Late that morning Myvar returned to the village to find the Blind Elder sitting in his favourite chair out front his stone hut.  As she approached he greeted her pleasantly, "Good morning, Myvar.  You do love sleeping under the stars."
    "Better than castle walls," she responded.  "Elder, do you know where Daryan is?"
    The Elder shook his head.  "He is not here, if that is what you are asking."
    "Then he truly did leave," she said to herself mostly.
    "Leave?" repeated the Elder.  "Then you must find him!  Our Jakanaar comes."
    Myvar blinked out of her own thoughts.  "Jakanaar....   I don't understand why we need him."
    The old man smiled, "You always did have trouble with that part of the prophecy.  Like any good stew, we need to balance the sweet with the tart."
    "Jakanaar is no tart!" she retorted.  "He's bile in your stew!"
    "Even bile has medicinal properties," calmly replied the Elder.
    Myvar grimaced at the thought.  "Perhaps we were wrong about this part of the prophecy as well," she countered.
    "Perhaps," was all the old man said.
    After a long pause, Myvar changed topics.  "Elder, how did the Beast know to possess you?  How could it possess anyone?  Scrying just lets you view through other's eyes."
    The Elder's demeanor turned sour.  "That was no mere scrying.  And that was not the Beast."
    "Not the Beast?!  Then who?" she asked.
    "It's master."

                                                      *****
     
     “Oh 60, what a number,” Professor Mim was saying.  “My Lord of Justice did you know the number 60 is an important number for the Old One Worshipers?  It is divisible by one, two, three, four, five and six.  One signifies the Old One him or herself.  Two signifies balance, good and evil, right and wrong, man and woman etc.  Three represents the three tenets: Honour the land, honour thy brothers and sisters and honour yourself and in that order too.  Four represents… now let me see four represents… oh yes…”
     “Are you quite finished?” Lord of Justice Nezen Gutrin snapped.   They had been combing the rubble of the Old One Temple for a few days, and his patience was at its limit.
     “Well there’s the four pillars of thought and then the… oh I see,” Mim replied finally catching on to Nezen Gutrin’s real meaning.  He paused and looked about the ruins.  The pair of them stood in the middle of a mass of scorched marble and charred wood.  Mim frowned and pointed at the ruins of each support column, counting them as he went.  Normally in an Old One Temple of this size 60 columns would support the building, but he kept getting 59.  He scrambled over to the area where the missing column should have been, or at least its remains.  There he found the rubble was not heaped up like elsewhere, but appeared to be lower, as if in a depression of some sort.  “Curious.”
     “What did you say?” Gutrin asked.
     “My Lord it appears we may have found something,” Mim replied.  He gingerly stepped into the depression and his sandaled foot sunk a few inches.  He put more weight on his foot and suddenly he found half his leg sunk into a widening hole, “ahhh!”
     “What have you done?” Gutrin strode over to Mim.  He grabbed the frantic  professor by the collar and yanked him out of the hole.  Gutrin looked down at the hole.  “Is this what caused the explosion?”
     “Doubtful.  From what you described the accelerant would have needed to be all over the inside, not just in one area.  No, this is something else.”  Mim crawled to the hole and poked at the sides.  More rubble fell into the darkness, increasing the size of the opening.
     “Travend!” Gurtin yelled angrily.  “Bring some torches!”
     “You don’t seriously mean to go down there, do you?” Mim gulped nervously.
     For a moment Gutrin felt like pushing the professor headlong into the hole.  For a wise, learned man Mim talked incessantly over the most minute of details.  It drove Gutrin mad.  “I do.  You can stay here and play with your fires.  Or better yet.  Figure out just what the hell happened here!”  Travend arrived with the torches, and a couple of swords.  Gutrin looked at the boy and nodded approval.  He stepped toward the hole and dropped one of the lit torches into it.  The three of them watched its light dwindle as it fell.  The hole was rather deep and to one side a crude ladder was imbedded into the stone.  Gutrin took his sword and poked at the sides of the hole to reveal the top of the ladder.
     “My Lord,” Travend yelled pointing down the hole.  “The other torch is out.”

     “Most likely the dirt has smothered it,” Lord of Justice Gutrin replied.  He looked down into the seemingly endless hole and felt an emptiness creep over him.   It was an experience he did not relish since the last time he had felt it came when Lord Jecend Pemlion brought his wife's deceit to the table.  Gutrin shook his head.  He strained to focus his thoughts from the past to the present.  He feared the unknown of the hole, but he needed to know what was down below.  ‘Perhaps,’ he thought ‘I can use the extortionist's whelp to my advantage.’
     "Travend", he ordered "Give a torch to Professor Mim and start down the ladder."  Travend passed one torch to Professor Mim and held the second one in his hand as he descended down the rickety ladder.  As daylight and ash filled air gave way to the cool misty dampness of the stone walls, Lord Nezen Gutrin disappeared from Travend and Mim's view.  All around them, walls were scribed in a text that was partially covered in dripping crimson moss.
     "Ahhh," Travend hollered as his head was trampled and then entangled in Mim’s robes.  Travend thrashed about trying to free himself from the cloth.  The torches came dangerously close to their clothing as Mim frantically swung about desperately trying to regain his footing.
     "Sorry," whimpered Mim, afraid of falling to his death.  He again stepped on Travend’s head instead of the rung.  Travend shouted in anger, released his torch and thrust Mim's foot back onto the rung.   The young lord continued down at a quickened pace. "Oh, thank you...ah," Mim gasped as he clung to the rungs.  His torch lit up the text on the wall next to him.  Suddenly, the fear of falling evaporated as he leaned closer to the writing.  "I don't recognize this language," he muttered.  "It is not the syntax or character set of the Old One language."
     Mim rubbed some of the dirt and grime away.  "Perhaps it is an early dialect of Aphelion or Kaing.  Travend do you see here how the letters are grouped ‘Bthatl vizqs Xiptec’?  The tl and qs are found in both languages but rarely found elsewhere. hmm."   Professor Mim realized he was still 20 feet above the floor of the hole.  He descended further down the ladder.  "Here is that unusual Xi grouping again X-i-p-t-e-c, perhaps it of Odargh...or Dolingur. Travend, look here...there is another Xiptec Coquez Jadqsi, were you taught any of the ancient dialects?"
     "I know what I need to know, Professor,” Travend yelled from the bottom of the hole.  “We better keep moving or it will be late evening before we make it back to the surface and I have obligations to attend to,” Travend muttered, annoyed.  He wanted to take a quick look around and report back to Lord Gutrin.  Travend thought to himself that he needed to make a good impression on Lord Nezen Gutrin to win his confidence and secure his future wife. The descent however had made his soul uneasy.
     "Do you see here how 'Bthatl hentrallas Xiptec, Pemiovia hflatus', it seems like Kaing… battle entered... something perhaps a name, another name and fallen, flight or failure.  Most interesting indeed, Professor Jagvir would be most excited," Mim rambled.
     Sweat rolled down Travend's back and his head started to pound from the endless chatter that echoed down the shaft.  He hoped Mim would tire and cease to talk.
     "Here it is again Xiptec, Xiptec Rlquez, hmmm perhaps it is a name…” Mim continued absently.
     An hour had past by the time Professor Mim reached the bottom of the ladder and joined Travend.  They began to explore the area around them and passed through a long dank corridor carved into the cavern walls.  As the scent of death crept in, Mim finally ceased his endless rambling.  The ground crunched as they pressed scattered bones into the stone beneath their feet.  Along the corridor small blood stained sacrificial altars appeared in set-in alcoves.  Remnants of cloth and bones were scattered everywhere. They reached a set of huge doors probably the entrance of a cathedral chapel-like chamber. Mim raised his torch to look at the writing above the door. "Hlaht  Xiptec, Xiptec Coquez."

*                                *                                 *                                 *

For six days the cloaked man walked out from the Empirial City with the sun endlessly pelting down on his black robes.  The robes, saturated with sweat, dripped down on his face and he lapped furiously at the streams of salty droplets.  The salt quickened his saliva.  He was almost there.  He could smell the sickened sweetness..his saliva flowed out and down his chin in anticipation.

Ahead of him, a swarm of flies danced across the streams of blood on a blindly sauntering mule's back.  It meandered aimlessly towing a rotten load of pommet fruit.  Drunk on the pungent ale like stench of the rotten fruit, the mule did not notice the cloaked man approach.

His toothless mouth opened as his tongue stroked the blood streams on the mule's haunches. Ingesting the maggots and warm blood, he had not felt such sheer joy in a meal since he feasted on the sweetness of Lord Nezen's wife, Brid Gutrin.

*****

     The damp corridor was awash in torch-light.  The city guard under Captain Heglian patrolled the area and stood guard on the surface.  Lord Gutrin ordered that they follow Professor Mim’s directions to the letter.  He watched as Mim directed the guards to move debris and human remains.  A sigh escaped his lips and he strode up to the great doors, which had not been opened.  Gutrin looked at the intricate carving.  Something there made his heart sicken as if a cold hand clutched it and began to squeeze.
     “Excuse me My Lord,” Mim’s voice was ecstatic with glee.  “Had I realized the importance of this site, I think I would not have come down until the entire garrison of the city guard was here first.”
     “What is it?” Gutrin snapped, not bothering to look at the professor.
     “Oh well, it appears from what I can understand, that something has escaped,” Mim chattered.  “You see, the Old One Worshipers did not do these sacrifices.  The Old One does not require sacrifices.  No… these were done by someone or some thing else entirely.”
     “What escaped?” Gutrin asked turning to face Mim.
     “Xiptec.”
     “I suggest you explain fully,” Gutrin hissed.
     “This Xiptec is old.  It isn’t the Old One but it is old.  As far as I can decipher he or it or she had been imprisoned here.  And… now I understand…” Mim paused nodding to himself.  “The explosion of the temple was not to destroy Imperial City, it was to imprison Xiptec.  Bury him alive.  You see, the Old One Worshipers, for what ever reason, did not wish Xiptec to be freed or fall into Imperial hands.”
     “Who is this Xiptec exactly?” Gutrin asked pointedly.
     “I don’t know.  The sections of the walls that describe him or her fully have been chiselled off, and recently too.”
     “Mim, I want a full report of everything you find down here.  The City Guard is here at your disposal and…”
     “I think I should like a break to bathe and…” Mim interrupted.
     “You are now employed by his Imperial Highness; you no longer have a choice.  I suggest you get everything done quickly.”  Gutrin looked about and saw Travend moving some rocks.  The boy saw his gaze and Gutrin waved him over.  “Travend, you shall be the liaison between the good professor here and myself.  I want daily reports of progress and if anything of great import is found I am to be informed immediately.  Is this understood?”
     “Yes My Lord,” Travend replied dutifully.
     “My Lord, you will not be staying?” Mim asked hesitantly.
     “I must report all of this to the Emperor,” Gutrin replied.  He then stepped closer to the professor and in a hushed, but biting tone added, “And he will certainly take a keen interest in you and your work.  For your sake you’d best not fail.”

                                              *****

     Lord Pemlion chuckled, amused by the news he had just heard.  “Jackel is missing.  What a stroke of unfortunate luck for him.”
     “What shall we do with her?” Deevian asked quietly.
     “Her,” Pemlion mused.  He stood up and stretched as he walked toward the liquor table.  He poured himself some exquisite white wine and did not offer Deevian any.  “I think for now we should just keep her where she is.”
     “I would tend to agree my Lord.  Alive we have more options than if she were killed,” Deevian spoke.  One needed as many options as possible when dealing with Jackel.  Deevian knew Pemlion had a certain dislike for the black marketer.  It was not quite fear, but it was not quite indifference either.  It verged on a slight phobia.  Though where this phobia stemmed from Deevian could only guess.  “Perhaps, I should investigate as to where Jackel has gone?”
     “Yes,” Pemlion replied.  “I am sure he has not gone far.  Flip over any rotting board and there’s always a chance he could be under it.”  Pemlion strode back to the desk and sat on the chair.  “You said a few of his men were found dead?
     “That is the word from the underworld,” Deevian replied.  “Perhaps there was a coup of some sort.”
     “Doubtful.  There is no one else that could achieve such a feat.  No, the underworld of Imperial City is controlled by one man.  Jackel,” Pemlion spat.  “Best figure out what happened to him.  This could be ruse of a sort to get us to relax.”  Pemlion leaned back in his chair, fingering the rim of his goblet.  “What news of Lord Llania?”
     “He left for Snowlion Keep a week ago,” Deevian replied.  “I hear reports of unrest amongst his serfs caused by this inane decree to kill all old one worshipers.”
     “This ‘inane decree,’ as you so aptly put it, will be the catalyst I am looking for.”  Pemlion leaned forward and smiled openly.  “What contacts do you have in Snowlion Keep?”
     “A few,” Deevian answered, a slight frown furrowed his brow.  He always became slightly unnerved whenever Pemlion smiled as he had just done.
     “Any who might like to lead a revolt or at least instigate one?”
     “There are two such who love to cause havoc, though for a price.”
     “Good.  I want them to raise as much havoc as 10 platinum griffins will allow.”
     “10 griffins?  My Lord, perhaps 1 griffin will be enough.  10 griffins are 1000 gold stallions and enough to buy a small castle!” Deevian could not hide his surprise.
     “I realize how many gold stallions 1 platinum griffin can buy.  I want this done.  Now!”  Pemlion ordered.  “I expect the usual precautions.  Purchase used and untraceable horses and hire roughnecks with no link to me.  I do not need these funds traced back to me.  Once in Altarina province tell your contacts an Old One worshiper wishes to strike at the heart of the Empire.  Give them half now, and half again later, once they have successfully raised a revolt.”
     “As you wish,” Deevian replied.  He bowed and exited the room.  10 griffins will be in his possession, but somehow, he mused, only 5 will make it to their destination.  On his way out of the room he passed Gevend, Pemlion’s eldest son.  “My Lord,” Deevian bowed, ever so slightly.
     “Is my father available?” Gevend asked.
     “He is in his chambers, if that is what you mean,” Deevian replied, then walked away.
     Gevend clenched his jaw in preparation for the meeting with his father.  Jecend Pemlion was a demanding parent and Gevend knew he had disappointed him in the past.  He took a deep breath and strode, as confidently as he could muster, into his father’s private chamber.

*****
Gutrin made his way up the rickety ladder; nodded at Captain Helgian as he swiftly passed him; and strode through the streets toward the Empirial Hall, where the Emperor would be there conducting his judicial duties.

     "*sigh*, My son would have been a couple years older than Travend", he muttered to himself, "if he had not been still born"  He remembered fondly the excitement he and his new wife Brid had felt over the coming arrival of their son.  How beautiful she looked, exotic yet earthy in her eastern looks. Her lucious black hair cascading down her broad shoulders onto her swollen bossom.  "My dearest Brid", he gasped as his chest tighten and his eyes moistened. He sees her pain stricken face, as Gashara, the midwife and Gamul, the sage, remove a small motionless buddle from the bed chamber. For the first time he remember seeing her great reverence for the Tribal Healers and the Cult of the Old One wane in sorrow.

Gutrin felt his body being pushed abruptly against the market stalls as the crowd of evening shoppers encircled him.  The Lord of Justice straightened and poised. His stern glare separated the bustling souls. As he hassened forward, he noted in an alley way that the clairvoyant Gashara was entering the executioner's abode.

He soothed himself, "At least, I still have Myvar, spirited like my sweet Brid", as he stepped up the stairs into the Empirial Hall.  The guards opened the door as he approached.  Inside the Empiral Hall sat the Emperor with two women: Lordess Violana and the Renagde Kalli from the northern lands.