As the town drew near, an unpleasant possibility occured to Alaric. The citizens of Arborville were unlikely to have forgotten the destruction of their tavern overnight. If the sheriff had not ordered they be left alone, they could expect retribution from The Broken Bottle's loyal patrons. It quickly became clear he need not have worried. Passersby refused to give them so much as a sideways glance giving Alaric little doubt the sheriff had ensured their passage through town.

Fernae wasted no time testing the bounds of their protection. He waited until the next person, a young woman in a long, bright blue dress, passed them heading the opposite direction. Without warning, he loosed a bellowing laugh as though Ignatius had told him a funny joke. The sudden disturbance caught the woman off guard. She tried to scamper away from the fiend but became entangled in her dress. Her frantic efforts pulled her to the ground sending a plume of dust into the air. A sinister scowl alit her face before she hurried away.

"Did you have to do that?" Ignatius muttered.

"You know I did," Fernae muttered back annoyedly.

As the sun rose, so did the residents of Arborville. They gradually lined the streets with carts sporting trinkets, tonics, and meager crops from spring harvest. Their shouts grew louder, gradually rising to a roar in the battle to be heard over one another by travelers and caravans passing through the small town toward more promising venues.

Despite being accustomed to much larger and noisier markets, Alaric found the Arborville market to be an untamed nuicance. Twice, he was forced to shove his way passed merchants grabbing at his cloak in an attempt to sell him fake amulets. Another merchant walked backward in front of him shouting over the din about his holy water for several minutes before Fernae scared him off with a snarl.

Alaric was glad when they finally turned down the only other road in the town toward the forest. The market stalls vanished to be replaced by empty and mercifully quiet fields. Moments later the road narrowed to a small path winding its way between rows of lush trees stretching high into the sky. To his left a rotten sign had been hammered into the ground, bearing the only indication the path lead anywhere at all.

Folly's Trail

Eren Flaen 60 Miles

Ignatius retreived the map from a cloak pocket. He carefully unfolded it for all to see.

"This is the entrance to Folly's Trail, where we are now. And this is where the sheriff thinks the cult camp is. We should follow the trail for a few miles then turn into the woods around here," he pointed to the spot on the map. "The clearing should only be a half mile or so in. If we reach the creek we know we went too far. Everyone agree? Good. Let's get this done."

They continued in silence along the trail. Unsurprisingly, the trail remained devoid of other travellers. The only sounds came from startled deer darting deeper into the shelter of the forest, birds chirping merrily overhead, and their own footsteps crunching against the ground. Smaller trees gave way to larger, thicker trees draped in curtains of moss. Few beams of sunlight managed to pierce the thick canopy above, casting the trail in wavy shadows. A thick blanket of humid air clung to the forest floor forcing Alaric to stop twice to drink from the water skin the sheriff had left in his pack.

Eventually they turned off the path toward the wild depths of the forest. The moment he stepped off the path a strange sensation came over Alaric. He spun around, swearing he could feel someone watching them. Alaric took a deep, calming breath and chided himself for jumping at nothing. There was no one else for miles.

"Don't fall behind," Ignatius cautioned. "It's easy to become lost in these woods."

At first Alaric thought the warning was directed at him. Alaric barely stopped himself from uttering a clever retort. Aldrin had paused to kneel beside an ordinary looking shrub at the edge of the trail. He held a thin branch inches from his face carefully thumbing its leaves. When he rose, a fresh clump of dirt discolored his cloak.

The silent procession marched deeper into the wild overgrowth of trees, bushes, and brambles. Sharp thorns cut into his exposed skin. Tangles of brambles grew so thick, Alaric was forced to stop several times to remove their prickly pods poking him through his cloak. Each time they stopped, Ignatius and Fernae watched Aldrin resumed his inspection of the nearby plant life with growing apprehension. Gwenestra would examin the amulet around her neck, shaking her head and frowning more intently each time. Then Ignatius would call them to motion again and their journey would resume.

Just when Alaric could stand the thorns prickly seeds no more, they burst into the clearing. Lush bushes and shrubs ringed the clearing. A collection of rocks had been piled in the center to form an ash filled firepit. Half decayed leaves lay scattered about the ground, crushed into the dirt in large, tent shaped patches. A large, jagged, white rock protruded from the earth, well worn from use as a chair.

Alaric circled the clearing with growing agitation. He found nothing even remotely extraordinary from the patch of campground. There were no signs of an recent elicit activity let alone signs of a bandit hideout. It was doubtful the campsite had been used by anyone recently. The sheriff had sent them on a wild goose chase to get a laugh at their expense. No other explanation made sense. This was all a rouse from the sheriff to get revenge for ruining his big bust at The Broken Bottle.

"Can you stop looking at plants for one minute," Alaric snapped. "We are supposed to be looking for cultist bandits. I doubt they will be hiding under a berry bush."

Aldrin scowled back at him.

"The flora here exhibit signs of being touched by magic," he lectured.

"I'm sure they do," Alaric said dubiously.

"This bush is several shades too dark," Aldrin pressed on. "And these berries should be in clusters of seven, not five. This is likely the result of the magical artifact the sheriff mentioned."

"Give me a break," Alaric exclaimed.

"Even the animals can sense it," Aldrin hissed. "Or did you fail to notice not one living creature has made a sound within two hundred feet of this clearing."

"That is absurd," Alaric said, but a part of him found the lack of wildlife unnerving.

"No, he is right," Gwenestra insisted. "My amulet of magic detection has been going off nonstop for the last half hour. See?"

She lifted the amulet from her neck and held it in front of her for all to see. The blue stone pulsed vibrantly, wildly alternating between yellow, red, and black. Each color shone more brightly than the last. Alaric felt his stomach tighten as he stared at the amulet frantically issuing its warning.

"Has it ever glowed like this before?" Ignatius asked, curiously poking the amulet.

"No," Gwenestra breathed.

"What do the colors mean," Fernae asked.

"Yellows means there is a concealment charm nearby and a strong one too given the brightness of the light. That one makes sense though, since the sheriff said the artifact the cult stole is concealing their camp. The amulet glows orange in the presence of a restraining charm. What is being restrained, I do not know but the brighter glow indicates this spell is stronger than the concealment charm."

"And black?" Fernae asked.

"I have never seen black before. It is not even supposed to be possible. It is just a legend from bed time stories parents told to scare kids," Gwenestra said.

"But what does it mean," Fernae asked again.

"It means," she gulped. "It means dark magic. The darkest magic in all the realms. Even necromancy only shows up as gray."

"Could it be broken?" Ignatius asked. "Enchantments do fade and wear out over time."

"No," Gwenestra insisted, frustration creeping into her voice. "No, that is not possible. But what does it mean? I do not understand!"

She threw herself onto the large rock without looking up from the glowing amulet. Alaric rolled his eyes. Berry bushes with too few berries and magic glowing amulets? It was utter nonsense. Next, they would be taking advice from-.

"Stop!" Alaric shouted. "Get up. Get up!"

He hurriedly waved her to her feet, not daring to believe what he saw.

"What?" Gwenestra asked. "What is it?"

"Look!" Alaric pointed. "There. On the rock next to where you were sitting."

Puzzled, they leaned closer staring at the rock. One by one, they leaned back, eyes widening with apprehension. Etched into the stone in intricate detail was a dragon facing down a gemstone: the insignia of the cult.

"So," Aldrin asked hesitantly. "What now?"

Fernae inched closer to the insignia until his nose was almost touching it. He peered at it for several moments. Satisfied, he retreated. Alaric watched with a mixture of excitement and fear as he extended a hand toward the symbol. His nerves screamed at him to flee but he remained rooted to the spot. A single, scaled finger brushed the symbol.

The rock shuddered under his touch. Alaric blinked. Where the rock had previously seemed solid, an opening large enough for even the tallest human had appeared. A staircase, chipped and cracked from years of neglect descended into the dark depths of the earth. Try as he might, Alaric could not find the bottom.

"Looks like we found it," Aldrin said.

Let's get this over with," Alaric said. "Fire boy, a light if you please."

Aldrin scowled, but a moment later a crackling ball of flame appeared above the end of his staff. Alaric followed him into the chamber scanning the darkness for signs of life. Once certain cultists would not charge out of the darkness, he motioned for the other to follow. No sooner had Fernae slipped under the rock after Gwenestra and Ignatius than the exit sealed behind them.

"I guess the only way out is through," Fernae said.

Alaric stared down the staircase. A shiver ran through him. Without the warm sunlight shining down on them, the only source of warmth came from the feeble flame orb. Cautiously feeling his way through the dark, Alaric inched down the staircase. The further he descended the louder the voices in his head pleaded with him to turn back. He forced himself onward. Magic tricks and darkness would not scare him away.

Their footsteps echoed eerily in dark, masking how far they had gone and what lay ahead. The chamber grew colder and darker with every passing minute, pressing against them mercilessly. Just when Alaric began to wonder if they would reach the bottom before they froze to death, something glinted at the edge of his vision. A worn tiled floor gleamed only a few stairs below. His heart quickened. Light glanced over a door handle seemingly suspended in mid air. Warm air blew through his hair.

BOOM!

Alaric through himself to the ground. Heat and flame rushed overhead shaking the passage violently. The sudden, bright light brought tears to his eyes. Then the world faded back to darkness.

"Flamable gas!" Ignatius groaned, pushing himself to his feet. "This place is trapped!"

"Let me get the light," Fernae winced.

A moment later an orb of white light appeared in his hand. Alaric angrily clambered to his feet cursing the sheriff.

"Of course this place is trapped," he spat, pushing off the wall. "I swear if that sheriff-."

His left foot sunk into the floor. A loud click followed by a sharp whistle split the air. Something slammed into his chest, ramming him into the wall. Ignatius and Fernae stared at him in shocked disbelief. Aldrin froze on the ground, half upright, half sitting on a step. Gwenestra gaped at him. Alaric tried to ask what they were staring at but his voice would not work.

His legs suddenly gave out, dropping him to the floor. Warm streams ran down his chest. A dull throbbing twinged over his ribs. Confused, he squinted through the dark at the source of the throbbing.

"Oh," he spluttered, collapsing to the ground.

An arrow sprouted from his chest. Blood glinted in the refection of Fernae's orb, running in swift trails down his shirt. When he looked up again he was surprised to see four fuzzy figures sliding in and out of focus. Something sparkled on Gwenestra's checks before falling in crystaline droplets. The room grew dimmer with every breath despite Fernae stooping to kneel beside him, light orb in hand. Cold seeped into his bones. Every breath came with greater difficulty than the last. There was nothing but cold and dark and the cloak of death descending over him.

"Rise and shine!"