Chapter Twenty-Three – The Secret Entrance

Tara couldn’t deny that she was relieved when they left the Forest of Affliction behind them. The trees and the legend surrounding them was too eerie, and she doubted that her companions had slept well either. Even so, the lands beyond were not much more cheerful. The hills were rising into low mountains, and the crags were guarded by brown eagles that followed the companions’ slow progress with keen eyes.

Horon was surlier than usual and even Wenrik seemed watchful and grim. Elita tried to cheer them up with occasional, lighthearted observations, but she soon subsided, lost in her own gloomy thoughts.

Kell was similarly silent, but there was nothing resigned about his demeanor as he loosely held the pony’s reins. Tara couldn’t help being a little nervous that he would mention some of what she had said to him the night before, but the fey never even glanced at her.

Tara was still surprised that she had admitted as much as she had. But she had been tired and alone, and the fey seemed very willing to listen. Perhaps the only kind of person she was comfortable telling at this point was a self-described, “professional madman.” At least if he said anything to the others and matters began to spiral out of control, at least she could deny it all and blame Kell’s words on the imagination of a “World Weaver.”

Even so, she couldn’t help feeling moody herself as they followed their narrow road. The journey to Wanderer’s Bane felt endless. No matter how farther they went, it seemed like they always had farther to go.

Which is why so many people complained in the early days until the developers finally unlocked fast travel, Tara thought to herself. If they ever invent fast travel for real-life situations, I bet people are going to be all over it.

It wasn’t the thought of being able to avoid rush hour traffic through fast travel from her home to her office that made Tara’s eyes light with eagerness. She dismounted from her horse and stepped forward excitedly, crouching beside a human skull.

“Do you see this?” she said. “We’re on the right track! I recognize this skull. See these unusual markings? These are symbols painted on the skull by necromancer and his servants as a warning to others.”

“Oh dear,” said Elita, her eyes wide behind her goggles. “Are we that close?”

Tara pointed up to a ledge above them. “If I remember right, that’s where the entrance to Wanderer’s Bane is,” she said. “We finally made it!”

Horon couldn’t hold back a growl. “You might want to check your enthusiasm, Hero. After all, that is a human skull you’re rejoicing over.”

“Leave her alone, Horon,” rejoined Wenrik. “We’ve seen hundreds of skulls in our time. Some of them were still even wearing their faces.”

“But we haven’t smiled and beamed over them like peasant girls fawning over a lost lamb!” protested the Fenman.

“Hush!” said Kell unexpectedly. “If we are so close to a necromancer’s den, don’t you think it’s best we approach with caution? Do any of you have even an idea what waits for us there?”

His agitation was visible, sallow hands clenched. Tara was surprised at first, before she remembered the skull at her feet. She felt a pang of shame.

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In the game, none of this was real. Here, it was. That skull belonged to someone who had actually died, and her excitement had probably seemed misplaced.

“You’re right,” she said to Kell. “We do have to be careful. But we have an advantage that the necromancer, Narion Nightsong, doesn’t expect. We know who we’re up against and exactly how to stop him.”

“What do you mean?” asked Kell tensely.

Tara pointed back up the mountain. “That is the main entrance to the cave. It will be guarded by at least two enslaved guardians. We could take them out between us, it’s true, without too much trouble. But I want to try an alternate approach. There’s a hidden entrance nearby that will take us past the guards and into a storeroom where we can find materials that will help us against the necromancer.”

Wenrik heaved an appreciative laugh. “If this is true, this could indeed be a great help to us. You know all this from your visions?”

“Well, yeah. I’ve been through this dungeon dozens of times.” Tara wished she could take back the words as soon as they were out. Her companions were looking at her as if she had lost her mind. “In my dreams, of course,” she finished awkwardly.

“I find it incredible that such a thing could be true!” protested Kell, the fey dismounting with the rest to tether the pony’s bride. “The necromancer of Wanderer’s Bane would never have made an entrance to his storeroom that anyone could stumble across.”

“That’s true,” agreed Tara, leading them off the path into the wild growth of thorny underbrush and dry grass. “But the necromancer didn’t make this. It was always there. He was just as unaware of it as everyone else.”

“Except you,” said Kell.

“I guess so.” Tara paused at a scrubby, spare-leafed bush. “It’s right here. Wenrik, will you help me?”

The Borzerk joined her. He looked at the bare rock Tara indicated, confused. “What do you want me to do?”

“If you push it, it’ll open inward,” said Tara. She placed her palms flat against the stone and grunted with effort. “It’s pretty heavy!”

“I think you must surely be mistaken.” Elita was actually concerned. “That’s rock, Tara, not a door. It won’t—”

The gnome’s mouth snapped shut. With Wenrik’s help, Tara felt the rock finally giving under their combined efforts. The secret entrance swung inward, bits of dirt raining from above.

“Well, well,” said Wenrik. “I’m impressed. This door must have been made by inhabitants who lived here long before the necromancer. Very clever. Gnomish make, I think, by the looks of it.”

Elita tapped her goggles, astonished. “Yes—yes, it must be. I can’t imagine what else. How is it possible that a gnome hole leads into this cave?”

“The storeroom is just inside,” said Tara. “Come on.”

She was about to lead the way, when she found she couldn’t.

Wenrik raised one gray brow curiously. “You were going in, I think?”

“I—I’m trying.” Tara grit her teeth and pushed forward, but it was as if she was stuck in place. She could move backwards, but not forwards. “I have no idea what’s going on!”

“Perhaps it’s one of the sorcerer’s enchantments?” suggested Kell.

“It can’t be,” said Elita. “Magic always leaves some residue. This is pure, solid earth. Whatever’s holding you back, Tara, it has nothing to do with the necromancer.”

They were all looking at her with concern. Tara gave up, panting, and took a step back.

“Can any of you get through?” she asked.

“I’m not going in by myself,” said Kell at once, folding his bony arms.

Horon strode ahead. He stopped in front of the entrance, peering into the room beyond.

“It’s a curious thing,” said the Fenman at last. “I feel as if I could go in. But I can’t.”

“You, too?” asked Wenrik. The Borzerk warrior strode forward and came to a dead stop next to his friend. “Ah. I see what you mean. This is not natural, my friends. It’s like an invisible wall between us, holding us back. Are you sure that it isn’t magic?”

“Absolutely certain,” said Elita firmly. She glanced at Kell. “Tell them, Elder-Kin. Your kind are no strangers to enchantment.”

The fey joined them uneasily. He raised his hands and felt towards the entrance. His face froze and slightly paled.

“Yes, yes…” he murmured. “It is—a kind of magic, deeper than any enchantment we know. It is a kind of…a barrier and a warning…not by any design of ours. This has nothing to do with elves or fey, or any creature on this earth.” Kell stepped back quickly, shuddering. “We will never get through. It is too strong.”

“No!” protested Tara. “That’s impossible. I’ve been through plenty of times. It has to work.”

Wenrik was dismissive. “You see for yourself. The entrance is somehow sealed. It was a good idea, Tara. I’m sorry it won’t work, but there’s nothing else to be done.”

Tara refused to believe it. Something was wrong—she just didn’t know what.

One person might know, she thought to herself.

“I’ll be right back,” she said to the others, and vanished in a flash of blue light.