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‘That’s it!’ exclaims Banedon, stabbing his finger at a map of the Dry Main that covers his chart table. ‘One hundred and fifteen miles due west of Bir Rabalou; one hundred and fifteen miles due south of the oasis of Bal-loftan.’ He picks up a quill pen and marks the spot. ‘The Tomb of the Majhan.’7
You study the map and ponder the miles of desolation separating you from your goal. Banedon notices your look of dismay and quickly tries to put your mind at ease.
‘Fear not, Lone Wolf—we’ll be there before the dawn.’
You smile at his confidence, but it is not the actual journey that worries you—your concern is what you may or may not find upon your arrival.
