"You make yourself out to be heroes," Inquisitor Varus sneered, "claiming to have killed a mythical being of your own invention. Yet so far you have danced around the real issue," he said, scattering papers at his lectern before seizing one in triumph. "The murder of guards at the Lazerine Bridge and the trafficking of refugees from the Frontier. We have not yet begun to address these issues and yet the day drags on."

Gynefra crossed her arms. "You're conducting the trial," she pointed out mildly. "You asked about the Crypt Demon, and I answ—"

"Yes, yes," Varus replied. "We've heard your story, though I'm still unclear what you were doing in the Barrowlands in the first place. How did you then return from there to involve yourself with the border guards?"

Gynefra sighed. "Well, that—"

"Fool," the Seeker spat out. "Have we not been clear? We traveled to the Barrowlands to save your race, after all. You should be grateful for everything we went through."

Varus steepled his fingers and studied the Dwarf. She'd been silent and obstinate for some time now, and while he found himself increasingly eager to see her executed, Varus was curious about what more she might say. He glanced over to the side, taking in the bright light of the early afternoon. It was possible he might have to rush the proceedings near the end, but they'd worked diligently through the lunch break without pause, and Varus supposed they had time to be thorough.

"Tell us of your sacrifice then," he replied with a sneer. "Why, exactly, should we be grateful?"

The Seeker sniffed and rose to her feet, manacles jangling. "I'll tell you why. You see, I had as accurate a map to the Barrowlands as any could be found, and with the passage cleared that was little time to waste..."

***

The butterfly flitted ahead at the far end over the cavern. The Seeker limped forward, glaring as it left them behind. "What is this insect doing? It seems to be taunting us."

"I disagree," Gynefra said, her brow furrowed as she led the way forward. "There's something about it..." She shook her head in wonder, then turned back to face the others. Barnabus had just risen from the empty shell of the Crypt Demon, having chipped away at the plating, the fresh black scrapings now filling a glass vial. "Did you get anything?"

"Not really," Barnabus said with a heavy sigh, stowing the vial in his satchel. "As best I could tell, the spirit extinguished itself once the armor was breached. The plate mail's interior had blackened traces of superheated ectoplasm, I suppose from the spots where our magical energies impacted on the outer armor. Yet I doubt the study of the charred ectoplasm will yield much in the way of information."

Darius shook his head slowly. "Physikers," he muttered.

"Still, it will be more than anyone's brought back in a century," Gynefra observed, gesturing for the others to follow. In the distance, the butterfly hovered in place, before disappearing through an opening. As the group drew nearer, they could make out the night sky, dotted with innumerable stars. A gentle breeze drifted inside as they paused at the entrance.

"Is anyone around?" the Seeker asked, gripping one of her twin daggers for comfort. The wooden grip had been worn down by years of constant use.

Gynefra shook her head briefly before padding out and creeping over to a nearby thicket of long, yellowed grass. For a moment the Seeker could make out nothing but her long ears and the back of the Elf's head as it swiveled from side to side. Then she rose to her feet.

"Nothing," Gynefra said, her words feeling strangely loud in the quiet of the night. The others pushed forward, spreading out as they finally left the caverns behind. Up ahead the landscape was a churned-up mess, with sloping hills and small mesas—a badlands of narrow canyons and bare rock that gleamed silver under the moonlight. The Seeker didn't need her extensive knowledge of history to understand what had happened here. This could never have been formed naturally.

The Barrowlands, where the War of the Great Coalition came to a bloody end.

She breathed in the cool air. There was something musty about the badlands here, more so even than the caves behind them. The massive corpse fields were filled with the fallen, and it was as if the very landscape itself oozed death. Unconsciously, both hands clutched her knives now, and she huddled close to the others as if for protection.

"Watch towers," Barnabus observed, indicating the distant pinpricks of light with his wand, pointing out the camps along ridges that roughly circled the center of the Barrowlands. "Perhaps there will be scouts around as well."

"I believe we can assume the great host here has not yet been alerted to our presence," Gynefra said in a calm, even tone, grounding her staff into the loose soil beside the cave's entrance. "Though that may not last forever. We shall move swiftly and silently through the night, put an end to this calamity, and then work our way out. Should we grow separated, this shall be our rally point. Though I do not expect anyone to wait forever."

The Seeker unstopped her canteen and took a long swallow. Every survival instinct inside her screamed away, telling her this was madness and that she should turn away. She took a moment to ignore the voices. Then she cleared her throat.

"Perhaps I should guide us further. I've studied the Barrowlands and can identify—"

"Shh," Gynefra said softly, peering into the gloom. After a moment, a small violet light flickered beside a small, craggy hill. The Seeker pursed her lips, recognizing the strange butterfly that seemed to mark their progress. "We should follow it," Gynefra added.

"I recognize that point," the Seeker realized. All at once she was back in Castle Kanaveran, studying dusty old tomes under the tutelage of the old seer, back when she still bore her birth name. The image came to her clearly even over the passage of years—the yellowed page featuring a map of the Barrowlands. It had clearly been drawn from a different angle, but there was something about the particular promontory that jogged her memory. "Gravemaker's Point."

"What did you say?" Gynefra snapped, eyes widening. There was something about the normally calm Elf's reaction that unnerved the Seeker, though she did her best to hide it.

"That's what it's called. In our language, at least," the Seeker rumbled, exchanging a glance with Jag. "Does the name frighten you? I suspect there's great treasure inside..."

"It does not," Gynefra said icily, her surprise fading away. "We head there at once."

Silence fell among the band of adventurers as Gynefra led the way through the rocky badlands. They had been marching off and on for days now, grabbing little sleep, and more than a few of their heads bobbed low as they stepped past the dry weeds and rocks that made up this section of the Barrowlands. From time to time, their boots would disrupt the scree piled up along the route, though it was never enough to cause a disturbance.

The sky was a beautiful dark purple, spread out like a vast tapestry among them, and despite the fact that they were deep in hostile lands it felt strangely comforting. Before long the group came to a halt as they reached a massive stone door seemingly carved out of the hill itself. Gynefra puzzled over it, squinting to make out the runes. Small holes were bored into the material nearby, which the Seeker recognized as necessary for ventilation, and the violet butterfly flitted inside one of the tiny entrances.

"Can you not read it, battlemage?"

The Seeker broke the silence, pushing to the front as Gynefra traced the faint imprints with an extended finger. She shook her head, and the Seeker couldn't help but take some pleasure in the fact that she was almost assuredly the only one here that could.

"It is an ancient tongue, after all. Yet this concerns one of your kind." The Seeker coughed, joining Gynefra beside the door and studying the runes. "Here lies the Gravemaker, accursed soul that he was. For all his foul deeds none can deny his bravery. For it was he who destroyed the demon guarding the pass to the Valley of the Doomed, taking his force into the rotted lands. The one the Elves knew as Br—"

"Brynfried," Gynefra breathed out.

The Seeker paused. "You... knew this man?"

She nodded slowly. "He was my General," she said almost reverently. "He made me... who I am today." Gynefra paused, and a hint of irritation now broke through. "How do we get this open?"

The Seeker tsked, studying the markings and then waving Gynefra closer. "Finger."

"Finger?"

"Finger."

As Gynefra extended her pointer finger, the Dwarf clutched it and placed it down firmly in a certain indentation, almost as if she were stamping a seal into a document. "Exert a faint amount of power there, if you would."

Gynefra complied, and a dim glow spread across the doorway. The Seeker moved it over, again and again, placing it carefully in certain spots. Small pools of light began to glow across the doorway, and the Seeker began talking almost conversationally as they went on.

"It's a puzzle, though it's easy enough to solve for those with the wit to understand. This is far from my first barrow, though I will say that being in the presence of a magic user makes the task a good deal easier."

Jagruanda growled. "Perhaps you should hire one as a bodyguard instead."

"Perhaps I should," the Seeker replied irritably. "Once more here," she said, and as a turquoise glow spread across the final section of the doorway there came the sound of a distant latch being unlocked.

The great door lurched inward into the barrows. Violet light pulsed from jewels embedded in the interior, which was cramped but just wide enough for the group to enter, spreading around and filling the cold room. A large sarcophagus sat before them, with swirls of runes emblazoned across it, only this time the words were also in Elvish. Barnabus and Gynefra read them with rapt attention.

"This... it's truly his grave?" Barnabus attempted. A low rumble spread through the crypt, and the butterfly emerged from above, flitting down to land on the dirt-smeared sarcophagus. After a moment it faded away—then a spectral shape burst into life, forming into the violet outlines of an Elf in ancient armor. The group stepped backwards almost at once, Jag raising his axe, the Seeker blocking his blow from landing. They had the sense of powerful magical energy as the glow shifted until finally materializing. Under the spectral helmet an Elven man with aquiline features stared at them without recognition, his eyes a blaze of violet energy.

"General Brynfried!" Gynefra called out, and his gaze latched onto her.

"Gynefra Caul-Marrel?" The baleful gaze flickered as the spirit of General Brynfried drifted closer.

"You remember me?" she asked in genuine shock.

"Yes... yes, I do remember you," the voice replied, slow and methodical, as if he was waking up from a long slumber. "How could I forget your bravery?"

The Seeker allowed Jag to lower his axe, and the two Dwarves watched in silence. It wasn't the first time the Seeker had awakened something from the realm beyond, and she knew better than to interrupt.

"Yes... that's right... during the War of the Great Coalition, when our army was encamped in the badlands here, I thought to blast our way into the warrens below. For a while it worked... yet after the last failed undermining attempt had been repulsed, you had volunteered to go into the mines and bring back the wounded. Into that stinking, rotting tunnel still choked with explosives and crawling with goblins. And yet you and the volunteers with you pulled out eight wounded soldiers, for the loss of three of your own. It was as you healed the last one in the open, bloodied and soot-stained, that I realized your potential." The spirit paused for a long moment. "I raised you up to full battlemage that very moment."

Gynefra bowed low. "Centuries I may live, and yet I will never forget it."

"Strange, then," Brynfried rumbled. "I see beyond the Barrowlands and watch in horror as a great host of undead move southward, given purpose by the Twisted One. And yet you, who a century ago gave so much to save others, are not with those in need. You are here... why?"

"I..." She sighed. "I am not the same woman as I was back then. I am an Agent of the Watchful Tower, and as such—"

"Nonsense," Brynfried rumbled. "Five centuries I lived, or near enough as to make no difference. I had the measure of you then. Explain yourself."

Gynefra's face scrunched up, and the Seeker barely choked back a chuckle at the sight. It wasn't often that anyone talked back to the ancient battlemage.

"My comrade and I ventured to the Barrowlands to find some way of stopping this plague and of learning more of how it began. If we could accomplish either—"

"There is no way of stopping it from here," Brynfried decreed. Spectral though he was, he did not seem happy about it. "The rot of expended magic built up among the dead, and the Twisted One released it, spreading the plague into human lands. These creatures can only be stopped by discipline, stout walls and strong hearts, and the willingness to stand fast against the darkness." Brynfried paused. "Though I suspect their numbers have swelled in the Frontier. This foe may require a new Coalition to be formed."

Gynefra nodded. "Relations have soured over the past century."

"To put it lightly," Jag rumbled.

"So be it," Brynfried replied. "A common foe can unite all sorts, should it be great enough. And none is more deadly than the Twisted One."

"Could we have... proof?" Gynefra asked. "To make our case?"

"Why?" Brynfried rumbled, showing a hint of humor for the first time. "The Watchful Tower will trust your words without proof, and the others are paranoid and short-sighted fools, who could never—"

"That's enough!"

A gavel slammed down, Inquisitor Varus growing impatient, and the story drifted away from the Barrowlands as the Seeker's testimony was interrupted.

"I will not tolerate this slight."

The Seeker shrugged. "But he did say words to that effect."

The other captives nodded in agreement as the Inquisitor stewed.

"I believe we've drawn out this case long enough. You are accused of the murder of border guards and the trafficking of human foreigners across our border. Henceforth, your testimony will focus on that alone. Now then! Continue... Barnabus, if you would."