The Dragon's Tomb

Chapter XII

After camping for the night, the five riders reached Threshold midafternoon of the next day. Braddoc’s pony, who had picked up a stone that had badly bruised his hoof, was on the verge of exhaustion, and Carsig still hadn’t recovered from the strain of escaping the sinkhole. The two mules and Dayin’s pony also seemed weary. Only Karleah’s gray mare and Brisbois’s piebald seemed still fresh. Jo realized she had misjudged Brisbois’s choice in horseflesh; although the mare’s conformation left much to be desired, the paint was a game creature.

Jo and the others approached Threshold from the east. They came down from the Wulfholdes into the valley that housed the tiny village. Peasant farmers stopped their tilling to stare at the strangers, and a blacksmith at the edge of the town set down a red-hot horseshoe long enough to study them. Jo nodded to a few people, only one of whom reluctantly nodded back. Friendly group, she thought ironically. Hope it’s only because we’re coming in from the wrong side of town. Jo recalled the maps she’d been shown, then looked eastward; they were coming in on the western branch of the Duke’s Road, which passed through harsh, bandit-ridden territory before arriving in Threshold. She was thankful they hadn’t encountered any of the wasteland’s inhabitants.

Though it had its own garrison, the village was even smaller than Bywater. Six buildings composed the center of town, and perhaps a dozen rough cottages surrounded the wooden buildings. Jo saw two taverns—the Cock’s Crow and the Maiden’s Blush—and scowled. Two drinking establishments for one tiny village meant only one thing: a town divided. They’d have to be careful. Appear to side with one faction or the other, and they’d likely get no help from either. Johauna Menhir shook her head and turned Carsig toward the rundown stable. A sign, hanging by a single rusted hook, displayed the place’s illegible title.

Jo dismounted, and the others behind her did the same. Brisbois tossed his reins to Dayin and said, “I’m getting a drink, boy. Take care of my horse.” Jo scowled as the man turned on his heel and began walking away.

“Wait, Brisbois!” Jo called out sternly. The knight did not pause, and Jo clenched her fists. She raised her voice and said, “Bondsman! Attend me!” Jo’s unblinking gaze apparently bored into the man’s back, for Brisbois hesitated, then stopped. He raised his hands to his side and cocked his head. Jo wondered if she would have to say anything more, but then the man slowly turned around. He shook his head, a sour smile on his face.

“Whatever you say, MistressBrisbois said with a sneer. He lowered his hands and walked back to the group. Dayin held out the horse’s rein, and Brisbois snatched it from the boy.

Jo’s face hardened in response both to Brisbois’s words and to his callous treatment of Dayin. She was about to rebuke the man, but the stable door behind her opened. Jo turned around to see a slight, aged man standing halfway behind the door. Only his balding head and his right arm were visible as he looked inquiringly at the people before him. His pale, colorless eyes were magnified by round lenses that balanced on his nose. Jo had seen glasses before, but never this close. She was intrigued.

Jo cleared her throat and said, “Ah, good sir—” she gestured up at the sign “—I’m sorry. I’m afraid I can’t make out your name.”

The man glanced up at the sign and spat tobacco juice from the corner of his mouth before replying. “Sign says ‘Gelar,’ but that was the previous owner. Name’s Hruddel. What can I do for you?” He blinked at Jo, and she was fascinated by how his thin eyelids became wide when they fluttered behind the thick lenses of his glasses.

“We’d like to lodge our horses for the night, if we may,” Jo began politely.

Hruddel looked at her yellow tunic suspiciously and then at the stained but still-recognizable blue of Sir Brisbois’s. Hruddel turned back to Jo. “You wouldn’t have anything to do with those four Penhaligon guards who were here the other day, would you?” The hostler opened the door reluctantly, and Jo smiled at him brightly as she murmured thanks.

“Why, no, good sir. We aren’t connected with the people you mentioned.” Jo looked suddenly concerned. “Did they do something wrong? Where are they now? I will be sure to report them to the castellan!” Jo looked about in pretended anger.

Hruddel shook his head and said quickly, “Oh, no, they’ve gone. Rest assured. They left day before yesterday.” Hruddel continued speaking, voicing his displeasure over the guards’ treatment of him and his stable girl, but Jo heard only “day before yesterday.” How are we going to catch them in time? she thought desperately.

The hostler turned to the others and began tending to the animals. Karleah came up to Jo while the younger woman was lost in thought and said, “You couldn’t have known the box was already gone, Jo. Besides, this is the path laid out for us by Sir Graybow.”

Jo turned her frightened eyes to the wizardess. “But I should have known! You were right when you said I have no intuition!” Johauna whispered.

“I was angry, you mean.” The old crone shook her head. “You did what you did; it cannot be undone.”

Though Karleah and Jo had been talking quietly, the hostler’s ears were sharp. He turned from the stall where he was putting Carsig and called out to Jo, “Did you say something about a box? Those guards had a box. Strange one, at that.”

Jo and Karleah exchanged glances, then Jo turned to Hruddel and smiled. She moved closer to the short man. “These guards had a box, you say?”

Hruddel looked down at the straw on the dirt floor and shifted nervously. Jo glanced at Braddoc and Brisbois, who were both standing near the man, and jerked her head. They took the hint and busied themselves by putting the rest of the animals into their stalls. Jo walked closer to Hruddel, then leaned over the stall door. She smiled softly at the man, who stared at her from behind the thick lenses of his glasses. .

“Hruddel,” Jo asked frankly, “what do you know about the box?”

Hruddel responded by taking a step closer and leaning confidentially toward Jo. “There’s something about that box that ain’t right,” he said, shaking his head worriedly. “It swallows magic, that’s what.”

“What’s that?” Karleah snapped. The old woman flicked a glance at Jo as if to apologize for the interruption. Jo shook her head faintly.

Hruddel looked at the old woman, his lips pressing into a line. “Karleah’s all right,” the squire said.

Hruddel blinked as he nodded, then said to Karleah, “You know it swallows magic then, I s’pose? When the guards held up that charm of the constable’s and it disappeared, we were all amazed.”

“Disappeared?” Karleah said sharply. Her black eyes had drawn to thin slits.

“Aye, the guards waved the amulet over the box,” Hruddel said. His eyes widened in remembered amazement. “And then the box opened up all on its own and swallowed the charm.”

“Swallowed it? The box opened? Did anything come out?” Jo asked in alarm.

“Nothing—nothing I never saw, anyway,” Hruddel answered. “The lid opened, and this purplish light shone, and then the constable’s neck chain was gone. Just like that.”

Jo was about to ask the hostler more questions, but Karleah touched the squire’s arm and said, “Thank you, Hruddel. This seems a fine stable.” The old woman pressed a golden coin into the man’s palm.

Hruddel pulled his forelock and nodded his thanks. He looked from Karleah to Jo and then asked, “Will you be staying long, miss?”

“No. We’ll be off in the morning, Hruddel,” Jo responded. “Can you recommend a place to stay?”

“There’s rooms to let over at the Maiden,” Hruddel answered. “Or old Keeper Grainger lets people stay in her barn, if you’re short on gold. She’s a might on the strange side, though.” Hruddel looked down at the coin in his hand, then he tested it between his teeth. When his teeth sunk lightly into the soft metal, he pocketed the coin inside his waistband. Hruddel nodded, well pleased.

Jo, thinking about the two taverns and the obvious feud in the town, decided on the barn. They could handle an eccentric old biddy. Jo smothered a laugh. Isn’t that what we do with Karleah? she thought. Besides, that’ll save us some of Sir Graybow’s money. Jo set her hand on Hruddel’s and asked, “Why is she called ‘Keeper’?”

Hruddel shrugged and said, “No one knows why, leastways no one I know. Her mother was called Keeper, and her mother before her. The Grainger women have always been called Keeper.”

Jo nodded and then asked, “Can you point us the way to Keeper Grainger’s then? And does this woman serve meals?”

“She will if you ask her to,” Hruddel answered. “She’s got the last place on the north end of town, even past the garrison.”

Jo checked Wyrmblight’s fastenings, then grabbed her belongings and said to the hostler, “Thank you, Hruddel. We’ll be by in the morning for our mounts. Oh, and can you give a bran mash to the gelding and the one pony? They’ve had rough going the past two days.”

Hruddel’s eyes gleamed suddenly. “It’d be my pleasure, miss. I’ll add a couple handfuls of coarse salt, too, to put the spring back in their steps. The pair—and the rest of the lot, too—will be fit as fiddles by tomorrow.”

Jo gave the man a satisfied nod, pleased that Hruddel had suggested the addition of salt to the mash. The hostler knows his work, Jo thought. Carsig’ll be ready to travel tomorrow. With the Black Peaks ahead of us, we all need a night to rest. Johauna and Karleah turned and left the stable. Braddoc, Brisbois, and Dayin were waiting for them outside the barn door. The dwarf was standing alert, watching the few townsfolk who walked by. Brisbois and Dayin were using their toes to flick stones in and out of a circle one of them had scribed in the packed dirt. Glancing at everyone, Jo said, “We’re going to stay at a place called old Keeper Graingers. She’ll let us sleep in her barn for a pittance and feed us a meal. Let’s go.” Jo started away from the stable.

Brisbois stood slowly, planted his feet, and crossed his arms. “I’m not going,” he said. “I want a decent bed. A man just told us the Maiden’s Blush has beds for let. I’m not going to sleep in a barn.” There was a mulish pout around his lips, which were partly disguised by the moustache and goatee Brisbois was growing back. Jo was certain Brisbois had shaved them off so he couldn’t be identified.

Jo dropped her belongings. She looked at Brisbois, then casually flicked loose one of the tabs holding Wyrmblight in its harness. “Over my dead body,” she said insolently.

Brisbois drew his sword and shouted, “I can arrange that!” He advanced on Jo, rapidly closing the distance separating them. Jo yanked Wyrmblight from the harness in one quick pull and shifted to a crouching position.

From the corner of her eye, Jo saw Braddoc and Dayin racing between her and Brisbois. Angrily she waved them it away and hissed, “Get back! This is between him and me!” The two did not stop, however. Braddoc stood before Jo, and Dayin put his hands on Brisbois’s chest. The knight stopped and stared at Jo, his anger in check. Jo scowled.

Karleah stepped forward and said severely, “Stop it, you two! We’ve had enough. Now, just who’s in charge here?” Karleah’s black eyes flashed at Jo.

“I am!” Jo said quickly, jerking her thumb at her chest. She stared at Brisbois, but the knight only arched his brows in mockery.

“Then act like it!” Karleah snapped.

Jo stared at Karleah, suddenly chastised. I haven’t acted properly, have I? she thought. Oh, what would Flinn do? Jo glanced at Brisbois, then at Braddoc and Dayin. She squared her shoulders and said firmly, “Pick up your things. We’re going to Keeper Grainger’s.” Jo looked at Brisbois, forcing nonchalance into her manner. She picked up her things and set off, only just daring to listen to the footsteps falling into place behind her. Jo let out her held breath when she heard Brisbois’s heavy tread join the others’.

The walk to Keeper Grainger’s was a short one. The group met no one along the way, not even when they passed the little, walled garrison. A farmer from a distance did stop to look at them, and Jo wondered why the town was so suspicious.

She turned up the walkway toward the last cottage on the north end of town. A rough rock wall separated this property from the rest, and, on the well-tended lawn, scattered patches of flowers were beginning to bloom. The house itself, though small, was tidy and trim, as was the small barn Jo could see in the background. She knocked on the pine-green door and wondered how much help old Keeper Grainger employed. Keeper Grainger’s home was the most well-kept place Jo had seen here in Threshold.

Braddoc, Karleah, Dayin, and Brisbois gathered behind Jo just as the door opened. A thin, long-limbed woman of indeterminate age stood there with a questioning expression in her green eyes. Jo guessed that the woman’s age was closer to the cradle than the deathbed.

Her eyes are the color of those limes I saw at the market, Jo thought, recalling seeing the strange tropical fruit once at Specularum. It was a cool, clear color, like that of a depthless pool. Could this woman really be the one she was looking for? Jo shook her head and said tentatively, “Ah … Keeper Grainger?”

The woman smiled and nodded. “Yes. Is there something I can do for you?” Her pale eyes lingered on Jo, and her thin nostrils flared slightly. A shadow crossed the woman’s face, then she quickly looked at the others.

Brisbois pushed forward, a dazzling smile on his face. Brisbois’s eyes never left Keeper Grainger’s as he took her hand and bowed low over it. “How do—”

Jo cut in. “We were told you rent out your barn?” She laid her hand warningly on Brisbois. Brisbois pulled back and said nothing.

Keeper Grainger cast a lingering, inquiring look at Sir Brisbois before turning back to Johauna. “Yes,” she said simply, “but I do not use it to stable animals.”

Jo shook her head. “We’ve already stabled our mounts over at Hruddel’s,” she said. “He recommended your place to us.”

Keeper Grainger raised one brow. “Hruddel recommended my place?” she asked coolly. Her pale eyelids fluttered half closed.

Jo said, “It would only be for one night, please. We’d be willing to pay, too, for a meal tonight and something for the morning. We’re leaving at first light.”

Keeper Grainger looked at Jo, then nodded and said, “I’ll let you stay the night, and I’ll have a meal for you in an hour or so. But that’ll be—” she looked over Jo’s group quickly “—four goldens for all. I’ll send you off in the morning with a full belly and something for your pockets, too. Fair?” Keeper Grainger’s pale green eyes stared unblinkingly at Jo.

The squire nodded. “Aye, more than fair,” Jo answered. Johauna took out the four goldens and pressed the coins into Keeper Grainger’s palm.

“Thank you,” Keeper Grainger said quietly, then hesitated. “May I know your names?” Her pale eyes flitted over the group and lingered on Brisbois again.

“I’m Squire—” Jo began, then stopped as Karleah’s bony fingers clenched on the young woman’s arm.

“I think it’s best we remain anonymous travelers, Keeper,” Karleah interjected. Jo looked at the old wizardess and saw that she wore a carefully blank expression. Am I missing something? Jo asked herself, though she found she suddenly felt Karleah was right.

Keeper Grainger nodded her head. Jo felt compelled to reach out and grasp the woman’s hand, but Karleah’s fingers tightened. Jo restrained herself.

“Of course. As you wish,” Keeper Grainger said a moment later. “Please, let me show you the way to the barn. It’s quite warm and comfortable, for I haven’t used it to stable animals in many a year.” She closed the door to her cottage and picked up two lanterns resting on a nearby stone. With slow, deliberate steps, Keeper Grainger led the way past her house and to the barn behind the cottage.

Jo glanced over at Brisbois, who seemed almost enchanted by their new host. Jo realized that she also felt an odd attraction to the alluring woman. Watching her carefully, Jo tried to analyze what made the Keeper so compelling. She was physically intriguing, her tall, solid frame giving the impression of inner strength. Her face, too, bespoke strength—and beauty. Jo continued to study their host as the woman led the way to the one-story barn. Every move she made was filled with such fluid grace that Jo felt instantly clumsy.

As though in confirmation of her feelings, Jo tripped over a root half-buried in the soil. She fell to the ground, her arms and legs sprawling. Keeper Grainger was immediately at Jo’s side, inquiring after her. Brisbois, too, leaped to Jo’s side and helped the squire stand. Jo murmured her thanks to Keeper Grainger and shot an acid look at Brisbois. The man never noticed, for his eyes were once again on their host.

Jo brushed off a few leaves and dirt, while the Keeper bent and picked something up from the ground. “I believe you dropped this,” the woman said and handed Jo the pouch that held the giant gem she had received from the stranger in Kelvin. The pouch felt strangely chill as it dropped into Jo’s hand. She blushed, her secret seeming suddenly conspicuous. But the woman knelt again, noticing something else on the ground. “And this.”

Keeper Grainger stared at one of the small abelaat crystals she carried.

“Oh, thank you, Keeper Grainger,” Jo said nervously. “My birthstone. I would have been crushed to have lost it ” She held out her hand, but the woman only lifted the crystal to light. Her pale green eyes were wide with fear. Karleah moved forward suddenly and snatched the crystal from Keeper Graingers hand. The old wizardess helped Jo stand.

Keeper Grainger looked at the people who surrounded her. Her eyes were calm and clear once more, her hands serenely tucked into her shift. She stood slowly and gestured toward the barn door, only a few steps behind her. “Please,” the woman said, with only the faintest break in her voice, “make yourselves comfortable inside. I must prepare your meal.” Keeper Grainger turned to go, then pulled up short. “And then we must talk,” she whispered.

Karleah huddled farther back into the gray horse blanket she had wrapped about herself. She was cold, it was true, but she also wrapped up to remain just beyond the light cast by the fire in the brazier. As Keeper Grainger tended the fire, Karleah and her comrades finished their meal and waited for her to speak. Setting aside their plates, Jo, Brisbois, and Dayin arranged themselves on their blankets between the old wizardess and Keeper Grainger.

Karleah breathed a tiny sigh of relief. Her companions provided yet another screen between her and the other witch. Despite her wariness around the Keeper, Karleah was glad they had found the woman. Discovering the secrets that the Keeper kept could well arm them for battling the box once they had intercepted it. Still in the shadows, Karleah nodded her approval when Jo gestured for Braddoc to stand guard with his battle-axe. Not that the dwarf could do much good against the Keeper, Karleah thought spitefully.

Keeper Grainger stood gracefully and began collecting the emptied plates. The woman’s eyes met Karleah’s, and for a moment Karleah let herself feel the strange, sad attraction the woman engendered in people. Then Karleah snorted “Harrumph!” and turned away. The wizardess would not be lost in those pale eyes of green, not her.

It was easy to see that the others had been lost—particularly Brisbois. The man acted as if he had never seen a woman before. Dayin, usually so intuitive, had also been completely taken in by the Keeper. The boy had spent the better part of the evening helping her with the meal and making sleeping arrangements in the barn. His bright blue eyes shone when he looked at the woman, and Karleah felt a twinge of jealousy.

The old woman shook herself. I’m much too old to feel that way, she thought, then turned her musings to the dwarf and the squire. Karleah couldn’t read Braddoc, He seemed respectful of the woman, though not awed or infatuated, as Dayin and Brisbois were. Braddoc had been unusually silent since they had arrived, and Karleah wondered why. The old wizardess’s eyes flickered over to the dwarf, standing nearby. Braddoc held his battle-axe crosswise in his arms, in his standard ready position. His good eye remained focused on Keeper Grainger as she walked about the barn, plumping pillows and smoothing blankets. At least the dwarf, if no one else, seems to have his senses about him, Karleah thought.

She turned to look at Jo, sitting cross-legged in front of her. The young woman had tidied her clothing and rebraided her hair. Jo’s expression was intent upon the Keeper, but every now and then the squire’s brows knit in anxiety. Karleah saw Jo stroke Wyrmblight, which, as usual, lay beside the girl. The crone smiled. Ah, so the blade is talking to you again! she thought. Good. If anything can help you keep your wits, it’s Flinn’s sword. In her other hand Jo clutched an odd pouch she had been wearing on her belt. When the squire lifted her hand from it to adjust one of the buckles on her boot, Karleah noticed that Jo’s moist handprint remained on the pouch.

A moment later, she was clutching it again.

The old woman’s tired eyes flicked to Keeper Grainger, who now sat cross-legged beside the brazier. Beneath the folds of her long dress, the Keeper’s legs curved gracefully away. Karleah doubted she had ever seen a more physically perfect woman. And with a brain to match, too, the crone thought suddenly. Perhaps that is the secret of her allure.

Karleah pursed her thin lips. The crone rested her chin in her hands. “Tell the tale as you know it, Keeper,” Karleah whispered softly, “Your time has come.”

Keeper Grainger added one last piece of peat to the brazier and stoked the embers. Pungent smoke swirled up and away toward a hole in the barn’s ceiling. Keeper Grainger’s pale eyes flicked from one person to another, apparently trying to see past the shadows that enfolded Karleah. The woman turned back to the brazier and began speaking quietly.

“I do not know your names, it is true,” Keeper Grainger said, “but I know your purpose—and your destination.”

“What?” Jo cried out.

Karleah shook her head. You must learn more control, girl, she thought. You must. Your impetuousness will be the end of you someday.

Apparently the young squire had the same thought, for she calmed herself and said, stiffly, “What do you mean, Keeper? It’s true we are on a journey, which of course means we must have a destination.”

Keeper Grainger nodded at Jo and smiled. The light from the fire illuminated her radiant face. She said, “Perhaps it would be best if I first explain why I am called the Keeper. Then we can discuss your journey.”

“We would be delighted to hear your tale, Keeper.”

“Then listen, and listen well, child,” Keeper Grainger said softly, though the words rang clear to the rafters of the barn. She folded her legs together and leaned toward Jo, Brisbois, and Dayin. Braddoc took a step backward and hid in shadows, much as Karleah had done.

The old crone hunched down even farther into her horse blanket, as if seeking protection in the wool fibers. She wondered just how much the Keeper would reveal, and what she in turn would have to tell her comrades. Let it fall as it may, Karleah warned herself. She clutched her staff a little tighter. No spells had returned to the oak, but she felt more secure with it anyway.

“Why I am called Keeper, I will tell you now, as I was told, as my mother before me was told,” Keeper Grainger began. Her pale eyes focused on the rafters above, and the shadows from the fire distorted her upturned face. “I am the last Keeper, for I did not believe the tale—until tonight, when I saw your stones of abelaat blood, Squire-Without-a-Name.”

Karleah saw Jo’s fingers clench on Wyrmblight, but she did not cry out. The old woman nodded approvingly.

“I did not believe the tale handed down from mother to daughter in my family,” Keeper Grainger continued. “I did not wish to be Keeper, as my mother had before me. I did not wish to have a daughter to pass on the secrets I was taught, so I spurned all advances and offers of marriage. I wished the line of Keeper to end with me, that the secret burden of eons could end with me as well.”

“What burden is that?” Brisbois asked gently. Karleah turned to watch the man. Could he really be looking at the Keeper with something other than his usual wanton lust? It seemed unlikely.

The Keeper surveyed the group before her. “Thousands upon thousands of years ago, so long ago that even the elves and the dwarves—” she inclined her head toward Braddoc, who responded in kind “—have but the slightest memory, our world, Mystara, was closely tied to another, whose name I dare not mention. It was a place of darkness and shadow and powerful sorcery, though not an evil place. Indeed, it had a beauty and nobility that Mystara has never attained. For in that world, there lived a race of surpassing grace. In the old tongue they were called the a’bay’otte, a name which has been corrupted by the tongues of men to abelaat.”

Jo reflexively touched her scarred left shoulder, and Dayin crossed his arms, his fists guarding the marks on his inner elbows. Interesting, Karleah thought, that memories can be provoked from a single word.

“Abelaats … beautiful?” Jo asked, incredulously. “I have never seen a fouler creature in all the world.”

“Yes,” the Keeper said simply. She added, “Those abelaats that live now are horrible perversions of the creatures of old. The original abelaats roamed their own world in grace and constructed magical gates into Mystara—for they were a sorcerous race, and their world a sorcerous world. But Mystara, in those days, was not magical at all. Was it, dwarf?” Keeper Grainger turned to Braddoc, who stood in the shadows.

Braddoc cleared his throat clumsily and said, “No … not as it is today—or so legends say.”

“Why didn’t you tell us about the abelaats before, Braddoc?” Jo asked.

The dwarf shrugged. “It was an ancient, ancient tale, so old no one believed it anymore. I’ve plenty of ancient dwarven tales that I haven’t bored you with.”

“Believe the tale, dwarf,” Keeper Grainger said huskily. “Believe the tale, for it is true.” She turned back to the others and continued, “The abelaats multiplied across their twilight world, where they were the master race—beautiful and shining. They crossed their magical bridges to reach Mystara, and spread out here as well.” Keeper Grainger paused for breath, and the fire crackled in the silence that fell.

“But, in the dawn-time of Mystara, new races crawled from their birthing beds. The elven race slowly gained a foothold on Mystara, as did the dwarves. The abelaats lived contentedly with these new folk, trading with the artisan dwarves, and teaching small magicks to the elves. They even traded their blood crystals to the young races of Mystara.

“But the abelaats had not realized the power of their crystals. They did not know the magic inherent in their blood and spittle. It was their essence, their magical essence, that they were gradually trading away to the dwarves and elves. And the land changed because of the abelaat crystals. Mystara began to crave magic, as a starving man craves food. It began to draw magic away from the abelaats’ home world, through the sorcerous portals and gates the abelaats themselves had built.

“Then Mystara gave birth to a new race, the humans.” The Keeper paused, looking at Johauna and Brisbois, a faint edge of accusation in her eyes. Karleah pursed her lips and wondered how the woman knew not to look at her or Dayin.

“Go on, Keeper,” Dayin whispered. “Go on.”

The woman nodded. “The birth of humans marked the doom of the abelaats, for humans hated abelaats and called them the creatures of the night. Humans multiplied quickly and took over the land. The abelaats were forced from their homes and hunted.” Keeper Grainger lowered her head momentarily. “The butcheries they brought on the abelaats were great. They hunted them for fear and sport and cruelty, and they left their bodies to lie in waste.

“That’s when the abelaats began their ceaseless war with the humans. They started to hunt them for food. But even that was no great crime—for millennia, the abelaats had fed off one another as well.”

“The abelaats … ate each other?” Jo asked, horror lacing her words.

Keeper Grainger shook her head. “No. They drew sustenance from each other’s blood. But as their numbers dwindled on Mystara, and as their gates to their home world collapsed, one by one, the abelaats began to seek sustenance from human blood.”

The Keeper’s voice hardened. “Humans destroyed all but a few of the abelaats. The survivors hid in the mountains and the valleys and the deepest gorges, seeking escape from the encroaching hordes. In the end, only one true abelaat remained; Aeltic was his name.”

“Abelaats had names?” Jo asked hesitantly. Her hand rubbed her scarred shoulder nervously.

“Have, squire, not had,” Keeper Grainger gently chided. “Even the pathetic creatures who attacked you and the boy had names.”

Jo shot an amazed glance at Dayin, who returned her look. “How … how did you know we’ve been … we’ve both been attacked by abelaats?” Jo asked uncertainly. Karleah felt a pang in her heart for the two of them. Neither wanted to be reminded of those awful times.

The Keeper’s pale green eyes flickered in the firelight as she gazed from Jo to Dayin. “The bile of the abelaats lingers in your bodies. It … gives off a distinct odor. Some of us are sensitive to it.”

Karleah leaned forward intently. Will the Keeper reveal her secret? she wondered.

Keeper Grainer looked down at her white hands, then slowly added another piece of peat to the brazier. Her furrowed brow smoothed, and a certain calmness seemed to enter the woman. For a moment, it seemed as if the Keeper would not continue.

“Tell them, and be done,” Karleah hissed.

The pain in Keeper Grainger’s eyes deepened, and she closed them as she spoke. “What none of the legends say is that the abelaats’ world was drained of so much magic that the abelaats who were still there grew weak and, eventually, turned slowly to stone. Magic was their life essence, and without it, they became crude, slumbering statues. As the magic energy ebbed, the last gates between their world and this one fell. The abelaats on Mystara could not return home, could not bring back magic to awaken their sleeping brothers from the stony ground.”

“And Aeltic descended from those few survivors,” Karleah supplied.

“Yes. Aeltic was the last true abelaat.”

Karleah huffed and drew the blanket back from her features. “A pretty and tragic tale, the Keeper tells. But it is only half true.”

Karleah stood and gestured for the others to remain seated. A wry smile formed on the crone’s lips. “Your story has told us much that we needed to know. Now let me tell my companions the rest. The abelaats were a beautiful race indeed, as are vampires and other creatures of darkness. Their beauty is cold and lethal. Abelaats have no love for the children of the day, treating them like cattle, subsisting on their blood. Humans, elves, and dwarves alike.”

“Abelaats are vampires?” Jo asked, confused.

Karleah shook her head. “No. They are like vampires, but are living creatures, not undead. Abelaats are born of sorcerous darkness and blood-lust.”

Jo looked worriedly at the Keeper, expecting her to take offense. But the woman’s drawn features stared emptily into the brazier.

Karleah approached Braddoc, jabbing a finger into his chest. “The dwarves feel a kinship with the abelaats because they were, like the dwarves, creatures of stone and darkness. According to dwarven legends, abelaats and dwarves were brothers. That is rubbish. It was only by trickery and illusion that the abelaats could even move among Braddoc’s folk.”

“You’ve said enough, old crone,” Brisbois growled, rising to his feet and setting a protective hand on the Keeper’s shoulder.

Jo interposed herself between the enraged man and Karleah, Wyrmblight raised and ready in her hands. Though her eyes sternly warned Brisbois back, she spoke to Karleah behind her, “Please, Karleah. Isn’t it obvious Keeper Grainger is in pain—”

“Pain?” the old witch cried. “Pain? You yourself should know about pain, Johauna. You know what it feels like to be attacked by an abelaat. And you, idiot knight. Has this woman’s spell so completely enraptured you that you cannot guess the source of her allure?”

Stunned, Brisbois stared at the Keeper.

“It’s from the abelaat blood,” Dayin murmured without peering up.

Karleah nodded, keeping her blazing eyes on the two fighters. Brisbois blinked as if he had been slapped in the face, and Jo’s arms dropped heavily from their defensive posture.

“Yes, it’s true,” Karleah said. “The abelaats have many magical powers, and this ‘attraction’ is one that has allowed them to live among humans all these years,” the old woman said. “All the abelaats that came to Mystara before the gates collapsed share in that beauty. Those who are gated in now are twisted by their journey, transformed into horrible monsters.” Karleah pointed a crooked finger at the Keeper, who still sat on the floor beside the brazier. “The Keeper is from the old line.”

Keeper Grainger nodded. A tear rolled down her cheek. “Aeltic—the last true abelaat on Mystara—was my father.”