“Look,” Soen said, pointing with his first two fingers to the far limits of the enormous field. “There are four other portals functional. One of them leads farther up toward Hyperia, the other three back toward Ibania. So far our prey has continued farther from the heart of the Empire.”
“But which one do we take?” Phang asked.
Soen considered then spoke.
“All of them.”
Qinsei, Phang, and Jukung all stared at the Iblisi.
“We can’t be sure which one they took, but if we explore each of them separately, we might choose the wrong path and set ourselves back more than we already are,” Soen said. “But if we each follow a separate path on our own-each of us looking for signs of our prey-then we’ll cover them all much more quickly. We’ll each take a different fold, then return here before nightfall. If one of us does not return, then we’ll all know which path to follow, and we’ll take it and continue the hunt.”
“It breaks the Quorum,” Qinsei said, obviously disapproving.
“If we don’t recover these bolters while we can,” Soen said, “there may not be enough Quorums in the Empire to stop them.”
“Two days we’ve walked. . and thisis our prize?”
Mala sputtered, unable to decide whether to laugh or weep.
“Aye!” Jugar said with pride, his eyes flashing in the light of the setting sun. “Partake of the sanctuary offered by the dwarven gods and glory in its honor! Few mortals have been privileged to enter the confines of the Togrun Fel!”
Drakis looked again and remained unimpressed. The hill was no taller than any of the others extending to the southeast. It did, he had to admit, have a rather precipitous exposed face on its southern side, but the carvings in its surface were altogether worn and crumbling, in such bad states of deterioration that it was difficult to get any idea of what they were meant to depict. Indeed, he had not even noticed the carvings until they were nearly at the base of the cliff itself. Mossy grass overhung the top edge of the rock face, the gods of nature trying to hide the scars that the dwarves had made.
The tears of the Dead are of dust now. .
The breath of their life now stopped. .
Their voices though still. .
Are calling your will. .
Drakis reached back and rubbed at the aching in his neck. The field pack he was carrying was heavier than he expected. “It’s a tomb.”
“Aye,” Jugar nodded, his widely spaced teeth grinning in appreciation.
RuuKag let out a great chuff of disapproval. “He wants us to hide. . in a grave?”
“Better to hide temporarily in a tomb than to take up permanent residence,” Ethis said, folding his four arms in front of him as he inspected the entrance. “Still, I would have expected better craftsmanship from the dwarves. Even the entrance looks more like an accident than an intention.”
“Are you blind, sir?” The dwarf huffed. “But that is the craft! Togrun Fel is not a dwarven tomb, though it was constructed by them and, might I humbly add, with the greatest of their arts in stone. It was wrought in honor of the friendship once joined between the Fae Queens of the Hyperian Woods and the Nine Dwarven Kings and the great sacrifice they and their dryads made near this very spot. This was back in the Age of Fire, when all the world was set ablaze by the elven conquests and the humans stood shoulder to shoulder with the dwarves and the faery against their onslaught.”
Drakis raised a questioning eyebrow at Jugar.