Chapter 1: Elm, Halfling Thief

Elm struggled to wake, to throw off this nightmare. He was drowning, buffeted by raging waters that tumbled him against jagged rocks. He grasped feebly at a branch...

"Easy there. Go easy," a well-remembered voice growled, and a strong hand gripped his wrist.

"Bartan?" His voice was a rasping whisper. Blearily, he tried to focus on the pale oval of a face that loomed over him in the darkness, blinking away the streaming rain.

"Yeah, it's me. Come on, up on your feet. I've carried you as far as I'm gonna."

He tried to stand, almost fell. The world spun, and he was glad of Bartan's strength. An angry wind slashed at him with fangs of sleety rain, and he sucked in the cold air gratefully. The light was fading fast, and he could see little beyond the narrow ledge beneath his feet. From far below, the grumble of churning waters sang counterpoint to the raging wind beyond the narrow ledge.

That churning of waters was echoed in his stomach, and a band of pain clamped his skull. Where was Darrick? He must have mumbled the Half-Elf's name aloud.

"He's here," Bartan assured him. "And Gwinny and Tarr. The Gem got to all of you, but you're coming around."

Yes, he could see them. Darrick's bony frame was folded into an ungainly bundle as he sat huddled against the side of the cliff. Gwinny and Tarr crouched with their arms around each other, the Goblin-wench comforting the equally miserable woman Spell-caster.

"Where's Baysil?" He strained to peer through the storm. "And Anji? What about Burdock and Kletta?"

"Don't know. Haven't seen them." Bartan shook his head wearily. "I had all I could do to get the four of you this far. At least, the others could walk. You took a bad knock on the skull when things fell apart. I didn't know if you'd ever wake up or not."

"I'm all right," he lied, pulling away from the support of Bartan's arm. "We need to find shelter."

"Lots of luck." Bartan shook his head. "We're stuck on this ledge for the night. I'll try to find us a sheltered niche."

Once on their feet, the five of them straggled on. Bartan led the way, moving slowly and carefully along the narrow ledge. Tarr and Gwinny steadied each other, picking their way between boulders. Elm brought up the rear, glancing over his shoulder from time to time in case something was creeping up on them.

Most of his concern was for Darrick, stumbling along behind Gwinny and Tarr. The Half-Elf seemed to be moving through an evil dream. His eyes stared blankly out of a face like dirty parchment, and his normally quick movements were stiff and awkward.

What had happened? Elm's thoughts were moving more easily as the flow of blood in his veins quickened. They'd found the treasure Darrick sought, the fabled 'Gem of Brightness', but their enemies had been waiting for them. They'd emerged from the ancient monastery to find the Dark One's minions arrayed against them. Baysil, the lame Cleric, had confronted the Dark One, threatening him with the power of the Gem.

That was where things had gone all hazy. Missiles had flown, he thought. No matter who'd set them off.

"Watch it!" He sprang forward to steady Darrick. The Half-Elf Cleric stumbled back from the brink, trembling.

"1'11 make..." His words trailed off and he pawed the rain from his face with a hand that had lost its sureness. With an effort he squared his shoulders and struggled on.

The Gem had fallen from Baysil's grasp, spilling from its shielding coffer. That he did remember! The fist-sized crystal had flamed, the fire in its heart writhing hungrily as it sucked all Magic from its surroundings. Beyond that moment all was blurred. The pictures in his mind fell into no kind of order...

Rain and darkness, and the fear of falling! The monastery was gone, sucked into an ebon vortex that drank the very air from his lungs! Or was that a dream of disordered wits? And that glimpse of a Wolf-leader, armor falling away as arms and legs twisted into new shapes and fur sprouted on bare skin. Something neither wolf nor man that ran howling into the night. Real or a dream?

The storm was dying, the wind's tortured wailing fading away. Still the rain pounded at them. They had to find shelter! The last shreds of twilight were long gone, smothered in the storm. He was moving mostly by feel, groping with his left hand for the face of the cliff, tapping the ground in front of him, using the sword in his hand like a blind beggar's staff.

"Here," Gwinny called from the darkness. "This way.

Tumbled boulders shut out some of the wind, but the rain beat down unchecked. He glimpsed the edges of tattered clouds overhead, and was able to see the outline of his fingers held close to his face.

"It's lighter," he croaked, and one of the nearby shadows nodded agreement.

"We'll wait out the night." Bartan's voice was deep and sure, a pillar of strength in a world gone all blurry. "Huddle together, share our warmth."

Yes, the clouds were parting, and surely the sheets of rain were not as fierce. He hissed a warning! Was that the rasp of metal on stone? A darker shape moved against the night.

"Urruk!" Gwinny snarled hatred. Elm could see it now, one of the Great-Orcs that the Dark One had gathered to himself. The Orc stumbled, went to its knees. Panting harshly it crawled to the brink of the canyon. Strangled retching sounds reached them over the noise of the dying storm. The Orc struggled erect and turned toward them. A stone shifted underfoot, and with a choked cry it was gone!

Elm listened, but no sound reached them from the canyon depths. He relaxed, loosing his grip on sword-hilt. "One less to worry about!" His chuckle died in a rasping cough.

"Here, share my cloak."

He accepted Tarr's offer gratefully, no longer fighting to stay alert. The sound of churning waters was louder, as the canyon accepted the sky's bounty. Bartan was just another shadow in the gloom as he kept vigil over them.

The hand that gripped his throat was no dream! His toes barely touched the ground as an Ogrish face peered down at him. He let out a startled squawk as the clawed fingers tightened, and then he was thrown roughly aside.

"Corr-Lannth!" Bartan's sword gleamed faintly blue as he warded a blow from the Orc's mace. Gwinny sprang to her feet, drawing her sword to face a smaller Goblin-warrior. Elm groped for the hilt of his own sword, drawing it barely in time to ward off another Goblin's attack. His world narrowed down to the mace that threatened him. The Goblin's weapon rang against his shield, rang again, then shattered against a boulder even as Elm's sword drank its owner's life.

Then he faced a sword, wielded by a Goblin in leather armor. The lighter blade snaked in past his guard, drawing a line of blood and fire down his arm. He pressed his attack, dimly aware that Gwinny had dispatched her second foe and turned to help Bartan. Again the Goblin-sword drew blood, but the Goblin's snarl of triumph was drowned in blood as Elm's sword ripped through its lungs.

He stumbled, going to one knee as he tried to go to the aid of Gwinny and Bartan. He could only watch as they moved apart to take the Orc from both sides.

"Affradd'n KILL!" The Orc screamed his war-cry in time with swings of his mace. Bartan faded back, as Gwinny harried the Orc from the side. Bartan's sword wove a net of death that drew the Orc's attack. Gwinny's shorter sword flashed, blood making darker splotches in the gloom. The Orc reeled, collapsing as she struck a final lethal blow.