Wednesday, August 30, 2023

Epilogue

Epilogue



"Well," said the old man getting up and turning away with a stretch, "that is the end of my story. You can see that it was quite an adventure. It is getting late now, so I think it is time for me to get on to something more important and for you all to get about your own business."

The gathered crowd sat for a moment in stunned disbelief. Then one high-pitched voice, bolder that the rest, broke in from the back and sundered the silence, "But nothing is settled yet, Iskandar still lives and is breaking his bonds, the company is still split and they have only recovered one of the artifacts that they need. The story can't be done! What about the rest of the quest? What happened? How did they collect the other items of power which they needed? How did they stop Iskandar without Ordolf? Why are the ships approaching bearing black sails? You can't stop now!"

The ancient mage turned back and glared at his questioner, "I can and I will, young lady! As I said at the beginning this is my story and I will tell it as I please!"

Astall's scowl softened suddenly and he continued with a twinkle suddenly visible in his eyes, "You are right though the story isn't yet complete. In fact there is quite a bit more to tell. Perhaps if you come back tomorrow I will finish it for you. Then again, perhaps not. But if you keep on coaxing me, I promise that some day soon I will tell you the rest of the tale for as you surmised there is quite a bit left in the tale to tell and it is even more interesting than that which you have already heard." "For now though, get out of my cottage," the old mage roared. "I have other things to do!"

With that Astall Demonsbane turned his back on the assembled crowd as they began to scuttle out the door like roaches caught in the light.

The bold young girl whose outburst had slowed everyone's departure though kept gazing back over her shoulder as her older brother dragged her out the door with a look of calculating speculation in her eyes. "Perhaps," she thought, "the old archmage isn't quite so fierce as everyone believes.  I wonder what might coax the rest of the story out of him"

Chapter 20 (Original edit)


Chapter XX


Frothbreaker and his crew from Wavestrider were fortunate in one respect. Although their vessel had been badly damaged in the battle off of the Isle of Mists, they had captured two intact pirate vessels which were nearly a match for their own craft in size and speed. Between their own salvage efforts on Wavestrider and scavenging from their two prizes, they were able to find much of what they needed to make their craft at least seaworthy once more. Most of the replacement parts came from one of the buccaneer ships. They stripped it almost to its hull for there was no more need for it. They couldn't take it back with them, they had barely enough sailors to crew Wavestrider and one prize vessel. If they left it here, the pirates might come back and recrew it.

The latter did seem rather unlikely, though. The waning of the full moon was fast approaching for the repairs had taken all night and half of the day. The Isle itself would disappear on the morrow's eve if the legends about were accurate as they had so far been. The island would take all of its contents with it including the pirate vessel -- and even themselves if they hadn't sailed ere then. But they were going to depart long before that, precisely because Frothbreaker and Urki feared that the pirates might return in the meantime. So it was necessary to raze one of the pirate ships and, since it was necessary, such destruction might as well be put to what good use it could.

The sailors were bone weary by now. They had gone without sleep and worked frantically to get Wavestrider whole or nearly so as soon as they could. Frothbreaker himself was no exception. He whipped himself into a frenzy as he feverishly conducted the dismantling of the pirate ship on one hand and the reconstruction of Wavestrider on the other. Even Urki and Derazha, battered as they were from the battle on the beach, strove mightily to make sure that they and their allies could soon set sail. Only Jerrod and Brianna did nothing, the latter because she was still lost in the fell coma into which she had fallen, and the former because he was lost in a haze of grief and guilt.

The mage spent most of his time in the hold sitting and staring morbidly at Berit's corpse. Occasionally, he would sob or shake his head sadly. Such expressions of sorrow were all that there was to indicate that the young mage was not yet statuary. Even more rarely he would get up and go to Brianna's cabin and stare morosely at the comatose cleric. His comrades left him alone. Although they were concerned by the depth of his depression, they still viewed his bereavement as fresh in both time and kind.

Jerrod had never experienced this type of loss before and it always hit one hard to lose one's close comrades in battle. The cadaver-sitting, though, did worry them. None of them had ever seen such behavior before. Well, that was not quite true, for Urki had seen someone sit and stare at corpses for hours just before he went berserk and began to attack anyone who was near, friend or foe. But that was a hardened old veteran and there had been several corpses, so it wasn't quite the same.

The rest of them couldn't wait around for Jerrod to snap out of his funk. Someone had to get Wavestrider ready to sail. And by evening fall someone had. The unflagging efforts of captain, crew and half of the passengers were enough so that the ilvan warship was just barely able to catch the evening tide. Leaving the peaceful lagoon of the mist-shrouded Isle came none to soon for most. While their achievements there had been great, their losses had been grievous, and there was no one aboard either Wavestrider or their prize that regretted seeing the island of legend slip silently to the stern. Not even the three survivors of the trip to the barrow lamented that they were leaving behind enormous wealth and countless works of beautiful artistry and craft.

Urki and Derazha were anxious just to get back to Rendor, to see what fate had befallen Urki's sister and the rest of the absent colleagues and to inform them of their success in acquiring the Sword. Jerrod simply didn't care about anything much right then.


* * * * *


The remainder of the two-day trip back to Barabel went smoothly. On the way, the trio of surviving adventurers questioned Matthias about getting in touch with smugglers. To no one's surprise, their hireling was acquainted with the smugglers and their haunts. Matthias informed that contacting the night shippers was really quite easy and that they should have no trouble in doing so once they had arrived in the pirate port. He would be happy to show them to one of the smugglers' dens as soon as they docked.

The `expediter' was as good as his word. As soon as Marcus' ship had been made fast to the pier, the gangway was lowered and Matthias and his employers were heading once more into the seedy harbor district of Barabel.

It wasn't long before the quartet came to Cannon's, a dark, disreputable place hidden away among the black alleys of the seaside streets of Barabel. Small and cramped, Cannon's was filled with sad and shady characters who wandered in from the neighborhood's streets. The bearded barkeep looked little more honest than his customers and, after asking his employers to wait for him for a moment, it was the barkeep that Matthias approached. A few murmured words and Matthias returned to where Enki, Wolf, and Neun Ja stood and said, "It is all arranged. We are to wait over there at that table in the corner. Someone will contact us shortly. I must warn you though, that I have never found it quite so easy to arrange a meeting with one of the dark captains. It is passing strange, so be on your guards."

Matthias' apprehension turned out to be ill-founded. Within moments the very smuggler who had brought the adventurers to Barabel was sliding into a chair at their sides. Looking first at the trio of adventurers, then at their new sidekick, the night runner raised an eyebrow.

Enki smiled and softly said, "He is alright. We have trusted him with more than this ere now. So speak freely captain, when can we sail for Rendor?"

"On the morning tide, milady," responded the captain in the same hushed tones. "We feared for your safety, for Miranda's ship sailed soon after you had departed. We thought perhaps that she had followed you and would do you ill. But you survived. At least most of you did, where is the mage that accompanied you? Is he hurt? Or worse?"

"Ah, that is a fell tale, captain," whispered Enki sadly. "It is one which the bards will sing of for many years to come, for now though, let me say just this: Ordolf is slain, slain by the Child of Night who fell to the archmage's magic, but was able to take our good companion down with him as he toppled. We still will have four passengers for you, for I think we will bring good Matthias here with us."

The rogue from Barabel grew suddenly alarmed, but before he could utter a sound. Enki hand slipped to the hilt of her dagger as she turned to him and murmured innocently, "You would miss our company far too much to remain here wouldn't you, Matthias?"

After a mute nod from their new bondsman, Enki continued, "But you had the right of it. Ware the minions of Miranda, for she did follow and she sought to purloin our hard won gains from us at Dead Key. Fortunately, we escaped her overtures and left her to rot on the beach of the island. We believe it exploded soon after we left, but we know not whether she was slain in the blast or whether her lackeys arrived in time to save her and themselves. We can always hope, but walk carefully when her servants are present, for if she survives Miranda hunts us. And if she hunts us, she will seek to extract information from you. If not, then those who serve her may seek vengeance for their mistress' life."

Whether Miranda survived her marooning on Dead Key or perished on that desolate rock, she did not appear ere Enki and her comrades departed for Rendor. Nothing particularly noteworthy happened either on the docks of Barabel or on the four days of the return voyage to Rendor aboard the smuggler ship. The same was not true once the three surviving adventurers docked once more at the capitol of the Ilvan Kingdom of the southern seas. The trio arrived quietly enough, but once word of their arrival had spread they were besieged with curious visitors seeking word of what had befallen them in Barabel.

Kahlan and Springbuck, of course, were necessarily the first to be apprised of what had befallen in Barabel on Dead Key. When they met, the triumvirate of surviving adventurers told the ilvan lord and lady of their encounters with Miranda and of their battle with the Child of Night. It was during the latter exposition that Nynaeve knocked on the door asked to be admitted. Enki had been dreading this moment. Nynaeve and her rediscovered love had had many dreams ere Ordolf and the rest of the Seremorans had left and telling her that those dreams would never be anything more than dreams was something that Enki had not looked forward to doing.

Wolf came to his younger colleague's rescue. "Alas, fair Nynaeve, we have little good to report. As you can see, Ordolf is not present. I know of no way to break this evil news gently. Whatever your worst fears, they can be no worse than what befell. Ordolf is slain. Slain while he saved the rest of us from a fearsome beast that was about to slay the rest of us, but slain nonetheless. The archmage died a hero, but we cannot give him a hero's rest for his body fell into a great chasm in the earth where it was consumed by first an explosion and then a flow of firerock. While we cannot know your pain, we, too, grieve, for the necromancer had become our companion and, I dare say, our friend. Would that we could change it, but since we are not gods, know this, that if there is ought we can do for you, it is but yours to ask and it shall be done."

Nynaeve said no word. For a brief moment she stood stock still, then she was wracked by a profound sob. Nodding, she fled the room.

"That is fell news, indeed," Springbuck sighed. "would that it were otherwise. You say that you have done nothing in the way of a memorial for the archmage? Perhaps we could have a service here. I think it would do much to give our friend, the lady Nynaeve, solace if we sent her love regained on to the afterlife as we do those ilfs that pass from this sphere. Perhaps in a five-day or so we shall commend him to the sea. I would fain wait till your other colleagues and Berit return on Wavestrider but I would not wish to wait too long. Although we of the ilvankind do not often grieve, when we do it can be a terrible thing, and I would not deem it prudent to let Nynaeve simmer to long on the fire of mourning for there is no telling what she might resolve to do. Thank the gods that she still has Berit or I fear she might slip into caramargh."

"Caramargh, honorable lord," interjected Neun Ja. "Forgive my ignorance but I am not acquainted with that term. Please, can you tell me, what does it portend?"

Kahlan answered. "It is no failing of yours to be unacquainted with that term. Few non-ilfs have ever heard the word and fewer still know its meaning. We have hosted you and named you Ilf-Friend, so you may know now of one the shameful secrets of ilvankind. Caramargh is a condition of high dudgeon and deep grief which ilfs occasionally fall prey to in times of great woe. Afflicted ilfs lose all concern for life. They lose touch with the land, with beasts, with all other living entities. Over time their rage and isolation turn outward and they seek to slay those whom they deem responsible for their loss. Unfortunately, those in caramargh lose all compunctions and discernment about how to accomplish their task and often slay many innocents in the process of exacting their vengeance. Often they are slain long before they reach their bitter goal, but even when they accomplish their black mission it avails them naught. For in its realization, they lose the impetus which drove them and, looking back upon the fell deeds they have done, they can no longer live with what they have become and take their own lives ere anyone else can. Such is what we fear for Nynaeve and, should we let her wallow in her misery too long, I misdoubt not that it will come to pass."

The days passed surprisingly quickly as word of the fate of Wavestrider was awaited. Business continued much as it did normally in Rendor for few there knew or cared about Ordolf's demise. He was not an ilf and his passing meant little to the average person the street even if they were aware of it. Nynaeve was another matter. The ilvan lady rarely was seen in public. When she was she seemed to be escorted about town by a small dark cloud which made everything near a little bit more dreary and dismal. Passersby would mutter and cross the street when she was about. Cats would hiss and dogs would begin to howl. Rendor became an uncharacteristically cheerless place wherever she was.

Springbuck and Kahlan became more and more worried about their vassal's delicate state of mind. Finally, six days after Enki and her comrades had returned from their mission to Barabel, the two ilvan rulers requested that the three heroes attend them once more. When the Seremorans arrived, the two ilfs came right to the point.

"We can wait no longer," Kahlan declared. "Nynaeve will soon be lost in caramargh. We would that we could wait longer for your other friends, but if we do not act soon it will be too late. We shall have service at the harborside for Ordolf tomorrow noon. It is the ilvan way."

Seeing the confusion on their faces, Springbuck continued smoothly, picking up where Kahlan had stopped, "What my love means by the `ilvan way' is, that we of Rendor believe that the sea is the mother of all life and from her all things flow. Thus, when one of us passes, we commend them to the sea that they might return but a little of what she has given them. We choose noon for two reasons. First, we believe that all should bear witness to our loss and to our gift to the sea. It should not be a hidden and secretive thing. And what better time to display that which you would was seen than high noon? Second, we believe that the symbol of the sun over the sea represents life. Father Sun bathes Mother Sea with his golden light, the Blue Madonna absorbs the suns gift and then with it begets the wondrous world of living beings that fill her every measure. These in turn provide us with our sustenance. Noon symbolizes this cycle at its peak when the sun shines most radiantly. So it is then that we chose to send off the dead, with the hope that their passing be not shadowed and wan, but filled with new life and light."

"We would like you to join us in the ceremony. Among ilvankind, those that were close to the departed in life are asked to participate in their passage to the sea. Unfortunately, that usually involves the body. Since we have none we would like each of those that knew him well to choose something that they believe symbolizes the person that they knew. We will then commend whatever that item is to the sea with our good wishes and the hope that they serve in Ordolf's stead. Do not feel obligated, for this an ilvan rite and we will understand if you feel uncomfortable. But please consider our proposal, for we can think of no better way to bid your comrade farewell."


* * * * *


The funereal ceremony which the ilfs of Rendor held for Ordolf was subdued but beautiful. Kahlan was dressed in a simple gown that matched the color of the sea in the harbor nearly perfectly. Her consort wore raiment that was the unrelieved gold of the sun. Nynaeve also had chosen to wear special garb. Her choice seemed eerily appropriate, for it was a dress in two hues. Mostly a brilliant scarlet of passion (or perhaps of blood), it was edged in the somber black of mourning and death. It was the first time that any of the human visitors to the isle had seen either color displayed on or around any of the ilfs.

Of the three ilfs, only Nynaeve carried something. It was in her hands, which were clutched to her bosom. From where she stood, Enki could not tell exactly what the ilvan noble held, but she thought it likely that whatever it was, it was Nynaeve's choice for something that she thought symbolized the slain archmage that she loved.

Enki wondered what it could be. She, herself, had selected something that had been Ordolf's. It wasn't a book, thought she had considered that he must have a lust for knowledge else he wouldn't have become a mage. She had never seen that from him though, so it didn't really represent the Ordolf she knew. Nor did she choose an item of arcane power, though she had seen just how puissant a mage he was when he slew the trolls in Ekirigilio. No, her choice had been far more pedestrian, a set of the mage's spare clothing. Dull and drab though it was for such powerful spellcaster, Enki could think of nothing that captured the essence of the strangely contradictory man that she had just begun to get to know half so well as the grey, innocuous garb which he habitually wore. Somehow it seemed to Enki that Ordolf's choice of garb represented something fundamental about the mage that made him the necromancer and the man that he was. He sought no glory. Nor did he seek to be viewed as someone or something singular. Ordolf had viewed himself merely as a part of humanity, nothing more, nothing less, and his clothing symbolized his sense of unity with the common man in a way that nothing else could. Enki thought it fitting that it be included in any ceremony which sought to lay Ordolf's memory to rest through the use of tokens that characterized the nature of the archmage.

Neun Ja, too, had selected something which she thought symbolized the man she had known -- one of her daggers. Plain and unadorned, it represented Ordolf like nothing else of which she could think, for it was both deadly and keen as the necromancer had been. The shadow mage thought it a fitting representation of the enormously deadly man that she had known.

The last of the three heroes who was then present in Rendor had also selected something for the pending ceremonial sacrifice. Far different than the choices of the others, Wolf's selection was based on more knowledge. Of all of those who had left Pond Eddy what in reality was just a short time before, but which seemed to have encompassed a lifetime, only he and Brianna had known the archmage ere that fateful day when the full eight of their company had met at the Horse Brass. Their acquaintanceship had been sporadic but long term and, over the course of time, Wolf had come to know Ordolf fairly well. It was that long-term knowledge which informed the ranger's choice for a symbol that represented the true core of the necromancer. He did not choose a symbol of the archmage's humility, nor did he choose a representation of the man's terrible power, rather he had selected something which, he thought, truly was a token of that which was central to Ordolf's true self, a single perfect gem.

And not just any gem. It was a diamond. Brilliant, translucent and indestructible, to Wolf, nothing else symbolized half so well the man and the mage that he had come to know. The modesty which was a part of Ordolf was an important element in his nature to be sure, as was his awesome magical ability. But neither was central to the mage as far as Wolf was concerned. No, the things that Wolf saw as unique in Ordolf were his unflagging strength and determination, his will to overcome all obstacles which were placed in his path, and his clarity of purpose. Without them, he could not have brought down the Child of Night. Without them he wouldn't have been Ordolf and nothing else symbolized each of those components of the archmage's nature half so well as the diamond which Wolf held gently in his powerful hands.

The three adventurers who had traveled so far together were not the only ones on the docks that day for it was a brilliant sunlit morning. There were others on the quay. Some had come to pay homage to Nynaeve's love and some, the curious, to watch the spectacle of the rulers of Rendor honoring the powerful human mage. The gawkers knew not why Springbuck and Kahlan had chosen to venerate Ordolf as one of their own, but they recognized the funeral as a singular event which might not be repeated ever again, for few non-ilfs had been paid such a tribute throughout history. So they came to see, for even ilfs have curiosity and this was indeed a curious happenstance.

Once the mourners and the spectators had all gathered and once the sun finally reached its apogee, Kahlan began the rite. "Brothers and sisters, friends from both near and far, we gather today not to mourn, for mourning is best done in private. We gather not to say farewell to a dead hero, though he whose spirit we send on is a great hero. No, we gather here to reverence the memory of a great mage who strove to save all of us from a doom which still threatens. We do so to acknowledge our affection for a lost friend. We do so that we may free his spirit by commending him to the sea and the sun that he may be reborn to pass among us again."

Without missing a beat, Springbuck picked up where is mate had stopped. "Our friend's body is gone. We cannot deliver it to the Mother of us all, so we have asked those who knew our brother well to select tokens of his essence that we may array them in his place. His love and his comrades have we chosen, and to them I now humbly beg: Bring us the symbols that you have chosen that we may honor them as we Ordolf himself."

Motioning to Nynaeve and the three adventurers who stood beside her, Springbuck held out a cushion of black and red velvet. One by one, the quartet approached and placed the items which they had chosen on the satiny pillow. First, Neun Ja, then Enki, placed her selections on the cushion. Wolf came next, and there were murmurs from the crowd, for the exquisite jewel which he had selected shone brilliantly in the sun. Last of all came Nynaeve. As she approached, at last the item which she had clutched so tightly to her breast became visible. It was a small, golden heart wrought with exquisite craftsmanship. Enki had never seen its like before. Nor, it appeared had any of the others there assembled, for a collective sigh escaped from the gathered throng as they saw that the lady Nynaeve offered her heart as a token of who and what the departed mage had been.

A tear welling in the corner of one eye, Springbuck took the proferred items and held them high for all to see as he said, "So be it. With these tokens of our love and esteem we commend our brother to our parents in the hope that one day they may see fit to give him life once more."

Turning toward the sea, the ilvan ruler lowered the cushion and then suddenly stopped and began to gaze intently with consternation out to sea. The rest of those in attendance each soon took a similar pose for on the horizon as if by magic upon the sea, two warships had appeared with black and red pennants fluttering in the noon breeze.

 

Chapter 19 (Original edit)



CHAPTER XIX


The space under Dead Key seemed enormous. Strangely, for it almost certainly was below the level of the surrounding sea, there was no immediate sign of water. Instead, as the quartet wound down the gently curving stair, the air around them seemed to warm and become dryer as if someone or something was baking the moisture out of the dank tropical air. When they reached the floor to which the stairway led, the adventurers found themselves in no delved chamber, but rather a rough, dark cavern of unworked igneous rock. Neun Ja conjured another ball of witch light and Ordolf funneled more energy into his mage light so that it flared, revealing a system of tunnels and caverns leading of in all directions of the compass, but which all also tended in another direction as well: down.

Wisps of smoke wended their way about the large grotto in which the heroes found themselves giving it a murky character. The question that the quartet now faced was which way should they head through the murk. There were at least a half dozen possibilities. Fortunately, one of the quartet's members was the foremost human tracker in all of Seremoreh. Wolf peered about for signs which might suggest a path that he and his companions should take.

The woodsman found what he was looking for in the dust which covered the rock of the cavern floor. There were signs of ancient footprints and even more strangely, signs of cloven hooves like those of a deer or a bull. Both led toward one of the larger apertures in the cavern wall and Wolf signalled his comrades to follow as he began to stalk whatever had left the trail that he had observed.

The path which they followed sloped gently downward through innumerable twists and turns. Stalagmites and stalactites lined their path like silent guardians waiting for danger to come. There were dozens of branchings of the tunnel along the path, but Wolf steadily chose the one along which the footprints had gone. Sometimes detecting the spoor left by their unknown predecessor or predecessors became difficult as the dust thinned and bare rock became the medium over which they passed. At other times sudden torrents of steam or smoke billowed from a side corridor making it all but impossible to see let alone track, but inevitably the nonpareil woodsman was able to detect some sign which directed them along the correct route. Time and again when the trail seemed all but lost, Wolf would find some indicator that only he could see and the company would forge onward.

"The question," Enki thought to herself as Wolf rediscovered the seemingly lost route yet another time, "is not so much the fact that we don't know where we are going. No, far more important, I think, than where we are going is what we find when we get there. What is far more likely to kill us than where if I am any judge of the risks the I take....and the gods know that I usually am."

After a time, the quartet came to another immense open grotto like that which they had found when then entered the strange world under Dead Key. This one, like the first showed signs of having been worked by some unknown stonemason. Where the first cavern had its winding staircase, this one had a stone bridge which spanned an enormous, glowing rift of over fifty in width that ran from wall to wall in its center. It was there that the heroes from Seremoreh encountered their first signs since the doorway itself of another presence in the caverns. Standing opposite them on the other side of the bridge was a strange pair of beings, the like of which none of them had ever seen before. Both were black. Not just any black either, not inky black, not even pitch black, but a black so bottomless, so utter that it absorbed the comparatively puny light which the two mages' spells cast and the dim glow which emanated from the fissure so fully that the only hint that betrayed the presence of those who bore it was the way it seemed to suck in whatever life or energy was near it.

The figures were tiny. One appeared to be an almost featureless man no bigger than a toddler. No evidence of eyes, of ears, of a nose, or even a mouth could be gleaned by looking upon the ebon skull of the figure. There was no sign of clothes or even gender anywhere about the individual upon whom they gazed. There were only two signs that it was more than a beast. The first was what it held gripped in its hand. The second was the other being on its side of the cavern. The former was a mace. The latter was a fantastic beast about the size of a dog which was both winged and hoofed, feathered and furred. It was a beast which had the body shape of a deer, yet which was blessed with great feathered wings whose pinions were as far apart as those of a giant eagle. The head, though, the head was the truly strange part of the beast.

The beast's hart-like body ended in a long, gracefully curving neck. Its lines were beautiful, its form nearly perfect. What lay at the end thought was anything but. At least not for a deer, even a winged one. There, perched atop that graceful neck, was nothing. Absolutely nothing, no head, no skull, no antlers, nothing. It was as if someone or something had purposely removed the beast's head and then sealed the schism before the beast could die. But that could not be true, for nothing so complex could live without a brain of some sort, its mind had to be located elsewhere.

Or did it? The weapon which the humanoid figure perched atop the strange roe held was far more disturbing than the headless beast. It was a mace, a mace shaped like a skull, a warped, twisted parody of a deer's skull. Sharp spikes rose from the top of the mace and swirled about its zenith in a macabre parody of a crown. The snout was tusked, as no deer has ever been. The eye sockets were filled not with eyes, but with more razor-sharp, horn-like protrusions intended to rend the foe. Yet, it did not appear the grotesque product of some feverish armorers warped imagination. The weapon actually seemed as if it was the head of a living breathing creature. The ears on the grotesque mace twitched. Its mouth opened and closed over and over, revealing long, needle-like teeth that seemed to beg for flesh to rend.

"You shall not pass. None shall take my charge," squeaked a tinny voice which seemed to issue from the strange duo. The man-like shape pointed toward a small credenza far to one side which had remained unnoticed in the darkness ere the creature had drawn the quartet's attention to it. Something was on it, but in the dim murk it was impossible to discern from the distance at which the three adventurers stood exactly what it was. The mannikin continued in its strange little voice, "Any who steps forth on the bridge shall die!"

The bizarre duo trotted the foot of the bridge preparing to meet the challenge of any who failed to heed its warning.

"This may be what that for which we came," said Enki. "Does anyone know what it is we face over here? It looks feeble enough, but looks can be deceiving. The gods know that if this is the `the Child of Night,' it has developed a fearsome enough reputation. Perhaps we would do best to test its capabilities ere we step on to the span which crosses the rift and meet its challenge. I will try my bow. If that should fail to slay the creature, then perhaps you, Ordolf, or you Neun Ja, can cast a spell which will slay it."

The warrior maid unslung her bow and restrung it quickly. Drawing one of the clothyard shafts from her quiver, she nocked it and slowly pulled it back to her ear as she sucked in her breath. Letting out half a breath, she released the arrow. It sped straight and true toward the little ebony manlet. When it reached him it, pierced his skin and slid into his flesh as easily as if it were no more solid than smoke. Oddly, it didn't come out the other side. Nor did it remain visible from the front. It was almost as if it the shaft had simply disappeared.

Enki nocked a second arrow. Taking careful aim, this time upon the thing's head, she released the arrow. Once again, it sped true. The shaft penetrated the `face' of the creature as easily as its brother had entered the body of the creature and with no greater effect. The bizarre pair stepped forward onto the bridge and brandished the mace in response.

"It seems immune to my efforts with the bow," sighed Enki. "Perhaps magic will be more effective. Do either of you wish to test it?"

Nodding, Neun ja stepped forward. With a wave her left hand and a stab of her right toward the beast she flung a bolt of black at the ebon pair. It sped toward the two and struck the mannikin with a brilliant flash of light. When the dazzle from the explosion had cleared from the eyes of the quartet, they looked once more at their tiny foe.

Not so tiny anymore, it had taken another step forward onto the bridge. Not only had Neun Ja's magical missile failed to harm the creature, it seemed somehow larger and more menacing than it had previously. Still, it waited silently for a challenger.

It didn't take long before it got one. "Perhaps there is more to this diminutive opponent than there would seem to be," Wolf growled. "It seems to have a taste for magic and arrows. Let us see how well it can `digest' my war hammer!"

The ranger strode forth onto the bridge. Waving its macabre mace, the tiny ebon figure spurred its steed forward. First at a trot, then a canter, the tiny mannikin and its mount charged toward the sturdy woodsman. As the ebon duo neared the ranger, Wolf's hammer blurred toward the oncoming foe. The black sprite flicked its mace nonchalantly to block the massive maul. The miniature mace looked like a toothpick in comparison to the massive sledge in the path of which it had been placed. Yet somehow it blocked the tremendous blow which Wolf's massive shoulders had unleashed. Even more stunningly it did not merely deflect that colossal strike, a circumstance which one could perhaps envisage, it stopped it cold. A quick flash of fear fled across the ranger's features.

Having parried its opponent's assault, the mannikin almost negligently flicked the wrist in which it grasped its baton and flung the ranger flying backwards to crash back on the other side of the bridge. The woodsman lay crumpled in a heap. Only his feeble groans signalled that Wolf yet lived. Having dispatched the ranger, the mannikin, now noticeably larger, turned its mount and trotted back to its post on the other side of the link between the two sides of the cavern.

Summoning up her now shaken courage, Enki drew her sword. Turning to Neun Ja, the warrior growled perhaps where one failed with strength, two can succeed with speed. Come with me and let us test the mettle of this foul denizen of these infernal caverns. Ordolf, perhaps it would be well if you see to Wolf."

Striding forward the two women flanked each other as they approached the stone span, Enki to the right and Neun Ja to the left. With one last look to one another the two women stepped forward. The creature opposite them spurred its mount forward once more. More formidable than before, now the creature and its mount were the size of a dwarf and a pony respectively. The clatter of the steed's hooves now made a formidable din as it rushed across the vault which spanned the tremendous fissure. As the hurtling figure approached the two warriors, the mannikin leaned across its steed and swung its mace at Enki. She ducked and countered with a slash of her sword, then leapt away. Neun Ja, too, took advantage of the creature's imbalance and thrust one of her long knives home as it passed.

Thinking that they might well have done the creature serious harm in this first pass, the two women drew back their weapons once more to ready them for another assault on their foe. Both noticed at once that their weapons were curiously lighter. Looking simultaneously at their blades, neither noticed anything amiss, but when they looked back at their opponent, they could see that, not only was it unhurt, it had grown once more.

Wheeling its steed, their now man-sized enemy came at the two battle maids once more. Striking at Neun Ja this time, its attack was frustrated once again by a clever dodge from its target. The two women struck their foe twice more with vicious blows. Other than another spurt of growth the dark wraith still seemed otherwise unaffected. The same could not be said of the weapons with which it had been struck. Neun Ja's long knife had lost the top six inches of its blade. Enki's falchion had fared little better and its tip had somehow thinned to near transparency.

Looking askance first at their blades and then at one another, the two hitherto unconquered warriors both knew fear. Now was not the time for hesitation though and their momentary dismay cost them dearly. The Child of Night, for that was what this must be, had wheeled its mount yet again and charged the shocked pair with which it struggled. Swinging its mace first at Enki and then at Neun Ja, it whelmed them both ere they had a chance to react. Both crumpled to the ground like marionettes whose strings had been cut.

In the meantime, while the two women were vying with the Child of Night, Ordolf had been checking on Wolf. As far as the archmage could tell his bucolic companion was relatively unharmed. Though Wolf was only semi-conscious from a blow to his head to which an enormous lump could attest, there appeared to be no other injuries of any note. Oh, there were scrapes and contusions, there would even be quite a collection of bruises, but as far as Ordolf could tell there were no broken bones, nor were there any gashes which could possibly threaten the woodsrunner's life.

Having completed his examination of his bearded friend, the archmage looked back at the battle which was taking place upon the bridge just in time to see his other two colleagues fall and the foul fiend dismount. Calling upon a spell of death which he had hung when he entered the cavern, Ordolf flung his magic at the Child of Night. It struck with a palpable crash. Light flared once more as it had when Neun Ja's magical bolt had struck the mannikin earlier and another explosion ensued. The black man emerged unscathed once more. This time it had grown to the size of a troll.

Gathering the mana to him once more Ordolf began to stalk forward casting spell after spell with waves of his hands, sweeps of his arms, and arcane motions with his fingers. The Child of Night became the focus of an incredible show of lights, which would have put the fabled displays of the polar regions to shame in comparison. Despite the awesome magnitude of the mana which Ordolf was channeling it seemed to do little harm to the Child. It seemed to continue to absorb the spells and grow. Soon, it was fifteen feet tall and proportionately wide. Eighteen feet, then twenty. The guardian of the bridge had grown to the size of a giant. It seemed as if it would go on forever.

Slowly, despite the explosions which were detonating all around it, the Child of Night began to turn toward its two fallen victims. Raising its now huge morning star, the Child towered over Enki as it prepared to deliver her to the land of the dead. Ordolf called on all his reserves as he funneled yet another tremendous spell toward the creature which was about slay his friend as continued to march forward. This time, the spell seemed to stagger the Child of Night and it swayed back, aborting for the moment its assault on the comatose warrior. Even more importantly, it grew no taller. Instead, it began to change in hue. No longer the soulless black that it had been in its first form, the once-black man began to lighten until it was almost charcoal in color.

At the same time Neun Ja began to regain her senses, and seeing the huge figure which towered over herself and her comrade, she summoned the shadows and cloaked herself in their dark protection as she attempted to crawl away. Unfortunately, her movement or her magic attracted the Child of Night. Apparently immune to the illusion which Neun Ja had tried to create with her shadows, the cavern's guardian reached down with its left hand and seized her by the leg. Its touch was like fire. The sorceress could feel here life slipping away through the strange connection which she now had with the monstrous Child.

Ordolf had closed to within a few strides of the antagonists. Now he was on the bridge. The archmage struck once more with another of the potent spells which he had harnessed for this battle. It whelmed the dark giant another powerful blow. The foul creature turned grey, then white, then it began to glow brilliantly as it reeled from the enormous detonation which occurred when Ordolf's tremendous spell had struck it. Now, however, the Child had the necromancer within its reach. Dropping Neun Ja, it grabbed for the necromancer who now threatened it. The archmage continued to cast spell after spell at his monstrous foe, but it grasped him by his robes anyway.

The archmage's spells were not without effect. Like the last two incantation which he uttered these, too, seemed to stagger the dark guardian. Explosion after explosion struck the now brilliant figure of the giant guardian sending it lurching backwards. Tripping over Enki's inert body, it fell plunging over the edge of the span which it had struggled so hard to defend. With it went the archmage, still casting spell after spell at his enormous foe. Neun Ja, who lay discarded near the brink of the chasm, watched with horror as the two figures plummeted faster and faster toward the river of firerock which lay hundreds, no, thousands of strides below.

The Child of Night, no longer deserving of the name, grew more and more brilliant till finally it was too bright to look at and Neun Ja turned her head away from the awful tableau. Suddenly, there was an enormous explosion. The rock span upon which Neun Ja lay gave a tremendous heave and she nearly joined Ordolf and his foe at the bottom of the pit. Desperately she scrabbled back toward the center of the bridge as the entire island seemed to shudder.

As suddenly as it had begun, the disturbance which wracked the world under Dead Key subsided. It did not disappear completely, however. A strange groaning seemed to issue from deep within the pit of fiery dragon rock above which Enki and Neun Ja lay. There was a strange bubbling and hissing and fire that seemed to bode ill began to spurt from the lava below.

Neun Ja sat up and looked her remaining colleagues. Wolf was beginning to stir and feeble moans were issuing from Enki. Of the Child of Night and his mount there were no signs. The fell steed had remained frozen throughout the remainder of the battle after the Child had dismounted and now it disappeared with a pop when its master and his mace had disappeared.

Unfortunately, not only enemies had disappeared, there were also now no more than memories left of Ordolf. The archmage had given his life to save Neun Ja and Enki, and while their lives were safe, the mission which had brought them all here was in great peril, crippled if not destroyed.

Neun Ja crawled over to Enki to see if there was anything which she could do for her comrade and to check how serious the blow which had felled the warrior had been. It had been a savage blow that had landed but glancingly. Enki had attempted to parry but her sword, weakened by its contact with the Child of Night, had shattered when it clashed with the Child's strange mace. The mace had been slowed and deflected but it still struck the warrior maid's temple. She had gone down as if poleaxed.

Enki still lived, however, her muted groans attested to that. Wolf, too, was regaining his faculties. The ranger sat up and exclaimed, "Gods that little thing was strong! I have never been treated so in my entire life and I have fought trolls, mules, why I even fought a rogue Stone Lord once! I have never encountered anything half so strong as that dark Child! What happened? Where is the Child?

The ranger's questions began to grow more pointed as he began to recover his senses more completely and began to fully comprehend the gravity of what had occurred. "Where is Ordolf?! Blood and blisters, is he dead?!! He can't be dead! Without him we are undone!"

Neun Ja called back as she checked Enki for signs of returning well-being, "Alas, honorable colleague, you have seen through to the heart of our situation. Yes, the archmage has fallen. He gave his life to slay the dread guardian of this place and to save our comrade, Enki, and my most unworthy self. He drove the creature over the edge of this span with his powerful magic. Sadly, the creature was able to seize Ordolf before he had accomplished his purpose and they fell together toward the stream of firerock below. The two struggled all the way down and both finally perished in a great flash just as they seemed to reach the stream of molten stone. You awakened soon thereafter. And as you can see, Enki recovers as well."

To punctuate the words of the sorceress, the warrior maid sat up and groaned feebly as she began to reiterate many of the questions which Wolf had just had answered. Since you, as the reader, have no need to go through that again, we will pass it over. Sometimes it gets just too tedious to reiterate every little detail in these stories. Especially the boring ones. I never understand why some talespinners feel the need to prattle on and on about every little thing. But that is neither here nor there. You will undoubtedly wish to find out what happened. So forgive this old man and let him continue.

The remaining trio that had come seeking the Sword of Might gathered their wits and their belongings about them. Striding shakily toward the credenza which the Child of Night had so graciously called their attention to, the triumvirate beheld that for which they had fought so hard and sacrificed so much. Their jaws dropped in horror. It was not the Sword of Might. It was not even a sword at all. It was a whip. An elaborate whip, a whip that was dark with mystic runes, a whip which split into two metal-studded strands at the end of its coil, but a whip nonetheless. Ordolf had given his life, they nearly all had, and they had not even found the Sword.

Enki voiced the dismay which had stricken all of them, "All that for nothing! Nothing! Well, perhaps not nothing, that is a fine whip, but next to nothing. Our quest has failed. Iskandar can not be fully bound again. Gods and devils! What are we to do now?!!"

"Well lass, there is naught we can do about the past," Wolf murmured. "True, Ordolf's demise is a great blow and our quest is crippled. But we did what we did for good reason. The decisions that we made were the best that we could make with what we knew. Granted, if we had known that this was a false trail we would never have followed it. But we did not know! We had to follow this scent to its source. Had we not, and we continued such sloppy tracking we would never have found all of the artifacts we seek. No, lass. We did what we could and what we must and now we must continue on. Ordolf would tell you no differently were he here with us now. It is hard, but the living must carry on."

"To do that, we have to act as if nothing has changed. We need to try to do what we can to stave off the bane which Iskandar represents. Perhaps we can not fully rebind the evil lich, but we can certainly still tighten up his fetters a bit."

"Neun Ja, lass, can you check the whip for spells and traps please? We might as well take it, for it must be potent indeed to have such a powerful warder as the Child of Night, and I have a feeling it might be of use some day. Mayhap even now, for it appears as if Enki has lost her main weapon and could use a replacement. From the story she told me about herself in Pond Eddy, I'll wager she can use a whip just about as well as she could use that sword."

Neun Ja quickly checked the whip, the credenza, and everything in between and discovered that the Child of Night was its only ward. Though she could not decipher the runes which covered it, for they were in an ancient tongue which she had never before seen, she felt confident enough in the information her own spells had provided that they were not a danger to its wielder, but rather provided the lash with mystical powers that went far beyond the ordinary.

Having finished her examination of the Child's charge, the shadow mage turned to Enki and said, "I believe the whip to be safe to handle, esteemed comrade. You may take it if you wish."

Enki collected the whip and, fully armed once more, she turned to her bedraggled comrades and said, "Wolf had the right of it, I think. We must continue on as if nothing had happened though we have lost a boon companion and an important member of our expedition. Perhaps the others had more success at the Isle of Mists. Let us return to the surface and seek them out once more so we can see if that is so. There is nothing more that we can do here except mourn."

The trio was a sad-looking, little group as it wended its way back through the dark, murky caverns toward the surface. When the three adventurers finally poked their heads once more into the sunlight, it was clear that they had been through an ordeal. Battered and bruised, both Neun Ja and Wolf limped noticeably. And both were better off than Enki who had complained of nausea and dizziness the entire way back from the cavern of their ordeal.

The sun had risen high and slid back down toward the horizon while the heroes had tarried underground and the evening approached when they once more emerged from the now-rumbling fiery depths beneath Dead Key. The ship in which Matthias brother had brought them to the island waited silently in the lagoon where they had left it. Curiously, the trio of survivors could detect no sign of life aboard the vessel. That was strange, for even if it were a time when the crew was being served a meal there should at least have been some sort of watch visible on deck.

"I like this not," muttered Enki. "Something is amiss, although how anything untoward could have occurred all the way out here, I can not fathom. Let us take for whatever it was that slew all of these ships and their crews may be at work here. Neun Ja, I deem that we should have some sort of hidden trump which we can play at need. If you are well enough, I think it would be wise if you slipped into shadow so that prying eyes, if they haven't seen you already, know not that you are still with us."

Their wariness awakened, the trio entered their skiff and began to row back toward the awaiting boat. To all appearances though, the small boat had only two passengers -- Enki and Wolf. The duo rowed their skiff up to the vessel which awaited them. There was still no sign of life. Pulling alongside, the pair of battered adventurers climbed the cargo net which was draped over the side. There was still no trace of Matthias or the vessel's crew.

Wolf unslung his hammer. Enki uncoiled her newly acquired rune-encrusted lash. They cautiously approached the hatch which led below decks. It was closed, another untoward sign. Matthias' brother and his small crew usually left the hatch open to facilitate their movement from the deck to the holds. Slowly, Enki used her free hand to swing the hatch open. Wolf waited with hammer poised in case a foe should have an ambuscade planned.

None such occurred. There was still no trace of life. Their consternation growing, Enki and Wolf descended, looking feverishly about for signs of the boat's captain and crew. Arriving at the bottom of the companionway, the pair saw that the hatches below decks were closed as well. Stepping cautiously toward the door which opened into the captain's cabin, Enki turned its handle as quietly and slowly as she possibly could.

As soon as the latch was disengaged she violently jerked the hatch open to reveal two of their missing retainers. Matthias and his brother were both bound and gagged in the chairs which decorated the cabin. They were not alone. There was a diminutive blonde woman with her back to the doorway. She turned toward the pair from Seremoreh with a smile.

It was Miranda, the dark necromancer from Barabel! She smiled coldly at them and said, "Greetings, I am glad to see that you have returned. Was your mission successful? I, for one, certainly hope so. I have much that is dependent on your acquisition of the Sword. Don't look so shocked. Yes, I know about the Sword and, indeed, about all of the other artifacts of power needed to rebind or free Iskandar. I think that I might be able to put them to a little better use than your and your companions."

"Now, where is Ordolf? I had so looked forward to seeing him again. And didn't you have another missing companion? A pretty young thing all dressed in black? No fashion sense, wore loose fitting clothing that hid her lovely body? Don't tell me that they are dead? I would be terribly distraught at such news. I had such plans for them. Particularly Ordolf, but the pretty girl from Hanpon would also have provided many hours of amusement. Come in, come in, my friends are getting impatient."

Miranda wasn't the only unwelcome visitor on board the ship. During her welcome, two cutthroats stepped forward from the corners of the cabin and placed blades at throat of Matthias and his sibling. The hatch to the crews' quarters also gently slid open and reveled another half dozen or so armed pirates who, with swords drawn stepped behind the warrior maid and the ranger.

Wolf snarled with rage and stepped quickly forward.

Before he could do more, Miranda's voice penetrated his haze of fury and cautioned, "Ah, ah, ah. My friends don't like such sudden movements," she said indicating her two henchmen whose cutlasses now pressed more firmly into the throats of Matthias and his brother, Marcus. "And while you may not care all that much about their happiness, be warned they will kill your two buffoons before you can move another inch. And should they do that, well, let's just say that I will use the fleeing animas of your men well."

Wolf stopped abruptly.

"Now if the two of you would kindly drop your weapons and answer my questions, I think we will all be a little happier than we are now," Miranda said with a smirk. "And isn't it a wonderful thing to make the world a little happier place in which to live?"

Wolf began to slowly lower his hammer. Enki did the same with her whip, carefully bending over with her whip in her right hand, her arm fully extended. As he leaned forward to lay his weapon on the floor, the woodsman felt a faint breeze rustle his hair. A smile crept over his features and he looked over at Enki and winked surreptitiously. The two heroes slowed their movements even more drastically than they already had.

There was a strange gurgling sound from Miranda that was cut off almost as sharply as it had begun. A voice issued from the air behind her, "Perhaps you would be more comfortable if you and your men released your weapons, most unwelcome necromancer. You are not welcome here and the timing of your visit is most unpropitious. Please suggest to your men that it would be in all of your best interests if they disarmed themselves and lined up facing the wall with their hands behind their backs."

Neun Ja had made her presence felt at last. The Seremorans were safe, at least for the moment. The sorceress faded into to view, one armed levering Miranda's behind her back, the other holding one of the many daggers which Neun Ja secreted about her person to the blond pirate lord's neck.

"You there," the shadow mage called to one of the pirates. "Tie up your colleagues. Start with Miranda make sure that none can escape and none can speak." After a nod from his mistress, the indicated buccaneer did as he was bid. Soon, all of other the corsairs were bound and gagged. When the pirate had completed his chore, Enki stepped over and bound him as he had bound his fellow marauders.

Enki sighed. "We should, no doubt, kill you as you were obviously ready to do to us. We aren't barbarians, however, and I have seen more than enough death for the time being. So as far as I am concerned, we will do no more than cast you ashore here on Dead Key and let you rot. No doubt you have a ship waiting somewhere over the horizon, else you would not have been here with such alacrity when we sought the secret of the Child of Night. So you will be rescued in scant hours. But as far as I am concerned, that is unimportant. I am feeling magnanimous as I have seen enough death today and we shall have a head start. Give me your word on your powers that Matthias and his kin will come to no harm from you either now or in the future, and I will let you live."

Miranda glared daggers at her captor, but nodded. The necromancer's dark look was eloquent, acknowledging both her defeat and the benevolence inherent in Enki's act, while at the same time promising a reckoning that was still to come.

"I said I will let you live," Enki continued as the deep rumbling from beneath the surface of the isle that had begun when Ordolf and the child had vanished grew in volume. "And that is likely a mistake. I did not say that I will make it easy for you, however. The noises that this foul isle emits do not bode other than ill to my ear and I will wager that those who tarry in the vicinity of Dead Key for over long shall perish. I propose that we leave you bound on the beach of this very lagoon and leave your fate in the hands of destiny. Should your minions arrive in time to rescue you, you shall live, should they come too late or revert to their true natures and flee, you will perish. It will be in the hands of the wyrds and in your own ability to inspire obedience as to whether you survive."

"Matthias! Release the rest of the crew and set these scoundrels ashore as I have described. The return here quickly so we may flee. I fear that every moment counts for Dead Key is soon to disappear. Hurry, man!"

Matthias did as he was ordered. Quickly, he released his brother and the rest of the crew and had a party row the captives to the shore. Soon, all was in readiness. And none too soon. Dead Key was now producing a constant deep rumbling sound that grew louder as each moment passed. Enki knew that the dragonfire that the had seen in the chasm underneath the isle was about to erupt. She didn't know how she knew that to be true, but know it she did. Frantic in her knowledge, Enki raged at Matthias and Marcus, demanding that they get the vessel as far away as they could as quickly as possible.

The two rogues glanced at each other diffidently, but realizing it was probably more dangerous to argue than obey, they got the ship quickly underway. It wasn't until they were well away from the isle, long after sunset, that Enki let them relax and it was almost at that very same moment that a bright red glow lit the sky in the direction from which they had come. Seconds later the sloop which carried them was rocked by an enormous blow that shook the ship as if it had been struck by a giant fist.

 

Chapter 18 (Original edit)



Chapter XVIII


As they entered the knoll, the trio found that it was just what it had appeared to be: a turve-covered burial mound. But what a burial mound! The chamber which the three adventurers from Seremoreh had entered was literally filled with treasure. Gems and jewels were strewn negligently all about the place. Dozens of heaps of golden and silver coins were scattered everywhere. There were magnificent diadems, beautiful bracelets, sparkling brooches, splendid necklaces, and wondrously fetching rings in improbable numbers. At least a dozen chests, both open and closed, lay against one wall. The open coffers were stuffed so full of treasure that it actually overflowed from them to the floor.

The walls of the domed chamber against which the strongboxes were stacked were not simple dirt or even stone as one might expect. Rather, they, too, demonstrated the affluence of whoever had been laid to rest within. They appeared to be fashioned from adamantine, an extremely dense metal so rare and difficult to work that it was usually only used as an alloy to provide strength to the much softer steel that was more commonly used for armor and weapons. It also explained why Jerrod had been unable to pierce the hummock with his astral sense from without. Adamantine was so impermeable that not even through the ethereal plane could one penetrate it.

The room was dominated not by any single item of the hoard of riches, the unmatchable mass of adamantine, or even the entire collection of valuables, but rather by the silent figure which lay stretched out upon a funereal bier in the center of the hemispherical chamber. Decked in shining armor, the uncorrupted corpse that rested upon the bier was huge. In life, whoever it was must have stood at least as tall as Brianna and as wide through the shoulders as her husband. He, for it appeared that the figure was male, was covered in shining silver mail, mail which showed no signs of decay, despite what must have been at least a thousand years of exposure to the strange environs of the Isle of Mists. A jewel-encrusted helm adorned the head of the martial figure which lay upon the bier. Clutched in the dead warrior's mail gauntlets was a sword, a sword which contrasted vividly with the rest of the riches which filled the room.

The sword did not gleam as did the mail. It was not covered with gems like the helm. It appeared to be a simple tool of the warrior's trade. Its pitted blade showed specks of rust on its stride-long surface. The haft had once been covered with leather. All that remained of the hide which had wound around the handle now were a few tattered bits that revealed that it had once been there.

It was odd that a warrior who was obviously rich and powerful like this one, would have so pedestrian a weapon. Somehow it didn't seem congruous with the rest of the contents of the room. Jerrod, realizing that he could once again use his astral senses, examined the sword carefully to see if it was really as innocuous as it appeared.

It wasn't. There was a glamour laid on it which hid its true appearance. With his astral vision, Jerrod could subtle changes which fundamentally altered the impression one received when one looked at the warrior's blade. It wasn't so much that the blade changed in every possible way. It was still plain and unadorned. Now, however, instead of a rusty, valueless old sword that didn't belong among the other treasures the barrow contained, it looked to be of great worth. First, it wasn't rusted or pitted. Like the warrior's mail, the blade itself shone brightly with the luster of the purest starsilver and looked to be as sharp as a razor. Second, the leather of the grip no longer appeared to be rotted and tattered. It was as fresh as the day it had been tanned. Third, and this, Jerrod was willing to wager, was what really gave the sword value -- even more than the starsilver of its blade -- it radiated mana.

Not only was the blade magically disguised by the glamour that had been laid over it, it seemed to be imbued with some sort of permanent enchantment which shone potently to Jerrod's augmented sight. It must be the Sword of Might! They had found it!

As he looked more closely, something in the mana field which the sword emitted troubled the young mage. He couldn't quite put his finger on it but there was something subtly wrong in the way the field radiated. It was almost as if their was another enchantment hidden by, first, the glamour, and, second, by the powerful magic of the sword itself.

No one had gone more than a step inside. Each member of the trio had stopped and looked with awe at the invaluable treasure which they had found. Before either of the others had shaken off the rapture which had enveloped the trio, Jerrod spoke. "We must be careful. There is more here than meets the eye. The sword clasped to the warrior's breast is enchanted with a glamour. Underneath the enchantment, I can see a starsilver blade which I am certain must be the Sword of Might. Yet there is something more to the spell. I do not know exactly what it is, but I sense that there is great danger, should anyone attempt to move the sword."

Urki had begun to start forward again, but now he stopped and raised his hand. "If the Sword is trapped, then perhaps other items here are trapped as well. Perhaps, there are even snares for the unwary that are triggered simply by a careless step or some other equally innocuous stimulus. We must proceed with caution. I wish Neun Ja were here, she would be a great asset in uncovering whatever pitfalls lurk here to ensnare the unwary. Each of us must check carefully before we move, both visually and using Jerrod's astral vision. Jerrod, can you detect any other magical hazards about the chamber?"

Jerrod frowned with concentration for a moment and then nodded, "There seem to thin tendrils of mana running to many of the more spectacular items of treasure in the room. It looks almost as if it is a spider's web, where a single tug on a strand of the lacework will trigger a deadly response. The strands all seem to run to the bier where they disappear."

"Alright, then," Urki sighed. "None of us should touch anything in the room without Jerrod's assurance that there are none of these strands attached to it. Even if he deems it free of any enchantments, do not touch anything until each of us has inspected it for physical traps. The entry here was far too easy for such a great mass of treasure. I would surmise that there are other, less esoteric means of foiling thieves here than the magical web of which Jerrod has warned us. I think our first order of business is to get the Sword for which we have come. Jerrod, see if you can discern more about the enchantment which wards it."

Jerrod once more plunged his consciousness into the ether and scanned the enchantment which shrouded the Sword. Sifting through the layers of the incantation, he found the element that had disturbed earlier. It was almost imperceptible, a thin strand like those which radiated from the bier. Like those filaments, it, too, disappeared into the funereal stand. Carefully, Jerrod sent his senses questing along the strand and tried to penetrate into the bier itself. He met a figurative stone wall. Again and again he tried to break through, but nothing he could do could penetrate the bier's outer integument.

Frustrated, the young mage looked once more at the connection between the Sword itself and the mana strand. As he scrutinized the attachment, it seemed to him that it was possible to sever the bond if he was careful. Cautiously, Jerrod reached with his senses toward the link.

"JERROD! Thank the gods that you are safe!" Berit had just burst through the doorway. Her exuberant entrance, broke the young mage's concentration. He turned and looked toward her. He watched with growing horror as she continued her headlong rush into the barrow and stumbled unto the coffers along the far wall.

The wispy strand of mana that connected the coffers to the bier began to swell and change. Straight and almost transparent to begin with, the thread of mana began to sway sinuously and shift in color. First, pale yellow, then bright orange, then a deep bloody crimson, it shifted through the spectrum. Berit took no notice. Neither Urki nor Derazha seemed alarmed either. Panic erupted in Jerrod. Only he could see the trap that was poised to strike. He drew in his breath to shout but before he could utter a sound, the now viperous stream of mana lunged for the intruder who had given it its strange life.

Berit went suddenly rigid as if all of her muscles had clenched at once. Her hair stood on end and there was a sizzling sound as the smell of burnt hair began to circulate through the chamber. Berit went limp as abruptly as she had gone taut. She collapsed to the floor like a falling bridge. Her legs and arms began to buck in strange convulsive movements.

The mana had seized her and it had not yet let go. As Berit had gone through her spasms, it had thinned considerably. Now, it injected the red which filled it into Berit. A vermillion flush began to suffuse the ilvan maiden's features almost if all of her blood vessels had suddenly burst. A trickle of blood appeared at the corner of Berit's mouth. Blood began to ooze from her ears, then her nose, finally from the corners of her eyes.

"Jerrod," Berit gasped. "Don't forget...." Then the light in her eyes dimmed and her chest stilled as she ceased to breath.

Jerrod was stunned. He rushed heedlessly over to where Berit had fallen. She was beyond the help of the living. No one that he had ever known personally had died before. Well, there were the sailors on Wavestrider, but that was different. Berit was someone he knew and for whom he had a growing affection. It had been so sudden and so senseless. An accident pure and simple. If only he had been able to get a little farther with the trap. He might have been able to disable it. Jerrod was suddenly overwhelmed with guilt as the certainty came over him that it was his fault that Berit had been slain by the barrow's wards. He had been asked by Nynaeve to care for her daughter and he had failed. Berit was dead all because he had been too slow with the disabling of the magical trap he had discovered.

"Jerrod? Jerrod? Are you alright?" Urki was bending over him with a look of concern plastered across his features. The grief-stricken young mage had fallen to the ground in a swoon and ended up in a heap next to Berit's corpse. "We need you to finish disarming the spell on the sword. There is nothing more any of us can do for Berit except take her remains back to Rendor so her friends and family can honor it. Please, let us continue with what we came here for."

Realizing that Urki had the right of it and feeling a bit ashamed of his display of grief, Jerrod staggered to his feet. Struggling to stem the flow of tears that was threatening to cascade down his face, the mage quickly brushed those few that had escaped his furious blinks away from his cheeks with his sleeve.

Jerrod nodded, "Just give me a moment. My concentration has been broken and I need to regain it ere I can disable this foul spell. Forgive me for my unmanly display. It is the first time I have ever seen a friend slain. I know that over the years experience teaches you how to deal with grief with more dignity. Its just that...."

The young mage trailed off into silence. Derazha walked over to him and draped her massive arms across his shoulders. "Jerrod," she said softly, "it never gets any easier. Losing a friend, even a friend for so brief a time, always rends one spirit. There is no shame in letting your grief show and much harm in trapping it inside. When you lock your sorrow away, its festers and rots and, if you let it putrefy long enough, it will steal your humanity from you. I have wept for those who have fallen often in the past and I will in the future. Of all of us, you knew Berit best, it would be passing strange if you were not the one who sped her soul on with your tears. Take your time. Recompose yourself. Do not fear our contempt, for that is the last thing that we would offer you. Both of us have lost this day as well and our hearts are with yours."

The young mage smiled up at the half-troll gratefully. She was the last person he would have expected to show so much compassion. "Well, perhaps the second-to-last," Jerrod thought with a quick glance toward Urki. Even Urki, though, looked bereft by the magnitude of their losses today. Berit dead, Brianna sorely injured with what could be a mortal hurt. The price which he and his comrades had paid for the Sword was very dear. It would not do for the sacrifices that his colleagues had made to go for naught. Steeling himself once more, Jerrod slipped once more into a trance and began to unravel the thread which bound the sword to the deadly trap which had slain Berit.

Anger or prudence, even later Jerrod was never sure which, impelled him to keep going and he let his senses follow the now disconnected strand of mana back to its source. Searching diligently, the young mage found a slim crevice in the hitherto impenetrable wall of the bier which he had come up against earlier. Slipping through this newly discovered chink in its armor, he found the central spell which protected the treasures of the room. Painstakingly, he worked until he uncovered its trigger and, with a grunt of triumph, he ripped it from the spell and disabled it forever, so ensuring that no one else would fall victims to its awful magic.

Having finished his task, Jerrod straightened. "It is done, the Sword is free for the taking as is everything else in this unhappy place. The magical trap is no more. Whether there are other physical traps, I cannot say. But the magic will slay no other innocents ever again."

Urki walked over and seized the Sword from the grasp of its lifeless possessor. As soon as the young warrior touched the potent weapon an unnatural energy seemed to crackle through the room and a strange, brilliant mist seemed to distort his vision. Jerrod's vision, too, began to pulsate with energy as he became once again aware of a brilliant mist which clung to himself and his comrades. As he had in Pond Eddy, the young mage became aware of a sense of deja vu. This time, however, he could perceive that he had company in this strange alternate reality. Urki's eyes flashed fire and the two strode toward one another, Jerrod having drawn the wand of Torvil and Urki brandishing the newly acquired Sword.

"My friend," cried Jerrod, "it is good to see you once more!" So saying, the mage reached out and clasped the warrior by his free arm in a comradely grip. As soon as the pair of young heroes touched one another, there was abrupt discharge of energy that filled the room with a sharp, acrid odor like that which lingers around the sites of lightning strikes. Both young men crashed to the floor in a swoon.

Derazha, caught off guard by the strange behavior of her two companions, had done nothing during the peculiar exhibition which the two humans had put on. She, too, had felt the surge of energy which coursed through the room when Urki had grasped the Sword of Might. Unlike her now insensible friends, she still had possession of her faculties and recognized that what she had just witnessed was nearly identical with that which had befallen when Jerrod had touched the wand of Torvil. The feelings generated had been stronger and it had been more clear and persistent for her this time then they had those many days ago, but they were as alike in kind as two peas in a pod.

"It would appear that we can expect something of this sort every time one of us first touches the item to which he or she is attuned," mused the half-ilf aloud. "I like it not. Such debilitating consequences could bring dire results if foes are still about when one of us handles a newly found artifact. Well, there is no sense in worrying about that now or wasting any more time. Jerrod said that the trap which slew poor Berit is deactivated, and if the incident at Pond Eddy is any indicator of how long these two will be unconscious, I have a few minutes to fill."

The huge half-troll sighed and began to do the things she deemed needed to be done ere the trio took Berit's body back to the ship. First, she went over and checked on Jerrod and Urki. Neither seemed injured. Both breathed regularly and showed no sign of hurt beyond those which they had already taken in the battle on the beach. Satisfied, she picked up Berit's lanky form and place it by the portal which led outside. By the time she had finished, Urki and Jerrod were beginning to make feeble moaning sounds which signalled their impending return to consciousness. Nodding with this confirmation that her diagnosis had been correct, Derazha went over to the mail-covered cadaver and began to remove its armor. As far as she was concerned, a complete set of starsilver armor was far more valuable than the gold and jewels and the other trinkets that lay scattered everywhere about her. Since they could take very little out of the mound because of the sad burden which they must bear back to Nynaeve, it seemed to Derazha that an aid in their battle like such singular armor was far more precious than mere trinkets. Besides, if there was anything else of great worth here -- beyond the merely monetary -- it was probably magical and only Jerrod could discover.

As she finished stripping the corpse of the unknown warrior, she saw that it was indeed a male human. He had a beatific smile on his face as if his death -- or something subsequent to it -- had pleased him. His translucent ivory skin still showed no sign of decay and an unanticipated curiosity about just whose body it was that they were robbing flashed through the half-ilf's mind.

Her speculation was interrupted almost before it had begun when Urki sat up and groaned, "What in the six hells of Torolis happened? I reached for the Sword and suddenly my mind began to whirl with chaos! Faagh! Is everyone else alright?"

Derazha turned to her reviving comrades. Jerrod had also risen to a seated position. "I would guess the same thing that happened in Pond Eddy when Jerrod received the Wand. This time it was worse, though, I think because you both were present with your tokens of power."

"You two don't look so well. Are you up to traveling? Can you carry Berit between you? I'm bringing this armor with us. The starsilver alone in priceless, but even more importantly I think, is the armor itself. I have a hunch we will have need of it some day."

Like the first time he had been stricken by these strange flashbacks, Jerrod was able to shake off the effects of the strange episode which he had gone through. He also recognized that he had to relinquish his claim on time for recuperation because of the exigencies of the situation, something he would never have understood a scant hand or two of five-days ago. They had to carry Berit down and he had to help. And Derazha was right, starsilver armor would be invaluable in their quest. The strange corpse wasn't the same size as anyone in their company, though. The mailshirt might fit either Wolf or Derazha. And breeches could be close to either Brianna or Derazha's. Perhaps they could be altered at Rendor if need be. The ilvankind were rumored to have knowledge of such mystic crafting. While the armor would be more of a bane for himself, Ordolf, or, perhaps Neun Ja, because of its deleterious effects on their abilities to cast spells, Jerrod was beginning to see that the survival of the warriors was important as well.

So Berit had to be carried. And Jerrod had to recover, as Urki already had. It seemed a shame to leave all of this treasure here though. Some the jewelry pieces were exquisitely wrought. He would love to present one to his mother or to....Jerrod's mind suddenly flashed back to Berit's dying features and her dying request. He might have liked to have given her one and he would not forget. No, he would remember for a very long time.

The trip to the beach was long and arduous. It seemed far longer to Jerrod than had the trip to the burial knoll. Perhaps it was the dolorous burden which he and Urki lugged down the twisting trail, perhaps it was the late hour, perhaps it was the aftereffects of the traumatic events that took place in the barrow, perhaps all of these combined with the eerie atmosphere of the Isle itself to distress Jerrod, but whatever the reason the hours wore heavily on the young mage. The fetid stench of the carrion left from the battle as the trio of survivors neared the shore added further to the misery which had engulfed the young mage. Even the mystical ring which had succored him after the battle aboard Wavestrider did little to heal what ailed the distraught young mage.

When the trio finally reached the beach, they stepped out of the jungle to find most of the remnants of the ilvan crew, stripped to the waist burying the grisly remains of the dead marauders in the sand. The rest were still aboard Wavestrider guarding the prisoners that they had captured during the battle at sea whose wounds were not so severe as to preclude independent action. The ilfs on the beach had made great headway in interring the dead that covered the sand of the Isle of Mists. They had buried all of the slain marines who had sailed with them from Rendor and marked their graves with stone cairns. While they were not so painstaking in their treatment of their fallen foes, the ilfs still had buried more than half of them near the line of the vegetation which skirted the beach itself. The ilvan sailors were fighting a running battle over the remaining bodies with night scavengers from both the jungle and the ocean which scuttled to and fro trying to sate themselves on the corpses of the fallen while desperately to stay out of the light of the glowing torches of the sailors.

When the trio of surviving heroes was spotted with their grave burden, a collective gasp went up from the laboring ilfs and they dropped their tools as one. The ilfs of Wavestrider had gown fond of their youthful compatriot. Even those who had not known her before had been beguiled by her energetic manner. The sailors even forgave her her obvious attraction to the young human mage who had charmed them with his love for the sea. Now that that very same mage had saved all of their lives and Wavestrider as well, any lingering doubts about his fitness as a consort for an ilf which they had held, had evaporated. So when they saw their cherished `little sister' lying still in the arms of Urki and Jerrod in a manner which screamed loudly that she was dead, the ilfs were buffeted by a deep and abiding sorrow at the loss and keening wail went up from them as one.

Jerrod had never heard ilfs make such a noise. It plucked at his heartstrings and touched the core of his own grief at the loss which the body he held in his shaking arms represented. Tears began to stream down his cheeks. The sorrow that he had bottled up in the face of the need of the quest in the burial mound now sheared through the fetters which he had placed on it like scissors through paper. It was all the mage could do to maintain his grip on the corpse of his friend, his beloved. Somehow, Jerrod could no longer even say exactly what he felt toward the ilvan maiden whose inert form he and Urki bore. Had he been falling in love? He supposed that it no longer mattered, it was part of the past now, a past he could not resurrect. But how he wished he could change some of things he had had done and said when he and Berit had first met!

Wracking sobs shook the young mage and one of the ilvan sailors who was nearby came and gently relieved Jerrod of his burden. The bereft young man collapsed to the beach and poured out his anguish for all to see. The sailors, seeing the young mage's great sorrow, respected his grief and left him alone to make his peace with his loss.

Urki started toward his younger friend to comfort him and jolly him out of the heartache which had overwhelmed him, but before the warrior had taken more than a single step, Derazha's clawed hand fell gently on his shoulder and the huge half-ilf murmured, "Let him be. He needs to come to terms with the losses that battle engenders. Though I would wish it otherwise, he will almost certainly be forced to face them again. Besides, I doubt that there is anything which you could say which would lighten his loss even the tiniest bit. No, I think we would both do better if we turn our efforts toward getting back to Rendor with our newly-acquired burdens."