“Can’t say as I blame them.”

“I thought it was one of their sacred sites,” said Hef.

“It’s both, I suppose. A lot of them still revere Uran Ultar, in secret of course.”

“Heathens,” said Gunther. Rik studied the ruins in the fading light. He did not like this place at all and it was not just its fearsome reputation stimulating his imagination. There was something about it that made his flesh creep.

“This Zarahel has the right idea,” said Hef. “I doubt if any of the tribes are going to fight him for this place.”

“What could a wizard be looking for down there?” Leon asked. “One thing’s for sure, he did not come here by accident. Why dig a mine here?”

“They say Uran Ultar’s priests filled his temples with gold taken in tribute from conquered nations,” Rik replied. “Maybe he left something buried down there.”

“Nah,” said Weasel. “The Terrarchs would have grabbed the lot of it. You know what they are like. Greedy bastards, the lot of them.”

“It’s not for us to criticise our betters,” said Gunther. “You in particular.”

“If I don’t, no one will.”

“I think there’s more going on here than meets the eye,” said Rik. “We’ve got a company of Foragers and a wizard up here. It’s for a reason.”

“The reason is to grab this wizard and kill the Prophet and have the whole business wrapped up before Mourning Time,” said Sergeant Hef.

“I still think they are up to something. What about this mine that Vosh was on about? All those folk disappearing? What’s all that about then?” Rik asked.

“Who knows with wizards?” said the Sergeant. “Our job is to put a stop to it whatever it is and we’d best be getting started.”

“Speaking of wizards, what’s this about the Crimson Shadows?”

“If it makes our job easier, why complain? Ah there’s what we’re looking for.”

On the shoreline, on a slight rocky rise close to the falls, stood a squat fortified manor, partially ruined. A tower stood at one corner, and at its top a bell glittered. In some pens nearby were lots of the lean mountain sheep. Nobody was visible, but columns of smoke rose from the chimneys.

“Sentry in the tower,” said Weasel. Looking closely Rik could see what he meant. A man’s head was visible over the parapet. He was holding a rifle too. The bandits were not being entirely negligent about their safety. “Might be some more holed up in the ruins as well.”

“I can’t see any,” said the Sergeant.

“Nor can I,” said Weasel, “but you can bet your last farthing they are there.”

“Take care of them then,” said the Sergeant. “You and the Barbarian. Don’t get close enough to trigger any wards”

“I don’t like the look of those ruins,” said the Barbarian.

“Scared the Spider God might get you?” asked Weasel. “Old Uran Ultar has been in his grave this last thousand years.”

Rik wished Weasel would shut up. What was a thousand years to a god? And could gods die the way ordinary mortals did? Maybe he was just asleep. There was something about those ruins that made him deeply uneasy, a part of him responded fearfully just to the sight of them.

“I am scared of nothing,” said the Barbarian. “I am just saying I don’t like the look of the place.”

Weasel touched the hilt of his knife and grinned.