"Why can't I try the Eye from here?" said Lannon. The Cemetery lay just ahead through the moonlit woods, and he found, despite all he had been through recently, that he was shaking with fear. He kept seeing the giant hand in his mind, reaching forth to crush his bones into fragments.
"The distance is too far," said Taris. "You dare not stretch yourself so thin, for the danger becomes magnified, I believe."
"What danger?" said Lannon.
"You might see too many sights," said Taris. "And there are other concerns. A servant of the Deep Shadow could use your power against you, and you would not realize it until too late. The farther you stretch out the Eye, the less accurate your viewings will be, and the easier it would be for a foe to threaten you. Remember what happened when you gazed upon that Goblin Lord? There are methods that a clever adversary could use to destroy your sanity, if not your life. Always get as close to your target as possible before using the Eye, for your control will be greater and the risks much less."
Lannon said nothing and just gave a slight nod. He knew there was no sense in arguing with the sorcerer at this point, for Taris had made up his mind and clearly was intent upon journeying to the dreaded place.
When they reached the iron fence that surrounded Dremlock Cemetery, Lannon gazed in at the tombs of the dead. The crypts glittered with frost in the moonlight, and the pine boughs that hung over them were heavy with snow and bent down. Lannon couldn't help but notice how some of those boughs looked like giant, groping hands. He was tired of giant hands trying to crush him-Ogre hands, Troll hands, giant wooden hands, and now something that seemed worse than all the others combined.
"Well, here we are," said Furlus. "So what happens now?"
"Lannon will try the Eye from here," said Taris. "Not only may it save us time, but he could also discover any dangers lurking within."
"Then get on with it, Lannon," said Furlus.
Lannon nodded, but he dared not speak because he had doubts about whether or not he could utter a sound, so dry was his throat. He swallowed and fought to steady himself, trying to stop the trembling of his body. Taris spoke a few soothing, encouraging words, and Lannon slowly released the Eye into the graveyard.
Lannon tried to block out any images that did not pertain to his goal, but it wasn't easy. Phantom visions tried to force their way in, disrupting his focus, and he felt a deep revulsion that almost made him physically ill when he thought of that giant hand hunched somewhere in the hollow spaces below. He probed much of the Cemetery, and then extended the Eye beneath it as far as he was able, searching for an entrance to the mines. He ignored Taris' warning about stretching his gaze too thin, for he was desperate to complete his goal from beyond the fence. But his gaze could only go a short distance below ground once it neared the middle of the graveyard-certainly not deep enough to prove anything.
Before he drew the Eye back completely, Lannon summoned all his remaining courage and searched for the giant hand. It took all the will he possessed to bring himself to look for that horror, and he was grateful, in many ways, when he failed to find it. Much uncertainty remained, since he could not cover all the areas below ground from here, but now it wasn't difficult to persuade himself that the hand might have been a product of his imagination. After all, Taris claimed to know the ghosts that lurked within. Perhaps Lannon had misinterpreted one of them, or perhaps one of the ghosts had used its power to scare him with an illusion. Taris had said they sometimes tried to frighten people.
"I can't find an entrance," Lannon said. "But I don't see any dangers, either."
"Were you able to view all the crypts?" Taris asked.
Slowly Lannon shook his head, knowing what this would mean.
Immediately, Taris pulled out a ring of keys and unlocked the gate. "We shall begin near the center," the sorcerer said, "and then work our way out towards the edges. I have a strong suspicion a lost entrance lies in here somewhere, and so we must be thorough, Lannon. The fate of Dremlock may depend on it."
Lannon nodded, and with wobbly legs, he followed the Tower Masters into the Cemetery. The snow was deep here, having piled up over the course of the winter, but it was frozen into a crust that they were able to walk atop it. Some of the tombstones were just barely visible as they poked out of the snow, while other, more splendid ones towered overhead. With each step, Lannon imagined huge fingers exploding up through the crust and latching onto him, and he held the Eye of Divinity in a defensive posture, imagining that it was a shield protecting him from harm.
When they reached the middle of the Cemetery, they stood in the shadow of a stone tomb dedicated to a Lord Knight named Harswald Greatsword. In spite of an inscription that told of Harswald's nobility and heroics, the tomb had a strange and ugly look, decorated with depictions of leering Goblin heads and grinning skulls at the base. Lannon was confused.
Taris smiled, as he watched the boy study the tomb. "Old Garthane," he said. "That is what we call this style. Garthane Goldenaxe did the design work on some of the tombs of this Cemetery, and several other places, including the East Library in my tower. He was an eccentric Olrog Knight, and fiercely stubborn-even by Dwarven standards. He had an exuberant personality, which contrasted his fantastic and grim sculptures. Throughout the ages, many have declared his work unfit for a holy kingdom like Dremlock. However, I very much like his work, and find it quite unique."
"Always time for a bit of history and philosophy," said Furlus, rolling his eyes, "when Taris Warhawk is present. Now are we going to stand here and freeze, or get on with our task? Last I knew, we were facing a possible invasion."
Taris nodded. "Begin your search, Lannon."
Lannon sent his gaze straight down, and about thirty feet below discovered a tunnel with a door of Glaetherin-protected by a wheel lock. The passageway had the unmistakable feel of the mines. The stone had been tunneled through around the door of Glaetherin, and in that tunnel was a man in his final stages of life. He wore stout black armor, yet he had been partially crushed, and he had crawled into that tunnel, where he lay bleeding away his life. Shocked at this sight, Lannon momentarily lost his control, and the Eye veered off in a random direction, going past the tunnel and into a large chamber-where an even more dastardly sight awaited Lannon.
The floor of the room was littered with corpses-black-armored men and women who had all been crushed and battered. Echoes remained of screams, pain, and terror. Some had escaped, fleeing off down the tunnels, vowing never to return. Other echoes crowded in, ancient and reeking of evil, and he grew sick to his stomach, doubling over. Too late, he realized he had stretched himself too thin, and for an instant, he found he could not draw his power back. He realized Taris was clutching his arm, mumbling strange words in his ear. The Eye suddenly retreated all the way into him.
"They're all dead!" Lannon panted, struggling to catch his breath. "Killed by something… Wait, one man is alive. He crawled into a tunnel, but he won't last long." For an instant, Lannon thought he was going to pass out. But then the sickness slipped away and he managed to stand up straight.
"Wait here," Taris said sternly, to Furlus. "I am going to go down and speak with the dying man. We need to know what caused this."
Furlus scowled, but knowing he needed to stay and protect Lannon, he did as Taris commanded. "Just hurry up!" he muttered.
Taris unlocked the tomb and entered, closing the door behind him. The lock clicked from inside.
The two waited in silence. Only Furlus' raspy breathing could be heard, as the Olrog's barrel chest rose and fell. He fidgeted restlessly, switching his battle axe from hand to hand.