It did not take much for Martimeos, Kells and Elyse to silently agree to follow the Crosscraw woman. With the light of day dying, the shadows lengthening all around them, they left behind the shrieking bogge-man, still rolling in the snow, trying to douse the flames that consumed it. Its screams echoed after them, warmbling, grinding cries that carried on the wind and echoed off the peaks, as the three ran after the Crosscraw, disappearing between the pines.

It was hard going following her, though. She ran faster through the snow drifts than Martimeos would have thought possible. And his arm still throbbed, pain lancing through it with every step. He worryingly wondered whether it was broken, or fractured, sharp gasps escaping him as he ran. He gritted his teeth and tried to keep the pain out of his mind, tried to concentrate on forcing his aching, stiff legs to move. At least, he thought, it seemed as if the other bogge-men were not pursuing them any longer; or at least, not pursuing them so closely. No longer did they appear, suddenly, in the shadows of the forest, watching. Perhaps use of the Art had scared them, for now. But still, he could hear the guttural mutterings of their dark tongue, in the distance.

They very nearly lost track of the woman, as they ran after her - if it were not for her fiery red hair, easy to spot, and the trail she left in the snow, they likely would have. She darted and dipped between the trees, never bothering to look back to make sure they still followed. Up a steep incline she led them, steep enough that Martimeos feared that if he fell, he would slide and roll back down the slope, unable to stop himself. He could feel the pack on his back threatening to tilt him backwards; somewhere to his right, he could hear Kells curse, and knew the soldier was struggling with his pack as well.

Elyse, of course, had an easier time scrambling up the slope; she wore no pack, and was shorter, besides. But though the witch had the energy to dart ahead, she circled back to join them, glancing always from the direction in which they had come, dark eyes wide and frightened as she stared back at the forest. "Hurry," she whispered to Martimeos, as the wizard caught up with her. "I cannot see the bogge-men, but I can hear them, and the shadows move strangely."

Eventually, the destination the Crosscraw woman led them to became clear. The steep incline ended at a sheer cliff of gray, jagged stone, rising far, far above their heads, obscuring the dark sky. And taking up much of the cliff face was what looked like the front of a large building, looking as if it had been carved from the cliff itself. Two gigantic statues - each easily two stories tall - flanked a dark entryway into the cliffside. Or at least they would have been both two stories tall, had one not toppled and shattered, and was now nothing more than humongous, oddly-shaped boulders lying in the snow. The other statue that still stood had been worn down by time, most of its detail erased, though it looked as if it had once depicted a broad-shouldered man holding a sword, point-down into the ground before him. The cliff face, too, looked as if it had once born reliefs carved into the stone in fine detail, though it was so weatherworn now that it was nearly impossible to tell what they had once been. Ruins, Martimeos thought, or at least they were very old.

As they approached this, the Crosscraw woman stepped nimbly around the toppled statue, and without pause, plunged into the darkness of the entryway into the cliffside, disappearing. "Wait," Kells gasped, trying to force out his words around ragged breaths. Sweat dripped from the tip of his nose as he looked at Martimeos and Elyse, gray eyes narrowed as he leaned against his spear. "Wait. She's leading us to a dead end, here. Why would we be safe within there?" He waved his arm wide at the ruins.

Elyse, not nearly so out of breath, adjusted her hat upon her head, knocked askew by the running. Her long hair hung heavy and damp from the snow falling upon it, stiff here and there with ice. By her feet, Cecil paced back and forth impatiently, tail twitching in the air, hackles raised as he stared with wide, yellow eyes at the forest behind them. She looked at the ruins for a moment, biting her lip. "I...don't know," she said finally. "I can sense the Art upon the place, but I don't know in what manner. But I do not think we have a choice but to trust her. We have to stop eventually; Martim cannot go much further."

"Me?" Martim snapped, and even through the fear, the exhaustion, and the pain, he managed to feel a bit of outrage. His lungs burned, and the throbbing, sharp pain in his arm made his breath shallow, but irritation still flared up within him. "I'm fine. I could run ten more miles like this, if necessary." Or at least, that was what he tried to say. Pained breaths whistling down his throat made half of what he said nearly unintelligible.

He watched, annoyed, as Kells gave him a sympathetic, concerned look, and Elyse merely patted his good arm and said "Of course you could," with a snort and barely-concealed mockery. "But this woman did strike at the bogge-men, and I think it might be assumed she knows how to survive around them. If she says we are safe within yon ruins, I think we might believe her."

"Assuming," Kells muttered darkly, "That she doesn't mean to rob us, or kill us herself."

A guttural grunt, in the twisted tongue of the bogge-men, echoing out from the shadowed woods behind them, made their decision for them. They hurried towards the ruins, Martimeos pursing his lips and whistling, as loud as he could through his panted breath, for Flit to come and follow. Between the smoothed boulders of the toppled statue they rushed, and down into the yawning darkness of the entryway into the ruins.

Carved stone steps, leading down into the earth, greeted them as soon as they stepped in, slick with ice, and Martimeos soon wished he still had his torch as they descended. The passageway was wide enough for them to stand two abreast; they held out their hands, trailing them against the smooth stone walls for guidance as they walked forward blindly, cautiously, careful not to slip.

But they had not gone far when a flickering orange light bloomed before them, and the stairs ended, opening up into a large, grand, circular chamber, larger by itself than most houses Martimeos had ever seen. A domed ceiling of smooth stone stretched up far above their heads, and in the center of the room lay a large stone basin - wider around than he was tall - in which a bright flame danced, piled all around with white ashes that spilled from the basin and over onto the floor. The smoke from the flame rose high, drawn up to the center of the domed ceiling, where a hole was carved into the rock; Martim wondered whether that hole stretched up all the way to the top of the cliffside.

Though the was bright enough to illuminate the entire room, the Crosscraw woman was nowhere to be seen. Doorways ringed the chamber, giving a clue where she might have gone, but they could see nothing but darkness through these. And shadows danced across the walls, illuminating carved stone reliefs that had fared much better than those outside, full of strange and fantastic figures.

Martimeos felt his curiousity pulling him towards those reliefs, but he could take it no more. He staggered towards the flame, grateful for the warmth, and let his pack drop to the dusty stone floor. He collapsed against it himself, wincing in pain as he did so. His wounded arm felt swollen and stiff; he could barely stand to bend it.

Elyse, however, was not about to let him relax. Tossing her hat aside, she stood by the fire, letting the flame melt the crusted ice and snow from her hair, and ordered him to take off his leather tunic and roll up his sleeve so she might examine his arm. Cecil curled up next to Martim as he struggled with this, the big cat rumbling with heavy, deep purrs, and Flit hopped around the stone floor, pecking at it here and there, the tiny taps of his feet echoing throughout the room.

Kells, on the other hand, though he shrugged his pack from his back, did not let up his guard. He remained standing, clutching his spear, gray eyes alert, darting around the shadowed doorways into the room, firelight gleaming off his armor. "Where did she go...?" he muttered.

"Ach, Ah'm right here, ye big braw loon," a voice echoed throughout the chamber. From one of the doorways, the Crosscraw woman appeared, her arms full of firewood, bow slung across her back. Fierce green eyes looked Kells up and down as she crossed the room, messy red hear burning in the firelight, and then she snorted as she dropped the wood on the floor by the fire with a reverberaitng clatter. "Ye can relax, ye ken. Ah dinnae bite. An' yon bogge-men willnae git ye in here."

Kells, though he placed the shaft of his spear against the stone floor with a tap, did not let go of it, or make any sign of relaxing. "And what makes you say that?" the soldier asked. "Walls and doors have not stopped a bogge-man before."

The Crosscraw woman had sat cross-legged before the fire, setting her bow beside her, discarding some of the layers of furs and hides that she was wrapped in, letting them dry by the blaze. She was tall for a woman, significantly taller than Elyse, though still a head shorter than either Kells or Martimeos. Her age was difficult to tell; she might have been as young as them, or old enough to have two or three children of her own by now. Pretty, but in a wild way, her face having something almost animalistic in it, like a grinning fox that might snap your fingers if you were not careful. Her nose and cheeks were red from the cold, and her red hair was long enough that it pooled around the ground as she sat, shaking it to remove the ice and snow. "Ye strangers know of the bogge-men?" she asked, frowning up at Kells. "Well, eff ye dinnae ken, this place has bin made safe aginst them. Yon wizard an' witch should be able tae tell." She nodded towards Elyse and Martimeos.

Martimeos had his sleeve rolled up, exposing his arm, as Elyse knelt beside him and examined it. His forearm was a great mass of purple and black bruises, swollen and tender, where the bogge-man had grabbed him and squeezed. Elyse was giving him an odd look, as she ran her hands up and down his arm, her gentle touch leaving a lingering, soothing heat in the mottled flesh. Her dark eyes glittered in the firelight, and she frowned as she stared at him. If he didn't know any better, he'd say the witch was biting her tongue. "Well," he said, ignoring Elyse for now, "I can sense the Art here, in the stone. But I do not know what it is doing. What is this place?"

"Ach, et's true name es lost tae time," the Crosscraw replied, "But we call et th' Stelle Cairn, though 'tis hardly like the Cairns we make now. Auld Grizel - our witch, an' seer - says that et's something our ancestors made, an' mebbe that's true, but ef so we hae long lost th' makin' of et. 'Tis she that made th' place safe aginst the bogge-men, though. Says she called upon th' spirits of our ancestors tae guard et, though I hae nae seen them. The bogge-men, though, are afeart to approach et, true enough."

Martimeos gave a start upon hearing the woman describe the work of the Art in this place, and exchanged a worried look with Elyse. The witch had gone pale as she worked upon his arm, her mouth a thin line. What the Crosscraw woman described sounded like necromancy. They had known Grizel was a witch; they had not known that she would speak to the dead. Kells, however, finally seemed comforted upon hearing her explanation for why this place was safe. Upon hearing her words, he eventually gave in and relaxed, putting down his spear, and going about unbucking his helm and armor. "I suppose," he said, as he slid daggers from his boots - Martimeos wondered just how many weapons the soldier had tucked away in total - "that we owe you our lives. D'you mind giving your name?"

"Ye can call me Aela," said the Crosscraw woman, and then she flashed a fierce grin. "An' dinnae mind th' favor; 'twas worth it tae see a wizard turn a bogge-man intae a crisp." She clapped her hands together, chuckling. "Ah bet he dinnae expect tha'! Fwoosh!"

Elyse sighed as she leaned back from Martim. She had done all she could for the wizard's arm, for now; some of the bruises had receded from his flesh, and some of the stiffness should be gone. Luckily, the bone had not needed mending. Of course, once she was done, Martimeos began immediately swinging his arm about, testing it. She grabbed it, pushing his arm back into his lap. "Keep it still," she snapped at him. Then she raised her eyes to Aela. "Well," she said, "Those flames were glamour, and will unfortunately not have killed it. But hopefully it felt enough pain to make it think twice about testing us."

"Ah," Aela said, her face falling. Then she immediately brightened up. "Sure enough sounded real, though. Ah bet he was in a world o' pain." She stretched, yawning, straining her arms above her head, joints popping. "Now, ef ye dinnae mind me askin' - what are ye strangers doin' amongst the crags? We havnae had any who dared tae come here in a long time; let alone a wizard an' a witch."

All settled around the fire now, Martimeos, Elyse and Kells exchanged a quick glance. It would not do, Maddie had told them, for the Crosscraw to suspect that they still might be marked or touched in some way by the bogge-men; many would try to kill them for that before they could even meet Grizel.

They let Martimeos do the talking; the wizard's tongue being the most deft at telling tales while keeping secrets. He told Aela their names, and described the troubles they had encountered with the bogge-man in Twin Lamps, all while leaving out any indication that the bogge-man had at an point marked them. Maddie, and her two companions, Inna and Petra, he lied, had been discovered in the town, and the fact that the bogge-man was defeated, all without speaking of how Inna and Petra had tried to kill them, thinking they were marked. They were on the mountain now, he said, looking for his brother, who had come through here some years before; Maddie had told him that Grizel might know something about that, though she had warned him of the bogge-men here, as well.

Aela listened attentively to the story, frowning, as she warmed herself by the fire, shadows playing across her face. "Well," she said, once Martimeos had finished, "Some group o' us disappeared months back, et is good tae hear what became o' them. Ah am glad tae hear Inna and Petra live, though Ah cannae help but think of Maddie as a coward. She was Grizel's apprentice, ye ken; an' a witch would hae bin a great help...'twas her duty, tae her people, that she abandoned..." Aela sighed, poking at the fire in the stone basin with a long stick, sending sparks flying into the air as red-hot logs collapsed against each other. "Ah dinnae think Ah can blame her, in th' end. As fir yer brother, Ah hae nae heard o' anything like that mahself, though 'tis true Grizel may know. Though Maddie should hae warned ye better, fir ye hae walked intae yer deaths, Ah am afraid. Th' bogge-men willnae let ye leave, now they hae seen ye upon th' mountains."

Suddenly, a loud growl cut her off, a low grumble echoing off the chamber walls. Martimeos, Kells and Elyse looked around warily, but Aela merely slapped her stomach. "Ah'm famished," she declared. "Ah dinnae s'pose ye hae any vittles on ye?"

Kells opened his pack, and passed out rations of bread, pickles and cheese for them to make their supper with. Aela's eyes lit up as soon as she saw the food, and she devoured them hungrily, and so quickly, that she was done eating within moments. And then she looked so sad and forlorn, watching the rest of them eat, that Kells bashfully asked her if she wanted seconds. "Ach, nae, nae," Aela insisted, but the moment Kells placed another crust of bread in her hands, it vanished, with Aela licking her fingers and savoring the crumbs.

"So," Elyse asked as they ate, drawing Cecil into her lap so she could scratch her familiar's belly, "We have told you what we were doing here, but what is it you were doing outside, and all alone?" She suppressed a yawn. The flame was heating the chamber quite nicely, and had dried out the damp from her clothes. After a long time in the chill, she could appreciate the warmth, though she thought it might get too warm for her soon.

"Ach, well, while 'tis true we stay now in th' places Grizel has worked her Art on, we still hae tae provide fir ourselves, aye?" Aela replied. She had taken more of her furs off, revealing well-muscled arms, and a thin but brawny build. It made sense, Elyse supposed; the woman must be running about the mountain every day. "We send th' women out tae hunt-"

"Wait," Kells interrupted, frowning. He was lounging on the ground, using his pack as a pillow, his boots placed near the fire, but now he sat up, cocking his head at Aela. "The women? The women, specifically?"

Aela looked almost amused as she answered. "Aye, thas' right. Jest the women."

Martimeos and Kells glanced at each other, while Elyse watched the both of them curiously. "It...doesn't seem right," Martimeos said, a frown on his face as well. He ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair, glancing from the fire to Aela. "To put the women in danger, I mean. Without the men facing it themselves, too."

Aela laughed heartily, slapping her knees. "Ye are jest like our men," she snorted, wiping a tear from one bright green eye. "They didnae like et either. But 'tis necessary, ye ken? Less than half our menfolk came back from the wars o' the Witch-Queen. An then right after that, they tried tae fight the bogge-men, nae understandin' yet the foul daemons were nae a normal foe. Many more were kilt doin' that. An' what's more, 'tis only ever men that the bogge-men try tae make intae one of their own, never women. We hae mebbe one man left fir evr'y ten women. We lose many more, an' we'll hae none left fir th' makin of babes. Already women hae tae make do with sharin' men as husbands. D'ye ken? 'Twas th' women who insisted th' men stay safe, while they went out tae hunt. Still, none o' them are happy about et. We always find them tryin' tae sneak out and fight the bogge-men." Aela winked conspiratorially at Elyse. "Ye ken how men can be sometimes."

To Martim's annoyance, Elyse nodded sagely, as if the witch knew all there was to to know about men, instead of only even having spoken to one relatively recently. "Oh, I understand," she said, staring very pointedly at Martimeos, dark eyes glittering, a small smile playing across her lips. "They can be fools."

"Sweet fools, thas' et," Aela cried, slapping the floor for emphasis. "But fun tae kiss, and leap intae a bed with."

Kells stared across the fire at Martimeos, catching the wizard's eye, "Better a fool," the soldier said, voice deadpan, gray eyes flat and unreadable, "Than half-mad, as women can be." Without looking, he deftly caught the log that Aela chucked at him in retaliation, and tossed it into the fire, sending orange sparks flying into the air. "Still," he said casually, as if nothing had happened, "It seems odd to travel alone, in such dangerous lands, while on the hunt."

Aela, who had raised another log in her hand to throw, thought better of it and let it drop to the floor with a shrug. "Less strange than ye might think. Travelin' in a group es little protection; if the bogge-men find ye, they'll take ye. We split up so that if one of us is found, th'others still hae a chance. Ah went out wit two others, an' Ah had jest bagged a moose mahself, an' was lookin' fir th'others tae help me drag et back. One was s'posed tae be somewhere aroun' where Ah found ye. Ah hope she escaped th' bogge-men's notice."

Martimeos, Kells and Elyse were all uncomfortably quiet, the only sound that of the fire crackling and popping.

"We...did find another Crosscraw," Martim said softly. "Nailed to a tree."

Aela's face fell, her green eyes widening, and she went deathly pale. Her hands trembled a bit as she clutched at her furs, as if looking for something to grip. "Ah...Ah see..." she mumbled, then blinked, as tears fell from her eyes. "Damn it. Damn, damn, damn them. Ach..." she wiped her cheeks, grimacing. "Her name was Sorcha. Ah...dinnae know her so well, but...she had a wee bairn...Ach, damn. Ah hope Marsail, at least, still lives."

Aela fell silent, staring into the fire, her former lighthearted mood vanished. She poked sullenly at the flames with a long stick, her knees drawn up to her chest, green eyes glimmering with dancing flames.

"So," Martimeos said, after a long moment of silence, "What do we do now? Are we trapped here?"

"Ah dinnae think we can go out th' way we came in," Aela murmured, not looking up from the flames. "The bogge-men will wait fir us, there." She gestured around, to the dark doorways lining the walls, leading out of the chamber. "But there are many ways tae git out, many o' them well-hidden. Ah can take ye tae Grizel, if ye seek her - if ye help me tae drag back mah kill. Ah could use th' strong arms. But taenight, Ah think, best tae jest stay here and sleep. 'Twill nae be an easy task, tae drag back a moose home. Let th' bogge-men freeze outside waitin fir us, ef indeed they feel th' cold at all."

Aela showed them about the ruins. Whatever they had been before, now, they had been turned into a sort of waystation, a safe harbor for Crosscraw hunters while they were out in the field. Some of the doors leading out of the central chamber led to rooms full of firewood; others led to rooms with piles of furs and hides to be used as bedding. It seemed almost strange to see these solemn chambers, with their strange carvings and smooth stone floors, obviously meant for something greater, piled high with such mundane objects. Other doorways, Aela pointed out, led to dark, twisting hallways, some of which would eventually lead out to other exits upon the mountainside.

They dragged some furs and hides out to the central chamber, to make their beddings by the fire, though Elyse kept hers further away from the flame than anyone else - it was getting warm enough here to begin to make her sweat. Despite Aela's insistence that it was not necessary, Martimeos and Elyse took charcoaled sticks from the fire to draw sigils in front of every doorway, ones that would shout in alarm if something approached them.

Kells, in the meantime, despite Martim's insistence that it was not necessary, took some of the load from Martim's pack and added it to his own. "You have a bad arm," the soldier laughed, at Martim's growling protests. "And besides, your witch told me to, and I am not about to leave a witch mad at me. Don't worry, I am used to marching under a heavy load, and you will have plenty of opportunity to strain yourself tomorrow."

Despite the unsettling knowledge that the bogge-men waited for them just outside the entrance to the ruins, it felt surprisingly safe, within the ruins. Or perhaps, Martimeos thought, it was just the exhaustion settling into them, their bodies forcing their minds to lower guard in order to drift off to sleep. But still, exhausted as he was, Martim did not let his eyes shut, as much as he wanted to. He waited, lying in his piles of thick furs, battling to remain awake, until he heard the snores and steady breathing he had waited for. And then cautiously, quietly, he rose.

He picked his way delicately to the center of the room, to the stone basin and the flame that burned there, stepping softly around a curled and quietly purring Cecil, Flit nested and sleeping in the fur of the cat's back. He considered the flickering flames there, still going strong, and then plucked a stick that he thought would serve as a suitable torch from the fire.

He held it up high over the sleeping bodies around him. Kells was dead asleep, for certain, lying on his back, the soldier's chest rising and falling steadily in his black coat, one arm draped over his face. Aela, too, slept soundly, curled among her furs, her long red hair so thick that it almost served her as a blanket.

But when he checked on Elyse, he nearly jumped back in alarm, for the moment he rose his torch to drive the shadows away from her form, her glittering eyes greeted him, and the witch waved at him. "I thought you might want to sneak about this place," she whispered furtively, sitting up, as Martimeos pressed his lips together firmly to prevent himself from cursing. She rose to her feet, shaking her dark hair, running hands through it to untangle knots. "You are as curious as I am about this place, yes?"

"Apparently," he muttered quietly, as she joined him by his side. As they walked away from the fire together, he whispered, "Thank you, by the way. For the healing of my arm."

"You do not have to thank me each time I heal you. If you really feel indebted, I will have to think of a proper reward for you to give me." Elyse closed her eyes as they approached one of the walls. "I can feel the Art at work here," she muttered, "But...in no way I know of. Even when I saw my mother speak with the dead, it didn't feel like...this."

But, truth be told, it was not just the Art that interested Martimeos. He could sense it as well, deep within the stone, whatever Grizel had done here - but whatever it was, it was strange to him, and he did not know if there was much more he could do to clarify what it was. Instead as Elyse joined him by his side, he went to the walls, to examine the relief carvings there, holding the torch high to examine them.

They were carved in a strange, angular style, always as if every figure in the carving was viewed directly from the side, and as often as not, they seemed to depict battles. Martimeos did not know much of history, beyond the more recent history of the Witch-Queen that he had lived through the tail end of. It was not that it did not interest him, especially as a child, it was simply that too much of history contradicted itself, and the further back you went, the more strange and convoluted the stories became.

He had read stories of kingdoms that other books, documenting the same period, swear never existed; he had read the exact same history of another kingdom given under two different names; he had even read one book that claimed that Pike's Green itself was still, technically, a part of a kingdom, currently ruled by a king named Heinhalm, out of a city to the east called Caldeau. The only problem? No such king existed, no such city existed, or had ever existed. He had asked traders, who had asked him if he was talking about Calais, but Calais was a city that lay two hundred miles south of where Caldeau was supposed to lie, and no king reigned there, either. He had eventually given up on history, thinking that too many folk were simply making up stories and presenting it as fact.

Still, he found the carvings here fascinating. There was one army that showed up, again and again, always on the right side of the relief, and he supposed that this must be the ancient Crosscraw - it made sense that they would be the recurring character within their own history. They were depicted as broad-shouldered men in thick plate armor, with open-faced helms from which long, flowing beards spilled, helms that carried stranged, tined spikes that rose high above their heads. But stranger still were what the men marched alongside. Bears, and wolves, covered in armor, true; but also animals Martimeos did not recognize. A tall bird, with a long neck, and a beak like a hatchet, and something that looked like a furred alligator that walked on eight legs, and something that looked like a unicorn, if a unicorn had been crossed with an aurochs.

But even more fascinating were the armies the ancient Crosscraw were shone marching against. In some reliefs, they were normal enough - mustached men, in conical helmets, defending city walls against a Crosscraw siege, though Martimeos had no idea who they might have been. In others, though, the opposing armies became stranger and stranger. An army of winged men, with strange spirals and patterns carved into their wings, wielding sticks topped with small orbs that spewed flame. An army of creatures that looked like men with no heads, and faces in their stomachs. An army of men who had columns of flame for heads. And an army of men who seemed to have strange, insectoid faces, large black eyes and antennae.

These last showed up again and a again, in relief after relief, and they always seemed to be accompanied by strange machines of war, riding in strange chariots. Martimeos could not tell whether it was that time had damaged the carvings somewhat, or the strange style of them, but he had no idea what these were meant to depict. The insectoid soldiers would ride in what looked to be strange, angular slabs, floating above the ground, or sometimes rolling along it on wheels that looked to be connected by a belt. Strange creatures crowded the sky above them, great flocks of them, silhouettes of something with oddly narrow, swept-back wings.

The Crosscraw, it seemed, were not shy about depicting themselves as fighting a losing battle against these insect-headed men. In relief after relief, the armies of the Crosscraw were depicted in agony, writhing in flames. From there, though, Martimeos wasn't sure what happened. Strange...shapes, began to appear among the armies of the Crosscraw. Just shapes - he thought at first that the carvings had been damaged or vandalized, but they were too deliberate, and they showed up again and again. Floating triangles, or circles, or pentagons, alongside the marching Crosscraw. He didn't know what they were meant to depict, but in those carvings, they seemed to fare better against the insect-headed men.

Until, finally, he and Elyse came to a massive relief that took up much of one side of the chamber, one that depicted the ancient Crosscraw and the insectoid soldiers fighting before what looked to be a massive doorway, one that towered above the soldiers fighting, one that was wreathed in sky-high flames. Elyse tapped the relief, drawing Martimeos' attention to something among the Crosscraw armies. "Look," she murmured quietly. "If indeed these were the Crosscraw, it seems necromancy has a long tradition among them."

And indeed, it was true. In this relief, many of the men marching in the Crosscraw armor were skeletal, or missing limbs, or headless, as they marched alongside dozens of those strange, floating triangles, circles and pentagons.

But this point drew Martimeos' mind back to the present, away from thoughts of who the insectoid soldiers might have been, or the wonder at the battles being depicted. It drew his mind back to the witch they were to meet, as he and Elyse exchanged worried looks.

Grizel. For if it were true that she practiced necromancy...that dark Art had a price. Piercing the veil of death drew attention from Outside. And it may very well be Grizel herself that had inadvertently drawn in the bogge-men, and their King, from some world strange and alien to their own.