The Runes

By Kevin Craig Mortimer

The northern continents are over-populated and there is little arable land remaining to support the continued growth in population. Mankind should be working together, but the hands of chaos are interfering. Two superpowers vie against each other in the race to cross the equatorial Barrier. It has never been done before. One superpower sends out a team to find the source of myth in a hope of an easy way out, whilst also attempting a solution through technology. The other superpower looks to force as a means. War is imminent, while a far greater threat lies lurking; a threat of legends and myth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kevin Craig Mortimer
• Release date: Dec 25, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301479566

Kevin Craig Mortimer

I am a world builder firstly, followed by an author, and then lastly a business owner.I finished high school in 1997, and unlike most of my classmates, I decided to follow the route of apprenticeship in IT rather than a formal tertiary education. For 10 years, mine was the life of a corporate drone when in 2007 I made the decision to start my own business.In 2004 I started writing in earnest, after having been an avid science fiction and fantasy reader since middle grade. Primarily I had been reading epic fantasy, and since I had been a Game Master in various role-playing engines (the traditional D20 kind, with pen, paper and books), I was already adept at building worlds. Work on my first epic fantasy (The Pallus Trilogy) began. Building the world for 5 years, I aggressively began working on the first novel in 2008 and finished it in 2012. Now I work on any number of projects simultaneously.Sportwise. I enjoy my football (soccer), fanatically supporting the team that my family has supported for many generations, Liverpool. Its rare that I miss a game and can get quite passionate while watching.Lastly, I speak, read and write German fluently. Primarily thinking in German and translating on the fly, I often assemble weirdly constructed sentences. Its not unusual for me to assume I have said parts of a sentence, not actually having verbalized them.

Book preview

Map: Pallus West

Map: Pallus East

Chapter 1

The going was easy for the troupe. The jungle floor hadn't seen heavy rain for weeks. The bit of light rain was hardly a match for the mighty canopy of the living entity known as the Black Jungle.

Whatever undergrowth grew rampantly in the way was quickly dispatched by a slash or two from the axes of those commanded to forge a path for the caravans following a short distance behind. An occasional longer delay would occur when the undergrowth parted for emergent jungle-born canopy trees that disappeared into the overhead sky, towering in magnificence over the puny men making their way along. The jungle's heat and humidity was stifling and the troupe often had to stop to rest. Teams worked the forging path in rotation so as to keep a certain momentum going. The sergeant in command of the caravan had sent scouting rangers ahead to inform them of the lay of the land.

The scouting rangers hadn't returned from their runs, and impatient with the delay in progress, the master merchant had instructed the commander to move on ahead and either intercept the missing rangers or scout in their stead.

After a half a day's march, the first ominous rumbling noises could be heard as a faint din across the ground. This doesn't bode well, muttered the disconcerted wagon drivers. An impassable waterfall was the last obstacle needed on a trip this important. Moods were frayed and anger was quick to flare. The caravan had already crossed the almost impassable mountain range known as the Base Mountains from the Plains of Hope and into the Kuth Peninsula. Wheels had been broken and men had been injured. The end was still a long distance away, and they had been at it for weeks already.

By the early afternoon the rumbling had turned into thundering, the ground was slicker and the canopy more broken, the mighty trunks of the pines and oaks thinned out, the fern undergrowth grew less and less compacted, the scent in the air was permeated with the sensation of water. Eventually the caravan erupted from the foliage into the open and the sight that greeted them took the breath away from even the most jaded traveller. They had drawn up to the banks of an incredible river, fast flowing, rushing ahead and disappearing over the edge of a cliff face. Beyond the horizon, all the eye could perceive was the rooftop of the lower reaches of the jungle.

Make a camp, corral the caravans and tend to the horses; they are lathered and tired and need rest, commanded Grell, a sergeant in the armies of the kingdom of Hoppes. You there! he directed to the nearest ranger visible. Come with me, we go to search for a way across. I will leave my horse to its care and walk.

The ranger jumped to his feet, quickly gathering his belongings strewn across the floor in preparation of a quick meal. Checking the arrows and the condition of the bowstring, he slung his quiver over his shoulder along with a pack and started off behind the commander, who had already made remarkable progress up alongside the riverside. He trailed a couple of paces behind Grell. The sergeant was muttering to himself when he suddenly came to a halt. Looking around, his eyes came to focus on the lone ranger. Why exactly am I upfront, you're the one that is supposed to know this neck of the woods? I don't like the feel of the air.

Probably cause there are guerrillas around us, master. They are always snooping about.

Well they'll be in for a bit of a surprise if they try their luck with me. Get on ahead and let us find a safe enough crossing for the carts, I don't want to lose too much time in this neck of the woods if I can help it. I'm already running behind schedule as it is. This blasted trip will be the end of me, I swear by Aequitas.

The two continued their arduous task of travelling up river, occasionally pausing to step in the warm current of the fast following river to probe for passable terrain. Further upriver the riverbed was relatively shallow, but far too rocky for carts to pass without breaking wheels. Eventually just as dusk was beginning to settle on the weary pair, they found a suitable crossing. By now they had moved a fair distance from the group. A sandbank that had formed in the middle of the river substantially slowed the waters. Though the edges would still be a challenge to navigate, but that could easily be taken care of through some application of thought.

As darkness fell the river started to glow with a gentle luminescence that induced an eerie beauty. Grell could not help but be awed by it.

What causes this queer light?

The ranger, without taking his eyes off the quickening darkness in the trees, commented. It is algae that lives in these waters, they absorb the heat during the day and then as they descend into the river's depths they convert that heat energy into soft light. You'll notice that certain parts of the river are not as bright as others, those are the deeper parts. It is a useful method of crossing, but there are other dangers crossing at night.

Then this is not witchcraft. This crossing will do, let us head back to the caravans.

Not a good idea master, said the ranger, tugging Grell back by his shoulder. The guerrillas are skilled in the dark and we would be easy prey, especially when moving. Rather we should make a darkened camp here or perhaps in the bowel of a large tree to narrow our defensive angles and head back in the morning, under daylight. With the river glowing we'll stand out as simple targets for their bows.

Grell's eyes went to scanning the tree line, unsuccessfully straining to make out any shapes in the gloom. He turned back to the scout, eyes narrowing. "The caravan will need my assistance if attacked, as it will yours; we're not in a position to sit here and spend the night away from our duties.

You'll just have to apply those skills I'm paying for so dearly and lead me back to the rest of the men, and ensure I am not killed through a craven act of back-shooting."

Turning on his heel, the commander started off to the coral of caravans. The ranger, flashing the woods a worried look, hurried to catch up to the staunch knight.

Maybe you should at least draw your weapon, sire he said. As if to emphasise his point he deftly drew two arrows with his offhand. Nocking one in the bow while balancing the other casually in the fingers of the draw-hand.

Grell glanced at the ranger askance, quickly summing him up to be a skilled master of the bow and probably not loath to bolting to save his own skin. What's the name, or must I go about calling you Ranger One.

"Name's Aiden, sire."

"Right Aiden, just you make sure you point that thing away from me, I don't want an arrow in my back, by accident. I can get my sword out quickly enough. Just you don't worry about that."

No offence meant sire, and don't worry. This weapon doesn't go off unless it's meant to.

None taken. Just checking. Who or what are these guerrillas that you speak of?

They are the most skilled of Kuthian militants, perfected in the art of stealthy attack on trespassers of the Jungles. Kuth, due to the Black Jungle, doesn't field standard military movements; the undergrowth will stop the most intrepid trespassers. The guerrillas kill quickly and efficiently, no parlay takes place and the bodies will simply disappear. It has always been so, and it shall be so for longer still.

Can't say I like the sound of that, stay sharp.

Upping the pace, the two started making good time. The air had attained a fresh smell, a scent of dew and moisture thrown into the receiving hands of the night sky. The edge of the oppressive heat of the day had been alleviated. The ground, even and level enough, allowed the two to keep to a trot.

The two edged nearer to the corralled caravans. It was only once the sergeant and scout got within earshot that they realised the corralling had worked against the caravan. Grunting, Grell broke into a run, followed closely by Aiden. They reached the crescent of a hillock where they saw the night sky bathed in red, the red of flame and carnage.

Charge to assist. For Hoppes! came the battle cry of Grell, as sword in-hand, drawn in less than a heartbeat, he charged down the hillside toward the burning caravans, rushing into five armed individuals who were focused on pillaging a wagon, taking them by surprise. What came next was executed in practiced precision through countless battles. Grell lobbed off a head, dismembered two bodies and bull-rushed one into a pike wedged precariously through the spokes of a caravan wheel in a failed attempt at setting up a hasty defence. The fifth, realising too late what was happening, bolted, but took a well-placed arrow in the back for his troubles, courtesy of Aiden.

The combatant's battle lust subsided quickly as he realised that the fight was already over. Grell absorbed the devastation for the first time. Bodies littered the inner circle of the coral, and moving in between these unfortunates, were the two forlorn figures of the monk and priestess, tending to the injured. The rotund merchant, Clayborn, miraculously unscathed, hovered around the fringes, shaking his head in shock and disbelief. Little fires were busy burning down most of the wagons that the troupe had painstakingly gotten this far.

Master, the worst has been done already. The guerrillas have already left. Those we've just encountered must have been scavenging hopefuls. I'll go and do a head count and see how many have been spared from the slaughter, said Aiden.

Grell stood silently surveying the situation, not moving and unresponsive. His posture was completely rigid and unyielding; almost as if by softening it the reality would find a purchase and grab hold of him. Not having received a response, Aiden turned and strode purposefully off to complete the grim task.

Grell finally let the tragedy affect him, as his shoulders slumped and head drooped. "How could I let this happen, can I be trusted with this command?"

Chapter 2

The shout of Wake up and an accompanying boot to the ribs served as the notification that it was time to rise, as he suddenly slid to the side and thumped heavily against a barrier. "The kick was not strong enough to have caused that? Where am I?" he thought as he opened his eyes far more slowly than he intended.

He was in a wooden chamber that didn't seal properly. Bands of bright light cut through the horizontal slats and illuminated thousands upon thousands of dust motes and shadowed the features of four heavyset men standing over him. Another boot was flying towards him, and he only just managed to tense his muscles in his abdomen as the kick landed heavily into him, the man standing next to the one obsessed with the kicking was in the process of uncoiling a vicious looking cat-o-nine-tails.

Stand up and face the wall, said the one standing furthest to the back.

He attempted to stand up but was suddenly thrown completely off balance as the room pitched at an impossible angle. "Where in the nine hells am I?"

The four men did not seem to be perturbed by the pitching of the room, almost seeming to be expecting it, as they adjusted themselves when the room pitched in the opposite direction. Getting to his feet and finding a semblance of balance, he turned and propped himself up against the wall. He found that the purchase the wall offered assisted greatly with the constant conspiracy the floor was directing at him.

His head throbbed in pain, as he felt his arm being yanked forcefully behind his back and a manacle slammed shut around his wrist. By instinct he watched the shadows move against the wall, and using the information, he spun and swept the feet out beneath his oppressor. The man fell heavily and released his grip on the adjoining chain of the manacles. Using the momentum of the sweep, he turned and leapt towards the man with the barbed whip just as he, seeing the danger he was presented with, had pulled his arm back in an attempt to unleash the torturous weapon. But he was the quicker of the two, fuelled by some training he could not fathom, his muscles acting by memory alone without his guidance. The leap took his shoulder into the man's midriff and barrelled them into the floor. As the whip-wielder slid along the floorboards towards the wall, he instantly pulled his knees up and launched into a crouched posture of anticipation facing the last two men.

The other two men blocked the portal that led out of the room; a long corridor was visible beyond. He surveyed his situation and noticed the odds were heavily stacked against him. The one that had spoken earlier was unarmed, but the other man was training a loaded crossbow at him. The one he had swept to the floor had recovered and was closing.

That was pretty stupid, said the unarmed man.

The quarrel left the crossbow, taking him in the upper left leg and made him stumble as the room pitched again. The pain flashed through his entire leg as it buckled, causing him to stumble sideways into the oncoming fist of the first man.

The blow connected with his temple and sent him heavily to the floor. As darkness overcame him he recognised the sounds of waves thudding against the wall.

###

His new room was not made of wood, but rather of stone. The spaces between the stones were irregular but generally tight fitting enough to make loosening of the brickwork a challenge, even with tools. After the incident, on what could only have been a ship of some sorts, he had awoken in this cell alone, naked and cold. That had been some days ago, and he was still none the wiser as to who he was, what his name was, or why he was here.

All he knew was that he was being treated especially badly, and that none of the visitors that came to look upon him through the small bars in the thick wooden, iron banded door seemed particularly perturbed by the treatment he was being subjected to.

He had paced around the room so many times, that he was exceptionally familiar with each stone brick by now and only a few steps short of naming each brick and having meaningful conversations with them.

A set of eyes and a nose appeared behind the bars in the door and a voice spoke. He will do. You may bring him to me tomorrow afternoon. I will have an enclosure prepared for him by then.

The half concealed face said something that he could not hear to another person, looked back at him and then said, You will get a fair payment for him and then the remainder dependent on his performance, as per our standard agreement. The face then disappeared. He ran up to the viewport and listened to the bits of conversation he could pick up as they made their way down the corridor.

Does he have a name? said the half face.

None that we could make out, he doesn't remember anything from before the boarding, said the other.

You said he had combat training.

The voices faded away as they disappeared down the corridor.

A long time passed before the next noteworthy occurrence. Another face appeared in the little window and a command was given for him to stand with his face to the wall again, after which the lock on the door was opened. A man-catcher closed around his neck, stopping him from turning or moving. His jailers had discovered through a number of encounters that the only method of restraining him was by using this device; it consisted of an iron fork that could be opened and closed by a lever that was operated by hand at the far end of a long iron pole. Two men then would guide him to his next destination, which normally entailed a beating of some sort.

Tonight we get you cleaned up, Kuras. I suggest you comply for once. Your new owner will not be happy to have his new purchase damaged. But if you don't play along, he will understand that certain lessons need to be taught.

Kuras was the name they had given him after he had been unable to recall or offer his. He had endured a number of beatings and dunking's into frigid water before they had accepted that he truly had forgotten his name. Subservience had become his only alternative since those early days of his unknown incarceration.

Will I be dressed? he asked tentatively.

One of the men guffawed at him. Are we feeling a little embarrassed by our small manhood?

The other man joined in with his own mocking laughter. Kuras chose to not answer, instead opting to experience the inevitable outcome, rather than give any more provocation than what was necessary. He had found the beatings were only delivered if he stepped out of line, meek compliancy offered protection.

They led him in the other direction to a room that had a set of chains running up and through loops secured to the roof, set apart at more than three yards. On the one end were cuffs and the other had a heavy-looking ball of iron. Two oil lamps burning in diagonally opposing corners granted the only light in this room. Another three men were in attendance, each looking more stupid than the other. He was led into the centre of the restraints, as two of the three men lifted the iron balls to allow the cuffs to sink towards the floor, the third man then clipped the cuff to his wrist. The ball was then unceremoniously dropped to the floor. The ball hit the floor hard and with a loud metallic clank as the chain rattled through the loop, yanking his arm up and away from his body. A sharp pain lanced through his shoulder as his muscles strained to keep his arm attached to his shoulder socket. Kuras could not contain the roar of pain. Even though the room temperature was freezing, the pain instantly caused his forehead and back to break out in sweat. The second cuff had been fitted before he was able to shake off the initial pain, and as such the second yank to his right shoulder almost took him to the edge of consciousness.

The man-catcher released his neck.

He's all yours.

We will call you when we're done with him, said the man who had done nothing as yet.

Luckily Kuras was tall, standing on his toe tips lessened the strain of the restraints on his shoulder joints and therewith the pain.

Good evening, we are going to cleanse you now. Then we will the dress your upper body. So that you are presentable when the client comes tomorrow morning. You will sleep in these restraints and without any slacks. This is so that you don't soil yourself in your own faeces. You will also not be fed tonight, so that you are more... shall we say, compliant, he chuckled. Tomorrow morning we will then allow you to dress your lower body.

He stepped out of his field of vision and moments later Kuras was doused, as buckets of cold water were tossed at him from all directions. That water was followed by some kind of whitish powder, after which hard bristled brushes scraped his skin raw while they scrubbed him down. More water was delivered, which although cold soothed the burning skin. He was then left to dry alone.

It felt as though an eternity passed before the men returned and proceeded to fit a shirt to him. The shirt was fitted by a series of buttons that allowed the wrist restraints to remain in place. His hair was viciously hacked short and his scalp scraped hairless by means of a blunt razor. Kuras endured mutely. The men looked almost disappointed at his resignation.

Be good now, said the man again as they filed out of the room taking the lamps with them and leaving him in darkness.

"I must stay calm. Fear is your enemy. Pain is a friend, embrace your friend and survive," recited Kuras over and over to himself, building the walls around his sanity higher and stronger with each repetition.

By the time they came to fetch him he was completely numb and, even though he had had for the first time in a long while been allowed a shirt, he felt frozen through. The iron cuffs had chaffed his skin raw, his arm sockets felt as though they would pop any second and his back and chest burned from the scrubbing of the previous night. The lack of nourishment and sleep deprivation had left him as weak as a new born babe. The men had no problems fitting his trousers, each leg was simply lifted off the floor and the trouser leg drawn up, the drawstrings were pulled tight and his feet were left bare, the scratchy lifeless grey material further aggravating his already sensitive skin.

Are you ready for your new home? asked the same man that had overseen his cleaning the previous night.

Kuras nodded.

Behave yourself. I don't think you want to experience the alternatives, suggested the man.

Kuras attempted to reply, but instead only managed a croak. The man looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and so Kuras nodded again to indicate his compliance. The men, taller than Kuras, reached up and released the cuffs simultaneously.

"You are so lucky I am weakened," thought Kuras. Instead of unleashing an attempt at unrestrained violence he busied himself with tenderly working his shoulders with his fingertips. The men fastened cuffs to his ankles to prevent him from bolting and led him out of the room and down the corridor.

They passed his old cell and led him up a narrow flight of stairs. After climbing two hundred steps they emerged in a courtyard below sheer mountains, surrounded by foreboding buildings hewn right out of the bedrock of the dark mountain rock.

The skies were heavy and leaden, clumps of dirty ice and snow the only break in the darkness. A fine ashen powder permeated the ground and covered the rocky ground in patches. A smell of sulphur filled the air and rumbling resounded and echoed in the distance.

Where am I? asked Kuras forgetting his decision to remain quiet.

None of your concern, said the man who had spoken to him earlier. He cuffed him on the ear as a reward for speaking out of turn. Take him over there, he pointed at a wagon.

The other accompanying men gave him a hefty shove in the back to start him off, as Kuras grudgingly commenced his shuffle. As he neared the wagon, he scrutinised it seeking for any weakness he might have been able to exploit. The wagon was made primarily out of wood, a double axel equipped with solid wooden wheels banded with iron to lend strength, a solid bottom with a solid roof supported by iron bars and an access granted by a solid wooden door. The driver's perch was located above the wagon, safely out of reach from any arms that would be contained within. A team of two draft horses provided the propulsion. A strange symbol decorated the wheels, one that Kuras could not place.

Sturdy and no way out, he thought. I shall bide my time. I must stay calm. Fear is your enemy. Pain is a friend, embrace your friend and survive, he told himself again.

The wagon had two other prisoners trapped inside, each with their backs against the bars, their arms bound behind. Kuras was guided into the wagon, having to crawl in. He was bound to the bars in the same manner as the other two. The wooden door was closed and a heavy lock set in place.

He had a clear view of the outside of the wagon, as the other two prisoners were not directly opposite but diagonally to either side of him. The man who had been chiding him the entire time paid them a last visit.

Your new home awaits you, less than thirty minutes away. It has been such a pleasure trading in you, he grinned from ear to ear.

Kuras' blood was boiling. He fixed the man with a glare that would have cooled fire, and delivered a single statement. The phrase that would set the course of the next phase of his life. I swear by all the gods that I will set myself free, thereafter I will find you and all those that have assisted you, all those that have been paid by you and all those that have benefitted by you. I will then exact slow revenge on each of you. I will never kill you. Your only escape will be if you can will yourself to death.

The man was at first completely taken aback, but he composed himself quickly, comfortable in the knowledge that Kuras would not be going anywhere bound and weakened as he was.

Brave words from a man behind bars, he mocked. If I were you, I would accept my fate and do my best to earn a treat. Now be a good pet. He looked to his compatriots, who gave nervous laughter as a show of bravado.

The wagon driver gave a crack of his whip and set the wagon off in a lurching and cumbersome rumble out of the courtyard.

That confidence of yours will not serve you well where we are going, said the prisoner to Kuras' left.

Where are we going?

You haven't figured this out yet?

I have my suspicions.

We are slaves. And in all likelihood, we are going to be pit fighters or something similar. I have heard about these pits and the sigil on this wagon fits the descriptions.

Can you fight? asked Kuras of the man, appraising him. He was stocky looking with a clean-shaven head supported by a bull's neck that practically made it look as though no neck actually existed.

Once, a number of years ago, you might have said I could have. I used to wrestle professionally in Hoppes. But I retired a few years ago from the ring, and now work as a Talent Scout. I was here looking for potential recruits.

How were you taken? asked Kuras, intrigued.

I was invited for an evening out, and we went to some tavern near the centre of town. That is the last I remember before waking up down below.

I had a similar incident, it seems a good trade. But I think if your life depends on it you will be ok.

Yes probably, the man said. But it's not me I'm worried about, it's him. With that he nodded to his left and Kuras for the first time took a look at the other man in the wagon with them.

The other man was gaunt and pale with bloodshot eyes, he looked exceptionally ill but only on the surface. His demeanour showed an awful calmness at his fate, almost as though all that had happened was of no real consequence. Even though Kuras had, to an extent, accepted his situation, he was by no means calm. A fact that he was convinced should show at least in some way on the exterior.

They had left the complex through a high vaulted arch and descended down into the city below following a meandering rocky road. Behind them Kuras watched as a heavy iron portcullis was lowered to seal the arch and the complex off from the outside world. The road was uneven and as the wagon bounced and rattled along its way, the passengers were not in the most comfortable positions.

What's your name? he asked the pale man, who just continued staring out of the wagon at the city below them.

He doesn't talk, I've tried already. But you may have mine, offered the burly man. My name is Francis; in the ring they called me Breaker. What's yours?

I don't remember, but those men have been calling me Kuras.

I can see why, you have the look of a Kurite to me, the look of the desert.

Where are we?

You mean you don't know? Francis seemed genuinely surprised.

No, I honestly don't know where we are, Kuras felt frustrated at his complete loss of memory.

You are in the Nape. The furthest northern settlement of Pallus and the darkest and vilest hive of villainy you'll ever find. The slavers run this place and as they are beyond the jurisdiction of any nation, they are still operating in full swing. It's the strength of your bite that keeps you safe here, not your bark, explained Francis.

As the magnitude of his situation settled on Kuras, he took in the city for the first time and saw the words Francis had chosen to describe the city and its populace fit together like butter and toast.

The city was predominately built on whatever flatland could be found, tightly packed in-between peaks of granite and basalt. The volcanic origins of the valley were clearly evident. Various formations of almost unworkable rock had forced the city to adopt an almost jagged but flowing layout of its roads. All the buildings were made out of a whitish stone that stood out against the black rock of the mountains.

As the cart wound its way down the mountainside, Kuras spotted what looked like a harbour completely enclosed by cliffs in the distance.

Do my eyes deceive me Francis? he asked. Is that harbour enclosed? How do ships enter and exit?

The harbour is not enclosed; entrance is merely gained by having to sail through a tunnel that has been carved out of the mountainside. They call it the maw, as there are a number of stalactites that hang down from the ceiling of the cave, and a number of stalagmites that are submerged. A pilot from the Nape must navigate the entrance, at a price of course, he chuckled sardonically at the nature of the people from the Nape.

Kuras nodded absentmindedly having returned his gaze at the city. The wagon had reached the first of many plateaus along the way to the city itself. They passed a smallish fortress that was under construction and a couple of smaller buildings. The architecture was very suppressive and gloomy with long hanging eves, high arching windows and vertically grooved walls.

They began their decent into the plateau that held the bulk of the buildings of the city and the view that Kuras had been studying disappeared from sight as a mighty oval structure dominated the view.

This, my new friend is our destination, said Francis in bitter tones, The Arena.

Kuras felt a shiver pass down his back that was not due to the freezing cold air and the relative lack of clothing.

I think that from now on in, you must embrace the man once known as Breaker. Francis will have his day in the sunshine once again, that I promise you, said Kuras. Embrace what comes and you will survive.

Chapter 3

The task of counting one’s losses is always grim, made worse by the simple fact that a bond forms between travellers. The group from Hoppes and those that they had gathered along the way. There had been the twins from Kur that had kept the band entertained, and then there was the taciturn wheelwright whose stoic nature had kept many of the younger men level-headed, as well as many others. These were remembered by the celebrant and the monk as they wove their way in-between the charred remains of their lost friends.

Having performed the sacred ritual, Natalie had cause to cease her mourning and could focus her energies on the few that remained.

"The only one that remains, thought Grell standing atop a hillock, resplendent in his armour and seated on his charger. Strange that while all others perish, he survives."

Sire!

The shout shook Grell from his thoughts. Turning, he spotted Aiden trotting up towards him. As Aiden drew nearer he stopped to eye Grell's mount, subconsciously giving the horse an approving nod.

I've finished the head count and none survived aside from us five, by us I mean – Natalie, the silent one, the merchant Clayborn and then us. With regards to the bodies, ten are missing. In better news, I have found a more suitable crossing, closer by. Seeing as most of the heavier carts have been destroyed, we can cross a little bit upriver. From there the escarpment fades around just a half day's march on the other end of the river.

###

If Aiden had thought that the jungle would do them a favour and not have copious amounts of undergrowth to contend with, he was sadly mistaken. The going was slow and punctuated by lengthy stops in which vines and other undergrowth needed cutting away. Other times the wheels would find crannies in the mud under the leafy ground and become embedded. In these instances, an unloading of the cart would be required. So, instead of a rapid flight from would-be pursuers, it became a shambling effort on the better part of valour.

After travelling for almost a week, the jungle broke into the wooded expanse that revealed the impact of a larger civilisation nearby. Easily a quarter of the density was missing from the Kuth Jungle, the evidence of forestry as easily recognisable as a sign with bold lettering. Spoors of trees had been dragged away, undergrowth and smaller saplings crushed by the weight of ancient trees, stumps marked with the tell-tale signs of woodcutter's axes. Aiden's mouth tightened as they strode though the woods of the jungle's perimeter, he still firmly believed that less invasive means existed for forestry.

It will be less than a day's travel from here, Aiden muttered, a tone of edginess marring the voice. From there we cross the cultivated lands that run around the city walls. By tomorrow night we will take up residency in a comfortable inn, the one to which I take all my charges.

Good, Grell put in. If we can just stretch this last stint, then we can camp under a less leafy expanse tonight. I think I could enjoy a strong brew pretty soon.

The group could hardly keep up the strenuous pace that they had been setting for most of the week, and so after two miles, they stopped and setup the campsite. Grell took the first watch, with Aiden, then Silence and lastly Clayborn, although nobody expected the merchant to really be the alert type.

###

Just past noon, the wooded surroundings opened out and the party broke past the tree line. The sight that greeted them was a wide-open expanse of maize fields, the white fields of grain, with farmhands at work in and amongst the precious plants.

It can't be much further now. Can it? Clayborn complained, from behind the cart, as usual he was trailing.

No, not too much, tonight we'll be at the guest house in the city, Aiden answered, looking over at Grell, who was striding purposefully, he asked under his breath. I was under the impression that this merchant had made the journey to Kuth, he doesn't seem to know the area very well if he had?

So was I actually. Never mind, doesn't matter much, he does have his uses though.

What? I haven't seen any as yet.

I'm sure in more suitable lands he does, but we'll see, chuckled Grell.

A little off to one side a cart track had been formed, which wound its way through the plantations towards the high city walls. The party turned to head towards this path, and soon had smooth travelling. With a visible destination in view, the group's spirits lifted a little, and quickened their pace.

Nearer to the city walls a massive column of bodies greeted them. It stretched back a number of leagues as it crowded its way in. The group reigned in and from a slightly heightened vantage point they surveyed the throng, stopping to sit and ponder their next course of action.

Well, something must be attracting them here. Would so many people usually be drawn into the city? Surely they mustn't all work the day beyond the walls, and then make this migration every evening, Natalie remarked.

Aiden was not immediate with the answer. He was scanning the crowd, and after a bit answered. It would seem most of these people aren't from these parts. I would imagine that most of the inns on the inside of the city walls would be full. Some of the dress worn doesn't fit in with the usual customs of the city.

I can't take Myst into that lot of rabble; he is war-trained, so much commotion around him will make him edgy and dangerous. I suggest that Clayborn and Natalie go into the city and check out the situation and try to source us a suitable inn. The rest of us will remain here with the cart. Maybe we can gather some information on the road that lies ahead.

Why me? Clayborn looked shocked at the suggestion. With a smile that never touched Grell's eyes, he retorted, You always boast at your skill with learning the currents within a city, all its intrigue. Besides, you haggle like a fisherman's wife at the market, you can organise us a keep for the night, much better than any of us could.

Grumbling Clayborn dug about the cart's contents, until he produced a pouch that had the tell-tale clink of coinage. I'll be taking this along, however. After all I'll need to pay for some of the services I employ.

Mind you don't overspend yourself, said Grell warningly.

Making their way down the towards the column, Natalie and Clayborn were greeted by a strong stream of people, and as expected the sinking sun's rays created a baking heat that rolled off the throng in waves. It threatened to overwhelm Clayborn. This did absolutely nothing to improve his mood, and as they got bumped around and shoved about, Clayborn sent some curses toward everything, from the gods to the smallest grain of sand that had somehow managed to make its way into his shoe. The small godsend Natalie had, was that this expedited the movement, as people nervously shot glances at the rotund merchant and made all haste to provide him with a bit of space. As such he created a slight vacuum ahead of him, which they made good use of.

Once they had made it past the gates, they ran into the first blockade. The city watch had decided to search all the people coming in, and their plan of execution was to force all the people into a single file column. No easy task, but achieved by the use of walls of wood the height of a man. Getting to the search post, proved to take the longest on the journey into the city, as it took the better part of an hour.

So this has been the hold-up, Clayborn spluttered with indignation, Now I need to subject myself to this insult. How dare they search my person?

If you stay calm, this will go quicker, advised Natalie, but Clayborn was not to have any advice at this point. Instead he started casting fearful glances in all directions, in attempt to find a way out of the trap. The closer they got the edgier he became.

Destination! intoned the guard. The man was wearing a breastplate emblazoned with the emblem of the city, and wearing a conical metal cap. A glaive was buttressed on the floor in front of him with the head of the weapon resting across his shoulder.

Clayborn looked ready to bolt. He was fidgeting with his hands inside his coat flap and shooting looks around. Natalie wasn't about to let this swell out of proportion, not for a routine check in her opinion.

We're headed to a good inn. To rest our weary legs from a long journey, she explained.

The city is filled to its brim; you'll be lucky to find a place.

Is there a reason that it is so busy, our guide told us that this was a quiet place?

It usually is, but the recent gold fever has brought many petitioners for work from our neighbouring realms.

Surely these people should then be...

Sorry lady, but as much as I would like to chat, I'm currently on duty and cannot spend time in discussion. Please, you may enter, but you will have to hand over any weapons and any items we might consider contraband, you will receive a token for you weapons to reclaim it when you leave, but the confiscated items will be kept by the lord.

We aren't carrying any weapons, aside from belt knives. As far as contraband is concerned, I very much doubt we will have any of that.

The knives will have to stay, and we'll see about the contraband issue, if you would please enter the guard house there to your right.

With that the guard dismissed them and turned to the next in line. Destination!

Shrugging Natalie pulled Clayborn behind her, as she headed for the guardhouse. He pulled away from her though, muttering, Can't let them search me, I will have to turn back.

Whatever are you talking about?

Nothing, nothing, he muttered.

Another guard had appeared in the door impatiently waiting for them, so she just dragged him towards the guardhouse. Once inside the new guard motioned to a table standing in the middle of the room. Across from the table stood two more guards each with loaded crossbows and sheathed swords at their belts. Please spread your belongings on the table for inspection, any weapons you might have, please put those on this table here, you will then step back and wait in that corner there.

Realising that he was already in a position where things could not be avoided, Clayborn, still muttering underneath his breath, started to spread things out on the table, only a moment after Natalie had as well. Once all the items were on the table, she drew her belt knife and laid it on the weapons table. Clayborn did the same. Stepping back, he looked at the table with a feverish glare. Briefly looking over the items laid on the table, Natalie could not identify what would cause him this sort of disturbance.

The guard finished with the inspection, and looked up at the two, Anything else I should know about?

No, answered Clayborn.

Another guard entered through a side door with a dog on a lead.

We just need to check your persons, please.

Clayborn had suddenly started to perspire quite noticeable, effectively making himself a blatant target. The guards focused purely on him.

With that Clayborn blurted out: I still have three pouches with herbs on me, and another four throwing knives secreted on my person.

Ah, yes. The pressure of truth works once more. Please could you add those to the respective tables? The guard was smiling quite broadly now.

Natalie was astounded by what had just happened, more so than for the fact that she had used the same tactics on numerous occasions and had not realised that this would be a fool proof method of keeping most undesirables out of the city.

I'm afraid you'll not be allowed to keep these herbs, these are commonly used in fairly vicious poisons, the guard said after having finished going over the newest additions to the table. These we will confiscate and add to the midden heap. Might I inquire from where these opals come from? the guard drew a gem almost the size of a fist out.

Those are in payment for services rendered. Clayborn answered as if a torturer was dragging it from him.

"Quite a payment, these are by no means forbidden here, though I am sure people will kill