City of Jade

14

JOURNEY TO THE EROEAN

LATE SPRING 6E1

“I can see why Greytower is so called,” said Aylis, pointing at the ashen rock of that peak, “and the blackness of Grimspire would seem to give that mountain its name. But given the tint of the stone, I would think Loftcrag would be called Bluecrag or Skycrag, while ruddy Stormhelm ought to be called Bloodhelm or some such.”

“ ’Twas Humankind that gave them those names, hence I cannot say why they are called as they are. Elves, on the other hand, name them respectively, Garlon, Aevor, Chagor, and Coron.”

“Coron, as in the High King of Elves?”

“Aye, for it is the mightiest mountain in the Grimwall.”

Aylis laughed. “You think much of Elvenkind to name it so.”

“Ah, Chier, I did not say it was the mightiest mountain in all of Mithgar, for I have seen giants of mountains in the Jangdi Range.”

Again Aylis laughed and added, “I take it that Elvenkind is not the mightiest in all of Mithgar, then.”

“Oh, my love, surely I would not say that,” replied Aravan, and his laugh joined hers.

Again Aylis looked at the four peaks. “What do the Dwarves call them?”

“Uchan, Aggarath, Ghatan, and Ravenor.”

“And Drimmen-deeve lies under those four?”

“Aye,” replied Aravan. “And it is a mountainfast no foe could penetrate until the Gargon was set free from the Lost Prison. Then it lay open to enemies, though only the Rupt took advantage, for they were sent to occupy the Deeves by Modru. ’Twas he who summoned the Draedan to deal with the Drimma.”

“Ah, again Gargons,” said Aylis.

“Shall I tell thee the tale? How the Drimma, when mining starsilver, weakened the wall of the Gargon’s Lair? I know but part of it, not all.”

“Nay, love, let me ‹see› for myself; then I will tell the whole of it to you.”

“Ah, for the nonce I had forgotten thy calling,” said Aravan with a smile.

Aylis’s gaze swept over the four peaks of the Quadran. “A formidable fastness, you say?”

Aravan nodded. “Nigh impenetrable.”

“Well, then, I do hope they let us in.”

“Fear not, Chier,” said Aravan, “for I am Chak-Sol-Dwarf-Friend-so named long past by Tolak. After several perilous encounters during the many journeys to obtain that which was needed for the construction of the Eroean , it was by his decree that I became Chak-Sol. He also vouched for me when I went to the third Khana Durek in Drimmen-deeve for a pound of starsilver needed to paint the hull of the Eroean to keep barnacles and other such away from her bottom. And I intend to ask DelfLord Balor for another pound when we reach Drimmen-deeve.”

“ ’Twas a priceless gift they gave you,” said Aylis.

Aravan shrugged and said, “Paid back more than tenfold by the experience and knowledge the Drimma gathered in return, to say nought of a share of the goods received at the end of each voyage. Well-earned, I add, by each and every Drimmen warband that has served on my ship.”

“And now we go to recruit a new one, eh?”

“We do,” replied Aravan. .

. . and on they rode.

Three days passed and a part of another ere the golden sun in a high blue sky found Aravan and Aylis riding up the Pitch, a long slope of land rising into the embrace of the Quadran-four mountains lying more or less in a square: To the left flank stood ashen Greytower, and just to the west loomed ebon Grimspire; to the right soared azure-hued Loftcrag, while straight ahead towered ruddy Stormhelm. It was toward this latter they were headed, for there stood the Dawn Gate, the eastern entry into Kraggen-cor.

They had followed a pave past a rune-carved realmstone, announcing that from this point forward they trod upon a Dwarven domain.

They passed by another realmstone, this one broken, the top half of the column missing. It stood on a stone ledge jutting out from the shore of a small lakelet fed by the flow of the Quadrill down from the steeps lying between Stormhelm and Loftcrag. “Here at the Quadmere it was that First Durek declared this realm to belong to the Drimma of his line,” said Aravan, looking toward the shorn pillar.

Aylis frowned and turned her head to the right. “What is that distant roar?”

“ ’Tis the Vorvor, Durek’s Wheel, a whirlpool in a fold of stone along the flank of Loftcrag. There a furious river bursts forth from the mountain and spins ’round a stone basin to disappear down through a central cavity, like unto a drain in a vat. Whence from there, none knows. ’Tis said First Durek was cast by Rupt into that wrath and drawn far below the earth. ’Twas then that the Drimmen war with the Spaunen began, and has raged so ever since.”

“Not a pleasant way to leave this life,” said Aylis.

“Oh, he survived,” said Aravan, “yet whether he died or merely came to Death’s door is in some dispute among the Drimma. Some contend he passed into that realm, but fought his way back out. Knowing the stubbornness of the Drimma, I would not dispute that claim.”

Aylis laughed and on they rode, and within a mile they crossed a stone courtyard to come before the eastern gate into Drimmen-deeve, its massive iron leaves standing open and warded by four armed and armored Dwarves.

Escorted by the captain of the gate ward, a dark-haired, dark-eyed Dwarf named Brekk, past the great iron doors of the portal known as the Dawn Gate and into an entry hall they went, the hooves of their horses clattering upon rock. Delved out of the red granite of Stormhelm, and with the smell of stone in the air, the chamber before them was huge: perhaps two hundred yards in length and nearly as wide. The ceiling above stood some thirty feet high and was covered with machicolations, murder holes from which would rain death-burning oil and melted lead and crossbow bolts and darts and other such-in the unlikely event an invader breached the formidable outer gates. All along the walls were slots in the stone, arrow slits, through which more bolts would fly; they were steel-shuttered from behind and closed at this time.

Past these formidable defenses Aravan and Aylis followed Brekk toward an exit at the far end, an outlet which led into a broad corridor and down, gently sloping into the interior of Drimmen-deeve. And with the shod hooves of the trailing horses echoing from the nearby stone walls, they passed into this roadway. As if she were using her ‹sight›, Aylis looked overhead, where stood a wide slot above, in which she could see the bottom edge of a thick, black-iron slab, and deep grooves ran down the walls to mate with another slot across the floor.

Aylis whispered, “A gate, a great iron plate, set to drop down the grooves and into the channel below and seal the way?”

Aravan nodded.

Aylis murmured, “How do they lock it down, and afterward pull it back up?”

“I ween they have latch bolts in a corridor above and a geared winch to haul it back up,” said Aravan.

Along the wide corridor they went, the hallway lit blue-green by phosphorescent Chakka lanterns, casting a ghastly aspect over all. Down through this spectral glow they trod, along the gentle descent, more murder holes overhead, with the faint hint of an odor of oil drifting down. A furlong or so they went this way, when the corridor came to an end at last, with another floor channel and more wall grooves, while ensconced in an overhead slot a thick iron slab awaited. They issued out onto a broad landing at the top of a short flight of wide stairs leading down to a broad shelf of stone, which in turn came to an abrupt end at a wide rift cleft in the rock. Black and yawning, the deep abyss barred the way: the ebon gape split out of a vast crack in the high rock wall on one side to jag across the expansive stone floor and disappear into another great crack on the opposite wall. It was a mighty barrier, some fifty feet across at the narrowest point, a hundred or more at the widest. Over the immense chasm spanned a broad wooden drawbridge, and a shielded winch on the far side stood ready to hale the counterweighted bascule up and away and lock it in place at need. Dwarven warriors warded the hoist and the bridge.

Beyond the mighty fissure the wide stone floor continued, and by the light of Dwarven lanterns affixed in wall sconces Aylis could see the whole of a vast chamber: its extent was a mile or more, its width mayhap half that, its high-vaulted ceiling some hundred feet up, the roof of the chamber supported by four rows of giant pillars marching away to the end.

“Yon is the War Hall,” said Aravan, “a mustering chamber should enemies march up Falanith to threaten this holt.”

“Falanith is the Pitch?”

“Aye,” replied Aravan.

Brekk nodded his agreement and said, “We have mustered here many a time when the Grg tried to conquer this place. Some have managed to breach the old outer gates, but none has ever won across the Great Deop against the assembled Chakka.”

Aylis said, “I was told an army of Spawn once occupied Drimmen-deeve.”

“Aye, it is true.” Brekk glanced at Chak-Sol Aravan, and then at Aylis. As if making up his mind, he took a deep breath and slowly let it out and then said, “It was after the Ghath-the Gargon-was set free and we were driven from this place. During the Winter War, Modru sent a Horde of Squam to Kraggen-cor, making ready to conquer this part of Mithgar. But his Ghath was slain by the Deevewalkers, and afterward Modru was defeated. There passed two hundred years and some, but at last Seventh Durek brought an army to reclaim our holt, and the Squam were conquered in the War of Kraggen-cor.”

Aylis turned to Aravan. “Deevewalkers?”

“I could tell you that tale, Chier, but in the library of the Eroean is a copy of The Ravenbook , wherein the entire story is recorded. It is a gripping saga, and one that you will find to your liking.”

“Then I will wait,” said Aylis. “But the story of the Gargon in this stronghold is one I will winnow out for myself.”

A dark look crossed Brekk’s features, as if speaking of those long-past days filled him with shame, for, just as in the story of Blackstone, wherein the Chakka had fled their holt, stolen by the Dragon Sleeth, here the Dwarves had abandoned their homeland, too, had fled from an enemy they could not defeat.

“Come,” he said. “Mayhap DelfLord Balor will be free. If not, I will show you to quarters while you await an audience.”

Rather than risk the horses to the steps, Brekk turned leftward. Down a ramp all went, at the bottom of which they swung to the right and thence to the drawbridge. As they passed over, Aylis looked down. The walls of the abyss were smooth and sheer and dropped straight for as far as the eye could see and vanished into dark depths below. “How deep is this?”

“I know not,” said Aravan, while just ahead of them Brekk turned up a hand as if saying, Who knows?

As they reached the floor of the War Hall, Brekk called a Dwarf to him, and bade him to lead the horses to the stables, as well to deliver the possessions of the visitors unto the guest quarters. Then rightward he turned to escort the travellers across the hall, toward one of the many exits leading off into passages carved through the stone. On the way to the opening they passed two of the many giant red-granite columns supporting the roof of the chamber. On each pillar the figure of a Dragon was carved twining up and around the great fluted shaft.

Into the passageway they stepped, and up a flight of stairs and then another and another, the group turning left and right and left and. . At the top of yet another flight of stairs, they came into a long, narrow chamber, where a rune-covered archway athwart the midpoint spanned the full of the width. Aylis looked about, a slight frown of concentration on her face. “The aethyr of this stone is different from that which we have passed through ere now.”

“Bair said something of the like when last I was here,” said Aravan.

“This is the Hall of the Gravenarch,” said Brekk. “Here it was that Braggi and his warband made their last stand, but the Ghath came and slew him and his valiant raiders. Some years later, during the Winter War, to hinder the Ghath, the Deevewalkers broke the arch and the ceiling collapsed. Some two hundred and thirty-one years after that war, we retook Kraggen-cor from the Grg. A decade or so later, we restored the chamber.”

“I assume this tale is in The Ravenbook ,” said Aylis.

“Not Braggi’s tale, but that of the Deevewalkers is,” replied Aravan. “Also in the book is appended the story of the War of Kraggen-cor. Last summer, Faeril gave me a copy of the combine. I sent it by messenger to Long Tom to place it in the Eroean ’s library. Thou canst read it there.”

Out from the Hall of the Gravenarch they passed, turning leftward along a corridor. “Here we are on the Sixth Rise,” said Brekk. “The Great Hall lies just ahead.”

Now they came into a huge, dimly lighted chamber, fully a half mile from end to end and a quarter mile across. And in the center and surrounded by glowing, phosphorescent lanterns sitting on pedestals of stone, mid a seated gathering of Dwarves armed and armored for battle, stood DelfLord Balor, explaining a particular tactic of war.

“We train here,” explained Brekk.

Balor, his dark hair shot through with silver, and dressed in black-iron chain, warmly greeted Aravan and was introduced to Aylis. Leaving Brekk to continue the lesson, the DelfLord led the visitors to a side hall, wherein they were served tea and scones to assuage their appetites until the evening meal. When the Dwarven page left them to themselves, Balor asked, “What brings you to my holt?”

“With your permission, DelfLord, I’ve come to recruit a warband to serve on the Eroean ,” said Aravan.

Balor smiled. “So you are returning to the sea.” Then a look of puzzlement filled his grey eyes. “But why Kraggen-cor? Is it not true that your warbands of the past came from the Red Hills?”

“Two reasons, my lord: first, many of the Red Hills Drimma came here after you retook this holt from the Rupt. And as is my wont, I like to have the descendants of those who served with me in the past be the ones to serve in the present, for the strength of proven blood ofttimes runs true.”

Balor nodded. “Indeed. And you may gather your forty from among my warriors. The experience will benefit them, I would think.”

“Thank you, my lord,” said Aravan.

Balor frowned, as if trying to capture an elusive memory; then he brightened. “Captain Brekk can assist you, Aravan, for I believe that one of his ancestors sailed on the Eroean long past.”

“Oh,” said Aravan. “Dost thou recall his name?”

“Bokar, it was, I think.”

“Ah, yes. Armsmaster Bokar. I remember him well,” said Aravan.

“As do I,” said Aylis, for he had been the Dwarven warband leader in those days millennia agone when she had sailed upon the Eroean ere the destruction of Rwn.

Aravan’s gaze lost its focus as he remembered times past. Then he said, “A mighty warrior was Bokar, and if Brekk is anything like his ancestor. .”

“He is one of my finest captains,” said Balor.

“Then done and done,” said Aravan. “Brekk will be my new armsmaster.”

Balor then cocked an eyebrow and asked, “And the second reason you are here. .?”

“I need a pound of starsilver,” said Aravan, grinning.

Balor broke into laughter and said, “As you did Khana Durek, so you do me. But must it be a whole pound?”

“Aye, for ’tis time the keel and underside coat of the Eroean needs replenishing.”

Balor shook his head and sighed. “Starsilver used as an ingredient in paint for a ship’s hull. It seems a waste.”

“Not a waste, my lord,” said Aravan, “for barnacles cannot cling to starsilver and it rejects growth, hence my ship will run all the faster with her argent bottom. And as you know, you will profit well beyond the measure of the silveron’s worth.”

Balor smiled and said, “We are currently working the lode nigh the Lair of the Ghath. I will send a message for a pound to be newly delved and refined for your use.”

Just after breaking fast the next day, as Aravan, with Brekk’s aid, began recruiting a warband, Aylis sought out Balor.

“Starsilver mining and refining: Might I go and see how this is done?” asked Aylis. “Besides, Aravan said that the Gargon broke free of its lair, and I would see that place, if I might.”

Balor swept a hand toward the far reaches of Kraggen-cor and said, “It would be my pleasure to guide you myself.”

Balor and Aylis saddled two ponies and, following a trade road that had one terminus at the Dawn Gate and the other at the Dusk Door, they set out along the road, with its twisting but gently sloped up and down stone passages that would take them nigh the silveron vein lying some thirty-six miles away. As they journeyed, Aylis spoke of the taking of the black fortress, and the need for the Chakka to learn the rite for the crossing of the Planes. The morning waxed as they rode, though, underground as they were, Aylis could but guess as to the mark of the day; nevertheless, she took Balor at his word when he said that the noontide had come. They stopped by an undermountain stream for a meal and to feed and water the ponies, but took up the ride shortly after. “Even though we are pressing the pace,” said Balor, “it will be two candlemarks after sunset when we arrive. My lady, I would not have you overtired, and so we will stay the morrow and return the day after.” Onward they rode, and Aylis spoke of the days she and Aravan had had on the Eroean .

At last they came to a small underground community, where the starsilver miners were quartered. As they arrived at the stable, two young Dwarves-no more than teens, for their beards were not yet in evidence-took the animals back into the stalls to care for them. Balor then guided Aylis to a mess hall, where they took a meal along with Dwarven miners, after which to the gathering therein, Aylis told of the taking of the Black Fortress, this time speaking fluent Chakur.

The next morning Balor guided her along a pathway and over a bridge under which water flowed, and thence they went along a shelf toward where starsilver lay. Just ahead was a breach in the stone, and beyond that stood a chamber, one whose floor and walls and ceiling were crisscrossed with jagged silveron veins. As Aylis entered she noted a faint foul odor on the air, which seemed to emanate from a huge stone slab centered in the room. Rectangular it was and with a flat top, rather like a dais, and it held carvings along the sides. And along the sides as well were runes smeared in dark ichor. Aylis frowned and then said a word, then translated aloud, “Tuuth Uthor.”

“That was the name of the Ghath,” said Balor.

“This then is the Gargon’s Lair?”

“Aye.”

“And you did not remove his name?”

“It reminds us of our shame,” said Balor. “We fled.”

“It is no shame to flee a Gargon,” said Aylis. “They are Fearcasters.”

“Nevertheless,” said Balor.

At the far end along one side a wide stone doorway gaped, and from beyond came the sounds of hammers striking chisels and the chanking and clanging of a working mine.

Balor led Aylis through the opening, and there she saw Dwarves cutting silveron-laden rock from the walls.

“Here lies that which is more precious than diamond,” said Balor, gesturing widely.

“And you are giving a pound to Aravan,” said Aylis.

Balor merely nodded.

After a moment, Aylis looked back toward the Gargon’s Lair. “Yet you do not mine the starsilver in that place?”

Balor shook his head. “As I said, it serves to remind us of our shame. Mayhap if such a thing happens again, we will not flee.”

And perhaps you will die needlessly, thought Aylis; she did not say it aloud.

At a gesture from Balor, one of the miners brought a small sample of the stone to the DelfLord, who handed it to Aylis. She looked at the rock with its scintillant glitter, then handed it back.

Balor said, “We find it five ways: veins, sheets, flakes, nuggets, and as an ore. The veins, flakes, sheets, and nuggets take little or no refinement, but this”-he held up the stone-“is the hardest to separate from the rock. We crush it to a fine dust and wash it down a very long sluiceway, and the heavier starsilver sinks to the bottom and is trapped by retaining bars, while the lighter stone powder is carried away.”

“I see,” said Aylis, and again she looked back at the Lair.

“Would you like to examine the Lost Prison?” asked Balor.

“Indeed. In fact, if you don’t mind, I would use my powers to ‹see›.”

Balor turned up a hand and inclined his head in assent.

As Aylis stepped back into the Lair, Balor followed and stood silently by.

Aylis laid a hand on the upraised block, and then muttered an arcane word and after a moment said, “Four. There are four events of significance here.”

She fell silent and closed her eyes. Heartbeats passed, and then she smiled and said, “Ah, that’s how it was made.”

More moments passed, and she gasped. “It comes, the Gargon.” Her heart raced, for once before she had faced such a Demon, in a dreamwalk with the Pysk Jinnarin. “It is but a vision of things long past,” Aylis murmured a time or two, the mantra settling her fast-beating pulse. Then she smiled and said, “The trap is sprung.”

After still another moment she gasped and with unseeing eyes looked toward the gaping hole and cried, “Oh, Adon, it’s loose! It’s loose! No-no-no-no, the slaughter, the terrible slaughter.” Aylis, weeping, broke free of the vision and turned to Balor and, sobbing, leaned into him.

At a loss, Balor stood rigid for a heartbeat or two, but then embraced the Seeress and silently held her till the weeping subsided.

Finally, Aylis took a deep breath and Balor released her. She stepped away and said, “Forgive me, DelfLord, but it was a terrible thing I ‹saw›.”

“The Chakka, they could do nought?” he asked.

“Nothing,” replied Aylis. “The Fearcaster’s gaze froze them.”

“As we thought,” said Balor.

Long moments passed in silence, but at last Aylis said, “There is one more event I would ‹see›, the fourth and most recent one of those I detected.”

But Balor held up a hand of caution. “My lady, are you certain you would see this thing? I would not have you suffer again.”

Aylis’s heart went out to the stalwart Dwarf who sought to protect her from perhaps a vision of sorrow. “Lord Balor, I thank you, yet whether it is a revelation of distress or joy, it is one which I must ‹see›.”

Balor sighed and inclined his head in acquiescence.

Aylis braced herself and laid a hand on the slab and whispered an arcane word. Once more she wept, this time softly, at the ‹sight› of seven allies who were trapped herein, only to escape Foul Folk and fire, though not all made it out alive.

The following day, Aylis and Balor returned to the eastern end of the Dwarvenholt. But Aylis was not finished with her ‹seeing›. She paid a visit to the Hall of the Gravenarch, where she witnessed two more events, the first one again leaving her in tears, for she ‹saw› Braggi and his raiders go down to defeat. The second event concerned the Deevewalkers and the destruction of the hall, this latter leading to her third place of ‹seeing ›: the bridge over the Great Deep. And there she ‹witnessed› the demise of the Gargon, though it was a close thing, and it took all four Deevewalkers to do the Demon in, more by accident than design.

In all, Aravan and Brekk needed three days to choose the thirty-nine other Dwarven members of the warband, and they had just begun making preparations for the journey south to the Eroean .

That night Aravan said, “Thou didst vanish, Chier. I slept alone yesternight and the night before.”

“I was learning about starsilver, love, and winnowing out signal events. Perhaps one day I will tell you what I gathered. Besides, you were busy, and what better way for me to while away the time? And as for sleeping alone, well, so did I.”

“Thou art not yet ready to tell me what thou didst glean from thy study?”

Aylis smiled and said, “Not yet,” but Aravan noted her eyes were glistening, as of tears unshed. He said nought, but simply took her in his arms and held her close.

That night they made tender love, and the next morning Aravan left the holt and took to wing as a falcon and flew toward Darda Erynian, the Great Greenhall, that forest lying eastward nigh fifty leagues and across the River Argon. It was therein where Aravan hoped to recruit a special scout.

The next morning as well Aylis closeted herself with DelfLord Balor and the holt’s Loremasters and she related to them what she had learned concerning the Gargon’s Lair and the relevant events thereafter. Even then her eyes filled with tears, as did those of the Chakka listening, and they cast their hoods over their heads at the telling of when the Gargon broke free and slew the miners who had inadvertently set it loose. They wept as well when she spoke of how Braggi and his raiders were slaughtered by that dreadful monster. Yet they cast back their hoods and shouted, “Chakka shok! Chakka cor!” and “Brega, Bekki’s Son!” and “Hal, Deevewalkers!” when she told how that Fearcaster had met its doom.

That evening, as Aylis returned to her quarters, lost in contemplation, she took a wrong turn and wandered into corridors heretofore untrodden by her. And as she started down another of these, at the far end she noted several veiled and graceful beings shepherding a number of chattering Chakka offspring at the distant end of a long corridor. Without thought, Aylis spoke an arcane word invoking her ‹sight›.

Oh, my, they are all male children, and those with them – females they are, and long past their childhood – yet their ‹fire› is completely different from that of Chakka males. Are these Chakia? The hue of their ‹fire› would make them be of the Kind I learned about when I studied in the City of Bells. If so, what are they doing here?

Of a sudden, Aylis realized that these were indeed the Chakia, and exactly who and what these graceful creatures were. Oh, my, could this be a punishment set by Elwydd in atonement for a long-past dark deed? In that moment she realized why they were in the Dwarvenholt, and she wondered if the male Dwarves knew these things or if it was instead a long-held secret.

All this Aylis grasped with but a single glance, and she quickly turned away and said another arcane word to lessen the level of her ‹sight›, for she would not further pry into the privacy of those she had seen.

As she retraced her steps to reach her own quarters, Aylis knew that it would be unlikely she would ever tell anyone ought of what she had inadvertently learned.

The next morning, Aylis and forty-two armed and armored Chakka assembled in the East Hall at the Dawn Gate, along with Aylis’s horse and all the ponies and supplies they needed for the full of the trek. Forty of the Dwarves formed the warband that would serve on the Eroean ; the remaining two would bring the animals back to the Dwarvenholt once the far goal had been reached. Easterly they would ride in cavalcade, aiming for the ferry at Olorin Isle and Darda Erynian beyond, where, at the ruins of Caer Lindor, they would meet with the scout Aravan had recruited, were he successful in doing so. From there they would turn south and journey to the hidden grotto in Thell Cove, where they would meet the Eroean .

In saying farewell, Aylis embraced Balor and whispered, “Thank you, DelfLord, for letting me see the Gargon’s Lair, and for being there when I needed a friend.”

Balor awkwardly returned her embrace and harrumphed a gruff growl and said, “It is I who owe thanks, Seer, for your visions have told us much of what we did not know of the Lost Prison as well as the deaths of Braggi and his raiders, and the final slaying of the Ghath.”

Then the DelfLord moved back and nodded to Brekk, and at a command the Dwarves mounted up, Aylis stepping to her horse and mounting as well.

Balor then strode forward and said, “Forget not this,” and he handed up to Aylis a well-tied leather pouch filled with a pound of starsilver ground to a fine argent powder. “Open it not in the wind,” he added, “else that black-haired Elf of yours will come and ask me for more.”

Aylis laughed and momentarily considered putting the pouch into her saddlebags, but knowing that what it held was more precious than diamonds, she knotted the pouch to her belt.

And they rode out from mighty Kraggen-cor and down the Pitch, called Baralan by the Dwarves, and out through the foothills and onto the wide wold they fared, heading for the mighty Argon River and the Great Greenhall beyond.