OWYN: It's best if we move through town as quickly as possible. I left a wedding party here not too long ago and it might raise unpleasant questions if I were seen here again.

GORATH: We may need supplies.

OWYN: There's a shop here called the Crossroads where we might be able to pick up a few things. Otherwise, we should be cautious.

Everywhere Locklear 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.

OWYN: Definitely not a good idea. This is my aunt's house. As much as I would enjoy the opportunity to explain why I'm travelling with a moredhel, I think we should leave.

With the lock successfully picked, Locklear pushed open the door and the entered the small building.

"Looks like this used to be some sort of laundry shop, but apparently it has gone out of business," he said. "Let's take a look around."

The building creaked in a way that made Locklear nervous.

"You stay out here," he told Owyn. "Something doesn't feel right about this place. I'm going in to have a look around." When he returned a minute later, he had a grim look on his face.

OWYN: What did you find?

LOCKLEAR: There was an open chest lying on an empty worktable, looked as though it had been rigged with a system of trip wires and flints. The contents were no doubt explosive. Someone's been up to no good, and we best leave before they get back.

Meet: FINN

Locklear shook his head.

"The cold will kill us if the moredhel don't," he said, "It's like Finn said, we'll have to consider the Inclindel blocked for the time being."

Gorath stared down the pass.

"If I recall my geography, this road skirts between the High Wold and the Teeth of the World," he said. "Ultimately it leads past the northern garrisons at Highcastle and Northwarden. What do you think? Do we take this path?"

YES:

Days passed.

To the north the mountains undulated like the scales of a great dragon, sloping ever higher as the Thunderhell Steppes gave way to the even more majestic range of the Teeth of the World. To the south, the mountains flattened out, becoming eventually a wide plain called the High Wold, which stretched south and curled at the feet of a minor range of hills.

CLOSED IN CHAPTER 6:

Owyn stopped.

He looked at the band guarding the pass ahead and called out, "Will you allow us safe passage?"

An answer was returned swiftly and with great authority, "By the order of Prince Arutha, we forbid you to come any further."

Cupping a hand to his mouth, Owyn called back, "We are on official kingdom business. You must let us pass."

"We have strict orders not to allow anyone further east," came the response.

Gorath stepped forward and stood next to Owyn. "What shall we do?"

"We are greatly outnumbered, we should leave."

Meet: SQUIRE PHILLIP

Enter: LAMUT

Enter: MAC MORDAIN CADAL

Enter: TEMPLE OF KILLIAN

Locklear gasped.

Severed heads spun in grey space before him as disembodied arms and legs flailed together with a sound much like the clashing of...kitchen scullery? Looking closer, he realized that the body parts were not in fact, body parts, but instead very tarnished pieces of armor that had been suspended from the shops rafters.

"You there, careful! It may all come down on our heads!" A gnomish man approached from the rear of the shop, a match held tight between his fingers. "Should have knocked. Nearly didn't hear you from upstairs - I can see why you came in though. Your armor is in quite a state. Another blow to your suit and you'll look like those lot up there. I'll fix you right up."

"If it's all the same, I'd prefer to buy an armorers hammer..."

"I'm sure you would, but I'm not in the business of ruining my livelihood. I'm an armorer and I make my living in repairs. People go fixing their own and I'm out of business. Right?"

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

Locklear surveyed their equipment. "Which of your items would you like repaired, today?" the mender asked.

Meet: ISAAC

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

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 man invited them inside.

"Come in. My name's Lucan," he introduced himself as he slapped his guests on their backs. "Nice to meet you. I haven't had visitors in some while. You know it gets kind of lonely up here and the kids don't come down too often. You have kids? They're a marvel don't you think and..."

Locklear seized Lucan's wrist and gave it a savage twist, forcing a shiny sovereign to fall from the man's pained fingers. Everyone watched in shocked silence as the gold clattered to the floor.

"I almost didn't feel you nabbing that from my purse," Locklear said. "You're not bad thief, but not good enough."

"Don't kill me," Lucan pleaded. "Please. I don't have anything to give you, but I'll do anything. I'll...I'll teach you!"

"You'll what?" Owyn sputtered.

"I'll teach you, yes, that's it!" Lucan said, his face brightening. "Spare my life and...and I'll teach you what I know about locks! Everything! What do you say?"

AFTER COMBAT:

It took some time to get everyone on their feet again. "Lets see if they left anything behind in the house," Locklear said.

The pass ahead was empty.

"It's a two day journey if the sign is to be believed," Gorath remarked. "Think we should attempt it?"

YES:

The trip was dull.

With only the occasional cold draft to chill their bones as they moved through the pass, it was a relief to finally feel the more temperate winds typical to the southern reaches of the Kingdom.

Mist floated in the pass.

"This road branches a little further on," James said. "To the south it leads towards Eggley and eventually Krondor. To the east, it leads through the Dimwood forest. Which way do you think we should take?"

Enter: TEMPLE OF ISHAP

A piece of paper dangled from the doorknob.

"At all costs, travellers should avoid contact with Orno, known widely as Orno the Pale" Owyn read aloud. "A contagion of unknown proportions has already lead to the illness of three people. Avoid any contact with..." The door swung open. "...him." Owyn straightened himself as a haggard looking man in his mid twenties appeared in the doorway, his face covered with a bloody handkerchief. "You are Orno?"

"Yessss," he wheezed through his handkerchief. "And you're...on...my dohstep. Get away afore you get yourselves in-fec-ted."

"What is wrong with you?"

The man shook his head. "Don't know, doctor's don't know, priests don't know. Nobody knows. Only persons that's survived is Michele the Healer, but she's a ways off in Loriel."

"I see," Locklear said. "Well, we'll be off now. Sorry to have bothered you."

Again the man nodded. "I'z sure you will be. I'z sure of it."

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.

A closed sign hung by the door.

"Guess they're not too interested in doing business right now," Owyn said.

The house's occupant was talkative.

Careful not to divulge any details about their trip, Locklear steered the conversation towards the townspeople. "Everyone here's fine folks, all except for Michele the Healer. I hope you're not planning to visit her."

"Why?" Locklear asked.

"She's a snake," he said. "Told me I was going to die, but you know what? I got better. Oh, I felt horrible enough for three or four days and thought I was going to die, but no, I made it through alive. I tell you, I think she and Orno the Pale have some kind of deal. He's giving them some kind of contagion and then she's administering some kind of phony medicine. It's indecent."

Michele escorted them inside.

The house was small but well appointed, its furniture very tasteful indeed for someone who seemed to be only a commoner. "You require my services," she stated. "You are ill."

Locklear shifted in his chair. "You sound very certain of yourself."

"You have the signs. I can heal you, but I require payment. 25 sovereigns. Will you pay?"