### 322

As you draw level with the first Elder he reaches down and takes hold of your shoulder to make you halt. He says something in a dialect you do not understand and, when you do not answer, his suspicion swiftly turns to anger. He grabs your robe and pulls it open, revealing your leather tunic and breeches. Recognizing them at once to be Sommlending in origin, he gasps with shock as he guesses at your true identity.

‘Seize him!’ bellows the other Elder, and a score of acolytes spring forward to obey the command. You draw your weapon and fight them with breathtaking skill and valour, but eventually you are overcome by the sheer weight of their numbers. By the time they have disarmed you and pinned you to the ground, more than thirty of them lie slain or seriously injured in a heaped circle around where you lie.

You stare back defiantly at the ring of grim torchlit faces that loom over you. Then the face of an Acolyte Elder comes into view and he sneers with disdain. He places the tip of a glowing wand to your forehead and suddenly there is an explosion of white light. Sadly for you, it is the last sensation you will ever experience.

Your life and your quest end here.