Land of Salvania

  The wizard Elzalore opened his lamp, pulled out the sputtering, feeble remnants of the tallow candle, and used it to light the last candle in his haversack. The tunnels under the Queen's castle were rumored to be so vast that entire squads of soldiers and miners (and doubtless hundreds of treasure-seekers) had vanished over the years. He believed the stories now after spending two days in the chill damp, sleeping on stones in the utter silence. But Elzalore had a map. The old herb lady at the edge of the moors had said it was a true map from her grandfather. Her grandfather had helped build a new tower on the castle as a young man a hundred years earlier. Elzalore had paid her ten gold for it, a princely sum he hoped to recoup with a single discovery. For, in addition to the map, he had a scroll that pulled him toward his destination. Soon, he hoped, he would find old Skandarnish's dusty bones and the jewel he had carried when alive. The jewel was reward enough, but the

  It had started about a week before. Two priests of the Hedronia sect had met each other on a roadway, each one heading for the same destination. After learning that each had been struggling with dreams that had called them toward the White River, each was relieved that they had not gone insane. But relief had been followed by troubling thoughts. "Where should we go?" "What do the dreams mean?" "We must fast and meditate." They continued toward the White River, seeking signs known only to the wise. They fasted each day, taking only water and mushrooms known to aid visions and dreams. They chanted each night until exhaustion forced sleep. On the fifth night of their vigil, both dreamed of a cave hidden by an ancient grove. The next day they arrived. The dreams did not predict the staff floating near the entrance, it's tip glowing with blue swirling mist. The dreams did not say what to do now. And the adventure began. /// Copyright

  "Mind your step, my friends. From here onward, the deeper halls are treacherous." The guide pointed to a crack running along our path. It was wide enough to swallow a horse, and its bottom was invisible in our flickering lights. The Northman called Ulrich pulled out a coil of hemp rope. "Vee should tie up for to be safe." He tied an elaborate knot around his waist and looped it around the guide's leather belt. "Maybe now ze ground will not swallow up our friend." The rest of us tied similar loops around nearby companions. Except the wizard. She stayed back, aloof, as usual. Watchful, suspicious. As usual. /// Copyright