Argrave naively estimated the journey back to Vasquer would take ten to twelve days. As it turns out, Argrave was not particularly good at estimating the length of fantasy backpacking trips. The journey took, altogether, seventeen days… and that was only to make it to the mountain highway.

It was not because of slow movement—indeed, Argrave actually found himself enjoying things when they traversed across the black sand dunes. Anneliese had described the Burnt Desert as having an ‘austere beauty,’ before, and Argrave fully agreed with that assessment. Without scarred lungs and weak bones making things agonizing, the hike was pleasant.

But that was when they were hiking.

Though the first week had passed quickly, once they strayed far from Sethia, the air became unbearably dry once again. That dryness brought with it sandstorms. They were stalled by sandstorms twice—the first had lasted but one night, while the second lasted three whole days. They sought shelter within the mountains. Though offering plenty protection, they were too steep to traverse, halting all progress.

Argrave had been worried the second sandstorm would never end, and they would starve. He’d already planned to eat Galamon first. He was sure the elven vampire would agree. But the relentless barrage of black sand did end, eventually, and they finished out the journey.

With a heave, Argrave pulled himself over a cliff onto stark gray plateau, pulling his legs up just after. The movement had been quick and smooth, and he felt some pride as he recalled the climb at the druid’s camp where Galamon had needed to help him up. Every day felt like a gift now that his body had gone from a liability to a reliability.

Anneliese was already waiting with their four Brumesingers, her long braid of white hair whipping about as she turned and examined the architecture of the highway. Argrave turned around, where he received Durran’s backpack. Soon after, the man climbed up, boots scraping against the stone wall. Argrave gestured towards Galamon for his backpack, but the vampire simply climbed up as easily as one might climb out of a swimming pool. Between his plate armor and his heavy pack, such a thing was a ridiculous show of strength.

“Show-off,” Argrave said to Galamon, turning to the highway ahead.

The abundance of gray metal made the highway seem nearly industrial. Metal sconces had once held magic lamps, but salvagers had come through here, stripping each and every sconce of their magic light. The closest ones reminded Argrave of exposed rebar. But the road kept winding up the mountain, dangerous cracks and cave-ins marring most of the road. Up high, one could see better maintained bits, where salvagers dared not tread.

The stone road was steep and required climbing at the points where it had collapsed. Iron statues with bizarre faces were half-buried in the rubble. Their faces resembled nutcrackers, though intricately wrought out of now-rusty iron and morphed in exaggerated emotion. They were angry, full of rage—though rather than terrifying, the expressions seemed like mockery.

“I cannot fathom how these highways were used…” Anneliese pondered.

“Transportation of troops between mountainside forts,” Argrave stepped up beside her, putting his backpack back on.

“Mountain climbing with heavy packs,” Durran said, catching his breath as he leaned against his glaive. “I missed all the signs. I’m travelling with morons.”

“Other options; abomination-ridden underground passage jam-packed with diseases, necromantic creatures of the Order of the Rose, and a knightly order who has vilified me,” Argrave raised one finger. “Or… we can ask the Lionsun Castle to open the gates for us. Barring these highways, there’s no other way over these mountain peaks.”

“Underground passage… this is Nodremaid, that city Garm spoke to me about,” Durran caught his breath.

Argrave nodded, surprised Durran knew more than he thought. Anneliese walked up to a pile of rubble, touching one of the iron statues. “Don’t be so carefree,” Argrave called out. “Some of these statues are functioning golems.”

“These are the golems you mentioned?” Anneliese asked, surprised. “The Veidimen say golems are myths. And moreover, metal golems…”

“The pathways and fortresses were made by men. The sconces, the golems… they were made by the subterranean mountain people I had intended to enlist against the Vessels in Sethia.”

“You did not mention them in our plan for this place,” Anneliese noted.

“They’re gone, at least from here,” Argrave shook his head. “Their creations remain.”

Durran looked quite skeptical. Argrave caught him frowning and took note of it but decided to wait for later.

Argrave looked at the steep pathway ahead, feeling trepidatious. You wanted to work on your body, right? he gave himself a pep talk internally. This is your chance. Come on. Kill it. In truth, it was less ‘mountain climbing’ and more ‘rock scrabbling.’ The falls were not inherently deadly, simply painful. The most cumbersome part of the journey was their packs.

During the hour, they advanced no more than a half mile. It was strenuous, both mentally and physically, as they needed to plan out a path up the uneven road and then execute that plan. Durran voiced his skepticism frequently but kept pace with them despite hefting his glaive about. It was Anneliese who struggled the most, though not to an excessive degree. Argrave felt strange when he was not the straggler.

The Brumesingers conjured mist from their fur with a pleasant chiming song, then vanished into it, traversing their brume as they had in the tomb of the southron elves. They would reappear at higher elevations, lounging and playing with each other as though this was a casual stroll rather than a treacherous climb. If Argrave didn’t have such affection for the creatures, he might’ve gotten a headache from annoyance.

Argrave locked his hands together, and Anneliese stepped on them. He boosted her up, and then grabbed her backpack, placing it up beside her. After, he did the same for Durran and his glaive, and then he and Galamon came up last. All save Galamon were breathing heavy. They conjured water with spells, drinking heavily.

“I must ask… for a break,” Anneliese gasped out.

Argrave didn’t answer, taking his time to catch his breath. After a time, he responded, “Take all the time you need. And rest easy, because that was the last bit of climbing we’ll need to do.” He straightened his back. “Now that we’re up here, I’ll stress this—follow me completely. No veering off course.”

Ahead, the highway’s winding slopes flattened out, finally reaching level ground. The metal statues were much more abundant, and a few of the metal sconces still bore their enchanted glass orbs, even if they were dead by now. Argrave looked back beyond them. From up high, the Burnt Desert was even more beautiful. The distant and elaborate cities of the Vessels seemed like stars in the sky or shining lights in the abyss.

“Long way down,” Durran came to stand beside Argrave, leaning forth and placing his elbow on his knee. “Going to be a shame when we have to turn around. No way this makes it all the way across.”

Argrave shook his head, only able to muster laughter at Durran’s constant derision. After everyone recovered from their fatigue, they gathered their things and pressed onwards.

Anneliese kept her head upwards instead of watching the path ahead, examining the comically angry metal statues they walked by. Though still rusted, they were upright at this higher section, and most bore metal rods in hand. They took ridiculous poses, again intended to mock the warriors they portrayed.

“The top of those rods… something was cut off there, severed. You can tell,” she pointed.

“And what was once there?” Argrave pressed amusedly, knowing the answer.

“I am unsure. They could be spears, longmaces… jeweled scepters of some kind, perhaps. It would explain why they have been cut off.”

Argrave stayed silent as they trekked forward, a smile on his face.

“Why are you so amused?” she frowned. “You will keep me in the dark?”

Argrave held up a hand to shrug. “You’ll see what was there. That’s all.”

“Some guardian golems, if they just let whatever they held be cut off and stolen,” Durran noted a bit sarcastically.

Argrave glanced at Durran, then fished into his pocket. He scanned the nearby statues, then locked his eye on one in particular. He pulled free a silver coin minted in Malgeridum’s style and flicked it towards a close golem. As the coin spun by the metal statue he’d had his eye on, its arm rocketed forth and the rod it held slammed into the ground. The coin had been caught perfectly, smushed around the edge of the rod. Its arm clicked like a wind-up toy, cranking back to its original position. The silver coin hung at the edge of the rod, morphed around it.

“These ones are stationary. They attack anything that enters into their line of attack,” Argrave smiled. “It gives them greater power.”

Durran stared at the coin, and then glanced at the silver smudge left behind where it had been beaten around the rod.

“Nearly poked one of those things to test it,” he said a little hauntedly.

Argrave gave Durran a pat on the shoulder, then kept walking. The path was rough and poorly maintained, and grass growing up through the stone had left great cracks in everything. Harsh winds were shielded by higher peaks around them.

The path tunneled into a mountain. In that tunnel, the path narrowed, and a thousand statues lined up shoulder to shoulder.

Durran tapped his glaive against the ground. “Not sure anyone alive can maneuver through that, if those things are all like those metal meat crushers we passed by.”

Argrave veered from the center of the road, walking towards one of the statues. “I would never,” he scolded, retrieving another coin. He tossed it, and its right arm whirred, slamming the rod in hand against the ground. The rod was thicker than most of the others.

Argrave stepped atop the rod, balancing carefully as it clicked and rose back up. Once it was at its highest point, he stepped off onto the statue’s shoulder, then stood on its head.

“Galamon, you’re last,” Argrave shouted down. “Rescue anyone in case they fall.”

Galamon nodded. Durran seemed thrilled at what Argrave had done, practically beaming in anticipation. He kicked a rock towards the golem, then leapt atop the thick rod once it slammed against the ground. He rode it upwards to the top, and they stayed standing there.

“Anneliese, you go. I’ll jump off just before it swings,” he suggested eagerly.

Argrave grabbed his glaive and pulled Durran off the rod, stepping aside to make room atop the statue’s head. Durran nearly lost his balance, but managed to correct himself before it was too late. He looked aggrieved, but Argrave could not be bothered.

Anneliese ascended up next, legs a bit shaky. Argrave moved to the next statue in the long row to accommodate her. Just after, Galamon came, reaching the top just as they had without incident.

Now that they all stood atop the statues, Argrave led. He jumped from statue to statue, stepping on their heads like one might move from rock to rock on a river. They entered into the tunnel, where Argrave’s head very nearly touched the ceiling with every jump.

Everyone was deathly quiet, realizing all too well the consequences of falling. After a while, Argrave came to a statue that had a missing head and kneeled where its head once was.

“Gods,” Durran exclaimed, coming to a stop. “Got into a rhythm, almost jumped at you. What are you doing?”

Argrave scanned the statues in the adjacent row. His eyes settled on one that held its rod with two hands. He turned his head to Durran.

“You’re probably better aim than me. Trigger that one, there,” Argrave pointed to it, handing the tribal a coin. “And brace yourself. Ground might shake a little.”

Durran held the coin tightly. “Just throwing away money,” he muttered, taking a second. After aiming, he flicked his wrist out, tossing the coin. It rung through the air. The statue triggered, thrusting straight upwards. Its metal stick slammed loudly against the ceiling. A few rocks fell… and then after, the tunnel’s ceiling caved in, including much of the wall close to it. Argrave stayed kneeling, covering his mouth from dust.

They all stayed still and tense as the dust settled. Once it had, Durran lowered his hand.

“What was that for? Fun?”

“It’s a secret wall,” Argrave responded, rising to his feet. The statue just across from them bent its waist, bowing, and held its hands out as though begging. Though crude, it formed a walkway across. Argrave stepped across without hesitation, heading for the great hole in the wall caused by the cave in.

In the hole created, stairs poked out from the rubble—it was a deliberate design, not a flawed installation of their golem. The subterranean people were masters of tunneling and boring, and enjoyed putting tricks like this in their tunnels. Argrave had been a bit worried this would work, but it did so flawlessly.

Argrave stepped up the stairs, mindful not to stumble over the rubble caused by the cave in. Light shone at the end of the tunnel, and he pressed towards it. He squinted as he entered the outside once again.

A verdant grove awaited them, surrounded on all sides by tall peaks. The shrubs, trees, and bushes full of berries and fruits were supported by a waterfall in the far distance that separated into two perfectly symmetrical streams. Between these streams was a large pavilion housing a marble statue.

Anneliese and the rest caught up to Argrave, looking around the place in wonder.

“This place is where…” she trailed off, awed by the beauty of the place.

“We’ll recruit the best scout in the world,” Argrave finished. “That’s exactly right.”