100
You follow the President into the chamber, your footsteps echoing as you walk across the mosaic marble floor. At the far end of the room a wiry wolfhound lies snoozing in front of a log fire which is crackling in an iron grate. The flames illuminate the chamber with a warm glow, casting flickering shadows across countless shelves stacked with thick rolls of parchment and papyrus. At the centre there stands a large table heaped with sand. The sand has been shaped to depict the topography of Magador, its towns, cities, mountains, hills, and rivers. The attention to detail is most impressive.
‘Somewhere, here, I fear there is a great evil at work,’ says Kadharian, pointing to a section of the table which depicts the territory north of Lake Vorndarol, an area uncomfortably close to the deep furrow which represents the Maakengorge.
‘Three moons ago, the lakeside hamlet of Vorn was reportedly destroyed by an unnatural storm, the first of many that have continuously swept the region. I dispatched a troop of my guards to investigate but they never returned. Since then, a second troop has also disappeared without trace.’
‘But what makes you think that a plot to resurrect Vashna is afoot?’ you reply, trying not to sound overly sceptical. ‘With due respect, President, this is a notorious region infested with renegades and brigands. There may be a far simpler explanation for the destruction of Vorn and the disappearance of your troops.’
‘Aye, ’tis so,’ retorts Kadharian. ‘At first, I too made the same assumption. But then I came into the possession of something which made me believe otherwise.’
From a leather pouch hanging from his sword belt, Kadharian takes an item which is neatly wrapped in a square of patterned silk.
‘Here, Grand Master,’ he says, offering it to you, ‘I’ll let you draw your own conclusions from this.’
