The mountain hall was built where two spurs of the Hendarks came together.  Carved both into and built out from the very bones of Illithiust, Keto pulled on the reins of the mule to take in the sight.  The road was plain to see here, not overgrown by grass or with its cobblestones pillaged for other purposes.  Rather, here the Greenway was still a near echo of what it must’ve been in Cycles past, marred only by the occasional cracked stones and the destruction about it.  Before the entrance into the mountain the road split, going around what to Keto looked like must’ve once been some carved pond.  There were piles of rubble about that pool, structures pulled down in the past and while that ruin continued to the very entrance to the mountains, the grandeur here was still evident.

The statues, even defaced and broken, stood as tall as the grandest towers of Verken.  Other structures carved out of the living rock hinted at a grand city, of Landian lords ready to greet who stood behind the walls that were the Hendarks.  Even Brokel’s mask leaned back staring at the sight before them.  “What must this have been in times past?”

“What could bring ruin to those who could’ve made such sights?” the man countered.  Keto felt the chill of his words but the scale and awe of the sight still held sway.  She tried to envision it, the structures whole, the statues showing some Landian kings of old, pennants snapping in the wind above buildings painted bright and proud.  “Over here,” Brokel interrupted and Keto looked back down as she followed.  As the road came back together and headed towards the great hall, there were a series of mounds off to the side, the darkness of the dirt making them as fresh.  There were a score of them, pilings of shattered stone and dirt, and as they drew near Keto saw what adorned them.  The masks had been set before each of the cairns, weapons laid across the mounds with their baubles still in the calm of this valley.  Each of the riders who had come here, seeking the prey of this hunt, had been buried.

“He’s not very subtle,” Keto offered.  As the spurs of the mountain drew closer and the entrance of the mountain halls loomed ahead  a hush came over her voice.  “This would be his way of offering a final warning.”

Brokel’s masked gaze looked at the mounds, at the painted masks.  Some of them he knew, others he had never encountered before now.  There were signs of battle on some, a stain of crimson not fully removed, a few that had been chipped, one that had been broken, the pieces carefully laid out in at least an attempt at order.  “Even as we hunt him he takes the time to bury us.”

“He will defend himself but he doesn’t want to kill any of you, it’s just that…”

“I would like if you announced us now,” the rider interrupted.  “I have an interest in words with the Landian and not being mistaken for one hunting,” Brokel’s voice was heavy and Keto noted the way that the tip of his spear bounced back and forth ever so slightly.  Quietly she nodded, slipping from the mule’s back.  The creature seemed unconcerned, ears swaying about calmly as Keto retrieved her pack and her harp from within.  She began to pluck at the strings, the notes returning to her in an echoed answer.  Brokel hesitated but when Keto turned towards him, a nod gesturing towards the mountain hall, the old rider dismounted.  Strider’s beak extended, reaching out to tug at him.  Brokel stroked the bird’s neck, giving the creature a smile.  “I will return old friend, worry not.”  The waiver in the spear tip, his baubles ringing against one another, was still there but his steps followed the bard.

The mountain’s arms cast shadows over them, a chill marking their passage in the Hendark’s shadow.  Brokel had expected to find that the hall was full of nothing but darkness but as they neared he saw the shafts of light coming from carved openings across the domed ceiling of the hall.  Even with some of them collapsed there was enough to bath the hall in a dim light.

Keto’s harp picked up a different tune as it bounced around the confines of the hall, returning to them repeatedly in a dizzying harmony.  She wondered what it must’ve sounded like in here.  If the lord of this hall had kept musicians that would fill the large space with bouncing music, how they would’ve handles the din created by voices on stone.  There clearly had been gatherings here in ages past.  Her vision had been pulled to the shaft of light at the room’s center, the luminance striking down down from a crystal at the dome’s apex.  There in its radiance was a ruin of stone but in the destruction were the straight lines and carved contours that gave a clear hint of its purpose.  A table had basked in that light once, a place to gather and share and talk.

Beyond and behind that rubble, marked by crests marred by some onslaught, were stairs leading into the mountain.  Both Keto and Brokel’s eyes turned towards those stairs and waited for the figure to emerge from them.  Which is why the ringing of metal from behind brought them spinning about.

He wore armor, but  not the hardened leathers that she had seen before.  This was a suit of dull steel.  The metal was scratched and worn, parts of it rent and repaired with what seemed to be scales grown of stone and somehow fused with the metal beneath.  Despite its clear age and damage, it was a feet of crafting beyond anything she’d seen.  It was no simple shirt of rings, or the disparate pieces breastplate, vambraces,  and greaves worn by the soldiers of Koric.  Quartes’ suit was fitted and overlapping, metal crafted around every piece of his body and leaving no skin for attack.  He looked a Fey of living metal more than a man of flesh and blood.

It was only the nature of their quest and the metal mask he wore that let he be sure it was even him.  The metal of the mask still held a sheen, the grey and white swirls of the illithimar alloy catching the lights of the halls and bending them in the reflecting such that as he moved it almost looked as if the visage of the mask moved.  The metal had been hammered into the shape of a face, features set into an expression of grim anger.  While Keto had seen that expression worn by the Last Landian, this metal visage was not of Quartes.  No, it was the slots for the eyes, and the pale and pupil-less peridots that looked out at her and Brokel that confirmed the Landian’s identity.

Keto made to step to him but Quartes raised an armored hand, his form shifting to bring his drawn sword in line with Brokel.  The rider had lifted his spear into both hands, the head pointing at Quartes, the baubles colliding as they swayed at the end.

“I would like an explanation for what he plans to do here,” Quartes’ voice was slightly muffled by the mask, but even so the hall picked it up, the voice returning in an echoed which seemed to have grown grimmer.  Keto looked to Brokel but the rider had already moved to shift the spear, holding it flat before him.  Slowly, the old rider crouched and laid the weapon upon the stone floor.  Finished, Brokel stood, his feathered cloak falling to obscure his arms.  His painted mask stared back at the metal visage of the Landian.

“I am here to make a request of your aid,” Brokel answered.  “I am Brokel, clan-chief of Durk and I request your strength to battle my tribe-chief, to end this hunt, before you become the death of my people.”

After a beat, Quartes lowered his blade, and returned it to its scabbard.  The freed hand reached up, freeing some straps and then pulling the metal visage up to sit atop his head.  Keto smiled to see him, even if beyond his stern gaze she could see that he was tired in the weeks since the hunt had begun.  He stepped towards Brokel, picking up the man’s spear before stepping back .  “Stand outside, we will talk but first I wish to talk to my friend.”  Brokel’s mask looked to Keto and then back to the Landian, for a time he did not move but then there was a slight nod before the rider headed to exit the great hall.  Quartes watched him, spear tucked up under his arm, pupil-less eyes watching until Brokel had exited the hall.  After a moment he smiled, closing the distance to give her a hug.

It was a bit awkward, the metal of the armor cold, the stone scales uncomfortable, but she endured it as the smile grew on her face.

“I am glad that you are safe.”

Keto laughed as they parted, “Me?  By your coin I’m living in a nice inn, full of work and wine.  You’re the one that’s been hunted, I am glad you are alive.”  She looked to the exit and back.  “I saw the graves you made.”

“Three separate groups,” he motioned for her to follow and they made their way down one of the side passages.  Shortly in hallway had collapsed but not before they turned through an archway and came into a small room.  Light coming down from a pair of shafts in the ceiling filtered into the room and Keto recognized the familiar sights of Quartes’ pack and gear.  “They’ve gotten more cautious, the last group focused on protecting their mage to try and burn me out.”  He gestured to his bedroll, squatting down to rest against a fallen stone.  Keto sat, starting for a moment when Cheriss unsheathed itself from her pack and floated over to the Landian.  Quartes took the blade in his hands, resting it across his armored thighs.

“I spoke to him,” Keto nodded back the way they had come, “he thinks that these groups will keep coming.”

“Their leader should come, a few groups given the honor of first try but the tribe-chief should come to prove the strength of his people.”

“That’s not what he told me, he thinks that you’ll be the death of all his people if this hunt is allowed to go on.”  Keto could see Quartes thinking, the Landian’s features going slack as he delved into his memories.  “This Brokel’s older, for what that’s worth.  A clan leader, I think he would know the way of his people.”

His gaze focused back on her, “A change then.”

“I think maybe you should’ve been interested in why they are trying to kill you,” the chiding was light but Quartes bowed his head in acknowledgement.  “He says that the tribe leader has revealed that you’re not fighting dragons, that you’re the one who brings them back.  A harbinger.”

Quartes sat back, armored thumb running over the hilt of Cheriss.  “If they can see the Cycles then that is one way to believe it, but killing me will only get them a new Heir.”  The Landian shook himself before standing.  “Let’s go talk to this Brokel, you are right that the plan must change.”  Quartes stood.

“One more thing,” Keto’s words paused the Landian.  “When this is done, you’re bringing me back and showing me these halls.”