Mallowford Crossing was bustling when the soldiers crossed the river into the town. Survivors from Coldwick Camp had already been set up in white tents that now filled every inch of the town square. Mallowford was considerably bigger than Coldwick and it easily accommodated the refugees. As they worked their way through the town, they came across a group of refugees who were having a heated conversation with the local guard.

“I need to take care of this,” Denas sighed. “Why don’t you try and find Adeliad so long. He’s probably in the temple library.”

Maquille nodded his understanding and then led the others towards the temple. Because the Temple of Ehlonna housed an extensive library, it was the one building in Mallowford that he knew the location of. It was a struggle to get through the crowds in the streets, but they eventually reached the temple where they were promptly halted by two guards at the entrance. “No refugees are allowed to sleep in the temple tonight, by order of the Arch-Priest Amiena,” he boomed.

Maquille turned to the others for help. He could see that they were not the only people who had been denied entry to the temple. Several refugees were loitering around the temple’s entrance, casting disgruntled glances at the two unlucky guards. Damian stepped forward, “Greetings, sir. We are not looking for a place to lodge. Instead, we are looking for the historian, Adeliad.”

“A likely story. I have my orders.”

“I have my orders too, soldier. From Captain Denas of the Coldwick Guard, no less.”

The guard seemed to hesitate. He turned to his companion, unsure of what to do. “Very well, I will take you to him,” he faltered.

The guard lead them confidently through the temple. The rooms and corridors they passed through were very ornate. Precious tapestries hang from the walls and detailed murals added life to the ceilings. The small party soon arrived at the library, much to Maquille’s delight. “Over there,” the guard pointed out an old man studying a scroll. “I must return to my post now.”

After the guard had departed, the three companions went over to the old man. “Adeliad the Historian?” Maquille enquired, somewhat reverently.

“Some people call me that,” the old man mused. “Others call me mad. And who might you be?”

“I am Maquille, a great admirer of your work. These are my companions, Damian and Gerome.”

Maquille gestured to Damian to produce the pendant they had found. Damian placed it in front of the historian and Maquille continued, “We have something we would like you to look at.”

Adeliad looked at the pendant, then looked up at Maquille, horror etched in every line of his face. “Where did you find this?” he demanded. “No, never mind. I need to find a scroll.”

The aged historian leapt off his chair, rushed over to the nearby shelves and began to urgently rummage through a stack of scrolls. The three companions looked at one another, unable to comprehend what the problem could be.

Adeliad soon found what he was looking for and returned to his table. “Fifty two years ago,” he began, “one scholar made wild claims that orcs once lived in Mythalia before we arrived here, until they were forced out into the Desolation by an army of undead. He even said that elves lived here before the orcs and that the same thing happened to them.”

“Elves?” Maquille enquired. “But they are nothing but tales told to make children behave.”

“Yes, yes,” the old man waved him off. He was too busy concentrating on the scroll to pay Maquille any attention. “It also says here that the land is cursed and that we are doomed to the same fate if we remain in Mythalia. And here you can see the same mark that is on the pendant.”

The three leaned over the table, looking at the markings that Adeliad indicated. It consisted of a circle with a jagged line running across it and looked exactly the same as the cracked pendant.

“I’ll need more time to work out what the rest of the scroll says,” the historian informed them.

“It would be my pleasure to assist you,” Maquille volunteered.

The old man agreed, then looked up at the other two. They glanced at each other. Neither would be able to make any sense of the strange markings on the scrolls. “We’ll take our leave then,” Damian said. “You know where to look for us if you find anything.”

“And where might that be?” Maquille enquired, genuinely lost.

“One of the taverns!” Gerome laughed and Damian joined in. Those were the only buildings they knew the location of.

Damian and Gerome took their leave and tried to navigate their way back out of the temple. As they were walking, a figure pushed Gerome out of the way as it rushed past. “Have some respect in the temple,” Damian called after the figure, but it didn’t turn around and kept on running.

Damian shook his head and Gerome said, “If I wasn’t so tired right now, I’d teach that one a proper lesson.”

“Aye! I could use a good bed right now,” Damian complained.

“After him!” a voice called urgently from behind them. It was Maquille. “He’s stolen the scroll!”

Damian and Maquille immediately began to chase after the fleeing figure. As they rushed out of the temple’s entrance, they passed Captain Denas. Denas took a moment before he realised what was happening. “Meet me at the Southern Gate!” he called after them, before rushing off in another direction.

The streets had begun to clear by now and the chase passed quickly through the town, but the fleeing figure was getting further and further away from them. They reached the Southern Gates to find the figure disappearing down the southern road. Damian and Gerome came to a halt, but Denas was not there. Maquille joined them. He was panting heavily from the chase.

By the time, the Denas arrived, the thief was out of sight and Maquille had regained his breath. However, the captain led four horses behind him. “Mount up,” he said. “We have a lot of lost time to make up for.”

The four riders renewed the chase, but they had barely made it past the gate when a voice called out from behind them, “Denas! Those horses were not authorised! This is not Coldwick where you can do as you wish. Stand down at once.”

Denas brought his horse to a halt. “Keep going,” he sighed. He reluctantly turned his horse around to go and have heated words with the commander. “I can buy you some time.”

As the captain turned back, Damian, Maquille and Gerome spurred their horses forward, following the thief southward. The road was paved and easy to follow. In his eagerness, Maquille urged his horse into a gallop, but Damian called after him, “Slow down! You don’t want to exhaust the poor beast before you’ve gone a mile.”

The climate South of Mallowford was much more temperate. The surrounding was much more fertile and the air warmer. The ride was comfortable, if tense. Soon, however, the sun began to set. In the darkness ahead of him, Damian spied a figure standing beside the road. Beside the figure, something lay slumped on the road.

Damian dismounted and led his horse towards the figure. He realised that what he was approaching was not a man, but an orc. Instantly, he rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, but the orc made no move to reach for the battleaxe that was strapped to his back.

Damian threw a quick glance behind him. Gerome was already training an arrow on the orc. Further back, Maquille, was watching, concerned. “You also after gnoll?” the orc asked gruffly, apparently unconcerned.

For the first time, Damian took his eyes off the orc. He looked at the road and saw the gnoll sprawled there, deep cuts disfiguring its chest and neck. It had been the thief they were after. Damian looked back at the orc and nodded.

“Then this yours.”

The orc raised a hand, revealing the stolen scroll. He held it out for Damian to take. Damian regarded the orc coolly. He had been taught since birth to despise orcs and what was happening here confounded his understanding of the world. Hesitantly, he moved forward to accept the scroll. The orc released it into his care. It seemed there were to be no surprises.

“I Durzak,” the orc said suddenly. “I bring warning. Many undead march on river town.”

The orc turned and fled into the darkness.

“That was odd,” Maquille said needlessly from the back of the group.