"I must find the way out" The man muttered to himself. He immediately pressed deeper into the shadows in the corner he was hiding in, fearful that the creatures might have heard him. He wiped his hand over his face and it came away wet with fresh blood. The gash on his brow would not close. "Can they smell it?" He wondered, trembling. Again he cursed the bitter fortune that had caused his satchel to be lost. It had contained all the potions Peppin had given him. "No healing! No weapon!" He cursed silently, looking again at the broken off stump of his sword.

He huddled in the corner, feeling the chills overtake him once more. Recollections of the battle bubbled to the surface of his mind, no matter how he tried to suppress it...the legion of small demons...a forest of spears, the hollow roar of the giant monster... the shouts and screams of men dying. The image of the massive horned creature, burning with a red inner fire seemed seared into his mind. He could still see the huge, gory blade rising and falling with terrifying speed and power, hacking apart bodies without seeming effort...No, not bodies...friends, townsmen...Oh, the screams! The shouts! And Lazarus standing to the one side under an arch...all the while laughing, laughing loud enough to be heard over the hellish din.

He sobbed quietly. Terror of being discovered and grief for the loss warred within his mind. "Farnham?" A voice said close by him. He stifled a shriek of fright, jumping to his feet. Wildly, his eyes searched the darkness, trying to find the source of the sound. "Farnham. Over here..." His sight settled on a figure under an archway. Darkness defeated his attempts to identify who or what it was. Slowly he approached, ready to flee at any moment, until he could make out who had spoken to him. "Griswold?" He whispered. "Aye..." The smith?s voice was weak and he leaned against the wall as if very weary. A makeshift bandage was wrapped around his one leg and it glistened wetly with seeping blood. He was using a piece of a spear?s shaft as a crutch. "Come, the stairway is over here..." The smith said. Farnham stared in disbelief, faint hope sparking in his mind. "You found it? Oh, thank the light! I...I thought I was alone...everybody dead..." "Not everyone..." Griswold said, "but almost..."

With Farnham lending him some support, the smith led them to the narrow stairway, going up to the cathedral?s upper floor. Three other battered townsmen waited there for them. Farnham could see the same look of shock and stunned horror in the faces of the others. He knew that he shared it with them. No one even had the energy to call a greeting, but no time was wasted in starting the return journey.

They stumbled up the stairs. On the upper floor, wan sunlight shone through the shattered windows. They could see more clearly now, where they were going, but it was a mixed blessing. Broken and shattered pews lay strewn over the stone floor. Horrid symbols and words were smeared on the walls in blood, and a repellent rotting smell hung over everything like a shroud. It was hard to believe that this had been a holy place of worship mere months before.

They hastened their steps to escape the cathedral, and so their rasping breaths and the crunch of wood splinters beneath their boots masked the sounds of the attack. The attackers were undead - ghouls, rotting and putrid, emitting hollow grunts of delight at the sight of them. A yellow light glows from their eyes, halting the exhausted and surprised townsmen in their tracks. For a moment only they stood frozen, but long enough for the ghouls to close with them.

Griswold lifted his sword with effort, and lunging forward he struck down the ghoul closest to him. His remaining strength spent, he fell to the ground. Weak shouts rose from the other townsmen as they also met the undeads? attack. Farnham looked up from where he was trying to rouse the smith, to see the face and groping hands of a ghoul less than four feet from him. A moan of terror came from this throat and he frantically started to pry the sword from Griswold?s hand. The ghoul approached and the smith?s grip would not release the sword...Closer the creature came...closer...Farnham shouted in frustration. And then the sword was free...as the ghoul was almost next to him. He tried to stumble backward, to make space between him and the creature. Panic lent him strength - the sword rose. In its hellish lust to kill Farnham, the ghoul paid no heed to the body of Griswold on the ground and tripped over the unconscious smith. It fell forward...over Farnham...on top of him. The sword?s tip penetrated the ghoul?s throat, through its head and out the back of its skull. Man and creature crashed to the floor.

The ghoul?s face was mere inches from Farnham?s, and a foul waft of air washed over him. The creature was dying...yet it?s hands still clutched at the man, tearing his shirt and scratching deep furrows into his sides. The wounds burned like fire. Farnham stared up into the ghoul?s face and watched as the evil yellow glow faded from its eyes. Time seemed suspended as he lay under the ghoul?s carcass...until a dark, putrid icor flowed from its open mouth and onto his face.

A scream erupted from him as he was galvanised into motion, heaving the ghoul away and leaping to his feet. The stinking liquid seemed to be everywhere and his frantic efforts to wipe it from his face and chest only to spread it further. His vision was blurred with it, its stench made it difficult to breathe and...he could taste it in his mouth! He doubled over and retched violently, repeatedly, until it felt that his insides would rupture. He tore off his tattered shirt and scrubbed his face until it felt raw.

He remained on his knees, doubled over for a while trying to catch his breath. Sensations of the outside world returned. The air felt damp and chill on his bare back, making the scratches burn all the more. He heard repeated wet-sounding thuds not far from him and swiftly looked up. Griswold still lay senseless on the floor before him. Off to one side, one of their companions lay spread-eagled, his throat torn away. Another sat on the ground, his sword held loosely in his hand, staring into space. Half his face was covered in blood, but from the movement of his shoulders, Farnham knew he was still breathing. He looked to his left and saw the source of the sounds he heard. Their remaining companion was mechanically chopping at the body of a ghoul with his axe. Again and again...

Farnham crawled towards the smith and took the gourd of water from the man?s belt. He gulped a few large mouthfulls and looked down at Griswold. He poured some of the water onto the smith?s face. The large man seemed to come around slowly, eventually blinked and opened his eyes. Farnham helped him sit up. "Alive?" Griswold seemed surprised, "Though it was over for us..." Farnham merely nodded.

They roused their remaining companions with difficulty. Fortune?s face seemed to be turning back towards them, as no further attacks came, and they finally escaped the cathedral. Halfway to the town, they were met by Peppin, Ogden and Cain. A good thing it was that the survivors were found early enough, as night was about to fall - a time when the demons were wont to roam beyond their domain. They had barely enough strength to walk - another attack would have been the end of them all. They were taken to the healer?s home immediately, where Peppin worked all through the night to attempt to heal their wounds.

Early on, Farnham was given a potent medicine, and he fell into a deep sleep. Long after, he started waking and he could hear voices far-off, as if listening from a deep well. He could recognise Peppin?s voice and later on that of Griswold. For a long while he could not make out what they were discussing, but as consciousness slowly returned, he began to listen. "You are lucky, your leg could be saved. But it is bad, you will have to rest it well." Peppin said. "The others?" Griswold asked. "Danten was not so lucky, I could not save his eye. But he will live. Ruhsell...I do not know. The cut on his belly is festering, nothing I do seems to help. I do not know." "And Farnham?" "He is resting, soundly now it seems. But I am worried. When be sleeps, he screams and shouts, talking of insensible things. When awake, he is silent, but his eyes are wild and his body shakes as if chilled. But his fever is broken, his wounds are healing." Peppin was silent for a while, then asked, "What happened down there? So many dead..." "Lazarus." Griswold relied. "Lazarus...he just stood there. He could have done something... saved us. But he did nothing." "You were attacked...?" Peppin prompted. "Attacked?" Griswold snorted, "We were slaughtered..."

The words rang like a bell in Farnham?s mind. "Butcher!" He said, seeing a slashing, hacking blade before his eyes... seeing falling, dismembered bodies... dying friends, townsmen. "Farnham! What? You say Lazarus..." Peppin asked surprised, turning towards the man he though had been sleeping soundly. Farnham was silent, but he was trembling. "No," Griswold said, "he does not mean Lazarus. He talks of a demon. ?Butcher? is a good name for it. I will never forget it...never." Farnham sobbed softly. "None of us will." Farnham leaped up suddenly. Griswold?s words seemed to bring it all back, up close, to the present...everything... The Butcher, dead fiends, his fear, the trek to the stairway, the ghouls? attack, the taste of the rotting blood in his mouth... "No, you should rest." Peppin urged him. "Please lie down." Farnham put his hands over his face in a futile attempt to shut the sensations out. "No..." He stumbled out of the healer?s house, Peppin imploring him all the while.

Blindly he continued until he walked into a building?s wall, the remembered taste of the corpse?s foulness threatening to overwhelm him. Looking up he saw a sign with a cheerful yellow sum painted on it. A welcome light shone from the open door to Ogden?s inn. He went inside. The few people present looked up with sympathy for him and the shock of the slaughter?s news was plain on their faces. Farnham walked to inn?s counter with determination. "For pity?s sake, some ale." He rasped at Ogden. "Yes. Yes, of course." The innkeeper said and rushed to fetch a tankard. He nodded his thanks to Ogden when the ale was placed before him and without a word drank it down without stopping for breath. "Another." He told Ogden. As with the first, he again emptied his tankard in one draught.

After four such events, Farnham imagined that the foul taste of the ghoul seemed less harsh. He took out his purse and emptied it onto the tavern?s counter before Ogden. "Do not stop, until the money is gone." He said and went to an unoccupied table in the inn. "Farnham..." Ogden started to say, but he was cut off. "Please... until the money is gone..." The innkeeper hesitated for another moment, and then sadly nodded. He saw some of the other patrons turn towards Farnham to question him. Quickly Ogden waved them off, making sure that the man would be left alone.

An hour later, Farnham no longer had the remembered taste of the ghoul?s blood in his mouth and the slaughter in the cathedral seemed like nothing more than a nightmarish hallucination. He wanted to weep with relief. Ogden, however, was worr0ied. "Farnham, come on. That was enough. You have never been a drinking man, you will feel terrible tomorrow." "Then I will just have to keep going, won?t I?" Farnham slurred. He chuckled. "Farnham, please..." The innkeeper sighed. The drunken man?s humour evaporated. "You weren?t there! You don?t know! No-one here does!" He shouted. Silence fell in the tavern.

Then someone asked, "Tell us..." Ogden turned to scowl at the patron, but a moment later Farnham started talking. And he told them. Awful was his tale, but no one questioned it- the truth of it was plain to see in the man who had started to tremble again. Ogden wordlessly went to fetch Farnham some more drink while he spoke. And when he was done and fell silent, the inn was quiet.

"Has Heaven forsaken us, that these things should happen to us?" Someone mumbled. "What an accursed town!" Another said. Silence again, but then conversation between the patrons in the inn started off in earnest.

"What will we do now? Everyone who could use a sword went with Lazarus. And they are all dead now. If the demons attacked the town... There is no one left to defend us." "Aye, we at the evil?s mercy. And that means no mercy!" "Gods, what dark times we live in..."

"We cannot wait for the evil to come here and kill us off. We have to move away." "Aye, you have the right of it!" "Perhaps you are right, but where would we move to? I don?t have any money to start a new business elsewhere. Everything I own is here in Tristram." "What good is everything you own if you are dead?" "What good is it to be alive, but live as a pauper?" "Perhaps we don?t have to move. Maybe the evil will stay in the cathedral. If we stay clear of it, we might be safe." "Stay in the cathedral? Don?t be daft! The darkness there is not a dog that can be tied up!" "But what are we to do then? We cannot stay. Some of us cannot go."

Arguments went back and forth for a while, and then it was quiet again. Ogden watched from behind the counter where he was polishing some tankards. Then he said, "I have a friend who lived here years ago. He went away to the west." The patrons looked up. "He is a warrior. I understand he made quite a name for himself over there in the wars." He had everyone?s attention now. One patron asked, "And so?" "He sent me a letter a while ago, saying that he is returning here." Ogden replied. "He is coming here? With an army?" The excited, hopeful question came. "We are saved then!" "No. No army." Ogden said. "Just him." The patrons sat disbelieving for a moment.

"One man? What good will one man do?" The patron exclaimed. Ogden shook his head. "I don?t know. I am just saying that there is a soldier coming here." Then Farnham spoke, as to everyone?s surprise - he was thought to have passed out long ago. "Then keep your stories to yourself! One man? Ha! Is he some kind of hero?" Farnham snorted. "If he comes here he is just going to get killed like the rest of us...and if he goes down there..." he gestured towards the area where the cathedral was located, "If he goes down there...he will get butchered!" He spat out the last word. Ogden stopped polishing the mugs and looked at Farnham grimly. "I don?t know what good one man will do. Perhaps nothing. But perhaps he could do a lot of good. If he could save the life of even one person here, is that not good? What if that person was you?" He looked at the other in the inn. "And you lot...you talk of moving away. Is no one here willing to fight for what is theirs? Even if you cannot use a sword, there are other ways." "Like what? Use our ploughs or hoes?" "Perhaps. But how about making one warrior from far away welcome here? How about convincing him that this town is worth saving? All of you are asking what good one warrior will do, but no one is wondering why he would even want to try. And there is another truth - if there is one man like my friend the warrior, there are sure to be others like him." He looked pointedly at Farnham. "The world is not empty of heroes." Everyone in the inn was silent for a while. "Why are you so harsh with us, Ogden? You are in the same boat as the rest of us." "Because that one warrior has already given me a gift, and he has not even arrived. I am trying to give that gift to rest of you as well." "Gift?" Farnham frowned over his tankard, "What gift?" Ogden smiled thinly, and looked at the drunken man. "Not something you would be interested in anymore, Farnham." The patrons looked perplexed. One asked, "Come on, Ogden. What are you talking about?" "Hope." The innkeeper said, picking up another tankard and started polishing it. "Simply hope."

A PLACE OF DEATH

The young warrior knocked at his company commander?s door, and stood at attention, waiting. He again wondered over his choice apprehensively. The day before, things seemed very clear, but now uncertainty scratched unpleasantly at his resolve. "Enter." A voice called from within the office. He did so and came to stiff attention before the commander?s desk.

The officer did not look up immediately, he was writing a letter with strong, sure stokes. How incongruous it looked, the young warrior thought. He was used to seeing the commander with some weapon or other in his hands, not a pen. "Squire Aldar Caine reporting, sir!" He said in clipped military fashion. "At ease, squire." The commander said. He then finished writing and put the pen into the inkwell. Lord Commander Kalzadhan looked up, his face expressionless. "So. You are going then." Kalzadhan said. It was a statement, not a question. Aldar hesitated, then said, "Yes, sir."

The commander?s expression did not change. "Let me be blunt, squire. I am not at all pleased with this. Your training is incomplete. You will only become a yourneyman three months hence." "Yes, sir." "If you leave now, you will not be doing so as a steward of this Order. Do you understand?" "I understand, sir." "Do you...!" Kalzadhan said, sharply. "You will leave here without the Order?s aid or blessing. You will have nothing more in possessions than what you entered the Order with." "I understand, sir."

Kalzadhan looked at Aldar grimly, then sighed. "You are a talented soldier, Aldar, and a strong fighter. You came into the Order with much experience that you gained from the wars. And also, you were introduced by Master Trurl - a big thing in itself. But as far as the Order?s codes are concerned, all that counts for nothing." The commander leaned back in his chair. "You spent much effort in your training here, and much effort had been spent training you...by me, by Ladius, by Trurl, by Grayness... I fail to understand why you made this decision."

"It is his choice." A soft voice said behind Aldar. He started in surprise and could not help stealing a quick glance over his left shoulder. Quiet and inconspicuous, Master Ladius sat in a chair in the corner of the small office. Aldar had failed to even notice him when he came in, altogether preoccupied with the situation. The mage smiled softly at the squire?s startlement. "Awareness, squire, awareness! Take notice of the your surroundings at all times." Ladius admonished. "You were saying, squire...!" Kalzadhan said sharply, calling Aldar?s attention back. "I beg your pardon, sir! Sir, the people of the town where I grew up - Tristram - they are in danger, sir. They have asked for my help." Aldar stopped a moment, risked a glance into the commander?s eyes, before snapping his gaze back to the wall behind the officer. "These are my friends, sir - family... kin. I cannot ignore the letters they sent. I cannot wait...even for three more months...some people are already dead." "If they are so desperate that they are begging the help of half trained squires, they must be desperate indeed!" Kalzadhan snapped. "And what danger could be so great that they believe a half trained squire could solve it!" "Kal, enough." Ladius said.

The commander closed his mouth and looked at the mage with embarrassment, aware that he had let his exasperation slip. "Apologies, squire. That was uncharitable." He sighed again, and shook his head. "I say these things, but... I can appreciate your reasons." He raised an eyebrow. "And...when one considers the facts, your decision does fit with the teachings of the Order." He stood up. "It is because of this, and no other reason, that I agree to this. Keep that in mind." "Yes, sir." "You have ninety days, squire, no more! Then I expect you back here, ready for duty. Is that understood?" "Yes, sir!" Kalzadhan looked sternly at the young warrior for a few moments, then said, less sternly, quietly, "Dismissed, squire. May the Light protect you." "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Aldar replied, spun on his heel and left the office.

The small room was quiet for a while, until Ladius said, "So, what is bubbling in your mind, my friend?" Kalzadhan grimaced, said, "I hear what he says...I understand it, I guess, but...Confound it, Ladius! We are not part of some common band of mercenaries! People cannot just walk in here and out again whenever they feel like it!" "Aldar is a level headed fellow, Kal. He knows what the Order embodies. He would not have made his decision without careful consideration." Kalzadhan frowned. "Could the danger he speaks of truly be that serious?" The mage shrugged. "If it is, then my earlier comment holds true." The commander mused. "What indeed could one squire do against something that terrifies an entire town of people..."

Aldar Caine tossed the last of his gear into his worn knapsack and tightened the straps. He rose and left the barracks. Neatly, with military precision, all the items belonging to the Order were laid out on his bunk bed - chainmail, shield, broadsword and helm- polished to a high sheen. He thought of leaving those arms behind with regret. Greatly they would have served him, especially if he was to face great peril.

He strode across the parade ground and saw his fellow squires at the sparring lists. They were being taught some intricate series of sword-forms. Aldar took a deep breath and clenched his jaw. Resentment left a bitter taste in his mouth - he hated leaving the Order, especially considering the disappointment he could see in his teachers? faces when they looked at him. Disappointment in him! As if he had broken faith! But he felt powerless; duty demanded that he act - duty to his kin.

Feeling like a quitter, he lengthening his stride and made for the main gates. Walking out from under the stone archway and past the great wooden gates, the sense of loss was more intense and he wondered whether he would see the huge fortress of the Seekers? Order again. "Ho there, Aldar!" Someone called. Glancing ahead, he saw Ladius standing under a shady tree beside the road. "Master Ladius!" He called back and hurried to the tree. "Leaving without saying goodbye? Hmm..." The mage said in mock sternness. "I am sorry, master. It seems my mind is leaving me altogether this day."

Ladius chuckled. "Do not pain yourself so, lad. I know that there are many things occupying your thoughts. Be at ease." "Thank you, sir." "You have many leagues to Tristram, and I will not delay your journey overlong. But there are a few things that need be said before you go." Aldar made a grimace of self-disgust and said, "I should have said greetings to many people before I left, but..." He sighed. "Not least of which is yourself and Masters Trurl and Grayness." "Trurl and Grayness are not here at present. They are attending a conclave of the Vizjerei, far to the east. It seems the Brotherhood has discovered some information concerning three ancient Evils. But that is far from here, and should not concern you. And it is not these things that I mean to discuss with you, Aldar." "Master?" "I want you to know that while Kalzadhan treats you sternly, it is because he must. His rank demands it, and you are one of those he is directly responsible for. Do not judge him - he is concerned for you." "I know, sir. I do not think unkindly of anyone here. How could I?" "That is good. The next thing I need to tell you is that, although the codes of the Order state that all the things it issues to you, has to be left behind, it makes no mention of gifts between friends." He smiled and gestured to a small pile of items covered by a cloak, on the ground next to him. "Take a look."

Aldar knelt next to the bundle and drew the cloak aside. In the collection were a short-sword, an iron-shod club, a buckler, two healing potions and a pouch containing one hundred gold coins. He was astounded. He looked up at Ladius. "Courtesy of Commander Kalzadhan." The mage said. "Master...I do not know what to say...except, thank you! And the commander!" "The items are from Kalzadhan. My gift...is less tangible. It is something that you should keep in mind, always." Ladius looked earnestly at Aldar and said, "Listen carefully, although you are not fully a part of the Order, or even a journeyman, you are a squire. That means that you are already part of a Family, no matter your station, condition or location in the world. That means that you can count on the support of any other man or woman of the Family. That is one of the things that make us strong. You need not always be strong alone, Aldar, as long as the Order lives. Keep this promise with you, as you go to your town, where danger threatens." "Master Ladius, thank you for all this. My heart is lighter now. I think you have told me something I should have know for myself, but is feels good to have it reaffirmed."

The mage smiled. "Now you should go, my young friend. Be fleet of foot, do not let your folk in Tristram be kept waiting longer than can be helped. And when you find the thing that threatens them, mind what you have learned here! It will serve you in good stead." "My thanks again, Master Ladius. Farewell! May Light be with you." "And you, Aldar. Farewell!"

A dry wind gathered up the dust from the ground and swirled it around the warrior. His cloak, his clothes, his hair and face - everything was gray with the dust. He tried to shield his eyes from the wind as he hurried ahead, with little success. The sun was setting and the sky was slowly turning to yellow and orange. Dread gnawed at the pit of his stomach. Was the sight he saw from the high hills earlier that day correct? How could it be? Tristram was a large town, almost a city...yet...he hardly recognized it. He had been away from the town for some years, but surely no place could change so much. It had looked as if no one lived there. Some buildings had looked like ruins... Surely it was but an illusion.

He imagined the wind had a voice and that it whispered things, softly, just beyond the range of his hearing...teasing...laughing. The feeling of dread deepened. He started to run, his cloak whipping behind him in the wind.

Then, suddenly, he was among the buildings. The wind seemed less here, but the dust continued to hang in the air like a fog. Far-off he could hear faint squeaking and a sound as if wood was banging on wood. Aside from that, it was dead quiet. Nothing stirred. Something prevented him from calling out a greeting. He went closer to one of the houses. The door stood ajar and the home was abandoned. Belongings lay strewn over the floor and the furniture was smashed. But most ominous...there were dark stains on the floor and walls. What was this!? He went to another house...and another. All were the same. All had the appearance as if their inhabitants had fought for their lives...and lost. Some houses were scorched black with flame or even burnt to the ground. "Light! What could have happened?" Aldar Caine asked softly.

It occurred to him that he should find the town hall, the tavern - Ogden?s place and the home of the healer. Those were on the far side of town, across the stream. Fervently, he prayed that it would be different there. He left the house and walked ahead. Off to his right he heard the squeaking and banging again, and saw the window shutters of another empty house swinging freely on their hinges, banging on the walls as the wind blew them this way and that... The sun was setting fast now, and its dying rays were painting everything he saw in red. The fog-like dust made it difficult to see far ahead, and objects that were dimly visible only became clearer once he was very close. He approached the center of town, where he remembered a great old oak tree grew. Closer he came, and he could faintly make out the tree ahead and to the left. He went closer, and he could hear a soft creaking sound. Apprehension made him slow down and on impulse, he drew his sword. And then he saw...

Suspended from the tree?s branches were the decayed bodies of men and woman...hanging by their necks on fraying, creaking ropes. Little flesh remained on their withered corpses. Aldar stood aghast with horror. He found it hard to comprehend his vision. "Heaven! NO! How could this be?" Even as he watched, a carrion bird fluttered from one of the tree?s upper branches and settled on a corpse. It started pecking at the dry flesh. That was all Aldar could bear. With a shout he chased off the bird from its foul feast and started hacking at the ropes. Easily they parted, and finally the sad bodies lay on the ground. "But not at peace..." The warrior whispered. "Why would no one bury you...?"

He could not wait a moment longer to know the truth and he sprinted towards the stream and the bridge that led to the Town Square and the homes of his family... The sun went down, dusk fell. He crossed the bridge at full tilt and skidded to a halt beside the fountain. To his right, the smithy was silent, the door closed. The healer?s home was ahead and to the left. Its door was also closed and no light shone from the windows. Just behind him, was the house he had once lived in, years before. As all the other, it was just as uninviting. Anxiety clenched his insides. Was everybody gone! Or dead! Where those pitiful corpses he saw his friends...and family!? He swung around to look at Ogden?s inn, and rushed to the door. He turned the door handle...and it opened. Welcome yellow light streamed out.

Someone still lived here...someone, at least, was still alive. Someone knew the truth...

"Did I not say that he would come?" Ogden said with satisfaction. "Yes I did. ?He is coming.? I said, and so he is here!" Aldar Caine glanced briefly at the smiling face of the innkeeper. He could detect much relief in Ogden?s voice, as if the man had come to doubt his own conviction and was now vindicated...not least of all...to himself.

The warrior received another hearty slap on the shoulder, not the first, and not the last he would receive that evening. He still felt somewhat stunned. What he had seen when he entered the tavern, almost defied comprehension. Many people were crammed into the tavern, and all were hollow-eyed...pale. Fear lay plainly on their faces, and stark terror shallowly beneath it. These were not the proud and happy people of Tristram he had known. These were a beaten folk, on the grim edge of giving up. He felt chilled.

The tavern looked much as he remembered it, but the appearance was all that made it familiar. The music and song, the amiable chatter was all gone. At the very least, Aldar thought sadly, there is still a warm fire in the hearth.

A large tankard of ale was pushed into his hand and a plate with bread, cheese and honey were placed on the table before him. Everyone was watching him with anticipation and such childish hope that he almost felt like weeping. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and said, "Ah, Ogden...What happened here?" He felt a bit at a loss for words for some moments, so many questions clamored his mind that he did not know where to start. But he received no immediate answer to his question. As he looked around the room, not one of Tristram?s folk would meet his eyes. "Ogden...I know many of those here, but there are many faces that I do not see. Where are Lehsu... and Ivan? Where is Ruhsell?" He turned towards the innkeeper, sitting beside him. The man looked utterly unhappy, wringing his apron nervously. Ogden looked up and said, "Aldar...Light help us, they are dead...slain!" The warrior could not believe his ears. "For pity?s sake, how? When?"

Just then, there was a small commotion at the tavern entrance. The small crowd parted, and a tall man in dark robes walked towards them. His hair and full beard was steel gray and his face was deeply lined - but his eyes were clear and bright. "Well, bless you." The old man breathed, when he stopped at the table. "It is good to see you again, nephew!" Cain the Elder held open his arms to the warrior. "Uncle Deckard?" Aldar Caine said, smiling for the first time that day. Swiftly he rose and embraced his father?s brother. Only now did he realise how great his fear had been. Relief washed much of the chill from his bones.

"Much has changed since you lived here, Aldar." Ogden said quietly. The warrior looked intently at the innkeeper. "When I came into town, I saw the most horrible things. How could it be? This was always the most peaceful of places." "It was... until the darkness came. Then... it destroyed everything... everything you saw. Many people were slaughtered where they stood... slain in their homes...burnt." "I saw people at the oak tree - hung...like they were executed. Executed, for Heaven?s sake!" Cain the Elder nodded. "Yes, nephew. That they were." "Why?" "They did no wrong. Innocent they were, as all the others. The hanging was done at the Black King?s command." "Black King? Who is he? Where are King Leoric and his knights? And Lachdanan? They should have put a stop to this!" "The Black King... is Leoric, nephew. And the knights...are cast down into darkness." The old man sighed. "Our kingdom is no more, Aldar. It is unmade."

Aldar uttered a humourless laugh. "Come on Uncle Dec! The kingdom unmade? How could that be?" "Everything that made us a kingdom is gone. We have no king, no army or defenders... even the young prince Albrecht is lost. And the people... Ah, nephew...of all the people that lived in Tristram, only forty two still remain." Aldar stared at his uncle incredulously. "Forty two?" He mouthed silently. "Aye." Ogden nodded. "And we count ourselves lucky. Other towns, villages... Leoric?s madness spared no one. Some are wiped out altogether."

Aldar Caine stood up. He clenched his hands into fists. "Wiped out..." His mind was in a whirl. Black King... Leoric?s madness... The knights gone... people executed... forty two pitiful survivors out of a thriving town of hundreds... The concepts spun around his brain, refusing to settle. "What did this?" He asked quietly. "Where does this curse come from?" Ogden shrugged, sighed. "The church." The warrior?s brows drew together. "Speak sense, my friend. What about the church?" Cain and Ogden looked at each other. "That is where the evil comes from, nephew." Cain answered. "It is no longer holy." Ogden added. "It has been desecrated. Only dark rituals are performed there now." "Who, Ogden, who!?" Aldar cried. "Who does these rituals?" "Peace, nephew..." Cain soothed. "I do not know, Aldar." Ogden shook his head sorrowfully. "But I fear this is no mundane darkness. The cries we hear in the night...are not human."

It was late in the night. Most of the townsmen lay sleeping on the tavern floor covered by thin blankets. It seemed that they all feared staying in their own homes at night, preferring the perceived safety of numbers, above comfort. Aldar and his uncle stood at the inn?s door, waiting for Ogden to unbar it. Briefly, the warrior wondered at the fact that his uncle, at least, still went to his house. Fear has seemingly not consumed him yet, as it had most of the townsfolk. Were there others like him? When they stepped outside and bid Ogden good night, Aldar tugged his cloak more closely around him, for the night was cold. By the faint light of a lantern, they started off for the old man?s home. Quietly, Cain spoke, "Nephew, I see a web being spun around you. The hopes of this town and its people are the strands. Soft they may seem at first and noble the cause. But make no mistake... it will bind you as surely and as strongly as iron chains." "What are you saying, Uncle Dec?" "Only that... if you walk this road, Aldar... fate will make your destiny and that of Tristram as one." "Please, Uncle Dec, no more riddles. My head feels about to explode as it is." "If you stay here, and fight, my boy... you are likely to stay here for a long time - perhaps for good. The evil that reigns here now has penetrated the roots of this place...it lies deep. No mere flourish of a sword is going to displace it."

Aldar did not reply. He tried to avoid the implications of his uncle?s words, but he could not stop the obvious conclusions. If what Cain said was true, ninety days leave from the Order was never going to be enough...and twenty of those days were already spent - travelling to Tristram and the waking nightmare he found in it. He shrugged it off, putting the thoughts away in a recess of his mind for later consideration. "Alright, Uncle Dec. I see what you are saying. But... what else is there to do?" "You could walk away. The web has not yet bound you." Aldar shook his head. "No. I could not. Not without lying to myself forever after." Cain sighed and glanced at the young man. He nodded slowly. "Uncle Dec, I feel a bit foolish also. All those people look at me as if I will just go and fix the problem, easy as you please. I might be an adequate swordsman, but I can hardly work miracles. Can they not see that?" "You look on pure desperation, lad - no more, no less. You bear all that remains of their hope with you, unfair as that may seem. And a heavy burden that will be..."

They arrived at the old man?s house and entered. After brief scurrying, they both settled in for the night, covered by their blankets. Aldar felt weariness steal away his consciousness, as his muscles settled and tension started to fade. The last he heard before sleeping were when his uncle spoke softly. "Since you are set on this course of action, nephew, tomorrow we will go to see someone who might be a very strong ally. Her name is Adria..." Aldar Caine slept. Cain the Elder lay in the darkness, looking towards the place where he could hear the warrior?s soft, rhythmic breathing. "Would that I could see what awaits you, lad. I am afraid... very afraid."

The archmage Grayness peered intently at the Head of the Vizjerei Brotherhood. "Are you certain of this?" He asked, the iron in his voice unmistakable. "There can be no doubt." The sorcerer answered, closing the large book on the table before him. "Tal Rasha also confirms it." Thirty of the most powerful and knowledgeable wizards from many different lands and countries sat around a large table. For the past four hours, seers, druids and other wise men and woman had been showing them evidence of a most terrible occurrence. They were told of a thing that had been consigned to interesting reading in old books, for many years. No one seemed willing to believe it at first, to do so would require them to accept too much... most of all the legacy of the Horadrim. The two representatives of the Seekers Order were under no illusions, however.

Mage-master Trurl sat back in his chair, tugging softly at his beard. He narrowed his eyes and said, "Tal Rasha you say? But is this man not containing the spirit of Baal? He is almost, in truth, the demon itself. How could its words ever be trusted, seeing as demons speak nothing but lies?" The Vizjerei master gave a slight smile. "Have you ever seen or spoken to Tal Rasha, honoured sir?" "I have not." Trurl answered. "Then it is difficult to describe or give understanding, but when one asks Tal Rasha the right questions, in the right manner, it matters little what lies the demon speaks. Powerful as Baal or any of the Evils might be, their very nature can be predictable in some instances. The Horadrim has proved that they can be beaten." "Aye, the Horadrim proved it." Grayness said. "But neither you, nor I, are Horadrim, Lord Abbot - and we are amongst the most powerful of all those skilled in the Art." "What a pity it is," One of the other mages at the table interjected, "that Tal Rasha is now almost incoherent. Great would his advice and aid have been - he was, after all, one of the Horadrim himself." "Perhaps so, friends," The Vizjerei said, "Perhaps so. However, this changes nothing. The fact remains...one of the other two Prime Evils are active in the world once more... either Mephisto, or Diablo." With that reality hammered home, the conclave fell silent, and no one spoke for a long while, as everyone considered the consequences in their own minds. The sun went down and the room became dusky.

"Ill news, this is." Trurl murmured. "Worse news I can scarce imagine. Have you any indication of where these two Evils were last known to have been held captive?" "Mephisto?s location is so vague as to be almost useless. His soulstone was buried under the desert sands further to the east." "And Diablo?" One of the Druid Lords at the table asked. "That is much more definite. And I am less fearful that he is the one that is free, considering his location. The Lord of Terror - or rather, his soulstone - is kept in a cathedral to the west and south of here. His keepers are the priesthood of the Zakarum faith, under the stewardship of one named Lazarus. Strong keepers, it would seem to me." "What then would you suggest, Lord Abbot." Trurl asked. "I imagine we should expend our energies in discovering Mephisto?s location. Some more precise location is likely to be recorded somewhere. We only have to search." "Aye, only we have to search. But it will take time - time that I begrudge." Grayness said bitterly. "For whilst be search, the unleashed Evil, wherever it may be, becomes ever stronger." He paused and looked at the faces around the table. "And I do not think that I have to remind anyone here what destruction one of these demons are capable of."

"Might I also enquire, Lord Abbot..." Trurl added, "Although you feel more at ease with Daiblo?s situation and containment, where is the cathedral located?"

"It is an old place... I believe the present day name for the settlement is Tristram. Do you know it?" The Vizjerei Abbot asked. The great wizard shook his head, but said with a far-off expression on his face, "No, I do not. But I am certain that there will be at least one in our Order who will..."

DARK WARNINGS

"Green eyes."

Aldar Caine spun around at the sound, still in a fighting crouch. His sword was held forward and slightly to the side?the buckler covered his torso. Kalzadhan would have been proud.

"What!?" He said sharply in startlement.

A young woman stood before him. A slight smile was on her lips.

"Green eyes." She said again. "That is all I can recognize in you, Aldar Caine. The rest of you?" She looked him over. "? is all different."

"I?" Aldar?s mouth hung open for a moment in surprise. He could not think of something to say ? until she laughed.

"I do not remember you being at a loss for words before. I do remember a wicked sense of humor, not to mention a talent for pulling my hair."

The warrior smiled, despite his surprise, as he stood up straight. Her words brought back images of his childhood? and he truly saw her for the first time.

She was beautiful, even in her homespun dress, with her hair tied back by a simple leather thong.

He found his voice again and said with a smile, "Hello, Gillian. I?m sorry, I? It?s good to see you again!"

He sheathed his sword and put the shield away. He went to her, but as he stepped forward to kiss her, she held up a hand.

"I do not think so. Not until you are a bit more presentable." She wrinkled her nose, but a light of mischievous humour shone in her eyes. Just outside his uncle?s home, the warrior had been doing his exercises and practicing sword-forms that morning, since the dawn. He wore no shirt ? perspiration filmed his face and chest and darkened his fair mane of hair. He smiled when he realised this.

"What is the matter, Gillian? There is nothing wrong with the way I look."

Ah." She said with a wry smile. "That is closer to the Aldar I knew." She raised an eyebrow and as she turned around, mused "I will still have to see whether or not that is a good thing?" She started to walk away.

"Where are you going?" Aldar called.

"I work at the tavern." She called back. "You can find me there later? when you have cleaned up a bit!" She laughed again.

Aldar stood and watched her walk across the Town Square. She looked back at him once, before entering the tavern.

"My, my?" He said to himself.

"Not all good things are gone yet." His uncle commented from behind him.

He turned and said, "Good morning, Uncle Dec. I was just practicing?"

"?and chatting to the lasses. Yes, I saw." Cain the Elder finished the sentence with a smile. "A fine young lass she is too."

Aldar felt slightly embarrassed, as if he had been caught out, and tried to hide it by gathering his gear.

"Do you want some breakfast?" The old man asked.

"Yes, please."

"There are some things inside. Come to Peppin?s home when you are finished."

Aldar found some bread and dried fruit on the table inside and quickly wolfed down a meal. Many thoughts fluttered through his mind while he ate. The events of the previous day seemed altogether unreal. So much horror?death. His mind shied away from it?and yet there were things for which he was glad. His uncle was still here, and Ogden. Apparently kind Peppin was also still in Tristram?and now that morning? Gillian.

It was confusing to deal with such utterly contrasting things. He shook his head, trying to banish the thoughts ? he needed to focus on the day at hand. Is that not what Master Trurl has taught him? Deal with problems as they arise? Swiftly he washed the sweat from his body, dressed and ran from the house. He knew now that people still lived in Tristram, but one could not tell by looking. Everything seemed empty and silent. The harsh reality of what had happened returned to the warrior, clouding his good mood of earlier. Quickly he crossed the Town Square, and went to the Healer?s house. He knocked and went in. Peppin and his uncle sat at a small table talking quietly. Seeing Aldar, Peppin stood up with a wide smile and came closer.

"Aldar, my boy! How are you? Wonderful seeing you again!" The warrior embraced the old man tightly.

Aldar could scarce recall ever having known a kinder or more gentle person than the healer. His open face and merry eyes never failed to make the warrior feel at easy and welcome. The healer?s rode, always pristine white, was now grayish with age, but the familiar aroma of plants and herbs still hung about him comfortingly. "My, how different you look! How grown!" Peppin laughed.

Aldar?s mood lightened. The townsfolk he met and spoke with the previous night had seemed glad to see him out of desperation. But the healer was glad to see him just for his own sake. That was how he had hoped it would be with everyone. Alas, however, it was not to be.

Peppin poured the warrior a cup of sweet tea, and they all sat down to talk.

"How are you Uncle Peppin?"

"I am well, thank you lad? under the circumstances."

"You have no idea how pleased I am to see you and Uncle Dec?and the others." The closed his eyes. "After I arrived and saw what happened to the town? I feared terrible things!" Peppin smiled, but there was a sad gleam in his eyes.

"The Light was with us, Aldar. We have yet been spared."

"Last night, Uncle Dec and Ogden told me some of the things that happened, but? there are still so many questions." Aldar sipped his tea, asked, "Such as? where does this darkness come from?" Peppin shrugged. "We can only speculate. I am wary of voicing my opinion, but I think that? bad as things are, we have seen only a fraction of the true darkness."

Aldar frowned. "Uncle Dec said something like that last night as well. He said the evil lay deep? Have we no clue as to the nature of it? Anything at all?"

"Nothing that I can perceive, lad. But that means little. I try to heal those touched by the darkness, but I fear that I have little effect on the darkness itself."

"Then you have greater influence than you think, old friend.? Cain the Elder said. Peppin only smiled shyly in response.

"In that case?" Aldar mused, "I will have to find out for myself." Peppin looked up in alarm, but Cain did not stir ? he knew what the warrior was suggesting. He had already guessed what his nephew was going to do? and he had already resigned himself to it. As much as the thought of his kin in danger worried him, he knew that it was necessary.

"What are you saying, lad?" The healer asked.

"Uncle Peppin, I have to go and investigate the cathedral. That is where Ogden said the darkness is coming from. I have to go see?"

"Oh, please reconsider, Aldar!" Peppin said earnestly.

"How else am I to help? I cannot aid you and the others by staying here and waiting. I think that would be foolish, Uncle Peppin."

The healer bowed his head and said softly, "My boy? you have not seen the people that I tried to treat here? the wounds? the deaths." He looked up and grabbed Aldar?s arm in a surprisingly strong grip. "I am afraid that if you go to the cathedral? I will have you here on my table?and me unable to stop the bleeding? unable to help." It pained the warrior to see so much anxiety in the old man?s eyes.

"Uncle Peppin, there is no other way that I can see. If there is, I promise I will do it. But for now?" He sighed. "I could use your help, though. If that place is as dangerous as say, your knowledge in healing will help me very much.?

"Anything, lad. But what could I do?? I am certainly no warrior, as you are."

"I don?t know yet, Uncle Peppin." Aldar shrugged. "How about some healing medicines and potions? Could you make me some of those to take along?"

"Certainly, my boy. But I have none ready for you here, now. I will have to prepare some."

"Thank you Uncle Peppin. That would be very nice."

"When are you planning on going?" The healer asked bleakly.

"Later this morning. There is no sense in waiting, and the more daylight I have, the better, I think."

"Oh! But? the potions will not be ready by then." Peppin said quickly, fervently hoping to delay the young man.

"Not to worry ? I already have a few." Cain raised an eyebrow and said, "I appreciate your thoughts, nephew. Your reasoning is not wrong, but? there are a few things I hoped we might do before you venture out."

"Alright, Uncle Dec. What did you have in mind?"

"Do you not think we should visit Griswold? He might have a few things to say that might help you."

Something occurred to the warrior at that moment. Now he knew one of the things that 'felt' so different about Tristram. The silence? From what he could remember, the sounds of the smith?s shop had always filled the air each day. Now?it was absent.

"Griswold?" Aldar said softly to himself. He felt ashamed that he had not once thought of the large, boisterous man since his return. Much of his time as a child he had spent in the smithy and Griswold had had seemingly endless patience with the boy?s questions.

"Of course, you are right. Where is he?"

"At home, I would imagine. He is not altogether the same as when you last saw him, nephew. These last few months have been especially bad for him. After the initial slaughter, there was almost no-one left here who had the knowledge and skill to fight. Farmers and craftsmen were all that were left. So everyone looked to Griswold to save them. He tried? but it was too great a task, especially with his bad leg. And now recently?" Cain shook his head slowly. "There is a young boy, called Wirt, who had been captured by some of the cathedral?s creatures. Griswold gathered a few men who still had a little courage and went to look for the boy. They succeeded in saving Wirt, but? the boy was very badly tortured and injured by the creatures. The lad lost his leg?and I think his spirit was wounded in ways we cannot yet tell."

Cain looked up at Aldar. "Light knows that Griswold did the best he could? but I think he blames himself for failing to save the town? and the boy. These days, he does not go out much."

Anger seethed within the warrior. He clenched his jaw. "Light! The damage done here stretches far beyond the dead we can see! The living have suffered, and still they suffer? A plague on the cathedral and all that dwell there!! Gods! I will see retribution for this! If it is the last thing I do, I will see it!" He stood up and paced the room, like a lion in a cage. Revenge bubbled in his mind all the while. **********

Vischar Orous, Chief Librarian of the Vizjerei, looked up from the book he was studying and turned around to face the two men standing behind him.

"Greetings, honoured sirs." He said to them. "Welcome to the Library. What brings you hither?"

"Greetings, Lord Orous." Trurl replied and gave a small bow. "What else would we seek here, but knowledge?"

The librarian smiled. "That we have here in abundance, I would say. You are free to indulge." He extended a hand of invitation towards the book-filled shelves in the hall.

Grayness nodded briefly, and said, "Indeed. It is the sheer abundance, however, that presents the trouble."

He looked into the library. The vast hall extended away into the gloom. Shelf upon shelf stood within it and lined the walls. Books and scrolls of every type and size filled those shelves in a bewildering array. Disorganised it might have seemed at first glance, but both the Seekers guessed that the Chief Librarian and his staff knew exactly how to find any particular book. The smell of old paper pervaded the huge room, but instead of making it seem stuffy, it was strangely peaceful, yet enticing.

"Your words suggest haste, Lord Grayness." Orous said in mild disapproval. "Haste and learning is not a good combination in this place."

"Yet, in haste is what we are."

In reply, he received a sigh of sad resignation.

"What is it that you want to know in such unseemly haste, my lords?"

"I feel like a wayward apprentice with this man." Grayness thought by himself with brief amusement.

"Are you aware of the conclave?s topic of discussion these past two days?"

"Ah. I see?" The librarian mused, concern filling his eyes. "A great pity it is, that such fell tidings would bring you to me. I would that it were otherwise. What aid could I give you?"

Trurl took a deep breath. "We need to know all you could tell us of the Prime Evils. Particularly anything about their location."

"I am afraid that I shared all that I could find concerning their location to the Abbot already, Lord Trurl. To find more detail would take much more lengthy research. In fact, many of my staff members are already engaged in that task. Should anything more come to light, be assured that there will be no delays in sharing it."

"Is there nothing else then, that is known about them?" Grayness asked, frowning.

"There is little still preserved. And, unfortunately, what there is, is recorded in many snippets of writing, in many scrolls and books in the library. I am afraid that much of the Horadrim?s lore is lost to us."

"Of what remains, is it of use?"

"Yes?" Orous said slowly. "There is some information concerning the nature of the soulstones?and of the history of the Prime Evils? capture." He was silent for a moment, considering, then continued. "Ah, yes, there is also an old bestiary. It tells of some of the creatures that served the Evils. I these times, however, none of these creatures still live, which makes the bestiary of little more than academic interest."

Trurl shook his head. "This is not pleasing news, Lord Orous. In fact this adds much to our frustration. We are told that, without doubt, one of the Prime Evils is free. But neither it?s identify nor location is known. Now also we learn that there is next to nothing in the old writings that could guide us in any way. All this is alarming, to say the least." His eyebrows drew together. "We need an indication, sir. We must have a clue ? even the smallest thing might be the key."

"I can offer only this." The librarian said. "Every acolyte of the Brotherhood will be employed in searching the library for the clues you speak of." He looked at the mages gravely and continued, "And you have my word, we will make the greatest of haste."

Grayness stared at the multitude of shelves and said softly, "And whilst the search takes place, the wizards and magi will scour the desert sands, without direction or clear path?half a continent of desert sand. And we do not even know whether we search for the right one?" He smiled wryly. "And should we find the Evil, we have no idea or concept of what we face, or how to deal with it." The librarian did not say anything, merely nodded.

Trurl and Grayness bowed and greeted Orous and turned to leave. But after a few steps, Trurl stopped as if he remembered something. He turned and said, "Lord Orous, would you please be so kind ? also search in the library for information concerning the town of Tristram."

"As you wish, sir." The librarian replied.

The two mages walked down the corridor, back towards the main part of the Vizjerei?s stronghold. Then Grayness asked, "Why Tristram? They told us that it is unlikely." Trurl tugged at his beard and looked at his companion.

"A feeling, my friend. Just a feeling."

Farnham peered across the Town Square at the two figures he saw approaching. He took a long swig out of the beer jug he had bought from Ogden the previous night. He then looked into the container and saw with disgust that only another mouthful still remained.

"And I was having such a good time here?" He thought. "Nice and comfortable?"

He was sitting under a tree that grew on the southern side of the Squire. The sun had risen high already and the tree?s leaves cast a dabbled green shadow beneath.

The drunken man looked up again and saw that the figures were much closer. He narrowed his eyes trying to see.

"Oh! It?s Cain." He said with satisfaction a moment later. But he did not recognise the other person, who wore a sword and carried a shield slung across his back.

When Cain and his companion was close enough, he called, "Hey, Cain! Who is that with you?"

The two men looked at Farnham.

"Hello Farnham." Cain answered. "This is Aldar, my nephew. Do you remember him? He left many years ago, but now he is back." Farnham looked the warrior up and down, trying to make some connection within his befuddled brain. Then he said, "Aldar, huh? You look different? just a kid when you left." He squinted up at Aldar.

"So what are you supposed to be? Some kind of ?hero?" He sneered.

Aldar looked down at the drunken man without expression, giving no answer.

"Another casualty?" He thought silently. This was not the man he used to know from before. On the ground before him was a fat, unkempt drunk with a florid face. The Farnham of then was tall and strong and bright of eye. He did not know what would cause such a change in the man, but he imagined that the fall and destruction of Tristram had something to do with it.

"Although you might not know it, Farnham," Aldar quietly vowed, "Your name is now also added to the list of things for which payment is sought."

"Well?" Farnham asked again. "You a hero or not?"

The warrior still did not answer, but turned and started walking towards the smithy.

"Well, whether you are a hero or not, it will make no difference!" The drunk called after them. "We are all going to die anyway! You just came back to die with us! You can?t do anything against them? I know! I was there!"

Griswold was indeed home, as Cain predicted. They found him sitting in a chair before his bedroom window, staring out. Lines of sorrow where etched into the smith?s face. When they came in and greeted him, he smiled and embraced the warrior, but little of the joy that his face expressed reached his eyes ? they remained clouded and filled with nameless worries.

"Ah, fine you look, lad." Griswold said, "You look a warrior after my own heart."

Aldar smiled in embarrassment, said "Not quite yet. But it is what I hope to be someday."

Griswold fell silent, again staring into space. Cain looked at Aldar, his eyes saying, "Do you now understand what I said earlier?"

The warrior raised his eyebrows. Gently he touched the smith on the shoulder.?

"What? Oh, sorry, lad. Just preoccupied? Nothing to worry over."

"Griswold, sir?It is my worry. Everyone and everything in this town is now my worry. That is why I came back."

The smith frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I cannot pretend to know or understand what happened here to the town, the people?or to you. I only listen to what I am told. I can only look and try to make sense of what I see." He shifted in his seat. "And from what I am told, and from what I see? this is a town on the edge of going out forever." He paused. He still had the smith?s attention.

"Ogden sent me a letter, asking for help. And so I am here. That makes everything here my worry."

Griswold looked away.

"You do not know what you are saying."

"Then tell me. I want to understand."

The smith shook his head. "Go back, lad. Leave this place. You will be better off." He looked pointedly at Aldar. "You will live."

"No, Griswold. I will not go. This time you do not know what you say. Almost everyone I care about are in this town? or what is left of it. There is no way on this earth that I would abandon them." The smith ran his hand over his bald scalp. "Then you will suffer the fate of Tristram, Aldar. And you said it yourself? the town is on the verge of being destroyed."

The lines around the warrior?s mouth lightened.

"Is that all that is left then, master Griswold? Waiting to die?" He said with some iron in his voice.

This roused the smith. Embers of an old anger sparked in his eyes. "Do not presume to lecture me! You have not the least idea of what it is we face here! Waiting to die? !? Ha! Do you not think that I have striven to live?to make others live!?" He stood up and paced the room. "But despite all the striving? still they died. Still those things in the cathedral came on? and burned the town? killed the people."

He slammed his fist down onto the table.

"No amount of striving could save any of it. And now you come here, talking about waiting to die?!"

His gaze bore down on Aldar, who appeared to be unperturbed by the smith?s anger.

"Everything that has been done, has been for naught!"

"And is that all there is to be said?" Aldar asked softly. "I think not, master Griswold. If you are tired, or if you despair, then I can understand that. Anyone would." He also stood up. "But I am not tired, and I do not despair. I am going to the cathedral?and I am going to fight whatever is there. Your help would be of immense value, Griswold. If you give it, I will be better for it. If you do not? I will still go and fight."

The warrior looked at his uncle, who had remained seated silently throughout the conversation.

"Come on, Uncle Dec. The day is passing, and there are still some things to do."

The old man rose and together they made for the door.

"Good bye, Griswold. I will be seeing you around. I promise." The warrior said, stressing the last statement.

The smith said nothing and only watched as they walked out his door. He bowed his head.

"Heaven help me?" He breathed. "How much more must I bear??"

Outside, Cain said sadly, "I always hope that it would be different, when I go to visit him. It has been long since I saw him angry, but I do not know whether it is a good thing."

The warrior declined to answer. Frustration made him grit his teeth.

"Peace, nephew." Cain said, when he saw Aldar?s expression. "I told you how it is with Griswold."

"So you did." Aldar pursed his lips. "But that does not help much, Uncle Dec. I am afraid that I hoped for much more." Slowly his eyes wandered over the silent buildings around him, and settled on the face of his uncle.

"The despair in this place feeds on itself? and so becomes stronger and blacker each day." He squared his shoulders.

"Time to go to that damned church, Uncle Dec. Everyone reminds me that I do not understand what we are dealing with. I think it is time I became better educated."

Cain nodded slowly.

"Alright, lad. Before you go, however, there is one more person I think we should see."

Aldar held up his hands. "Mercy, Uncle Dec. Please. I have faced the misery and sorrow of too many people today?"

"Aye, lad, perhaps so. But I think perhaps you will find this person very different from the others."

"Really? Who is it?"

"Her name is Adria."

A vague, half-remembered recollection sparked in his mind.

"Adria? You said something?"

"Yes, nephew. I told you about her last night, but I think you were almost asleep when I did so."

"Who is she? I do not remember her from when I lived here before."

"Neither would you. She is something of an anomaly in Tristram. She arrived here less than two months ago, and set up a little shack at the town?s edge, almost overnight." He shook his head. "And that at a time when people would have done almost anything to leave."

"That makes no sense." Aldar frowned.

Cain nodded. "So it would seem. But from what I judge, nephew, Adria is no ordinary person. She is? a witch?for want of a better word."

"A witch? What makes you say that?"

Cain opened his mouth to voice his opinion, but then changed his mind. "Perhaps, you should see for yourself, lad. Look and make your own judgement."

"If she is a witch? that does not bode well, Uncle Dec. Witches are generally not good people. And you said she could be of help?"

The warrior asked doubtfully.

Cain hesitated for a moment, then replied "A fair comment. I say ?witch? nephew, but? that is also not quite true. I believe that she is benign, but? Come let us go to see her."

"Where is her house?"

"Across the Talsande river, to the south." Cain pointed.

"Alright, Uncle Dec, I trust you. If you think it is worthwhile, let us go to this witch. But I cannot delay for much longer after that."

The two men approached the wooden bridge that spanned the fast flowing river. The Talsande was the artery of life for Tristram as it fed all of the town?s springs and wells, and provided the water used by the farmers to irrigate their fields. Green and growing things were to be found all along the river?s banks, for many hundreds of leagues? except now, in the area around Tristram.

Aldar imagined that the sound of the water over the black stones were as cold as the water looked. They could not see very well what lay on the far bank, as a peculiar fog hung densely there, like a thick blanket.

"Not a natural mist, that." Aldar commented softly, looking over his shoulder to where the Town Square lay. The sun shone feebly and the wind was kicking up small wisps of dust that flurried weakly between the buildings. Cain did not respond, and the warrior focussed his attention once more on the path ahead. They stepped onto the bridge, and the old wooden planks creaked softly as they strode across.

Upon setting foot on the other side, sounds immediately seemed dampened, and the fog was close around them. It was chilly. Dimly, they could see the dark shape of a tree off to their left. Cain gestured towards it, indicating that that was the way towards Adria?s shack.

Slowly they walked on, watching cautiously for things on the ground that would cause them to stumble. Reaching the tree, the fog seemed thinner further ahead, and it was less cold.

And then?peeking through the mist, the warrior could see the rafters of a building?s roof.

"Close now." Cain said quietly. Some two dozen steps further, the mist was almost gone, and the house was revealed. Its construction did not have the appearance of much solidity. There were gaps between the planks of the walls, and soft red light spilt from it to the outside. But despite it?s rickety exterior, the shack gave the impression that it would withstand an earthquake.

Aldar became aware of the sound of a person humming a simple tune, somewhere closeby. He looked around, trying to locate the source - it seemed to come from his right.

The warrior felt somewhat apprehensive as he rounded the shack?s corner. Everything he saw indicated that out-of-the-ordinary forces were in effect. Whilst he had been taught that not all such things were to be mistrusted, his training at the Seekers had also given him some idea of the power inherent with even simple enchantments. It was best, he thought, that one does not expose himself overmuch to such powers. The effects could often be? unexpected? unpredictable.

Just outside the door to the shack, a large wooden table had been placed. It was covered by a bewildering number of objects. It confused a person?s eyes trying to see and identify everything. Books, scrolls, glass vials, pots, boxes of various sizes, pouches, a set of distilling equipment?

It was here that the warrior found the person who was humming so peacefully.

Adria was busy with some item or object on the other side of the table. They could not see what it was over the mound of objects. She was a tall, thin woman. Her dark hair had no grey in it, and she seemed strong and sure in her movements. There were fine lines around her eyes, but he saw no wrinkles that he could associate with age. She had fine, chiselled features, but also an open face, without harshness. Although Aldar had no idea what witches were supposed to look like, she did not at all look like a witch to him.

The woman straightened, and he could see that she had been cleaning and polishing a small chalice ? a mundane household task, nothing extraordinary. She had not yet acknowledged their presence, but she stopped polishing, smiled as if pleased and said, "Hello, storyteller. Convinced the young fellow to come, have you? Of this, I am glad."

The warrior marvelled. Adria had a plain voice ? not deep, nor fine and high? just normal. Again, he did not know what he expected. Cain nodded. "Good day to you. This is my nephew, Aldar."

"Hmm. Yes? so I understand." She briefly glanced over at the warrior, then back at the small cup she held. "Handsome youngster, he is."

Feeling flattered, Aldar wondered where she would have learnt his name ? he had been in Tristram for little more than a day.

"Eager to take a look at what dwells in the cathedral, are you?" She asked, putting down the cup.

Aldar nodded.

"Always hasty are the young ones? always too hasty. But that is the way of things." Adria commented.

She picked up another small cup, identical to the first and started polishing it as well. She said, "But I am wondering? once you get there, what are your intentions?"

Aldar felt somewhat confused by the question. He imagined that his intent was obvious. "To fight the evil, of course."

A smile stretched her lips. "Ah! Of course?" She said with a chuckle.

"What amuses you?" The warrior asked.

Again she uttered a short laugh. "How simple you perceive it to be. Go and fight the evil indeed!" She glanced briefly at him again. "Have much success with your fighting, you think you will have?"

Aldar shrugged. "I hope that I will. Do you know something about all this?"

Adria stopped her work and raised an eyebrow. "Know something, I do."

There were some moments of silence, but the witch did not elaborate. Feeling a little exasperated, Aldar asked, "Well, what is it that you know?"

"Ah, that now, is the question. Many things do I know, Aldar Caine, and tell it to you, I will. But you must learn for what to ask."

"I seek answers! What caused all this?" Aldar gestured towards the town. "What lies at the cathedral? Who killed all the people?" He shot off rapidly, impatiently. "And who are you?"

Adria seemed unconcerned. One would be forgiven for wondering whether she had even heard the warrior. But she said, "So you are a soul in search of answers, are you? Again, you will have to discover the questions first."

The warrior opened his mouth to speak out his irritation at her vague evasiveness, when she cut him off sharply.

"And pray, make them wise ones, Aldar Caine! You have not all the time in the world that you can waste, by asking for foolish or frivolous things!"

The warrior was somewhat taken aback. Her gaze, which had been sharp and piercing a moment before, grew softer again.

"The knowing of many things, I have. And share it with others, I can. But volunteer anything?that I cannot do." She paused a moment and then said softly, "That is the way of it? the nature of the agreement."

Agreement? The warrior pondered her words briefly. What was this? He started to ask what her meaning was, but stopped.

"Where then, would I learn what to ask, Mistress?" He finally enquired.

The witch smiled. "Much better?yes, much better. Hope for you, there is, after all. Many there were before you, that were lacking in the necessary wit?"

"Your answer, lady?" Aldar interrupted. She did not seem insulted by his rudeness, but replied, "But learn patience you will too, I wager, along with the questions you need to ask."

"Lady, I am a warrior. I am not a mage, or a seer, or even a druid. I am afraid that I have never been good with riddles. Plain talking is what I need."

"Little you know of what you need. But fear not, Aldar Caine. What lies in the cathedral will teach you many things you never dreamt of, before all is done. A place of learning it still is, even though it has fallen. But beware the manner of its teaching, warrior, or suffer the consequences you will."

Aldar considered for a moment. What was she saying? Despite her unclear way of speaking, his interest was bound. For some reason, he was utterly convinced that she held knowledge of great value that he needed, if he was to make any headway. Also, he did not question the reason why she could not just say what she knew.

"I will learn what to ask you then, at the cathedral?" He asked. Adria smiled thinly. "If you think at the cathedral it lies, then at the cathedral you will find it."

"Can you not give me any help before I go?"

"And what aid do you require from me, Aldar Caine? Do you know?"

The warrior could not answer.

Adria nodded slowly. "Go on your way, young warrior, and do what you deem necessary. Once you have considered your situation and feel that my aid you require?then come speak with me, you can." She again picked up the small chalice and resumed her polishing.

The conversation seemed over, but it was wholly unsatisfactory to the warrior. Despite that, he did not attempt to force the issue any further. He looked at his uncle, and saw the old man studying Adria. There was a look of intent, consideration and calculation in his eyes that Aldar had never seen before. The warrior had never thought of his uncle as a man of cunning and action, but this was the impression he now received. It was startling.

Cain became aware of his nephew?s eyes on him, and immediately his attitude of sharp focus on the witch disappeared. He seemed his old self again to Aldar.

They turned to leave the shack, but Adria said, "Have a care, Aldar Caine. Mind your ways."

The warrior nodded. "I will." They walked of into the mist, fading from view.

Adria watched them go, apprehension and concern taking her mind off her chores.