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Chapter One – “Hope For the Lost” 

By Dennis Baird

 

I am but a small voice of little or no importance when compared with the events of the world.

 

When all this started, I was but a young lad.  My father had been killed by marauding orcs as he worked in the field when I was eight.  My grandfather, Widseth, had taken mother and me into his home.

 

He taught me my letters, and showed me beautiful scrolls and books.  He taught me to sing and play the lute.  Over the years I learned that he could cast magical spells.  He told me that even I could use some of the scrolls to create magic.  But mostly, I remember sitting on the hearth listening to his stories and songs of adventure.  He played a most marvelous instrument that seemed to have a life of its own.  I can still hear the beautiful strains sometimes in my dreams. 

 

On the last day of the summer of my fifteenth year, not long after the sun set, a knock on the door disturbed my grandfather’s singing as we sat around the table after our evening meal.  It was a cool night, announcing the arrival of autumn, but not unpleasant.  Grandmother rose to answer the door, but Grandfather motioned her to be still.  He continued to sing, but then a strange thing happened.  He set his lute on the table, but it continued to play.  As he sang, he drew his sword from its scabbard and moved like a cat toward the door.  I had never seen him take the sword from the wall hanging before. It glistened in the candle light.  My heart pounded in my chest. 

 

A man shouted from outside.  “Widseth, I hear your song.  It soothes my troubled mind.  Open the door and hear me.”

 

Grandfather looked at us and smiled.  He opened the door.

 

“You’re lucky I didn’t skewer you, you young rascal,” Grandfather said as he sheathed his sword and extended his hand. 

 

The man standing at the door reached his hand out from under his black cloak.  I saw the flash of armor under the outer covering.  The lower half of his face was covered by the cloak draped over his shoulder.  His dark eyes scanned the room.  I felt naked to his inspection, and I knew those eyes missed nothing.

 

“Skewer me?” he asked.  Then he burst into laughter.  “Not before my little friend would have severed your spine.” 

 

Then I saw her.  She was like a ghost.  I suppose she had been standing beside the tall man all along, but in the evening shadows, I had not noticed her at all.  Maybe Grandfather had seen her, but before she stepped into the light, I had seen nothing more than a shadow.

 

“Ah, now my heart is full.  It is an honor to see you again.”  Grandfather knelt, took the girl’s hand, and kissed it lightly.

 

I was confused, but Grandmother appeared completely at ease as if old friends had just arrived.  I guess they had.

 

The man named Gearon was younger than my grandfather.  He was probably ten years older than my father would have been.  Their conversation was familiar like they had known one another in times past.  I sensed Gearon was a hard man who concealed great sorrow and anger.

 

The girl puzzled me the most.  Her appearance deceived me.  At first glance, I was sure she was no older than me, but a sword hung from her side, and her supple armor was travel stained.  She spoke with confidence to my Grandfather and Gearon.  No doubt they considered her their equal.  Her words were not those of a child.  My first instincts painted the picture of her as a thief in my mind.  I didn’t trust her, but she was kindly and entertained me with slight of hand tricks for a while.  Then I learned her name.  It scared me at first because it was a name that portended evil.  Who would call herself Nightshade?

 

I tried to stay awake to listen to them, but they talked long into the night.  I heard snatches of the conversation about a city named Greyhawk, and someone called IUZ.  They spoke of elves, but I couldn’t quite follow because it seemed they said something about the elves or drow, as they called them, living underground.  That made no sense to me. 

 

In the morning, grandfather and his friends were gone.  His sword and lute no longer hung in their familiar places on the wall.  Grandmother and Mother said nothing, but I deduced that he had departed with the man and the girl.  For a month I worked in the fields to get the harvest in before the winter snow.  At night Grandmother told me stories about Grandfather, his friends, and the great city of Greyhawk.

 

It was a hard winter, but now spring was at hand.  I helped Mother and Grandmother get the early planting started, but Grandfather was not back.

 

Last night I had a dream.  In it I saw my grandfather and his friends in danger.  I knew I had to help them if I could.  I slipped out of bed and opened Grandfather’s large chest as quietly as I could.  It surprised me to find a traveling pack, many of his scrolls bundled with a note to me to use them well, an old mandolin that I had never seen before in a leather carrier, and a small sword.  The note told me to take what I thought I might need.  

 

I stuffed a crust of bread and several handfuls of hard wheat into the pack.  I quietly opened the door and left the farmhouse.  As the road plunged into the forest, I looked back.  Everything I knew was there.  The scene surprised me.  Grandmother and Mother stood in the doorway.  They raised their hands and waved.  I guess they knew I had to go.  In the early morning light they glowed with the warmth of home.  I didn’t know if I would see them again.  My spine tingled with anticipation as I took my first step into a larger world. 
 

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Chapter Two – “Hope For the Lost”

 

I met a few travelers on the road the first day.  All were heading in the direction I had come from, and few were willing to talk beyond a simple greeting.  Most were in a hurry, and I knew they would take the left fork toward town rather than toward our farm.  On the second day, I crossed the path of a simple peddler with his donkey and cart. 

 

“Hey, young feller.  Where ya goin’?” he asked.

 

“I’m trying to get to Greyhawk.  I’m looking for my grandfather and his companions.”

 

“Hush, boy.”  He looked around like there might be someone listening.  “‘Jus’ down the road’, woulda been a good answer.  Don’t be so willing to share yer business with strangers.  Yer headed for tough weather, if ya share yer doin’s with everyone ya meet.”

 

I inspected him.  He had a rough look about him, but at the same time, he seemed honest.  Maybe it was the quality of his smile or his eyes.  The way he studied me reminded me of Gearon. 

 

“I’m sorry. . .”

 

He cut me off, “No need to apologize to me.  It’s yer head not mine that’ll be on the orcs spear if ya don’t learn to bide yer tongue.  There’re evil times down the road yer headed.  Take care who ya speak to and what ya say ‘em.”

 

I nodded.

 

“Now, who’s yer grandfather and his companions?” he asked.

 

“I’m not sure I should say—I mean after the warning you gave me and all.”

 

Quicker than I had ever seen the man had a dagger at my belly.

 

In a quiet voice he said, “You’ll tell me or I’ll spill your guts and feed ‘em to the birds.  Traps have been set for me before, and sometimes the enemy uses a fair vessel to hide a foul brew.  I need to know if you’re that vessel.”

 

“I’m not sure what to say,” I said.

 

“Who do you seek?  Name them well or take your last breath.”

 

Words caught in my throat, but I managed to say, “My grandfather is named Widseth.  He travels with a tall secretive man named Gearon, and a small, slender girl named Nightshade.  I think they were going to Greyhawk.”

 

The peddler sheathed his dagger.

 

“Widseth?  A name from the past.  It’s enough to say that I’ve heard his songs at the courts of Greyhawk.  A small girl, you say?”  He laughed.  “One of the deadliest blades I’ve ever seen.  She’s not as young as she appears, you know.  And I’m well acquainted with Gearon, Knight of Shadows.  His order is a secretive lot, they are, but they’re always present when trouble arises.  No one really knows if they start it or if they end it, but they’re always there.”

 

“Have you seen them?  They left our home last fall.  Two nights ago I had a dream that they were in trouble.”

 

“I’ve not seen them, but knowing of them, they are probably headed into the flames.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I meant it seriously when I said you’re headed toward evil times.  Those three aren’t the kind to shy away from trouble.  Ahead you’ll find destroyed towns and burned farms.  The nobles of Greyhawk struggle daily to maintain control of the countryside.  I doubt it will be long before they’re trapped within their stone walls.”

 

“You’re no peddler,” I said.

 

“And how are you so sure?”

 

“When we first met, you spoke as a ruffian, and now you speak as a noble hiding in the disguise of rags.”

 

The peddler smiled. 

 

“I have to go now,” he said.

 

“I would like to purchase something before you go.  I’ve only one gold piece, but it is yours if you’ll go to my farm and warn my mother and grandmother to leave.  If trouble’s coming this way, I want them safe.”

 

He took the gold pieced from my hand.

 

“As you wish.  I’ll warn them,” he said, “but a fair trade is a fair trade.  I owe you something more.  Give me that sword you are carrying.”

 

After rummaging through his cart, he took my old sword, and exchanged it for a beautiful long sword in a leather scabbard.  He then gave me a small shield and leather armor with metal studs.  He handed me a foodstuffs pack with supplies for several days.

 

“All for one gold piece?” I asked.

“You’ll need all that I’ve given you.  Greyhawk is ten days ahead of you on the road, but unless I miss my guess, you’ll need to stay on less traveled paths.  Two days from now you should come to a major fork.  Favor the right.  It will wind up into the hills.  There is a ranger who walks the hills there.  He’ll help you find a less open way into Greyhawk.”

 

“How will I find him?”

 

“He has a cottage, but don’t worry, unless I miss my guess he’ll find you first.  When you enter the city, go to the Green Griffon tavern and ask for the Pixie.  She may be able to give you some information.  Do not go to the Twelve Sister’s Inn.  I’ve an evil foreboding about that place.”

 

 “Thank you,” I said.  “I don’t know how . . .”

 

“No need.  I’ll warn yer women folk.  Now git ya gone, an’ take care, ya hear?”

 

The mysterious stranger climbed into the seat of the cart and prodded the donkey.  In a herky jerky motion the cart began to negotiate the ruts in the road.

 

I waved, but he didn’t turn his head in my direction again.  I looked the other direction toward Greyhawk. 
 

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Chapter Three – “Hope For the Lost”

 

The morning after I had encountered the mysterious stranger on the road, I awoke to smoke in the air.  I exited the eves of the forest and walked about thirty paces toward the road.  I looked back to the safety of the wooded thicket where I had spent the night.  The forest blanketed the hills to the right of the road, and in the morning light I could see the landscape beginning to change from rolling plains to hill country.  Further in the distance I could see the foothills and mountains.  Grandfather had told me many tales about the mountain country.  The great city of Greyhawk was somewhere in those foothills.  I could see no smoke rising from the forest, but turning to the left of the road, I could see several columns of smoke rising from beyond the hill ahead.

 

A tangy acrid smell permeated the rich smell of burning wood.  The scent reminded me of something, but I couldn’t place it.  It smelled unnatural, and the pit of my stomach revolted at the rancid stench.  Then I heard the unmistakable sound of horses galloping.  From around the bend I heard shouts and curses in a guttural language that I had never heard before.  Far down the road I saw a man on horseback pursued by ten or twelve creatures.  Two of the creatures rode horrific counterfeits of horses, and the others loped along behind on foot.  The all looked more animal like than human.

 

As I sprinted toward the forest, someone shouted at me, “Hurry, boy.  Hide quickly.  Here with us.”

 

I slipped behind a tree and counted at least six other men and two women, crouched in the foliage.  Four had bows at the ready.  The others gripped swords and maces.  I made a decision.  Right or wrong I chose to stand with these strangers against who or what galloped on the road.  I drew my sword.

 

“A fine sword, boy, but maybe you could play that instrument and sing for us to give us the courage we might need out there.”

 

“M’Lord Ev’n, I’ve got it covered,” a woman said.  She pulled out a small stringed instrument the like of which I had never seen.

 

“I know, Lyndar.  I was hoping to keep the boy here out of the way with you.”

 

“Out of the way?” she asked.  “You think I am out of the way as I casually walk up to the fray and sing a song.”

 

I could tell she wasn’t too happy, but the Lord named Ev’n ignored her comments.  In fact I detected a slight smile.

 

“I can use a sword,” I offered.  “My grandfather taught me.”

 

The man overlooked my comment as studied the road.  The hunted and the hunters drew closer—only a hundred paces from us.

 

“Ready now,” he hissed to the bowmen.  “Hold. . .   Hold. . .  Loose the arrows.  At ‘em.  Leave none alive,” he shouted.  The evil creatures drew even with our group hiding in the trees.

 

Three arrows found their marks and three of the pursuers stumble and fell.  The four archers fired again, downing one more.  Then they drew weapons and charged out of the forest toward the road.  The man being pursued wheeled his horse and charged into the confused throng of creatures.  The woman called Lyndar walked toward the conflagration strumming the instrument and singing a pleasant melody.  Her serene composure struck an odd counterpoint to the struggle ahead, but her confident rhythm and words soothed me.  At length I let the adrenalin rush surge through me, and I followed Lord Ev’n.  There was neither rhyme nor reason to my actions.  Everyone around seemed to have concise purpose, but I just swung wildly at anything that looked like it would try to hit me.  I connected twice, but the men and women around me made short work of the creatures.

 

The man on the horse dismounted when all of his pursuers were still on the grass.  The others wiped their swords clean and retrieved arrows.  In my fear and haste I hadn’t looked at the rider closely.

 

“Lord Gearon, is that you?”  I ran to him, but he turned, and I realized he was not Lord Gearon.  When I used that name, all within earshot turned toward me.  I swallowed hard.  I had no idea if invoking that name had alerted friends or enemies.

 

The tall knight stared at me.

 

“Who uses the name Gearon, Knight of Shadows, with such a familiar tone?  Speak quickly or I’ll slit your throat.”

 

I knelt before him with bowed head.  I held my sword in both hands and raised it toward him.

 

“Sir, I meant no disrespect.  I seek Lord Gearon and a woman named Nightshade.  They accompany my grandfather, Widseth,” I said.  I stared into the grass, but I could see his boots and others as they gathered around.

 

“Rise boy.  You’re in no danger here.  I am Ge’org of Endania.  I’m not of Gearon’s order, but I respect his prowess and clerical skills.”  His kind tone stuck me to the core.  “You are the grandson of Widseth,” he mused.

 

I stood up and sheathed my sword.  “Yes sir, I am.”

 

Lord Ev’n laughed.  “Lyndar he would have given you competition if his grandfather has taught him anything.”

 

I realized all these people knew of my Grandfather and his companions.  They knew more than I did.

 

“Enough of this chit chat.  We’ve work to do.  Let’s get this filth of Iuz piled and burned,” Lyndar said.

 

“We’ll talk later.  Tonight we will tell you what we know of your grandfather and his companions. But now Lyndar is right.  We pulled off the ambush of these foul creatures, but other marauders are near,” Lord Ge’org said.

 

In a short time we gathered the bodies, spread oil and branches, lit them on fire, and left  quickly to avoid the stench.  The band invited me to remain with them, and their path lead in the direction I wanted to go, so it pleased me to travel with a strong company.  They marched quickly.  I realized they were seasoned warriors, and I struggled to keep up.  There was little time for talk, as I focused on putting one foot in front of another.  As night fell we moved deeper into the forest to a hidden glade that seemed to be a perfect place to hide.  I realized there were probably many places where weapons and food were hidden for their use.

  

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Chapter Four – “Hope For the Lost”

 

I had never seen anything like it.  Lord Ge’org’s band of warriors melded into the forest like phantoms.  After about an hour we entered a small winding track between to hills.  Two of the men climbed into trees.  I could see small hunter stands camouflaged in the branches where they could keep lookout.  After a couple of twists and turns a woodland campground appeared.  In a practiced manner the party scattered and checked the area.  Finding everything secure, they returned and began preparing a cold meal.

 

The evening air chilled the bone, and I shivered, sitting with the others in a circle on stumps and logs, as I chewed on a hard biscuit.  I wanted to ask about my grandfather, but these men and women in battle dress gave me reason to pause.  They did not seem the type to tolerate questions.  No one paid much attention to me as they spoke about the war until someone mentioned Nightshade.

 

“What about Nightshade?” I asked.

 

Everyone fell silent.  The woman named Lyndar spoke first.

 

“I’m not sure you want to hear this, but the tale is known in Greyhawk so it probably won’t hurt you to know.”

 

I wanted to say something, but I bit my tongue.

 

“First,” she said, “we’ve probably been lax.  How do we know you’re who you say you are?  The enemy sets clever traps these days.”

 

“I don’t know how to convince you.  I’m just a farm boy—not highbred folk like you.  My Grandfather left a little six months ago with companions named Gearon and Nightshade.  I knew nothing of them before they knocked on our door.”

 

“So you’ve said,” she answered.

 

“The time line is right, Lyndar.  I think we can trust him,” Lord Ev’n said.

 

The light dimmed around our circle until a man, Breon of Syming Town, snapped his fingers, and a glow erupted from top of his staff.  He planted it in the middle of our circle.  There was no warmth, just a cold pinkish glow.  I’d heard about magic.  Grandfather had even showed me a couple of things.  I remembered the scrolls and potions I had taken from his chest.  Maybe they contained magic.

 

I pulled one of the scrolls from my backpack.

 

“My Grandfather taught me to use some of these scrolls.  Maybe if I use it, it will prove to you he gave them to me,” I said.

 

“Put it away.  I see Widseth’s mark on it.  Either you stole it from him, or he gave it to you.  I suppose he gave it to you,” she said.  “You don’t have a clue what it is, do you?”

 

“Well I just the scrolls my Grandfather left for me.  I didn’t look at them very closely.”

 

Lyndar laughed.

 

“Well, it would be useful if you wanted to turn that stone over there into a lump of quivering flesh.”

 

I slipped the scroll back into the pack.  I knew my face must be beet red.  The evening darkness had my gratitude.

 

“About Nightshade?” I asked.

 

“Lord Ge’org?  With your permission,” she asked.

 

“Tell the boy what he thinks he needs to know.”  Lord Ge’org stood and walked away from the light toward the mouth of the hidden valley.

 

“Never mind him.  Tell the tale,” one of the men said.

 

Lyndar licked her lips and rubbed her hands together.

 

“As you surmised, Gearon, Widseth, and Nightshade arrived in Greyhawk about a month ago.  Many years ago, before your birth they had been companions.  To most of the common folk of Greyhawk their names had slipped into the realm of memories.  But there they were—heroes of bygone decades, striding through the gates.  I think everyone knew then that the rumors about the war were true.”

 

I sat cross-legged on a stump, and pulled my cloak tighter, hungering for news from her tale.

 

“Of course they approached the Greyhawk Council of Lords the first morning they arrived.  Only a few wanted to believe the tales that came to the council.  Most wanted to continue to ignore the warning signs,” Lyndar paused and considered her words.   
 
”Many felt suspicious of Gearon because most of the Lords and Ladies of Greyhawk knew that Gearon’s wife and daughter had been slain years before by the evil minions of Iuz.  His only son, Grimwood, had already enrolled in clerical training and was not in the village during the attack.  After his wife and daughter’s deaths Gearon turned to the study of religion and united himself with the Order of Shadows, withdrawing from the normal course of society.  Many on the Council felt his tales were influenced by his hatred of the minions of Iuz,”

 

I noticed that all of the others nodded as if to give ascent to Lyndar’s words.

 

“In that battle Gearon had saved his village, but at great cost.  It is said that he pried the great mace he carries from the hand of a hill giant shaman, and it bestows great power especially against the undead.  The mace was not of giant make, and no one knows the hand that forged it, but I’ve seen Gearon wield it, and whoever forged it, made it for Gearon’s hand.  I’ve been in his company.  He is a dark and lonely man.  His only joy is his friendship with Nightshade and Widseth.  Nightshade is like a daughter to him, and Widseth has guarded his back more than once.  He seldom visits his son, Grimwood, who is of a clerical order in the West.  Grimwood himself is a mysterious man who haunts the forestland and avoids the settled areas.”

 

Lyndar paused and took a sip of water from her water flask.  She brushed her blonde hair out of her eyes and continued.

 

“Nightshade’s word is not trusted by the Council, even though she is classed as a Lady of Greyhawk.  On the surface she runs a respectable trading business, but none can deny she is a master of shadows, and her ears are everywhere present in the city.  She knows when the newest child is born and when the latest goods enter a merchant’s store.  She often disappears for months or years.  Until she entered the city with Gearon and Widseth, no one admitted seeing her for over three years.  Respectable folk are slow to trust a woman given to so much secrecy.”

 

“What is the message they brought to the Council?” I asked.

 

Lyndar and the others laughed. 

 

“You are a direct young man.  Lord Ev’n was there.  He can share their message.” 
 

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Chapter Five – “Hope For the Lost”

  

Lord Ev’n pursed his lips.

 

“It’s summed up in one word,” he said.  “War.”

 

“There must be more,” I said.

 

“Indeed.”  He stared at me with piercing but kind eyes.  I sensed great sorrow in his posture and voice.  “In the council we were not blind, but . . . how should I say it?  I think we wanted to be blind.  We wanted to say—‘not in our time.’  But there they were—standing before us.  Not only did they bring tales, but they brought proof.”

 

Ev’n paused and pulled at his bottom lip.

 

“Of course we knew about border incursions by orcs and even scattered raiding parties of goblins led by hobgoblins and giants.  Gearon’s family had been killed by such.”

 

“My father died seven years ago at the hands of orcs,” I said.

 

“Yes, I remember that Widseth related that his son had been killed.  We grieve your loss.  We were not vigilant enough in the early years to stem the tide.  Now as the enemy closes on us, our vigilance pays little reward.”

 

Ev’n was silent for a moment.  It surprised me the show of reverence as each in the circle bowed their head to me and expressed grief.

 

It was spring, but the night air still had the chill feel of winter to it.  I rubbed my hands and blew into them.

 

“Sorry,” Breon, the mage, said.  “I can’t risk fire.  Your cloak will have to do.”

 

I nodded toward him.  “Thank you.  I’m fine.  Please continue, Lord Ev’n.  You said they brought proof.”  I took a bite of bread and chewed it slowly.

 

“Well, many adventurers had already arrived in Greyhawk.  The man known as Spellweaver brought evil tales from the south.  The rogue Enwii and his company of rascals from the East had been in the city from more than a month before you Grandfather and his friends arrived.  Enwii had brought stores of equipment and weapons that they offered to every common man.  This was very strange because Enwii was known as a shrewd trader—not one who lightly gives things away.”

 

Lyndar interrupted, “When asked about it, he simply said that he had seen the devastation in the east, and he wanted every man and woman to have a chance to defend themselves.”

 

“Why didn’t the council listen?” I asked.

 

“Tales—all tales.  Even when the druid Dougal appeared from the northern mountains, the council dismissed his words.  He is a learned man who has studied the stars and movements of the planets.  Searching ancient scrolls that he found in the ruins of Dale du Carboon, he found clues that the rise of two powers, unified as one, will destroy the world of men.”

 

“Two powers?” I asked.

 

Lord Ev’n cleared his throat.  “Not so fast, young one.  Each tale has its proper place and pace.”

 

“I’m sorry I interrupted.”

 

“Some on the council believed the signs, but not enough to do anything until Gearon, Widseth, and Nightshade arrived with proof.”  In the dim mage light Ev’n looked around the circle.  He last stopped and gazed at me.  Then he continued.

 

“The three companions had seen the scattered forces of the enemy gathering.  They did everything they could to delay and disrupt the foe’s plans.  They fired supply stocks, and killed messenger riders.  They were shadows in the night that probably gave Greyhawk an additional month to prepare, but Greyhawk did nothing.  We ate and drank and took our leisure while the outlands paid the price for our lethargy.

 

“But three couldn’t hold an army at bay.

 

“No,” he paused, “there were others who believed the danger to be real.  Most of them were outlanders, fighting for their homes.  Most never returned.  And still the council dallied.”

 

I shook my head.  “Begging your pardon, Master Ev’n, but it sounds as if the enemy had seats on the council.”

 

“You’re a shrewd young man.”

 

He smiled at me, but behind the smile, I could see pain.

 

“As the story goes, the three came upon a huge encampment.  Ever the daring one who has cheated death, Nightshade suggested that she try to enter the tent of the leaders and steal plans while they slept.  Gearon and Widseth knew she could do it, but they also knew her impetuous nature.  They insisted that they observe the camp all afternoon, watching the patrols and marking the weakness in the pickets.  Then they saw him.  He was a huge man—you might say a giant, but not really so.  All bowed to him.  He was the leader—no mistake.  Nightshade marked his tent.  As night fell she slipped unseen past the guards and into the Captain’s tent.  She gathered some letters and maps that she found on a table.  Then she saw something shiny on his hand.  If you know Nightshade, you know she can’t resist shiny things.”

 

Everyone in the circle laughed.  Evidently her penchant for shiny things was well known among these comrades.

 

“She had to have it, but in her eagerness she made a mistake and knocked a cup off the table.  The Captain woke and instinctively grabbed his sword, but she was quicker, and in an instant she drew her sword and struck a true blow into his heart.  He died without a sound.  She quickly cut his hand off and slipped into the darkness.  I don’t think even Nightshade realized the treasures she had acquired until she rejoined Gearon and Widseth.”

 

“The proof was the leader’s hand?” I asked.

 

“No, the maps and letters would have been convincing enough, but it was the ring on his hand—the ‘shiny’ that had attracted Nightshade’s attention that stunned the council.  It was a signet ring for Iuz.  The ancient evil had once again found followers and allies.  When Nightshade presented the ring to the council, tales turned into reality.”

 

I fell asleep that night curled around my backpack, covered by my cloak.  My thoughts before sleep revolved around the strange and terrifying world that I had enter. 
 

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Chapter Six – “Hope For the Lost” 

I awoke with a start.  The loamy aroma of early spring invigorated me.  Birds chattered in treetops, and I could hear the hum of insects.  Somehow nature ignored all the impending disasters spoken of the previous evening.  I was alone.  They had left me.  When I surveyed the glen, I spied a small man walking toward me.  I sensed nothing to fear from him.  It is hard to describe, but he just seemed to belong there.  His attire blended with the surroundings almost perfectly. 

“Hello.  Beautiful mornin’ for sleepin’,” he said. 

I thought it a very strange comment after the battle yesterday and the tales told the night before. 

“It is.  Do I know you?” I asked. 

“No, but your friends told me I could find you here.  I live in these hills.  I know all the back trails.” 

“Maybe you’re the ranger the peddler told me to find.”  I’d never seen anything like this little man.  He stood at most four feet tall.  He wore no shoes and his feet were covered with wiry hair.  I could tell a small pack was under his cloak, and a short sword hung at his side.  He carried a bow in one hand with a quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder. 

“Peddler . . .?  Oh, the peddler.  Yes, mysterious fellow he is.”  Then the little man winked at me like I should get some joke.  “By the way, you are the grandson of Widseth, and you are going to Greyhawk, right?  If not, I may have to kill you.”  He laughed so hard that I thought he might lie down on the ground and start to roll around. 

“Yes.  You seem to know a lot about me and my business, and I know nothing of you.” 

“So sorry.  I’m called Stew the Halfling.  I know it is a silly nickname that my mother gave me, because I liked stew so much.  I mean what can be better than taters and carrots with a mushroom or two slow cooked with a bit of beef or taste of pork or maybe even a side of rabbit?”  He stopped talking as if he had revealed too much information. 

“Halfling?  What . . .?” 

His laughter rang through the morning air again. 

“I see you are not acquainted with the little folk.  We may be small in stature, but our swords bite deep.” 

Once again he laughed.  I feared that the noise might bring some of the servants of Iuz.  Stew noticed my concerns. 

“No worries, boy.  My friends would warn me if enemies were near.”   

He tilted his head back and whistled upward into the morning air.  A hawk descended and landed on his leather-clad arm.  Stew uttered an unintelligible sound that I can best describe as a skree with varied pitches.  The hawk lifted into the air and circled high above. 

Before I left the farm, I had never imagined the varied races or the extraordinary powers in the wide world.  This man—halfling—could talk to animals. 

I swallowed hard, “The peddler told me that you could show me a hidden way into Greyhawk.  I need to find my grandfather.” 

“I’ve friends who can get you to Greyhawk, but Widseth may not be there.” 

“I have to find him.  In a dream I saw he was in trouble.” 

“These days he is often in trouble.  No mistake about that.  It’ll take time for you to take the back trails to the city.  The enemy’s army has just about cut off all the main roads.  I fear the siege engines may be pounding the walls by the time you arrive.” 

He turned and began walking toward the uphill slope.  I knew he expected me to follow. 

For two days we climbed higher into the hills.  Stew told me little more concerning Greyhawk.  He either knew nothing or was unwilling to share.  I thought the latter to be the case, but he spoke freely about the forest and all the creatures.  I loved to listen to him talk about the animals, and food, of course food.  The first night Stew lit a fire, and I tasted his stew.  I could not ask for any better at a king’s table. 

As evening approached on the second day, I noticed a stone house set against a slate cliff.  Thin wisps of smoke curled from the chimney and dissipated into the evening air. 

“Good, they’re here,” Stew said.  It was the first time he had spoken in two hours.  Most of his silent time, he had spent ‘adjusting’ the trail.  At least that is what he called it.  It slowed us, but when he was finished, no one could tell there was a trail or that anyone had passed that way. 

“Who’s here?” I asked. 

“The ones who’ll take you to Greyhawk.  I can’t leave the forest and my animals.  We’ll do our fighting here.” 

Waves of sadness hit me.  I had grown fond of the little man who knew everything as far as I could tell about the forest.  Within minutes we had entered the home.  Fire burned in the fireplace, but no one was present.  I looked around, surprised to see no one there.  Stew walked over to the wall and pushed a little outcropping.  A stone door swung on hidden hinges revealing a much larger secret chamber within the rock cliff itself.  Three people sat in comfortable chairs around the fire in the inner chamber.  The stone door snapped shut behind us, and two men rose to greet us. 

One of the men wore red robes with several symbols stitched into the cloth.  He leaned on a staff.   The other stood tall.  He wore soft leather clothing.  I could see armor and weapons on a hanger in the corner.   

An old woman remained seated.  Her white hair accented the beautiful cream-colored robes she wore.  A holy symbol on a delicate silver chain hung around her neck, but the most distinctive thing about her was the gauze bandage covering her eyes.  I could hardly look away from her.  Even though her face and hands were wrinkled beyond anything I had seen, she almost glowed as if she were the last ray of the sunset. 

The man with the staff extended his hand toward me. 

“Welcome and well met.  We’ve been expecting you.” 
 

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Chapter Seven – “Hope For the Lost” 

"I am Davic of Seymouria. This is my companion the ranger Himdillion.”

I bowed to the men, but continued to stare at the old woman. Davic noticed my interest.

“Her name is Candis the Blind Wanderer. She’s a priestess of Pelor, and the lone survivor from the haunted monastery that sits above Greyhawk. Her age has limited her travels of late, and she spends most of her time here with Stew. She’s not spoken in six years.”

Something warm and inviting touched my heart. I walked over to Candis and knelt before her. Unerringly she reached toward me with her right hand and extended her index finger. It seemed to me that a filigree of light flowed from my forehead into her finger. After a moment the light dissipated.

“The light tells me you are a good boy. Perhaps you will be believed. I left the mark of Pelor on your forehead for those to see, at least those who can see in this evil day.”

Stew dropped the metal bowl he had just begun filling with food. I looked to see the problem. The surprise on Davic’s face mirrored Himdillion. Both men rushed to her side. Stew sauntered over and stood next to me.

“So you can talk,” he said. “And I suppose you can hear too?”

“Of course I can hear, little man,” she said with a puzzled tone.

“But you haven’t spoken for six years.”

“I’ve had nothing worth saying, and no one worth saying it to.” A pleasant smile spread across her wrinkled face.

“And I suppose you can see, and just haven’t bothered to tell us.”

Stew’s familiar banter with the old woman surprised me. Davic and Himdillion appeared to esteem her with profound reverence.

“No, I can’t see, but I found a long time ago that seeing interferes with hearing evil creep into your life. I’ve been listening to the evil for six years if you must know, and now it is time to speak before I join my brothers and sisters in Pelor’s light. My voice must avenge the pain they have endured since the ‘killing day.”

Himdillion put his hand on her shoulder, “M’lady, it may be too late. We came here to warn Stew, that the enemy is closing. Even the mountain passes and trails are watched. Anyone outside Greyhawk will find it difficult to enter now. The enemy has laid siege. Fearsome creatures haunt the nights and evil men patrol the days.”

“And yet none of you see the real danger,” she said.

“The city is strong. The walls are made from the bones of the mountains. It is well defended now that the warning has been heeded. Greyhawk has survived before, and it will survive again. We will endure,” Davic said.

“Strength of arms alone will not defeat this enemy. Last night, my mother appeared to me in a dream. She gave me a riddle to deliver to the council. She said:

They’ll ride the storm secure and proud,

Greyhawk shall stand and shout aloud.

The foe will flee before their might,

Until eight legs emerge at night.

From the depths they will come

In stealth and silence with no drum.

The treachery has now begun,

The city’s guard is soon undone.”

“But how can this be?” Himdillion asked.

“The council of Greyhawk ignored the warnings, until Iuz’s army approached. How would they ever believe the treachery that lies beneath the stones of their city? Treachery . . . that same as when I was a child at the monastery,” she replied.

Her voice drew me into a dreamy trance. I knew I had to get this news to my grandfather, but how, and what would I tell him?

Lady Candis stood and leaned on a cane. “It was eighty years ago. I was ten. We had just harvested the grapes from the vineyards. Pelor smiled upon us that year. It was a bountiful crop. Wine filled the storage vats to bursting. I remember my father saying that the light of Pelor was spreading throughout the land because of the tireless work of his sons and daughters. For two weeks we prepared for the harvest feast, and all of us who lived inside the village at the monastery’s gates looked forward to seeing Pelor’s Orb once again. It was only brought out once per year during this festival, and every year I felt my soul replenished from its bright glow. All the brothers and sisters had returned from their travels and were gathered to celebrate the bounty of the monastery. The day dawned beautiful. Pelor’s light shined brightly and warmed our spirits. Every table in the monastery was spread with delicious foods in the gardens between the sanctuary and the wall. As a child, I could not imagine a happier time.”

She paused to clear her throat. When she looked in my direction, I knew she could see me through the white gauze that covered her eyes. I could feel the pain she had suffered.

“Please continue. I’ve never heard this account before.”

“You’ve the thirst your grandfather has for new tales. May you keep this story alive to tell your grandchildren,” she said.

I sensed great sorrow, and yet hope in her words.

She continued, “Everyone looked forward to the ritual toast to Pelor. The Founders had declared the a new wine would be used that day. All except those who were serving and helping with the children raised their glasses. I knew something was wrong when Father began gagging. Others began to cough and wheeze. The poison was deadly. Mother tried to cast a spell to help Father, but it was too late. A cloud covered the sun and the light of Pelor dimmed. All who had tasted the wine died horrible deaths. It is said that Pelor brings hope to the lost, but there was no salvation that day. Only death.”

She then cleared her throat – giving herself time to gather her emotions.

“And then they came. Ghastly creatures. I don’t know what they were. There were many different kinds. All the monks at the monastery trained as fighters, but any left alive had neither weapons nor armor with them at the feast. One of the creatures seized me and carried me into the gatehouse room attached to the wall. I fought as best I could, but it plucked my eyes out and would surely have killed me if my mother had not entered and slain it with her bare hands. Hiding me in a closet with a secret door, she cast a spell on me to ease my pain, and closed the door. I heard more grotesque creatures enter as she tried to bar the outer door, and then I heard the screams and moans of my friends and family dying. As sons and daughters of Pelor we had never been taught about such treachery. Stew’s father found me several days after the slaughter. None had survived except me, and all the dead had their eyes plucked out.”

I swallowed hard. Having lost my father, I understood a little of her pain. “I’m so sorry. If there is anything I can do . . .”

“The monastery was sealed. No one has entered since. It has been said that the Founders made a prideful sin when they followed their own hearts and used the wrong wine at the ceremony. Many say that Pelor was angered by their foolishness and that he has forsaken the monks. How those monsters appeared at the worst possible time is a great mystery. I know that were evil incarnate and not of Pelor. I suspect treachery was afoot.”

She then tilted her head up – as if looking up at something through her sightless eyes.

“I used to wander up there, but I never entered. Sometimes Mother visits me. She says that the spirits of those murdered on that day so long ago still walk the halls. Some spirits despair that Pelor abandoned them that fine morning, and they have turned from his light. Now they search the dark corridors and rooms with minds of destructions and evil. Other dark and loathsome things have moved into the monastery and into the caverns beneath. I am the last of the acolytes who walked those halls in life, and I do not choose to return. When I last saw Gearon, he told me that he suspected that the filth of Iuz had entered the Sanctuary and is now using the monastery as command post. Perhaps Iuz himself has been bold enough to take up residence in what was once a Pelor haven. I think he enjoys the grief and despair that hangs in the very air.”

Lady Candis then slowly turned to me and I felt her stare grab my utter attention.

“May the light of Pelor guard you, young one, and may the Lords of Greyhawk take the message seriously.”

I nodded in her direction. She reached out and touched my forehead. I felt the warmth of her finger.

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Chapter Eight – “Hope For the Lost” 

We left Candis sitting by the fire and exited the hidden room.  Each of us took a seat around the table, and Stew brought some cheese and hard bread from the pantry

“Even if we leave tonight and avoid the enemy patrols, we can’t make it to the city for at least three days under the best of conditions.  And that’s if we use the horses.  Instead of avoiding patrols, we’ll be running from them,” said Himdillion.

Stew took his time munching a cracker before he spoke, “My friends have reported that the main body of the enemy’s army will be in position to launch the assault by the evening of the day after tomorrow.  Even if patrols are avoided, there will be no getting in or out of Greyhawk.  The last of the out companies are racing ahead of the onslaught before the gates close.  Or so say my hawks.”

Stew froze.  He cocked his ear toward the door.  I could hear a ruckus outside, but in the time it takes an adder to strike its prey, Stew’s face changed from concern to a smile.

In a low voice he said, “He thinks he is going to surprise us.  Try to act surprised.” 

I tried to fit his remarks into some sort of sense, but the others around the room smiled.  They didn’t even flinch when a roar sounded outside the stone dwelling.

Davic spoke, containing a laugh, “He is trying the polymorph thing again, probably a bear.  I told him he didn’t have enough experience yet.”

“You have to admire his pluck.  Nothing’s too hard for him . . . at least in his mind,” Himdillion said.

“Who are you talking about?” I asked.

Stew walked over to the door and opened it wide.  A burly man blocked the fading light from outside.  He shook his head back and forth as if trying to clear cobwebs from his face.

“I think I am getting the hang of it,” he said.

“Come in and sit with us,” Stew said.  The man stepped through the doorway.  He wore a tattered cloak, but when he threw the hood back I saw an intricate helm and breastplate that looked like it was made of some sort of fine leather.  It took a minute for me to realize that the material matched the shield strapped to his back.  It glistened in the light like snakeskin, but then I realized that the scales were far too large for any snake.

“Hello,” he boomed.  “You must be the grandson of Widseth.  I’m Ste’Ele, keeper of the Eindy Forest.” 

I stared.  He strode through the doorway like a legend from an ancient scroll.  I nodded to him.

“Yes, I’m Widseth’s grandson, at your service.”  I meant my words declaring service, because beneath the tattered cloak, the man exuded wealth.  He had to be a Lord of Greyhawk.

“I’m glad you’re here, Ste’Ele,” Himdillion said.  “The roads to Greyhawk are all watched, and Candis tells us that we must get this boy to into the city.”

“She’s speaking now?” Ste’Ele asked.

“Yes, but that’s not the point,” Davic replied.  “We must get the boy past the enemy’s patrols.  I’ve been searching my scrolls and training books.  I’m afraid I don’t have enough experience to teleport him into the city.”

“Have you had any success in teleporting anything?” Ste’Ele asked?

“Well, I’ve been able to open portals, but my paths have never been any longer than ten feet. Do you have any ideas?” Davic asked.

“I’ve experimented with plant travel, but with no success.  But I do have the components necessary.  It’s just the conjuration itself that baffles me—even more than trying to polymorph into a bear,” Ste’Ele said.

Davic scratched his head.  He pulled at his lower lip and looked up at the ceiling.

“Do you think we might somehow combine our disciplines?  Perhaps I could open a gate and your components might pave the path, but how could we be sure he would get to Greyhawk?” Davic asked.

“We sure don’t want him stuck in a tree root somewhere between here and there.”

“Stuck in a tree root?” I asked.

“Just a figure of speech,” Ste’Ele said, in a less than convincing tone.

 I didn’t like the direction this conversation was taking.  My grandfather had taught me about spell casting, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to be the first experiment for the combined spell of two casters, neither of whom could cast either spell they were trying to combine.

“Faith,” a voice said from behind us.

I turned around.  Candis had silently joined us from the inner room.

“Young one, you must have faith.  The light of Pelor will guide you.”  She removed a beautiful amulet from the collar of her robe and pinned it to my tunic.

“Davic.  Open your portal,” she said.  “Ste’Ele toss your components into the portal as soon as it is open.  Stew, you need to gather his belongings.  Young man, when I tell you, you must enter the portal. 

Stew handed me my travel pack, sword, and cloak.  I took a hard swallow.  All of a sudden I wasn’t so sure I needed to get to Greyhawk, but the blind cleric motioned for me to come to her.  She took her aged finger and touched my forehead again.

“The mark of Pelor will afford you some protection.  Others who can see the mark will assist you.  I have impressed the message to the council in your memory.  At the proper time you’ll be able to give them warning.  Are you ready to enter Greyhawk?”

“Yes.”  I didn’t know why I said that, but she instilled confidence.  I turned to watch Davic.  A glowing doorway began to form in the wall of the stone house.  Ste’Ele threw a pouch into the opening.  Candis put her hand on my shoulder and walked with me toward the aperture.  She stretched her other hand toward the portal.  It was imperceptible at first, but her hand began to glow and then light poured like a torrent into the fissure that Davic had opened.

“Pelor’s light will carry you.  Quickly now.  No hesitation.”

I looked at Himdillion, Stew, Ste’Ele, Davic, and Candis before stepping into the doorway.  Terror gripped me as it snapped shut behind me.  I remembered thinking that I should have thanked them, but I careened crazily though a world of roots, branches, grass, and moss completely encased in a frenzied flow of light.  I could see little and remembered almost nothing when I stumbled into a stone wall and bowled over a man who was kneeling inspecting the axle of a cart.

I don’t know how long I was there, but I couldn’t get up from my back.  It felt like I had been sleeping on a bed of cobblestones.  A man hovered over me.  He smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand.

“Where did you come from?”

“Is this Greyhawk?” I asked.

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Chapter Nine – “Hope For the Lost” 

“Are ya all right?”  The brawny man reached down and pulled me to my feet.  He smacked his palm to his forehead again.

“Ya bowled me over, but when ya kept layin’ there like that, I thought I’d kilt ya.  I didn’t even see ya.  It was like you just jumped out of that wall at me.”

I realized that I had probably come through the vines growing on the wall.  I couldn’t imagine the process that Davic, Ste’Ele, and Candis had used to send me here.  Then I remembered that they probably didn’t know the process.

“I think I’m ok,” I said.  “Is this Greyhawk?”

“Well, if it’s not, I brought a lotta stuff to the wrong besieged city.”

As I rose to my feet, I looked past the man.  Seven carts plied high with all sorts of equipment, weapons, and armor trailed along the road between the high wall and buildings.  Hirelings struggled to raise three of the carts to replace damaged wheels and axles.  On the side of the front cart “Sir Smakalot’s Emporium” had been detailed in gold paint.  He saw me inspecting his wares.

“Do you need anything?  This is my third load, and I have everything you might need for the coming siege.”

“No, just some information,” I said.

“I’ve got rations, water skins . . . beautiful water skins, lots of ‘em, scrolls, oils, salves, swords, armor.  Whatever you need.” 

Then he turned away from me and spoke to the air, as if someone were standing next to him.  “I’m making a deal here right now.  Can you wait a minute?  Yes, yes.  I’ll be right with you.”

“Sir, who are you speaking with?” I asked.

“Well, she is shy.  Only a few people can see her, but she is . . . well, you know, my uh . . . sweetheart.  Never mind her . . . we’re about to strike a deal.  What is it your need?”

“I think I’m good on equipment, but I need information.”

“Oh, rumors, yes I have lots of those too.”

“No!  Information.  I need to find my grandfather, Widseth, and his companions, Gearon and Nightshade.  A cleric named Candis sent me to give a message to the Council.  Can you help me?”

The man stared at me.  “You’ve serious business indeed.  The Council is scattered.  I suggest you search for a gnome named Ektdar.  He will probably be able to help you because in the days ahead, I’m not sure the Council of Lords will be able to meet before the storm overtakes them.  Ektdar is one of the leading Lords in the city.”

“Thank you, kind sir.  And my Grandfather?”

“Ah, yes.  I saw Widseth, Gearon, and Nightshade, but they weren’t alone.  Kithren Bloodwood was there as well as the ranger Apteryx and Dougal of the mountains.  They were waiting for Spellweaver.  And if Widseth is your grandfather, then your grandmother was there also, dressed in shining armor with the symbols of Pelor adorning her shield.  I see you are marked with his symbols also.”  He stared at my forehead.

“My grandmother?  How could that be?”

“She arrived here two days ago ahead of the storm.  I saw the lot of ‘em in the Twelve Sister’s Tavern.  That is an evil place.  I was there for my own business, but I hate going there.  They always have rats in the basement, and I hate rats.  Don’t want nothin’ to do with ‘em.”

“How can I find this Twelve Sister’s Tavern?”

“Don’t go there.  There’s somethin’ wrong there I tell ya,” he said.   “Find Ektdar first.  He’s hard to find, but that would be best.”

I started away from the man.

“Thank you for your help,” I said.  “Good luck with all your goods.”

“Thanks.  Wait a minute, there is someone who can help you—over there near that side street.  See that woman.  If anyone can help you, I’m sure she can.”

I looked in the direction he pointed.  A blonde woman carrying a young girl scurried from shop to shop looking in the windows as if searching for someone.  I thanked the man and walked toward the woman.  As I approached, I could hear her.

“Drakis, get out of that barrel!  You never know what your father might have put in there.”

“No worries, Mom.  I think it’s just a small duck.”

“What have we told you—never pick up a duck.  You know your father.  Bad things go along with ducks.  I’m going to need your help with Averii.  This place is just a madhouse, and I can never find your father when I need him.”

“Ma’am!  Could I be of some assistance?” I asked.

The woman turned and looked at me.  She smiled and composed herself. 

“No, thank you.  I’m doing fine.  Just misplaced a husband for a while.  That’s all.”  She rolled her eyes.

“The man down the street told me that you might be able to help me.  I’m looking for my Grandfather, Widseth, and his companions, and a gnome named Ektdar.”

Her face clouded over.  She held her daughter tighter.  Her son stood silent behind her.

“I can’t tell you much, but you can probably find Ektdar either in the Green Griffin Tavern or just outside in the street.  He trades trinkets there certain times of the day.  As far as Widseth and his companions . . . I know they entered the Twelve Sisters Tavern, but no one has seen them since.  Ektdar might be your best source.  He has ways of finding people.”

“Thank you,” I said.  “Which direction is the Green Griffin Tavern?”

“Go down four streets and turn to the right.  Go another five or six blocks and you will see it on the left.  Ask for the Pixie.  She can help you with most anything.”

As I walked away, I heard her telling her son to get out of the rain barrel again. I wondered where her husband might be.  Hopefully they wouldn’t be separated for long by the coming war.

All the talk of Pelor and Iuz confused me.  I had heard of both, but had considered them just legends, but everyone seemed to be convinced they were real.  One thing was for sure.  An army surrounded the city now, and every person I passed, including the armed militia who hurried to and fro, wore faces that barely disguised the terror that crept through the city.  It was like an unseen vine sending tendrils through the streets grasping the courage of every person and sucking it dry.

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Chapter Ten – “Hope For the Lost” 

I followed the directions the blonde woman had given me.  The sun had set and watchmen began to light lanterns along the walls of the buildings and the outer walls of the city.  Heavy vapors threaded through the night air, and amid the strong smell of smoke, frantic people thronged the streets, scurrying in every direction as if the morning might not come.  Every few minutes armed patrols marched down the streets.  Many of the men looked like hardened warriors, but others had the look of a shopkeeper or farmer.  Their armor didn’t fit quite right, or they held their weapons as if they were unfamiliar encumbrances.  In ten minutes of walking the streets, I felt more fear and sorrow than I had felt in my entire lifetime.  I knew I had to find Ektdar and soon.

“Hey, boy.  Come here.”  The tap on my shoulder and the voice startled me.  I turned to the speaker.  A beautiful woman with milky white skin contrasted by raven black hair confronted me.

“You look like you’re an adventuresome type,” she said.  “Maybe you could help me.” She stood in the open doorway of a large tavern.  I could hear laughter and singing from inside.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I have to find someone.  I’ve no time,” I said.

“Too bad.  The reward would be great, and it’s just a few rats,” she said.

Rats.  Rats.  Someone had said something about rats.  I looked up at the sign for the tavern.  The Twelve Sisters Tavern.  I had been warned more than once about this place.  I knew my grandfather and grandmother had been seen in this place, but something urged me to leave—not only urged but demanded.  A spot on my forehead began to burn.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t delay,” I said.  I scanned the street and saw the sign for the Green Griffon Tavern a scant three block from where I stood.

“No worries.  There are others who will help a poor honest woman trying to serve the best of Greyhawk,” she said.  The woman stared at my forehead with disgust.  The way she kept looking at me reminded me of something sinister, but it escaped my mind for the moment.  She kept rubbing her hands together.  Then I remembered what she reminded me of.  Once when I was younger I watched a spider entrap an insect in its web.  It felt like the woman was spinning a web to ensnare me. 

I and headed at a quickstep to the Green Griffon.  I hope that either my Grandfather would be there or I would find the man named Ektdar.  As I entered the Green Griffon tavern all the boisterous undercurrent of noise died to silence as a well dressed man began to sing a wonderful melody.

How many times will her story be sung
At campfires throughout the land?
And how many times will men search for her
And find she’s a ghost in the sand?
Yes, how many times will her blade bite deep
And scar her foes like a brand?
The answer my friend is Nightshade’s dream
To be like smoke in the wind.

How many time in silence will she
Tread dungeon halls without rest?
And how many times will she open the lock
And find hidden gems in a chest?
Yes how many times will she safely return
And hide all the shinies in her nest?
The answer my friend is Nightshade’s dream
To be like smoke in the wind.

How many times will she cheat death’s hand
And leave him standing alone?
And how many times will she rescue her friends
And help them return to their home?
Yes how many years will Greyhawk be blessed
To know her as their own?
The answer my friend is Nightshade’s dream
To be like smoke in the wind.

The answer my friend is Nightshade’s dream
To be like smoke in the wind.

 

I hurried over to the man.  He bowed to the assembled crowd, doffing his very fine hat.

“Who are you?” I asked.  “Do you know where Nightshade is?”

He smiled at me kindly.  “I am Codee de la Emyu.  I sing another man’s song to honor him and to salute the honor of Nightshade herself.  The bard, Widseth, wrote this song for his dear friend.  He called it the Canticle for Nightshade.  Widseth and his wife were here early last night with his friends, Nightshade, Gearon, Spellweaver, Dougal, Aptyrx, and Kithren Bloodwood.  A man who calls himself Bloodwolf joined them late, but he brought with him a monk of Pelor from a monastery far to the south.  The monk had been searching for a way into the forbidden monastery on the mount outside the city.”

He signaled me to sit with him at a table against the wall.  “Is that enough information for your young mind?” he asked. 

“Widseth is my grandfather,” I said.  “I’m trying to catch up to him.  I have to warn him. . .”  I stopped short.  I did not want to reveal too much to this man who seemed so friendly.  I did not know who to trust.  He seemed to ignore my hesitation.

“I guessed as much.  You have his look about you, and I heard you were trying to find him, but I fear you’ve missed him.”  Codee said.  “Shortly after Bloodwolf and the monk arrived last night, Spellweaver and your grandmother left with the monk.  After some terse discussion the rest of them bid farewell to the Pixie and left.  I have it on good account that they went to the Twelve Sisters Tavern.  That is a bad place.  There are stories about people who go missing there.”

“So I have heard,” I said.  “Do you know where I might find a man named Ektdar?”

“You’re in luck.  That’s him over there by the counter talking with the Pixie.”

“Thank you, thank you.”  For the first time in several days I felt like there might be a ray of hope to help my grandfather and his friends.  I shook the man’s hand.

“You’ve a wonderful voice,” I said.  I’m sure my grandfather and Nightshade would be pleased.” 

Codee appeared delighted, stood, and bowed with an extended flourish.  I nodded to him and walked toward the counter where Ektdar and the woman called the Pixie chatted.

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Chapter Eleven – “Hope For the Lost” 

I approached the table where the Pixie and Ektdar stood talking in hushed voices.

“Are you Lord Ektdar?” I asked.

The gnome turned and stared at me.

“Depends on who’s asking?” He paused. “Well, that’s not quite right. My identity doesn’t really depend on who’s asking. My identity’s always the same no matter who’s asking.”

The slender woman who had been called the Pixie laughed. Ektdar looked at her and made a face.

“What I meant to say is ‘Who is asking?’” he asked. At least I think he asked. It might have been a statement. I was a little confused by his logic, but then it kind of clicked into place. He looked me up and down.

“I’m…”

“Never mind. I know who you are. You’re Widseth’s grandson. Stew sent a message to tell me you would be here.”

That statement puzzled me. It couldn’t have taken me over a minute to travel from Stew’s sanctuary in the forest though the path that Davic, Ste’Ele, and Kandasea the blind priestess of Pelor had conjured. It had been maybe an hour at most from when I had almost bowled over Sir Smakalot near the outer wall. How could Stew have sent a message for Ektdar to expect me?

“Lord Ektdar, you seem to know a lot about me. What can you tell me of my grandfather and his companions?”

He looked up at the ceiling as if wondering how much to tell me.

“Young man,” he said. “You’ve come a long way, and your grandfather and grandmother have given much to Greyhawk. I suppose you deserve some answers.”

He pulled at his chin before continuing.

“For some time we have known that Iuz would strike us. From the time his minions destroyed the Monastery of Pelor outside our fair city, we knew he was planning an assault. We have our spies, and the information brought to the council of nobles by your grandfather, Gearon, and Nightshade confirmed our suspicions. While some members of the council delayed action, others, like myself, advocated swifter measures. Our faction suspected that Iuz might have allies within the council, but we also suspected a darker ally.”

“Lady Kandasea’s message. She told me to bring it to the council,” I said.

“Keep your voice down,” Ektdar hissed. He looked around. “Even here we are not totally safe.”

I looked around the tavern. Many groups of hardened adventures sat at the tables. I could usually tell them by their trades, and I recognized wizards, clerics, brawny types with fearsome weapons, men and women who kept to the shadows dressed much like Nightshade, and holy warriors with various symbols of their gods. Lord Ge’org sat at a table with two young men who looked enough like him to be his sons.

“Share her message quietly,” Lord Ektdar said.

“Yes sir,” I said. “The Lady Kandasea said that her mother brought it to her in a dream. She said:

They’ll ride the storm secure and proud,
Greyhawk shall stand and shout aloud.
The foe will flee before their might,
Until eight legs emerge at night.

From the depths they will come
In stealth and silence with no drum.
The treachery has now begun,
The city’s guard is soon undone.”

I could see his hand begin to shake. He turned to the Pixie.

“We’ve guessed right. Your brother, Gearon, was right to push the issue. I thought maybe we’d moved too quickly, but now with this, I see we’re almost too late,” Ektdar said.

“What are you talking about?” I asked. The message made no sense to me.

“Look around you,” he said. Most every man and woman here has responded to undertake the task we have set to discover Iuz’s hidden ally. We’ve suspected for some time that Iuz would not dare act alone. Heroes will defend our walls, but the heart of Greyhawk are the men and women here tonight in the Green Griffon, poised against all odds to enter the unknown and risk their all to save our city.”

I scanned the faces around the tavern. I could read stories in their faces. Some were seasoned veterans. Others had traces of fear and awe in their demeanors. They were unsure recruits drawn by the lure of adventure, but willing to risk their lives. I could tell that these few gathered here might be the last defense of Greyhawk.

“They must be famous folks, for sure,” I said.

“Some are and some aren’t,” Ektdar replied. Some have adventured together for years, and others just showed up, hoping in some way to help. See there—Lord Speakman, Lady Bridgette, Creigh of the Elves, and even Lord Arcbat are training some of the newcomers.”

“Training?”

“Your message from Kandasea has verified our fears. We’ll need men and women skilled in close combat situations. It’ll be very different from a large battlefield. Just the other day one our most revered mages, An’tnee, attempted a polymorph spell and Perkeo, the man over there coming in the door, stumbled in the path of the spell energy. The magical dwoemer ricocheted off the silver mug he was holding and hit the lovely Binia. The silver of the mug altered the spell, and she’s a horse now. There’s been no time to research a reversal, and no one has any idea how to undo the spell. Fortunately Sir Smakalot is taking good care of her until we can reverse the harm done. Can you see what might happen in close quarters without training?”

“I don’t see at all. Where will they be going?”

“The same place your grandfather and his companions have gone—to the heart of the enemy who will come from beneath. Who knows what will be found there? We took a chance when we sent them.”

“Lord Ektdar, you must help me get to my grandfather?”

“No. They’re a skilled party, but they’ll need all their skill and experience to survive. I cannot gamble on letting you interfere with their party. Your grandfather would tell you that the confirmation you have given us is more than enough. You’ve done well. If they fail we’ll send more to follow until we stop the darkness marching on us from below.”

A woman approached before I could say any more. She wore red feathers braided in her hair.

“Lord Ektdar,” she said. “The Lady Valkyre reminds you that everything is ready and you should return to your dwelling. Also a man, wishing to remain incognito, asked me to give you these items. He implored me to trade them for some boots of sure footing, if you still have a pair.”

Ektdar looked at the items. Then he pulled beautiful leather boots from beneath his cloak and handed them to the woman.

“Scarlet, take these to him.”

She thanked Ektdar and hurried over to a man standing in the shadows. I watched as he took them from her and bowed.

Strange music began to sound through the tavern. I looked, but I couldn’t determine the source.

“Come with me boy. We must hurry. It’s about to begin.”

As we exited the tavern at a quick step, I almost ran into my grandmother. I hardly recognized her dressed in beautiful battle armor, and a tall man in white robes with a symbol of Pelor embroidered on the collar stood behind her.

“Grandmother.” I threw my arms around her, but she pushed me back.

“Grandson, go with Ektdar now. I’ve no time to explain, but I’m safe. Your mother’s safe. I have much to do. We’ve no time for greetings. Go now.”

I realized something was happening much bigger than my concerns. I heard war horns in the distance from outside the city walls. I nodded to my grandmother and followed Ektdar.

The gnome’s pace surprised me. I could hardly keep up until he stopped at a blank wall. He pushed a couple of bricks in an odd sequence, and a small door opened into the cluttered shambles of a room. Lord Ektdar touched a metal plate on the wall and the room illuminated from glowing crystals. I drew my sword immediately and approached one of the corners of the room.

“What are you doing? Sheathe your sword,” he shouted in a commanding tone.

I halted. “Black snakes are coming out of the wall into the room.”

“Sheathe your sword,” he repeated. “They’re not alive, at least in the sense that you think.”

I knelt down and looked at them closely. There were myriads of them, long and thin strands. I could not see the beginning where they entered the room from the wall, but I could see that they entered into several chests, some of which looked like darkened glass mirrors until Ektdar touched them.

Subdued light burst forth. In the glass I could see eight unconscious figures in a cell. I spotted my grandfather’s lute along with a lot of gear on the other side of some bars. They had been captured.

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Chapter Twelve – “Hope For the Lost” 

I sucked air through my teeth and sat on a chair in front of the largest of the glass mirrors on the chests.  I could see my grandfather, Gearon, and Nightshade with five other figures collapsed on the floor of a cell.  Ektdar put his hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t worry about them.  They should wake soon.”  Even as he spoke, a woman I didn’t recognize moved her head back and forth and began to shake the others awake.  With practiced skill she inspected every corner of the cell.  Through the bars she could see all their weapons and equipment.

“That’s Kithren Bloodwood.  I figured she might awaken first.”

“How is it that I can see them and hear them?  Can they hear us?” I asked.

“No, they can’t hear us.  And as for us seeing them and hearing them, it’s by means of a magical device that I helped my father construct when I was young.  His mastery of magic surpassed any other mages of his day, and he assembled wonderful contrivances that still mystify scholars.  The black snakes, as you call them, feed the chest, and the images magically appear.”

“What good does it do for me to see my grandfather and not be able to help him?”

“Patience.  They need not help yet, and I’m now sure you would want to be there when they do.  If they can’t handle it, there are few who can.”

“Where they are?”

“In the basement of the Twelve Sisters tavern,” he said.

“That’s not far.  We could go help them.  I knew that woman at that tavern wasn’t to be trusted.”

Ektdar smiled at me.  “No one trusts the Widow Black and her daughters.  We have known for some time that she has a connection to the underworld—probably to the Spider Cult of Lolth.  Sadly, we believe that more than one citizen of Greyhawk has been duped by her and sacrificed to the darkness.  A few of us on the Council concocted a plan to test our theory that Iuz would seek Lolth’s aid to overthrow Greyhawk, but you brought the proof from Kandasea.  We guessed right.”

“You sent Grandfather and his companions to be sacrificed?”  I could hardly contain my anger.  I reached for my sword.

“Young one, they knew the plan.  They suggested the plan.  The Widow Black thinks she deceived them, but it is they who deceived her to enter the underground and stop the unholy alliance of Iuz and Lolth.”

“Gearon.  Wake up.”  The voice came from the box with the glass imagery.  The woman leaned down and shook him.

Gearon shook his head.  All the others had risen to their feet, but their equipment was out of reach on the other side of the bars.

“Give me a minute Kithren.  The room is still spinning.” Gearon said.

Nightshade reached through the bars, but her pouch was just out of reach on the top of a barrel.  “Is there anything in this cell we can use to reach my pouch?  I can pick the lock if I can drag it closer to me.”

A man near the corner of the cell started to laugh.

“Bloodwolf, quiet,” Gearon hissed.  “We don’t want to bring the guards.

The man named Bloodwolf held something in his hand.  “Look what the guards left behind.  Apteryx, what do you make of it?”  It was a small hand crossbow with three bolts.

Apteryx stared intently at the weapon.  “It’s drow make.  I’d stake my life on it.  Just as we thought, the evil Queen of the Demonweb Pits is involved.”

Another man said, “Here’s some twine, and look at this.  There’s a large rusty fish hook on one end.”

“Good find, Dougal,” Grandfather said.  “I think we can get that pouch of yours Nightshade.  Spellweaver, can you help Dougal untangle the twine and attach it to a bolt.”

“I think I see the plan,” Apteryx said.  “I’ll take the shot if no one minds.  I trained with a hand bow like this.  It was a while back, but it’s not a tough shot.  I’ll try to imbed the bolt in the crate above the pouch.  Then maybe we can snag it with that fish hook.”

“That should work.  Let’s move quickly.  The guards might return any time.” Nightshade said.  She nodded her head up and down, as if satisfied with the plan.

Ektdar and I watched as the man named Apteryx took the shot.  It was perfect.  He then threaded the twine through the fishhook eye and raised the line.  The hook slid toward the pouch.  He lowered the hook just as it reached the wooden handle of the pouch.  He adroitly caught the handle of the pouch with the hook.  Raising the pouch off the barrel, he then lowered the twine and the hood and pouch began sliding toward the bars. 

Nightshade reached through the bars and retrieved her lock picking tools.  Within a minute she had picked the lock and opened the cell door.  Quickly everyone retrieved their equipment and donned their armor. 

My heart soared when I saw Grandfather in shining mail.  After watching them retrieve the pouch and arm themselves, I knew Ektdar was right.  There is nothing I could do to help them.  I would only be a burden. 

As the others buckled armor and adjusted straps and shields, Nightshade and Spellweaver searched the cluttered room.

After a moment, Nightshade said, “As I suspected.  There is a hidden door here.”  Experience exuded from her demeanor.  “If we choose to enter this shrine, I’ll go first to watch for traps.  Kithren  . . . right behind me—then Bloodwolf and Apteryx.  Then Spellweaver and Widseth. Dougal and Gearon bring up the rear.  Be wary, if it is the Spider Queen, her minions will have no trouble hanging from the ceiling and striking us from behind in the dark.”

No one questioned her instructions, and all stepped forward through the doorway.  Dougal pulled the door closed behind him.

Within a few feet the party reached an intersection with three doors.  Nightshade and Apteryx inspected each doorway without touching anything.  Kithren and Bloodwolf watched with swords drawn.

“This one has a trap,” Nightshade announced, pointing to the door to the left.  “If either of the other doors is trapped, I can’t see the mechanism.”

An ethereal light coalesced into the shape of a man.  The figure said, “Choose quickly.  You have much to do or the doorway will close.  Be wary.”  The light dissipated.

Ektdar spoke to me, “Fortune smiles on us.  Emissaries of Pelor are with them.”

Spellweaver approached and studied the doorways.  He made a motion with his hands and runes appeared.  “Look at this Nightshade.  There are evil symbols here.  I suggest we take the other door.”

Nightshade tried the door handle.  It opened easily, and the party entered into a long room.  In the middle of the room a large scale stood atop a small pedestal on a table.  Colored egg shaped objects sat in depressions around the table.  At the end of the room a mystical archway enclosed a fiery doorway.  Widseth approached the doorway, but the heat drove him back.  Gearon inspected the wall of the room.  Four shields hung on each of the two side walls.  A skull symbol embossed each shield except one.  That shield had a spider on it.

A voice sounding as if it began in the empty darkness of the abyss sounded through the room.

“Greetings young two-legs. Long has the ancient race of spiders walked this world. Your race was but savages while we spiders had unlocked the secrets of magic, science and mathematics.  But in time, your race has grown more useful, and so I have constructed this shrine to find mortals worthy to serve me.   Since you do not wear the robes of the High Priestess, you must have mercilessly dispatched your elder and now you have entered to claim your birthright.  Well done.  It is good to see the strong assert their rightful place, but be warned that the trial that lies before is an exacting doom.  You must prove your worth to serve me, and thereby gain my gifts -- as well as an exit from this deadly proving ground.

Now you must seek to find the way to quench the flame that hinders your entrance.  One of the eggs before you is from a Water Naga, and the flame will be instantly destroyed when it is touched by this unique orb.  The other 23 eggs are from a Firehawk and they will explode if touched to the flame.  Note that the Water Naga egg is slightly heavier than the 23 others, and that you may only use the scales three times.  My 10 attendants in this room will avail you no protection from a blast.”

Gearon shuddered.  “I hate that voice.  It was the Spider Queen herself,” he whispered to Kithren.

“I wonder what she meant by ten attendants.  The only thing that would afford any protection would be the eight shields hanging on the wall—seven skulls and one spider,” Kithren replied.

Spellweaver and Dougal approached the scales and inspected the eggs.

Bloodwolf approached and asked, “How can we pick one egg out of twenty-four by using the scale only three times?”

“Dougal and the Weaver will figure it out.  I’m more interested in the chest over there.”  She approached the chest, knelt down, and quickly inspected the rusty lock.  Before anyone really noticed, she opened the lock, reached inside, and pocketed something that glimmered in the flame of the doorway.

Ektdar laughed out loud.  “That’s why she’s the master.  She loves the shiny things,” he said to me.

“But how will they choose the right egg?” I asked.

“Just watch.  I think Dougal has it figured already.  Watch and learn.”

I stared at the glass, as everyone gathered at the scales.

“I’ll make this brief,” Dougal said.  “We can use the scale three times.  If we divide the eggs into three groups, we can weigh two groups of eight eggs for the first try.  If one of those being weighed is heavier, then we know the Naga Egg is among those eight eggs.  If the weights are equal then we know the Naga Egg is with the eight that we didn’t weigh.”

“I see,” Widseth said.  “Then for the second weighing we take the heaviest group of eight and divide them into groups of three, three and two.  Once again if we weigh the two groups of three we will discover if the heaviest egg is among the groups of three being weighed or if it is one of the two left on the table.”

“Precisely,” Dougal said.  “Then the third weighing will tell which egg is the heaviest.”

Bloodwolf scratched his head.  “Numbers,” he said.  “I never understood them.”

“Don’t worry,” Grandfather said.  “If there is anything the druid Dougal understands, it’s numbers.  Our time’s short.  Proceed.”

I watched as they weighed the eggs.  Just as expected they found the Naga egg. 

Nightshade cradled it as the party fell in behind her.  She extended her hand into the fire.  The flames licked her hand without damage until the egg burst.  Mist filled the air and the archway hissed as the fire died.

Nightshade looked back at her companions.  “Time to go.  Everyone at the ready.”

The party began to file through the archway, when a woman materialized in the room.

“Hold for just a second,” she said.  The party turned and smiled at her, and a brilliant light flashed.

“Thank you,” she said before dematerializing.

I turned to Ektdar.  “Who was that woman?”

“Ignore the woman,” he said.  “She’s not there.  I mean she’s there, but no one sees her.  She works with me.  She’s . . . well making a historical record of sorts.  Yes, that’s it she’s making a record.”

I shook my head and looked back at the glass.

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Chapter Thirteen – “Hope For the Lost” 

Trailing behind Nightshade, the party crowded into a small room with a font of water in the center and a stone table against one wall with a polished silver tray and six scroll tubes on it. 

My grandfather and Spellweaver studied the silver tray and scroll tubes without touching them.  The others gathered around the pool and gazed into the water.  The sound of a delicate voice floated through the stillness of the room:

“Gaze well upon the pool you see
For it suggests a way for thee
To fight the foe and be thus wise
Present it now and shield your eyes”

“Gaze upon the pool . . .” Apteryx mused.  “Gaze upon the pool . . . fight the foe . . .” He drew his long sword and short sword at the same time.  The weapons glittered in the dim light.

My heart began to beat as I watched.  I wondered what might be coming as each of my grandfathers friends began to prepare for a battle. 

Nightshade slipped into the darkness along the wall.  Kithren and Bloodwolf tried to cover their ears as a harsh voice screeched.

            “Fight well and reflect what you have learned.”

The sound of heavy metal clanking and the movement of heavy chains preceded the grinding of stone.  A secret door ground open revealing a horror the like of which I had never seen before.  The huge spider larger than a man with glowing red eyes began to move along the top of the wall toward Gearon.

He swung his mighty mace with all his strength, but missed.  Dougal’s sling bullet smacked into the monster, but did little damage.  Grandfather began to sing.  As I heard his song, it filled me with hope.  Kithren’s blade glanced off the chitin armor of the spider’s legs.  Bloodwolf raised his double bladed axe and severed the tip of one of the creature’s legs. 

Then I saw her through the glass.  

It appeared as if Nightshade walked out of the wall behind the creature.  The short sword in her hand blazed with a purple fire, and she plunged it deep into the body of the spider.  The creature reared on its legs and batted at the air.  The action ripped Nightshade’s sword from her hand and sent her sprawling.  The spider was on her in an instant.  Within seconds her rigid and inert body hardened as if attached to the wall.

Apteryx missed with the stroke of his short sword, but his long sword sliced a precision wound on the creature’s side.  Then a missile flew from Spellweaver’s fingertips and smashed into one of the red eyes.

Gearon had picked up the silver tray.  Using it as a shield he reflected the creatures gaze and smashed the body.  Kithren and Apteryx had pulled small mirrors from their pouches and approached.  The wounded spider backed into the corner of the room hidden by the secret doors.  All three blades found their marks and the spider curled into a ball. 

No one had noticed, but Spellweaver stood like a statue planted in the stone floor.  The last gaze of the spider had targeted him.

I stood up and approached the glass.  “What will they do?” I asked Ektdar.

“Well, there is some treasure there in the corner.  They can always just collect the treasure and move on.”

“What about Nightshade and Spellweaver.  They can’t just leave them.”

“Just watch.  They’ll figure it out.”

Grandfather began searching the dark floor.  “Find the scroll tubes.  The markings said they were scrolls of stone to flesh.  Even though the Weaver is petrified, I can cast them.”

“Is anyone injured?” Gearon asked.

“Ouch!” Widseth muttered.  “Now I am.  These scroll tubes are fire trapped.  Not bad, but I have to put my fire protection ring on.”

After finding two of the tubes, Grandfather cast the spells and restored Spellweaver and Nightshade to health.

Dougal knelt beside the spider.  With a dagger he cut out the fangs of the monster.

“What are you doing?” Bloodwolf asked.

“I’ve heard stone spider fangs are a very useful ingredient.  I’m just collecting.”

“Good idea.  Can I have one?”

“There is some treasure here in the corner,” Nightshade said.  “Take some and let’s get out of here.”

The party followed Nightshade through an opening that had been hidden by the secret door into a large empty room illuminated by torches.  The only thing in the room was a waist high column in the center and a chest in one of the corners.
“Look.  There’s a scroll on the column.  Maybe there is a clue to this room there.” Spellweaver said.

All of the party except Nightshade gathered around the pedestal.  She made directly for the chest in the corner.

The air filled with unholy music and a voice resounded.

“Step with care or you shall feel
My sticky web at your heels

Path lies forth before you here
Quick of mind and careful steer

Find your path across the way
Sacrifice will save the day

I have marked the way for you
Showing those trapped by glue”
 

A magical web appeared on the floor.  In the web, there were blank segments and segments with numbers in the space between the strands. A force pushed everyone into the space around the column except Nightshade.  She looked over at the party, but continued picking the lock on the chest.

“Not another spider,” Spellweaver said.

“No, but this might be more deadly.  This is a trap.  I just put a gold piece on one of those unnumbered segments in the web.  It is stuck fast.  The voice said there is a marked path.  I fear if we deviate we will be stuck beyond help,” Kithren said.

“I have an idea that I’m going to try,” my grandfather, Widseth said.  He tried to step over one of the numbered spaces to the open space beyond, but his foot was sucked into the numbered space and stuck fast.  “Bad idea,” he said.  “Be wary.  You can’t jump rows of the web.  Nightshade, can you help with anything?”

She had just opened the chest.  She looked over at Grandfather and bit her lip.  The chest was open, but she appeared undecided as to what to do.

“Alright, alright.  You saved me from the stone spider.  I guess I should return the favor,” she said.  “There is a clue here that says you can’t jump levels and the numbers tell how many sticky spaces border the numbered space.  You just have to find the path.”

“Hurry, the web is causing me damage,” Grandfather said.

“I think I have it,” Dougal said.  He stepped onto the first row. 
“I’m still free to move,” he said. He stepped to the next row, but stuck fast.  “Curses!  I miscounted on the numbering.  Ouch!  This does hurt.”

Bloodwolf spoke up and commanded everyone’s attention.  “Enough with numbers.  I’ve an idea.  Widseth, can you lift me and set me on the space behind you?”

“You might get stuck,” Grandfather said.

“It won’t matter.  Can you do it?”

“Yes, I can do it.”

Grandfather clasped his hands in front of him like a stirrup.  Bloodwolf smiled. 

“Yes, that’s it,” the Wolf said.  It wasn’t the prettiest thing to watch but Grandfather hoisted the barbarian off the ground and by twisting deposited him on the space behind him.

“I don’t think this is the correct way to solve this trap, but let’s see if we can make our web of flesh.  Gearon, you’re next,” Grandfather said.

Between lifting and crawling over Widseth and Bloodwolf, Gearon made it to the third ring of the web. 

“Kithren, your turn.”  She ended at the fourth and final ring of the web.  “Now Apteryx and then you Weaver.  When you get outside the web, work with Nightshade to figure a way to free the rest of us.”

When Apteryx reached the room outside the web, the web dispelled. 

“That was easy enough,” Apteryx said.

Dougal immediately approached Bloodwolf.

“That was brilliant,” Dougal said.

“Sometimes when the numbers won’t work for me, I have to make stuff up.”

“What works . . . works,” Dougal said.

Nightshade motioned for silence.  “We need to move on, but I think we should heal up.  The door ahead is warm—no it’s hot.  If you have anything to protect you from heat, I suggest you put it on.”  After a minute of potions and spells, several of the party members donned rings and imbibed another potion.

“Are we ready?” Gearon asked.  Everyone nodded.  “Nightshade, open the door.”
The red hue of a lava pool illuminated the room.  Hot lava encircled a platform with a thin metal table.  A wide brazier filled with lava rested on the table.  Widseth drank a potion of cat’s grace.  Gearon began a bless spell.  Kithren and Bloodwolf swallowed potions of bull’s strength.  Spellweaver and Apteryx sipped potions of fire resistance.  Dougal adjusted his helm, shield, and breastplate.

“I saw that Ste’Ele wore similar armor.  What’s that material Dougal’s armor is made of,” I asked Ektdar.

“His armor is made of dragon scales.  The finest.  I crafted it myself,” Ektdar replied.

Without warning a burning figure rose from the lava in the brazier on the table.

“Greetings, puny mortals.  I have been summoned here by a blood pact I made with Lolth to test her initiates of their worthiness to serve her.  To do this, you must face a terrible foe that I will summon very soon.  It will surely make short work of you.

But let it NOT be said that I am not without some sport.  For I will now task you with three challenges, and successful answers will gain you a small boon for your fight.  An incorrect answer will gain you no boon.”

The first test is a riddle.  What am I describing here?

Queen sits center watching all
Waiting, yearning supper’s call

Meal arrives -- it’s blessed bliss
Out she comes with tender kiss

Strong embrace soon follows suit
Then she has her tasty loot

“That would be a spider catching something in its web,” Gearon answered.  “Do you think we are the tasty meal for the Queen?”

The lava fiend made a hideous noise that sounded like a laugh, but he signaled an approving gesture.

“This will bring me more entertainment than you can imagine.  See those greasy spots on the floor.  They are the last group who dared venture here.  They thought skill and stealth would prevail because they carried only themselves and a dagger.  It was a nightmare for them, I assure you.  You are much better prepared.  Perhaps to ‘honor their commonness’ I will offer the next challenge.”

Mortals, it is now time for you to show your worth under pressure.  Quickly now, each of you may toss ONE Common item at my sacrificial bowl.  Any of you who are able to land an item inside the bowl will receive a Very Rare item in return.  Move quickly now, your time is short.  Toss your items now – one at a time.

Raven, Apteryx, and Spellweaver received nice rewards for their efforts, but the others missed.  Once again he gestured thumbs up or down depending on the outcome.

Mortals…your puny minds may yet serve you here today.  Think back to the room with the eggs, the scale and the stone shields on the wall.  You must tell me the name of the virtue listed below the shield with the spider emblem on it. 

Grandfather spoke, “The ‘virtue’ of which you speak is ‘disgust’.  It is the feeling we feel for your unholy alliance with our ‘mistress’.”

The fiend’s thumb wavered, but then signaled upward.

“You may pay for your insolence. It is now time for your test mortals.  I now summon a creature that will test your battle prowess.  Use well the short time I give you to prepare for this battle. It is the boon I promised.

“We’re ready,” Gearon shouted.

 Behold!  I bring a gift from your Lady so that you may prove your worth!  Fight well!”

As the fiend faded back into the lava, wild laughter reverberated through the room.

“Spider’s forming in the corner,” Kithren shouted.  “No, it looks part hum  . . .”

The concussion of the fireball threw the party into confusion.  Spellweaver moaned on the floor and Gearon rushed to his side.  A drider towered above them.  With scimitar drawn Dougal charged the drider, followed by Bloodwolf and Kithren.  Gearon, Nightshade, and Widseth swallowed healing potions.  Apteryx nocked an arrow and let it fly.  The arrow buried itself into the creature’s side, but the drider targeted Spellweaver again, and a bolt flew from his fingers, unerringly silencing Spellweaver as he lay on the floor.

Widseth began to sing, but he left his lute hanging in the air and strode toward the drider with his sword drawn.  Nightshade began trying to angle to get behind the creature.  With a shout, Gearon rose from Spellweaver and charged toward the melee.

Dougal struck first, and his blade bit deep.  Bloodwolf’s axe nearly severed one of the drider’s arms.  Kithren’s sword found it mark, and the drider backed away.  Widseth’s sword sank into the bulbous body of the creature, and Gearon’s mace smashed into its midsection.

The monster stumbled backward and a missile again sprang from its finger and smashed into Dougal’s chest.  Dougal staggered backward but retained his feet.  Then Kithren’s thrust bent the monster forward and Gearon’s mace crushed its skull.

Nightshade slit the belly of the creature and stuffed sticky strands into a pouch.

“Drider silk—useful stuff, I’m told.  Let’s get out of this room.  Grab any treasure you might find and bring the Weaver’s body.  We’ll try to do something in the next room for him.  We can’t have the lava fiend catch us, weakened as we are.”

“We need to heal him now.  I’ll force a potion of Death’s Door down him.  We can heal him up in the next room,” Gearon said.

“As you wish, but hurry.  I hate this room,” Nightshade said.

A woman walked out of a wall.  “Before you leave, please may I?  Great battle.” she said.

“Of course,” Nightshade said.

“Smiles,” the woman said.  “And prop up the dead guy . . . nice.”  There was a bright flash of light and she was gone.

“That woman was there again.  Who is she?  Will the Weaver be alright?” I asked Ektdar.

“I hope so.  They’ll need him.  And just ignore the woman.  She’s not there.”

Another piece of glass in Ektdar’s room began to glow.  A face appeared.

“Shaman!  Good to see you.  What is the news?” Ektdar asked.

“Enwii, d’Mock, Shalune, Graygan, Darkrose, and the Gladiator with his lackeys are ready to go if we need them.”

“Have them stand ready.”

“What are they going to do?” I asked.

“They’ll follow your grandfather’s trail and finish the task if your grandfather’s party can’t.”

“They won’t fail.  They can’t.”  I said with little conviction.  After the last battle, I worried that there might be things made of my nightmares that they might not be able to defeat.

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Chapter Fourteen – “Hope For the Lost” 

Torches lit the altar room when the party entered.

“Hold here,” Gearon said.  “Everyone needs to heal up.  We can’t hazard a fight—not in our condition.” 

Apteryx and Bloodwood hauled Spellweaver to Gearon.  The cleric touched his index finger to the mage’s forehead.  

Spellweaver sucked in a deep breath.  “I think I’m alright,” he said.  “My luck hasn’t been too good—petrified then killed.  What next?”

“Perhaps we could have saved a death’s door potion.  Look at this.” Apteryx said.  The party entered the room inspecting every corner.

A large stone altar dominated the center of the room with pillars at each corner topped by a candle.  A single letter decorated each candle—“I”, “V”, “E”, and “L”.

“I wonder who this unfortunate soul was.” Bloodwolf said.  He pointed to a corpse in the corner of the room.

A table filled with objects attracted Nightshade’s attention. 

Apteryx and Kithren stared at one of the walls of the room.  The text was written for all to see.

Far to near and you shall hear
Thanks of one you hold most dear

Place him forth and light the way
Mindful now of what I say

Candles lit by scepter passed
Slowly now for spell to cast

Seek for clues and you shall see
Proper order shown to thee

Go forth now and lift away
The shroud of death here today

Gearon stared at the other wall.  Spellweaver joined Nightshade at the table with the items spread on it.

“Widseth.  Dougal.  What do you make of this?” Gearon asked.

Intricate letters in green, blue, yellow, and red spelled out EVIL.

“I’m not sure.” Widseth replied.  “The room has an odd feel to it.” 

“I don’t think it was always evil.  The lettering here is not as old as the couplets on the opposing wall.  The room may be evil now, but I think . . . I think that once it might have been a place where the dead could have been raised by the light of these candles.  Apteryx may have been right.  Perhaps we wasted a potion of death’s door.”

“I don’t think it was wasted,” Spellweaver said.  “I wouldn’t have wanted to be the test subject for finding the proper sequence of lighting the candles.”

“There looks to be a bone scepter here on this table,” Nightshade said.  “All we need now is the proper sequence to light the candles and . . . a subject.”

Bloodwolf picked up the corpse in the corner and laid it on the altar.

“Let’s see what he has to say,” he said.

Widseth looked around the room.  “I don’t feel good about this, but . . .”

“He may have a clue that might help us,” Kithren finished.

“Exactly,” Widseth said.

“Can they really bring him back to life?” I asked Ektdar.

“I don’t know.  I’ve heard tell of such happenings.  In fact Miik o’Ky and the Greyseer tell such tales in the tavern.  I know the Griff and H’lene and Marin’da argued vociferously that all such tales are nonsense, but who knows.  Perhaps we’ll see for ourselves if they can discover he proper sequence.”

“Proper sequence?”

“Reread the clue on the wall.  The candles will have to be lit in proper sequence or  . . .”

“Or what?”

“Usually mayhem and disaster, but who knows.”

I turned back to the seeing glass.

As usual Nightshade had separated herself from the others who were discussing how to determine the sequence.  They argued about the sequencing of the colored letters of the word EVIL.  It could have been LIVE, VEIL, or VILE.  Most argued for LIVE, but Gearon held out for a more sure way to know.  He kept coming back to the “far to near” phrase in the line.  After a minute, Spellweaver cast a spell.

“I can see things better now,” he said.  “Nightshade, what are you looking at?”

“These crystals seem to fit into this web like device,” she said.  “But I can’t make any sense of the order.”

“I see it.  There is magical scribing on these two lenses.  May I?” he asked.

Nightshade handed him the device.  Spellweaver slipped the lenses in place and looked at “EVIL” on the wall.

“I can see it.” he said.  “From “far to near” the letters read “VEIL”.  Of course the shroud of death is but a veil.  Pass the bone scepter over the candles in that order.”

“Do it,” Widseth said.  “I trust the clues.”

“Yes,” Gearon said.  “It all fits.”

Bloodwolf took the bone scepter and passed it over the candle with the “V” inscribed in it.  The candle lit with blue light.  He repeated with the “E” . . . green light, the “I”  . . . yellow light, the “L” . . . red light.  Brilliant white light bathed the altar and beautiful music floated through the air.

The corpse on the table moved and sucked in breath.  It propped itself up and stared with empty eye sockets at Bloodwolf.

“Thank you for breath in the physical world again.  You may divide among you all my possessions.”  He took a pouch from under his moldy wrappings.  “To breathe again in the physical world is painful.  It reminds me of the sorrows and travail you endure here.  I give you a boon for your efforts.  ‘They are not like us . . . they are different . . . no hands . . .’ I choose to return now.”  He took Bloodwolf’s hand and placed it on the hilt of his sword.  “For your kindness, I bequeath my sword to you.” He reclined in the stillness of death.

Spellweaver cast a spell on the sword.  “Honor him and use it well.  He has given you a great gift.  If you strike your opponent a deadly blow, you will steal life from him and heal yourself.”

Bloodwolf laid his axe on the altar and grasped the sword in his hand.  He simply nodded his head up and down.

Apteryx opened the pouch.  “What is this?” he asked.  He handed a piece of dried flesh to Dougal.

The druid examined it.  “I think it tells a tale.  I believe it is a ghoul’s tongue.  I think our hero here killed a ghoul in this chamber and cut out its tongue, but then I think he must have died of his wounds.”

“Let’s go,” Widseth said.  “There’s nothing more here for us.”

Nightshade opened the door and led the way into a room adorned with fine furnishings.  A round table with a mirrored top filled the center of the room.  Eerie red light illuminated the room, and black drapes hung in the corners.  A haughty drow priestess stood in one of the corners.

“You are early.  Perhaps I misjudged the worthiness of you surface dwellers to our Lady.  In truth, this is the first time I have seen the likes of you, and you are indeed more barbaric than I had heard.  Please do not come close to me, as your foul stench is more than these heightened senses can withstand.

‘I am here, at the request of my mistress the Lady Biven, to give to you the chance your ancestors have long wished for.  You will be allowed to gain total acceptance into our Lady’s service – instead of the pathetic cult that your family has long maintained.

‘But first, you must solve this final puzzle to prove your worth to my Lady.  She bid that I see if you know our blessed Lolth well.  I have been charged with giving you a mission should you succeed in besting this puzzle before you.  Choose well, for I do not wish to be bothered with finding your replacement.  This mission must be started very soon.”

The party surrounded the table with the mirrored top.  Twelve depressions in the face of the table were evenly spaced in the shape of a circle.  It seemed as if they were fashioned to hold gems.  Five numbered gems lay on the table.  They were numbered 1, 2, 5, 10, and 11.  The gems with numbers 1 and 2 were already in the first and second depression. 

“I think we are supposed to place 5, 10, and 11 in their proper receptacles,” Spellweaver said.

“Should be an easy task.  There is a clue here on the face of the table,” Kithren said.

“Many seek and many come
Few advance and death succumbs
Using knowledge gained of me
Those of wise will honored be
Order thus the gems behold
Tokens now of things that fold
Cast off digits and what you know
Think of what your Lady grows”

“Look at where we are,” Gearon whispered.  “A drow priestess watches as we make fools of ourselves trying to decipher the lies of Lolth.  I say it’s all a deception and trap.”  He picked up the gem numbered 5 and placed it in the fifth receptacle from the top.  “Nothing harmed.”

Gearon took the gem with the number 10 and placed it in the tenth slot from the top.  A light flashed. 

I gasped, as I watched the most horrid spectacle.  He screamed as if falling into a bottomless pit.  He was drawn inside the gem.

“Ektdar!  Do something.” I shouted at the screen.

“What can I do,” he said.  “He was a little too impetuous.  They have to think this through.  If the others can solve the riddle, perhaps I can help in some way.  But . . . ”  He walked over to one of the other glass panels. 

“Shaman!  Shaman!  Something has gone terribly wrong, and we may need to send in Enwii’s party.  Tell them to prepare.” 

The face of the Shaman appeared on the glass.  “We await your signal.”

I turned back to the glass screen.

“I don’t know if we can get Gearon back, but if we wish not to follow him, we must be more careful,” Dougal said.

“The saying says the gems represent things that fold, and we need to cast off digits,” Apteryx said. 

“The corpse said they have no hands and that they are different,” Bloodwolf added.

“Do you remember the ten protections in the egg room, and the lava fiend referred to it?  We were told there were ten protections, but there were only eight shields,” Kithren said.

A chest lid snapped shut.  For the first time the party realized that Nightshade had been opening a chest in one of the corners.

“I passed on great treasure and chose a clue to help rescue Gearon.  He is like a father to me.  I’ll not leave him here, even if I have to face her alone,” she nodded toward the drow.  “The only clue in the chest was this symbol.”

She showed the scrap of scroll to Widseth.  He nodded his head. 

Grandfather said, “The symbol is for cultural insight.  I think we need to identify how we are different from the ‘our Lady Lolth.’”

“I think I have it,” Apteryx said.  “We have digits that fold—fingers.  Spiders have legs that fold.  Culturally we count by ten, but their culture counts by eight.  If I am right the gem marked 10 should go in the eighth depression.”  He picked up the gem containing Gearon and placed it in the depression.
“You’re right,” Dougal said, as he place the gem marked 11 in the ninth slot.

The table began to glow.  A hideous voice erupted from the table.

            “Congratulations!  You are worthy to serve me!”

The Drow priestess stepped forward and spoke with reluctant contempt.

“Apparently, your worthiness is satisfactory.  Now, you must depart immediately through that door, and you will find yourselves back in your surface world.  You should then travel swiftly to the Inn of the Laughing Orc where you will meet an associate of mine at the well behind the Inn.  Now hurry.  Your task will be vital to the overthrow of this city when the forces of Iuz attack tomorrow night.”

The party departed immediately through the doorway the priestess had indicated, but not before Nightshade pocketed the gem containing Gearon.  The streets of Greyhawk were completely deserted.  As they hurried toward the Inn of the Laughing Orc they were met by Ektdar.

I turned to look for the gnome, but he was gone from the room.

“Here take these.  They may help,” Ektdar said.  He gave each person a small stone.  He gave two to Nightshade.  “Use them well.”

“What are they?” Bloodwolf asked.

“They are very rare.  They’re Savior Stones.  Perhaps if you use one, you can free Gearon from the gem.”

Nightshade immediately held the gem and stone together in her hand and tapped the stone with the blade of her dagger.  The gem shattered, and Gearon materialized.  He staggered unsteadily for a minute before Grandfather steadied him.

“Thank you, Lord Ektdar.  We are in your debt.” Nightshade said.

I jumped as Ektdar materialize next to me.  He looked at me quizzically.

“What?  I can help if I choose to do so.  Did you want him to be left in that gem?”

“No, but . . . I guess there are just some things I won’t understand.”

A bright light flashed from the screen.

“Like that woman.  There she was again.”

“Ignore the woman and pay attention to your grandfather and his companions.  There is no woman.”

I turned back to the screen and shook my head.

The party stood at the back of a rundown inn.  A female drow emerged from the darkness.

“Listen carefully, surface dwellers, for my time and patience are short. As new servants of the Spider Queen, you are tasked with the following mission. You are to leave here at once through that back door and make your way to the tower of the wizard Bibwik the Hale. He is in league with the army of Iuz, which plans to attack the city of Greyhawk in the morning. Inside the tower you’ll find a Shadowgate. You must pass through the gate and walk for a short time within the Plane of Shadow to teleport yourself outside the city walls and into the headquarters of our assembled army. Once you are there, you must deliver this coffer to the waiting guards. It contains a powerful artifact that will greatly aid our conquering army in the morn.

“The journey to the tower will not be a direct one, as a local curfew forbids citizens from walking the streets of Greyhawk at night during the siege. I am told that smugglers have found a path to this tower through a sewer opening behind this building. There was also talk of a cemetery that you’ll need to pass through along the way. Go now, and be wary of the city patrol. They use stone golems to locate and punish transgressors. May the Spider Queen guide your steps.”

She was about as haughty and disrespectful as anyone I had ever imagined.  It surprised me that none of the party tried to teach her some respect.  Instead, Gearon took the coffer from the woman and put it in his travel pack.  

She pointed toward the back alley leading to the sewers and departed.  Grandfather and his party started in that direction.

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Chapter Fifteen – “Hope For the Lost” 

In the back alley Apteryx noticed some signs.

“Attention all Greyhawk citizens! By order of the High Council, a night curfew is hereby ordered for all people inside the city walls. Violators will receive swift justice from the Night Patrol. Stone golems will ensure this order is strictly enforced.”

“The Temple of the Four Winds normally hosts its ‘Festival of the Southwind’ event at this time. However, due to the military emergency, the event has been cancelled.”

“Sculptures by Daumes: The renowned sculptor Daumes is now taking commissions for life-like statues. Visit her shop near the Cemetery District.”

After a few minutes they came to a wall with a chained metal gate the blocked passage into a small downward sloping passageway.

“This is the gate into the sewers,” Nightshade said.

“Smells awful,” Spellweaver gagged.

“I know, but this is it.  I’ll pick the lock unless one of you wants to bash it.  It would probably break, but the noise would alert anything down there to our presence.”

“Go ahead and pick it.  I think we want to enter as quietly as possible.” Widseth encouraged.

Within a few seconds the lock fell to the ground and the rusty gate swung open. 

“Into the underground.  I’ll go first to check for traps, but we need the strongest following right behind.  You never know what you will run into down here.”

I turned to Ektdar.  “It sounds like Nightshade has been here before,” I said.

“I really can’t speak to that, but  . . . well, it’s known that the rogues guild knows all the less accepted ways to get around Greyhawk.  Let’s just say that any traps she might run into might have been set by her or the guild.  They never know though.  At times, creatures creep into the sewers that might surprise them.”

I watched Nightshade get down on her hands and knees and disappear into the tunnel.  One after another the party followed.

After a few minutes they stood up in a fog filled subterranean passageway.
“Stay away from over there.”  Nightshade pointed, but it was too late.  Dougal had reached his hand out and touched the giant mushroom.  A loud wail began and the keening tone echoed down the corridor.  Kithren chopped the shrieker with her sword until the noise stopped.

“I’m sorry,” Dougal said.  “My specialty is not fungus, but I had to investigate a mushroom of this size.”

“No problem.  We can plant another,” Nightshade replied.

“You mean you put it there?” Spellweaver asked.

“It warns us if . . . well, never mind.”  Her attention was distracted as they moved down the passageway.  “Who is this poor fellow?  He looks like he has some wealth about him.”

She bent beside the rotting corpse to pick up his pouch.  Her piercing scream surpassed that of the shrieker and brought everyone on the run.  Nightshade was completely enveloped in a mass of rotting vegetation that had been in a heap beside the corpse.

“It’s a shambling mound,” Kithren yelled.  “No, electrical spells—they will heal it.”  She and Bloodwolf charged.  Their initial blows did little damage, but Gearon’s mace and Dougal’s scimitar did good damage.

Widseth hollered, “Quickly, it’ll smother her.”  He began to sing.

Spellweaver and Apteryx tried to move, but they were stuck fast in sticky goop that the mound had exuded.  Apteryx loosed arrow after arrow, but they did little damage to the mass of foliage.  Spellweaver pointed a wand and unleashed a narrow bolt of cold.  Where the bolt hit, the vegetation frosted and shattered on the next blow Kithren delivered with her sword.  In a short time the mass of vegetation fell into a gooey heap, leaving Nightshade standing in the mess.

“Are you alright?” Widseth asked.

“Yes.”  Her tone was very surly.

“You screamed like a little girl,” Gearon laughed.

“Shut up.  There’s a pouch by the corpse.  I don’t want anything from it.  Just save me some of the shambler slime.  I hear it’s good for something.”  She distanced herself from the party used some water from her water skin to clean some of the slime and vegetation off her face and arms.

After a few minutes the party approached.

“We have what we need.  Are you ready?” Gearon inquired.

She and Gearon stared at one another until both began laughing.  “Up ahead we will leave the sewer through a tunnel up to the streets near the graveyard,” she said.

“Lead on,” Widseth said.

As they came up out of the sewers onto the street, they realized that the entrance to the cemetery was on the other side of the street, and that they would have to pass through a gated area and a mausoleum to get to Bibwik’s tower that the drow messenger had told them about.  Stealthily they entered through the wrought iron gate into the courtyard before the mausoleum.  Knee-deep fog spilled over the gravestones and grass throughout the area. 

In the center of the enclosed courtyard stood a table engraved with an image of a compass with depressions at each unmarked compass point.  Four embossed disks rested on the surface.  The glassy table surface emitted eerie light that revealed words etched into the surface.

Here rests the craftsman of the gem,
Who suffered wounds that would not stem.
He wandered often in the glen
Once too often was his end.
To enter here you must achieve
The Four Winds’ blessing to receive

A safe passage through his tomb

Place the discs and evade your doom.

The Four Winds howl far and near

1. Sort them now and place them here

They carry news to every ear
Sewn, they are, of joy and fear

 

“I think we have to go through there.”  Spellweaver pointed to an arched doorway into the mausoleum.

“And to enter it seems with safe passage, we must have the four winds blessing,” Dougal replied.  “But who is or was the craftsman of the gem?”

“I think I see it here.”  Kithren pointed to an inscription above the doorway.

            Here lies Breen the Jeweler
            Born January 8th, 205
            Died March 22nd, 246

“These disks must represent the four winds,” Gearon said.
“I disagree.  I think they’re the seasons, but they have to be placed in the appropriate compass point representing the wind for their season,” Dougal replied.

“You may be right, but the compass points are not marked.  How do we know which way is north?” Gearon asked.

Dougal looked up, but his beloved stars were covered by clouds and smoke from the fires of the approaching armies.

“I think we are all a little disoriented from the sewers.  I’ve never been in this part of the city.  In the dark I’ve no idea which way we’re facing,” Spellweaver said.  “Any ideas?”

“I think I’ll risk using a spell.  I think there may be more here than we see,” Widseth said.

“Ektdar, what would happen if they put the disks in the wrong place?” I asked.

“I suppose mayhem and destruction.  That is the usual fare,” he said.  I turned back to the seeing glass.

Dougal began a systematic search of the gravestones, inspecting the grass and growing things, looking for any sort of clues.  Nightshade also searched every extremity of the courtyard, but as I watched her, I don’t think she was looking for clues. 

After casting his spell, an unearthly glow emanated from Grandfather’s hand.  He moved from gravestone to gravestone, passing his hand over the surface.  After a few minutes, he paused and studied one particular marker.

“I think I have it,” Grandfather called out.  Spellweaver came to his side.  The light of the ‘read magic’ spell revealed additional words on one of the tombstones.

Beloved Druid Grigor.
The sunrise will always welcome your eternal sleep.

“I have a gold piece that says the headstone faces East,” Widseth said.

“I agree because moss grows on the north side.  See there—just as it is growing on the north side of all of these headstones and posts,” Dougal said.  “My north confirms your east.  I think we have the key to the door.  Now we just have to figure out which disk goes with each season.”

Everyone circled the table.  Dougal spoke, “The disk with the pine tree and the snow must be north.  That one must represent the harvest, and the disk there must be spring breaking forth.  That leaves summer.  It all fits.  Who wants to place the disk for the North Wind?”

Apteryx reached forward and moved the winter disk into the depression that Dougal indicated as north.  Kithren placed the summer disk into the south depression.  Bloodwolf quickly moved what he thought was the fall disk into the east depression.  A bolt of energy shot from the table and knocked him backward.  The disk skittered out of the depression back to the center of the table.

“That hurt,” he said, shaking his hand.  Gearon handed him a potion. 

“The proper season for fall is obviously in the west wind’s domain,” Spellweaver said as he placed the autumn disk in the west depression.

“I knew that,” Bloodwolf said.  “I just got a little turned around.”

When Dougal placed the last disk, the door to the mausoleum creaked open to reveal a hallway with spider webs in all the corners and covering the ceiling.  Along the walls, skull plaques decorated the stone work as if someone might have been interred behind them.  One clear headstone decorated the wall.

Breen’s beloved brother Sigil.
You were my only sibling,
But your heart made me feel well-loved.
Born February 15th, 207
Died June 24th, 244

“They must have been close in life,” Nightshade said.  “Now they are close in death.”  I thought I detected a little emotion in her voice.  Everyone nodded toward the tombstone reverencing the feeling the brothers must have felt in life.

As the party turned the corner, the hall opened into a large chamber.  A locked door with a large socket in the middle was on the opposite wall.  In one corner a brazier rested on a stone table with a scepter on a stand behind the brazier.  A large statue with moldy wrappings stood behind the table and brazier.  An inscription had been carved into the table.

Those who fear my guard’s hot wrath
Must sacrifice to open a path
Pick the two that Breen did place
Upon his Mother’s Ring of grace
Then grab the scepter as you please
Use it then as this crypt’s key.

Seven gems rested on the table in front of the brazier—flourite, sardonyx, jade, jasper, amethyst, garnet, peridot.

Nightshade reached for the gems, but Apteryx grabbed her hand.

“They are beautiful, but I think it best that we not disturb them until we solve the riddle and release the scepter.  If we’re hasty, we may have to fight something we’d rather not.  I think we need to move quickly,” he said.

“I agree,” Spellweaver said.  “Breen must have made a ring for his mother.  My guess is that the gems he used represented himself and his brother.  The problem is—which gems would he have used to represent them?”

“Birthstones,” Kithren said.  “It has to be birthstones.”

“His brother, Sigil, was born in February according to his headstone.  What is the birthstone for February?” Widseth asked.

“Amethyst—amethyst is for February,” Dougal answered.  “But how do we know Breen’s birth?  His headstone isn’t here.”

“But it was above the door in the courtyard,” Kithren said.  “I remember—he was born in January.”

“Are you sure?” Dougal asked.

“Yes, I’m sure, and garnet is for January.  My cousin wears a garnet ring.  He was born in January.”

Nightshade picked up the garnet and amethyst gems and reluctantly placed them in the fiery brazier.  Brilliant light focused on the scepter.  Bloodwolf grasped it with no harm and removed it from the stand. 

“I wonder what would have happened if they had been the wrong stones?” Spellweaver asked.

“I think we would have had to fight that.”  Apteryx pointed to the large stature in the moldy wrappings.  “Look, there’s some ectoplasm around the base of it.  I’m sure it’s the guard.  I’m sore it won’t miss a little ectoplasm.”  He took some for future use.

“Before we leave, I want to check something.”  Widseth drank a potion.  He looked around the room carefully and walked toward a wall with a panel decorated by a skull.  With a click he opened a hidden cache.  He pulled a beautiful sword from the cavity.  Grandfather inspected it carefully and drew his own sword.  He placed his own sword back in the cavity and sheathed the new sword.

“Mithral—I’ve always loved mithral,” he said.  “There may be some things here for the rest of you.”

The party gathered a few items and used the orb atop the scepter as a key to open the door.  They exited to a dead end alley with a door at the end.  The only way forward was through the door.  A sign on the door read “Daumes—Sculptor”.  Nightshade carefully opened the door and the party entered.  A life-sized statue of a man in terrible pain stood just inside the door. 

There were only two other doors in the room.  One obviously led to the outside, but it was locked. 

The other door was a back-lit curtain.  A female figure appeared behind the curtain and began to dance.  Everyone in the group was drawn to the movement.  With a flash of light the woman leaped into the room.  Apteryx froze.  He began to harden into stone.

“It’s a medusa!” Widseth yelled, before he began to sing.

Spellweaver fumbled to find a scroll.  When Kithren swung wildly, missing, Nightshade edged along the wall.  Gearon shielded his eyes and hit the side of the medusa with his mace, causing little damage.  Bloodwolf brandished his sword and attacked, holding a small mirror up to his forehead.  His thrust drew blood.  Dougal held his shield in front of his eyes and connected with his scimitar.

“What happens if they look at her?” I shouted at Ektdar.

“They’re turned to stone, but she can poison them also.”

“She’s beautiful,” I said.

“She’s a reptile,” Ektdar retorted.  With that I watched as one of the protrusions on her head struck and hit Kithren.  Kithren recoiled and fell to the ground writhing in pain.  I realized the monster’s “beautiful” hair was a nest of snakes.

Nightshade struck from behind and staggered “Daumes”.  Spellweaver finished the spell he cast on Apteryx, and Apteryx fell to the floor and then struggled to his feet.  As his lute continued to play, Widseth joined the fray and left a gash on the creature’s arm.  “Daumes” tried to distract Bloodwolf with her gaze, but he drove his sword home.  Gearon and Nightshade finished the creature off.

“Is Kithren alright?” Gearon asked.

“It is poison, but I gave her some antidote.  She seems to be recovering,” Dougal answered.

As Gearon and Dougal cast spells to help those who had been injured, Nightshade, Widseth, and Bloodwolf searched the room.  They found a Stone to Flesh scroll and other miscellaneous items, among them a note that read:

     D —
     To counteract your gaze, try grinding the ring finger from a stone golem into
     dust, and then blow the powder onto the person you accidentally petrified.
                — Your sister, Nogrog

“Time to go.  Is everyone healed?” Nightshade asked.  They exited into a small city square with only one exit, but the exit appeared to have a locked gate.

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Chapter Sixteen – “Hope For the Lost” 

The party quickly left Daumes’ “shop” and found themselves in a small city square with only one exit barred by a gate.

“Weaver, you’ll need to use a knock spell here, if you have one.  There’s some sort of magical lock on this gate,” Bloodwolf said.

Gearon spoke.  “Hold a minute.  Is everyone healed up?  Usually a gate locked magically is locked that way for a reason.”

“I think we’re alright,” Kithren said.

Spellweaver approached the gate, but as he did so, shouts erupted from the street beyond from around the corner of the building.

“It’s the city watch! Run!” someone beyond the gate shouted.

Spellweaver moved quickly back to the other side of the square away from the gate and slipped the scroll he was holding back into a scroll tube.  He pulled another tube out, inspected it and withdrew the scroll.  Apteryx and Bloodwolf positioned themselves on either side of the entrance to strike a first blow.  Nightshade slipped into the shadows behind some crates, while Dougal, Gearon, and Kithren stood firm in plain sight in front of the gated street.

The sound of swords clashing on stone reverberated through the night. Interspersed with the ring of metal, screams or a moan followed ominous thuds.  Then silence. 

Something started moving toward the gate.  The footfalls sounded like large stones grinding on the cobblestone.  As the gate swung open, a large creature made of stone entered the square.  It headed straight for Dougal, Gearon, and Kithren.  Stepping from their concealed positions, Apteryx and Bloodwolf swung their weapons with all their might.  Sparks flew in every direction, but the golem seemed to treat the blow like minor annoyances.  Its stone fist sent Apteryx sprawling in some sacks of cotton.

Nightshade leaped on the creature’s back and tried to drive her sword in a crevice of the stone, but with little success.

Widseth stood toward the back with the mage and began to sing.  Spellweaver began to read a scroll.  The golem stopped and began to shake.  The stone began transforming into a fleshy substance.

“I hated to use that scroll, but I figured ‘stone to flesh’ would hasten this,” Spellweaver said.

Widseth nodded at him and continued to sing.  The golem stood naked against the deadly weapons of the party.  In a short time the mass of flesh lay in the street.

“I wish we could have saved the two ring fingers,” Spellweaver said.  “I have only one more ‘stone to flesh’ scroll, but I do have a mortar and pestle.  We could have ground them to powder and used it in case anyone else gets petrified.”

“It couldn’t be helped, but I have a ‘stone to flesh’ scroll also,” Widseth said.

“Ektdar.  They killed it.  It was one of the city guards.  Wasn’t it on our side?” I asked.

“Yes, but it wasn’t really killed.  It was never really alive—just held together by spells.  They had to do that to prove their worth to any who might be watching?” he replied.

“The drow might be watching?”

“The drow or something else.  You never know,” he said.

“Apteryx, are you alright?  It gave you quite a pummeling,” Widseth said.

“I’ll be okay.”  He took a swig of a potion.  Looking ahead, Apteryx said, “I think that’s Bibwik’s Tower.  Who would have thought he was a traitor?”

“I thought it!  And more than once!” Ektdar shouted.  His agitation startled me.  He walked over to one of the blank glass pieces on the front of a chest, and pushed a gem causing the glass to flash with light.  The woman called the Pixie stared back from the glass.

“Yes, Lord Ektdar?”

“We need to ready the teams.  Gearon’s party is about to enter the tower and the Shadowgate.  It’s as we suspected.  It’s time for Enwii’s team to arrest Bibwik.  We sent guards with the man of D’Black Sea and Nekura to summon Bibwik to a council meeting.  He should be arriving at the chambers any time now.  Send Wyrmmeister, Geoff, and Miik o’Ky into the Twelve Sisters Tavern to arrest the Widow Black and her coven.  Tell them to take Erblu the 3rd and those new comers Karn’y, Sparks, his daughter, and Sir Jeffrey of Ewta and his sons.”

The Pixie nodded.  “Is there anything else?”

“Tell Zoy, the coffee man, and Roar’rie to round up as many of the council as possible.  At least there will be a trial tonight before our doom knocks on the door tomorrow.”

“Doom?” the Pixie questioned.  “Not with my brother going in there to end it, ‘cause he reminds me of the Babe.”

“What Babe?” Ektdar asked.

“The Babe with the power,” she answered.

“What power?” Ektdar questioned.

“You’re not as good as my brother you know.  He would have said WHAT POWER—a lot more emotion.  Try again.”

“WHAT POWER?”

“The power of VooDoo,” she replied. 

“WHO DO?” Ektdar responded with a little more oomph.

“You do.”

“DO WHAT?”

“Remind me of the Babe.” –giggles-

 

AUTHOR INTRUSION:
Dear Reader,
I’m sorry this story got hijacked.  I will try to sort the threads out and get you back to our intrepid party.  Hmmm—no not there.  Alright.  There we are.  That’s right—here we go again.

 

“I’ll be okay.”  He took a swig of a potion.  Looking ahead, Apteryx said, “I think that’s Bibwik’s Tower.  Who would have thought he was a traitor?”

A two story stone structure flanked the street.  The door was slightly ajar, and a sign above the door read “Bibwik the Arcane”.  On the second story, candlelight illuminated a stained-glass window.

Nightshade held her finger to her lips and motioned for everyone to follow her through the doorway.

The wizard’s library was empty.  A note on the table read:

Dear Visitors,

Guards from the High Council are here as I write this note. I have been summoned for my counsel, and thus I cannot assist you as planned. If you are as clever as I suppose, then you will not need my help. Good luck with your endeavor, and make yourselves at home. Relax, enjoy a glass of wine, read a book, and see what items of interest you can find. And don’t mind my houseguest.

                                                                                    — Bibwik

“He was expecting us.  The drow must have told him we would be here.  So far our deception’s worked, but now’s the time to take great care,” Gearon said.

Each member began inspecting the room filled with books, unusual artifacts, and strange devices.  Nightshade immediately began opening the lock on a chest.  Kithren and my grandfather inspected several glass vessels filled with liquids.  Dougal explained to Bloodwolf how to use the telescope.  Gearon tried to open some drawers in a small desk.  Spellweaver and Apteryx read the page of a large tome that lay open on the table.

“How do we get out of this room?” Apteryx asked.  “We have to get to that Shadowgate that the drow messenger told us about.  It is supposed to be here somewhere.”

“I think the answer may be right here.”  Spellweaver held up a pewter cup. 

“Let me see.” Nightshade said.  She pocketed something shiny into a pouch and walked toward the table from the open chest in the corner.

“No, I’ll hold it.  I don’t want it to disappear into your pouch.”  The Weaver held the cup up to the light so everyone could see.  “Look.  Engraved on the cup is this room.  Here’s the telescope, the window, the table, the shelves—everything including Bibwik pointing to this book.”  Spellweaver pointed to the open tome on the table.

“I think our clue to get to the Shadowgate is here.”  He pointed to the open book.

“But it’s a blank page with a pretty border around it,” Kithren said. 

“Not to a mage,” Widseth said.

Spellweaver cast a spell.  The “detect magic” spell revealed a message to his eyes.

“It says ‘Look closer,’” he said.

“What does that mean?” Gearon asked.  “How can we look any closer?”

“Use the telescope,” Bloodwolf said.

“I don’t think that’ll work, but you’re on the right track,” Dougal said.  We need something like the telescope, but smaller like . . . one of these glass bottle stoppers.”  He began to slowly slide the piece of glass over the border of the page.  “Here it is—look, here’s our answer.”

Magnified under the glass the message could be read by the party.

            Knock thrice on the wall with the wand.

“Did anyone see a wand around here?” Kithren asked.

“There is one on a shelf in that chest over there.”  Gearon pointed.  “I was afraid it might be trapped, so I didn’t touch it.”

“If he uses it as a door knocker, it probably isn’t trapped.”  Nightshade inspected it before picking it up.  She held it in her hand and inspected it in the light.  She knocked it on one of the stones in the wall.

Nothing happened.  “Now we just have to find the lock to the door.  I think I’ll do it the easy way.”  She swallowed a potion.  “There it is.  Over there on that wall.”  The “detect secret door potion” had revealed the proper panel and the outline of the door in the far wall.

“Before we go anywhere, his note said he had a house guest.  So far all the guests we’ve met haven’t been the friendly type.  Is everyone ready in case this house guest decides to make an appearance?” Dougal asked.

“Good idea.  No telling what we might meet at this Shadowgate.  I suggest we prepare for the worst.” Gearon added.

“I say we share in the ill-gotten payoff that Bibwik has been taking for his treachery.  Let’s take whatever won’t encumber us,” Widseth said.

“This little vial of quicksilver up here by these books—might be useful some day,” Gearon said.

Each party member gathered one of Bibwik’s items in the room, loosed their weapons, and readied scrolls and potions.  A couple of the party took off one ring and put on another.

Raven tapped three times on the wall panel.  A door slid open with no noise and Raven led the party up the stairs to the second floor.

At the opposite end of the room, an arcane archway melded into dark nothingness.  Four moonlit windows flanked the arch, each with a large pillar in front of the window.  The most striking feature in the room floated in the archway.  A giant floating eyeball hung there staring at them.

“Come closer my loyal followers.  I seek to look upon you with my divine sight.  I wish to see the worth of your souls.”

Widseth swallowed a cat’s grace potion.  Kithren, Apteryx, and Bloodwolf downed potions of bull strength.  Gearon cast a bless spell.  Nightshade slipped behind a pillar and backed against the wall.  Dougal readied a smokestick.  Spellweaver rubbed stoneskin salve on his arms and face. 

“Why do you hesitate?” 

A mystical sound rang through the chamber.

“Imposters!  I see your trickery!  You are not evil in heart and deed, and the stench of goodness is all about you!  Imposters!  I will summon my faithful servant who will deal with the likes of you.”

The eyeball glowed red and began to fade.  The party watched as the eye faded into the blackness of the archway.  Suddenly they knew they were not alone.  They turned around in unison. 

A massive blob, protected by chitinous scales, with eye stalks and one central eye floated above the ground and gazed at them.  Nightshade slipped along the wall, angling for a backstab.  Bloodwolf, Apteryx, Gearon, Dougal and Kithren started toward the monster with weapons drawn. 

“Spellweaver, get behind the pillar.  Cast from there.  It will afford you some protection.”  Spellweaver slipped behind a pillar on the left side of the room.  Widseth stepped behind a pillar on the right side and poured his heart into a song that lasted through the combat.

Ruff the tragic monster
Lived in a cave.
He gnawed the bones of honest folk
And put them in their grave.

Little Jeffy Martin
Loved his monster Ruff
He gave him fangs, and ugly claws,
And other nasty stuff.

Oh, Ruff the tragic monster
Lived in a cave.
He gnawed the bones of honest folk
And put them in their grave.

Together they would travel
In a boat with billowed sail.
Jeffy kept a lookout perched
On Ruff’s gigantic tail.
Noble Kings and Princes
Fled the other way.
Only creatures from the deep
Would stick around and play.

Ohhh, Ruff the tragic monster
Lived in a cave.
He gnawed the bones of honest folk
And put them in their grave.

One day a valiant party
With weapons sharp and bright,
Entered into Ruff’s dark cave
To set the story right.
Jeff may live forever,
But not his monster dear.
Team Token entered in that cave
And ended all the fear.

Ohhh, Ruff the tragic monster
Lived in a cave.
He gnawed the bones of honest folk
And put them in their grave.

Jeff’s head now bent in sorrow.
Big tears fell like rain.
Ruff no longer gnawed on bones
Or gave the people pain.
Without his vicious monster,
Jeffy lost his hoard.
Team Token split up all the loot,
And the town its approval roared.

Ruff the tragic monster
Lived in a cave
Until Team Token entered in
And put him in his grave.

“Ah . . . fresh meat.  Please give me some sport.  I wish to whet my appetite before dining upon your bones,” the beholder said.

“Why do they always do that?” Gearon muttered.  “The bad guy’s got the drop on you, and he always gloats instead of taking his shot.  No mercy.”  Gearon smashed his mace into the bulk of the beholder.

Nightshade delivered a devastating blow from behind.  Apteryx’s short sword found its mark, but his long sword missed.  Bloodwolf lost his footing and missed, but Kithren’s long sword severed one of the long eyestalks.  They eye fell to the floor and imploded, sending one last ray, cutting a hole in one of the pillars and disintegrating the stone.  Dougal’s scimitar gashed the creature.  A missile of energy flew from Spellweaver’s hand and found a home.

The beholder roared.  Targeting Nightshade, it blasted her.  She staggered backward and fell to the ground.  Another stalk targeted Kithren, and a force thrust her backward slamming her into the wall.  Facing one of the eyes, Dougal felt his arms and legs begin to stiffen, but the feeling passed.  Fear flooded into Bloodwolf, but he resisted and pressed forward.  Gearon stared into the maw of death, and he felt as if a dwarven hammer had hit him in the stomach, but he maintained control.

Apteryx swung again with his right and left.  Both swords scored minor damage.  Gearon missed with his mace.  Another magic missile struck home from Spellweaver.  Widseth left his lute playing behind the pillar and charged the beholder, striking a blow damaging one of the eye stalks.

The beholder focused on Widseth, but the charm spell fell apart as mist in the wind.  Dougal inflicted another gash into the creature.  Kithren recovered and drove her sword deep into the monster’s flesh at the same time Bloodwolf buried his sword up to the hilt.  The beholder flailed backward and lay still.  All of the eyestalks and the central eye stared at nothing.  No eyelids covered the horror of their stare.

The party staggered trying to form a defensive ring in the event any further attacks might be thrown at them.  Spellweaver rushed to Nightshade’s side.  She lay completely still.

“Does anyone have a death’s door or an elixir?  I think she’s gone.”  But as he said that she sucked in air and struggled to stand.

“Where am I?”  She looked around the room.  “It was a terrible dream.  I saw Death.  He bade me come with him.  I told him that I refused to leave my friends.  He gave me a single chance to strike one of his ethereal subjects with my sword.  He said if I could critically injure it, I could return to life.  I readied myself to strike, but he told me I would have to strike with my left hand—not my right.  I struck a true critical blow with massive damage.  It surprised him, and he allowed me to return to the land of the living.”

“But you’re left handed,” Gearon said.

“Don’t you think I know that?  I’m just glad Death didn’t.”  She smiled weakly.

“Everyone needs to heal up.  Iuz probably knows we have defeated his pet.  I say we take the battle to him.  The Shadowgate’s before us,” Dougal said.  “Let’s take anything we can find that the beholder might have been hoarding here.  The slightest thing might be useful.”

After a few minutes of collecting items, Widseth nodded at Nightshade.  “I think we’re ready.  Lead out.”

The party entered the gate and wandered through the blackness for an undetermined time before stumbling onto solid ground.  A cave opening loomed before them.  An ethereal figure approached.  She was dress in brilliant white with the symbol of Pelor embroidered on her collar.  Her voice was a rare and beautiful melody.

“You have successfully traveled through the harrowing Plane of Shadow to reach the outskirts of the city of Greyhawk. You are at the base of the plateau with the old monastery of Pelor perched at its top. As you see below, an army surrounds the city, and the monastery appears to be the headquarters of this invading horde. The only hope for Greyhawk is to cut the head off of this vile serpent army. You must slip into the old monastery, find the leader of this evil assembly, and put an end to his plans of conquest.  Enter that cave in the hope that it will lead you to your destiny. Perhaps the scroll tube you carry can be used against its evil master: Iuz the old!”

The spirit faded from view.

“Well now,” Widseth said, “I think this calls for a song.”

Everyone gathered around.

Hang down your head Jeff Martin,
Hang down your head and cry.
Hang down your head Jeff Martin,
Your monsters are gonna die.

We met up in the tavern.
I was singin’ a little song.
But when the cleric said ‘We need ya’
I decided to go along.

Help me out now:

Hang down your head Jeff Martin,
Hang down your head and cry.
Hang down your head Jeff Martin,
Your monsters are gonna die.

By this time tomorrow
The dungeon will be clear
Hadn’t been for Team Token,
There’d still be a lot to fear.

All together now:

Hang down your head Jeff Martin,
Hang down your head and cry.
Hang down your head Jeff Martin,
Your monsters are gonna die.

We’ll sit around that table
And divide up all the loot.
While the hides of the evil critters
Are bein’ made into Gearon’s boot.

Poor boys now:

Hang down your head Jeff Martin,
Hang down your head and cry.
Hang down your head Jeff Martin,
Your monsters are gonna die.

The party readied themselves and entered the cave.

“Will they survive?” I asked Ektdar.

“We’ll know that soon enough,” he replied.

“There’s that woman again.”

“Ignore her.”

About the Author

Although born in 1949 in Salt Lake City, Utah, R. Dennis Baird grew up as a military brat.  He has lived in Georgia, Alabama, Texas, Germany, Washington DC, Ohio, Utah, Washington state, and Oregon.  He graduated from High School in Maryland, attended Denison University in Granville Ohio, and graduated from Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah with a BA in English.

As a youngster in Europe nothing delighted him more than crawling around the ruins of castles on the Rhine River or exploring Roman ruins in Germany, Italy, or Spain.  This love of ancient societies gave rise to his love of language and culture.  He has studied Spanish, German, and Russian as well as English literature.  He has enjoyed time in Mayan ruins in Yucatan, and has studied ancient civilizations and the lessons they have taught us.

He spent many years as a Boy Scout and working with Scouts as a leader.  He has many fond memories of canoe trips, campouts, horse treks, hikes, and telling stories around campfires. 

He has published two novels in the Brazen Serpent Chronicles—Talon of Light and The Caduceus.  They are stand-alone books in a fascinating world.  Four or five more books are planned for the Brazen Serpent Chronicles world.

He met his wife, Dani, in college, and they are the parents of six children and seventeen grandchildren.  They make their home in Oregon.

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