He stood staring ahead, light source held high.  A furrow marked the Landian’s brow, his hand raising to rub at his tired eyes, as Quartes considered his options.  Before him, seemingly blocking the totality of the main thoroughfare, was the outcome of a rock slide or cave in.  Regardless the cause, something had blocked the path since he had passed here in the last Cycle.  He did the first thing that came to mind, and looked to see if perhaps there was still some way that he could squeeze through the rocks and the rubble and get to the other side.  It didn’t take him long, stooped over the fallen stone looking for some sign of a path, to realize the obstruction was complete.  He climbed back down and waited in silence once more, all the while knowing he had just one option.  The implications of it eating at his mind.

He would have to turn back.

Just how far back he would go?  The main thoroughfare, the Falden Road, was the only path he had taken through the halls under the mountains.  He knew from that trip that other lesser paths had existed but he would have no memory of how to navigate them.  There would no guarantee that he would find his way.  Here in the halls that could easily mean death.  His mind whispered at the value of the risk.

Quartes shook his head.  He could simply turn around and go all the way back.  If he was still set on heading east, of leaving the old realms of Lelden and Calelden, he could take the old roads up and around the Hendarks.  It was the prudent choice, he knew his supplies would last to get him out of the mountain, knew the status of the water sources going that way.  

And yet…

He didn’t want to return.  Did not want to trek back to where the stories remembered his failures as much as his victories.  Part of him not only wondered but believed that to return would be the end of him.  Better to risk ending here, let his legend end with him fading from memory.  A voice whispered to him that that may yet be the best thing for the world.

He should his head again and with a deep breath turned around.  For now, he backtracked as far as the waystation he had encountered earlier in the day.  He knew he was tired and with some thought knew that it must be well into night in a world that felt the sun.

At the edge of the waystation he once more extinguished his torch and waited.  As before there was nothing, not even the sound of water dripping reached him.  His left hand sat on the hilt of the old sword, part of him screaming of the danger of the place.  Another part of him knowing that he would need to fill up on water if he was to find a new path through the halls.  So he waited and when no sound reached him he further retraced his steps, drawing his sword and passing it to his right hand.  His left hand now traced the wall.

When he came to the gap again, and the sound of the falling water reached him, Quartes turned into the passage.  Sword shifted back to his left, he reached for his torch, and with his blade raised before him he activated it.

In a flash the light illuminated the sparse room before him.  Carved shelves, a counter, with signs of a wood top that had largely rotted away.  He recalled that the cooking had been done back in the central hall but here was where stores could be kept and prepared.  In the back corner, ripples disturbing the surface, was a basin and the water within.  The water had filled it, rivulets running down into some kind of drain in the floor.  A stone spigot sprouted from the wall, water gathering at its edge and dripping down in time.  Quartes inspected it for a moment, noted the seized handle that had once controlled the flow, and then turned his gaze to the water.

It was clear, the light of the torch revealing even the bottom of the basin.  That was little comfort in a place so tainted by Dragon Blight.  Still, he had come expecting such dangers.

Something shuffled in the dark.  The Landian plunged himself back into darkness.  Pivoting by his memory to bring himself to the side of the opening and there waited.  He listened for another sound, mind reminding him of all the reasons he had passed from here earlier.  He waited for a noise of something crossing the threshold, sword posed for its grim duty.  No sound came and his breathing leveled back out.  More time passed and he pushed away from the opening, colors danced before his eyes and he blinked repeatedly to clear them.  Light he would not risk again and Quartes instead made the methodical steps back to the basin.  His darkened torch was hung on his belt and he shrugged his way out of the pack.  Deft hands undid the familiar claps, set aside the familiar bulk of his bedroll and those objects higher in the pack until he reached for and withdrew the small pot.  He plunge it into the basin, but carefully he drew the pot back out.  He waited as water ran down it, flowing with barely a noise back into the water, and then he brought it over to the shelves.  Upon the lowest he set the pot, regressed into the wall and behind the counter it would be mostly hidden.

Reaching into his pouch, he metal clinking once as he freed it, Quartes drew out a broken shard of metal.  Had there been light it would’ve looked similar to those that were embedded in club that made up the makeshift torch.  It was indeed another of the blue grey Shards of Lehn and Quartes slipped it into the pot.  It reacted as it plunged beneath the water.  The water diffracted and dimmed the blue glow of the lightning.  A glow the Landian covered with a blanket.  The hum of the shard he could do little about and so the Landian turned.  Facing where he knew the opening was, he strained his ears, held the sword, and waited.  His mind pushed in the dullness of the moment.  Chastised him for his plan, reminded him of all the ways it could go wrong, and yet also held before him the hatred that would await him if he turned back.

The humming ended in time and after a pause and another deep breath, Quartes buried the thoughts and returned to the pot.  Uncovered the pot he risked the light of the lantern.  The water was clear and steam still rose from it, and he knew enough that whatever blight may have tainted it would be a risk no longer.  He also knew that it would be a time before he could safely transfer the water into one of the waterskins he had brought with him.  His stomach grumbled at him then.

His earlier tracking of time meant he had long put off a meal.  In the dark the need to progress seemed greater than anything but the neglect of his body was catching up with him.  He extinguished the torch, once more moving by memory as he gathered back up his discarded possessions and began the process of laying out his bedroll and preparing a camp for the night.  There was little to it, the bedroll was unfurled, the pack was set next to it.  Critical items remained in it should he have to make a break for the night and so he found himself staring at where the darkness hid the passage out of the room, slowly chewing from a strip of jerky he had brought with him.

Nothing about the risk of staying at the waystation had changed.  Space and water made for a great risk.  He could find a new spot, the cave in for example would be a place creatures would likely avoid.  Regardless though he would have to trek back here, the need to bring his water supplies to full before he trekked off into the unknown were vital.  Quartes knew he had a way to keep him safe, it just ached at him to use it.  A fact part of him knew was ridiculous and yet the feeling persisted.  He was fighting so hard, caught here in the dark under the mountain, so committed to a plan that was folly.

Slowly, haltingly as the thoughts fought him he slid forward, reaching into his pouch once more and producing three more of the Shards.  These he arrayed along the floor before the passage.  They would stand guard, protect him because there was no one left that would.

Settled back onto his bedroll he knew he should get one more pot of water purified.  That meant waiting for the current batch to cool enough that he could pour it into a skin.  That was fine, he still needed to eat and he had a task before he could sleep.  He needed to remember if there was anything from his past trips that gave him a clue to a way he could cross the Halls of Falden.