Gund stood on a spur of rock that jutted from the peak of the hill they camped on. It wasn't a hollow hill, but had a number of rocky outcroppings that gave them shelter from the sky. The land around them was steep and hard, filled with hills and rises and shelves of limestone and granite. They'd pushed on at a healthy speed for four days straight, and made it to the Rambasl in a respectable amount of time. Only one night's rest had been enough to bring the whole group back to peak strength. Gund had watched happily the whole way as Ror's mood improved. He'd been subdued since putting Salimod down, but he was coming back into his usual temper. Although, Gund noticed, he refused to speak of anything to do with High Alden, Cara in particular. Instead the talk over the trip, if any, was focused on the journey ahead. From the Rambasl they could make quick work of the journey to Solstice, and maybe find some news of the world around them. It was well enough to keep focused on reclaiming Thrond while it was still in enemy hands, but Gund wondered what impact the invasion would have on other lands. The Rambasl was strategically located on a high ridge that overlooked the most travelled roads in the west of the world. The odds of encountering people with relevant information were likely.

Wars of yesteryear played out in Gund's thoughts as he gazed over the misty hills to the old fortress. He saw soldiers moving through the mist, lining the wall with arbalests and mangonels loaded and ready. A sea of foes churned beneath them, and the stars wheeled overhead as kingdoms were broken and born by the storms of time. The were half a days march from the Rambasl, but still it showed clear from the high rocky ridge. It crested the high place like a wall of bone, with towers and battlements every sixty paces. Like the spine of a dead serpent, it wormed its way along the edge of the ridge for over a mile, rising some thirty feet above the top of the ridge, but the dwarves of old had dug the true fortress within the rise and the entire face of the cliff was dotted with murder holes. The sun breached like so many arrows through the thin veil of pale morning clouds, and beamed bursts of gold onto the wall and the grassy space behind. A thrush flew overhead and darted northwards towards Ronehelm, drawing Gund's eye. He wondered for a moment what brewed in the cold heart of the north, then looked back to where the others were breaking camp.

"Shall we take the dimroad?" he asked Ror as he came to the spur of rock Gund stood on. "Or would you rather move directly there?"

Ror shook his head. "I need to be underground. I can handle more clouds than most, but still..."

Gund nodded. He was grateful for Ror's decision, even if it meant burning the first few hours of their march searching for an entry to a dimroad that was not in disrepair. In the days when the Rambasl was fully manned, dwarves lived and travelled in the space between Thrond and Nirmo, and their armies could march from Forvangur to the Heavenly Keep without sight of sun or moon. Gund was always lightheaded when exposed to the sky, and it made everything he did just a little bit harder. He wanted to be at his peak whenever they had dealings with the other kins, especially now that Ror had abandoned their disguises; a decision Gund disagreed with. It made sense to ditch the wain, and to leave Audun behind in Eruhal, but to openly travel as the sons of Grar was an unnecessary risk in Gund's opinion. At least no one in the dimroad will be a threat to us.

That thought comforted Gund little as they trekked about in search of a door into the earth they could use. They found the remains of several, but each was too filled in with loose ground to dig through. One was not so bad, but when they managed to climb through the loos boulders and packed dirt they found the road almost entirely caved in. Finally Ror decided to finish the trip under the sky, and they made their way as directly as they could up the souther slope of the Rambasl. They were coming from behind the wall, where the soldiers who once manned it could see for miles. Gund looked for signs of the traps that were used to prevent a southern enemy from taking the fortress from the rear. Instead of signs, he found the actual traps, loaded and ready to spring. There were deadfalls, caltrops, dragon jaws and mounds of loose grass that belied buried barrels of pitch.

"It's manned," Halfur said from behind. Gund looked back at him. Neri and the Daughter of Doom were by him. The girl was stepping carefully in an overly dramatic manner, while Neri peered through his spyglass.

"Who's manning it?" the Bull asked the Owl. "I'm assuming Eruhal, though it could be orcs."

"Orcs?" said Koll. He and Buri were keeping pace with Ror. "Are they in the habit of setting traps and manning fortresses?"

"They call their cities Strongholds, do they not?"

"I suppose so, Chieftain. Forgive me. I've been kept away from the land of the sun for a time. Last time I saw an orc was quite a few years ago."

"The Goat?" said Ror. He was squatting down and running his finger along the spiked edge of a dragon's jaw.

Gund nodded. "If it is orcs. He's young and fresh minded. I could see him adapting human ways and using them against them."

"I see banners," said Neri, "along the wall."

"Whose banners?" Gund asked.

Nava pulled her spyglass out of her belt pouch and looked, then raised her hand in salute and answered before Neri could. "Eruhal, Chieftain Ser. No tuskmouths lurking ahead."

Gund nodded to her, then looked back at his top scout. "Whose banners, Captain?"

"Sanctor Solis, Novus Herald, Axial Dawn and the Knights of the Vanguard." Neri put down his glass. "There's men on the walls, but little movement on the ground. A few carts are being unloaded, and a dozen or so sheepfolds have been built."

"They're getting ready," Ror said.

Gund shook his head. "Your father worried this might happen. Everyone told him the orcs respected Derrion, and that he knew better than to provoke them. I even bought into that sentiment. But Grar said 'Derrion's a soldier and nothing more. He'll do what a soldier does, and the orcs will do what orcs do when they feel threatened. Urum told me he was just being judgemental of the other kins. I'd like to believe Urum right now. I really would."

"The Rambasl faces north," said Halfur. He was standing with his arms folded over his chest and his brow furrowed. Gund loved to see him in that stance. He had a shrewd mind and keen wits, and could see even better with his mind than Neri with his spyglass.

"They've set traps to the south," Ror replied.

"To guard their arses, sure. But the Rambasl faces north."

"There's no enemies to the north," said Nava, visibly confused.

"Yes there are," Buri said grimly.

"Whatever way it faces, it's an ideal place to stage a forward army." Ror was adamant.

Halfur was quiet.

"Your brother makes a good point, Ror," Gund said calmly. "It's a good place to house a group of people, and defensible, but the only reason to man the wall is to prevent foes from marching from the north. The wall covers the pass between the Shieldlands and the Green Teeth, but is useless against an enemy coming from the east."

"They could be plotting anything in Ronehelm," Halfur said.

"Or Nirmo," Buri added. He gave Koll a knowing look, and Koll shook his head dismissively.

"What are you referring to, Nephew, and Koll, what are you rejecting?". Gund regarded both the men with the look of a sheer cliff, impassable and not to be surmounted.

"Rumors, Chieftain, and nothing more." Koll looked stricken.

"If you know of anything that will help me secure the Doomed from Valung, tell me," said Ror. "Other information I'll leave to your discretion. Gund, our answers are in that fort, as is the best door into the longest western dimroad."

Gund nodded, then set himself northward, wary of traps. He gave both Koll and Buri a look, though, before setting off.

The men manning the fort seemed unsurprised by their arrival. "Hail, Sons of Obrus," said a tall soldier with long, wiry limbs and a bone-hard, windburnt face. He was gaunt and old, and looked at them through squinted slits of eyes. His only armor was a sweaty arming cap and a threadbare gambeson, but his leathery hide looked as tough as any maille. A skirt of indigo cloth over his breeches was his only finery. It was bordered with a knot of tree limbs woven in mud-stained silver thread.

"Gund Yormun, Army Chief of Thrond. We come from the court of your king. How fares the old fort?"

"She fares well, Dread Chief. Your kin did good work makin' her, back in the friendlier days. Shame what happened to your mountain. I'm sure you'll give the drow a good pounding."

At a far greater cost than they're worth. Gund nodded. "You wear the mark of the Spring Kings, but I see no Provosan banners on the wall."

"Nor should you." The old soldier spat. "I wear what I wear, whatever banners my sire flies. I'm Cermeus Gill of Tarmantine Hill, Sheriff of the Aventine Guard. I earn my keep by managing war camps for the Usurper Kings, and I keep my head by bending my knee. But my blood is of the old land, and I'll wear the Mark of Silvertree till I die."

Gund heard Ror chuckle. "I love Provosans," he said gayly.

"And I love an honest soldier, and an honest war," Cermeus replied.

"Tell me of this honest war you seem to be preparing for," said Gund.

Cermeus spat again, this time angrily. "There's none to tell of. Fighting orcs is fair enough. They're big and savage and frighten our common folk, but we're arming against our own kin. That sort of thing should be cause for quartering, if you ask me."

"Yes," said Halfur. "That makes absolute sense. Kill people for killing people, unless they kill people who look different. If this is a sample of Provosan thinking, then I'm glad their banner is wrapped around an old man's musty nethers and not flown on the wall of the Rambasl. We're on an urgent errand and have need of our old dimroads. We'll keep well out of your way, and ask that you keep well out of ours."

Gund took a deep breath and raised an eyebrow, but Cermeus chuckled.

"Aye, that's a sound plan, Dread Prince. You go on your way, and we'll carry on as if you never came. I'm here to keep our fighting men fighting fit, not to trade insults with my blue blooded betters."

"May I offer some advice?" Ror asked.

"I take anything that's offered. It's when something's peddled that I hide my hand."

"Hide your traps better. Orcs hunt tree lions with knives and climb castle walls with their bare hands. If they take advantage of the March Kings marching from the north, they'll be up your rear guard faster than Heth turned to clay. What you have might slow down a human force, but if you want to fight people who are different from you, you need to learn a different way of fighting."

"Aye, that's sound. Might be why my kin's fixing to fight itself. More familiar that way. I'll look into it, though. We're just setting up, and we've got lots more munitions coming. Could put some of them to use on the southron front, I suppose. The Second Son seems convinced the real enemy is ourselves, but it never hurts to guard against the Other. There's a river running all through these lands. Might be some way to use it as well."

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"Sheriff Gill," said Gund, "not to dispute my prince, but I'd greatly appreciate a chance to speak with you in detail, one commander to another. I have four good people here who could help with any work you need done, to pay for your time."

Gund quickly flashed a look to Ror and Halfur, and they both nodded, though Halfur rolled his eyes.

"Very good," Cermeus said after a moment of thought. "Send your lads and lass to the man by the sheepfold there. He'll give them good work. Aye, that's what he does. We'll go to my quarters and have a bite. I'd like some good talk. Been doing nothing but barking orders and whipping curs since we set up here."

They followed Cermeus into a trap door close to the wall. From there they went through a honeycomb of tunnels into a sparse room lit by a half dozen candles, a pair of ensconced torches, and a row of three thin slits cut into the wall. There were three chairs, a small table beneath the windows, and a bed with a thin matress against the eastern wall. Cermeus gestured for them to sit in the chairs.

"There's not much light, but I'm not in here often. Make yourselves cozy while I see about some vittles."

He left for only an instant, during which Halfur brusquely questioned Gund's wanting to speak with the man.

"Can you explain the blue light in the center of the Titan's Torch?" Gund asked patiently.

"It's a star," Halfur replied stubbornly. "Stars come in different colors. This one has two."

"And what of the hole in the sky, and the sudden wind on the night we left Castle Gwynd?"

"How should I know? I don't live under the open sky. It may be prone to all manner of disturbances."

"Oh, indeed it may be. But the people of Eruhal do live under the open sky, and they were in a panic over it. And how would you explain the strange new kin that joined the drow and goblins for the attack? And the creatures that subdued your father? Can you even tell me why we even were attacked but such a disparate mob? Was it all because of the necklace your poor uncle gave to Idana? There's so much we don't know, Halfur, and we never will if we don't take the time to learn from others."

Halfur grumbled and turned away in his chair.

"Best show more regards to your elders, Dread Prince" Cermeus said as he reentered the room. "Whether we wear a cap or a crown, us old dogs have seen things you haven't, done things you shouldn't, and healed from wounds you ain't yet got. And that's as true of a common man as it is of a king."

"Yet in all your long, dogged years," Halfur said back, "you've failed to transcend your common status. So my question stands. Gund, why are we spending precious time speaking with some nondescript grunt of a foreign army, when we should be heading south and tending to our affairs."

"Halfur..." Gund rumbled threateningly.

Cermeus waved a hand. "Let the young wolves howl, Dread Chief. Does the sun stop Yalla from rising first each dawn? As to your affairs, Dread Prince, it looks to me as you need all the help that's to be had. Food's comin', by the by. Cured ham. Ain't much, but it's the best fare as we got for now. I suppose you didn't hear me shouting for my man, though I was just outside the door. Marvelous stuff, this dwarven stone." Cermeus patted the heavy granite door.

"There's no such thing as dwarven stone, you old git," said Halfur.

"Shut your mouth before I tie your beard to your eyebrows!" Ror bellowed. "Titan's tits, Halfur, he paid us a compliment. He clearly meant dwarven wrought, not made. Cermeus, thank you. The Six fought as One in days past, and this fortress is a reminder of that. Use it well and with our blessing."

Cermeus chuckled and bowed. "Will do, Dread Prince, will do. So, you saw the door of night open above the Heavenly Keep?"

"We were leaving when it happened," said Gund. He chanced a quick glimpse at Ror, and was sorry to see a forlorn look dim his bright green eyes. Gund wished he could ease Ror's pain over the dark night on the Tall Hill. He must see Cara every time he looks at the Titan's Torch. Her blue eyes wide and shocked, with her father's red blood splashed on her face. You had to strike the blow, Ror. The hour was late and the deed was before you. What else could you do? Change your mind and wander into the night, and leave the matter to solve itself? Salimod knew the cost of his path, and you knew the cost of yours. You had to strike the blow.

"I didn't see the thing," Cermeus went on, "as I was in here, signing ledgers I can scarce read. But I felt the wind in the windows. And the men on the wall, they saw it. Said it was a black hole, blacker than the space between the stars, and from it came the Black Worm of Old.

"The Black Worm of Old?" Ror asked.

Gund knew the phrase. Humans said it from time to time, which he found ironic, as it came from a passage in Narvi's Song, a book few people cared to read.

"Aye," Cermeus's voice grew quiet. "From some old tale, it is. One of the oldest, or so I've heard. May have been one of yours, for that matter."

"There's mention of it in Narvi's Song," Gund said. "And perhaps in other texts."

"I don't read much of the Arcadian script, but I know your Esteric Runes right well, and I read Provosan through and through. I've read some strange legends, and have spent more than a few nights in the haunts of the Esperians. Aye, the Golden Bough is my favorite inn. They talk freely there when they're in their cups. What the men described sure sounds to me like something out of the Lost Tides, or an abomination of the Hidden Lord. And it can't be a commonhaps, it coming so quick after the Blazing Star."

"You mean the new star?" Gund asked.

"Aye. What we've heard you call the Titan's Torch. Clever name."

"Thank you," Ror said with a smile. "Halfur calls it the Red Candle. As you've seen, he makes light of things when he's cross."

"And I make a mess of things. I suppose every kingdom and every village has its own name, and I bet each name tells a tiny bit of the truth. We captured a few gnoll rats slinking around in the night. They call it the Harbinger Sun. Blasphemous curs!" he spat angrily again.

"Blasphemous?" asked Ror. "How so?"

Cermeus pointed to the white glimmer peeking in through the narrow windows. "The sun's the sun, not some measley campfire that's just been lit."

"Whatever it is, or whatever it's called," Ror said solemnly, "I'm glad for it. So many campfires have been snuffed out, it's good to see a new one flickering."

"Aye. I don't care for the rat kings calling it a sun, but it's good to see a new fire in the camp. I wonder if the old stars are lookin' on it the way us old grunts look at the new ones, and the way your Dread Chief looks on you. It's a bittersweet thing, the passing of the torch. Years go by, and one candle gutters while another flickers. As above, so below, or so the Esperians say. Though I suppose the stars have longer years than ours. It's all the same, though. Yesterday's flame fades while tomorrow's ember glows."

There was a dull ring that resonated through the walls and floor. Cermeus opened the door and a tall boy with reed thin arms came in with a platter the size of a shield. His arms shook as he brought the platter into the room. Gund hopped off his chair and took it from the poor lad while Ror moved the table by the window into the center. Gund set the platter on the table and noticed that Halfur had silently slipped away through the door. Gund grumbled to himself and sat back down. The boy went back into the hall and picked up a stack of trays.

"I... I..." he stuttered, "y... you s... said s... s... f... four s... s... t... tr... trays..."

"I know," Cermeus told him, "you done right. One of the princes left soon as you came in. Wasn't hungry, I suppose. Least not for food. Here, Morris, take his slab of ham for yourself. All right, off you go." Cermeus shut the door and sat in the chair Halfur had just vacated. "He's a good lad. Just has a hard time expressing himself."

"What's wrong with his speech?" Ror asked. "Was he struck in the throat?"

Cermeus laughed. "Who, Morris? I was talking about your brother. Morris just stutters for stuttering's sake. Runs in his blood. His foresire was the first knight. Morris the Merrier, his name was, though some books say he was also called the Stuttering Sword, and the Shaking Shield."

Ror looked down at the floor. His eyes dimmed in pain again.

Cara told that story to Klar, Gund remembered. He felt a wave of sadness as he thought back to Salimod's tarriance in their realm. He remembered his misgivings, but never in a full march of the Lords of Night did he fathom what might come of Salimod's schemes. But still, he was glad to see the bond forming between Grar and Halfi's brood and the Gace children. Ror and Cara seemed to truly like each other. It must have torn him in two to see her there in the rain, only a sword's length away.

"These are strange times," Cermeus said as he tore at a chunk of ham. There were no forks, so they each held their ham in their hands. Cermeus chewed loudly, and snorted like a hog each time he swallowed. "Strange times and sad. Thrond, the Tall Hill, Canthor... Sad times indeed."

Gund almost choked on his bite of ham. "Canthor? What's happened to Canthor?"

Cermeus's eyes went wide. "Well, I suppose I ought not have said that. My guard goes down when I speak with my betters. It comes through the most selective channels, meaning you didn't hear it from me. But, King Jambi struck some shady deal with the Dreamweaver elves. Word is Shah Assalam was against it, but the elves promised to make Casimir richer than the Araad, and King Jambi ate that up much more hungrily than we're eating this cold ham. Our sources say Casimir sent sappers out in the night to sabotage the southern roads west of your mountains, and the elves have been raiding caravans heading south from the east. They're starving Canthor of trade rather than marching directly to war, so that's good, but at the same time that's not good."

"Canthor is far from the other Pillars of Dawn," said Ror. "Without their trade lines open they'll likely fall back to their old ways and make war on themselves."

Cermeus nodded. "It's easy to forget they were once like the Marches were, back before Rone the Red was hit on the head, and fell down dead on his icey bed. It's like you say, Dread Prince, they're far away. King Jambi and Lord Starborn likely thought no one would notice. Well, one thing to say for the Usurper of Usurpers; King Derrion picks his spies well. He's had some top agents in place for many a year. His father never liked it, and his ponce older brother threatened to have them all exposed, just to slight his big little brother. Killing him was a smart move. I'm glad it happened. It put the orc war off for the nonce, and now we can help Canthor, so long as the March Kings don't give us too much bother. Rather odd, if you ask me. the timing of it all. Probably just happenstance, though. The Marchers like to march. Every few years some of them come through Great Winter's Veil to prod us, or test us."

"Dreamsand holds the Narrow Hills," Gund mused, "putting them in the perfect place to harry caravans and take any goods heading to Canthor. But why? What could Siandus possibly gain from Canthor's gradual decline? And to go about it in such a way. It will take generations for them to fall in on themselves again."

"You'd be surprised, Dread Chief, how quick a ship can sink if you poke the right holes in it. King Verrold was healthy and strong, then he read a book in a tower and he was old and whithered, and then he was dead. Then the Second Son killed the first, and then the Usurper was usurped, and here we are, all back to normal. And it hasn't even been a year."

Gund nodded. "And here we are, fighting to win back a kingdom that has never before fallen. And our enemy struck us from within, right under our beards."

"Our enemy was within," Ror said. "Salimod was a fool, Primus is a den of thieves, and the goblins are bored. I can only guess at the motives of their other help, but their plan would never have worked without Valung. He failed to kill father the first time, and he sold the entire realm so he could try it again. Our enemy is no scheming human or power-mad drow. Our enemy is our own shadow."

A sudden thought struck Gund. Valung isn't waiting in Solstice. He's going back to Thrond, if he isn't already there! Gund slid forward in his chair enough for his foot to reach the ground and tapped his worried thought to Ror, hoping he'd feel it through the wooden leg of his chair, then pretended to shift his pant leg and sat back in his seat. Ror drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. He's thought of it, too. Later, we'll talk about it later. Good. Gund felt a bit of relief, but still worried they'd been on the wrong track the entire time. One thought came to him that set him a bit more at ease. According to Buri and Koll, the Underguard loved Thrond for the most part, and lamented the sins that lead them to their eternal penance. Any bitterness they harbored was gone when the summons were issued for Koll, and Valung would find it hard to openly proclaim his role in the kingdom's downfall.

"That's a clever code you lot have," Cermeus said. "Wish I knew it. I'm learning the Arcadian letters, though, and that's not easy at my age. Fought it, I did. Clung to bygone days I never even knew, just because I didn't like the stories I read about how they ended. Now I'm an old wolf, too tired to howl, so I just bark and snap at my pups like a dog, and wear a purple skirt and call myself a rebel. Heh!" He raised his slab of ham, "To the Spring Kings of Silvertree! To the Autumn Kings of the Crumbled Hill! To the Usurpers of the Sun, and to all the treacherous elves and frightening orcs!"

Ror raised his ham. "To the wars we fight within, and the shadows we wage them with."

Gund raised his ham. "To the captives we fight to free, and the embers of tomorrow's fire!"