The Glass Prison

"So, here for the festival?" Orrag asked casually, moving around the other two, as if making for the door.

"No, actually," Mela

"We're on an important quest," Mela

"Quest?" She suddenly had Orrag's full attention. He spoke quickly. "What sort of quest?"

"We're looking for the tomb of an old wizard in the Thunder Peaks," she replied.

"Mela

"Really?" Orrag seemed intrigued-or perhaps afraid. He ignored Whitlock. "What wizard?"

Whitlock heard Mela

Before Whitlock could reply, Orrag asked her again, "What's the wizard's name?" Mela

"Do you know of him?" Whitlock demanded. "Why?" Orrag asked. Lightning flashed in the small window, followed immediately by a sharp slap of thunder.

"We seek something that lies within his tomb," Mela

Again Orrag paused, deep in thought. Eventually he pushed himself away from the wall and regained a bit of his former, gruff composure. He circled around the siblings again. As before, Whitlock turned slowly to continue to face the bestial man, hand ready to draw his sword. Orrag stopped at the doorway from which he'd emerged.

"I can tell you where to find the crypt that you seek. How about that? Is that helpful?'' Orrag told them, and unknowable smile coming to his gap-filled mouth. The only teeth that remained were slightly pointed.

"This… man doesn't know anything," Whitlock told Mela

"Oh, I know how to find it. I know a fair bit about those peaks and the valleys in between. I know some of the goblins and orcs that live there."

"No more proof do we need that this man's a liar. Goblins and orcs-vermin!"

"Whitlock," Mela

" 'Course, it'll cost you." Orrag said quietly, seeming to hide a smile behind those cruel lips.

"What?" Whitlock turned back to the man who now leaned in the door frame. The light beyond revealed a simple bed made of hay illuminated by a lantern. Miscellaneous equipment, books, and what appeared to be maps lay scattered around the floor. "The information will cost you," Orrag stated.

"How much?" Whitlock asked suspiciously. Still convinced the man was a thief, the warrior planted his feet squarely on the dirt floor, as if a battle-ready stance might grant him greater resolve or aware ness. He could use either.

“Well, let's see," Orrag said slowly, over-dramatically, mocking a ponderous, thoughtful look. "This is obviously important knowledge, you understand. Hard to come by. I'd wager you couldn't find it anywhere else."

Orrag fa

"I would say about a hundred gold pieces ought to cover it," he stated finally.

Mela

Of course, Whitlock thought, Mela

"All right," Whitlock told Orrag through clenched teeth. "We'll pay your price."

"Good. Let's see it," Orrag rubbed his cheek and opened his eyes wide.

"No," Mela

She knew they would be better to provide a united front, and so backed up her brother's tendency for suspicion. Whitlock turned back to her and nodded with a slight smile.

Orrag didn't flinch. "All right, fine," he said. "You seem like trustworthy folks." He cleared his throat. "Ride east away from town for a full day until you come to a small lake, then head south into the Thunder Peaks. You’ll pass through wooded hills, but it's the easiest way through that portion of the mountains. After another three days' ride, you’ll come on a narrow vale that'll lead you to a high cliff face. You’ll find what you're looking for there." During his explanation, Mela

"The entrance to the Crypt of Chare'en," Orrag told them, "was built into the side of that tall, smooth cliff, but it was covered in a landslide long ago. If you have to get in," Orrag gri

Whitlock and Mela

Orrag raised his eyebrow and looked at Whitlock. He took the bag and opening it, peering within to eye the coins.

Whitlock turned to the rough wood door leading outside. The wind still rattled the boards of the granary's roof, but he had no intention of spending the night in the same structure as a brigand with orc blood. The storm had been fierce but mercifully short. Opening the door, he looked at Mela

"Thank you, sir," she told him, "and may Chauntea be with you." Orrag didn't speak as they left, but his face contorted as if the priest’s parting words were a curse and not a blessing.