Tallis pulled down on a leather strap, cinching the harness tight around the belly of the thick-limbed lizard that would carry them into the dead lands. He took a step back and stuffed his hands into his pockets, shivering in the icy gale that assaulted the forest.

"I don't suppose there's any chance of waiting for the weather to clear, is there?" he asked.

Callan stepped around the side of the wagon hitched to the lizard. He was bare chested and completely unfazed by the temperature. "This could be the best weather we have for months. We'll be passing through the heart of the winter court to reach the deadlands and things won't be getting any warmer there any time soon. If we wait, we might as well wait until spring and I don't think we have that much time." He reached into the back of the wagon and took out a breastplate that looked like it was made from woven porcupine quills. He pointed into the back of the wagon. “There’s a little something for you in here too.”

Curious, Tallis stepped to the back of the wagon and found a package wrapped in brown paper with his name written on it. He tore open the wrapping and found a long, black coat and a faemetal breastplate.

“That should go a long way towards keeping you safe.” Callan slipped his own armour on and gave Tallis a gentle shove. “I know you aren’t much of a fighter, so you’ll need it.”

A second wagon trundled up the road behind them. “He’s getting a lot better,” Setia called out from the passenger’s seat. “He’s been practicing with me.”

“That’s right,” said Tallis. “I’m a regular quickdraw now.”

“Bull. Shit,” she said.

He reached for his pistol. She ripped hers from its holster ages before he could bring his bear.

She grinned. “At least you didn’t drop the gun this time.”

He slipped the pistol back into its holster with a laugh and looked back to Callan. “See, I’m getting a lot better.”

The second wagon slowed to a stop and Valerie hopped off the back with a huff. She glared up at Setia. “Would you put that thing away before you get someone killed.”

Setia twirled the gun on her finger and slipped it into the holster at her hip. “If I wanted someone killed, they’d be dead already.”

“Accidents can still happen.”
“Sure,” said Setia with a shrug. “I suppose they can.” She hopped down off the wagon.

Aragam slid down from the driver’s seat and double checked their reptile’s harness.

Tallis gave him a nod. “You guys get all the shopping done?”

Aragam stood and patted the beast’s rump. “We’ve got all the essentials: beans, bacon, whiskey, and lard.”

“Good,” said Callan. “We’re riding with some extra rifles, swords, axes, and a case of dynamite. I think we’re ready.”

“Right,” said Valerie, swinging up into the driver’s seat of the food wagon. “Let’s get moving then.”

Callan spared her a concerned glance. “Everything okay, Boss?”
  
She let out a heavy sigh and leaned forward in the seat, resting her elbows on her knees. “Just nervous. I don’t much fancy the idea of riding right into a demon’s nest. You go ahead, I think I just want some time alone for a while. Collect my thoughts.”

Callan fetched a long, side by side shotgun from the weapons cart and scampered up into the passenger’s seat next to Valerie. “You need someone to ride shotgun with you.”

“I’m fine,” she said. “Don’t need anyone here with me.”

“It wasn’t a question,” said Callan and the tone of his voice made it clear that he wasn’t going to take any arguments. “If you need some quiet time then I won’t say a word, promise. You won’t know I’m here, but I’m not going to let you ride alone. We don’t need you getting picked off or snatched up when we aren’t looking.”

There was a tense moment of heavy silence before Tallis clapped his hands and climbed into the back of their rolling arsenal. “Right,” he said. “Well, it sounds like we’re all set. We’ll take the lead for now.”

Aragam and Setia climbed into the driver and shotgun seat respectively and Tallis sat down on a squat, wooden crate. He pulled a cigarette from his vest pocket, took one look at the mass of gunpowder and explosives surrounding him and slowly took the smoke out of his mouth and put it away. He probably shouldn’t be lighting any matches back here. Hell, he probably shouldn’t even breathe too hard.

“We won’t blow up if we hit a pothole or anything, will we?”

Aragam shrugged. “Unless we drive off a cliff or something we’ll be alright.”

“And what are our odds of driving off a cliff?”

“None.” He waved towards the best pulling the wagon. “Swampstriders are the most sure footed animals I’ve ever seen. They’ll take us all the way up a mountain if need be.”

“And the cold won’t bother them?”

“They’re well insulated.”

Tallis leaned back against the side of the wagon. There wasn’t much to be done now except hurry up and wait. It was a strange feeling, the mix of boredom and tension. They were dropping head first into hell itself for all he knew but right now it didn’t feel like it. Right now it felt like any other trip to the market or into the city. That juxtaposition didn’t make him feel any better.

The minutes drug on quietly for what felt like hours before Aragam twisted in his seat and finally broke the silence. “Anyone know any songs?”

Setia laughed. “I might know a few, none of them are very clean though.”

“Listen,” said Aragam with a smile. “I used to be in the army, right? There isn’t a bawdy song, dirty limerick or filthy sonnet that I haven’t heard. Belt one out, see if you can surprise me.”

And so they chased down the horizon, heading off into the unknown with smiles on their faces and songs in their hearts. The trees rolled by at a steady pace and the landscape shifted from green and sparkled with frost to white with sharp tufts of grass breaking the crust of the snow. The forest thickened and the stands of violet birch and maple thinned and gave way to clusters of cerulean pines huddling close together and bracing against the winter chill. Setia ran out of songs eventually, and they fell into an easy silence. Nothing was said because nothing needed to be said and that was fine. An easy smile crossed Tallis’ face as he enjoyed the simple quiet that was only shared with true friends.

The hours slipped into days and the weather refused to cooperate. The Swampstriders pulled them through the teeth of a furious storm with a series of groans. The beasts were normally silent so if they were groaning you knew it was bad. The wagon stopped and Tallis stepped out of the back, shivering. He brushed the layer of ice off the buffalo robe he was wearing and stepped around to the front of the wagon.

“We’ve gotta get out of this storm,” he shouted over the wind. “I’m frozen!”

Aragam jumped down from the driver’s seat, sinking to his hips in the snow. “Lightweight!” he said.

Setia pelted him with a snowball. “We don’t all have icewater in our veins. I’m frozen too.”

The other wagon slid to a stop next to them. Valerie was riding shotgun, wrapped in a fur cloak while Callan held the reins, still dressed for a summer day.

“What’s going on?” shouted Valerie.

“Tallis can’t keep going, he’s crying for us to stop,” said Aragam with a laugh.

Tallis hit him with another snowball.

“Thank all of the damned gods,” said Valerie. “I’ve been dying for the past few miles. Didn’t want to say anything to slow us down.”

Tallis held up a hand, shielding his eyes from the vicious torrent of snow and ice pellets. They were in the Deadlands proper now. The ground was flat and unbroken by plants or trees. Nothing lived here. Nothing grew. A black tower rose up from a small rise in the snow, barely visible against the frozen squall.

Tallis pointed. “What’s that?”

Callan shuddered and it had nothing to do with the temperature. “A bad place. A dead place.”

Tallis pulled his robe tight, bowed his head against the wind and trudged towards the tower. “Better than being out in the wind.”

Callan caught him by the arm. “No. The spirits in these places are old and they are angry. This is not a good idea.”

Tallis shrugged him off and continued forward. A black and shifting shape reached for him. He veered around it. Behind the ghost a white figure flared to life, a figure that looked like one of the Fae but older. Death the storyteller gave him a wink and a nod. Tallis looked back at the rest of the Faerunners. No one else seemed to notice death standing among the spectres.

He waved them forward. “Stick close behind me. We’ll be okay.”

They pushed through the snow in a tight single file. Each breath was like pulling in a lungful of frozen fire. Each step was like breaking a hole through frozen stone. Each minute was an ice crusted eternity. The snow clung to him, melting against the heat of his body and refreezing in painful clumps. It was hell, but they were making progress.

The spirits of this place lunged for them, reaching out with sharp shadow fingers. Tallis stopped short and Callan blundered into him, pushing him into the ghost. A cold beyond anything he was feeling or had ever felt spread out from the center of his chest, like his heart was freezing inside of him. Callan caught him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him back.

Tallis’ eyes drifted shut.

The Fae gave him a rough shake. “Damn it! Wake up! We’re almost there.”

The sweet darkness behind his eyelids seemed so much more comforting. It was warmer there. Sharp red pain blossomed on his cheek and he opened his eyes in time to see Callan drawing his arm back to slap him again. On instinct, he clenched a fist and punched Callan in the nose before the slap could land. The weeks of fighting and training must have been working.

Callan grumbled and lifted Tallis to his feet. For a moment it looked like he was going to slap him again anyway but he lowered his arm. “Okay, we each got one. Do not hit me again.”

Tallis rubbed his cheek and pressed forward, weaving between the sea of reaching hands.

The tower rose before him and he leaned forward, throwing himself into the ancient, splintered door. He didn’t have the strength for much else. The door gave way and banged open, bouncing off the wall. He slammed down onto the floor. Shivering. Callan drug him into the tower and the rest of the crew crowded in after him. Aragam brought up the rear and pushed the door shut.

Out of the wind, things were a little better but not by much.

Callan fished a shard of redstone out of his pocket. “Aragam, why don’t you follow our tracks back to the wagons, get some dry clothes for these three before the path gets snowed in. I’ll try to get a fire going.”

The inside of the tower was filled with row after row of bookshelves that ran all the way up to the top. A staircase spiraled up the center of the tower, leading to balconies and secluded reading nooks. Callan wrenched a piece of the railing free and broke it into pieces, piling it on the floor. He pulled down the nearest book and a translucent, snow white feather drifted down from an alcove above. Tallis looked up as the ghost of a storm owl took flight, leaping off the railing and flying out through the tower’s wall.

Tallis reached for the book with numbed fingers. “Wait. Can I see that book?”

Callan shrugged and tossed it to him.

He leafed through the old tome. “This is it,” he muttered.

He found a diagram and turned the book around, showing it to the rest of the group. “This is how we stop the demons.” He turned the book back towards himself. The image showed two figures in armour hitting a skeleton with hammers. The next picture showed them pouring the bones into a pit, and working some kind of spell. The pit glowed, and from its depths a Pinebarren Devil crawled free. The creatures weren’t born. They were made.

He tapped the page. “We need to blow up their forge.”