Nalasa chose a direction at random, and found herself in an ancient burial chamber. Large urns lined the walls. She moved to search one, but Ravyn interrupted her. "This is a dead end. Let's get going." In direct contradiction to his words, he stopped in the corridor outside to retrieve his arrows.

"Ravyn," Nalasa began hesitantly.

He didn't even turn. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Fine," she snapped, taken aback. "I'll compliment your fighting skill some more convenient time, then!"

The next corridor they tried opened out into a roughly round chamber with a stone ramp descending down in a long spiral, slick with ice. "Well," Nalasa said, "That's going to be fun to get down."

Ravyn held up a hand to silence her, and knelt to peer over the edge. "There's something down there. I can hear it moving." He crawled several yards down the ramp, then gestured for her to join him.

Nalasa did so, following his gaze, and swore. "That's a Deathlord," she whispered. "I've fought them before, but... I'd rather not, especially in such a well-lit chamber. There's nowhere to hide."

"It's only armed with a sword. I'll shoot it from up here."

"They can Shout. Knock your bow right out of your hands."

"Damn." Ravyn scowled. "Damn the Voice, and everything that-"

He stopped abruptly as he realized that in his frustration, he had forgotten to whisper. The Deathlord peered around, then began shuffling toward the bottom of the ramp. Nalasa and Ravyn looked at one another, eyes wide.