Seventh day after Sun's Height, year 30016 DC

Tynan looked thoughtfully over his belongings laid out on the bed. Did he need to take everything with him into the graveyard? They should – with good luck they would – not take long over the journey, and not encounter any unforeseen circumstances. He was already wearing his swords and armour, and his bow and quiver were slung across his back. But would he need his bedroll and blanket? On the other hand… Tynan had learnt that it was never a good idea to rely on luck. Even fully packed, his backpack wasn't that heavy. He would take everything.

Capably and swiftly, he packed everything back into the bag, whistling softly between his teeth. He should be heading out to meet the others in the main courtyard. Assuming he could find his way out of this rabbit-warren of a building! Tynan smiled to himself.

There was a knock on the door, and Shadow called, 'Tynan? Are you ready?'

'Nearly. Come in, Shadow.'

The elf opened the door and stepped into the room as Tynan flipped forwards the flap of his rucksack and fastened it shut. He swung his bag up onto his shoulders, and turned round to smile at his friend. 'So, what's going on? Where is everyone?' As an elf, Shadow didn't sleep at all, and he only needed to rest for half as long as a human slept, so it was an established practice between the two that Shadow would scout out a new area and discover anything relevant while Tynan was still sleeping.

'Emlyn is down at the temple, I think. I haven't seen Ensa at all, but I assume she would stay in her room memorising spells even after she woke up, so I wouldn't really… Actually, I don't even know where her room is. It could be anywhere – this place is a maze.'

Tynan grinned. 'We've never faced a maze you couldn't find our way out of, Shadow. Go on – take me down to the courtyard.'

'You're in a good mood.' Shadow remarked, as he obligingly led the way out of the room and down the narrow corridor. There wasn't space for them to walk abreast, so Tynan followed.

'I am,' he agreed. 'No idea why. Tell me, Shadow – what do you think of Ensa?'

The elf thought for a few seconds, padding silently down the stairs. 'She's smart,' he said, after a while.

Tynan frowned. While he had realised that, as a wizard, Ensa must be fairly intelligent, he hadn't thought of it as the leading feature of her character. 'Smarter than you?'

'Almost certainly.'

Tynan considered. He knew that Shadow was much cleverer than he was himself, but the elf was neither proud nor self-deprecating, and Tynan knew he could trust Shadow's judgements. Which meant that Ensa probably was more intelligent than the rogue – which meant she was very intelligent indeed.

Which was unusual, in a half-orc…

'Can we trust her?' he asked.

Shadow pushed open a door and led the way into a wider corridor. Here the early-morning sunlight was streaming in through east-facing windows, and Tynan blinked in the sudden brightness.

'Yes, I would say so,' Shadow answered, eventually. 'I'd have to see more of her to be certain of her general trustworthiness. But for the moment she needs us, so she's not going to try to hurt us. Why would she, anyway?'

Tynan laughed. 'Good question. I'm just getting into suspicious habits.' He glanced down at his elven friend and grinned. 'It must be catching.'

Shadow shot a glance back up at the ranger, mock-angry, but Tynan knew him far too well to fall for that. He saw the brief amused glint in the elf's dark eyes.

Ensa waited in the main courtyard, a hood pulled up well over her face to protect her dark-adapted eyes from the blazing sunlight. Star, sitting on her shoulder again, sat upright, her tail lashing backwards and forwards and her whiskers twitching as she sniffed the air. Ensa knew that the familiar was picking up on her own excitement.

'Star, we're going to talk to the Loremaster Eladrissinel. Can you imagine…?' she asked. Hidden behind her deep hood, a broad smile spread across the half-orc's face. 'He could tell us all sorts of things!' She wanted to stop there, but thought it only fair to add, regretfully, 'I don't think he will, though. From what I read, we'll be lucky to get a straight answer out of his ghost.'

She often talked to Star. Although the rat wasn't as clever as most people, Ensa knew that her familiar understood the Common tongue, and that she appreciated being kept in the know about what Ensa was up to and why. 'I really hope we'll be able to persuade him to tell us something about the Dead that Walk,' the half-orc continued. 'I don't know… from what I've read of the elf himself, I'm not sure what might convince him to tell us what he knows. But he was supposed to be a bit eccentric. He had no time for anyone who wasn't intelligent and dedicated. I'm hoping to convince him that I am…'

She knew from Star's sudden alert watchfulness that someone was approaching, and turned to see Tynan and Shadow stroll out of the door of the monastery.

The ranger smiled at her good-humouredly as he approached. 'Good morning, Ensa. Isn't it a glorious day?'

'Again,' muttered Shadow, darkly, and received Tynan's elbow in his ribs.

Ensa watched the friendly exchange with a hint of envy, but answered composedly enough. 'Actually, I have to say I function better in the dark or if it's overcast. But I know what you mean. There's something so cheerful about the sunshine.' Certainly the fact that it means I'm not in the orc caverns… she added, silently.

Tynan nodded. 'Have you seen Emlyn? Or any sign of our promised guide?'

'No, I –' Ensa began to say, when she was cut off.

'There.' Shadow nodded towards the temple of Karaxin, whose huge, sombre blackness seemed to soak up the sunlight. Ensa and Tynan turned their heads to see that Emlyn was emerging from between the imposing double doors. The overlapping steel pieces of his armour gleamed like fish scales in the light. As he walked down the three shallow stone steps and began to cross the courtyard towards them, sun glinting off his fair hair, Ensa saw that he was again cradling the urn that contained his mother's ashes.

The half-orc felt that twinge of jealousy again. To have a family who you could love! Her heart clenched. She was genuinely sorry for Emlyn's loss, but she knew with an instinct older than thought that it was better to have loved someone who was dead than never to have had anyone worth loving.

Behind Emlyn, Sabra emerged from the temple, the sunlight striking sparks from her magnificent fiery hair. She followed Emlyn across the uneven cobblestones, and Ensa greeted her with pleasure. 'Sabra! Are you to be our guide to the graveyard?'

'I am,' Sabra confirmed gravely. 'Is everyone ready?'

Tynan looked round the group, receiving confirming nods from Shadow, Emlyn and Ensa, then smiled at Sabra. 'We are. Lead on.'

Emlyn would have fallen into place at the back again, but Tynan had gestured him up the line. 'In case we do have any trouble,' the ranger had explained. 'I want you and your sword near the front. Even with one hand full, you'll be valuable to help shield Ensa.'

Emlyn had felt Ensa look at him nervously then, as if she wondered how he felt about being a human shield for her, so he turned and gave her a broad smile before following Sabra and Tynan across the courtyard into the space between the temple of Karaxin and the monastery complex.

So Emlyn was in the middle of the line, and his height gave him a clear view as Sabra stopped in front of the rugged cliff. Set into the stone was a locked iron gate, and beyond it a narrow, dark tunnel rose steeply up through the rock.

It wasn't a decorative gate, one of the fancy constructions of elaborately twisted wrought iron that adorned the front walls of noblemen's houses. The solid iron bars that made up the framework were as thick as Sabra's wrists as the monk inserted a large key into the keyhole, using both hands to turn it. This was a gate that was designed to keep people – or things – firmly within.

'One second,' said Tynan, 'Is there much in the dark?'

'The tunnel slopes up and comes out at the top of the island,' Sabra told him. 'We're back outside then. But we'll be visiting both the Goldisle and Northisle crypts, which are underground. There are torches just inside the passageway.'

'Oh, I've got one,' said Tynan. He swung his bag down to the ground and opened the flap, rummaging around inside for a couple of seconds, before drawing his hand back out, closed around the wooden shaft of a torch.

Emlyn couldn't prevent himself gasping as Tynan drew a flaming torch out of his bag, the fire flickering palely in the bright sunshine of the courtyard. His cousin looked up at him with a grin. 'I've had this for years, Emlyn. Have you not seen it before?'

'No. How –?'

'A continual flame spell, I assume,' came Ensa's rasping voice from behind him. 'May I see?'

'Perhaps later, Ensa?' said Tynan. He looked round at them all, briefly. 'Sabra and Emlyn had better stay close to me so we can all benefit from the light. If we get into combat, Ensa, get out of the light if you can so as to make it harder for the enemies to target you. Shadow, you just do your own thing. And watch everyone's back.'

Shadow nodded silently, and Tynan looked round the group, watching for signs of dissent. Seeing none, he swung his rucksack up onto his back. 'Let's go.'

Sabra swung open the gate – it moved silently on well-oiled hinges – and stepped inside. Tynan followed, passing the monk the torch, and then Emlyn, ducking his head and hunching his shoulders, plunged forwards into the dark.

The tunnel probably wasn't totally dark, but after the dazzling sunshine outside it was as black as the darkest night to Emlyn. The group stopped for a while so that Sabra could pass the key back down the line for Shadow to shut and lock the gate behind them, and Emlyn blinked furiously, trying to adjust his eyes to the dimmer, orange light of the torch.

Then they set off up the little tunnel. The rock underfoot was smooth, worn by generations of feet passing this way, and Emlyn could imagine that in winter it would become treacherous with ice and water. The air was very cool, but it felt dry, and Emlyn's fingers, brushing lightly along the rock walls, met no damp patches or mould.

Emlyn soon discovered that he was in the worst position of any of the group. The roof of the tunnel barely cleared six feet, so the tall young man was forced to bend over, and his shoulders filled the narrow space from wall to wall. If it'd been any narrower I'd've never fitted in! he thought with a mixture of amusement and dismay. On top of everything, Tynan was standing in between him and the torch, and the ranger's shadow fell blackly across the ground that Emlyn was going to step on so that once or twice he caught his foot on a sudden raise of the ground and stumbled.

It seemed a long time to Emlyn before they halted again so that Sabra could unlock another iron gate, and then stepped out again into the dazzling daylight. Emlyn had prudently squeezed his eyes down to slits, but even so tears squeezed themselves out between his eyelids as his eyes adjusted to the light, and the heat hit him like a hammer. 'Lord of Courage!' he muttered. 'And I actually thought it wasn't too hot yet!'

Once Emlyn's eyes had adjusted to the light he could look around. Graveisle was a small, bare island, and he could see from end to end of it. The blue glitter of the sea surrounded him, and the huge, dazzling blueness of the sky, unbroken by hills, trees or buildings, enveloped him.

They were standing at the high end of the island, and it sloped down away from them to end in a jagged mess of rocks with the surf pounding against them and spray rising in clouds that split the sunlight into rainbows. Emlyn looked at them with an Islander's eyes and winced. Graveisle was famous as a ship-killing island.

It was only when he'd taken in the island's natural features that Emlyn spotted the tiny grey stone buildings, hardly more than huts, which he realised must shelter entrances to Graveisle's crypts. They were spread across the whole landscape, apparently randomly, and Emlyn glanced around, counting them. Eleven. One for each of the outer Islands, and one – he knew that underground it would be larger than any of the others – for the Inner Isles.

The ground under their feet was sparse, scrubby turf as they followed Sabra forwards, spreading out from their line formation to walk in a more informal group. Emlyn could hear the surf breaking against the rocks, and high above a seagull's mournful cry, but on the island itself nothing stirred.

'I don't see anything at the moment,' Tynan said, quietly.

'The Dead who Walk are deterred by bright sunlight,' Ensa told him. 'It doesn't actually harm most of them, but they don't like it. If there are any here, they'll be down below.'

Emlyn ignored this exchange. He was holding the urn in both hands and following Sabra. He was close on the monk's heels as she led the way into one of the little buildings, and immediately walked down a broad stone staircase, holding the torch high.

It was a deep staircase that seemed to go on for a long time, the shadows created by the torch flickering wildly across rough rock walls. When she finally reached the bottom Sabra – and Emlyn with her – stopped. Standing beside the motionless monk, Emlyn could hear Tynan's and Ensa's footsteps echoing slightly as they descended the staircase, but he paid no attention whatsoever. Emlyn was looking around him with awe.

The crypt consisted of a long chamber, thirty feet wide and at least twenty feet high. It disappeared into the distance ahead of him beyond the range of the torchlight. The walls were formed of grey stone, old and worn, hair-fine cracks running through it. The corners of the floor were coated in the dust and dirt of centuries, but the centre was clear, footprints visible in the dust where other people had walked before him.

'This way,' said Sabra. She walked forwards through the crypt, holding the torch above her head to illuminate as much of the lofty chamber as she could. Emlyn followed her, hearing Tynan and Ensa's footsteps following him.

As they moved away from the entrance of the crypt, Emlyn saw that there were niches carved into the stone walls, layers and layers of them reaching up to the ceiling. In each rested an urn – shapes and sizes and colours varying across the wall. Instinctively, Emlyn walked quietly, watching around him. These were the remains of all the people of Goldisle; all the people who had been his ancestors and his ancestors' friends and neighbours; the whole history of the Isle resting around him.

'Here.' Sabra turned into a side chamber, a round space opening off the great hallway of the crypt. Here Emlyn saw that many of the niches were empty, waiting for urns to be placed within them.

'Anywhere?' he asked.

The monk nodded. 'Anywhere you feel is right.'

'Look, Emlyn.' Tynan had stepped over to the wall, at the edge of the torchlight, and gently brushed the dirt from a very old urn. Underneath, a name had been carved onto the pottery: Lynna Ulmer. 'She could be an ancestor.'

Ensa frowned. 'Of yours? But…'

Tynan looked up at her. 'Well, of Emlyn's too, of course, but… oh, I see. My mother was an Ulmer. Emlyn's father's sister.'

'Oh, I understand.' Ensa nodded.

Emlyn ignored them. He peered at Lynna Ulmer's urn, the ancient, uneven lettering of her name almost crumbling away. Here was the history around him made concrete; a name, a true link to his past…

The next niche along in the ragged row was empty. Emlyn gently placed his mother's urn into it. She could rest next to her husband's ancestress for the rest of eternity; and in years to come, when people came this way they would find Lynna Ulmer and Marisa Ulmer together.

But not Emlyn Ulmer, he suddenly realised, and his eyes filled with involuntary tears. If he left Goldisle now and never returned, he would never be buried here, among his ancestors.

But it was a price worth paying to escape from the corrupt horror that was Goldisle. Emlyn shut his eyes and bowed his head. This is goodbye, ma, he said, silently. I'm off – and I probably won't ever be back. He swallowed. Eleven preserve you, wherever you are now. You taught me to believe that the dead are safe and happy beyond the Gate of Eternity, so I hope you were right. Goodbye, ma. I love you.

He raised his head, and turned back towards his companions. 'Come on,' he said, roughly. 'Let's go.'

They emerged from the crypt somewhat subdued, filing out into the sunlight. Emlyn, last to leave Goldisle's crypt, kept glancing back, suddenly unsure about his own decision. Was it worth it? Was it the right thing to do? His hands felt empty without the round, smooth shape of the urn he'd been carrying everywhere for the last couple of days.

Suddenly remembering, he unstrapped his sword from his back and belted it around his waist, testing that it was easy enough to draw. It was an unfamiliar drag at his side, but the hilt felt comforting. When he was small, his father had let him hold the sword, struggling to keep its weight from dipping to the floor. Gavan had shown him how it should be used. Emlyn hoped he remembered some of it.

Yes, it was the right decision, he thought. Father and I always said I'd go adventuring some day. It's about time I started.