Falan crawled beside Naikal through thick grass that crested the hill above a large depression. It alsmost seemed to be the cone of a tiny volcano. Inside were black rocks, but instead of course volcanic rock, the mineral deposits were smooth. It was like nothing Falan had ever seen before.

“There,” Naikal said, pointing with one of her sharp-nailed fingers. “Your soldiers have survived the journey.”

“They are not my soldiers,” Falan said. The Hansa woman gave him an odd look, probably wondering why he had said that. “Never mind,” he added, rising to his feet.

The four men-at-arms shifted uneasily as they peered about for intruders, nearly loosing a bolt into Falan’s chest when he made himself known. “Lord Serafe!” one of the men exclaimed. “Forgive me.”

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“It’s all right, soldier.”

“You came back?”

“Yes,” he said, making his way closer. He peered into the fissure.

Blackness.

“The others went down less than half an hour ago, my lord.”

“And why are you not with them, man?”

“Forgive me, lord Serafe, but I—“

Falan interrupted. “Do not call me that.”

The the man-at-arms, barely a boy, nodded, half eyeing the surrounding hills as if expecting an ambush by some monstrosity at any moment.

Falan snapped his fingers to get the young man’s attention.

“Apoglogies my—I mean, Master Nogal. The lady mage told us to guard the rope.”

“Good,” Falan said. “Continue as you were. You other three—with me.”

They regarded him uncertainly, then moved to obey. To the man still guarding the rope, Falan pointed a stern finger. “Our best chance is for you to remain unseen, low and out of sight.” The guard nodded vigorously.

Falan looked up into the sky. There were a few clouds, but the stars were showing bright. A beautiful contrast in this evil place. He moved to the edge of the fissure, taking hold of the wet rope. “Let’s go.”