We stumbled into one of the buildings, I suppose a former bakery or somesuch, and through it. We exited into what was once a courtyard among a group of shops. Now overgrown with vines long dead, the stones set in the ground were uneven and cracked. I heard soft, ghostly sounds in the distance as another vision greeted me.
In the center of the courtyard, walking among the rubble, three figures were there – a woman, tall and wearing a red cloak with the hood drawn over her features. An old man, painfully thin and who had skin that appeared half of flesh and half of wood. The old man carried strange weapons at his side and slung over his shoulder. The third…was Sered. A much older Sered, scarred terribly, and he carried a wooden object similar to the stock of a crossbow, but much heavier, and on which rested a metal rod with various flanges. They seemed to look our way, squinting, almost as if they viewed us over the same distance as we could perceive them.
We ducked away from this vision, finding refuge in another set of buildings. Zenith cradled the fragile dream-catcher cautiously, but I could see it was falling apart. Either the jostling of the travel was damaging it, or the duration of its enchantment showed its approaching expiration in the form of the object’s disintegration. I couldn’t tell which, or whether it was both, but it was obvious that we had limited time.
Zenith pointed us on, down a hallway behind the doors of the current ruin, which seemed to lead out into a street.
But when we walked through the doorway, we found ourselves in the dark tunnels of the deeps. I stumbled to a halt in the dark, leaning over on the wall. We weren’t far from Cozule, we were coming away from it, returning to Al’Veydra. I breathed the musty damp air of the dark, and looked at the faces of the others. Had we just gone through some strange communal vision? Were we really traveling back to Al’Veydra? Was Casava only just freshly-fallen behind us?
I realized it was another vision when I saw Karac – he’d never been with us in Cozule, not until well after. He was looking around quizzically, his nose squinching up as he smelled the air of the tunnel. “Where is this?” He asked.
Sered answered him quietly. “The deeps beneath Al’Veydra, some distance away. This is the land of the deep Elves. We were here shortly before you arrived in Al’Veydra seeking us.”
“Another false vision, I’m afraid,” I said. “You weren’t with us there, and obviously have no memory of this place. I begin to wonder whether this place is itself simply a conglomeration of the dreams and memories we bring here with us.”
Dex massaged his ankle, and nodded. “That brick I tripped over seemed real enough. We should move on, then.”
I shrugged. “This seems quiet here, I see no reason to rush right now, since we’re not likely to run into a patrol here.”
As if on queue, a rumbling howl echoed down the tunnel. Still distant, but it didn’t sound like something I had any desire to tangle with. Bingo, looking down the corridor towards the sound, piped up. “Yeah, real quiet. Think I’d like a nap.”
Karac grabbed up his axe. “Okay, let’s move.” General assent met his call, and we all raised up and headed on.
We worked our way down the tunnel, till we came upon a rush of water coming down from the ceiling. It splashed on the floor before us before running down and disappearing under a wall further ahead. We edged through the waterfall, one after the other…
…and emerged into a wide, bright desert, baking under the sun. The white hot sand burned my feet even through the heavy soles of my boots. Far in the distance, a great citadel of bleached bones rose up out of the sand, shimmering on the horizon. Something, I couldn’t quite determine what, crawled out of the gates in the distance. The brightness became blinding, scintillating flashes of light and color washing over my vision…
…until the grey dawn of a stone mountain pass lay below us. Two enormous stone pillars, carved with enormous arcane sigils, bordered either side of the pass. A huge army flowed like a river through it, all red banners and burnished armor. At the head of this army, I was disconcerted to see myself at the head of this army, wearing a crown that appeared to be made of solid flame…
…to find ourselves jogging through the ruined streets again, and spotting a fey warrior down the street from us. The helmed man rode upon an enormous boar, and wore dark armor that emitted purple flames from its joints. Its glowing green eyes glimmered in the still air, looking down our way. As with the other visions, it seemed to see something as it watched us, but perhaps could not focus properly upon us…
…and suddenly to shuffle quietly through a darkened room, its wooden walls stained with water, and a warped desk with a small candle burning brightly upon it. Sitting at the desk, Zenith – or a phantom of him – sat with a tiny burning cigar hanging from his lips. His skin was pallid, and covered with spore-like growths, and he worked with his hands upon a great iron device that looked like a prickly anvil. The device let out a clattering sound, and to one side was a stack of wet, mouldy parchment. Behind him, a strange spiky humanoid who looked like nothing more than a huge fungus stood, clad in a long robe of leather.
As this last vision faded from our view, Zenith said with some residual quiver of disturbance in his voice: “I think we’re here.” He looked around. “But this isn’t the safe market I recall.”
It seemed, indeed, we had – for before us a small wooded park opened up, with a bower entrance of branches woven together over the path. Above, the canopy formed by the trees was complete, and in spite of its obscuration of the sky, it glimmered with star-like lights. Suspended from the branches were thousands of lights – most coming from small jars, similar to those in Tatiyana’s hut. Some lights emitted from the broken bodies of dead fey, humans, and others, all suspended from the branches by spiked chains that entangled them and pierced them in many places. Around the edge of the park’s clearing, huge swathes of thorns pointed inward.
In the center of the clearing sat a cauldron not unlike the one in Tatiyana’s home, though somewhat larger, with a bed of dark orange embers beneath it. Around the cauldron, four ancient hags stood, cackling to each other and taking turns stirring and throwing miscellaneous things into the bubbling concoction within it.
They saw us , and with a quick look around at each other, charged us with a harmonized scream.
Two of the old crones were tall – upwards of seven feet tall each, with sickly greenish-yellow skin covered with boils, and possessed of huge talon-like nails that were cracked and crusted with filth. The other two were much shorter, with immaculate indigo skin, wiry hair and glowing red eyes. They charged towards us, brandishing various weapons ranging from a staff to some form of glaive. The short ones had wicked looking daggers, and appeared to be so similar that they might have been twins.
Sered and Karac met their charge head-on, while the rest of us spread out around the sides, entering the small park. Bingo angled off to the left and began zinging arrows at the leading yellow hag, while I moved off right to get a clean shot at the other. When I did, one of the dark hags made a bee-line directly for me. Seeing her approach, I grabbed hold of her spirit with a dark curse, ducked to one side, pivoted my stance, and connected with a heavy swing fromSybarron up through her side – taking advantage of her momentum as well, and sending her careening into the wall full of thorns beside us. I let Sybarron use some of my reserves to augment the strike, feeling him shove the blade deep between her ribs and open a flowing wound.
She let out an ear-piercing howl as the thorns sank into her back, black blood dripping from Sybarron’s blade as well as splashing upon the thorns behind her. She had given me a good cut on my arm as she was shoved roughly aside, which I gave a quick glance at to make sure wasn’t serious. She took advantage of my looking away to dart off the wall and try to open some distance from me – no doubt to start peppering me with some kind of ranged weapon once she did. I gave chase, and unloaded a blast of power at her as she raced away – the furor of the energy bolt caught her in the small of her back, and her twisted crone’s spine actually straightened with a bony snapping sound briefly before she fell upon her face.
She moved no more.
I turned back to the others to assess where I could step in…
…just in time to see one of the giant women before me, swinging her staff like a child will swing a stick at a ball, leaning into the stroke. I think I saw the stick before it hit me full in the face, but really all I can remember is an explosion of light and sound.
When I came to, Karac was standing just off to one side of me, Zenith beside me. The dwarf was hacking at the huge hag as though she were a particularly spry willow tree. She traded blows with him, hissing and spitting like a cat, but he didn’t even flinch. He just struck with the inevitability of an ocean tide, wearing her down. She parried as best she could, but every blow sapped her strength with visible force. The final blow came as I was watching, Karac cleft right through the staff she held, and his axe slid cleanly across her midriff. She clutched at the wound, but it was far too late to do anything more than fumble at the ropy pile of odd-colored guts that spilled from the gaping hole her stomach had become. She staggered back and fell to a sitting position, staring down and scrambling with both hands to pull back her innards. She looked up just in time to see Karac take a single follow up step and slice cleanly through her neck. Her head made a hollow thunking sound as it bounced across the cobble-stones and came to rest in the embers beneath the cauldron, and the hair immediately sizzled away.
Bingo was down a little ways off, but Dex was taking care of him, and the other two hags’ bodies were sprawled upon the ground towards them.
Karac looked down at me – novel, that – as I staggered up to my feet. My head was still ringing from the stroke I’d taken. He opened his mouth to say something…
…and we found ourselves entering the clearing again. Instead of bodies and jars, glowing lights hung from the branches, and instead of thorns, small stalls and booths lined the walls. Tables and chairs were scattered around the little park, and oddly alien women wandered about serving a red wine to everyone. The ground, instead of being stone, was a solid grassy lawn, perhaps it had once been a hippodrome. Any horses that once had seen this stadium though, were long gone. Instead, people of all shapes and sizes milled around, or sat in respite at the tables.
I looked over at the others. “Okay, I officially hate this place.” Sered frowned, but nodded agreement.
I looked around until I spotted an empty table with chairs. I pointed, and we all made our way over and sat down. I cradled my head – although the fight might have been a dream, the bleeding welt on my forehead was quite thoroughly real. “Will someone please find me some wine?”
No sooner had I asked than one of the strange women sat a cup before me and poured. I offered her a silver, but she just looked at me and shook her head before walking away.
Zenith gave us a short rundown on the place we were resting in. “This,” he said, “is Night’s Refuge. Shan Duresh is the lord of nightmares, and those seeking shelter from his creations come here. He created this place and has promised it will be safe for anyone who enters. Some come here to do business, but most simply seek hiding places from his terrors. Some have been hiding here for years, perhaps ages.”
He stopped and looked up over my shoulder. I glanced up, almost flinching, expecting another weapon to be coming down on my head. To my relief, a thin old man stood there, clutching his cloak to him and a small sack in his other hand. His hair was scraggy, thin as his body, and wide darting eyes looked all around. He kept looking around, paranoia obviously deeply set in his mind. “May I join you?”
I looked down beside me at the empty spot on the bench, and gestured to it. He sat almost before I was done with my gesture. “Thank you, thank you. You’re new here, aren’t you?”
Karac nodded at him. Bingo said “Yes, we are.”
“I thought so. You don’t look…look like you’ve been here long.”
“What can we do for you?” Sered asked.
“You can take me away. You look like you are intending to leave, and I want you to take me with you.”
I raised my eyebrows. Looked around at the others. Sered was expressionless, Karac shrugged. Bingo wasn’t even looking at him.
“I can pay, I can pay, you can have everything I have.” He pulled up the sack from his lap, and withdrew a small pouch and a tiny figurine. “This is all I have, and it is yours if you will take me with you.”
Dex opened the small pouch, and showed it to Sered. The old man looked at him, “That’s pure platinum, all of it.” Sered closed and slid the pouch back towards the old man.
“Who are you?” I asked, as I picked up the small figurine and looked it over. It was a tiny image of a jester, cast or carved from mithril, and it held in its hands a small hourglass that contained actual sand. Its features were twisted somehow, reminiscent of those touched by the Abyss back in my days in Bael Turath. I wondered if perhaps this was a relic of that age, and then wondered just how long this man had been here.
“I am Lord Lydell. I came here long ago, so long I can’t remem…” His voice trailed off, and his eyes stopped their twitching, focusing with fearful intensity on the entrance. Around us, conversation died out in a wave. Not even insects made a sound.
I sighed, and turned to look at the entrance.
A small boy dressed in silk finery stood there. He was overweight, with a long green cape stretching out behind him. A small, crude wooden sword, much as children would play with, hung at his side.
All eyes focused on him. Lord Lydell whispered one word, “Ivaerin.”
The boy skipped playfully into the arena, feet making small swishing noises on the manicured grass. He plopped onto the bench across from me, next to Sered, who leaned away from him. Bingo on his other side gave him a wide berth as well.
“You remembered me, Lydell! How wonderful!” His voice was discordant with his body, for it had a depth and tenor belonging to a fully-grown man – and one that would make most sound high-pitched. My cup almost resonated with the deep tone of this creature’s voice.
“I do remember you, yes, of course.” Lydell cringed away. He tentatively reached to take the pouch from the table, as if afraid that Ivaerin would take it.
Faster than I could watch, Ivaerin was standing on the bench, leaning across the table, and one of his hands was locked in a grip with Lydell’s. “I have a message from Shan, Lydell. He has too long awaited your answer, and you cannot hide from him forever.” As he said this, his other hand withdrew a small knife and drew it across the table from one side of Lydell’s wrist to the other. It made a creaking sound as it bit into the wood, and as it crossed Lydell’s flesh, he let out a mewling cry of pain. Blood flew, spraying across Ivaerin’s face and the front of his silk robes, and the hand came free into the child’s grasp. As soon as the sever completed, Lydell fell backwards off the bench, cradling his stump to his chest as he crawled over to the wall, where he lay sobbing on the ground.
Ivaerin’s knife disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. He took the dripping hand and stuffed it into a pouch at his waist. He called over to Lydell. “Shan will not wait forever, you know.”
The little boy plopped onto the bench once again, and took my cup of wine to drink from. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand – and smearing Lydell’s blood across his cheek as he did – he looked around at each of us. “You are Fellbane. My master has been expecting you.”
Sered looked down at him. “We are. Who are you?”
“I am Ivaerin, head of the master’s security.” He held out a hand to shake. “Pleased to meet you.”
Sered just looked at the hand, and made no move to offer his own.
The little boy-thing shrugged and drank again. “I come with a message from Shan Duresh.”
I sat up a little straighter. “And I have a message for him. As an emissary of the Winter Court, I have requested twice the opportunity to treat with him peacefully, but we have been attacked numerous times since then. Your master’s hospitality is sorely lacking.”
He nodded. “You might not have been worthy of an audience. Shan has so little time to accomplish anything personally, these days, so requests from the impertinent must be weeded out, if you don’t mind the turn of phrase.”
“And now?” Karac grumbled.
“Now you are worthy of notice. I ask, why have you come here? I know of your sword,” he nodded to me, “but that was not the reason you came. Why are you here?”
Bingo pulled his shirt open, showing the broach embedded in his flesh. “I possess the medallion of the Feyan Eire, and I wish to carry her soul away from here, to free her from this place.”
Ivaerin looked at the spot. “I see,” he said. “Then I have an offer for you. You may fight your way to Shan Duresh’s court, or I may take you there directly.”
Sered looked puzzled. “What sort of choice is that?”
The little boy looked up at him. “If you fight your way to him, and succeed, you will have proven yourselves and he will grant you a boon freely. If you come with me, you will have to negotiate with him for what you want, and a price will be named that you must pay.”
I leaned back and sighed. “Ahh, there’s the catch.”
Ivaerin didn’t move his head, but his eyes tracked over to me. “There is always a catch, Shadrim.”
I squinted a bit, trying to pierce whatever glamour this fey might be using to disguise a true form. “We will need time to discuss and decide our course of action. May we have some privacy?”
He nodded. “But of course, you only need to step to the entrance and call my name, and I will come.”
With that, he stood and left.
We moved to a clean table. Conversation began again in the stadium, though of a somewhat more muted nature. The other people filtered back to their seats, but none sat very close to us. I picked up the bag of platinum dust and walked over to where Lydell crouched against the wall. I tucked the pouch back into his pocket, and pulled a bandage from my pack to assist him. A short burst of arcane energy set the stump to re-knitting itself, and the bleeding stopped soon after. Lydell whimpered as the flesh began to re-grow, and whispered “Please, take me with you.” He grabbed the hem of my cloak as he asked this.
“We’re discussing that now.” I walked back to the others.
“I say fight.” I sat down at the table.
Sered looked over at me. “Haven’t you been asking to be a guest this whole time? Why fight now?”
“He obviously doesn’t take hospitality seriously, so it seems to me fighting is going to happen anyway. If we’re successful, there’s no bargain necessary – we can name our request and he will be honor bound to grant it.”
Karac knocked on the table. “But you guys said that here, he is nothing short of a god. How would we fight that?”
“I don’t think we would fight him, but we would fight obstacles he puts in our path.”
Bingo sipped from his cup. “I don’t want to fight any more here.”
Sered agreed. “I also don’t like the thought of taking on something stronger here. We have chips to bargain with, let’s just go and see what happens.”
Karac motioned over to Lydell. “What about him?”
I looked over. “He’ll live.”
Karac shook his head. “No, I mean, do we take him along?”
Sered turned to face him. “I don’t see how it could hurt. I feel a certain sympathy for him.”
Dex shrugged. “The money looked good. From the weight of it, that was probably a hundred coin worth in there.”
We all concluded that we could certainly use the money. Once we had made the call, Bingo walked over to the door while Sered and Karac went to help Lydell to his feet. He broke into open weeping as he was led over, fumbling to hand Sered the small sack of metal dust. Sered looked at it in his hand, then handed it to Dex.
Dex looked at the pouch. “Where’s the statue?” He asked.
Karac shrugged. “He didn’t have it on him. That little thing must have taken it.”
Bingo returned a moment later. “I called him, but nothing. I…”
I pointed at the door. Ivaerin stood there, this time straddling a hobby-horse, the wooden pole dragging behind him. Looking more closely, the horse’s head was a metal blade with a razor’s edge.
“Have you all made your decision?”
Sered looked him over again. I remained disturbed by the low octave of the creature’s voice.
“We have,” Bingo offered. “We’d like you to lead us there.”
Sered added, “And this man will accompany us.”
Ivaerin’s eyes widened a bit at the news, but he smiled. “Finally found some protectors, did you, Lydell? A shame, I was very much looking forward to chopping you up into tiny bits for the master’s bats.”
He turned to the rest of us, and made a hop-hop motion with his feet. “Let’s be off, then!”
- * *
When we arrived at the court, it turned out to be in a large castle of white marble in the center of the city.
We entered behind Ivaerin, who handed off his hobby-horse to a servant who at least looked human. The castle itself was magnificent, if unkept. The court room was cavernous, with two enormous stone statues of Eladrin warriors, one with a great sword and one with a bow. The far side of the room was open to the weather, and a raised dias dominated that section. As I watched, an enormous griffon with an armored knight astride it settled there on the dias, a chill mist emanating from its flanks. Several hooded figures of man size were scattered around the room, and a tall woman in a red dress stood next to the statue of the Eladrin with a sword. At her feet, a small doll – the juddermail – which must have been the heirloom which Tatiyana coveted – danced around her, whispering unintelligible things. Above us, there was no ceiling, just a blanket of black sky with stars and motionless cloud.
The woman, whose body was that of a young Eladrin, but whose face that of an ancient hag, looked at us. “You come with a proposition, then?”
The others nodded at me. “I am Azrael of Bael Turath, emissary of Winter. I and my companions here come with a request for permission to enter as guests, to negotiate the release of Feyan Eire.”
She looked up into the sky, and the cloud there dissolved – revealing a white moon, full and bright, whose light shone down into the enormous room. This was Shan Duresh, I knew now. “I know who you are, Azrael. And what you believe you are destined for. You are recognized as guests so long as you commit no acts displeasing to my lord or those he wishes no harm befall. Why do you wish the Feyan Eire?”
That was vague.
“My companion is beset with her spirit, trapped within this medallion.” I pointed at Bingo, who stepped forward and revealed the thing once more.
“What are you willing to give for it?”
“I carry with me the sword Sybarron, whom I believe the lord Shan Duresh has already had a conversation with. It is in my custody, and I will release him free of obligation so that he and your lord may pursue their own ends without my hindrance.”
She looked at the hilt of the blade, and nodded. “That is welcome, but insufficient. You are asking for my lord to surrender a soul, and surrender a gatherer of information to you. She has been a willing servant, and Shan Duresh does not give up his servants lightly.”
“What are you suggesting, my lady?” What was she getting at?
“Your removal of yourself from the negotiations of Sybarron and my lord is enough to grant you and yours the status of guest, nothing more. You are asking for a possession of his, and he will be unsatisfied unless you grant him something of equal value in return.”
As she said this, Ivaerin – who had sidled up beside me without my noticing – grasped the hilt of Sybarron and drew him from the scabbard. He grinned somewhat mischievously as he skipped back toward Santiriana, to hand her the sword.
“He requires one of you to take her place here, and for you to enter his service.”
“Me?” I asked.
“You. You already have established a pact arrangement with one of the Winter queens. He requires that you relinquish that pact, and enter into a new one with him.”
I wondered at this. “Under the same terms as my prior compact?”
“It shall be no more burdensome than the one you currently participate in, if that is what concerns you. I can see you are worried about ending up in the same position as the Feyan Eire. Know that her situation was…unique. The details of your own arrangement can be hammered out later.”
I turned, and looked at the others. At Bingo. “You will remember this?”
He nodded, solemnly.
I turned back. “Then I am agreeable, and we may discuss this new relationship. I take it you have someone in mind for the other?”
She pointed at the cloaked figures around her, and one stepped to her side. The cloak was belted with a chain from which dozens, perhaps hundreds of keys hung. They jingled bell-like as the creature moved. “These are my Shrouded Sages, they are thought-stealers and experts at divining prophecies. I wish for one of you to remain and take the mantle of Shrouded Sage. I do not need to choose one, for one of you has already chosen.”
Puzzled, I looked back at the group.
Zenith stepped forward. “Yes, I have.”
Sered looked at him. “You are sure of this? You wish this?”
“I have studied dream for so long, in many ways I have become dream. This suits me.”
Santiriana nodded. Her voice, a soft lilt, carried across the chamber. “Then step forward and accept your mantle.”
He walked to her, and the hooded creature handed him a robe. Once he had donned it, the creature tied a silver loop around his waist.
A single silver key hung from the cord.
He looked back at us, once, nodded. Then drew the hood over his face and walked out a side door.
Santiriana grinned, and held up Sybarron. She muttered a few words and passed her hand over the blade. The purplish afterglow I was accustomed to seeing faded from the air, drifting to the floor, and in a flash erupted into a humanoid form that took solidity before I could even register it had been there.
A small bolt of it sang across the room and smote me in the face, beneath my left eye. I felt the sting of a fresh burn there, as something embedded itself into my flesh. I heard Sybarron’s voice in my mind – for the last time as his keeper.
You lived up to your end of the bargain, much to my surprise. Thank you for making this possible. This mark shall be a parting gift, perhaps a bit of the essence of my prison can help you in the future.
Sybarron – the Fey man – stood there. His purple silk clothes from my dream had changed to the lightest of greys, as had his hair and eyes. He looked back once at me impassively, and walked up to the dias, where a second griffon came to alight, riderless. He drew from its saddle packs glinting armor, which he put on without ceremony. He vaulted himself into the saddle, and closed the visor on his helmet.
Once a knight, to knighthood returned.
“Now, what you bargained for.” She threw the empty blade in Bingo’s direction, where it slid to a halt at his feet.
Sparks arced up from the floor around the blade, dancing over its surface. The blade turned white and glowed fiercely, reshaping itself before us.
It became a bow.
Santiriana then held her hand up, where a charcoal grey mist gathered over her fingers. She pointed at the bow, and the mist slithered through the air and surrounded the weapon, sinking into it like spilled wine into a cloth.
“Shan Duresh can change its form, but that object will always serve its intended purpose – a prison. The Feyan Eire now resides there.” She looked back to me.
“You asked for her to be released. She is free of obligation to Shan Duresh, she is released.” Seeing the frown on Sered’s face, she snapped at him: “You never specified in what form she was to be released.”
She looked back to me. “You have what you came for, Shadrim. You and your company may leave freely. During your next sleep, you will make appropriate measures regarding your own arrangement with Shan Duresh.” Santiriana made a dismissive gesture.
“As a fellow now also bound to his lordship, may I ask a small favor of you, madam?” I said this quietly.
She looked at me without expression. I took this to be a yes. I walked to her. The dancing doll included me in its attention, circling me and tugging at my trouser leg. It had a wicked face carved into the wood of its head.
“This must be the juddermaul your sister mentioned. We could perhaps be of service to you, in ridding you of her, you know?” I said in passing.
“She is not to be touched, I will deal with her in my own time.” She spat at me. “Get to your question.”
“As ambassador of his lordship to the hells, I request that you carry a message for me, to one of Bel’s Eight advisors – Balenor. He and I knew one another a long time ago, and I would ask that you tell him of my existence under his soul oath of secrecy. I believe he will find this information of great value, and in fact may offer you some boon in exchange for this information. I wish to meet with him.”
“I may choose to do this.” She replied dryly.
“You have my thanks, my lady.” I bowed. “Should the need come to pass, may I in the future consult your prophets?”
She smiled. “Only with the proper enticement, Shadrim, only with an appropriate exchange.”
I nodded. “Again, you have my thanks.”
She didn’t respond, only turned away.
I walked back to the group, and we all took ourselves back out the entrance through which we’d arrived. We stepped out the main doors…
• * *
I opened my eyes to see a field of stars before me, partially obscured by mist. A chill was in the air, but one not so bitter as in Tier Dian Loresh. I knew instinctively that I was no longer on that fell island.
I sat up, and as I did discovered that I was frosted to the ground. I had to exert some force to rip myself free of the clinging rime.
I looked around, and the others were there, each awaking as I had. Each sitting up, as I had.
Beside us was the well we had first gone down to enter the Feywild, and beyond that the farmhouse we’d seen – but it was empty, roof fallen in, and seemed to have been abandoned for quite a while. Bingo clutched the bow before him, looking at it with a strange confusion.
We all stood in the darkness, and silently began to make our way home.
