The Dark Frontier

A Moonsea Adventure

Chapter 9

The Hunt

Ezeroh Keep, Mirtul 22

            Cosmina stood with her back to the door, arms crossed, giving a very good demonstration of the ‘Mooneye stare.’ The men before her, cramping the hallway, flinched back a bit. They were at an impasse.
            “Come, Cosmina,” Baljev tried to reason with his wife - an obvious sign of his desperation - “the Lord, he sent to us the message; ve must obey him, yes?” The pleading look on his face belied the incredible chutzpah it had taken him to question the dominant partner in their marriage. Cosmina’s stony expression changed not a whit, though she did understand the position her husband was in.
            “Bah! Baljev, ve are not vomen, come to beg some puffed up hen’s permiss-“ the rougher man’s voice cut off, becoming a choking sound, as Cosmina’s fist connected with his throat.
            “You vill not insult my duty or my husband, Mishka! He at least is married! You are unved men, and vill not enter this room to vake the maga!” She sniffed, returning to her crossed-arm position, as if both daring the men to defy her and dismissing any possibility that they might take such a dare.
            The two sides stood there for several minutes, unmoving and silent, save for Mishka wheezing faintly from his position on the floor. Finally, Cosmina came to a reluctant compromise.
            “If the Lord says she is to travel, then the maga, she vill travel. I vill go in and vake her. Vhen she is ready, Baljev and I, ve vill bring her to her horse. You go now, and see the animal is ready. Baljev will guard the door.” She glared at them until the men collected Mishka and dragged him down the stairs, leaving Baljev alone with his wife. Cosmina gave him a worried look, then turned and quietly made her way into the room, closing the door behind her.
            The maga lay as she had before, flat on her back beneath the blankets, shivering and shaking. Cosmina stood for a few moments and just looked at her charge. The strong moonsea woman was torn by the still unfamiliar sensation of conflicting emotions. The maga was an outlander, and a witch, and hopelessly stupid about life in the ‘real world’ of the moonsea. She represented most of what Cosmina had been taught was wrong (and evil) with the godless outlands. Still, the maga had been kind, generous, deferential (to a fault, quite honestly), and now was obviously in need of care.
            Cosmina sighed. In this at least, she had no choice. The Lord Tjenitjérs had sent for the maga to be prepared for travel and brought to the keep, before sunrise. And so Cosmina did as she must, and began dressing the unresponsive, shivering woman before her.

            Rhia felt herself lifted to a sitting position, but it was the splash of cold water to the face that really woke her. Not so much ‘to the face,’ as ‘all over,’ really. The wave swept her across the deck and into the railing. Spluttering, she got to her feet, one hand and holding the rail, as a good sailor does, the other with a death-grip on the free end of a rope line. A habitual duck of the head flipped her soaking hair from her face.
            Wait - deck, rail? How did she wind up on a ship?
            It wasn’t just any ship, she saw, but a beautiful, well-kept sloop, cutting through sapphire blue waters, sails singing in the wind, white spray flying high enough to wash the deck in foam. Standing confidently at the wheel was a figure out of legend - out of mythology, to be exact.
            “Valkur,” she whispered.
            “Indeed lass! It’s always nice to be recognized, and not before time, either!”
            The voice was rich and rolling - the kind of voice that would cut easily through the roughest weather, carrying commands clearly to the highest point in any rigging, though Rhia saw no crew on this ship. Like the figure from which it sprang, the voice emanated confidence, and a joy seldom known to mortal men. As it should, for Valkur, god of adventurous sailing, epitomized the daring sea captain who could sail his ship through anything the Deities of Fury might unleash - and come out smiling on the other end. At the look on Rhia’s face, he let out one of his great belly laughs, rich, deep and rolling, just as legend described.
            Rhia was confused; she tried to think back and figure out where she had been, how she got here, and came up blank. Valkur laughed again.
            “Well lass, I grew weary of chasing through your dreams, so I brought you here. We have important things to discuss, and little enough time to do it in. You’ve put yourself in danger, you know - danger you are not yet prepared to face.” He sighed, a serious look rolling across his features like a storm cloud. “I had expected a few more years, but you stowed away on this voyage, and there’s naught else to do for it now but ride out the storm.” Instantly, the smile was back, and he laughed once more. “And why I was surprised by this, I cannot fathom.”
            Rhia felt herself smile a bit, her deity’s laugh was infectious, but she was still confused, and more than a little worried by his words.
            “Um - “
            “Just Valkur will do, lass. I do so get tired of ‘Mighty One this,’ and ‘Mighty One that.’ Valkur will do, or, in your case, perhaps Captain, if you must.”
            “Oh. Well, um, Captain, then. Captain, what’s going on?”
            “An adventure, lass, of course! A daring exploration of seas never before seen. Of course, there’s risk, there is always risk, but without risk life is empty.”
            ‘Without risk, life is empty.’ Rhia could have said the words in unison with her god, for they were part of the dogma of Valkur. A dogma that Rhia had grown up in, without having to be taught it, according to her father. It was comforting, somewhat, but there was a corollary.
            “But, Captain, ‘Rely not on Valkur's hand to always extract you from difficulties, for such is coddling and leads to a lack of challenge and the room to grow.’ What have I done to deserve such coddling?”
            Once more the booming laugh and confident smile. “Coddling? Not this time, lass. You’ve caught yourself in a right nasty storm, and without some aid, no one could navigate the course you’ve set for yourself. Besides, you asked me for help. Will you question me now that I’ve offered?” Thunderclouds threatened again.
            “No! I mean, no, Captain. I seek only to understand.”
            “Well then, make fast that line you’ve been holding like a lubber, and get over here to the wheel, we’ve a storm to chase. I’ll tell you what I can as we go. Now, snap to, sailor!”
            Rhia jumped to obey her captain’s orders, the move an instinctive response to the voice of command on deck. She quickly secured the line in its place on the rail, then almost leapt to join Valkur next to the ship’s wheel. She watched as he expertly drove the bow of the ship through increasingly choppy seas, towards clouds painted purple by a setting sun.

            They gathered in the morning on the list of the keep, being sized up by the Warden with the bodies of two bandits hanging from the walls behind her. The big outlander and the crazy gypsy, the little scout who still started at noises from the Forest, a couple of the sellspears Anya had decided to bring along at the last moment, and poor Rhia huddled within her cloak and a blanket in a miserable, shapeless, sneezing lump, with Krel attendant. Rosjevo was conspicuously absent.
            Those without horses rode double with those who had, spreading their gear among the more lightly burdened animals. Unwilling to wait any longer, Anya led them along the hoof-churned trail that would take them to the Phlan Path. Her long years as a scout were evident in both her blithe disregard for the dark Forest and the easy skill with which she picked their way around hazards. Having passed the sellspears trudging around the mounted clergy hours before despite the slow pace of the burdened horses, they were the first to reach the road, just where Anya had remembered the company's campsite. Moving on, Anya dismounted and searched for the trail she had left. It was simple enough to find where she had run into the company's scouts, but by the time darkness fell she was forced to admit defeat. Her own tracks had been washed away.
            They camped with the howling of wolves as their music. Anya made sure they built a large fire, explaining that it would keep off the bugbirds, and they stayed warm and safe until morning.

            In the forest near the Phlan Path, a shivering, unresponsive Rhia was wrapped into her bedding and placed near the fire, to keep warm. Certain members of the party exchanged worried looks. Their maga, both a feared unknown quantity and the best weapon they had against the demon magics of the bandits they hunted, had been unresponsive all day. She had been tied to her horse and sickly when the peshka had brought her to the keep that morning, and had not gotten noticeably better all day. She hadn’t even been able to feed herself. Disquieted, they made their ways to their own bedrolls.
            In the darkness, Rhianna Morrolan smiled.

The Phlan Path, Mirtul 23

            Thaurlann started forward when he awoke, not trusting his safety until he confirmed the surroundings of the campsite with its dwindling fire consumed by the low morning fog.
            <"Those days in the wilderness made you jumpy,"> he told himself, taking in a deep breath to calm his spirit. Thaurlann slowly kneeled, stretching his arms out until he was completely prone.
            "Praise be to Bane this glorious morning, and may he lead us to our prey so that we might serve His justice upon them."
            Spielos watched Thaurlann force himself awake. A dry throat and full had done him the same favor a short time earlier. While he loved to entertain, the subdued storytelling he was doing as they camped at night lent itself to sharing wineskins all to well.
            Best to enjoy it while you can, he mused, odds are good you're going to die in the coming battle. Sighing, he took out his drum and checked the skin. It was in good shape, but with all of the moisture in the air, there was a chance it could go bad. Since he was going to die soon, he wouldn't have a chance to make another skin, and a broken instrument with nobody to care for it was a sad thing indeed. With great care, he rubbed some animal fat onto the skin to keep it supple.
            Unhappy about being back in the forest again Aksana had tossed and turned all night. Watching the blond outlander awake in a similar manner somehow made her feel better, although his cheery outlook this early in the morning made her feel a bit nauseous. She much preferred working at night to all of this early morning stuff. Perhaps sharing her opinion, the sellspears gave everyone sour looks, but kept the most sour for the Warden.
            Huddling in her blanket she looked around at the others wondering what to do next. A grumble from her stomach convinced her that eating was top of the list. Not having any idea how to gather or cook anything in this gods-forsaken forest she settled for rummaged through her pack until she found some of her dried rations.
            After a few minutes of care, Spielos was satisfied that the skin wouldn't mold over. Softly, he tapped out a few beats. When he noticed Aksana chewing her food, a bright grin broke across his face. With a soft chuckle, he matched his beats to the movement of her jaw, tapping softly, thock-chuck, thock-chuck, thock-chuck as it moved up and down.
            The tapping of the drum slowly worked itself into her sleep-numbed brain. Her lips twitched as she tried to suppress a smile. Finally she could no longer contain it and a giggle slipped out. Smothering the laugh with another bite she began to vary her chewing. A mischievous look at Spielos challenged him to match her now.
            "This game is not fair," Spielos laughed, "but it should not be that hard, either." Smiling, he matched the motions of Aksana's jaw with a simple rhythm, enjoying the feel of the sharkskin drum under his fingers. Onboard the ship, many of the sailors engaged in games such as this; pointless diversions to pass the time in between backbreaking labors. For one brief instant, Spielos could smell the salt air and hear the caws of the seagulls and the roar of the surf.
            Reality crashed back in on him. With a light flourish, he finished up his song and stood up. "Good morning, Aksana," he said bowing. "Enjoy your breakfast." He turned and walked away, among the groggy sellswords, beating his drum and singing softly. Sighting the Warden, he made his way towards her.
            Aksana watched him walk away feeling much better about the day. She finished up her meager breakfast and packed up her few belongings. Rearranging her saddlebags Aksana carefully checked over her small crossbow to be sure that it had not become damaged by traveling through the damp forest. She placed her spare bolts near the top where she would be able to get to them quickly if she needed them. At the same time she whispered a quiet prayer that she would not need them at all.
            Feeling a bit self-conscious she positioned Raisa between her and the rest of the company as she checked over her various daggers, making sure that they were buckled on securely and slid out of their sheathes smoothly. Feeling that she had done what little she could to prepare herself for the coming day she gave Raisa a pat on the nose and looked about to see if the others were ready to move yet.
            After attending to Lightning, Thaurlann began donning his armor, marveling once more at how little his arm and leg felt pain as he strapped everything on. The craftsmanship of the new armor only added to his sense of renewal, and as he took another deep breath he finally felt ready to face the day. He strode confidently over to his commander's sleeping area and peered cautiously to see if she had awoken.

            In the cold drizzle of the morning, no one noticed Rhianna Morrolan, who lay in her blankets, shivering. Pale blue eyes open, staring sightlessly into the coals of the night’s fire, her face was slack, as if a part of her were *missing* somehow. But for shivering, she did not move.
            When the orders were given to eat and break camp, she did nothing. The sell-spears would not come near her, and the rest seemed too busy with their own needs. In silence, Rhianna noticed nothing.

            “You look better already, lass. I was afraid you wouldn’t put the thing down at all.”
            Rhia cocked an eyebrow at the man-god standing beside her. Despite his statement before, Valkur had said nothing to her as the ship sailed through the night. Still, it had been enough to enjoy the feel of the sea again. The pitch and roll of a solid deck flexing under her feet, the song of the wind in the sails and rigging above her; yes, it had been a good night. She felt better, indeed.
            “Put what thing down, Captain?”
            “Ah, well. You’re still not seeing it yet, are you?” Valkur sighed, “We don’t have time for pictures and dreams any more. Another day and you won’t be strong enough to make it back. Very well,” he nodded, frowning as well, as if he had made an uncomfortable decision. “I will tell you what I can, and we will just have to hope your mind can take the strain.”
            Rhia’s good feelings fled from her like shreds of cloud before a gale wind. When a god spoke of such things, one was apt to get a bit nervous. With a sober look she met Valkur’s eyes.
            “Ah, none of that, we have to be watching our course, now don’t we? Here, you take the wheel. Two points south of West, and hold it steady, no matter what. No matter what, you understand me lass?”
            As with any conversation between a mortal and a god, the words of deity held extra meaning, and Rhia knew it. Grimly, she took the giant wheel in her hands and stood firm, testing the pull of the rudder. “Two points south, aye Capt’n.”
            Valkur laughed. “You do have the spirit, bless me, you do at that. There is a chance, by the rolling waves, there is a chance yet.” He stepped away from the wheel, walked to the railing, and spoke silently to the dolphins he found pacing them there. Dolphins always made him smile, went the legends, and this time at least, they were true. After a few moments, he turned away and spoke to Rhia. His voice was soft, but still clear.
            “Lass, you’re not completely whole any more.”

            Anya was a little depressed. Even though she knew that there was only a shadow of a chance that a trace of her midnight run remained, she hoped the gods would show her the way. But the gods never give their help lightly, do they? They like strength, and isn't finding your own way a sign of strength? She sighed. Still, a little help would have been nice, but she wasn't about to quit when their trek had all but started.
            No. Her thirst for vengeance would not allow her to turn around and head back to Ezeroh. Not now. They would keep going.
            She stood and stretched the sleepiness from her limbs while Spielos played the drums. She didn't think it was a good idea, but she decided to let him. He probably wouldn't listen to her even if she did tell him to stop. Not to mention the insubordinate way the sellspears were looking at her. Leadership issues. She pushed the thought away. One depression at a time.
            As she rummaged through her backpack, looking to break her fast, she noticed the foreigners walking over to her. She watched them approached, marvelling at all the little differences between them and Moonsea men. She wondered how different life in the southlands was, to make people like this. Perhaps she would go someday, after she had carved up Mandrake's genitals, peeled the skin from his chest and ripped the eyeballs from his head with her fingers. With that pleasant thought in mind, she took a bite from the nut and honey bar she had found and waited for the foreigners to speak their mind.

            Thaurlann politely waited until Anya had finished swallowing before he spoke. In the time he delayed and watched her mouth chew, his mind started to lose focus, until his well-planned missive dissolved into a muddled, "Good to see you this morning."
            Anya frowned, uncertain. Had they not seen each other the day before and this night when they changed watch? Finally she shrugged it off as one more strange foreign custom.
            Thaurlann realized as the words left his mouth how inappropriate they sounded. He stuttered out a follow up, his words becoming sharper as he continued. "I am prepared to ride out whenever you give the word. I will be glad to scout ahead, or perform any other duty as needed." He finally closed his mouth and lowered his head in deference, waiting for a response.
            "Very vell, soldier," Anya said, "tell the others ve leave as soon as they have eaten. Rhia vill be the only one to ride today. The forest vill be too thick. Then you can put out the fire and check the horses' hooves. " She didn't hesitate in assigning him the tasks and listed them nonchalantly. Then she took another bite of her bar and turned to Spielos. "Yes, gypsy? Vhat is it?"
            "Call me Spielos," the white haired gypsy grinned. "If I'm to fight and die for you, it is the least you can do. I have come to ask you what you know of gypsies, so I can help you with your plan. The more we know about each other, the more bandits we can kill," he finished, grinning broadly. Silently, he calculated what he would do if she attacked him; after all everyone else in this gods blasted land seemed to want to when he talked to them more than once.
            Anya thought about the question a little bit. She had to admit she knew very little of gypsies and wondered what one could do to help 'kill bandits'. "Aside from their music, singing and dancing, I know nothing of gypsies," she admitted candidly to Spielos. "How do you think you can help?"
            Spielos sighed. "First and foremost," he began, "I made my way as a caravan guard and a sailor before I took up my current trade. I do know how to fight, but I prefer not to if it can be helped. Second, I did make it from The Dragon Coast to here- alone, I might add. Third, I can play songs which help those around me perform better in many ways. Fourth, and if what I hear is true, I can cause a mage to fail in their spellcasting, if things go my way. We'll need that if the bandits do have a mage with them, eh?" he finished, grinning like a fox.
            Anya arched an eyebrow. Cause a mage to fail in spellcasting? Images of a grinning ghost elf came up in her mind. That was interesting indeed. She wanted to know more, but before she could ask a question, noises from the forest signalled someone approaching.
            She rose and drew her sword. Whether it be friend or foe, you could take no chances in the Moonsea.
            Thaurlann had been busying himself with the tasks Anya has appointed, but when he heard the sword drawn, his attention immediately drew back to her. He released his own sword from its scabbard and marched towards her.
            Even with the dampening effect of the perpetual drizzle the jingle of the horses harness and hooves plodding heavily in the mud were audible before the newcomers came into view. They rode in silence save for the sounds made by their mounts, one large figure and one small, both swathed in thick woolen cloaks on if not identical then very similar black stallions.
            The big one- and he was a large man indeed, even discounting the fact that he was mounted- was clearly wearing heavy armor under his cloak, the black greaves and articulated, armored boot beading water as it dripped down from his sodden cloak. He wore Bane's holy symbol over his heart- a clenched fist leaking rays of light- on a medallion dangling from a long chain. A long, dark brown beard, cut in the current noble fashion, was the only other feature visible with his hood drawn up to ward off the drizzle.
            The smaller one was harder to make out. With the thick wool cloak and bulky cold weather clothing it was harder to discern any features. The stout leather boots turned down at the knee to reveal their fleecy lining and the thick woolen mittens could have belonged to anyone, man or woman. This one's face was impossible to see with the way the hood of the cloak cast a shadow over its face. Its only distinguishing feature was the disc that hung from a chain over its heart- a black circle surrounded by a purple corona, the holy symbol of Shar.
            Their horses were of good quality, their necks gracefully arched, with powerful chests and fine ankles. Both had their manes braided along the tops of their necks rather than hanging loose and both had good quality, well maintained harness. A healthy looking mule trailed the smaller rider, bearing a packsaddle. A pair of fierce looking Zhentar dogs ranged to either side of the riders, the spiked collars attesting that they were trained for war as their breeders had intended. And perhaps it was coincidence, but a midnight black raven flew out of the trees and settled on a branch not far from where Anya stood, fixing its beady eyes on the ranger and outlander she was speaking with.
            The pair rode directly toward the group, clearly certain of their destination. With a final thud of horse hooves on the muddy ground, the pair of newcomers faced Anya and Spielos in silence for a long moment before dismounting. His path to Anya blocked as the two riders entered the camp, Thaurlann stopped and watched carefully as they approached the center of the camp.
            Aksana drew back behind Raisa slightly as the pair of riders rode into their camp as if they owned it. Her hand hovered near the crossbow she had just finished checking. When she noticed the symbol of Shar on the smaller one's chest, she took a step forward. An excited thought jumped into her head. Perhaps it is an Atjets of Shar!
            The large one swept back his hood to reveal a full, visored helm and a face that looked as though it had seen too many hard winters. "You are ze commander of zis outink, are you not? I am Gannon Kulenov, atjets of Bane. This is Alethra." He gestured absently at the smaller figure. "We will be accompanying you." His dark brown eyes were hard as he looked at Anya and while his tone was not harsh, it was the tone of someone who would brook no nonsense.
            Having watched them approach, Spielos was nearly floored by this revelation. He been thinking that he had escaped the notice of the priests for the moment. Ter-sodding-riffic, from bad to worse in a breath, he ranted to himself, putting on his best smile.
            The smaller one - Alethra, apparently- kept her hood up for the moment, but whistled as the dogs started to sniff at a nearby tent. They trotted to the figure's side and sat at a silent hand command. Gannon, apparently looking over after noticing the gesture, tsked loudly.
            "Put down your hood, girl. Do not be rude."
            She obediently reached up with one mittened hand and pulled down her hood to reveal a face that could have come directly from a temple image of the beautiful Shar herself- a lean, beautiful, exotic face, smooth skin like alabaster under a full moon, and a fall of long silky black hair that disappeared under the collar of her cloak. Tilted green eyes pierced the gloom of the overcast morning. Alethra was a forest demon!
            Aksana's knees buckled. She grabbed hastily at Raisa's halter to hold herself up. The mare snorted and tossed her head nearly sending Aksana to the ground again. Heedless of the animal whom she clung to Aksana could only stare at the creature revealed before her.
            Only years of training kept Spielos from gaping like a smitten schoolboy. Tymora preserve me, Spielos thought, very much worse, indeed. At least his happiness was now genuine. If he could get a taste of that lovely creature, he might just die with the smile still on his face. The sellspears were of a different opinion; with curses and warding gestures they scrambled back, ducking behind trees and horses with their spears up and ready.
            Anya was taken aback by the unveiling of Alethra's face. She had learned to always be on her guard around followers of Shar, but she hadn't expected this. A forest demon! Nevertheless, an Atjets of Bane had addressed her, and Anya found enough voice to answer. Her sword was still in her hand, although unthreatening.
            "Welcome Atjets Gannon," she finally said. "You honor us vith your presence. I am Anya Ravenmane, Varden of Ezeroh. Vere you sent by the Holy Masters? Have they additional instructions for us?"
            The large Atjets shook his head. "None of vhich I know, Varden. Alethra and I vere sent to counter the mag ven ve find her. I also have some experience vith campaigns such as this. I vill be glad to offer you advice from time to time." Again, his tone said that any advice he gave he fully expected to be carried out. Gannon neither sounded nor looked like a man who was used to his advice being ignored. "You are preparing to move out, I presume, Varden?" He turned to glance at the sellswords and the party accompanying Anya for a moment; if he was either impressed or dismayed, it didn't show on his face.
            Anya returned her blade to her sheath. She perfectly understood what Gannon meant by `advice'. Strangely, part of her was happy he had allowed her to retain leadership of the group, at least officially. Did she want to prove something to herself? "Yes, Atjets," Anya looked up at the overcast sky, gauging the time, "Ve vill move out as soon as everyvone has eaten. Did you ride all night? Do you vish to rest before ve move on?"
            The huge man shook his head. "No, ve do not need to rest. But ve vill break the night's fast vith you. Is there fresh meat to be had? A journey is always started best vith the meat of a fresh kill." He gestured with a gauntleted hand at the party as the camp began to stir. "Do not let me slow your preparations, Varden. Let me direct the breaking of breaking camp and preparing the morning meal. I am sure you have more important things to concern yourself vith at the moment." In Gannon's experience, a good leader saw to small things to let his men know he was concerned for their well-being and to let them know he was paying attention. Something different every day or you would get overwhelmed by the details. Breakfast and packing seemed like a good enough place to start today.
            "Our journey began yesterday, Atjets," Anya said apologetically, "So ve have no fresh meat. You are velcome to share my rations, if you vish." She offered Gannon a bar of nuts, oats and dried fruits held together with honey.
            Krel had been withdrawn from the others, consumed by his own thoughts and prayers. The arrival of the Banite and his demon companion caught the small healer's attention, but Krel remained quiet, watching the odd pair as the conversed with the others. It seemed the church had sent aid sooner than expected, a welcome sign of the importance of this mission, and a hopeful sign of success against the evil which had been revealed. The new arrivals could also become a complication, as Krel was so recently reprimanded by the Church, although they could also bear witness to his testing. It added to the weight of things which Krel had already been pondering.
            Thaurlann lowered his weapon once he felt assured of their peaceful intent, letting Anya handle the negotiations. He tried to listen in on the conversation, interested in their next move, and tantalized by the possibility of a priest of Bane joining the group. Spielos watched all of this out of the corners of his eyes as he cleaned up his sleeping area and prepared to march. He kept his hood well up over his head, and moved with a purpose, not wanting to draw attention to himself. No singing, no dancing.
            Meanwhile, Alethra had looked over at the noise and the rearing horse where Aksana was clinging to the animal's mane to keep from falling in the mud. If she noticed Spielos' appraisal of her, she gave no sign. The dogs had both stood and placed themselves in between the hubbub and the two newcomers, ears pricked and hackles beginning to stand on end in interest and excitement.
            The elf glided across the mucky ground toward Aksana without a word to Anya or Gannon. The Atjets, for his part, didn't appear to be paying his companion any attention. Alethra's face betrayed some interest in the human woman. Even from here, though, she thought she knew who this girl was.
            The raven, which had been watching Anya and Spielos before, now flew to a tree only a few feet away and perched in a low branch. It fixed a beady black eye on the human woman, an eye that glinted with unnatural intelligence.
            When she spoke, even the guttural Damaran language couldn't hide the beautiful, melodious quality of her voice. Her voice was high, like a girl's, but rich and textured like no human's ever was. "You must be Aksana."
            Wait - a tamed forest demon bearing Shar's symbol, the unnatural-acting raven - there was word among the Sharrans that the Justiciars had brought one of the demons to the service of Shar, that she was blessed with vision and knowledge beyond that of humans, that she could ferret out secrets you wanted hidden and could look into your soul with her inhuman eyes. They said she could send her spirit out in the form of a black bird, that she could see through its eyes and listen through its ears. They called her the Raven, the Eyes of Shar. Could this be her?
            Aksana's eyes flickered to the raven perched above her for the briefest of instants before being drawn back to the demon before her. She had heard stories of The Raven, but they were just that - stories. She felt as if her very soul were laid bare for this woman to read. Barriers that had been let down briefly snapped back into place as she regained control of herself.
            She calmed Raisa with a soft pat on the nose. Being out in the vilderness is making you veak fool, she thought. Then, frightened that the demon could read her thoughts, she quickly glanced back up. Clearing her throat nervously she said, "I am Aksana."
            The demon nodded briefly, as though Aksana were merely confirming what she already knew. Her voice dropped a bit to keep others from overhearing. "I suppose ve must keep your affiliation secret for now." She glanced back Gannon's direction briefly, and incidentally at the packmule, which was nosing at the muddy grass hopefully looking for something to munch on. The mule had something secured to its back, covered in thick, dark cloth.
            "You may use the messenger crows I have brought vith me to send your reports back to the city. Ve vould not want your reporting to become... infrequent. Come to me when ve can speak more privately. I am sure ve vill have much to speak about in coming nights."
            Alethra looked over at the other outlander, a look of curiosity coming over her face. It wouldn't do to have shown this much interest in Aksana without engaging the rest of the group in conversation as well. And the golden haired man might have something interesting to say. She was always looking for some bit of news of rumor she hadn't collected before.
            Aksana watched the demon walk towards the outlander for a few moments. Shaking her head to rattle her thoughts back into place she busied herself getting Raisa ready for the days march. She had already checked all of Raisa's tack but she did it again just to keep busy. Fear that she had inadvertently done something wrong chilled her and made her fingers clumsy. As she worked her eyes kept sliding back to Alethra no matter how hard she tried to concentrate on what she was doing. The sellswords also pretended to be busy with striking camp; they kept their faces averted, but shot quick glances at the demon in their midst from the corner of their eyes.
            The demon looked back at Gannon, who didn't seem to require her presence at the moment, and then turned toward Thaurlann. She moved across the ground like she was floating, the long hem of her cloak- or was it a Cloak?- not seeming to hinder her at all. The raven stayed where it was for several long moments, watching the red-haired woman with what seemed like more than an animal's casual interest, then hopped off its branch to find another perch, this time behind and to the left of Alethra's new destination.
            Thaurlann almost didn't notice the presence nearing him, and turned away from the pair to see the female accompanying the priest of Bane walking towards him. He straightened himself, bowing as she came closer. "Greetings, milady. I am Thaurlann, one of the humble soldiers of this group. Can I help you with something?"
            The demon smiled at him, turning her already attractive face into something luminous. "I am no lady, Master Thaurlann. I would not presume to such a rank. I doubt, however, that you are as plain as these dog soldiers." She gestured with a mittened hand at the nearby sellswords. The term held no malice, it was a simple statement of the mercenaries' rank in the hierarchy of the Moonsea.
            "I have little experience with outlanders, Master Thaurlann. I vould like to know where you came from, about the land beyond Hillsfar, beyond the Dales. My mistress is hungry for knowledge, and the outside world is so far a mystery to me. Can you help me?" Her voice was like listening to a silver bell speak. No human throat could have produced Damaran that sounded so fluid, so beautiful. Her eyes were great, deep pools of emerald green, and the expression on her face said that she would be very grateful for the yellow-haired human's assistance.
            Thaurlann suddenly felt self-conscious at the attention. His skin, beyond his control, reddened slightly. "I would be honored to assist you however I can. My homeland is one of beautiful fields," he said, the corners of his face curling up slightly. "There are rolling hills covered with-" He suddenly caught another sight of Gannon talking to Anya and came to a halt. His smile evaporated and he faced the beautiful female before him again, his eyes turned slightly downward from hers.
            "Our people are often misunderstood," Thaurlann said, "because we are not tested by the True Gods like their favored people in the Moonsea. I suppose it is only through our own fault that we have lost our way through the years, but I promise I will overcome the failings of my ancestors and prove myself worthy." He bowed again and fell silent.
            Well, this was an interesting turn of events. This man had clearly run afoul of the Church in the past. The corner of her finely formed mouth curled into a small smirk, quickly smoothed into an equally small smile and an expression of sympathy. Alethra took a half step closer to the yellow-haired human and cast a furtive glance back at the armored Atjets speaking with Anya. She dropped her voice and it was at once sympathetic and insinuating. "So you have encountered the Church already, have you, Master Thaurlann?" Had he told her his name?
            "Please, have no fear of your words reaching the wrong ears from me. You can be candid." She laid one mittened hand on his armored bicep briefly before pulling away. "I know what it is like to find myself on the wrong side of Justiciars and Black Gauntlets myself. Their methods for bringing unbelievers to the Church can be... overly vigorous." The demon sighed and stepped back. "I will find you again when there is more time to speak. I wish you safety today. Thank you for agreeing to help me." She gave Thaurlann a small, shy smile and turned to look for the other member of the party that she'd been told about.
            The gypsy... she was somewhat wary of approaching the gypsy. They were tricksome, fey folk, and like as not her words would not have the effect she wanted. The common sellswords were more likely to spit at her feet and fork the sign of the evil eye at her if she approached them than speak with her, even with Shar's obsidian disk hanging at her breast. Where was the untested one? Perhaps he had gone into the woods to relieve himself. In any case she saw only the sellswords fumbling with their gear and mounts and a prospector leading his mule past, gaping at her with eyes bulging in amazement that had clearly overridden the fear that would follow.

            In the scramble following the arrival of the Atjets and his demon, some of the sell-spears, anxious to do anything that would keep them from her, suddenly remembered Rhianna Darkstar, and offered to help the Talontar care for the maga. “Better the devil you know,” was thought more than once - even being verbalized softly.
            Carefully, they lifted Rhianna to a sitting position, leaving her wrapped in her blankets, in the futile hope that they might help her to feel warm, eventually. Someone decided to be brave enough (and kind enough) to feed her. Holding a bite of honey bread to her lips, where she would slowly take it in and chew. While that occurred, her horse was re-packed - with one sell spear remarking that even if she hadn’t been ill, the maga was unlikely to defend herself with only the daggers she wore.
            They had just gotten her to her feet when Thaurlann’s shout echoed through the camp.

            Rhia stared straight ahead, keeping the bow of the ship pointed directly at the storm clouds building quickly on the horizon. It took rather a lot of effort. *Not whole?*
            “I can’t tell you the details, it’s unseemly to lie, and I don’t really understand all of it myself, so there you have it. Briefly, you’ve been making rather free with the laws of the universe lately, and they don’t like that. As best as I can explain it; part of your soul got caught in that blasted sword when you hid from the elf. When you broke out, that part remained behind. It rebuilt the blade with some of your life-force - blood, actually - and now it’s a living thing. Bound to you; and you to it.” Valkur shrugged.
            “But,” Rhia frowned, trying to puzzle her way through it, “it’s not _me,_ is it?”
            “Yes and no. Part of your soul is now living on its own. Because it’s only part of a soul, it can’t really exist by itself, so it has to stay close to you, I think. The two of you help one another - or hurt one another, one. Help, I think. Yes, definitely help. Mostly.”
            It was a good thing Rhia was not one whose belief system required gods to be perfect beings.
            “Be that as it may,” Valkur continued, “there’s a side effect - well, several, really, but one that matters at the moment - that portion of your soul is at least partly outside of Our reach. I don’t own it, nor does any other of Us. Do you understand? It’s outside the Realms.”
            Rhia didn’t understand, but she doubted Valkur would be able to explain himself any better, and the clouds ahead were looking rather fierce.
            “Capt’n, should we do something about that?”
            “Do something? I just told you, I can’t do anything to it - but neither can anyone else. We’ll just have to wait until one of you dies, and see if the pieces reconnect.”
            “What?”
            “Until then, here - keep it where it belongs for now.” Valkur pulled the rope she had tied last night free of the rail where she had made it fast. In the hand of deity, it could not keep up its ruse, and returned to form as what Rhia still considered Heimdall’s sword. Valkur gave the blade an appreciative flourish, and then slammed it into the sheath at Rhia’s side, driving her to her knees.

            Thaurlann could only stand in befuddlement for a moment as the elf of the Moonsea spoke. As she turned around, his mouth hung halfway open as if about to speak. His motives had been questioned on numerous occasions since he had arrived in the Moonsea, but nobody had ever implied that his religious devotion was forced upon him!
            His hand suddenly found itself upon the hilt of his new sword, and he drew it with a purpose. He stepped forward a few steps, ignoring everyone else but the elf. Still behind her, he twisted the sword downward and shoved it into the soft ground. Then he dropped to his knees, though his head remained facing her back.
            "I am a true knight of Bane!" Thaurlann shouted, not caring how far his voice carried through the forest. "I have chosen to follow the path of Bane's Church freely and willingly, and I will die if that is His will!"
            Everyone turned to stare at him. Thaurlann's sudden declaration left Krel wondering what the demon has said to him. Krel kept his thoughts to himself, merely observing. The demon's face was unreadable as she scrutinized the golden-haired human's words and body language. Maybe she had misjudged him. Maybe she had pushed too much. In any case, it seemed as though she had made a mistake. Well, regardless of what she should have done, what had happened had happened and nothing could be done to change it. And this was useful information as well. The devout could be manipulated as easily as the greedy or the proud, given the right lever.
            Spielos watched with one eyebrow up as the big man seemed to lose his mind. Very good, he mused, perhaps the priests will spend the morning with their focus on him. The thought only cheered him for a moment. With the priests in the group, sooner or later they were going to try to convert or kill him. He wasn't sure which. Probably the former, then the latter.
            The priests of Tymora had never mentioned killing anyone who didn't convert. Sure, there were rivalries between the various temples, but bloodshed was nigh unheard of. If the rumors and whispers Spielos had heard from the sellswords and serving folk in the keep were true, that was the approach that might be very well taken in these lands. Then again, this was a barbaric, strange and backwards place. Still, if they could break an elf, he'd be no match for them.
            He pulled his hood tighter over his face, and went to relieve himself a short distance from the camp. Dying could be messy business, and he didn't want to soil his trousers when the sword fell.
            When did I become so grim? he wondered. I was happy, once. If I can get a horse, perhaps I can escape.
            Anya was almost expecting to see Thaurlann attacking the elf. She was relieved, but intrigued, when she saw him on his knees. The arrival of the Banite and the Sharran had put her a little on edge, but she could imagine their effect on the foreigners. Of all the Moonseafolk, they were the most intolerant and likely to burn heretics. As a secret follower of Mielikki, in addition to the True Gods, Anya constantly lived in fear of their reprisals. Luckily for her, (Luckily? It was strange to think of it that way, now) the unicorn symbol she usually wore around her neck had been taken by the bandits the night of her test.
            The prospector who had nearly passed them on the trail stopped at Thaurlann's shout, peering more carefully at the rest of the group. Spotting the two Atjets, he hesitated a moment, then turned his mule towards them. Krel glanced over at the third person to approach their camp this morning. Far more common than the first two arrivals. The healer forced the demon to the back of his thoughts and made a sign of blessing over the newcomer.
            Gannon's expression immediately turned into a scowl and he marched toward the tamed demon. He didn't bother to keep his voice down.
            "What did you say to this man!?" He couldn't have property - even that given special sanction by the Church- asserting special privileges or harassing believers. Not while he was around, in any case.
            "Nothing disrespectful, master, a simple greeting, an invitation to speak later about his homeland. I promise it before my Lady and your Lord!" She shook her head slightly, green eyes widening as the imposing specter of the Atjets of Bane stomped toward her. Her expression turned from appraising to alarmed as he got closer. Krel watched the exchange between the Banite and the demon with quiet interest. His own query had been lost in the chaos of the moment. Aksana was stunned by the exchange between the Atjets of Bane and the demon. She stood frozen by shock and horror, not knowing what to think or do.
            Steel-encased fingers seized Alethra's slender arm through her cloak. He pulled her around to face him, scowl deepening as he measured her words. How to dress her down without reducing her power over the sellswords and the other members of the party, that was the problem. Gannon knew that she had powers that were beyond his ken, that her mere presence disconcerted many, that she was able to discover things that others could not. The demon was useful, as the Church had discovered more than once. Even now the sellspears were staring at them, fascinated as much as alarmed. Anya observed the scene with interest. Although she thought it logical now, she had not realized that the forest demon was a slave to Gannon. It was an intriguing situation.
            The Atjets released her roughly after several long moments. "Do not forget who you serve and who She in turn serves, demon." He looked at the rest of the assembled group before taking a step toward Thaurlann to look down at the outlander with his blade drawn. Gannon ignored Anya's question, but did not interrupt the Warden as she spoke.
            "Thaurlann? Are you alright?"Anya asked the blond warrior, wondering just what the elf had said to him to make him react so.
            Her voice shook Thaurlann out of his focused intensity for a moment, and he glanced in her direction. He lowered his head almost shamefully. "Forgive me, Warden. I didn't mean to disrupt your conversation." Silence followed, as if he wanted to explain himself, but his duty prevented it.
            "Sheathe your sword, Thaurlann, and pray in the way our Master intended it." Gannon dropped to his knees, heeless of the mud that threatened to mar the pristine blackness of his cloak and armor. He turned to regard the rest of the men and women assembled there. "Pray vith us, a missive to our Lord Bane, to bless our mission and take notice of this outlander's commitment to the Church."
            When an Atjets of Bane asked for you to pray, there were not many options but to kneel and pray. Alethra immediately sank to her knees, placed her hands behind her back, bowed at the waist, and waited silently for Gannon to invoke the blessing of Bane. Aksana more fell than kneeled in her haste to obey. Krel bowed his head and waited for Gannon to lead his prayer as well, adding his own silent petitions to Great Mother Talona. He was joined by the sellswords who had followed them from the keep and the cringing prospector. Even Rhia, groggy and sick as she was, managed to sag onto her knees.
            When Gannon finished the prayer, the man with the mule looked as though he'd rather slink off, but dared not with eyes on him. Hunching down in a bow and looking as though he was wishing that he hadn't stopped, or maybe that the wolves had eaten him, the grizzled peshka said, "I beg pardon, great Atjets, but I beg your blessing for this long valk to Melvaunt." He inclined himself slightly towards Krel. "I beg Grandmother also for help, Atjets. On the vay from Phlan a volf bit me, so now I cannot valk fast to stay avay from thieves and monsters." He indicated the leg responsible for his limping gait, but his eyes kept sliding to Alethra, though he always looked away quickly. Of course, looking away risked seeing a huge, angry outlander, a white-haired man who did not look old or a badly scarred sellspear with hair like fire. He ended up staring fixedly at his feet.
            Krel snatched up his healing supplies and made a couple of steps toward the injured man before he paused. Krel glanced over to Anya and Gannon. He was not the leader here or even the highest ranking clergy, not anymore. "Ve have a moment, do ve not? To aid this von before ve depart?"
            The towering Atjets regarded the supplicant coolly for a moment before finally nodding and taking a few steps toward the man. He rested one gauntleted hand on the peasant's head as he intoned the words of a short blessing. His steel encased hand was large enough that he could almost hold the smaller man's skull in his palm. The wicked spikes that ringed his black vambrace seemed to come dangerously close to the peasant's skin.
            "The shepherd of men vatch over you on your journey. May He lend strength to your arm so long as you raise it to defend yourself and keenness to your eye as you search out the threat of bandit and beast alike. Have faith in your own strength and the Bane of all evil will multiply it sevenfold. It is His vords that I speak, and in His name that I bless you."
            Gannon withdrew his hand and looked down at the smaller man. "Go now with the blessing of Bane." He looked significantly in Krel's direction. The scarred Favored had a reputation for healing the weak; the Atjets of Bane wondered whether he would offer more than words to the wounded peasant.
            The man bowed nearly to the mud, thanking Gannon profusely and calling on fate to give the priest glory as he backed away. Only when Gannon's eye had turned from him did he rise and offer a smaller, but just as sincere, bow to Krel.
            "Atjets, I vould not ask, but the road is thick vith volves and bandits," he simpered with a pleading smile. "An honest man cannot avoid them all." He drew up his loose pants to show Krel the injuries and fell to amiable complaints about the weather and dishonest men and his luck as the little healer tended his wounds.

            Seemingly part of the same motion he’d used to sheathe the sword, Valkur hooked his hand in Rhia’s belt and lifted her to her feet again. The wheel hadn’t had time to move even a point.
            “It’s a little staggering, I know.” He didn’t seem to notice the pun, “But it may be the lifejacket you’ll need to make it through this storm, so don’t lose the thing, understand?”
            Rhia just nodded. The rain had begun, and she felt the rudder kicking beneath the hull, tugging at the wheel in her hand. They were sailing into stormy waters, indeed.
            “Now then, you swore an oath, lass. You rode the fine edge of the swell, but you managed to keep the ship upright, and you swore to serve Me. Now comes the hard part; Serving me means leaving my crew for a spell and sailing with the pirates. You understand? There’s no way for you to stay on My ship and sail with Them. They’ll destroy you for trying, sure as the sun rises. They may make you swear again, and the next time, I won’t be able to help you. Except for this; remember that unless you give one of Them that sword, you can only ever give part of yourself to Them, no matter what.”
            Rhia felt tears welling in her eyes, but there was naught she could do about it, as she was wrestling with the wheel now. Two points South of West, no matter what. The ship was pitching and rolling now, the lines above whining in the wind, threatening to snap if she didn’t turn aside.

            When the group was ready, Anya led them off into the woods. As she had announced before, she was on foot, her grey mare following obediently a few steps behind. There was no need for the ranger to hold the bridle. Five years of travelling the wilderness of the Moonsea had forged a close bond between the two.
            She had thought long and hard as to how to proceed and had come to a decision. It was far-fetched and probably wouldn't work, but she had to try. Her companions would probably have thought her crazy, and so she decided to keep the idea to herself. She would pretend to follow a traditional trail.
            Anya started where Krel, Thaurlann and Aksana had first met her. From there, she entered the woods, but instead of looking down to find tracks or other signs of passage, which she had done the day before, she looked around and up. Instead of tracking traces she had left behind, which had washed away, she would follow her memories of the sights and feelings of the forest as she ran through the night. She had never done something like this before, and would have thought it ridiculous, but she couldn't just turn back and give up.
            Deeper into the woods she led them all, recognizing a tree here or a boulder there, remembering how the moon shone between two tall pine trees. Sometimes she even closed her eyes to get the "feel" of a place. She had run for a few hours in the middle of the night. The bandit's camp site couldn't be that far.
            It was highsun when they entered the clearing where the bandits had camped - an impossible distance to have run through darkness and underbrush, but there was no mistaking it. The soggy firepits remained, the broken earth where the horses had stood, as well as a bit of camp debris... and the tree.
            Anya recognized the tree very well.
            She stood staring silently at the it for a few minutes. Inside her, memories wrestled with her self-control and it is only with an inhuman effort that Anya managed not to break down. The tree was where it had started. Where she had been tortured and then violated by Mandrake.
            She peered at the main firepit. Where Mandrake had fed her to his men. All of them. She closed her eyes and clenched her fists. Visions of that fateful night flashed in her mind. She would have her revenge. And those travelling with her would be the tools of her vengeance.

            It was obvious at a glance that the bandits hadn't stayed long, but this time Anya knew exactly what to look for. Though the rains had washed away the tracks, she followed the disturbed earth, the broken twigs, stones kicked from their beds. It was an invisible trail to those with her - and it led the group back to the trail called the Phlan Path.
            The forest demon's eyes gleamed as she took in the broken camp. The bandits had either left in a hurry or didn't care that their campsite might be found. Troublesome either way, though for different reasons.
            The bulky cleric didn't even spare the camp that much of an examination. He trusted in the Warden's ability to track the bandits- she had led them this far. Instead he concentrated on the condition of the sellswords and the rest of the party, looking them over quietly to see how the party was faring on this trek into the trackless forest.
            Thaurlann had quickly returned to his normal quiet focus as they walked. He had been scanning the trees as they rode, perhaps a bit more frequently than he should have. He glanced around every now and then to make sure everyone was still keeping up, but otherwise made no conversation.
            As Gannon scanned the group, Thaurlann purposely avoided his gaze, instead focusing on the reins hanging down from Lightning and patting the horse gently. He had half expected a more severe dressing down for his outburst, although another part of him secretly hoped for any attention from the priest that might indicate acceptance. His participation in the prayer, at least, had been a show that Gannon did not immediately dismiss the foreigner's faith.
            The shadow-black raven, which had disappeared into the trees several minutes before the party came upon the camp, glided out of the forest and settled onto a soggy firelog. The bird had been lighting on Alethra's shoulder and disappearing back into the trees all through their morning sojourn. It made squawking and cawing noises at her, and though she spoke too quietly to hear, it sounded like she was responding to it from time to time.
            It hopped down onto the damp ground to peck at a discarded bone, remnants of last night's dinner. After a brief look of the hasty camp, both Alethra and Gannon followed Anya and the others back into the forest, the raven still pecking at the bone as she disappeared into the gloom of the forest.
            Now that she had picked up their trail, Anya knew they would find the bandits soon. She was one of the best trackers in the Moonsea. There was no way a group so large could lose her. Anya mounted Silkymist and spurred the horse on to make up some time. The hunt was on.
            Certain by the trampled swath through the grass that only she could see, Anya determined that the bandits had moved onto the road, then taken the trade trail west, towards Phlan.
            Thaurlann squinted down at the road as they walked, completely missing any of the signs that Anya was picking up. He looked ahead at her, marveling at her abilities. Too quickly, though, his boyish infatuation began making him self-conscious, so he stared down at the path again. At least they were back on the road again, for now.

            Knowing what to look for, Anya reined Silkymist in when she spotted the bent grass north of the trail. The bandits must have a hideout somewhere out in the wilderness, a region of steep ridges that stretched up to disappear into the cursed badlands of Thar. She vaguely knew the land near the road; to the north lay a marsh, with forest to the northeast and moors running up to the hills to the northwest.
            Beyond them lay her prey.
            Gannon had no idea where they were. Had they been on the far side of Phlan from here he might have had some insight on the area near the Iron Route, but of the Phlan Path he had no knowledge. He moved up beside the tracker and spoke in a low voice calculated not to carry very far. "How far behind them are we? How many of them are there?"
            Anya looked up at him, then back at the bog and ridges before them. "They number between tventy and thirty," she answered in the same voice. "They left betveen three and six days before us, but I think they have another camp close. You see, I know this area. There is a marsh to the north and beyond it are the lands of Thar. They vould not go there. I think their camp is near."
            The warden turned to the group. She looked them over one after the other. The two sellswords. Aksana. Krel. Her eyes softened as she looked at the sick Rhia. Then Spielos and the blond Thaurlann. Finally she glanced at Alethra and back to Gannon beside her. The bandits outnumbered them, but Anya was confident they had superior skill and the element of surprise on their side.
            But there was one variable she thought might tip the scales in favour of the bandits.
            "The bandits are near," she said again, this time loud enough for all to hear, "There are a score of them, maybe a little more. Most of them look like second rate swordsmen, but they have a few good ones and at least one drekavac. But their most dangerous element is a forest demon." Anya looked at Alethra, "An elven mag named Emistil. Be vary of him."
            Spielos had been quiet most of the day. He was impressed by Anya's nearly inhuman ability to follow a trail. Over and over again in his mind, he'd been planning and discarding different ways to escape and make his way south. He perked up at the mention of Emistil.
            "Warden," he said softly, "what is the plan once we find them?"
            "Surprise vill be our ally," Anya said. "Some of us vill target their mag, the others vill take care of the rest. They must all die. And their leader is mine. " She looked about for a moment. "Let us take a short rest and eat. I know not vhen ve vill have another chance today."
            Spielos nodded and said nothing. The lack of an elaborate battle plan wasn't surprising, considering how little they knew, but he had hoped that something more substantial could be had.
            Without any ceremony, he unpacked some of his trail rations and took a small meal. As he chewed the last piece of tough, salted meat he said a silent prayer: Grant us the wisdom to recognize our opportunity. We shall have the courage to take it, the skill to execute it, and your blessing will not be lost. Sotto voce, he added, "Fortune favors the bold." He then busied himself checking his gear and weapons, ensuring he could drop his pack without getting tangled in the straps and harness. After a moment of thought, he took his gear a ways off to the side, behind some bushes and stuffed as much of his coin as he could into his money pouch, starting with the silver pieces. The rest he stuck into the sack in which he had been storing his fishing net, and tied that around his belt. With great care, he replaced the net back into his backpack, arranging his items so that it wouldn't tear or snag.

            So late in the year it no longer became dark so very quickly, but long shadows were cast on the group camped on the side of the path, and the first hints of mist were seeping about the roots of the trees, making them glad of the small fire they had eaten by. The horses, now rested, cropped the grass peacably enough, paying no heed to the familiar baying of wolves far out in the forest.
            The mountain of a man had fully approved of the Warden's decision to break at the edge of the road to gather their energies and to brainstorm a plan. Granted they had no information to plan on, but in most cases he had found that overplanning was vastly preferred to the alternative.
            Before they ate, he blessed the meal. "Blessed are You, Lord, our God, Bane of all Evil, who directs Your Hand to bring forth bread from the earth and meat from the animals. Bless this food to our bodies, Lord, to fortify us against the slings and arrows of Your enemies and to give us the strength to strike down those who defy You. It is Your vords that I speak, and in Your name that I bless this gathering."
            After he finished his meal he got up and went over to the sellswords. They were hard men, prone to violence and used to being at best ignored by nobles and clergymen, at worst expected to bow and scrape when they went by. Their place in life was to fight and die for greater men than they, and if they were no quite content with their lot in life, they knew they could do nothing to change it.
            He spoke to them in low tones for several long minutes before rising and going with them over to their mounts. The Atjets checked over their tack and gear with the expert eye of a warrior, looked over their armor and weapons, then apparently said something funny because all three of them broke into laughter. Gannon patted one man heavily on the shoulder before returning to the rest of the party.
            He went over to sit near Anya. He lowered his voice somewhat- this was not a private conversation, but Gannon did see it as the business of the leaders of the party. Him and her, as far as he was concerned.
            "We must move cautiously from here, Varden. The bandits may have watchers in woods around their camp." He glanced at Alethra, sitting by herself to one side of their temporary dining area. "She can see in the gloom better than either of us and her... companion can as well. Ve should scout in force as you follow the trail. When you find their camp for us, Alethra and I vill deal with the mag. You and the others will need to deal with the others."
            Gannon seemed to have no doubt that he and his slave could deal with the other forest demon and that the rest of their group could keep the other bandits from killing the two of them while they faced off with the mag. "If they are not far, you should be able to follow the trail before the light dies for the night, yes? We can take them by surprise and finish this soon."
            Anya nodded. That was what she had in mind also, perhaps even adding Spielos, who had mentioned an ability to counter mages. She decided not to mention that at the moment, though.
            "There are no more tracks." The ranger looked in the direction they would be advancing. "The ground, it is spongy and wet. Bogs do not keep tracks vell. But they are near, I know this. Ve need a search method. I vas thinking Aksana and I could climb the ridges and see the other sides before calling the group forvard. But perhaps the bird, it could find the camp from the sky, yes?"
            From where she sat, the forest demon lifted her head to peer at Anya and Gannon, her vivid green eyes sparkling in the growing gloom. Her voice was quiet, but she nodded in agreement. The two dogs napped quietly at her feet.
            "Yes, ve can do that. Do you have some idea vhich direction they might be in? It vill go more quickly if ve have some idea of vhat to search for. Otherwise ve vill simply fly high and hope to spot their camp. Are there any landmarks nearby?"
            The bird in question fluttered down from a nearby branch in complete, eerie silence to alight on the ground near Anya's foot. It took a few hops toward the Warden and turned its head left, right, left to fix her with its beady black eyes. The animal watched her with a surprising spark of intelligence in those dark, liquid pools, almost as though it could understand what she was saying.
            Krel remained quiet during the brief meal and as the leaders discussed their tactics. He had received the typical martial training of all the Favored, but tactics of combat was far from his specialty. Best to leave such things to those who knew better. He would play the part which Talona handed him.

            The ridges proved steep, too difficult for a horse to traverse easily. Leaving them behind with the others, Anya and Aksana climbed up to get an idea of the lay of the land.
            The bog stretched out before them, reaching inland amid the ridges for as far as they could see. Aksana, far more agile than her crashing through the brush would suggest, climbed high enough to ascertain that if the bandits had a camp nearby, this was the perfect place to hide them - the ridges blocked their view, and they spotted no smoke or lights. Anya, on the other hand, saw a pack of harrier hawks hunting not far off.
            Nutwolcnum, gliding on the cool night air far above, was able to get a better idea of the area. Returning to his mistress before the hawks managed to catch him, he told her that the bog rose up to forest about five miles to the north and east, while to the west the land became ridged-in moors. The land was riddled with a maze of ridges, all steep enough that the horses would have trouble with them. The raven had not spotted any sign of human habitation, and by the time the sky had darkened, Anya and Aksana returned to report the same.
            What they had seen, on the other hand, was what looked to be a man or woman strung up by the neck not far from them.
            The raven glided silently down out of a darkening sky in that eerie way he had. No bird but an owl was that quiet - Nutwolcnum put a shadow to shame when it came to not being heard. It landed on a branch near the demoness and squawked and croaked at her. She listened, watching the bird intently and nodding from time to time.
            Once Nutwolcnum had fallen silent she fished in her pouch and pulled out something small, dark, and furry- it probably was best not to think too much about what it was- and tossed it to the bird, who snatched it out of the air and gulped it down as she turned back to the group.
            "We saw nothing to be sure of their location from the air. There are, however, a pair of humans strung up not far from here. Likely to warn trespassers away from their territory."
            "Or, more likely, a varning against bandits to show what the local lord vill do to bandits. It vould not make sense for bandits to try to warn away travelers." Gannon's voice rumbled in the darkening night. "They are no doubt hung near the bandit's territory, regardless. It gives us somewhere to start, at the very least. Perhaps the Lord vill smile on us and the bandits themselves vill have left some sign to follow from the bodies."
            "Ve saw only one body," Anya said as she returned from the ridge with Aksana, "I agree that ve should take a look." The Warden of Ezeroh moved carefully on the spongy soil, staying close to the ridge where cover was more available. Her senses on high alert, she examined the soil before her as well as the surrounding ridges for tracks or signs of ambushers. She motioned with her hand and her grey mare began to follow her at a comfortable distance.
            Moving out on the muddy clumps surrounded by brackish water was slow going, and the growing darkness made it no easier - nor did it help Anya's search for tracks around the body when they finally found it, helped along by Alethra's pet. Rot and missing flesh made it hard to see if it was a man or a woman, but Alethra's sharp eyes couldn't be fooled - the shape of the bones under what sagging flesh remained was female. Her face a ruin of decay, the dead woman hung from a black gum, a bit of bark hung about her throat with twisted reeds. The pale side of the bark had twisted against her, making it impossible to read what was likely a sign. The mossy hump of earth the tree grew from was small, dangling the body over dead water with sucking mud below, but a thin tree had fallen nearby another hump close to it, making a bridge for a careful walker.
            Look though she might, Anya could see no tracks in the muck, and she was reasonably certain there was no one about. Still, the dogs seemed uneasy, sniffing at the ground and trees with their tails down.
            Like most of the group, Gannon hung back as the Warden cast about for tracks. He had dealt with hunters and trackers ever since he was a young man in his father's keep and knew just enough to know he should not muddy the ground any more than it already was. The huge man silently put up a hand to stop the sellswords from entering the area around the body as well. Thaurlann knew better than to lend his poor skills to the search for clues: They would as likely hinder as help, he mused. He fidgeted as Anya searched the ground, trying to avoid eyeing the grotesque visage before them.
            "A vitch," Anya finally said verbosely, looking at the body. "Hung over vater." She examined the soil around the tree again, then gave up and shook her head. Atjets Gannon turned toward Alethra and made a clicking noise with his tongue. The two dogs trotted over to him and he took them by the collar, one in each massive hand, and led them nearer to the base of the tree. He pointedly did not look at the witch'd corpse.
            He released the dogs' collars. "Search."
            Once the dogs started sniffing around, Gannon nodded at Anya. "If the dogs find nothing to track, ve vill camp. Ve should not go vandering around in a bog at night for no reason. A big fire vill keep the most things avay."
            Anya looked up, taking in the descending darkness. "The bugbirds, they vill be come out soon," Anya said gravely, "Ve can keep them at bay vith fire, but that might attract… something else."
            Aksana hung back as Anya searched around the tree. She held the sleeve of her tunic over her nose and mouth to keep out the stench as she scanned their surroundings nervously. As her eyes slid across Rhia she wondered how it must make the witch feel to see another of her kind strung up like that. At the mention of bugbirds a chill ran down her spine. Vill the horrors of this forest never end? She wondered to herself staring into the gathering gloom even more intently.
            Thuarlann reflexively looked back at his horse as Anya spoke the word "bugbirds." He thought for a moment, then spoke up.
            "We can handle whatever the night might bring us. Perhaps the light will lure the cowardly bandits to us, or frighten them into making a quick departure, making their trail more easy to follow!" He wondered if what he said even made tactical sense, but perhaps just showing his bravery might catch the attention of the new priest?
            The big Atjets chuckled and nodded, going so far as to clap the outlander companionably on the shoulder with one heavy, gauntleted hand. "Night holds no fear for those who walk in Bane's guiding light."
            Spielos had seen death's many faces before. Justice at sea was often harsh and brutal. This corpse was like all the rest; perhaps it was in better shape than some he had seen. If he took notice of the others' unquiet near the body, he didn't show it.
            Walk lightly in the next life, he thought, and may the gods judge you justly.
            Silently, he made his way to the soggy hump, drew his rapier from its scabbard and twisted the piece of bark around. Maybe decay's handshake had been light and he would be able to read the message on it.
            The words were scratched small, and he had to strain to read them. 'Take me down and suffer,' they promised cryptically. A moment later, as he was moving back, he discovered what it meant.
            Something tugged at his heel. Looking down, he found he'd triggered a tripwire. Spielos threw himself backwards away from the body. It fell with a clatter of hidden wooden sticks and a splash, half on land and half in the water, and as he jerked back a noxious, overpowering stench washed over him, twisting his stomach and turning his knees to jelly. He managed to blurt out <"Trap!"> before he rolled over onto his hands and knees and vomited.
            The noise of the trap being sprung caused Anya to fall into a defensive crouch, sword drawn, and Aksana to spin around violently. A dagger appeared in one hand as they crouched down, searching for an enemy. Krel started as the body fell, jumping back at the sudden disturbance. He might have said that this place made his skin crawl, except he could not remember what that felt like after years of living with painful burn scars.
            A prayer to Talona to ward off evil quickly settled his quickened heart. He watched the gypsy for a moment to see if he would be swallowed by the bog. It didn't look that way; already he'd begun clawing his way to his feet and staggering away. The hand holding Aksana's sleeve to her nose tightened reflexively as Spielos vomited onto the ground. Concern made her take one step towards him before she remembered her training. She held perfectly still except for her eyes scanning the darkness around the group.
            Gannon had watched as the gypsy approached the body and had even taken a step closer to read the sign hung on the dead witch's neck. He wasn't quick enough to step back when he finally understood the sign, but at least he was far enough away not to be caught in the trap.
            He gave a booming laugh and turned to the sellswords and the others. "I suppose ve should have expected the body to be booby-trapped. If I had put her up there I vould not vant her to be taken down." The sellswords laughed with him, elbowing each other.
            Their tame forest demon had been so quiet and still as to be easily overlooked, almost forgotten. She gave the body one look once they realized what it was, then turned and began searching the nearby area. Nutwolcnum flew out into the trees and flew a complete circuit around the tree and the clearing the party was in. The dogs had snuffled towards the body for a bare moment before floundering away through the shallow water to sniff at the trees and brambles. Whatever they had found, it seemed to interest them greatly, and they ran back and forth along its track.
            "Ve should not stay near the body now…" Anya said, now little more than a silhouette in the dark. Her instincts were screaming danger to her, and she didn't like the situation at all. Sword in hand, she scanned the surroundings for movement and concentrated on her hearing. At first there was nothing, only the rising mist of evening and the occasional howls of wolves farther off. Then, so faint it might have been imagined, she thought she heard a steady splashing from deeper in the bog.
            Two of the sell spears had walked at Rhianna’s stirrups the whole day. Ostensibly to make sure she didn’t fall from her horse, it also kept them safely behind (and out of the view of) the demon. The Talontar had checked on the maga several times during the march, but nothing had improved. The witch still shivered, still stared blankly ahead, and responded to almost nothing. They had fed her at the evening break, but in truth, she had eaten little at all.
            Now, as they stood in the dark, near the body of another witch, they could not help but wonder if this one would be joining her shortly. When they heard the noises coming out of the swamp behind them, the sell spears feared they would be joining her as well.
            Thaurlann eyed the dogs' furious sniffing at the brush and tensed. Bane protect us, he silently prayed. He started to turn back, then eyed his green-faced companion struggling in the mud. The young warrior rushed forward and reached down, offering his hand to Spielos.
            Spielos gripped the extended hand and finished scrambling to his feet with the large man's aid. "Get me on a horse," he croaked, then started to cough again.
            Aksana watched with concern as the big outlander helped Spielos to his feet. "You may place him again on Raisa. I vill vatch him; your sword may soon be needed."
            Anya returned to her companions' side, being careful not to make too much noise. She didn't want whatever was out there to hear her like she had heard it. "Splashing sounds, from deeper in the bog," she reported. She looked at the boobytrapped body, then at their horses. If whatever was out there had heard the trap go off, they couldn't hide nor move without making even more noise with their mounts. Still, the worse thing to do would be to stay there in the open.
            "That ridge, move back behind it," she pointed to the way they had come.
            The big Atjets nodded at the Warden but said nothing. He drew the wicked-looking weapon at his waist and gestured at two of the sellswords to precede the rest of the group over the ridge. Noise could just be meant to get them moving in a certain direction. The rest of the hirelings he motioned to cover their flanks.
            He looked at Alethra as though to give her an order as well, but she seemed distracted as she watched in the direction of the sounds. Her raven had disappeared in the direction of the noise as soon as Anya and Alethra had noticed the aberration in the forest's night noises.
            Gannon walked toward the noise and his dogs, and gestured for her to take both their horses and the mule and follow the two sellswords in the direction of the ridge. He couldn't hear anything yet, but he had no reason to doubt the Warden's ears.
            As he passed her in the dark, he spoke to Anya in low tones. "Ve cover the retreat. The sellswords on our flanks, Alethra, Aksana and the gypsy first to fall back. Once ve have enough room, ve follow them to the ridge." The Atjets turned and imperiously gestured for Thaurlann to join him near the tree.

            The raven glided through the night in utter silence, a black shape darker than the dark night around it. Alighting on a nearby stump, unseen by any save his mistress and unheard by all, Nutwolcnum croaked out a report.
            Alethra paused and looked back in the direction of the noise. She raised her voice enough to be heard by the entire party. "The noise is a woman with a crossbow heading this way. She seems to be able to move well enough in the dark."
            The heavily armed and armored Atjets turned to the side he thought Anya was on. He had no idea if anyone was actually there. "Move back to dry ground. Ve can't fight in this." The sound of a large body and a pair of smaller animals moving through water immediately followed this comment as he tried to find firmer ground.
            Krel followed the others as they were ordered away from the body. The slight healer gripped his crossbow tightly as the darkness deepened around them. The words of Talona's protection came to his lips. He considered drawing forth light to banish the darkness, but restrained the urge.
            After a few long minutes, Spielos began to feel better - not a lot, but better all the same. Silently, he cursed himself for springing the trap. He really should have known better, but the fast approach of darkness had made him reckless in the face of his curiosity. Feeling something hard against his palm, he looked down to find a gold coin glued to him by the mud. By reflex, Spielos' hand reached up to feel near his chest. He let out a sigh of relief as he felt his charm to be in place. Relieved, Spielos peered closer at the coin. In the dark, he couldn't make out much detail, but he was fairly certain it wasn't a mint that he had seen before.
            A gold piece, out of nowhere. A gold piece, in the middle of a swamp. It had to have come from the body he had disturbed. Was it Fortune or her mad sister that was watching him? He had seen strange things in the Temple, and had heard of even more esoteric and arcane magic. He put down a small shudder; some had said such magic was in his blood.
            Lady, tell me true, he thought as his hand moved towards Tymora's coin around his neck, is this your blessing or some darker work? He waited a moment for the answer to come to him, if it would.
            The new coin was a cold, heavy lump in his hand; it offered no answers. He could recall a thousand tales of magic, stories in which evil wizards lay curses upon unlucky heroes and good magicians aided them, in both cases working through some token or object. A gold coin seemed a likely enough candidate for such magic... but in the middle of a swamp, covered by mud? He thought on it as Aksana led him away from the warriors.

            Atjets Gannon spoke. "Varden, I suggest ve qvestion this voman. About the vitch first, then the bandits if she seems compliant. She knows someone is already here. Ve need to speak vith her. The question then is whether to light a torch or not. If she can see, lighting a torch vould do little harm. If she is just coming to the tree and the body..." he shrugged his armor plated shoulders in the dark. "it vill warn her we are still here. But the light may draw... unwanted attention. Vhat do you say, Varden?"
            "I agree," Anya returned the whisper, then remembered her last battle in the darkness. "Be vary, I have encountered beings in these voods that can only be harmed by light. A torch, I vill have ready to light vhen she," Anya motioned to Alethra, "gives the signal." She figured the elf would be better able to see when the woman was close enough to attack. The warden then signaled Silkymist to follow the others as they retreated and moved into position behind a boulder to form a triangle with Alethra and Gannon.
            Thaurlann silently cursed the darkness. He stumbled in the direction of Gannon, as directed, then stopped as he began to lose sight of his location. He started to reach for his torch before he heard the discussion between the burly Atjets and the Warden. As Anya promised to light a torch if needed, he sighed a breath of relief, and instead drew his sword.
            The slink of metal releasing from its scabbard made more noise than he would have liked, so he froze again for a moment. Finally, catching his courage again, he moved in the direction of Anya and Gannon once more.

            Unseen and unheard, the raven drifted into the branches of the tree to watch the proceedings. His eyes pierced the darkness even more easily than his mistress's, and he listened and watched with great interest. Bringing news from a meeting she couldn't be at was always good for a treat.
            The woman became steadily more stealthy, moving slowly and surely through the water until she paused quite a distance from those lying in wait, standing unhidden (to Nutwolcnum's eyes, at least) as she considered the group from the sights of her crossbow. It took a minute of contemplation, both sides trying for absolute silence, before she spoke. "Who comes to my swamp? Speak quickly, now, or I warn you, you'll regret it!" Her voice was harsh, but Nutwolcnum could see that she was smiling. She began slowly circling around the group.
            The bird ruffled his feathers in irritation at not being able to see something he wanted to see. Like his mistress he did not like being denied in his endeavors. And there was the knowledge that she would be unhappy with him for having lost the woman in the darkness. The inky black bird hopped off his branch and glided north to try to find the intruder again.
            Anya did not remember any woman other than Malvira among the bandits. Also, her instincts were pulling at her and she decided to follow them. She hoped the others would remain silent as she spoke.
            "I am a hunter," she yelled out from behind the boulder, sticking to the truth as she always did. "I seek qvarrel vith none other than my prey!"
            There was a short pause. "A hunter, is it? And what might you be hunting in the dark, girl?" The voice had moved towards the right of the group, and Anya moved to keep the boulder between them.
            Anya noticed that the woman's accent wasn't from the Moonsea. All the bandits, except Emistil and the drekavak, were Moonseamen as far as she knew… and the strange Banites she had met were as well. "Who are you to be asking these qvestions… and to be claiming land that belongs to the Lord of Ezeroh?"
            Standing near the other two warriors, Gannon nodded quietly at Anya's subterfuge; from what he knew, the Ezeroh lands lay far from this bog. He hefted his morningstar and shield and slowly - quietly - pushed his sodden cloak back over his shoulders and out of his way. He didn't dare move in the darkness unless he was willing to risk warning the stalker in the dark there were more people near her tree than Anya had said. Though if Alethra was right- and he had no doubt in her ability to see in the dark - the woman might be able to see them in spite of the darkness.
            The woman sounded amused. "The lord can stay in his little village and order peasants about until the war is won. This swamp belongs to me. I must say, lovey, you don't l- sound like a brigand. Answer me now, girl, and maybe I'll let you live." The voice had moved further around their flank, beyond the sellspears' position from the sound of it. Anya slid out of the water and onto a muddy spit of land to keep behind the boulder sheltering her.
            The woman's slip of the tongue was not lost on Anya. She almost said the ranger didn't look like a brigand. Added to the fact that she had easily manoeuvred away from their trap, it supported Anya's suspicions. This woman, whoever she was, could see in the darkness of the night and she was probably not a brigand. If she was, Anya was convinced she would not have walked up to them alone if she had spotted them. She would not speak with a southern accent. She would not be alone and all signs suggested she was. No, she was probably of elven blood. And perhaps a druid, to be holding on to this swamp as she seemed to be.
            Thaurlann tensed further as he heard a distinctive whirring noise in the darkness. He pulled Lightning closer to himself, and then strapped his shield to his arm, not caring how much noise it made.
            "We need light, soon," he whispered to Anya and Gannon. His voice was steady, but urgent.
            The armored Atjets frowned to himself at the small noises the outlander was making nearby. He couldn't see anything in this blessed darkness but he could hear well enough. Though no one could see him he nodded in agreement with the man's comment- a light would be a blessing from Bane indeed.
            It made the middle of his chest itch, thinking that the woman out there might be able to see him, that she might have a crossbow pointed at him right now. If she decided to shoot he wouldn't be able to do anything about it. He shuddered inside the heavy plates of his armor and shook his head, making his own noise in the dark. Gannon froze once he realized he was making telltale sounds now. Damn this unsufferable darkness! Though he was willing to let Anya play this out for a bit longer he wouldn't stand for it for very long. Subterfuge was the demon's forte, not his.
            There was no more use in playing games. Especially with Thaurlann speaking and Gannon's armor making noise. It was time for Anya to put her cards on the table. She put her sword down and took her flint and steel from her pocket. A moment later, she had lit the torch she had ready. If the woman could see her, there was no use for Anya to remain blind.
            "I do not look like a brigand because I am not von," Anya stood from behind the boulder, sword in hand once again. She used the word look to underline she understood the woman's advantage. "I am called Anya. I have travelled these lands for a long time as a guide and ranger, but now I do so as the varden of Ezeroh Keep. The brigands, they are the vones I hunt and as I said I seek qvarrel vith no von else. Now, who are you?"
            The sudden light momentarily blinded Gannon, and he turned his head and blinked his eyes hard against the sudden blaze. He had missed whatever it was that had caused Anya to decide to light her torch, but even after only a short acquaintance he was willing to trust her instincts. When the dots faded from his eyes he peered out in the direction Alethra had directed, trying to see the bandit woman with her crossbow. In the torchlight it would be impossible to mistake him for anything other than what he was- a Banite Atjets, heavily armed and even more heavily armored.
            Now that silence and stealth were no longer their focus he moved over to the Warden's right side, the spiked head of his morningstar swinging freely on its chain. His armor should have made it a struggle to wade through the water and soft mud, but Gannon moved as though the armor were wood rather than steel. He glared in the direction the crossbow-woman had been, looking intimidating but saying nothing. His dogs splashed through the water behind him.
            There was a short pause before the woman spoke again. "So, you bring a band to hunt brigands in the dark, do you? How poetic. Mmmhmm, mm. A handful against an army... mmhmm. Well, it is a very small army. Good luck to you, then, girl." There was something abrasive about her voice; something about it was hard to hear. It was like listening to glass being crushed. Still, it was better than her laughter, a sharp, acidic sound. "Now you'll want to leave what you've found here and be on your way... You! Man with the horn! Where did you get that?"

            Aksana gripped Raisa's reins tighter and stared into the dark. She wondered what caused the tension in Thaurlann's voice, but had no real desire to meet up with its cause. She glanced back at Spielos to be sure he was still doing alright; she would feel quite the fool if he passed out and fell off while she was supposed to be watching him. Unfortunately, he was now hidden completely by the inky Moonsea night.
            Darkness was no bar to the raven's eyes and distance no hindrance to him finding his mistress. Borne up on dark winds and silent wings, the familiar glided in a wide circle and landed in a soundless flurry of wings on Obnako's saddlehorn. The raven and the demoness spoke in quiet croaks and squawks for a few moments before the bird took off again to monitor the situation.
            Though she could see much better than any of the humans, the forest demon didn't bother to turn to look at the others around her as she spoke. Her voice in the impenetrable darkness seemed to float out of nowhere to Aksana, Krel, and Spielos.
            "The woman is circling them like a hunting cat. They have no idea where she is. But she is only one woman with a crossbow, not a band of thugs." Alethra wouldn't suggest going against Gannon's word, and he had told her to retreat with these humans. But if they decided to return to the tree or to try to circle around the bandit woman on their own, she couldn't very well say no to them, could she?
            Aksana blinked as what little night vision she had was ruined by the sudden light of the torch. She crowded back into Raisa's shadow and waited.
            The whirring of wings suddenly drew close. Something settled on Krel's back, another against Raisa where Aksana's hand brushed close. The horse jerked at the reins, blowing, but Aksana managed to keep hold of her. Fluttering sounds increased all around them, and Spielos felt something go past his head so close and so quick that he felt the breeze of it.
            As Aksana struggled to hold Raisa she let her crossbow swing by its strap, the readied bolt fell to the ground unheeded. Guiding the horse so that her side was facing the torchlight Aksana tried to see what had brushed her hand, but the light was much too far off to aid her.
            Krel nearly jumped out of his skin as the unknown creature settled on him. He jerked around trying to shake the thing off. In the pitch darkness, they were helpless. His mind focused as he spoke the words of prayer to banish away the darkness. "Great Shar, lift that vhich blinds us, show us the vay." The slight healer felt his fever spike as the divine touched him in even this most simple of prayers.
            The darkness did not lift, but somehow weakened, becoming a pale ghost of what it had been, leaving everything around Krel plain to see. A few evil-looking animals the size of seagulls were fluttering here and there, settling onto the horses and their riders with a multitude of clinging sticklike legs and poking at them with long, slender black beaks. Some hesitated, then flew off when the darkness faded, but a few remained, pressing their oily fur against their prey.
            Aksana jerked her hand back from the thing that had landed on Raisa. She had never encountered anything so vile before. "Bane protect us, vhat is that?" Unwilling to touch the thing she flipped a dagger out of its wrist sheath and made a tentative poke at the creature. It fell from Raisa's neck at her insistent touch, flailing off into the dark. The thing flying away startled Aksana almost as much as its landing had. She watched it vanish into the darkness, then turned to survey the rest of the group.
            Able to see and feeling better, Spielos looked around him. Oh, these things again, he thought ruefully. He'd encountered some of them on his fool's errand earlier. With the commotion going on around him, any hope of stealth was lost, and sitting on the horse might make him more of a target.
            The horse started to grow restless. He'd do better on the ground.
            The demoness squinted as the obviously magical effect obliterated her nightvision for a moment. She looked back over her shoulder to see what was going on and saw Aksana moving around her horse frantically. The Sharran had been completely absorbed as she concentrated on Nutwolcnum's search for the intruder- or, more likely given that this was not their land, protector.
            Bugbirds. Blast.
            "Light torches!" She hissed her words, cutting through the beating of wings like a knife. "They dislike light. And we can burn them off the horses. Hurry; they drink blood." The wood demon immediately called Nutwolcnum back to assault the bugbirds in the air as she moved to the mule's packsaddle to start looking for torches.
            Between the fidgeting of the beast and Aksana's attempts to keep control, getting off of the horse proved to be more of a task than he would have thought. Spielos knew better than to get behind an agitated mount, so he slid off of the animal's side as soon as he was able to do so. His bulky pack would afford him some protection, but other parts of him were exposed. With the slightest of sighs, he drew his dagger.
            "Yes, get the torches, great idea" Spielos agreed, looking back and forth between the elf and Aksana. It seemed to him that Aksana could use help with the horse, but the more pressing threat took priority. Placing the dagger back into its sheath, he quickly joined Alethra near the mules and took his firemaking supplies from his pouch.
            "I'll get an ember started," he advised, carefully working to do so in the dampness. "The faster we get a set of torches lit, the better." Unfortunately, the mule proved to be carrying none.

            Thaurlann almost missed the statement directed at him, concerned instead with the fluttering creatures now briefly visible in the light. Only when he was certain that they had departed, he lowered his head to face the odd woman. "I am keeping this horn for Koomdawr, to be given only to the friends of Jarrow." He grasped the horn with his shield hand protectively.
            "Jarrow? Well, you're in luck. I have known Jarrow long and long; I daresay I can call myself his friend. Give it to me, Man. I'll take good care of it. I'll even give you something for your troubles, eh? Mmhmm."
            Telling a stranger the name of your friends, companions, and acquaintances never helped anything, in Gannon's opinion. It just gave people something to hook their claws into when spinning a story. He had no idea who Koomdawr was or what the horn was but he would have wagered that this harridan knew them about as well as he did.
            "It is a blessing from Bane, then, that you managed to come across us in the vild. In the dark. Ve are old friends, meeting for the first time. Come into the light; ve should introduce ourselves properly."
            A flash of light at the corner of his eye caught his attention and he turned his head to see... something happening in the direction the others had gone. It wasn't a torch, he was sure of that. What was going on over there? The big Atjets frowned; if Alethra had done something to endanger the rest of the group or to warn this witch she would be punished.
            The woman laughed that harsh, abrasive laughter once again. "Very well; surely I can trust the not-quite-friends of Jarrow. Call back your guards lurking in the dark, there, and bring out some wine." Loud splashing in the darkness revealed her approach.
            That was certainly not the reaction Gannon had expected. He would have wagered that the woman would answer with laughter or some mocking comment. The big Atjets was momentarily thrown off, though he recovered quickly. "I carry no vine, outlander, but I certainly vill call the rest of our party back. Perhaps von of them has some." He paused for a moment before going on. "You have sharp eyes in the dark; certainly the blessing of Shar is on you."
            "Certainly," the woman answered. There was no trace of cheek in her tone.
            He half-turned, then, to beckon to Alethra and the rest of the party to join them back at the tree. Their caution had proven unnecessary this time but Gannon did not doubt the wisdom of being wary in a strange place while hunting bandits. They were crafty folk.
            Thaurlann squinted into the darkness beyond the torchlight, hoping for some sign of the mysterious woman. He lowered his sword to a non-aggressive stance but kept a firm grip on the horn. Thaurlann looked to Gannon to see if he would follow the woman's instructions, but kept his own thoughts to himself. This woman obviously recognized the horn, so maybe she is the friend of Jarrow Koomdawr mentioned. On the other hand, she could be one of the hunters who cut him down. He made a mental note to focus on her voice the next time she spoke to see if he could discern any trace of deceit.
            Deceit or no, they had to admit she was lovely. Dark of hair and eye, she wore a coat so short it was above the water with a fur-lined hood and held her crossbow - a beautiful weapon of dark wood with fine carvings, as fine as the bare serrated blade at her hip - down but loaded. Traps and snares dangled from the tall pack she bore, rolled furs piled high on it; her dagger kept company with the quivers slung on each hip. There seemed to be no fear in her as she sized them up.
            "No wine? Poor guesting, that. Adventurers, hmm. I've heard many a tale and more of your kind." She grinned wickedly. "Most weren't good, mind you." The big, armored Atjets visibly bristled at being called an 'adventurer.' He was a servant of Bane in service to the Church. He did not wander at random, pillaging and looting. It was almost as bad as being called a sellsword. Almost.
            She thrust a hand at Thaurlann. "And aren't you a handsome lad? Come, give me the horn and perhaps we can talk of... other things."
            Thaurlann clutched the horn protectively in reaction to the outstretched hand. Though she didn't seem to be lying from Thaurlann's ears, her impulsiveness put him on edge.
            He took a half step back and stared at the woman. Her beauty overwhelmed him, and for a moment he had to refocus his thoughts on the matter at hand.
            "Surely, I will give you the horn if you are a true friend of Jarrow's, as you say," Thaurlann finally said. "But there are many in the forest who would also pretend to be anyone's friend in order to get an object of value."
            As usual, his language belied his sometimes dull nature, as he emulated the chivalrous tongue of a knight.
            "Just as I swore an oath to Koomdawr to help him, you must swear an oath to Bane that you are who you say you are. This man," he pointed to Gannon with his sword, "is an Atjets of Bane and will hold you to your bond. Make this simple oath, and I will then give you the horn."
            This was too much to take. As though anyone could mistake Gannon for anything other than a servant of Bane! He took a step toward Thaurlann and reached out with one gauntleted hand to grasp the point of the outlander's sword. His voice was husky with anger - rage, almost - as he spoke.
            "Do not point your sword at me, outlander, unless you intend to see whether Bane vill accept you in the afterlife! And never speak for an Atjets in matters concerning Bane or his Hand!" The thick wooden haft of his morningstar creaked from the pressure of his fearsome grip as he bore down on it in his anger.
            He looked over at the woman who had precipitated this unpleasantness with a frown under his voluminous moustaches. "You, voman. This outlander vill keep the horn vith him until ve determine whether you stand for Jarrow. I vill accept your oath before Bane, but ve vill deliberate on the matter of the horn at a later time."
            Gannon took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm himself down. After a moment he went on in a less harsh tone. "But you clearly have time to wait, at least as long as it takes to drink a bottle of vine."
            The woman's eyes grew hard, but she offered Thaurlann and Gannon a mock-bow. "Of course. The wolves do so love their music, after all. I swear by Bane that I am what I say I am, may you hold me to it." She pursed her lips, her eyes dropping to the horn. "So now there is wine. Mmm, very well. Now, how shall I prove to you that I am who I say? I'm afraid I have no letters or signet rings in my little satchel." She climbed out of the black waters... and out, and out. Sitting on a fallen log, she was nevertheless clearly at least as tall as Gannon, perhaps taller. Her eyes drifted toward the light of the other group flickering in the swamp.
            "Or shall we speak about your little hunt, hmm? Why would you come so far into the wilderness to hunt bandits, and you so few? Or perhaps you are stronger than you look, hmm?"
            "Ve hunt them because they are bandits," Anya said sharply, as she put away her blade. She had no intent of discussing her motives with this woman, whoever she was. As always, she was direct. "Do you know vhere their camp is?"
            The woman broke into a wide smile. "Yes, I do. Give the horn to me, lovey, and I will tell you where to find them."
            Anya returned the woman's smile, but hers was the smile of a hunter who had captured a prey. The woman had fallen into the trap the warden had set for her.
            "Do not give her the horn," Anya said, "A true friend of the mag Jarrow vould have told us."
            The woman's voice became harsh, slicing like razors. "First I must come to you, then I must make an oath. I have done all that you've asked so far. Now you prove true to your word. Or are you no more than oathbreakers?" She spat to the side, scowling.
            Bane save us from Vardens with no social skills. The big Atjets frowned and shook his head at the woman. "Are you accusing a true servant of Bane of breaking his oath, voman?" His voice was angry. He even took one threatening step forward her before checking himself.
            "What oath have I taken? I pledged to hear you out in regards to this horn, no more." Gannon jerked his head at Thaurlann. "It is he who will make the decision, as the keeper of the horn, but ve," he gestured at Anya with his morningstar, "may advise him as we see fit. Do you not agree?"
            "He gave me his word," the woman said, incongruously sulky.
            "Let us sit, as you suggested, and talk about your friend and ally Jarrow. I swear before the Bane of all evil, here and now, to give you a fair hearing about this horn and to give my unbiased counsel to the outlander. Is this acceptable?"
            The woman's eyes flicked toward the light of the other group, now coming toward them. "Very well. Ask your questions."

            Krel could not help but sigh in relief as his prayer was answered. The darkness had come on and become oppressing in an instant. What the light revealed cut his relief short. The healer's head jerked around to see if there was still one of the strange creatures roosting upon him.
            "Bane protect us." Not only was the thing still there, he felt a quick jab of pain and then numbness as it plunged its beak into him.
            Seeing the Atjets with one still clinging to his back, Aksana moved to help. She held Raisa's reins firmly in one hand and her dagger in the other. "Hold still, Atjets." She made a reverse sideways swing with the pommel of her dagger at the one on Krel's back, trying to knock it away.
            It was easy enough to hit the thing, but it clung to Krel with six spiny legs and refused to let go. Krel said a silent prayer that the wicked creature would infect itself with the burning plague when it bit him. Dying in agony would be a proper end for such a vile creature which dared drink the blood of a Chosen of Talona.
            Unable to find any torches, Spielos muttered under his breath, <"Cursed nightfall and stupid giant bloodsucking bugs! I hope they bite whoever packed this broke-dick mule.">
            Despite his disappointment, he was able see Aksana struggling with Krel. Looking closer, he saw her try to dislodge one of the biting creatures unsuccessfully, and Krel trying to pry it off with his mace handle with no more luck. Silently, he hoped that Krel had packed the mule, though he knew that it was impossible. Still, he cracked a small smile and rushed to aid the struggling priest. In the back of his brain, Spielos hoped it might gain him some small measure of leniency when they decided to torture him to death.
            "I've got an idea," Spielos revealed, just loud enough to be heard in the general area. He drew his dagger and approach Krel. Since the bugbird wasn't moving and appeared to be firmly in place, he tried to slide his dagger into the creature's body just behind its head, parallel to Krel's body so any mistakes wouldn't wind up stabbing him. It was just as well; the thing thrashed its wings wildly as Spielos drew the knife through its flesh, falling from Krel and thrashing over the mud towards the darkness.
            The wood demon cursed inwardly. She knew they had had torches- Gannon had made sure that she packed a half dozen torches, a pair of lanterns, tindertwigs and oil, all in an oiled leather sack. And now it was gone. May Shar take the lost items into the infinite dark!
            Alethra crouched to look under the bellies of the horses and the mule. She didn't even turn to glance at Krel and the rest of the group to see if they might need her assistance. Her charges were these animals. And even Obnako couldn't defend himelf against these things. Damn these pesky bugbirds to the infinite dark! One of them hung under Gannon's mighty warhorse like a bat from a cave roof.
            The witch drew her athame from its sheathe at her waist, breathing out a prayer to Bhaal to bless her ritual blade as she used it to kill. The Atjet's dim light reflected brightly off the blade's sinuous curves as she crouched and reached out to saw off the bugbird's beak. The beast flinched away at her touch, abandoning the horse in a short spurt of blood and lumbering into the air, bloated belly evidence of its theft. Cepaua was too well-trained to shy at the thing's touch, but the great warhorse bared strong teeth and grunted its annoyance. The half-dark centered on Krel - clearly the Chosen that he hoped to be, unless he had truck with some demonic power - seemed to have unnerved the stupid bugbirds for the moment, but the things would no doubt be back unless the group somehow took shelter in the light of a fire.
            The wood demon moved to the nearest tree in search of dry branches. In the omnipresent drizzle there was little chance of finding dry tinder but she had to look. What had happened to those torches? She glanced back over her shoulder at the gaggle of people around Krel. "One of you find something to burn! You don't need three people to kill one bugbird." She could feel Nutwolcnum coming closer as her familiar swept in to obey her order. It wasn't often that the raven had the opportunity to protect his mistress. More often he was eyes and ears where she couldn't be. Alethra smiled ferally to herself as she felt the bird's eagerness to tear into one of the bugbirds.
            "Apparently we do need three people, you must have mud in your eyes," Spielos retorted. He regretted it as soon as the words had left his mouth, but it still felt good for him to get a bit of hostility out of his system. Without waiting for a reply, Spielos adopted a much more respectful tone and asked, "Ajets, how long will this light last, and will it move with you? She happens to be right, but I'll need light to find some tinder."
            Krel glanced around for any of the other creatures. "Thank you gy..." The slight healer looked at the outlander, "Spielos." The healer tried to shrug in response to the outlander's question, but the numbness in his back caused one shoulder to remain drooped. "Shar's patience is limited. A few minutes, not more than an hour I think. Her blessing should follow me, so let us find vood as the forest von suggests. Prayers I vill offer to Shar to extend Her blessings to us."
            Krel moved slightly in the direction of Alethra, but watched the fringes of the dimness to try to keep the horses encircled. His head bowed deeply for a moment as he began offering a whispered prayer of thanks to Shar for Her assistance. As he continued his prayer, he kept watching for any more of the creatures to return.
            Aksana still had her hand over her mouth trying to keep a giggle from escaping when Krel moved away. Her mirth at Spielos' comment died abruptly as the light began to move away from her. She knew nothing about gathering wood but she did not want the others to find out. Swallowing hard she clutched Raisa's reigns tighter and moved towards the other animals just inside the fringe of light. "I vill vatch the horses," she hoped no one could hear the fear in her voice, "to make sure none of the things attacks them again." She kept her dagger out and watched the dark sky fearfully, listening for the whir of wings. It proved wise; she ducked as one of the things flapped past overhead, overshooting her retaliatory strike and disappearing back into the darkness with Nutwolcnum hot on its tail.
            Aided by Spielos and Krel's light, Alethra's search revealed more than she'd expected - a thick tangle of leaves and branches nested in the crook of a tree root that dangled above the bog, the upper layer keeping the branches and twigs below it relatively dry. The branches were a perfect length for torches, enough for four.
            The branches were a perfect length for torches, enough for four.
            If the elf had heard Spielos's comment she gave no sign. She seemed completely focused on finding something to burn in order to keep the bugbirds from coming back. Or, failing that, something to burn the light-blasted bloodsuckers off with when they clamped on.
            "Here. Thank you, Shar, for giving us the means to push back the night." Alethra's rudimentary prayer sounded like rote, coming from her lips without much in the way of meaning or feeling behind them. She knelt gracefully and began to gather the branches and brush for torches.
            "Gypsy, do you still have your firestarters handy?" Alethra held up one torch-to-be in a pale, slender hand and offered it to Spielos to light.
            "I do," Spielos replied, and without ceremony went about lighting one of the torches. He paused a moment, and then continued, "I am called Spielos. I prefer that to 'gypsy.'"
            So engrossed had Alethra been in her search that she hadn't been paying attention to Gannon's group. Nutwolcnum, having news he felt was more important at the moment than killing bugbirds, settled onto the branch above Alethra's head and squawked at his mistress. Alethra first looked up then over at the group near the tree.
            She raised her voice to be heard by the struggling Atjets and Aksana as well as Spielos. "The others want us to return to them by the tree. The woman, she seems friendly."
            Without thinking, Spielos spoke softly to himself, <"There are no friends in this land.">
            Standing, she dusted off the front of her robes as she went on. "Ve vill each have a torch to carry. Ve should have enough light for an hour."
            Krel glanced at the other group's light in the distance and then at the dim light which surrounded them. "Vhat ever ve do, ve need to shelter for the night soon. Ve can not flounder in the swamps in the pitch black. The higher ground here seems safer." The healer looked around the area visible within the light, obviously unsure about slogging back to the boggy area around the body. In the dark, there was the sound of wings near and far as the bugbirds greeted the night. Now and then one flew into the light, then quickly back into the darkness.
            Once Spielos had the torches lit, he gave them a frown. The light they gave off seemed dim and insubstantial in the gloom. He would have given a princely sum for one of the light towers on the shores of the Dragon Coast to light his way. They would have to make due.
            Spielos tried to add some certainty to his voice as he replied, but deep down he knew he was out of his element. "He speaks truth. The bugbirds can surely wait an hour for the torches to go out before they suck us dry; I don't think they have anything better to do out here."
            He glanced again at the creatures flying through the darkness, just out of range of the light. "The others don't seem to be moving. We'll do better as a group; we should go to them. Follow me, I shall lead the way."
            He was scared, but he knew that the show was everything. With a reluctance he hoped didn't show, he started to make his way forward with one of the torches, moving towards the group deeper in the swamp. He didn't know how miserable the swamps were here, but he'd bet a dragon they were worse than the ones near the coast, just so they could spite him. With a grim smile, he drew his rapier and used it to probe the ground in front of him as he walked with great care towards the distant light. Tymora, grant me the wisdom to stay out of the water on this cold night, he prayed with silent sincerity. They think me enough of a fool already.
            The thought of those horrible creatures lurking in the darkness just waiting for the torches to go out made Aksana shiver. Not wanting to be left behind she quickly followed Spielos. She held on to Raisa's halter and rubbed the horse's nose as they walked; it was more to comfort herself than it was to comfort the horse.

            Thaurlann suddenly felt a bit claustrophobic, surrounded by an unhappy servant of Bane and an unhappy stranger eager to lay her hands on something he had sworn to protect. He looked at Anya and Gannon for help, and was somewhat relieved when the strange woman turned her attention to them. Thaurlann sheathed his sword and led Lightning back over to the other mounts, forming a line to face the stranger. Once in place, he bowed his head slightly in deference to Gannon, allowing him to sit and speak first.
            The Banite glanced at Thaurlann and Anya, both of whom he had expected to ask questions of the strange woman. He didn't know anything about this horn and precious little about Jarrow. Other than his natural position as leader by dint of his connection with Bane he had no reason to be questioning this woman.
            He was not surprised. The outlander was too docile, too accepting to be a true servant of bane. And the Warden had not yet settled into the authority of her position. So be it. Gannon turned back to the woman and slid his spiked flail back into the sling at his waist.
            "Vonce our companions return to us ve vill see if perhaps the gypsy has some vine to share as ve speak." His voice had lost its rough edge; he sounded almost apologetic. "You are right enough; I have been boorish and have failed in my duty as a host. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Gannon Kulenov, servant of Bane, shepherd of the Black Iron Altar congregation and castellan of the Steaming Shores township, son of Kelvos Kulenov and grandson of Selfaril Kulenov of Dark Pass Keep and Black Earth County. Ve are, as you have been told, hunting the bandits that plague this area. Please, introduce yourself that ve may know the name of our old friend to whom ve have just been reacquainted."
            His respectful tone seemed to mollify the woman; she turned away from the approaching group to speak with him. "Mm, you're a sharp one, I can see. Some call me Bretanja, and naught passes in this fen that I fail to know of."
            "Vhat are you doing here?"
            "Why, I live here, boy. It is now my home, and I must defend it from unpleasant company, as you must understand."
            "Vhen and vhere did you meet Jarrow? Vhat vas your relationship."
            "I met him wandering through here, just as you are." Bretanja sniffed disapprovingly. "But he seemed a fine enough fellow for all of that. I sent him home after a chat, and he's been known to visit me now and again." She smiled toothily, and made it look lewd.
            "Vhat do you plan to do vith the horn?"
            She frowned, shaking a finger at him. "Now, now, don't you know a woman's business is her own? Eh? Hm. If you must know, I mean to pass it back to him when next he drops by."
            "Why did you offer money for the horn?"
            "Money? Did I say anything about money? I only meant to offer... something in return. Moving against the bandits, you must need all the help you can get, hmm hmm hmm!"
            "Do you know where the bandits are? Can you take us to them? What do you know about them?"
            "You certainly are a curious boy. Don't you know what happens to curious boys?" This seemed to amuse her to no end, and she chortled to herself before answering. "I said I did, didn't I? But I couldn't take you, oh no. Bretanja has her own business to attend, hmm hmm. As for what I know... come, give me the horn and I'll tell you stories to make your boots crawl off on their own!" She laughed quite a bit at that, as well. "Do we have an agreement? Or do we wait until the fog is so thick there's nothing to see?" The fog was rising, thicker than before.
            When the three hesistated over their answer, Bretanja's patience snapped. "Give it to me, whorehound!" She sprang from her perch and charged at Thaurlann, her long legs churning easily through the water as the fog billowed up around them.
            "You dare to assault a Chosen of Bane!?" Gannon's voice boomed in the night as he sprang up from his makeshift seat. He whirled the spiked head of his flail in a tight circle and moved to intercept the madwoman. "Vhat could be so important to you about this horn that you vould dare make such a transgression!?"
            The Atjets sounded both sincerely astounded and intensely angry. His face was a thundercloud, blessedly hidden in the fog from his companions. Gannon's booming voice was enough to relay that he was furious. "How dare you, you filthy outlander! Are you mad!? I vill flay the living flesh from your bones! I vill nail you up in that tree along with your thrice damned vitch! I vill see your soul sent to the hell of eternal flame and darkness!"
            In his anger he forgot about his dogs, who jumped up and leaped forward at their master's agitation. Doby splashed around Thaurlann and snapped at something in the fog ahead.

            Krel huddled within his cloak as the fog rolled in to surround them further. The shout of the Banite reached his ears, but there was nothing he could do but follow as closely behind the others as possible.
            Aksana was cold and miserable slogging through the swamp. She felt a sense of relief to see that they were almost to the other group; then the fog encased them in a shroud of white. She could hear the flutter of wings drawing closer. Quickly she readied her dagger once again. <"Spielos,"> she hissed into the fog, <"Vhat is happening?">
            Spielos wished he could see what had happened, but the fog was too thick. Everyone would be better off if the moved away from that crazy woman; she most likely knew the bog better than any one of them and could possibly lead them astray if they were not careful.
            <"Aksana, we are in for a fight,"> he predicted. "Ho there, this way," he shouted to the others, "move this way, the fog stops over here." Spielos took one step backwards to draw next to Aksana then began to sing a rhyme to guide those in the fog towards him as he made ready his crossbow.
"Come this way, to the clearer sight,
all of you, together come here,
Water all around but no fear,
walk steady, walk sure, dark is night.
My voice will guide you true and right
I make no claim as a seer
I'm no elf, I can not be her
come away, to me, to the light
I know you can if you just try
we'll have a meal, build a fire
take off our socks, get much dryer
else catch a chill and surely die
in this wet and forsaken bog
wrapped all around with clinging fog!"

            The storm had raged throughout the day, and Rhia was battered, bloody (from a lip split by an unexpected jerk of the wheel), and exhausted. Now the boat lay nearly still, almost becalmed, in a bank of fog. Rhia sighed; the wheel felt dead in her hands.
            Valkur stepped close and took the wheel from her. He had spent the majority of the storm in the bow, one foot braced on the railing, laughing in the face of the worst the elements could throw at them. He had not once looked over his shoulder to see if Rhia had needed help, and his confidence in her had been the difference, she knew. As long as he had faith in her, she would hold that wheel and her course steady. And his faith had proven true. Rhia staggered away from the helm, to sit - collapse, really - on a chest lashed to the deck. She sat astride it, like a horse, and looked to her god.
            “Capt’n, what did you mean before, what is it I’m to do?”
            Without looking at her, Valkur answered. His voice still carried the remembered joy of facing the teeth of the storm, and pushing through it.
            “Do as you have done, lass. Weather the storm. These people you’re among now, they’re in a fog, led by pirates, who’ve convinced them that hiding in their cabins and handing over the helm to such as Them is the best they could ever hope for. You weren’t supposed to get caught in that. Your course was set to sail past, collect some treasure, and sail on. But somehow, you managed to change all that, and now you’re in the fog with those poor souls. They need a light, lass. A good light to show them the way through the shoals.”
            He paused a moment, as if listening. Rhia listened as well, but heard nothing.
            “It’s nearly time.”
            Valkur turned from the wheel and looked directly at Rhia - at Rhianna Darkstar, daughter of Rhios, servant of Valkur. He placed his hands on her shoulders, looked her in the eyes, and kissed her forehead. The brush of his lips washed Rhia’s fatigue away, like diving into warm, clear waters. When she opened her eyes again, there was a feeling of urgency, duplicated by the urgency in Valkur’s voice.
            “You will have to become hard, like them. You may have to send some of them on to the next ocean. You must do it, or they will not see you as anything but a jellyfish to be kicked off the decks. You cannot save them all. You may not be able to save a single solitary soul, but you can show them there’s another way. Do you hear me? You be the example! The pilot that shows the safe course; you get out there and be a light through the fog, do you understand me sailor?”

            The sellspears caught in the fog burst forth, splashing their way to the others and nearly earning a quick death in the doing, but they turned and lowered their spears when they reached the approaching group.
            In all the confusion, Rhia's head snapped up, and her voice rang out as if in answer to some command. <"Aye Capt'n! Light for the fog, aye!"> The maga's voice then changed slightly, as she uttered ancient words of power, and her hands, unseen in the fog, began to move in the practiced patterns of the Weave.
            What happened then, depending on one's point of view, was either miraculous, or devilry. A very bright, strange, golden-yellow light burst into existence, centered on the maga and her horse. The odd color of the light seemed to penetrate the light fog, allowing some of the party to see.
            In the depths of the thick fog, Thaurlann saw Bretanja suddenly appear out of nowhere. Despite his attempt to ward her away, she thrust her hands at his arms - and the ends sank in through the chinks of his armor, stabbing him with pain. Tangling his bleeding arms, she bared her teeth, foul breath blasting the top of his head as she strained to reach the horn. Her arms were against all appearances ropy sinew, and longer than they should have been, wrapping him tightly. Thaurlann grunted as this new form of pain assaulted his body. He struggled against the unnatural grip of Bretanja with all of his focus, only dimly aware that he could no longer see his companions around him.
            "Foul beast!" he shouted. "You are no better than the Things that wander these woods, undeserving of any honor, or this prize." He kept one hand close to the horn as he hacked at her with the sword in the other, hoping to drive her away, but she blocked the blows and hung on like a terrier.
            "You'll never waken them with that horn, fool! Ages will pass and they'll turn to dust!" Her voice seemed to come from above her head, as did her cool, rotten breath as she wrenched the horn from his grasp. Thaurlann thrust out his sword and Bretanja sliced at him again with her bare hand, leaving gouges in his neck - but she hadn't been expecting him to aim for the horn. It split nearly clear through, and Bretanja gaped at him comically.
            Emboldened by the light, Spielos bellowed at the other sellswords, "Are you dogs or men? If an outlander can go into the fog to fight, can't the Chosen of Bane?" Cradling his crossbow, Spielos snarled, "Now, follow me!"
            He began to move forward, singing as he went,
"Into the fog, Into the fog,
swords drawn, spears ready to fight,
come with me now into the light!
We've magic on our side,
the will of Bane will provide.
Prove your worth,
prove your faith
show that the trust in you
is not to waste!"
            The sellspears rallied, moving up behind him. Aksana dropped Raisa's reins; the horse would only slow her down and give away her position. She would just have to trust that the beast would not run off into the swamp. Seeing that not even Rhia's devil-light could penetrate the fog Aksna dropped the torch she was carrying for much the same reason as she had dropped the reins. She quickly kissed the blade of her dagger, whispered a prayer to Shar and followed after Spielos.
            On hearing Gannon's shout, the demoness started forward, dropping both horses reins to the ground and moving as fast as she could across the boggy ground with the hem of her cloak dragging in the mud. She whipped her hand forward at the fog and Nutwolcnum disappeared into the bank of mist to be his mistress's eyes.
            Almond eyes whipped over at Rhia when she heard the familiar incantation of a spell being chanted. She nodded minutely to herself then turned back to the subject at hand. If the witch got out of hand she could deal with her later.
            Her normally icy composure was broken by a fierce frown. She fingered the hilt of the athame at her waist as she waited for her familiar to return with news. As she stood there at the edge of the unnatural mist, Alethra thought back on what she knew of spells that would cause such an effect, but her training had been of the darkness, where fog was of no concern. She could place no name to the cloud that hid her master.
            Nutwolcnum returned, telling her of the woman and Thaurlann struggling together, the others lost in the mist - a cloud that was no larger, it seemed, than a few dozen paces.
            The huge Atjets cursed himself for stumbling around in the fog, swinging the head of his wicked morningstar on its chain. He peered blindly out at the suddenly bright fog. He could hear them, but where were they?
            Gannon spun on his heel at the shout - he'd gotten completely turned around in the fog and had been facing the wrong direction - and nearly tripped over Dobrynya in his haste. He jerked his shield hand out and the dog fairly leapt out of his way. There she was!
            "I have you now, vitch! Flank her, boys!" He bellowed the command at his dogs and lashed out with the spiked head of his flail as Alyosha and Dobrynya dashed to obey their master. The dogs, unable to find clear footing in the water, slipped and failed to strike, but their distraction kept Bretanja's attention until it was too late. Gannon's flail smashed into her and there was the crack of bone. She screamed, a noise like a rusty saw on the nerves, but she didn't drop her hold on Thaurlann, nor on the horn. When Thaurlann aimed another blow at the horn, she all but held it forth, screaming when the two halves hit the murky water.
            It took a moment to realize she was screaming with laughter.
            Somehow giving Thaurlann a final gash to the throat with her bare hands, she threw him back, scooping up the halves of the horn before they could sink. Thaurlann landed with a splash, water closing over his head.
            "Fools of Men! But you have aided me this night, and such a thing is deserving of a reward, hmm? I will leave you with your lives; take them and be grateful." Turning, she leapt away, the dogs snapping at her heels, and Thaurlann was too slow to reach her. Gannon managed a weak strike, but none were able to see where she went in the fog.
            Thaurlann clutched his throat just before his head went under. The murky water, combined with blood from his wound, stung his eyes. Or perhaps he was choking on tears, having obviously failed in yet another oath. Perhaps it would be better to just let the water finally take him, rather than face his failure.
            Sheer survival instincts finally kicked in, forcing him to kick out and try to right himself out of the water. Despite his failure, he had to try to make it right.
            Gannon snarled as his opponent, only just having been found, ran off into the fog. "You won't escape me, vile vitch! Hunt!" Gannon flung out one hand to give the correct hand-signal to his dogs. He slogged off in the direction Bretanja had run, but the weight of his armor slowed him down, and the water did nothing to help. Even the dogs found it hard going as they left the last glow of light behind them, following by scent alone.
            Having spent the last few moments taking in the situation and trying to make sense of where she was and where she wasn't, Rhia urged Sarai forward, as quickly as the horse could safely move. The maga heard splashing towards the Northwest, and headed that direction, hoping her magic light would penetrate the mystical fog if she got close enough. As she had hoped, the light revealed those in the cloud in its golden glow; dark shapes appeared in that fairy-lit fog that proved to be Spielos, Aksana and the other sellspears, and Thaurlann rose from the water like some drowned specter, cold water escaping his armor in rivulets.
            The demoness's eyes burned in the darkness as she struggled with her indecision. So the fog was magical in nature, but she had been sure of that from the speed with which it appeared. What was she to do about it?
            Her sharp ears caught the sound of many feet running off to the north, and she swung up into her horse's saddle. A whispered command to her own animal companion came at the same moment as Gannon's bellow.
            "Alethra, you useless wretch, where are you!?"
            "Go, my dark eyes! Find her, follow the voman!"
            Nutwolcnum rose through the darkness, avoiding tree and branch unerringly as he flew. Bugbirds shared the air with him, attracted to the commotion even as they were repelled by the light, but he had no time for the beasts. Somewhere ahead ran the Raven's prey.

            Though he couldn't see well enough to be sure of the events around him, the sounds reaching his ears told Spielos what he needed to know. He bared his teeth and gave a snarl of frustration before turning to the men who followed him.
            A fast and dangerous march through the woods and water did not appeal to him, but he'd not last long in these lands unless he had some respect. Since he had the attention of the sellswords, Spielos decided to rally them to his cause.
            "The witch, she is getting away. By the gods, we can _not_ allow that to happen! The man that kills her gets his name in a song that will be sung in all the lands between here and the Dragon Coast! Who is with me?" he roared, using his best stage voice, letting it fill the bog and carry into the darkness.
            After hearing the reply, his brain caught up to his excitment. "We'll need light; if any of you have torches, light them now. Quickly, there we do not have much time"
            "Light you shall have! You have no need of torches for now, I am with you! The light of the Gods stands with us in the very presence of the Atjets, and the blessings of the Holy Ones! Now forward! Find the witch!"
            Rhia moved Sarai up even with the sell-spears, casting her light ahead, brightening the darkness, penetrating the fog.
            Trying to keep pace with the constantly changing situation around her Aksana turned back and grabbed Raisa's reins. Slipping her dagger back into its sheath she vaulted into the saddle and urged the horse forward to where Spielos was rallying the troops. She smiled down at the white haired gypsy. "Care for a ride, or do you prefer slogging through the swamp on foot?" Her fear of the dark was overshadowed by the exhilaration she felt at the thought of the hunt.
            Thaurlann clutched his throat in pain as the commotion began to spur up around him. Part of him wanted to let everyone chase after the damned demoness, leaving him alone in his failure. As he reached back his hand, though, he realized that blood was not spilling out of his neck like he had half expected. The blow had severely weakened him, but she had missed the major bloodlines running along that vulnerable area. Mustering enough voice for a whistle, he slogged over to Lightning and gripped the saddle pommel tightly.
            Once he had righted himself, he looked around at the chaos and shouted, in a gravelly tone that raked the innards of his throat, "Stay together! We must not be separated, and we must catch her!"
            Krel gripped his sputtering torch more tightly as the shouts of the others came to him from out of the fog. The slight healer did not know exactly what was going on, but it seemed they were chasing something. Not wanting to be left behind, Krel followed as best he could in the fog and pitch black outside his circle of light.
            "Come on now," Spielos shouted though a broad smile at the sellswords, "we've light enough to catch anything!" Talking as he moved, Spielos stowed his crossbow quickly. "Look alive, weapons ready, anyone left behind will fare poorly in the swamp!" he badgered as he swung up onto the horse behind Aksana. Absently, he grabbed a fistfull of her clothes and used his free hand to gesture and point at the sellswords.
            "Spread out a bit, there is no use in bunching up, I think she has a bit of the magic on her side! You there, move away to the edge of the light to flank if there is opportunity! Move out!" The sellspears faltered a bit at the suggestion that evil magic might come their way, but they rallied to the bard's song, blood too high to be scared off in front of everyone else.
            Rhia's light revealed Bretanja moving away with uncanny speed, the dogs harrying her to her astonished outrage. She screamed threats and spat curses as she ran, and the sellspears would have fallen back but for Spielos' strong, clear voice carrying them on (and, perhaps, Rhia's distance-dwindling light). In the end, fast as she was she could not escape the mounted pursuit, and with Nutwolcnum's eyes on her she could not hide. Turning with her back to a tree, she faced the approaching light.
            "Fools! Do not dare test my mercy!" she howled, her unusual height raising her to their eye level. Spit flew from her mouth, but Gannon's dogs ringed her in, snarling and snapping, and blood seeped from the bites they had given her. Abruptly her demeanor changed, and she smiled at them as though they were old friends. "Is it the horn that you want? Very well, you may have it, though it is useless now. Why would you want a broken old thing like this? But it is yours, only call away your dogs, hmm?"
            Aksana pulled up beside the others as their quarry came to ground. Suddenly she wasn't sure what they should do next. She had been so intent upon the chase that the end had not crossed her mind.
            Thaurlann growled and trained his sword on the witch. _"Enough of your lies!"_ he spit, blood spurting out of his mouth as he spoke. "If the horn were of no use to us, you would not have taken it with you. You have one chance to tell us your true purpose and the power of the horn before we cut you to pieces!"
            Though used to wearing his heavy armor in most situations, Gannon was not accustomed to running through wet, heavy muck in the dark. His dogs were too well bred to bark, but he could hear them growling as they harried the strange woman through the bog. He was breathing hard, his chest visibly rising and falling under the armor bands that protected his chest.
            "You test Bane's mercy, vitch! Drop the horn now, explain yourself, and beg the Lord of the Hand for his suffrage! You dare to strike one sworn to Him!? You dare to offer such impertinence to one of his Chosen!? What is this horn to you that would drive you to such madness!?" He moved closer to the woman, menacing with his armor and weapons, intimidating with his sheer size, morningstar swinging freely in his hand, shield not up but ready to be raised in case she decided to attack again.
            Bretanja quailed before them, shrinking against the tree. "You wouldn't harm a poor defenseless woman," she whined, holding out the split halves of the horn. "I said you could have it, and look, here it is. I only wanted it to give to Jarrow, isn't that what you want as well? Why not let me keep it for him?"
            That was enough. This woman was not going to go anywhere. Alethra silently invoked Shar's name and channelled the magic she knew so well, revelling in the energy coursing through her slender frame, in the electric charge of being the conduit for the raw magical power that she wove through Shar's shadows.
            Nutwolcnum suddenly flapped his wings and shot up to gain altitude, knowing that his mistress wanted him out of the way. The dogs, unfortunately for them, knew no such thing. The darkness itself rose up, forming rapid tendrils that shot out of the night from all directions to ensnare Bretanja - and everyone else. The greedy tendrils wrapped themselves around them, binding them in place.
            For a moment Thaurlann thought that Bretjana had reached out with her impossibly long limbs again to sink into him. As he looked around, he could not catch where the tendrils had come from. He suspected magic, but wasn't sure which witch had done the deed. Of course, he could rule out Bretanja, as she seemed as entangled by the web as the rest of them.
            Bretanja shrieked like a mangled cat, tearing at the strands. "All right, all right! Jarrow will not thank you, but take the damned horn and let me go! I'll tell you where the bandits are," she promised, voice unctuous but eyes burning with bright hatred. "I'll even give you something to help you, just get these fucking dogs away!"
            Morningstar suddenly stuck against his leg, shield hand webbed to his pommel, Gannon silently fumed, working to control the increased speed in his breathing as he suffered the foul touch of magic once again. No matter how many times it happened he would never get used to having magic used on him. And he had seen Alethra do this before- he knew this was her witchery.
            He prayed silently to Bane to keep the stain of the magic off of him, vowing to make amends for allowing it to touch him at all. And he would make sure that Alethra did penance for this.
            Aksana struggled against the shadowy tendrils that clung to her. Her flesh crawled and she felt unclean wherever they touched her. Finally she realized that Raisa seemed to be mostly untouched by the foul magic. Squeezing tightly with her knees she pulled back gently on the reigns trying to get Raisa to back up. She prayed silently that the horse would not walk out from under her and leave her hanging helpless in the webbing.
            At first it seemed that she would be held fast, but keeping a hard grip on Raisa's saddle, the darkness slowly, slowly released her, the shadows once more nothing more than shadows cast under light.
            Spielos struggled against the webs as he dismounted from the horse. He looked at the entangled stranger, then back at the others.
            "Fuck me sideways," he muttered, "no wonder the captain didn't want me on board if this is what magic does."
            Raising his voice, he approached the struggling madwoman. "I'm wet, I'm tired and I feel like a pile of steaming shit," he rasped through gritted teeth. "I'm betting it is your fault, too," he continued, drawing his rapier slowly, letting the sound of the metal slipping from its sheath fill his ears. "You will be bound, and if you struggle, I'm going to stab you. I don't have the patience for this any longer." Slowly, he began to walk towards the struggling woman.
            Thaurlann's eyes widened as he saw the performer dismount. "Spielos, no!" he cried in warning. "She is too dangerous for you to handle! Let the Atjets call his dogs back a bit, if he deems it prudent, but close enough to keep her at bay. She will keep her word to the animals, if not the sword." The bloody marks on his neck, barely visible in the shadow of his chin, attested to her voracity; though Thaurlann did not make it a point to mention this.
            "Control yourself, gypsy, or I vill see you bound and gagged." His voice came out as a growl. In any case Bretanja was already bound. Gannon knew how well Alethra's magic worked, even if he didn't like it touching him. The woman was not going anywhere.
            "And you'll get cold steel jammed up that stiff ass of yours for trying," Spielos spat. He skirted along the edge of things, positioning himself slightly behind the bog woman. He kept his rapier ready, but took no further action.
            The target of the gypsy's barbed comment remained silent, focused on the woman with the horn. The woman who kept dancing around his questions, refusing to tell him why she had gone to such lengths to take the horn. This was, even on short acquaintance with the Banite, remarkably out of character. In more settled times it might even be considered an ominous silence.
            Thaurlann gripped his sword tightly and his eyes shot daggers at the gypsy, but he forced himself to hold his ground. Spielos had just insulted a priest of Bane, and furthermore ignored multiple warnings about this course of action; but if he were so determined to get himself killed, so be it.
            "I vill not call back my dogs. Answer me now, before Bane! Vhat is this horn to you? Vhy go to such lengths to take it from us? No more lies!" He did, however, speak the command for the dogs to sit, and Aly and Doby obediently did, sitting where they were on either side of the strange woman.
            The witch who had done the casting sat quietly on her horse, burning away the shadows that had accidentally bound her. She sent Nutwolcnum questing off in a large circle - they were concentrating too closely on the woman; anything could be sneaking up on them in the dark - and the dark was creeping back in as Rhia's glow dwindled, leaving only Krel and Alethra's torches to see by.
            Looking about, Rhia raised an eyebrow at the new circumstances. Noting the webbing had touched her only briefly, and that those shadow webs touching Sarai seemed to be shrinking from Rhia's presence, the foreign maga made a quick mental note. Turning her attention to the captive before them, and deciding that a little more "Art work" couldn't hurt, Rhia's fingers pulled forth her special shiny copper piece.
            <"Copper for your thoughts,"> she whispered in the ancient tongue of magic, and once more the faint ring of the coin being flipped seemed to extend into an infinite moment. Rhia sorted through the babble of thoughts around her, trying to focus on those of the captive.
            Bretanja pursed her lips, eyes flicking between them, looking for an escape as she seemed to make up her mind. "Maybe it is not so impossible for you to kill the bandits," she allowed nonchalantly, but her eyes darted back to Spielos whenever he moved. "Surely a band with so noble a goal wouldn't harm a poor, defenseless woman." She smiled at them hopefully. "You said the horn belongs to Jarrow - I swear I only wish to take it where it belongs." She pulled at the shadows binding her, and they slowly gave way to her effort. She held the broken halves out to Spielos, anger making her smile twitch. "This is an old thing, ages old, a treasure for those who know its history, but of no use to any of you - especially now. Nothing but stories of old battles to learn from it." She batted her eyes at Thaurlann, but ceased trying to edge away when he and Spielos shifted as though to move.
            "Give me the horn, I will know if you speak truth." Spielos held his hand out, waiting. She hesitated a moment, then reached out to drop the halves into Spielos' hand. The horn was of bone, engraved with a silver mesh of tiny, tiny characters of some sort, distorted where Thaurlann's sword had cleaved it. Dirt clung to the dips of the whorls and runes, and the edges were tarnished with age, but despite that and being split, the horn was still quite beautiful.
            The Banite watched as Bretanja gave the gypsy the broken halves of the horn. Why had she taken it, then? His voice was rough, tinged with anger as he spoke. "Then tell us its history. Explain to us why you were so willing to resort to quick violence to get it. What is this horn to you? Know that you speak before Bane, and that the Bane of all evil knows truth when he hears it."
            Relief coursed through Aksana's body as the last of the shadows slowly released their grip on her. "Remind me to find you something tasty to eat when we get out of this cursed swamp," she whispered to Raisa. Fearing that the tendrils might reach out and trap her once again she continued to back the horse out of their range. Now that she was free she looked around to asses the situation. She felt a moment of fear when she saw just how close Spielos had come to their prey. She fumbled to get her crossbow out and ready again and started working her way around to cover the gypsy.
            Rhia let the Weaving end, withdrawing her mind from the creature's before them. The coin flashed back into the material plane, and landed in her palm. She pocketed the thing without effort, watching closeley. The concept that this horn might belong to Jarrow suddenly clicked into focus. She had an idea.
            "Atjets Gannon, if I may? I have been declared Jarrow's heir, with all things of his being mine at his passing. If this woman means to give the horn to Jarrow, she can give it to me, and be satisfied."
            With a sweet smile to Bretanja, Rhia held her hand out to Spielos, silently asking for the horn.
            Spielos peered at the horn, but the dim light or perhaps his distance from his adopted homeland thwarted him. The horn was unknown to him.
            "Take it," he sighed, shaking his head and offering the broken relic to Rhia. "It is closed to me. If it was whole, perhaps I could get a better reading."
            Bretanja's eyes spat daggers. "Jarrow is dead." It wasn't a question. After a moment, she rallied. "But the horn was meant for the friends of Jarrow, he said." She pointed at Thaurlann. "If you were meant to receive it, he would have given it to you already."
            Thaurlann looked back and forth between Bretanja and Rhia somewhat sheepishly. "In truth, I was told she had taken Jarrow's place," he told Bretanja, "but she has been extremely ill for our entire journey, so I had not spoken to her of the matter."
            He added, somewhat more softly, "In truth, I am amazed at her swift recovery, though it might back up her claim to Jarrow's position as the Lord's mag." He eyed Rhia with a look that displayed both suspicion and awe at the same time.
            Rhia watched Thaurlann explain himself to the prisoner with a deadly smile upon her face. "Atjets Gannon," she spoke coldly, "we have her in a lie. More than one, probably. She claimed moments ago that she wished only to take the horn to Jarrow, yet she obviously knew the Mag to be dead."
            Bretanja's eyes widened. "Don't be a- I haven't lied! You just said that the horn was yours if Jarrow died!" She scowled. "For what good it may do you."
            Wood and leather creaked as Gannon tightened his grip on the haft of his spike-headed flail. Bretanja danced around his questions and Spielos had threatened to stick a knife in him- neither could have put him in a very good mood.
            The Banite glowered fiercely at Bretanja as he listened to Rhia's questions. She was Jarrow's heir? That wasn't something he'd known. Not surprising, really, given that he had only the smallest idea of who this Jarrow person was.
            Almond shaped eyes picking out details that no human could match in the darkness, Alethra quietly urged her mount to move out away from the clinging shadows, away from Rhia's witchlight. Nutwolcnum flew in to perch on his mistress's pommel, squawking that there was nothing out there to see but a few bugbirds, though experience told her the light would probably draw something soon. She stroked his head gently and fed him a small, fuzzy treat before ordering him silently to orbit the small group to keep a watch out for those pesky bugbirds as Alethra moved away from the light.
            Rhia raised an eyebrow, taking the horn halves from Spielos without looking away from Bretanja. "I did indeed say that I was declared Jarrow's heir. I did not say he had died. You said 'Jarrow is dead,' did you not?"
            Bretanja bared her teeth at Rhia; it looked nothing like a smile. "I thought you meant he was dead, since you were claiming the horn as yours. How else could you do so?" Her voice grew petulant toward the end.
            Rhia sighed. "Had Jarrow been still living, as his heir, I would have been required to -" She stopped. This is ridiculous "Forget it. I know you have an old mind. Old as the trees, it is. And clever."
            Rhia then addressed Gannon. "Atjets, there is somewhat I would say to you, by your leave, but not where she can hear it."
            The big man turned his head to look at Rhia, his expression a mixture of mistrust and distaste. He jerked his head at Alethra and turned to look back in Bretanja's direction. "Guard!" Aly and Doby tensed but didn't stand. The dogs' eyes remained locked on Bretanja.
            Gannon turned his destrier and rode toward Rhia. "She, like both of you vitches, no doubt, has sharper ears than most. If you'd speak without her hearing, we'll need to go some ways off." The Banite didn't acknowledge his demon companion's presence at all, apparently secure in the knowledge that if he had ordered her to come she would come.
            The petite witch, shrouded in black, turned her coal-black gelding toward Rhia as well. Nutwolcnum glided over Bretanja's head, inky eyes alert for the slightest movement on the part of his mistress's prey. The tall woman was watching her captors intently, eyes seeking an escape, but the proximity of their open blades clearly gae her pause. It seemed she was not used to anyone biting back.
            Rhia nodded agreement to the Banite's idea, if not his presentation. She backed Sarai a few feet, then turned her horse (and her back) to the prisoner and walked her horse a ways farther. The maga looked over her shoulder to judge distance, and stopped when Bretanja was near the edge of her light. Keeping her back to Bretanja, to avoid lip reading, she spoke softly to the pair that had accompanied her.
            "Atjets, I do not believe we can trust her. Not at all. She is not what she appears to be. Her mind, it is very old. Older than many of the trees in the forest. I do not think her human. Her intentions with this horn, I cannot tell, but I doubt very much that she meant to give it to Jarrow.
            The Banite nodded, not bothering to lower his voice or hide his lips. "No, ve cannot trust the swamp witch at all. She had done nothing but lie since she first opened her mouth."
            "Still, I do not think she is in league with the bandits either. She seems too much... too proud of herself and her own cleverness to be willing to join with such as they. She might be able to help us against them, but as I said, I do not think we can trust her. Perhaps, if we could trick her into thinking she had outwitted us, or flatter her somehow, but I don't know..." She paused, looking to gauge her listeners' reactions.
            "Hmph. I'd much rather end her now and be done vith this entire episode. She is tricksome and sly and I vould trust a wooly snake lying in fresh snow than rely on her to give us valuable advice." Gannon frowned fiercely and paused for a moment before going on.
            "Do you have a plan?" The words seemed forced, as though it was a significant effort to ask the question.
            Rhia frowned, then opened her mouth to reply, stopping when she heard Spielos again.
            The seconds ticked by slowly, each one feeling like a day had gone by as Spielos impatiently watched Rhia and Gannon converse. He was wet, tired, and he still felt ill, and those two were acting as though they were taking a stroll in the sunshine. This simply would not do.
            Turning to Aksana and the others, he asked "Does anyone have any rope? We should bind her and seek higher, drier ground. I don't think anyone wants to make a camp in the water."
            Rhia sighed. “The white-haired one is correct in this, at least. We should secure her, and move to shelter, if we can find some. I can - I have means to try and learn more of this horn and its value or usefulness. I may even be able to repair it, with time. But of more import to us is killing the bandits, and I don’t think swimming through the swamp tonight will help with that.”
            The Banite harrumphed again. His frown, if anything, deepened. "If she will submit to the binding. If she can be bound." Gannon shook his head. "But if she resists..." He shrugged. "Vell, ve vill just have to see."
            He looked down at the maga. "I do not relish this one knowing where ve choose to make our camp tonight." The confident priest did something he hadn't done before, something that seemed out of character for him- he sighed. "But a good suggestion is a good suggestion." Gannon shook his head again.
            "Alethra, see that the vitch is bound vith stout rope."
            The wood demon nodded silently and wheeled her mount to walk back to Spielos and the tree. "I have rope." She clucked at the mule and dismounted as the unnamed beast of burden approached. "Here." Alethra dug briefly in the left saddlebag and pulled out a long length of hemp rope, holding it out to Spielos.
            More to himself than anyone else, Gannon muttered something under his breath. "I have a bad feeling about this."
            Spielos took the rope from the elf with a small nod and a soft thanks. Turning to Bretanja, he confidently coiled the rope loosely in his hands and arms.
            "I am called Spielos," he said to the woman. "I'm afraid I must bind you for your safety as well as ours. The men are already uneasy from the sudden fog, and with their current temper, they might stab first and ask questions later. First I will bind your feet in a hobble, so you can not run. Then, I will bind your hands to your torso, then again to the ropes on your feet. Do not resist, and I can tie them so they are secure but not painful. Do you agree to this?" he asked.
            "Of course not!" she spat furiously. "You expect me to wade with my hands and feet bound? Your lackeys do well to fear me, for I will curse the ones who move against me." The uncomfortable shifting of the sellswords seemed to appease her somewhat, for she continued in a more moderate tone. "I have already agreed to help you. Now... now I swear it, by the new King." She grunted sourly, reaching for her waterskin. "I will tell you where to find your flaming bandits - but I will not be bound. I am free, or you get nothing."
            Spielos stood there, silently and chewed his lip. He wasn't surprised, he'd say the same in her position. Thaurlann bristled at the witch's voice, feeling the coldness of it cut through his armor like a heavy blade.
            "No matter what we do, it is a devil's bargain," he growled. "Ultimately, it is the Warden's decision," - he turned to Anya, suddenly realizing that she was not where he had expected. He paused for a second, then turned back to the witch and spoke again. "But I for one would just as soon take her information and be done with her. Any other course of action will surely lead to more bloodshed, and perhaps the ruin of this quest."
            Thaurlann wasn't sure if he even believed what he said. Wasn't he supposed to be a champion of good, rooting out evil wherever it stood? Still, evil as this creature might be, she presently presented no harm against anyone that he knew of, save Spielos if he continued forward with the rope. The bandits, on the other hand, were an imminent threat to all innocents, and it would be better to destroy them now, even if it meant letting this witch go.
            "We will find the bandits in any case," Spielos predicted. "At best you will save us some searching. Your use to us is limited, and a good soldier doesn't leave possible enemies at his back."
            "He is right, though," he mused, "it is up to the Warden, isn't it? Perhaps you can prove yourself an ally, or at least no threat to us."
            Aksana sat on Raisa and fidgeted. Her arm was getting tired of holding her crossbow and her finger was starting to cramp on the trigger. Her fear was starting to pass on to her horse and it began to shift uneasily beneath her. She expected one of the foul flying creatures to come out of the darkness surrounding them at any minute, but she was too scared of the witch before her to look away. She just wished that someone would make a decision and end this standoff soon.
            The Banite frowned at the woman's refusal to let herself be bound. Leather, metal and wood creaked as he tightened his grip on the thick haft of his morningstar. "Bah! Let this farce end now- if she won't be bound, kill the vitch and be done! Ve can find the bandits easily enough vithout her."
            Gannon took a menacing step forward and barked a command, gesturing at the dogs who sprang up in eerie silence as they moved to make a triangle around Bretanja, bracketing her with their master. He began to invoke a prayer as he raised the wickedly spiked head of his flail.
            "Lord Bane, the One God, I humble myself before your Presence. Bane of all Evil, I end this life in Your name, I send this wretched creature from this bleak plane for Your glory. Though unworthy to serve You, Lord, I do this at Your Word. By Your command I cull the weak and strengthen the faithful. Bless my hand and cast this soul into the everlasting Dark that is the absence of your burning light."
            Half-forgotten at the edge of the light, the sorceress began muttering under her breath and moving her hands in the folds of her voluminous cloak. Nutwolcnum cawed loudly overhead and flew away from Bretanja with a raucous flapping of wings. Strange, that, since the bird had yet to make any noise at all so far.
            Bretanja stared wide-eyed at the Atjets, quailing, but she only raised the skin to her lips and drank in long swallows. As she did, she faded from view, melting away like snow on a hearth, leaving a strange hole in the water where she stood. Aksana sucked in her breath with a loud hiss when the witch disappeared. She quickly made a sign against evil, her hand trembling as she did so.
            Gannon exploded in a string of expletives and curses. He raised the wickedly barbed head of his flail up over his shoulder, prepared to bring it crashing down on the invisible woman. "Guard!" At his thundered command, Aly and Doby both assumed aggressive stances to keep Bretanja from passing them.
            "So help me, voman, I vill see you bound across the Black Altar and your heart burned before your eyes if you do not reappear this instant!" The Banite paused a moment before going on. His voice was calmer when he went on.
            "You cannot escape us. But I give you my vord as Bane's servant that ve vill not bind you against your vill."
            The dogs whined and snapped at the water, but there was no one for them to catch. A long moment passed before Bretanja replied.
            "Why should I believe you?" Her voice floated from the darkness, angry and cutting. "But leave me be and I will tell you what you want to know. The bandits ride to the north. Go after them, and be damned!"
            Aksana shivered as the witch's words cut the darkness around them. "Ve can not trust the vords of that vitch." She spit into the water. "Her vords taste of unspoken lies."
            Things hadn't gone exactly the way he expected, but this was so far outside the bounds of the possible scenarios he had envisioned that Spielos was only able to gape like a fish and stare for a moment. Coming to his senses, Spielos looked around him. Everyone was tense and confused. "Let her go, chasing her in the darkness will only lead to ruin. Our task is to find and destroy the bandits, not splash about on a fool's errand," he observed. "Though a double watch when we find an area to make camp might be in order."
            Though he hated to do it, Gannon had to agree with the gypsy. He turned to look for Anya. "Varden, bring in your men and find us a campsite." A brief look revealed no Warden. He glanced at Alethra.
            "Vhere did she go?"
            The wood demon shook her head in silence. She hadn't seen the Warden leave - in fact, she hadn't seen her since they chased Bretanja from the warning tree. Nutwolcnum floated up into the air to make a great circuit of the clearing to look for Anya or, barring the woman herself, for signs of which way she had gone. His sharp eyes picked out the many bugbirds that rose and fell through the treetops like fleas on a hound, and a disturbance moving through the water that could only be the woman that had slipped his mistress' grasp, but of the Warden there was no sign.
            The Banite frowned ferociously and gestured to the sell-swords. "Ve camp! Let the vitch go!" His dogs romped through the water to his side as Gannon turned his mount away from the tree.
            He looked over at Thaurlann and Spielos. "Find us a secure campsite for the night. Double the vatch order. Ve ride for the bandits in the morning." Gannon glanced at Rhia. "Ve vill discuss this more once ve have camped."
            It took some doing, particularly since their woodland guide had vanished into the night and the bugbirds lurked just outside the torchlight, beady eyes gleaming, but finally a site that was slightly more solid than mud was found, where a layer of reeds and dead branches would keep them from literally sleeping in the swamp. It was impossible to start a campfire in the soaking muck, but at least they weren't wading in the brackish water any more.

Mirtul 24

            The following morning dawned in a soup of fog that soaked bedrolls and frayed tempers. A cold breakfast was the best they could manage; even had they been able to set a fire, the spit of land they'd found to rest on was barely large enough for them and the horses together. As it was, the night had been spent practically under the hooves of the mounts.
            The bog was no prettier in the morning than it had been the day before. Brackish water surrounded the scraggly trees, bracken and rotting stumps that made short pathways on the spits of land they'd managed to grasp. By the time the group had eaten, the fog had burned off to a low-lying mist that drifted over the water.
            The particularly sharp-eared might have been woken by the droning prayer coming from behind Gannon's small tent. He woke before the dawn and anyone who cared - or dared - to look saw him on his knees in the mud, head down and arms pulled behind his back so high that it had to hurt. Add to it the thin shift he was wearing and shivering in and the man was either mad or very devout. He looked damn odd without his armor, though the thin white fabric did nothing to hide the bulk of his shoulders and the thickness of his chest and torso- even unarmed and unarmored he was a big, imposing man.
            The Banite stayed that way for close on half an hour, only raising his head and stopping his soporific drone when the sun finally colored the clouds with pink and violet. While one of the sellswords prepared breakfast, Gannon washed in a small bowl of water that had been allowed to sit to filter out the dirt, then replaced his heavy armor and belted on his wicked black spiked flail.
            Rhia, in an ironic twist, wakened feeling as if she had finally found sleep after a tenday of restless nights. Not too far off the mark, really, she thought, as she opened her traveling book of Weaving and began to study it in the light of a candle. She was primarily refreshing her memory, rather than attempting to prepare a bevy of new Weavings, and so her study time was comparatively short.
            Spielos chewed some hard rations and watched silently as the witch prepared herself. He assumed she was studying her magic texts; his old friend Hrolf had not needed such things. It was, in any case, the most interesting thing around, and it gave him something to watch as he mulled over how best to survive in this place.
            When she did close her book, Rhia immediately began another study project. Glancing around to be sure the sell-spears were properly ignoring her, the maga took the further precaution of keeping what she was doing hidden beneath her blanket - ostensibly to keep her 'tools of devilry' dry and unseen. In actuality, she placed the broken halves of the horn upon Jarrow's - her - magical slate.
            She took up the chalk and waited for that sense of another taking over her hand... but after a minute she had to admit that the slate had failed to identify the broken horn. Perhaps it was only able to sense the Weave in whole things. Rhia examined the horn carefully, eyes trailing over the intricate runes that had been torn apart. She might be able to mend the horn, she knew, but she didn't know what Weave might have been present in it. How to repair what she didn't know of?
            On the other hand, when examined in the light, the runes decorating the horn seemed reminiscent of Espruar, though they weren't the same as the runes in that alphabet.
            Thaurlann, for his part, was soggy and sore but no worse for wear than usual. He looked around to see how the others were faring, and noticed still no trace of the Warden, Anya. He frowned, wondering if she had gone ahead to scout, though the timing seemed odd. He seemed to recall that she was an escaped captive of the bandits when he had first found her, and wondered if perhaps she had sought revenge on her own while the others dealt with the witch.
            Gannon walked out to the assembled breakfasters, his steel shod boots and mail ringing as he marched out to greet the party. The Banite glanced at Alethra, who likewise glanced up at a nearby tree branch. The raven that followed the wood demon like a shadow fluttered off toward the north without a word being said. The wood demon moved like a wraith across the muddy ground and had somehow managed to clean the filthy mud off the hem of her robes and cloak during the night, making her, swathed all in black, a living shadow the sellswords went out of their way to avoid as she glided through the camp.
            He sat down on a dead tree and the black clad sorceress immediately got up to fetch him his breakfast. Gannon didn't seem to take any notice of her. Instead he looked around at the group.
            "So, ve cannot trust a vord that vitch said last night. But her vords are all the trail ve have for now. So ve scout north, expecting a trap or some other surprise." Gannon glanced around at the tired faces. "Are any of you familiar vith this ground?"
            Thaurlann looked around to see if anyone would answer. Rhia, latching her baggage closed, spoke up. "I can help. I had planned on scrying out the enemy when we got closer, and am prepared to do so. It will take a few minutes, and may warn them that they are being watched, but it is a far better alternative to splashing around in this bog until they ambush us." She shrugged, resting her hand on the sword belted to her side, "But if you'd prefer the 'direct method,' I will, of course, bow before the will of Bane."
            The Banite glanced at Alethra before turning to look at Rhia. "Her eyes already fly to scout out the bandit camp. But more eyes provides more information. I am concerned when you say it may varn them they are vatched - why vould your spell alert them?"
            The wood demon said nothing, just picked up the thin wooden plate Gannon had eaten off of, to take it and the remnants of her own breakfast off to clean. With her hood up, all that could be seen was her hands, but the dark opening of her hood turned to Rhia again and again - she was here to watch Rhia, after all.
            Rhia shrugged. "The elf, Emistil, he is a user of magic, and thus might detect my weaving. He is not likely to know how close we are, if he does detect me. I do not know his skill entirely, but it is possible. Just as he, or any scout amongst them, might recognize a raven flying above them as being unusual." A cold smile touched her lips slightly.
            "Of course, I'm not likely to get shot by an arrow while I do my looking - even if they do detect me."
            After waiting for everyone to respond, Thaurlann stood up. "Whatever you think is best, I will follow it, Atjets Gannon," he said with a flourishing bow. "My sword is your will, just as your word is the will of Bane. Though I agree we cannot trust the witch, she did not seem like one who would be in league with common bandits, anyway. So we have no reason to think that she would want to prevent us from finding them." As usual, his language was overly decorous for a common sellsword, though his foreign accent dripped heavily off each word. Thaurlann took a step back, head still bowed, then sat back in his place.
            The blonde man's words chilled Spielos slightly. Deep down, he had hoped that Thaurlann wasn't like the locals, but it appeared as though he'd given himself over in total to this strange land.
            Aksana was too reserved, too much a product of this place. She might offer to cover his back in a fight, but that was likely as far as it would go. His best chance was to try to throw his lot in with the mage. Perhaps she could guide him to some awakening. Thinking on that again, he barked a short laugh. Pigs might sooner fly.
            He gave a grim snort. Pigs might sooner fly. He had no allies, and he was all alone in a hostile land. He could either flee or lose himself here, surrendering to the tide that wanted to carry him away.
            In the end, there was only one choice. His days as a slave were over. He'd given himself willingly to Tymora and vowed to live his life on the road, spreading stories and good fortune where he was able. When the bandits were dead, he would ask for a horse and make his way South to his home. He'd made it here in one piece, he could make it back.
            Aksana sat miserable and cold watching the others preparing for the day. It seemed to her that the disappearance of Anya was a bad omen for the successful completion of their bandit hunt. She wished that she had not been sent here and began to wonder if she had done something to deserve being banished into the wilderness. Finally deciding that work would distract her from thinking too much she drug herself out of her bedroll. Mechanically she went about packing her things and then began to pick thistles and mud out of Raisa's mane.
            "Vell said, outlander, and as it should be." Gannon looked around at the party. "All our actions are by the vill of Bane, and because it is his command that ve seek out and find these bandits, we vill find them, regardless of the vitch's trickery or the mysterious absence of our Varden. And as you say - she may vish to do us harm, out of spite or vengeance, but she no doubt holds no love for the bandits in her vilderness."
            Having settled things, Rhia motioned for Spielos and Thaurlann to "guard" her - keeping themselves between her and the rest of the group - while she sat cross-legged on the ground a ways off. She carefully set the crystal ball on its stand before her, then pulled her cloak over her head and around the ball, so as to reveal as little as possible to any observers. Should Emistil somehow be able to "track back" through the ball, she didn't want him to see where she was, or how many were with her.
            As soon as Rhia pulled out her crystal ball the demoness's eyes had locked onto the maga; all her other chores were forgotten as the siren song of new magic called to her. The Raven was reputed to be able to see things no other could; perhaps she, too, could scry in this way. But perhaps not, since she seemed engrossed in Rhia's actions as the human cast her spell and spied out the enemy camp.
            Properly settled, Rhia stared into the crystal ball, letting her mind fill with the image she wanted to see - that of Emistil's smirking face. She willed the image to appear in the ball before her, and looked.
            First came the familiar murkiness within the globe, swirling in patterns nearly seen; then the mist was around her, and she was drawn onward by them.
            She found herself in a room, if that was what it could be called - it looked like nothing so much as a cave roughly carved from the rock. A low fire burned from the rushlights, suffusing the room with a dim red glow, making the faces of Emistil, Malvira and a third man leer grotesquely in its light. They appeared to be arguing about something - at least, Malvira and the man argued, and Emistil spoke now and then with that familiar amused look. Malvira sat on a bed of furs, her face pinched with annoyance as she waved a hand dismissively at the elf. The man with them was brawny, his stubbled countenance drawn into a frown as he listened. His gesture for the elf to go on was authoritative; Malvira shot him a dark look, but smoothed it before he could see. None appeared to have noticed her spying.
            The room itself was large, the furs on the bed neatly arranged and a rug thrown over the floor, clearly living quarters for someone. Rough steps led down from the room to a doorway covered with a hide curtain. She was just barely able to glimpse out around it; a brighter firelight flickered beyond it, and shadows moved past now and again.
            Turning back to the occupants of the room, Rhia studied them, looking for some clue as to their location. Malvira's boots were clean, but the man and the elf's had dried mud crusted around them, though not very high - about what could be expected from walking outside in the rain. Their clothing was completely dry; it was clear that they hadn't been wading, as Rhia and the others were often forced to do. The rock around the bandits suggested that they had dug themselves into a hill or mountain rather than, say, belowground in the forest.
            About to end her scrying, Rhia's attention was caught by something at the edge of her vision. Blurry to her second sight, an altar sat at one end of the room, another blur of white resting atop it. Even now that she had noticed it, it was difficult to concentrate on, but expertise and effort payed off: the white blur resolved itself into a skull, a chalice coming into focus beside it.
            Gannon would be... less than happy if they were worshiping "pagan" gods.

            Rhia ended her report and stood there quietly, looking over the group. Anya's disappearance bothered her, but Rhia had responsibilities now, duties, even, and she would see them through.
            Now that the magic was done, Alethra had drifted away from Rhia to go back to the mundane chores she performed for Gannon. She hadn't appeared to be listening during Rhia's recitation.
            "Can you and Alethra work together to narrow it down a bit more?" Spielos probed as he started to gather his gear and strap it on. "Perhaps you can guide her bird to the location?" Grinning, he quipped, "If not, there is no better time to start walking than now. The sooner we get out of this sucking mud, the happier I will be."
            Spielos finished buckling on the last of his gear, then shifted his pack so that the straps went from unbearable to just uncomfortable. No matter what the answers were, they were in for a long march.
            Thaurlann was forced to agree with the unruly gypsy. "Yes, it now looks like there are two paths north, one to the east and one to the west. And tracking is probably useless in this marsh, so we are forced to rely on the mystic arts to guide us."
            "Caves, somewhere to the north." Gannon nodded and glanced at Alethra. She just nodded and began repacking the saddlebags. The Banite looked at Spielos, then Rhia and the other sellswords.
            "As the gypsy says. The best time to ride is now. Ve can narrow down the area as ve get nearer their territory."
            Spielos was not sure he liked having Gannon agree with him. It was much easier when he was sure the big man just wanted to kill him. He couldn't allow himself to become complacent. He also couldn't abide standing still when the defeat of the bandits could be the currency that bought his way home.
            After a short wait spent squishing his feet in the mud and swatting at bugs he asked, "Which way, then?"
            "If I may, Atjets?" Rhia spoke softly, but firmly. She did not expect to be denied permission to speak, as was obvious when she continued after only the shortest of pauses. "I would suggest that we head for the stone ridges. I doubt that the stone-walled cave I saw is cut into forest, hills or swamp." She smiled, and added what she was sure was likely to be a recurring refrain, "Of course, I merely make a suggestion. Bane's will, of course, be done."
            The huge Banite snorted derisively. "You may have some vitchy secret for gliding over the mud and muck but I must valk or ride on the ground, shalava." Gannon shook his head and gestured to the west. "Ve will ride vest to the hills, out of this thrice-damned bog, and up to the ridges from there. No sense in vading through this all vhen ve can go around it."
            He waved at the sellswords. "Mount up! Ve ride!"

            In the furor of men breaking down the camp and preparing their mounts to ride, Gannon strode over to the gypsy with a gleam in his eye. Alethra stayed by their mounts, already tacked and loaded, ostensibly cinching a belt, but kept a sharp eye on the brewing situation.
            Aksana, relieved that they were finally moving, had urged Raisa towards Spielos. She was about to offer him a hand up when she noticed the Atjets of Bane. She froze, her hand halfway out, the words dying on her lips. She suddenly remembered the first time she had really met Spielos, when he was fighting with Thaurlann.
            Spielos looked between Aksana and Gannon and smirked. "Run along, I'll catch up with you shortly," he lied.
            Aksana looked at Spielos, searching his face for clues to what he was really thinking. So many thoughts raced through her head she had trouble getting a handle on them. Finally she just said, "I still expect you to help me with my problem." With a quick glance at Gannon she steered Raisa away. She struggled not to look back but found herself doing it anyway. A quick glimpse of white hair was all she saw before the other sellswords blocked her view.
            "That is the problem with this land," Spielos said as she rode away, "people expect too many things, they don't want to earn them." Turning to Gannon he inquired, "And what are you expecting this morning?"
            The Banite didn't respond in words. His gauntleted hand flashed out to knock the gypsy to the mud without so much as a change in expression.
            Spielos reeled from the unexpected blow, drawing his hidden belt dagger as he spun away from Gannon. "Your problem," he spit, "is that you are too used to getting your own way." He put some distance between himself and the larger man. "You are bigger, stronger, and possibly noble born. You think that makes you right, no matter what- enough so that a bruise to your feelings will reduce you to this. It is time to end this charade."
            Spielos flipped his dagger around in his hand. "I am an instrument of the gods, and you need to respect that! You lack vision," he bellowed, his trained voice carrying through the landscape as he loosed his dagger. "Bane, guide my blade to show your ajets his lack of vision," he intoned, his voice a crescendo of rage as he threw his blade, and in one fluid motion drew another dagger.
            The dagger skipped off the side of Gannon's helmet as he reflexively flinched to one side. A heartbeat slower, a hairsbreadth to the right, and he would have lost an eye. The Banite looked shocked for a moment before his face clouded over with rage. He clanged his visor down, giving his shouts a deep, echoing ring as he responded to the bard's verbal attack.
            "You defile my Lord's name with your lying, thieving tongue! You mock everything my people believe with your guile filled words and your unearned conceit! My family has earned their place in this world, has earned Bane's blessing, has earned its power over others! You know nothing of the responsibility the strong have to the weak, only that you do not have the strength to carry out your duties to your betters!"
            "And believe me, you gypsy filth, I am your better! I do not presume to know Bane's mind. That you do proves you are a heretic, a blasphemer in the face of Bane! You do not know your place, gypsy, but by Bane and his Hand I swear here and now to teach you!"
            The huge Atjets took a step forward and launched another crushing blow at the slender gypsy, his armored hand looking more like a mace than a fist as it flew at Spielos's midsection.
            "You use your strength to bully those who are weaker," Spielos spat. "You attack like a thief, with no warning, yet you think yourself noble. You are evil." He seemed strangely calm as he flatly pronounced, "You may beat me, you may kill me, but you'll never be better than I am."
            The big Banite, even accustomed as he was to his heavy armor, was no match for the gypsy's light feet. He growled as the outlander ran away and shook his head in irritation. The black clad priest moved with surprising agility, given the weight he was carrying, but he clearly couldn't catch Spielos if Spielos didn't want to be caught.
            "Your own vords betray you! You know nothing of our lands! The strong lead the veak by the vill of Bane! The weak submit to the strong by His vill and accept the protection of their betters! Pah! You dance when you should fight, refuse to accept the challenge because you know you vill lose but still refuse to take your rightful place!
            "Someone needs to explain to you how ve of the Moonsea live, gypsy, if you choose to make it your home. I am your better until you show me you are not- and running is nothing but cowardice no matter how you spin your vords! Submit to me, take your beating like a man, and none here vill think you the vorse for it!" "Stop running, gypsy, or this vill only go the vorse for you!"
            Spielos used his speed to his advantage as best he could to stay away from Gannon. "A sneak attack," he shouted, "after that witch cast a spell on me. Yes, you knew that, you saw it, and you laughed, because even then you were making your plans. You knew I was weakened and so you chose now to attack."
            "A sneak attack!?" Gannon's laughter boomed out into the scrubby wilderness. "My children vould have known that blow vas coming! You knew vhat vas happening but chose to try pretty vords instead of fighting back! A real man- a real voman, for that matter!- vould have at least ducked!"
            "And who are you to accuse me of a sneak attack!? You, who threatened to put a knife in my back instead of challenging me with honor! You know nothing about this place or my people! Come here, so I can teach you a little bit!"
            As they ran, Spielos kept up his tirade, becoming more and more emphatic despite his exertions. "What have you got to prove anyway?" Speilos shouted. "I can't beat you, not now, and everybody knows it. All I want to do is leave this place. But I can not! I'm stuck here! Every time I try to leave, something keeps me here, something beyond my control. Perhaps I am meant to be here, and the gods are keeping me here. Instead of trying to kill me, why not agree to think about that. We are not going to catch any bandits this way, and we are wasting the energy we will need to fight them.
            "We can do this all day, or until you get tired of it and send your dogs after me," Spielos reasoned, "or we can stop and you can have your fight after the bandits are dead. Or, better yet, you can sell me a horse and let me ride out of here forever."

To Be Continued...

            The cool light of spring touched on the new buds that sprang from the trees and bushes, making the swamp less dismal as they slogged their way through the valley to the west. Insects buzzed and darted around them, much less annoying than the mosquitos that would come with summer. The fog drifted along the cold, dark water, stirred by their feet as the group made their way past bracken-tangles amd mossy hummocks. A mere three miles later, however, they found themselves surrounded by the mud-slick ridges that hemmed the swamp in. A cursory search found no cave entrances along the steep ravine walls.
            Alethra's crows quorked to themselves, rustling their wings within their cage as the party came to a halt.
            Thaurlann looked over at the noise, smirking slightly as if agreeing with the birds' sentiment. His gaze drifted upwards at the ridges, panning back and forth as if to find some sort of stairway up. After a moment he spoke. "Well, we've wasted some time but we haven't lost too much of the day yet. I'd say a reversal of course is in order." He looked over to Gannon to see the Atjet's reactions.
            The Banite harrumphed as he looked up at the slick ridges. He glanced over at Aksana. "You vent vith the Varden up these ridges, did you not? Vere they all like this? I knew they vould be difficult to climb but this looks almost impossible vith the mounts." His steely eyes flicked over to Alethra. "Find another vay."
            The Sharran flicked a hand at the ridge and Nutwolcnum took wing, scouting ahead to find a way up the hills for the horses. A shadow against the grey sky, the shadowy raven cut through the low hanging clouds, black eyes scanning for a pass or game trail or some way to get the party up to the ridge tops.
            Thaurlann sat impatiently on his steed while the bird flew its mission. All this waiting and scouting was leaving him restless, and he kept adjusting himself in his saddle and fidgeting. Eventually he pulled out his sword and examined the blade, scraping at the scratches that had accumulated during the fight in the swamp when he cleaved the horn.
            Thaurlann usually didn't tend to treat his equipment with such care. This always led to the ragged look his armor eventually presented. He had little else to do, though. It didn't seem likely that he would have any time to speak to the priest of Bane in private, and even if he did, Thaurlann wasn't sure what he might say. He had practiced in his head, but it always sounded clumsy and foolish.
            He watched the others as they waited - the absence of Anya seemed to cast a solemn pallor over the group, as Thaurlann didn't notice much talking at the moment.
            When he finally spotted the raven returning to its master, he sighed a breath of relief, and re-sheathed his sword in anticipation of moving again.
            On the raven's return, the news was not dire, but not good either. There were paths that would lead up and over the ridges, but it would be a difficult attempt for the horses, which would have to be led - and despite the scrubby vegetation, they would be above the trees and easy to see from all sides. The bloodhawks, at the very least, might take an interest in them. In any case it would take a candlemark to cross, at best.
            It had been long enough since the wood demon has spoken that her words sounded rough, almost rusty from disuse in spite of the underlying music of her voice. "There are trails available to us, master. They will be difficult, but difficulty is our lot in life, is that not so, master? Shar gives me the vision of a path, but does not lead me down it. Trials are how the gods know our faithfulness."
            She stroked the glossy black head of her pet raven with one pale hand, reaching into the depths of her robes to withdraw a nugget of something that was probably better left unknown. Nutwolcnum snaked his head forward with lightning reflexes and snatched it out of her hand, but Alethra's electric green eyes were focused on Gannon.
            The Banite harrumphed as he looked up at the slick ridges. He glanced over at Aksana. "You vent vith the Varden up these ridges, did you not? Vere they all like this? I knew they vould be difficult to climb, but this looks almost impossible vith the mounts."
            Aksana started at being addressed by the Atjets. She struggled for a moment to bring herself back to reality from wherever her mind had been wandering. "Y-yes Atjets," she stammered, "the vons ve climbed ver not so big, but still very treacherous."
            Gannon made another sound, this one halfway between a dismissive snort and an unhappy grunt, then swung down out of his saddle. "Lead us, then." He waved his hand at the sellswords. "Dismount! Ve vill need to lead the horses up the ridge!"
            "If that thrice-damned Varden hadn't abandoned us she could lead the horses up this five-times-damned ridge." That last he muttered to himself as he ducked to check Cep's straps before trying the muddy trail.
            Unseen by most, a small smile crept across the wood demon's lips as she dismounted. Nutwolcnum fluttered off to mark the trail as Alethra double checked the straps on her mount and on the pack mule.
            Thaurlann frowned at first, unhappy about his advice being dismissed so quickly. They could have at least checked the other northern path before forcing the horses to endure the climb, he thought.
            As he collected himself and grabbed Lightning's rein, though, a smile crept across his face, completely against his will. "The priest is as stubborn as I am," he thought. "I will definitely learn from his leadership."

            The climb wore on forever; it seemed every step up the slope was countered with a slide two steps back. They urged their horses up the ridge with grim concentration; some never saw the attack coming.
            Toiling up the slope Aksana caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. Turning to look, she gasped in surprise. "Vatch out," she called as she freed up her hands and drew a dagger. Krel called out a brief blessing in the name of Talona and Her master, Bane.
            Thaurlann heard the warning but it was too late to react. He turned around and braced himself for the strike.
            Rhia swung her head around at Aksana's warning, but she looked in the wrong direction, or too late, or both, and didn't see the danger until it struck.
            A flurry of wings thrashed in their midst as the bloodhawks pounced on Gannon's startled dog. Another bunch fell on the pack mule, which brayed and twisted about, trying to escape. Krel raised his crossbow and shot one down, but the others were undaunted.
            Thaurlann looked to the women to make sure they were all right, and drew his sword for the next wave.
            Already in a foul mood from their long detour, tired from being forced to drag himself, his armor, and his heavy steed - a beast ill-equipped for slogging up a steep slope in slippery and tricksome mud - up the veritable cliff face, the Banite turned at the first sign of trouble, drawing that black, wicked morningstar from under his cloak in a smooth, practiced motion.
            "Hah! As well try to stay the Hand of Bane, foul beasts!" The broad shouldered warrior-priest swung his spiked flail around his head and waited for the birds to come at him or his mount, a feral grin on his face. Warhorse standing deceptively still, the dangerous looking weapon spinning over his head and black shield tucked in tightly he looked ready to hold off a company of enemies, not just a flock of birds.
            "Circle up!" Gannon gestured at the sellswords with his free hand, eyes locked on the incoming hawks. "Watch the sky!" His morningstar whipped down, smashing a hawk into so much dripping jelly.
            The demoness said nothing, but put the horse at her back to forestall any surprise attacks. Come now, my Eyes! Come and be my claws! The mental summons pulled Nutwolcnum down out of the sky in a silent flurry of black wings, shadowy talons outstretched to kill any birds who would dare try and hurt his mistress. His attack astonished the hawk he flew into, distracting it from the mule it was harrying. The screaming mule took no notice, dragging at the rope that held it to Obnako, nearly dragging the horse from its footing before Alethra cut the line. The mule tried to run, skidding in the slick earth and avoiding a bad fall by the slimmest of margins. The remaining hawks followed, clearly meaning to kill their large prey through just such a misstep.

            Anya Ravenmane tugged Silkymist on to make up the time she had lost on her leave. The surefooted mare negotiated the steep slope carefully but steadily, as both rider and mount were used to the treeless ridges of the Moonsea wilderness. The ranger had found the group's trail easy to follow at first, but she soon noticed an easier but more ominous way to find them.
            She had spotted the bloodhawks as they surveyed their prey from high in the air and had pressed Silkymist on when she had seen them glide down to skim the trees before the attack. When she reached the group the battle was already engaged and all Anya could do was draw her weapon and draw her horse on.

            Forced to a near stop by the steepness of the slope, Anya hopped away from her mount and started running toward the mule. Although she was relieved that her companions were in no real danger, she hated to see the poor beast thus tormented and she was determined to chase away or kill the damn birds.
            Rhia cursed, her body seeming to move entire seconds behind what she saw happening, and what she wanted to do in response. As the thrice-damned birds continued to harrass the mule, the maga reached to pull the bow from where it was tied to her baggage. An arrow followed, and she inexpertly brought the weapon up to her cheek, using her mystic sight to time the flight of the arrow. Her target screeched, falling away from the mule. It tried to get airborne once more, a shaft sticking from its breast, but couldn't manage more than hopping lopsided along the slope.
            Now that the hawks were not harassing her Aksana pulled her crossbow out of Raisa's saddle bags and loaded an arrow. Sighting on the hawks she waited for an opening to shoot.
            Thaurlann had started to head up the slope, seeing the large cluster of hawks near the others. However, as he turned around he saw that most of the birds already lay dead. He turned his attention down the hill to where all but one of the remainder tried to take down the mule. Thaurlann steadied himself and headed down the slope.
            The remaining hawks, faced with the loss of their fellows and Thaurlann racing towards them, abandoned their prey and took wing, leaving the crippled one behind. The mule took little notice of this, braying madly and barreling down the slope toward Anya, skidding and sliding as it tried to escape its tormentors. Thaurlann, reaching the crippled bird, cleaved it through, ending its misery. In the air above, Nutwolcnum furiously fought the last confused bloodhawk, the heavier bird at a disadvantage to the raven's quick wings. With a final shriek of aggreived fury, the hawk gave up and flew after the others, quickly disappearing over the ridge.

            As the birds flew away Aksana relaxed her tense muscles. She slowly lowered her crossbow unloading the bolt. She looked around to make sure everyone was ok. She checked first on Spielos who had been unusually quiet since his confrontation with Gannon. As she caught sight of Anya down the slope she momentarily froze. She blinked a few times to be sure she wasn't just seeing things. "Anya!" She pointed down the slope. "Anya has returned."
            Spielos smiled wanly; perhaps things would get back to normal now that the Warden was back. He rubbed his jaw where Gannon had hit it; it was still sore, and the pain ran deep. Silently, he began to make his way towards the Warden. After being gone for so long, she was sure to have a plan in mind.
            Seeing his pack animal about to kill itself, the Banite cursed softly but took only a few steps downhill before realizing he had little chance of catching it and quite a good chance of slipping and falling on his head. He looked over at Alethra, the command clear in his blazing eyes. Do something!
            Knowing none of the hawks could have pierced her beloved's shadowy feathers, Alethra ordered the black bird after the mule without stopping to consider Nutwolcnum's state. Besides, if he was tired, so was she, and while her countenance seemed cool and composed she was quite out of sorts from the rough climb and the surprising fight.
            Her lips began to move and those slender fingers writhed and danced as she began a spell to stop the stupid beast in case Nutwolcnum couldn't convince it to slow and turn.

            Ordered by his mistress, the raven darted after the mule like a black arrow shot from a bow, instinct telling him to go for the eyes but the voice at the back of his mind that was his mistress telling him that he was to keep the smaller four-legs from being hurt. How was he supposed to do that?
            And now there was another two-legs in the way.

            It was obvious that the runaway mule was going to run Anya down as she came up the path they had taken. Darting down towards them, Nutwolcnum landed neatly on the animal's sweaty muzzle and flapped his wings in its eyes.
            The mule blatted pathetically at this new torment, shaking its head and miraculously keeping its feet despite trying to change course and run up the far too steep slope. The raven's tactics worked perfectly; unable to see where it was going, the mule eased down to a trot, then (after kicking up its legs) a standstill as Anya was able to catch its lead.
            Thaurlann breathed heavily a sigh of relief. He was only moderately concerned about the fleeing mule, but once he noticed Anya in its path his heart had leapt into his throat.
            Rather than joining the others in greeting her return, he busied himself in tending to Lightning, giving the beast a little extra food in appreciation for its efforts climbing. He stole a glance at her now and then, but tried not to be noticed.
            Anya led the mule back to the group and greeted them with a polite nod. She was happy to see that Rhia seemed to have recuperated and conveyed this to the magi with a heartfelt emotionless Moonsea glance (i.e. she looked at her).
            Rhia was glad to see the Warden return, and just in time, even. She gave Anya a brief nod, then finished securing her things.
            Silkymist followed dutifully behind her mistress as everyone negotiated the way down the ridge.

            The climb back down the far side of the ridge was thankfully uneventful, despite flocks of hunting bloodhawks circling far above the rolling moor and ridges a few miles off.
            Thaurlann didn't bother to offer suggestions this time - it was obvious that Gannon had taken charge, and as a good soldier Thaurlann would heed his leader's orders without question. He waited patiently by his horse to hear their course.
            The Banite nodded appreciatively at the Warden's return. "Finally! Ve'd thought you abandoned us to the swamps, Varden!" His tone was cheerful, which was strange, but he had just been involved in a fight. Sort of. "Tell me you've been scouting for better vays to get to the hills and that ve don't need to scramble up muddy cliffs anymore!"
            Like a few other members of the group, the forest demon busied herself with checking straps and equipment rather than rushing to meet the returned Warden. Her eyes kept darting to Spielos, to Anya, then back to her work.
            "Ve go north from here," the Warden spoke as if she knew this on good authority, "The bandits are in the hills beyond the maze of ridges. I persuaded the... voman ve encountered before to tell me."
            Now that the group was back in the valley, Anya was confident the mule would stay near the group. She sprinted ahead to scout the way as they all moved north.
            The maga followed along, her eyes scanning the terrain around them, looking for signs of the cave she had seen. Something, anything, to give her a better idea of where the enemy was hiding.

            Following the valleys north and climbing the ridges when they had to, it was Anya who first spotted them: boginki, surprisingly well-armored and, from what she could tell, moving through the tall moor grass to surround the others, though clearly they hadn't spotted her. They moved with an uncommon discipline, not arguing or fighting among themselves as boginki were wont to do. There were nearly three patrols of them, and all of them were armed, clutching daggers and clubs and slinking low to surprise Anya's band.

            The wind washed the waves of tall grass and heather, rustling through it like a thousand tiny wingbeats. Anya had disappeared up ahead, leaving the group to wade through the chest-high grass alone, and under dark clouds there was a sense of foreboding on the wind.
            The sellspears muttered among themselves uneasily, worried about the curse the swamp-woman had threatened them with. "Vhat if she told the truth?" one hissed in a hoarse undertone, scowling as he scanned the valley.
            "The Banite vill protect us from curses," another said uncertainly, glancing sidelong at the priest. He clapped another on the shoulder. "Ve still are useful vith our spears, not whining children frightened of the Nocnitsja, hah?" A few agreed, but their voices were a little too hearty.
            "I vill keep my spear ready, if it is all the same to you," the first growled. "Men are meant to bring fire and iron to the vilds, not to go so deep into the vilderness alone."

            Sudden, swift motion in the heather below was Nutwolcnum's first hint that things had gone wrong. What looked like dark trails from above were sweeping out from ahead of the party and heading to either side. Swooping down for a closer look, he found the trails belonged to two-legs so small they were practically hidden from view - lots of them, and coming fast. There was just time to warn his Mistress before they were on her.
            The Sharran felt her familiar's distress before she knew what was wrong. The wood demon normally rode in chilly silence, head turning occasionally as her eerily green eyes caught something none of the humans could see. Now she sat bolt upright in her saddle and glanced at Gannon before turning her eyes back outward.
            "Something is wrong. Be on your guard!"
            Aksana cursed under her breath as she scanned the tall grasses around them. Gripping Raisa a little tighter with her knees she dropped the reins and got her crossbow out.
            Alethra's pet raven swept in like a shadow against the sky to circle his mistress and her mount. Nutwolcnum croaked a few times, bringing alarm to Alethra's beautiful, and normally composed, features. "Boginki, coming this way, quickly. Many of them, and quiet, orderly. They hope to take us by surprise."
            The big Banite pulled the morningstar from his belt and slid his shield up onto his other arm. "Vhere are they, vitch?" His tone was low, designed not to carry, and his expression was grim.
            Upon spotting the boginki, Anya turned and headed back toward her companions. Her pace was brisk, but she remained bent at the waist to avoid detection. She pondered the significance of the boginki's unusual organized ways. It was a bad sign, to be sure.
            Seeing the group, she signalled them to a stop and quickly briefed them.
            "Three groups of boginki," she pointed in the direction of each group coming toward them, "The largest group is on the right. They are vell- armored, organized and headed this way."
            Gannon turned his warhorse to face the largest group. "They are acting strangely, for beasts. Ve should try to keep one or two alive for questioning." He glanced at Alethra and nodded in the direction of the largest group. She didn't respond; instead, the wood demon began muttering under her breath as she started to gather the necessary mystical energy to bind the largest group in place.
            "She vill slow the large group. I vill charge the middle group to try to break them up. Once ve sight them, let those who have bows try to flank the beasts." Nutwolcnum flew back out to spy on the boginki for his mistress as she began her spellcasting.
            Thaurlann leaned forward and whispered to his mount, "Be ready, friend. We are once more ready to test our mettle." He looked back at Spielos and said, "It will be safer if you dismount now."
            Thaurlann stretched his aching muscles, unsheathed his sword with a swift pull and led Lightning to the right side of the party.
            It was impossible to hear the boginki as they came; the whisper of heather masked their furtive movements. Fortunately, on horseback it was a simple thing to see the grass move once they came close enough. The first of them burst out of the grass at the party's flank, crowing gleefully, only to be snared by their own shadows as Alethra made a small gesture. Their yells became squeals of fear, and they forgot anything but fleeing the dark magic that held them as the rest of their band came to attack.
            A mess of them fell upon Anya in a chaos of daggers and clubs of wood and bone, only to be met by Gannon's horse plowing through them as they threw themselves to all sides, yipping with alarm. It was impossible to tell which of the little monsters led the attack, but one swing with the big Banite's morningstar smashed a head like a melon, and the rest scattered before him.
            The boginki that had flanked them to the left seemed less inclined to rush such a dangerous group, but two enterprising ones had leap into the saddles of the poor, wounded mule and Anya's warhorse, cutting the lead ropes and sawing at the reins. Deciding that the unarmed woman in the cloak could be no trouble (having perhaps missed the source of their fellows' entrapment), several rushed her with their clubs even as a hail of stones zipped around Thaurlann's ears.
            Aksana fared better against the lone boginki that ventured near her. Easily avoiding its club, she lowered her crossbow and planted a bolt through its eye - not bad for one who had never faced such things before! A head went sailing as Anya proved the worth of her sword, as well. The boginki around her scattered as Thaurlann rode to her aid, splitting one nearly in half, armor and all. A cry from Rhia brought their heads around.
            "The one with the sword! It's commanding the others!"
            The sword-wielding boginki had already been noticed by Anya, mainly because he was right next to her trying to bury said sword in her gut. The Warden didn't like the position she was in, surrounded by the diminutive creatures, but she had no choice but to trust that Gannon and Aksana would handle those behind her as she launched an attack on the boginki leader. The boginki, however, was not cooperative, turning tail and running even as she cut down another that got in her way.
            Spielos looked around, trying to find the leader of the creatures, his crossbow following his eyes, sweeping the terrain in short, focused glances. He spotted the creatures harassing the mounts and mule. Raising his voice above the fray, he bellowed at the sellswords, who were in various states of shock, alarm and fear, "Save the horses and mule, they are cutting them loose!"
            The swirl of battle surrounded Aksana and made her head swim. There were boginki everywhere she looked. She could hear Spielos shouting behind her and it looked as if Anya was going to be overwhelmed in front of her. Trying to push her fear and confusion to the back of her mind she grabbed another bolt and fitted it in her crossbow.
            The priest of Bane, looking more like a bogatyr than a holy man as he wheeled his warhorse and bore down on the nearest monster, lashed out with his morningstar, spinning the wickedly barbed head of his weapon across his mount and bringing it down on the boginki's head with a wet crunch. The horse, trained for battle, lashed out with its steel-shod hooves at the other nearby beast while his master made his own attack, but it dove aside, dropping its weapon and running for its life.
            The sorceress ignored the two boginki nearest her and whistled shrilly for the dogs. She pointed one pale, slender hand at the mule and the humanoids trying to steal it. "Attack!" Alyosha and Dobrynya, milling around confusedly after their master had charged off on his horse, pricked their ears and fairly leapt at the thieving boginki at Alethra's command. Dobrynya pulled one down even as the other thief dropped to the ground and ran, driven off by the sellspears responding to Spielos' shout.
            Alethra didn't see what happened next, having already turned to cast another spell. Well, the same spell in another direction. Shadows whipped up and clung to legs and arms as she finished her casting. The boginki shrieked as loudly as their fellows had, but found their shadows too strong to break free from, causing a horrible din as they howled their panic.
            In moments the ill-fated ambush was over. Boginki ran screaming in all directions, leaving their unfortunate comrades trapped in Alethra's twisting shadows.
            "Free uss, humans!" a captured one pled, groveling among its terrified brethren. "We hurty you no more, let uss go!"
            "Hurt us no more? You sad little creature! You have not hurt us yet, nor will you, whether you live or die." On an impulse, she drew the sword at her belt, pointing the tip at her captive's throat. "If you tell me who sent you, and where you came from, perhaps I will let you live, or at least give you a swift and painless death."
            The boginki broke into a chorus of wails and cries, from which it was eventually gleaned that the little monsters had left their usual hunting grounds and were traveling roughly north and west, taking all that they had - or could take from others. The one who had first spoken, a heavyset thing with big, hairful ears and cloven hooves rather than feet, proved the most useful. "Sorry, sorry! The call! Do not kill uss! We go from the foresst," it whined. "Sorry that we attack! Let uss go, we give you all that we bring! We go to the mountains. A big wagon of treasure! Only let uss go!"
            Somehow, Rhia doubted they were sorry that they had attacked, so much as they were sorry to have been beaten and caught. Still, the way they had attacked, and the mention of some 'call,' these things merited more consideration.
            The demon maga spurred her horse forward at that, green eyes alight with curiosity. Nutwolcnum fluttered down with a loud flapping of black feathers to alight on the big boginki's left shoulder, beady black eyes as curious as his mistress's. The boginki winced away from him, ducking his head and shoulder in a vain attempt to shoo the bird off.
            Alethra's voice held its usual musical quality, but there was a tone of menace in her soft words. "Vhat call, beast? Who calls? Vhere are you going? I vill let this one take your eyes before the voman stabs you through the heart, little one. And believe me, I vill know if you lie." Gannon, meanwhile, had dismounted to check on his beloved dog, kneeling in the mud and stroking the unconscious Alyosha's short fur.
            Rhia was somewhat taken aback, but dared not let it show. As she was interested in the boginki's answer, she remained silent, sword-point resting on the captive's chest. Listening intently, she spared a moment to wonder just how much longer the mystic webs would hold their captives. The unnatural shadows lay thick among them, resisting their efforts to crawl away with an almost living will and strength. Perhaps a candlemark, or a little less, she guessed.
            "Please, noble one, we did not know you were with them," the boginki whined to Alethra, his great, watering eyes flicking between her and Rhia. "We did not know - the great ones call us!" it said hurriedly as Rhia shifted her weight with the heavy sword. "The great ones, we must go! Do not kill us for obeying their wishes, o noble and mighty ones! All our treasure, it is yours!"
            Alethra's eyes narrowed at the mention of the 'Great Ones' and the demoness looked back at her master, crouching in the mud to tend to his dog. Alethra shook her head slightly, and for an unguarded moment let an expression of purest disdain pull her lips down into a sneer. It happened so fast that one would have had to have been looking directly when it happened to catch it. Then her usual mask of neutral detachment returned like it had never gone.
            Further prodding revealed that these boginki had gathered from smaller bands to march north and west to what Aksana was able to identify as the Dragonspine Mountains, following some impulse they were either unwilling or unable to explain. Likewise, they seemed unsure of the nature of these 'great ones,' knowing only that great rewards awaited those who came... and possibly punishment if they did not heed the call.
            "We bring them our treasure," the hairy boginki said, trying not to look towards the raven on his shoulder. "But we will give it to you if you let uss go!" It graced them with a smile full of mossy, jagged teeth.
            Alethra turned to Rhia, since Gannon was otherwise occupied. "It is not my place to lead, I know, mistress, but perhaps their 'Great Ones' are one in the same with our quarry. We could use these beasts to lead us to them." Her tone was soft, respectful, almost servile.
            The demoness glanced back down at the large boginki, an evil sneer coming over her face. "If you wish it, mistress, they will lead us true. Or my curse will have their shadows will rise up and devour them in their sleep, taking them all to the hell of everlasting cold and darkness." Nut suddenly hopped a bit closer to the big boginki's face, apparently getting in on his mistress's intimidation. The boginkis' wailing and screaming intensified, and they thrashed about like landed fish in their desperation to break free of the pool of shadows. "We lead, we lead!" The musty stink of their fear rose so thick that even the humans could smell it, rank and sour.
            Rhia considered. Gannon seemed... occupied. Anya was... different, lately. The maga decided to take a gamble, hoping her enemies didn't speak the language of the elves. Still, she spoke softly. <"Why do you think our bandits would be summoning boginki? Do they really think an army of these little things, based out of one small keep, can threaten... anyone? And how would they do this? Emistil and the woman did both seem skilled in the Art, but something like this? I wouldn't even know where to begin. Would you?">
            Spielos quirked an eyebrow and smiled. "You must teach me that, if we ever get out of here," he drawled. He cleared his throad and added quickly, "If that is suitable to you, of course."
            The wood demon's usually expressionless face quirked into something that might have been curiosity, might have been confusion, might have been... frustration? Alethra shook her head.
            <"If you do not wish them to understand, maga, speak a language that we both share."> The frail woman's voice lost all its gentle, ringing overtones as it took on a dark, sinister undertone, her consonants clipped and harsh and the words rolling like a black, undulating sea.
            Nut launched itself into the air suddenly at some unspoken command from his mistress, feathers eerily making no noise as the raven lifted itself into the air to fly sentry once more.
            It was impossible for Rhia to keep the surprise off of her face, but she recovered quickly enough. At least she had a chance to direct her thoughts a bit and re-state them.
            <"An Elf who does not speak the language of her People?"> Rhia's Ruathlek had a different accent than did Alethra's. She had been taught by one of elven blood, who had in turn been taught by elves, and so the irony played itself out; the human woman speaking with the musically lilting accent of the Forest People, while the elf spoke with her darker, clipped dialect.
            Her green eyes flashed with what could have been anger as Alethra shook her head. She dropped back into the common language in her flustered state. "I do not know what you are talking about, outlander."
            <"We must speak of that one day. For now, I said that I wonder why and how our bandits could be summoning boginki. I cannot think of any Weaving that would work in such a fashion. Can you?">
            <"No, nothing short of the spells of legend. Yaga could have done such a thing, no doubt, but that great witch is dead by even the generations of my people. No living being should have such power.">

            Thaurlann watched with great interest at the interrogation of the diminutive creatures, glad to see that they were willing to talk, even if their words seemed laced with lies. He cocked his head a bit as Rhia started speaking in a strange language - at first he thought perhaps she meant to summon her supernatural power once more to force the creatures to speak true, but quickly realized she was simply speaking in a foreign tongue to the elf.
            He turned his attention back to the ugly little creature, and something about its evil eyes made his heart skip a beat.
            He turned away and went back to check Lightning's saddle straps, knowing full well they hadn't budged since the last time he checked them only a few minutes ago. "I wonder if the Forest Things are also commanded by these `great ones,' " he asked the horse quietly.
            Overhearing him, one of the closest boginki turned to grovel in his direction. "Yess, all must come! Please, do not kill uss, mighty warrior! We must go, we bother you no more!" Thaurlann whipped back around to face the creature. He stared at the pathetic eyes with skepticism, resting his hand on the pommel of his sword as he allowed the others to continue their interrogation. It nervously licked its eyebrows with a snakey tongue, leaving streaks of dirt across its face to match the runnels from its huge running eyes. Aksana backed farther from the foul creatures. The sight of them was bad but the stench was worse, it made her stomach turn. She didn't know how the others could stand so close to them.
            Anya hated the open cowardice and weakness displayed by the captured boginki. She had always despised these creatures and was content to let Alethra interrogate them. However, when they spoke about answering the call of the great ones, Anya suddenly saw red. If Mandrake was assembling an even larger army, her vengeance might be slipping away from her.
            The warden suddenly ran up to the most talkative creature, grabbed it by the collar and shook it violently.
            "Who calls you?!? Who? Tell me their names!!!"
            "The mighty, the ancient ones!" the boginki wailed, its tusks clattering. "They who come!" The shadows around it stretched to keep hold of it, pulling against Anya's newly regained strength.
            The Warden groaned in frustration as she pushed the pathetic creature further back into the shadows. She was angry, but she was unsure why. Her instincts told her that the boginki were not talking about Mandrake and his bandits, but she wasn't sure about it. She wasn't sure she wanted it to be the case. Did she hope he was calling these creatures to him so she would have more targets to quench her thirst for vengeance?
            Anya's scowl deepened. "I do not think they speak of our targets," she said flatly as she turn back to the group, "Let us kill them and move on."
            The wood demon nodded obligingly. "Yes, mistress." Alethra turned her vibrant green eyes to the boginki and began chanting another spell. Nut dropped down out of the grey sky and went straight for the eyes of one of the struggling creatures. The boginki flinched and screamed, a jagged cat-sound that stung the ears but did nothing to deter the raven. "No! No! We lead you true! We know!" they pleaded. Two of the creatures, terrified as they were, actually managed to pull free of their traitorous shadows and darted into the grass, abandoning the others to their fate. The rest made such a din with their shrieking that a flock of dark grouse burst from the grass a hundred yards away, wheeling up into the sky and drawing hawks from the ridges.

            Thaurlann's eyes widened. His hand moved down to his sword handle, but did not release it from its sheath. "Wait!" he cried. "There are bigger things at stake than the bandits, if they speak the truth!"
            He caught himself before his emotions took control. He had been telling himself since his first meeting with Alethra that he would keep a tighter rein on them, but the fear that the Forest Things still lurked somewhere "out there" - and the fact that these creatures might give him more information - overrode that directive.
            He looked over at Gannon pleadingly. "Atjets, I know I have not been able to tell you of my journeys in the days before our hunt began, but please allow me to explain before we kill all of them!"
            Aksana listened to the two women with interest, trying to figure out what language they were speaking. It was no language she spoke, she would have to remember to ask what it was at some later date. She glanced at Spielos sidelong wondering if he knew.
            Suspecting what was coming when Alethra began chanting she merely stepped back a bit more to be out of the range of the foul magics about to be released. Glancing at Thaurlann she shook her head. The outlander is veak, she thought to herself. She found it ironic and strangely satisfying that one demon would destroy another.
            Spielos clucked his tongue in annoyance. He had gathered up his things and strapped his pack back on, ready to go, and now there might be delays.
            "In the name of all that is holy, Thaurlann, we are here to kill the bandits, not talk to I would wager the Warden might help you with..." Speilos paused and waved his arms wildly, at a loss for words, "whatever it is you need help with once we are done. Please, lets just go and find a defensible position in which to camp before nightfall."
            The armored Banite's head turned to regard the outlander with a cold eye. He clearly hadn't been paying attention to the fracas around the boginki, attending as he was to his wounded pet. But before he could respond, the other witch interrupted.
            "Stop!"
            Rhia's voice lashed out, as did her hand, slapping at Alethra's fingers to disrupt any Weaving.
            The towering Atjets stood with the creak of steel on leather as he turned to face the witch. His face was a thundercloud as he spared a glance for his slave. "What are you doing, girl?"
            The wood demon turned her mount and hung her head to hide her face from Gannon's wrath. "The Varden, my master, she..."
            "Enough of that! You will be silent and do none of your witchery until I give you leave, do you understand?"
            "Yes, master." Nut, meanwhile, had somehow managed to avoid clawing his target's face and instead fluttered awkwardly back into the air. In its flustered state the shadowy raven made no sound whatsoever, silent as a wraith.
            Gannon nodded as though he'd had no doubt that would be Alethra's response and turned to look back at Rhia.
            "These Boginki are under the effects of some great Weaving. If any person is so mighty in the Arts as to be able to do such a thing, it is of direct interest to the Church, and the Cloaks. These prisoners are a link to such magics, and must be studied, not simply slaughtered." Rhia strode close to Anya, lowering her voice.
            "If these boginki do go to serve our bandits, we can use them to disguise our approach. If they do not, we can use them as a distraction to disguise our approach. Far better that we tie them by the neck and bring them with us than to slay them here and waste the opportunity they present."
            The Banite didn't catch all of what the witch said, but heard enough as he approached the two women. "Bah! Kill them all save one, then. Or two. We certainly don't need so many of the vile beasts." He turned to look at the biggest boginki. "You vill serve me vell, von't you, creature? You are vorthy of keeping your life in return for service, aren't you?"
            "Yes, yes, master," it groaned, clapping its hands against the thick horn growing up from its muzzle. The others called for Gannon's attention, pleading for mercy and promising great magics and vast treasures should he choose them instead. The big one slammed fists like hammers into those around it, silencing them with blows that might have killed those that fell beneath them. "I serve, great master," it vowed, sketching the big Atjets a surprisingly correct bow.

            Alethra's ravens had fallen quiet, but the boginki whined and pulled at Gannon's leggings. "We must go! Quick quick, far away!" they whispered. A splatter dropped nearby, and they leapt away as though it were fire. "Far, far!" they moaned. "Back to the grass, we must run! They will come in the night!"
            "Night is still far, veaklings, stop vhimpering," Anya scolded the boginki, exasperated. The Warden contemplated the disgusting scene again and shook her head. They did not have time for this… whatever it was. She considered asking Aksana to burst the ballooning sac with a quarrel from her crossbow and moving on, but caution won out for the moment.
            "Vhat is that thing? Vas it made by your `ancient ones'?" she finally asked the boginki.
            "The fliers," one answered. "They come at night!"
            Another tugged at its long ears in distress. "Their nest! Flee!"
            Aksana held her sleeve over her mouth and nose in an attempt to keep out the smell. She had thought the boginki smelled bad but this was worse. The wrongness of the tree was like nothing she had ever seen or even dreamed of. It made the hair stand up on the back of her neck. She hoped fervently that they would leave this area soon.
            Alethra had little exposure to nature, having grown up in the dark, grey cities of the Moonsea, but even the uncharacteristically urban elf could feel the wrongness of this tree. She shook her head as though to clear her thoughts, frowning as though she smelled something insufferably foul smelling.
            Nutwolcnum came in to land on her saddle and she absently stroked his sleek black feathers as she squinted her eyes and examined the foul tree.
            The Banite didn't seem affected in the least. He certainly looked disdainful of the strange looking thing, but that was his default response. His dogs cowered against his great mount's legs, growling low in their throats. "Bah! It's just a tree. Leave it or burn it if you don't care for it." Gannon looked down at his brave wardogs and glanced back up at the tree.
            He didn't look at the big boginki when he next spoke, but his voice was less gruff. "What fliers?"
            "Bugbirds," Anya muttered, "I had never seen one of their nests before." She couldn't help thinking that she wouldn't have mind never seeing one either, although she had to admit it was quite a sight, in a disgusting I-never-want-to-see-one-again sort of way. "Still, I see no interest in staying here any longer, I say ve move on."
            "If I may offer an opinion," Spielos interjected, "there is little chance that we can get far enough away from this nest to avoid attack. If we build a fire to keep them at bay, we risk warning the bandits of our approach."
            "We should burn this area to a crisp, now. Forest fires happen from time to time, and a blaze that large would not be mistaken for a campsite. The bugbirds hate the light - they are fish in a barrel right now."
            Aksana was dismayed at Spielos' statement. She surveyed the surrounding trees and their endless supply of bugbirds and tried to suppress a shiver. She did not want to have a repeat of the other night in the swamp. "Even if they hate the light," Aksana said quietly, "vill they not rise up if we set them alight?" She looked around the trees again, "Even if only a fraction of them come at us ve may have trouble fending them off." She looked back to Spielos, "Unless you know of a vay to protect ourselves vhile ve do this thing."
            "Aksana is correct," the Warden said, "Vhen cornered or vhen their young are threatened, animals vill overcome their natural fears to attack. There is still enough distance betveen here and the hills to keep us safe from the bugbirds. Leave our fire to me and I vill make sure the bandits see us not."
            As she said the last sentence, Anya fought her instinct to cast a quick glance at Gannon and Alethra. Instead, she grabbed Silkymist's bridle and moved on while avoiding the clearing.

            Roughly two candlemarks later Anya called a halt in a valley surrounded on all sides by the high ridges. Here the forest was thick, and more importantly a good three miles from the bugbird nest.

            The night was heralded by a blaze that lit up the woods for dozens of yards, making the boginki wail and hide their eyes. The pickings in the forest had been surprisingly slim; Anya returned with only a brace of rabbits for Gannon's service.
            The Banite directed the sellspears in the building of the bonfire and created a small black altar by draping black cloth over an upright log and placing two black candles and a silver dish on the makeshift altar. He cleaned himself as best he could and returned to the altar in the black robes and mantle of a cleric of Bane.
            Even without his armor, Gannon was a large man, easily taller than any other man in the party and certainly more broad. Without a metal visor to obscure his face, his dark eyebrows, thick nobleman's beard and long, curly hair give him a leonine appearance that only adds to his fierce attitude.
            Gannon takes both of the coneys with a frown but a nod and a small "Thank you, Varden," for Anya's efforts. Though the sellswords are gathered, heads down and fidgeting, he waits until the sun touches the hills to begin, but then his voice rings out in the growing gloom.
            "Strengthen, ve beseech thee, O Lord, the vills of thy faithful servants, that they, ardently vithstanding the enemies of this world, may rejoice in the comradeship of Thy Kingdom. Give strength to their arms and guide their steps in the darkness, that Your vill be done on this vorld as it is in Heaven. Grant us Light, O Lord, that we may vitness the sacred ceremony that is Your blessed sacrament."
            Her black Sharran robes making her a wraith in the false night of early sunset, Alethra lights the bonfire, which bursts into life to surround Gannon's muscular frame with a fiery corona and casts his face in darkest shadow. A moment later, Gannon puts out his hand and the wood elf slips her sacred dagger into his grip.
            The Banite priest raises one of the coneys and plunges the knife into the little animal's chest, splashing blood onto the Black Altar, and rips down to disembowel the creature over the silver plate. Hot blood and gore rains down into the dish as Gannon recites his prayer.
            "Take this flesh, O Lord, that we sacrifice in honor to you. For as the meat of the beasts of the land sustains our bodies, ve acknowledge that it is only Your blessing that can sustain our souls. For Thine is the Power, Thine is the Glory, Thine is the Honor and Thine is the Kingdom, forever and ever. Amen."
            Gannon drops the carcass onto the plate and lifts it up over his head, then slowly turns and lowers the silver dish. A heartbeat later he throws the carcass and rabbit's gory remnants into the flames and is rewarded with a brief flare up that momentarily sends sparks up into the sky and doubles the bonfire's height. All can feel the heat of the fire become uncomfortably warm - how much hotter must the Banite be, standing right in front of it?
            The priest turns back to the Black Altar and puts the plate back down, balancing the athame neatly on top without looking, a gesture that implies he has done this many times before. Face hooded with dancing shadows, Gannon turns to look at everyone standing nearby before going on.
            "My friends, my companions, ve are in a dark land, facing a dark, uncertain future. Ve go to do Bane's vill, but His vays are sometimes hidden even to his Chosen. In times like these, ve must trust that He vants what is good and right in the vorld, that He vill lead his Chosen where ve are needed, where ve can do the most good."
            "Only through faith and obedience vill ve be able to complete our mission and find Bane's special blessing. Bane loves the obedient best, but those who strive and find victory in the face of adversity are His special children. Ve rest in His upturned hand, my friends, and no matter how dark the road looks, ve can rest assured that Our Lord is vatching over us, protecting us and guiding us as ve do His vill. Join me in prayer, please."
            "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not in want. He maketh me lie down in green pastures, He leadeth me beside still waters, He restoreth my soul. He guides me in the path of righteousness for His name's sake. Even though I walk through the the darkest valley I will fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."
            Gannon quickly picks up the athame and fillets the remaining rabbit, removing its heart and holding it up to the party. "Normally ve vould share this, brothers and sisters, but as it is so small I vill partake for all of us." He turns his face up to the sky.
            "Bless this flesh to my body, O Lord, and let the flesh of my enemies be rent as easily as this tender heart I raise in sacrifice." Though he could easily have taken the entire heart in his mouth in one bite, Gannon makes a point of biting the rabbit's heart in half and consuming it in two bites.
            "Our service is now complete. Go vith the blessing of Bane, brothers and sisters."
            Rhianna watched the service quietly. She recognized the form of the rite, if not the wording, though some of the phrases did ring familiar as well.
            So this is the nature of those who serve Bane? The dichotomy was interesting to her. Gannon was most definitely a brutal man - even amongst a brutal land full of brutal people - but he also showed genuine concern for his 'flock.' The tenderness displayed by the big man when his dogs were hurt contrasted greatly with his callous disregard for the lives of the boginki he had ordered slaughtered, and Rhia had yet to get a good read on the man.
            At the same time, Gannon's companion/slave, Alethra was an equally intriguing puzzle. An elf that spoke no Elvish, and seemed to willingly serve the Banites. Yet, Rhia could not forget the brief flash of... what? Contempt? Hatred, fear? It wasn't love, anyway. The look had been brief, but it had been enough for Rhia to replay the past few days in her mind, and she realized it hadn't been an anomaly. The body language was subtle, but readable. Alethra did not like the man she served, but serve him she did.
            That relationship did not make it any easier for Rhia to figure out the giant Banite, and though it did leave her concerned for the elven woman, and for herself. As the service ended with words of blessing, Rhia could not help but remember other words, of less comfort.
            "You will have to become hard, like them. You may have to send some of them on to the next ocean. You must do it, or they will not see you as anything but a jellyfish to be kicked off the decks."
            As the group separated, returning to their tasks, the firelight reflected in the blue eyes of Rhianna Morrolan, glinting like steel.

            Spielos had sat motionless at the edge of the firelight through the service, his cloak draped over his shoulders. It let him blend in surprisingly well to the landscape; one would have to look closely at his form not to mistake it for a rock. He absorbed every nuance of the ritual, filing even the most trivial details into his memory. Gannon wasn't exactly the mindless sod he thought he was, but on further thought that wasn't surprising. Gannon wouldn't be where he was if he was a fool.
            Absently, he rubbed his chin and gave a chuckle at the beard he found there. While it wasn't white like his hair, it was certainly light in color, and had grown quite a bit since he last shaved. I've not taken enough care of myself, he thought. I've been fighting too hard, and this land has gotten the best of me. I must become as the marsh grass, which puts its roots deep, bends with the storm, and is never washed away.
            Thaurlann watched the sermon, mesmerized by every word the Banite spoke. The statement, "but those who strive and find victory in the face of adversity are His special children," seemed to ring especially true, considering his personal trials over the last few weeks. He had survived an ambush by Forest Things, and then nearly lost his life trying to track them down. He met the unusual, yet valiant, creature Koomdawr, and had somehow earned its trust enough to guard the strange horn it carried.
            Now, that horn might be irrevocably destroyed by Thaurlann's efforts to keep it from the strange swamp witch. And, they stood on the eve of a battle of impossible odds - a few sellswords, two "witches," a "gyspy," two priests, a hunter, and a - scout? - against dozens of bandits.
            The uplifting message of the sermon was clear to Thaurlann.
            As Gannon stepped away from the makeshift altar, Thaurlann nearly lept from his seat. Striding swiftly and with purpose, he walked up to the priest and bowed politely, although not directly in the priest's line of site.
            "I beg your pardon, Atjets. May I have a moment of your time?"

            Then, when the last light had faded from the sky, a strange sussuration filled the air, growing louder and louder until it was impossible to speak in less than a shout. They came in a cloud unlike anything the group had seen, bugbirds in a seeming wall that filled the night with their wingbeats and their ugly, whining chirps.
            Spielos' musings were interrupted as a lone streak of nastiness flew across his vision, beating wings betraying its foul identity. Spielos jumped up and rushed to the fire as the sellswords clustered inward also.
            "Be calm, be calm" he admonished the soldiers, "we've fought them before; they are naught but mindless beasts, and we've the blessing of Bane on our side. The fire will keep them at bay."
            Ignoring the grumbles and curses coming from the men he continued, "Use your spears to poke a few of them, then fling the bodies outside of the light as far as you can and perhaps the smell of blood will distract some of their fellows." As he finished, he took a few steps forward, drew his rapier and while he never left light of the fire, he started poking at the beasts and flinging their wounded bodies or corpses away into the darkness.
            Mercifully, the boginki had fallen silent, no longer complaining about the light. When Spielos flung the spitted animals past them, they would reach out and catch one, devouring it noisily. The sellspears drew so close to the fire that it was a wonder they didn't set themselves aflame, looking up at the horrific cloud with pale faces and prayers to the gods, their spears clutched in white-knuckled hands. The horses shied, their eyes rolling white at the unnatural wind, but their tethering held them fast where they stood, and none bolted to their deaths in the darkness.
            The bugbirds pressed into the circle of light protecting the band, but even the pressure of their unnumbered fellows wasn't enough to push them all the way to the heart of the bright firelight.
            Aksana crouched as near to the fire as she could stand. She held her dagger so tight that her knuckles were white. As more of the creatures appeared and blocked out the night sky the blade slipped from her fingers to land forgotten in the dirt by her feet. She had always been comfortable in the dark of night but now she was filled with terror; she wanted nothing more than the light of dawn. Squeezing her eyes tight she covered her ears with her hands and began to pray to Shar. The sound of her own voice helped drown out the whirring of death above her but nothing could completely silence it.
            The maga stood at the edge of the firelight, keeping the flames to her back. The sword she seemed never to be without rested comfortably in her hand, the blade seeming as liquid fire in the night. Occasionally, a bugbird would swoop too close, and the blade would flash out. Sometimes the bird fell, mostly, they jigged and swooped away, out of danger. Neither result affected the maga. Her blade returned to her side every time, and she watched the creatures, as if daring them to come closer.
            The bugbirds whined and buzzed above, gradually thinning from a cloud to a double handful of beasts that swooped and fluttered futilely outside the reach of the light until the clouds grew pale to the east, rising above the ridges.
            Just when Aksana thought she would go mad from the sound it finally started to fade. As the sun breached the horizon she collapsed to the ground, tears in her eyes. She was unable to do anything but sit for many minutes. Finally her glazed eyes focused on her dagger. She picked it up, resheathed it and stood up. Numbly she began to go about her morning chores.
            As the horizon began to grow lighter, Rhia's silhouette stood out, like a figure made of night, standing in the gloom. When the first gleam of the sun broke in the sky, the maga's sword swung up in salute, and then returned to the scabbard at her side. Paying no attention to the others, the maga returned to her blankets.
            Thaurlann had virtually ignored the bugbird swarm during the night. Too many other things pecked at his mind, drawing away his attention. He almost wouldn't have noticed the daylight until he heard the nicker of Lightning behind him, poking the soldier's face with a wet nose demanding attention.
            Thaurlann snapped himself out of the reverie and rubbed the beast's neck, still somewhat oblivious to the rest of the activity in the camp.

Ridgelands, Mirtul 25

            Everyone in the camp had seen Aksana's breakdown, Spielos knew. As they prepared to ride again, he said to her softly, "Would you like me to ride in front today and steer the horse? You look as though you could use some rest."
            Aksana looked up as Spielos spoke to her. The scars on her face seemed to stand out against her still pale skin. At first there was no recognition in her eyes. Slowly they focused and she saw the man before her. Without saying a word she handed him the reins. At first she sat straight and stiff, but she wore down quickly. Not caring what anyone thought, after her behavior last night how could it be any worse, she leaned forward against Spielos' back. His warmth comforted her and his shirt soaked up her tears.
            Spielos remembered many nights on the road with his "father" where he had cried away the miles, whether it was hunger or a beating or one of the thousands of other discomforts his young life had brought.
            He shifted in the saddle a little and opened his mouth to start to say something to comfort her, but managed just a strangled "I-" before snapping it shut again. Drawing attention to weakness in this land was not in any way, shape or form a good thing.
            Instead, he began to softly sing a song he didn't even remember he knew. It was a simple song, the kind of song that had no real end. Instead, it just went on for as long as a lonley child wanted it to on as endless hours spent walking passed by:

<"How much further to go?
It seems we are going slow.
Better set a pretty pace,
We can walk through the night,
will we make it by daylight?
Yes, you will. Yes, you will.
Look around, look around,
Fie, I am where I was.

How much further to go?
It seems we are going slow.
Better set a pretty pace,
We can walk through the day,
The town guards will say,
"Come on in, come on in."
Look around, look around,
Fie, I am where I was.

How much further to go?
It seems we are going slow.
Better set a pretty pace.
We can walk 'till out feet are sore
Have we been here before?
Yes, you have. Yes, you have.
Look around, Look around,
Fie, I am where I was.

How much further to go?
It seems we're going slow.
Better set a pretty pace.
We can walk until we're free
and nobody will bother me,
Happiness, Happiness!
Look around, look around,
Fie, I am where I was.">

            Abruptly, he broke off his song, overcome momentarily by his past. He looked around himself, blinking. The sight of the landscape and the sellswords was suddenly a comfort to him.
            Slowly the song penetrated the fog around Aksana. As she listened to the simple melody her tears slowed and then stopped. She was ashamed of her weakness and grateful that the outlander said nothing about it. <"Thank you,"> she said just loud enough for Spielos to hear.

            Rhia sat upon Sarai, eyes alert, despite the lack of sleep from the night before. She had slept for a time both before and (briefly) after the Banite ceremony, but, as with the rest of the party, Rhianna was short on sleep. She kept a watchful eye upon the boginki, riding close to them as the group moved along.
            "You, boginki! Tell me of this call you feel. When did it begin? How do you feel it?" She continued her habit of snapping questions unexpectedly at the creatures, not giving them time to consider their answers, not giving them time to lie.
            The largest boginki, the one with the horn where its nose should be, answered for all of them, the smaller boginki plodding along with longing looks at the misty forest. Worn down by her constant questioning, it finally blurted out something new. It seemed the mysterious call had come to the leaders of their clan, and the lesser boginki had no choice but to follow or challenge. The challengers had failed (and, it implied, had not survived the challenge). All those of able body were set to raiding, carting along what riches they could as the whole tribe marched for the distant mountains.
            "The great ones will not show mercy to those who refuse the call," Horn-nose said, giving Alethra another of many speculative looks. "They grow stronger now with all who come, night by night."
            Rhia did not miss the look. She rode closer to the boginki, lowering her voice so that only the boginki could hear her easily, and moderating her tone a little, so as to seem somewhat less threatening, but only somewhat. "Why do you stare at that woman?"
            The boginki smiled, licking its horn. "The great ones call. She can expect no more mercy than us if she does not come." The thought seemed to please it, for it chuckled to itself, sounding like gravel being crushed.
            The strange wood elf gave no sign that she was concerned about the boginki's 'great ones.' Her face as still and placid as a mountain lake in winter, Alethra looked at the large beast. "Do you remember the things in the night, little one? Do you remember the fear you felt then? The feel of things in dark, things you cannot see, things you cannot name but that you know want to drink your blood, to take your soft, tender eyes and leave you in darkness forever?
            "The beasts in Shar's everlasting night are a thousand times worse. They wear fear like a cloak. They move like the wind but you can smell the hate, the hunger as they move past. They can take you at any time, but they revel in your fear and misery. They love to smell the terror on your skin and hear the beating of your fearful heart."
            Her eyes seemed to grow large, dark pools that drank in the gloomy light and hinted at the never-ending night she was talking about. The three boginki stared at her, edging away to the extent that their ropes allowed. "You will wake up one morning, little one, and yell out because you think you've gone blind. No sun, no light will greet you. You will walk and walk but find no exit. Then you will feel them. Out there, somewhere. You will smell them on the wind as they stalk you. You will wish for death, for relief from the fear and the darkness that never lifts.
            "That is the fate that awaits those who oppose Shar's chosen, little one. Before Her, your great ones are as nothing."
            After that, the boginki kept silent and as much out of her view as possible, as though hoping she would forget about them... but as often as not, she felt the weight of their eyes upon her.
            Further questioning would be fruitless at this point, Rhia decided. The maga instead returns her thoughts to studying the mystery that was Alethra.

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The Second Cycle