1st Day of Harvester, 565 CY

Chendl, Furyondy

Elrohir abruptly rounded on Sir Dorbin.

"I don't want to wait days until we're all together back at the Brass Dragon, Dorbin. Tell us this news of yours now."

The knight seemed startled by this sudden change of subject and looked decidedly uncomfortable.

"Monsrek is more knowledgeable about this affair than I, Elrohir. He would be better-"

"I said now!"

Sir Dorbin took a deep breath and seemed to wait until the last remnants of the ranger's shout had faded. Then, he slowly nodded, his expression grim.

"Very well, Elrohir. As you insist. Your problem," he paused, "is Kar-Vermin."

It seemed almost to Zantac and Nesco as if a rippling in the air passed outwards from Dorbin and spread outwards in a wave through all of them at the mention of the name. It was as if Talass had used her invisibility purge prayer. There was no actual ripple of course, but they saw the faces of Elrohir, Argo, Aslan, Cygnus and even Tojo tense up.

The five men struggled to keep their composure. Tojo quickly reassumed his usual passive demeanor, but Cygnus' face went pale and stayed that way. Argo bit his lip and clenched his fists, looking northward as if Talass might have somehow heard and would return to help them. Aslan closed his eyes and took a deep breath as if searching for some reservoir of inner strength. Only Elrohir remained absolutely motionless, as if he had been petrified once more. Eventually, a hoarse fragment of his voice trickled out.

"Explain."

Sir Dorbin told them all that he knew of Caroline's terrible dream, emphasizing that his information came from what Monsrek had told him and not Caroline directly, so some details might be lacking.

"Thus," the knight finished, "I took Caroline with me to the Castle Chauv, although she should be back at the inn by now and awaiting you."

There was a moment's further silence and then Cygnus spoke up with a question, but the mage's own tone betrayed him, telling the others that he already knew the answer.

"Is there any chance that this might have been merely a nightmare?"

"None," replied Dorbin flatly. He then proceeded to tell them about his experience with Perlial and White Lightning in the stable.

"Not let you see," Aslan muttered, glancing over to Elrohir, who returned his friend's look with a knowing, if unenthusiastic, nod.

"Have the horses reported any other episodes since that night?" asked Cygnus."

Sir Dorbin shook his head. Argo now spoke for the first time.

"Give me the last part of that speech again, good sir knight. The one supposedly from the Lord of The Second."

Dorbin recited it again.

Let thirty generations pass from home. Every vestige must suffer at least a while.

The hair of his children. A reminder of the pain of ungrateful offspring- of any species.

The soul shell of a servant. What is a ceremony without a feast?

The blood of his slayers, for he himself has only dust to offer.

The eye of a descendant, so that he may see clearly what he has wrought.

Memories among the stones, so no sin be forgotten.

The power behind his mirror, for his reflection already rests here with us.

And the soul itself, born again into the Joy of the twice-damned.

"Sounds like an assemblage of foci for a conjuration ritual," Zantac mused.

Sitdale, who had been quietly standing off to the side with Unru and Sir Menn, now cleared his throat.

"Months ago, Flond mentioned sympathetic magic," the half-elf reminded them. "When we were discussing why Nodyath had stolen hair from your horses."

"The hair of his children," Cygnus murmured.

"The soul shell of a servant," Argo suddenly announced.

The others looked at the big ranger, but Bigfellow was seeing only the expression on Scurvy John's face. Horror beyond imagining.

"It's a ritual, all right," Elrohir stated. The ranger's face had contorted into a fierce snarl, like that of some great hunting cat about to spring.

"They're planning on bringing him back."

There was more silence.

"But," Sitdale asked, almost timidly, "isn't that impossible? You destroyed this Kar-Vermin, by your own account! He couldn't possibly return yet again!"

"Monsrek was talking about something he called a phylactery," Sir Dorbin offered, directing his gaze at Cygnus and Zantac.

The former nodded. "It's a small metal box, containing unholy, profane incantations of the darkest sort. The lich wears it on his forehead. It's held in place by a cloth that wraps from the head to around the arm. I remember seeing it on Vermin."

"Interesting. I'd heard different descriptions of it," commented Unru, who then shrugged. "Perhaps it's unique to each lich."

"Caroline could not remember, but perhaps you can," Dorbin pressed on. "Was Kar-Vermin wearing this phylactery when you slew him?"

Elrohir, Aslan, Argo, Cygnus and Tojo all looked at one another. They silently sought confirmation of their own memories in each other's eyes before Cygnus very softly finally spoke one word.

"No."

"But how can that be?" Zantac demanded. "From what I know; and admittedly, it's not much, a lich must keep his phylactery on him at all times! It contains his very life essence! He can't exist without it!"

"So I'd heard," Cygnus muttered. When the mage looked over to his friends, they were surprised to see an expression of shame on his face.

"I never even thought about its absence. I was so overjoyed that we'd defeated him once and for all, I never even…"

"Don't blame yourself, Cygnus," Aslan said quietly. "We all shared the same wild abandon you did on our victory. There was never any reason to think that it wasn't the last time we'd ever see that monster."

Sitdale shook his head, looking stubborn. "I've got to say, I've never heard of such a thing as you're proposing. Phylactery or no, you destroyed his body after you slew him- that much I was told. I've never heard of a lich coming back from that!"

"How much do you know about liches?" Argo asked him. Rather coldly, Elrohir thought.

The half-elf was forced to shrug. "Not much." Then he added with a guilty smile. "I never visited an arcane library or joined a Wizard's Guild."

"Neither did I," put in Cygnus.

"Our Guild has a small library," Zantac started, but his fellow magic-user cut him off.

"I know. You keep telling us how useful it us."

"It helped a fair bit when we were researching the Pearls!" Zantac huffed back. "Now admittedly, I've never searched it for information about liches. There might be something there, but the old expression is When you cannot find the Arcane Talk, you must go to The Greyhawk. Their lore of arcana is second to none, but I've heard it's very difficult to get at. Their Guild is very selective about to who they grant access to."

"Perhaps here in Chendl?" Nesco suggested. "Karzalin might know, or at least be able to direct us to someone who does."

"I doubt we'd get an audience. I suspect our reputation here is no longer as esteemed as it was yesterday," Aslan said, tilting his head towards the western gate. "It seems we're viewed as corrupters of the Azure Order."

Nesco opened her mouth to protest but the paladin cut her off. "Don't, Lady Cynewine. "None of each here would have acted any differently, even if we'd known beforehand." Aslan looked at his friends for confirmation and Nesco was relieved to find it on every face. She decided to drop the matter.

Elrohir walked several paces, seemingly lost in thought.

"So this is what was behind that feeling I've had ever since the New Year," the team leader said, seemingly to himself. The ranger looked again at his friends, who nodded in unspoken understanding.

"Dreams and bad feelings," mumbled Cygnus.

"A task reft undone," said Tojo.

"Chic's spider," proclaimed Aslan.

The others looked curiously at the paladin.

"He was referring to Kar-Vermin; I'm sure of it," Aslan continued determinedly.

"How would Chic know of him?" asked Zantac.

"Chic was a telepath," Aslan reminded the wizard. "I'm guessing he picked it from Nodyath's mind."

"Which only leads to more unanswered questions." Elrohir frowned as he considered this. "How did Nodyath become involved in all this?"

Argo held up a hand. "Methinks we're trying to trace this from the wrong end. Let's go back to Caroline's dream and that message she heard."

"Yes. Who is this 'Lord of the Second,' anyway?" Nesco asked curiously.

"Dispater. An archdevil of Baator," Elrohir said quietly.

Lady Cynewine felt her blood turn to ice water in her veins.

"I'm sorry I asked," she muttered with a sickly smile.

"According to what my father told my mother, Kar-Vermin was beholden to Dispater from the moment of his transformation into a lich, if not before," Elrohir spoke to the company at large. "I don't know the details, but mere death- no matter how many times- wouldn't release one from that kind of servitude. It's a diabolic agency that's seeking to restore Vermin; of that I'm certain."

"But Lady Bigfellow actually saw him," Sir Dorbin put in.

Cygnus' brow furrowed with concentration. "He hasn't actually come back yet. If he had, we'd know. Yet his soul clearly still exists in some fashion or another, and with enough reality to traumatize the horses and nearly kill poor Caroline."

"Assembled under the auspices of their Most Dread and Awful Presence," Unru mused, repeating a line from the message. The illusionist heard two sharp intakes of breath and glanced over to see Zantac and Nesco both staring wide-eyed at him.

"The Horned Society." Nesco was the first to speak.

"I've heard that name," Aslan frowned. "Cheriken mentioned it on the elven ship. That's the lands to the north of here, right?"

Zantac nodded. "When Iuz the Old vanished in 505, many of his former followers left his empire to set up their own fiefdom nearby. Many of them took to worshipping The Reaper, but other were devout devil-worshippers and remain so to this day. The Hierarchs, their leaders, are often referred to as Dread and Awful Presences." He shook his head dolefully. "If anyone could pull off this terrible ritual, it'd be them."

Tojo grunted in satisfaction. "Chain begins to take shape. Dispater task Hierarchs. They emproy Nodyath."

"I'm afraid you're leaving out an important link in that chain, Tojo-sama," said Argo, causing the samurai to raise an eyebrow. Bigfellow's next words were addressed not only to Tojo, but to the company at large.

"The Emerald Serpent."

"You think they're involved?" asked Elrohir. "Why would they be?"

"It actually makes sense, Elrohir, in an awful sort of way," Zantac chipped in. "It's often said that the Emerald Serpent spreads evil for evil's own sake. From our best guess, Nodyath took hair from the horses while Tadoa was still the Serpent's prisoner. I'm sure Nodyath was working for them, rather than for the Hierarchs directly. In his case, it was as much for gold as for the desire to cause us pain, I'm sure."

"Nobody loves us," Argo bemoaned with a faux pout.

"Thirty generations have passed from home," said Cygnus, counting off on his fingers. "We can be reasonably sure the Hierarchs have the 'hair of his children' and the 'soul shell of a servant'. We don't know about the other foci; not even what they really are. So far, all our knowledge has come after the fact."

"Well, that's not going to continue!" snapped Elrohir. "Now that we know what we're dealing with!" He again rounded on Sir Dorbin. "Start bringing your men back to the Brass Dragon, Sir Dorbin. After we've taken care of this distraction," the ranger waved his hand in the direction of the Royal Highway, "Aslan will start bringing us home. Aslan, what was the name of that inn we stayed at here that time we came to see Nesco?"

"The King's Arms Tavern."

Dorbin turned to the illusionist. "Unru, I'll take Sir Menn and Sitdale back now and return for you tomorrow. Book rooms for eight at the King's Arms. If there aren't enough free rooms, book the rest at," he paused, frowning and then glance over at Nesco.

"The Heroes' Rest," she suggested.

"Do it," Dorbin said. "The King's Arms will be the rendezvous point, though."

"Agreed, " confirmed Aslan, looking at the others.

"I'll be off then," Unru said. "Don't die without me."

Without warning, his form suddenly transformed into that of a city guardsman.

"Make way! Make way!" Unru bellowed, plunging back into the crowd and pushing his way through it.

"Funny man," Zantac murmured after the retreating illusionist.

"Be careful." Sir Dorbin's warning was issued to all present as the knight placed his hand on Sir Menn's shoulder and the two disappeared. Dorbin reappeared a few moments later by himself and grabbed hold of the waiting Sitdale, who gave them all a brief wave before vanishing again with the knight.

"Elrohir," Argo said, the big ranger's expression having lost all traces of its earlier levity, "I don't care what these three people want. I want to be the first one Aslan takes back. Caroline-"

Their team leader held up a staying hand. "Don't worry, Argo. I fully intend all of us to be heading home starting tonight and you can certainly be the first. I understand your wanting to be with-"

The ranger abruptly stopped speaking as a spasm seemed to cross his features. No one said anything as he dabbed at his eyes.

"I wish they would hurry up and arrive," Cygnus growled. "It's been-"

"They here."

Five heads turned to regard the samurai and then to follow his outstretched arm.

From the very rear of the line that stood waiting for entry into Chendl, three figures on horseback were now slowly trotting towards them.

"They here for severar minutes, watching us." Tojo informed his companions. "They move onry after Dorbin-san reave."

Elrohir frowned. "Why would they-"

The ranger stopped in mid-sentence.

Oh, no, he thought and squinted harder at the approaching trio.

They were still difficult to make out as the setting sun, now only two diameters from the horizon, was backlighting them. As they came within hailing distance and reined in their steeds however, their features resolved themselves.

The one closest to them was a woman, small in stature and covered by a dark green hooded cloak.

To her left a man clad in plate mail and wearing a helm with a bright red plume across the top stared dispassionately at them. A spear hung from a strap on his horse's saddlebag.

And to the woman's right, a smiling half-elf clad in typical elven traveling garb leaned forward and raised a hand in greeting.

"Hail and well met, mighty heroes!" Aelfbi Gemblossom called out heartily.

Elrohir felt a sudden chill envelop his entire body, as if he had been abruptly grabbed by a frost giant. A cold fury began to swell from his aching chest. Glancing over to Cygnus, he knew the wizard was experiencing the same feelings.

No, the ranger thought to himself. There's nothing well met about this at all. If she's still with you three, I'm going to murder her.