At night the party lit fires that drove back the shadows but attracted thousands of huge moths. During the still watches of the night, the rumble of vast hooves came from the forest, and huge pairs of eyes gleamed distantly with reflected firelight. It was easy enough for watchmen to stay awake, but no beast ever came close enough to be identified.
On the second day in the forest, they came upon the ruin of a large stone tower among the trees. Its walls were limned with moss and ivy, and the roof had fallen in. When new, the tower must have been impressive, but now it was merely a sad reminder of a long-ago glory. The crew found themselves speaking in hushed tones as they examined the ruins.
It was Ilcaster who drew Gerrard's attention to the glyph carved in the stone arch.
The Benalian examined it carefully. "Yes. No doubt about it. It's another Thran glyph. Whoever built this place knew something about the Thran." Gerrard looked about them at the tall trees, silent witnesses to the unknown past. "I think," he said finally, "we can safely say we've entered Ouramos."
The following day saw the number and size of the ruins increase. The Thran glyphs engraved on the fallen edifices were now so common that they ceased to provoke comment. The buildings were closer together, bigger and more impressive, but all were in a state of decay and ruin.
Gerrard saw Sisay looking about her with a slightly puzzled expression. "What's the matter?" he asked.
She pointed to a series of walls that extended along one side of the path for a quarter mile before ceasing abruptly. "These ruins. There's something odd about them."
Gerrard glanced around. "I don't see it."
"That's right," chimed in Tallakaster from behind them. The large blond sailor, bare to the waist, shifted his pack on massive shoulders. "I mean, Cap'n, if you were standing out here all alone for years, you'd be falling to pieces too."
Sisay chuckled. "I daresay you're right. But that's not what I mean. They're not just falling to pieces; they've been destroyed."
"What do you mean?" asked Gerrard.
"I mean something happened to this city."
"Like Ramos falling on it from the sky?"
"Well, perhaps a figurative Ramos. The myth might mask a historical truth. Look." Sisay grabbed Gerrard's arm and led him toward the wall. She touched the stone, which crumbled beneath her fingers. She rubbed her fingertips, and the stuff turned to a white powder.
"I've seen something like this before, on Dominaria." She pushed a few of the stones, and they fell with a thump to the forest floor. "This wall's been blasted by sudden heat-"
"Gerrard! Sisay! Tahngarth! Come look at this!"
The three turned, making their way to where Ilcaster and Dabis stood near a large mound. Both were holding their hands before their faces, warding off the stench that rose from the mound.
"Phew! What have you two found?" Gerrard's eyes watered.
Tahngarth spat once. "Taumalangah!"
"Spoor!" Sisay translated for Gerrard's benefit. "Droppings from something."
"Humph! Well, whatever it is, it's huge." Gerrard walked around the pile of excrement, careful to keep his distance. "Everybody keep your eyes open-and your noses covered."
The travelers moved on down the road into dim, green recesses.
Another hour of silent tramping brought them to a small clearing. There, they halted for a moment to rest. Sisay sank to the ground, head between her hands, knees drawn up. Although she had largely recovered from the fever of a few days previously, neither she nor Fewsteem were quite as healthy as the others. Tahngarth moved restlessly about the glade, while Gerrard took a long pull from his waterskin. In the forest, they had found several streams, all of which seemed excellent sources of drinking water.
"Sir!" Dabis ran up. The dark-haired Icatian was about as excited as Gerrard had ever seen him. He opened his clenched fist. "Look, sir!"
Gerrard gasped. A powerstone. Tiny, no more than a mere speck compared to the crystal that powered Weatherlight, but it was nonetheless a glowing powerstone, shining with its own source of internal fire.
"Excellent!" He clapped Dabis on the shoulder. "Where was it?"
"Just lying on the g-ground." Dabis, almost too excited to speak, stuttered. "I saw a glow from off to the side, and there it was, just lying on the ground like somebody dropped it."
In an instant, the group was down on its knees in the spot Dabis had indicated, clawing through the undergrowth. After a frantic, silent ten minutes of searching, Gerrard gave up with a sigh.
"All right. This is only one. But the important thing is we know we're on the right track." He lifted his pack to his shoulders. "Let's go."
The companions proceeded, in single file, Gerrard leading the way and Tahngarth, his sword drawn, bringing up the rear. Before them, the path grew more obscure, the trees denser. To either side, they heard a series of deep rumbles, with an occasional hiss that sounded like the heavy breathing of some mighty creature.
Without a word, the party halted, and swords were drawn from scabbards. Gerrard placed a finger on his lips, and they stole cautiously forward.
Suddenly the trees parted. A great vista opened. They found themselves blinking in the unexpected sunlight.
Before them, the land dipped in a wide bowl carved from the living rock, a great arena overrun by weed and creeper. In the center, perhaps a thousand feet from where the party stood, was a great circle of raised sand, low but baked and gleaming in the bright sunlight. Standing stones, carved with Thran glyphs, ringed the sandy circle. In the center of the circle was a large, flat stone table, resembling an altar. The altar stone in turn held five large crystals, glinting in the sunlight.
"Ouramos," Gerrard said in awe.
Sisay looked at him and nodded. "Yes. Those must be the powerstones. The Bones of Ramos."
Takara said, "It's not likely those stones would remain undisturbed all these years unless they were pretty well guarded. Magic. Or worse…"
The Benalian cast a quick glance around. "All right. There's no point in all of us going down there. If ever there were a place likely to be rigged with traps of some kind, this is it. Sisay and Tahngarth, you're with me. The rest of you stay here and keep a sharp eye out-"
His instructions were interrupted by a terrified scream behind him. Gerrard turned.
Ilcaster's dark, handsome face contorted with pain. He was caught in the grip of two vines that had snaked across the path, entwining his feet. The lad fell to the ground, drew his knife, and hacked at the green tendrils.
Gerrard darted in and chopped down with his sword. It clanged away. The vines were as hard as steel.
Ilcaster gave a yell of horror. There was a spurt of blood from a severed artery as the clinging vines cut through flesh and bone in his ankles. Another vine, writhing as if it were a snake, shot across the path and gripped him around the throat, cutting off his cry. A moment later his head rolled free beside Gerrard's feet.
Sisay and the others curved in a tight circle, facing outward. Gerrard joined them. From the woods, more vines groped inward. The crew bashed them back with ringing blades.
A young sapling lashed down atop the crew like a scourge.
Tahngarth reached up, grasped the bole, and viciously snapped off the top. The rest of the tree sprang back. It seemed to give a shriek of pain. Thick green sap surged from the wound.
A vine yanked Sisay's feet from under her. Gerrard jerked her upright and battered the tendril until it let go.
A tree trunk smashed to the ground beside Tallakaster, missing him by a hairsbreadth. Below the feet of the crew-man, the ground boiled and turned to mud, imprisoning his feet. He screamed and sank farther into the morass.