Chapter 12: Secrets in the Deep

It is not long before the company of men is walking more or less single file—with the exception of Rorlain and Eldarien, for whom walking in such a way is impossible—through the woods to the northeast. The entrance to the barrow is not far, and as they walk, Eldarien cannot help but remember the last time he passed this way: fleeing for his life from the brigands who destroyed his village and slaughtered all of those whom he loved. He asks, shortly after leaving the confines of Falstead, "Why are we going to the barrow of Sera Galaptes?" and receives a reply from Irilof in the usual haughty voice, "Why would I tell you? You shall know when we arrive." And so they walk in silence as the morning sun rises higher among the trees to the east and the deep shadows of early morning gradually lighten, revealing the shapes and textures of the foliage of the woods, wet with dew, a chiaroscuro of light and darkness upon them in the interplay between sun and shadow under the thick canopy of trees.

It seems obvious to Eldarien that his captors know the location of the barrow and need no assistance finding it. He takes advantage of the time and of the silence to reflect, grasping in his mind and memory for some sense of why they might be leading him here, and also for a plan to escape—or even simply for a way to get Rorlain away. But he finds nothing. If only they would take him to Brug'hil or even give him a fair trial in Ristfand, then he would hesitate little to go with them into custody and even jail. He had known the possibility of such an outcome, though he admits to himself now that he did not expect it—indeed he had thought it very unlikely. Has the Empire truly changed this much in the time since he departed from the shores of Telmerion, or has he been blind to its nature all along?

It takes them a little over half an hour, at a moderate pace, to come to the entrance to the barrow. They pass first by the sinkhole in which, so many years ago, Eldarien had unwittingly fallen, and not much arrive at the entrance to a cave yawning wide in a great cleft of rock, a triangular space formed by two immense slabs of stone. Indeed, as they near the entrance, the land rises all around them, rocky crags protruding from the earth, between which they must navigate. And here they find a narrow stream, a rough depression in the earth with a couple inches of water trickling noisily over rocks, flowing from the cave's gaping mouth.

Suddenly, as they come within fifteen yards of the entrance, Eldarien remembers. His mind goes to the amulet that hangs now around his neck and which he has worn, almost without exception, every day for close to twenty years. He is connected to this barrow, for good or ill. But how could this be of importance to the men in whose custody he now finds himself or to those whom they serve? What would the Emperor or his legate, or anyone else for that matter, want with the crypt of ancient men dead for a thousand years? Does this have something to do with the druadach, or is it another matter entirely? Finding that these thoughts only serve to confuse him still more and to stir anxiety within him, Eldarien turns away from them and tries to focus upon what is happening before him and around him. But the words of the inscription upon the amulet ring now in the ears of his mind: Aïn Telmerië ya suría. "For Telmerion and her people."

The company stops at the mouth of the cave, and Eldarien turns his head and looks for a moment at Rorlain, whose face betrays distraction—he seems also to be running through his mind searching for a way of escape—but also determination. He has by no means surrendered to their fate. Their eyes lock for a moment, and Rorlain simply nods, as if in encouragement or to say something beyond words, though Eldarien is not sure exactly what he intends to communicate. Many of the armed guard sit among the large rocks strewn about the cave's entrance, but Irilof turns and looks at his two prisoners, placing his hands on his hips. A few birds chatter away in the trees nearby, and their song mingles with the rhythm of the creek which flows through the midst of the company of men. There is a moment of expectation, a pause, as if everyone, including the captors, draws in a breath before a deep plunge into cold water or into unknown darkness.

"I must thank you, for you have made your capture incredibly convenient for us," Irilof says at last, with laughter again in his voice. "Not only did you not notice us following your trail—which we did for many miles—but you slept without watch or guard. Indeed, and you came to the very doorstep, as it were, of where we wished for you to be. It saved us the trouble of dragging you all the way here in chains, only to dispose of you once our goal was achieved."

"I stand defeated in the first two," Eldarien whispers, looking straight into Irilof's cruel eyes. "But I do not understand the meaning of the third."

"I suppose you should not," replies the latter, "though if you were a bit less dull in mind, perhaps you could guess."

"Lord Deputy," one of the armed guards says, turning to Irilof, interrupting their conversation. "Is it your wish that we all enter the barrow of the ancient king?"

"Are you afraid?"

"No, sir. I only wonder if it would be good to set a watch."

"What could possibly happen in such an abandoned place? We are in the middle of the wilderness," Irilof says. "But go ahead: pick two guards to remain here while the rest of us enter."

When this is done, Irilof gestures to Eldarien and Rorlain, waving his hand toward the darkness that awaits them between the slabs of stone. "After you."

They enter through the cavern entrance and into the dark interior chamber within, which Eldarien has seen in the past and which—as he looks around—remains as he remembered it. Through shafts in the high ceiling overhead, rays of light filter into the chamber, golden-white against walls and floor of dark stone. Thick vines grow among the rock, and, to the left side of the room, the stream gurgles from what appears to be a narrow crack—like a wound or scar in the very flesh of the mountain, from which its blood has not ceased, for many years, to flow. At the back of the chamber, perhaps thirty yards from the entrance, are the doors to the barrow, sealed, as far as anyone knows, for a millennium. They are designed as a majestic archway of cold stone, with a great tree etched upon the doors and a depiction of rays of light streaming forth from is center, from the trunk of the tree, at the seam where the two doors meet, shining to the very edges of the doors, both their hinges and where they meet the top of the arch and the floor. Along the arch, which encompasses the doors from floor to keystone to floor, is runic writing ancient but legible. Indeed, the entire design looks to have hardly aged at all. It seems that this barrow, in its entirety (Eldarien remembers the candles and the dead themselves), experiences the passage of time differently than the rest of the world.

Irilof and the other seven men enter directly behind the two captives, and they freely inspect the chamber. Eldarien notes their expressions. It seems that none of them have been here before. After a few moments, Irilof turns to Eldarien and commands, "Open it."

"I..." Eldarien begins, "I really don't know how."

"But you have been here before, haven't you?" Irilof asks.

"What makes you think that?"

"Do not play games with me. There are a sufficient number of persons who know of your special 'treasure' and where you discovered it."

"Tell me what you mean," Eldarien says flatly.

"You are truly going to do this?" Irilof growls.

Eldarien stands his ground. He has only told a handful of persons throughout his life of his experience in the barrow, and all of them he trusted deeply. As for the amulet, he has kept it a secret from all except those whom he has encountered since returning to Telmerion. Of course, it could have been seen any number of times—during changing, during training, or even simply slipping out from underneath his shirt during the ordinary affairs of life. But what would distinguish it greatly from any other pendant or memento? And even if its age and the runes upon it were noted by someone as marking it as a unique and ancient artifact, how would they trace it here?

"I do not believe that those in whose command I act were mistaken," Irilof continues. "It has long been known that the captain from Falstead carries a token of his clan from ages long past. Only recently, however, did anyone expect it could be more than that."

"To whose command do you refer?" Eldarien asks. "Lord Dirn?"

"Dirn?" muses Irilof. "I did say I represent him, and I do. But no. My orders come from higher."

"Who?"

"You ask many questions, and I really do not understand why you expect I would answer you."

"I will be dead soon anyway, so what harm is there in me knowing those responsible for what is happening to me?" Eldarien asks.

"You are responsible for what is happening to you," Irilof smirks. "And that command indeed comes from Lord Dirn, or at least part of it does. For the rest, you shall go to your grave without knowing."

"Have it your way..." Eldarien sighs.

"I will, and gladly." Irilof now begins to pace slowly before the two men, looking at them with his hands locked behind his back. Eldarien notices that Rorlain is watching his every move, though he has remained silent throughout this entire exchange. Irilof eventually speaks again, "Your little token only fell under the gaze and interest of certain...important...persons when their aims led right to your doorstep. And then a little—how shall we say?—persuasion was necessary to get people to talk."

"How could anyone be forced to talk if there is nothing worth their hiding?" Eldarien asks.

"You mean how could they talk if you tried to keep it a secret? Or rather, if you kept most things a secret?" Irilof stops pacing now and looks directly at Eldarien. "Anyone will talk if you give them something that they want in exchange, whether that is the desire for gain or the release from suffering."

"You are sick."

"Me? I did not play a part in such...tactics. That was the work of others. I am just the one who gets the glorious role of finally unlocking these secrets."

Eldarien tolerates this conversation, surprised as he is that Irilof is speaking so much of things it is obviously better (for him and those he serves) to keep confidential. Still, he cannot see a way out of this predicament, and it is only a matter of time before Irilof becomes more aggressive. Suddenly, Rorlain speaks, "Why do you gloat as if you already have victory? You play the fool."

"There are only two fools here," Irilof replies, without hesitation, "and I am not one of them." He does not answer Rorlain's question but pauses and then takes a step toward Eldarien. "I do grow tired of this, however. So if you will not give me what I desire, I shall take it by force." With this he begins to search Eldarien's clothing. "I know it must be on your person, since my men already checked your other belongings."

Eldarien is surprised that he had not noticed this. They must have rummaged through his pack quickly while they were preparing to depart from Falstead, or immediately upon their departure, after which they left it—and Rorlain's too—where they had set up camp.

When he comes to Eldarien's neck, Irilof laughs. "You wear it! Now that I did not expect."

Eldarien grits his teeth and bows his head, his heart sinking, though he had expected this moment to come, and Irilof removes the amulet from his neck and holds it up in his hand.

"Why not? It has no power," Eldarien says.

"No power? We will see."

Irilof turns away and walks to the arched doorway of stone. Eldarien and Rorlain draw near to watch whatever he is about to attempt. He runs his hand along the seam between the two doors and stops at the center, the very space from which the beams of etched light are depicted as emanating. He runs his fingers then along what appears to be a groove in the stone and then inserts the amulet into the groove. It is a perfect fit. The sound of a deep rumbling follows immediately upon this act, and the doors swing outward of their own accord, scraping against the rough floor as they do so.

"Well, that worked splendidly," Irilof says, with a laugh. He turns back to Eldarien and Rorlain and pulls the amulet over his own head, letting it rest openly against his breast. Then, to his men, he says, "Let us descend."

"What about the prisoners, sir?" one of them asks.

"Bring them," replies Irilof. "It will be impossible for them to escape if they are in the belly of the earth with us. And they may yet be of use. Yes, and their presence may bring yet another boon, as what they witness will instill a healthy fear into their naive and conceited hearts."

"Witness?" the man says. "But..."

"Not everything...of course, you idiot. I know what I am doing."

With that, the company prepares to step through the open doorway and into the utter darkness that lies beyond. They draw from their packs torches which were clearly prepared for this purpose and set flame to them. Then, all together, the ten persons walk forward into the barrow.

They find themselves first in a narrow hallway of rough-cut stone which descends gradually under their feet. It would indeed be impossible to see anything were it not for the light of the torches, since the walls of the cavern are without chink or crack. Eldarien and Rorlain, of course, cannot hold torches, but they are surrounded by light and walk forward—having no other choice—with the rest of the men. Soon the hallway turns sharply back upon itself, progressing in the direction from which it came, but this time lower and deeper. The flat sloping of the path eventually gives way to stairs, descending steeply with walls to the right and the left. They follow these stairs—cautiously because they are not easy to take, particularly in the patchy, flickering light of the torches—and come at last to level ground again. Here the walls fall away beside them, and they step into a large underground chamber, much larger than the entrance chamber, though completely dark, with no native sources of light whatsoever. Here, even with the torches, they can see neither walls nor ceiling. They stand only in a patch of dim light staring into blackness.

The air is cool now, with that unique scent and feel proper to air long trapped underground. Nonetheless, this air is also surprisingly mobile, as a subtle breeze, more like a breath from the depths of the earth, stirs across their faces. The sensation creates an eerie sense of space, as if one were reaching out into darkness hoping to find an object to stop one's fall, only to find nothingness. "Search the chamber," Irilof says, sending two men to the left and two men to the right, and two straight ahead, while remaining himself, with the last man, beside his captives. Seeing that they are now guarded by only two persons, Rorlain spares a meaning glance at Eldarien, who simply shakes his head. Even if they were to escape from the two men at their side and to make it blindly—in complete darkness—back to the entrance of the barrow, two more men stand guard there. Even if it was not Irilof's intention, stationing guards at the entrance of the cavern was one of the easiest ways to dissuade the captives' escape.

"Come," Irilof says, pushing Rorlain forward, which forces Eldarien to stumble also, "let us continue on."

When they reach the far end of the chamber, a distance which is impossible to gauge in the darkness, though it is so large that the torches of the other men have become hardly more than glowing specks in the distance, they stop. "To me!" Irilof cries, and his voice echoes repeatedly against the walls and ceiling of the cave. They stand and wait while the others make their way to the call—which must be repeated to help them find their way, though it seems apparent to both captives that all of this is proceeding according to a preordained plan. "What has been found?" Irilof asks, when everyone is together.

"Nothing," one replies.

"It is the same for us," says another

"We found a doorway," answers a man from the last group, who had proceeded to the back of the chamber where they are now standing. "It is not far from here, only further along this wall."

"It looks then like the barrow has not yet begun," observes Irilof. "This must be some kind of antechamber or gathering-space, though I do not quite understand the reason for its size." He then turns to Eldarien, "Do you know what this room is for? And more importantly, what awaits us as we continue?"

"I have never been here before," Eldarien replies softly.

"You may forfeit the lies," Irilof answers. "We all know that you have been here."

"No, I have never been in this part of the cavern. I never entered through the main entrance, nor did I know how to unseal the arched doorway."

"How then did you get in?" Irilof says, his eyes glistening in the torchlight as he looks intently at Eldarien.

"I fell."

"You fell?"

"Yes. Through the sinkhole."

"What sinkhole?"

"The one around which we walked when drawing near to the entrance of the cave."

"Oh."

Eldarien cannot tell if Irilof believes him or not.

"Fine," he continues after a long moment of silence, and then turns to one of his companions, "Gerdrik, you lead the way. Prisoners, follow along behind us. Malrûn and Killen, guard the prisoners."

And so they proceed, finding again the doorway—quite small for being the sole exit from such a massive chamber—and passing through it into another tunnel. This one is short in length, only fifty yards or so, and soon they find themselves walking into a chamber that seems radiantly bright in comparison with the pitch-blackness from which they have come. Some raise their hands to shield their eyes from the light; but soon they all adjust and realize that the chamber in truth only bathed in a dim half-light, with rays of dappled sun streaming in from a hole in the ceiling high above them. Directly under the shaft in the ceiling is a pool of water, whose face is still and unmoving, though it glistens in the places where light falls upon it.

"Your sinkhole?" Irilof asks.

"Yes," replies Eldarien, memories rushing upon him once again. He sees no reason to hide it, so he adds, "The burial places are only a bit further on, at the other end of the chamber." He then asks, with little expectation of an answer but with the knowledge that Irilof loves the sound of his own voice, "What have you come here to do?"

Irilof turns, and anger again flashes in his eyes.

"I have come to find the means to destroy my enemies and the enemies of the Empire! What do you think?"

Eldarien doesn't know why he says this and is at a loss as to the import of his words. Turning away, Irilof then speaks to all, "Let us waste no further time."

As they walk, Eldarien notices that Rorlain seems restless, almost jittery, and whispers to him, "What is wrong? Are you afraid?"

Rorlain turns his head and looks at his friend and offers him again a gaze full of meaning, flicking his eyes for a moment as if to gesture to his own hands tied behind his back. Eldarien understands, though he finds it incredible. Somehow, it seems, Rorlain has managed to undo the ropes binding his wrists. After Eldarien nods quickly, both men turn their gaze forward again and continue to the edge of the chamber, to the passage that Eldarien had taken the last time he was here. The company stops and inspects the runes etched over the entrance.

"What does it say?" one man asks.

"How would I know?" Irilof replies, but he is cut off by Eldarien's quiet voice, sounding in a chant-like tone:

"Among the shadows lie

the many fallen under blade of foe

or by illness smitten, or age's plight,

awaiting day's coming, dispelling night."

All turn to look at him, faces marked by surprise, some perhaps even by fear. Killen says, "Descendant indeed of the mighty clan of old. Do you people of the Galapteä still live lost in ages past?"

"We are all of us descendants of ancient clans," is Eldarien's terse reply, and with that they proceed. As soon as they come among the tombs, the familiar sense of peace that Eldarien had known the last time he was here returns. No one else indicates that they feel it. Rather, to his anger and disgust, the members of the company find no qualms with digging among the bones of the dead for ancient treasures, or even perhaps out of mere curiosity.

Clenching his jaw, he tries to turn away, but the words come out of his mouth, "Are you looking for something?"

"Oh?" Irilof glances at him. "No. Or rather, not something that can be found among the corpses of ancient men."

Eldarien shakes his head and tries to focus on the light of the ever-burning candles while they continue forward, clinging to the subtlest hint of peace that lingers still underneath his anger and frustration.

"Are these never extinguished?" he hears Gerdrik say ahead of him.

"The candles?" replies another man. "It is an old legend that they do not. But maybe our hosts have instead lit them just for us. Regardless, rarely have I encountered something so eerie and unsettling."

Hosts? thinks Eldarien.

"Let us split up," Irilof says, as they proceed deep enough into the tunnel that it begins to branch off into others of similar shape and size, candles also flickering in the distance within them.

"Are you certain that is a good idea, Lord Deputy?" Malrûn asks, standing close to Eldarien's side. This is the first time that Eldarien tangibly feels the man's fear, and indeed, through this, he becomes aware of the fear of all the men. But why are they afraid? They are only in an ancient cave filled with the tombs of the dead. The living have nothing to fear from the bones of their ancestors.

"Aye," replies Irilof. "I do. They must be here somewhere, and we need to find them. Just remember what you are to say."

"They?" Rorlain asks, thoughtlessly.

"That is none of your business," says Irilof. Then he turns back to Malrûn and says, "Actually, bring the prisoners ahead of us into the deepest tunnel. I..." he pauses, and his eyes betray malicious intent, "I loathe the trip to Ristfand. If something were to happen to them here, then, of course, it would be unfortunate, albeit convenient for all involved."

"Y-yes, Lord Deputy," Malrûn says softly, his voice strained.

"Killen, go with him."

"As you wish."

The four men proceed along a side passage, among the slumbering bodies of the dead, for a good ten minutes. As they walk, Eldarien senses something else mingling among the peace and militating against it, as if it seeks to squeeze it out and replace it. The feeling is...fear. It is not a specified fear, however, like the fear of imminent death which both he and Rorlain are expecting but hoping to avoid. No, it is rather like fear itself. A constriction of the heart, a dulling of the mind, which threatens even to suffocate and paralyze the body. As he tries to navigate this sense, he becomes aware that the others feel it too. Or rather, he becomes aware that it saturates the air around them, like an invisible fume poisoning the atmosphere.

"I think we should...go back," Malrûn says. He turns and looks imploringly at Killen, and then his gaze falls upon Eldarien. The latter sees the terror in his eyes, as if he is on the verge of either breaking into tears or into flight. And then Eldarien notices for the first time that the bundle carrying his and Rorlain's weapons is tied to Malrûn's back—certainly a mistake on Irilof's part. He knows that Rorlain is aware of it too, and he is afraid of what his companion will do in an attempt to get the weapons.

"Malrûn," Eldarien begins, his voice soft, "could you please let us go free? I assure you that we will do no harm to you. Indeed, if I can, I will help you back to the entrance of the cave."

He sees confusion mingle with the fear in Malrûn's eyes. He is not thinking clearly and cannot make sense of Eldarien's words or discern his intent in speaking them.

"I wish nothing but to aid the people of Telmerion and of the Empire, insofar as both may be sought in truth," Eldarien continues. "Surely you wish for the same, do you not? You are from Telmerion like the rest of us, so why punish a man who is your brother?"

"Do not listen to him," Killen growls. "He is trying to take advantage of...whatever it is...in this place." His voice grows thick with anxiety as he tries to force the words from his mouth.

"I assure you we wish only well," Rorlain adds, and Eldarien is surprised to hear fear in his voice too, though he is clearly doing his best to shrug it off. As he stands here in the suffocating atmosphere, Eldarien cannot help recalling the sense of darkness and dread that he had felt upon coming to the abode of the eöten. Does a similar darkness now reside here? Before he can think any further, however, he hears a voice coming from further down the passage—not the way from whence they have come, but ahead of them. He tries to make out what is spoken, but it is not words, not an intelligent language of any kind, but a form of intermingled growling, garbled with guttural noises and raspy breathing. All four men unconsciously take a step back.

The source of the voice draws near with a sound of shuffling footsteps, first dimly visible among the vigil candles and then unveiled fully as it steps into the torchlight. It is not human, or at least it is not a living human. In the form of a man, it stands on two legs, arms hanging limply at its side and chest heaving as if breathing laboriously. But its flesh is desiccated, rotted away from muscle and bone. Hollow cheekbones protrude under empty eye sockets, from which nonetheless a keen gaze fixes itself upon them. The gaze feels as though being watched and analyzed by pure darkness itself, hollowed out by an abyss of anguish, evil, and despair which pierces the very soul.

"Who are you?" cries Killen, drawing his sword and holding it before him. "What do you want with us?"

The creature answers in the same guttural noises and takes a step forward. To the men's surprise and fright, other similar figures now appear behind it, and their voices meld together almost like a chorus of throaty chanting, or like five or ten men all together retching and vomiting out their meal at the same time. The combination of the sight, the sound, and the atmosphere of fear and despair engulfs the four men, and they turn to flee. Rorlain releases his bonds, hiding his freedom no longer, and bends over and cuts the rope joining their legs (where he found the knife Eldarien does not know). Then he rises up and grabs Eldarien by the arm. "Let's go!" he cries.

Without even glancing at the two now separated captives, Malrûn and Killen fly past them and run ahead down the passage, with Eldarien and Rorlain following close behind. Then the worst happens. Before they come to the end of the passage, where it joins again with the main tunnel, they find themselves face to face with more of the dead-yet-living creatures. They are trapped. The two guards, after only a moment's hesitation, attack the beasts, and the hallway is filled with the sickening sound of metal cutting through their rotted flesh. At this moment Rorlain rushes behind Eldarien and, in a matter of seconds, looses the bonds from his hands. Then a human cry echoes through the tunnel, and Killen falls to the ground, only to have three of the creatures leap on top of him, poised as if to devour him. Malrûn backs away from the creatures, swinging wildly, and collides with Eldarien, who loses his balance and almost falls down. Instinctively he reaches out his hand, grasping for something to stop his fall, and his fingers close around the bundle of weapons on Malrûn's back.

Glancing over his shoulder, Malrûn simply cries, "Take them! I don't care. Just help me!"

Soon Eldarien has his sword in his hands and its scabbard again over his shoulder, while Rorlain slips his axe in his belt and then knocks an arrow on his bow, loosing it into the swarming mass of bodies assaulting them. And then another. And another.

Eldarien tries to charge forward, to push back the beasts that are now swarming Malrûn and threatening to drag him down, but as he does so, he feels a claw-like grip on his own shoulder. Turning, he realizes that the beasts have caught up with them from the other end of the tunnel. He swirls his body around and, in a fluid movement, hews the arm from the creature's body, and it falls to the ground limply. To his astonishment, upon contact with the creature's flesh, the blade of the lightbringer again glows with bluish light—and the severed arm dissolves into nothingness. Lunging forward, Eldarien cuts deep into the creature's chest, and, with the fatal blow, its entire body collapses like dust, as though it passes through centuries of decay within a matter of seconds.

Seeing this, the other creatures—on both sides of the men—pause and begin to howl in voices like wolves or hawks, or rather, like something that the men have never heard before but which fills them with terror, as does every gesture, sound, and action of these abominable creatures. Eldarien raises the lightbringer in the air and cries out, "In the name of the Light, I banish you. Flee from us, you fell beasts!"

They do not immediately respond but look startled, confused, almost as if they were walking comfortably through the darkness only to be blinded by a brilliant light that they did not expect and which hinders their approach. "I said depart from us!" Eldarien yells again. With this, he leaps forward toward the main tunnel, cutting down the creatures as he moves. With cries of intermingled fear, hope, and desire, Malrûn and Rorlain join him, rushing forward to his side. It is only a matter of moments until they have broken through the crowd of beasts and come into the main tunnel. Turning back and raising his sword, expecting a fight, Eldarien is surprised to find that the remaining creatures slink back into the darkness of the passage and disappear.

Malrûn collapses on the ground, breathing heavily and weeping. Eldarien kneels down beside him. His forehead is bleeding slightly, and his long blonde hair, hanging down over his face, is stained red in places.

"Are you gravely hurt?" he asks.

"It is nothing serious," Malrûn answers in the midst of his tears. "Nothing but hands and teeth... How do they...?" but his voice trails off into silence.

"It is alright now," Eldarien tries to assure him, "for they are chasing us no longer."

"We need to get out of here," Rorlain says at his side, looking down the passage that leads to the chamber of water into which Eldarien had fallen.

"Yes, but not that way," Eldarien says, rising to his feet and helping Malrûn to stand. "There is an exit not far from here, through the great hall of the king."

"Then let us go. There is no time to lose," whispers Rorlain, his axe clutched tightly in his hand. Then, turning to Eldarien, he says, "Wait. Where is your bow?"

"Ah..." Eldarien sighs, turning to Malrûn, "it is still in the bundle."

"Take it," breathes the latter. "I am sorry for all that has happened to you."

"Malrûn..."

The man pulls the bundle off his back and gives the bow and the quiver full of arrows back to his previous captive. "Thank you. Let us go," Eldarien says, placing his hand upon Malrûn's trembling shoulder for a moment. They do not walk now but rather run down the narrow passageway at full speed, afraid that the confusion of the creatures will fade or that they will rediscover their original boldness. But they are halted at the doorway to the great chamber by the echoing voice of Irilof.

"I beseech you, great and ancient king, to aid us in the cause that we have chosen."

Looking into the chamber, Eldarien sees that Irilof stands, alone now, with the corpses of his men scattered around him, before one of the creatures from which they had just fled. No, this one is larger, certainly not simply the living corpse of a man. It stands a good two or three heads taller than Irilof and looks down upon him with the same eyes of darkness, sockets from which horror and wretchedness gaze.

"Why do you speak to me in such words?" the creature, to their astonishment, replies, though in the same guttural voice.

"I address you on behalf of our great emperor, Marindas IV, Lord and Ruler of all lands that are under the sun and above the earth," Irilof replies. His voice is not haughty now, but strained, touched by the same fear that has now permeated the entire barrow. But he does not yield to it and continues to speak. "My Lord wishes to revive your reign among the people of Telmerion, since none of the people of this land—lost and weak as they are—can justly rule themselves. He wishes," Irilof finds it important to add, "only for the good of the people of this continent."

"You misunderstand me," replies the creature of darkness. "Why do you address me as the ancient king?"

"You stand here upon his very burial place... Surely it is you?" Irilof answers, stuttering.

The creature then laughs a terrible laugh devoid of all mirth. Irilof has found his match in mockery. "I am no ruler of men," it says after its throaty cackle has died away. "But I understand the things that are said between your words, where you are unwilling to speak. And I have already sought council with the greatest of our order, and I have awaited your arrival, knowing that you would come. So return to your petty emperor and tell him that we are willing to cooperate with him and his aspirations for as long as it serves our purposes. Or rather," the creature laughs again, "tell him the words he wishes to hear. We will march with you to whatever place you desire."

"Very well. I thank you. We shall soon bring the might of the Empire—and your might, great one—to the city of Ristfand," Irilof concludes softly. With this he steps away from the creature and looks about the hall, clearly searching for the way out. Seeing it, he scurries away like a rat freed from a trap and is gone.

"Should we go after him?" Rorlain asks, in a whisper, at Eldarien's side.

"How?" Malrûn asks.

"You have a good point. Should we go back the way we came?"

"I wonder if we could..." Eldarien begins.

"You don't think you can fight that beast, do you?" says Malrûn, interrupting him.

"I do not know...but I do sense a power in it far greater than I have felt in any of the others." Eldarien pauses and thinks for a moment and then nods. "It would be better to get out of here safely. Risking our lives would be worse than anything else right now. We need to warn others about what we have witnessed today."