Deglan had to jog in order to catch up with the long, mile-eating strides of the Forge Born. He scowled at its back, pondering the wisdom of his choice to follow it, angry at himself for finding no better option. Deglan noticed the throat of a metal scabbard peaking over the ragged cloak just beneath the Forge Born’s right shoulder. Curiously, the scabbard was empty and Deglan could find no evidence of other weapons.

“It was you,” Deglan accused suddenly. “I saw you coming from the Tor. You were up there!”

The war machine did not respond and kept its pace.

“We tracked you,” Deglan said, his voice growing louder. “And we found them. Were you following the goblins?”

“No.” It was more akin to a bell toll than a word.

“Then how do you know they went south?”

“I watched.”

“You watched? Watched what…watched the village burn, watched the men die?! You could have stopped it!”

The Forge Born halted so suddenly Deglan almost collided with its legs.

“No,” it said without turning. “I could not.” It resumed walking.

Deglan seethed and allowed the thing to go on without him. “This is folly.”

His confusion had caused him to follow blindly, but now he looked at the surrounding landscape and found it to be very familiar. They had left the fields behind and entered the rougher upcountry. The way was hilly and boulder-strewn with nary a path or sheep run to be found. A difficult stretch of land and one that Deglan had walked many times. They were heading for the barrows.

Deglan chuckled sourly. “A dead man wants to see me. Wonder which one has a complaint.” He continued up the rocky incline.

The barrowlands were laid long before humans settled the area. Low mounds, completely reclaimed by dirt and grass marked the edge of the earliest burial sites. Many of the defenders of Bwyneth Tor moldered in these grounds, the final days of the war making it impossible to transport their bodies back to Toad Holm so that they may be laid to rest in the Ever Dark as was gnomish tradition.

Further in, the larger and more recent cairns of mankind bloated the countryside. Some were simple mounds of stacked stone covered in earth, with naught but a small opening to admit the dead, while others were vast, many chambered constructions with heavy stone lintels set above the entrances. Deglan grimaced. Human lives were candle smoke on the wind, here and gone, yet they spent most of that life in backbreaking preparation for death. He hated coming here. And he hated it more with his present company.