Meet: LIALLAN

Owyn gasped. Looking from one headstone to the next, he was horrified that each bore either his or Gorath's names...

OWYN: How can they have made these stones so quickly?

GORATH: They are possessed of an evil magic, these stones. They are known as the Terror Stones. Condemned of Sar-Sargoth are sometimes on the eve of their execution brought to this place and interred so that their head remains above ground. Until the time they are to die, they gaze onto their names and often go mad. I can only assume Delekhan intended that we were to be brought here...

OWYN: After people are executed, are they buried here?

GORATH: We are like unto the Eledhel in our ways of the dead. Once a moredhel falls in death, that which lies upon the ground is a living thing no more, only rotting meat, unworthy of further attention. Only when we intend great insult do we inter our kin.

"The battle of Sar-Sargoth was fought here. Let all who visit this place remember the strength and courage of our ancestors. May their legacy stand forever."

Gorath approached the slab.

"I wonder what purpose this serves out here?" he said. "Notice how the rocks around it are slightly scorched, but the vegetation seems normal. It is as though there were a terrible fire here many years ago."

Still puzzling over the strange object, they picked up their packs and left.

GORATH: This must be Nalar's Rib. The note we found said to put an emerald in the notch at the top. What do you think?

Gorath approached the stone.

He was somewhat surprised to find it cool to the touch, considering the tremendous amount of power and destruction it was capable of producing. He shivered slightly at the thought of it, and was relieved when they left a few minutes later.

Gorath knocked on the door, though he was sure no one would answer.

The door didn't appear to be locked, and after a hard shove with his shoulder he was able to force it open.

A small table and several chairs adorned the room, along with several small beds. The owners had apparently taken everything easily carried when they left.

"Take a look around, Owyn. Perhaps we shall find something we can use."

The lay of the goods store was comfortably familiar, arranged in such a common sense fashion that it took only a few moments for Gorath to locate the items which interested him.

Gorath frowned at the door, then turned to leave.

"Wait a minute!" cried Owyn. "Where are you going? Do you know who lives here or something?"

Gorath, annoyed, turned around and went to the door. He knocked lightly.

"There doesn't seem to be anyone he--" He was interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open. The door was to his back, so only Owyn could see the pained look on Gorath's face. He turned around slowly.

There was instant recognition on the face of the female moredhel. They obviously knew one another. She smiled at Gorath salaciously, and pulled his reluctant form into her house, leaving Owyn standing in front of the door.

After several minutes Gorath returned, backing out of the house and nodding.

"What was THAT all about?" Owyn asked with a grin.

"Nothing. Just a -- an admirer," said Gorath. "She didn't have much news that we don't already know. Let's get out of here."

Gorath looked at the small well and couldn't help but remember the day it was built. The hole was no sooner dug than the skies opened up. Rain fell for several straight hours, making the completion of the job a muddy slippery mess.

He smiled as he remembered his friend, Droelek, slipping backward into a large puddle. How they had laughed!

His smile faded as he remembered the day Droelek left to follow Murmandamus. He had not returned...

"Come on," said Gorath. "Let's fill up our pouches with fresh water and leave this place."

Meet: CULLICH

Everywhere Owyn looked, polished metal gleamed. As much a temple to war as any Temple of Tith, the cramped shop offered a startling variety of weapons and armor.

The moredhel who answered Gorath's knock, had a long scar that ran from just above his eye, to an unseen spot under his chin. He greeted them in moredhel. "I am Gralek. Why do you come here?" Gorath asked if they could enter and the moredhel reluctantly agreed. As he lead them into his house, Owyn noticed that he had almost no use of his right leg.

Shuffling inside, he explained his deformity to Gorath, "I followed Murmandamus into Kingdom territory. We attacked a very strong fortress there and just as we finally gained our entry, flames from hell engulfed us. Now I can no longer fight. My brothers have joined a new leader, and even now they prepare for a fresh attack! My blood burns to join them but I cannot."

Gorath conversed with the moredhel for a few minutes more. Then he motioned for Owyn that it was time to leave.

Steam rose from the small well.

Holding his hands over the opening, Owyn could feel the heat rising off the water far below. "It seemed strange they would put a drinking well so close to the river, but I have heard stories of these special wells. The water is supposed to have mild healing properties. Shall we take a drink?"

The well stood before them ominously.

Gorath remembered Owyn's warning about drinking too much of the water. "Should we have another drink?" he asked.

GORATH: Don't be in such a hurry my young friend.

OWYN: What's wrong?

GORATH: Soldiers ahead. Delekhan loyalists no doubt. Though I may swing a sword and you wield great arts, I do not believe we would alone do well against these fighters for others will be camped in very close proximity. We would probably be safest choosing a different route back into the Kingdom. Let us turn back.

Standing before the well made Owyn feel very strange, like a thousand eyes were watching him, staring at him, burning into his soul. He shivered uncontrollably.

"This well is said to have special properties, though few have ever been able to drink from it," Gorath said.

"Why is that?" asked Owyn, still shivering.

Gorath turned slowly and looked down at Owyn. "Because it is very dangerous -- and because only practicers of magic can survive its powers. The decision is yours, my young friend. Do you wish to drink from the well, Owyn?"

GORATH: Before us lies Harlech. We will have to turn to the east and skirt along the mountains.

OWYN: Why? We could probably do with picking up a few supplies. Surely we can get through if we just duck in and back out.

GORATH: It is not that simple. Among my kin, my appearance is...well known.

OWYN: Why? Are you a prince or something?

GORATH: Aside from Delekhan, there is only one other moredhel of high station other than myself. I suspect him long dead, slain by Moraeulf when I fled the Northlands and encountered your Seigneur Locklear...

OWYN: But if you're so important, then surely we can find help!

GORATH: No...all claims I may have once had were sundered when first I left the Northlands. I have unresolvable differences with most of my kindred. This is not the time to be discussing such things. We must turn to the east. Be careful of how you walk here, Owyn.

GORATH: We haven't moved far enough away from Harlech. We should skirt the mountains to the far east to travel around it.

Owyn didn't feel any different. All seemed normal, save the very faint glow that seemed to surround his body. He held up his hand and wiggled his fingers while Gorath watched with bemused interest.

"I'm afraid your spell didn't work," he said. "Perhaps you should try it again."

"But it did work! You can't see the effects because the spell was specifically designed for Moraeulf. Let's go."

Owyn cursed.

Looking around to see that they weren't observed, he bent close to Gorath's ear. "I'm feeling better," he hissed. "Not a good sign."

Puzzled, Gorath shook his head. "I don't understand."

"The spell that Cullich taught me has worn off," he said. "Before we try to go in, it would be advisable for me to recast it. I just hope no one can see you as...well, you."

Meet: MORAEULF

Except for a thin strip of floor that led between the door, the counter and the stairs, a grey cowl of dust coated the inn's fixtures. The patrons of the inn seemed similarly stagnant as they glanced up lazily from their mugs of ale and brandy.

A young female moredhel answered Gorath's knock.

"Why do you bring this Kingdom dog to my door?" she demanded in moredhel, looking at Owyn.

"He is my...pet," replied Gorath. "He entertains me with his magic tricks."

This was quite funny to both of them and they had a hearty laugh. Owyn, unable to understand the language, just looked puzzled.

"What news in Harlech?" asked Gorath.

"All who are able to fight have gone North toward Sar-Sargoth. Delekhan has been performing some magic tricks of his own. The Six are very powerful, they say."

They talked for a short while as Owyn fidgeted nearby. When the door finally closed, Owyn asked, "What was so funny? Why did you two start laughing?"

"I told her you were my pet," Gorath said, smiling.

Owyn's expression changed to an appalled stare. "You told her WHAT?"

"Sorry, my young friend. I had to tell her what she wanted to hear."

The house was silent.

Whoever had been arguing inside the house before had evidently adjourned either to sleep or had found a means of leaving undetected. Though he had no evidence to support his suspicion, he had a feeling he would not be meeting the house's residents any time soon.

Gorath hesitated at the door before knocking.

Inside, he overheard what sounded like several men engaged in an argument in a foreign tongue, but abruptly, one voice cut through the rest. "...you will have to speak more slowly. You know how poorly I speak your language. Please, please..."

Another voice. "Then we speak in the Kingdom tongue. The issue still remains. It is possible these wyverns will break those spells which hold them in our grasp. They are strong willed, these reptiles."

"Not enough so," came another voice. "Even if we do lose control, we can always regain it by using that lesser path affair, what was it called? Thy Master's Will. But it requires a physical component does it not? An egg of one of these creatures?"

For a long moment the tone of the argument became subdued as the men lapsed once more into the alien language, but once more he was able to recognize a phrase in the Kingdom tongue. "...it is vital we conduct the experiment. The Wyvern is similar enough a beast so it must be studied to see if it is indeed possible for us to utilize the device that was found in the ruins. I, for one, wish to avoid any unexpected surges of self-will when we confront the actual creature and the best way to test that is to drive them into Elvandar."

Shortly the conversation drew to a close. Immediately, Gorath feared the arguing men might discover him listening at the door, but within he could hear no evidence they were moving to leave. Instead, after several minutes, he heard what sounded like a series of loud claps and then all became absolutely silent within.

The air smelled awful.

Not sure he wanted to go any further, Owyn followed the path before them with his eyes, but a strange mist obscured his vision. "No telling what might be waiting for us up ahead," he said, "Think we should go take a look?"

A funereal pall hung over the broken stone walls of Armengar as a thick oily smoke rose from dark cracks in ground. Scavengers thrived in the ruins, living on the artifacts they found like mushrooms supping on the decayed bones of some old, dead thing. Slowly the moredhel would reclaim their city and restore its ancient name --- Sar-Isbandia.

Meet: IRMELYN

Everywhere Gorath looked, polished metal gleamed. As much a temple to war as any Temple of Tith, the cramped shop offered a startling variety of weapons and armor.

Gorath investigated.

Peering into the smoke filled hole, he was unable to see anything, although he was certain he smelled something like the burning of oil. For a long moment he stared in to the darkness before returning to his companion.

"The fires still burn underground here," he said to Owyn. "Ten years ago past, when this fortress was attacked by Murmandamus, the man who held this ancient moredhel city set it ablaze rather than see the moredhel take it again."

"Do you hate him for it?" Owyn asked, seeing Gorath's pained expression.

The moredhel shook his head. "No. As much we should have done when Delekhan first raided in our villages."

Gorath coughed.

Nearly passing out from the intense fumes within the cavern, he was only able to take a few steps inside before the light was completely obscured by oily smoke. Still, there seemed to be a small hole dug in the wall of the cavern next to the entrance which he thought he could just reach.

Gorath squinted.

Between the poor natural lighting and the fact that his eyes had not completely adjusted to the darkness, he was uncertain what might or might not have been inside.

Curiosity won him over.

Pushing rubble out of the way, Gorath groped in the hole, hoping that someone might have left something valuable behind.

"Naphtha", Gorath coughed, feeling the sticky black substance adhering to his fingers as he grabbed a greasy bottle neck. Feeling that the fumes were beginning to get to him, he stumbled away from the hole.

He could feel nothing in the space beyond, leaning further and further forward to extend his reach but managing only to inhale the fumes coming from the hole. Racked by coughing fits, he stumbled away from the hole, managing to walk only with the assistance of Owyn.

GORATH: If my nose does not mislead, we must be nearing the naphtha caves of which Irmelyn spoke. It will be critical for you to cooperate with all that I say if we are to get Obkhar out of these caves alive.

OWYN: Why are we even doing this? Why don't we simply head south?

GORATH: Obkhar is a name familiar to me and I believe he may serve a purpose with his freedom. Kin to me in irritation, he has pricked Delekhan's ire times enough that we may depend he will avenge himself upon his captor.

OWYN: You're hoping that he's as much a bother to Delekhan as Narab then... So what will we need to do?

GORATH: Venutrier of Lan operates in this locale and is known as a trader of slaves. I will offer you into slavery...

OWYN: You're going to what?!

GORATH: Do not alarm yourself overmuch. Venutrier would have no need of a scrawny young boy in his naphtha caves and will undoubtedly insist I see his operations--- reassurance you will not be ill treated -- and when we have entered the caves, undoubtedly the both of us will be taken captive.

OWYN: This is your brilliant plan? We just got away from Delekhan in Sar-Sargoth and you want to get us taken captive again?

GORATH: We have a way out, however. As you may detect by the stench of this river that runs hard by, the naphtha mixes with it from and underground river which runs through the caves -- it has since the day Guy du Bas-Tyra torched Armengar. I know this because I have had words with others once held captive by Venutrier. Once we are ready to leave, we dive in the underground river and will emerge somewhere downstream.

OWYN: No one has ever died doing this?

GORATH: I have met none that have. Come, we have business to attend to.

Meet: VENUTRIER

A chill descended the shaft.

Though he desperately wished to be out of the foul smelling caves, Owyn realized that neither Venutrier or his guards would allow him to escape and live. His only option was to find a way to free both himself and Obkhar from their captivity...

Meet: OBKHAR

Owyn felt dizzy.

His head spinning from the strong effects of the fumes within the cavern, he stared at the naphtha tainted water.

"Are you prepared for the swim?" Gorath asked, "Or do you need to prepare for a bit?"

LEAVE:

As he fit the vapor mask over his mouth and nose he studied the water before him, watched as it poured in a never ending stream into the rock cave where he knew it must, eventually, empty back into the open air...and freedom.

Breathing deeply through the mask, he felt his head finally clear and he dropped into the river, Gorath splashing in beside him. The icy water was almost painful against his skin and he found it somewhat ironic the vapor mask had finally allowed him to breathe a little easier, but now the cold had taken that luxury away.

Struggling against his pain he let the water carry him until he reached the dark mouth of the cave that would swallow him up as soon as he loosened his grip on the sides of the cavern. With a deep breath, deep as he was capable of, he let go. The dark beast sucked him into its gullet and Owyn's world disappeared into total darkness...

Owyn saw a dim light.

It was hazy and without form but it quickly began to grow in intensity and definition, and rushing beside it -- pain. A dull throbbing pain in his head and limbs that hurt more with each beat of his heart...

His eyelids flickered open and he could make out Gorath's form standing over him, though it was shrouded and somehow unreal, like a dream. But he knew it wasn't a dream, he knew he had survived his trip through the water cave, and with the realization he was alive he managed to whisper hoarsely, "If you EVER put us through that again, I will invent a cantrip whose sole purpose" he began to speak more rapidly and coherently, "is to cause you to fall desperately in love with a warthog -- may the two of you live happily ever after!"

Gorath smiled, unusual for the normally sedate moredhel, water still dripping from his hair. "I'm glad your sense of humor has returned. When you came up on the river banks and did not breathe, I was afraid you were lost."

Owyn stood slowly and painfully. Gorath helped him with his pack and soon they were ready to leave.

The lay of the goods store was comfortably familiar, arranged in such a common sense fashion that it took only a few moments for Owyn to locate the items which interested him.

Gorath swallowed hard.

The moredhel moss troopers guarding the bridge greeted them with icy stares as they approached.

"No one shall past this point without word from Moreaulf," threatened one of the guards. "Do you know the password?"

They had been recognized.

Cursing that they had come so close to slipping past the guard, Gorath warned Owyn to prepare for the worst. "I've been recognized," he shouted. "They'll have orders to kill us both!"

A man approached them.

Still breathing heavily from their fight, Owyn barely managed to wave a greeting at the Kingdom soldier who lumbered towards them.

FINN: Boy, you're just about the luckiest whore's son I've ever laid eyes on. If we hadn't of heard the commotion down the pass, I think those goblins would have been having noble stew about now. Nearly took out your friend here until I seen that he appeared to be fighting at your side. Now I don't know what you think you're doing in the Northlands with these moredhel.

OWYN: It is very important that you take us to Prince Arutha.

FINN: What?! The cold's gotten to you, boy. What makes you think I'm going to take time off from my duties and trot your behind down to Krondor?

OWYN: Prince Arutha isn't in Krondor. He's likely still stationed with his Krondorian Lancers just outside of the Dimwood near Sethanon. We need you to escort us to his camp.

FINN: Why would he be there? And why would he want to see a boy and a moredhel?

OWYN: The Prince just sent us to spy on them, all right? They'd never suspect a scrawny nineteen year old boy and a moredhel, so...that's why he sent us. We have information about a planned attack on the Kingdom and it's vital we get this information to him.

FINN: How do I know you're telling the truth?

OWYN: You don't, but if you don't take us and the moredhel overrun Northwarden, do you really think you're going to be able to sleep with yourself?

FINN: I have to give you one thing. If you're a gambler, you sure don't bid low... Come on, let' s get moving. The Dimwood's hell and back from here and the Prince won't want to be kept waiting. Let's move.

OWYN: Just get us the hell out of here, Lieutenant. The sooner the better.

GORATH: ...evaded capture and at last we were intercepted by your guards in the Inclindel Pass. The journey south to your camp here outside the Dimwood took many long days but we moved with great haste as our message is vital.

ARUTHA: Very interesting tale, but how do I know a word of it is true? How can I believe that this scroll you have given me is the genuine article and not a forgery trumped up by Delekhan?

ARUTHA: I was very explicit with you before, Gorath. I refuse to act until I have word from Seigneur James!

OWYN: He told us to give you a message, but it's...odd, sire.

ARUTHA: What exactly did he say?

OWYN: He said to tell you that there's a party at mother's...

ARUTHA: ...and a good time will be had by all. Gods, Laurie and Jimmie used that phrase years ago! All's right then! James has just saved the pair of you your necks and me a good portion of grief.

ARUTHA: Now I must settle down to the matter of finding out what Delekhan is thinking. If this report is correct then the best force he could muster would number at the most two thousand warriors, a pitiful spit in the eye for a castle assault.

GORATH: You believe he has something else in mind.

ARUTHA: Undoubtedly. As James indicated in his brief note, it would take some spectacular strategy on Delekhan's part to take the castle, and honestly, he has never displayed that kind of wit. We faced him before when he was still a field captain for Murmandamus. Wherever he is going he will no doubt hit fast and run for high ground. Now we have to establish where that high ground is.

GORATH: Shall we accompany you to Northwarden?

ARUTHA: No. I have a much more important task for you, though I doubt you will find it as exciting. I need you to return to Krondor immediately.

ARUTHA: Inform Master Magician Pug of the situation. Considering his tactics, I have a feeling Delekhan may have a few surprises in store for us. If that bastard brings anything magical to bear, I want to know what it is and how to counteract it.

ARUTHA: You leave immediately.