Eiravel didn’t look very happy about it. She gestured towards the table and nodded sullenly at Dinald and the others. The sharp, well dressed man sat down without invitation.

Unshaven and slightly battered, the man wore a look of desperate exhaustion as obvious as the fine stitching on his forest green doublet. He nodded knowingly at the group, trying to muster an expression of false confidence.

“You may not know me. I am an old……aquaintance of the….ah…… much sought after Eiravel here. I’m Grigori.” Eiravel quietly fumed. Grogori ordered a beer, and took a long swig.

“I need your help with something. I did a job the other night, and I think I got in over my head.” He looked sideways, as if checking for something. “The Watch just got done grilling me hard for most of the afternoon. I’ve got to lie low a while, but my girl Ilyana, she doesn’t know. They may not be so kind to her, especially since she’s wearing some my handiwork, if you know what I mean.”

Grigori took another pull from his flagon. “If you can find her first, I’ll make it worthwhile.” He handed Ailukka a square of artists’ canvas bearing the charcoal sketch of a striking tiefling woman.

“This is her likeness.” he continued. "And look in the Fire Quarter. She has friends working at the Silk Scabbard. Filipa maybe, or Iskra. Either might know where she is. ” He took one last drink from his mug. “Tell them Grigori brought them their earrings. They’ll know I sent you.”

Ailukka was looking forward to the break. They would be remaining in Kalsgard until the end of January at least. What was best was that she had little to do: the bulk of the planning would fall on Sandru and Ulf.

According to Ulf, this was the very worst time of year to attempt a crossing of the Roof of the World. They needed to reach the High Ice in early spring, to maximise their chances of good weather (or at least, as good as it got) for their crossing. Ukshakka would be leaving Kalsgard after the WInter Festival, to prepare suppiles and a change of beasts ahead of them. Ulf Gormundr had suggested to Sandru that his caravan should avoid the primary caravan route that passed through the trade-town of Unaimo for the time being and instead journey to a cliff-village he knew of some miles to the west, called Iqaliat: Uksahkka would make preparations and meet them there.

When they had reached Kalsgard they had agreed to go straight to see Fynn Snaeveld. They gave as as much of their story as they thought was prudent, though Lute, the merchant they had rescued, had spilled out a little more. The hawkish old merchant had eyed them strangely.

“A bargain is a bargain” said Fynn, “and I will present the blade to you as a reward. Even now it makes me feel uncomfortable handling it.”

“I see however more than you choose to reveal. These shadow warriors: Ninja they are called- I know of them from my travels. And for the Rimerunners to be running such an organisation? The King must know of this.”

“I can bear witness” said Lute. “The King will have to act!”

“But I set one simple condition before I relinquish the sword. I wish to see this relative of the man I bought it off. It is clear to me that this all revolves around her. That old man was in a great hurry to sell the sword to fund his familiy’s flight southwards. I am guessing he had powerful enemies, who would not wish his heir to return?”

They had all looked at one another rather sheepishly; Fynn was very astute.

“I am no longer old enough to travel”, said Fynn. “But indulge an old man in this and I might be able to help in ways you might not think.”

They had agreed and half an hour later Ameiko had appeared with Sandru. Reynald and Shaleelu kept watch outside. The old man stared at Ameiko intently.

“Yes. Yes.” he nodded finally. “I see the resemblance to your grandfather. You have his eyes.” Bowing he handed Suishen over to Ameiko.

She suddenly jumped as though given a sharp shock. Then she collapsed to the floor.

“Here we go again” thought Dinald.

She was soon revived however, and asked for the sword, and then she looked up strangely.

“The sword has told me much” was all she would say. “I will tell you later, but it says we can trust Fynn Snaeveld.”

More discussions had evolved, and the top and bottom of it was that Fynn had agreed to invest the caravan for its expedition, which was something of a relief to Sandru. Listening intently, and with an eye for an opportunity, Lute had also agreed to invest several thousand crowns.

Fynn had been as good as his word, and had recieved an audience with King Sveinn. The upshot was a major shake up in Kalsgard. Sveinn had suspended the Rimerunners Guild’s operations and seized all of its assets while investigations were being conducted. Publically he had immediately distanced himself from his formerly cordial relations with Thorborg Silverskorr. With his hands on the Rimerunner’s assets Ailukka expected that it would be a very long time indeed before the investigation was concluded.

“From what you say I suspect the real Thorborg Silverskorr is long dead.” said Fynn, “This Katmandatsu no doubt found it convenient to adopt her identity.”

Between Ulf and Suishen, Rasha was getting a headache. They had found Ulf in a cell beyond Katmandatsu’s chamber, a tall gruff man, with shaggy blonde hair. His gear was nearby too, as well as a sizeable quantity of loot.

To say the man was touchy however, was a bit of an understatement. More than once Dinald and Ailukka had intervened to prevent arguments with Ungo, Eiravel, Lute or himself. He was feeling worn out. At least with a whole caravan there would be more people for Ulf to argue with, and so perhaps it wouldn’t be quite so wearing. He’d better make sure Ulf wasn’t on his wagon.

That damned sword too was so persistent. Single minded was an understatement.

“Ameiko. Take me to Ameiko. Now! Now! NOW!” the voice seemed to scream in his head.

“WE’RE NEARLY THERE GODDAMMIT!” shouted Rasha out loud, and then realised that everyone was staring straight towards him. He muttered something under his breath.

Down below Eiravel once more crept forward. The corridor turned a corner and a dim glow of some hidden brazier revealed that ahead the hallway widened into a small chamber. She noticed a tripwire connecting to a simple bell alarm, and quickly disarmed it.

Where the corridor opened out she could make out the dim shape of a man swaying slightly, but other wise making no movement. She heard the faint sound of creaking, and the unpleasant odour of something she couldn’t quite place. Moving back she whispered her findings to the others.

Ragnar moved forward, and then wished he hadn’t. The red glow of the brazier revelaed at least half a dozen swaying forms-all dead and rotting. The things moaned and started shambling towards them. He shouted, and Ungo rushed forward.

As Ailulla moved further up to illuminate the scene another form fluttered through an open doorway-the sorcerous blood red raven they had encountered earlier. Ragnar shouted a warning and then was stunned by a gout of flame from the creature.

Through the doorway another figure appeared, a green skinned roughly man sized figure with a huge fur cloak and barbaric appearence: there was something troll like about his features-some sort of strange half breed perhaps.

“Wodes informed me of your coming” he sneered. “Know that Goti Runecaster slays you now!” With that he swallowed something and vanished, and Ungo hacked one of the cadavers down and raced towards the spot he had been standing in.

From the rear of the group Rasha yelped in surprise as the lithe hooded figure they had fought earlier in the hall upstairs reappeared, and kicked him hard in the side of the ribs. Gasping for breath he turned round and drew Vigilant.

Meanwhile Ailukka had sidestepped one of the fallen zombies and pointed her wand at the raven: a gout of flame shot out and there was a smell of burned flesh: the fey raven crashed charred to the ground.

There was an invisible howl of anger and several bolts of greenish fire appeared from thin air and crashed into Ungo, burning his skin. A pit appeared, seemingly from nowhere beneath Ragnar, but he managed to somersault backwards out of the way. The zombies were all fallen now.

A lucky guess from Ungo swept C***slicer round in an arc which connected with invisible flesh, and a huge gout of blood splashed out. Semi visible now Ragnar, Ailukka and Ungo surrounded and hacked at the mage, while Rasha fought defensively against the elusive assassin in the corridor, with Eiravel attempting to trip her with cracks of her whip.

With a final curse the mage fell, and all attention focused on their remaining opponent. Although she was hard to hit, she was already wounded from her previous encounter. Finally, a blow landed, and the room became quiet.

Exhausted the group took a short fifteen minute breather. There was at least one bright spot- Dinald was starting to see again, after he had bathed his eyes with water. Blinking, he grinned at the others, as they looted their opponents, Eiravel getting the assassin’s dagger out of it.

Apart from a couple of side chambers, there was a corridor turning north and then east. Guarding it were two statues of Tien warriors, which Ailukka eyed suspiciously as magical. They did not react when the group passed and opened the door however.

Inside was a diamond shaped chamber which had been transformed into a multilevel architectural wonder. The chamber was divided into two tiers, the upper tier lying twenty feet above the lower tier, and rotated forty-five degrees. The peak of the ceiling rose to a pyramid sixty feet above . The diagonal orientation of the upper tier formed four twenty-foot-high ledges above the walls of the lower tier. A fountain issued from the southernmost of these ledges, pouring in a waterfall to a decorative pool containing several ruby-hued koi. Black lacquered folding screens had been set at various places about the room, creating a veritable maze of panels.

At one end sat a beautiful fair haired woman in rich clothing, and sat at a small table nearby was one of the black clad warriors- this time with his hood down and a small owl of wine in front of him.

The woman smiled broadly, and walked behind one of the screens. The shadow warrior tumbled backwards of his stool, also out of sight. As they moved cautiously forward they heard a sound of silver laughter from around them.

“These pathetic attempts at disrupting out plans are futile” laughed the voice, " And now you will all die!"

“Who are you?” called Rasha, looking round."

“It is Katmandatsu who will slay you” called the voice. “I control both the Frozen shadows and the Rimerunners, and soon all of Kalsgard will dance to my tune. And then all of the Lands of the Linnorm Kings will bow to my masters.”

“Masters?” asked Dinald timidly.

“I am Katmandatsu of the Five Storms, Servant of the Jade Regent.” called the voice, seeming somewhat harsher and more gutteral now. “You may have slain that fool Kikunu in Brinewall, but your trail ends here. And after you the little princess will die, and the Ameritsu’s pathetic line will never return to Minkai!”

“Now. Die.” an oversized arrow shot down and plunged into Rasha’s shoulder, burning with flame. Looking up they saw an ogre like female form clad in lamellar type eastern armor, wielding an oversized bow. She was perched on the ledge above the koi pool.

At the same time four dark clad figures appeared as if from nowhere, blades stabbing deep into flesh. The fight was on.

A handful of zombies lurched forward to block the assassins- this time under the control of Ailukka, who had used some of Goti’s scrolls to animate the corpses of dead minions- somewhat to the distaste of Dinald and Ragnar. With the undead creatures protecting her, she fired her wand up at the Ogre Mage.

Leaving the dark clad assassins to Ungo, Dinald and Uksahkka, Ragnar ran and leapt for the ornate stonework, clambering up towards the shelf bearing Katmandatsu. The Ogre Mage herself was pumping arrows into Rasha and Ailukka, though they too were hitting her. Rasha stumbled badly wounded, groping for potions, and Katmandatsu cast some icy spell striking Ragnat and all in her immediate vicinity; however, a lucky casting from Dinald left her stunned, and she staggered backwards out of line of site.

The assassins were all vanquished now, and quaffing a potion she had retrieved at Brinewall, Aliukka started to rise upwards into the air, her wand still held forward as Katmandatsu again came into her view. As the Ogre Mage shook her head Ragnar too reached the ledge, and noted with some apprehension that her wounds were in some way knitting together.

It was too little too late however, and as he swung his Temple Sword towards her, Ailukka also hit her with a jet of flame.

Giving a scream of anguish and a tusked glare at Ragnar, she tried to reach for the brass studded staff slung over her shoulder, but as he drew his sword out she toppled forward to the ground. Katmandatsu was dead.

The stairs descended into a plain room of mortared stones. The walls dripped with condensation, giving the air a cold, clammy feel. In the distance they could hear the sound of running water.

Outside was a corridor running to the north. Where it opened out ahead there was a dim red glow of some hidden fire. The corridor itself was cut by an underground stream, with a simple plank bridge lying on the far side. On the near side was a simple bell.

Checking instead a door to the west revealed a natural cavern some thirty feet across and fifteen feet high. A waterfall poured in through a small aperture high on the south wall, filling a turbulent pool in the floor and sending a cold spray throughout the room. A smoothed ledge extended outward from the door, and two large barrels had been set to the right of it. Another ledge sat on the far side of the pool. A smaller cask sats on this ledge, next to a heavy wooden door.

“Let’s leave this for now” said Ragnar, and taking a running leap jumped across the stream to the corridor beyond, and then quietly set the plank bridge in place. Having done this he crept forward towards the red glow.

As he approached the room it seemed oppressively hot compared to the rest of the cellars. A coal furnace roared in the far wall, giving the room a dull red glow. A heap of coal was stacked against the east wall. An iron door opened in the ceiling above the coal pile. Three crude beds made of poorly cured bearskins and wolf pelts had been thrown on the floor before the fire. A hogshead rested between them, next to the bloody bones of some unfortunate creature. Staring straight towards him were two huge figures, wrapped heavily in furs and woolen caps.

“Blimey!” said one of the Trolls. “It’s a little ’un! Ketch it quick ’Arry!”

“Oh dear” thought Ragnar, well aware that the others were well behind him negotiating the plank bridge. But ’Arry moved forward with surprising speed, and he found himself engaged.

A lucky blow from Ragnar’s sword sent the troll reeling, but he noted that its wounds seemed to be quickly re knitting themselves.

""Quick! Quick!" he yelled. “Trolls: need fire!”

Ungo managed to rush forward towards the fray, followed by Rasha and AIlukka, now relying pretty much on Trollsplitter or her Wand of Fire: possibly the right tool for the job. One of the things lunged at Ragnar and bit deep, and Ungo took a crushing blow as he ran in close to engage. At the rear Dinald, his eyes now bandaged, shouted to ask what was going on.

But the first troll was down with a combination of blows and a victim of their own bad luck. As its wounds knitted Ailukka fried it with a gout of flame.

Beset by everyone now (excepting Dinald), the remaining troll fought fiercely, but was eventually overwhelmed. A flask of alchemist’s fire burned the thing as it sought to regenerate.

“We are in really bad shape” said Rasha, " We could do with a rest."

“We can’t really rest here” replied Ragnar. “If we do they’ll become alerted and call in reinforcements-that raven has already escaped. We need to do this quick or never.”

Using a few of their slim cache of remaining potions they looked towards a wooden door to the west.

As Eiravel opened it she saw a lit room with a ceiling rising twenty feet overhead, its heavy beams serving as both rafters and supports for the great hall above. Teak paneling covered the walls, and the floor was of polished wood. Along the walls, wooden columns rose to the ceiling above, bearing banners emblazoned with pictograms from far-off Tian Xia. Above these hung small oil lamps that gave off a dim glow. A small porcelain bowl rested before the center column to the south, and four reed mats were arranged before it.

“It’s a Dojo” said Ragnar, in mild surprise. He nodded towards a row of doors along the north wall, and the group quietly moved inside. They all failed to notice the four silent forms dropping quietly to the floor from the dark rafters above.

Two were native Ulfen, and the others showed unmistakable Tian heritage. They wore only simple black robes, and carried a throwing spear. These they flung at Ungo and Uksahkka before closing unarmed. Their fists and feet struck with lightning speed and the fight was on. Rasha fired his arrows, which the attackers seemed able to deflect with their hands.

As combat was joined a door in the far end of the room entered and a graceful female form, masked and dressed in black entered. In one hand was a slim blowpipe, but she instead threw three tiny shuriken at Ungo, which cut into his shoulder but then seemingly caused his cloths to smoke and burn, as he gasped with pain. She seemed elusive and hard to hit,as she dealt painful blows to her foes.

The original four assailants were all down now, but both Ungo and Ragnar were being severely pummelled, with Ungo’s sleeve now fully ablaze. Behind them Eiravel attempted to keep them on their feet with the final few charges from the healing wand. Rasha drew Vigilant and all attempted to surround their ferocious attacker. Rasha finally managed to get a powerful strike in, and she darted hateful eyes before making a quick gesture. There was a puff of stinking, smoking cloud and they gasped and rubbed their eyes. When they looked again their opponent was nowhere to be seen.

Ungo was dragged back to the corridor and his arm plunged into the icy stream, where he gasped with relief. They made what healing efforts they could, fortunately finding a handful of spare healing draughts in the quarters to the north.

Beyond the Dojo they discovered another room-apparently the quarters of some mage: Goti Runecaster perhaps. They rummaged for scrolls and potions, and also discovered a wand. Further along the corridor another set of steps led down.

“We should check that water chamber first” said Ragnar. “I feel we might have missed something important.”

Tramping back Ragnar did a running leap and managed to get across. The wooden door was locked however. Eiravel attempted to use one of the barrels as a raft, but this was a hopeless task and she plunged into the icy water.

Dragging herself out near Ragnar and her teeth chattering, she opened the lock within a matter of seconds. She cast an illumination spell and she and Ragnar looked in, revealing an empty room with a small well at the far side. Ailukka had warned them earlier that she sensed some powerful magic in here.

As the pair moved in Eiravel caught a hint of movement above her. She shouted something and managed to sidestep something which plopped from the ceiling. And then something covered her head and wrapped cold coils around her neck, and she was gasping for breath.

Ragnar found himself in exactly the same situation, and he tore frantically at whatever it was attempting to smother him. It’s flesh was repulsive and slug like, but in a matter of seconds he had clawed the thing way, and then attacked the one smothering Eiravel. As he ripped it off she started to scream at the top of her lungs, and then stamp and crush at the two which had missed, and were slowly crawling away from them across the floor.

eventually they moved across to the well@ an ornate sword on Tian design seemed lodged down the narrow shaft- as though perhaps it had been carelessly tossed down.

It seemed that a voice spoke inside Ragnar’s head.

“I am Suishen. Rescue me” the voice seemd to say.

“I think we’ve found it!” called Ragnar.

After tramping through a marshy landscape the hills rose sharply ahead into a steep and craggy shale escarpment hundreds of feet high. Tucked into a narrow defile between two of these crags was a stone-and-timber longhall and tower, weathered and gray. The hall stood nearly one hundred feet above the base of the cliff, with only a single wooden stair climbing in a series of switchbacks up the gate. All was silent save for the raucous caws of the ravens that congregate atop the hall’s tower and ridgepole high above. Fortunately they had been able to avoid their own raven watchers during their escape from Kalsgard, two days to the north.

They made camp in a small wood and waited till dark. They padded forward, and saw the rickety wooden stair climbing the cliff face in a series of switchbacks to the fortified hall ninety feet above. The stairs and rails were built of timber planks, silver with age, and climbed haphazardly through a series of railed landings on their winding ascent. In some places the stairs and landings were secured directly to the rock face, and in others they hung free upon wooden supports and buttresses driven into the rock. Lichens and moss covered the stairs and rocks, with pale vines, roots, and blooms of nightshade, willowherb, and bog tea sprouting from occasional crevices in the stone. Upwards they climbed.

Some 50 feet up one of the short flights of stairs rose to a landing abutting the cliff face. A small hollow in the rock was plastered over with what looked like a huge wasp nest. A sudden movement caught their eye, and a large shape lunged at Dinald, biting deep with sharp mandibles. He flinched backwards in horror, avoiding its grasping pincers.

It was as large as a cow, with a head something like a cross between a fly and a series of strange fungal growths. Buzzing wings held it aloft, and a coiled sting threatened from the rear of its body. Spells and arrows flew at the creature, as the group jostled fro position on the narrow stairwell. As he drew close, Ragnar too received a painful nip.

Further confusion entered the fray when three silent shapes dropped from above, two at the head of the stars near Ungo, and one at the rear behind Uksahkka. Blowgun darts puffed, but failed to find their mark. The new arrivals were clad like their assailants on Snorri’s funeral ship -but these were not men. Raven beaks and feathered heads peeked out of their hoods, and their feet ended in birdlike claws. Black wings sprouted from teir backs, though they wielded weapons in feathered hands.

A wave of frozen air crackled again through the air at the flying monstrosity, which plummeted to the valley floor below. At the top of the stairs Ungo found himself flanked by a pair of the newcomers, and their Tian blades bit deep as he shouted for help. Although outnumbered the new comers were helped by the narrow stairwell, and their trick of disappearing in the blink of an eye, only to move into sight again with a blade stuck in someone’s back made them extremely difficult opponents.

Numbers did eventually triumph however, but not without a cost in cuts and wounds. Even when wounded, the attackers would not retreat. Quickly they made their way to the top of the stairwell.

A wide porch surmounted the rickety conglomeration of stairs and landings below, providing a moonlit panoramic view of the boggy plains that extended to the hazy horizon. The looming gray stone hall of the fortress blocked further progress. Inset arrow slits with heavy wooden shutters flanked a bronze-banded portal that lead within. Above, three more arrow slits looked out over the precipice. Eiravel fiddled with her lockpicks and hoped that the door wasn’t bared from the inside. The primitive lock clicked open.

Peeking though she saw rows of pillars supporting the roof of a long hall. Torches set into pillar sconces and two fire pits set with iron spits in the center of the rush-strewn floor gave the room a ruddy glow. Several doors opened into rooms on either side beneath ten-foot-high balconies lined with feasting tables. At the far end of the hall, a 15-foot-high balcony with the master’s high table looked out over all. Smoke holes cut into the roof high above allowed in more light and the croaking of the many ravens that roosted on the roof’s ridgepole could be heard. Quietly they moved inside, and made their way along the silent hall.

A fluttering from the rafters above made Ragnar look up, and then he saw the ravens swooping down- dozens of them; in a few moments they were surrounded by the birds and flailing wildly around them while trying to protect their eyes from savage beaks.

No sooner had they beat of their attackers when doorways either side of the hall swung open , and eight or so armed and armored retainers rushed out, wielding swords and battleaxes. From the far side of the hall four dark clad figures with unmistakable Tien features rushed out, quickly flanking Ungo and stabbing him with well practiced blades. The fight was on.

Bloodied and with many wounds, eventually they stood occupants of the hall. DInald used up many of the charges in the healing wand he had found, and Eiravel used up the majority of her healing magics. Numerous potions were also spent. Ungo sighed.

Exploration of the hall revealed several bunkrooms, and a locked room which proved to be a wine and food storage area. A corridor at the rear of a hall revealed a kitchen, and, surprisingly, a rear entrance to a picturesque dell squeezed between the steeply sloping flanks of the nearby crags that rose a hundred feet or more overhead.

A narrow waterfall rushed in a torrent down one of these slopes and collected in a catch pond next to a thatch-roofed lean-to with two large fieldstone chimneys. A small torrent exited this pond, wending its way toward the great hall, where it disappeared into a metal grate in the hall’s foundation. A path from the lean-to led over a narrow bridge of rough-sawn logs arching over the stream and farther down the defile, until it was lost among the
rocky outcroppings beyond. It seemed to be a some secret way down into the forests below: a back door.

Another door led below the tower area to a room hewn from bare rock , and a wooden stair led up along the walls to the north. Tables and workbenches filled the chamber, holding all manner of alembics, crucibles, burners, and assorted tools, as well as a large glass case set into a niche holding what appeared to be a humanoid body. A variety of dried herbs and plants dangled in profusion from hooks on the bottoms of the stairs, and sacks and chests holding additional equipment and components were shoved underneath the stairs. A torch mounted on one of the stair posts illuminated the chamber with a flickering glow. Suddenly, the body started to stir and rising jerkily to its feet, pressed its face against the thick glass.

“Letzzz…….me…..freezzzzz…..” slurred a flat voice in a strange monotone. Dinald and Ailukka looked at one another. Rasha noticed that several small lumps appeared to be moving under it’s skin, and he saw what looked like a large wasp crawl out of its mouth.

“Um….I think this may be in here for a reason” said Rasha. “Probably best if we leave it alone.”

Ignoring the tower stairs for now they made their way up to the balcony surrounding the main hall, but discovered only an armory and a storeroom containing piles of valuable furs and wool bales. Heading back to the tower stairs they climbed up to the first floor, and off a side landing noticed another room. Inside they could hear faint clattering and movement. Ungo stumbled and his axe clattered against the wall. There was more noise in the room as Eiravel opened the door and stepped back.

The chamber reeked of stale wine, rank sweat, and wild animal spoor. A rough bed sat at the far end, and a pot-belly stove rested between the windows, next to a coal bucket. Across from the stove was a small table holding several empty wineskins and a small oaken statuette.

Behind this stood a large man wielding a battleaxe, but even as they looked his features seemed to blur and twist into some large and ferocious hybrid of man and bear. Dinald gulped, remembering old wounds, as the thing snarled and lunged forward.

Ungo’s and Ragnar’s blades bit hard, but it was like cutting into an oak door. Swings of the creature’s axe caused deep wounds, though fortunately they managed to escape its slavering jaws.

Howling with frustration Ungo rolled around to the creatures side and as he rose swung C***slicer in towards the back of its knee; the stroke paid off as his axe bit deep, and he toppled to the ground. Bloody blows rained down. As they stood back panting it’s features transformed into those of a large, bearded man.

Moving quickly up to the topmost floor they entered an L shaped room surrounding two other doors. The night chill blew in through high windows open to the elements. A
fireplace stood aainst one wall, its ashes cold, next to a stack of firewood. A trap door with a wooden ladder leading to it opened in the ceiling to the southwest. Six light cots were spaced about the chamber, with a small footlocker next to each.

As they moved in three beaked and dark clad shapes materialised as if from nowhere, identical to those they had encountered on the wooden stair outside. Their blades stabbed into Eiravel and Dinald, all but cutting them down.

At the same time a beat of wings announced a number of ravens sweeping inwards through one of the open door- but also a much larger raven, three or four times the normal size. This had blood red tipped feather and perched on a high beam. With a strange gesture of one of its claws a gout of flame gushed down upon Rasha. Everyone rushed into the general melee.

Dinald was again beset by ravens, and this time some of their beaks bit home as he struggled to cover his eyes; he screamed as he fell to the floor.

Recognising the large raven as a Fey creature, Rasha gritted his teeth and fired his arrows at the creature, while Uksahkka engaged one of the dark clad figures with AIlukka, with Ungo and Rasha trying to dispose of the ravens. This they managed to do, in a difficult melee which involved the black clad figures seemingly disappearing and reappearing almost at will, and with deadly blades.

A lucky shot from Rasha struck deep into the Blood red Raven, and with a caw it flew off into the darkness. The combat focused on the dark assassins.

Eventually the fight was over, with Ungo, Eiravel and Dinald all down; the others were all somewhat wounded. With their much diminished stock of potions they managed to get everyone on their feet.

Investigating one of the smaller rooms revealed a sorry looking fellow, who had obviously not been fed for many days. Unfortunately this was not Ulf.

The man introduced himself as Lute Haggersly, and it seemed that he was a merchant recently elected to the Rimerunners Guild’s board of shareholders. He had the misfortune to vote against a measure proposed by Thorborg Silverskorr and then had the additional temerity to not be intimidated and bullied into capitulating. The net result was that he had been abducted from the road on a trip to some of the outlying villages around Kalsgard and was brought here, as he understood that he might be worth a sizable ransom at some point.

When asked about what he knew of Ravenscraeg’s inhabitants, Lute revealed that he had primarily been dealt with by a half troll sorcerer has called Goti Runecaster, who had tried out various noxious brews that he had concocted and threatened him with infestation by something called a hellwasp swarm. Jorgan the Axe had worked him over a few times as well.

Lute revealed that he had not been questioned and had no idea of his eventual fate. What he did know however was that the fortess was commanded by some sort of hideous purple ogre.

“What’s more the ogre is actually none other than Thorborg Silverskorr,” he said, “the leader of the Rimerunners Guild. She came here and then transformed into the ogre thing- just to scare me I suppose for a bit of fun. It worked I can tell you.”

This was interesting news, and they wondered if this was one of the Oni that the Seal had mentioned to them in their visions outside Brinewall.

Investigation of the roof space revealed yet more aggressive ravens, but little else. It seemed that they would need to investigate the sub level beneath the tower.

Uksahkka had been roughed up slightly, but was was otherwise none the worse for wear. She had overheard her captors speaking of transferring her to a place called Ravenscraeg, where Ulf Gormundr was also apparently being held.

The ledgers also proved interesting. There were many mundane business documents and financial records of the guild. These showed that a ship called the Aril’s Hammer had been rented to Asvig Longthews on the night of the attack at Skalsbridge, and also that he was contracted by the guild to “acquire a Tian antique” from a specific address recognizable as that of Fynn Snaevald’s house.

More importantly, the record showed financial transactions transferring large sums of money over the last few years (as well as the aforementioned “Tian antique”) to a location called Ravenscraeg. These “development expenses” were all personally approved by Thorborg Silverskorr.

“She’s the Guildmaster” said Uksahkka.

They also saw that the Rimerunners had purchased Ravenscraeg from Snorri Stone-Eye 3 years ago, and a great deal of money had been spent refurbishing it. .

It was clear that something very mysterious was going on at Ravenscraeg, and it was entirely possible that Suishen was located there.

Breaking and entering was a bit of a specialist trade, and between them they knew they were lacking. In addition, Ungo was now comatose with drink and had been flung into his room.

“Sandru might be just the help we need” whispered Rasha, "And slipping a note to an urchin, they sent him off with a message. Outside the ravens were still standing guard.

An hour later a quiet figure slipped into the room, but it was not Sandru. Instead it was Eiravel ; the mysterious traveller they had rescued from the Priory at Cymer. Since her recovery she had been somewhat apprehensive at their entry into Ulfen lands, and she had kept a fairly low profile amidst the wagons. More than once Rasha had spotted her having a quiet talk with Sandru, and he more than half suspected that her tale about being a harmless traveller beset by wolves was less than a fraction of the truth about her.

“Sandru sent me” said Eiravel. “He said you might need assistance in getting into somewhere.”

Rasha nodded: it made sense. Likely she was on the run from the very places they had returned too. She wore a deep hood even now.

The Rimerunner’s main office and Guildhall was easy to find; predictably it was past business hours and the doors were locked. A light was on upstairs and Ragnar clambered up quietly to peek in through one of the few open shutters. For once they had managed to sneak out without alerting the ravens.

He looked into a dormitory with three unarmored men, some lounging on beds or playing dice. An armored man stood nearby, taking a swig of something: there were night guards then.

Climbing back down he rejoined his comrades. Eiravel fiddled with a lock for a few moments, and then opened the door into a public reception area, with another door leading north into a managers office, and another into a long corridor. They waited silently in the room while Eiravel opened the lock into the managers office, and then froze as she heard heavy footsteps coming down the stairs, and then in the corridor, testing doors as they went.

Hissing to the others the door into the managers office from the corridor, and another from the reception area were opened at the same time.

The two guards were armed and well armored, but completely surprised. A hail of blows quickly downed them before they could react, and they were dragged into the reception area.

Eiravel had opened a closet in the managers office, and was staring curiously up at the ceiling.

“There’s a trapdoor” she said.

Climbing up, Ragnar realised that they had stumbled across a secure storeroom. He stood in a small room on the second floor replete with storage boxes-but no actual doorways. He helped Eiravel up and she started to open boxes and rummage.

In a side room Rasha found Uksahkka, bound and tied in what appeared to be a guest room. Shortly after Eiravel emerged down carrying a couple of bulky ledgers.

“I think what we need is in here” she said.

“Right, let’s just go. No need to bother the guards upstairs.” said Rasha.

Back at their inn they had washed and changed, having agreed to meet Uksahkka at around eight that evening. They had little clue as to whom their back clad assailants had been, as they had been forced to abandon the burning vessel in fear of their lives, and the uproar from the funeral party on the shoreline. They had made themselves scarce, very, very quickly.

Rasha glanced outside again. There seemed to be an awful lt of ravens about, and he had a suspicious mind. No longer covered in soot, smoke or blood, the group made their way towards the Fire Quarter and the Temple of Shaelyn. Uksahkka had given them a small clay statuette of the Goddess, and told them to present it to the priest Yin-Po who could be trusted.

However, as they approached the crisp night air was suddenly pierced by the sounds of screams and the crashing of tumbling masonry. Dust and rocks blossomed over the heads of passers by, and the screams increased in intensity and volume. Drawing steel they rushed forward.

Ahead, above the press, the shrine of Shelyn slowly swayed and then collapsed into the street, dumping its facade of stone and mortared brick on those unfortunates below, resulting in another wave of screams of pain and fear.

As they drew near the shrine, they saw a large figure composed of rocks and dirt pounding away at the building and quickly reducing sections of it it to rubble. An elderly Tian priest lay injured on the street nearby.

“More Ravens” thought Rasha. And did one of them look larger and have red tips on its wings?

“Iss Elemental” said Ailukka, “Powerful spell.” And then she started casting and a ripple of frozen air steaked towards the thing, coating one shoulder in rime ice and staggering it momentarily.

“Yewarrrrrrrr!” screamed Ungo, by now very drunk, rushing at the thing with C***slicer. Ragnar followed with his blade, and then was swept aside like a rag doll by a slap from one of the creature’s hands. Rasha put his sword way and pulled out his bow nervously. Dinald drew the Poker, which failed to poke effectively.

As Ailukka pumped spells at the thing, Ragnar and Ungo tried to land blows without getting flattened. The creature was almost nine feet tall, and its fists hit like an avalanche. Both Ungo and Ragnar were in poor shape, but the creature too seemed in some way to be losing its integrity as bits of it fell off. A final swing from Ragnar and the thing final collapsed in on itself, leaving a cloud of dust, and a pile of sand and rubble in the courtyard.

Dinald helped the elderly priest to his feet, who started jabbering in Tien. Ailukka moved over to help Dinald calm him down, and showed him the clay figure.

Meanwhile Rasha was looking around, keeping a wary eye on the ravens which were even now watching them. Stooping down he picked up a a large black feather-much too large for a raven; too large even for the blood tipped larger bird he had glimpsed. Twirling it in his and he walked over to the others.

The old priest saw the feather and his eyes widened.

“Very bad! Very bad!” He hook his head looking frightened. Motioning them forwards he ushered them through the rubble to an alley behind the shrine. He led them to a secret door to a hidden cellar where Uksahkka was hiding, but the door had been battered
down and Uksahkka was nowhere to be found.

“The elemental was a distraction” said Rasha. “Someone’s kidnapped her.”

“Look here” said Dinald reaching down. He picked up a small dart. of the sort fired from a blowgun.

“An assassin’s weapon” said Ragnar.

“What do you know about the feather old man?” asked Ailukka in Tien. “No time to lose: speak swiftly.”

“Frozen Shadow. Very Bad.” said the old man, looking frightened.

“And……..?”

“I am priest for many of Tian community. I hear many things. I hear of Frozen Shadows in last two, three years” said the old man hesitantly.

“Frozen shadows are….I not know word….Killers for hire. Members rumored to have magic powers and to move unseen. Sometimes they leave big black feather as calling card.”

“Still not much to go on” said Rasha glumly, “An assassin’s guild won’t have a shop in the high street.”

“What about the big blood red tipped raven?” asked Dinald. “Know anything about that old man?”

“Is very bad look in Kalsgard” said the Priest. Then he paused.

“But I know of one. Is said to be familiar of Goti Runecaster-a magician of the Rimerunners Guild.”

“Hmm the Rimerunner’s Guild again” said Dinald. “Their name seems to keep cropping up.”

“They specialise in trade across the Roof of the World as well” said Ragnar, “Could be more than coincidence. Maybe we should pay them a visit.”

The poor weather had postponed Snorri’s funeral till nightfall, which was fortunate for Dinald and his friends. As dusk approached Uksahkka quietly steered a small boat downstream on the riverward side, toward the funeral ship, which was anchored some way out in the stream to keep away the gawpers. Theiir approach was well hidden by the mist and gathering gloom.

As they clambered aboard they noticed that the deck of the longship had been built up with planks over the old rowing benches, creating a space below decks. It appeared that the funerary treasures had been placed in this hold, as the deck was empty save for a silent, shrouded form resting atop a bier in front of the mast, surrounded by wood. A leather sack sat atop small pile of sand at the base of the bier, the glow of flame and wisps of smoke escaping from it.

A hatch at the bow of the ship led to the hold beneath the deck and was nailed shut. As Ragnar set to work Dinald examined the pyre, and saw that the bier was soaked with oil. He pulled the shroud back out of curiosity, but instead of a corpse saw only a wooden manikin.

“Odd” he thought, “Maybe the corpse is stowed below”

A pile pile of sand on the deck was hollowed out and held an urn of oil within it. A leather bag containing burning coals had been placed over the top of the urn to act as a delayed timer for the fire. As soon as the coals burned through the leather bag, they would land in the oil, igniting both it and the bier. He gulped.

“It’s open” said Ragnar, “And I think I heard chains down there.”

Climbing down revealed a cramped space with a 4-foot-high ceiling, occupied by rowing benches and bulky stacked funerary treasures.

“Ulf are you there?” called Ragnar, “We’ve been sent by Uksahkka to rescue you.” As the group moved aft behind the mast Dinald rummaged unsuccessfully for anything that looked like an expensive sword. Peering ahead in the darkness Ragnar made out a dim shape ahead.

“Ulf?” he called.

It was not Ulf, it was a shape out of nightmare. A gray corpse like face lurched forward. one eye back and the other glowing with a green balefire. Talons gripped a massive greataxe. Although chained to the mast the undead thing had sufficient reach to strike at Ragnar, catching a glancing blow but sending a chill through his body as though he had been numbed with ice. With horror Ragnar remembered the thing they had fought within the basement of Brinewall Castle.

His form dripping with reeking seawater, the undead form of Snorri One Eye snarled and gurgled as though from a throat drowning and rotten. A wasting disease indeed.

Behind Ragnar spells and arrows shot forward, and Ungo ran froward with C***slicer. Snorri’s axe dipped and fell, dealing deathlike blows which seemed to pull at the strings of their very souls. In the cramped space it was hard to overwhelm the fell creature.

Eventually, fall it did. A swing from Ungo’s axe, recently enchanted by Raine, finally knocked a leg from under it. The creature was hacked to pieces.

“No wonder the ship was moored away from land” said Rasha, " I assume Snorri’s kinsmen wanted to keep all this secret and send him down with his ship, as it were."

He grimaced in distaste as Ailukka pulled Snorri’s dark stone eye from it’s socket, a puzzled look on her face.

There was sign of neither Suishen nor Ulf below decks-only a very bulky sort of treasure in terms of furniture and household goods. Ungo licked his lips as he eyed up a rolled Katapeshian Rug, and gestured to Ragnar to give him a hand with it to the deck above.

As they fumbled back up through the hatch they suddenly realised they were not alone. Rasha started to shout but not before half a dozen arrows form crouching shapes around the rails pierced Ungo’s and his own armor. Silently the shapes reloaded and fired again, and this time the deck around the bier burst into flames.

“I really don’t like boats” thought Rasha.

“My name is Uksahkka, and my partner Ulf has been held captive at that farm for several days” the woman explained. “Damn! They must have taken him away while I was resting.”

“You partner?” queried Rasha.

“My business partner, Ulf Gormundr. He’s a guide- one of the best. In fact the best, on this side of the Crown.”

“Uh, the Crown?” asked Dinald.

“The Crown of the World” explained the woman patiently. “We are caravan guides: Ulf is the best freelance guide; the best arctic guide period.”

“Wait, wait. I’m getting confused” interrupted Rasha. “He was captured you say?”

“That’s right. Asvig invited Ulf here nearly a week ago-Ulf said that Asvig wanted to discuss big plans for a new trade route across the Crown. It came at the right time too; Ulf has fallen out with the big caravan outfits over the last year and it’s been hard going.”

“I was to join him when the details were sorted out, but he never came back. I came up to look for him and got beaten up and thrown out for my trouble. I think they’ve been holding him inside.”

“Talk noo” said Ungo, glaring at the servants they had brought with them.

" Uh , yes, the master did have a prisoner" stammered one of the servants, “But he was moved out last night. Maybe he’s gone with the sword too…….” the man stopped. But it was too late. Ungo patted C***slicer.

“Uh the funeral SIr” interrupted one of the other servants. “The feast was for the funeral of Snorri Stone Eye, Lord Asvig’s liegeman. Perhaps the captive and the sword were sent to the funeral ship: it’s the old way Sir.”

“Who is this…..?” began Dinald.

“A pirate. A reaver” interrupted Uksahkka. “He died a few days ago. A local hero in Kalsgard.” She spat.

“Remember!” said Ailukka. “White Wolf was speaking of him. You heard him! White Wolf’s half brother!”"

“So when is this funeral?” asked Rasha.

“Tomorrow morning, at dawn.”

To say that Helva, the wife of Asvig, was angry, was perhaps an understatement. Her husbands retainers were dead or incapacitated, apart from a few servants who had managed to flee.

Her eyes stared daggers at Ailukka, who had incapacitated her husband and several warriors with one her spells, and then brained him with a blow from Trollsplitter.

“I won’t forget this Witch” she spat, glaring at Ailukka.

“You’re one to talk” said Ailukka calmly, nodding at Dinald with a pile of boils and pustules festooning his face. At least they seemed now to be slowly receding.

“Ah’ll only ask this once missus” said Ungo, fingering C***slicer meaningfully, “Whur’s the fekkin sword yer ex nicked fra Fynn?”

“Murdering all his servants I’ll add” said Rasha grimly.

“Speak truth Woman!” commanded Ragnar sternly, “And you may yet live.”

Interrogation of the woman and a few of the servants revealed that Asvig had indeed been responsible for both the theft of the blade and the night attack on the caravan at Skalsbridge. one of the servants added that the ship had been called the ’Aril’s Hammer’, hired from the Rimerunners Guild. They decided to take the servants with them to hand over to Fynn: he could use their statements to justify their attack on Asvig’s Farm to the authorities. Of the sword there was no sign, which didn’t prevent them from a bit of quick looting anyway.

As they made their way away a shadowy form hailed them from the darkness. As they moved closer they saw that the speaker was a fine featured woman of obvious Varki descent, dressed in a mixture of ulfen clothing and traditional Varki beadwork and embroidery. there was definately something of the outdoors about her.

“I have watched you” said the woman. “I have watched here for many nights. What happened to the prisoners?”

“What are you talking about?” said Rasha, “And who the heck are you anyway?”

Some hours later Ungo, Dinald, Rasha, Ragnar and Ailukka hid in a small wood overlooking Asvig’s steading. This consisted of a main house near the head of a shallow valley, and a number of outbuildings. There seemed to be a degree of preparation going on, as servants collected food and drink from the storehouses,and even as they watched a group or warriors arrived and were greeted by a tall man and his wife, presumably Asvig.

“Looks like a feast is being prepared. Lets wait a bit till they’ve all had a chance to get drunk a bit” suggested Dinald. As the darkness descended they withdrew further into the wood leaving a lookout, and wrapped themselves in their cloaks as the chill evening descended. The distant sounds of cheer could be heard from the house itself. Rasha made his way back to them.

“Well I think the party is well underway, and by my count there are maybe a dozen warriors in there, plus the servants.” he reported.

“The bad news is that there are about another twenty torches heading up the valley. I estimate they’ll be here in an hour.”

“Ve need to move now then” said Ragnar, standing up.

Under cover of darkness now, they moved closer to the house. Ailukka suddenly motioned for everybody to stop, and she pointed at a ring of carved posts, fashioned with lion’s heads, which surrounded the main house.

“Zey are magical” she said. “An alarm maybe?”

A whispered discussion was held. If she was right they were unlikely to get the element of pure surprise.

“Richt” said Ungo, standing up and hefting C***slicer. “I’ll mak me way roond the abck door, and when ye hear me yell jist rush in and kill the fuckers.” Before anyone could comment he was off. They shrugged.

A few moments later Ungo’s yells sounded at much the same time as what sounded like a series of lion’s roars: some enchanment effect of the posts no doubt. Ragnar and Dinald rushed up to the main door, while Ailukka started making her way to the far side of the house to yet a third entrance door.

Kicking the door open Ragnar was confronted by a half drunken Hirdman, and took a swing at him. From the rear of the house Ungo’s curses could be heard as he confronted two warriors having their way with one of the servant girls. He grinned as his axe spun down.

After hours of tramping the streets of the Amber Quarter they found themselves knocking on the foor of one Fynn Snaevald, a retired merchant. The door was answered by the old merchant himself, a slender and wiry man with blue veins crawling across his arms and neck beneath a shock of white beard and hair that floated around his head like a halo.

Although well into his eighties or nineties, Snaevald seemed still hale, hearty, and feisty. He seemed happy to talk to his callers about Tian Xia, with whom he had traded extensively in his youth. Dinald eventually broached the subject a long ago purchase of a blade.

To their surprise, and without reticence, Fynn reminisced freely about his long-ago purchase
of the Tian sword over mugs of warm ale and crusty bread brought from his kitchens by well-groomed servants.

Fynn seemed particularly animated discussing Suishen, and eventually revealed the reason why. Only a few weeks ago (just after they had discovered the Amatatsu Seal in Brinewall, calculated Dinald) a band of masked, black-suited thieves broke in and stole the sword. This was news indeed.

Fynn was not at home at the time, but several of his servants were killed in the robbery and the only thing taken was Suishen, which he kept on display above his hearth. One of his servants was still alive when he arrived home, and was able to tell him what had occurred before dying. The only description the servant could give was that one of the masked intruders was much taller than the others and seemed to be in charge.

“I reported it to the Watch of course, but nothing ever came of it.” Fynn concluded. He stred directly at Dinald with his hawkish eyes. “Now, why are you interested.”

“Ah… well…. uh…. let me see” he began, his Bardic word telling skills temprarily in abeyance.

“Ve represent a relative of the man who sold you zer balde” cut in Ailukka, “We sought to buy it back, as a family heirlomm.” Fynn nodded slowly: Ailukka’s lie was at least close to the truth.

“I see. Let me make you an offer then” he said thoughtfully. “I never cared for the blade overmuch -it made me uncomfortable when I carried or wore it. It ended up hung over the fireplace there. I am old, and at this point I don’t really care about getting the blade back.” He stood up.

“The death of my servants is a different matter however. " he continued. “I am entitled to weregild for their death under Ulfen Law, and as the thieves have not come forward, I am now entitled to pursue blood vengeance against those who have wronged me.” He smiled faintly.

“Of course I am now an old man and incapable of pursuing blood vengeance on my own,
but it is within my rights to appoint proxies to do so on my behalf.” He stared at each of them full in the face.

“If you can discover who perpetrated this crime against me, and exact blood vengeance against them to defend my honor and property rights, and recover the sword, I will reward you with the blade. Do you agree to this?”

They looked at Ailukka who nodded, “Ja, it is as he says. We would become his legal agents.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us Sir?” asked Rasha.

“My servant was able to say nothing else of use” said Fynn sadly. " As he died he mumbled something about ‘paying the lion’s due’, but it didn’t make any sense."

His memory jolted, Ungo held up one of the arm rings they had retrieved from their viking attackers a few nights earlier.

”D’ ye recognise this man?" he asked. Fynn took the arm ring and turned it over in his hands.

“Why it’s the emblem of Asvig Longthews, a local chieftain and ring giver off in the hills a few miles from Kalsgard.” he said. “The Lion is his symbol…..I wonder.”

“And Asvig: he is notoriously tall. It had not occured to me before.”

“Well ah thing we’ll be payin’ this feller a visit” said Ungo. “Dinna worry pal, we’ll gait yon sword back.”

After they had settled into the ‘Raging Swan Inn’, and loafed about for a day or so, Sandru had visited them and discussed their next move.

His initial enquiries had indicated that with winter approaching, this was the worst possible time to traverse the Roof of the World: there was also the problem of needing an experienced Guide.

“The problem is the majority of the Guides are tied into the big merchant companies who specialise in the Arctic trade route. What we need is a freelancer, but they are few and far between: and in great demand as you can imagine.”

“There’s a Varki guide called Uksahkka somewhere in town apparently, if I can locate her.” continued Sandru.

“Anyway, that brings us to the other half of our business- which is where you come in”

“Ameiko seems to think that we must locate this hereditary blade Suishen” said Sandru. “If that vision is to be believed then it would seem that after her family escaped here across the Roof of the World, her Grandfather sold the blade too an Ulfen- maybe to replenish his funds to continue their escape.”

“The blade was of a type called a Katana- I’m sure they exist in kalsgaard, in the Jade Quarter, but most people won’t really know what they are. The question is, what sort of person would have bought one, and why?”

“Well presumably this heirloom blade was well enchanted, and pretty high quality?” suggested Dinald.

“Possibly we should be looking for someone of wealth who has an interest in such things” suggested Rasha. "If all this took place…what….50 years ago…..4661 maybe? It is just possible that the buyer may be still alive?

“But its….so big!” said Dinald in astonishment.

“Ja!” said Kelda. “Is one of biggest cities in vorld. Kalsgard make your Varisian cities look like third rate piss pots they are.”

“Big it may be” said Sandru, “But we know that it is likely that Ameiko’s enemies have some foothold here: it’s the logical place as the terminus of the trade routes with Tian Xa.”

“From the behaviour of those riders it would also seem that they are on the lookout for a caravan with a female Tien on board. Ameiko is staying hidden for now, but once we enter she should sneak off and encamp in an inn-Shaleelu and Reynald can go with her as bodyguards.”

“I’ll take care of the caravan” he continued, turning to Ungo, Rasha, Ragnar, Ailukka and Dinald.
“You five should make separate camp in an inn too. The less we conform to our travelling description the better.”

The sounds of night were muted amid the freezing fog that clung to blankets, cloaks, and hoods alike. Rasha was on guard and he was far from happy.

He was already somewhat on edge as he was of the opinion they were being shadowed. He had not forgotten the attack of the horsemen on Ameiko, and he was somewhat suspicious of the flocks of ravens which seemed to be following their progress. Even more so as one of the birds seemed to be over large for a raven: a fey creature perhaps? Some agent of their hidden enemies, the Five Storms?

The dull silence is suddenly broken by the scrape of wood upon the gravel bank of the river—a boat had beached just beneath the Skalsbridge near which they were encamped, at the confluence of the Thundering River with the Rimeflow. This was immediately followed
by the splash of feet in the shallows and the oaths Ulfen voices.

“Attack!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “Ware! Raiders!” This was clearly no time for subtlety.

Voices and rushing noises sounded from all around the camp, and he heard Shallelu shout from the far side of the camp where she too was on guard. An ulfen scream told him that the elf’s deadly arrows had found their mark. Chaos ensued.

Scant minutes later a dozen mailed warriors lay dead around the north side of the camp, with half a dozen more scattered elsewhere. A spirited defence by Rasha, Ungo, Ailukka, Ragnar and Dinald on the north side, and Kelda, Malvenos and Shaleelu on the south side had forced the raiders to flee.

Ragnar bent down and retrieved a strange gold lion’s head arm-ring from one of the raiders: in fact they all seemed to be wearing them.

“Some badge of our enemy?” asked AIlukka in skald.

“Yes indeed” replied Ragnar. "Though I do not know which Lord uses such a badge. I am not that familiar with Kalsgard. He turned as Kelda came rushing back through the mist.

“That ship was the ’Aril’s Hammer’, said Kelda. I recognised it’s line, and the serpent on the front.”

“And who might own it?” asked Ragnar.

“It is owned by the Rimerunners Guild” replied Kelda, “Though they might have hired it to anyone.”

“And who might they be?” asked Ailukka.

“They are a Trading House specializing in trade with Tian Xia over the Crown of the World, as well as along the rivers of the Lands of the Linnorm Kings” repleid Kelda. “The Rimerunners Guild is extremely influential in and around Kalsgard, with many local merchants and their retainers and much of the local economy beholden to it. But as I say, they often hire some of their ships out to raiders and other parties.”

They knew something was wrong when they saw the smoke ahead of them. Sandru halted the caravan and Rasha and Ungo scouted ahead, where they saw a burning wagon ahead and the remnants of a caravan.

A covered wagon sat almost burned to the ground, askew on the road ahead, it’s wreckage still smouldering. One of its horses lay dead in front of it, while the other appeared to be missing. The scent of smoke and burning flesh hung in the air.

Nearby a smaller supply wagon sat on its side, its horse absent as well, and a large hole crudely smashed through the floor boards. The tracks of a third wagon led off the side of the road and out of sight.

There was a conspicuous lack of bodies, except for the armored blackened corpse of a man in the burning wagon. To the northeast, about a hundred yards away sat a small copse of trees. The entire scene lay quiet except, for the crackling hiss and sputter of the fire.

As they looked around they realised that most of the caravaneers could not be accounted for. Many of the food stuffs and supplies were also missing, except for a few crates and barrels that lay broken and left behind with their contents spilled out on the ground.

The second horse hitched to the burning wagon had been cut loose, while the horse hitched to the overturned wagon was likely able to wrench itself loose and was still dragging its reins if it had not been captured already.

A few discarded blades and bows lay about the scene: it was obvious that some sort of attack had occurred.

As Rasha circled the scene he realised that a set of wagon tracks led off towards a line of low hills away from the river, including a second set of human footprints that diverted towards the copse of trees.

Forming a skirmish line they moved through the small wood, and eventually looked up: perched up in the branches was a young woman, who Ailukka and Dinald managed to coax down.

Shaken and firghtened, she explained that her name was Aeyesha Vilani, and the caravan had belonged to her parents. Earlier in the day the caravan was attacked by ‘huge monsters’ -like very ugly men but bigger, and in the ensuing chaos she had fled.

“Sound like Ogres to me” said Rasha. “I don’t rate the chances of the captives much if we delay too long”.

“Please” begged Ayesha, “It’s my Mum and Dad. You’ve got to help them”. Rasha looked at Dinald. Dinald sighed, big softie that he ultimately was. Ungo wasn’t listening and sat picking his nose.

Heading back to the main trail they soon found the wagon: the covered wagon was not damaged, but the horses were very skittish and Rasha calmed them down. It still contained supplies, bedding, and the personal possessions one might expect to find on a travelling
caravan.

“The going gets a bit rougher here” said Rasha. “My guess is that they decided to leave them here for now: no doubt they’ll be back later.”

“Ve cannot afford to wait” said Kelda. "Der victims might be eaten. "

Rasha nodded and picked up the trail, the others following some distance behind. Ten minutes later they espied nestled in the side of a hill, and concealed by several clumps
of trees, a large cave. Just outside of it was a large fire. Most of the wood on the fire had burned down to a glowing bed of red-hot coals, and a corona of flames threw flickering shadows. The wood smoke failed to mask a sickly sweet smell of sweat and blood. Just inside cave is what appeared to be a section of wooden enclosure. Two brutish forms pottered around a great cooking pot: clearly they were ogres. The group crept closer.

“Now!” yelled Rasha popping up and pumping two arrows into one of the creatures, which bellowed with pain. Screaming, Kelda rushed forward and hacked at one of the brutes, slicing a deep gouge across its stomach. Ragnar and Dinald also moved forward, as the air froze between Ailukka and one of the monstrous forms, leaving a thin coat of ice across its shoulders, and an icicle dripping comically from its nose.

“B…B….B……Blimey!” it uttered, and clubbed Ragnar as he moved forward, sending him spinning into a bush. But for him it was too late- more arrows and Kelda’s frenzied blade brought blood red death.

“Faegrim!” screamed the other ogre. “Picklecheeks! They killed your dad! Come and ’elp Mummy boy!” Heavy thrashings through the woodland could be heard nearby.

Picklecheeks did arrive: but by that time Mummy too had ruthlessly slaughtered. And so was he. Ayesha ran forward into the cave.

There were three prisoners inside the cave: Ayesha’s parents were called Estella and Davrioz, and there was also Mikael, their surviving guard. Estella freely bestowed strong hugs (whether wanted or no) lifting Ungo off his feet and into her ample bosom, her fat cheeks dripping with tears of sheer relief.

The caravan were heading to Lostholme where Davrioz had a cousin, where he intended to settle down. Clearly this plan did not have the wholehearted support of Ayesha.

“I don’t want to settle down on some farm Mum!” she complained. “I undersstand you’re sick of wandering but I’m not. I don’t want to be a farmer!” Sandru coughed politely.

“Can you drive a wagon?” he asked.

“Yes” replied Ayesha. “I’m a good cook too. And I know a bit of carpentry.”

Sandru looked at her parents.

“Look. When we get to Kalsgard I’ll be building up my caravan: I will need more people who can handle wagons” he explained. “If you two and your daughter are happy with this, I can give her employment for quite some time. Several years probably.”

“Oh please Mum, Dad!” begged Ayesha. “I’m still young. You’ve travelled to lots of places but I still want to see the world. I don’t want to settle down. And if you make me- I’ll run away.”

Davrioz looked less than happy. Sandru diplomatically withdrew to let them talk about it.

Half an hour later it was settled. Ayesha would be travelling with them, and they bid her parents farewell as they set them and Mikael on their way towards their new life in Lostholme.

When they were out of sight Sandru turned to the rest of the caravan.

“Right Rasha, get tracking down those bolted horses. With a bit of work we can get this overturned wagon functional again. A nice bit of a bonus for us all round.”

Some days later, and without further incident, the caravan arrived at the town of Losthome. Kelda particularly seemed a little nervous, as she was aware that Losthome served double-duty as a logging town and a watchpost along the border with Irrisen to the east.

The very pavements themselveswere indeed paved with the skulls of those who fought in the Winter War, and even now patrols from Losthome kept an eye out for incursions by Irrisen and also for the occasional refugee fortunate enough to make it across the border.

As a logging town, Losthome provided an increasing amount of the Linnorm Kingdoms’ share of timber as Jol grew increasingly ill-managed. There was clearly a thriving woodworking industry, producing fanciful cabinetry and furniture that competed with the more elaborate but uncanny Irrisen wares.

Even as they watched they could see that lumber was either milled or collected into booms that were being sent downriver to Kalsgard. These booms doubled as barges used for shipping finished goods. Sandru nodded his head in approval at this mercantile canniness.

There were some ships too bringing needed goods into the town, typically the ulfen knarr. The last few days had clearly taken some sort of toll on Ailukka, who was clearly not getting very much sleep. More than once the person on guard had woken her up from what seemed to be a very troubled sleep, speaking in languages they could not understand, or even holding unnerving conversations with some imaginary listener. Dinald shuddered at the recollection- especially so because when he had actually moved across to wake her he could have swore he heard the footfalls of unseen feet rustling the fallen leaves as they moved away from the camp.

Knowing that they would be trading for a full day Ailukka booked directly into an inn, and went straight to bed- clearly exhausted.

Kelda, Rasha and Dinald decided to remain in the bar for a while before looking around town, and as they downed their drinks they could not help but hear the name of the White Wolf mentioned.

“Excuse me friend” asked Rasha, “We’ve heard that name several times as we’ve travelled north. Who exactly is this White Wolf?”

The speaker eyes Rasha up, and took the drink the half elf pushed along the bar.

“Ranulfr- the White Wolf. A great raider and trader.”said the speaker.

“A Raider? A viking you mean?” asked Rasha. “Does he pose some sort of threat to the town?” The man laughed.

“Not here friend. Ranulfr doesn’t shit in his own back yard. He offloads some of his goods here and picks up thralls for his business. You can’t miss him if you see him- looks like a corpse.”

“I see” said Rasha.

“In fact his ship is moored up right now” continued the speaker. “He’s supposed to be the half brother of another viking, old Snorri One Eye. Snorri is dying of some wasting disease, and this may well be his last trip. I imagine he’s met him here to see him for the last time.”

The three looked at one another significantly. After having another drink they decided to check the wharfside themselves.

Down the length of a long, east and west running wooden pier was moored a large Viking longship with a single mast and benches for rowers between rounded shields mounted on the sides. Across from the ship was a large wooden loading platform built right into the pier for the purposes of loading unloading cargo from merchant ships.

A solitary rowboat was tied off next to the loading platform. The pier terminated on the east end where it joins to rest of the docks.

On the walkway aside the longship two groups of ulfen were apparently doing business. One of these drew their attention immediately: with his helmet off they saw milk white hair and skin the colour of a corpse. A handful of heavily armed vikings stood near him, one of these with four young female thralls in tow: this presumably was Ranulfr.

He was engaged in conversation with several other ulfen, they deduced were the crew of the longship.

“Snorri should be taken back to Kalsgard for his last days” said Ranulfr. “It is there he was a boy, and it is fitting that he should meet his end in the place of his childhood.”

“Seems a lot of fuss to me” replied the crewman. Snorri isn’t in much state to care where he dies."

“You WILL take him to Kalsgard” relied Ranulfr, with a hint of irritation in his voice. "There are many in Kalsgard that owe Snorri fealty, and there we can be sure he will receive the appropriate rites for one of his station. "

“Alright, alright Ranulfr. No need to lose your temper.” resonded the crewman. “Will you be meting us there?”

“If time allows I will try to attend the funeral. Snorri has entrusted me with the sale of many of his business interests to the Rimerunners Guild, and there is some local business I must follow up here connected with his affairs. I bring you these girls as well, for the funeral, if you can take them with you.”

“A funeral in the old style eh?” barked the crewman harshly. “Very well.” He gestured and the girls were ushered abroad.

Dinald noticed Kelda shaking her head and making a slitting gesture across her throat. It was some moments before he put two and two together with regards to what she meant.

“We can’t allow that!” he hissed. “We must stop them!”

“Unless you wish to be declared Outlaw and have all men’s hands turned against you, you will leave well alone. You are not in Varisia now, and a funeral in the Old Way is allowed for great men, and any who can afford it.” replied Kelda flatly.

“There are also many seasoned men on board. We would die quickly.” she added.

His business concluded, Ranulfr and his men made their way towards another ship moored nearby.

They moved away from the dock. Dinald bit his tongue as he looked back and saw the last of the doomed girls being ushered below decks.

As Ailukka had warned them, Delmon’s Glen was a very strange place. They were skirting through the southern and eastern edges of the great Grungir Forest now- the mysterious and primordial heart of the Linnorm Kingdoms’ wilderness.

Ailukka, Ragnar and Kelda told tales of fey, monsters, and linnorms residing everywhere humans do not, deeper in Grungir Forest,. The forest was home to Fafnheir, the oldest and most powerful of the linnorms, as well as to numerous enclaves of strange and powerful fey creatures.

“It iss said ’zat Portals to zer First World flicker within ’zer forest depths”, said Ailukka solemnly, “Undt in places ’zer very trees themselves move undt speak.” Rasha shuddered.

None of this had stopped the hardy Ulfen from establishing a handful of settlements along the perimeter of the great forest, and here the Thundering River provided a break in its easternmost reaches, along which were a few settlements engaged in logging and trapping.

In many ways Delmon’s Glen seemed unusually mundane—perhaps because of its
location along the major overland trade route that connected Jol and Varisia to the south with the northern Linnorm Kingdoms.

A closer inspection revealed its particular peculiarities however. Most of its buildings resembled typical Ulfen architecture from a distance, yet as they approached closer they realised that they were curiously small. An exclamation from Ungo revealed the reasons why.

“Fekkin’ Nomes!” spat Ungo, “I hate the fekkin’ little bastards, they’re everywhere!”

A few larger buildings, including a trading post and an inn called the Raven’s Best, sat on the edge of town, and it was here that the caravan halted.

The taproom conversation indicated that Delmon’s Glen was no stranger to the partie’s troubles with bandits, or it seemed, much worse.

“Aye” said one of the locals. “I put your troubles down to the White Wolf. There’s been report of a number of these mounted bands sighted hereabouts, but yours is the first time I’ve heard of an actual attack.”

“Who is this White Wolf?” asked Rasha.

“Ee’s a pirate- a viking. Clings to the old ways and a finger in every pie. Further downstream you’ll find a lot of the merchants and ship owners pay him tribute for a quiet life. The occasional visitors who don’t know how the land lies are often not so fortunate.”

“His real name is said to be Ranulfr,” chipped in a tough looking hunter, “makes a good bit trafficing in thralls, but keeps his activities quiet, and prefers to avoid direct confrontation with the authorities when a sly payment will do just as well.”

“Pale skin and hair he ’as, and eyes like blood” rejoined the first speaker, “Some say ‘ees a devil. Others say ’ees an exile from ’is ’omeland. A business partner of Snorri One-Eye- a name to make the blood run cold- and some even says they’re bothers. I don’t know.”

“If he’s a river pirate why the riders and banditry?” asked Ragnar.

“Oh been around quite a while ’as the White Wolf” said the Hunter. "He started in a small way some twenty years ago as a bandit, and worked his way up. It’s said he still keeps an interest in these parts. You can be sure he knows what any bandits are about, " he paused. “Though why this recent trouble I don’t know”.

“I bet I can guess” muttered Dinald under his breath, glancing over at Ameiko.

It was late afternoon when they spotted the horsemen. A line of six riders ambled towards them from the trail ahead, though with no obvious signs of ill intent. As they drew nearer Rasha noted that they were armed in the ulfen style, though all had short horse bows and quivers of arrows slung on the saddle.

The lead rider nodded hello, and as they walked past casually scanned their wagons. It was at that moment that Ameiko popped her head out of the wagon ahead to take a peek at the riders.

It might have been a figment of his imagination, but Rasha thought that he detected a flicker of interest in the face of one or two of the riders. nevertheless they carried on past.

It was over an hour later when he heard the galloping. Looking up he saw half a dozen riders rushing out of the trees on both sides. He heard the twang of bowstrings and saw Ameiko cry out as two arrows hit her in the shoulder; another rider rode past her wagon and slashed with his sword.

“They’re after Ameiko. They know who she is” thought Rasha, pulling his wagon to a halt and reaching for his bow. Ahead he saw Ragnar and Dinald jump down to try to protect Amieko, as the hit and run tactics of the riders fired more arrows at her.

There was something about their arrows….a single wound from an arrow and the target went down. Reynald and Ungo were firing their bows in return, and Ailukka was firing her magics from the rear of Ameiko’s wagon; it was impossible to get to close grips with the darting horsemen.

Their own missile did have some effect however, and any horseman that was badly wounded rode off into the trees, though only three or four of the wagon party remained awake.

A lucky sword swing from Kelda cut one of the riders virtually in half as he ventured too close, before she too was sent down by an arrow.

But the remaining rider had had enough now, and he too retreated off into the trees.

As the fallen were seen too it was found that they were mostly fast asleep: some enchantment from the arrows deduced Ailukka. She tested a few of them, and passed these to Rasha for future use.

It did seem that Ameiko’s enemies were actively searching for her.

The moors dropped below, and they could see that Solskinn was nestled in an idyllic valley -
possibly the most pleasant looking places they had yet encountered in the Southmoor.

It’s inhabitant were quietly curious, and as they pulled up at the inn thye made their way inside. The barkeep looked up.

“Strangers” he commented, matter of factly. “Ye’ll all be staying in the in tonight. The ddor will be locked shut at sundown, and won’t be opened till dawn.”

“Izzat so, Big Yin?” said Ungo. “An’ whut if ah wannee go oot?” The man looked solemnly at him as if he were a child, or an idiot.

“Then you will die” he replied. "Know this- Solskinn is under a curse. When the sun sets, strange noises and frightening shrieks drift into town, and within an hour of sunfall,
the streets become plagued by strange shadows and dim shapes. Anyone who remains on the streets after dark vanishes without a trace, but those who remain indoors until dawn are never molested. "

“Livestock or pets are never harmed, nor are buildings damaged nor tools and equipment stolen. King Eightfingers has sent a few patrols to Solskinn in token attempts to help the town, but after the third patrol vanished, the king has all but given up.”

“Aye. I reckon you’re right” said Ungo.

By the time they reached the Steading it was early morning, and Alfreda had started to come round. The girl was afraid at first, but fortunately she remembered nothing of her confinement in the barrow.

The guards looked at them curiously, but Thane Alfric had not made his Bondsmen party to Guthric’s doings or the rescue plan. Quickly they entered the Chief’s Hall, where he conferred with them in private. Obviously overjoyed to see his daughter again, he ushered her out and conferred with them in whispers, where they explained all that had transpired. Alfric shook his head.

“Guthric was a fool and a villain, but he was one of the King’s men. It is best that we speak of none of this.”

“We can just say that the girl was rescued from the Barrow if any word of this leaks out” said Ameiko.

“Ja. In any case-best of you travel swiftly. And do not linger at Jol” said Alfric. He presented each of them with a gold arm ring. Nodding and heading outside, Ameiko spoke to Sandru, and the caravan immediately made preparations to leave.

It was just after dawn when once more they approached the ancient mound. Taking a swig of brandy to bolster his nerve, Dinald took the scabbarded sword and headed down into the barrow, with Kelda and Ungo waiting close behind him at the bottom of the stairs with Ailukka.

Her spell dimly illuminated the pillered chamber, and he could imagine that numerous silent shapes stood guard in the alcoves and recesses lining the walls.

At the far end of the chamber stood the silent thane, his eyes glowing with the green necromantic flame. Proferring the blade forward, he gulped and advanced down the hall. He halted several paces away.

“M…My Lord we have slain the thieves, and retrieved your sword.” Dinald held the blade out. There was a pause, and the sword was grasped by bony knuckles. The Thane handed the sword to another warrior who stood next to him, who then dissappeared down a further set of steps into the depths of the barrow.

“Er…we…we….” began Dinald.

“Wait” hissed the sibilant voice of the undead Thane.

Dinald waited silently in the gloom, the undead thane staring straight at him. He tried not to look and stared at the floor. The warrior re appeared, and this time he was leading the girl Alfreda, apparently in some sort of trance. Se looked wan and pale in the blue light cast from Ailukka’s staff.

“Go. Do not return.” said the deathly voice. Dinald didn’t need to be told twice.

In the early morning mists, the group waited in the light woods bounding the trail along the trail from Hakon’s Tor. The Tor itself was a small hill with a single standing stone on top, which overlooked a small community which made it’s living from hunting and forestry.

Guthric’s tax collecting circuit followed a rough counter clockwise circle around the perimeter of Jol. Going from settlement to settlement zig zagged somewhat as some towns were closer to Jol and some further away. By cutting straight towards Haklon’s Tor the group had managed to reach the settlement late on the evening of Guthric’s arrival, and rather than announcing their intent they had camped out in the woods, hoping to catch the Thane as he made for Grimhollow, his next day’s destination.

Through the mists three wagons emerged, flanked on either side by about a dozen spear armed Bondir. A stout looking warrior resplendent in a double thickness mail coat sat on the third wagon, obviously Thane Guthric. Half a dozen grim looking Hirdmen in chain shirts also accompanied the wagons. Noting his cue, Dinald stepped out into the trail: the lead wagon halted.

“Fair sirs” said Dinald bowing. “I humbly beseech you to hand over the sword Wightbane, taken from the mound of the undead King Sagridt. Unless you do this the fair Alfreda, captured by the warriors of the mound, will meet a horrible fate. As great gentlemen, I know………”

“Halfdan, slay this capering fool” said the Hirdman in the lead wagon. Nodding one of the Bondir hefted his spear and threw it at Dinald, piercing his shoulder. From the bushes behind the Bard, Rasha loosed arrows at two of the Bondir, hitting the one that wounded Dinald. With a shout Ungo, Ragnar and Kelda broke cover and charged toward the wagons.

The spear though Dinald aside, the ambushers gained a few precious seconds to take down one or two of the defenders. The remainder reacted swiftly and effectively however, with the bondsmen forming up in small groups, bolstered by one or two of the Hirdmen.

Kelda’s sword dealt bloody blows, and in her battle rage she carved her way through several foes, eventually finding herself alone fighting several foes after a lucky sword blow buffeted Ragnar into unconsciousness.

Ungo too was fighting effectively on the north side of the wagons, while Dinald raced around trying not be be hit, using the Healing Wand that Koya had given him.

AIlukka fired jets of fire from the wand she had found at Brinewall Castle, lashing out with Trollsplitter if anyof her foes got too close.

Reynald stood near AIlukka and Rasha, and together the three of them managed to keep up a barrage which kept their foes away.

Ducking beneath a blow of one of the Hirdmen, Ungo swung C**tcleaver across in an arc which removed Thane Guthric’s leg at the knee, and he fell to the floor howling and screaming. Seeing their Lord fall however, the Hirdmen fought on with bitter hatred, wounding Ameiko and leaving the eventual outcome of the combat on a knife edge.

FInally however the ambushers gained the upper hand, and the one or two of the bondir who fled were cut down by arrows.

“They hear this in steading” warned Ailukka, “We mus’ be kvick”

An ornate looking ulfen sword was found in the possession of Guthric, and this and the scabbard were retrieved by Kelda. Ailkukka confrimed that the blade was indeed magical, as she traced the runes on the blade.

As much of the collected silver as could be gathered quickly and stuffed in a captured mule’s saddlebags was taken, and the group headed off swiftly into the forest.

They could not afford to leave any witnesses.

“Right” said Ragnar, “T’ane Guthric must have taken der sword.”

“The Sword of King Sagridt” mused Alfric. “It’s called Wightbane in the legends: a weapon of power.”

“Maybe we can track him?” opined Rasha.

“Guthric was on a collecting mission, and the night before last he would have been at Starnberg, and last night at Dimholdt. Tonight he will likely be at Gurning, and perhaps tomorrow at Hakon’s Tor.” suggested Alfric. “If I know Guthric, he will move quite slowly, taking advantage of every steading’s hospitality, and making the most of his position.”

“Ach. A freeloader ye’ mean!” spat Ungo.

“We should head straight for Hakon’s Tor then” said Dinald. “Hopefully we can catch up tomorrow night.”

Ahead lay the great barrow, situated between two smaller flanking barrows, as Alfric had described. Ailukka looked up as Rasha returned to the hollow they were crouching in.

“There are a lot of dead warriors in those old ruins to the south there” said Rasha. “Just standing there, rotting- upwards of thirty I’d say, with a couple walking a patrol. And there’s more in those ruins to the north I think”. He pointed.

“Ach les’ jist smash them ’a” growled Ungo, hefting C**tslicer".

“Easy to say” said Rasha. “Hard to do. We’d be overwhelmed in short order, I would think.”

After a brief discussion the decided to simply approach the Great Barrow. A dark archway revealed ancient stone work, and fear seemed to flow from it like an invisible vapour. Rasha shivered uncomfortably, but Ailukka lit up the end of her staff and the group plunged into the passage, soon coming to a flight of stone steps leading down.

As the group paused near the end of the stairs, Dinald padded forward to the space they could see ahead. As he looked past columned pillers he stopped short with fright when he saw three eerily glowing sets of pale green balefire looking towards him- a trio of skeletal warriors, one of them heavily armoured in the fashion of some ancient notable.

“Ah….er…..that is to say, um….Hello” grinned Dinald inanely. There was utter silence from the three figures, but at least they did not attack.

Looking round at the others they all gave him a thumbs up sign and ushered him forward, though Dinald vaguely noticed that they all remained ensconced on the stairs.

“Ah, er… Great Lord. We think there has been some sort of misunderstanding about the young lady……”

“The girl will remain as weregild until the next full moon” hissed a dry and ancient voice from the skeletal thane. “If the sword is not returned by then, the girl will remain forever.”

“Ah yes, but the sword wasn’t taken by Thane Alfric” said Dinald, “It’s all a horrible…..”

“The thieves came from the steading” interrupted the sibilant voice. “Return the sword by the full moon. My Lord does not care who or how.”

“Um, er alright yes, your worship.” stammered Dinald alarmed by a sudden flaring of the sicky green light of the Thane’s eyes. “We’ll just be going then……”

Kelda twirled the bench around once and brought it down on the last of them, and then looked round. Her companions were mostly on their feet, but several of the locals and servants were dead or wounded-the majority had run screaming out of the back door and into the kitchen, along with the Thane’s daughter. In the centre of the room the Thane and two of his Hirdmen stood guard with their swords, the only ones of the company who had been properly armed.

The undead warrior who had seemingly been in command had hissed- it mght have been a laugh, and retreated out of the front doors, which had slammed behind him, apparently locking all inside. She nodded at Ragnar and the two made their way through to the kitchen, their friends following them.

In the kitchen a group of servants were huddled in the corner, others sprawled bleeding on the floor. A back door stood open to a thick wall of mist.

“Alfreda”, stammered one, “They took Alfreda”. Alfreda was the Thane’s daughter.

Taking a deep breath they plunged outside into an icy mist, which muffled and distorted the faint sounds of panic they could still hear. Cautiously they made their way back to the caravan encampment in the southwest corner of the steading.

Here too there had been fighting, but the presence of Spivey and Koya had made a fairly easy time of it. They gathered their weapons and returned to the main hall.

Reports started to come in: the undead warriors had departed, and seemingly with Alfreda in tow.

“But why?” creid Thane Alfric, “We do not disturb the mound folk and they do not disturb us.”

“Their leader said ‘Weregild’”, asked Rasha. “What does that mean?”

“It iss ‘man- price’” explained Ailukka. “Zer price of a life in goods value. Or zer utter vay round maybe…”. She frowned.

“Iss ancient Ulfen law” explained Kelda simply.

“So perhaps the fair maiden was taken as recompense for something else?” mused Dinald. “Something taken perhaps?”

“We do not disturb the mound folk” said Alfric firmly. “Only a fool would do so.”

“Didn’t you have visitors a few days ago?” asked Reynald. “Thane Guthric, did you say?”

“Ja. Thane Guthric” confirmed Alfric. " He iss vun of King Opir’s right hand men. He iss collecting taxes from the surrounding steadings. Strange……"

“And…….?” asked Rasha.

“Vell. He asked if we knew where the Barrow of King Sadridt was, as he had made a drinking bet with one of his fellow Thanes. I told him of course: he iss verr important man.”

“Whut we ned’ is a panty waist Bard” said Ungo, looking expectantly at Dinald and Ameiko. The pair looked at one another and shrugged.

“Yerr neffin’ useless, the lot o’ ye’” grunted Ungo in disgust.

“King Sadridt is ancient hero of Ulfen lore” interjected Kelda unexpectedly, “As every Ulfen child knows.” All eyes turned towards her.

“He vos a warrior of ancient cunning and ruthlessness” she explained, her eyes gleaming. “He brought low all seven of his rivals through ambush, trickery, and turning them against one another. He created one of the first Ulfen kingdoms, and ruled with an iron fist for many years.”

“But eventually the sons of two of his fallen rivals got the better of him, and in an ambush slew the King and five of his Thanes. The surviving three were called Njal, Olinvar, and Stravnar, and together these wreaked a bloody revenge, slaying all the children and surviving relatives of the two brothers, extinguishing their lines for ever.”

“In the final skirmish all were slain saving Njal, and he caused a great barrow to be raised in which the King and all of his Thanes were interred. When he too died, he also was buried and the barrow sealed. Noe really know where all this was: it Kalsgaard we say his kingdom was near the old Giant Barrows to the far north.”

“And in Hagreach we say it was in lands to the east now lost to the Winter Witches” said Ailukka.

“And in my home we say it was a hidden valley deep in the Icemark” said Ragnar.

“Sagridt’s mound lies in the ancient uplands to the east, up on the high and desolate moors” said Alfic, shaking his head. “It is but half a day’s travel from this place, but men do not go there.”

“Except for Thane Guthric it would seem” said Dinald.

Dinald’s comedy songs were going down reasonably well, thought Rasha. Ungo and Ragnar were approaching a state of insensibility, while Ailukka’s approach was more measured, as though she were unable to throw herself completely into the evening’s entertainment.

For the inhabitant’s of the steading however, this was one of those chance’s to blow off a little steam from their hard lives in this forsaken place. Outside the night was now chill with the cold mist rolling in from the surrounding downs. From the talk around him he surmised that such opportunities were rare, though in fact there had been a similar feast only a few days ago, when one of King Opir’s Hirdmen, Thane Guthric Hardfist, had visited overnight while on some errand for the King.

Dinald had now staggered off to a mixed reception of cheers and hurled chicken legs, and Ameiko moved to the centre of the tables with the strange Tian stringed instrument she favoured-the Samisen. For a human she really was very beautiful, thought Rasha, and her Tian features added an extra aura of exoticism and mystery. “This isn’t going to be a bawdy song”, he predicted, and he was right.

As she played her high voice sang out sharp and clear, like a blade piercing a curtain of ice. A few in the room may have understood the words she sung in the strange Tiannese tongue, but it didn’t seem to matter.The burly warriors and miners all fell silent, and her playing and her voice called clearly to them of lost dreams and heartache, regardless of the tongue she used. When Ameiko finally fell silent and bowed her head, there were tears being wiped from the eyes of the majority of the grown men in the room.

There was a very short pause, when suddenly the front door was jerked open, and one of the guards, bloodied and shaking, staggered in, and attempted to close the doors.

“My Thane” he uttered, and then suddenly the door burst open and a horrific skeletal figure strode through the door, cutting him down in an instant. Clad in ancient armour, its eyes glowing with green balefire it stared at the assembly.

“Weregild” it hissed in a voice cold, empty and distant. More dead figures crowded around it, and a chill white mist started to fill the hall through the windows and open door.

“Oh good” thought Rasha, “Our weapons are all outside.”