The next day Turadyl and Rodrick explored the small village. It turned out there were more 'soldiers' in the village than either of them expected.

"I think there are at least four to five hundred peasants in this place pretending to be warriors." Rodrick stated. "I wouldn't have guessed it. Offcourse more than half of them would probably run at the first sight of the enemy." Turadyl nodded in a way that showed his agreement, "Have you found out the name of this place yet?" he asked.

"Pramayama," answered Rodrick, "I asked a few questions while you were making breakfast this morning. At least they called it that before it was attacked. Apparently every soul in the village was killed when the nomads attacked. Only a couple managed to hide or run away in time."

The elf nodded and looked around. The village seemed to be roughly north - south orientated with two major groups of huts. It looked like they did fishing and farming work here the elf noted; there were a number of small jetties and a few corrals with hoof prints in them. Turadyl's eyes also picked out something else, "Rodrick, there's still a few bodies over there that haven't been cleared. Lets look before they clean up."

The pair trudged towards the northern end of the village. The remains of a basic palisade made from palm tree logs lay scattered around in the dirt. Rodrick examined a piece carefully, "It looks like something picked up this entire trunk and threw it to one side. There's half a tree here!" Turadyl continued to the very edge where the flight of vultures had made him aware of the bodies. The evil birds squawked and screamed at him as he disturbed them from their lunch. In the hard packed dirt of the area lay the remains of about ten... things. At least eight of them appeared to be peasants from the village. This was clear from their lack of armour and their poor weapons. "Look at this one," said Rodrick shaking his head, "he was only armed with a bit of wood." Rodrick rolled the poor mans body over so that he lay face up. "Well, that's what killed him," the warrior said plainly. "Teeth marks on the jugular. Looks like something crushed his windpipe."

Turadyl sighed and then noticed something. "Over here. These two are from the other side." Within the remains lay two bodies slightly larger than the rest. They were both clearly different, since they were wearing a type of hardened leather armour. The first had been a bearded man of large stature. He had the remains of what appeared to be a veil tied around his chin. A large scar stretched down from his eye to his jaw. "Leather armour. Not much protection," Rodrick said clinking in his own plate mail. "But better than nothing and probably a bit lighter for the desert. And here's what killed him, knife in the gut."

Turadyl looked to the second enemy's body, it wasn't human. "So its true then," said the elf. "We face both men and monsters." The creature before them was human like but had an upturned snout like a pig. Its jaw was set with an impressive array of teeth of varying sizes. "An orc," Rodrick said observing its brutish face. "Side by side with one of the nomads. This is not good."

It was then that the two noticed the arrival of somebody else to the village. From the horizon appeared twenty men on horses, the dust from their passage filling out in a large plume after their passing. The elf and the warrior watched for several minutes as they drew closer. It was Turadyl who first noticed their tunics, painted with a bright coat of arms, but it was Rodrick who was able to identify them. "Darokin Diplomatic Corps," he scoffed. "Now what would they be doing here?"

The patrol followed the path the lead though the palisade and came very close to the pair. They saw that in the lead was a man of advancing age. His hair was slightly silver on top of his tanned skin. His chin was shaved immaculately clean and complimented the impeccable condition of the rest of his equipment. "Typical," Rodrick spat. "Care more about their appearance than combat ability. Well I don't think the nomads will care how recently he shaved, they'll give him another one free."

Turadyl and Rodrick watched until the men disappeared inside the gate towards the centre of the town where the command was based. "Lets follow," said Rodrick. "I want to see what's happening."

The route the two of them took lead back past the small jetties they had seen earlier. There was more action than earlier though, with several teams of men unloading supplies from rafts. Rodrick realized these had come upriver from the boats they had disembarked three days earlier. The men had taken the shortest route across land, but since there weren't enough horses to transport all the goods and food needed for an extended campaign, these had to be brought up by raft via a slightly longer route. Also on the dock had appeared Meltar, his large robed presence seeming out of place among the teeming soldiers in their simple shirts. He seemed to be having a heated conversation with one of the men on the docks. By the number of strips on the man's sleeves he appeared to be in charge. Rodrick and Turadyl took a small detour so they could join the discussion.

"You must take me upriver!" the mage exclaimed. "If I don't get to Sayr Ulan in the next week we will loose everything!" The officer responded quietly and calmly, "I've already told you Sir. Every raft and every raft man possible has been requisitioned. If you want to go up river you will have to make our own way. And that's all there is to it."

Meltar responded thoughtfully. A smile started to grow on his lips. "Let talk about this... friend." His gaze became unfocused as he prepared the spell in his mind. His lips parted to uttered the first word and...

"I wouldn't try that... friend,' emphasized Turadyl, his dagger held against the mage's belly in an unfriendly sort of way. "If you really need a raft you're going to have to do this the proper way. Go to the base commander and ask for one."

"Curse you!" muttered Meltar. "You don't understand what you're doing. I need to be in the capital in a week or my contact may do something foolish. We must get these items back safely."

"Then lets go to the commander and talk about it," said Rodrick gruffly. "Don't try any magic or my little elven friend here may get jittery with his blade."

Meltar shock his head agitatedly but followed the pair towards the centre of the village anyway.

The commander's hut was the largest in the village, but didn't look better than any of the others. When Rodrick and Turadyl stepped inside with their captive they saw that the ranking officer had company already. It was the man who had lead the troop of Darokin horseman in, and he was not happy. "You can't requisition my men Sarras! They were brought here with a purpose!" He was talking to a uniformed man clearly in charge.

Turadyl took the opportunity to look around the office. It was pretty basic with a simple desk and chair which look singed. There were a few charts on the wall, one of which appeared to show the lands stretching into the desert. The elf made a point of remembering everything he could, including the troop locations marked in blue.

"Don't look at that!" barked the man in the uniform. "Who are you three anyway? Get out of my office!"

Rodrick didn't look phased for a second. "Rodrick and Turadyl sir! We arrived yesterday along with this one," he pointed to the mage. "We found him down at the docks causing trouble again and thought...."

"I don't care what you thought! I don't have time for this," Sarras interrupted.

Meltar took this chance to speak. "I need a raft to get upriver. If I'm not in Sayr Ulan by the end of the week it will be a disaster!"

"The capital has already fallen to the enemy," replied the commander.

The mage was clearly shocked. "But how? How can this be?! I'm too late?" A look of true despair crossed his face and Turadyl was honestly surprised. Could this mage really care so much about the Duchy? The elf shook his head slightly, he doubted it, it was probably more important to him to find the artefacts. In any case the mage was clearly distressed. Turadyl ran out of time for examination the man any more because further events were unfolding. Sarras was addressing the Darokin man.

"I am in charge here merchant and I can take anything I want. Your men are now under my jurisdiction. That is the end of this matter. Good-bye." The commander turned back to the work at his desk.

The merchant opened and shut his mouth in shock. Then, seeing that there was no further chance for discussion he stormed out of the room. Rodrick and Turadyl felt much the same, and dragging Meltar by one arm, left the office as well. They headed back towards their temporary accommodation.

Alexander was already preparing a noon meal for them. Turadyl inhaled deeply as he entered the small hut the group shared. "Smells delicious," he said. The young apprentice smiled back at him, "I found a few skinks from out in the desert. They're going to make a great stew." Malthus who was sitting in the back of the hut wrinkled his nose. "Better than army rations I suppose." The cleric looked towards the rest of them. "Find anything interesting out there?"

Rodrick explained to him all that had happened that day, including Meltar's surprise. A change seemed to have come over the mage. "My entire trip here has been a waste of time. Who would have thought that the Sind would fall so quickly." Rodrick shrugged. "We're all here now and have to do our best." The warrior had helped himself to some of Alexander's creation. "Lunch?"

So some hours later the party sat by the fire and watched the sun retreat into the horizon for a second time. 

The third watch of that night was Turadyl's. As it turned out this was a good choice. His inhuman eyes picked out the movement well beyond the distance that a human ever could have. His keen ears also sensed something else - human cries for help. The elf's reaction was immediate.

"Rodrick, Malthus. Wake up. We've got company." He said rousing the pair.

The warrior was up in an instant. Although he could neither see nor hear anything, he knew enough to trust the elf's judgment. Rodrick drew his broadsword, realizing that his bow would be extremely limited with only the moon light available. Bursting out of the hut he whispered into the blade in a chant like drone. Suddenly the sword was engulfed in flames surrounding the blade, bathing the emerging Malthus in its silent magical glow. The cleric's eyes grew large. "By Halav's name."

The flames were not strong enough to penetrate the distance. "Where Turadyl?" Rodrick questioned. The elf shielded his eyes, "Now you've brought that toy out I can't see a thing. Head straight north, I'll guide you from ahead." Rodrick scoffed, "If you can keep up you can!"

The elf smiled. He suddenly muttered a few words and moved his hands very gracefully. An instant later he hovered a few feet of the ground. "Hmpf," said Rodrick thoughtfully.

But the elf wasn't finished. A few words later and his body began to fade gently and was then totally gone. Rodrick smiled. "Glad he's on my side," he said and ran off to the north with Malthus following. He noticed that neither Malthus or Alexander had emerged.

Turadyl flew along a few feet of the ground several times faster than a man could run. As soon as he got out of range of Rodrick's sword his infravision made out the shape of a red human body against the colder ground.

The figured appeared to be in combat with something, waving its mace around wildly. But whatever they were being attacked by, the elf's infravision couldn't make it out yet. "This way!" yelled Turadyl, as he quickened his pace. The elf had to get quite close before he could see his enemy. To his elven sight it appeared as a wispy fog, but it seemed to have a might behind it. Before his eyes the fog seemed to rear back and then spring out like a snake at the figure. The man's cry of pain pierced the night, and he fell to the ground in a crumpled heap.

At that instant Turadyl reached them. The human looked up from where he was on the ground at the elf. "In the name of all things good and natural help me!"

The cloud seemed to pause from its dreadful work and Turadyl heard it hissing, "Stay back elf, this one is pledged to me!" As the words were uttered Turadyl felt a cold grip in his chest, as though the creature's only desire was to rip the soul from his body. Two eyes appeared in the mist and peered right at him, even though he was invisible.

A conflict of morals started to battle inside Turadyl's mind. His instincts told him to flee, his instincts told him that this was a supernatural power beyond his ability to defeat. Besides, there was only a human life at stake, and not even one known to him. But the outcome of the battle was never in doubt. Turadyl's Faediel heritage, even if he was estranged from it, demanded that he show nothing but bravery in the fight against the supernatural.

Turadyl's face was a mask of fierce determination as he swooped down and grabbed the man underneath the arms. He then took off again, half carrying, half dragging the man back in the direction of the village. After ten feet he risked a glance behind him - and didn't like what he saw. The creature could fly!

Unable to dodge he watched in terror as the fog seemed to take form. Within the mist a claw formed and then pale face of terrifying visage appeared. Its teeth were white and jagged. "I warned you to stay away elf!" it howled. In a blinding instant a second claw formed in the mist and leapt out with such force that the elf was flung to the ground, dropping the half dead man.

The elf tried to rise to one knee, but could hardly move his eyelids. A surge of pain flooded him as the effect of the wound was felt, then an icy cold coursed through his veins. The wound felt more than a flesh wound, it felt as though part of the elf's soul was ripped from him. He could feel the creature standing behind him, but could do nothing to defend himself. "I warned you to stay away elf!" the creature hissed. "Now you die first!" The monster raised its claws back for the killing stroke... 

And suddenly a silver dagger appeared in its chest! "Step aside from him you brute," a voice reasoned. "Or I will be forced to take further action." From the ground Turadyl could see a brightly emblazoned tunic and a man incongruously standing en guard with a light rapier, as though at a fencing tournament.

The creature didn't waste further time with words, but taking full corporeal form sprung the few feet to the man. The merchant met the beast charge with the perfect on point defence taught in the Darokin Diplomatic Corps - and saw his blade go straight through it! He surprise was changed to a grunt of pain as the creature lashed out across the man's stomach. Fortunately most of the blow seemed to be blocked by the old man's chain mail underneath, although the tunic was shredded. The merchant backed off. Abandoning all pretence of swordsmanship, he dodged the next two slashes of the beast, leaving his useless sword lowered. "Err... Help!" He cried.

Help was not far away. Rodrick appeared by the merchant, with Malthus by his side. "By Halav's name! What is that beast?!" the cleric exclaimed. "Who cares," answered Rodrick, "Kill it!"

The two swordsman advanced with the war hammer armed cleric. The creature seemed to reconsider the situation for a second. It never got a second chance. Three magical thorns sprung into its back from the outstretched hand of Turadyl (Ed - magic missile), who had now recovered enough to rise to his knees. Rodrick saw the advantage and took it. With a lunge he cleared the space to the monster and swung at it with all his might. It seemed the flames ate into the beast, and it screamed in torment. It was then that Malthus stepped forward. Without hesitation he produced his holy symbol from beneath his shirt. He boldly uttered the words, "Begone foul beast!" The creature looked stunned. Its face agape in terror. With a hiss and a scream it seemed to melt back into a cloud. With a roar of wind across the hard packed Sindian dirt, it vanished into the darkness in a blur.

A quiet calm descended on the area, lit only by the flickering flames of Rodrick's sword and the pale starlight. "How did you do that Padre?!" Rodrick exclaimed. "You destroyed it just with words?" "No, no," corrected Malthus, "I merely banished it. It may be back quite soon." The cleric pushed forward to Turadyl, "Are you all right son?" He asked. The elf pushed him off, "Help the human first. He's the reason that we were dragged out here."

The cleric inspected the comatose figure. Grasping hold of the hammer symbol and muttering a few words, he placed his hand on the man. Some of his wounds folded in on themselves and healed in seconds, although the blood remained. "He will live," said Malthus. "We should get him to some shelter," replied Rodrick also bedding over the injured man.  Suddenly the figure seemed to stir, his arm flashed out and gripped the large fighter's arm. "Take this to Sarras," he said, and slipped a small vial into the warrior's hand. With that he slipped back into unconsciousness. Rodrick looked down at him, startled.

Other noises appeared in the background. It became clear that other people in the camp had heard the battle, and were rushing to help. The merchant retrieved his dagger and then moved towards the injured man, "You are right priest, we should get him indoors now. It seems that this is somebody the enemy wants dead. That means we must keep him alive. Come on! Grab an arm!"

Rodrick noticed the rapier armed man who had arrived first and looked surprised. "And who are you?" He asked. The old merchant grinned, "I am Cronwyn Thraddan." He said with a flourish, "Merchant extraordinaire!" Rodrick only answered with a muttered, "Now I remember why I left..."

The two fighters grabbed the wounded man under each shoulder and started to carry him back. Malthus returned to Turadyl and also gave the elf some magical aid. The five of them made their way back to the camp where they were directed to the officer of the watch's hut.

The blanket covering the entrance to the hut was flung back as the injured man was carried in. One of the huts occupants reacted quickly, ordering for the camp cleric and doctor to be brought. He introduced himself as Mark, the officer on night watch. The doctor, a young looking man, and the cleric, a much older looking man in robes arrived looking sleepy. The cleric tended to the stranger, while the doctor worked on Turadyl's wounds. "You'll be fine, nothing serious," he announces. "Should heal in a feel days unless you can find a cleric to do it sooner," he said, obviously not guessing what the wild looking Malthus was. The doctor then turned to assist the cleric.

Mark then inquired of the party what happened in more detail. Turadyl gave a complete but brief description of the incident. Cronwyn noticed that he downplayed his own risks and combat tactics, but emphasized the unnatural feeling of the creature. "Have you had other reports of these creatures?" Turadyl asked.

Mark shrugged, "The desert has many different types of undead, many of them very different to what you might find in the East. I have never heard of this sort of beast before though." (Ed - Actually, it was just a wraith) The officer rose, "In any case this is an incredible story, you have done very well here. Unless there is anything else?"

Turadyl glanced at Rodrick. The warrior sensed he should speak, "There is one more thing sir. Before he passed out the stranger gave me this. "Rodrick held up the vial between his thumb and first finger. "He said that I must take it to Sarras, the group commander as soon as possible."

Mark looked at the tube and reached out his hand curiously. "I will need that vial as the man obviously risked much to get it here. I want all of you to report back here tomorrow morning when Sarras is available."

Rodrick looked at the soldier's outstretched hand, as did the rest of the party. Turadyl shook his head very slightly, as though to say don't hand it over. The group risked their lives for it, and he was worried that bureaucratic red tape would prevent them getting further access to it. Rodrick bowed his head for a second as his eyes played over the tube held firmly in his hand.

He looked the officer square in the eye. "I'm sorry sir, but the tube and its contents were given specifically to myself. It is now my sole responsibility and property. After I have had some time to examine the contents a will be able to reveal them to you at my discretion. Good evening sir."

Mark's jaw dropped in amazement as Rodrick moved to exit the hut. His brow furrowed in anger as he issued a quick word to the two other soldiers in the room. They half drew their swords and moved to block the warriors exit.

Rodrick looked at the two man. "Don't be fools this night. Spill your blood on the enemy's boots, not mine." He muttered.

"We are at war man!" Mark exclaimed. "This man suffered to bring this vial and its contents to us, and I can't not allow it to be kept out of military hands!"

Cronwyn moved to place himself between the two men. "Gentlemen! Gentlemen! Please, let us remember that we are all on the same side here!" The old merchant looked at the soldier, "Captain, Sir. This man has just spent the night fighting battles in the dark with unnatural beast. You must admit that he now has an interest in the container's contents."

"This could be of vital importance and must be handed over!" Mark answered.

"I understand that Sir." Cronwyn looked at Rodrick. "Perhaps we can make a concession. Open the container now Rodrick and after we see its contents we can make a decision on what to do next."

Rodrick hesitated only a second. "Very well then." The tension in the room noticeable subsided as the fighter pulled the top of the tube. Inside was a piece of rough parchment. Rodrick spread it out on the room's small table, and it was quickly recognized as a crude map.

The map showed a rugged mountain range in it's south east corner, with highlands stretching away to the north and west. There was a small forest on the highlands, and inside that was a large red blot. Next to this was scrawled, "O Gods, guide me to destroy this temple of death." The rest of the map showed some terrain, though not in any detail.

Cronwyn peered over Rodrick's shoulder. "not much use..." he muttered under his breath, "Since we don't even know where the map starts."

Mark look up. "This seems to be of some importance. I will discuss it with Sarras in the morning. Allow me to retain this and we will be able to get some more answers from our friend here when he wakes." Mark indicated to the now sleeping stranger.

Rodrick continued to examine the map for anything that might be familiar with him. Seeing nothing helpful he looked at Mark, "Sir, I insist on having a copy of this map. I'd prefer to have the original." "I would be happy for you to make a copy," the man answered. "Though, given tonight's activities, it might be better to leave this to morning when we will find ourselves in a better state of mind." The man also indicates to the smoky, dull room. "I have a scribe who can do the work tomorrow when there is a little more light."

Rodrick nodded his head wearily in the dime light, "This is suitable. Thank you. But I need to be here when the man wakes."

Mark was also tired. "Fine! You may sleep here for the night! But the rest of you will need to go elsewhere, we will call you when the man wakes."

Cronwyn spoke up, "I will also come back when you question him."

Mark nods. "So be it. Now if you will excuse me..." With that the party was dismissed. Everyone but Rodrick left the small hut, and Cronwyn started to head towards his own lodgings. Turadyl called out to him at the least instant. "Cronwyn." The fighter turns around. "Thank you for your help tonight." The merchant smiled and bowed, "You are welcome sir!" With that he disappeared into the night.

The next morning arrived with a hint of mist that was quickly dispelled by the blinding sun beating onto the hard packed dirt. Rodrick was awakened by quiet whispers in the far corner of the room. On rising he found himself a little stiff, but not too bad considering the battle he fought the previous night. In the corner of the room Sarras was talking in a low voice with several other men, including the stranger from the other night who was still lying on his bed.

Looking over to Rodrick, Sarras beckoned for him to join them.

"Good to see you awake," Sarras commented. "Let me quickly introduce you to the man who's life you helped save last night. This is Guilliame, a cleric of Halav and also an advance scout for the army." 

Rodrick shook the cleric's hand, "Good morning Guilliame. Its good to meet you in better circumstances."

"Good morning to you Sir!", the man replied. Then Rodrick looked back to Sarras and asked, "Have the others been informed?"

Sarras continued, "A runner has already been sent for the rest of your party."

The runner found Turadyl pouring over his magical tome, but the elf finally realized that he is not going to have much luck until he was fully rested. Malthus was fully absorbed with the spicy porridge that Alexander had just produced. "Another fantastic dish!" he praised, "I just don't know how you do it boy!"

The young man beamed. "Its not that hard really. A few simple ingredients plus some herbs that I brought from back east. Its nice to have someone who appreciates it. Master Vladimirov says my cooking always gives him intergestion." As though on call, Meltar choose that moment to appear from the hut.

Malthus looked scornfully at him. "I see you're finally awake. You missed a lot last night. We all could have used your help."

Meltar smiled till his teeth showed. "I guess I'm a heavy sleeper, as is Alexander." He looked across at the young mage whose face turned grey and averted his gaze. "In any case, you are all still alive and healthy, so clearly I wasn't needed."

Turadyl didn't answer, but rubbed his shoulder where the beast had torn through him the night before. He wondered how much damage could have been avoided if Meltar had helped them. The elf was distracted from his thoughts by the runner clearing his throat. Three of them answered the soldier's summons, and left Alexander to his cooking. As the trio passed through the village they saw a great deal of activity amongst the reserves. All the foragers were back and the force seemed to be preparing to leave. Turadyl and Malthus looked at each other with raised eyebrows.

When Turadyl, Malthus and Meltar arrived at the hut, they saw that Cronwyn had already arrived. "Now I also have an interest in this!" he informed them. Sarras completed the introductions and Guilliame expressed his thanks for the night's rescue. Then the commander got straight to the point.

"I need you all to undertake a mission of great importance," Sarras explained. "The map, which you may take with you, appears to cover some area to the north-west of here. There," he pointed to a spot on the map, "is a Great Pass over the mountain range here, on the other side of the desert. You must find and cross the great pass and find this "Temple of Death". How you get there and what you do when you do I do not know, but I believe it is all somehow connected with the outcome of the war."

"I must take the reserves forward to meet the main army on foot and will leave today. Scouts have reported a caravan north of the town beyond the salt swamp at the end of the river, they should take you further west into the desert. To catch the caravan you must take a boat up the river and across the swamp. Remember you are going into enemy held territory and secrecy will be an important key to your success. By this afternoon there will be nobody left in this village except one local. That is Pormas, the river scout. We will leave supplies for you to take."

Sarras hands the map to Rodrick in its case. "Any questions?"

The of the party members stared backwards and forwards to each other in amazement. It was Turadyl who spoke up first. He turned to the young cleric and said, "Guilliame, how are you involved in all this? How did you get the map?"

Guilliame looked up from the stretcher. "As Sarras told you, I am a scout in the army. My group met with a small number of Sindian resistance fighters, and they gave it to us in the hopes that we would be more able to use it more than them. We set out to return to the main army." The cleric looked downcast. "We were attacked by horrible beasts while in the desert and I was the only one to escape alive. We were five in number when we started, but three were killed by the creature you all saw last night. Realizing that we wouldn't make it back to the main force, the two of us headed in this direction. My friend died quickly, but somehow I managed to stay ahead until you caught up with me." Guilliame looked at Turadyl, Rodrick, Malthus and Cronwyn in turn. Then he added, "Many good men died to get this map here. Please don't let it be in vain."

It seemed that Rodrick nodded. He had lost many comrades in the past as well. He wished he could leave this soldier in peace but it was important for the party to know more. "Can you tell us anything more about the creature that attacked you last night? Do you know where it came from?" he asked.

The cleric answered. "I know very little of its nature, it seems to be able to change itself into a mist at will. I have heard others in the army call them 'Soul Eaters'. They say that they are the Master's assassins brought back from the dead." Guilliame looked at Malthus, "I think we were all lucky that the Padre came alone when he did. It appears that my faith was not strong enough to dispel it, although I did try."

"It was not your faith that was lacking," reassured Malthus. "Sometimes it is more a matter of experience. You have many years yet to learn that my son."

Meanwhile Cronwyn exhaled slowly, "It would take powerful magic to bring one of them existence wouldn't it?" he queried. Turadyl nodded. "Then hopefully we can guess their existence is rare", the grey haired merchant said.

Rodrick adjusted the scabbard at his side. "It looks like the Master was intent on destroying the bearer of this map. It leads me to believe that it is valuable." The warrior looked to Turadyl, "What do you think friend? Feel like a journey?"

The elf smiled and nodded. Malthus also responded. "This all seems to fit into my vision somehow", the cleric pointedly didn't look at Rodrick since this was still a sticking point. "I will also come will you and see if we can reach this Temple of Chaos." Turadyl looked happy at this. "Excellent." 

"Yes, this is excellent" Added Sarras, "I expect..."

Turadyl butted in "But I trust that our provisions will include all the necessary equipment for extended desert travel? Also, since this is likely to be an extended excursion some additional funds for purchasing additional supplies is expected."

The commander answered curtly. "You can take anything you require from my supplies. I have no money which can be spared, you must make do with what you have now."

Oh well, thought Turadyl, the funding issue was a long shot but worth a try. Not only did the party have to save the world, but pay for the privilege! He decided not to press the point. "I'll need to inspect the supplies before we go. I've travelled in the desert before and know hoe difficult it can be."

"You've travelled in the Sind before?", asked Cronwyn in surprise.

"No," replied the elf. "But I did spend several years wandering around Ylarum. The terrain is not the same, but I've picked up my share of general knowledge. Surviving the elements should not be a problem."

"But surviving the people maybe not..." Said Cronwyn. "I have travelled into the Sind desert several times on caravans. I know the trade routes, where the oasis’s are and most importantly the people. I speak Sindian and several of the dialects deeper in the desert. Please let me accompany you! Remember my country probably has even more to loose than yours."

Turadyl looked at his other two comrades. Rodrick shrugged while Malthus positively beamed. The cleric took the merchant's hand without hesitation. "We would be glad to have you aboard," he said.

Turadyl was still thinking about technicalities. "You said we would be travelling by boat. Has this been arranged, or do we need to take care of this ourselves?" 

"There is a boat tied up at the river and it is all yours," Sarras replied. "Remember! You must hurry. You need to intercept that caravan that is passing through the Sind. And to get there you will need to go all the way upriver and then through the salt swamp. You probably only have a little more than a week. The only way you will be able to get there in that time is if you take someone who knows the local waters with you." The soldier's face darkened. "Since almost every man was killed when this village was taken by the enemy, that will not be easy. The man I mentioned earlier, Pormas Theocrates, is a boatman. He has just returned from bring supplies up from the coast. He maybe your only chance. I suggest you hurry to the docks and catch him now. I will arrange the supplies to be brought there before the army leaves."

"Then its true, you are moving out." said Rodrick. "Where are you going to."

"We are being sent to relieve the Karameikan and Darokin regulars at the front." It seemed like the commander was going to stop there, but he added more. "The front line is less than a hundred miles from here now. So you will be travelling most of the way in enemy territory. I wish you all luck on your journey." With that Sarras turned and left the hut, with his assistants by his side.

The party left Guilliame, who expressed his thanks yet again, and walked outside the hut.

"I'm going to look for Pormas right away." Turadyl stated. "If he's still around we'll need to talk to him into coming with us."

"Agreed." said Rodrick. "Malthus and I can go back to our hut and gather all of our gear together. We'll met you at the dock before noon."

"And I'll also get my things sent to the docks." added Cronwyn. "If you don't mind I will accompany you on your trip to final Pormas."

The elf nodded and the group split. As they quickly headed for the docks, Turadyl remarked to the merchant that he needed to be in a better state of mind before being able to cast any really useful spells. "But first things first." The elf said. "We need to find Pormas."

"I agree," said Cronwyn. "If we are going to make it through the salt swamp on time we will need the skills of someone who knows the area. Pormas seems the only chance of getting that experience." The merchant changed topics slightly as they neared the small docks. "So how long were you in the deserts of Ylarum...," he asked. Then using a common Darokin oath he added "...and what in the name of the seven craftsmen were you doing there?"

Turadyl seemed confused, not having heard that particular Darokin vulgarity before. I look of milk consternation appeared on his face. "I wasn't working for any crafter's guild." He shook his head to dismiss the thought. "Why do you humans always assume that every elf is a craftsman?" But the elf didn't stop for an answer. "A few companions and I were searching for the Lost Oasis of Allajishan. We never did find it although we spent several years in Ylarum looking for it. It was a great adventure though."

Cronwyn stared at the elf hard. "You will find plenty of adventure in the Sind, I promise you that."

At this stage the pair arrived at the docks. The place was a flurry of activity with the last supplies being taken of rafts and place on the pier. Other soldiers were then transporting these goods onto the back of carts, would transport them further inland to the west. The river at this point ran almost due north, and was quite broad. Small eddies slowly formed from the logs supporting the docks, but quickly disappeared into the water's muddy depths. They had to ask a soldier which 'boat' was going upriver. The man looked confused for a second and then pointed to the end of the dock. As Turadyl and Cronwyn approached the river side they sighted what Sarras described as a boat. It turned out that it was little more than a raft. It was large enough to carry about ten people, along with supplies and several animals of horse size if necessary. There was one mast for a sail and several poles to assist with movement.

The elf's eyes blinked with disapproval. "Might as well swim," he muttered.

Cronwyn chuckled. "To be honest this is not quite what I imagined either when Sarras said there was a 'boat' waiting."

"He was obviously using the term very loosely." Turadyl agreed. "Still, it appears it can float, and the river does not appear too rough."

"That's where you would be wrong," said a coarse sounding voice from below the level of the pier. Turadyl and Cronwyn walked closer to the edge. Then they spied a small and dark skinned man sitting in the sun cross legged on the edge of the raft. His tanned  head was totally bald of hair although he didn't look he was in more than his mid thirties. He was probably only five and a half feet tall, but appeared to be close to the same width, all of it being made up of muscle. His arms and legs were incredibly dark and over proportioned for his size. The man spoke again. "Best thing for the swamp too. The bottom gets close there. Not that I would care anyway. Since I ain't leaving this spot." With the last comment the man folded his arms and squinted into the sun.

Cronwyn spoke. "Pormas I presume?" The man looked up at him from where he was on the raft about five feet below. "You can call me Pormas Theocrates."

Cronwyn started again. He was used to negotiations, although normally for items, not services. "Master Theocrates. You are right in thinking that we are planning a trip upriver. And we do need the services of a guide. We've heard a lot about your legendary skills as a guide."

"I'm not going up the river!" Pormas exclaimed. "There is a war on up there and things are just too dangerous."

"I understand," said Cronwyn. "Yes it is dangerous, but certainly better than the alternative. You wouldn't catch me going west with this reserve force." The old trader sensed that the man just needed a little coaxing. At least he was talking which meant that a deal probably was possible.

"I'm not going with the reserve force!" claimed Pormas. "I'm going to take this raft down to the coast and live out the rest of my days as a fisherman."

"Well that's a great idea," said Cronwyn quite honestly. "But first of all I think this raft has been requisitioned by the army. They aren't going to let you take it. And the way that things are progressing, these nomads will probably be at the coast in less than a year anyway. Then where would you run?"

For the first time the little boatman seemed a little confused. "You argument has more twists in it than a snake in a fit." He remarked. But he sighed after a second. What really was there to keep him here? What few friends he had were dead now, and he had never had any family. Even the coast couldn't hide him forever. Did it even matter if he died? "I would need to be well paid for my skills and the personal risk, shall we say one and a half thousand Darokin gold pieces?"

Turadyl gulped loudly but said little else. Cronwyn actually smiled a little. "You will have to excuse me a second friend. I need to talk to my comrade." When the two had withdrawn down the busy dock a few feet the elf spoke. "This man's loony if he thinks we can pay that! For one and half thousand we could hire a whole army! I can chip in two hundred gold coins, but no more. And try and get him as low as you can. He isn't saying no now so its likely we can get him to come." Cronwyn chuckled, "You don't have any dwarwen blood in you do you?" Turadyl didn't get the joke and just looked shocked. "Just joking. I will get the price down. I only have about one hundred gold pieces and a few gems that I don't think he would appreciate."

The merchant turned back to the haggling. Finally he managed to get Pormas down to five hundred gold, as long the boatman was able to keep the raft at the end of the journey. Pormas looked dubious the whole time and even appeared sad when the merchant agreed to his exorbitant price.

A soldier also appeared who claimed to be the quartermaster. Obviously Sarras was living up to his end of the bargain. Soon a pile of supplies began to appear close to the end of the dock. Cronwyn started passing these down the drop Pormas. "Why did they build this pier so damn tall?" asked the merchant. "Its been a long hot summer," answered Pormas. "The water level is low now, but in the wet season it floods."

"When is the wet season?" asked Cronwyn.

"About once every ten years," answered Pormas with a shrug.

Turadyl helped, but also watched the troops slowly being ported across the river and head out in a north-easterly direction. He wished them luck, but deep down in his heart he couldn't shake a sense of dread.