Robert Keller - The Hand of Tharnin

The rain held steady as the day wore on. They rode swiftly in spite of the weather and the need to stay alert, and soon they found themselves in the Northern Hills, also known as the Elder Lands. Tall, grassy hills sprawled as far as the eye could see, some displaying crumbling stone ruins. The thick pine forests of the Firepit Mountains had given way to mostly open country, with occasional lone pines or wooded groves here and there.

As they worked their way down the long, steep, muddy slope of a hill, Taris suddenly toppled from his horse. Ordering the company to halt and hold position, Thrake Wolfaxe-the second in command-leapt down from the saddle and knelt by the sorcerer. Thrake tried to lift Taris, but Taris pushed his hands away. The sorcerer's eyes smoldered with anger and frustration.

"I can stand on my own," Taris insisted, trying to rise.

"Let Thrake help you," Lannon said, stunned at what he saw.

"Yes, let him help you," Aldreya said, her eyes wide.

"I'm fine," Taris said. "I just need a moment. My mind… It grew weak and clouded. I gave in." At last, he struggled up from the ground and managed to climb back onto his horse. He seemed to be gasping for breath in the saddle.

Lannon hated to see the Tower Master in such a feeble condition. "Maybe you should return to Dremlock, Master Taris."

"No!" Taris interrupted, his devilish face twisted with disgust at the thought. "I will press on, and I will be fine. And none of you shall speak of what you saw. If word gets around that a Tower Master fell off his horse…" His face turned crimson with shame.

"We should call this off," said Thrake. "A Knight is dead, a Knight has returned to Dremlock bearing the body, and we are weakened and weary. This was a foolish venture to begin with. Riding out into seemingly endless ambush with only a small company of Knights…"

Taris nodded. "Perhaps, but I will give Lannon the choice. He is the one who must partake in the duel. What say you, Lannon?"

Lannon sighed, wishing the burden was not his to bear. If he decided to continue, more Knights-or even some of his friends-could die. But if he didn't continue, they would not gain possession of the demon man's gauntlet, and Taris could not be cured. Lannon feared for Taris' life.

"I don't know," said Lannon, shrugging helplessly.

"You must make a firm decision," said Taris.

"I say we press on," said Vorden. The dark-haired lad seemed eager for combat, his hand locked in a fierce grip around the hilt of his bizarre spider sword.

"I agree," said Timlin. "I want to kill more Goblins!"

"It's your decision, Lannon," said Aldreya. She gazed at Taris with fear in her eyes. "But maybe we should turn back."

"I think we've had enough," said Jerret, who looked terrified. "This seems to be an ill-fated quest."

"I'm all for turning back," said Thrake. "What about you, Jace?"

"I think we should continue on," said Jace, "if Taris thinks he can endure it. We came this far. The ruins of Serenlock are near."

"You have heard the others," said Taris, "and myself. Now, Lannon, what is your decision? You alone will bear the responsibility."

Lannon felt a twinge of anger. Why was Taris placing such a huge burden on a mere Squire? "I guess we'll keep going for now," said Lannon. "We're almost there. And I guess it's our duty to see it through."

Taris gazed at him sternly. "Then you're prepared to fight this duel?"

Lannon nodded, wondering if he'd lost his wits.

"Then we ride for Serenlock," said Taris.

"Maybe not," Jace said casually. "We might not have to go there." Jace pointed at a nearby hill. A dark figure stood atop it, watching them. "My eyesight isn't the greatest, but I do believe that is our demon fellow."

Taris squinted. "Yes, it is him! Ride!"

With that, the Tower Master rode off through the wet grass. The others followed, the Greywinds leaping over rocks and bleached logs that were barely visible in the tall grass. The figure on the hilltop stood motionless, but once the company started up the hill, the figure turned and fled.

When they reached the top, they found themselves gazing down into a valley of dead pines, ash, and hardened lava-called a Fire Reach. Through the center of the dead forest, winding like a crimson snake, was a swirling river of lava that never cooled. Rain hissed as it landed in the river, causing jets of steam to rise. What kept the lava in molten form was not known, but such eternally smoldering rivers were unique to Silverland. The demon man stood by the crimson river below, motioning to them with his gauntlet-covered hand. The two blue, glowing crystals in the glove beckoned them with a cold light.

"A Fire Reach!" said Thrake. "Very dangerous. This is a region sacred to Tharnin. It is certain to contain a well-guarded shrine."

"We ride on," Taris insisted, starting down the hill.

When the company reached the blackened river bank, the demon man had already fled deeper into the dead forest. Lannon had never been in an area as strange as the Fire Reach. It had the same holy feel as the Temple of Dremlock-but it also had a sinister and evil aura. This seemed to be a place of profound suffering and sacrifice. The huge dead pines were like charred bones rising from the lava-encrusted earth. The horses' iron shoes made loud clopping noises on the hard, black forest floor. Unsure of which way to go, they simply followed Taris along the river. In spite of the cool rain, the heat from the molten lava made them sweat.

At last they spotted a shrine through the trees. It was an arch with a pillar on either side-and it seemed to be made of hardened lava. The pillars and arch were lumpy with the shapes of skulls and bones. Also on each pillar was a large, demonic face. At the base of the shine were urns filled with ash.

Standing below the arch was the demon man, flanked by two Goblin Lords. The Goblin Lords held dark, twisted staffs, and crimson runes were painted on their foreheads. These were Priests of Tharnin-extremely powerful and intelligent Goblins who commanded sorcery. Their black eyes were filled with evil. The demon man still wore no shirt, and his bare chest was marked with ash runes. His gaunt face and bony ribs made him look half starved. He'd shaved his head bald, but had left a few crude patches of hair in the process.

"Welcome!" said the demon man. "I grew a bit impatient and decided to meet you here." He grinned at Lannon. "Are you ready for the duel?"

Lannon nodded, struggling to hide the terror he was feeling. This area made him feel weak, like an intruder in a sacred realm who must surely be destroyed. He felt like he was committing a grave wrong by being there.

"The Goblins must stand aside," said Taris. "If they try to interfere, my archers will make quick work of them."

"They tend this shrine," said the demon man. "They have no interest in interfering. We are the intruders here. These urns contain the ashes of those who have died fighting for the Lords of Tharnin. In this case, members of the Blood Legion who sacrificed themselves. Fallen Knights. Dremlock considers itself a holy kingdom, but it's really a fortress of despair built around a feeble creature that calls itself a god. Real gods dwell in the Realm of Tharnin."

"We didn't come here to be lectured," said Taris, "especially by a slave like you. We came for the duel."

The demon man laughed. "Well, this slave scarred your face and left you a weak, sickened man. Does that enrage you, Birlote? Have you come to see me destroyed, so you will have revenge?"

Taris didn't reply, though his face twitched.

A hint of a smile appeared on Jace's lips. The demon man glanced toward Jace and hissed. "What amuses you, Knight?"

"I'm not a Knight," said Jace. "And I'm amused by your weak personality. You remind me of a simple Goblin-like your priests there. The gauntlet you wear-this Hand of Tharnin-is an awkward fit for you. I'm convinced it could not have chosen a weaker host."