The five priests stood up from the table, retreating from the courtyard back into the temple building.

“What was that about?” Ihra asked, helping herself to a treat that looked a bit like a scone.

He shook his head. “Who knows? They don’t seem hostile but…”

She smiled, patting the bow resting on the chair beside her, in easy reach. “Don’t worry; I’m ready to spring into action if need be.”

Jasper sighed, scrutinizing the scrumptious treats laid out on the table before him. Finally, he selected one of the faux scones, topped with rich, amber-colored fruit. The first bite was sheer heaven, the crust perfectly buttery and flakey, and the fruit unlike any he had tasted on earth.

As he devoured the scone, the crumbs spilling out of his mouth, he asked the question that had been bothering him since fleeing Kār-Kuppû. “Is it always like this, or is it just me?”

Ihra looked up from her own treat. “Pardon?”

Jasper waved his hand. “The betrayal, the bloodshed. Outside of you, Ihra, I don’t feel like I’ve met even one other person whom I could completely trust. Sellâ, Aphora, the guild at Hargish, now even Qarda.” He sighed. “She seemed like such a nice person.”

Ihra set her scone down, a thoughtful look on her face. “I’m not sure Qarda really wanted to betray us; I think Labbu was the one calling the shots.”

Jasper shrugged. “Does it matter? In the end, she chose to go along with him. She could have at least tried to warn us. But seriously, are there no nice people in this world? People on earth weren’t the greatest, but at least I didn’t have to worry that everyone I met might try to kill me.”

Ihra frowned, her brow darkening as she set her scone down on the table. “But there are good people. Yarha’s priest may have accidentally screwed us, but he also put himself on the line to protect us from the guards and refused to give the lyre to Nabul. Bā’er would still be alive today if he had just abandoned us. Ga’on sacrificed himself to give us a chance to get to Gis̆-Izum and raise the alarm.”

“These are the dark times, Jasper. People are scared. Usurpers sit on our throne, our capital is in the hands of invaders, and no Shamshadīn has arisen to save us. Magic is dying, and perhaps our world with it. But there are still good people.”

The fire of her response surprised him. Maybe, he mused, I’m too used to seeing the darkness. His thoughts were interrupted as the priests returned to the courtyard. The priest they had been speaking to bowed again. “My lord, we have decided to permit you access to the mountain. You may attempt to deliver Lady Tirra’s message to our lord.”

Jasper hid his frown, offering a simple thanks in return. He hadn’t been aware that he needed their permission - he had every intention of going with or without it - but, in the end, there was no point in offending them.

The priests sat back down at the table. “Did Lady Tirra tell you about the trials you will face?”

He shook his head. “She mentioned there’d be fighting.”

The priest smiled. “Yes, I suppose that’s true. To seek an audience with Lord Arutû you must climb to the top of the highest peak where he dwells. But three champions bar your path. There are various ways you can pass the first two without fighting, but the third must be defeated. I myself have never made it past the third.”

Jasper’s brow shut up in surprise. “Really? Even his priests don’t have access to his temple?”

The man hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “Lord Arutû is…particular. He is a great believer in rewarding merit, and values prowess in combat greatly. If you wish him to regard Lady Tirra’s request favorably, I strongly suggest you fight all three guardians. To pass his champions through other means may displease him.”

Jasper nodded, taking another sip of the spiced wine. “Very well. Are you able to tell me anything about the guardians I’ll be facing?”

The priest shook his head regretfully. “I’m afraid I cannot help you much there, my lord. The first two guardians are spirits; they have no natural form but will adapt to the individual challenger. The tests have never, to my knowledge, been repeated twice. The final guardian, however, is always the same. In order to enter the temple on the peak, you must defeat a creature of the shadowed moon. The beast is much like a Shalgu, only far greater.”

Jasper grinned, taking another bite of the delicious delicacy. “Well, I have fought a shalgu before; hopefully that will serve me in good stead.”

At the priests’ insistence, they spent the night in the temple. It was a simple building; aside from the luscious garden and finely carved emblem of Arutû, the temple was positively spartan in its decorations. But to Jasper’s surprise, the thin cotton pallet offered to him was as soft as a cloud, and he soon slipped into a peaceful sleep.

The mountain towered above him, the pale, snow-covered peak almost glowing when set against the ominous storm clouds that covered the horizon. A chill rain fell from the heavens, punctuated by flashes of lightning that bridged the gap between heaven and earth. He was standing at the base of the mountain, a narrow path leading up the sides from the flat plain. The wind howled through the tall, purplish-gray grass which swayed back and forth, the blades glistening from the endless rain.

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Where am I? Ihra? Jasper glanced around, confused, as the realization slowly sunk in. I’m in a vision again. His eyes fell on the path leading into the mountain, and he knew where he had to go.

He stumbled up the path. The bare rocks were slippery in the cold rain, making his every step treacherous. The world around him twisted, warping and distorting as he hiked up the trail. One step would cover a hundred feet, another only ten, as the mountain beneath his feet tremble. Within minutes, he had reached the peak. A cliff overlooked the valley below and, despite the pelting rain, it offered a breathtaking view. He could see the village, nestled at the foot of the mountains, the Mwyrani's forest sprawling across the river, and even the frozen shores of Hurbas̆u gleaming in the distance.

A man sat on the cliff, his legs dangling over the side. His skin gleamed silver in the flashes of lightning, and the four arms that sprouted from his back left no doubt as to his identity. Jasper approached cautiously, bowing respectfully. “Lord Arutû?”

The Mwyrani didn’t turn to face him but patted the ground beside him with one of his giant hands. “Have a seat, boy.”

Jasper sat down carefully, staring rather apprehensively at the sheer drop off the cliff. He would stoutly deny that he was afraid of heights, but he sure as hell didn’t like them, either. How far down is it? A couple of thousand feet at least.

“So, Tirra has finally seen reason?”

Jasper shifted uncomfortably. “Truth be told, Lord Arutû, I haven’t seen the message and know nothing of your conflict beyond her…difficulties being seen.”

The Mwyrani snorted. “She and I fled the ruins of our empire together, bound ourselves to these lands together, and when we pass into Oblivion, we shall cross those shores together. This is nothing more than a passing quarrel. I knew she'd eventually apologize."

Jasper decided to take the plunge. "What was the quarrel about?"

The mountain boomed with laughter. "You're a bold one, aren't you? Tirra had the gall to transform one of my faithful servants into one of those ugly hammūti of hers, so I decided if she was going to steal one of my followers, she could spend a little time separated from hers." The Mwyrani grinned, revealing a mouthful of jet-black teeth. "But I will happily lift the curse, if you successfully beat my champions.” The silver-skinned god turned to face him. “I warn you, though, I will not make it easy. Merit must be earned, not given.”

The god slapped his hands against the ground, pushing himself up awkwardly. He stopped a few feet away, calling over his shoulder. “Do be sure to win, Jasper. I want this little feud to be over with.” Then he disappeared into the mists.

Jasper pushed himself away from the edge, not daring to stand up until he was several feet away from the fateful ledge. A bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the dark plateau, and a flash of something on the ground caught his eyes.

Curiously, he approached it. There, embedded in the giant handprint of the god, was a small silver object. He hesitated before touching it; his experience with Kas̆dael’s dice had been a very, very painful lesson in the dangers of curiosity. But he had a feeling that the object had been left on purpose - after all, it seemed like Lord Arutû wanted him to win.

So cautiously, he let his fingers brush against the thin silver ornament. A small prick of pain blossomed on his finger and he jerked it back immediately, half-expecting to be writhing on the ground in agony. But aside from the single drop of blood that welled up, nothing further happened. With a shrug, he picked the object up and shoved it in his pocket.

The moment he pulled his hand free from his pocket, the ground beneath his feet crumbled, as the cliff face suddenly gave way to the endless pull of gravity. With a scream, he tumbled through the air, plummeting toward the distant base of the mountain, the cold air whipping through his hair with the force of a hurricane. And then, just as he was about to smash into the ground, he awoke on the cot, gasping for air.

The full force of daylight flooded the small room, the shudders open just wide enough to let the light in while still barring most of the cool mountains winds. It took a few minutes of deep, conscious breathing before Jasper’s heart finally stopped racing and, as before, the line between the vision and reality was blurry at best. His finger ached where it had been pricked, a small scab covering the minor wound, and in his pocket, a small silver object dug into his leg.

He fished it out, finally able to examine it in the light. The metal, despite its overall silver sheen, was covered with subtle swirls of an orangey color, the object itself little more than three inches long and half as wide.

“What’s that?”

Ihra rose sleepily from her pallet, blearily wiping the sleep from her eyes.

He tossed it at her, and her eyes lit up as she examined it. “Hey, I think I recognize this.” She dug through her bag, pulling out the rune book Aphora had given her. After a few minutes, her fingers came to rest on a page. “Here it is. It’s an ingredient for a powerful combat rune. Aphora has a little note in the margins - 'very expensive, only use in emergency.'” Ihra closed the book, examining it more closely. "If Aphora thinks it's expensive, it must be really outrageous." She looked up expectantly. “So how did you get it?”

Jasper smirked. “Let’s just say Lady Tirra isn’t the only one hoping for our success.”

After scarfing down a sumptuous breakfast that the priests insisted on serving them, the pair left the temple and promptly headed down the main road of the village. The priests had not permitted them to take their mounts, insisting the trail was sacred and could not be fouled by unholy animals. So they were forced to carry their own gear. It was with some reluctance that Jasper had strapped the heavy glaive to his back; he didn’t use it often, preferring his spells to the clash of cool steel, but it was always a good thing to have options. Plus, the Shalgu we fought was pretty resistant to my spells, he reasoned.

Within minutes, they had reached the edge of town. A large stone gate, made from three giant slabs of rock that looked as if they had been stolen right out of Stonehenge, loomed above the base of the trail leading up the mountain.

He turned to Ihra, who had slung her bag off her shoulder and was spreading items all across the ground. "What the hell are you doing?" He asked, confused.

“Just making sure I've got everything,” she replied, checking on each item before she begin to stuff them back into Nabul’s bag of holding. “I'd hate to get all the way up to the peak and realize I left some important ingredient behind.” She stood up, brushing the dust off her palms, as she slung the bag back over her shoulders. “Alright, I'm ready now.”

Jasper didn't need to be told a second time, turning quickly back toward the gate. But just as he was about to step through the stone arch, the sound of a shout echoed behind him.

“Wait! Wait for me!”