Lindsey and Dackery were standing on a dirt walk outside of a small mud-walled cottage with a tall roof of heavy thatch. To one side of the building there was a small enclosure in which a number of goats were milling about, while elsewhere nearby there were a couple of sheds and a small vegetable garden. The place was in an isolated spot deep in the middle of the woods. A few paths extended out from the homestead in various directions, but beyond that there seemed to be no other connection to the outside world.

Lindsey was dressed in a cloak and woolen tunic, wool leggings and sturdy leather boots. She carried a stout walking stick in one hand, while her vorpal axe was concealed in an oiled bag slung on her back beside her haversack. It was a nondescript sort ensemble calculated to be more or less unobtrusive in any of the places which Lindsey and Dackery were likely to visit along the way to Linster. The clothes were a little loose and baggy on Lindsey’s thin frame, but not as badly as they could have been. Despite her adventures Lindsey had the feeling that she’d gained a little bit of weight over the last week or so, especially under Camilla’s generous hospitality. Dackery had spent the last couple of days making a few final visits to his most trusted associates, and had arranged a line of communication through Camilla in case any of them managed to make contact with the Good Folk. In the meanwhile, Camilla and Lindsey had been busy preparing kit and provisions for the coming journey. In the process, they had decided that Lindsey should be disguised as a boy. After all, the witches were looking for a man and woman from another world who travelled in secret by way of gatemaking. But they were not necessarily on the lookout for an ordinary man and his nephew traveling openly by foot on the highways.

Before leaving Camilla’s house, Dackery had a long talk with their hostess in private. Lindsey had not been privy to the subject of their conversation, but before they departed that morning she had seen Dackery hand a small book to Camilla, which Lindsey recognized as the one which Dackery had taken from Harin’s vault. Perhaps it wasn’t any of her business, but Lindsey felt somewhat uncomfortable about the matter all the same. Up to now Dackery had said nothing about the incident and Lindsey suspected that he wasn’t likely to either, especially now that they were at the doorstep of whoever this person was to whom Dackery was about to entrust their fate.

The area around the cottage was quiet. All that could be heard was the odd tinkle of a goat’s bell and the songs of birds filtering through the treetops. Lindsey found herself feeling terribly uneasy as she stood there outside the cottage. At least she wasn’t alone. Even while disguised as a middle-class commoner Dackery made for an imposing figure. A broad cruciform sword borrowed from Camilla was now strapped prominently at his side, while his pistol remained hidden within his belt pouch where it could be easily reached in an emergency. Lindsey had already seen Dackery use that weapon on more than one occasion, but still it was easy to forget that the man was a capable killer. Despite the fact that in both instances he had killed in order save Lindsey’s own life, she still had a sick sort feeling come over her whenever she thought about Dackery in that way.

Dackery knocked on the the door.

A moment later the door was opened a crack as the person behind it peeped through at the two visitors. The door then opened the rest of the way to reveal a thin, lithe looking man with closely cropped salt and pepper colored hair and a scruffy, unshaven face.

The man looked them both up and down.

“You took your time getting here, Dackery. I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

“My apologies, Kren. I thought I made it clear that it would take me a couple of days to get my affairs in order. Allow me to introduce my companion, Lindsey.”

The man looked keenly at Lindsey, apparently sizing her up, but said nothing as Dackery continued speaking. “This is Kren, the colleague of mine I told you about.”

Lindsey nodded to Kren in acknowledgement while taking the opportunity to size him up in turn. The man was plainly dressed and a bit rough around the edges, but otherwise he had a clean and orderly appearance. Despite being in his own house the man nevertheless bore a large, unpleasant looking dagger on his belt, and peeking just past the collar of his tunic Lindsey could see the fringe of a mail shirt hidden underneath his clothing.

Kren grunted

“Well, your timing caught me a bit unprepared. Let me get a couple of things, and then I’ll take you to The Keep. Come on inside.”

Kren opened the door the rest of the way and led Lindsey and Dackery inside his cottage.

The interior of the place was more comfortable than it would have seemed from the outside. The whole building consisted of a single room, and smelled strongly (but not altogether unpleasantly) of smoke and cookery. The walls were painted white, the furniture was well made, and overall the place was clean and fairly well appointed. On one side of the room there was a fireplace and cooking range, while opposite this there was a sturdy table and a set of benches. A compact bed was drawn up near the warmth of the fireplace, and above this there were a couple of shelves containing a small assortment of books and various personal items, and sitting in one place on the mantelpiece there was the bleached white dome of a humanoid skull, it’s empty sockets casting a macabre gaze across the room. Kren bade his guests sit down at the table, and then took a seat himself.

“Can I get you both something to eat?”

“Thank you, but no. I think it would be better if we departed as soon as possible.”

“Of course, of course. But we’ve got plenty of time. The meeting doesn’t start until noon and The Keep is only a couple hours walk from here. You sure I can’t get you something?”

“Yes.”

““Very well. However, before we leave is there anything else I should know about this mission of yours? The others are going to be asking a lot of hard questions before they’ll let me introduce you to them. Fortunately I can vouch for you personally, but it would help if I could give them more details in advance.”

“As I’ve already said, Lindsey and I are engaged in an undertaking which will cause no small amount of harm to our mutual enemies. But in order to succeed we must travel to the kingdom of Linster, and we need a guide to get us there on foot in order to get past the defenses of the witches. There is nothing more I can tell you at this time. I’m sure that you of all people understand the high degree of discretion such matters require. I would never wish to further burden your circumstances with such dangerous knowledge.”

“Oh, I can manage alright. I have for years now.”

“Nonetheless, it would be better if I said no more at this time.”

“Ah well, as you wish. It’s your affair, after all. I’ll still do my best to help, of course.”

Kren hesitated a moment longer, but Dackery remained silent.

“Well then, let me get a couple things together.”

Kren arose and retrieved a small satchel from elsewhere in the house, into which he placed a couple pieces of bread and cheese. He then collected his cloak and hat, along with a staff which was leaning beside the door.

“Well then I suppose that’s it. If you’re ready leave….”

“Yes, we are quite ready.”

“Right, yes. Well then, follow me.”

Kren led the way outside and then closed and locked the door behind him.

Kren led the way outside, closing and locking the door behind him as Lindsey and Dackery followed him out. He then headed down one of the trails which led away from the house. The path was very narrow, and would have been difficult to find if one didn’t already know it was there. They continued in this way for nearly three quarters of an hour, taking a number of odd twists and turns along the way, until at length the trail ended at the verges of a wide, well trodden road.

Kren paused briefly and glanced reflexively in both directions before stepping onto the road, like someone who is habitually furtive. They continued along the road for at least another hour, walking in silence the whole time. As talkative as he was inside his own home, out in the open Kren hardly spoke at all, instead paying keen attention to his surroundings. Lindsey was dying to take Dackery aside and pry him for information about this obscure individual they had thrown in with, but no such opportunity presented itself.

Eventually they came to a turn. Here a smaller path split off from the main road. The place was complete unmarked save for a slender wooden cross which was carved with a blessing and invocation addressed to some hallowed name or other. Kren quickened his place as he turned onto the path, almost like one who is anxious to reach a place of shelter. It seemed that the man hated being out in the open.

The side road was well kept and was obviously maintained on a regular basis. The surrounding underbrush was cut back and it was clear of weeds and obstacles. Soon enough the trees gave way to reveal a few small fields to either side which were ploughed and planted with cabbages and hops. The ground was moving steadily uphill as they went, and after another quarter hour or so of walking they came upon a farmstead nestled at the foot of a craggy hillside.

The central feature of the farmstead was a single timber framed structure coated in white stucco and surmounted with a great vaulted roof of thatch. This voluminous structure seemed to combine the functions of both the main living quarters and a barn, and dominated the small buildings around it. It’s only competition came in the form of a tiny chapel which stood apart from the other buildings. The road wound past the chapel and continued onward until it disappeared into the trees which blanketed the hillside. At the door of the chapel there stood a tonsured man in a brown robe and white scapular, who waved genially to Kren as he approached. Kren waved back and addressed his companions as he did so.

“Well, here we are. Welcome to The Keep.”

Lindsey glanced about the farmstead.

“It looks like a farm.”

“It is.”

“But who builds a farm in the middle of the woods?”

“Monks do. So far as anyone else is concerned this place is a cloistered monastery. But for us it’s as good as a keep.”

Dackery cast a scowl about him.

“Can the monks be trusted?”

“As much as anyone can be. They’re supporters of the cause and they allow us to use their property for our purposes, but otherwise they’re a gaggle of hermits. They do nothing but pray, farm, and dig holes. The hills behind the hermitage contain a lot of quartz, which the monks here have been mining away bit by bit for probably a hundred years or more. The sale of the crystals provides a small trickle of income, and gives my associates a handy excuse to be always coming and going.”

“Is the output of the mine enough to justify all the traffic?”

“No, but we keep it pretty discreet and for their part the monks keep their mouths shut and hardly interact with the outside world at all, so nobody knows for sure how much they really put out.”

They’d reached the chapel by now and the monk sauntered forward with his hands cradled in his sleeves.

“Afternoon, Kren.”

“Afternoon, Brother Dominic. Has everyone else arrived?”

“Oh, I’m sure I know nothing about that, Kren. I never do. But if you want to talk to one of the merchants I suspect you’ll find them all inside the mine. Pax vobiscum.”

The monk grinned and winked and Kren led on with a nod. The road wound steadily up the hillside as the trees closed in around them. For the first time since they left his cottage Kren seemed somewhat relaxed, and began to chat again.

“Things have been busy of late. Something’s been brewing for months, the witches have been shoring up their forces everywhere, and then about ten days ago all hell broke loose. It seems as though something must have happened recently to alarm them, as all of a sudden they’ve gotten very aggressive and are coming down hard on everybody. We scheduled this meeting weeks ago, which is just as well, since a lot of us are probably going to have to go underground for the time being. I’m not sure you’ll find the kind of help you’re looking for.”

Lindsey and Dackery digested this bit of information as the road ahead of them began to narrow. Abruptly they came to a place where the road took a steep incline and turned straight into the hillside itself. Here a portion of the hill face was cut away and filled in with a rough stone wall with a square opening lined with heavy timbers, and the road led straight through the entrance and into the hill. Inside the gloom, Lindsey could just make out the shape of a man lurking inside the passage with a stout longbow in his hand, who tensed and nocked an arrow as the trio approached. Kren must have seen the man as well, for suddenly he made a rapid hand sign and gestured quickly to Lindsey and Dackery. The man in the door relaxed again. Kren silently motioned for Lindsey and Dackery to remain where they were, and then proceeded alone into the mine. He stopped at the door and conversed with the man there for a moment, and then disappeared inside.

For the moment, Lindsey and Dackery were more or less alone.

Lindsey leaned over and whispered to Dackery.

“So, just who is this guy anyway? How do you know Kren?”

“Kren is an interesting individual, rather unique among my associates. He’s a witch, you see.”

“A what!”

“Well, shall we say a former witch. He ran afoul of his masters years ago, and as such found it rather imperative to remove himself from their influence with all expediency. He defected to the other side, and is now more or less completely reliant on them for protection and support. In exchange he gives them all the inside information and dirty secrets he can. Besides keeping his skin intact it also gives him an opportunity to take some revenge on his former associates.”

“Charming. And you trust this guy?”

“No. Which is why I didn’t tell him any more than I absolutely had to. I checked up with him a few days ago in the hopes that his current allies might be able to help us, and when he told me their leaders would be meeting today I felt it was an opportunity we couldn’t afford to miss, even if it was a risk.”

“I sure hope you were right.”

“As do I.”

Lindsey and Dackery remained standing there at the base of the mine entrance for quite a while, all the time under the wary gaze of the guard hiding in the shadows. It seemed like ages had gone by before Kren finally reemerged and beckoned for them to come in. Lindsey and Dackery at last trudged their way up the last portion of the slope and passed inside the mine.

The walls were supported by heavy timbers and were lined with wooden boards. Directly inside the guard stepped aside, eyeing them suspiciously as they continued on through the tunnel. Further down there were lanterns hung at various points in the ceiling, and here and there other passages went off in various directions. Deeper still within the hillside were the portions of the mine which were currently active, but here nearer the entrance most of the space had long been converted into cellars and storerooms: some filled with tools, others with grain, and some with crates and barrels piled high with quartz.

And then there were some rooms which were filled with outlaws.

They had gone a considerable distance into the mine when Kren took a sharp turn down one of the side passages, which led into a long vaulted chamber. It was a sort of common room, practically a miniature tavern in fact. A large wooden chandelier bedecked with candles hung from the ceiling while many shelves stocked with goods and supplies lined its walls. Various chairs and tables were scattered about here and there, and taking up the middle of the room was one particularly long table set with generous portions of food and drink. And seated at the table were about fifteen or twenty men.

And all of them were looking at Lindsey and Dackery.

It was a grim, surly looking assembly to be sure. Lindsey felt like she’d never seen such a motley collection of tough customers. Most of them wore what looked like traveling clothes of some sort, and there was enough variation among them to suggest that they had come from a wide dispersal of places. All of them carried weapons of some kind on their persons while still more arms and equipment were piled up throughout the room. Many of them also wore padded jackets or else had bits of chainmail slipping out here and there from under their clothing, and one or two of them had prominent scars on their faces. One of these, a particularly grizzly looking character with a great patch over one eye, stuck out a thumb in the direction of the newcomers and addressed Kren.

“Well Kren”, barked the man with the eyepatch, “explain what this is all about. Who are these two, and what do you think you’re doing bringing them in here?”

Another man, a swarthy looking fellow in a turban, piped up as well.

“Whatever it is it had better be important. This is no time to be bringing in strangers. I hope for their sake that your friends can make a good account of themselves.” The man followed his remark with a forbidding glare directed at the newcomers.

Kren fidgeted a bit.

“As I explained, I can personally vouch for…”

At the head of the table another man now stood up. He was a bearded, grey haired man wearing a dark colored cloak with a scarlet cross sewn prominently on it. A great war sword was buckled at his side, and his words carried an aura of command when he spoke.

“We’ve heard your explanation, Kren. Now let us hear theirs.”

Dackery cleared his throat.

“I will gladly provide a full account of myself and my companion and answer all your questions….in private.”

Here Dackery cast a significant glance at Kren. The grey haired man followed Dackery’s gaze, and nodded.

“Of course. Kren, please step outside and wait in the outer passages.”

“But…”

“There will be no buts, Kren. Please step outside.”

Kren reluctantly obeyed, and one of the men at the table stood up and saw him out.

Once the door was closed the grey haired man turned and raised an eyebrow at Dackery.

“What have you to say to us, then?”

Dackery cleared his throat, and began to relate the tale of their mission to Linster.

The outlaws listened attentively to the story from beginning to end, murmuring incredulously among themselves from time to time. When it was all finished a stunned silence hung over the whole assembly.

The man with the eyepatch broke it first.

“What a lot of rubbish! Kren is an idiot. These two are either agents of the witches or loonies.”

The man in the turban stroked his chin thoughtfully.

“Not necessarily. Much of it fits with what we’ve been experiencing over the last month. Something has suddenly made the witches very, very nervous, and if the Good Folk are finally stepping in and threatening to cut off their supply of slaves….”

“Bollocks! The Good Folk don’t give a damn about people like us. Besides, why would they bother with Linster? It’s just one kingdom, and damned far away at that.”

“But Linster isn’t the only place which suffers under Gurth. We’re all very familiar with him, he has gathered slaves from all across the border countries and beyond. If he loses his grip on Linster, maybe others will follow.”

“Fat chance!”

A heated discussion then broke out at the table. Back and forth the outlaws argued and debated amongst themselves. Finally after well over an hour had gone by the grey haired man at last arose and addressed Dackery and Lindsey.

“Your story is very convincing. It corresponds well with what we already know. I believe your mission to Linster may have great potential. However, I’m afraid we cannot help you.”

For once Dackery seemed at a loss.

“I don’t understand. You’ve heard our story and you say you believe it. Why can’t you help us now?”

“The situation is more serious than you realize. The witches have been expanding steadily for a long time now. Every year their power increases. They’re are enlarging their slave networks and shoring up their supply lines at every level. They are levying more and more taxes from their tributaries and are raising more and more troops, including the Zard. A few years ago everyone thought the Zard were extinct, and now they are everywhere. It won’t be long before the witches will be strong enough that they’ll be in a position to embark on new wave of conquest, the likes of which haven’t been seen in a millennia. This situation in Linster comes at a critical time for them, and any significant upset in their supply of slaves will be a huge setback. They’ll stop at nothing to prevent that from happening, and at this time we cannot resist them. The witches are hounding us everywhere, our forces are on the run, and at present we are all but immobilized. As much as we would like to help you, we can’t. Our own survival is at risk. I am sorry, but there is nothing we can do to help you.”

Lindsey looked despairingly at Dackery. His jaw was set, and there was a grim look in his eye.

Then, from a neglected corner of the room, there was a polite cough.

A tall, sharp featured man with a dark beard and straggly dark hair dangling from the back of his otherwise bald head had stood up from where he had been sitting and was now casually shaking out a white clay pipe. He had remained silent throughout most of the previous proceedings, smoking languidly in the shadows while the rest of the assembly had been engaged in heated dispute.

The grey haired man cocked another eyebrow at the interloper.

“Did you have something to say, Falknir?”

“In point of fact yes. Unlike most of you, I am not tied down to any particular locality. The rest of you all have your own personal nests to protect at present, but I do not. I will be quite useless if I am simply obliged to remain cooped up here until everything blows over. However, since my usual work takes me more or less everywhere, I’ll wager I know the routes from here to Linster better than anyone else in this room. I think I am ideally suited to assist these people.”

“I don’t want to risk it.”

“Ah, but you see I do want to risk it. I think I can speak for all of us when I say that the reticence of the Good Folk as regards the witches has been a source of discouragement for many a long year. The thought that they may have finally gotten involved is frankly the best news I think I’ve ever heard. Unlike most of you I’ve actually met some of the Good Folk. They like to stay out of human affairs as much as possible. The fact that they’ve gone and meddled with Linster is significant. Very significant indeed. Ibrahim here had an excellent point earlier. Gurth is probably the most important slave dealer the witches have. I guarantee you that breaking Gurth’s hold on Linster will have a profound impact far beyond the borders of that land. I doubt the Good Folk would have done anything about it otherwise. As it is, the Good Folk have made an extraordinary move by taking an active interest in the matter, and we would be mad not to instantly embrace their aid. Moreover, the fact that they have become involved at all suggests to me that the situation is even serious than we ourselves realize. In point of fact, I’d say it must be positively dire. Again, we would be utterly mad if we did not embrace the Good Folk now, while we still can. We simply must help these people reach Linster.”

“I won’t allow it, Falknir.”

“You won’t have to, I’ll do it anyway.”

“Damn you, Falknir!”

“We’re all damned, Casimir. Unless we act now to prevent it.”

The table erupted with a chorus of loud protestations from the other outlaws, and the argument started all over again. For two more hours the outlaws argued back and forth. Dinner came and went, and the outlaws went on arguing. But in the end, they finally reached an agreement.

They would all depart to their respective strongholds and shore up their defenses in order to weather the coming storm and discommode the witches as much as possible. In the meanwhile, the man called Falknir was to guide Lindsey and Dackery all the way to Linster and assist them in the completion of their quest.

Throughout all this time the passages of the mine were quiet, save for the muffled voices of the outlaw’s council. All was stillness, save for the occasional rat which skirted about cadging for whatever scraps it could find.

And in a secluded corner, in a place where the sounds of the mine echoed and reverberated with a peculiar kind of clarity, a man called Kren had been sitting quietly all the while, listening. Just listening.