The Iron
Crown

We went through narrow passages, lined with tapestries of battles and hunting scenes, we passed through a large portal, where the way opened out, cast in iron in the form of two rudders.

We ascended many a flight of stairs, at first carved out of the rock, then flimsy hanging stairways through a large vaulted cavern, and at last coming to more impressive constructions of marble inlaid with precious stones.

At length we halted before a seeming cage of old, in which there reclined the most piteous broken hulk of a woman I have ever seen, or surely ever will.

Among the anonymous limbs and peninsulas of greying wrinkled flesh the only seemingly living parts were two tiny eyes which shone as if with wisdom, blended with the joy of suffering.

Somewhere in the huddle of skin a mouth opened, and screeching words were heard: "Who would pass the Gate of Billson?" Many times I repeated my name, my fathers and my quest, but the tiny eyes did not blink, and it seemed that I had not yet said enough.

I named the King, named the few who composed my pitiful consort, except Denis, whom I noticed for the first time to be absent.

But the old mouth spoke no further and yet it seemed that there was more I should say.

I began to detail the happenings of the quest, the Mortuaries of Abbus, the Silent Valley, and the wretched deaths of my men and the beloved Wollis.

Still I had not said enough.

I had left Denis out of my account as he was not there to lend credence, and now I began to wish that I had mentioned him.

But to have left something out and then to reveal it would be a sign of weakness.

Yet still the old half-human stirred not, yet seemed she to be awaiting a reply.

The men and the courtiers about on this dismal stair began to shift uneasily, for they had waited two days and a night while I told my tale and many knew what I had left out.

But still the woman waited.

Some of the men began to scratch, others to blow through their hands.

I offered excuse after excuse, and bade the woman tell what was to be said before we could be admitted.

But she sat, silent.

At length my anger grew beyond my control.

Parting the lapels of my new and golden jacket I produced the scroll, wrenched open the cage and struck her with it.

Filthy dark blood burst forth as she sagged, lifeless, and at last the great door beyond which lay our goal creaked open.

In we rushed.