The road lead south.

Halting for a moment to ponder his options, James stared off in the direction of the Kingdom's populated heartland. "We'll pass through Malac's Cross or Sethanon if we head this way. Think that's the best idea?"

YES:

The landscape flattened.

Slowly the hills and trees began to thin, far more sparse in the grassy midlands of the Kingdom than in the region from which they'd just come...

James noticed something in the dirt.

Bending down to pick it up, he brushed away the dirt which partially obscured what lay there. Picking it up delicately, he threw his companions a surprised grin. "Someone's been up to mischief. This is Silverthorn!"

James grimaced.

None of the cortege of men arrayed against them looked to be in a good mood, and even if they had no argument with them, it was entirely possible their presence on the road meant trouble lay further ahead. Not exactly wishing for an armed confrontation, James tried to make the best of the situation.

JAMES: Can we be of some assistance to you fellows? You appear distressed...

MAN: Distressed? Oh aye, we are distressed in the extreme. There's that terrible mess down in Romney and we lot are heading down to lend a hand to the Riverpuller's Guild. What of you? You siding with Mitchel and that bloody Glazer's Guild?

James sniffed. Rubbing his irritated nose, he struggled against the urge to sneeze, but the smoky interior of the shop made it hard to maintain his demeanor. More annoying, the smoke obscured his view of the vials and jars which crammed the store shelves, most of which appeared to contain herbs or incense.

Unaware until he stepped into the room that he had been chilled, Owyn was glad to have the solid oaken door of the room closed behind him. Others within seemed likewise contented as they chatted quietly among themselves, taking little notice of the new arrivals.

The man was in a talkative mood.

Taking drinks from an overly large cup of ale between tales about his mercenaries, he wandered eventually into a discourse about how much he hated the followers of the god Kahooli.

"Why do you dislike them so much?" James asked.

Raising a single eyebrow at that, the man shook his head. "Those damn Kahooli priests in the temple up at Kenting Rush aren't natural I tell you. What pleasures a man's got, they want him to give up. All tied up in those damnable codes of piety. What in Tith's name does the mortification of the flesh mean anyway but some sorry sod's got to starve himself down to tooth and bone, and give up wenching and drinking? Not natural at all if you ask me..."

The woman stared at James.

Unnerved by the intensity of the woman's gaze, he sought someone else in the tavern to speak to, but when he turned again, he found she was still looking at him, her thin hands gripped tightly around a cloth wrapped bundle in her lap.

"Do I know you, miss?" James asked. "You seem troubled."

"This was to be given to you," she said, her voice breaking as she handed over the package. "I was instructed to bring it to you here."

"Instructed?" James unwrapped the bundle and discovered that a single torch was within. Baffled by the strange present, he peered hard at her, but she had pointed her gaze at the floorboards beneath her feet. Lifting her chin delicately, he saw that someone had struck her across the face. "Who did this to you and why?

"I do not know," she replied, her voice small in the clatter of pans and pots which came from the kitchen. "All I know is that I was to bring this to this tavern and give it over to one who looked as you do."

Gorath was about to knock on the door when he heard the shrill voice of a woman calling for help.

"No one can help you now! Ha ha ha ha!" boomed a raucous male voice. "The Goddess of death
will --"

Before another word could be uttered, Gorath took several steps back and charged at the door, hitting it with his shoulder. The door gave way with a splintering "crack!" The force of the impact caused him to lose his balance, but he quickly regained it, drawing his sword as he quickly surveyed the room.

He found himself eye to eye with a half dressed man wearing a wig. There was no one else in the room.

"What did you do with her?" Gorath demanded.

The man sputtered a reply, still trying to catch his breath. "Wha-- who-- I-- what did I do with WHOM?"

"The woman. We heard a woman yelling for help. What did you do with her?" Gorath repeated, more with bewilderment than anger this time.

"I haven't done anything with anyone! I'm an actor. I was just preparing for a play I will be performing tonight at The Flying Sow."

Gorath swallowed hard. "A play?" he asked, weakly. "We thought...I mean I thought... Uh, sorry about the door! I'll give you 25 sovereigns, or whatever we have left. That should cover it." The man was still shaking his head when they left.

A balding man with an intense gaze answered James's knock.

"Are you looking to stay in Prank's Stone for awhile?" he wondered. "Do I have a house for you -- only 30 sovereigns a month!"

"Sorry, we were just passing through. What can you tell us of the people who live in your houses?" James asked.

"Got a guy who claims he's an actor living in one, and my other place is ABOUT to become unoccupied. That no good dragon lover has cheated me out of my money for the last time! Good day!" The subject obviously angered him, because he put an end to the conversation by slamming the door.

A smiling man answered the door.

"Come in, come in!" he said with a large grin. "Have I got something to show you!"

Curious, James followed the man into the house. He lead them to a table upon which there was a bulky object of some kind covered with a cloth. With great flourish the man pulled away the cloth revealing a strange metal machine with a funnel at the top and a wooden crank on one side.

"What is it?" asked Owyn.

"It's a gem converter. Currently it will only convert rubies into emeralds, but I'm working on a formula to convert rubies into diamonds. Say! Perhaps you could help me test it? Would you like to give it a try?"

James banged on the door.

He waited for a short time, then banged on the door again. Not getting any response he turned to leave, "Apparently, our gem dealing friend is not home."

The slab was strange.

Slightly larger than a fully grown dwarf, the stone seemed very old and Owyn wondered if it might have been part of some ancient religious ritual.

The slab made Owyn uncomfortable.

Still, he stepped closer to the strange rock to examine it more closely...

OWYN: This is a very unusual stone. It seems to be emitting a very strange energy but I can't make out its nature. Should we touch it?

They were stopped by two men.

"You will go no further," one of the men commanded. "Before any shall enter the temple of Banath they must strip off all metals."

James scowled, "Under whose authority do you make these demands? We are representatives of Prince Arutha and order you to let us pass."

The men seemed a bit taken aback by this news, but as they departed they continued to speak of their levy. "Metal is base and offensive to our god. He who enters this temple with metal on his person shall be struck dead..." From the other side of the temple, almost out of earshot, James heard, "...by the will of Banath!"

Enter: Temple of Banath

CAVALL RUN AREA

WATERFALL

Off in the distance, a hiss whispered in Locklear's ears.

"Hmmm," Owyn said. "Think we should investigate further?"

YES:

Leading the way, Owyn turned down the short path, his steps becoming more hurried as the faint hiss grew into a pounding torrent of sound. At last they found themselves standing before a sparkling waterfall.

White lather churned from the waterfall's lip in a burst of sunlit spray, crashed over natural stone tiers into a small pool of pine smelling water. Broad leafed and lush, dark ferns grew up the face of the arroyo like a living carpet. Everywhere there seemed to be life moving and crawling.

Locklear strolled into the trees. Noticing a suspiciously ordered pile of leaves, he suspected that someone may have hidden something underneath.

Locklear inspected the waterfall. In most respects it looked much like any other waterfall, but on close examination it appeared the grass near the base of the waterfall had been trampled down, almost as if someone had walked through the waterfall...

EXIT WATERFALL (invalid?)

Rainbows glimmered in the spray.

The brief sojourn from their journey had been diverting, allowing them time to stretch and cool their roadsore feet. Regretfully, they gathered their packs and one by one wandered back up the mossy defile to the main road.

CAVALL RUN ENTRANCE

Water cascaded over them.

Sloshing through the thundering curtain of water, they flung themselves down on a wet stone slab which lay behind the waterfall. Wet strands of hair dangling before their eyes, they looked around their new surroundings. A door was set into the face of the rock, and on either side an empty iron brazier was bolted to the door's frame. To the right side, there was a small darkened niche.

KNIGHT NOT HELD

KNIGHT HELD

Locklear stood to take a closer look at the mysterious hole, discovering there a chessboard. "Looks like someone was getting ready to play a match, but they were missing a knight's piece."

Locklear stood to take a closer look at the mysterious hole, discovering there a chessboard. "Looks like someone was getting ready to play a match, but they were missing a...piece." Owyn smiled. "If it doesn't occur to you you're as thick as a stump." Locklear nodded, collecting the knight's piece they had acquired from the well in Kenting Rush. Setting it in its missing place, he grinned with satisfaction as the door swung open. "If that isn't an invitation, I've never seen one," Locklear said. "Shall we?"

ENTER CAVALL RUN	EXIT CAVALL RUN
Locklear led the way. Soon they were deep into the cavern...	The sound of rushing water filled their ears. "The Waterfall is just back this way," Locklear said. "Are we ready to leave?" YES: They hurried. After emerging through the door, they splashed through the waterfall and onto the facing bank...

CAVALL RUN: CLOSED EXIT

ACTUAL	Invalid Variant?
Stones littered the stairwell. Taking a few steps up, James realized the passageway was utterly choked with the stony refuse. "It's no good," he said with a sigh. We won't be getting through all that mess."	Rubble filled the stairwell. "No way we're going to be able to dig through all that by ourselves," James said. "Just as well. We have other things we need to be attending to at the moment."

CAVALL RUN: SUICIDAL NIGHTHAWK (Chapter 3)

CELLAR KEY HELD

CELLAR KEY NOT HELD

A Nighthawk awaited them. Reaching inside the black folds of his tunic, he drew out something that gleamed in the gloom. But rather than lunging forward, he snaked his hand to his mouth and bit down, acting before James could realize what he was doing. "He's just swallowed poison," James said, holding Gorath back. "Just as well. Saved us the trouble of killing him." Crouching down to study the quavering face of the Nighthawk, a look of disgust twisted his features. "Fortunately we already found Navon and his key. I imagine it unlocks the door just over there."

A Nighthawk awaited them. Reaching inside the black folds of his tunic, he drew out something that gleamed in the gloom. But rather than lunging forward, he snaked his hand to his mouth and bit down, acting before James could realize what he was doing. "He's just swallowed poison," James said, holding Gorath back. "Just as well. Saved us the trouble of killing him." Crouching down to study the quavering face of the Nighthawk, a look of disgust twisting his features, James continued, "I'll wager as well he wasn't the leader and that the door beyond will be locked. We find whoever is running this ring and we'll find the key we need." "How can you guess all that?" Owyn asked, perplexed by the statement. "He doesn't have a key on him, and secondly, I don't believe the leader of the Guild of Death would simply commit suicide. More likely he'd try to take as many of us with him as he could when he went."

FRANKLIN'S HOUSE

A heavyset man answered James's knock.

Greeting them warmly he invited them into his house. After several minutes of conversation he offered them some fresh water for their pouches, a kindness that was gladly accepted. They were preparing to leave when the man's tone turned serious.

"You gents be careful out there. I've been hearing some strange noises -- wouldn't be surprised if it was the spinners coming out of hibernation."

James looked a little puzzled, "Spinners?"

"Overgrown spiders! Count Corvalis has sent some men to patrol the four virgates to the west, hoping to get to the spiders before they have a chance to get entrenched in the area, but it would be best to keep on the lookout."

COUNT CORVALIS' GUARDS

IF FRANKLIN

VARIANT (invalid?)

An arrow hissed by James's head. Startled, but having presence enough of mind to react, he halted immediately and held up both hands, hissing for his companions to do likewise. They had come across Count Corvalis' guards. Moving through the long stemmed grass with a nearly feline litheness, a long limbed soldier halted a few steps away, eyeing them suspiciously. "What business do you have here?" the man said. "Actually, we came looking for you," James said, still relieved that the crossbow bolt hadn't struck him. "You are one of Count Corvalis' guards aren't you?" "If I am, what of it?" the man replied. Jerking his thumb back at the way they had come, James related what the franklin had explained to them about the spiders in the area. "They asked for you to come and help as soon as possible." Looking back to the other men who waited in the field, the soldier waved to them and instructed a few of them to get someone to go and help out. "What about us?" James asked. "Do what you like," the soldier replied. "You lot don't look like poachers anyway. Just don't let us catch you poking around near the ruins of the Keep."

An arrow hissed by James's head. Startled, but having presence enough of mind to react, he halted immediately and held up both hands, hissing for his companions to do likewise. They had come across Count Corvalis' guards. Moving through the long stemmed grass with a nearly feline litheness, a long limbed soldier halted a few steps away, eyeing them suspiciously. "What business do you have here?" the man said. "Actually, we came looking for you," James said, still relieved that the crossbow bolt hadn't struck him. "You are one of Count Corvalis' guards aren't you?" "If I am, what of it?" the man replied. "We're looking for Ugyne," James explained. Pointing to Owyn, he continued nervously, "This one is the nephew of the Count." Approaching a little more closely, the man stepped past James to have a good look at the boy. "Does look a bit like the Count," the man confirmed. "But I can't allow you to go any further just based on a faint resemblance and your word. If you wish to keep yourselves alive, I'd advise you to turn about."

HERBAL FARM - First

HERBAL FARM - Second

James knocked rapidly. A darkly tanned gentleman met them at the door, a slightly puzzled look on his face. "News travels quickly here," he said, allowing them inside. "I hadn't expected anyone to have heard about us out here yet." "Heard about what?" James replied. "Our herbs," a woman said, poking her head into the room. "Count Corvalis said we could gather them out here because the soil around here is very rich. He decided it was for the best since what happened at the Keep. No sense letting this all go to waste. Would you care to see some of our preparations?"

They were greeted warmly at the door by a young couple. "Hello. Come to look at our selection again? We promise these are the finest herbal preparations around. Want to have another look?"

YES	NO
"Excellent. You won't be disappointed by our fine selection. We grow our stock in a special garden so you can be sure we have the finest quality herbs available."	"Ah well. If you are ever in the market for herbs you can come see us again. Good day to you."

RUINS OF THE KEEP

OWYN: It's gone! Gods, the whole Keep is gone!

LOCKLEAR: What's gone?

OWYN: Remember when I told you that I had an uncle living near here, the count of Cavall Keep? His whole keep is gone! It should be right in front of us!

LOCKLEAR: Are you sure you just haven't forgotten the way? Perhaps we've just made a wrong turn somewhere.

OWYN: No, no, no. I'm certain of it. Something very wrong is up around here. Perhaps we should go north, up into Cavall Keep itself. At least we could get some answers there.

WEST OF AMBUSH BARN (Chapter 3)

Something caught James's eye. Bending down to get a closer look he saw it was a set of fresh footprints that appeared to be heading east.

SHOP: DABEH'S FANCIFUL TRINKETS

Moving casually through the magician's shop, Owyn suppressed a knowing grin as he glanced sidelong at Gorath. Since entering, the moredhel seemed unnaturally fascinated by the array of scrolls, items which would be utterly useless to any save a trained magician. While the owner's fascination spell was unscrupulous, it was clever.

INN: LAPPING MEADOWS

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.

WELL (Rope)

WELL (no Rope)

James peered into the blackness of the well. "There's something shiny down there -- looks like something metal." His voice echoed against the stone sides of the well. "Hand me a sword and some rope." Owyn retrieved the objects, as requested. Then he watched James carefully tie the rope to the end of the sword and lower it into the well. There were several metallic clanks and a few muttered curses, then James pulled the sword back out. There, dangling from the handle, was a Moredhel Lamprey!

James peered into the blackness of the well. "There's something shiny down there -- looks like a sword." His voice echoed against the stone sides. "If only we had some rope, I think I could get it out of there." RETURN: James stared into the well. "I know it was in here. I saw it myself." He leaned over the well, his eyes scanning the darkness. "Damnation! There was a sword down here, but it has either been covered by the mud at the bottom, or someone else has come along before us and fished it out."

Enter: CAVALL KEEP

Meet: UGYNE CORVALIS

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.

After knocking loudly on the front door several times, James was just turning to leave when a crackling voice slipped under the door.

JAMES: Hello good friend. We would like an opportunity to speak with you. May we come in?

VOICE: What? Whadda ya want?

JAMES: I said we would like to talk with you for a moment, and perhaps get some fresh water for our pouches.

VOICE: Huh? You want fishwater for your cows?

JAMES: No, I said we'd like some FRESH WATER for our POUCHES...and we'd like to TALK to you.

VOICE: What?

JAMES: COULD WE COME IN AND SPEAK TO YOU?

ANOTHER VOICE: What do they want, dear?

VOICE: THEY SAY THEY WANT TO COME IN AND SLEEP WITH US.

ANOTHER VOICE: They want to see our ducks? We don't have any ducks. Why would --

JAMES: Uh, never mind...NEVER MIND. SORRY TO HAVE BOTHERED YOU FOLKS.

Enter: Temple of Kahooli

Meet: NAVON DU SANDAU

Meet: UGYNE CORVALIS

It was an unusual well.

James ran his hands across the wooden crank, tried to turn it but discovered it was jammed. Reaching down to get a better grip his fingers scraped against something hard and smooth. It was a small round lock.

JAMES: I believe I'm familiar with this kind of lock. In days past some men required their ladies to wear locked undergarments as an assurance of chastity while they were away. As the stories go, the men gave the keys to these undergarments to none but their closest and most trusted friends. Naturally, the ladies did everything in their power to convince the friends to use their key to remove the uncomfortable things, and many illicit romances were said to have developed. The lock was always replaced before the husband returned home, but after unlocking the device the key was often left with the friend for the next time the husband went away. In the meantime, the secret lovers would sometimes find an abandoned well, put on one of these locks and use the key to hide love notes.

Shall we try to open it?

The shop was littered with castoffs, forgotten trinkets, lost items which few would want or need to reclaim. Here it seemed that tarnish and rust were the things that were prized, the items to which they clung of only secondary value.

Within, the accommodations were humble. Several splintering tables had been jammed in to the common room and arranged to accommodate perhaps twenty five men, thirty if hunger pressed them. Greasy stains covered benches and walls, evidence of wild days past.

In Chapter 6:

The tavern was closed.

Tacked on the door was a note which appeared to have been hastily written:

Due to a shortage of liquor, the Candlemaker's Grin is hereby closed until further notice.
Tabar. Proprietor of the Candlemaker's Grin.

Despite the fact that light was dim and pooled only in shallow corners, the mood within seemed cheerful as the tavern keeper animatedly related tales of mischief, reaping gales of laughter from people who had most likely heard his story dozens of times.

Owyn motioned to the man.

Dressed in a food stained apron which seemed to weigh heavy upon his shoulders, tavern keeper Lurough approached them hesitantly, his green eyes reflecting a certain fearful quality. "If you've come looking for a drink, I'm afraid you'll be turned away empty handed. Our tap has run dry."

Owyn raised a startled eyebrow at the carrot headed fellow, then looked about at the grumbling patrons of the bar. "You've no alcohol and a bar full of soldiers. I'm surprised there hasn't been an uprising," he said.

"Oh, its occurred to them," the barkeeper replied. "So far, they're not so mean spirited yet we can't keep them corralled. But things keep up as they are, these soldiers will get like wild dogs and there'll be nothing to keep them from fighting amongst themselves. The same is true down at the Candlemaker's Grin tavern. It'll be a bloodier war than any fought at Northwarden or Highcastle."

"Sad state of affairs," Owyn agreed. "What if we could get you the alcohol?"

"Could you now?" the barkeep said with astonishment. "You know where there might be supplies?"

Owyn waved off Lurough's enthusiasm. "Not precisely, no. But we will look around and see what we can come up with. I...know a few people around these parts."

Grabbing up the boy's hand, Lurough kissed the back of it. "You'll be a savior if you do, boy. Thank you."

The bartender shook his head.

Weaving past a hard looking mercenary, he bent his head low as he spoke, fearing being overheard. "For all this fuss about the moredhel, I don't know that I could be worse off than I have been these last few weeks," Lurough grumbled. "Had a group of soldiers come in last evening after last watch. They threatened to set the Dagger N Star alight if I didn't get them something to drink. Fortunately Dabney was able to talk sense to them."

Looking around the bar, Owyn could tell that the mood had changed little since the run in. "We've looked around for you..."

"Yes?" Lurough said with sudden interest. "Did you find anything?"

Owyn frowned. "No luck as yet. We will keep looking."

The bartender shook his head.

Weaving past a hard looking mercenary, he bent his head low as he spoke, fearing being overheard. "For all this fuss about the moredhel, I don't know that I could be worse off than I have been these last few weeks," Lurough grumbled. "Had a group of soldiers come in last evening after last watch. They threatened to set the Dagger N Star alight if I didn't get them something to drink. Fortunately Dabney was able to talk sense to them."

Looking around the bar, Owyn could tell that the mood had changed little since the run in. "We've looked around for you..."

"Yes?" Lurough said with sudden interest. "Did you find anything?"

Lurough hurried past them.

"I'm a wee bit busy, lads" he apologized, running to tend to another soldier demanding a drink. When at last he had put a foaming brew before the man, he returned with a towel in hand. "I really can't thank you the both of you enough for saving me skin though."

"So, you think the patrons will refrain from burning your tavern to the ground?" Owyn asked.

The bartender wrinkled his freckled nose at his visitors. "Well, I wouldn't care to speculate about their inclinations just yet, but I think the Dagger N Star is safe enough for the time." Cringing as another patron shouted for something, he shrugged. "I must be working. Good day to you both."

Owyn tapped the fellow on the shoulder.

Wiping ale froth from his lips, the man gave his guests a once over, then put aside his drinking cup. "You want something taken up to the muster in Northwarden?" he asked.

"Are you a messenger?" Owyn replied.

"Not as such, but if anyone wants a message delivered to Northwarden, I'd be the one to do it," the man said. "I just got stuck with the duty you might say."

Withdrawing the note that they had found, Owyn handed it over to him. "It is important this message get to someone in a position of authority at Northwarden. I've had a chance to look it over, and I think what's within may affect the tide of the battle."

"That so?" the man said, gaining his feet. "All right then. I'll see to it that it reaches no less than Duke Martin himself. But I warn you, if this is some kind of prank, I'll hunt you down wherever you are and give you the thrashing of your life."

Owyn nodded. "I'll keep that in mind," he said. "I'd take care on your run though. I hear things are getting rough up that way."

Returning to his beer, the man muttered over the rim of his cup. "You don't know the half of it."

Locklear hesitated.

Noticing the finely engraved sign above the door, he read it aloud "David Tatum - Scribe".

"Among other things," replied a strong voice. "Historian, philosopher, mathematician. I have my nose in everything."

Emerging from the building's cover, the scribe cast a knowing look at Gorath as he continued. "Right now I'm investigating combat tactics. Perhaps you would be interested in helping."

"And what would we profit of it?" Owyn asked quietly.

"Information," the scribe replied. "You talk for an hour and then I talk for an hour. You pick the subject. Intrigued?"

Owyn rapped on the door with the back of his hand.

"Coming. Hang on. Just a second," said a mirthful voice inside the house. "Okay, here I am." The door opened wide and a large bearded man joined them in front of the house.

Owyn cleared his throat, then said, "We'd like to talk with you, if you could spare a moment of your time."

Now, the large man was eyeing Gorath suspiciously. "Wait a minute," he said, a broad grin erupting on his face like a volcano, "Lurough hired you didn't he?" The man rocked back with laughter. "Oh, this is going to be the best joke yet!"

Still laughing he retreated into his house, refusing to answer any more questions.

Gorath was about to knock, but his knuckles touched nothing save air as the door swung out of his reach.

Accepting the mysterious invitation they entered the dwelling slowly. There were shelves on every wall, and books on every shelf. Owyn's eyes fell upon a wooden staff in the corner of the room.

"Ah, you've already found my Lightning Staff. You like it, I can tell." The voice came from a man sitting on a chair in one corner of the room. The table in front of him was stacked with papers making his huddled form hard to see. "I am Shoral. Prove your worthiness to me and I will give it to you.

"What kind of game are you playing?" Gorath demanded.

His eyes little more than slits, the magician replied slowly, "Not a game." He turned to stare at Owyn. "If you can answer three questions I will give you my Staff. But fail this little test and I shall extract a payment in gold. Care to try your luck?"

"The first question, Owyn, is this: our great and mighty Pug claims to know magic of the greater path, and magic of the lesser path. Is this truly possible?"

YES:

"Very good, my friend," Shoral muttered, "you have but two questions remaining." He shifted in his chair, shuffled through some papers on his desk, then continued. "Dragon Lords once ruled this planet. One of these Valheru, Draken Korin, called himself 'Lord of the Eagles.' Do I tell the truth of this?"

NO:

"You have answered correctly once again," said the sorcerer. His smile turned icy. "Now, only one question remains -- answer it correctly and you shall have my Staff."

Gorath looked at the magician coldly, not liking the evil fire that seemed to be erupting on his face.

Suddenly, Owyn began to shout, "My eyes! What have you done to my eyes you Black Demon? I can't see!" In an instant, Gorath sprang to his feet drawing his sword.

"Wait! I haven't done anything to your eyes!" sputtered the startled Shoral. "Can't you see me?" he shouted, waving his hands in the air wildly.

Owyn smiled broadly. "I'm sorry, my mistake. YES! I can see you just fine." He winked at the sorcerer. "Foolish me, and I thought your last question was going to be hard -- perhaps even IMPOSSIBLE -- to answer."

Without waiting for a response, he grabbed the Lightning Staff and began to head for the door. "Come on," he shouted over his shoulder, "We better leave. Now!"

"I'm sorry, my friend. You have failed my test." Shoral waved his hand in the air and muttered an incantation. A blast of unseen energy swept around the room, and one by one gold coins began to appear in the air, dropping noisily into a large glass jar in the corner of the room.

"You thief!" shouted Gorath. "Give us back our gold!"

Owyn held out his hand to stay him. "No, Gorath. The question was fair. We must leave."

The hammering inside the house offered a perfect musical counterpoint to James's rapping on the small front door. Presently, a young man sporting a long beard answered the knocks.

"Yes? Can't you see I am quite busy here?" They looked past the man and saw a large block of granite, a beautiful woman emerging from the stone like a delicate flower opening to the sun.

"You're carving a woman?" Owyn inquired.

The man shifted his weight from his left to his right foot impatiently, then said sarcastically, "No, actually I'm trying to cover a very pale still woman with a big rock." With that he rudely closed the door in their faces.

James turned to leave. "Artists!" he spit angrily.

Locklear was about to knock on the door when suddenly he straightened, and with a broad smile on his face jumped back to survey the entire house.

LOCKLEAR: I know this place! I stayed in this house a year ago while journeying to Northwarden to see a friend. There was a beautiful young lady named Celindra living here. We got kind of friendly over supper, and in the middle of the night she snuck into my room...

He knocked on the door, beaming with anticipation. A moment later a beautiful young woman answered.

"Yes? Can I -- Locklear?" A smile of recognition crossed her lips, but it was quickly replaced with an expression of great concern. "I am --" Before she could finish her sentence she was brushed aside by two rather large hands, one of which curled into a rather large fist and hit Locklear, rather hard, in the face.

When his vision had cleared sufficiently, the woman stood over him. "I'd like you to meet my husband, I've told him all about you."

Pigeons cooed inside the house. Lots of them.

James waited patiently for someone to answer his knock. After several seconds a freckle faced boy came to the door and showed them inside.

A pleasant looking man stood near a large wire lined cage that seemed to take up almost the entire room. It was alive with pigeons, and the man was stroking a small one, trying to coax it back inside. "Come on now," he said gently. "Come on, get in there." The bird refused to cooperate.

"Ahem." James cleared his throat causing the man to look up with surprise. The bird flew out of his hand and began to circle near the ceiling.

"Blast it. These birds are no better than kids. Won't do a darn thing you tell 'em to." In the corner, the young boy smiled. "I hear talk of a magic spell called, 'Thy Master's Will' that is supposed to command flying beasts -- but I think it's more for Wyverns than anything else. You need one of their eggs too, I guess."

He wiped his hands on a towel and had the young boy fetch them some fresh water. After a brief conversation, they left.

The smell of fresh bread filled the air as James knocked on the door. It made his stomach grumble, hungrily.

After a short wait, they were greeted by a short man with a big belly. He had flour on the side of his face and the bridge of his nose, which he wiped at with the back of his hand as he spoke. "Yes, what can we do for you?" he asked.

James noticed a woman inside the house, she too was covered with flour. "We don't mean to interrupt," he said, "but we smelled the bread and thought we might come by --"

"Sorry, we have an exclusive arrangement with Tabar at the Candlemaker's Grin. If you want something to eat, you will have to go there. It's just down the road, so you shouldn't have too much trouble finding it. Now, we really have to get back to work."

It was a still night. Only the sound of chirping crickets gave any sense of life to the dead calm.

There were small candles visible through the windows, and they could hear someone moving around inside the house. James knocked, and after some more shuffling a small man with greying hair came to the door.

"Beautiful evening, isn't it? Not a cloud in the sky," said the little man distractedly. He left the door open and disappeared into the house.

They followed... Charts and graphs were littered about the room, which Gorath noticed had no roof. The man was laying on the floor staring at the sky when they found him. He answered a few of their questions, while taking some notes of his own, but they learned nothing of import or consequence.

They let themselves out quietly so as not to disturb him further.

There were armed guards in front of the house.

"We are on official business," called James.

Placing a hand on his weapon, one of the guards shot back, "On whose authority?"

"On authority of the Prince of Krondor," James said, matter-of-factly. "And we were sent by the priests of the Temple of Kahooli."

Apparently satisfied with this answer, the guards moved aside and let them pass...

There were strange markings on the door. James studied the symbols with a questioning eye, then knocked loudly. The man who came to the door introduced himself as Prelate of the Temple of Kahooli.

"I am not well liked by the plain ones," he said. "They do not understand the supreme justice of my actions. Those who break the rule of law must suffer the divine consequences of their behavior." The Prelate went on to tell them of his experiences while trying to become prelate and of the Codes of Piety, so strictly enforced by the local temple.

Nodding politely, James asked, "What can you tell us of these codes?"

Recognizing their interest, he countered the question with one of his own, "If you would care to make a donation to the temple -- say, 50 sovereigns -- I think I could be persuaded to reveal them to you. Will you pay?"

The Prelate lead them into a small room.

He stood behind a makeshift altar and spoke, sometimes ranted, about the great god Kahooli, Warrior God of Vengeance, Unraveler of Mysteries into Truth. They listened without much interest, until at last he began to speak of the pious codes...

"Subjugation of the Will," he began. "None shall be considered a true follower of Kahooli without first renouncing all ties to king and country."

James glanced about the room nervously as the Prelate continued...

"Mortification of the Flesh. None shall be allowed entry to the temple of Kahooli until they have cleansed themselves of all appetites of the flesh to purify themselves for the intervention of Kahooli's will."

"And finally, Subordination of Service. None shall do service to Kahooli without first proving their loyalty by passing the water curtain and praying to Kahooli for one full cycle of the seasons."

He continued his sermon for nearly an hour, but revealed little of interest. At last he was finished and they were allowed to leave.

James pushed open the door of the wooden barn.

Inside he found stalls containing a standard mixture of animals. The floor of the barn was covered with a pungent mixture of hay, dust and animal dung that made his eyes water. He was glad when they left a few minutes later.

Guards escorted them inside.

Near the pasture gate and past some of the more offensive smelling horse stalls, an older woman sat on a large oak bench, her gaze stern and unflinching as she looked into the faces of the numerous military captains who were seated on the floor around her. Looking up, she didn't appear amused that her council had been interrupted.

"Yes, what is it?" she asked of Owyn. "You bring news?"

"Of a sorts," Owyn said awkwardly. Quickly he summarized the things which he had been told about the brewing difficulties with the soldiers and the need for supplies for the taverns.

Angered, Count Corvalis turned on Owyn and shook his head. "I can't believe you would interrupt this meeting for so trivial an issue."

"You do not have permission to speak, Count," Lady Boswich replied, an iron hard edge to her voice. "If anything, their request is the most reasonable thing I've yet heard from anyone in this room today. Most of you have been preening and prattling on like you were cocks in a hen house, but I'll have no more of it. It's time we addressed our problems here!"

Uncomfortable to be witness to his uncle's humiliation, Owyn said nothing as the Lady returned her attention to him. Her faint smile painting aged lines across her face, she motioned for the doors to be reopened for them. "You will find that I have reserves of alcohol hidden in secret chests located near here. They are hidden behind an illusion of a mountain that was created for another purpose."

Owyn staggered. The thought of an illusion of a mountain boggled his mind, the sheer amount of power necessary fantastically large. "But who..."

"It is not important," she replied. "Go from this place and bear east into a small canyon. That which appears to be the canyon's end is an illusion and may be passed through. Beyond it you shall find the chests of which I speak."

Nodding his head, Owyn bowed respectfully to the Lady and allowed himself to be escorted with Gorath back outside.

A swordblade barred their path.

Startled by the sweeping gesture, Owyn took a step back, eyeing the grim looking guard who had interposed himself with a great deal of contempt. "The Lady Boswich cannot be disturbed at the moment," the guard said. "I have orders she is to be left alone. No one short of the Prince of Krondor may enter."

The mercenary approached them.

Sizing them up, he drummed his fingers on the hilt of his sword, pacing back and forth before them. At last, apparently quite sure of himself, he taunted them...

Locklear's legs ached.

It seemed that he'd been walking for eternity, and the long stretch of road which led to the north did nothing for his enthusiasm. "We can keep going this way, or we can turn about. Keep going?"

YES:

Snow capped the mountains.

Locklear motioned for a temporary halt as they came through the pass into their new surroundings. Vaguely he could sense the cold that was coming down from the north and could imagine it would be even colder on the other side of the Teeth of the World...