Greetings Ranger Decky
My friend, it is my hope that this finds thee in good health and not burdened by the nightmare plague that has overshadowed so many recently.

Though it seems to have abated there is as they say the sense of waiting for the other boot to drop..and a pox on it all..

I am going to ride south, taking the caravan trail over the Vine Growth Mountains as I wish to overlook the “Maze” that tumble of rocks, canyons and ravines that the wild band escaped into this spring.

Though the animal and plant life seem unaffected by the decanting of nightmare into the waking world

(referring here to the rumor that some loathsome ruins have appeared near the Inn) it I think leads one to wonder if the “climate” hasn’t encouraged the growth of similar affinities in the more natural orders.

As it is said like calls to like..the enemies of the folk could be much agitated by the undertow of the unrest.

For no reason other than I wish to I would like to mention something here of the nature of the big and lesser cats..as it seems to be fitting that as Rangers, we study them as mentors for our own device.

The hunting cats are solitary predators, stalking and making their kill without the benefit of a pack..they develop strategies for their success or die.

Their first attention encompasses all that passes before them, seeing the details as well as the whole. They flow from one moment to the next always ready to act upon the instant. From utter stillness to the sudden attack it is one fluid expression of intent.

They are also canny enough to hunt the hunter, first baiting the hunter with a seemingly unwary flight then disappearing to drop down behind the hunter..turning the moment to their own advantage.

The lesser cats..are much the same..but they are even more expert at camouflage..and are rarely seen although they see.

If you would track the lynx..look for an abundance of hares..hares are their main prey..

The bobcat is the smallest of the lesser cats..and there is the exception to the rule for though they are singular..

I was most astonished to come upon a den with a female bobcat that had been maimed in some mischance, and could not hunt for herself.

But she continued, with the assistance of her mate and one other, a kit of her own kindling, that hunted and brought food to her.

This was not a chance thing but has been noted for many seasons. Thus do we learn from the animals around us..to come from the center point of stillness that yet is ever in motion, moving fluidly and always acting on the point of the moment as it unfolds.

Or as the shaman would say..*Move from your center point and watch out for the weasels on both sides*

Fortune favor thee my friend in all ways
Gem

****

Stopping Snowheels with a gentle pressure on the reins, Gemstorm looks back toward the Serpent Slide River Camp.

The willows bend and blow in the light wind, she can see a party of young men riding out, making their horses dance for a group of women down near the riverbank, her sister Argent among them, laughing as they wave to the men. The high voices of camp children running about, intent on their own tasks or games blends with the the piping of the multitude of prairie birds also busy with their morning song and task.

Smiling with pleasure at this last view, she turns and setting Snowheels to her long gait with Gelert at her stirrup, heads south toward Vos.

The first part of the journey would be an easy one, with little concern for peradventure. She enjoys the muted tickaticka sound of Snowheels hooves, sitting easily in the saddle and the sight of Gelert gambolling along beside them. Overhead, dark against the sky she sees the silhouette of a hawk , wheeling in search of his breakfast.

The breeze weaves and braids the tall prairie grass that lines the trail on each side of her, revealing the speckled bright profusion of early wild flowers. A small herd of deer leap up and spring away, bounding through the high grass with snorting alarm as Gelert flushes them.

It seems but a moment when she starts coming into more settled land with small farms and homesteads patchworked on the outskirts of Vos.

Deciding to avoid the city she circles it, planning to pick up the road that would lead her to the main caravan route over the Vine Growth Mountain Pass.

Calling Gelert, she hand signals him to stay close by her stirrup, as the incoming and outgoing traffic thickens.

Riding on the verge to avoid long trains of laden mules and carters, people on foot with baskets and parcels, single riders weaving among the foot traffic and a platoon of king's troopers adding to the congestion, she patiently makes her way southward.

Moving slowly but purposefully she eventually gets through and sees the road ahead clear, except for a southbound caravan of wagons in the distance. Looking upward she noted that the sun was past nooning , her grumbling stomach confirmed it. She began to look for a pleasant spot to stop and water the horse as well as refresh herself.

Restoring herself with a bit of bread and cheese while Snowheels grazes in the glade she sips from her waterbottle and contemplates her plan. The dog throws himself down beside her and rolls blissfully onto his back in the cool grass.

Laughing she speaks to Gelert, "In truth I have no plan, hound, just an unquenchable desire to be ahorseback and on the move again after the recent night borne waves of unpleasantness."

Giving Gelert the last bit of bread she rises and re-saddles the mare, leading her to the rill for a drink and refilling her waterbottle, spotting some young leaves of cress, she picks them and wraps them in a damp cloth, a bit of green would go well with whatever else she had for the evening stewpot.

Setting forth once more, the little party moves on through the lengthening afternoon. Gemstorm looks for a wayfarer's stopping place, where she hoped to meet others and get information about the road ahead, well traveled though the route was, it also was renown for harboring its less savory elements, quick to take advantage of unwary travelers.

*****

The first caravanserai was behind her as she continued climbing higher into the pass. The evening was mild with the five moons lighting the way , giving her the impulse to travel on , before stopping for the night. Voices , the braying of mules, and the smell of campfires alerted her to the promise of some companionship and information as she came upon the next waystation. Snowheels pricked her ears and stepped out more quickly while Gelert lolloped along beside them, his flews belling slightly as he took in the scents borne on the night air.

Finding a clear space for herself and her animals, Gemstorm pulled the gear off Snowheels and picketed her away from the mules, on a little patch of unbrowsed grass. Gelert bided near, at her command, as she made a small fire and set her tea water to boiling. Rummaging in her packs she pulled out a few strips of dried meat and gave them to the dog to satisfy his hunger. Saving one, she meant to add to the boiling water after she had poured out a mugful for tea.

Settling down with her saddle for a backrest, she looked around the site..her closest neighbors appeared to be a family of man, wife and son, they were gathered by a small cart and she saw a shaggy donkey tied off to the side of it. The cart was piled with what appeared to be the family's entire household . Catching the goodman's eye, she nodded amiably. Ever curious about the doings of the folk she wondered where they were bound and why.

The muleteers had the mules unladen and were tying them up to long pickets, giving each mule a bait of grain and a small armful of hay. The train's cook had laid out a meal for the men and was serving it up to those who had completed their tasks. Probably they would be the first watch, mused Gemstorm, stirring her stew, tossing in the cress which was rather wilted, and adding a scraping of garlic to flavor the pottage. After finishing her own repast, Gemstorm rose and went in search of the muletrain's leader. He would have some report she thought of conditions ahead and what, if anything of moment, had passed along the trail, in his journey up from the south.

Seeing a large, darkly bearded man talking to the cook, she made her way through the resting men, assuming correctly that he was the train's captain. "Ranger?"..the man turned toward her with a questioning look.

"Aye", replied Gemstorm, introducing herself adding, "I am on errantry through the pass to the south and would know what hazards if any I might expect to encounter." She could see now that she was among them, that all the men were very well armed and though tired seemed to be unusually alert even as they rested from the day's labors.

The captain offered her a mug of tea and they leaned against the cook wagon as he apprised her of the relatively uneventful trek until they had neared the summit of the pass, where during the night they had heard the faint thrum of drums echoing through the peaks and something unknown had frighted the mules so badly that they had pulled up their pickets and one had run off in the darkness.

"We searched for the animal the next morning," concluded the captain, "but it was not to be found, I think," he ruminated, "the creature probably went over the edge and fell down into some ravine."

Gemstorm nodded, "But what would fright a mule so, did thee find tracks of some animal, panther, cougar, wolves or perhaps a bear which will set off mules and horses if the scent alone does waft the breeze."

The captain shook his head…"Nay, naught was seen around the encampment, though I warrant thou hast the right of it, some wandering predator set the mules off, they would not set up such a ruckus over the advance of men of ill-intent,"

"Nor," he added grimly, " would men of ill intent broach this train, as you can see, we are well armed and experienced in guarding our goods from bandits." Gemstorm nodded absently, thinking drums?.

"From whence did the sound of drums come?" she asked. "Thou must know that sounds are hard to pinpoint when they echo off the heights but it seemed to me it came from the "Maze". "Perhaps," he added jocularly, "twas the drumming of an orc shivaree, for I have heard that the orc tribes have a gathering place hidden somewhere in that blind tumble of rock and ravine. Where they are wont to assemble for their revelry."

Thanking the captain for the information, Gemstorm walked slowly back to her own campsite. Thinking, interesting, adding it to her recent acquisition of knowledge of orc. Scanty though it was, for the most part orcs wandered freely fighting amongst themselves, some tribes being overly sensitive to light were rarely seen by folks unless caught out benighted and alone in forest or other shadowy places.

Other tribes, she heard, had adapted to sun and were bold in daylight as well as dark. The tribes and groups were comprised of male and female with two whelps the rule to each coupling.

It seemed that unless some corrupt and powerful personality welded them into a cohesive force they were too rapt in internecine battles to be of much trouble to the settled lands.

Howsomever, she concluded, they, I warrant, have been as plagued by the nightmare as have all others in the land, though they likely found the nightmares more pleasant than otherwise. Perhaps the "shivaree" is in some unseemly manner, a thanksgiving to Lord Haus . She felt a frisson of cold at the thought and the hair on the back of her neck hackled.

*****

Setting out early the next morning in a heavy fog that turned to a steady rain, Gemstorm set herself to endure the next stage of the climb. Pulling the hood of her cloak over her head, she hunched in the saddle as Snowheels picked her way up the muddied road.

Gelert trotted happily along at their heels, weather was not an issue for him as his wiry coat was proof against the wet. All about her was obscured by the rain and the fog , she kept peering ahead on the alert for other travelers or pack trains approaching but realised they would nearly be upon one another should such chance occur in the murk.

Giving Gelert leave to run on if he wished she dismounted and walked as the grade steepened and Snowie began to scrabble on the slick rocky ground. After some hours of travel they came out onto a plateau that preceded the last and most difficult climb to the summit.

Leading the horse off to the side through a tangle of wet stunted bushes, Gemstorm looked for some sort of sheltered spot to wait out the rain. She hoped to be able to get a couple of hares for the pot and to feed the dog as well, while she waited. She found an over hanging ledge with room enough to store her gear and a bit of a grassy slope where the mare could forage for herself. Taking her bow and calling the dog she set out, knowing if there were hares to be had, the dog would flush them for her.

The first hare was startled into a bounding run and she stopped it with a well placed shot, calling off Gelert who's enthusiasm was indicative of his willingness to dine al fresco. Tying the hare to her belt she forged on, correctly anticipating that it wouldn't be long before another one spooked and fled. With the second hare secured to her belt she made her way back to the temporary shelter, noting with pleasure that the rain had lessened and there was a watery hint of sun overhead.

After dressing out the hares and feeding the offal to the dog, she resaddled the horse and they set out again, Gemstorm walking beside the horse as they steadily and not without effort, ascended toward the summit of the pass.

The clouds began to lift as the day waned on, although the higher peaks were still swathed in shifting veils of gray, Gemstorm looked around her, not a little awed by the view, as she and the animals took a moment to catch their breath .

At that elevation, the bones of the world were exposed and had a stark beauty of their own with muted shades of blues, grays and startling whites. The greens and yellow stains were she thought, mosses and lichens that provided browse for the high peak denizens. She wished for a clearer day, that she might catch a glimpse of the wild sheep and goats that lived in this seemingly inhospitable place.

An enormous raptor did sail through a rent in the clouds, but too far and too quickly for her to positively identify.

She felt a sort of rapture of the senses as she looked around her, the roof of the world nearly she thought. Though there were greater peaks, it was the closest she had ever been to the sky.

****

Another hour of hard climbing brought them to the summit of the pass. Wreathed in fog and closed on both sides by a natural barrier of rock , Gemstorm noted only that they must have reached the top and were descending when she adjusted her seat to the new angle. Rain continued to fall intermittently as the mare carefully picked her way, sometimes sliding nearly on her rump on the slick footing.

Gemstorm dismounted, after an especially long slide, to give the mare her head and balance without the interference of a rider.

The light began to strengthen again as they worked their way lower down the track. The rain ceased and a breeze soon shredded the mist to upwelling smokes. Remounting the horse, Gemstorm gigged her back into her long gait as the track leveled out into a long sloping plateau. Gelert lollopped along, quartering back and forth , to investigate the many intriguing scents from the surrounding brush.

Gemstorm looked for another of the traveler's hutments that were staged along the route. She and the animals were well ready to end the journey for the day, when she finally came upon a sojourner's rest. She thought it lucky that they were the only ones to be using the place that night and there was plenty of forage for the mare. Pulling the gear off a grateful Snowheels, she rubbed the mare down briskly and checked her hooves for any stone or other trail hazard. After offering the horse water at the spring she put hobbles on her and left her to her graze.

Gelert was on duty by the saddle and the two rabbit carcasses, and reluctant to move off when Gemstorm hailed him away. "Not to worry, old son," she exclaimed laughing at the dog's obvious consternation, "thou wilst have thine full share of coney but first thou must bide for it's cooking. Gelert threw himself down with a long-suffering grunt of acceptance.

Gemstorm quickly and neatly set up her encampment, using a bit of the stored wood she set her fire and put the pot on to boil for tea. Wringing out her cloak as best she could she laid it over a convenient branch to dry near the fire.

Looking around she neither saw nor heard any signs of incoming travelers so she shucked out of her leathers and boots, setting them out to dry as well. Her small clothes were only somewhat damp and would dry on her well enough. Using her much-abused short sword, she cut a couple of branches to spit the hares on and soon had them roasting for the evening meal.

After breaking her fast and seeing that the dog was well comforted with his portion of hare, she made a few notations in her journal before settling down to catch what sleep she could. Commanding the dog to "watch" and noting that Snowie had drifted in closer to the encampment, she leaned against the back of the shelter and closed her eyes.

She was awakened by a low growl from Gelert, sitting up and looking at him she could see he was fully hackled but over what? He was looking west, as was Snowheels, both of them ears up, alert. Listening, Gemstorm heard the faint throb of drums to the west. She nodded to herself and smiled with satisfaction…

****

Cleaning up the campsite the next morning and replacing the wood she had used was quick work and Gemstorm was back on the road before the last stars had winked out in the lightening sky.

Thinking over the sound of the drumming during the night, she decided to start looking for a way off the main caravan route that would lead her down into the maze of canyons. The sound had unquestionably come from that area but it would take some stealthy and clever stalking to find it's exact location.

Very stealthy, she thought grimly, since she had no desire to fall into the hands of the orcs, as they were that ungentle in their hospitality toward spies and interlopers.

The general conception that orcs were afraid of anyone or anything larger than themselves just didn't apply to her own small person, if it were true at all. She guessed they just had no particular interest in making a stand against a large force of arms without something to sweeten the pot and the victory for them.

The presence of the creatures she had named skells still fascinated her, they were not of any folk that she knew of or of any animal species either. She hoped to also get a closer look at them and somehow find out their origins. Moving, as they did in company with the orc band she had spied upon in the Forest of Shadows, gave her the notion they were somehow linked to the same process that had created the orcs.

Musing upon these conjectures kept her mind busy but she maintained her outer vigilance, heedful of the behavior of the animals. Gelert seemed to be relaxed as he quartered back and forth and Snowheels had settled into her running walk trail gait, without much more than an occasional cocking of her head when the dog ran too close to her.

The morning passed uneventfully and they had made good time descending from the summit of the pass. As they passed through a lightly wooded area Gemstorm decided to rest the horse and see if she could get something for the pot.

Gelert had startled some grouse with his gamboling along the road so she thought that might be a tasty change from hare. A brook running through the glade, gave Snowheels a chance to drink, and seeing she wasn't going to gorge on the water, Gemstorm pulled the bridle and loosened the girth to let the mare graze, while she took her bow and set out to see what chance would bring.

She spied some young fiddlehead ferns and picked a few for they were uncommonly delicious and lightly steamed, would make a goodly addition to the evening meal. Hearing the whirring thocking sound of a rising grouse brought her bow up and she shot it before it disappeared into the brush.

Retrieving the arrow and tying the bird to her belt she nocked the arrow and continued. Gelert startled a second bird, which she took down as well. Satisfied with her bag, she returned to the glade.

While traveling along a stretch of the track that hugged the mountain on one side and dropped off into deep ravines and precipices on the other, Gemstorm began to notice the heavy cloying odor of decaying flesh.

"Faugh!" what a stench!" She saw carrion birds perched in the trees that struggled to grow in a brush choked wash below the trail and thought she would investigate. Remembering the mule that had bolted away from its fellows she thought this might be the solution to the mystery of what had happened to it.

Leading the horse and commanding the dog to bide she walked along the edge of the trail until she spotted a way down. Dropping Snowheels reins with a "Stand, girl", she eased her way over the side and picked her way carefully grabbing at stunted bushes to keep herself from a headlong slide. Gelert bounded down beside her and thrust himself joyously through the brush, startling the vultures into clumsy winged flight.

Arriving at the scene, Gemstorm saw it was indeed a dead mule, between the predation of the vultures and carrion crows, as well as other scavengers it was little more than bones, hide and stink, but she examined it closely, seeing that it had a broken leg, which she surmised it had acquired as it fell or jumped or was driven off the road above.

Hailing off Gelert, she moved around poking at the carcass with a stick, looking at the bite marks and pausing to look closer at the remains of its leather halter. Indentations, in an even semi-circular pattern, that had bitten completely through the tough leather.

Squatting back on her heels, she scanned the immediate area, she saw broken brush leading off and downward, the back trail of scavengers, and flagging from a thorny branch, a piece of cloth fluttered like a moth. Snagging it with her stick, she examined it, a faint stench arose from it but it had no other clue to it's identity, offering it to the dog she commanded him to scent.

Gelert obliged, snuffling deeply, his flews belling as he drew it deep into his scent receptors, then he sneezed heartily and began to rub his snout on the ground, casting wounded looks at Gemstorm.

Showing the dog the bit of cloth, she said, "Seek." The dog made short work of it, taking his direction and starting down the broken track. "Hold, Gelert!" Gemstorm recalled the dog and marking the approximate location relative to the road above and her prior knowledge of the area she climbed back up to the road and remounted the horse.

Another hour of riding finally brought her to a negotiable trail leading off the main route that allowed her to work her way back to the area below the dead mule. She scented the dog again to assure his knowledge of the quarry she meant him to track, pleased by the one sure thing of any legged creature, that it would take the path of least resistance that would allow her to get the horse through as well.

Zig zagging through washouts, gulleys, and crossing slippery rock falls, she rode or lead the mare in the wake of the hound until they came out on wider plateau that over-looked one of the canyon entrances to the maze.

Calling the dog back to her she stood looking out into the shadowed defiles, it was too close to evening to start her trek into the canyons. She needed to find a defendable encampment for the night, what the dog pursued may not be that far off and she had a really hinky feeling she was right about her original assessment of the behavior of skells. The bite marks on the mule's halter had given her the thought that the skells did spend some time at liberty from their masters.

****

Taking a sip from her water bottle, Gemstorm surveyed her immediate surroundings. A washed out gulley leading to a brush choked exit. Overhead, heavy clouds were building on the peaks and she thought she had better be looking for higher ground as rain falling in the heights could send a flash flood through the canyons with little, if any warning. She and the dog had been following the trail left by the skells that had evolved into the tracks of a company of orcs moving quickly toward their destination ever deeper into the maze.

Not wishing to come up their backside or have stragglers come up hers, she had moved obliquely off their track and was paralleling it .

The night before she had again heard the sound of drums and had fixed the direction as generally toward the northwest. Leaving Snowheels in a hidden canyon with enough graze and water to keep her for a few days, she had cached her gear in a tree, taking only her weapons, including her battered old sword which she had spent some time putting an edge on, and the remaining dried meat and hard biscuits, that would have to see her and the dog through the next few days.

She had also used liberal amounts of the parsley water to mask her scent, adding the bottle to her backpack in case she needed to re-apply it on the trail.

Climbing out of the wash, she kept a low profile and commanded the dog to stay down as well. Stunted trees and heavy brush provided her enough cover to make her way along the top, until she spotted another ravine that led her back to the main track of the hunt.

She noticed again how little wild life seemed to be apparent which was odd because there was feed and shelter for many kinds of common canyon inhabitants. She had hoped to start a quail or other ground bird and get an egg or two for herself and the dog.

Dropping down to the track she checked her direction and taking a bit of a chance decided to follow it for a ways. Making better time than she had been in her more cautious stalk. Keeping an eye out for emergency cover if she should be surprised by some untoward appearance of either orcs or their little friends. Gelert forged slightly ahead of her and suddenly disappeared into a crack in the wall.

Gemstorm wondered what had caught his attention. Looking into the crack she could see the hound's silhouette indicating that the crack led out into the open.

Curious to see where this led she slipped into the crack and followed the dog out into a small bowl like open area, the ground was not bare rock but heavily sanded and as warm as an oven.

Looking around with some amazement, she saw the dog snuffling back and forth and whining lightly, then he began to dig into the sand.

Calling him off, she came up beside him and peered into the hole he had made. There appeared to be something in it. She poked at the thing with the end of her bow, finding it as hard as a rock, but sounding as though it was hollow. Shaking her head in mystification, she continued to scout the area.

In the shadow of the rock wall she found more openings in the ground and some of the mysterious things laying about broken open.

Wonderingly she examined the detritus, finding that the rock like substance was more like petrified mud, rolling over one of the larger pieces, she saw it had an impression on the inside of some creature, rather a large creature also, with obvious head, torso and limbs, very humanlike.

She stood there lost in thought, the whole scene reminded her of some kinds of toads who went into long hibernation, encased in a thick covering of mud, that allowed them to wait out indefinitely, periods of drought or other climactic catastrophes.

There is a similarity here, although, she thought, not the answer to the riddle of the skells origins. Bestirring herself she called the dog and sent him through the crack in the wall, looking about her one last time she noticed she and the dog had left tell tale tracks of their own.

"Poxy idiot" she softly derided herself. Wiggling back through the crack she looked around and found a bit of brush that she was able to use to smooth out the sand and effectively cover up her intrusion into what she could only describe as "the bizarre hibernation chamber."

***

As she continued following the easier track through the defile, Gemstorm noticed that there was a definite upward trend which she felt as much in her legs as was able to see with her eyes. Keeping Gelert near to her side on a 'heel" command she looked for another path up to get a better view of the surrounding landscape. Spotting a tumble of boulders that would give both her and the dog egress she made a quick climb with the dog leaping alongside.

She could see now that her impression was correct for the small plateau started sloping sharply upward toward a tree spotted rampart. A stand of conifers had made a small forest, which would be excellent cover for her and the dog. With a little luck she would see the end of her journey when she reached the top.

Taking shelter between two huge boulders she leaned back and opened her pack, taking out some of the dried meat and a small dry berry stuffed journeycake. A bit of food and rest before they attempted the climb. She shared out the meat with the hound and offered him a bit of the journeycake as well, though she knew he would have to be truly starving before he accepted the biscuit.

Re-applying the parsley water took a few moments, and she was amused to see how filthy she was from climbing up and down and crawling through the brush. She reckoned she was well disguised by the layer of dust, twiggy material and dirt that had covered her leathers making her effectively invisible against the rocky landscape.

Gelert fared little better in terms of cleanliness, but she also reckoned that gave him an advantage as well, from a distance his size and coat color made him look like a very large wolf. Not uncommon in the canyons, so his presence if glimpsed by hostile eyes would be unremarkable.

Cupping her hand she poured a little water into it for the dog, as they had not passed any springs or seeps, another thing she hoped to discover when they reached the treeline. Her water bottle was less than half full, although she and the dog could stand not eating, they needed water.

Stretching out her legs she leaned against the boulder with Gelert's head on her lap, her mind was at ease, questions raised by her discovery of the skell's mud cocoons were unanswerable at this point so she tabled them until or if she got more information. Now she was anxious to overlook the orc's mysterious gathering.

What brought them together out here in the wilderness of the maze. She hoped that she would be in time to see something of their activity. It had been going on for some days now, judging by the report of the mule train captain, and including her own passage down the caravan route and to the point she was now. She also did not want to meet the cohorts coming back from the 'shivaree'. That brooked no argument.

Suddenly decky's face popped up in her mind's eye. Startling her internally, for she didn't realize until that moment that she was even thinking about him.

Laughing a little at herself she wondered if they weren't triangulating on the same orcish gathering, as from what he had said in his last message to her, he was somewhere in the north himself.

Pursuing that thought led her to wondering how the folks were making out that lived around the Inn and in Gratalm, especially Aaron and his family. The recent unpleasantness from the night terrors affected different people in proportionate degree to their own inner fear so she hoped that Aaron's family had weathered it all with calm fortitude and no lasting ill effects.

Shaking her head to clear it of these idle thoughts she sighed and rose to her feet, settling her pack on her back and picking up her bow. The sword was a constant nuisance even scabbarded and banged against her leg every step she took, but better to have it than not if needs must.

She had a very emphatic preference that nothing got close enough to her to need to use a sword but would give some decent account of herself if that should happen. Dari had schooled her well in basic swordsmanship, taking pains to teach her how to defend herself against a larger opponent, well that includes about everyone in Vestai, she thought humorously.

Gelert rose as well and looked up at her. A "where now" expression on his face. Bringing him to heel she showed him as they pressed onward.

****

Working her way across the hillside and taking advantage of the cover provided by rocks and brush was a slower than she would have liked process. Dusk was beginning to blend the terrain in grayed shadow when she heard the soft sound of a blade being drawn from a scabbard, the dog looked back and emitted a low growl, his hackles rising.

A low command to bide, quieted his voice but he maintained his tense posture, as Gemstorm turned and continued on her way. Beginning to weave slightly as though she were a lost, benighted and exhausted traveler she made for a heavy copse of brush, giving Gelert a signal to cast out to the side of her and go stealthily.

Slipping into the brush she awaited the unknown follower. Presently she heard the sound of branches being swept aside and low cursing. A figure walked past her hiding place and then stopped, looking from side to side, poking at the bushes with a sword.

Stepping quietly out behind the figure with her bow drawn, she calmly spoke, telling the person to turn around slowly and drop his weapon. Whirling with surprise the figure didn't hesitate, growling an oath he charged her, sword at the ready.

Gelert was faster, acting instantly, lunging up from the ground and taking the wight's sword arm in his maw, he brought the man down, his grinding teeth fastened on the man's forearm.

Gemstorm kicked the sword away, and looked over her catch. Not a true orc, she decided but from his brutal unsavory appearance, which she noted, was not improved by cropped ears, as well as his hulking size, she guessed he was of the half-orc half- human breed.

Letting the wight blub on a bit with pain, before she bade the dog to hold lightly, she considered herself in a bit of luck. He spoke the common tongue, which meant she could prise some real intelligence out of him about the orc's activities for the past few days.

Although, she thought silently the interrogation might need further assistance from her canine inquisitor's sharp teeth. "Softly now," she said mildly, "thou art not killed so cease thine puling". What is thine name and what mischief didst thee intend me, coming so sneak footed upon my track with a drawn sword?"

The wight looked up at her resentment kindling in his piggish eyes, spitting nastily he shrugged and refused to answer. At a slight signal from Gemstorm, the hound crunched lightly on the man's arm again. Hissing with pain and fear of the dog, the man cried mercy, he would tell her anything she desired to know if she would only back the dog off from him.

Taking this as a sign of some temporary surrender to her will, Gemstorm nodded, telling the dog to cease, but to "watch". Keeping her bow half- drawn she let the wight sit up, cradling his wounded arm against his chest. Gelert muttered his own low warnings letting the prisoner know he was not to move any further.

"Again," she asked calmly, "your name and your purpose up here in the wilds, what business have you with yon orcish revelries?"

Looking around surreptitiously, his eyes rolling with undisguised hatred, the prisoner saw no immediate avenue of escape or way to turn the moment to his own advantage.

"My name is khek," he admitted with a surly sneer, "yon orcish revelries as you so wittily name them are in all truth, a rare event, it is the "Circle of the Iron Gauntlet".

"And pray do go on," encouraged Gemstorm, "what is a Circle of the Iron Gauntlet?..what meaning does it have in the lives of the orc bands?" Khek ignored her question, favoring his injured arm and looking mulish. Gemstorm narrowed her eyes and looked meaningfully toward the hound which had raised the tone of his growl, surging slightly toward khek with his teeth bared.

"Alright, alright!" khek hastily put up his good hand to forestall any further assault upon his person. "The Circle of Iron" can be called by any warrior who wishes to prove through trial by combat his or her (smirking at the word 'her') ability to command a horde."

"So thou says, tell me then who called this melee, it would be meet and seemly if thee wouldst spill thine guts without further encouragement from me." Gemstorm kicked khek in the ankle to remind him she wasn't about to waste time prying each word from his gap-toothed maw.

Khek, hastily pulled his legs closer to his body, then went on with the tale. "A new leader has risen in the ranks and hordes over the past year, named Barazzaluth, a female warrior who has already welded by right of arms a full cohort to her leadership, she called this tourney to prove her ability to command all the hordes with the strength of her will and her unparalleled skill in combat."

"Interesting," commented Gemstorm noncommittally. "What have you to do with all of this, how is it you seem to know of this Barazzaluth? Do you walk among the hordes with impunity?..I would think they would have little love or respect for your mingled ancestry and quickly make an end to such a poxy little flea at there campfire."

Looking slightly offended at her sharp analysis khek made to illuminate her upon the wrong she did him. "Nay, nay," he replied his voice taking on some air of over weening pride, "I am valuable to Barazzaluth, for I am able to pass among the folk of the settled lands and bring her word of what passes there, she has promised me……"

"Promised thee?…promised thee what, varlet?" Gemstorm narrowed her eyes and looked menacingly at khek, "what reward, such as I assume thee means, has been promised thee for spying upon the folks of the settled lands?"

Khek shrugged, "For my faithful services to her cause, Barazzaluth has promised me a place of power in her retinue once she has brought all of the hordes under her command." Looking up defiantly, he added boasting, "When that day of glory is at hand, Ranger, you and all your kind will know and fear the name Barazzaluth!"

Gemstorm thought a moment, considering the information. "It 's early days yet, khek, were I you, I would not be too over confident of receiving the promised reward, this Barazzaluth may yet find her reach exceeds her grasp, though if all you say is true, as an orc, she is extremely unusual in her ambition for they are not noted for their ability to band together except under the sway of some powerful mage or other intelligent fell personality."

Suddenly the sound of drums started up, Gemstorm slid her eyes sideways in the direction of the noise, khek took his one shot to escape at her momentary distraction.

Rolling quickly he dodged the dog's lunge and scrambled to his feet. Running with his arm held to his side, he weaved and dodged through the brush.

Gemstorm watched him run for a moment, considering ..making up her mind she spoke to the hound "Take him down!"

Gelert leaped into a full run and swiftly brought khek down, ripping out his throat. Gemstorm picked up khek's sword, carrying it to where Gelert worried the body, calling off the dog, she tossed the sword to the ground.

"Well done, Gelert, if the wight is found, none will think aught but he had met with some wild animal mischance, had I shot him then it would be a clear sign that other than orc walked here this night."

"Now, let us climb the ridge and see if we can espy the end of this "Circle of the Iron Gauntlet" and get a glimpse of the ambitious would be commander of the hordes "Barazzaluth."

A small grin twitched Gemstorm's lips as she was reminded of an old saying, .."the female is always deadlier than the male" .

*****

Leaving the unlamented body of khek to its eventual discovery or dissolution, she retraced her original route toward the wooded rampart that would give her a secluded and secure view of the horde's festivities.

Now that she had some idea of what she would be looking at as well as a name she anticipated an interesting evening. Even blocked by the rampart between her position and the horde's she could hear the guttural roar of many voices over the beating of the drums, Barazzaluth ! Barazzaluth!

The rampart began to slope sharply upward, making for a steep climb, clinging to bushes, and using convenient tree branches to pull herself up over rocky outcroppings. At the top she was pleased to see it leveled off into a grassy ledge or spur with some straggling bushes already leafed out.

Giving Gelert the signal to down ,stay and bide she slithered on her stomach to the lip of the spur, parting the bushes carefully to peer at the proceedings taking place below.

At first all was a blur of unfamiliar shapes, colors and motion, made more confusing by the leaping shadows cast by the fires and the rising strength of the moon's light. The compelling beat of the drums became a background noise like the beating of a giant heart. Gemstorm thought her own heartbeat had slipped into rhythm with their stroke.

Overlooking the encampment she waited patiently for her eyes to adjust and soon began to make some visual sense of the melee. For all the noise and motion she determined they weren't embattled.

Though she thought it was the preface to battle, with the hurling of insults, self-promoting, and much stalking about brandishing weapons. Casting her sight out further she tried to determine the size of the company below.

From what she could see of the overall lay of the land, they were in a natural amphitheater, a very large one, judging from the spread out twinkle of campfires. Shielded on the northern and eastern perimeters by looming rock walls, but open to the west and south.

Too many twinkling points to count she decided, returning her attention to matters closer to hand. Smaller figures darted about, ducking through the clots of warriors, heavily swathed in rags. Skells! She thought, the chief cooks, bottle washers, and entrée's when other game was scarce for the pot.

Presently at some unseen signal, the drums stopped, leaving a crashing wake of silence behind. The orcs began to form ranks in a large circle, clearing an area that revealed it to be some kind of paved stone or flooring rather than the native rock of the mountain. Gemstorm filed that curiosity in the back of her mind for future consideration.

From the ranks of orcs, six huge warriors stepped out into the cleared area. Carrying an amazing array of weapons and heavily armored in metal reinforced leather. Each orc had accessorised his ensemble with gruesome taste in items, including it appeared the hanks of hair of vanquished enemies and the bones and teeth of others. Gemstorm was also fairly certain there were a few shrunken heads hanging off the trendier fashion setters.

Over all the six presented a picture of the biggest, ugliest and most intimidating things she had ever seen in her short life. She had no doubts that they were as savage as they looked and utterly merciless in their dealings with others.

The silence held, until a seventh combatant entered the warrior's circle from a tent, which had been hidden from Gemstorm's view, beneath her elevated sanctuary. A low swell of sound accompanied this last warrior's appearance that quickly rose to a roaring chant. "Barazzaluth! Barazzaluth!" The drums started up again, lending a deep throbbing underscore to the paean.

Gemstorm's eyes widened with surprise. Huge though she was topping well over six feet, the orc female warrior was not unseemly, even by human standards. She carried herself with easy grace, lithe as a panther; the leaping firelight brought out the sheen of her thick black hair, which she wore tightly, braided in a crown around her shapely head.

Distance blurred the details of her features but they appeared regular and not unduly pronounced in any misbegotten manner. Gemstorm thought that her teeth were likely orcish and probably fanged but wasn't about to go down and pry open her mouth like a horse to verify it.

Her limbs were well muscled but not overly so, and she wore black leather armor, re-inforced with red enameled metal. Some sigil was scribed into the breastplate of the armor but Gemstorm had no idea what it's meaning portended. A longsword, shield, also reinforced by red enameled metal and a double-sided battle-axe hanging from her belt completed Barazzaluth's battle gear.

Raising the sword high, she turned a full circle, speaking clearly she indisputably issued her challenge, even without understanding the orc tongue, that was patently obvious. Gemstorm understood only the words 'Lord Haus' in the declarative. She mentally snorted, whom else?

Events moved swiftly from that point, all six warriors beset Barazzaluth at once. Moving almost preternaturally, she took two of her attackers down and gained some clear space for herself, keeping the other four at bay and ranged in front of her in a semi-circle.

Gemstorm watched in frozen astonishment, a stray thought that Barazzaluth must have some kind of magical assistance crossed her mind, what else could explain her speed as she pressed her attack ferociously. It seemed impossible but the evidence lay in gouts of blood at her feet.

Tossing aside her shield, Barazzaluth pulled out her war axe and in a neat feint turned aside a blade and hacked that opponent down. Unfaltering and efficiently she dealt with the fourth and fifth champions, leaving them on the floor in bloody disarray.

Leaving the best for last, Gemstorm thought irreverently, but noted that the sixth opponent had not seemed to be actively fighting against her initially, moving only enough to study her style and stay out of the way of the other fighters.

Coldly precise, Barazzaluth turned on this last impediment. Letting him come after her, leading him with a smooth defense, until she brought him to her chosen killing ground, she never flinched when a strike opened a slice in her shoulder, but stepped into her opponent and gutted him like a fish with her battle-axe.

He fell at her feet, where she set her foot on his throat and leaning down reached into the cavity of the wound and ripped out his heart, holding it up for all to see, she then brought it to her mouth and consumed it. The cheers of the assembled spectators were deafening.

Gemstorm reckoned from the over-whelming sounds of approval, Barazzaluth had just firmed up her position as war-leader, adding the followers of the six dead warriors to her own entourage.

How many that gave her as a force was not clear, but judging from the many campfires spreading out below, she thought there must be at least several cohorts gathered in the amphitheater, near to nine hundred fighting orcs was not something to be lightly dismissed as a trifle of little account.

But the question remained, could she hold them? Prowess was all well and good in the fighting ring but did she have the will to prevail and move toward some grander plan with their allegiance in her grip.

Barazzaluth had withdrawn to her tent and the rest of the celebrants carried on with the festivities.

Gemstorm crawled back to where the dog lay, watching their back trail. She had much to think on and would see the night out in this relatively safe hiding spot.

Intuiting that the battle she had witnessed was the conclusion to the hordes sojourn out in the maze, she decided she needed to see the decamping and whether they left in a concerted mass or trickled out in as many directions as water through a sieve.

The drumming continued on through out the night, Gemstorm wriggled back to her lookout post whenever there seemed to be a lull in the cacophony. In the hour of false dawn she saw the orcs moving around in some order, apparently getting ready to move out. Leaving in small groups they were gone by full light, she saw the last of a file disappearing up a ravine like the tail of a snake into it's hole.

Still cautious she crawled back to Gelert, whispering, "Well now laddie, 'tis time we were moving as well, for I am most anxious to return to Snowie and get back on the road south."

Only time would prove whether Barazzaluth's ambitions would bear some fruit but in the meantime Gemstorm thought it imperative that she make some report of this new rising star in the orc's firmament to the Duke of Calias and also to the King in Vos.

***

A day and a half of hard travel with all due cautions exercised in case of running into a straying band of orcs, brought Gemstorm and Gelert to the edge of a deep knife ravine. She determined that if she could get across it, her return to the canyon where she had left her horse and tackle would be shortened by a few miles. It was narrow enough for the dog to have jumped across but she knew her short legs would drop her like a stone to the bottom if she attempted the feat.

Accordingly she began the descent, using the ever-present tangle of vines to steady herself as she groped with her feet for the underlying crannies and ledges. Gelert paced back and forth until he found a spot that suited him then followed her down to the bottom of the narrow gorge. Making short work of it, she noted with some asperity as she let go of the vine and dropped the last few feet.

Gelert happily and smugly snuffled along poking his snout into interesting cracks and under the piles of bleached flotsam that lined and choked the further end of the gorge.

As she straightened up from the crouch of her landing, she saw the dog suddenly freeze and look past her, cocking his head in a listening posture, hackles beginning to raise on his back. Gemstorm felt a slight trembling of the rock beneath her feet and heard a distant rumbling.

Gully washer!

She yelled to the dog to get out of there and made a leap for the vines hanging down from the ledge facing her.

Grabbing a good handful she began to pull herself upward, her feet scrabbling for purchase on the face of the ledge. Halfway to safety she noticed the dog, whining as he made his own desperate leap, falling back when his claws lost their grip on the tangle of vine.

Calling him, breathless with fear, she grabbed his scruff, as he leaped again and boosted him up with one arm until he gained the lip of the top and made it to safety.

Glancing toward the head of the ravine Gemstorm's heart quailed as a spray of water came bursting through, quickly building to a narrow but powerful torrent of white water that rose with frightening speed, to suck at her legs as she desperately pulled herself up on the vines.

Nearly safe with but another few feet to safety she felt something grab her leg, kicking out blindly she lost her grip on the vines when they tore away from the wall, flailing with panic she blindly reached out, grabbing at another trailing branch of the vine with her left hand. Hanging there by one hand she looked down to see what still grasped her leg.

A strangled squeak issued from her mouth. A bony white, black clawed hand gripped her, which led her eye to behold the sight of a hideous, gaping maw filled with serrated teeth in a fish belly pale face that looked back at her with hungry, hungry, malevolent yellow, pinpoint pupilled eyes.

Gasping with fear and disgust she worked her sword out of the scabbard and swung it in a downward arc upon the creature's head, splitting it more easily than seemed possible, for her blade met little more resistance to it than a melon.

The thing let go without a sound and fell back into the flood, sucked under and swept away.

Gemstorm surged upward with a last burst of panicking energy, Gelert grabbed her by the collar of her leathers and helpfully tugging backwards pulled her the last few inches to the safety of the rim of the gorge.

Lying flat on her back, she looked blankly into the sky, trying to control the aftermath of shudders at her narrow escape. The revulsion of finally getting much too close a look at the true face of the mysterious skells made her sit up with a growled "GAH! May the orcs consume the whole lot of them before they perchance breed and become a noxious pestilence upon the whole land!"

Snowheels whinnied a high glad greeting when she spotted Gemstorm and the hound returning at last.

Gemstorm was pleased to see her tackle had been undisturbed and wasted no time setting up a camp and putting water on to boil for tea. Somewhat inconvenienced by the horse's inquisitive nosing about her as she did so.

Laughing at the mare's antics she gently pushed her out of the way, telling her quite firmly that she must give over , "Gladsome am I as well to see thee my heart but if I don't have some tea posthaste, I fear I shall surely swoon for want of it."

Fortified by her hot tea and she took her bow and went foraging around the canyon, bagging two fat unsuspecting conies, and picking a small wealth of spring greens for her supper.

The spring that fell from the rocks above had made a small sun warmed pool, which she waded into after tossing her clothes on the bank, Gelert looked briefly at this novelty and departed hastily, bathing was not on his immediate list of priorities.

Scrubbing herself with handsful of sand from the bottom of the pool she removed all trace of the past days trail grime, stepping out of the pool she reached into her travel sack and pulled out a few leaves of bouncing bet. Dunking her hair in the water she used the leaves briskly to work up a pleasant lather, rinsing it out thoroughly and shaking her head from side to side to snap her hair free of the excess water.

Taking up her small clothes she swished them up and down in the water and wrung them out as well as she could, before putting them back on. Wet, but it was warm and she knew they would soon dry, her leathers were another story but nothing much could be done about them, beyond a light sponging with the parsley water to freshen them up.

Evening found her comfortably couched, her back resting against her saddle, the dog nearby and the mare grazing quietly just beyond the reach of the fire's light. Her journal lay open but forgotten on her lap as she reviewed the events of the past few days.

Tapping her nose absently with her quill she mulled over her next moves, should she continue southward or head back to the Northern Plains. The information she had gathered could be sent by messenger either way. She had no further personal interest in the matter herself as it would be upon the wisdom and discretion of others whether it was of any real importance to the settled lands.

The dawn found her mounted and moving south, curiosity about how the folks fared in Gratalm and at the Inn had won out
***

Ranger's Report to the Duke of Calias Greetings Duke Arlen,
I submit for your information and disposal, the intelligence I gathered while on a recent sortie in the Vine Growth Mountains.

A female orc warrior named Barazzaluth, of unusual intelligence and indomitable will has been winning, through trial by combat, the allegiance of a large number of roving bands of orc. If she should prevail in her ambition to weld them into a cohesive group, it seems that she will eventually and through necessity (if she means to maintain her control of these less than biddable monsters), be turning the hordes towards some attempt at conquest of the settled lands.

Having interviewed a half-orc half- human, named khek(now deceased), who claimed to be her creature, set to move covertly throughout the villages and towns gathering information on her behalf, it might also be wise to keep watch on similar wights who serve Barazzaluth in a likewise capacity.

Gemstorm*Ranger*