The Dragons Bane

We have been following the road north for three days now. The first day passed quickly, compared to today. The road crew has made good time so far due to the good condition of the road closest to the castle. The second day saw a relentless worsening of the road. Today, the road was showing wear in many places, and by mid-afternoon our progress was down to a crawl due to the many ruts and washouts caused by the melting snows.

Until today, the road crew had only used up a small amount of the supply of the stone they use to fix the road. But now it is looking doubtful that they will have enough to last through tomorrow, if the condition of the road continues to worsen.

We have set up camp for the night having passed the forty-mile marker a short time ago. It is still unbelievably cold at night, but the sun is warm enough to make the days tolerable. We passed many houses the first two days, the children and their parents waving joyfully to us. But the houses have become few and far in-between as we travel farther from the castle, although their occupants are just as friendly.

The northern part of the valley, with a definite uphill slant to it, can be seen to narrow until only the river is visible amongst the mist shrouding the mountains, and eventually even that view disappears behind the misty veil. And looking back, we can just make out the castle as a small, dark dot where the two pale ribbons of the red road cross over one another.

The guards assigned to protect the road crew are a sociable lot, often singing songs well into the night by a large bonfire. The farmers have left several large piles of wood at strategic places along the road for us to use for our nightly fire. The first two nights saw some of these farmers coming out and singing along with the guards and the men from the road crew, and several were the wineskins that made the trip around the circle each night.

There is but one farmhouse nearby tonight. The farmer, having noticed us a couple of hours ago as the crew was working on the road, has come out to meet us, riding a wagon bearing a large load of wood for tonight’s bonfire. His two sons have accompanied him, and the three of them, with the help of several guards, are quickly emptying the wagon into a large pile for tonight’s bonfire.

“Who’s got the oil!” yells the sergeant.

“Coming!” answers one of the guardsmen, bringing a torch, three tins of oil, and his flint and steel. After soaking the wood with a few pints of oil, the guard then lights the torch with a few deft blows from his flint and steel. Turning the torch so as to make sure it is burning well, the guard tosses it onto the oil soaked wood, which promptly blazes high into the air for several minutes before settling down somewhat. The farmer‘s two sons then take the wagon back to the house, leaving the farmer to walk home later, after sharing in the night’s festivities.

“Clernon, have you begun to get dinner yet? The hole is done and as hot as this fire is, we should have plenty of coals soon. Do you need any help?” asks the sergeant, having grown fond of Clernon’s cooking.

“Yes, I’ve just started, and, no, I don’t need any help yet. Give me about 15 to 20 minutes and then send a couple of guards to help me carry the food to the pit, assuming it’s ready by then.”

“Aye, I’ll send them over as soon as there are coals to cook on!” promises the sergeant as he leaves to warm himself by the fire.

Nordok, just coming over after warming himself with the others by the fire, can’t help but comment on the sergeant’s friendliness. “Seems like you have made a loyal friend out of the sergeant!”

“They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach!”

“This is quite a switch from the way the caravan was run, I’m not sure I like it. If we are attacked, we could be in big trouble.”

“Not to worry, Nordok, I asked that very question of the sergeant this morning. He told me that there is almost never any trouble within the fifty-mile marker. And if we do run into the kind of trouble that 29 men can’t handle, he said all he has to do is blow the horn and reinforcements will be here in the blink of an eye. I’m not sure I believe him, but I’ve noticed that our surly dwarves aren’t worried about it. Neither is the farmer, and if he can live out here with his family, it must be reasonably safe, don’t you think?”

“Well, when you put it that way, I guess so.”

“Go and get yourself warm, and make sure one of the guards has seen to my horse. The sergeant wanted me to get dinner as soon as possible. The road crew has had a hard day and I’m sure they are hungry. The sergeant promised me that one of his men would take care of my horse if it meant we could eat sooner.”

“Yea, sure the road crew is hungry, more ’n likely he’s the one that’s hungry. Who’s he kidding?”

“Well, either way, as long as my mount gets taken care of. Now get, I’ve got food to prepare!”

After dinner we spend the rest of the night singing and drinking. It isn’t long before we don’t even notice the cold. The farmer, having drunk too much, has to be helped home by three guards, themselves drunk to the point of staggering. All in all, it has been quite a trip so far, reflects Clernon, wondering what the morrow will bring.

The weather holds true and the next morning dawns bright and sunny. After a hasty breakfast of leftover bread and meat, the horses are saddled, the camp is struck, and the road crew is northward bound on their wagons, shoveling stone off the back as they go. We will follow shortly, having to make sure that the fire is out. We should have no trouble catching up with the slow moving road crew.

The road leaves the river a few miles further on, and won’t rejoin it until after the fifty-mile marker. Because of this, the sergeant has asked us to fill several water containers, leaving us one of the now empty wagons to transport the water.

It is almost dark when the road crew, having used up the last of the stone, decide to call a halt for the day. We can just make out the large stone finger some eight feet high that marks the fifty mile perimeter of the land controlled by the castle. There are no houses this far out, the last one being some miles back. The whistling wind has added an ominous undertone to the bleak terrain, causing one to shiver for reasons not related to the cold.

The river has left us some time ago, having made a large curve away from the road, which continues straight ahead of us. It was fortunate that the sergeant had us fill several containers this morning prior to leaving the river. The atmosphere is such that none of us want to go that far from camp just for water on this night.

There are no working farms nearby, and therefore there is no pile of firewood waiting for us tonight. The fields besides the road lie fallow this year. The farmers that used to reside hereabouts were the ones that perished this past winter. The farmhouses lay plundered, pillaged by snow giants during the long hours of some stormy winter night.

The sergeant, normally outspoken, has issued his orders in a muted voice. While the camp is being quickly set up, he has sent four soldiers and two members of the road crew into the woods a couple of fields over for trees to use for this night’s fire.

Clernon, assisted by two guards, has just finished the supper preparations. They are carrying the dinner to the cooking pit, where the coals are glowing warmly. The sergeant, aware of the ominous feeling in the air, has posted guards about the camp.

“Something is wrong, I can feel it in every bone of my being,” states Seldor.

“Aye, we all be feelin’ it,” replies Delgar.

“But what is it?” asks Nordok.

“Could be anything, could be nothing,” comments Dimlar.

“But I’ll bet me beard there be no singin’ tonight.”

About two hours after dinner, the first hint of trouble can be heard floating across the night air. The baying of several wolves sets our hair on end. The sergeant, aware of the danger posed by the wolves, gathers everyone near the fire for instructions.

“All right, men, we may be in for some trouble tonight. This is what we are here for. It’s what we get paid for. We are going to have a five-man watch. I want four men spread around the perimeter of the camp, and the fifth man I want by the fire with the horn. If our guests would like to post a man near the fire to help awaken the rest of us in the event of trouble, I’d appreciate it.”

Mizdar expresses our concern over the ominous feeling in the air. “I think that three of us should stand watch with your men. And keep your perimeter guards close in, wolves attack as a group, we don’t want to lose anyone tonight.”

“I agree, on both counts,” answers the sergeant, not put out at all over the slight change to his orders.

“Each shift will be four hours, and make sure to keep the fire high. First shift starts in two hours. You four will stand perimeter, and you, Hagnon, will man the horn,“ orders the sergeant, pointing to four guardsmen. “And Gerkin, you will man the horn for the second half of the night and the other four of you will stand perimeter.”

“I’ll take first watch, as well,” offers Delgar.

“An’ I’ll be takin’ second,” adds Dimlar.

“I’ll also stand first watch, I have a score to settle after my last experience with wolves,” states Nordok.

“That leaves second for me, then,” says Seldor.

“I will also take second, so I can get a jump on breakfast.”

“I wish to discuss some things with Nordok, so I will also stand first watch,” offers Clandistra.

“Well, I think I’m going to take a short nap, wake me when it is time.”

“Aye, Nordok has the right idea, I suggest the rest of us standing first watch do likewise,” suggests Delgar.

“Yes, anyone on first watch that feels he needs some rest can turn in,” offers the sergeant. “The rest of you can ready the camp for battle, I want the firewood cut and stacked by the fire, and I want 20 torches stuck in the ground near the fire where we can light them easily. Wolves generally don’t like fire, and we can hold them off with the torches while the rest of us take them down with bows.” Some of us then turn in to try to nap, while the rest get the camp ready for a possible attack.

“What, is it that time already?” asks Nordok, wakened by a gentle shake of his shoulder.“

“Aye, ’tis time fer your shift,” says Dimlar. “The wolves be much closer now, so be wary and be ready. I’m fer bed and sleep.” Nordok notices that the others assigned to first watch are also getting up and readying themselves for their watch.

The four assigned to guard the perimeter are positioning themselves around the camp, a bare twenty paces from the fire. The great horn has been positioned on its stand, over near the fire. Everything is as it should be, the torches are set out and there are several large piles of wood within easy reach of the fire.

The others have crawled into their sleeping blankets, using the collapsed tents as insulation from the frozen ground and still wearing their armor. The sergeant cautions everyone to stay alert before crawling into his own sleeping blankets.

The sergeant wakens about two hours later to check on the guardsmen standing watch. Hagnon, motioning at the sergeant, comments to Nordok, “the sarge has a built-in clock. He seems to know when it is time to check on us or change the guard.”

The sergeant, overhearing him, replies with a smile barely discernible in the firelight. “it’s part of the job, you can’t get to be a sergeant without one. How is everything so far?”

“Well, they were making noise right up until about ten minutes ago, then they quieted down. Haven’t heard a peep out of them since.”

“Hmmm... I don’t know if that’s a good sign or bad. I’m going to make my rounds and check with the rest of the men.” For some reason he decides to check on the man positioned to the west of camp. And it is a lucky thing he did, because just as he approaches the guard, three white wolves burst from cover and attack. “Look out,” he yells.

Pulling his sword, he leaps the last few feet to stand with the perimeter guard. They then begin to slash at the wolves, trying to keep them at bay until the rest can be awakened to help them. Delgar and Nordok, alerted to the commotion, yell to the sleeping guards as they move closer to the wolves to safely take some bowshots.

The other three guards, distracted by the commotion, are debating if they should leave their posts and help. All of a sudden, by each guard, two snow giants loom up out of the snow, surprising the guards. The snow giants, towering over 20 feet from the ground, are on top of the guards almost before they can yell out a warning. The giants are anticipating a quick victory.

Hagnon, true to his post, turns at the yell of the other guards. Seeing the giants looming over the guards, he screams a warning and blows the horn, sending its loud call booming throughout the valley.

The once sleeping men, having awakened and thrown off their blankets, are scrambling to get to their feet. Seeing the giants surrounding the camp, the laborers from the road crew grab torches and light them in the fire. The guards and men are forming up on the side of the fire furthest from the giants.

Meanwhile, the sergeant and the guard are fighting a retreat towards the rest of us, keeping the wolves at bay with wild swings of their swords. Delgar and Nordok, concentrating on one wolf, manage to bring him down with three arrows stuck in his chest.

The other three perimeter guards are not so lucky. They never have a chance to retreat. The giant’s great battleaxes make quick work of them. One guard is cleaved in half at the waste, and another is literally split from his shoulder to his crotch, leaving the two halves to fall away from each other, each leg still kicking. The third guard has had his head neatly removed from his shoulders, leaving the giants with a clear path to the rest of us.

Mizdar and Mintock, now on their feet, each begin to cast a spell. The sergeant and the west guard, having retreated into the ranks of the rest of us, take a quick breath. Some of the men from the road crew, armed with torches, keep the remaining two wolves at bay long enough for several bowshots to bring them down.

The snow giants are quickly closing the gap separating us, three coming around the fire from each side.

The sergeant, forming the squad into some semblance of order, starts yelling instructions. “Use the torches to keep them at bay! Those with swords, help them! Those with bows, shoot!”

Just then, Mizdar’s spell goes off, sending two missiles of bright light springing from his pointing finger. The missiles hit one giant in the face, momentarily blinding him. Mintock’s spell also goes off, his single missile strikes a giant coming around the fire from the other side, but the missile strikes harmlessly on the giant’s chest, doing little harm.

The giants, except for the blinded one that has dropped his battle-axe to rub at his eyes, have closed the gap separating us. They are swinging at the torch bearing men and any guards close enough, oblivious to the handful of arrows that they have sprouted. One giant cleaves the arm off of a man bearing a torch, sending him to the ground screaming and grabbing at the remaining stump. The men of the road crew, armed only with torches, are being careful to maintain as much distance as possible from the giant’s great axes, and are therefore otherwise unhurt so far.

Mizdar, starting another spell, begins to back through the bowmen, away from the giants. Mintock, having used up his only spell, is backing away with Mizdar, while holding his staff at the ready.

One of the guards bearing a sword manages to slash the thigh of one giant. But, having gotten too close, he is quickly cut down by another giant. The bowmen continue to pincushion the giants, but it is obvious that the arrows are having little effect on the huge brutes. The best hope we have is to try to survive until the sergeant’s vaunted reinforcements arrive.

The giants are swinging their battleaxes wildly as they continue to force us further from the fire. The blinded giant is recovering his sight, and he has begun to move towards us again while uttering a ferocious yell.

Mizdar, his missile spell ready to go off, notices that one of the torch-bearing members of the road crew has gotten too close to one of the giants. He launches two more brightly colored missiles into its face just as the giant is about to swing its battle-axe at the man. The missiles momentarily blind the giant and cause it to drop its axe as it stops to rub its eyes. Two of the sword-bearing guards that are nearest to the blinded giant immediately rush in to stab at the giant’s unprotected legs, hamstringing it and causing the it to fall to one knee.

The bowmen continue to sink arrows into the other five giants, but without much effect. One of the giants, with a quick forward rush, has managed to cut a swath through two more defenders. His great axe, having passed clean through the body of one of the road crew bearing a torch, continues its deadly path halfway through one of the guards. The other giants continue to swing wildly at the many targets available to them, but failure to pick a specific target is causing them to miss hitting anyone.

The sergeant, vainly trying to keep his men alive, is still yelling. “Keep out of their reach! Look out! Keep circling them! Confuse them by moving around a lot! Get those torches moving! Shoot at their heads and faces, maybe we can blind them!”

Mizdar, still towards the rear with Mintock, starts his last spell. The bowmen shift their aim to the giant’s faces, but most of the arrows bounce harmlessly off of the helms protecting their heads. However, one unlucky giant catches an arrow in the eye, causing it to scream loudly as it pauses to pull the arrow from its eye.

“That’s it! Keep shooting for their eyes!” yells the sergeant.

The other giants, having learned from the previous rush of one of their fellows, also make a fast dash to close in amongst the ranks of guards. This time the guards are not so lucky, neither is the sergeant. Two more guards go down, never to rise again. And the sergeant, in the middle of yelling encouragements to his remaining men, receives a cut that nearly severs his head and one arm from his body. Mintock, seeing the sergeant go down, takes his place yelling orders to the few remaining guards in an attempt to keep them from breaking and running before the onslaught of the giants.

Mizdar, still chanting, is continuing to stay in the rear. Mintock, as acting sergeant, has allowed himself to move up in what is left of the ranks, filled now mostly by us adventurers and the torch-wielding men of the road crew. The two dwarves have changed to swords and are trying to dart in for a quick blow while the men from the road crew use their torches to distract the giants. Seldor and Nordok are continuing to shoot at the giant’s eyes and faces, but without any effect.

The giants are having no luck either. The torches waving everywhere, combined with their recent mad rush, have combined to confuse them. None of their wildly swinging battleaxes hits its intended mark.

Mizdar’s last spell goes off; webs spring forth from his hands, engulfing the head and upper body of the giant nearest him. While doing no harm to the giant, it does serve to momentarily blind him until he can rip the webbing from his face. The sword-wielding dwarves, quick to take advantage of the giant’s incapacity, immediately close in swinging. They quickly hamstring the giant, bringing him down as he is breaking free of the webbing.

The fallen giant, blinded by the webs still covering his head, is screaming and grabbing his legs. Another giant, the one with only one eye left, tries to aid his fallen companion by swinging at one of the dwarves. Unfortunately, he misses and cleaves the head off the screaming giant, silencing him forever. The other three giants continue to pursue the torches, swinging wildly, but hitting only air.

Mintock yells an order for the two bowmen to concentrate all their shots on one giant. Just then, a bright blue transparent ball of energy pops into being over by the fire, behind the giants. From it flies six of Lord Muldoon’s elite personal guard, armed with two-handed swords. Two mages also step from the sphere, already beginning their spellcasting. And behind them, a cleric steps forward.

The giants, oblivious to the threat behind them, continue their assault. The guards and everyone else, upon seeing that reinforcements have arrived, retreat from the giant’s reach, at least as much as is possible.

The spellcasters unleash their missiles at the giants, six brightly streaming stars striking each of two giants, sending them staggering forward. Two of the flying fighters attack each of the two remaining giants from behind, delivering blows of such force that the giants are toppled to their knees, battleaxes forgotten. The other two flying fighters attack each of the giants that are still reeling from the missile attack. They drive their two-handed swords deep into the backs of the giants, causing them to fall face first into the snow, hurt and stunned, but not yet dead.

The spellcasters immediately begin another spell. The flying pairs of fighters, landing close behind the giants, deliver two more mighty blows each, leaving two giants to fight no more. The other two giants, struggling to rise from the snow, are beset by the sword-swinging dwarves as well, their attempt to rise forever thwarted. The spellcasters, finding that their only target is the hamstrung giant groaning and clutching his leg, concentrate their twelve missiles on him, leaving a smoking corpse still clutching its leg.

With the battle over, those among the living carry those who weren’t so lucky back by the fire. Except for the one-armed man from the road crew, there are no wounded. The giant’s great battle axes, swung with their tremendous strength behind them, killed all that were unlucky enough to be in their path.

Of the ten guards and one sergeant that we started with, we have eight dead, including the sergeant. One of the road crew is also dead, and another is severely wounded, missing his right arm. Of the enemy, there are six dead snow giants, and three dead winter wolves. The ground, once white snow, is now red with the blood of the fallen.

One of the clerics, casting a spell of healing on the one armed man, finally manages to ease his pain. The golden light of the spell has a calming effect on everyone present, helping us to deal with the task of laying our fallen comrades into the wagons.

Once we have finished loading the bodies, the high level mages instruct us to use the horses to drag the giant’s bodies over by the fire. Once there, the six fighters that came to our rescue begin to skin the giants, then they also cut several parts from the giants, being careful to follow the onlooking mages’ instructions exactly.

Nordok’s curiosity finally gets the better of him. “What are they doing that for?”

“The skins will be used to make magical armored girdles of giant strength, and the various parts will be used in potions and as spell ingredients,” replies Mizdar.

After they have completed their grizzly task, the fighters then begin to chop up the bodies. Throwing the pieces on the fire, they make sure to burn them to ashes. They are just finishing with the burning as the predawn begins to lighten the sky.

Most of us that survived the attack are sleeping, memories of the battle causing some to occasionally cry out in their sleep as the night’s terror invades their dreams. When we awaken, it is midmorning. The six fighters and the remaining road crew are preparing to head back to the castle, but not until after the midday meal. The spellcasters and the injured man have vanished, no doubt using their magic to return to the castle. We are still bound for the dungeon, but as it will be almost midday before we will be ready to continue, we decide to stay and share the midday meal with the rest.

Meanwhile, back at the castle, word of the attack has spread throughout the town. The families of the deceased have been summoned, and by midmorning their wailing can be heard throughout the castle as it echoes off the walls.

Two young people, as anxious as the rest, are among the first to inquire about the attack that killed so many. Boy, relieved to find that Seldor is not among them, but scared by the knowledge that he may never see Seldor again, begins to cry, sobbing out Seldor’s name. He is quickly scooped up by the broad arms of his father, probably for the first time in his love-starved life. Smitty, at first unsure of exactly what he should do, decides to simply hold the boy, comforting him with the knowledge that Seldor is fine and telling him how tough fighters like Seldor always come back from the dungeon.

Timora, with her heart a lump in her throat and fearing the worst, also is among the first to ask about those who perished in the attack. But, being older than Boy, she tries to hide her anxiety. Only her mother notices.

Teela, her mother and confidant, asks, “is he?”

“No, he is not among them. He is still alive!”

After our hot midday meal, the wagons bearing the dead begin their journey back to the castle. We, however, are headed in the opposite direction, north to the dungeon.

“I sure am going to miss having the guards and the road crew for company,” comments Nordok.

“Yes, they did lend a certain amount of security when they were here. I guess now we will just have to make do on our own,” replies Clernon.

“Aye, but now we be able ta travel faster, stead of waitin’ fer the road crew ta be fillin’ every hole there be in the road,” comments Dimlar.

“Aye, but now we be gettin’ stuck in every hole there be in the road,” replies Seldor, mimicking the dwarf’s speech with a grin.

Dimlar, chuckling at Seldor’s mimicry of him, can only agree with his assessment. “Aye, there be some truth in that!”

The stone that marks the extent of the land controlled by the castle is fast approaching. As Delgar, leading the way, comes abreast of the marker, he calls a halt to our small caravan. “From here on we officially be all on our own. Once we be crossing the stone, we be in no-man’s land, the only law be that which we be strong ‘nough to be makin’ fer ourselves. So be on yer guard, cause there be no tellin’ what be happenin’ out here now.”

His words cause the four of us greenhorns to consider the implications of our position. We may be the only people this far north in the whole world. The feeling of being all alone in this desolate, snow filled landscape causes us to ride in silence for most of the remainder of the day.

The next four days of travel pass without incident. The fifth day dawns with the aroma of spring, and a light rain develops by midafternoon. By dusk, the rain has begun falling in earnest. The wagon, bogged down all afternoon by the mud, finally manages to get itself stuck fast.

We decide that this is as good of a place as any to camp for the night. So we leave the wagon stuck where it is, intending to worry about it tomorrow, after breakfast. Tonight’s supper will be served cold, the heavy rain making it impossible to keep a fire going. The low clouds have made the night so dark that even the lanterns seem to shed but a few scant feet of light.

We decide to turn in early, those of us whose turn it is to sleep are grateful for the shelter of the tents. The two mages, having first watch, sit with their backs to each other, using the hoods of their cloaks to shelter them from the rain. An occasional nudge from one, answered by a nudge from the other, is the only movement discernible, if someone was able to penetrate the gloom to see them.

Their task is simple, sit and listen for any noise out of the ordinary. Since their eyes find the rain filled night to be impenetrable, sound will be their only warning of attack. The rain stops just before their shift ends, but the sky is still covered by the heavy, low clouds. Dimlar and Seldor soon replace them, sitting in the same manner for their turn at watch.

Morning dawns dark and dreary, but free of rain. Using some of our precious oil, we finally get the wet firewood to burn. Clernon makes us some hot meat pies for breakfast, with enough left over for lunch and dinner, if need be. The clouds look like they could open up again at any minute.

The wagon has sunk even deeper into the mud during the night. It will take some work to get it rolling again. We will never make that mistake again.

“Whose idea was it to leave the wagon stuck in the mud last night, anyway?”

“I do believe it was your idea, Nordok,” teases Seldor, grunting as he helps in the futile attempt to lift the back of the wagon out of the mud.

“Well, whoever’s idea it was, it stinks. This thing’s not going anywhere. We’re going to have to dig the wheels out.”

“Aye, an’ we be havin’ to empty it, ta boot,” agrees Delgar, straightening up and groaning from his efforts.

While the mages begin to empty out the wagon, the rest of us use the shovels to dig the mud away from the wheels. An hour later, we finally manage to pull and lift the wagon free of the mud.

“About time,” says an exhausted Nordok.

“Yes, it is. Now let’s get our gear loaded back up so we can get going, we’ve wasted enough time already,” orders Mizdar.

“But what about all this mud we’re covered in?” Seldor wants to know.

“The river will join back up with the road soon enough. Till then, we stay dirty, unless it rains again. We can’t waste the water we have on cleaning a little mud off ourselves.”

“A little mud is what I used to track in the house and get yelled at for by my mother, what we have here is a lot of mud, we’re covered in it,” complains Nordok.

“Just scrape off as much as possible, for now. There’s nothing else we can do,” replies Mizdar.

The wagon continues to bog down throughout the morning, causing our spirits to sink lower and lower as the day progresses. Mizdar finally calls a halt about midday, choosing to stop for our midday meal instead of eating as we ride.

“Clernon, I think we could all use some hot food. As soon as Seldor and Nordok get a fire going, why don’t you warm up those meat pies you have. Delgar, how about you and Dimlar check on the wagon, maybe if you scrape some of that mud off the axles it will roll easier. And I think the horse needs to be traded out for a fresh one, he looks about as tired as we do.”

“Aye. That we can do.”

“I’ll get the horse unhitched,” offers Mintock.

After the fire is going and we have all had a chance to warm ourselves and eat, Seldor gets the bright idea to harness two horses to the wagon. “Hopefully, with two horses pulling, it won’t bog down as much.”

“Aye, it be worth a shot. Maybe we be able to make up some of the time we lost, to boot.”

But even then, in the late afternoon, one particularly muddy section causes the wagon to grind to a halt. Fortunately, the rain has held off and we can have a hot meal for supper, after we get the wagon unstuck.

Two more days of clouds and the occasional light rain has our spirits low. But on the third day, we get a break from the weather when the sun peaks out between the clouds about mid-afternoon. The snow has gone from that part of the mountains visible to us beneath the clouds. The newly washed land seems to sparkle wherever the sun’s rays land upon it.

The river has rejoined us, finally allowing us to wash the mud from ourselves and the animals. The horses were beginning to chaff where the mud-encrusted straps encircled their bellies, and we, too, have a few sore spots where the mud has worn our skin raw.

The trees have grown even shorter, stubbed by the harsher climate this high in the valley. We can see that the river makes a bend to the right about a day’s travel up the valley, which narrows almost to nothing near the bend.

“We be passed the halfway point, at this rate ‘tis but four more days travel once we be reachin’ the bend,” says Delgar.

“Aye, but they be the hardest four days travel of the whole trip. The bottoms of the mountains come right down ta the river, so we be goin’ up and down and up and down for all of them four days,” complains Dimlar.

“But at the end of ’em, it be but a day’s journey ta the ruins.”

Those of us that are new listen with interest, we are eager to reach the dungeon.

The bend in the river is also where this valley ends, the mountains reaching down to the water. The river, forced south by the base of the mountain, has eaten away at the ground under the trail, making our passage dangerously narrow.

“We better go single file, and unhitch one of the horses from the wagon, we don’t want to lose two of them if it goes over,” orders Mizdar.

“Aye, an’ me thinks that I should walk it across as well,” offers Delgar, fearful of losing the wagon and all the supplies it carries to the raging waters of the river below. Fortunately, our fears prove to be groundless. The ground under us holds firm, and we make it past the bend without trouble.

Two days later the new adventurers appreciate Dimlar’s comments and why he chose the words he did.

“I swear I’m beginning to get seasick going up and down these hills,” complains Nordok on the afternoon of the second day past the bend.

“Aye, the land here bouts be as bad as the ship we be travelin’ on when we be leavin’ our home under the mountain,” responds Delgar.

“Ah, to be home again, dancing with the womenfolk, carryin’ on in the great hall till we canna hardly stand no more!” reminisces Dimlar.

“I be missin’ listenin’ ta the music of the mines as we be workin’ the gold an’ the gems from the rock,” adds Delgar.

“Aye, an’ the sound of the hammers as the smiths be workin’ at their craft, makin’ wondrous things with the metals that be had from the mines.”

“And the chambers of quartz be havin’ a fascination all their own, they be covered from top ta bottom an’ lit up so bright by the torches that it be ’nough to blind ye!”

Nordok, listening to the dwarves reminisce of their home with an air of lamenting, can’t help but interrupt them to ask a question. “If your home is so full of these wonders, and you miss it so, then what brings you up to the top of the world to freeze with the rest of us?”

Delgar responds angrily, displeased at having his thoughts of home interrupted. “We be doin’ the same thing as you, we be adventurin’, lookin’ ta make ourselves rich and famous.”

To which Nordok replies with a meek “oh.”

The dwarves, now angry over having their thoughts of home so rudely interrupted, will speak no more of the dwarven realm under the mountains.

We have almost reached the end of our journey north. We have finally come to the mouth of the valley that was once home to a thriving Myth Dranor. The ruins are barely visible in the distance, where they sit atop a small hill. They are quite extensive, covering the whole hilltop and then some. They hint at a castle and town that was once several times the size of CrossRoads Castle. A mist obscures much of the lowlands of the valley, hiding the ruins around the base of the hill. But several tall remnants of walls can still be seen sticking above the white veil, like eerie fingers waiting to grasp the unwary.