CHRONICLES OF THE BLOODY HELL

Authored by Count Vidian of Skygrave Manor
(PJ Cunningham, Yahoo! email address: ironregime)

BOOK TWO - The Tree of Life

A gloom hung about the crew of the Bloody Hell.  Of late they had foiled a plot by a long-dead Phaedran wizard to engulf the Western Lands with an army of mutated Sub-Men.  But for all their troubles, they ended up as unwelcome guests in Werewood, lying bloody and penniless among the grim Dhuna.

To raise spirits, Vidian proposed a return to civilisation, perhaps to be followed by some profitable mercenary work.  So the heroes set out for the Seven Kingdoms.  Motar requested a layover in his hometown of Shattra, where his family lived. Vidian agreed.

Within a few hours, the windskiff approached the valley where Shattra lay nestled near ... The Bloody Hell hovered a few feet off the ground while the heroes descended the starboard ladder. Dar elected to remain aboard to guard the ship.

Perhaps the fact that no villagers could be seen should have been the first clue of trouble.  All of the residents were gathered in a large communal hall in the centre of the cluster of ramshackle huts that made up Shattra.  Determined to find out more, the heroes entered the building.

"You!" shouted an old crone.  "You are bewitched!" She pointed a crooked finger at Motar.  "And the sorcerous ones around you are to blame!"

"Mother, you are-" Motar began, but before he could protest, a gap-toothed old man spoke in a deep, booming voice.  He described three omens which had befallen the town before Motar's return.  In each case, a single eye was seen as having evil significance.  Motar's return to Shattra bearing only one good eye seemed to be the final piece of evidence needed to brand his compatriots as witches. 

When the old man's accusations were finished, the mob forced the heroes out of the hall and into the muddy street.

"If anyone lays a hand on me," muttered Gann, "they lose it."  Gann placed his hand on his broadsword, but a look from Vidian urged caution.

"Lock them up with the other one!" shouted the gap-toothed man.  Younger Arimites bristling with knives approached the heroes and herded them backwards toward a trapdoor set into a paved section off of a winding mountain road.  Vidian reassured the others that they should appease the mob for now; escape was still possible.  Beyond the trapdoor, they descended a wide stone stairway into a common cellar packed with barrels of chakos and crates of hard bread and dried meats.

Yet the heroes were not the only witches sent to that dark place.  A Zandir swordsmage was seated on a barrel in the corner.  He told, after greetings and introductions were completed, of his capture the day before on charges of witchery.  His name was Phantarl.

Before the conversation in the dark cellar could turn into an uneasy silence, the angry Arimites returned and threw open the trapdoor.  The early evening light was just beginning to create shadows of the great mountains all around the town as the heroes emerged.

"Motar, we have reached a decision," said the old man.  You must be freed from your bewitchment.  To do this, we must kill those around you."  The younger Arimites approached with drawn weapons.

Battle commenced.  The heroes cut down their foes.  As more Arimites entered the fray, the crew beat a hasty retreat to the Bloody Hell.  Phantarl followed.

The windskiff was still hovering right where it had been parked.  Luckily the Arimites had not been able to board the ship while the heroes had been imprisoned.  When he saw the rest of the crew approaching, Dar lowered the ship's ladder and ran to the fight.

The heroes spent a night hovering over Viridia.  The following day, they docked in Cymril, and the young clerk recommended an inn called the Crystal Stroke.  Then he handed a note to Vidian from Boldtooth, indicating that he had found something dangerous and Vidian should visit him first thing.  Yet Vidian delayed, and this was to have dire consequences.

The heroes checked into the Crystal Stroke and received some much-needed R&R.  The innkeeper, named Dravin Har, treated them well, and they heard many things.  One rumour that came to their ears was that the Phantasians have been riding aerial beasts called nizrini lately.

Late at night, Vidian, Gann, and Motar visited the Lyceum Arcanum but were turned away by guards.

The next morning, the heroes went to the Lyceum again to visit Boldtooth.  His apprentice, an adept named Otep, said he may be found in his tower.

The heroes found Boldtooth dead in his chair on the second floor of his tower, killed by an assassin.  A note marked in the dead man's palm read, "My key unlocks the mystery in my hard heads."

The heroes searched the tower and located a secret staircase to the third floor.

Inside they found many unusual items, translations from Phaedran, and some magic equipment. Among the items found were a small silver gong, a ceramic jar full of amber beads, a jar with a severed paw in it, an old silver armband with red iron filigree of dragons, 800-year old Arduan scale mail and helm fashioned of bronze in the late Phaedran style, an exomorph hide, and a magical red leather robe. 

One of the translations was found sitting alone on the table.  It is transcribed here in full:

---Top of page---

From the Chronicles of Ar'tec the Father........

Through time forgotten we have bloomed from this that men and those 
Beasts that walk on two legs believe as legend.
Its roots run deep through all of us, its fruit nourishes our 
World and is the well spring of the gods.
Yet a dangerous thing, this Tree of Life which can bestow many 
Gifts. For some it brings enlightenment, for others the portal to 
Thrust their evil back onto the world once more.
I dream of rain that washes away the sand of time and runs into my 
Single silver eye. The eye which guides my way to many doors in the 
Slumbering hall of the sad children of Talislanta and their watch.
But my eye is closed and hidden from view
A mere seed in the great fruit of Viridian where bridges span
To the Archaens that see all
L'raat and his truth
P'tog and his blood
Sl'zan and his beauty
For their souls were lost
They were men and fragile in their grace
The chords of their life dangle from pale limbs still
Supporting the shard
Awaiting the darkness
But the torturous sweetness that is the Tree of Life endures

---Bottom of page---

While leaving the tower, the heroes were attacked by Vird and a powerful female warrior.  The attackers were defeated, and a large bug was found on the back of the female's neck.  Guards arrived and placed everyone under arrest.

In a guardroom somewhere in the city, a captain of the guards presented the heroes with an ultimatum.  They must clean up the mess at the tower and leave the city forever.

Vidian protested, but the heroes finally agreed.  They put all of the dead bodies into carts, along with everything from the third floor of the tower.  They loaded these onto the Bloody Hell, and then departed for Sindar, hoping that Dar may have some contacts there who could help decipher the mystery.

After the heroes docked in Nankar, they met a friend of Dar's family, a Kasmiran named Rebadep.  His house in Nankar was richly appointed.  Among the many items he possessed were 80 swords collected from around the continent.  A twelve-year-old Marukan named Lichen Puddleglum served as his houseboy.

The conversation with Rebadep turned to the mystery of Boldtooth's fate.  Rebadep had heard that several members of the Lyceum faculty had taken "extended leaves of absence."  He could shed little light on the mystery.  When the riddle of the Tree of Life was recited to him, Rebadep thought that the sad children might be a race of beings.  Viridan, he claimed was a magician-god of the Ardua, still worshipped in Ardune.  There also was talk of the ancient Phaedran practice of breeding insects that would attach themselves to people in order to enhance their abilities, but at a terrible price of sanity.

He referred the heroes to Tarog, a merchant who deals in unusual objects.  His shop is a large striped building near the center of Nankar.  The man appraised the items the heroes had rescued from Boldtooth's tower, and a few of the less important items were sold to him.

When the heroes returned to Rebadep's house, dinner was prepared.  Rebadep presented each of the heroes with a pipe as gifts.  However, dinner was interrupted by a knock at the door.  Lichen answered it and returned to the table with a note for Rebadep, who promptly arose and excused himself.  He went into the next room, donned armour and weapons, and said that he must go alone to attend to certain matters.

The heroes, of course, followed.  In an alleyway in the city, the heroes found Rebadep's dead body.  Near him were three Sindaran townsfolk raving like animals.  The bestial Sindarans threw themselves at the heroes but were quickly killed.  Small symbols were stamped on their foreheads in blood.  When the guards arrived, the matter was sorted out, but no explanation could be found for why the townsfolk had committed the crime or acted the way they did.

The heroes returned to Rebadep's house and searched it from top to bottom.  Many treasures were discovered, protected by traps, of course.  The most useful items were carted aboard the Bloody Hell, including a Kasmiran trap box, twenty traplocks with keys, and a number of very well crafted swords, including five adamant swords of various sizes, three red iron duelling swords, a black iron duelling sword with fine filigree work, and eight swords of various sizes forged of blue iron, one of which, a greatsword, was quite ornate though of dubious battle-worth. 

Arrangements were made to inter Rebadep's and Boldtooth's bodies in the Nankar Catacombs. Lichen agreed to serve as the cabin boy for the Bloody Hell.

Soon after the heroes passed through a pass in the mountains from Sindar to Cymril, a black windrigger flying a red flag attacked the Bloody Hell.  It was commanded by a Kang. An Arimite and a female Arimite mage were also aboard.  They attacked with ballistae and magic. The heroes escaped, but only barely.

Upon reaching the borders of Vardune, windships crewed by Blue Ardua stopped the Bloody Hell.  After some questioning, the Ardua reluctantly allowed us to pass into the Kingdom.

The ship docked at Vashay.  There the heroes noticed a company of thrall.  Gann struck up a conversation with Third Sword Rann, discovering that six brigades of thrall had been ordered to defend the borders of Vardune and Taz in all directions, while the Cymrilian forces had been recalled to Cymril.  Rann referred Gann to an Ardua named Veeroc. 

After securing lodging, the heroes met with Veeroc. Veeroc shared with them that all thrall had been ordered out of Cymril.  He said that the pirate ship we had encountered is called the Nuthchak.  He said that the sad children were Kharakhan giants, who guarded the Tree of Life along with other guardians of various races.  The bronze Arduan armour that the heroes had found in Boldtooth's tower presumably had belonged to one of these. 

During the conversation, Vidian began to formulate the idea that the "silver eye" referred to in Ar'tec's poem was an item, perhaps located in a Phaedran tomb near Vashay that may have been Viridian's burial place.

That night, the heroes located a squat stone tomb in the Southwood.  They pushed the stone door ajar, and Motar squeezed in through the opening thus created.  Vidian used magic to cause Motar's knife to glow.  Inside he saw two skeletons of individuals who had been killed in a gruesome manner.  Tatters of white robes still clung to their bones.  A downward-sloping corridor led down into the tomb.  Stone carvings of single eyes watched everything.  More pushing allowed the rest of the heroes to enter.

At the end of the hall was a 40-foot room with a large stone slab in the centre. Before Vidian could light the torches in the room with a quickly conjured tinderbox, they sprang into flames. The body within the sarcophagus stood up and attacked!  Phantarl attempted to flee, but the skeletons from the entryway blocked his path.  Combat ensued.

The corpse was struck by Gann's sword and Vidian's arcane bolt, but he responded with a necromantic strike against the Cymrilian that sent him to the floor.  A healing elixir saved Vidian's life and put him back into the fight. Meanwhile, Motar snuck around behind the dead man and attacked with two daggers.

Yet it soon became apparent that no normal blade could pierce the creature's cold grey skin. Thus, using their magic weapons, the heroes were finally able to dispatch he whose long sleep of death they had disturbed.  Likewise were the skeletons who guarded the grave destroyed.

When the heroes examined the slab upon which the body had lain, they saw it was carved with a large Aamanian eye.  At the end of the slab, resting on the floor of the tomb, was a small stone chest.  Cautiously Vidian opened the lid.  Within he found a moulded tome emblazoned with a single eye on the cover, a silver dagger, and a pendant of silver in the shape of an eye.

"Could this be the eye we seek?" pondered Vidian.  He examined the pendant closer.  It appeared to be quite old.  Next he opened the rotting tome.  Its pages were covered in Orthodoxist scribbling.  He handed the book to Dar, then looked at the silver dagger.  Its hilt was formed to represent various Orthodoxist symbols and iconography, and the blade thinned quickly before flaring out into a diamond shape near the tip.

"This tomb is over nine hundred years old," said Dar.  "That would be within the Phaedran Age." He carefully touched the pages of the Orthodoxist tome.

At those words a low moan came from the battered form of the long-dead Phaedran.  As the body began to move, Phantar seized a torch and walked toward him. 

Before Phantar attacked, four uninvited guests strolled confidently down the sloping passage and into the chamber:  an enormous Arimite dressed in red, a Kang pirate who had commanded the black windship encountered in the eastern lands, a warrior clad completely in blue iron plate mail, and the partially nude Arimite woman whom the heroes had first encountered outside Boldtooth's tower so long ago.

Phantar paused long enough to look them over while absent-mindedly touched fire to the undead Phaedran.  The dead man knocked the torch aside, unaffected by the flame, and stumbled toward the Zandiran.

The woman, dressed in leather armour that covered all of her body except her genitalia, seemed to be in command of the motley band of villains, and she spoke with a voice of power.  "Give me the eye, and I will make him stop.  What is your answer?"

Seeing that the heroes had no intention of obeying, the Arimite woman raised her hands to form symbols in mid-air, summoning a swirling cloud of necromantic energy.

Motar flung an adamant knife that struck her in the side, but she ignored the pain and directed a black bolt at Vidian, who held the items recovered from the sarcophagus.  Vidian deftly summoned an arcane shield that saved his life but was shattered in the process.

As if according to some prearranged strategy, the warrior in blue plate pulled an adamant long sword from its sheath and walked forward to strike Vidian as well.  Vidian pulled his silver-runed blade just in time to parry.

"Rollenar," muttered Phantar as he sprung into action, tossing his duelling sword at the woman in an attempt to throw her off balance.  But her magic was quicker. She threw up a barrier of grey mist, and the sword clattered to the floor before reaching her.  Then she produced a black bag from her belt and reached inside.

The huge Arimite in red turned toward Phantar, slipped two barbed daggers of green glass from his bandolier, and tossed them at the Zandiran.  One of them pierced Phantar's sword hand and remained stuck there, but the Zandiran gritted his teeth and retained his grip on the weapon.

---BEGIN CLASSIC QUOTE MODE---
ERIC:  Okay, he's making a called shot.
QUENTIN:  To what?
ERIC:  To the hand.  Your hand.
QUENTIN:  Oh.
JIM:  He wants to shake your hand.
QUENTIN:  The one with the dagger or the rapier?
ERIC: Hmm?
QUENTIN:  The one with the dagger or the duelling sword?
ERIC:  Duelling sword.
QUENTIN:  The left hand then, because I just picked it up, so I have the dagger in my right.
ERIC:  Let's see.  Right.  [rolls] Missed and [rolls] hit.  Full.
QUENTIN:  I'll dodge it.
ERIC:  Okay.  You have to get a nineteen.
QUENTIN:  [rolls then rolls again]
JIM:  Nineteen.
ERIC:  What a minute.  What happened to that eleven--
QUENTIN:  It was against the friggin' sandwich!  Any time--
ERIC:  It was laying flat!
QUENTIN:  No, no, no, any time--
ERIC:  No!
QUENTIN:  Any time it goes on the plate--
ERIC:  No!
QUENTIN:  It does not work.  That is the rule.  Any time it's on a plate or in a bowl... I made it.
ERIC:  Shut up.  Shut up.
PJ:  He did make it.  And he does get multiple attempts.
QUENTIN:  You shut up.
JIM:  The plate rule.  You forgot about the plate rule.
ERIC:  Six.  Six.  Roll your sword to see if you hold it.
JIM:  Oh, you're killing me, Quentin.
QUENTIN:  I did.
ERIC:  Okay, you've got a dagger sticking out of your hand.  It's green, and it's made out of glass.
PJ:  Who did that?  The Arimite?
ERIC:  Uh-huh.
---END CLASSIC QUOTE MODE---

"The Red Viper of Arim," cries Motar in alarm.  "It is Keatu, the legendary revenant who slew his family and laundered his garments in their blood!"  Dar looked questioningly at the awe on Motar's face.  "That was two hundred years ago," explained Motar.

Despite this realization, Motar pulled two adamant knives and threw them at the Red Viper while his attention was focused on Phantar.  The knives bit into the Arimite's armour, and he turned back to face Motar. With a gloved hand he drew forth from its scabbard an ornate long sword, and as he did so, the blade burst into bright red flames!  He stepped toward his adversary and shoved the blade into Motar's side. 

Motar let out a yell of pain and dropped the knives he had intended to throw.  The Red Viper attempted to follow up with a second strike, but he misjudged the distance and careened off balance, dropping his flaming sword to the ground.  Motar used the brief respite to fish a healing elixir from his pouch and quaff its contents.

Meanwhile Vidian riposted against the blue iron clad warrior, connecting twice with his arcane longsword.  But the warrior struck back, bypassing Vidian's attempts to parry and slicing a gash into his arm.  Another quick blow from the warrior sent Vidian crashing to the floor.

The Kang, dressed in leather pants with a silver buckle set with a black pearl, a ragged shirt, and big gaudy rings, hefted a black iron war axe and faced off against Gann.  The Thrall grinned at the challenge and swung viciously, only barely catching the Kang's leg.

From within her bag the Arimite woman produced a dark orb, but before she could react, Phantar dropped his dagger and clutched the Paradoxist symbol hanging from around his neck.  It must have provided him some luck, for he sidestepped the barrier between them and struck her hand with his duelling sword.  She dropped the orb, which hit the cold stone floor with a leaden thud and began rolling toward the Zandiran.

The Arimite woman recoiled in pain and sent an immediate bolt of evil energy directly into Phantar's chest, knocking him to the floor. 

As she turned toward Gann and struck him with a necromantic bolt as well, Phantar struggled back to his feet, switched his sword to his one good hand, and lunged toward the woman once more.

Gann growled in anger as the necromantic bolt hit him.  He continued to attack the Kang, landing more half-hearted blows that only served to enrage the pirate.  The Kang struck back with his own axe, landing a mighty blow on the Thrall's shoulder.

The woman turned back to Phantar, casting a spell that filled the air with the putrid smell of urine and rotten eggs.  Phantar reeled back in agony, unable to create a barrier in time.  He fell back to the ground, unable to defend himself.

Gazing into his eyes, the sorceress squatted over Phantar, and before he could turn away, a stream of urine coursed down from between her legs and splashed onto his face.  Within his heart a horrible rage welled up, but not for the woman who demeaned him so.  With his teeth and hair growing before everyone's eyes, giving him the look of a wild animal, Phantar screamed and rose to his feet, eyeing the rest of the heroes with bloodthirst.

Lying on the floor with the blue-clad warrior over him, Vidian fumbled in his bag for a healing elixir, though he knew his foe could dispatch him before he could even uncork the bottle.  Yet luck was with him. Motar unslung his bow, nocked an adamant-tipped arrow, and fired it at the warrior in blue plate, forcing him to react to this new threat.

This gave Vidian enough time to drink the restorative potion, roll to his feet, and shove his long sword into the Arimite woman's back.

She gave a cry, waved her hands in the air, and vanished, leaving Vidian holding his sword in mid-air where she stood.  The Red Viper and his flaming sword disappeared as well.  The undead Aamanian fell lifeless to the floor.

Stunned and confused, Phantar sat down, wiped off his face, and began to return slowly to his normal visage.

The Kang stopped to look around at the suddenly changed odds of the battle, allowing Gann to back away and sip a medicinal mixture. When he regained his composure, the Kang turned back to Gann and slamming into him with incredible force.  Gann was thrown to the ground, bleeding profusely.

Motar turned his bow toward the Kang.  In response, the Kang stepped over Gann's fallen body and reached his long-handled war axe over the stone slab between them to strike Motar with two massive swings.  Motar crumpled to the floor as his blood splattered across the room.

Phantar summoned his remaining strength and directed an arcane bolt at the Kang's back.  It streaked across the room and connected, knocking him back against the wall. He did not rise.

Meanwhile, Vidian turned his attention to the warrior in blue iron, but a wild swing with his arcane longsword struck the stone slab at full force.  With a terrible thunderclap, the silver-runed sword snapped into many pieces and the spirit trapped within the sword fled.

The plate mailed warrior swung his own sword at Vidian, but the Cymrilian dodged away and reached for the spare adamant longsword strapped to his back.  With a well-placed thrust, Vidian slid the blade between two of the plates in the warrior's armour.  A high-pitched wail came from the visored face, and the warrior fell lifeless to the stone floor.

Vidian rushed to save their fallen comrades.  Then after a moment's rest, he stepped to his defeated foe and removed the blue iron helm.  Within he saw the face of a Zandiran. On further examination of the body, however, he discovered a magical ring.  When the ring was removed from the Zandiran's body, his visage changed to that of a member of the Cymrilian royal family! Vidian took the ring for himself.  Suddenly Vidian began to understand the odd policies of Cymril.

Phantar looked numbly at the glass dagger still protruding from his sword hand.  He picked up the dark orb that the sorceress had dropped, then struggled to his feet.

Vidian turned his attention to the large rectangle of stone that dominated the room.  On the top of the slab was carved an Aamanian eye, in the center of which was a slit.  Vidian pulled out the silver dagger he had found in the small stone box nearby.  He inserted the dagger into the slit in the top of the stone slab, and it fit perfectly.  When he turned it, the great stone slid open, revealing a small silver orb inlaid with tiny runes of black iron that spiraled around a small black circle. In size and shape it resembled an eye.

Motar, now recovered, reached into the opening and took the silver eye, and before anyone could dissuade him, he discovered that it fit nicely into the socket of his own missing eye, giving him unnatural sight and recognition of that which is magical.  There it became a part of him and could not be removed again without cutting into Motar's flesh.

Finally the heroes departed from the tomb, returned to the Bloody Hell to stow their equipment, then met with Viroc to discuss the situation.  Viroc applied to the heroes what meager healing he had available to him.

"Nasty business," said the Ardua as he removed the revenant's glass dagger from Phantar's hand. Pain shot through Phantar's arm, but the wound was quickly bound.

"What happened to you?" asked the birdman.  "You look like--"

"Hell?" Phantar suggested.

"Yes," nodded Viroc. "Bloody hell."

The heroes recounted the story of their struggle in the tomb.

"So the legends are true, then?" inquired Phantar.  "About the eye, the tree, and so on."

"I do not know much about it," answered Viroc, "if truth be told.  It seems you are deep within the legend.  That much is so.  You must speak with someone who knows much more than I."

"Whom do you suggest?" asked Vidian.

"I recommend that you seek the Lord of Conjuror's Point, a wizard named Salizayn Brakteem."

So upon this recommendation, the heroes travelled the next day to Conjuror's Point, a promontory on the far western shore of Zandu.  There they met the wizard, who confirmed for them that the eye is the key that will unlock Modor's Tomb and the resting place of the tree of life. 

"Ah, the eye!" cried Vidian.  "Of course, the prophecy states that the eye may lead us among the many doors."

"And this woman of whom you speak," said Salizayn. "Tell me more of her."

"She is an Arimite woman, and yet not," said Vidian. "She has an ancient soul."

"Yes, it is a soul that has not stirred for many ages," said Salizayn, as if knew the woman.  "When last that soul walked Talislanta, it had the name of Mordante.  I felt the passage of that power through the portal of the dead, and I knew dread would come upon the world.  Your enemy is dire indeed. I will help you, if I may."

Salizayn allowed them to stay in a guest house his servant Much had prepared for them.

In the town below the wizard's tower, the heroes sold some of the treasures they discovered, including many items of jewelry recovered from the bodies of the Kang and Cymrilian.  They used this cash to re-equip themselves with new clothing, weaponry, and medicines.

When Phantar tried to drive a hard bargain for a magical garment from the local tailor, the merchant agreed on one condition:  that the Zandiran accept the hand of his daughter in marriage on the morrow.  The girl was beautiful beyond description, but when she spoke, it was with the voice of a husky, well-built man of many years.  Phantar slyly accepted the offer, reasoning that he would be far away toward Modor's Tomb when the time of the wedding came.  He grabbed the enchanted jacket for which he had bargained, and departed for the sky dock.  It was there he learnt that the ship's repairs would take three days.  Feverishly his mind worked through various plots and deceptions to get out of the wedding, but it was to no avail, and in the morning, the ceremony was performed. Man was wed to woman, and that night the union was consummated. The heroes had not heard two manly voices groaning in such pleasure since Gann presented Dar Lotis with a lovely string of beads.

* * *

"Who the hell sent me this?" scowled Motar.

"The wizard in the tower," came the humble reply.  "I must go." 
The woman who had been speaking turned and left without further explanation.

Motar examined the bottle with suspicion.  It looked like chakos, smelled like chakos, tasted like chakos.  He looked back to watch the mysterious woman depart.  She was very comely, and as he watched her, she turned and smiled back at him as she walked away.

Motar smiled back and drank the chakos.  In a short while he began to feel tired, as if the weight of his recent travels had finally caught up with him.  The people celebrating around him continued to dance and swirl around in his mind as the beautiful woman came again into his view.  She approached him, caressing her cheek as if to say, "You can touch me if you want."

Motar turned and slowly staggered through the crowd toward the wizard's tower.  The woman followed.

When he reached the stables at the foot of the tower, Motar entered the pitch black within.  The young woman hastened in behind him, running her eager hands up and down his body, undoing the clasps and ties that fastened his clothes.  Motar felt her gentle caresses mix with overwhelming fatigue as he slipped off into unconsciousness.  The last thing he remembered was being mounted by her strong, young body.

Some time later, Motar awoke tied up in a room on a windrigger, his head pounding with pain. After a moment, the door opened, and a familiar girl entered.  It was the same one that had brought him the chakos during Phantar's wedding feast.

"I've brought you food and water."

Motar made no response.  His hands were bound fast to a stout wooden chair.

"Shall I feed you?" she asked.

"Will you knock me out again?"

"No."  Sensing that Motar would not resist, the woman gave him food and drink.

As she lifted a morsel of mushroom loaf to his lips, Motar noticed her ring.  It had a similar design to the ring which Vidian recovered from the body of the Cymrilian noble, the ring that had changed his visage to that of a Zandiran.  He turned his gaze fully upon the comely woman for the first time in the sunlight, and the silver eye slowly revealed that she was not all that she appeared to be.

The woman, noticing that the silver eye was been focused upon her, removed her ring, and at once the magical veil dropped, revealing her true appearance.

"You will stay here and rot," she said.  Her voice had the chill of one who had been long dead. "Then you will be my slave."

 * * *

The morning after the wedding celebration, Salizayn's servant, Much, sorted through the various gifts that had been given to the bride and groom, including of all things, a female erd.  The repairs to the Bloody Hell had been completed, and the gifts (except the erd) were loaded aboard.

Later Salizayn invited the heroes to a late breakfast.  Dar, Gann, and Vidian accepted gratefully and ate their fill.  Phantar slumped himself wearily into a chair as if he hadn't slept all night.  He neither ate nor drank.  Motar was not in attendance.  Gann muttered that the Arimite was probably off playing with his beads.

When breakfast was finished, Vidian investigated Motar's room.  There he found all of the Arimite's weapons and possessions but no notes or clues to his whereabouts.  Vidian returned to the dining chamber to report that Motar was not in his room.  Vidian left immediately to check the Bloody Hell.

Phantar and Dar left the chamber and strolled into town, looking for signs of the Arimite. Everyone he asked said they had seen no one like that today.  Finally, Phantar was directed to a small tavern called the Lucky Monkey, while Dar continued to make inquiries among the villagers.

In the Lucky Monkey, a short, obese man sat in a green-paneled room playing a long stringed instrument.

"Are you the monkey?" asked Phantar.

"No, I am the owner of the Lucky Monkey!" said the man in a thick foreign accent.

"Is your name monkey?"

"No, I am Lucky."

"Oh.  We seem to have misplaced our Arimite, and he may have wandered 
in here."

"No, none today.  Thank you, bye!"

"Last night?"

"Hmm," he paused to think.  "I saw one!"

"Where?" asked Phantar.

"At your wedding."

"That's him!" Phantar's excitement grew.

"Yes, congratulations! She is a very beautiful woman." When the little man spoke the last words, he dropped his voice to a low baritone in imitation of the bride, then he returned to his playing.

"Did you see where he went?" interrupted Phantar.

"I saw him walking around with some servant girl, drinking heavily."

"Do you know this servant girl?"

"Never seen her before."

"Zandiran?"

"Yes."

"Did you see where they went?"

"He was staggering through the crowd, and she was following him.  He had quite a purpose.  He was very drunk, on purpose!" Lucky's face beamed with joy for the Arimite.

"Which way was he going as he staggered?"

"Forward and listing slightly to the left!"

Phantar seemed unamused.  "No, which road was he on."

"Ah," said Lucky.  "He was heading for the tower."

"Salizayn's tower?"

"Yes."

Suspicion of the decrepit wizard grew in Phantar's heart.  Could Salizayn be responsible for Motar's disappearance?  As Phantar turned to leave, Lucky stopped him with a final thought. "Always remember this: a monkey that cannot speak walks silently through the woods."  The little man then returned once more to his music.

Meanwhile, Dar met with much less 'luck' than had Phantar.  Many of the villagers held the Arimite in low regard for his vulgar statements to small children, his challenging innocent women to fistfights, and other indecencies.  Yet some of them related that they saw Motar staggering through the wedding crowd as drunk as a Gao rum-pensioner.

At the sea docks, Dar met the dockmaster.

"No," he replied in answer to Dar's inquiries. "No ships departed last night, and none depart today."

"Is that odd?"

"No. They trade on week ends and travel during the week. Most likely, the ships you see here will leave tomorrow to distribute their goods. But last night nobody docked, and nobody left. Oh sure, a small skiff or something like it may have gone out, but I do not regulate those."

"The reason I ask is that an Arimite in my company may have decided to leave town by sea."

"He's probably drunk," said the dockmaster. "Good luck. I know if you find a good Arimite and train him well, he's hard to replace."

Phantar and Dar returned to the tower to find the other heroes discussing what to do.

"Can't we just find another Arimite?" he asked Vidian.

"No, this one has the eye. We have to get this one back."

Phantar cursed. "When I find him, I'm plucking that eye out, killing him, and finding ourselves another Arimite.  I have one in mind, actually," he said as he recalled painful memories from the trip to Vardune.

"Let us ask Lord Salizayn if he may scry into the whereabouts of our companion," suggested Vidian.

"Can that be done?" asked Phantar.

"If he cannot locate a particular person, perhaps he can read the emanations of such an object of power as the eye."

The heroes gathered in the wizard's reception chamber.  Salizayn sat in his chair, reading a book and eating slices of a purple apple.  A dagger floated in the air beside his head, and after turning a page, he took the dagger from the air, sliced another piece of apple, and placed the utensil back into its aerial position.

Vidian cleared his throat. "My Lord," he began. "We are missing a companion. It is the Arimite."

"So it is," said Salizayn with little concern. "He's probably drunk."

Phantar spoke up impatiently. "It is imperative that we find him... or at least part of him."

"Do you have any way of locating him," asked Vidian. "Do you have servants you can send out, scour the village and surroundings, at the least?"

Salizayn pointed to a bell, and it rang. Much entered the room.

"Yeah," said the manservant gruffly.

"The Arimite. Have you seen him?" inquired the wizard.

"He's probably drunk."

Vidian whispered to Phantar:  "It seems Motar's reputation has preceded him."

"But have you seen him around?" continued the wizard.

"No, I haven't seen him," said Much with disdain for the guests in the room.  "I've been doing my work!  I have enough to do around here anyway... for what I'm getting paid.  Should have two or three people around here doing this!"

There was an uneasy silence.  The heroes stared at the manservant.

"Well?" barked Much in their direction.  "Do you have any other questions?  I'm out back milking that erd, and it's taking forever!  It's got some big ol' teets on it!  I've gotta use both hands!  Every time I touch it, it gives an enormous belch!  Sort of reminds me of that girl down there in the village, you know, the tailor's daughter!  Every time I touch--" Much stopped short, recognizing Phantar's presence.  "Well, never mind. Is that all you need of me?"

There is no response.

"Alright," said Much and left.

Salizayn turned back to the heroes. "Well, apparently, Much doesn't know where he's at. And I haven't seen him since last night, staggering around in the crowd.  I saw him stumble into an old lady and stammer, 'Hey grandma, do you wish to see my beads, for I see yours.'  I do not know what he meant by that, however."

"Well," said Phantar suspiciously, "Lucky said Motar staggered in this direction."

"Hmm," intoned the wizard. "Perhaps he got... lucky."

"If so, he would have returned this morning to brag, I am sure.  Besides, Lucky said he didn't recognize the woman Motar was with, and this is a small town.  So you see our worry."

"Yes," said the wizard.

"You wouldn't know," asked Vidian, "of another way to locate what has been lost?"

"Possibly," said the wizard.  "I have ways."

Dar looked up.  "We only need one way, if it works."

Salizayn put down his book, folded his arms, and closed his eyes, still speaking to the heroes.  "If he is in the village, I can find him."  Everyone in the room became deadly quiet as the feeling of magic entered the chamber.  After a brief moment, the sensation was gone, and Salizayn said, "He is not here. Even if he had stumbled into the ocean nearby and drowned, I would know it."

"Right," said Vidian decisively.  "Mount up."

The heroes looked at each other sheepishly.

"I mean, let's gather our things and board the ship."  Vidian rolled his eyes.

"And go where?" asked Phantar.

"We'll fly around the edge of town--"

"And look for a dead Arimite with one eye?"

"Only as long as it takes to circle the village, and then we head to the tomb," said Vidian.  "If he was taken from us, that is the direction his captor will go."

"What tomb?"

"Modor's."

"We cannot take that chance. That is half way across the continent."

"Who would kidnap an Arimite for any other reason than to use the eye?"  interrupted Dar.

"I agree," grunted Gann.  "He's been bushwhacked."

"We know he's not in the village," reasoned Vidian.  "His captor would've had probably twelve hours of travel by now."

"What if they sailed the sea?" argued Phantar in frustration.  "They could be anywhere."

"No," said Vidian.  "She must go to Modor's Tomb."

"I say only that we must seriously consider all options before we fly that far."

"Fine.  Consider the options."

Phantar left the tower and headed once more for the Lucky Monkey.  The place wasn't crowded, and only a couple of patrons were in the building.  Lucky sat in a corner smoking a hookah. Phantar kicked the hookah from the little man's mouth.

"What did you do that for?" he yelled.

"My friend was with a woman last night, correct?"

"Yes," he said indignantly.

"What did she look like?"

"Oh, a very pretty woman.  Her breasts were very..." he thought for a moment, "erd-like."

"Was she Zandiran?"

"Yes.  This I told you before."

Phantar turned to the villagers in the room and described Motar, asking if anyone had seen him. A small-framed woman seated nearby nodded.

"Did you see him last night at the wedding?" asked Phantar.

"I did see him," she croaked.  "He was just walking around."

"Drunk?"

"Horribly."

"Was he accompanied?"

"No."

"Did you see where he was heading?"

"Forward and listing slightly to the left."  She nodded solemnly.

Meanwhile, everyone headed to their rooms to collect their possessions.  Dar stopped at Motar's room to get the Arimite's things as well.

At the sky dock, Vidian paid the repair bill of three and a half hundred lumens.  "Were you here last night?" he asked the master of the sky dock.

The master nodded.

"Did anything out of the ordinary occur?"

"The ugliest windrigger I ever laid eyes on.  It came and went."

Vidian stared at the Zandiran with keen interest.  "What did it look like?"

"Black as pitch. Shifty crew.  We wouldn't let 'em off," said the master.  "'cept for that poor girl what was with 'em."

"Did they pick her back up again?"

"Yes, her and her lover.  Poor drunk bastard."

Vidian's eyes narrowed to slits as he stared hard at the man.  "Which way did they head?"

No sooner did he reply "east" than Dar ran down the steps and toward the Lucky Monkey.  When he burst in, Phantar was about to assault an elderly lady.

"Come, now!" cried the Sindaran.  "We know where they went!"  They both returned to the sky dock, Dar urging Phantar to make haste the entire way.  "A windship of pitch black set down a young girl last night," said Dar between gasps for breath.  "Later they took her back on, along with Motar.  And then they left."

When they arrived, the Bloody Hell had been made ready to leave, and everyone took their positions.  Vidian pointed the prow east and pushed the ship forward at considerable speed away from Conjuror's Point.

Phantar approached Vidian at the helm.  "Is it possible that the dock master was not telling the truth?"

"Would you have reason to question his word?"

"Everyone I have questioned said that Motar headed for the tower.  What if our new found friend wanted the eye for himself?"

"Lord Salizayn?" asked Vidian.

"He is Cymrilian, you know," said Phantar, as if that alone was damning evidence.

"We didn't say anything to him about--"

Phantar interrupted.  "We're talking about the most powerful wizard on this side of the continent and he could not locate Motar?  Perhaps he saw him but decided not to reveal the location?"

"We would be wasting our time," said Vidian, "to stay here and try to prove him wrong.  If he does have the eye, then it is lost to us beyond hope, for he could conceal it from us with ease."

"But is it wise to fly against a fully armed pirate ship that has twice bested us, when we are down a crewmember?"

"When all clues point to the most logical solution, it is folly to pursue those that are less likely."

"Yes, but Modor's Tomb is half way across the continent," argued Phantar.

"And that is where she must go--"

"If indeed she has the eye."

"What makes you think she does not?"

"I know nothing more than you," admitted Phantar, "but I believe we should remain here for a few more days."

"In a few more days," said Vidian, "she will be at Modor's Tomb.  Once there, she will use the eye to navigate the many doors, and she will find the Tree of Life.  And within her body, Mordante would regain the full powers he once held on this world."

Phantar looked unconvinced.

Vidian continued.  "The time between her departure and ours is the only time we have to stop her plan.  If we delay, all will be for naught.  The seriousness of the situation demands action."

"Do you recommend that we get to the tomb before them, or will we attack at first opportunity? My concern is that they are powerful enough even without the Tree to destroy us."

"Then we shall delay the confrontation to the last moment... at Modor's Tomb."

The debate had at last come to an end, and Phantar skulked away.  Gann watched from the crow's nest. Below decks, Dar continued to work on his alchemical creations.

Vidian piloted the ship at full speed toward Arim, skirting the mountains and crossing into Urag. As the suns began to set behind them, the crew spotted a dark spot floating above the horizon to the east.  Vidian slowed to match its speed and course, and the Bloody Hell followed the black ship through the night.

In the bowels of the black ship, Motar struggled against the ropes that bound him to the chair.  He strained, and the ropes bit into his flesh.  He could not know how close his companions were.

Up in the crow's nest of the Bloody Hell, Gann felt the urge to relieve himself.  Bracing himself against the mast, he let a stream of urine fall to the starboard side, narrowly missing Phantar's head. 

Memories of the Aamanian tomb flooded into Phantar's mind.  Enraged, he rushed to the forecastle and spun the ballista around to face the crow's nest.  When he pulled the lever, the bolt flew into the air, destroying the underside of the crow's nest.  Gann tumbled to the deck below.

Phantar was already running to meet him, slipping his duelling sword and sword-breaker from either side of his belt.  "Did you think that was funny, boy?" he mocked.

Gann didn't waste words.  Instead he sprung at the Zandiran and lifted him into the air, but he was unable to slam him to the deck.  Phantar landed on his feet, and the fuming warriors faced off against each other.

Phantar stabbed at the Thrall, drawing trickles of blood on the tattooed man's body.  In response, Gann pulled his war axe and swung it at Phantar's head, but the Zandiran slipped in close and redirected the shaft with his swordbreaker.  The sword in his other hand clanged against the Thrall's garde.

Gann smashed headlong into Phantar, the spikes of his garde finding holes in the Zandiran's partial plate mail.

Unamused, Vidian watched the crewmembers struggling to kill each other.  He calmly diverted the Bloody Hell toward the nearby maze city of Altan nestled within the Amethyst Mountains, allowing the black ship ahead of them to proceed unhindered toward Modor's Tomb.

Phantar again attacked with both of his weapons, cutting into the thrall's skin again and again while Gann struggled to subdue the Zandiran.  Unable to stop Phantar's attacks, Gann let go and backed away, pulling a healing elixir from his pouch. 

Phantar planted a firm kick squarely on Gann's hand, but the thrall's grip held true, and he drank the potion.  Strength flowed once more into Gann's body, and he lunged forward.  This time he lifted Phantar into the air, flipped him over backwards, and dropping him onto the deck head first. Phantar was out.

Gann took a moment to catch his breath, then dragged the Zandiran's body to the main mast and lashed him to it.

When Phantar came to, the blade of Gann's axe rested against his throat.

"Do that again and you die," growled Gann.

"What's wrong, big man?"  Phantar's scornful tone had not changed.  "Were you knocked down by a little Zandiran?"

"Who's tied to the mast?" countered Gann, and he ran the edge of his war axe down Phantar's cheek, sending a tiny stream of blood down his chin and onto his armour.

Vidian spoke up.  "Phantar's actions may not be his own."

Gann stopped and lowered his axe.  Everyone turned to look at the captain. 

"In the Aamanian tomb," continued Vidian, "I watched the actions of Mordante closely.  She cast a spell upon Phantar, and he became bestial.  When she vanished, Phantar appeared to recover, but the less obvious effects of the spell may not have worn off."

"Can I have my weapons back now," Phantar asked, visibly more calm than before.  Everyone turned to see him standing unbound next to the mast, the coil of rope at his feet.

"Take them from me," challenged Gann through clinched teeth.  Then he turned back to the captain.  "Next time I throw him off the ship."

Phantar shrugged and pulled a medicinal elixir from his pack.

Vidian steered the Bloody Hell to a flat clearing near the maze city.  There the heroes were received by a representative of the Ariane, and they were ushered into the city for rest and refreshment.

Beneath the majestic dome of the traveller's wayrest, the heroes bedded down for the night after supping upon the simple food and drink offered them.  When they were finished, an Ariane brought them cups of water from Altan's blessed fountain.  This they drank, and felt restored and peaceful.  Vidian, Gann, and Dar stayed awake in shifts, watching the unpredictable Zandiran as he rested.  None of them saw him sleep.

When the first light of morning came, the heroes assembled before the city elders, who sat around a stone obelisk housed within a large, simply adorned building.

"We wish to inquire of your knowledge," spoke Vidian.

"Of course," said the chief elder, a glint of wisdom in his eye.  "Knowledge is free here. How may we help you?"

"One of our number was violated in a most crude and inhuman fashion, a method that may have been magical in nature, evoking within him the feral element that all civilised beings keep restrained."

Though Phantar's name had not been mentioned, the eyes of the elders fell upon him.

"That bestial element," continued Vidian, "may still be active, perhaps even controlled by she who brought it forth."

The chief elder stood up from the stone pedestal upon which he had sat and approached Phantar. He raised his hands and mumbled something in an unknown tongue.  Then he addressed Phantar directly, "No spell that has been cast remains with you.  Bathe in the waters."

"No," said Phantar.

"That will purify your body of any poisons."

Gann took a step toward Phantar, but Vidian held up a hand.  "Let us see what he wills."

"It has been over a week," continued Phantar.  "Any poison would have left my body already."

The elder looked from one hero to another.  "Any sickness, poisons, any vile substance affecting your body it will cleanse."  He throws his arms wide.  "All may bathe in the waters."

Phantar looked unconvinced.

"Your weapons will be returned," said Vidian, "if only you do as they ask."

Following these words the heroes exited the building into the courtyard of the blessed fountain. Phantar reluctantly entered the pool, followed by the other heroes.  In moments, the atmosphere of the heroes changed, and laughter filled the air.  Once again the heroes were jovial among themselves, and even the bitterness between the thrall and Zandiran seemed to be a distant memory.

"I do feel better," said Phantar.

Ready for the final leg of their quest, the heroes returned to the ship and climbed aboard.  Phantar rearmed himself. 
Vidian started the wind engine, and the Bloody Hell moved slowly off to the southeast.

Once they passed through the mountains, Vidian increased the speed of their flight, and within moments, the ship approached the jumbled structure of stone that was called Modor's Tomb.  A black windrigger hovered near the entrance. 

"To arms, mates," said Vidian to his crew, "and prepare to board the Nuthchak."

The ground outside the tomb was crawling with warriors.  Fifteen Vird in veiled costumes were locked in combat with vicious spear-wielding Araq.  Also in the fray were the Red Viper and the Kang pirate the heroes had killed several days earlier in the Aamanian tomb! 

Standing precariously atop the ship's railing with unearthly balance was the scantily armoured Arimite sorceress in whose body rested the soul of a long-dead necromancy.  Behind her in a chair sat Motar, bound with thick ropes.

Vidian steered the Bloody Hell alongside the pirate ship, and Phantar leapt across to the enemy deck.

As Vidian steadied himself, an old Zandiran with a long grey moustache stepped out from his hiding place behind the main mast.  He wore ragged grey leather, ripped in many places.  Scars covered his face and limbs.

"I have no quarrel with you," said Phantar.  "I come to return something to your mistress."  In his right hand he drew his sword.  In his left he produced the dark orb that the sorceress had dropped in their earlier encounter.

The old man spoke no words but took a throwing axe from his belt and flung it at Phantar.  The head of the axe buried itself in the Zandiran's shoulder before falling to the deck of the ship.

Phantar stumbled back in pain, then he flung the orb at his attacker.  It struck the old man square in the chest.

At the same time Gann jumped across to the black ship and charged the old man, knocking him down.  No sooner had the old man struck the deck than he sprang back to his feet again.  Gann continued running toward the Arimite woman.

When the Bloody Hell halted and the wind engine stopped, Vidian chanted words of arcane power and vanished into thin air.

When Dar struck the Arimite woman with a throwing knife, she turned to see Gann charging forward.  Raising her hands, she sent a necromantic bolt at Gann.  The thrall stumbled but kept his feet.  As he approached her, she threw up a shield of swirling black mist in front of her.  Gann swung his axe but failed to penetrate the shield.

Phantar formed an eldritch bolt and sent it at the old Zandiran, but the grey clad man raised his hand and created a barrier to absorb the magic.  Phantar charged forward and lunged with his sword, shattering the barrier. 

Dar switched ships long enough to cut Motar free.  Motar then headed to the pirates' ballista on the forecastle of the black ship, while Dar returned to the Bloody Hell. 

Finding the ballista loaded, Motar spun the ballista around and aimed it at the old Zandiran on the deck.  The bolt glanced off the old man's side.

Phantar backed away from the elder Zandiran, dropped his weapons, and began walking toward the Arimite sorceress, while Gann turned and charged the grey-haired Zandiran once more.

At the helm of the black ship, Vidian reappeared and engaged the wind engine, spinning it around to connect the prow with the top of the stone tomb and pushing the Bloody Hell away.  The ship shook.  Motar lost his footing and tumbled from the forecastle.  He stood up and climbed to the steps to the ballista again.

The Arimite sorceress also lost her balance and fell over the side.

When the ship struck the tomb, the Araq on the ground below broke off their fight with the Vird and retreated into the stone structure.  The Vird pursued, while the Red Viper and the Kang rushed to their leader, the fallen woman.  Shaking her head, she rose slowly to her feet, and her companions helped her through the doorway into the tomb.

On the black ship, the elder Zandiran lost his balance and fell to the deck, then rolled to his feet and jumped over the railing, landing feet first on the ground.  As the man turned away, Gann struck him with his war axe, but the blow was too weak to pierce his armour.

Phantar dove over the rail after the old man, and Gann followed.

Motar loaded another bolt into the ballista and fired it at the grey-clad Zandiran running for the tomb.  The bolt struck him sidelong but failed to slow him.

Vidian left the helm, pulled a healing elixir from his pouch, and took it to Motar on the forecastle.  "Drink this," he said, "Your gear awaits you on the Bloody Hell.  It now becomes a race to the Tree."  Motar gave the captain a weary nod, and the two headed for the Bloody Hell.

When Vidian and Motar reached the ship and climbed aboard, they found Dar loading the ballista and aiming it at the elder Zandiran.  That bolt too struck him, and this time he stumbled, slowing him enough for Phantar to close the distance, following him into the darkened entrance of the tomb.

Gann, Dar, Vidian, and Motar also made their way to the entrance of Modor's Tomb.  Within they saw a large circular arena.  The centre of the chamber was twenty feet lower than the perimeter, and around the lower level were arranged seven round doors. 

In the midst of the arena on a floor of many-coloured tiles, seven Vird faced off against an equal number of Araq.  Along the higher perimeter were a lesser number of Vird and Araq battling each other.  On the far balcony stood the Arimite sorceress, flanked by the Red Viper and the Kang.  The grey-clad Zandiran was rushing to join them.

Phantar ran into the room following the right wall.  Before him an Araq fended off a scimitar-wielding Vird.  Phantar struck the Vird from behind, slicing through his robes.  The Vird spun around in surprise, lost his balance, and fell to the floor.  Phantar moved quickly past the fallen Vird but was stopped short by the Araq's spear.

Next into the chamber came Gann and Dar, moving along the left wall with their weapons at the ready.  Gann and Dar teamed up on the Vird in front of them, but the veiled warrior saw the heroes' approach and defended himself.  The Araq beyond the Vird accidentally jammed his spear into the wall and loses his grip on it.

Finally Motar and Vidian entered the tomb.  Motar untied his grappling hook and rope, hooked it into a crack in the floor of the balcony, and climbed down to the arena level.  While Motar stood scanning the walls and floor, Vidian summoned an arcane bolt in the direction of the Arimite sorceress, but she raised a barrier in time to block it.

Gann swung his axe at the Vird, spitting him in two and splattering guts on the wall.  Dar moved toward the Araq, but the reptilian picked up the spear he had dropped and jammed it into Dar's side.  Gann turned his axe on the Araq, cutting into his chest and knocking him down.  Dar backed away, slipped on some Vird entrails, and fell to the ground.

Phantar ducked under the Araq's spear and charged past him, heading around the edge of the room toward the Red Viper.

---BEGIN CLASSIC QUOTE MODE---
QUENTIN:  Okay, who's in front of me, the Arimite, the Kang, or the woman?
ERIC:  The Arimite.
QUENTIN:  What's he doing?
ERIC:  Standing there waiting for you with his sword flaming.
QUENTIN:  Swordbreaker... sword... Is there an Araq or anything coming at my back?
ERIC:  Are you going to turn around and look?
QUENTIN:  I'm going to look over my shoulder, but I'm not going to take my eyes off the Arimite.
EVERYONE:  What?
ERIC:  Uh... he's going to look over his shoulder, but he's not going to take his eyes off the Arimite.  Riiiiiight.
---END CLASSIC QUOTE MODE---

As Phantar passed the Araq, the reptilian turned and stabbed the Zandiran with his spear, but the strike failed to penetrate the armour.

Gann landed his war axe squarely on the head of the Araq before him, slicing cleaning into his skull.  The reptilian's spear clattered to the floor, and Dar scooped it up while following behind the advancing thrall.

When the dark barrier protecting the sorceress dropped, Vidian launched another bolt of energy at her.  She quickly raised another shield, but it disappeared in a shower of sparks as Vidian's arcane bolt slammed into it.  The Arimite woman immediately waved her hands in the air again, flinging a necromantic bolt at Vidian that took the form of a skeletal hand streaking through the air and throttling his neck.

Meanwhile Motar raised his bow and fired two adamant-tipped arrows at the elderly Zandiran. Both missiles slammed into his chest, and he tumbled to the floor.

At that moment, an awful bellowing echoed into the chamber from the entrance.  Three enormous Kharakhan giants stormed into the tomb from behind the heroes, hefting great axes in their massive hands.  One of the giants lowered himself down into the centre section of the arena, while the remaining two split up and advanced along the balcony, eager to crush everyone in their paths.

As Motar lowered his bow, he noticed a faint glow outlining a jumbled mosaic of green tiles in the centre of the arena.  "Vidian," he called, "The door is beneath those centre tiles!"

As one of the giants approached him, Dar threw down the Araq spear he had claimed, then dove off the balcony to the floor below.  He clattered onto the stones and pulled himself to his feet among the duelling Vird and Araq, then ran to Vidian and Motar, who were examining the green tiles in the middle of the room.

On the other side of the room, the Kharakhan giant smote the Vird that stood in his way with the broad side of his axe, crushing the enemy against the wall.  Continuing on, the Kharakhan swung his axe at the Araq facing Phantar.  With a noise like the squashing of a melon, the giant's axe obliterated the Araq, leaving no recognisable pieces of its body behind.  Phantar now stood between a Kharakhan giant and a giant Arimite, both wielding long-handled war axes.  With his back to the wall, Phantar eased closer to the Arimite.  Each combatant swung his weapon in challenge to the other.

The Kharakhan giant who had lowered himself into the middle of the arena lumbered toward Motar with his axe raised, but when he approached, he suddenly turned to attack a nearby Vird, knocking it across the chamber and into the far wall.

Dar, on the other side of Motar, thrust his bladestaff into the face of an advancing Vird.  As he pulled the spear free, the blood-soaked veil came with it, revealing the mutilated face of the dead Vird.

Below Motar's feet, the floor tiles began to shake.

As the Kharakhan giant approached Gann, the thrall decided to follow Dar's lead.  With a daring back spring, the thrall leapt onto an Araq in the arena level below.  The giant behind him continued on to meet the Kang in battle.  The Kang sprang to the attack, slashing the giant's abdomen and dodging the resulting counterattack.

The Arimite woman summoned a necromantic orb of force and threw it at Vidian.  The orb struck him and knocked him to the floor with a thud, his face contorted in pain.

With his back to the wall, Phantar lunged at the Red Viper, but he was unable to do more than scratch him.  The red-clad Arimite struck back with his flaming long sword, nearly setting Phantar's clothing alight.

Gann attacked the Vird with his war axe, cleaving his head in two, then sliced his Araq opponent in two with his backswing.

Dar jabbed his bladestaff into the eye socket of the Vird in front of him, and when he pulled the weapon out again, brain juice spurted from the hole thus created.  The Vird collapsed in a heap on the floor.

The tiles in the center of the floor flew up into the air, forming a whirlwind in the air around Motar.  Beneath them lay a large round door of wood, onto which was carved the image of a many-branched tree in high relief.

Motar shouldered his bow and set his hands onto the trunk of the carven tree. Pulling with all his might, he flung the twelve-foot wide door open, and a mighty cloud of dust was sucked out into the swirling tornado of tiles around him.  Then stooping to grasp the shimmering sleeve of Vidian's spangalor armour, Motar and Dar dragged the Cymrilian down the dark staircase that lay beyond the door.  There, finding that Vidian's face no longer registered consciousness, Motar stopped on the staircase, rummaged through the pilot's pouch, and found a medicinal elixir.  He uncorked the bottle and shoved it into the Cymrilians mouth, letting the bright green liquid gurgle down his throat.

Reeling from the burns given him by the Red Viper's flaming blade, Phantar tumbled off the balcony and rolled to his feet in the arena below.  Crouching low, he set his sword on the stones and formed a bolt of arcane force between his fingers.  This he tossed at the Arimite woman, but she cast it aside like a toy.

By this time, the Kharakhan giants had made their way around both sides of the room on the upper balcony and approached the Red Viper and the Kang.  Before they could strike, the Arimite woman raised her arms and lifted into the air.  Her two companions rose into the air as well, leaving nothing for the giants to attack.  They glided silently and swiftly above the spinning mass of tiles, then descended down into the centre of it.

Undeterred, the giants on the balcony climbed down and lumbered toward the door.

As the potion took effect, Vidian opened his eyes and rose uneasily to his feet beside Dar.  On a lower step Motar unslung his bow and fished in his quiver for two more adamant-tipped arrows. "Can you wave your hands and light this place up?" asked Motar. 

When Motar saw the red glow of fire above him, he thought Vidian had answered his question. Then he realised it was the harsh flame of the Red Viper's sword.  The enemy was upon them! 

Motar turned and began descending steps, going straight ahead at first, then stopping suddenly when he realised that the stairs turned to the right in a tight spiral.  Before him was a vast expanse of black.  Though his senses gave him no clues, his mind told him the void was unimaginably large.  More cautiously then, he began descending the spiral staircase, guessing as best he could were the steps would be.  Vidian and Dar followed blindly behind.

Back in the arena, Gann dove through the door and ran down the stairs before the Kharakhan giants reached it.  Suddenly the thrall ran headlong toward the Kang, who was guarding the stairs with his greatsword.  The Kang was bowled over and clung precariously to the side of the stairs. Luckily, Gann forced himself to stop just in time to avoid running off the sudden edge of the staircase.  Then the turned and look back to see that the Kang had crawled back onto the step and was half-sprawled on the stairs.  Gann lifted his axe to behead his foe, but the wily easterner buckled his arms and tumbled down the steps into Gann, knocking him over.  But Gann grappled with the Kang as he went down, holding the blade of his axe against his foe.  With each step the pair tumbled down, the axe head bit ever deeper into the Kang's flesh, and when they rolled to a stop, Gann alone rose to his feet.  For the second time in a week, the Kang pirate had been killed.

At the top of the stairs, the giants reached the door and began their ponderous descent into the darkness, pointing their axe blades before them.  Unwilling to be delayed behind the slow warriors, Phantar paused and focused his mental energies.  In a short while, he faded from view, then ran down the stairs and past the Kharakhan giants.

Motar and Vidian finally reached the bottom of the stairs and bumped into a large and heavy door.  Motar used his free hand to find the handle, then pulled it open to reveal a long hallway beyond.  The walls and arched ceiling of the room were covered with ornate stone carvings. Torches, already burning, sat in sconces on the walls.  On either side of the hall were three granite statues of Kharakhan warriors.  Their sad stone eyes stared at each other across the shadow-filled room.

"The sad children," mumbled Vidian, looking at the statues.

Sensing a trap, Motar began to examine the nearest one, and the sudden sound of grating stone confirmed his suspicions.  The last two statues at the far end of the hall stepped forward, their joints creaking with each movement.  With a shudder of dust and splintering stone, their arms broke loose from the position they had held for millennia.  In their hands were clutched stone knives the size of swords to normal men.  They turned toward Motar and began walking forward.

With foes in front and behind, Vidian rushed forward and rolled between the legs of the statue on the left.  He clambered to his feet and kept running.  Motar ran forward as well but lost his balance and fell directly in front of the right-hand statue.  Curiously, however, the statue made a deliberate effort to step over Motar and continue walking.

Dar ran into the hall with enemies hard on his heels.  Seeing the approaching statues, he turned immediately to the left and hoped he could avoid being caught between the Red Viper and the stone Kharakhan.  But the ever-vigilant Arimite stepped into the room and immediately noticed the Sindaran.  He swung his sword in a fiery arc that ended on Dar's shoulder.  The blade bit deep, but the cloak did not catch fire.  Dar stumbled backward against the wall, searching for an exit like a frantic Ferran cornered by pursuers.  The Red Viper struck again, and Sindaran blood splattered onto the floor as Dar fell.

The Arimite sorceress walked into the room and turned her attention to the statues.  With bolts of dark force, she began blasting large chunks of granite from their bodies.

Gann rushed into the hall and saw the Red Viper standing over Dar's unconscious body.  He struck the Arimite with his axe, but the blow was softened by the large man's armour.

At the far end of the hall, Vidian wrenched a torch from the nearest sconce and shone its light on the first steps of another staircase like the one he had just descended.  He turned to be sure that Motar was following, then headed down the steps.  These spiraled downward like the previous set and also ended at a similar door.  The two heroes tugged on the large door until it creaked open.

The tomb beyond held six sarcophagi, three each lined up along the left and right walls.  At the far end of the room atop a three-tiered dais was a huge throne carved from a single block of stone.  Upon it sat a Kharakhan.  His body was wrapped in long winding strips of cloth. In several places the cloth was in tatters, and the decaying flesh beneath was plainly visible though untold eons of time should have long since rotted it away.  Across his lap lay two giant axes. Upon his head rested a thick circlet of precious metal set with a large diamond.  Even in death his gaunt face looked noble.

When the heroes entered the tomb, the thick layer of dust that had lain there for centuries stirred. The six sarcophagi opened with a distant peal of thunder, and six man-sized figures emerged from within.  Each was clad in a tabard emblazoned with a many-limbed tree, beneath which they wore ancient metal armour.  Each drew a weapon and gazed at Vidian.  They took no notice of Motar.

Motar pointed to the throne.  Something about that fixture beckoned him. 

The pair of heroes darted across the room as the six guardians climbed out of the sarcophagi and closed in upon them.  Vidian looked around for another way out of the room, but he saw none.

When the heroes reached the dais, the arms of the mummified giant shook free from the lethargy of ages.  The hands lifted the two great axes into the air as he rose to his feet with a creaking noise.  Towering three times taller than Motar, the mummified giant turned and gave a slight, stiff bow toward the bearer of the silver eye.  Then he turned toward Vidian and readied his axes for battle.

Motar began examining the throne hastily, looking for any clue about its importance.  Vidian waved his hands and constructed a thin grey shield around himself.  The guardians quickly bashed their way through the arcane barrier and began attacking the Cymrilian, ignoring Motar completely.

In the hall far above, Gann swung his adamant war axe above his head, striking the Red Viper again and again.  The Arimite's body was knocked first left and then right.  A panicked look crossed his face, and he struck savagely at the thrall with his flaming sword.  Despite the burning metal searing his flesh, the thrall stood unflinching and continue to slam his axe against the Arimite's body until the blade was buried deep into the foeman's chest.  The Red Viper lay in a bloody mess amid the rubble of the shattered statues.  His sword, no longer burning, lay nearby.

Gann ran to Dar's side and fed him a healing elixir.  Dar awoke with a start, clutching handfuls of dust and broken stone in his fists.

Meanwhile, the sorceress had fled down the second staircase after Motar and Vidian. Behind her came Phantar, eager to exact revenge for the treatment he had received in the Aamanian tomb.

When the Arimite woman entered the throne room, the mummified giant turned toward her.  She summoned a powerful necromantic bolt and sent it streaking toward him.  He staggered back, then lurched forward toward her, axes at the ready.  Again she focused her power and blasted the giant.

Finally Motar and Vidian shoved on the throne from behind, and it slid forward to reveal a passage leading down.  The throne tumbled down the steps of the dais.  Vidian darted into the opening, and the guardians that had been attacking him suddenly turned toward the Arimite sorceress at the front of the room.

Before Motar followed Vidian into the passage, he let fly two arrows at the sorceress to throw her off guard.  But before the arrows were even loosed, she completed a magical spell that gave her the power of flight.  As she began to rise into the air, Phantar appeared behind her and struck her leg with his sword.  Nevertheless, she lifted into the air and floated over the guardians in the room and down into the passage that had lain undisturbed beneath the throne for uncounted ages.

The passage turned three times then stopped at a door.  Vidian and Motar rushed through the door and out into an open sunlit field.  It was as if they had been transported to a distant place by magic.  Instead of opening on another subterranean chamber, the door took them to a beautiful grassy land.  Around them in all directions were grassy plains, but directly ahead was a low hill topped by a small, many-branched tree.  The trunk of the tree was pure white, and the branches were covered with glowing leaves of ever-changing colours.  Dangling from the lowest branch was a long sword, secured there by three threads:  one white, one black, and one gold. 

"L'raat," mumbled Vidian. "P'tog.  Sl'zan.  The sword is the shard."

Back in the tomb, all of the guardians stopped in the their tracks and turned to the throne, staring dumbly as if confused.  Phantar, Dar, and Gann took advantage of the situation to pass them by and chase the sorceress into the passage.  When they emerged into the sunlit field, they too were dumbfounded.

All who were present watched as Motar walked up the low rise to the tree, grasped the hilt of the Shard with his left hand, and untied the strings that secured it with his right.  No sooner had he removed the last string than he was struck from behind by a bolt of vile darkness.

The Arimite sorceress had shaken herself free from the spell of the Tree.

Phantar and Gann dove at the woman, knocking her to the ground.  Gann prepared to bring his axe down on her but stopped short.  All of a sudden Motar was not next to the tree on the hill but standing over the woman's body, the Shard balanced evenly in his hand.  His face was at peace. He calmly slid the point of the Shard slowly into the sorceress' chest.  Her body shuddered as the tip of the Shard entered her and approached her heart.  She looked up at him.

"Stop," she said.  A trickle of red issued from her mouth and ran like crimson sweat down the soft curve of her neck.  "I carry your child."

Motar felt the heartbeat within her body as it pounded against the point of the sword and travelled up the blade to his hand.  Nestled within the pulse was an almost imperceptible counter-rhythm, beating fainter and faster.

Memories filled Motar's mind, visions of shadows that played across the naked body of a nubile young Zandiran woman as she heaved and swayed above him in the darkness of the stables at Conjuror's Point.  In the space of four days, a new life had blossomed and grown with amazing speed.

Overcome with the torturous sweetness of the Tree of Life, Motar knew he could harm no innocent.  He stepped back, drawing the Shard out of her body as slowly as it had been thrust in, it's master's energy now spent.

The heroes stood powerless as the sorceress sat up with ease and levitated into the air.

"You cannot slay me," she said in a voice that was no longer her own.  "I am Mordante."  She turned and glided silently back through the solitary stone doorway that led to Modor's Tomb.

A brilliant multicoloured light shone from the Tree of Life when Mordante departed.  As the light fell upon them, all of the pain and trouble that had filled the lives of those five individuals was swept away, and peace filled the hearts of the Arimite knife-fighter, Cymrilian pilot, Sindaran collector, Thrall warrior, and Zandiran swordsmage.

 * * *

EPILOGUE:  THE HAUL

As the heroes made their way back up the winding stairs of Modor's Tomb, they pondered all that they had experienced and the lessons they had learned. 

Then they pillaged the place.

Overturning all of the sarcophagi in the throne room, they carted away a suit of red iron partial plate, an enchanted black iron long sword (to Vidian), a magical spear with undetermined powers, three large jars with 1,000 gold lumens each, a large 6-karat amethyst, a magical blue iron greatsword, an ivory box containing a magical jade bracelet, a red gold crown, a large 4-karat blue pearl, a large silver axe, and a 7-karat black diamond (to Phantar). 

From the Slumbering Hall of the Sad Children, they took the Red Viper's long sword made of red iron, magical gauntlet made of delicately articulated black iron plates (to Gann), red iron chain mail, red iron dagger, and red gold ring set with a 2-karat fire opal.

Some things never change.

THE END (FOR NOW?)