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Chronicles of Arborell, Copyright Wayne Densley 2008 All Rights Reserved
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 Something important had happened to Gremorgan on the steps of the Kora'gef, the consequences of an unforeseen discovery filling his thoughts as he descended the crystal stairway. He had said nothing of it to Mallen, his companion still shaken by the reality of the Hra'gora and their song, but he knew that he would need to share it with him soon. It was something profound in its implication and he needed time to consider the ramifications of his discovery. Perhaps later, there would be time for him to explain the importance of what he had uncovered to the young Kalborean.
For him the song of the Hra'gora had been a revelation, not just an experience that he had shared with his new companion. It had come to him unasked for, and in its simplicity he had almost missed it, but it had been there hidden within the words of the Earthkind's song. The culmination of years of hard work, of research and solitary labour had been repaid to him with the answer to a puzzle that had eluded him for more than two decades.
As the two men descended further into the bedrock of the world he took the time to ponder the song's meaning and consider what he should do about it. His young companion was not aware of it, but he had just been given the key to a power far greater than anything the Dwarvendim had yet encountered. He would do well to think upon it before telling any of his brethren.
Twenty years he had spent in the darkness and solitude of this domain, and quite by accident he had found the answer he had been looking for meshed within the strains of the Hra'goras' supplications. Why they should give it to him was puzzling, but the servants of the Shan'duil had their reasons. Of that he was sure. Perhaps it had been the presence of his companion that had stirred the Earthkind. He knew they were very receptive to the thoughts and emotions of those engaged upon an honourable quest, and he had to admit that for all the Kalborean's apparent hardness he was an honest man on a noble venture. Gremorgan had to smile though. He could well remember when he had first arrived in the domain of the Hra'gora to begin his search. The excitement of those first months had quickly been tempered by the rigours of his research and the hard labour of his efforts. Maybe in the process of his interment here he had lost the spark that might have opened the Earthkind's song to him. He could not dismiss the idea that he might ultimately need the young Kalborean far more than he might be needed himself.
The crystal stairway extended before them in one long shining river of stone. He had been this way before and knew that there was at least another good hour before they reached the base of the stairs. He decided that in the quiet of the Kora'gef he should take the time to consider the power he had been given, and perhaps get to know a little better the Kalborean that travelled steadfastly at his side. First however, he needed to ponder the significance of what he had been given and look back at how he had arrived at such a crucial juncture.
Gremorgan could not complain about the life he had endured. The Dwarvendim as a people did not make life easy for themselves, and certainly spent nothing of what they had on the comforts or luxuries of soft living. As a child he had been separated from his family and sent to the School of Lore in Menion'Tanch. There he learned quickly that for one such as he there was no such thing as childhood, only the rigours of scholarship and the pain of martial discipline. He had been identified early in his youth as a Shardarim and with that title came both power and duty. It had stayed with him his whole life and had defined everything that he was, or ever would be.
When his King had commissioned him to the task that had sent him into the depths of the earth he had done so without question. Those who had power and responsibility obeyed the dictates of their duty above all. For he and his brethren there was only one arbiter of their actions in the world, and that was their fealty to their King. Twenty years was a long time, but he had been blessed with a long life and could not begrudge the time he had spent so far from the human world. Now he could say that it had been worth it.
His King had given him a mission, one that had been based on nothing more than prophecy. Within the dark passages of the labyrinths of the Hra'gora lay the key to a great secret, one that could finally force peace between the Dwarvendim and their mortal enemies. It was important to the security of the Stone Kingdoms, and Gremorgan Hedj had been the chosen of his brethren to search it out. He had found out very early however, that it was neither simple nor without risk, and in consequence of his task he had lived in the domain of the Hra'gora longer than any other. Now, by the subtle hand of Providence, the Kalborean had entered his world and placed him exactly where he needed to be to find the object of his searching. He could not help but smile as he considered how difficult his life must now become. Finding the key within the words of the Hra'goras' song was only the first part of his task complete, now he must find where it must be used, and to do that he would need to go with Mallen Cael deep into the lands of the Hordim. It had been an unexpected twist in a long story, and he had to admit that after such a long time alone he could well do with the company.
"Mallen Cael," he called, turning to his companion. "We must talk."
Mallen twitched as if he had been stung. Gremorgan's voice was loud in the quiet of the Kora'gef and he had been diverted by his own thoughts as they followed the seemingly endless stairway downwards. Talking was something he needed to do though, and he would take advantage of it while there was the opportunity. The Dwarvendim spoke first.
"Something has been bothering me Mallen Cael. In your description of the attack upon Callenfrey you said there was around four hundred Hresh in the Warband. Upon reflection do you still consider that to be correct?"
Mallen thought for a moment and then nodded. "Yes, the guards who survived the onslaught put the Hordim at least at that number. Why do you ask?"
Gremorgan scratched at his beard. "It is curious that's all. I do not doubt that you are correct. It has been my experience though, that the Hresh do not expend half their number as rear-guards under any circumstance. They know the strength that can be found in numbers, and in unfriendly lands would never leave any more than one in ten behind to cover their retreat. There was more than two hundred Hresh in the Hall of Whispers and I know for a fact that such a large number has not been within the labyrinths long. I fear that your Warband was only part of a much larger raiding party, most of whom did not take part in the initial attack upon your home."
The Kalborean considered the idea but Mallen was not willing to believe that any further Hresh could have evaded his notice. His own recent experience with the Hordim had left him hoping that he would need to deal with no more than the Crue he had been following.
"I'm not so sure of that Gremorgan," he replied. "I saw no evidence of a group larger than that which I was tracking. If a much larger Warband was on the move I would have seen some sign of it."
Gremorgan nodded and shifted the weight of his bags across his shoulders. "I was thinking about that too. When we first met you might remember the Hresh that almost discovered you at the stone bridge. I wondered as to why they didn't come after you, and for that matter why they were there at all. I have seen Hordim in the caves but not for some time, and it struck me then as curious."
Mallen stopped on the stairs and grabbed Gremorgan by the arm. "And what are your thoughts now on their presence?"
"It seems obvious, the Warband you were chasing entered the caves without stopping. They knew where they were going and had little need to leave a force behind to cover them. No Kalborean Army unit would dare venture into such places, they would instead try and pick up the Hordim's trail further to the west, at any one of the openings that would allow the Hordim an exit. Such openings are well know to the Scouts and Rangers of Kalborea. No, those Hresh had been left behind to meet a larger group that must have been encamped elsewhere. It would not surprise me if a much larger Crue made it into the caves whilst we were eating stew in my quarters."
Mallen took in the words and then a sharp realisation struck him.
"If that is so then my quest to rescue Tomas has just become much harder, hasn't it."
Gremorgan nodded once again. "That is true Master Cael, but do not despair too greatly at this point. Remember that the larger the Warband the slower it will travel, and the wider will be the trail that we will be able to follow. Providence will give us our opportunity, we can trust in that."
Mallen thought on Gremorgan's words and realised that it was indeed possible that the Warband had been divided before the attack. It was not unknown for the Hordim to use a smaller force to attack a target and then regroup afterwards. Any pursuing Army units would lay their plans based on reports taken and then be overwhelmed when confronted by a much larger force than expected. It had happened before and it was a possibility that kept the young Kalborean deep in thought as they continued on.
For a while the two men descended the stairway. As they ventured deeper Mallen could feel a steady warming in the air, an increase in temperature that grew imperceptively as they spiralled lower into the Kora'gef. After the chill of the upper levels it came as a welcome change, however it was not long before he could feel himself sweating under the weight of his travel clothes and backpack.
"How long will it be before we reach the end of this stairway? The heat is beginning to sap my strength as surely as our pursuit in the Hall of Whispers did before."
Gremorgan looked about the vast stairway and answered. "No less than five minutes will see us at the stairway's end. There we can rest for a short while before we make our way to the Shan'duil."
Mallen was glad for an end to the endless steps of the Kora'gef, he was not so sure he felt relieved by the idea that there might be further travel involved before reaching Gremorgan's goal. He reasoned quickly that any further need to find the Shan'duil in this place must involve long distances and an unreasonable length of time to reach. Perhaps there were other options.
"Is there really a need to find this Shan'duil you speak of. By now the Hresh must have got well and truly tired of waiting for us to return to the Hall of Whispers. Can we not return to our path and get out of this place?"
Gremorgan smiled and turned to his companion. "Do you really want to go back up these stairs? I would have thought any option that would speed us on our way would have been preferred."
Mallen stopped on the stairs. He was not convinced. "Gremorgan, I have no doubt you know exactly what you are doing. You are just not confiding much of it with me. Tell me where it is we go, and why, or I shall indeed begin to climb back up these stairs and leave you here to enjoy the solace of your own company once again."
The Dwarvendim sighed and slipped his bags from his shoulders. It was not in his nature to explain anything to anyone. In a long life of solitude it had been a skill he had had little recent opportunity to exercise. He could see the Kalborean's point though. It would be best to be open about what was about to happen.
"We cannot return to the Hall of Whispers as we are, Mallen Cael. The Hresh will wait as long as it takes for us to either return to them, or die of starvation down here. With the weapons at our disposal we are no match for them, and I can tell you frankly that I do not wish to damage the edge of my axe upon any of their thick heads at this time. We need something else, a boon that will see us past them and back on the trail of your brother as quickly as possible. To this end we must seek an audience with the Shan'duil, and if all goes well, gain an opportunity to make up the time that we have lost. It is as simple as that."
In the quiet of the Kora'gef Mallen considered Gremorgan's answer and found it raised more questions than it answered.
"What can we possibly get down here that would do that, and more importantly what is the Shan'duil anyway? You keep on saying it, but it is something that you have not yet fully explained."
Gremorgan paused for a moment and scratched at his face. This was a harder set of questions to answer than Mallen knew.
"What we will find down here is something that I cannot tell you, for it is not my place to say what help will be given to us. The Shan'duil is just another name for the River of Life, of which it has been given many. I choose such a name because it is most comfortable for me to do so. The River of Life however, is no common thing and if one is to make reference to it, one should do so with respect. Have you not heard of the River in your travels?"
Mallen nodded. Talk of such things had been the stuff of many roadside campfires and he had to admit that he had treated such talk flippantly. In the hard world in which he had lived, such things seemed of little importance.
"I have heard of the River of Life, but to me it has always been just myth and the talk of drunks or fools. Are you telling me that we are actually going to see it? And in doing so talk to it?"
Gremorgan laughed out loud. In his world the River was as real as the boots he wore upon his feet. He could see his Kalborean friend was in for a shock.
"Mallen Cael, the River of Life, or the Shan'duil as it is known, is as much a part of your existence as any other part of the natural world. Although you may not know it, the River flows beneath the world of Arborell binding every living thing to it. It is the source of life here and a storehouse for the power of EarthMagic. Everything that grows, and lives, and dies is bound to its eternal ebb and flow. It is the one power in our world that has no equal. We are about to look upon its face and ask it for what we want. Whether it gives it to us will be completely up to it."
Mallen shook his head in disbelief but he could see that Gremorgan was serious. The Dwarvendim turned to continue his descent but found himself with one more question to answer.
"Who are you Gremorgan? You are no common prospector, that became apparent from the first time I sat in your quarters. I would like to know who I am travelling with before I take a further step."
"Is it not sufficient that you know my name, and in that knowledge be assured that I wish you no harm?"
"It would be enough, but you have shown me things that are beyond the experience of the years I have lived in the world. The solid, real world I have come to believe in has faded before the uncertainties of your magic and the power of the Hra'gora. Tell me now who you are and from this point I will forever call you friend."
Gremorgan extended his hand and as he did so Mallen could feel his huge frame grow before him, the edges of his travel cloak lightening with a radiance that had its source deep within him. "To my family, Mallen Cael, I am known as Gremorgan Hedj, third son of Paderian Hedj of Menion'Barac. To my friends I am simply Gremorgan. But to my people I am the Maturi Hedj, Seventh LoreMaster of the Grand Circle and servant to the Doctrine of Araheal. That is who I am and who I shall always be. Take heart young master in the knowledge that I mean you no harm."
Mallen took Gremorgan's hand and shook it in friendship. Everything the Dwarvendim had done and said now made sense. He was a LoreMaster, one of the most powerful men in Arborell and regularly the centre of great suspicion and distrust in the world outside the Stone Kingdoms of the Dwarvendim. The eleven LoreMasters of the Grand Circle were the only men in the known world who had mastered the ways of EarthMagic. And such power was the subject of both envy and distrust by those who did not possess it. Now he could truly say his companion was known to him. It made Mallen feel much more comfortable in the huge man's presence.
"I believe you hold no malice towards me. Shall I continue to call you Gremorgan or do you prefer a title of some kind?"
The Dwarvendim smiled and shifted the weight of his bags upon his shoulders. "I think Master Cael, that you can call me anything you want."
"In that case Gremorgan will do me fine."
With that the two men continued their descent of the Kora'gef and in its silence began to hear the low sound of a drumbeat carried on the hot air as they took the last twist in the stairway's carved stonework.
When they arrived at the base of the stairs Mallen found himself within a wide chamber, roughly square in shape that rose into a vaulted ceiling above. Here the walls were plain, without carving or device, hewn of a marbled yellow stone, except for one large metal plaque that covered the entire wall at their right hand. Engraved into the thick golden metal was four lines of sharply etched writing. Somehow it seemed familiar and Gremorgan stood before it with his hands at his waist, murmuring to himself as he read the lines in turn.
"What does it say?" Mallen asked.
The Dwarvendim stood and faced his companion, a glint of sorrow in his visage. "That is the question that has haunted my brethren since the day we gained mastery of EarthMagic. These four lines are the Ather'Lorell and they are the basis of all the power wielded by the LoreMasters. We say the words and make supplication to the forces of EarthMagic, but their actual meaning remains a mystery locked within the ancient language that wrought them. It is a puzzle that has been put before us by the Shan'duil itself. The River of Life has provided no clues, it is something we apparently must solve on our own."
"What will you gain by uncovering it?" Mallen asked.
Gremorgan turned again to the lines of text and answered, "That is a question that can only be answered when we do."
Without further discussion the two men sat upon the last step of the Kora'gef and rested. The descent of the crystal stairway had been taxing on both mind and body, and for a short while the companions sat quietly, contemplating the chamber they had found. Mallen was glad that they had reached the foot of the great stairway but it left him anxious to move on and the chamber seemed to provide no way forward. There was no exit from this place and it appeared to him that they had travelled a great distance for nothing. For his part Gremorgan reclined as best he could upon the last few steps of the Kora'gef and considered carefully the huge metal plate. He did not appear at all worried.
"What are we to do now?" Mallen asked after he felt sufficiently rested. Gremorgan said nothing but got to his feet and collected his bags.
"Do not be concerned young Master, nothing is ever as it seems."
Carefully he pulled a small leather pouch from a pocket within his travel cloak and from it placed two circular pieces of rubber in his ears. Then he turned to the metal engraving. As he did so he looked at Mallen and winked, "Watch Master Cael, even solid rock cannot stand before the power of EarthMagic."
With his back to Mallen, Gremorgan raised his hands before him, palms facing the metal engraving, and uttered a single word. "Tolluth."
Instantly the lines of text began to glow, a deep fire bursting from the depths of the engraving, sending sheets of brilliant light out from the words and across the chamber into the wall opposite. Gremorgan jumped aside and pulled Mallen with him as the light danced across the facing wall and dug deep into its stone. Within seconds the opposing wall began to fade, a long crystalline passageway uncovered behind it as the solid stone disappeared into nothingness.
With the wall gone, the chamber was suddenly flooded with sound, a deep reverberating beat that pounded in the closeness of the space, assaulting Mallen's ears and driving spears of pain into his temples. It was a sound he could not escape. With hands on his ears he looked at Gremorgan but the Dwarvendim seemed unaffected, instead he fumbled about in one of his pockets and presented the Kalborean with two of the small rubber discs, indicating with a quick gesture that he should place them in his ears. Mallen did so and immediately the sound lessened. It could still be heard but had been muffled to a level that was tolerable. He could hear nothing else.
Enfolded in a thick cloud of heat and surging noise they began to walk down the crystal passage. It was rough-hewn and shaped as a long stone arch that led to an opening some one hundred metres further into the rock. Gremorgan picked up his pace. Mallen could hear nothing except the background noise that sent tremors along his teeth and temples, but he could see an air of expectation in the LoreMaster that gave no doubt that something important was ahead. And indeed there was.
When they reached the end of the passage it opened out on to a flat outcrop of stone, uncarved or engineered in any manner that Mallen could discern. It was wide though, about ten metres in width and fifteen in extension as it jutted precipitously from a sheer cliff that ran for many hundreds of metres above where they were standing, and for almost the same distance below. Mallen could see that they were in a huge open cavern, one untouched by any sentient hand, formed by the forces of the earth itself. About them a hot wind rushed up the cliff face before swirling into the heights of the cavern above, disappearing between huge buttresses of stone that sprang from all sides of the chamber. It was within this surging turmoil of heat and sound that Mallen Cael looked upon the face of the Shan'duil.
Carefully he peered over the edge of the outcrop. Its surface had been worn smooth by the footprints of many visitors and apart from a single stone plinth that sat squat upon its farthest edge was unremarkable. Gremorgan stood close by his side, and as he looked into the depths of the cavern he could see clearly against glowing walls of rock the blinding rush of a river, shining in its own brilliance. It was not water though, and it was hard for him to place a description upon exactly what he was seeing, but he could not discount the idea that the Shan'duil looked to him as stars might if they could be captured and brought together in a river of flowing energy. From multitudes of openings in the cavern's lower walls gouts of liquid light were spraying out into a wide lake at the base of the cliff, ebbing and gushing in time to the reverberating beat that was sending tremors through his body. Within the overwhelming pounding of the river he could see forms flowing with the light, as fish might struggle against a river current. And everywhere was the brilliant glow, turning the cavern white and then blue in colour as the rushing noise echoed around the monstrous chamber.
Gremorgan could say nothing. The noise was too loud, but he got Mallen's attention and then pointed to his chest, tapping upon his ribs as he pointed down into the depths below. Mallen understood immediately. It was a heartbeat, the pounding rush of the lifeforce of the Earth, flowing through endless tunnels and tributaries like blood flowed beneath his skin. He watched it for a short time then looked at Gremorgan. He wondered what they must now do, the Shan'duil was far below them, he could not see how they might contact it and he looked to the Dwarvendim for the answer. Without a word the LoreMaster was already preparing.
First he set about securing all his bags tightly to his body. After a few gesticulations Mallen did the same, bemused but anxious to see what was about to happen. When all their gear was stowed and tightly secured about their bodies the Dwarvendim moved to the small pillar of stone at the edge of the outcrop. There was nothing particularly remarkable about it, and except for a small globe of crystal that sat upon its flat upper surface it seemed quite out of place, almost temporary. Gremorgan came close against Mallen and cupped his hands against the Kalborean's ear. He was shouting but Mallen could barely hear him.
"Mallen Cael, we cannot speak directly with the Shan'duil, it takes preparation we don't have time for. There is however, a quicker way. You need only place your hand against the crystal sphere when I do. Do you understand?"
Mallen nodded his head. There was now nothing the LoreMaster could say that seemed to surprise him. Together they reached for the sphere and as one touched its shimmering surface.
The effect was instantaneous. In a flash of light, and a pause in time that lasted less than a heartbeat, both Gremorgan and Mallen found themselves within a small chamber no larger than an office. There was no door and every wall but one was stacked from floor to ceiling in bookcases and scrollshelves, all heavily laden with documents and other bound texts. The one free wall before them stood as a single piece of clear crystal, a window that looked out upon the cavern of the Shan'duil in all its shining brilliance. Mallen could not see the outcrop upon which they had been standing. Here however, there was no noise and little heat. The crystal wall was a backdrop to a simple oak desk that sat solidly in front of them. Sitting at the desk was an old man. He was immersed in the reading of a unrolled parchment and did not seem to have noticed their sudden arrival. Gremorgan spoke to gain his attention.
"Mentor, we stand before you as humble servants to the Doctrine of Araheal. It is our wish to ask for a favour."
The old man lifted his head and folded the parchment so that neither of the newcomers could see what might be written upon it. Mallen winced, he was sure he could hear the man's joints crunching as he moved.
"A favour you say? Servants to the Doctrine you declare? Well, we'll see about that. Who are you?" He pointed his finger at Gremorgan and with it came a chill that filled the small room, cutting through their clothing and numbing their skin. The Dwarvendim answered without haste or trepidation.
"I am Gremorgan Hedj, Seventh Maturi to the Grand Circle and servant to the Doctrine of Araheal. I stand before you in need of assistance and declare that my intentions are both honourable and without malice."
The old man listened carefully and then turned to Mallen. "And who might you be. You have no connection to this place, no affinity with the power of the Shan'duil. How is it that you come to stand before the Mentor?"
Mallen felt the Mentor's gaze cut through his own thoughts and before he could speak he felt something grasping deep into his memories. The old man had not waited for a reply, he had found his own way to answer his questions and Mallen could do nothing to hold back the power the Mentor was wielding. Any resistance was pushed aside as the tendrils of a great energy insinuated its way into his thoughts, selecting everything that related to how he happened to be standing beside the huge Dwarvendim. It was over in a matter of seconds.
"I see you are a man with an uncertain future ahead of you. A great task ahead that seems beyond your skills to complete." He turned and looked out over the surging brilliance of the Shan'duil and then spoke softly, "It is good that you have found one such as the Maturi Hedj. Without him you will not succeed."
Gremorgan stepped forward. "Mentor, we ask that you grant us one favour, a small boon that will see us on our way and a step closer to finding the object of our search. It is for you to decide how this might be done."
The Mentor turned from the window and strode over to Mallen. His clothes were so old that they flaked from his form as he moved, but there was a light in his eyes that sparkled with the vigour of a predatory bird. There was an energy within him that Mallen could feel and as he stood before the frail form he wondered how long he must have been here. The Mentor looked at the Kalborean and then turned his head to Gremorgan.
"Does he understand the Doctrine?"
Gremorgan shook his head. "He is a novice in the ways of EarthMagic Mentor, he does not understand what the Doctrine is, nor its dictates."
The Mentor snorted and moved back to his desk. When he was seated he pulled open the parchment that had been hastily folded and laid it out for all to see. With a simple wave of his hand the room was filled with a flowing series of images and voices, both human and Hordim. It was telling a story, one that Mallen did not understand. It seemed important to the Mentor that he did.
"Before you Mallen Cael is the history of the Doctrine of Araheal and the reason that the Dwarvendim of Arborell have found favour with the powers of EarthMagic. It is a story you must understand before the boon that you ask can be granted. Listen carefully."
"Before the coming of Men to this world only the Mutan had access to the power that could be given by the Shan'duil. They had taken it when the Ancient Trell had been thrown down, and to serve the needs of their own lust for power had used it to dominate the rest of the Trell's servants. For centuries they harnessed EarthMagic to wreak havoc upon their world, and in their decrepitude have caused great harm to the lands of Arborell. It was only with the arrival of Men in the world that the Shan'duil found a way to calm its unease."
"The first thing you must understand about EarthMagic Mallen Cael of Kalborea, is that it is only interested in one thing, balance. The health and vitality of the lands of Arborell are built upon a foundation of balance, of equal forces in constant flux, one always limiting and countering the other. Just as death follows life, and night follows day, so too EarthMagic requires this levelling of the scales, and until the arrival of Men in the world it had been without balance for a very long time."
As the Mentor spoke the images between them changed and flowed. As his words rang out within the chamber so too the images and sounds of history long past were brought to life, a vivid illustration of the world as it once was. Mallen could see in the old man's eyes that there was a point to his lesson, one that he would need to learn if they were to obtain help.
"The ancients knew of the need for balance but disregarded it, and fell into an oblivion of their own making. With their demise the Mutan took up the powers of the Shan'duil and in time found themselves, and their kindred, thrown into the wastes of the Sanhar. What they all refused to acknowledge was that power such as that granted by EarthMagic must be shared and cannot be commanded. It was the Dwarvendim who first realised this, and it was one Dwarvendim in particular who found a way to gain access to it."
Mallen watched as the visions before him changed, displaying a single Man, wrapped in robes and holding a long stave of white wood as he stood upon the lip of a high cliff, talking with what looked like one of the Hra'gora. The apparition was a turmoil of diaphanous cloth and shadowed form framed within the ice and snow of a mountain storm, but the Man stood his ground, and in that maelstrom said four words that broke the silence of the Mentor's chamber. In that instant Mallen could feel the world turn upon itself and shudder into a new alignment where not only the Mutan held power.
"An agreement was reached upon that very mountainside, at a place called Araheal. The Shan'duil would grant the powers of EarthMagic to eleven members of the Dwarvendim nation, in the same proportion as there were wielders of power amongst the Mutan. But there were conditions, and the breaking of any of them would mean the withdrawal of such power to all who had been granted access."
The Mentor folded the parchment and looked at Mallen, his frame now flooded with untapped power that enfolded him in light.
"One of these conditions is that any favour granted by the Shan'duil, any power developed or harnessed by one must be given openly to all others. If I grant this boon for you and deliver you quickly to the outside world you must understand that the same grant must be given to the Clavern'Sigh of the Mutan, for them to use at a time befitting to them. Do you understand?"
Mallen nodded his head but was not sure what the Mentor wanted of him. The Mentor stood and pointed his outstretched finger directly at the Kalborean's chest. "Is the granting of this boon worth the delivery of its power in equal measure to your mortal enemies? Say yes and it will be granted. Be in any doubt and I will return you to the stone outcrop from whence you came."
For his part Mallen knew he needed the help but the weighing of such matters was outside his experience. In a moment of indecision he looked at Gremorgan. The Dwarvendim stood stone-faced but nodded his head just enough to show that he was in agreement. That was all Mallen needed.
"Yes," was all he said.
"Then so it shall be. Behind you is a door. Open it and take the help that has been offered."
Both men turned to find a doorway in the wall behind them, where previously there had only been shelving. The door was closed, made of sturdy oak and fitted upon thick brass hinges. Its surface was covered with a carved scene of dragons in flight and at its centre was set a large spherical knob.
Gremorgan thanked the Mentor and then spoke to Mallen. "We had better be going Master Cael, the outside world awaits us."
Together they walked to the door and placed their hands upon the doorknob.
Mallen could not remember what happened next, but when he rose from the ground upon which he lay the first thing he noticed was that it was late afternoon. In the west the twin suns were setting, spreading deep-red and orange layers of colour upon the horizon. Above, the sky was darkening and the first stars of night were beginning to appear. After the heat of the Shan'duil it was cold, a wind blowing from the north bringing with it a blustering chill that gave a hint of bad weather to come. Quickly he looked around and found Gremorgan heaving himself upright. His bags had somehow wrapped themselves around his neck and he was having no small amount of difficulty untangling them to his satisfaction. Only when his throat was free did he speak.
"Well, we certainly got what we asked for, eh?"
Mallen smiled and nodded. He was glad to be breathing fresh air once more. "Where are we? Are we really out of the labyrinths or is this some trick?"
Gremorgan raised himself to his feet and stretched his back. "We are indeed out Mallen Cael. The Mentor has placed us where we would have been if we had not been pursued by the Hresh in the Caer'nar'dorum. In his wisdom he has deposited us at the southern edge of Trebett's Gorge. It will be for us to find our way from here however."
Mallen carefully surveyed the lay of the land and tried to determine exactly where they were. To the west and south the ground fell away in a series of descending slopes before meeting a wide plain that disappeared into the encroaching darkness. To the north stood a defile cut deep into a solid wall of rock, weathered and bracken filled. Beyond it sank a winding gorge within which the dry bed of a long dead river meandered out of sight. Behind them rose a sheer cliff, a wall of splintered granite from which the table of ground upon which they stood extended out, before falling away to the plains below. At its base was a small opening, choked at its edges with ivy and low bushes.
Gremorgan was looking westwards, into the last embers of the setting suns. His thoughts had already turned to practical issues.
"Our first concern must be to find a safe place to sleep for the night and then find the trail of the Hordim upon first light tomorrow. Nothing can be gained by trying to pick up their trail now. If they have maintained a large force as we suspect then we will find their tracks upon the slopes to the west. The Gorge to our north is a dead end. If the Crue has come this way we will find their tracks within the softer earth of the ground below."
Mallen agreed. The lay of the land indicated only one possible direction the Hordim could have taken. "I have never travelled these parts before. I know the Isirien River should be somewhere to our west, but surely there could be no good purpose in making for it. There can be found the Mireglades, and I could not wish such a danger upon anyone, even my enemies."
Gremorgan unshouldered his bags and let them fall. The wide table of ground upon which they stood was stony and hard, only the toughest of grasses covering the few pockets of soil that filled hollows in the weathered stone.
"I have no doubt the Hresh are making for the Mireglades. If they expected pursuit after leaving the domain of the Hra'gora there would be the perfect place to avoid it. Beyond the marshes of the Isirien lay the open plains and hills of northern Kalborea. I would imagine they would make use of any chance to put distance between themselves and anyone who might be after them."
Mallen was dubious. He had only heard of the dangers that lay within the Mireglades, but that was enough for him to know that it was a dangerous place, best avoided if possible. He hoped the Hresh had some sense and had decided on another route. He had no doubt however, that they would go wherever the Warband led them.
In the gloom of twilight Gremorgan took hold of his bags and made for a shallow depression in the ground at the edge of the clearing to the west. It was surrounded on three sides by low brush and at one side by a copse of gnarled Arcacia, stunted and sickened by the rocky ground within which they had been forced to grow. Here they made camp and took the time to eat a hot meal. Gremorgan fell into sleep as soon as he had finished eating. In the glow of a low fire Mallen lay upon his blanket and stared at the clear sky above, searching out familiar stars and wondering at what his future might hold. Before he could finish his thoughts the hand of sleep took him as well.
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