Some days later, when the weather had cleared up, Behorn led William into the mountains. They journeyed high, slope by slope, bundled up in heavy cloaks. Their only shelter from the wind was the barren trees that covered the mountaintop. As they went higher, the air became thinner, and it was harder to breathe. The winds were howling, and it was bitterly cold, so your breath came from your nostrils like steam.

William tightened the scarf around his face as he pressed up the mountain. Ahead of him, Behorn was forcing a path through the accumulated snow. The wind was howling. The air was chill, and it was getting harder to breathe. And this was supposed to be good weather?

"Howling wind is particularly nice today, isn't it?" asked Behorn. "You need good armor to keep it from cutting down to your bones.

"But you're not even shaking. Are you alright?"

"How close are we?" William asked.

"Only a little way up now," said Behorn, leaning on her staff. "Come, we're nearly there."

They emerged from the trees, and William saw a sheer rock cliff ahead of sorrowful-looking gray stone. It was overhung by vast amounts of snow that had never melted, and it fell over the edge to freeze in great hills. William wondered if archers might be posted on such hills but thought the wind alone would kill them. Yet there was a crack in the mountains. It was about five feet at the widest. Behorn led him to it, and he looked within.

Muttering the incantations of the sun, he summoned a light. The warmth was pleasant on his palm, but keeping it sustained was tricky in this cold. There wasn't a lot of sunlight that came down through those clouds above.

Within, he saw bones. Hundreds of hundreds of bones are arranged into the shape of a path. He stepped back as a foul wind came from within the mountain. It reeked of carrion, and he resisted the urge to gag.

"Is this the only way?" he asked.

"Of course it is," said Behorn. "We are approaching the heart of death itself, the Withering King's domain. None dwell here, save specters and less natural things.

"Are you sure you want to go through?"

William dearly wanted to say no. Going back to Easorman and spending a few months telling and listening to stories did not sound so bad. But he screwed himself up. That was different from how one had adventures worth telling about.

"I'm sure," he said. "Has anyone ever gotten through?"

"That all depends on what the Withering King thinks of them," said Behorn. "Those who anger him and pass through those doors never return home alive. Those who are respectful and do not tempt him to make it sometimes.

"I spoke with him once. Me and Balfast were an adventuresome duo. He was quite courteous to us and even let us leave with some gifts—just a word of advice. Don't take anything. You may see some amazing treasures, riches beyond imagination. But don't take anything. He is very particular about the rules of hospitality."

"Very well," said William. "Thank you for the advice."

"And whatever you do, you should not disturb the dead any more than possible," said Behorn. "What lies in this place lies here for a reason. Move quickly, and don't look back. I'd keep those torches I gave you. The sun spirit doesn't touch everything in this place."

"Thank you, Behorn," said William. "Your hospitality has been gracious, and your assistance invaluable. I hope that we may meet again in better times."

"I would like to hear your music again," said Behorn. "I see why the chimera loved it so. Still, you'd best get underway. It is best to enter the Withering King's domain in daylight. You'll have better luck that way."

William nodded. Looking back to the path of bones, he hesitated on the threshold. He fought down his fear and began to walk. Then he turned back. "Goodbye."

But Behorn was already making her way down the mountain again. William sighed and continued on the path, trying not to step on the bones. "Well, here I am," he said to himself. "Going from danger into danger to find yet more danger. What brought me here? And how in hell's name am I to get out? Even if I get into the Iron Kingdom, I have no money to speak of. How can I barter passage?

"I might seek work as a mercenary. However, I don't know enough about the land.

"Yes, this may take some time."

On William walked. The smell became worse. The darkness got deeper. The light in his hand began to fade, and he had to focus on making it bright again. Then suddenly, he walked out of the darkness and found himself in a great hall.

And all around him were treasures. Piles upon piles of gold and jewels were strewn around. It was like a dragon's hoard in this place.

Even the den of Massacre he'd seen all those months ago could not compare. With a handful of these coins, he could surely easily pay any travel expenses.

Then the warning of Behorn came to mind. She knew the road better than he. He forced himself to move on. He crossed the gold-strewn room and went to a door which led into yet more darkness. As he approached it, something emerged.

It was a figure clad in robes. Or at least William thought that at first. But then he saw that there was nothing beneath the robes. Nothing but a translucent blue fire that emanated cold instead of heat.

"You are wiser than your appearance dictates, wanderer," said a voice like a cold north wind. "Who are you?"

"I am William Gabriel, son of Duke Vanion Gabriel," said William.

"And where have you come from?" asked the spirit.

"Northwestern Viokinar," said William. "I am going to the Iron Kingdom."

"Interesting," said the spirit. He remained silent.

"You have asked me several questions," said William. "I will ask you one in turn. Who are you? Do you serve the Withering King?"

"Me? No, I've been around far longer than that," said the spirit. "The Withering King often changes, you see. I do not."

"How often?" asked William.

"Once or twice every few hundred years," admitted the spirit.

"How many Withering Kings have you seen?" asked William.

"Oh, I was here for the first," said the spirit. "When the first cursed ring was bestowed, the first warrior struck his bargain. I was here for the first of every race. I watched when these mountains were carved and saw when the gods first came to this realm.

"I saw the first sunrise as it rose over the first world."

"You've been down here a long time then?" surmised William, only half believing him.

"Quite," laughed the spirit. "And many other places, for that matter. I know you don't believe me, but that is of no real concern now. If I were you, I should seek out the Withering King?"

"And why would you suggest that?" asked William.

"He knows these mountains well," said the spirit. "He has been here a long time in your years and is approaching when he will pass, and another will take his place. Go to him and ask his leave to go through his domain, and he will set you on the fastest route."

"Wouldn't it be possible to get through without?" asked Wiliam.

"It would," mused the spirit. "But it might offend him. His will is everywhere in these tunnels, and it is far better to have him with you than against you."

"Can you take me to him?" asked William.

"Of course," said the spirit. "Follow, and I shall lead."

The spirit turned and walked into the darkness. Yet this time, William could see him go. Glancing back to get another look at the jewels, William stopped short. There was nothing there. Nothing but piles upon piles of rocks. Fools gold.

He hurried after the spirit. It led him into a series of chambers. Within them were many beds of stone. On them were stone caskets. "These tombs, do they hold bodies?" asked William.

"Yes. Yet the bodies in these places often move," said the spirit. "Anger the Withering Lord, and they will arise. It has been the death of many bold and foolish souls. And it has been their doom since."

"What do you mean 'it has been their doom since?'" asked William.

"They are still here," said the spirit. "The Withering claimed them."

William did not know what that meant. But he felt pity for those trapped in this horrible place. "Would it be possible to help them?"

"A kind question," said the spirit and its voice held a tone of mockery. "However, I do not recommend it. You are not nearly strong enough yet to break the spells on these barrows. And the strain would be your death. Perhaps someday."

"What is the name of this Withering King?" asked William. He remembered the journey to Gel Carn and passing through Blackfear. Some of his decisions had been rash indeed, and he'd been lucky to get out of them.

"I could tell you," mused the spirit. "Yet it would matter little. There is very little left of his old self. A shame; he was rather kind to me in his youth."

"Are we near him?" asked William.

"Very," said the spirit. "We have only just entered into the City of the Dead."

"City of the dead?" asked William.

Then the passages opened up. William found himself in a great cavern, and within it were many stone pillars. There were doorways carved into the rock and windows too. Far above, William could see a distant and pale light shining down from above.

Yet he could see nothing and no one. "I don't see anyone."

"No corpses are allowed here," said the spirit. "Nor will you find any living. There are only the in-between in this place."

Then William noticed shadows. Living shadows are moving this way and that. His hand fell to his harp. All too well, he remembered clashing with them in Blackfear before and after the Barrow. "Wraiths..."

"Stay your harp, William," said the spirit, "None will harm you while in my presence."

There were thousands of them. Maybe tens of thousands. What he had taken to be the shadows of the pillars were not millions of different shadows. They melded and changed before his eyes. The whole of the cavern was alive with them.

"I've never seen this many," said William.

"You have seen them only once or twice," said the spirit. "You have heard far more than that."

"You know much," noted William.

"I know everything," said the spirit.

William felt as though he should believe it. However, he'd had experience with mind control, so he decided to test it. "I am thinking of a number between five and five hundred-" he said.

"Three hundred and sixty-seven," said the spirit.

"I'm thinking of a number between five and a thousand," said William.

"Six hundred and seventy-seven," said the spirit. "Stop testing it."

William had an idea. He'd state parameters without thinking of a number at all. "Three and-"

"You are attempting to trap me," said the spirit. "You are wasting your time. What you see here doesn't exactly exist on the same scale as you. It is an avatar of my true self."

"Like a greater demon or a god," guessed William.

"Yes, precisely," said the spirit.

"Who are you?" asked William.

"Some call me Lucius," said the spirit.

They passed into a hall. And here, there were many empty suits of armor. Yet they seemed to be breathing freezing air. And where the eyes of the wearer would be, there were two freezing flames. They wielded halberds and axes and swords and every other kind of armor. At the far end of the hall, there was a throne. And upon that throne lounged another suit of armor.

This one was a giant. It was larger than any humanoid creature he had faced before. And it held in one spiked gauntlet a massive blade longer than William was tall. One of its iron boots could have crushed a grown man flat. And the helmet radiated bright red light. And on his right hand was a steel ring, gleaming slightly.

"So here you are, spirit," boomed the voice. "What have you brought this time, old man?"

"A paladin known as William Gabriel, Withering King," said Lucius. "He seeks passage through your lands."

"Does he now?" said the Withering King in a jovial tone. "Well, have him come forth; I'll look at him." William stepped forward, trying to control his fear. The suit of armor raised one hand to the cup where its chin might have been. "Hmm, he is younger than most who dare venture into my realm. Perhaps I should slay him; he may make an excellent subject."

"You would not find me easy prey," said William, resisting the urge to shrink in fear.

"No?" asked Withering King. "Perhaps not." There was a familiarity in his gaze. "Now I know you. I've seen you through the eyes of my successor. Perhaps I should test you." And he arose from his throne, shaking off the dust as he brandished his massive sword.

William tried to back away. Yet the smaller suits of armor blocked off all escape. He drew his sword and held his ground.

"Withering King, is this truly necessary?" asked Lucius with a sigh.

"Of course. I have had no battle for nearly a year," said the Withering King. "And I wish to test how formidable this one is-"

William charged. He ducked under the blade of the Withering King and drove his sword toward the boot. Yet the Withering King leaped away, quick as lightning. He spun his blade around in a counterattack that nearly left William without a head.

His enemy laughed. "Attacking while I speak? Clever."

He brought down his sword, and William rolled away. Yet even as William rose, the Withering King had drawn back his blade and swung again. He fought with casual grace, wielding his massive blade with ease. William could hardly survive, let alone counterattack. Nor could he block the strikes with his own weapon or his shield.

The King stepped back and planted his sword into the ground before him. William collapsed to one knee, panting and out of breath. A dark chuckle came from the suit. "The boy fights well. Still, let us see the strength of his will," He raised the blade and pointed it at William. "Die."

The word so casually spoken was a command. William shuddered as he found himself bringing up his sword. He must die. He must fall upon his blade as he had been commanded. No, no, this was a spell. He forced his hands away and pushed himself back into a stance. Or tried to. The command was hard, and it was all he could do not to obey it.

"Hmm, you are putting up far more resistance to my command than I expected," mused the Withering King. "You are strong. But are you strong enough to defy it?"

William mastered himself and threw the sword away. The Withering King drew back his will and laughed. "Very good. Well, you've impressed me. I should love to have one of your skills among my warriors. Yet I suspect you are only beginning to tap into your true potential. Undeath tends to... stagnate the soul."

William picked up his sword. "You were trying to kill me a moment ago."

"I was," said the Withering King, "And had you disappointed me, your head with be at your feet, and your soul would be mine."

"I am Elranor's and no other," said William.

"True," admitted the Withering King. "I suspect he might negotiate for your release. But that would provide me with benefits as well. I like you, William Gabriel. Thus I shall grant you leave to go to the Iron Kingdom with a condition."

"What condition?" asked William.

"You will have three days to leave my domain." said the Withering King. "If you are not out of it by then, I shall unleash my subjects. They will chase you down, slay you, and drag your corpse back to become one of my trophies."

"Very generous of you," said William. "Is there anything else?"

He felt that the Withering King was giving him a fatherly smile. "It's a four-day journey from here to the other side."

Typical really.