“Beria--dan--wen” she slowly spoke, the dagger almost seem to speak to her it name as her mind translated the elven runes. “Beriadanwen”

“No! I forbid it! That assassin is still out there, and you will *not* go off to endanger yourself again!” Valan’s voice was clearly audible even over the ever-present rush of wind in the canyon. Greta knew the whole village could hear it, but she didn’t care.

“She’s my best friend! Her life is already on the line, and she needs me! You’ve risked more for people you didn’t know, why is this suddenly so different?”

“You’re my daughter, and you almost died last night! I only found out this morning what had happened! Do you know what it would do to me if I lost you?” Greta almost started crying right then and there; she could see how worried he was. But she was just as worried!

Greta gripped her father’s sleeve in tears, “But father, don’t you see? Rana will die if she doesn’t get help! I can’t leave her now... If she dies and I wasn’t there to try to help, I... I...”

A frustrated sigh came from the back of the parked carriage, cutting through the tension. A gray-haired woman whom Greta knew very well hopped down to the ground, eyeing Valan. “Mother! Father won’t let me go...”

With a lighting quick steps she positioned herself between Valen and Greta, separating the two by dint of sheer will. “Dear... stop being a stubborn old fool. Can’t you see how important this is to her?”

“But Roda, there’s a killer on the loose! I have half a mind to pack up our goods and be away from here by midday!”

“I am aware of that, and I’m also aware that the Elves will be escorting the girls up most of the way.” Grinning evilly she pressed a pointed finger into her husband chest. “And I also know you did much more foolish and dangerous things yourself at her age... I should know, I egged you on for most of them.”

“But .. but..”Greta watched in amazement as her mother twisted her father in circles.

“But most of all, do you think we could prevent her, short of tying her up and knocking her senseless? You can go dear, isn’t that right darling?”

“I don’t like it. If you’re going into danger again, I insist you be prepared this time.” He walked to the carriage as her mother continued.

“Your father is very worried, I’ll have a fine time settling him down today. You’d better not get hurt out there, or he’ll never forgive himself. Men. Whatever he gives you, remember, it’s important to him.” Greta nodded, she thought as much herself. He returned to them in short order.

“This dagger is from Watersong, forged by a master elven smith. It should be light enough to use without much skill and strong enough for anything you need it for. Don’t cut yourself, it’s very sharp.” Greta seethed at being talked down to as if she were a child, but smiled gratefully anyway because she knew it had to be hard and he was letting her go.

“Thank you father, I promise I will be careful.” The dagger was beautiful, its handle felt comfortable and when she slipped a few inches free of the sheath the slender, slightly curved blade glimmered with a blue hue that rippled the light like water on a pond. Looking closer Greta inspected the perfect edge. it looked and felt sharp enough to split a hair lengthwise. She also had a sneaking suspicion that even under a reading stone she would be unlikely to find even the smallest of imperfections.

Freeing the dagger completely from its simple leather sheath she slowly traced her finger over the cool metal surface. At the base of the blade near the curved crosspiece she felt a small depression. Bring the blade up to eye level she slowly tiled the dagger until she caught sun rays on it surface. Etched into the blade surface where where a set of elven runes.

“Beria--dan--wen” she slowly spoke, the dagger almost seem to speak to her it name as her mind translated the elven runes. “Beriadanwen”

“Does it meet with your approval, dear?” Her mother was smiling when she looked back up, and her father too. She realized she’d been quite absorbed in the incredible work of art.

“Yes, very much so. Thank you Father, this means a lot to me, and I will always treasure this dagger. It’s beautiful.” She slipped it into the sheath and hung it from her belt, then hugged her father tightly.

“Just be careful, and come back to us safe, that’s all I ask.” Her father’s voice sounded husky and she knew he was trying not to cry in front of her.

---

Their pace up the mountain trail had been slower than Larenmireil hoped, humans simply didn’t have the agility to navigate the rocky terrain like elves. The guards kept point and secured a large circle around the two while Larenmireil lead the group up the mountain side. Only a handful of people knew these mountains as well as she, having spent a good part of her youth exploring and playing in every cave and crevice this side of the mountain.

The trip to the goddess’ sacred grounds would have taken anyone from the village under an hour. But Rana had begun to struggle shortly after they left, she seemed profoundly exhausted and it apparently took much of her will to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Given the situation the trip was likely to take four hours or more.

She soon fell back to match pace with them, joining Greta in supporting Rana. She took the chance to admire the two she loved subtly. Greta was curvy and beautiful to her eyes, much fuller than elven women and exotic for it. Rana conversely seemed even more androgynous than the elves to her eyes, and had a kind of youthful naivete that drew her. Had they grown up in the elven custom she likely would have bedded both before now, but she worked to respect their human taboos and slowly bring them around to the idea. But first, they would have to overcome this climb and restore Rana.

She’d watched her die once, and was not about to do so again.

---

The hours slowly began to bleed together, with only the occasional break to allow Rana to catch her breath and rest to break up the march up the trail. The lack of any sign of the would-be assassin left a bad taste in Larenmireil’s mouth. She had secretly hoped to find clumsy human attempts at stealth, a broken twig here or a fallen rock there. But no such evidence presented itself, just the open sky and mountain rocks with an occasional wood land creature scurrying about. This led her to a very uncomfortable conclusion: if the assassin was following them, then he was beyond her skill to detect and would likely have the element of surprise.

Thrusting the unsettling thought to the back of her mind she guided the trio to a path that would follow the mountain’s edge upward. This would be the most dangerous part of their journey; the path was very narrow, just wide enough to walk single file. In some places they would have to press their backs against the mountain to shuffle up. They came to a marker, on which several wreaths of flowers lay.

“Miss Larenmireil, we must return to the village, from here you three must go alone. We will watch as long as we are able, but we can not fire on him if he has in fact entered sacred grounds.”

“That will be fine, captain. Thank you very much for escorting us this far. I think perhaps he has gone away to lick his wounds.” She sincerely hoped he had. She led her two friends around a cliff edge and a ways further, climbing up a steep incline, at the top of which stood the first gate.

“It’s so pretty...” Rana awed as the group approached the first stone archway that marked the path up to the wind temple.

“The gates are a symbol, upon passing through them one is said to be cleansed of cares and worry. It is our custom to thank her for her blessing at each gate.”

She paused before the gate and uttered a prayer to the wind goddess in her native tongue, then nodded to the others to follow along. But as she tried to pass the first gate a wall of stone sprung out of the ground, blocking it entirely. The wall was lined with tiles marked in Elven script, but not in any particular order. It was all very ugly in fact, carved as if by magic tools, all hard angles and corners. A murmur passed through the ranks of the guard watching from behind.

“This is... blasphemous! This is sacred ground, why would anyone create a barrier here?” Larenmireil was shocked by the senseless... wrongness of it! Even as she seethed at the gall of whoever built it, the tiles began to shift, moving into different positions with a high pitched grating sound of stone on stone, until a phrase appeared in the Elven script followed by nonsensical symbols. She read it aloud, translating to the human tongue for Greta and Rana.

“Blessed are the few, on whom we depend,
Who grow without change, and live without end,
Lifting on high, our lives as we fail,
Cursing the foes, who against us rail.
They’ll never again tread their home land...”

The text was followed by a symbol, a circle surrounded by outward-pointing triangles and several other figures that made little sense at all.

“A poem?” Rana seemed confused.

Larenmireil bent to inspect the script and nodded. “Possibly, but if it’s a poem it’s an odd one. The script is in the style of the high born. But no high born poem would be constructed like this. Plus, it’s missing a verse.”

The sound of falling rocks and dirt followed by a small yelp from above them grabbed her and Rana’s attention. Sitting on the overhang of the cliff above them was Greta nursing her hand. “It zapped me.”

“What are you doing up there?” Rana asked quizzically.

Huffing, Greta pointed at the blank air above the gate “What do you think? I’m trying to get around the gate! But there something in the way, it zapped my hand.”

“Well come back down here then and help us solve this.” Rana sounded a little annoyed, and Larenmireil could understand why. It worried her too, Greta climbing to dangerous heights like that to poke at magical barricades. She could have fallen, or it could have killed her rather than whatever it did...

“I am trying to help, if we can climb around it rather then deal with a stupid wall we should.” she snipped back angrily.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so frustrated, it just scared me. We’re a long ways up, you could have been hurt...” As Rana spoke, Larenmireil peered at the stone doorway some more.

“I don’t understand it. Why would someone put up a barrier with a poem that’s missing a verse?” Rana shrugged at Larenmireil in answer.

Greta groaned at the two of them struggling over something so simple. “It’s obviously a puzzle you dolts! If we solve it, the big rock will disappear again.”

“How are we supposed to guess a whole line of a poem? I never read any poem like this.” Rana complained.

“It is not part of Elven lore, I have read many poems, and this is just... not how my people write poetry. It seems similar to some human poetry, but I haven’t read very much human poetry yet, and this is not familiar to me at all. And I don’t know of any human who can write in high born script.”

Greta slapped her hand to her face moaning as if dealing with them was giving her a headache. “It’s a puzzle... It’s meant to be solved, you’re not supposed to be a scholar of poetry to solve a puzzle. The clues are all there, or else it would be a pretty stupid puzzle.”

“Okay miss expert of puzzles, riddles and such, what is your esteemed opinion?” Rana drawled out mockingly.

“First, is that sword making you cranky again of something? Look, you have to do it line by line. From the first line, it’s talking about a few people that a lot of people depend on. The second tells us they’re immortal and unchanging, but they can still grow. Maybe they learn?” Larenmireil nodded thoughtfully.

Larenmireil nodded, surprised to find that Greta was much more logical then she had ever given her credit for. “We elves depend mostly on ourselves, but we change and we don’t quite live forever.”

“Right, so it’s not elves. The next line is tricky. How do you lift someone on high as they fail? So move on, they curse our enemies. And the last line, they can never return to their homeland. exiled maybe?”

Slumping to the ground, Rana looked even more exhausted “You know this still doesn’t narrow it down much. Unchanging immortals maybe, and chased out of their homeland... Do you have an idea how many things that could be? My former master has a whole shelf of books dedicated for creatures that match that description.”

“Well what about these symbols? There, a circle with a sun in it.“ Greta said as she pokes at the glyphs, “Then there’s also a star and moon, and I think those are the symbols for water and air?”

“These symbols are not elven.” Larenmireil remarked in confusion at the whole puzzle.

“Well that shouldn’t be too much of a surprise, this wasn’t made by an elf. You said it yourself, these are holy lands for you. No Windrunner would dare make something like this, right? And no one has seen a high born since before the First.” Greta appeared lost in thought for long moments before she grinned and turned back to Larenmireil and Rana.

“I’ve got it! They’re the gods! They take us to heaven when we die, they help us fight off our enemies, they don’t change or die but they can learn still, and they can’t return to the mortal plane! That’s what the religious texts say, they ascended to the heavens never to return!”

“How can you be so sure?” Larenmireil asked, uncertain of this. The only gods she knew of were natural gods, not mortals that somehow elevated themselves beyond the natural.

“It’s the circle and the sun symbol. the circle means completion never ending. And the sun means the heavens. Put them together and you have ascended gods.”

“Okay, so we have our answer... So how do we solve the puzzle?” Rana questioned Greta.

“I don’t know. Press the symbols? Say it out loud? Do an interpretive dance?” Greta chuckled.

Leaning back against the cliff, Larenmireil though over the poem. “I believe there’s only one way to phrase the verse in high born that would make sense: Novisolistani... It means, roughly ‘The ascended gods of mortal man’.” She tried reading the whole thing aloud again.

“Blessed are the few, on whom we depend,
Who grow without change, and live without end,
Lifting on high, our lives as we fail,
Cursing the foes, who against us rail.
They’ll never again tread their home land
The ascended gods of mortal man.”

Tense with anticipation, all three held their breath as one, waiting to see if anything would happen. Moments passed and nothing happened. Unimpressed, Rana looked over to Greta “Sooo, what ne-ACK!” she ended with a yelp as the grating sound of stone moving over stone returned in force.

---

Corana climbed to her feet again with Arron’s help. It was more difficult with one arm when exhausted than she would have imagined, but he picked her up as if she weighed nothing.

“Thank you very much for the soup. Arron, it was excellent. I feel much better now, and I think I’m ready to carry on.” He looked at her worriedly, but she ignored the look. They didn’t have time to tend to her bruised feet or tired body, the earth god needed to be healed. The thought of a natural god being wounded sat ill in her stomach.

“If you say so. But if you need more rest don’t hesitate to speak up. It’s been a rough few days, and I know how much you must be aching. I remember my first drills, and it was awful.”

“I promise, I will let you know if I need more rest. But now we have more pressing matters. The earth god comes before my discomfort.” She looked to the earth god, who had been standing silent guard ever since they stopped, the fracture on the gods arms had spread, the would leaking more of the murky gray water. “Earth God, how can we help you heal?”

The earth god turned and pointed to an overhanging section of cliff face, then began walking toward it, so Arron and Corana followed. Before long they found a crack in the cliff, jagged but straight, as if a great sword had cleaved the stone in two. It led deep into the mountain.

“Right. So, we need to go in there?” Arron asked, and the great stone god nodded. Corana summoned up her light spell. The strain of spell on her body seem much more taxing then she believed possible for such a simple incantation. The observation flooded her mind with worry and doubt if some so simple was causing her difficulty then how was she going to deal with Xabriar’s machinations? Holding the ball of light aloft, she and Arron slowly proceeded into the dank dark fissure into the heart of the mountain.

The way was simple and straight, no curves or corners presented themselves, but it was wet and uncomfortable. The chill outside quickly faded as they escaped the cold wind, but the air was stagnant and reeked of rot. The murky water that dripped everywhere left the tunnel floor slimy and slick.

“Don’t fall, the floor is slippery.” Arron suggested, and Corana seethed. Ever since she had slept with him, he seemed almost overbearing. She would need to set him straight about that, but not now. The tunnel was so silent she could understand the need to fill the void with some sound, too.

“I will be careful. It’s leading downward at a slight angle, but we should be alright even if we fall. It would be nice if it didn’t smell quite so bad though.”

They walked for hours, and with every step Corana grew more nervous. She felt like someone was watching her somehow. She could tell Arron was feeling it too, he kept peering ahead and behind as if his eyes could somehow pierce the darkness beyond the range of her light. But they heard no sound, nor saw no sign of anyone else, so they continued into the tunnel behind the earth god with a sort of helpless paranoia.

After a while she lost track of time. It felt like she’d been walking for days, and she found herself leaning on Arron for support after a slip nearly dropped her onto the wet disgusting floor. But suddenly the tunnel opened into a large cave. The sides were smooth and perfectly carved, clearly the work of magic. And in the center of the cave, a large stone disc floated high off the ground adorned with a strange jade alter.

As strange as it looked she recognized the construct for what it was: a ritual of Xabriar’s making. “It’s here! Xabriar’s ritual is what is injuring the earth god!” Corana exclaimed as she run over to the floating platform. She should have guessed, it was obvious in retrospect.

“And now, you die.” The grating voice of Woric nearly stopped her heart as he slowly walked out of the shadows clapping slowly. “I finally found you here of all places.. This was my handwork you know. Xabriar made me spend months carving out this place. Didn’t even know a lick about earth magics when he commanded me to do it, but I learned fast. You can’t ever keep the old man waiting... never.”

“... I don’t even remember why I chased you out here into these forsaken lands, you know. But I do know that it’s all your fault, everything is you fault! You killed my men, destroyed my boats...” he rambled on frantically pacing back and forth. “And as for leaving me to the whims of that fey creature... Do you have any clue what fey really do to mortals after they’re done playing with them?”

“I spent years as that thing’s... as its… It did things to me, wrong things!” he screamed violently, tears running down his twisted face. “And it’s all your fault! You and that bastard old leather bag Xabriar!” With deep ragged breaths he calmed himself. “You and that old man... I’ll make you both burn for this.”

She let him talk. He could have struck from behind and she would never have been ready, but as he spoke she readied to grab her wand and fight, even as she heard Arron drawing his sword beside her. Every second he spent speaking was a tiny bit more energy she could summon up for the fight.

Then he struck, the white hot fireball appearing from nowhere. Quick as lightning her wand was in hand and she had a shielding spell up. But even so she felt the heat of it, reflecting, radiating off the walls, choking out the air. If he kept up this attack, he wouldn’t have to break her shield, they would all suffocate! Then she saw Arron run past her shield. He didn’t speak, just swung that sword with amazing might. Woric shrank back, startled by the sudden ferocity, but his own shield deflected the swing to the side harmlessly.

Corana struck before Woric could cast a spell that would obliterate Arron, desperate to save his stupid, thoughtless, self-sacrificing hide. Her bolt would follow him and seek a weakness in his shield, if any existed. She didn’t watch it strike however, because her eyes were drawn to Arron, who was jumping aside of a strike from Woric’s staff, which made a splattering sound when he swung it, and left hissing spots on the floor around it.

“It’s acid, Arron, don’t let it splash you!” She cast another spell, hoping even if they couldn’t penetrate, her seeker bolts would distract him from killing Arron. Then a heavy stone fist crashed through Woric’s shield and bounced him off the wall. He stood up with blood gushing from his face, his right arm dangled limply and at an odd angle. It had to be badly fractured in her estimation. The magical bolt that she had cast early swung from the back of the carved pillar and drove into Woric’s chest with a thunderous thump, lifting the man from his feet and backwards onto the wall. Corana looked away from the carnage of burnt flesh and and exposed bone. She let out a sigh of relief, thinking that the man would pass out soon from the pain.

But Woric pulled himself to his feet in a startling display of resolve, gritting his teeth and refusing to succumb. Instead he began a frantic chant. Red and yellow energy began to spill out from him like a fountain, and his arm began to straighten itself out. She shuddered a bit as she could hear the cracking of grinding bones, and the smell of necrotic flesh that erupted from boils that formed on his damaged arm, as Woric forced his body to heal itself at an alarming rate.

“Arron get away from him!” she shouted in horror. Regenerative magic was dangerous under controlled conditions, because it directly manipulated the body’s own vital energies. In a fight such as this, it could cascade uncontrollably, likely causing the person to explode into a ball of fire. And it could spread.

Despite the risks, Woric continued his spell until his arm looked as good as new. He gave his arm a good shake to test it out, then smiled darkly at Corana’s look of shock. “Wonderful, isn’t it?” he said with a mad sort of chuckle. “I suppose this is one benefit of being left in the care of that creature... Their games do such horrible thing to a mortal’s body, so they taught me to heal myself.”

Collecting his staff from the floor, Woric completely ignored Arron’s presence. “And I have had so very much practice. It is very painful you know... unbelievably painful. And the pain never quite goes away.”

Slamming his staff into the ground he shouted a word of power. The ground liquefied at the tip of his staff as a powerful wave rolled though the cave, tossing both her and Arron to the ground. The earth god froze in place and produced a sound that Corana could only describe as “avalanche.”

Corana carefully climbed to her feet, each new tremor threatening to knock her to the floor. Quickly taking stock of the situation, she watched as Arron stood up and planted his sword into the ground as a makeshift cane. She could find no sign of Woric at all.

“The earth trembles at my rage! The air stagnates, the water becomes foul and fire itself bends to my whim! Watch as the mountain itself bleeds where I strike!” She whirled around to face the echoing voice, and saw him standing on the disk next to the jade altar. He lifted his staff, and a resounding crack echoed from the entrance, followed by more of the awful-smelling water, pouring down the tunnel in a deluge that quickly raised the water level from simple dampness to ankle deep, and kept rising alarmingly.

Woric leaped down from the platform with a splash, grinning madly as he reached the edge of Corana’s light spell. He chuckled bitterly as he paced backwards into the shadows. “Soon the whole mountain will come down upon our heads. Now shall we continue our dance?”

A loud series of splashes echoed through the cave as Arron charged toward the mad sorcerer. He closed the distance in a single breath, faster then Corana thought possible with the water now climbing to waist height. Grabbing Woric out of the darkness by his neck with one hand he drove the man violently into the smooth wall then slowly pushed the the tip of his sword to the man’s belly with his other hand. “What have you done?”

Woric simply laughed. “Nothing really, I told you I made this place, but i made it so I could destroy it... a little insurance against Xabriar.” He giggled gleefully, “Now I find the only thing that brings me more joy than the thought of death, is taking you with me to hell!”

Slowly releasing the man Arron staggered backwards a step at a loss for words, watching the grinning smile of near euphoria plastered across the deranged mans face “You’re insane!”

“No, don’t you see? It’s all so clear now! This is how it’s supposed to be! You’re the insane ones, fighting fate! You can’t win now, it’s already over! Hahahahaha!” As he laughed with the mad abandon of the lost, he raised his staff to point at Arron, who seemed stunned immobile.

“Arron, watch out!” She raised her own wand but she knew it would be too late. Arron only stared at the man with an intense expression. Then the impossible happened. The murky water rose up around Woric as if it had a mind of its own, and instantly froze, trapping him in a huge block, staff still raised menacingly. The ice travelled back to the entrance, filling it and stopping the influx of cold, filthy water.

“He’s trapped. Hurry, break the ritual while you can. If we can’t escape we can at least do what we came here for.” He sounded so desolate she wanted to go to him, hold him, but he was right. Swimming over to the floating platform she kicked up, gripping the stone disc which was now within easy reach thanks to the raised water level.

Grunting in exhaustion she slowly pulled her aching body up onto the disk. She turned to the jade altar and began frantically reviewing the runic symbols carved into the structure.

She was not truly adept at Earth magic, but from her limited knowledge she could tell that whatever Woric had done severely damaged the ritual. Breaking through the remaining defences of the seal would be trivial. She just needed to find the weakest point and hit it hard, and the rest should shatter. She searched quickly until she found it, a single rune that was out of place, moved by a crack. At the head of that crack stood another rune, drawn by a different hand. Woric’s rune. She drew her wand again, set it against Woric’s damaging rune, and added her power to it.

The crack in the jade altar grew, and several more runes flared and died out. She pushed more energy into it, and still more runes died. The whole altar began to shudder, bleeding off energy as flaming bursts of light, but she pressed on. Then, with a resounding *CRACK* the altar split in half. The blast of fire threw her from the stone disc into the grimy water as it burst from the broken altar and burned straight up. The stone above disintegrated instantly in that white-hot beam of power as it lanced up and out into the sky, leaving a smooth, glowingly-hot hole all the way out.

Then Arron had her. He was standing on the water somehow, and simply plucked her out of it.

“You did good, Corana. But if we’re going to die down here, there’s something I need to do first.” And then he kissed her. She was filthy and wet, and had far more questions than answers, but with the mountain falling in on them it hardly mattered. She was just getting into it when heavy stone hands picked them both up. Before either could complain, the earth god tossed them both onto the stone disc, where they sprawled, bruised in a heap. The mountain shuddered and groaned around them as great sheets of stone began falling from the ceiling.

The earth god stood next to the disc, and raised its hand, and then the ceiling fell down, all at once. Wind rushed down over them, holding them in place, as the hole grew closer and closer, then they were flying up into it! With a great grinding sound a pillar of stone had shifted up from the ground below the disc, and was carrying them up to the peak of the mountain where the hole exited. At the top, mere seconds later, the pillar ground to a stop, leaving Corana and Arron alone on a cold snowy mountaintop.