The passageway ran on for miles. For further that he could ever have imagined. Mile upon mile of scorched black rock marked his path and guided him on his way. The further he went, the hotter his path became as he neared the mountain's core.

After a short while Varrus paused to catch his breath. He was breathing hard and his robes were drenched with sweat. He desperately searched his memory for the words to a spell of cooling. As he did so, an involuntary impulse ran through ...