Panting after the terror of what they had encountered, in the Depths they were to hear screams of pure rage. The fury of these monsters down below awoke in each of them such fear that the travellers chose not to remain there but rather to continue up the stairway that they discovered a short distance away from them.

  Shuddering as they went, they were to inspect their injuries as they moved up those stairs, with it Ronald who offered to try to heal the wounds of Cormac.

  For which he was scolded by Wiglaf, who stated firmly, “Do not be daft lad, you have not the experience and wisdom at this time, to heal injuries as Marian and I may. Allow me, I shall heal Cormac’s wound.”

  “But Wiglaf, you are injured and shan’t risk adding to your injuries!” Glarald objected at once, stunned by this decision.

  “I should be alright Wiglaf, you should worry more for Marian,” Cormac said bravely, more concerned for the Nun, than for himself.

  Wiglaf did not reply, in place of a proper response he prayed and ran his hand over the broken flesh of the youth. The torn flesh soon sealed closed, with the wounded bone beneath it likewise healed.

  Once he had finished, Cormac felt a flash of pain then peace, wherefore he thanked the old sorcerer who nodded studying his own left arm worriedly. The wound unlike that of the Sea-Drake did properly close, so that there was a sigh of relief once the injury had properly healed after it had moved to the elder.

  “What were those things? They appeared half-man half spider, and yet wholly different from both,” Connor gasped still shaken by the beasts who had attacked them.

  “A-aye,” Calandra agreed, ere she added with a shiver, “Do you think they wished to seize us to be put into their eggs and if so, does this mean they were once men? Or were they genuinely keen to eat us?”

  Few of them knew how to answer her.

  “Mayhaps, ‘tis best we let the matter lie,” Marian suggested quietly, a dark cloud having come over her eyes.

  *****

  The stairs led to a small passage that led to another Dwarvish crafted collection of mansions, this time though they were to discover not the terrifying beasts down below. But rather, a grand series of halls that were all filled with resting bodies.

  These bodies were all covered in scales. Scales that were of every colour but did not reflect light as those of dragons might have. Each of these bodies was shaped rather like dragons, to the amazement and apprehension of each of the adventurers.

  Seeing these strange winged-lizards which had pointed tails, considerably diminished size and lack of light-reflecting, set each of them apart from the great drakes they were supposed, to have been twisted from. They were still large being forty meters long, ten wide but according to Bardulf, they were as insects compared to dragons.

  “These- these are Wyverns,” Ronald had concluded when he first set eyes upon the beasts, stunned. “They are not natural beasts and must be bred, and given a place to nest for they are ordinarily incapable of breeding themselves and nesting properly.”

  Standing by the doorway that led down to the Edranite Depths, with few lights still flickering, for the sorcerers had preferred to extinguish the light of their staves. This done because of the magic-wielders being fearful of awakening these monstrous creatures, though the warriors did not do the same for the torches. They were so very hideous, so much so that Cormac pondered why anyone would create such things.

  Not quite catching onto the meaning behind the words of the sorcerer, Indulf asked of him, “Do you mean that they were planted here?”

  The sorcerer grimaced and nodded his head a little, with Wiglaf the one who with a grimace of pain answered his question, “In a manner of speaking.”

  “We should tread lightly,” Lauma decided firmly.

  This they might well have done, and were in the midst of doing as they moved to cross the hall in the direction of the slit in the wall opposite where they had come from.

  The first to make it across the hall was Indulf, with the youth racing past while Connor trod slowly. It was to be Lyr and the Elves who next reached the opposite end of the grand hall which was a city square.

  Colwyn it was who wondered to himself, “I do wonder who placed these Wyverns here? And if-” He now looked up ere he remarked, “Ah I see it appears that they come and go through holes in the ceiling.”

  “Why stop advancing to study this?” Cormac hissed hardly curious about the Wyverns.

  Marian was about to answer the Cymran, when there was a great cry of triumph that originated from behind them. A glance backwards, over her shoulder she let slip for the first time since they had met her, cursed.

  “What is that sound?” Corin asked being himself part of the past the Wyverns.

  “They have slipped past the boulder somehow,” She guessed.

  The last of the group were by this time halfway through the hall, Cormac being in front of one dark-coloured wyrm at the same time that the Nun stood just behind it. Apprehensive, he was along with Bardulf who was directly behind him, to bear witness to the first of the Wyverns’ open its eyes.

  The slits of its eyes once open settled upon Cormac who saw its confusion shift to a sentiment of loathing. Despite how he had frozen when confronted by the half-spider, he had the presence of mind to leap away; rolling away from the beast just as it tensed prepared to leap after him.

  It lunged forward, fangs open and claws raised to hew him to shreds as the half-spider had wished to do a short time ago.

  Where the half-spiders-beasts had not known to fight as a pack, the Wyvern that had lunged forward took to letting loose a great bellow. It was almost a barking sound with Bardulf staring very briefly at the creature, just as he did.

  The other Wyverns were to awaken at this one’s cry.

  None of them remained in place long enough to be attacked by the awakening wyrms. This it was that saved a number of them, with only Bardulf lagging behind a number of them.

  The Wolfram it was who crouching down as one crimson Wyvern dived for him, and rolling past another, weaving and dodging as he went, impressing each of his companions with his swiftness. By the doorway urged him, the song of their cheers echoed throughout the whole of the hall, but as they were in a narrow crack in the mountain they could not be reached by the Wyverns.

  It was as he neared them that the strangest possible turn of events took place. Eyes darting everywhere, as he raced just behind Marian who slipped into the doorway easily, the Wolfram was but three meters from them when one of the half-spiders appeared from seemingly nowhere. It wove a path past the wyrms, hardly paying them any mind it seemed, so intent was it upon its prey.

  Pouncing upon him, Cormac saw the bewilderment and shock in Bardulf’s eyes, as he was thrown off his feet and made to stare up at the youth.

  Shrieking in triumph, the beast bent low to begin to tear into the panic-stricken Wolfram who struggled against its greater weight.

  What neither he nor Cormac, nor Marian could have foreseen was how the half-spider would be struck by one of the Wyverns, who made to devour it ere it spat it back out some hundred feet away. The other half-spiders that had begun to emerge from the other doorway began a heated battle for territorial dominance with the dark-twisted drakes.

  Having no wish to be present when the next beast or wyrm recalled his existence, Bardulf was upon his feet in an instant, and did not waste any time in racing towards his friends. Once past the slit in the doorway he breathed much more easily.

  “Hurry, we must not tarry,” Corin urged them motioning for them to follow him, thither into the darkness.

  None of them argued.

  *****

  They had a short-lived argument, when they noticed how the hall did not lead to a grander place that ultimately led out of the mountain, but rather curved downwards once more. This path curved back into the Edranite Depths from when they had come but a short time, before that moment.

  There is considerable reluctance to go back down, for fear of enduring more of the sort of evil that they had previously endured. In the end, they are convinced by Kyrenas who complains that they had no other pathways to travel down. “We have come so far that, we shan’t turn back save if we wish to perish.”

  Reluctantly they obeyed his suggestion.

  As they journeyed down those steps though, they wondered to themselves reluctantly, “how much worse could it be?” or at least Cormac did say aloud to Glarald in private confidence.

  Unfortunately for him, Wiglaf was to hear his foolish words and scold him for them, “Tush lad, why do you tempt fate so? Do you wish to bring down more darkness and evil upon us?”

  Shushed in this manner, Cormac was too weary to pout or to counter with any sort of arguments, especially after all that they had endured. He still could not bring himself, to meet Calandra’s gaze, or that of her sister could not summon up the will necessary to do much more than follow. His thoughts obliterated by how often they had come to succumbing to death.

  The stairs this time led not to some ancient fallen city, but hours later to a large shrine. It was not as you might imagine a proper religious shrine to be. There were no statues to the gods, no altar to worship before. There were only the effigies of ancient kings, and statues of these great Dwarves who had dedicated their lives to the service and lording over of their people.

  Long did they stare at the marble faces that stared up into the darkness, or who loomed over them from near the walls, faces stern and foreboding, and long did the heroes ponder these men.

  None of them knew the history of these Dwarves. None save for Marian, who appeared more ragged and weary than before.

  The hall itself was considerably smaller than all the rest that they had crossed through. Nary one hundred meters high, wide and two hundred in length, it did not feel as though it were as evil as the previous places they had trodden through. There was however a sense of stillness, of grief and of loss.

  This was remarked upon by Lauma who said, “It appears that time has as with we Elves, shown little mercy for these people.”

  “Aye, such is the way of time, since it comes for all; be they mortal, dragon or god,” Marian murmured, “This is the final resting place of the line of Dainn, ere their banishment from these mountains.”

  “If you ask me, it did not happen a moment too soon,” Indulf complained with a shake of his head, “I’faith what folly drove them to think that they ought to delve so deep into the ground?”

  “That is something, we may never know,” Marian said heavily, as she stretched out a hand towards one of the effigies. “I apologise, I must rest.”

  This statement surprised them, for they had never heard her complain or plead with them to allow her to sleep or rest throughout the whole of their adventures.

  Thinking it perfectly natural for her to be wearied after all that she had endured, Cormac spoke for those around him, some of whom might have preferred to continue their journey. “But of course, Sister Marian, I shall cook up some fish and mutton for you at once.”

  This won him a small smile, one of such utter gratitude that the light of the suns was upon her face. Cormac for this reason felt his own flush with joy, to have alleviated even if only for a moment her suffering.

  They rested there in the haunting necropolis of the ancient kings of the Dwarves who numbered fifteen generations in total. The line of kings began to the right with the first of these kings Kwalin I, with his tomb’s effigy showing him to have been a stout figure with a fork-shaped beard that reached down to his waist. His hair had been long, and he had had the sternest of faces and large beefy shoulders, with the runic inscription upon his tomb proclaiming in Dwarvish.

  The inscription was translated by Glarald, with some difficulty, who read it out to them, “He of the line of Dain the Battler, who conquered all with his hatchet.”

  Reading it out for those around him who were curious, and had not yet sunk into a deep sleep after their swift supper, of onions, cooked meat and cheese.

  Seated by the resting Marian’s side, Cormac listened to the Elf, being curious he wished to hear more of the exchange between him and Meallán who had expressed curiosity also about the kings. He clung to consciousness as best he could, while he curled himself up against one of the effigies towards the middle of the hall.

  *****

  His nightmares were populated by monsters and screams, notably those of his companions. Such was the brutality he had observed, over the past several days haunted him such that he shuddered even in his sleep. Thus it was that when he regained consciousness, he felt immediate disappointment when he found himself to still be underground.

  Those around him were still mostly asleep. Looking about in the darkness, which had never before he had descended down into the Depths seemed frightening to him. Cormac could not resist the sense that he was being observed, and that it was inevitable that he should be attacked as he had been in the other Depths’ halls and rooms.

  Praying to the gods, notably to Gold-Haired Scota for protection he did a rapid head-count of his friends. Finding all of them accounted for, he breathed out a sigh of relief as he stood amidst them when he noticed two figures missing: Corin and Ronald.

  Filled with panic, he did not know what to do or where to turn to in the darkness.

  Shaking Bardulf awake, as he was of a mind that the Wolfram was the most steadfast man he knew. Cormac urged him to wake up, seized as he was by panic with the wolf rousing from his own nightmares at once with a look of relief when he saw the face of his youthful friend. This relief was short-lived, when he noticed the pinched expression of worry upon the face of the gold-haired lad who stood above him.

  “What is it Cormac?” He asked in his southron accented voice.

  Cormac stumbled for words, “It is- I have noticed- you see Ronald and Corin are missing!”

  His own sense of worry spread then to the other man’s face, so that he sat up. Cormac was not alone in jumping several dozen feet when there was a sound akin to an explosion that was heard from where they had come from.

  Several others were roused by this explosion such was the case of Kyrenas and Wiglaf. Both of them searched about themselves in a panic, having evidently not slept peacefully. There were others, such as Lyr who were to awaken a little later, shortly after Corin and Ronald had returned.

  Seeing them return hither, with wearied expressions Bardulf barked out, “Where did you two go to? What was that sound?”

  Corin met his gaze evenly, while Ronald was uncertain of how to answer. It was left to the former to reply. “We found it proper to close the stairway, to keep the Wyverns and those other creatures from following after us.”

  “You ought to have consulted with us,” The Wolfram said exasperatedly, with Cormac dismayed to see him once again, at odds with the blacksmith.

  It was never something he enjoyed seeing, especially given how much he admired the both of them. They were both so very much alike, in their courage, wisdom and dedication to their quest. The key difference outside of appearance and race, was that the Wolfram was dour by nature and loyal to a fault. Corin for his own part was far more secretive, more prone to angry outbursts or so Kenna’s son had noticed.

  “Since we are all awake, I think it is perhaps time to continue onwards,” Cormac suggested politely, hoping to forestall further quarrels between the two of them.

  This was agreed to, if with countless grumbling comments by each of his companions.

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  Some such as Calandra took being awakened with ill-grace, wincing as she often did recently at her recently shortened left-ear. Sympathy and guilt twisted Cormac’s heart so that he had to suppress the desire to hurl. In place of that, he took up her pack thinking it a kindness. She did not thank him, it was too early in the morn’ for that.

  She was not alone in looking visibly demoralized and wearied, with each of his other companions visibly wearied, or with stooped backs or downturned gazes.

  “We can only hope for no new explosions,” Indulf grumbled to him in confidence, as the other lad picked up Cormac’s pack.

  Cormac heartily agreed, as his heart was still racing after the previous one.

  *****

  The chamber ere they had left it, felt colder he noticed than when they had first entered it. Unable to decide between the three doors, Bardulf studied each of them with Lyr and Colwyn. The lot of them were fairly indecisive on this matter, with Meallán interjecting the odd word here and there, so that it was some time before they put the tombs behind them.

  “We must not choose poorly this time,” Lyr defended when Lauma became impatient with him, over the subject of their selecting one of the three doors.

  “It will not matter if you never choose,” She snapped never particularly pleasant company at the best of times.

  “She is right,” Meallán sighed though he did not move to select a door.

  With an impatient sigh Indulf brushed past them to the center door of the trio, pushing it open ever so slowly due entirely to the weight of the stone-door. Its weight far more than he had expected it to be.

  The desire to breathe fresh air for the first time in days, won out over their misery. Throwing their weight also against the grey door, Cormac, Glarald and Kyrenas were to force it open with Connor uncertain if he should aid them.

  Once open though, the Bairaz was one of the first to follow them through the hole in the wall.

  The rest of them were to follow, with Cormac the first to notice that Marian alone had not moved, looking out over his shoulder to find her kneeling before the effigies of a king and his queen, the third in the row of Dwarvish kings.

  Confused by her refusal to move, Cormac asked of the elderly woman who had her hands by her sides, her back tensed a little when he spoke. “Is something the matter Sister Marian?”

  “Nay dearie, you see, I was just praying for poor old Waldin II here, he was a kindly soul. I do hope all has turned out well for him, with Orcus is all.” Marian told him, regaining her feet with a small sigh her hands trembling, ever so slightly as she did. “He was such a kind soul.”

  “Mayhaps, you could tell me more about him, after we have left this place?” Cormac suggested, shifting from foot to foot, keen to be out in the open air yet wishing to hear at some point about this Dwarf-king she had apparently known.

  Marian spoke so oddly most of the time about some of these ancient figures that he hardly questioned what she meant, when she spoke of how kindly they had been.

  Trailing after the others, with her pack and Calandra’s slung over his shoulders he was to find that the next passage was one that was far less well-taken care of than the room they had left behind them. Dirty and smelly, as the necropolis was not, it was a place of death or so it smelt and felt to Cormac from the first instant he crossed into it.

  For half a league it stretched forward, then there was a large ungainly grey stone bridge that was ill-kept and in poor maintenance thither. There were two pillars to each side at either end of the wide piece of infrastructure.

  There was however light that shone from a third of a league away from the bridge and to the right, radiating from up this distant corner to the large cavern.

  “It seems that Indulf chose the correct passage,” Cormac judged pleased.

  “I would not cheer just yet, my young friend,” Marian warned tartly, pointing to one side of the chamber.

  Thereby the immediate right-hand corner of the cave, were several of his friends, notably Connor who menaced Bardulf with a drawn dagger. There was a maddened gleam to the Bairaz’s eyes as he glared foul murder at the other beast-man, who was also menaced by Wiglaf.

  “What is the matter here?” Cormac queried startled to find not only the three of them at war with one another, but Glarald and Kyrenas in the midst of a new heated argument. There was Ronald who appeared threatened by Lyr and Colwyn, dagger in hand looked ready to lunge upon Indulf, who was himself threatening him.

  Only Lauma and Calandra were not in the midst of a heated quarrel or desirous to slay one they had once considered a friend. It was all so confused, so strange that Cormac could only stare.

  It was as he stared at them that the same transformation that had overtaken them, overtook him though he did not immediately realize it. It was to influence him so that he saw not those he had considered his friends, but rather the half-spiders from earlier.

  There was however one striking difference; they also resembled his mother. Frightened and anger at what the monsters had done to her, he searched about for a weapon but found none on his person.

  It was at this time he picked up a stone with which to menace and slay one of them.

  It was a metamorphosis that came not from within but from without. As did the whisper in his ear that spoke monstrously things to him, spoke silkily to him to ‘free’ his mother. That he had never ere that moment, proven himself a properly filial son, and now he had a duty to do so. There were other things whispered, things that he never spoke to any of. The same was for Indulf, who felt no less shame and horror at what he had nearly done that day.

  Three of the monsters moved towards him, so that Cormac withdrew, he threw the stones at them, hitting one then the other. His hands shook though, and he could not quite hit their faces, and backing away thither to the bridge he did not see that it lay not behind him. But rather it was the abyss that awaited him.

  “Back! Stay back!” He screamed terrified as they clacked their mandibles together and sneered at him in triumph. Looking a little behind him, he did not see the abyss, but saw Marian, with the youth saying to her, “S-s-stay behind me Sister, I shall shield you!”

  The Nun looked from him to the rest of them, in anger not that he paid this fury much mind, distracted as he was by a sudden stinging pain in his right-shoulder. Gashed in his right shoulder, he fell back and near fell over into the abyss.

  *****

  “Enough! Look not with your eyes, Cormac but your heart,” Marian bellowed grabbing at Cormac’s arm.

  When he caught sight of her, she did not appear elderly to him if only for the briefest of instances. It was as though the flesh had been melted from her, leaving in its place a lovely young woman, with a heart-shaped face and a striking figure. Her clothes were much the same, but her lips were fuller, her hair no longer the thin material it once was and the colour of snow. Rather it was now the colour of gold, but it was her eyes that had not changed. They were the same dark-gold colour full of kindness and warmth.

  Over where his friends stood to his utter revulsion a great looming shadow. Large and indefinable, attached directly to the shadows of the cavern and full of malice as it glowered down at Marian. It fluttered about akin to a bird near his friends, gnashing liquid teeth together.

  Seeing this pulsating figure that waved its arms futilely at him, and that seemed to desire his companions and him. Cormac could feel his head hurt, and his whole body shudder from the agony of its tendrils that had been purged from him.

  It was with a start that he took notice that those he had thrown rocks at, were in reality Indulf, Wiglaf and Corin. His shoulder aching from where Indulf had thrown a dagger, he pulled the blade from within his wound, wherefore Marian saw to its healing at once.

  At present she looked no different from a crone, for reasons that escaped him so that her beautiful appearance disappeared.

  At the same time that she was herself once more, his companions on this mad quest were to begin to regain their senses. It was with a start that Connor wiped at his chin, crumpling within himself for he had desired to eat what he thought to be a wolf. Realizing it was one of his companions had him horrified with himself, just as Bardulf who had wished to drive him thither off the cliff felt such shame as to break a man. Neither they, nor the regret-filled Elves dared to meet one another’s gazes.

  “Away with all of you,” Marian called out to her friends chewing on her lower lip, “We must escape from this place, this creature has no power in the light. Only in darkness, which it feeds upon.”

  What she left unspoken was that it fed upon the darkness in men, and that it had sensed a great deal that lay within them. Darkness fed by the Blood-Gem that lay trapped around the crone’s throat.

  Gripping her pendant, that of the goddess Scota which she held aloft in defiance of the shadow that loomed over her. This she did as the shadow growled and spat its fury at her. Enraged that she had put a stop to its supping upon the souls of those at its mercy, it could hardly contain its hatred of her.

  Yet deep within it, there was an inkling of the truth, and for this reason it feared her more than it had ever feared any other.

  “Be wary, Sister Marian this creature is no natural thing, it has survived across the ages if the corpses of the Dwarves near the farther walls are any example to go by.” Wiglaf warned bringing the attention of some of those hurrying away from it, and to the bridge to the corpses by the walls they left behind them.

  It was as he had said; there were indeed a great many corpses, nigh on a few hundred. Most were by this time skeletons, others still had flesh upon them. The shadow having come upon them from the shadows, from the deep and had drained them from within.

  A parasite of the very worst kind, it had little empathy for its victims and far less patience for their desires or wishes.

  In this regard it shared much in common with the other beasts that lay within the Edranite Depths. It was Cormac’s view though that the beast’s foul nature lay at the heart of the Depths, he wondered if it had mayhaps corrupted the ancient lands of the Dwarves or if this place had corrupted it? Mayhaps it had worked both ways as these things are wont to do, another part of him mused.

  The travelers hurried across the bridge, with Marian backing away slowly across the bridge. The eyes of the dark beast unsightly and as covered in wispy darkness as the rest of it went to the necklace she wore. That which lay against her chest, and which she had forgotten as she held up the pendant of the goddess up at it, with its light keeping the shadow at bay.

  “What is it?” Indulf wondered as he crossed the bridge a short distance ahead of Cormac.

  “A shadow said to have been born, from the trickster who begat the Dark Queen,” Ronald explained reluctantly the first across the bridge himself, “Though I had thought them all gone, after the collapse of the Dwarven Empire.”

  “Apparently one of their numbers survived,” Lauma grumbled her face twisted with fear of the horrid monster that menaced them.

  Still tiny, still cruel it raged and hissed in its strange language at Marian who did not answer it. She uttered prayers and prayers alone, saying in Romalian when Lyr had at last crossed the bridge after Meallán and Colwyn at her urging. “You cannot follow where we go, you know this o shadow borne from Loki’s hatred, and know that I was begat by she of the darkest of nights who nurtures light!”

  Halting a distance from the hole that led up to stairs that stretched for several leagues up to the light of day, Cormac along with several others of his companions stared. Some such as Lyr and Meallán and also Bardulf who had not shaken previously from fright of the shadow, now stared at it with apprehension. Anxious that it should pass over Marian, who backed away from it ever so slowly, in another tale she might well have perished her murmurings but a poor defence against it. But in this one, though she did not she was not to escape unscathed for the creature was to lash at her with a whip made of shadow. It lashed at her face several times, struck at her arms and legs and came near to making her kneel before it.

  Neither she nor it struck a conclusive victory as far as Cormac could discern, ere he was pulled away by Corin.

  “Hurry, Cormac we must escape,” He urged the youth who resisted eyes behind them on the clash between the Nun and the creature of purest darkness who sought to devour them from within.

  “But what of Marian?” He queried worriedly.

  “She is buying us time, we would only be as a nuisance to her at such a time,” Corin snapped tugging at his arm, “Hurry lad.”

  Still Cormac resisted, it was as she drew near that she tore her gaze at last away from the beast.

  She did not speak now. Nor did she make some great proclamation, there was in place of these futile gestures but a smile.

  It was neither sorrowful, nor condemning. But rather, it was warm and forgiving.

  At last though it shamed him, Cormac fled.

  *****

  The last any of them heard of the Nun was her cry of panic as her escape route was blocked by tumbling boulders. It was Kyrenas who guessed that the dark shadow had collapsed the hole through which the light of the suns were visible.

  The first reaction he had was to leap away as the boulders tumbled down behind him. Dragged several meters away from there by this time, he shook himself free from Colwyn and Corin’s grasps as he threw himself alongside Meallán against the stones.

  “Marian! Sister Marian!” Meallán shouted his voice crisp with pain just as Cormac’s own voice was, the man of ériu hardly one to abandon a friend. “Hear me! Do you still draw breath!?” Turning now to his friends he urged them, “Help with these stones!”

  “But Meallán, we cannot risk freeing that beast!” Now it was Colwyn who spoke out, pulling at the old man’s shoulder only for him to brush off his every attempt to halt his actions.

  It was as he and Cormac strove against the vast boulders futilely that they heard Marian call out from the other side.

  “Sister Marian, are you alright?” Cormac called out to her.

  “Aye, the beast has been cast back down into the abyss from whence it came from,” She replied wearily sounding as though she were attempting to dig herself against the wall that kept them from one another.

  Cormac was just about to call for her to remain calm, when he was pulled away by Corin who hissed at him, “Wait Cormac!”

  “But why? Marian needs our help!” He shouted back struggling as best he could against the other man, frustrated by how much stronger he was. Not yet fully grown, Cormac though fit for his age had not yet fully come into his own in marked contrast to middle-aged Corin.

  The Gallian was to study his face closely, wherefore he pronounced reluctantly, “And what if this is another trick of that trickster-shadow?”

  This suggestion gave him pause, for he had not considered this possibility.

  Much as he hated the thought of abandoning Marian, the possibility that he may have to now treacherously filtered its way into his brain. Crushing that cowardly part of himself he strove now against the counsel of his friend.

  Even as he did so Meallán gave up, having listened even with his back to them. With a heavy sigh, he cried out to Marian, “Sister we must leave now, and will reunite with you outside, try to find some other way out.”

  “Wait! You shan’t leave an old woman down here! Please!” The woman’s voice yelled out, sounding genuinely distressed.

  Her pleas for aid tore at the hearts of those who still remained near the broken shield of stone. Some such as the Elves, Lyr and Ronald had fled whither into the sunlight by this time. So that only Corin, Wiglaf, Meallán Connor, Bardulf, Indulf and Meallán remained.

  It was Indulf who spoke out what they were all thinking then. Speaking half-heartedly he placed his hand upon Cormac’s shoulder, “Cormac, I do not think that that is Marian… I have never heard her address herself as an ‘old woman’ ere this moment.”

  “Aye, listen to Indulf, I also doubt that it is the Nun,” Wiglaf piped up from where he leant against the stairway wall, face scarlet with nary repressed pain.

  Cormac almost grew mutinous, his sense of loyalty outraged at the prospect of leaving Marian behind once again, when he took another glance in the direction of Wiglaf. Remembering all that they had fought for, what Marian had likely willingly given her life for and repeated the words of Meallán.

  At this cry there was no further sound, save a great bellow of rage. One that shook the stones and the passage they found themselves within, and that most of all shook them all to their core. It was apparent to all now, who had truly been behind Marian’s strident cries for aid.

  Racing away, they rushed up the stairs that were half-decayed by millennia of neglect, with only Cormac halting when almost out into the sunlight. He paused but long enough to murmur a swift prayer, for Marian’s soul. It was thereupon the last steps that, he thought he heard her voice.

  “Thank you, Cormac…” Her voice was light, and warm as it always was, but strangest of all it did not come from down below him.

  *****

  Out of the pan and into the fire, has long been a colloquial proverb, of which few know the proper origin of. It was a sentiment that most of those out in the sunlight could well understand then. They had suffered a great deal below-ground, and had thought there was to be naught but light and ease ahead of them.

  This then was why they were so ill-prepared, for what came next.

  It was Lyr who carried the Blood-Gem of Aganippe. The necklace’s chain grasped in his large paw, he had given it nary any thought from when he had been given it by Marian without any of them having noticed it. It was only as the Elves and the prince, pulled themselves out of the cave-opening, and up to their knees in snow that any of them took notice of it.

  From the moment that they noticed it, the Elves grew consternated and worried over his possession of it. Though tempted by the beauty of the locket that contained the gemstone, they drew back, as might mice from a cat. They well knew the danger, it represented for all of them.

  Only Ronald, when he saw what it was that the prince held sought to draw the jewel away from Lyr, calling out to him. “Lyr, relinquish the stone.”

  But Lyr’s gaze was crimson, his eyes aglow with greed. Hardly able to tear his gaze from the locket, he replied in a quiet voice, “But it is so beautiful… imagine, how much more beautiful it shall be upon my wife’s coronet…”

  “Relinquish it!” Ronald bellowed holding up his staff with both hands.

  “Wait, Ronald tread lightly,” Calandra cried though her words went unheeded.

  This was the scene upon which Cormac and the others who had lagged behind them stumbled upon. Connor and Meallán were swift to become stern and wary of the sorcerer, whom appeared to them to be threatening their prince who had his back to them. The former had waited near the top of the stairs for the rest of them, and came very near to throwing himself upon Ronald the moment he saw, his staff held aloft menacingly towards Lyr.

  It was Bardulf who barked out at Ronald, “What are you doing, Ronald?”

  “Lyr has the stone!” Kyrenas shouted to them, preparing his bow and notching an arrow, he did not aim it at either of their friends. Divided, he did not know who to menace or who might present the greatest danger with the stone.

  “Lyr, you must let go of the stone,” Meallán ordered authoritatively.

  But Lyr would not do this, in place of behaving as a reasonable man might well have, he grew at once angry and glared with all the venomous hatred of a jealous lover who has caught his mate with another. “Why? You just want this for yourself! It was given to me by Marian, therefore why should I give it over?”

  Most of them looked to one another, with Connor responsible for the next grand surprise as he barrelled through the snow. Others were up to their knees in snow but not him, for the gargantuan Bairaz it was almost down to his ankles. Moving with a rapidity that belied his enormous bulk and size he threw himself against his prince with enough force to topple the youth from behind.

  They fell face forward into the snow, thereupon the slight slant in the mountain peak where they found themselves, Connor was to leap from the ground onto the Blood-Gem and toss it a short distance away. In this way, he extended the great distance that separated Lyr from it.

  The prince for his part shook his head, trembled and adopted a bewildered mien then a regretful one, though he sat back up it was to kneel in defeat.

  Unsure of whether he was himself once more, Colwyn asked of the other prince, “Have you returned to your sense Lyr?”

  “A-aye,” Lyr whispered breathlessly, head bowed as defeated in his heart as he was physically.

  “Such nonsense, I cannot believe that such a ridiculous jewel could influence you so prince,” Connor growled furiously, his ill-tempered nature now showing little pity for his friend.

  Drawing near to the gemstone reluctantly, along with Meallán and Bardulf, Cormac gasped while his companions muttered to themselves and Bardulf took a step back. Fearful of the gem, he would not approach it again, with his response drawing several curious glances from their friends.

  “The locket has cracked,” Cormac said then louder so his friends could hear him.

  Several of them hurried over, to study it wherefore they debated what to do next. It was not until Ronald reached down with the tip of his staff to draw up and over to himself the stone by its chain.

  “What are you doing Ronald?” Corin asked worriedly, with a pinched expression on his face when he glanced over to the Tigrun.

  “One of us must carry it,” the sorcerer-apprentice snapped at once, “And if Bardulf will not, and Wiglaf cannot then I volunteer.”

  “Why should you have it?” Wiglaf questioned sharply, ere he shook his head a little, “Nay we must not give into its temptations. Ronald, give it over to Calandra.”

  The choice of Calandra as jewel-bearer surprised the vast proportion of their group. Connor snorted, Lauma eyed the gem with the same greed that Ronald and Wiglaf did. While Indulf kept his distance just as Lyr and Bardulf did.

  The choice was hardly questioned by any save for Glarald who looked to his cousin with consternation, “Why Calandra?”

  “Because she is the humblest person here,” Wiglaf retorted only to look then to Cormac, “Outside of our dear friend here, I would like them to trade the gemstone between them as we journey. We must not leave it over-long in the hands of any one person, lest they comport themselves as poorly as Lyr just did.”

  “But-” Ronald began to object.

  “Very well, give it here,” Kyrenas decided seizing the stone by the necklace, so that he could thrust it into her hands.

  The Elf-maiden at first shrunk back from the stone, yet once in her eyes her expression changed to a more curious, speculative one.

  In Cormac’s view, it might have been better to entrust it to Glarald or Connor. Both were headstrong and had considerable strength of will, whereas Calandra was gentle by nature. He worried what the gemstone may do to her.

  Looking out over the landscape, he observed how the mountain peaks were plentiful without any hints of where the great tower which Wiglaf, sought.

  All that there was, was snow and ice with the youth shivering at present unused to such low temperatures. It was his hope that they were oriented in the correct direction, his next hope was that they might reach the said tower soon. This latter thought came from how he noticed the way Wiglaf limped far more than before.

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