The hike to the eighth tier emphasized Hadrian’s point. They passed no one. The entire trip up Berling Way had been as silent as if they were walking a forgotten graveyard. Not so much as a dog barked. The journey had also been dark. No candles flickered behind windows; no one had lit the street lamps. They had traveled only by the shine of the moon, which in its frightening brilliance, and cold light was just another reminder of the danger and the speed at which sand ran out of the glass.

The Cave hadn’t changed from Hadrian’s last visit. It was still the overly ornate salt mine it had been. Despite the stunning bas-relief sculptures of dwarfs digging and hauling salt, the entrance was still a hole in the side of the cliff with an entrance that was disturbingly small. Hadrian could see how the place struggled to turn a profit. There wasn’t much around it. The Eighth Tier was high on the cliff, not far from the top of the plateau. Less vegetation grew here where the tropical terraces met the high desert. The businesses at this height were the ones no one wished to have at the bottom. Like how Kenyon the Clean’s soap making shop was regulated to the Lower Quarter of Medford, the Eighth Tier was home to the equally smelly tannery, and some livestock yards. The loud and messy stone quarry was also up there, which only made sense as hauling stone down was so much easier than dragging it up. The same went for water, and Hadrian spotted huge and numerous cisterns carved into the tops of the sheer cliff walls designed to catch rainwater then send it down into the lower levels. While all of this revealed the technological marvel that had been the ancient dwarven city, it didn’t scream: come visit! This was the Wayward Street of Tur Del Fur, and the Cave was it’s Rose and Thorn.

Hadrian had tried to follow Millie inside, but once again she asked him to wait out front. There would be others. Not as bad as Andre or Alessandro, but those that could cause trouble if they saw her with a strange man. So, Hadrian waited. He stood for a time studying the carvings to either side of the entrance. Then he paced the length of what appeared to have once been raised cart rails. They looked to have been made of wood, but had long ago rotted away leaving ruts where wagons must have been rolled. And he pondered the pile of wheels and rotting wood that he imagined were the once used carts. He heard a clap like a window shutter not far to his right, and imagined a cat was hunting back in the centuries of debris. The dark clutter looked perfect for a multitude of rodents.

Another likely reason people didn’t wait in line to get in the Cave.

Hadrian wondered what was taking Millie so long and weighed the pros and cons of going in to check on her when he heard foot steps. Two men came up the road. Hadrian could hear the telltale clap announcing that they each wore blades. Given the location, and the time of day, Hadrian didn’t need to see their faces to know who they were.

“Hadrian Blackwater, I presume,” Andre said as he and Alessandro approached.

The two appeared similar. Both had tailored beards—Andre’s was longer and came to a point, while Alessandro’s was short but his mustache curled up elegantly. Both had dark hair; Andre just had more, which lent him a conceited arrogance that Alessandro lacked. Hadrian didn’t think they were related by blood, but people of similar circles tended to have a uniform look. Theirs was refined and well-to-do thug.

“How nice of you to visit,” Andre stopped short of arm’s length. “But alas, the Cave isn’t open tonight.”

“I can see that. Too bad, I figured you must have great ground peas.”

Andre squinted. “What’s a ground pea?”

“You know, peanuts? They’re best covered in salt, and salty foods make people thirsty, so I figured, being a taproom in an old salt mine, you’d have lots of great salted peanuts on hand. I have a weakness for peanuts. Always find them in taverns, and I’ve spent many a night where my only meal was a free bowl of nuts. Walnuts and almonds, are good too. But almonds are harder to get up north. Plenty of them down here though.”

“Does he have the book?” Andre asked looking past Hadrian.

Millie standing behind Hadrian just inside the entrance of the Cave. She was shaking her head.

“Why the white cloth then?” Andre asked.

“He was concerned for my safety,” Millie replied as if it was the most absurd thing she’d ever heard. “Wanted to make sure I got out of the city before it blew up. He’d be irresistible if he wasn’t so stupid.”

“So, you’re not taking my advice, are you?” Hadrian asked her.

She laughed at him. “Poor boy thinks I should abandon you, Andre, and run away with him to Warric or Maranon.” Millie laughed again. “I imagine he sees me as his dutiful housewife needing to remind himself which one of his possessions he saddles and which one he just rides.”

Maybe Millie is capable of being ugly.

“Where’s the book?” Andre took a step closer and put his off-hand to the neck of his scabbard.

Hadrian read the man’s fingers. They told the tale of a brute who didn’t draw his sword often. “As I explained to Millie—” Hadrian said.

“Millificent!” She nearly screamed still at her perch in the doorway.

“Yes, that’s her, the very talented but also very misguided woman behind me. I explained to her, the book is not a treasure map. The church was using it to find another, older book.”

Andre made a show of dangling his right arm in a loose and threatening manner as if he was on the verge of drawing his sword. “No one spends a fortune to unearth just a book. This other tome is likely part of the treasure, or the book is exceedingly valuable. Either way, I want it. So, where is the diary?”

“It’s in Drumindor.”

This didn’t make Andre at all happy. His already trademark frown took a sharp downward turn. “I don’t think you’re being entirely honest.”

“And I don’t think you’re a good judge of the truth. Look, I came here to see if Millie—”

“Millificent!”

“—If she needed help getting out of this city before it disappeared and she vanished along with it. I can see now that her answer is no. Apparently she has you two fine gentlemen to watch out of her. So, I no longer have any reason to remain. Goodnight to you all.”

As expected, it wasn’t Andre who drew steel, it was Alessandro. Andre stepped to the side granting his associate access.

Alessandro turned sideways and swept a slightly curved cutlass side to side letting it sing. The blade didn’t have an appealing song. As a weapon, the cutlass was as elegant as an axe, and often used in the same manner. Sailors loved it because it was just as ideal for hacking a trail and cutting ropes, as dismembering people. And those who used it were about as skilled as a lumberjack. Still, Hadrian appreciated the demonstration. Alessandro must have thought he was executing the age old practice of pre-fight intimidation. Instead, the man was providing Hadrian with a table of contents to Alessandro’s level of skill and the extent of his training, which was just slightly above the average highwayman, and not quite as good as a typical man-at-arms. Hadrian wasn’t worried about fighting either Andre or Alessandro but…something wasn’t right.

Alessandro’s bravado was labored. The show he put on was too much, too excessive for an experienced swordsman facing an unarmed man. Why work so hard at frightening me? Could be anything, he reasoned. Alessandro might be the showy sort, or the kind who liked to play with his victims—scare them. Could also be he wasn’t feeling well, or perhaps Alessandro might just be the cautious type, but still Hadrian started to worry that—

“Look out! Behind you, Master Hadrian!” Pickles’s voice shouted.

With no idea about the nature of the threat, Hadrian both ducked and sidestepped. He heard a thwack! The sound was as familiar to him as the moo of a cow to a dairy farmer, and an instant after, he felt the breeze of the crossbow bolt pass by his head.

“Look out! Look out! There are more! Two are behind the big water barrel. One is running out of the Cave and there is another one with a crossbow who is—”

Thwack!

Pickles’s voice was cut off.

Turning Hadrian saw it all. Three swordsmen who had laid in wait among the rotting carts left their shelter and charged. Behind him, two others bent to the task of reloading their bows. Millie was gone—back inside, Hadrian guessed. Seven men had come to capture him. Millie had been the bait. But he didn’t have the book. With no reason to keep him alive—it was crossbow time. The quick and easy answer to anyone’s murdering needs. Andre drew his blade now, but backed away. The refined thugs would leave the dirty work to the real thugs.

In an instant, the scene explained itself, except for…

Where’d other bolt go? The thought blew up in Hadrian’s mind, as he went through the motions of disarming the first swordsman to step into arm’s length.

What was Rehn doing here?

Hadrian threw the man to the ground, stole his opponent’s weapon, and surprised his next attacker who had been ill-informed by his own eyes that his victim was a helpless unarmed man. This mistake cost his life.

Why did Rehn stop talking?

Hadrian used his stolen sword to kill its owner before the man had a chance to stand up.

Rehn can’t be—

Hadrian used the cleaving power of the cutlass to nearly decapitate the first of the two bowmen.

Pickles can’t be—

With two quick steps, Hadrian used both hands beneath the knuckle guard, and a growing anger to send the other bowman’s head rolling with speed down Berling’s Way.

Not again!

Hadrian spotted the third swordsman running back into the cave. Maybe he went for help; maybe he just didn’t want to be outside anymore. Hadrian pivoted to face Andre and Alessandro, but they weren’t there either. Hearing rapid footfalls, Hadrian saw the two running away down the slope. Hadrian found himself alone in the street except for a small figure laying on the ground.

Laying at the foot of a stone wall that was decorated in a moonlit spray of blood that ran broad tears down its length, Hadrian found the prone body of Rehn Purim. The kid was on his back. The feathered end of the bolt just visible as it pinned his tunic tight. There was no blood on the front of him. Nothing came out of Rehn’s mouth or nose, just that sunburst of red on the wall behind him.

“Master Hadrian…” Rehn said. His eyes were wide-open staring up at the night sky.

“What are you doing here?” Hadrian asked, his voice angrier than intended.

“I saw you leave. I was worried. So, I followed—just in case. And it was good I did…yes?”

Hadrian put his arms under Rehn’s knees and back that was so wet, and lifted him. “I’m taking you back. You stay with me, you understand! You stay alive Pickles! You hear me?”

“I did better this time…didn’t I?” Rehn said. “So much better with the watching and the warning, didn’t I Master Hadri…”

Rehn went limp in his arms.

Albert returned with a dwarven physician who didn’t bother with so much as a wave before entering the Turtle where Rehn Purim lay in Arcadius’s bed. Gwen, the professor, and Auberon had already been working on the kid for nearly an hour already.

Hadrian had been told by Gwen, in her most gentle voice, that he had done his part in getting Rehn back alive. Now Hadrian needed to let others work. In other words, he wasn’t helping and she needed him to wait outside. But waiting wasn’t easy, and Hadrian began pacing back and forth from the courtyard to the bedroom door and back again.

“Wanna go kill them?” Royce asked as Hadrian passed him during the courtyard portion of his circuit. The thief and his ghost sat at the table beneath the lemon tree.

“Who?” Hadrian asked, then shook his head. “Oh…no. I already killed the crossbowmen.”

“What about this Andre and the other one that was with him?” Royce asked. “They got away. We can kill them, right?” He looked at Baxter. “You don’t care, do you?”

Baxter shrugged. “Andre is an ambitious idiot who imagines he’s one move away from ruling the underworld, but he doesn’t have a key or a stateroom on the Crown Jewel. Doubt anyone will notice he’s missing.”

“So we can kill him?”

Baxter nodded. “I won’t get in the way, if that’s what you mean.”

“See,” Royce said. “The ghost doesn’t care. We can start by playing a game of Ten Fingers and I can be clumsy.”

Hadrian shook his head. “Killing them won’t save Pickles.”

“You mean Rehn.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Okay, you want to go get drunk then?” Royce asked.

Hadrian stopped and thought for moment, which was hard as his mind was a cluttered mess of stress and fear. “Since when are you interested in getting drunk?”

“I’m not, but I’ll watch you. Make sure you get back.”

“Nothing’s open.”

“Really? I hear there’s a quiet danthum up on eighth called the Cave. I’m certain they will open if we ask real nice. Then maybe after a few drinks, to get you loosened up, you might change your mind about Andre.”

Like a cat that dropped a dead mouse on the bedroom floor of it’s owner, Royce had a unique style for comforting loss. He meant well, and that was the important thing.

“He’s going to be fine,” the physician assured the three of them.

Dr. Koll Rudd was as classic a dwarf as Gwen could imagine. A full head shorter than herself, his eyes were old and deep and shaded by eyebrows long enough to be brushed. His nose—the centerpiece of his face—was large and full of character, while the top of his head was mostly bare exposing deep and weathered worry-lines. He wore a mostly white beard whose length allowed it to be braided and decorated with bangles and beads. Gwen guessed that the ornamentations were not decorative. The objects, size, material, and shapes likely displayed religious, social, or professional significance. After her time spent with Auberon, Gwen had learned that dwarfs did little without meaning. They were long on history and tradition, and light on popular trends. The doctor moved and spoke with confidence and appeared the sort to know what he was doing and felt comfortable doing it.

The question in Gwen’s mind remained…could he be bought?

“I’m not even sure why I was even called? The three of you did a fine job,” Dr. Rudd said, as he closed up his old wooden toolbox and refastened the leather straps buckling up his medical gear into an ingenious pack that he wore. “Doesn’t hurt that Drome threaded a needle with that bolt. As far as I can tell it slipped right between the liver and spleen, and missed the spine by less than an inch. And I am pleased to see you refrained from packing the wound with animal dung, nor have you bled the poor boy dry. Humans have a tendency to do such things, which I believe is the real reason Dromeians tend to live longer.”

Gwen, Arcadius, and Auberon clustered together around Rehn in the tiny bedroom. They had as many lamps and candles as they could find in the house and all were burning around the bed. Likewise a big pot of feverfew leaves steeped in apple cider vinegar boiled in the corner filling the room with a bitter but fruity odor that Gwen always associated with sickness.

Rehn was all cleaned up, wrapped neatly in pristine white bandages, and draped in a linen sheet. He was unconscious and had been since Hadrian carried him in.

“The shock to his body and loss of blood will leave him on his back for a few days, but after that—barring a fever—he’ll be able to walk a bit. If he wants to, let him, but don’t let him over do it. In a couple of weeks, he should be in decent shape, and after a month or two he should make a full recovery.”

“It certainly looked worse than it was,” Arcadius said.

“Well then,” Dr. Rudd said reaching for his gear. “I’ll be—”

Auberon put his hand on the toolbox preventing Rudd from taking it. “You’re right, we didn’t send for you to save the lad.”

The doctor stared at Auberon for a moment. “So, what did you bring me here for?”

Auberon took a deep breath and to Gwen it appeared as if she were watching two big horn sheep preparing to ram horns. “It’s very important that everyone in the world—aside from the four of us in this room—believe this boy died from his wounds.”

“How’s that, now?”

Auberon pointed at the closed door. “Outside you will have noticed four other gentlemen. Two are dandies, and the other two consist of a big mercenary and a smaller black-hooded fellow.”

“I saw them.” Dr. Rudd peered hard at Auberon. “The big fella pleaded with me to do my very best.”

“Right, and he’s the one needs to believe that young Rehn here is dead.”

“And why is that?”

“Two reasons, and both come down to the survival of Tur Del Fur. You see, those two—the big and the little—are going to save us all.”

Dr. Rudd, clearly unconvinced, focused on Arcadius. “You look like the smart one here. How do you feel about this foolishness?”

“To be honest, I’m not overly comfortable with it,” the professor replied. He had moved outside the ring of lights and taken a seat on the little chair in what used to be his room. “But there is the matter of Tim Blue. That little incident defies probability enough to lend just enough doubt for me to stay out of this. You see, I have personally witnessed a great many things that have proved to me, more than once, that one-and-one don’t always need to equal two. In addition, I would be quite the hypocrite to argue here and now that faking that boy’s death is unscrupulous. ”

“I see.” Dr. Rudd turned to Gwen. “You appear to be a morally decent and principled lady. What are your feelings on the subject?”

“It’s my idea,” she said.

The doctor’s expression turned sour.

“Do you see the mark on her shoulder?” Auberon asked.

Gwen lowered her dress enough to reveal a small swirling tattoo.

“That’s the mark of a Tenkin seer.”

“A fortune teller?” Dr. Rudd said in a less than impressed tone.

“She’s more than that. I’d ask her to prove it, but we neither have the time, nor do I think it will be necessary. Gwen here took the liberty to look at the lad’s palm. We were concerned our combined medical knowledge might have missed something, so she checked to be sure his lifeline didn’t end today or tomorrow.”

“But she saw something else, did she?” Dr. Rudd stared at Gwen as if she were now something other than a morally decent and principled lady.

Gwen nodded, then she spoke in whisper. “I recently helped a man by the name of Tim Blue. I saw his future and then I interfered and changed it by saving his life and the life of his wife. I thought it was such a tiny thing that it wouldn’t matter, but tiny things can have huge effects.”

“I see, so, which one of you is going to lose money? No, I suppose it’s all of you, isn’t it? You wouldn’t be in such agreement if it was just one. An old man, a Calian girl, and the great freedom fighter…” He shook his head wagging his bear. “I am surprised and disappointed in you Auberon, but I suppose reputations never equal the person, do they? So what is it? What sort of effects are you speaking of?”

“This city is not supposed to be destroyed, but it will be—all because of me.”

Dr. Rudd stared at her still as stone. Only his eyes shifted, as they darted to catch the reactions of the others perhaps thinking this was a joke and he would see them smile or laugh.

No one laughed.

“In a little less than two days from now,” Gwen went on. “Royce and Hadrian are supposed to climb up the south tower of Drumindor and save the city.”

Dr. Rudd glanced down at Rehn. “And they won’t do this heroic act if they think this boy is fine?”

She shook her head. “You see, Hadrian saved Rehn’s life three weeks ago, only he wasn’t supposed to. Hadrian was meant to save Tim Blue who went to the Cave to rescue his wife. This made Hadrian too late to save Rehn, who died as a result, and Hadrian never knew Rehn was ever here. So, when Royce suggests they stay and try climbing the tower, Hadrian agrees. But now, when Hadrian learns that Rehn is alive but injured—after having saved Hadrian’s life…Hadrian will refuse to leave Rehn’s side. Because Hadrian refuses to stay and help Royce, Royce will chose to suffer a sea voyage to see me home safe. And because of that, the city will be destroyed. And more than that I fear something worse.”

“Worse than destroying Tur Del Fur?”

She nodded. “I’ve had dreams—terrible, terrible dreams. There is a reason why those towers were built and it had nothing to do with taming a volcano or defending a bay.” She slowly shook her head. “They are a gate of somesort, a lock on a prison door. Something inside is clawing to get out—something ancient, something horrible beyond understanding.”

Dr. Rudd peered at Gwen shifting his lips back and forth bristling the short hairs near his mouth. Then he turned to Auberon. “What I find the most baffling is not that bewildering haze of an explanation, but the fact you have thrown in with this…” —he waved a hand at Gwen— “…Insanity. I never thought you to be the sort swayed by Calian prophecies.”

“Aye, you’re right,” the old dwarf replied. “But what she said reminded me of something else. Which forms the second reason.”

“And that is?” The doctor waited.

“You don’t see it, then?”

“See what?”

“The lady here just said, two men—those two presently in the courtyard, the big and the little, the mercenary with three swords and the thief in the dark cloak and hood—are going to scale Drumindor’s south tower.”

“I heard her, but I don’t—” Dr. Rudd froze. Then his eyes narrowed, those dramatic brows folding down like cat’s ears. After a second or two, his whole mouth dropped open. “You don’t mean to say that…”

Auberon was nodding. “I didn’t send for you because we were in need of a physician, but because everyone knows Dr. Koll Rudd has a fascination with Dromeian history. As such, you know the Wall the same as I—the same as every Dromeian should. You’ve memorized the images that are carved there: the two men climbing the tower has always been a mystery—until now.”

“No,” Dr. Rudd shook his head. “Can’t be. The Wall shows the creation of the world, the First War, the Elven Conflict, and the foretelling of King Rain. But this…this is…” he waved his hand. “It’s just not in the same category.”

“The city is about to be destroyed by the eruption of Mt. Druma,” Auberon said. “I’d say that ranks as a cataclysmic event worthy of inclusion.”

The doctor scrubbed his beard in thought.

“There are two unexplained prophesies still on The Wall,” Auberon added. “Two more unexplained secrets left to us. I believe this is the first of that pair. So if this Tenkin seer says we need to convince everyone that the boy here is dead in order to ensure the Beatrice’s prophecy, I was thinking maybe we ought to call Dr. Rudd and see if he can help make that happen. What do you think Dr. Rudd?”