_

The group rode forward for about two hours, picking their way carefully across the uneven ground; the trees that dotted the landscape on their walk North from Emennia the past two days had thinned, the landscape grown sere and desolate.  The air was very dry, despite the nearness of the sea, which was hidden now behind a line of low, jagged mountains to the East.

The plains before Elesborre were rocky and arid, with creosote and scra-bush hunching low over the silty soil. They cut wide around the camp, approaching from the West, drawing up to a clump of juniper trees poised on a small crest. The three adventurers hunkered down in the thin shade of its branches, peering towards the encampment, now only a half-mile ahead.

What they saw was alarming, though unsurprising. There were several hundred orcs arrayed in a series of small camps along the base of the mountain.  The camps themselves were little more than collections of animal skin huts, cookfires, and poorly dug trenches overflowing with orc waste.  There seemed to be some commotion on the far left side of the camp, but it was too far away to discern anything specific.

The monsters appeared to be waiting for something. There was much shouting and general milling about. Fights broke out here and there as they watched. They typically ended quickly, with a body being dragged toward the trenches.  Tadalac let out a soft exhalation, and said softly,

"so many orcs."

“Perhaps they’re guarding that,”

Nima said, pointing.

Bruckner and Tadalac traced her finger to a large cavern at the base of Mount Elesborre, past the line of the orc encampment. It was difficult to say with certainty, but it looked to be very deep; what little they could see of the tunnel within was lit, a bonfire blazing within.

 “We need to get inside that cave. We should wait for nightfall.”

Nima said. The others agreed, Tadalac with a nervous gulp.

“We had better send the horses back the way we came. If we tie them up, they are like to be killed by some predator.”

Tadalac looked at Bruckner excitedly.

“Tadalac was afraid this might happen.  But we don't need to lose our horses forever; I know a charm that will help!”

He pulled out a thin leather cord, and muttered some words over it. It wriggled slightly in his palm, as if alive. Tadalac sliced it in two with a tiny dagger, then tied one to his pony’s bridle, and the other around his finger.

“I call this the finger-string!”

He announced proudly.

“A charm of my own invention! The string wants to go back together, see? It will always tug, just a bit, in the direction of its brothers. That’ll lead us right to them!”

They released the horses, and Tadalac’s pony, urging them back down towards the more fertile grazing ground around Thorn.  Tadalac looked wistful as Justicebringer trotted off, saying.

“Hopefully the three of them will stay together, so we can find them all once we have finished here. Those big ones had better watch after Justicebringer!”

The three then settled in to wait for nightfall, taking turns dozing in the shade of the juniper trees as day wore into afternoon. Bruckner and Nima agreed to send Canary back to general Aleksander with a message. Bruckner wrote swiftly, in a tight, slanting hand:

Traveling with gnome wizard. Small but apparently useful. Led us to town named Thorn. Information from drunken half orc. King on way to Mt. Elesborre, possibly under influence of succubus. Strange, hooded figures also pursuing King. One a swordswoman with facial tattoos. Base of mountain swarming with orcs. Trying to secure entrance to mountain stronghold. Send armed men.

-JB

Nima sent Canary winging southward, with whispered instructions to find General Aleksander.

At last the shadows were lengthening, and the sun setting. As the day died, the orcs started growing louder and more boisterous.  They were drinking, and by the time the sun had sunk, a full-on brawl had broken out in the middle of the camp. Nima gauged it the perfect opportunity. She stood abruptly, and took a deep breath.

“I’ll scout inside,” she said simply.

Tadalac leapt forward and gave her a tight hug around her waist, whispering, "be careful little sister!"  As he touched her, Nima felt a sort of shimmering about her that she could not explain.

"An enchantment of Vandaril for you,” Tadalac said.

“Armor of moonlight. Her beams will give you some protection against any orcs, if they see you."  

Nima nodded in thanks, and departed, slipping forward like a ghost in the darkness.  She make steady progress, stepping silently along the pitted ground, soon coming to a campsite dominated by a roaring fire. A spit pig was roasting above it, being turned slowly by an orc who had recently lost several teeth. He was moaning drunkenly, spitting blood onto the ground every few seconds.

Nima counted five orcs around it, talking drunkenly around the fire. She spied the feet of two others sticking out of a skin tent. Loud snores emanated from inside.  

She crept around the camp slowly, keeping out of the firelight. Her footsteps went unheard over the roaring of the fire, the conversation of the brutes, and the brawl at the center of the camp, ahead. Most of the other campfires had been deserted, as the orcs had flocked to join the scrum that was now taking over the entire encampment.

With all the commotion, Nima had no trouble making it past the cave entrance. The cavern in side was quite large, and full of boxes, barrels, supplies, and armaments. A cylinder of white fire, clearly ensorceled, burned in the center of the room, but gave off no heat. It fed on nothing Nima could see, simply hovering a few inches off the slick rock floor of the cave.

At the cavern’s far end yawned a deep tunnel. It was lit with more of the curious white pillars of flame, the first about 50 feet in, the second another 150 feet beyond. Beyond the light of the second hex-fire the tunnel stretched back, further than Nima could make out.

She chanced a venture into the tunnel. It led her subtly downward for some distance. The tunnel began to twist and turn slightly as she descended. Every few hundred feet she came upon another of the witch-fires. She spied a sentry, sleeping next to one such light, and hesitated. Then she turned, and made her way with cautious haste back to where Bruckner and Tadalac waited. The fight was still raging outside. Nima caught a fire-rimmed glimpse of a pale orc kneeling to stick a dagger repeatedly through the throat of a downed foe. She turned just as the cackling wretch took a spear in the small of the back, and traced a path along the darker edges of the night.

Bruckner, meanwhile, was growing restless.

“I want to know what we're dealing with here,”

he said suddenly, rising to his feet.

“Let’s move a bit closer, see if we can hear or see anything.”

Tadalac agreed, and began a slow descent down the hillside. As they made their way, Bruckner soon noticed two orcs walking drunkenly in their direction, one half tripping, and falling onto the shoulder of his companion, who roughly shoved him off.

They stopped a dozen or so yards away, and begin relieving themselves onto a small thalberry bush.  They began speaking roughly, their words just audible over the din of the fight in the main camp.  

One asked:

"Who you think gonna come out on top, eh?"

"T’ralsh for sure.  That bastard can swing a morningstar better'n Scazbag 'imself. He'll shift up that foamin fool Grokbar."  

"Huh. You better be wrong. Grokbar owes me money".  

They finished their business and headed back, but after a few steps one of them fell over, laughing--a hideous sound.  The one still standing kicked at his fellow, cursing him.  

The prone orc put his hand on his head, and said,

"My head's poundin' like that!  When those bastards inside gonna finish their ruttin’ ritual, eh?  When we getta burn Sevahr?"  

"Like I know, you shitstick!"

the first shouted, kicking him again.  

"Get up; your head needs another drink, that'll stop it poundin'.  Come on!"  

They trudged back to the camp.  

After they were well away, Bruckner stood, making ready to continue, when Nima appeared out of the shadows behind them. Tadalac yelped a little at her sudden appearance, but slapped a hand over his mouth, and gave her a thumbs up.

Nima reported what she had seen.
“There’s something happening within that cave. One doesn’t post sentries for no reason.”

"You're right. Two drunk orcs mentioned some ritual, and I have no doubt it's being carried on in that cavern. This rabble's invasion of Sevahr seems to hang on the ritual's completion. Is it likely we can get into the cavern undetected?" 

Nima hesitated, considering Bruckner’s heavy tread, and the image of Tadalac’s hand slapped over his gasping mouth. Her silence stretched for a long moment.  

"I'm not sure...Perhaps Tadalac has a few helpful tricks up his sleeve?"

Tadalac, who had apparently grown bored, was busy standing on one hand. At Nima's words, he rolled forward, ending up on his feet.  

"Tadalac can always help!  But… it could still be dangerous..."

"Is there anything specific you can do to keep us out of sight and sound?"

Nima asked, with a touch of annoyance in her voice.

“I’m afraid not,” he said brightly. "Phantasm isn’t my forte. But I can make it so the enemies will have a harder time hitting you if they do see you! The moon has plenty to spare!”

Whispering the incantation, Tadalac called upon Vandaril, beautiful and fey, Queen of the moon. The words were ornate and mysterious, and within them were ancient pleas uttered by neophytes of the white lady since the moon was first shaken loose from the sun, and began her own lonely course. The moon wove shimmering bands about Bruckner as it had around Nima, and all at once it was done, and the eldritch shock of arcane forces coming into contact with the sluggish stuff of the sensible world was past.

But you will both have to protect Tadalac. It’s best I don’t wear the lady’s silvery light myself—too much moon interferes with my command of fire. I will stay behind you and cast strong magics if the orcs get too close.  But stealth is probably best. Shall we head in?"

The gods must have smiled upon their venture, for the three young warriors made it past the encampment, and into the cavern with no trouble. The fight had largely died down, and scores of the creatures were dead or wounded; those who had not joined in had either retired to their tents, or passed out from drink to sleep it off under the stars.

The group headed down into the main cavern, which was as wide as a cathedral; boxes of rations, and piles of rusty arms and armor were heaped together against the cavern walls; there was a semblance of order here, more than one might expect from mere orcs, but still, it was an ill-kept camp. If guards had been posted here, they were still missing.  

They pushed into the tunnel, and were soon wending their way deep into the earth.  As they approached the sleeping sentry that Nima had spotted, Tadalac tripped, sending a pebble skittering down the stone corridor. The stone struck the guard’s leg, and he groaned, stirring. Tadalac swore under his breath, but Nima was already bringing her crossbow to her shoulder.

She sent a bolt whirring into the orc’s neck. The creature tried to scream as the shaft pierced his throat, but he was choking on blood, and all that emerged was a horrible gurgling. The orc attempted to stand, his hands clutched about the bloody stick protruding from its windpipe, but then Bruckner was upon him. The swordsman drew his dirk, and plunged it into the orc’s chest. The sentry fell in a bloody heap.

Tadalac brushed off his hands, as though quite pleased with his role in all of this.  

“Well, that's one down! What should we do with the body?"

Bruckner searched the corpse. The orc had little of interest; tattered clothing, a rusted sword, and scraps of armor taken from various sets, pieced together like a patchwork quilt.  However, he noticed on the guard’s belt a small iron ring with two keys; they were quite old, with a sheen of rust, but were otherwise sturdy.

Bruckner arranged the body so as to make it appear the oaf transfixed himself on his own spear; a likely enough occurence no doubt.  Tadalac laughed at the sight, and sat next to the orc, making a gruesome face in mimicry of the creature.  He laughed again, cheefully, then hopped back to his feet.

"Come on! We have to find that King!"  

He paused for a second, then looked at Bruckner and Nima, asking nervously.  

"What are ox and little sister going to do with the king if you find him? Are you going to kill him?"

“I don't much relish the thought of killing a King, whatever his condition. Best not to think of it now."

Bruckner took the keys as he spoke, slipping them into his pack.

Fortunately, the commotion of the brief battle didn’t seem to have attracted any immediate attention, so the three continued warily on.  The piled boxes of provisions began to thin out as they descended deeper into the underground world beneath Mount Elesborre, and soon there was little more than littered heaps of broken armor and cracked glass lining the walls. Soon the trio came to what seemed to be the last white witching-fire. The tunnel ahead continued downward, into darkness. Just past the white fire, on the right side of the tunnel branched another path. A thick iron grate, with a locked door, blocked access.

“Now what?” murmured Tadalac.

“Quiet,” Nima said holding out a hand for silence. “I need to listen.”

Nima approached the iron door slowly, scanning the walls and ground for any traps, her ears straining for any clues as to what may lie beyond the iron bars.  She reached the grating, and peered through, into the near pitch-black beyond. As her eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, she could make out a huge, humanoid shape, and she began to hear the slow and steady rumble of deep breathing. She watched and listened, and the sounds and sights coalesced into something recognizable: a dozen feet past the iron door lay a monstrously large troll, chained up with giant manacles connected to steel rings set in the cave walls.  Though she could only see one, from the sound of the breathing, she was certain there were many such monsters.  
 
Nima crept back to Bruckner and Tadalac, whispered,

"Trolls.  More than one, by the sound of them."  

She caught Bruckner’s eye, whispered:

"What should we do?"

"If we don't kill these trolls now, they may well be set on us or on Sevahr later, and it will be much harder to kill them unchained. If we do kill them now, someone will notice them, and we increase the risk of being caught before we find the King."

“Is there any chance these trolls might be guarding something?  After all, if the Orc watch stops here, perhaps it's because the trolls are picking up the guard?"

“If we could manage to kill them or free them, we'd have a clear path to whatever they may be guarding."  

“So...One of us sneaks in, tries the keys or picks the locks on their chains, and at the right moment, Tadalac does some magic to attract their attention into the Orc camp?”

"We could use the body of the orc as further bait. The question is whether you - for it would have to be you - can manage to make it in undetected and remain undetected throughout." 

Nima shrugged.  

"I think I can manage it.  At least, I'm willing to try.”

"Tadalac, do you think this can be done? Do you have a spell which could lead these monsters to the cave mouth?"

Tadalac stroked his tiny chin with a sagely air, apparently pleased that Bruckner had asked his advice.  

“This is a dangerous plan, but if we can do it, what fun!  And also, then these trolls will maybe fight those orcs outside, and General Aleksander will be impressed with us all!  But..."

his brow furrowed.

"I don't want little sister to get hurt... I guess if she's careful… As for Tadalac's part, why that's easy as pie! There's one thing all trolls hate: fire.  So all we have to do is take some of this junk"

he gestured back towards the crates and burlap sacks,

"and stretch it across the hallway, on the far side of the gate. The trolls should flee from the fire, meaning they will head for the surface. And there’s only one path from here to there! They will run out the entrance, and meet 300 hundred drunk orcs; that should liven up their party!”

He grinned.

"Fine: the first thing we do is set up the firewall and make it ready to light quickly. Tadalac and I will stand on the safe side of that wall. Nima unlocks the gate, sneaks in, unchains as many of the trolls as she can, and sneaks out. Once she's on our side of the wall, one of us - it can be me - must lure the trolls out into the main cavern. I then rush back to the safe side of the wall, which we set alight. The trolls should flee toward the entrance of the cavern, and the rest should take care of itself. If Nima is noticed by the trolls, she can run out to us, get onto the safe side of the wall, and we can then light the wall in haste. 

Before we do this: can we scout a little bit into the other end of the cavern? I don't want to be on one side of the firewall, safe from the trolls, only to find something worse on my side, with no avenue of escape." 

"I think that's a good idea, but how do you recommend we go about it without calling attention to ourselves?  I can see in dark places, but I need a bit of light at least. If we could light a torch, I should be able to see well enough to make my way.”

“Very well. It’s a risk, but there’s nothing for it. Scout ahead, cautiously. Tadalac and I will prepare here.”

Nima lit a torch, and scouted ahead, while Bruckner began moving crates and sacks and whatever else was likely to burn well, stacking it as quietly as he could in a line stretching across the width of the tunnel.

Tadalac pitched in, and after ten minutes of steady effort, the group had built a short wall that looked quite flammable. They left a small gap in the wall, on the right side, for Nima to leap through after tempting the trolls out.

Tadalac found a large skin full of some very strong liquor. Holding his nose, he emptied the foul spirit along the length of the makeshift wall.

Nima, meanwhile, had ventured in another quarter-mile or so. As she ventured stealthily forward, she spotted a small patch of white standing out against the dark stone. She bent over and picked it up. It was a handkerchief of pale blue silk, ornately embroidered with the letters H.J. in purple thread. It was filthy and torn. She returned to her companions, and handed the handkerchief to Bruckner. He studied it.

"H.J. Hector Janessin. It seems we're on the right track, and I want to press further. But we should follow our original plan. It will do us no good to find the king and then face an army of orcs supported by trolls. Are you ready, Nima?"

He handed her the keyring. "Nearly,"

she said; and proceeded to prepare by setting crossbow, quiver, and quarterstaff down near the wall where she could easily reach them. She made certain that her dagger was within easy reach in her boot, then secured the keys and her lock picks in a handkerchief tied around her wrist. She tied her hair back tightly from her face, then nodded brusquely at my companions, and took a deep breath.

“Ok. Let's give this first lock a go."

Bruckner handed her the key ring, and she fit the first key into the lock holding the grated door closed. It opened with a metallic click. She turned to her companions, said,

“Wait for two minutes to light it—or, until something goes wrong.”

Nima swung the door open slowly. It creaked slightly, and she froze, but no troll bellowing rose in protest, so she slipped past the door. Tadalac murmured something, and a spark flew from his lips to settle on the pitch-soaked end of a torch he carried. It blazed into life, and the room ahead was made visible.

The steady, deep breathing of the trolls grew louder as Nima probed into the room; she could see more clearly now, making out the shadowy shapes of four large trolls, all chained with thick manacles to the walls of the cavern. The chains ran through large cuffs on the beasts' wrists, conjoining at an iron collar strapped around their necks. Giant padlocks held the chains tightly at the collar, the locks resting against the chests of the monsters.  The trolls were half-sitting, slumped against the rough walls, fast asleep. With only slightly-trembling hands, Nima drew forth the key ring.

She tiptoed to the nearest troll; a massive creature covered with giant bumps like toadstools growing out of moist skin; from feet away she smelled the fetid stench of its flesh, like decomposing logs and rotting corpses.  She eased the key into the first lock, and turned it ever so slowly.  The mechanism was heavy, and it took some time to fully rotate the key, but the lock finally 'popped' open with a click.

Nima nearly gasped as the troll shifted in his seat and exhaled forcefully, blasting her face with a wall of hot, stinking air. The bile rose in her throat, and she turned away, retching into a fold of her cloak. She fought back the urge to vomit, breathing into the thick wool until the nausea subsided.

It was all she could do to keep her hands from shaking violently as she set the heavy lock down softly, and moved on to the next troll. She repeated the operation without a hitch. As she removed the third padlock, however, her foot caught on a loose chain, and she gasped as she lost her footing—the padlock flew from her hands, and crashed against the floor with a horrible clang. She heard Bruckner curse distantly, and then the sound of sudden fire. As if in a nightmare, Nima’s eyes rose from the still-ringing padlock to the face of the troll directly before her. His eyes opened like a shot, the thick mucus-colored orbs striving to find something to look at.  He saw Nima, and his lips parted to make way for a terrible roar.

She ran.

Pivoting, Nima pulled her dagger from her boot-sheathe boot, and sprinted for the main cavern, leaping over a length of chain whipped into sudden violent motion by a troll, discovering his sudden freedom.

All awake now, the other trolls added their voices to the bellow of the first. The force of their sonic fury felt like a tangible blast of energy at Nima’s back, echoing terribly through the small sub-cavern, and out into the wider cave.  She leapt over the splayed legs of the second troll, and rolled as she landed, only just evading a giant fist brought down to smash against the slate floor. By the time she reached the gate, she could already heavy footfalls behind her, pounding into the thick rock.  She burst through the open portal, and cut right at the wall. The barrier was already burning, all save a three-foot gap against the right wall… She leapt through, to find Bruckner and Tadalac waiting. As soon as she was safely on the other side of the firewall, they shoved a pile of boxes into the gap, Tadalac lighting them with a wave of flame from his fingertips.

As the wall began to burn in earnest, three trolls burst forth from their enclosure, roaring so loudly that it seemed the whole place must cave in.  One began to stomp heavily towards the burning barrier, smashing one of his fellow trolls in the face with a backward swinging fist as he searched furiously for a target to vent his rage on.  As the flames grew to an inferno, however, the beast put an arm over his eyes, roaring in pain.  Desire and rage seemed to beckon him forward, but fear proved the stronger driver. He raged impotently for a moment, smashing the floor mightily with fists the size of small boulders, but to no avail. Finally, he turned in frustration, the other two following his lead, and they began racing down the cavern towards the entrance, their roars echoing like thunderclaps.  They disappeared up the pathway to the outside. Soon the sounds of their passage had faded, and all was silent save for the raging of the remaining troll, still in chains.

“Let’s have a look around in the cage. Then we should continue down into the cavern, after the King.”

"One troll remains locked up.  We could probably dispatch it, if you two are so inclined, and then continue on our way?"

"Trolls cannot be killed with steel alone. We will need fire or acid to keep the thing from regenerating."

“It’ll be an ugly business, but we had better have done with him.”

Nima said, grimacing.

“Here, carry these Ox,”

Tadalac chimed in, dragging several of the large liquor-filled animal skin canteens to Bruckner’s feet.

“It won’t be very sporting, I’m afraid…”:

They entered the small cave, and considered the remaining troll. Over twelve feet tall, and hunched up against the far wall, the troll was muttering strange, nonsensical phrases, its voice like crunching gravel.

“Ok, Ox.”

Tadalac said.

“Douse him.”

Bruckner unstoppered the wineskins, and, getting as close as he dared, sprayed the liquor onto the troll’s face and chest. Tadalac snapped his fingers, and a shower of thick, flaming sparks fell over the restrained troll. The sparks lit the alcohol, and then burrowed into the troll’s flesh, setting the fire deep within the hard, root-like muscles of the creature.

The companions covered their faces as the troll caught fire. Soon they were gagging on the fumes. Its screams were nearly as terrible. The fire spread across its entire body, and it thrashed and raged and bellowed as its skin melted and its sinews baked and snapped.

“I’ll check around,”

Nima shouted over the din, covering her face with fold of her cloak.

“Keep watch in the main tunnel.”

Gratefully, Bruckner and Tadalac retreated to the main cavern, where the air was not so thick with troll-smoke.

The troll cavern looked to be a natural offshoot of the main cave; thick stalactites hung from the ceiling 20 feet above, dripping at regular intervals.  The space was about 45 feet wide, which makes it a very cramped prison indeed for four massive trolls.  The thick chains that recently held the escaped beasts now lie idly on the floor, except of course in the case of the final troll, who is still trussed up, his body a mass of smoking and singed flesh, twisting and spasming and sagging against its constraints.  

The far wall ended about fifty feet back, apparently a dead end.  As she drew closer, however, the dancing candle of the troll revealed an alcove to the right rear of the cave, about two feet deep.

Slumped on the ground in this small cranny was a corpse. The body of a human male, it was dressed in light, but well-crafted leather armor; a long dagger with a curved handle jutted out from his belt.  He was not long dead, certainly no more than a week or two. He has begun to decay, but his features were still largely intact.  Dull red hair hung over eyelids with delicate, almost feminine lashes. His strong chin was split open, his lower jaw cleft nearly in half, resting upon his breast in a slick of thick coagulated blood. Opposite the knife on his belt sat a leather purse. A pack was upon his back.

The purse contains several dozen gold pieces of exotic mint that Nima did not recognize. One one side, they displayed a hand wrapped up in a fist, with esoteric symbols carved, or tattooed onto it. On the obverse side was an inverted mountain hanging large and imposing over a small landscape dotted with homes and fields. The detail on the coins was amazing; the deeper Nima looked at it, the more details she seemed to see.

The troll’s death-knell brought her out of her reverie. She stowed the purse, and began looking through the dead man’s pack. She found a small leather book, bound with a clasp, and travelling basics: two torches, a bedroll, a change of clothes, two glass vials filled with concentrated curative magic, a flint and steel, a whetstone, rations and so forth. She also found a curious sphere forged of a pale, whitish metal. Carved across it was a word in a foreign alphabet.

Nima returned to her companions, displaying what she had found.

“We can distribute the gold later. Do either of you know what is in these bottles?”

Tadalac said: “Ox could try drinking one, that would show us!"  He starts to giggle wildly at his own wit.

Still chuckling at his own joke, Tadalac took one of the bottles, and pulled the cork, sniffing at the crimson liquid. He hesitated, then tasted the bottom of the stopper.

“These are healing potions,”

he said after a moment.  

“The magic is of a strain unknown to me, but I can tell its function—they're definitely good for you!”

Tadalac also took the small book that Nima had found, and began briefly perusing it.  

“Good news. I was running low. Could one of you spare a torch, also?” Nima asked.

“It gets darker further in.”

Bruckner took a torch from his pack, lit it, and handed it to her.

"And here I thought elves could see in the dark. What is the book, Tadalac?"

The gnome held up a hand, indicating patience. His eyes were darting across the page. Nima spoke into the silence.

"Common misconception.  My eyes can make better use of the light they get than yours can, but I do still require some amount of light to see."  

She held up the sphere.

“Does anyone know what this is?”

Bruckner took it, turned it over in his hands, and shrugged.

“We should keep moving. Anything of interest, Tadalac?”

"Well, it's difficult for Tadalac to be certain. But I think it's a journal of some kind.”

"It's written in Tevianite Elvish, but it doesn’t make any sense. It must be in a cipher. Luckily Tadalac can read Tevianite!  But, it may take me some time to figure out this poor fellow's code, or shorthand. Or, maybe he was a loon!  I'll work on it later."  

He tucked the book into his pack.

"What do you have there?” he asked Nima, reaching for the small globe. He considered it.

“Huh. What is this word? The alphabet is all wrong… oh! Is this the dandurric script…? I don’t know this language—if it is one— but… if the ispil is shaded, and we treat this as the ordaining syllable…Curuva-folse?”

Tadalac gave voice to the symbols uncertainly. Suddenly a ghostly claw appeared, four long slender talons of smoke and fog stretching wide about the orb within Tadalac’s hand, then snapping around it, and clutching it fast.

“Ye gods!”

Tadalac yelped, dropping the stone sphere. It hung suspended in the air.

“Oh!” Tadalac clapped his hands in his excitement.

Nima drew her dagger and tapped the stone. The blade rang dully, and the sphere did not move. She sheathed her knife, and grabbed it, ignoring the ephemeral fingers. The others simply watched. She grasped it and pulled. She may as well have tried to pull the tunnel wall over a few paces. It would not budge.

“The word has changed,” she announced. She took a stab at sounding out the odd collection of characters, following Tadalac’s treatment of the letters.

“Finiil Folse” she hazarded.

The sphere fell from where it hung; Tadalac caught it before it hit the ground.

“Neat!” he Tadalac.

“You speak the word, and the sphere can’t be moved!”

“Mind if I keep this?” Nima asked, stowing the ball in her pack.

“Sure, Nima!” Tadalac said cheerfully.

"I know Tevianite also. Let me know if I can be of help with the journal. As for the sphere, Nima, you're welcome to the unnatural thing. Shall we proceed into the dark?"

"Let's go find that rascal King!"