"I-I'll never be able to climb that," Shal said, staring up at the cliff's face. "Maybe I could use a Jump spell or even a Spider Climb, but I don't have the arm strength to climb that rope."

"You don't have the arm strength?" Tarl reached out and circled his hands around Shal's muscular upper arm. "If you can't climb this rope, we'd better turn around and take our chances with Cadorna, because Ren and I will never make it either." Tarl regretted his words even before he finished speaking them.

Shal was looking down with distaste at the circumference of her arm where Tarl's hands had touched it. "Thanks, Tarl. Perhaps for my next stunt you could have me arm-wrestle a dragon!" she snapped. "The only trouble is, these tree trunks growing out of my body aren't mine!" Shal shook her arms in a violent shudder, as if by shaking them they might fall off and be replaced by the slender, petite arms that had once been hers.

Shal clenched her fists and faced the rope. She had seen her two companions looking on with what she was sure must be pity, and she berated herself for her own vanity. "There'll be no more pity on my account, you two. Yes, you're right. With these arms, I can climb this stupid rope!" She grabbed hold of it and began hoisting herself up, arm over arm. Her movements were smooth and effortless, and before she reached the top, she was actually marveling at the ease of her own movement.

Ren stood dumbfounded at the bottom of the cliff, anchoring the rope, his face a mask of confusion. Tarl's face bore the same expression of bafflement.

"D'you suppose we should follow that woman?" Ren asked, gazing up at Shal.

Tarl didn't answer. Instead, he started up the rope. Ren followed, and soon the three squatted together atop the cliff, facing the charred walls of the ancient fortress of Sokol Keep.

The blackened walls were encrusted with sea salts. Molds, weeds, tall grasses, and saplings were doing their best to infiltrate the stone wall, growing profusely from large cracks in the coarse blocks. Beyond the tall grasses, at the end of the keep farthest from where the three stood, they could see the top of the stairway Tarl had sighted from below. No one waited at the top. A wide pathway led from the stairs to the keep's dilapidated wooden gates.

"If it weren't for the dark veil that hovers over this place, it would almost be pleasant," Shal said quietly. "It seems so quiet, so peaceful."

"The aura of evil is strong here," Tarl whispered back. "Can't you feel it? I don't think we're going to fool whatever inhabits this place by trying to come in the back door."

"Maybe not," whispered Ren, "but I still think we should take our time and have a good look at the grounds before going in."

"No," said Shal. "Tarl's right. If there are undead here, we aren't going to surprise them no matter which way we come from."

Ren glanced at Shal, surprised by her forcefulness. "Okay, lady. Whatever you say." Striding right up to the front door went against every thieving bone in Ren's body, but he could feel a rush of excitement as he pulled out one of his short swords and prepared to lead the way. "Stay behind me, on either side," he whispered to the others. "Move with the grass, not against it. Try not to leave a trail. Like this," he said, parting the grass gently with his extended sword and stepping lightly so as not to make a sound.

Ren passed through the tall grass with the ease and silence of a leaf floating to earth. Shal and Tarl did their best to imitate his stealthy movements, but despite their efforts, the grass made a distinct rustling sound with their passing. Suddenly, without warning, Ren came to an abrupt stop. Ten feet in front of him, a skeleton hand was pushing its way up through the ground. Clods of earth flew up in all directions as a skeleton warrior burst from the ground and began to walk toward them. Dirt and fungus clung inside its eye sockets and to the remnants of its leather armor. Sow bugs, beetles, and grubs scurried to the ground by the hundreds as the skeleton strode forward, and maggots streamed from the creature's open mouth.

Tarl shook off his own panic and charged in front of Ren, holding out his holy symbol. "Die, creature! Rest! Do us no harm!" The skeleton came to a halt, reached forward one last time, and collapsed to the ground.

Ren walked up to the remains of the skeleton warrior and started peeling off its decayed armor.

Shal stifled a gasp. "By the gods, Ren, what are you doing?"

"Looking for loot. What do you think?"

"You can't rob the dead!" Tarl exclaimed vehemently.

"It's-it's sacrilege!"

"It certainly can't do any more harm than stealing from someone who's alive. What's he going to do with anything, anyway?" Ren asked, continuing to rummage through the creature's remains. He found nothing under the armor, but then he noticed that one of the skeleton's bony hands was clasped tight shut. Forcing it open, Ren removed a heavy bronze chain.

"Nice work, Brother Tarl. I think you just killed a friendly messenger. Take a look at this." Ren held up the chain. An embossed medallion hung from it.

Tarl looked on in horror. Ren was right. The warrior had tried to offer them a medal of Tyr to wear inside the keep. Tarl let out a slow breath as he examined it. It was identical to the medallion Sot had given him, and it showed no sign of corrosion despite the years it must have spent in the ground. Tarl had let his fear get in the way of his faith.

He held the medallion skyward. "Great Tyr, the Even-Handed, God of Justice, once again you have demonstrated your presence with us. Forgive me for not recognizing your messenger."

Tarl held the medallion out to Ren. "This is for you. I guess you didn't need to steal it after all. He meant for you to have it."

The wooden gates of the keep had fared poorly against the elements. Tarl had only to push, and the big doors swung open, revealing a large courtyard lined by the charred remnants of several buildings. In the center of the keep, reasonably unscathed by dragon fire, was an airy building filled with tables, probably the mess hall. To the right were the blackened shells of what appeared to have been the stable and blacksmith's shops. The tallest building in the keep, and the only one built of stone, obviously the temple, stood in the far left corner of the courtyard, intact except for what must have been a wooden bell tower at the top. The wooden buildings in front of it had suffered extensive fire damage.

Here and there in the courtyard, the tall, unkempt grasses grew very thick, as if the blood and flesh of the men who had stood to face the dragons had nourished it. Tarl knew that the men living inside Sokol Keep must have died much as his brothers had in the graveyard- screaming in terror and without adequate defenses, pained beyond imagining by their own suffering and their inability to prevent what followed. No wonder a dark shadow hung over this place!

"Something's been here-something alive," Ren said softly. "And not long ago. See the way that grass is matted down over there on the left? There's also a lingering smell that doesn't fit this place. You remember what Cadorna said about the Lord of the Ruins sending troops to meet us? We need to watch our step."

The three had gone no more than fifteen feet into the courtyard when clods of grass and earth started flying up everywhere. Screams and moans erupted all around them as dozens of skeleton warriors burst from the ground. More emerged from the buildings and ruins of the keep. All walked deliberately toward Ren and Tarl and Shal, their weapons raised. Ren pulled out his two short swords and planted himself in front of Shal. "We've got to get out of here-now!"

"No!" said Tarl firmly. "These are warrior clerics who serve my god. Hold up your medallions."