What he receives is this:

Does the wall tumble down when the mason falls from grace?
Can a tyrant build a gate that shields his peasants from attack?
Can a demon hate a devil, while a deva hates a fiend?
Do the colors of the standard ever change and change again?

"What in the world does that mean?" complains Malachite grumpily over a cold brunch of salt pork and hard biscuits, a big change from the gourmet food that was destroyed the night before. "Whatever happened to a nice simple weal or woe?"

Velendo looks lost in thought as he stares at the paper. "Calphas' wisdom is perfect," he says slowly, "but my interpretation of it leaves a little bit to be desired. This is how my mind understood the divine message. Let's see if we can figure it out."

Taking it literally, they decide that:

* No. Normal walls don't usually fall just because the mason has become corrupted. * Yes. It's certainly possible for a tyrant to care for and shield people weaker than himself. * Yes. Demons do hate devils, and devas hate fiends. (They don't discuss the concept that devas may not bother to distinguish between devils and demons in their hatred.) * Yes. The colors of a standard (a flag) can certainly change, especially when it's captured or someone has raised a false flag to fool the enemy. "But will fighting him bring weal or woe? And what does it mean?" asks Agar.

Velendo scratches his chin. "It looks like most of the answers are 'yes', which suggests we should go ahead. But I can't help but think I'm missing something. Tao, when is the next time you can talk to Galanna?"

"A few more days, unless we have a whole lot of things to ask. I only get an audience with her twice a year."

They discuss what else they know of Kellharin. As far as the group knows, he's an armor-wearing undead dwarf who doesn't look like a true ghoul. He's either a powerful wizard or a cleric, and the armor suggests a cleric; either way, he's deeply religious. He can send his consciousness into other undead. He's not located deep in the underdark; instead, he's apparently trapped in the abandoned Dwarven city of Tuz'zud nearer to the surface. They know that a commune indicated that going through Tuz'zud was the most efficient path to reach the heart of the White Kingdom. Nolin has heard ancient dwarvish chants about the fact that Tuz'zud was abandoned, but not one of the epic chants ever said why. He has also heard that the city was built as a defense, and held dwarven warriors that could hold back darkness.

That makes Nolin think of something. "You know, we have our very own dwarven loremaster, don't we?" he asks. "Let's go ask him about this ebon door. Also, Mara needs to drop her mace off with the dwarven weaponsmith to get it fixed."

While the weaponsmith is alternately oohing over the mace's quality and clucking his tongue at the acid damage, Nolin tracks down Glibstone. The jester is sitting glumly on a set of steps, chin settled firmly on his fists. He turns his head at Nolin's approach, bells jingling, and after the customary joke or two Nolin explains that he wants information on what happened to Tuz'zud. Glibstone's face closes tight, his eyes wary.

"No. Tuz'zud is thuruk . . . that is to say, taboo. We do not discuss it. It is dead to us." He crosses his arms in front of his chest in stubborn defiance. The jingling of his bells somewhat spoils the effect.

Nolin looks at him in confusion. "What do you mean, taboo? Why is it taboo? We need to know."

"That information is thuruk as well."

"What are you talking about, man? You're a loremaster! No information should be taboo!" Glibstone looks at the half-elf in fury.

"I would not expect you to understand. There is certain information which is best left forgotten. There is certain information which leads dwarves into corruption or temptation, while there would be no threat if they had never been tempted. It is the Loremaster's duty to guard the knowledge that must not be passed down, just as it is his duty to pass down the information that should be known."

"Oh, for crying out loud." Nolin rolls his eyes. "Don't you have the slightest bit of curiosity about forbidden knowledge?"

Glibstone is quite certain of his answer. "No."

"Well, is there any information about Tuz'zud which you can tell us?"

The dwarf considers. "It was once a large city, more than 200 years ago," he ventures. "They suffered a small plague that killed some 30% of the population. Within a hundred years of that time, the remaining inhabitants left Tuz'zud and went elsewhere. That is all."

"Well, thanks," Nolin says dubiously. "They didn't delve too deep and awaken something, did they?"

"What?" asks Glibstone, confused. "Of course not."

"Oh, good. That's a nice change," says Nolin as he gets up to leave.

"You must not go there!" warns Glibstone. "It is far from here, and it is forbidden."

"Thanks," Nolin repeats, and walks back to the courtyard.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

By the time Nolin gets back, Agar has Kellharin's image reflected in his scrying mirror and is duplicating the image with a minor illusion. "He doesn't seem to have noticed me," Agar announces. "Either he's clever, sloppy or overconfident. I've cast detect magic through the mirror; his armor and shield and weapon are extremely magical, and he has some other magic items, but I don't think I'm looking at a screen or false vision."

Kellharin in person is a stocky dwarf clad in heavy armor and wielding a massive double-headed warhammer. Agar watches him walk slowly along the edge of a great pillared hall. The dwarven knight stands before empty wall niches that might have once held statues, pausing at each before continuing on. Through the mirror, Agar can see a heavy track worn in the floor. Kellharin has clearly done this before.

"Teleports ready?" Velendo asks. Kiri, Tao and Agar all nod. "Defensive spells all cast?" Everyone nods again. "Nolin?"

The bard casts mass haste, three people cast teleport, and the eleven heroes vanish. Behind them, the scrying mirror continues to show the scene for just a few seconds more, and then it too peters out. The lamp-lit room goes completely silent.