Cera at first thought that the fox had been one of the attackers, but she saw that it was facing away from the witches. Such being the case, it seemed more likely that the animal had come to harm trying to protect them.

Cera looked to Jhesrhi. Please, get me down there, she said. Someone might still be alive.

Unfortunately, no, Aoth said. But we ve learned all we can from up here.

On Jhesrhi s command, the wind let them plummet, slowing their descent at what seemed the last possible moment. Cera s boots settled lightly in the snow, and she could see what Aoth had observed from on high. The bodies before her were withered and twisted, and already stank of rot despite the cold. She sighed in pity and disappointment.

When she looked up from the corpses, Aoth, Jhesrhi, and Vandar were peering about, their weapons at the ready. Their priority was to scan for hidden foes, not to examine the fallen. That, Cera reflected, was the difference between truly warlike folk and one who no matter how many desperate exploits she survived would always be a cleric and healer in her innermost heart.

With rasping cries and the rustling of wings, the griffons and their Aglarondan masters descended. Less agile in flight, her canvas wings partly folded, the Storm of Vengeance was still maneuvering to land beyond the trees while gradually floating lower in the process.

The Aglarondan half-elf with the old white scar creasing his cheek and tugging slightly at the corner of his mouth glared at Aoth.

All of you, step away from there, he said.

No, Aoth replied. Not on your order. This isn t Aglarond, and you have no authority. If any of us does, it s the lodge master here, until Mangan Uruk touches down.

Vandar drew himself up straighter. That s true, he said. And I say we should be figuring out who committed this outrage, not bickering amongst ourselves.

Fine, the half-elf snapped. He turned to his men.

We ll work our way through the trees. See what you can find.

As the griffonriders moved off, their mounts prowling beside them like faithful hounds, Aoth gave Vandar a nod. Thanks for backing me up, he said.

The berserker shrugged. We agreed that, for the time being, we d help each other, he replied. I take it that Folcoerr Dulsaer doesn t like you.

Is that his name? asked Aoth. I broke a contract with Aglarond once and fought on the side of its enemy instead. I guess he hasn t forgotten.

And it doesn t shame you to admit it? Vandar asked, sneering.

You don t know anything about it, said Aoth. And anyway, it has nothing to do with what happened here. Let s work on understanding that. Tell me about that tree. Aoth pointed with his spear to indicate the one he meant.

It was a towering old oak, and Cera winced to behold its current state. The bark was flaking away, and patches of black, slimy rot were eating into the sapwood. The bare branches had twisted into unnatural shapes that reminded her of the contortions of the dead hathrans.

Vandar scowled. It was the reason this place was sacred, he said. The reason the witches dwelled here. A wise old spirit lived inside it. If the oak s been killed, I suppose the telthor has been, too. He extended his hand and touched his heart in what Cera took to be a sign of reverence.

So the point of all this was desecration, she said. The thought made her neck muscles tighten in anger.

Desecration and plunder, said Aoth. I doubt that all three of these women died without a wand or a staff in their hands. And you can see the huts have been ransacked.

What I don t see, Vandar said, are clear tracks of anyone but the hathrans and the fox.

I noticed that, too, said Aoth. There are spells to erase a human s tracks, but they run out of power after a while. That means the Aglarondans have the right idea. If we move out from this point, maybe we can pick up a trail. Cera, stay with me.

She snorted. I think I ve proved I can take care of myself.

Well, I think you left your mace and buckler attached to Jet s saddle, Aoth said. I understand you still have your magic, but even so, stick with me.

Yes, Captain, she replied, smiling.

At first, they didn t find anything but a dead, rotting owl possibly killed by a stray burst of the same malignancy that had slain the hathrans, the fox, and the sacred tree. But then Aoth oriented on a low, dark spot amid a tangle of roots, with a snow-covered hump in the ground behind it.

That s a hole, he said. And the lump behind it is some sort of old monument. See where the stonework shows through the overgrowth and the snow?

No, Cera said, but I m sure you do. Did something climb out of the hole or crawl into it?

That I can t tell. Any chance I can convince you to stay up here?

What do you think? She whispered a prayer and moved her hand in an arc. A golden glimmer ran through her yellow glove. When she entered the dark, the leather would shine with captured sunlight.

Stay close, then, Aoth said. He lowered himself onto his belly and squirmed through the curtain of roots. In another moment, his voice came back to her. I ve found some stairs, he called.

When Cera crawled through the roots, she saw steep, narrow steps descending into darkness beyond the reach of her conjured glow. Chunks of stone and bits of dirt littered the upper risers. Once, she surmised, a slab had capped the top of the stairway, perhaps covered with earth to keep it hidden. But something possibly simply the weight of time, or the slow insistence of the growing roots had broken it.

Ready? asked Aoth, keeping his voice low.

If you are, she replied.

Keeping his spear level, he headed downward. She followed.

The steps brought them to a place where one stone passage curved away to the right, its counterpart curved to the left, and a third one extended straight ahead. Rows of square slabs studded the wall, each graven with hieroglyphs that Cera couldn t read. But in some places, there were no such stoppers, just empty holes revealing sockets the approximate size and shape of coffins.

It s a tomb, Cera said.

I think so, said Aoth. An old one, though whether Nar, Raumathari, or something else, I don t know. Watch out for guardians and traps.

She did, but as it turned out, she needn t have bothered. If the dead had ever had a sentry, it had deserted its post or crumbled to dust along ago. Likewise, if there had ever been contrivances to drop an intruder into a pit or to pop a blade stabbing out of the wall, the mechanisms had stiffened and corroded into immobility.

The place turned out to be laid out in a circle, with two straight passages crossing in the center like the spokes of a wheel. At that hub, a sarcophagus carved with the form of a sleeping man in scale armor and an odd jagged crown reposed on a pedestal.

Aoth looked it over, then shrugged. If it s been opened recently, I can t tell it, he said.

So what do we have? Cera asked. Anything?

Not as far as I can see, he replied. There s nothing down here, and no way out except the way we came in. On top of that, we have to assume that the witches and the oak spirit knew the tomb was here and weren t worried about it. So by all indications, it had nothing to do with the attack.

Then let s go back up and see if anybody else has found anything, she said.

Good idea, he replied, starting toward the passage that ran back to the staircase. Suddenly he pivoted.

Her heart beat quicker, and she looked where he was peering.

What? she called.

He pointed with the spear. There, he said.

Three small vertical grooves had been carved above the arch that led to one of the other straight corridors. Glad that Aoth hadn t spotted a pouncing specter or something similar, Cera sighed and asked, What about them?

He shook his head. I don t know, he replied. But every other bit of carving we ve seen has been on either a slab or the sarcophagus there. These are the only marks on a plain patch of wall.