Early in the afternoon of the following day, they sighted Caer Duirga, across miles of rolling, mist-shrouded fells. It took hours to cross the treacherous vale, since dense thickets of briars and rank bogs barred their way. Although the day had started with the promise of clear weather, as they came closer to the hill the weather grew unseasonably cold, and a leaden overcast obscured the sun. By the time they reached the foot of the mount, Gaelin was wondering what had happened to spring.

Gaelin discovered a sense of brooding menace as they neared the place. The green, vibrant vegetation of the surrounding highlands seemed pale and sickly here, as if the sun didn’t shine with the same strength near the tor, and the air was unpleasantly clammy. Gaelin hadn’t been bothered by the cold rains of the past few days, not even when he was soaked to the skin, but he shuddered at the heavy dew collecting on the wool and leather garments he wore beneath his armor.

Caer Duirga rose several hundred feet higher than most of its neighbors. It was, in fact, a small mountain, crowned with a distinctive jumble of dark stone visible for miles. In local legend, the hill had once been a goblin fortress, in the years before mankind had come to Cerilia. A mighty warlock had held Caer Duirga and the lands around, the story went, until the day of Deismaar, where the goblin hosts perished in uncounted numbers. The few highlanders who lived nearby avoided the area, claiming it was haunted.

They camped in the shadow of the hill, surrounded by a dire sense of foreboding that was nearly tangible. Even the horses were nervous, prancing skittishly and pulling at their makeshift hobbles. No one argued when Gaelin suggested a double watch that night. After they ate a cold and tasteless dinner of hardtack and dried beef, Gaelin took Seriene a little ways away from the others. “Well?” he asked. “Have you found anything?”

The princess frowned. “I haven’t started to look. But I can sense something here. There’s power in this place, but it’s dark and twisted. This place draws mebhaighl, but it’s corrupted somehow.” She shivered. “What’s wrong with this place, Gaelin?”

He told her what little he knew of Caer Duirga’s history. A day ago, he would have scoffed at these stories as tales to frighten children. Now he was inclined to take them more seriously.

“I’ve been up and down these highlands for fifteen years or more, since I was a boy of nine or ten,” he finished.

“But for some reason, I never passed by Caer Duirga. I might not have been so quick to bring everyone here if I had.”

Seriene walked in a slow circle, surveying the hillside, and finally stopped and gazed up the dark flanks of the mountain, now shadowed with the deepening dusk. Its barren crest was easily three or four hundred feet above them, and she craned her head back to look at the peak. “Mebhaighl – the magic of the land – runs and collects like water, seeking the point where it belongs. We’ll find what we’re looking for up there. I’m certain of it.”

“You’re the authority. I’ll trust your judgment.” He paused, and added, “We only have three days before Bannier plans to meet me here. For that matter, he could be here now.”

“The powers of darkness are strongest at night, and this is a place where the powers of darkness are strong enough already.

I won’t challenge them until the sun’s in the sky again.” Seriene pulled her gaze away from the hilltop -

Gaelin noticed his own eyes had a tendency to wander that way, when he wasn’t paying attention – and sat down on a boulder, facing away from the hill. “Gaelin, what do you know about Bannier?” she asked.

He blinked. “Why, a fair amount, I guess. He was part of my father’s court for nearly as long as I remember. Fifteen years or more, I suppose. He’s intelligent and well-learned, but I’d expect that of a wizard.”

“Why did he serve your father?”

“The Mhor provided him with a stipend in exchange for his help – Bannier enjoyed both wealth and power as court wizard.”

Seriene smiled. “There are many forms of power, Gaelin.

I’m surprised a man like Bannier would have considered political influence to be worth his interest when real power, magical power, was his to command. Think, Gaelin – was there anything else Bannier did?”

Gaelin struggled to recall something useful. “I’ve heard Bannier was the only true mage in Mhoried. I recall the Mhor helped him to maintain his place by giving Bannier a free hand to discourage other wizards from settling in the kingdom.

Of course, there were dozens of magicians and illusionists who practiced lesser magic in the land, but Bannier was the only true mage.”

“Why would your father help him to keep other wizards away?”

“Back when my father was young, there were several wizards who competed for power in Mhoried. Bannier was one of these, and over the course of my father’s reign he defeated his rivals. Some of them were unsavory characters, so my father was glad to see them leave.” Gaelin laughed harshly.

“Until this year it seemed a wise policy.”

“So no other wizards draw upon Mhoried’s mebhaighl?”

“I wouldn’t know about that. But I do know Bannier is the only mage of any power in Mhoried and has been for many years.” He thought for a moment, and asked, “Would that be why he wanted no other wizards in Mhoried? So that he could control the land’s power, uncontested by any rivals?”

Seriene nodded. “It could very well be. What kind of spells did you see him cast?”

“He didn’t use his powers publicly, at least, not often. He knew what was happening all over Mhoried, and he could vanish and reappear hundreds of miles away in a matter of hours.”

Seriene frowned. “The halflings can do that by traversing the Shadow World. I wonder if Bannier has learned how to find his way through the Shadow?”

Gaelin blanched at her words. He’d heard of the Shadow World before – any one growing up heard the stories, of course – but Seriene’s earnestness terrified him. In legend, the Shadow World was a land that somehow paralleled Cerilia, existing alongside the daylight world. But it was a dark and dangerous realm, a land of spirits and ghosts, where things that couldn’t abide the sun lurked and preyed upon passersby.

Sometimes the Shadow was only a step away, the stories said, especially in places of great evil or suffering, and it was possible for someone with a bit of knowledge – or misfortune – to find a way into the realm of darkness. “Do you remember what Madislav said, as he was dying?” Gaelin replied. “He said that Bannier had imprisoned him in the Shadow World. He also said that Ilwyn was there.” He groaned in disappointment. “That could mean that we’re in the wrong place. Ilwyn could be anywhere!”

“Not necessarily, Gaelin. Look at this place – the Shadow World almost touches us. The walls between the worlds are thin here. If Bannier has learned to make use of the Shadow World, this is a place that would attract his interest.” Seriene looked away from the hilltop. “Is there anything else you can think of?”

“I studied under him for a time. He taught me a few cantrips, the barest start of the magician’s art, but he seemed to think I showed promise.” Gaelin shrugged. “He was a good advisor to my father for many years. I wonder what made him turn against House Mhoried.”

“It doesn’t matter now. It’s enough to know that he’s your enemy.” Seriene glanced back toward the campfire and stood up, brushing off the seat of her riding pants. “I should get some sleep, so I can study my spells in the morning. I’ll need them all soon, I think.” She threw Gaelin a sly look. “And besides, Erin might get jealous.”

“Erin?”

“It’s obvious, Gaelin. The way you’ve been looking at each other all day…” Her eyes flashed and her voice took on a sharp edge. “You know you can’t stay with her forever. She’s beneath your station.” Then she turned and went back to the camp. Gaelin looked after her, struggling with his feelings.