(This is the story text from the corresponding Radio Cataclysm podcast episode. If you prefer audio, you can subscribe here. Read and listen early on Patreon.)

The ride out of the woods was faster than the walk in. It was nearly the same distance, but they pushed their horses' throttles to a low gallop. The forest seemed to be glad of their riddance, and parted to make a path for them, and closed like a curtain behind.

As soon as the Colonel's party and all of their horses were out of the forest, the kudzu crept down, branches reached in and wove together, and the treeline was a seamless wall behind them. “Glad to be out of that verdant hell,” said the Colonel. “I'd wager my eyeteeth that Plumwine won't harry us now that he has Fawth as his prize, but stay alert just the same. Ouroboros, you have their scents. Find me four traitors.”

* * *

“How much of what she said do you reckon is true?” Zeck whispered to John. “Do you think she's really three hundred years old?”

Sal had gone home, taking the bottle of burrin but leaving the Guest House to them. Steven was tinkering away at the bloodhound. Zeck and John sipped their drinks and nibbled at the walnuts and dried sausage.

Niewt sat staring into the fire, occasionally reaching in and dancing his fingers through the flames. “It's absurd,” he said. “She clearly either lying or mad. How can we trust any of these people? They worship a tentacle monster.”

“You worship fire,” said Zeck. “People have done stranger. There's something to be said for following a god you can look in the eye. Eyes.”

“I don't worship fire, I worship through fire. I wouldn't trust a god who spoke directly to me. Fire is honest; tongues lie.”

“I'm not suggesting that she's lying to us,” said Zeck. “Just that, perhaps, she might not have the freshest head in the cabbage patch.”

“Rude,” said Steven.

“Hey, I was born in a cabbage,” said Zeck. “I have the utmost respect for them. But either Sal really is three hundred years old, in which case her memory may not be what it once was, or she's not, and who knows what else is or isn't true. I'm not saying they're definitely going to feed us to that creature in the lake tomorrow morning, but elder gods don't exactly have a reputation for altruism.”

“We have an elder god in Rintburg,” said Steven. “They live by their own rules, but they tend to follow those rules. And it may be that everything they ever tell you is a bald-faced lie. But if they want to eat you, they don't have to be coy about it. They can crack your house open like a nut and scoop you right out. But more often than not, they'll just open up their mouth and people take it upon themselves to walk right in.”

“Lambs to the slaughter,” Niewt muttered. “Monsters posing as false gods.”

“I met with the Eater of Sins,” said John. “That's what brought me to Rintburg in the first place. Thought he might know something about Seraphanta, Queen of Snakes. Anyway, that's another story. Steven's right, though. If we were gonna be sacrificed, we'd know about it. The Keeper said it himself. If we're good guests, we're welcome. If we're dicks, we have to go.

“As for Sal's account of the Retort, it squares pretty well with what we heard through the grapevine in the Pyroclasts. They've kept a pretty tight lid on the details all these years, but things slip through the cracks. Most who travel down this way don't return, but some do. Some of them even have their sanity intact. Maybe Sal's brain got scrambled just a little bit, along with the land, but I trust her. I don't think these people would do us any harm unless we gave them cause to.”

“Then why would they lead us through that maze of lies?” Niewt asked. “It's a trap. A spider's web. How could we ever find our way out, without the cultists to lead us?”

“I've been thinking about the labyrinth since we came through it,” said John. “It's a straight line, you know. We never made a single turn.”

“Is it?” said Niewt. “Or is it like the Forest of Forgetting? Where you lose your memories like shedding hairs, so that you can't remember the way in or find your way out. We may have made a thousand turns, the knowledge of each slipping away as soon as the moment passed.”

“No,” said John bluntly. He pointed at the long pick Zeck was using to dissect a walnut. “Let me see that for a minute.” He held the nut pick upright over his glass. “This pick is straight,” he said. “But if I put it in liquid,” he lowered it into his burrin and kist, “it seems to bend. It's still the same straight piece of metal. From the stick's point of view, it's a straight line from the top to the bottom. But if you made a map, looking at it from the outside this way, you'd end up lost, floating in the drink. But follow the pick, if you can see it, if you know how, and you don't even have to get wet. Substitute time and space for the water and the path for the pick. I mean, it's not a perfect analogy.” He wiped the pick on his robe and handed it back to Zeck.

“I bet Sal really is three hundred years old,” said John. “And I bet this town is about the same age. 'Time was running wild,' she said. Just another wound from the Pandora's Box the Churls opened up down here. Humans aren't meant to mess with such things as time. Mages who try it always regret it. But elder gods are called 'elder' for a reason. They've been around so long, time looks small to them. It's commonplace. Now, for the most part, time is smooth and hard to grab a hold of. But under the right circumstances? If you travel near the speed of light, or get too close to a supermassive gravity well, like a black hole, or rain down thaumatic chaos the likes of which the Earth has never seen? Well, in cases like those, the fabric of time and space tends to bunch up. And if you have the kind of grabbers that elder gods do, you can grab onto one of those wrinkles and fold and twist it, with no more trouble than we'd have playing with a string game.”

“Speak for yourself,” said Zeck. “I tied my hands together making a cat's cradle once.”

“Perhaps less trouble than some of us,” said John. “I used to play with strings to pass the time. Found it kind of meditative. But once you make a string figure, you have to hold it taut.” He held his hands out to demonstrate. “Relax your hands, or let the string fall, and the pattern goes away. That's the labyrinth, and maybe this whole town. If the Keeper left, who knows what would happen? Maybe time would run wild again. The whole place could come to ruin overnight. Or maybe the village would be fine, but they'd never find their way back out of the labyrinth. They could starve. Vanish into a dimensional fold. Collapse into a singularity. Who knows? Spacetime would iron itself out sooner or later, but the damage to this place and these people would be done. It could be that the Keeper's stuck here, like Zeck with his cat's cradle. But I think he chooses to stay, to keep Shorem Co'Horen and hold it in the world.”

“What if the Colonel tries to follow us in here?” Zeck asked. “Ouroboros can certainly follow our scents, but will that work in the labyrinth?”

John shrugged. “Beats me. The labyrinth is big. Bigger than you think. It probably stretches from the sea to the Gulf. It would be the only way...”

“That only way to what?” Zeck prompted when John didn't continue.

“Sal mentioned 'that which came before.' She could be talking about something else, but... That's probably wishful thinking. It's a legend among mages. Nobody really talks about it, not openly, anyway. It's not like a campfire story or an arcane secret or anything. It's more like, you only whisper about it among close friends or total strangers. It feels like you're not supposed to speak of it, because you're not supposed to know about it, because it's not supposed to be in this world. They don't call it by any name. 'That which came before' is all they say about it. They say it took the entire state of Florida. They say it's older than the Earth. They say that something keeps it at bay on the edge of a labyrinth.”

“The Keeper?” said Zeck.

John shrugged. “Who can say? Now, as for the Colonel and whoever's left to come with him? The path through the labyrinth is like a cat's cradle, only the string is all tied up in a maze and all laid out straight at the same time, depending on your point of view and whether or not you can see in as many dimensions as an elder god. I can say this much, bad things will happen to those who stray from the path. Here in the village, and on the path, a second is a second, a day is a day, an inch is an inch. Off the path, between the strings of the cat's cradle? Your guess is as good as mine.”

“A spider's web, and we walked right into it,” Niewt muttered to himself.

“Let's err on the side of caution and assume they'll have no trouble navigating the labyrinth,” said Zeck. “We probably shouldn't stay past morning, if that long. I'd rather not cross paths with the Colonel again if we can help it. Not to mention the danger we'd be putting these people in if he finds his way here.”

“I have a feeling the Keeper will protect his people,” said John. “Whether he'll do the same for us, I couldn't say.”

A cheerful bloop and a synthesized arf cut through the tension in the room. “Bloodhound's all better,” said Steven. “I even made a few improvements. And I installed an equine port so we can plug it into one of the packhorses. That'll boost its antenna, and the navigation software is compatible, so we can just let the horses take us straight to the Cormorant. Assuming we make it there alive.”

“Brilliant,” said John. “I never could have done any of that.”

“Same here,” said Zeck. “Well done.”

“Any idea where it's pointing us?” said John.

“Well, its mapping system is offline,” said Steven, “due to the Cloud being all gummed up, and us being in this place. But I can say that it's pointing us in a more or less Southerly direction. Making a few assumptions about where we are, based on where we started and how long we've been traveling,-”

“Florida,” said Zeck.

“I'm afraid so,” said Steven.

“Well, I had a good run,” said John.

“What is Florida?” asked Niewt, pulling his attention from the fire.

“One of the old United States,” said Zeck. “Of all the states in the Forsaken Quarter, it's the one that was hit the hardest by the Retort.”

“That which came before,” said John quietly. “There's one more thing they say about it. Remember how I told you that some people occasionally come back from the Forsaken Quarter, and some of them aren't raving lunatics?”

“Yes?” said Zeck.

“One on thing, they all agree. Nobody comes back from Florida.”

* * *

Ouroboros's nose followed the trail of the deserters across the valley floor and into the concrete labyrinth.

“Keen eyes, everybody,” said the Colonel. “Be on your guard.”

“I don't like the looks of this, sir,” said Sheryl. “It feels like we're being lured into a trap.”

“Spiders don't get caught in webs, Lieutenant. There is no conceivable trap that could ensnare me.”

Sheryl thought about the spiderweb trap they were still wearing traces of, but didn't mention it.

The narrow passage seemed to twist and turn every few steps. They soon lost sight of the way they'd come in. Sheryl tried to keep track of the turns they made, but soon lost count. “But no, we've made no turns,” she thought.

Ouroboros plodded on with confidence. He barely looked up, keeping his nose close to the ground and letting the scent lead him. After following the tortuous path for what seemed like hours, Ouroboros pulled up short. He snuffled the air, tossing his head back with each sniff. He snorted, pawed the ground with his hooves. They were in the middle of a long corridor with numerous forks and side passages.

“What is it, boy?” said the Colonel, reaching down and patting the destrier's side. Ouroboros trotted along the passage, sniffing at each fork as he passed it. He snorted and tapped the ground in a simple code. “They tried to confuse the trail, eh? Ran around the maze like rats to muddy the scent? Well, it's just a matter of sorting out the false leads.” The Colonel pulled the reins and started to lead Ouroboros into one of the side passages.

“Sir,” said Sheryl, “they may have set traps along some of the corridors. They did take some items from the armory, and Strauss has a veritable bomb factory in his belly.”

“Yes, of course,” said the Colonel, as if he'd been the one to think of it. “We'll send one of the empty packhorses ahead.” He whistled and pointed at one of the horses. It trotted ahead of him into the side passage. For a moment, it seemed to shrink and stretch into the distance at the same time. An instant later, it was gone. Even the Colonel seemed taken aback. He whistled for the horse, but no answer came. “It doesn't respond when I ping it,” he said. “What the devil is this place?”

“It's an illusion,” said Solomon. “A simple cloaking spell. This is obviously the path they took, and they clumsily attempted to hide their tracks. The horse is right there.” She stepped into the corridor.

Sheryl shouted, “No!” and reached out to pull her back, but there was no time. Solomon was gone, vanished into the labyrinth.

* * *

The travelers woke to a pounding on the door. L'Oak burst in, not waiting for an invitation. “I've been sent to rouse you, pilgrims,” she said. Her tone was urgent. “Brother Tom has spied a party proaching the valley.”

“How many?” said John.

“At least six, and a lot of orses besides.”

“That's them,” said Zeck.

Their clothes were dry and still a little warm from the fire. They dressed as quickly as they could, leaving the robes folded neatly on a bed. Niewt took a moment to heat his tine in the coals of the fire and raise a tiny blister on his hand.

Sal and Cribbert were waiting for them outside with a small group of hooded townsfolk. “So your pilgrimage continues,” said Sal. “You'll be moving on this morning.”

“We could stay and fight,” said Zeck. “If they find their way here, it'll be our fault.”

“You did not come here on your own,” said L'Oak. “We guided your through the labyrinth. Gh'orek Thosh Amurga Pergin Foffnet cast his eye 'pon you and gave his blessing. We have greeted you as guests, and we will greet the next party in the manner of their choosing. We have ways of defending our home. And nobody shall harm this place so long as the Keeper watches over us.”

“You must go,” said Sal. “Your path does not end here. And you're almost as great a drain on the burrin supply as myself.” She gave them a smile.

“There are other ways than where we came in,” said L'Oak. “If you tell me where you wish to go, I'll find a path to get you closer. I 'sume not North, else you meet your chasers. Eastways lies the sea, but more miles than I know. I've never seen it. West, you'll find some lovely towns. Their elder gods are not so great as ours, though they might not feel the same.”

“As much as I'd love a trip to the beach right now, I'm afraid we must go South,” said Zeck. “Our path takes us to Florida.”

A gasp went up from the gathered townsfolk. “We do not speak of that place,” said Sal. “There lies that which came before. There is the Swamp of Ruin, where the worst transgressors are banished, but beyond that accursed bog, we don't even cast our minds' eyes.”

“Believe me, it's not by choice we go that way,” said John. “But that's where we've got to go if we want to see this through.”

L'Oak nodded. “Very well. Across the lake, then. A parting glance from the Keeper was obligated, anyhow. We will beseech Gh'orek Thosh Amurga Pergin Foffnet to show the way.”

At the edge of the dock, L'Oak poured a vial of kist into the water and started the incantation to summon the elder god. She faltered after a few words and had to start over. There was no grand entrance as before. The lake didn't heave with the presence of the eldritch deity. One eye stalk popped up like a periscope. It saw L'Oak standing there with the travelers. The rest of the Keeper's head appeared soon after, or at least as much as they'd seen the night before. There was no telling how much more of him lurked in the murky lake. “I sense it is time for our guests to depart,” he said. “And time to welcome others.”

“Those warriors what harry our guests soon approach. These pilgrims must travel on. I'm loathe to speak it, but their path takes them to... Florida.”

The elder god eyed the travelers. Then he eyed them again with a fresh set of peepers. Then he blinked, a monumental undertaking, and eyed them real hard this time. He chuckled. “Florida, eh? I've some inkling of what dwells there. Even I could not strike it down entire. My full strength was called upon to keep it at bay. A shame, to bring such ruin to a place of wild beauty and great ugliness. Your way will not be clear, nor easy, nor safe. I will show you the way in. You must find your own way out. I must take you to the other side of the lake. Come, climb into my maw.” He swam to the dock and opened his mouth exactly wide enough to accept the travelers, and no wider. His countless tongues slithered aside like hundreds of snakes. Those that couldn't move aside flattened against the floor of his damp, cave-like mouth.

“Best of luck to you, pilgrims,” said L'Oak. “May your path be long and fruitful.”

Zeck looked at John. John shrugged. Niewt's own mouth had dropped open. He shut it, then said, “Am I to understand, you expect us to climb into that thing's mouth and ride across the lake as if its head were a submarine?”

“He can hear us, you know,” said Steven. “Be polite.” Steven beckoned for the horses to follow him, and stepped into the squishy orifice.

“Kid's got a point,” said John. He followed Steven, careful not to catch his robe on the teeth that lined the edge.

“I don't believe it,” said Niewt.

“Well, I mean, if he'd wanted to eat us, he could have done it anytime, easily,” said Zeck. He stepped in. “Although I am reminded of the parable of the scorpion and the frog.”

Niewt still hesitated.

“I myself have seldom had the honor of being escorted by the Keeper,” said L'Oak. “You have my envy. It is an experience unlike any other.”

“It's either this, or answer to Colonel Destroyer,” said Zeck.

Niewt hesitated a moment longer, but finally stepped in. L'Oak bowed. The portal closed gently. The four of them expected complete darkness, but there was a faint reddish glow all around them. It seemed to emanate directly from the creature's saliva. Several tongues loosed themselves from the floor and walls and grabbed the party like tentacles. “I knew it,” said Niewt. “This was all a trap! I don't even have my armor.”

“Have no fear, young pilgrim,” said a voice like that of Gh'orek Thosh Amurga Pergin Foffnet, but smaller, softer, and very close. Niewt stifled a yelp. The voice came from a thick tongue-like thing that hung where an uvula might be in a more familiar mouth. It had a mouth of its own, lined with its own tiny teeth, behind which were another tongue. It had no eyes or ears that could be seen. “It's going to get a little jostly,” said the uvula, “but I'll hold you fast with my tongues. Sit tight. We'll be there soon enough.”

The vessel rocked and pitched, and they knew that they were underwater.

* * *

“Nobody move an inch!” The top hatch of Chad's rouncey opened up and he popped his head out. “Forgive me for taking such a liberty, sir, but I believe I know what this is.”

“Yes?” said the Colonel.

“It's a localized multidimensional spacetime fold, centrally stabilized, with infinitely vanishing thaumatically curved warps.”

“Ah, yes,” said the Colonel, as if it had been on the tip of his own tongue. “Of course.”

“Ouroboros has picked up the traitors' scent from the same space, only looped through a series of mutually recurring timelike curves. It would be prudent to keep an expendable horse ahead of us at all times. That way, we'll have ample warning if we take a wrong turn. Ouroboros should be able to sniff out the freshest trail with little trouble. As long as he can detect the scent trail with the least amount of degradation, we should be able to stay on the correct path.”

“What about Captain Solomon?” said Sheryl.

“I'm afraid there's no telling where or when she is,” said Chad. “Nor the horse that was lost. It's possible that she'll find her way back to us. But very unlikely, if my initial calculations are anywhere near accurate. Sorry, Lieutenant.”

“She acted rashly and taught herself a lesson,” said the Colonel. “No use dwelling on it. Sally forth!”

* * *

Niewt kept his eyes open, but his mouth was pressed shut so tightly his lips had vanished. He took the smallest breaths he could through his nose.

“It will be a few minutes,” said the Keeper through his uvula-like inner mouth. “I could go faster, but I wouldn't want to toss you about.”

“Thanks for that,” said Steven.

“You have a taste of Guglass about you, youngest one,” said the Keeper. “Are you familiar with he?”

“Yeah, he lives in an old mineshaft up where I'm from,” said Steven. “We call him the 'Eater of Sins.'”

The Keeper chuckled. “Is that what he's doing these days?”

“Well, he certainly has an appetite,” said Steven dourly.

“I expect he does. Bid him hello from me if you meet again.”

“Will do,” said Steven.

“You there,” said the Keeper. The dangling mouth turned to face Zeck. “There's something familiar about your taste. Are you certain you're not acquainted with the thaumatic arts?”

Zeck cleared his throat. “That would be my friend John, here. If you're looking for a wizard, he's the most wizardly man I know.”

“And a powerful one he is, at that. Although his path has twisted and curled back on itself. This one, too.” The mouth snaked over to hang in front of Niewt. “The fire is strong in him. Ah, but the hotter the flame, the briefer the candle. You healed the lizard, no?” Niewt gave him a quizzical look, but kept his mouth shut. The Keeper swung his inner mouth back over to Zeck. Another tongue slithered up and lightly grazed Zeck's cheek.

“Hey,” said Zeck. “Please ask before you lick.”

“How rude of me,” said the Keeper. He withdrew the tongue. “It's not just wizard or lizard,” he said. “It's something else. Something I used to know very well, but have not tasted in eons. You were hatched from an egg, yes?”

Zeck looked askance at the uvula. “I'm sure I don't know what you mean,” he said.

“Have it your way.”

“If I may ask,” said Zeck, “Sal mentioned that you may be able to restore the hand that was taken from me.”

“I cannot restore that which has been lost,” said the Keeper. “But I can replace such things. If I did so, you would be bound to me, in one way or another. Which is to say, your path would bend always back this way, be it sooner or later. If you desired, I could give you a draught of ichor that would lend you a hand where yours has parted.” The tongue that held Zeck's left arm tightened its grip, just a bit. “Ah, but your hand still lives. It may yet find its way to you.”

“What do you mean, it still lives?”

“Precisely that,” said the Keeper, and didn't elaborate further.

There was a momentary rising sensation, then a gentle stop. “We have arrived at the far shore,” said the Keeper.

A crack appeared in the reddish gloom. Daylight slipped in through the spreading lips. The tongues retreated, releasing the four men and their horses. Niewt disembarked first, practically jogging out of the Keeper's mouth.

A stone's throw from the edge of the water stood an archway ten feet high. The path beyond led downward, a stone-lined tunnel descending into darkness so thick it seemed to push the daylight out. The Keeper's mouth space collapsed into a shape more conducive to conversation, though it still was crowded with an unlikely number of tongues and teeth. “Yonder lies your path, if you are to venture into the place that once was lovely and terrible Florida and meet with that which came before,” he said. “The tunnel goes down into darkness, then up into the light, and then you will be on your way. It will be some distance, but not so far as it seems. You will know you have been there for some time when you first think of turning back. By then, you will be unable to do so.”

“We thank you for the ride, and for all you have told us, Gh'orek Thosh Amurga Pergin Foffnet,” said John.

“Yeah, cheers, mate,” said Steven.

“Yes, I can honestly say that's now my fifth favorite way to travel,” said Zeck. “Your help is greatly appreciated.”

“It was my pleasure,” said the Keeper. “Now, this is as far as I can escort you, but I can offer you some parting words. I do not know what you will find when you enter that place. It seeks them out, you know. The things that will entice you. The things that will chase you. Things you desire. Things you fear. Things you love. Things that will keep you there, or keep you running. Whatever you see, whatever you hear, remember this: it may not be true, but it is real. Keep each other in sight, and you'll have your best chance of making it through.”

John bowed. “We are in your debt.”

“No, no,” said the Keeper. “I do not traffic in debt any longer.”

“We should get on the road,” said Niewt. “There's no telling how soon the Colonel will find the town.”

“I hope that bastard doesn't cause you too much trouble,” said Steven.

“I am not concerned for myself,” said the Keeper. “As for Shorem Co'Horen and the people therein, I shall not allow the slightest harm to befall them. Your concern is appreciated, however.” He pushed off from the shore and gave a farewell wave of his tentacles. “Travel well, pilgrims. It is a shame you'll all die soon.”

After the elder god had sunk back into his lake and the four of them were saddled on their horses, Zeck broke the silence. “You don't think he really knows when we'll die, do you?”

“He's an elder being,” said John. “Unfathomably old. From his perspective, everything will die soon.”

* * *

“Ho there, pilgrims,” Tom called from the watchtower on the bridge.

“Ho yourself,” answered the Colonel. He whistled for the lone packhorse of the vanguard to halt. There were only a few horses left now besides the ones they rode upon, most of them lost to false starts and bad turns in the labyrinth, but they'd managed not to lose any more riders along the way.

“Welcome to our humble country,” said Tom. “What brings spiders on orseback on such a twisty path?”

“We are in pursuit of four fugitives,” said the Colonel. “An old wizard, a young man dressed as a pirate, a sullen-looking boy, and a young soldier in religious garb with burn marks on his head and neck.”

“Fugitives, you say?” said Tom. “What crimes have they committed?”

“The charges against them are none of your concern,” said the Colonel. “If you are harboring them, you risk prosecution yourselves. Hand them over, and your people will be spared.”

“Would that I could give what I no longer have,” said Tom. “Four pilgrims of that description passed this way last night, but they have since moved on.”

“Know that if you are lying, there will be most serious consequences. We will be searching your homes and storehouses. Know also that this is wartime, and we will be replenishing our stocks as we see fit.”

“Would that I could admit you to our village,” said Tom. “But not a one passes through these doors without first being seen by the Keeper.”

“Who or what is the Keeper?” said the Colonel.

“You'll meet him by and by at the end of the pier. Will I send an escort for you?”

“I need no escort,” said the Colonel. “And I need no permission.” He spurred Ouroboros forward, under the bridge to one of the wooden doors that led to the village proper. At a signal from the Colonel, the destrier turned his rear to the door and gave it a kick that should have shattered a wooden door to splinters. Instead, the horse whinnied in pain and staggered away, jostling the Colonel. The door stood firm.

“I would not recommend that,” called Tom from his watchtower. “The doors will open for you only if the Keeper deems you welcome.”

Ouroboros whimpered like a wounded dog. “Very well,” the Colonel growled, “we shall abide by your ritual. For now.”

He waved for the company to follow him to the end of the pier. They dismounted and lined up neatly double file, with the Colonel and Chad at the front. Sheryl and Irving were behind them, with Bob at the back with the horses.

“Well?” said the Colonel. He turned around and shouted up at Tom. “I see no boat. No swimmers. No island. If this is a trap, it's a poor one; I cannot be drowned. Where is this Keeper of yours?”

Beside him, Chad stifled a gasp. The soldiers wore their masks, but the Colonel noticed how they staggered back. He turned back around to the water. Gh'orek Thosh Amurga Pergin Foffnet had risen.

“Am I meant to be impressed?” said the Colonel.

“You are meant to be whatever you are,” said the Keeper. “I would expect no more or less.”

“I suppose introductions are in order. I am Colonel Destroyer, faithful servant of the Churlian Empire.”

“I am Gh'orek Thosh Amurga Pergin Foffnet, known as the Keeper to my people here.”

“I suppose you're one of those people who style themselves as 'elder gods?'”

“I am known as such to some,” said the Keeper.

“That gives us a place to start, at least. Look, I'll get straight to the point, as I haven't the time to chat or dicker. We are in pursuit of four fugitives. My horse has tracked them to your town. I demand entrance. If you refuse us, I will cross this water to yonder village on my own, and I do not fear the likes of you.”

“I believe you do not,” said the Keeper. “Though you would not make it ten feet through the water. As for the four you seek, they dwell with us no longer. They have passed out of my realm, and I could not speak of their whereabouts even if I meant to.”

“Then you will show us the way they departed. And any aide you gave them you will give to us.”

“So confident in your assertions,” said the Keeper. “Why would I do any of that for you? You've given me no reason to do aught but turn you back to the labyrinth.”

“I know about your kind,” said the Colonel. “I've met a few of your ilk, and I know well what motivates you. I'm prepared to make an offering. Chad, bring the loot chest.”

Chad led the packhorse containing the Colonel's loot to the end of the dock. The Colonel lifted out the chest himself and set it before the elder god. He opened the lid, letting the Keeper get an eyesful of the gold and gems therein.

“These things have no value here,” said the Keeper. “Nor have they any value to you. Do not toss this trash into my lake.”

“Of great value to me is my sword,” said the Colonel. He unsheathed his weapon and presented it to the Keeper with a slight bow. “It is yours, to wield or destroy, or do with as you please.”

“Of slight value to you, but none to me. What use would I have for such a thing? You would surely have a new weapon forged before you had the time to miss this one. You know nothing of sacrifice, Destroyer. Turn from me and be gone from this place.” He started to sink back into his lake.

“Wait,” said the Colonel. “I beseech you. Allow me one more offer. I have shown a pride and shallow manner disrespectful of a being such as yourself. I beg of you, let me show you that I do know the meaning of sacrifice.”

The Keeper drew ever so slightly closer to the Colonel. “My curiosity is piqued,” he said. “What will you give of yourself?”

The Colonel stepped behind Chad and placed a hand on his forehead. With no hesitation, he raised his sword to the squire's throat.

“Do not do this!” the Keeper roared. A cluster of tentacles burst from the water, an instant too late.

The cut was deep, severing the paths of blood and wind. With no voice left to cry out, Chad's mouth gaped soundlessly. The Colonel pulled the squire's head backward so the blood would spray far and wide. The Keeper was showered in it. Droplets arced into his cavernous mouth. A curtain of dark red rippled behind his eyes.

“How dare you do this thing here!” His voice shook the very molecules. “How dare you spill blood in this way.”

“Yes, well, now that I have, I believe I'm owed fair payment for my sacrifice to you.”

“You are a fool,” said the Keeper. A dozen tongues lashed out and yanked Chad's body into his mouth. The squire was gone in a single swallow. “For this, we may not harm each other on this day, nor our followers. For this blood and this life, I am bound to give you one boon and one truth. I will take you to the doorway through which the ones you seek took their leave. That is your boon. Once you leave this place, you never shall return. That is your truth. Step into my mouth and we'll have done with this.”