Mount Esh took longer than I would have guessed to trudge from trail-head to summit. It was a shepherd's path. A maze of switchbacks and declining detours to circumvent obstructions. Esh was more a great rocky hill than a true mountain. While substantial in diameter, it would never have attracted the interest of climbers or alpine enthusiasts. However, it was infested with large granite protrusions, undercut areas, and brief, inconveniently steep inclines.

I found myself exhausted by the irritation of going up, then down again to make progress. My two guides paced me in quiet boredom, one behind the other while I lead. Someone had said the far side was a sheer, something, I guess, like the rock of Gibraltar. So perhaps of interest to climbers after all, at least on the sheer side. Anyway the presence of the sheer left the trail a mass of tiring switchbacks.

At the summit, it flattened into a rocky plateau of white and brown where several men squatted off near the leftmost margin huddled about a small fire, which my escorts went on to join.. It was a chilly place. One of the group was bound hand and foot, head bent forward and away from me, but the back of him sprouted a familiar long blonde mane. My temper rose and my skin heated as I came on, quickening my pace, passing the other two climbers who were taxed to keep up.

Steve Markham, here known as MaCaan, swiveled his head at my approach, favoring me with a hate-filled glare. At his feet, was a bolt action carbine. The casing of one cartridge was jammed in the action. Of the Mage Orton, whom, I was told awaited me here, there was no sign, though to be honest, my vision had tunneled onto Markham.

Before the curious stares of the others squatting around the small fire, Markham addressed me in English. "Where is my sword, you thief!"

I managed to realize he had done this purposely, for the translating effect of the sword's traveling spell, though still active, did not extend to others, operating on me alone. My skin heated yet another notch. If the man had not been bound, helpless before me, I would have decked him. Here was the cause of my being transported away, forced to abandon my former life, property, and future. Here was a burglar, deadbeat, and assassin, accusing me of thieving my own property. If the mages were right, he was little more than a henchman, but one that had been my personal dead albatross since the beginning.

I grinned at him in mockery, and said, "You have to pay for something before you own it. Sneaking through windows and stealing things in the dead of night doesn't qualify you as owner of anything. You are the thief here, not me. I hope the Duke has interesting plans for you, but if not, I promise you, I do."

The Acolyte blanched at this but recovered quickly. I wanted to interrogate Markham in the worst way, but this was the wrong place and time. Others would get their shot first. My own questions would have to wait. "You are fiddling with things beyond your comprehension, Drake. This business isn't over yet. I will have that sword from you."

I couldn't help myself at this point. "Oh, that...I threw it away. Wayland will take care of the rest. Your Duke's bid for these lands is doomed."

A satisfying, if fleeting resurgence of fear crossed Markham's features.

"Felway is the least of your problems. You'll never get back to your own world without my help, I can promise you that! Guess what my price is, Drake. Think about it."

"You can forget about the blade," I snarled. "It was sealed to me, making it useless to you. I'll find my own way back. Whatever you had planned on doing, you failed at it. I'm thinking, whether at the hands of Wayland or your master, either way, you're through."

McCaan lapsed into truculent silence.

Working to regain control, I ignored MaCaan, and refocused my attention on the rest. I did not recognize anyone else, though they should all be the Duke's people. They dressed similarly to his retainers. Most of them were gazing curiously back at me, and I remembered that Markham had addressed me in English, and it seemed my reply had been in English as well, so no one here understood what was said prior.

One of the men at arms bent over and whispered into the ear of one of the squatters. He nodded and stood, addressing me. "You are the forigen master smith, William of Drake?"

"I was asked to report here, and the Mage Orton had asked me to look for some ores at the top of Mount Esh."

The man waved his hands to encompass the peak. "Please, complete the mage's request."

There was not much apparent to see, and though put out by the off-handed invitation, I had awaited this chance for some time, besides my promise to Orton. So I set about inspecting the grounds. There was a small eruption of rock to the other side of the peak, and I went over to that. The rock was iron bearing, as it turned out, evidently a lightning rod for strikes in bad weather, for scarring and melt furnished it heavily.

Still having my Roundel, I pulled it and scratched about in the grounds around it, pulling up a root-like tube of fused glass, further evidence of lightning strikes. A small glint of yellow caught my attention as I probed further. Digging around it, I uncovered a spatter of melted metal, fused to a good deal of the surrounding earth. I pulled it free and brushed some of the crumble off it. It was thin though heavy in my hands, and I was able to bend it in on itself. By its weight, it wasn't impossible that the melt contained some major percentage of gold. If so, it might confirm some of the stories the mages spun, or at least aid in justifying their origin.

If it did contain gold, such a small, fist sized melt might have been missed by exploring locals, did any actually come here. There was no way to test the sample further near to hand. Once back at the forge, I could experiment more, or find someone more familiar with mining. I don't know what I had expected, a temple perhaps, or revealing texts, carved into to the stone. Over all, a disappointment. I put the small mass in my pouch, and fitted the thick carrot of fused glass through my belt.

My short exchange with Markham still rankled, and he was the highlight of the excursion. The carbine left little doubt as to who my roadway assassin was. I intended to get the information I needed out of the weasel, even if I had to beat it out of him, guards or no guards. There was nothing else of remote interest about the peak anyway, save for the view, so I returned to the fire, intent on finishing up with Markham, but the arms-man again interrupted.

"Have you finished the mage's work?"

It was the same shifty-eyed man who had spoken before. The little weasel Markham still sat glaring at me, trussed up like the pig he was. The guard was just a distraction at this point. I shrugged, saying, "Not much to see. I suppose I'm good, for now."

"Did you check the area by the trail?" he asked.

I turned to look behind me to the edge where the trail erupted on the plateau. "No, but..."

My thoughts were interrupted by a great sharp pain at the back of my head, and I felt myself falling as the world spun away.