Chapter 1 (Visiting Death)

Paedur stopped, looking about him suspiciously. The Silent Wood was aptly named, but he was alert and wary for the frai-forde, or Starlorn. He mentally delved through his bardic lore, searching for information to supplement his memory about the peculiar race. According to popular legend, the frai-forde hailed from the east, The Land of the Sun, and sailed eternally in huge ships made from silver and gold. The bard, however, knew otherwise. The curiously featured Lorn hailed from another Plane of Existence, one of the many gameboards of the gods. The dead frai-forde served as guardians to the gates of the Wood. Shades though they were, the creatures were still very strong, and only a few could kill them. Luckily, the bard was one of the few.

He paused briefly in his long strides, picking up a few flat stones with jagged edges. These he stored in a soft brown pouch at his waist and trudged on. The stones would serve as a weapon against the Starlorn- crude replicas of the talon, a closely guarded secret of the Katan Sisterhood. Katani, a long-dead warrior whom the bard had raised again to life, had shown the bard the design for the only weapon that could easily kill the frai-forde. The eyes of the creatures were too weak and slow to spot the speeding piece of metal that was the talon. By the time they noticed it was always too late and the thrown talon was buried in their brain-

But enough of this musing. The bard noticed that his feet in their ancient boots had stopped, of their own accord, just before a small rise in the gravelly grey land. With a sudden burst of urgent energy, Paedur cleared it in one leap, and landed squarely in front of a Starlorn guard. He drew back instantly, the silver hook that took the place of his left hand coming up protectively. His furred cloak fell back, revealing the bardic sigil high on his left shoulder. Without showing any signs of recognition, the creature halted and stepped aside, clearing the bard's path to the Three Bridges. The bard's inquisitive mind wondered briefly at this, but he continued on his way.

Crossing the bridges between the Wood and Manach, City of the Dead, the bard sighed reminiscently. The Three Bridges had been built in honor of Mannam, Deathgod of the Old Faith, and crossed Naman, the river of Death. However, the bard had deposed the corrupt god and put Churon the Onelord in his place. The bridges were built of, in turn representing, wood for the god's body, stone for his heart and crystal for his eyes. The god had affected the form of a blasted tree, with a leafy cloak hiding his face.

The bard arrived at the entrance to Manach, throwing wide the ancient iron gates and watching in amusement as a pair of startled bainte took flight. He watched as they soared off in the direction of the highest tower in Manach.

"The Tower of Time." the bard muttered knowingly to himself. He quickened his pace through the eerie streets, not through fear but through urgency in his mission.

Approaching the stone arch that marked the entrance to the Tower, the bard scraped his hook along the cold granite. The shimmering barrier that hovered in the space disintegrated, and Paedur smiled. The bainte had done their work. He was expected.

The bard slowly climbed the stone staircase, stopping several times for air and rest. When in the World of Men, he could have managed steps like these in the worst condition. But here, he was only a man. Everyone entered Death's kingdom on equal terms.

Finally reaching the round chamber that marked the top of the Tower, Paedur stopped and leaned against the wall. He caught his breath sharply, staring at the cracked sundial that indicated, "Here, even Time is dead." Calling softly, but clearly, he said, "Death, I seek your aid."

A gust of chill wind blew about him, ruffling the bard's furred cloak but not disturbing the dust of ages on the floor. A sibilant whisper hailed from the shadows, cackling softly.

"Death cannot aid. Death can only kill."

The voice as of yet had no material form, but Paedur instinctively crouched in a fighting stance, the silver hook gleaming dully as it made its appearance once again. He was agonizingly aware of how vulnerable he was without his enhanced senses, and he wished for them fervently, not for the last time.

Mannam and Paedur had not cared overmuch for each other's company. But the Onelord, Churon, was different. As he had, not so long ago, been the shade of a man, he still held some measure of respect for the bard. Thus, he materialized, ceasing his grisly game of charades.

"Bard." He said, his voice more like that of a man's now and less like that of a murderous wraith. "What is it you want of me?"

The god was clad in a mantle that flowed and moved like cloth, but looked exactly like stone.

Paedur lowered his hook, remembering with a grim smile who he was threatening. "I seek your aid." he repeated, sitting, knees to chest, on the cool stone floor. Extending a long forefinger, he ran it along the blade of his hook, then brushed a strand of straight, dark hair out of his jet black eyes.

"All the gods are busy tending to their own, after the great battle, both on this plane and the chequered fields of Ab Apsalom." he began, his voice trained, smooth and lyrical as a Bard Master's was wont to be.

"My companion, Katani, who was wounded by the Old High Magic, is near death and delirious. Ochrann, the God of Healing, as well as Madness and Coulide Dream-Maker, will not heed my calls. Only another of the Pantheon can draw them away from their subjects, and you are my- closest acquaintance."

Churon looked at the bard solemnly, knowing all too well what Paedur was asking him to do. "You desire the aid of C'lte also?" The god sighed, naming the third part of the Triad of Life.

The bard nodded slowly. "Yes. That would be helpful."