the possible Succession Crisis that loomed over the realm, his resolve firmed up quickly.

“I have heard the testimony,” he said in a carrying voice when the Earl had finished. “And in the name of the King and under the eyes of the Immortals, I find these prisoners guilty of all charges brought against them.

“Except,” he went on as the crowd began to murmur in approval, “ for Yovon Targeld. She I find innocent of the charges of attempted assassination and of murder, as she was apparently not involved in the creation or delivery of the worried woreen.”

The crowd’s murmuring turned to surprise at this, but he overrode them.

“But there is no doubt that she was intimately involved in the smuggling and dissemination of numerous illicit drugs, and on those charges I find her guilty. As this plague of drugs has caused many deaths throughout the Realm, as His Grace has so eloquently summarized, I find I can extend no mercy to her, no more than to her companions.

“I sentence you all to be hanged by the neck until you are dead, your bodies to be quartered, and the pieces buried in unconsecrated ground. This sentence to be carried out at dawn two days hence; use the time to make peace with your souls. In the King’s name, this Court is adjourned.”

As the condemned were led out and the crowd began to break up into excited, chattering clumps, Vulk noticed that while the air of approval at the Sheriff’s decree was universal, amongst some of the local nobility it seemed a bit grudging.

As he was pointing this out to his friends, who were congratulating him on a well presented case, the Earl motioned him over to where he stood talking to the Sheriff, who seemed relaxed once again. Apparently the Earl had expressed his approval of the younger man’s performance.

“Well done, Ser Vulk,” the Earl said, with one of his rare smiles. “You are and eloquent and effective speaker. I was right to select you for this job.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Vulk replied, bowing. “It’s always easier when you have truth on your side.”

“Indeed Ser, indeed. The Sheriff and I are going to the chapel to pray for the souls of the condemned. If you’d care to lead us in our devotions, I’d be well pleased.”

Surprised at this invitation, given that the Earl’s preferred Immortal patron was, like most of his fellow noblemen, Cael, Vulk accepted with alacrity. After a few more minutes of the social graces with the local gentry (during which he noticed both the cool regard they felt for the Sheriff and the warm enthusiasm they held for the Earl), the party was able to slip away.

The chapel of Lorethal Keep was in the southwest corner of the pile, on the third floor. It was obvious at a glance that it had been very recently refurbished, and rather lavishly at that. The three men knelt before the alter and the large silver Eldaran ankh that hung on the wall behind it, both bathed in the multicolored light from the west-facing stained glass window. Vulk led them in the prescribed prays for the souls of those condemned to die, that they might be reborn anew to try again to find favour with the All.

♦

That evening Drake joined the group for the banquet being held in the Earl’s honor; Ser Petral was at the high table, in his usual spot, as well. Both men seemed in good spirits, and his friends quickly began peppering Drake with questions.

“Yes, it’s been going very well,” Drake laughed, taking a deep pull on his beer, having as usual eschewed the wine selections. “Ser Petral is really a rather fine fellow, and a very good teacher… I feel like I’m learning so much; more than I ever did from my thrice-cursed uncle.”

“I suspect you’re actually relearning many things, my friend,” Mariala said, smiling. “The mind is an amazing sponge, and much that we learned without knowing is retained, to sprout forth when conditions are right.”

“Well, whatever the reason, I’m excited to be working with such a great teacher and healer,” Drake shrugged. “And we’ve concocted a potion that utilizes some of my… our… Baylorium, to heal Devrik. We gave him the first dose at the beginning of the watch, and already his fever has broke completely, and the redness is fading from the slashes on his cheek and forehead.”

“What about his eye,” asked Erol, frowning. “I know your brother does alright with just one eye, but it’s a terrible loss for a warrior, and a danger in a fight.”

“It’s too soon to tell, of course, but Ser Petral feels confidant that he’ll regain full sight. Raven is also quite sure, though I’m sure that’s just love and hope talking.

“And we’ve begun work on a new version of Ser Petral’ “torazium” potion for the Lady Lania. I suggested adding Lyrin Oil to the mix, along with the Baylorium… if only we knew where to get hold of such an esoteric and illegal substance…” He glanced sideways at Mariala as he said that, and she returned a cool stare.

“I’m sure something will turn up Drake,” she said. “It always does.”

♦

Over the next two days, as the entourage moved from Lorethal Keep to Forest Manor, Devrik steadily improved. On the morning of the 10th, as they prepared once again for a long day of travel, he was up and helping with the packing. Both Raven and Ser Petral discouraged him from trying too much, but it was obvious that he was much himself again.

The bandage remained over his damaged eye, however, and Ser Petral suggested that he ride at least one more day in Lady Lania’s coach. Previously too ill to appreciate the company, the last couple of days had seen Devrik being drawn out by the enthusiasms of young Maid Carissa. She in turn was fascinated both by the quiet (and therefore mysterious) fighter and by his healing wounds.

“I plan to be a healer myself,” she assured him as the Progress got under way that morning, an assertion she had made to Mariala many times over the last tenday. Mariala rolled her eyes and smiled, but discreetly.

“What does your father say to that?” Devrik asked the girl as he held his hands apart so she could wrap yarn around them.

“Oh, Papa won’t hear of it, of course,” she sniffed disdainfully. “He’s determined to marry me off to some stuffy old lord. In fact, that’s at least part of the reason he’s doing this whole Progress thing – to check out potential husbands for me.”

She seemed undismayed by this, however, apparently quite certain she would not be taking anyone to husband that she didn’t want to.

“Once he sees me with the Healing Sisters at Rivona Abbey, and they tell him of my true vocation, I know Papa will let me join them.

“Of course, if he decides to marry me off to a young, handsome knight, I suppose I could take up healing on the side… My sister has done something of the same, even though she’s married to an Earl.”

That train of thought set her off on an excited tangent about the prospect of seeing her much admired older sister, the Countess Thilisa Kleftin, by the end of the day.

“Oh, you’ll both like her, I’m sure. She’s very beautiful, even if she is quite old – 23 last month. Her husband Sedris is even older, of course, 27 at least, but he is a great man, everyone says so!

“It’s very sad, of course, what’s gone forward this last year, but Thilisa is so strong…”

“What’s sad?” Mariala asked, setting down her own stitching to listen more intently to the girl. It was always good to get as much inside information about the places and people you were about to visit…

“Oh, don’t you know? No, of course – you’ve been adventuring in far off lands, so you mightn’t have heard yet.” The girl gave up all pretense of darting her yarn, and Devrik happily untangled his own hands.

“Well, Sedris, that is Lord Kleftin, the Earl Yorma, disappeared over a year ago. He set out from his castle – Urkonis, where we’ll be this evening – to track down a murderer” (she said that word quite breathlessly), “a man who had killed his wife and fled before he could be brought to justice.

“Sedris had taken the woman under his protection, when she had fled from her husband after he had beaten her terribly, so when the man managed to kill the poor woman anyway, well Sedris was honor-bound to avenge her personally.

“My brother-in-law is very honorable,” she added aside. “Papa says it’s his finest quality.

“But anyway, no one has seen Sedris since he rode out that day, nor the two men-at-arms he took with him. My sister has run the Earldom very well, Papa says, but if Sedris doesn’t return soon he worries about what will happen… they haven’t had any children yet, you see, so if a Kleftin succession council is called, who knows what will happen?”

For a moment she was silent, as she contemplated her sister’s tragic plight, but soon enough her naturally cheerful temperament reasserted itself.

“I’m sure Thilisa will find a way to make it all come out alright; she’s quite brilliant, everyone says so!”

♦

Later that evening, as everyone sat down for a formal, but quiet, welcoming banquet at Kar Urkonis, both Mariala and Devrik found themselves agreeing with Carissa’s assessment of her sister. Lady Thilisa, the Countess Yorma, was not only extremely beautiful, but obviously equally intelligent. She greeted her father and his guests with subdued dignity, but her conversation was sharp and quietly witty and she had a firm grasp on what was going on not only within her own domain, but throughout the realm.

A life-size portrait of the countess and what was obviously her missing husband, the Earl Yorma, hung on the wall behind the dais in the Great Hall. Mariala studied it closely as the party was ending, after she had been introduced to the Lady Thilisa, who noted her interest.

“My husband,” she confirmed, smiling. “He commissioned that for our wedding day, and surprised me with it when we returned from the Temple.”

“He is most handsome,” Mariala said, as indeed he was – tall, dark haired, clear gray eyes, a square jaw, and a trim figure. “You must miss him very much.”

“Yes, but I have every confidence in his skill and abilities. Whatever keeps him from us, I’m sure he will overcome it and return to us.

“But I understand I owe you thanks,” she continued, deftly changing the subject. “You have been caring for my lady mother during this… ordeal my father insists on putting her through. And shielding her, I hear, from mystical attack.”

“Well, there’s been no attack to defend against, at least not of that sort,” Mariala said. “But I have had the honor to help care for her, along with your sister and her nursemaid.”

“Ser Petral tells me he may be close to a cure, thanks to the knowledge you and your companions have brought him. If that is true, you will all have more than just words in thanks – from both my self and my father!”

With that she moved off to greet the next of her guests and Mariala turned to find her friends. Vulk and Drake were not far away, appearing to speak quietly together. But asa she approached, she realized they were actually eavesdropping on an increasingly heated exchange the Earl was having with two of the local nobles.

“I have every reason to believe my son-in-law is alive, Ser,” he said. “And full faith in his eventual return.”

The companions couldn’t quite make out the response of the smaller of the two locals, but no trouble hearing Lord Clarin’s response.

“Rubbish! My daughter is quite capable of handling the affairs of the fief as effectively as Sedris could. Indeed, she did much of the work even when he was home. This threat of a succession council is nothing more than a power grab, Ser, and you would do well to consider all the ramifications before you put your own weight behind it…”

At this point the Earl seemed to realize the conversation had become indiscreet, and he and men moved off to find a more private venue, no doubt to continue the debate. The comapnions turned then to head out of the hall themselves and to find their beds.

♦

The next morning the group gathered in a small chamber off the great library to discuss their next move in the fight to bring down the Constable of Dür. Drake reported that he had a brief break from his work with Ser Petral, as much of their material now needed time to age properly.

“And what a stoke of luck it was to find a stash of Lyrin Oil on our doorstep, as it were, yesterday,” he said, carefully not smiling at Mariala. “Now we have a real chance of a cure for Lady Lania.”

When Devrik and Raven entered the room, everyone was pleased to see that he had his eye patch off, and though still bloodshot, he seemed able to see perfectly.

“And these pale scars just add interest to my face,” he growled. “Or so Raven assures me.”

After they had all congratulated Devrik on his recovery, and Drake for his hand in it, and he’d thanked them all in return for finding the shrubbery needed for his recovery, they got down to business.

Mariala pulled out the sheets of vellum they’d found on the trader/mage, along with what they were calling Vulk’s paper weight, and spread them all on the table.

“I still think these are important,” she declared. “They were too well hidden and warded to be just blank sheets of paper and a paper weight.

“I have an idea for learning more about them…”

The morning after the disastrous feast at Zebarin Keep, and the resulting discovery of the Zalik-mal drug cache, was a hectic one. Both Erol and Vulk were still a bit singed from the encounter with the trapped lantern, but no more. However, despite Vulk’s best ministrations Devrik remained badly wounded, in pain and unfit for any serious duty. It fell to Drake and Erol, under the command of Ser Kovar, to catalogue and secure the contraband, while Vulk and Mariala assisted in the interrogation of the surviving Zalik-mal.

While the surviving criminal did give up several of her local accomplices, some (but not all) of whom were seized before they could flee, none could say who was responsible for the overall operation. It seemed that only Joet, Captain Kovar’s double-dealing informant, was privy to that information. He led the Zebarin cell, receiving his orders when he would ride out of town for two days, passing on instructions as required. Around the first of each month he would load up a pack horse with drugs and, under his cover as a simple tinkerer, head south, returning after five or six days.

None of his henchpeople knew where he went or who he received orders from, although one fellow claimed to have followed him on one of his two-day excursions. He swore that he witnessed a meeting between Joet and two shadowy men in a ruined farm on the outskirts of Dinmel, a village west of Dür Keep. He feared to get too close, and could give no certain description of the men, save that one was large, with muscle or fat he couldn’t say, and the other smaller and thin.

The volume of illicit substances, both herbal and prepared, that Drake and Erol helped to secure was rather shocking. If this amount of drugs were being shipped out each month, half the kingdom could be supplied for a year. In fact, this was a somewhat oversized lot, as they learned from the interrogators over diner that night. It seems the usual routine was interrupted a little over a tenday ago, when Joet suddenly had them drop everything and begin to prepare the “worried woreen.” He himself had delivered it to the keep the afternoon before.

By evening it was known that the Constable of Zebarin would survive the poisoning attempt, news which Ser Andro received with what might charitably be called cool indifference. Other’s would also survive, including Nursemaid Hila, but four members of the entourage and two of the keep’s residents were not so lucky. Services would be held in the morning, before the cavalcade departed on the next leg of the Progress, which the Earl was adamant would not be delayed by this outrage…

Ser Petral pulled aside Vulk and Mariala after the subdued evening meal (no woreen was served, or indeed any alcohol but beer) to report that his traveling pharmacy had been broken into last night, no doubt after he had come down to the feast, and all his medicines and herbs had been stolen.

“I’m certain that it was all part of the poisoning plot,” he said grimly. “To leave me without any possible antidote. Fortunately I always carry certain remedies and useful potions on my person, and so was able, with Ser Vulk’s aid, to save the Constable.

“Equally luckily, my current store of torazium is kept in Lady Lania’s carriage, so there is no danger to her at present. But I now have no ingredients to make more, a lack that must be addressed soon.”

After assurances from the friends that they would assist him as they could, he departed distractedly to go and check on his primary patient, before making his last evening rounds of the recovering poisoning victims.

Exhausted as they were, the companions, joined by Alakor, gathered in Devrik’s tent to discuss the progress of their goals and compare notes on the day’s activities. Devrik had slept much of the day, but he seemed no less tired then his friends, and Raven sat anxiously at his side, with a cool cloth for his forehead.

Vulk removed the bandages from his face, and frowned at what he saw.

“I don’t like the look of that eye Devrik,” he said, probing the wound.

Devrik flinched and growled, but said nothing. He was feverish and sweating, and seemed restless. Vulk and Drake exchanged looks and Drake stuck his head outside the tent to speak to Cris, who was standing guard with Blackhawk.

As Vulk changed the dressings on Devrik’s wounds (and tried the healing touch once more), Alakor summed up what they had learned over the course of the day.

“We’ve put a serious hole in the Zalik-mal’s operation in this area,” he concluded. “But with Joet dead there’s nothing to connect it all to Danyes Burnan. We need to find something solid, something that will see the man dancing on a gibbet!”

“But what in the Void killed Joet,” Devrik mumbled, frowning. “I know it wasn’t our weapons…”

“I for one would like to examine Constable Burnan’s wrists,” Mariala said. “I’d bet a large sum that we’d find one of those mysterious tattoos…”

“You may be right,” Vulk agreed. “And I’d love to know what they mean. If it was just here that we found the sigil I’d assume it was some Zalik-mal marking; but they have no reach into the Sea Kingdoms that I’ve ever heard. Besides, the attempted coupe in Sha Hesima was clearly political…”

“I wonder if this drug trade is as simply criminal as you assume,” Drake interjected, a thoughtful look on his face. “As the Earl mentioned the other day, the increasing drug use in the realm is creating trouble in every class. Could there be some larger political agenda behind it?”

“One of the potential heirs you think?” asked Mariala.

“Or someone else who simply wants to take advantage of maximum chaos during a Succession Crisis,” added Erol.

The conversation lulled as everyone considered these possibilities, and a few minutes later the tent flap was pulled back as Cris ushered in Ser Petral.

“I understand there’s a problem with your friend, Ser Vulk,” he said as he stooped to enter. “Let us have a look, eh Devrik?”

Removing the just applied bandages swathing the left side of the fighter’s head, he clucked in dismay.

“Oh dear, this is a mess, isn’t it. It was a taloxta attack, correct? Yes, nasty little creatures, and crawling with disease I’m afraid. Of course you’re lucky they didn’t get the eye out, eh? Though it looks like it was a close call…”

After applying a salve of his own to the wound the physician replaced the bandages and poured a dose of white liquid into Devrik’s untouched wine cup.

“Drink this young man; it will help you sleep, and you need to sleep to give your body a chance to fight this infection properly.”

Devrik grimaced, but silently took the cup and drained it. He then sank back on his cot, and in just a few minutes had drifted into a restless sleep.

Ser Petral turned to the companions and shook his head.

“I’m afraid it doesn’t look good… if I had all the herbs and medicines in my pharmacy, I could create a potion that would certainly fight off this infection and allow him to keep the eye. But as it is, if there isn’t a marked improvement in the next day or two, I’m afraid I’ll have to excise the organ.”

“There must be something we can do to help,” cried Raven. The others nodded anxious agreement.

“If we could gather the correct ingredients,” Ser Petral said, “perhaps…”

The group enjoyed several days of being praised, over-fed and generally celebrated by the grateful families of Port Kethim. The Port Master insisted that they lodge in his home, which had more than enough guest rooms to accommodate the heros of the hour. For once, Vulk and Drake didn’t have to share, which certainly made it easier to entertain those attractive townsfolk who wished to express their gratitude more… privately.

The Tritani were also grateful for the great service the friends had rendered them; and although they were seriously occupied in dealing with the wreckage and grief left behind by the false “princess,” on the third day a delegation arrived to hold a fete for the heros and the townspeople. The surface dwellers followed the Rous River some two kilometers inland, to a series of pools in the midst of a sunny glade surrounded by ancient oak trees, while the merfolk reached the same spot via underwater caves.

This was the Gareth Vall, the Meeting Place, where the Tritani had for centuries met with their surface-dwelling subjects and visitors. The pools and surrounding land had been fashioned in such a way as to allow the two peoples to dine and converse together easily, with the Umantari laying on low dining couches, in the Oceanian style, while the Tritani lounged half-submerged. Each group provided food for the feast, allowing both to enjoy foods not normally available to them, the harvest of both the sea and the shore.

The leaders of the Tritani delegation were Lord Korak, the Prince’s son and heir, and the High Priest Azador. Both were much recovered from their injuries, thanks in part to Vulk’s healing abilities, offered to help relieve the burden on the merfolk’s own healers, overwhelmed as they were with the injured. Both dignitaries bore gifts for the friends. The Heir formally presented them with the caskets of pearls that had been promised for each, the light but strong armour that had been crafted for Vulk, Mariala and Devrik, and the trident and shock-net, as well as armour, for Erol. Drake received a scroll of eel leather containing numerous tracts on the aquatic apothecary arts.

Azador then presented each of the companions with three mother-of-pearl vials, stoppered in white wax stamped with the trident sigil, containing the merfolk’s own version of the water-breathing potion.

“It lasts twice as long as the common version generally found amongst surface folk,” he said. “It is our offer to you all to visit us whenever you wish; you will always be welcome in the coral halls of Sha Hesima. You also have the Prince’s leave to travel where you will within his realm, as token of which he presents you with these.” He held out five oval plaques of gold coral, carved with the royal sigil of Hesima, each hung from a chain of braided gold.

Later, as the festivities began to wind down, Azador motioned Vulk to move aside with him, to a small pool somewhat removed from the others. When they were alone he pulled a small piece of eel skin parchment. On it was drawn a strange symbol, resembling a black three armed star, with the arms bent counterclockwise, over a similar shape in red at a different angle.

“We found this symbol etched and enameled into the metal of that accursed tiara the sea witch wore,” he explained,” as well as tattooed on the inner side of her left wrist, beneath one of her bracelets.

“None of our scribes or heralds recognizes it as belong to either the Tritani or the Arcutha… I was hoping that you, as a herald yourself, might know it from the surface world.”

“I’m sorry,” Vulk replied after examining the drawing carefully, “but it is completely unfamiliar to me as well. Both the tattoo and mark were in these two colors? Black and… what shade exactly would you call the other?”

“A deep crimson,” sighed the priest, obviously disappointed. “This copy is a very fair approximation. Both inks were such as are commonly used both below and above the waves.

“But I can’t help but feel this is significant,” he continued,” if only because it appeared twice in this affair. I think it should be brought to the Council’s attention.”

“I agree,” said Vulk. “May I keep this drawing?”

“Certainly, I have several others at home. I assume I can trust you to mention this in your report?”

With Vulk’s agreement the two returned to the festivities, and another round of speeches before the final sweets course of the feast. It was late afternoon before the party began wending its way back to the town.

While the group had been feasting, the crew of the Fortune’s Favor, under the watchful eye of her First Mate, had been busy loading up the cargo of undersea trade items the Tritani had brought with them. Captain Levtor was anxious to return to his ship and oversee the final stowing of goods and go over the manifest with the Port Master one last time. This trip promised to return a very nice profit, very nice indeed…

The ship sailed the next morning with the lesser tide, but contrary winds meant they didn’t reach Devok until late afternoon. Returning to their rooms at the Inn of the Cloven Shield, Drake found a letter from his brother Alakor waiting for him. It had arrived the day after they had sailed for Port Kethim, and it’s urgent news from Nolkior had only become more urgent with the passing days.

Over dinner in Mariala’s room that night the Drake read the deciphered letter aloud to his companions, including Raven and Black Hawk:

11 Agras 3018

Dear Draik,

I trust this missive finds you well, and finds you quickly. I would that your friend Mariala’s magical parchment was good for more than just a few words, but where magic falls short, we must rely on the Royal Post, eh?

I have recruited a solid group of men (and two women, a first for the Hand!) to fill out the Company. We are currently in Vinkara, in the employ of Lord Clarin, the Earl Kinen, for reasons that will soon become clear. This changes out plan to meet in Shalara on Midsummer’s Day, and I pray you are able to meet this new schedule.

As you may recall, the Earl has always been something of a recluse and homebody – tucked away here in the northeast, far from the intrigues of the heartland, our home shire always suited his quiet nature. For twenty years he has seldom travelled far from home, except for his annual inspection of his holdings in Kinenshire and his meeting with the King in Bürkon each autumn to pay his feudal dues.

But this month he announced, to the amazement of all (and the fear of a few, I think) that he intends to make a great Progress through the kingdom and attend the Royal Bellanin Tournament in Kolosür! He plans to hold a tournament in Vinkara at the end of the month, culminating on Maita Lai, to select three champions from his lands to represent him at the Royal Tournament. The excitement has everyone in an uproar, and every boy with a wooden sword is practicing night and day in the hopes of winning a place in the Earl’s entourage.

The reason’s for the Earl’s actions are a mystery, but of course that doesn’t stop the gossips from wagging their tongues (nor everyone else from having an opinion). His lordship has given several explanations that I’m aware of – he wishes to inspect his more distant holdings at Zebarin, Bürkon and especially Rägnol, which he visits seldom; to attend the Tournament with his champions, and meet in private audience with King Garinalt; to visit his daughter, Lady Thilisa, wife to the missing Earl of Yorma, in Urkonis; and to attend the Summer Fair in Shalara to negotiate some long term contracts for fleeces from his lands.

There are other, darker possible reasons, seldom more than whispered. Two years ago a Naventhülian assassin attempted to kill the Earl, and he’s been on guard ever since; it may be that he wishes to lure his unknown enemy out by leaving his secure base. If this is the case, he’s either a very brave man or a very desperate one!

But I think the most likely reason for this trip is his wife. Lady Lania suffered a terrible palsy several years ago, which left her crippled and speechless. Healers have tried to cure her malady, but the best have only managed to keep her alive. Rumor has it that the Maran hospital at Rivona, with it’s amazing mineral springs, has brought relief to similar sufferers, and it is on the planned itinerary.

But what has all of this to do with us, and our quest for justice against the cursed Danyes Bernan, you ask? The Earl is a man of sharp perceptions, an excellent judge of character, and he has long been suspicious of that false “nobleman.” Especially of his seemingly bottomless purse. The Earl has had agents monitoring Bernan since he was appointed Constable of Dür three years ago, but the man is simply too skilled at hiding his tracks.

But at last the Earl’s agents have uncovered proof that the Constable has been bleeding his fief, skimming tremendous amounts of money from his liege lord, the Earl of Buran. Earl Kinen plans to present the evidence to his fellow earl at Kolosür. While this may get the bastard removed from office, it may not be enough to get him hanged. I’ve shared my knowledge of Bernan’s trading in illicit drugs, but with that idiot Ardath mind-wiped after his trial, I have no eye-witness to back up my knowledge.

The Earl is willing to give me time to bring him proof, and has hired the Hand of Vengeance as extra security on his Progress – the captain of his personal security, the Wyvern Guard, is my old friend Kovar Delcanus… Ser Kovar now… and it was his speaking for me that tipped the scales. He believes that Bernan has learned of the Earl’s evidence, and will stop at nothing to prevent it from being delivered. With that threat on top of potential Naventhülian assassins and some shadowy, unknown enemy, he wants all the help he can get in protecting his lord.

I’ve told Kovar and the Earl about you and your friends, emphasizing your skill at uncovering plots and the machinations of the dark cults. I’m not sure the Earl quite believes me, but he’s willing to find places for you all in his entourage, if you can get here before Midsummer’s Day. He was intrigued by my tales of Vulk’s healing powers… although others have tried to cure Lady Lania he is always ready to seek some miracle. His status as a noble herald and cantor of Kasira doesn’t hurt. Lord Clarin was also interested in Mariala’s abilities, as he has been searching for months for someone capable of providing arcane protection for his wife on the journey. I hope Mariala will forgive my indiscretion, but I was really trying to sell you all as being indispensable to my efforts to put the final log on the Constable’s pyre. Although I thought it best not to mention Devrik’s more uncanny abilities – his fighting skill is credential enough, and I like to leave some surprises in reserve, as you know. Your own skills with herbs and gadgets falls into that category as well…

King Garinalt’s recent illness has been a boon to us (though I wish His Majesty full health and a long life, of course) as it has delayed both the Summer Fair and the Royal Bellanin Tournament by almost a month.

So, get here as fast as you can my brother. If this reaches you by the 19th, as the Royal Postmaster in Vinkara assures me it should, that leaves just enough time for you to get here by Maita Lai. If Kasira is with us, by the end of summer we shall see the Constable of Dür dancing from a Royal Gibbet! And our uncle next to him, if there’s any justice.

I remain, affectionately, your brother,

Alakor

P.S. – I am still going by my mercenary name of Colith One-eye, as I see no point in giving Bernan any kind of warning that I’m coming. So be sure to seek me under that name when you arrive in Vinkara. And take care as you pass by Dür; there is some chance of meeting those on the road who might recognize you, despite your own alias and more adult mein.

–A

There was silence around the room after Drake finished reading, as the companions contemplated what Alakor was asking.

“I’m afraid there’s no way we can make his timetable,” Mariala finally spoke. “The trip to Sha Hesima delayed us too much… if only we’d sailed a day later!”

Drake dropped the letter on the table and shook his head.

“No, it’s possible, damn it! If the Fortune’s Favor could sail on the early tide tomorrow, it’s three days to Shalara, and another five overland to Vinkara, if we ride hard. We could just make it!”

“But the ship can’t be ready, Drake,” replied Vulk gently. “I’m sorry, but they’re still unloading our cargo, and it will take at least another day to finish that and then resupply her for a voyage of any length. Even then, she’s not well equipped to carry not only us but also our horses and gear…”

“I’ll be damned if I’ll risk Immelen breaking a leg, or being swept overboard, or whatever other stupid thing that can happen to a horse at sea,” grated Devrik, slamming down his mug of cider. Raven patted his shoulder and whispered something in his ear. He grunted and then nodded.

“But there may be another way,” he went on. “I’ve been studying with Master Vetaris a bit, and it was with his help that I learned how to use the Nitaran Vortex on Chalkman’s Hill to get to Port Kethim.

“I’m still far from casually opening portals, but perhaps with Master Vetaris’ help, we could use the Vortex to travel to Vinkara, or near it…”

“Actually,” Vulk chimed in, “I was studying Vortex control myself, at the Temple, before our little sea holiday, and I was granted permission to learn the proper rituals the day that we sailed. I haven’t had time to do so yet, but with luck and the proper prayers I could have the goddess’s grace in time to take us to Nolkior before the deadline.”

This set off a babble of excited planning and list-making… Mariala and Devrik agreed to seek out Master Vetaris first thing in the morning and request his help, while Vulk got up to leave for the Temple, to begin his preparations for the meditations, prayers and study that would be required for him to learn the Ritual of the Portals.

But all their plans were cut short by a knock at the door. Mariala opened it to find a young man in the livery of the Earl of Devok smiling at her.

“Good evening milady,” he said, stepping briskly past her into the room and surveying those within. “Ah, good, you’re all here. I bring greetings from my noble master Lord Toralt Hanorn, the Earl of Devok, to Vulk Elida, Cantor of Kasira, and to his friends, Scholar Mariala Teryne of Nolkior, Master Drake Bartoff of Nolkior, and Master Devrik Askalan of the Kildoran Republic…” he paused for just a second before concluding with, “and the rest.”

“His Grace requests and requires the presence of Cantor Elida in the Great Hall of Kar Devok at the third turn of the Serpent Watch on Garta 24 Agras in the 3018th year since the Demon’s Fist, along with such of his companions as may wish to join him, to receive from His Grace a gift that His Grace is most desirous to bestow.”

Vulk was speechless at this, but Drake was not.

“That’s tomorrow morning,” he said. “We don’t have time for –”

Mariala clamped a hand over his mouth, while Vulk gathered his wits and bowed his head to the page in acknowledgement of his master.

“Please convey my gratitude to His Grace for his kind invitation,” he said, “and assure him that we will be there at the appointed hour. May we bring these other friends of ours, or…”

“Certainly,” the page replied sunnily. “You may bring as many people as you wish. Just be sure everyone’s dressed properly for such a solemn occasion.”

“But what exactly–”

“I’m sorry, I was instructed to say no more. You’ll just have to wait.”

With that the page turned and slipped as quickly out the door as he had come in, leaving the room bemused and curious.

“Well, I think we need to continue our plans for departing,” Drake said, freeing himself from Mariala’s grip. “Whatever the Earl wants to dump on you, Vulk, can’t take too much time… and maybe the rest of us can slip away afterwards, if–”

“Yes,” Vulk said absently, his mind obviously deeply engaged in trying to unravel what sort of gift the Earl might want to give him so publicly. “Yes, I think we should continue to prepare… but this is going to delay my ritual studies…”

While the group began to break up, heading to their own rooms and bed, Raven pulled her brother aside and spoke to him in a low voice, while he nodded and smiled. While Devrik and his sister stepped across the hall to their own rooms, Black Hawk headed down the stairs, apparently to his own room. But instead he continued down to the common room, then slipped quietly out the door and into the night…

The friends made their way, limping and shaken, from the cave complex, supporting the still-dazed Raven. Devrik was silently furious that Kirdik Hanol had escaped him… he understood the nature of Nitaran Vortices, of course, but it just seemed so damn… unfair!

Cris, Marik and the horses were where they had left them, and the party wasted no time in saddling up. It was late afternoon, and would be dark before they could make Elidar Manor, but no one was inclined to camp in the wilderness with a psychotic Korönian cantor on the loose, and possibly more Gülvini running wild.

Raven insisted she was strong enough to ride upright behind Devrik, rather than across his lap, as he’d been prepared to do. “We’ll make better time, love,” she pointed out. “And after the last several days, I really want a nice pile of furs and a day of sleep – soon!”

The ride was uneventful, thankfully, though everyone kept a wary eye out for the Gülvini who had fled after their failed ambush at the cave mouth. It was two hours after sunset when the exhausted companions arrived at the gates of Vulk’s ancestral estate and called for entrance. His aunt and uncle, as always, were warm and welcoming hosts, and the extended family listened with amazement as the group related the events of the last several days over a very welcome hot meal.

Raven got a down bed, rather than a pile of furs, but did indeed sleep most of the next day away, Devrik seldom far from her side. When she finally woke, ravenous once again, Devrik fed her and finally had the full story of her imprisonment from her.

“Those foul beastmen took care not to harm me, despite the injuries I managed to cause them before they could bind me,” she said between bites of stew and warm bread. “It was obvious they wanted to hurt me, but their fear of… something… was greater than their lust.

“I guess it must have been that mad cantor, of course… he also took care not to cause me any physical injury, though he seemed to take great pleasure in tormenting my mind. He kept telling me how he would bend you to “our” will or see you die a horrible death – which he described in great detail.” She shuddered at this memory, but waved off his comforting hand.

“He also told me how I’d be kept alive only until my son was born, and how “they” would raise him to be a mighty warrior of flame and death for the Chained God.

“He kept referring to others, as though he was just acting on orders, but other times it seemed as if it was all personal, between the two of you… he told me how you continually rejected his offers of training and your “calling,” and how this time, he wouldn’t have to take no for an answer – if he couldn’t have you, he’d have your son.

“He seemed very sure that our son would have your way with fire…”

Devrik grimaced at this, and shook his head. “I pray to the Immortals that he doesn’t… it’s brought me little enough joy in this life, and a great deal of pain.

“But true or not, Kirdik Hanol will never lay a hand on him, nor his mysterious masters. I swear I will keep both him and you safe, no matter what it takes!”

Raven smiled and pulled him close for a long, deep kiss…

After a second night at Elidar Manor the group set off early the next morning, arriving back in Devok Town a few hours later. They settled in once again at the Sign of the Cloven Shield, and Mariala and Devrik took Raven, over her half-hearted objections, to see Korus Jerathin, the best physician in the town.

He gave her a clean bill of health, recommending a few more days of rest before resuming “your usual daily routine.” Mariala also asked Master Vetaris to come by the inn, ostensibly to meet Raven, but actually to check for any arcane residue of her recent imprisonment. He too gave the Rethmani woman a clean bill of health, much to Mariala’s relief.

The second day after their return to town the companions received an invitation from Helain Alvar, the Mercantyler’s Guildmistress for Devok, to join her for lunch at the Guild Hall. Assuming this was reciprocation for the Double Full Moons party Mariala had held two months ago, they gladly accepted.

But in fact the Guildmistress had business on her mind.

“Twice each year we send two ships to Oessa Island,” she explained once the pleasantries had been observed and the food was served. “That is the surface portion of the Tritani Princedom of Hesima, that lays but 12 leagues south of us.

“The Tritani are an insular people, but we have long enjoyed trading privileges with them, on this strict timetable – once in the spring and once in the fall our ships dock in Port Kethim, and the merfolk arrive to trade the fruits of the sea for the artifice of the land.

“This has gone on for over fifty years, without fail… until this spring. Our ships have returned without the usual cargoes, and with no explanation from Sha Hesima. The communication stone used by our Port Master to speak with the sea folk remains dark.

“You four have gained quite a reputation for dramatic problem solving recently, and I am prepared to commission you and your ship to sail to Port Kethim and seek out the trouble that threatens to cost my Guild so much money. If you discover the why of it all, you will receive a just payment,” and she named a pleasant sum.

“But if you manage to resolve the problem, whatever it may be, and start trade flowing again, then your compensation will be far more… significant. Say, trading rights as one of the two ships that sail to Oessa for the Spring Sea Fair?”

After further discussion of details and logistics, the friends agreed to think on the matter, speak to their captain, and give Mistress Alvar an answer by morning. Returning to the inn they were surprised to see Ser Owain, sitting at a table by himself in the common room. He rose to greet them.

“I trust your meeting with the Guildmistress went well,” he said, smiling. “Indeed, I hope you plan to take up her generous offer.”

At their surprised looks he just nodded, and motioned towards the hallway that lead to the stairs. “I think it’s time I took you all more fully into my confidence… you’ve proven yourselves both competent and discreet. And now I have need of both those qualities, more than ever.

“But this is not a story for the common room of an inn. May we retire to your rooms upstairs? I think you’ll find what I have to say most illuminating.”

As they took the stairs to the third floor, Mariala, knowing the state of Vulk and Drake’s room, and that Raven was no doubt at rest in Devrik’s, suggested her room for their meeting. She was startled, therefore, when she unlocked the door to find Magister Vetaris seated in one of her armchairs next to the fireplace.

“I apologise for thsi ill-mannered intrusion, my dear,” he said as she stared at him in surprise, “and hope you’ll forgive me. But it is best Ser Owain and I not be seen together in public, for reasons which we will soon make clear to you all.”

Ser Owain took the other armchair, while the companions settled themselves in various spots around the room. Once the door was again shut, he began without preamble.

“I’m sure that you have all heard rumours and stories of the fabled Star Council,” he said. “ The group of powerful men and women who are said to secretly pull the strings behind the scenes of the world?”

They nodded, and Drake laughed, saying “A common enough story on the tongues of men who like to blame the world for their own shortcomings – it’s not my fault my busines failed, the Star Council wished it so!”

“Indeed,” agreed Ser Owain with a dry smile. “And amongst the better educated it is smiled upon as a myth, a fable – at most an allegory to explain the vagracies of Fate.

“And yet the very best informed people know that it is no fable. There is a Star Council, and while it does not “run” the world by any stretch, it is concerned that order… or perhaps stability is the better word… be maintained in the West.

“To that end, the Council maintains associates in various positions of influence, both amongst the powerful and the not-so-powerful, from the courts of kings to the Beggar’s Guild. In turn these associates maintain agents to gather the most detailed intelligence possible, and occasionally to act in support of the goals of the Council.

“Most agents of the Star Council are unaware of the Council’s existence, of course, or their own conncection to it – this is the position you have occupied since I first met most of you several months ago and allowed you to leave Eldora Abbey with your heads full of secret knowledge.”

Vulk, Drake and Mariala suddenly looked illuminated, putting the pieces together concerning the secret negotiations Ser Owain had been carrying out with a restive Darikazi faction… apparently at the behest of this fabled Star Council.

“But some agents work better with a fuller knoweldge of what they do and why,” continued the bobleman, “and the Council has given me permission to bring you up to this level of knowledge, and offer you the choice of acting now as agents with full knowledge of for whom we work.”

“Are you a member of the Council,” asked Vulk. “You and the Magister?”

“No, we are not ourselves members of the Council – both Magister Vetaris and I are associate members. We report directly to the Council, and receive instructions and requests from them, which we then attempt to carry out via our separate networks of agents.

“It is a bit unusual to have an overlap in agents, as we have with you, but in a way that’s been lucky… the Council was swayed by the testimony of us both as to your competence and trustworthiness, which is why we are having this conversation now, unusually early in your “careers.”

“But not altogether unheard of,” interjected Magister Vetaris.

Ser Owain nodded in agreement, then turned his piercing gaze on each of the four friends in turn, and after a moment each nodded their acceptance of their new position as official agents of the Star Council.

“I assume we remain free to decline any… assignments, if we have any doubts or conflicts,” Vulk asked, before giving his assent, last of all.

“You remain free agents,” Vetaris agreed. “It is mainly intelligence gayhering we usually seek; and if you ever have qualms about anything we ask of you, please feel free to talk to either of us.”

The two older men then rose, and Ser Owain held out his hand toward Vulk and Drake. When they extended their own hands, he dropped a ring into each. Magister Vetaris did the same with Mariala and Devrik. Each ring was unique, but contained within was a hidden sigil of the Star Council.

“Use these to establsih your identity with other agents of the Council, should you need to,” Ser Owain said, demonstrating the cunning release that revealed the sigil in his own ring.

“The Council are even more concerned than Guildmistress Alvar over the failure of the Tritani to appear for the annual spring trading fair. They have expressed that concern to both Vetaris and myself, quite forcefully… but not very specifically.”

Ser Owain sounded slightly annoyed at not being fully informed by the Council, although Vetaris just looked rather bland.

“We wish you to undertake the mission offered by the Guild, but we also want you to find a particular person in Sha Hesima, and identify yourselves to him as agents of the Council, and express their… concern. You are then at his disposal – if he indicates that all is well, continue on as you see fit to resolve the Guild’s problem.

“But if he indicates that all is not well, then help him in any way possible… I’m sorry we can’t be more specific, but presumably you’ll be told more should the need arise in Sha Hesima.”

“I’ve not seen the Council so… agitated” says Magister Vetaris. “ Not since then-Crown Prince Gil-Garon and Lord Kavyn exposed and dismantled the plot to free the Chained God almost twenty years ago…”

“The person you are to find is the High Priest of Kanius, Azador Silverfin,” continued Ser Owain. “He is of middle years, with a silvery white tail and silver hair. He will also wear a disticnctive manta shaped medallion around his neck, and a tourqouise bracelet on his right wrist.”

Magister Vetaris then reached into a satchel next to his chair hands, pulling out a collection of white wide-bottomed clay jars, each sealed with blue-green wax and stamped with a trident sigil. He handed two jars to each of the companions.

“These are Yorinth’s Elixer – it will allow you to breathe underwater. But it is a tricky potion, my young friends, and also the last that we have available locally… take care with it!”

“How do we use this elixer,” asked Drake. “I’m not familiar with it…”

“Should your investigation take you beneath the waves,” Vetarir replied, “as I expect it will, give yourselves several minutes to prepare. You must mix several drops of your own blood into the elixer – as quickly as possible. Once the seal is broken the syrup loses potency quickly – within an hour it would be usless.

“When you add your blood the potion will quickly begin to fizz and expand as it reaches full potency – within three or four minutes usually. When the fizzing begins to subside, down the concoction – quickly is my advice, as it’s taste is rather unpleasant.

“Within approximately five minutes you’ll begin to find it difficult to breathe, and you should immediately enter the water. This transition is where it gets tricky… your bodies will instinctively resist trying to breathe in water, but you must be strong, and force yourselves to the effort! If you don’t, you will suffocate in the air…

“ The effects of a single dose will last for 10-14 hours if you stay above 150 feet or so – as long as you can still distinguish some colors in natural light, you’re at a safe depth. Below that depth, you’ll lose about an hour of effectiveness per 50 feet, and in no case go below 300 feet! As Sha Hesima is at a depth of 80 to 120 feet, this shouldn’t be an issue, but be aware!

“When you begin to feel a tightness in your chest and have trouble breathing, the elixer is fading – you’ll have about a turn of the glass, not more than two, to reach air. If you need the second dose you must either surface or find an air pocket within Sha Hesima – opening the jar underwater makes it impossible to activate properly!

“And that reminds me… when ascending, you must do so slowly… no faster than about 10 feet per minute. Faster than that and you risk painful cramps and possible death!”

After a few more minutes of discussion and instruction Ser Owain and Magister Vetaris rose to take their leave. After they had gone, the companions fell into a contemplative silence as they pondered all that they had just learned. At last Vulk stirred and stood up.

“I suppose I should go and see what Captain Levtor has to say about a change in his sailing plans… I don’t imagine he’ll be thrilled.”

Drake left to make various arrangements of his own, and Devrik returned to his own room and Raven, leaving Mariala alone to stare pensively at her ring and contemplate the uses of a water elemental under the sea…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

♦

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sister… I would ask a boon… of you…”

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

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

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

♦

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

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

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

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

♦

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He paused, looking puzzled.

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

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

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

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

♦

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Drake pulled his bother to him in a fierce embrace.

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

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

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

♦

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

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

♦

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aftermath of the Ambush in the Delta

The night after the battle with the Iron Claw patrol was a busy one. With the help of Raven’s people, led by a warrior named Red Snake, the bodies were dragged off to the far side of the islet and dumped into the murky waters, an offering to whatever carnivores might inhabit them tonight.

A large portion of the Golana Rethmani left then, taking the sole surviving Darikazi soldier with them, to what fate Mariala didn’t care to think about. They had learned what they needed from the man – that the Darikazi had been led by a cantor of Korön who had fallen out with the military leader of the troop send to track the “interlopers.” While the majority had continued on to the ruins of Vindar, Cantor Ejesu had led his small band south, certain they were seeking some lost mage’s redoubt.

A handful of the tribesmen remained behind, including Raven. They helped the group move their campsite away from the scene of the battle, the better to avoid any predators attracted by the blood. They also provided food to add to the interrupted supper Drake had been preparing, and 12 people sat down around the fire to enjoy the meal.

Most of the Golana spoke an intelligible enough, if strangely accented, version of Yashparic that communication was easy. Indeed, during the meal both Drake and Vulk made them laugh several times, and themselves had no trouble understanding the bawdy tales told by their guests.

Devrik and Raven sat close to one another, sharing his mess kit, at the far edge of the campfire. She had witnessed Devrik and his flaming battle-sword as he slew the evil cantor of Korön. Already impressed by his earlier dispatch of the charging aurochs bull with a single blow, her attraction to the muscular fighter was obvious. It came as no surprise to anyone when the two of them slipped off into the dark after the meal towards Devrik’s tent (which he had set up rather farther from the others than he usually did, Vulk noted to Drake). After a few crude comments and whistles from the tribal warriors, the conversation turned suddenly serious.

“You are foolish to go to the haunted isle,” Red Snake said to Vulk, frowning. “Over the years, many have gone in, but few have ever returned. For a time, it was considered by the young men to be a sign of bravery to dare a night on the island… but we lost so many that the wise women have made it a taboo place.”

“Not that it stops all hot-heads,” added one of the other warriors, an older man. “A few still skirt the edges of the forbidden area, risking banishment to prove their courage and skill… they are occasionally also lost.”

“Yes,” agreed Red Snake. “She feels it is bad luck to speak of it, but Raven’s older brother, Black Hawk, disappeared so, three summers past… I myself, when younger and foolish in my pride, came within sight of the cursed island. What I saw… the trees were green with leaves, though it was winter; an otter the size of a wolf; and most horrible, marsh spiders larger than my head. I am not ashamed to say I was glad the place is taboo, and I could turn back without dishonor.”

A grim silence settled over the group.

“You are not of the Rethmani,” Red Snake continued, “so it is not for us to forbid you; but you are brave and skilled fighters, and you aided one of us at some risk to yourselves. I would not see you die for a fools quest.”

“It is a fool’s quest,” Vulk agreed. “But it is our friends that have been lured into it, by one who wants to take the power on the island for his own; he is either a fool himself, who doesn’t understand the danger, or he lied to our friends. Either way, we must try to save them and stop Ardath from meddling with this deadly power… even if he fails to seize it, he may cause it to spread beyond the confines of the island.”

The tribesmen shuddered at this prospect, and although it was obvious they held little hope for their success, they murmured to one another in solemn acknowledgement of the burdens of loyalty and friendship.

“Very well,” Red Snake said at last. “If this is your jhehara, then so be it. We will lead you to the sorceress’s island in the morning.”

With that the party broke up, and everyone turned in for the night. The Golana insisted on taking the night’s watches, to leave the group as rested as possible for whatever lay ahead tomorrow. The companions gladly agreed.

At dawn they broke camp. Drake nudged Mariala as they worked on folding her tent, nodding to where Devrik and Raven stood beneath a tree at the edge of the clearing, apparently arguing hotly. “Maybe he’s not as good in the lists as his… sword work… might imply,” he smirked after watching the heated exchange for a few minutes.

“I doubt that was the problem,” Mariala replied with a sardonic smile, looking over his shoulder. Drake turned to see the two now locked in a passionate embrace. He shrugged and gave a laugh as he tugged the last strap on the tent-roll tight.

The boats were soon loaded, and after a quick, cold breakfast, they were pushing away from the shore, led by the Golana in their small coracles. Raven traveled in the boat with Devrik, her own coracle towed easily behind.

As they wound through the maze-like channels of the marsh it grew steadily more humid and mist-shrouded, and it was less than two hours past dawn when they emerged into a large lake amidst an even larger island. In the center of the lake lay Baylora’s Island, a jungle of dense foliage down to the shoreline; but what caught and held their attention was a massive oak tree that towered over the other trees, apparently at the center of the island.

“By the Lady’s luck,” whispered Vulk, “that thing must be 200 feet high!”

“We have come further than we should already,” Red Snake said quietly, paddling up beside the boats. “Come Raven, it is time to go.”

Reluctantly, with a last kiss for Devrik, Raven slid smoothly into her coracle. “Goodbye my friends,” she said sadly, “I shall pray for your safe return!” She spoke to the group, but her eyes were solely on Devrik.

With quiet, quick good-byes the Golana Rethmani turned and paddled swiftly back up the channel to the relative safety of the mundane marshlands. The group turned back to the mysterious island ahead, and began to move slowly toward it.

Power throbbed in the air, and played on the nerves of Mariala, Devrik and Vulk… even Drake seemed to feel the oppressive hush that blanketed them. Only Marik seemed oblivious to the uncanny energies they were gliding into…

As they neared the shore they could see, shrouded in slowly swirling mists, the foundations of a ruined tower at the water’s edge, and a stone dock crumbling into the murk at its foot. The hulks of three partially sunk boats could be seen in the water near the dock, and one seemingly undamaged boat, dragged half ashore.

As the Golana had claimed, the trees on the island seemed larger and more robust, the vegetation thicker and more lush than they’d seen elsewhere in the Delta, with great twisting vines twining through everything. Spring, barely begun in the outside world, seemed greatly advanced on the island…