To those who might dare notice, Lord Vaukmond, First Duke of Windemere, appeared very impatient. He was not fond of waiting for anything, whether it be news, food, or sleep. Whatever took time in arriving, Lord Vaukmond did not bear the waiting of it well. Everyone in Honor's Pavilion, indeed all of Honor's Start, and then Windemere itself, knew this.

The tooled leather of the Duke's doublet squeaked as he restlessly shifted position, his fingers tapping a staccato rhythm on the throne's ornately carved handrests. No other sounds were heard in the empty chamber, for the members of the court knew when to leave the Duke alone. He was aware of their fear, of course, and used it to his advantage; after all, a feared ruler was one who sat upon his throne the longest. That was the only disadvantage to ruling as far as Lord Vaukmond was concerned: that a ruler had to sit most of the time.

He had been sitting upon this throne for the whole of the last twenty-five years having won it from the House of El'Haia. Those foreigners from the land of Charaine had never met with a serious challenger, for all of Ryndorhn feared their ruthless butchery. But Vaukmond, then a mercenary of sorts, was not afraid and so gathered men and arms and stormed Windemere, taking the cosseted royals quite by surprise.

Although he'd been only twenty years of age at the time, Vaukmond had seen battle since the tender age of thirteen. Luckily, he'd reached full height in his twelfth year, baby-fat long exchanged for sinewy muscle, that no commander of his ever questioned his age.

So, having routed the foreigners, Windemere and the lands surrounding it had no rulers to oversee law and order. The citizens turned to their liberator, pleading with him to take the throne. Vaukmond reluctantly agreed, though it was never his intention to install himself as monarch; he was a warrior and not at all enamored of politics.

After a time, he began to be addressed as the "Duke of Windemere," the House of El'Haia having ruled, as an oligarchy, without titles. When the years passed and no others came forth to challenge his new title, Vaukmond resigned himself to ruling by proxy until his death.

During his rule, Lord Vaukmond came to be both feared and admired--an unlikely combination, he'd always mused to himself. He was fair to those who deserved it and mercilessly cruel to those he deemed duplicitous. He knew he was called "Weapon Master" by the populace, though few dared speak the name in his presence. He feigned dislike for the term--after all, a ruler had to maintain some dignity. But inwardly he felt pleased that he was viewed as more than a sitting royal. He was, after all, a warrior above all else.

So here he sat surveying a vacant throne room: bored, impatient and surly. Though he appeared to be the only occupant of Honor's Pavilion at the moment, Lord Vaukmond's brown eyes still searched for someone to vent his ire on. Damn death and the beyond, the Duke cursed to himself. A courtier should be announcing Terjal Rakmir any minute. I should suspend protocol for once; why bother announcing the man's arrival when he can walk into the chamber and announce himself, thus saving me valuable time?

The abrupt entrance of a trembling courtier halted Lord Vaukmond's mental tantrum. Like a diving hawk he quickly attacked, his words gripping talons. "Speak your message...now."

"They have arrived, Your Grace," stammered the young courtier, his voice reduced to that of a field mouse's squeak.

"Who are they?" The Duke leaned forward slightly, leveling his dark gaze at the courtier. "Quickly! Quickly!"

Swallowing hard, the courtier answered: "They would be Terjal Rakmir and your Adjutant, Aiya Lindsmund, Your Grace."

"Ah," Lord Vaukmond said as a thin smile, razor-sharp, split his darkly bearded face. He eased his six foot four inch staff-slim frame into a more relaxed position, as his right thumb absently caressed the whorled pommel of the sheathed dagger strapped to his side; it seemed to calm him and he continued to stroke the weapon.

"Send them in." Lord Vaukmond's impatient anxiety began to ebb.

###

Terjal entered the throne room with Aiya trailing behind him. He immediately sensed that the Duke was worried. It was something he had never seen on Vaukmond's face before and it unnerved him.

"Your Grace," Terjal said as he stepped directly before the Duke, "I am told that you have a situation at hand that may require the use of sorcery."

The Duke stood, unfolding his tall frame a little stiffly. "May require sorcery! Sorcery might be the only weapon left to battle this foul...thing."

"Thing, Your Grace?"

"A vicious, fire-breathing beast that can tear a man and his steed apart as easily as if they were blades of grass." The Duke looked beyond Terjal and his brown-eyed gaze stabbed at his Adjutant. "Aiya, as you are already apprised of the situation, you may take your leave now. You may return once you have been suitably attired."

Aiya nodded silently and left the room. As Terjal watched her leave, he realized with a touch of dismay that he was about to be enlisted with no chance of refusal. "I have a feeling, my Lord Duke, that the matter of my taking up this quest has already been decided."

Lord Vaukmond's bearded jaw worked soundlessly for moment before he spoke. "I have no one else to turn to. Most of my best guardsmen have fallen before this rank creature."

"Are there no eyewitnesses left to describe this beast more clearly?" Terjal asked, a single reddish eyebrow raised. He sensed the unease the question had provoked in the Duke. He can't abide failure--especially at the cost of admitting he has lost control over a situation.

"Alas...yes and no," Vaukmond said as he stroked the throne's armrest with a callused palm. "The single survivor of an elite attachment has lost both his legs and his mind. We have been unable to get any information from him since the slaughter. There is one other survivor: a small child, a girl, rescued from a village not far from Quitonne. She's not been any more helpful than the guardsman; she apparently witnessed only the aftermath of the destruction of her village."

"I assume both survivors are still here at Honor's Start?"

"Of course." The Duke's tone was suspicious as he lingered on the last word. "Do you think you can do a better job of interrogating them than I?"

"I'm in need of detailed information," Terjal said as his gaze fastened unwaveringly upon Vaukmond. "Vague second--hand descriptions will lead me nowhere--I require the kind of information a survivor might carry deep within his mind, when the tongue cannot find it." Terjal watched as the muscles in the Duke's neck flexed briefly, like worms moving beneath soil. It was clear to Terjal that the Duke knew what he'd meant: that sorcery would be required, and the Duke couldn't help but resent it.

"Since the child has not seen this creature," Terjal continued, "questioning her further would be a waste of time. However, the surviving guardsman can be our first link into discovering who's behind the destruction. Whatever tiny bit of information I can glean with my own...methods...will be helpful." Terjal paused, crossing his arms upon his chest and narrowing his eyes slightly. He could see that the Duke disliked second-guessing. "Or have you so quickly forgotten the eye-gougers of Khodruk? If it weren't for an apparently trivial bit of information your own eyes might now be seated in the eye-gougers' great trophy case: the most prized possession in all of Khodruk." Terjal smiled grimly at Vaukmond's slight change in pallor. That got him a bit unsettled. "So, because the survivor will be unable to give the information to me verbally, I must mind delve to get it. There is no other way."

Terjal heard the rapid tap of footsteps behind him on the tiled floor.

"You can't be serious?" Aiya, now clad in tunic and breeches, exclaimed as she re-entered the chamber. "I have just visited the wounded guardsman. The man is very near death: he cannot speak and his eyes appear to see nothing at all. If he should die during the mind delve, your own consciousness will be trapped within the skull of a corpse."

"He's near death?" Terjal turned to Vaukmond and, at the Duke's hurried nod, continued. "Bring the man here immediately; we can't afford to let his knowledge die with him."

Terjal barely listened as the Duke roared his servants into action; instead, he re-focused his attention upon his former student who stood, tense as a drawn bowstring, at his side.

Turning to face Aiya, he explained, "I've improved mind delving since you left Cloudreach. It's safer, but it takes longer to reach the subject's memories. If the man is as badly hurt as you say, I'll need all the time I can gather." Terjal paused, his blue eyes snaring the gaze of his former student. "You will be the dying man's link to the living world if he should perish before I'm through. Can you do this?" He tried to keep the sound of challenge from this last.

"I'll try," Aiya said warily as she studied Terjal's face. "Although I must warn you that it's been a while since..."

Aiya's response dwindled to nothing beneath Terjal's stern blue scrutiny. He was helpless to repress his schoolteacher expressions; he'd been one for so long. "Unfortunately," he began, trying to ease the harshness from his voice, "I have neither the time nor the luxury of going over an old lesson; you must be certain of your ability to perform this task. So--are you ready for it...or not?"

Suddenly the unease began to melt from Aiya's green eyes as she set her mouth in a firm line of determination. "Yes. Yes, I am ready. Just give me a moment to prepare."

A soft moan sounded beyond them, interrupting the conversation.

Turning, Terjal's gaze met a heavily bandaged form, barely moving, borne upon a litter by two servants.

Terjal noted with a spidery touch of horror that the man seemed little more than a torso filling only half the length of the litter. Not a single inch of the wretched man lay bare--save his eyes, which were covered by his own wafer-thin eyelids.

The chest dressings are already red, even though they appear fresh, Terjal thought as he moved toward the supine man. Then, appraising him closer, the corners of Terjal's mouth drooped in dismay. A head wound; there may be little or nothing at all to scavenge from his mind. Whatever I do find, I'll have to take it fast.

Terjal turned to the two servants, his grim expression warning them against any protests. "I'm sorry, but this man must be upright for the mind delve to work.

The servants exchanged nervous glances at the request, but obeyed by bracing their arms beneath the wounded man's armpits and lifting gently. The man's head lolled back and then flopped forward, the bandaged chin scraping with a sharp whisper against the chest dressings. A low moan escaped the man's lips as his chest caved in with the lost breath, before slowly filling up again. A line of scarlet began to darken his head dressings.

"Bring him here immediately," Terjal said, motioning to the center of the chamber, his eyes cautionlessly watching the spreading blood upon the soldier's forehead. "We must have a clear space and absolute silence."

The conjurer's gaze swept the room: all who stood in the chamber had already retreated backwards against the walls. Even the Duke sat perfectly still upon his throne: his dark eyes clouded with a mixture of wonder and resentment. Then, looking at his former pupil, Terjal said, "Aiya, that gash in the man's forehead worries me. It's bad enough mind delving into someone near death, but a wound that may have twisted what few memories he has left is worse."

Aiya nodded in reply, worry once again etching a light crease across her forehead.

Terjal reached into a worn leather pouch clinging to his right hip. From it he extracted a thin silver chain which he wound around his head several times, before twining the ends to keep the chain from slipping off. The elegant, untarnished silver contrasted strangely with the conjurer's thick and unruly red hair.

Terjal knelt before the guardsman as the man was held upright between the two servants. With a single, slow nod of his head, Terjal motioned them to lower the man to the conjurer's level. Silently the servants obeyed, their eyes now wide with fright.

Gently, Terjal placed his palms against the man's temples and brought the bandaged face close to his own. As Terjal did this, Aiya leaned over the man's bent spine and placed her left hand upon the gauze-covered neck while her right slid to rest firmly upon the soldier's chest.

Terjal's darting blue eyes missed nothing as he waited for the touch of the doomed man's mind upon his own. The conjurer felt his own breath become nearly as shallow as that of the man whose head he now held between his palms. Soon, their rhythms joined in a quiet, even susurrus like the scratch of pen upon parchment.

Time became slow liquid as the moment passed.

Gradually, Terjal sensed a crawl of movement upon the man's bandaged flesh.

Aiya's hand began to move upon the guardsman's neck. Soon four fingers beat lightly upon it, steadily, the bandages now becoming streaked with sweat and blood. The fingers and thumb of Aiya's right hand counterpointed in a complex rhythm upon the man's chest.

"Are you set, Aiya." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes," she said, nodding slightly. "But we must hurry; he's not going to last much longer."

Terjal peered at the man's eyelids which were the pallor of pale wax. He felt the silver chain begin to warm against his forehead as his concentration intensified. Still, the dying guardsman's eyes remained closed. Am I too late? Then slowly the eyelids began to raise, revealing orbs clouded with the coming of certain death.

Seeing the window now opened to him, Terjal hurled his consciousness like a javelin into the brown pools of the dying man's eyes--

--and into a white and poisoned landscape split again and again by black lightening. All became ash as the lightening sketched the land, flickering the sky above dark, then light, then dark. Pain burrowing deeply. Each stroke of lightening sending fine threads of pain to every corner of the soldier's mind, which in turn touched Terjal. As the pain grazed him, the conjurer steadied himself against it, curling around it a portion of his own consciousness like a shield.

As he scanned the grey void surrounding him, Terjal was dismayed to find it empty of any immediate clues. Undaunted Terjal probed deeper, hurtling queries far into the nether reaches of the nothingness: Who did this to you? What has hurt you so badly?

Suddenly Terjal saw a flicker of brilliant white pulse in the distance. But the light vanished even as he began to speed toward it. Frustrated, Terjal hovered above the place where the light had danced. But again the pain returned, arrowing across the grey desolation and into Terjal's mind. Vaguely, he felt sweat begin to break out all over his body, soaking his yellow robe and plastering his auburn hair flat against his scalp.

Show me! again he implored into the warped mindscape stumbling at the precipice of death. Show me now what has hurt you! The strain was too much and the grey was becoming eclipsed by a torrent of black that slammed into Terjal like the blow of a heavy club. He gasped, dazed by the raw, open intensity of the pain. As the waves of pain swept him down, Terjal glimpsed things that leapt from the surface like flying fish. He struggled to identify them before the blackness swallowed the images again.

The mosaic of images coruscated into--

--a phalanx of spears suddenly broken like saplings--

--a headless doll tumbling--

--screams rising and falling and rising again--

--sounds of flesh torn from bone--

--the smell of burning flesh--

--darkness, bright fire, darkness, smoke, darkness, falling into a pit of blackness...

Then something surged past Terjal like a thief seeking escape; something moving too fast for him to identify. Then in a flare of white, the image of a creature with the rough outlines of a snarling bear. Utter and complete silent blackness fell over both Terjal and the creature. The pain vanished and the conjurer realized that death sought to drown him.

Terjal began to fight his way out of the void, the transparent sheet of his consciousness shining above him like the surface of a lake. With a final wrench of sharp, cutting pain Terjal broke free.

The warm lights of Honor's Start, shining through a red film, made Terjal blink rapidly. His face felt sticky and wet and he smelled a salty sourness. He wiped a cheek with the sleeve of his robe and stared at it when it came away soaked in dark crimson.

Terjal looked down and saw the guardsman thrashing within the startled servants' grip. Each jerk of the bandaged head sent blood spewing from his mouth, speckling Terjal's face with streaks of scarlet. Suddenly the man stopped struggling and became rigid as if his limbs had turned to wood.

Eyes still opened wide and staring, the dying man shuddered a final breath and pitched forward. Numbly, Terjal stood up and away from the corpse. Dimly he became aware of someone clutching his shoulders, shaking him. With a sudden popping noise deep within his ears, he heard the Duke calling out to him.

"...you all right? What happened?"

"Yes, I'll be...all right," Terjal murmured, his mind a swooping dizziness. The warm metallic taste of blood covered his lips. Terjal spat several times to clear his mouth of the sickening fluid. Taking a deep breath, Terjal at last spoke, his voice weakened. "The guardsman died in the midst of the mind delve. I was hard pressed to escape his fate myself." Terjal suddenly felt very, very tired.

"Terjal," Aiya spoke, her voice hesitant, "I--I'm sorry. His heart burst so quickly I could do nothing to stop it." Terjal easily saw the horror etched upon Aiya's face and noticed the blood staining the fingers of her left hand.

"You did the best you could," Terjal said, feeling his throat and jaw tighten with the pressure a barely suppressed yawn. As he shook his head, beads of perspiration slid from the ends of his thick hair, spotting the shoulders of his robe. Then, turning to Lord Vaukmond, "I think I was successful--but it will take some sorting to confirm this. Right now, I need to sleep and let my mind arrange all the impressions I received into something that I can use. With your leave I would like to return to Cloudreach to prepare for whatever I do find. I will require Aiya's company, since she participated in the mind delve. If I have indeed obtained useful information, we can begin tracking the culprit tomorrow." Terjal yawned helplessly behind his turned fist.

Vaukmond frowned but offered a reluctant nod. "Can you give me any information that I can use?"

"The only fact that I know with any certainty is that whatever is directly responsible is not of this plane." Terjal's frown nearly matched the Duke's. "Don't worry, once I sort everything in my mind I'll send one of my Blades with all the information to you personally." Terjal removed the glistening silver chain from his temples, wiped it clean with the hem of his robe, and returned it to the pouch. Then turning to face Aiya, "It's time to return to Cloudreach."

"And what of your robe?" Aiya asked. "Perhaps a clean one might be brought to you..."

Terjal looked down at his own blood--stained form. The color of his robe was nearly unrecognizable and he was now beginning to feel the wet heaviness of the blood as it soaked through to his flesh. "Never mind that!" the conjurer said with a trace of tired annoyance; he'd be willing to sleep in a vat of blood right now. "I'll clean up at Cloudreach--after I've had a good, long slumber."

Aiya nibbled her lower lip for a fragment of a second before nodding with a single, quick duck of her head.

Terjal heard a low rumble building from behind; turning, he realized it was the Duke clearing his throat. "I will gladly bade your leave to Cloudreach," Lord Vaukmond said evenly, concern barely touching a single word, "but not before we've discussed this matter a little further."

Terjal pressed his fingertips gently to his closed eyelids, stroking them so that bright lights whisked in the darkness behind them. It's like the Duke to ignore the comforts of anyone other than himself when he is so distracted. "If you insist, Your Grace--but I must implore you to keep the discussion brief."

Lord Vaukmond pursed his lips in a twist of irritation. "Yes, yes--of course." Then, his voice perfunctory, he added, "When it is time for you to begin your quest for the creature, I must inform you that I will not be able to spare any troops to accompany your group. Even the Empress Perseldeth chooses not to involve the Empirical Guard of Ryndorhn; after seeing what the creature did to my guardsmen, why send in her fancy-dressed prancers?" The Duke shook his head slowly. "Nothing I know can slay this craven beast. Neither sword nor ax nor the brute strength of one hundred warriors set upon it at once can harm the creature. Unfortunately, magic is the only option left to us." Vaukmond grimaced in embarrassment at this last admission.

Terjal fell silent, his bloodied fingers steepled beneath his chin and his eyes closed; for moment he felt himself sway forward in a wave of fatigue. Then he opened his eyes suddenly and swung a thoughtful gaze upward until it met Lord Vaukmond's. "What you have described--and what I sensed from the dying soldier--sounds as if it were drawn from another world. To wrench something from its homeworld and keep in an outworld environment requires tremendous power and an erudite understanding of conjuration." Pausing for an instant, Terjal asked, "Have you any idea who might possess such power and seek to destroy you--assuming, of course, that it is you against whom the wielder seeks revenge?" The Duke's dislike and distrust of all things magic was legendary throughout Ryndorhn.

The Duke cast his gaze at the ceiling as if the answer might be written there. Then he shook his head slowly and sank wearily onto his throne. "I have several foes; it comes with being a warrior--especially when you've won your grand share of battles." He stroked his thick beard with an open palm, then continued: "The Stepperiders would love to tear me apart, but they avoid magic altogether. Hmmm...the aquamancers of Shammerkath perhaps?" Then, shaking his head, "But my quarrels with them are minor, yet."

"And their power lies in manipulating water. This creature breathes fire, which is beyond their ken. We know only the very basic aspect of the personality behind the creature--that this person is bent on revenge of sorts. That makes my task all the more difficult." Terjal paced before the throne, lost in thought for a moment, then turned again to face Lord Vaukmond. "And that's yet another reason why I'll need Aiya's help."

"Is it absolutely necessary," the Duke said, his eyebrows slanting downward in a dark frown, "that you require my Adjutant's help? She is the only member of my court with any knowledge of magic. Do you wish to leave me so unguarded?"

"I can provide you with the names of several conjurers who would serve well in her place--temporarily," Terjal replied, catching the brief concern as it passed across Lord Vaukmond's face. "And they are the select few who would not be afraid to serve you, Your Grace.

"You see, I trained Aiya and so we know each other...somewhat," Terjal continued, feeling Aiya tense beside him as he spoke. "She knows of my methodology and how I think. I have a good idea of her power and how far it can extend. Furthermore, as your emissary, she can open doors that might be denied me; I am, after all, strictly a teacher and conjurer--not a diplomat.

"Remember," Terjal raised a finger before his face (glad that he still saw only one finger, and not two), forestalling the Duke's expected protest, "that we have little idea who might be responsible for the creature's existence; it could be anyone bearing a grudge--against anyone. And finally, in a task such as this, a pair of conjurers are more powerful--and flexible--than a lone spellcaster. A powerful duel of magics may ensue before this threat can be eliminated."

"Well then," Lord Vaukmond said, gesturing with a quick, dismissive wave of his hand, "you may have your rest at Cloudreach, then do what you must, in any way that you can...only," a callused finger stabbed in Terjal's direction, "get it done quickly."

Terjal gave a quick, short and grateful nod, for his vision was beginning to cloud. "For the safety of the land's people and," a lone eyebrow arched, "for the sake of revenues, your Will shall guide my hands and mind, Your Grace...and Weapon Master." I'm definitely getting punchy if I've seen fit to mock the Duke of Windemere.

Lord Vaukmond's jaw clenched, then relaxed. "Go to it, then. And one more matter," lowering his voice, "I only allow you to call me that when no one is around; fortunate for you, my court is nearly empty at the moment. Do not abuse my largesse."

Terjal's only reply was a slightly chastened smile.

###

Terjal and Aiya returned to Cloudreach in the same manner in which they'd traversed to Honor's Start; once again Aiya had begun the fingerplay that would guide them back. Terjal had gone directly to his solar upon their arrival, with barely a word to anyone, not even to Aiya who gazed at him with open concern.

As promised at Honor's Start, Terjal was too exhausted to even strip away the blood-soaked robe he'd worn during the mind delve--which was now oozing a pungent odor into the air around him. Instead he slid into his bed as if it were a bathtub of warm water, then twisted himself into the folds of the thick bedding.

Just before sleep ensnared him, Terjal began to remember everything in blinking flashes: the spell travel back to Cloudreach by rote; Darman's well concealed surprise at the Master of Cloudreach's bloody appearance; and, finally, the luxurious embrace of his bed.

###

As sunlight slanted in from the square window beside his bed, Terjal felt it like a warm palm caressing his cheek. He awoke feeling restful and very alert.

Terjal climbed out of bed and, after sparing a quick glance at the gore-smeared bedding, looked down at his rumpled and bloody robe as if for the first time. Quickly, Terjal stripped the reeking garment from his body and allowed it to shrivel to the floor. Then, clad only in his undergarments, he strode to a basin still filled, untouched, with water.

Dipping both arms to the elbow in the cool water, he watched as the red crust turned liquid, lifting from his skin and turning the water a frothy pink. Unnerved by the cloudy fluid, he cupped some of it in his cradling hands and rinsed his face over and over until the water was thick with more coils of blood. Terjal reached out a hand blindly to grope for a towel, which he grasped in his fist and drew first across his face, then along his arms.

Once satisfied that all traces of the gruesome mess were gone, Terjal changed into a heavy blue robe, strolled to his night stand and plucked a small silver bell from the table's dull, scarred top. Giving the bell a shake, he heard the soft tinkling turn into a dull clang beyond the chamber's door. Terjal smiled: a conjurer's bell--his newest creation.

Terjal was polishing an apple he'd selected from the fruit bowl left upon the night stand, when Darman entered. "Assemble everyone--including Aiya," he said to the First Blade, "in the Great Hall within the hour. Also, I want a tally of our non-perishable rations." Terjal paused, frowning a little. "What is the status of our mounts?"

"Except for one missing a horseshoe, all are ready," came Darman's gravely reply.

"Good," Terjal nodded. "Have Arjas and Strandholt prepare them for travel. Have the one without a horseshoe readied as a pack animal. Tell the other Blades and Aiya to dress warmly since we will be moving south."

Terjal watched as Darman nodded and left the room. Terjal bit into the apple thoughtfully, unaware of its sweet and sour taste.

###

At the conjurer's entrance to the Great Hall, a stoic Darman at his side, the buzzing hum of conversation died away. Arjas and Strandholt quickly discarded their animated conversation as soon as Terjal's glance touched them. Arjas, swarthy and stocky, his black hair broken by a single streak of white, turned from his blond, long-boned comrade to face Terjal.

Aiya turned, training her attention on the conjurer, unmindful suddenly of the wall map that, until Terjal's arrival, had seemed to hold her intent interest. Terjal motioned Aiya to stand with him before the map of all Ryndorhn, its parchment stained in places with moisture, which hung upon the wall. The Blades continued to lean upon the plain wooden dining table in the center of the hall.

"Lord Vaukmond has asked for our help," Terjal began, watching as Arjas and Strandholt exchanged quick brow-arched surprise. Pretending to ignore their expressions, the conjurer continued, "The Duke requires our aid in a matter involving sorcery and at least one major summoning."

Like a bear trap on a foot, that last got their attention, Terjal smiled to himself, for although his Blades were in the employ of a conjurer, none had any experience dealing with summoned creatures.

Terjal paused to allow the information to settle in his Blades' minds like water simmering in a kettle before he added, "Our immediate foe takes the shape of a large--gigantic, most likely--fire--breathing white bear. However," Terjal said, a grimace purling his lips, "I haven't any idea who transported this beast from its homeworld to our own world. The identity of the summoner probably won't become apparent until we confront the creature itself. Only then can I taste the magics that keep it in our realm." Terjal paused once more when he noticed that Arjas was ready to speak.

"Well, at least we know what this beast looks like," the warrior's voice was almost carefree. Rarely did anything unsettle him for long. "The question is: Where is it right now?"

"I can answer that," Aiya offered in the authoritative tone of Adjutant. After a short nod from Terjal, she continued, "A detachment of the Duke's First Elite Guard encountered the creature here," she pointed to a spot on the midwestern part of the map. "In the insueing battle, all were perished save a guardsmen at the back ranks. Terjal was able to mind delve the guardsman just long enough to glimpse the beast within the dying man's mind. Additionally, after reconnoitering the site of battle, rescuers from the Second Elite Guard discovered tracks indicating that the beast had apparently moved south, toward Quitonne, no doubt burning and slaying everything and everyone in its path. The only other survivor of this creature's rampage was a six year old girl, who did not witness the actual destruction of her village."

A sudden silence draped over the men, staring at the map as if they might see the beast trudging across it. Darman's gruff voice clubbed the silence as he spoke. "Only one of the First Elite Guard survived? They'd never known defeat at the hands of any foe. This beast must be tough, indeed."

"Yes," Terjal answered. "And that survivor did not live very long after he was swept from the battlefield. It's obvious that conventional weapons are useless against the creature--unless helped along by sorcery, of course."

"That's great." Arjas rolled his dark eyes, shaking his head till his black hair flapped against his forehead. "Are you telling us that only spells can gut this unwelcome visitor to the Duke's lands?"

Terjal raised a lone eyebrow at the brutal choice of words. "At this point I would have to say...yes." Terjal paused before continuing, "But remember, all creatures--every living thing--has a weakness, a vulnerability that will make the slaying of it easy--once we discover what that is. We won't find that weakness or vulnerability until we track it down and confront it directly."

"That's assuming we live long enough to exploit that advantage," Strandholt murmured half to himself.

"If this beast is as powerful as you say it is," Darman added, "then we'd better encounter it fully armed and armored. I should be able to scare up some shielding that might hold up to blasts of fire."

"Bring only those weapons which you feel most comfortable handling," Terjal said, nodding at Arjas and the others. "Aiya, how long do we have before the first snows arrive?"

"Time is against us," Aiya, frowning, replied stiffly. "We might have four weeks, if we're lucky. Harvesting will have just begun in this region the end of the month." She swept a slender hand, palm down, in a quick arc over the lands between the cities of Quitonne and Koklis on the map. Turning to face Terjal directly, she added: "Winter will soon follow, blowing down from the north."

"Worse luck," Terjal said with a soft grunt. Then he turned to one of the Second Blades and asked, "I have two questions for you, Strandholt: first, do you foresee any problems in tracking this creature and secondly, can you acquire good horses, healthy ones, with great endurance?"

Strandholt tilted his blond head back and squinted at the map as if appraising it. "If this creature has left spoor, then tracking it should be no problem," the Blade replied. "Just finding out where it's last been will be the tough part. As for horses, I may have been away from the Outsiders for a while, but I'm sure they'll remember me. Besides," Strandholt grinned at Terjal, "you know they're always willing to help a spellweaver."

Terjal eyed Strandholt's smile without comment. So long as I don't abuse their sense of wonder, Terjal completed to himself. "Good, then," Terjal said as he clasped his hands together in a gesture of finality. "I'll assume no one has any questions..."

Terjal's gaze shifted to each member of the group; no one seemed to register any further trepidation, their faces calm as a lake on a still night. He wasn't worried about Aiya, for her training at Cloudreach had prepared her for such encounters--even though she had no experience in such situations.

But Terjal's Blades were a different matter altogether.

The fact that his three Blades had once been mercenaries, hiring out their blade arms to any and all takers no matter the purpose, meant little in the face of sorcery. For never had the three men encountered the likes of an enchanted creature before--and as natural warriors, were obviously as bewildered as Lord Vaukmond on how to defeat one.

Terjal had hired the three Blades to protect himself and Cloudreach from mortal threats: dagger wielding robbers, foremost. Neither were the Blades the least curious about the ways of sorcery; and having little contact with other conjurers, Darman, Strandholt and Arjas merely assumed all spellcasters were like their employer. Terjal never bothered to tell them that this was not true. It had never been necessary...until now.

"We move at first light tomorrow," Terjal said, stifling a yawn deep in his throat, "and so I want everyone to get a good night's sleep."

Terjal reached out and caught Arjas's thickly-muscled arm before the young man could leave the room with Darman and Strandholt. Wagging a finger before the Blade's face, he admonished, "And that means no liquor from now on." The black-haired former mercenary replied simply with a barking laugh as he joined the other Blades on their way out of the hall and to their quarters.

Once they were alone, Terjal turned to Aiya and asked softly, "Do you have any questions?" He wanted to touch her arm, but didn't.

"Yes," she said, her expression a confused mixture of surprise and relief. "As a matter of fact, I have a question that's been biting at my mind since I was enlisted on this quest: Why me? You could have chosen another conjurer to accompany you, someone better suited for the travails of winter travel; yet you chose me. If you needed an envoy, both Darman and Arjas have knowledge of formal etiquette. And," she inclined her head toward the closed door, "I've heard tell that Arjas has managed to get you out of a few diplomatic messes in the past."

Terjal felt his own mixture of surprise and relief: surprise at Aiya's outburst and relief that she seemed to be attempting to confront him--and that she kept informed of any news concerning her former teacher. "Every ruler has their secrets," he explained softly, "and Lord Vaukmond is no exception. The most dangerous secrets are the ones kept from a monarch's followers--more dangerous than the enemy itself, in fact. You know the Duke well enough to realize this. I may despise politics, but I learned well at my father's knee."

Terjal paused, drawing his breath in slowly before he spoke. "One more reason, Aiya: you were my best pupil. While others blustered through spells they weren't ready for, you waited until you'd worked away the risks. I'm sorry that I never told you this when you were in school; it just never seemed necessary. No one else I know is equipped or qualified to join me in defeating this creature." There, he'd said it. Terjal released an inaudible exhale.

Aiya's green eyes widened in surprise and her usual articulate calmness fell apart in confusion. "I was your best? Me? I'd always thought you considered my abilities only...adequate."

"You know now that you are not merely 'adequate'," Terjal reminded her gently. "Lord Vaukmond chose you from several candidates, I'm certain. The Weapon Master tolerates neither arrogance nor incompetence; and you also know that oftentimes both qualities are wedded together." Placing a hand hesitantly upon Aiya's shoulder, he continued, "I tempered you with harshness because the world at large is not kind; cruelty lurks around every corner. You could never have worked at Lord Vaukmond's side if you were used to being praised. It's better to be overly hard on your students than to spread compliments freely, giving them false illusions and making them ill-equipped for life and its heavy blows." He paused, swallowing a very large lump. Trying to make his voice light asked, "So...any other questions?"

"No," Aiya said slowly, her eyes downcast for a moment. When she returned her gaze to Terjal's, her eyes told him that her usual serenity had been reestablished.

Terjal also noticed a subtle change in her bearing, and it quelled his own building unease. No longer was the posture of her spine sternly rigid as she stood before him, shoulders roundly relaxed. She had even unfolded her arms so that they hung at her sides loosely, the palms no longer clenched into tight fists.

"Thank you for your confidence in me." Her voice was still warmly--yet disturbingly--polite. "And don't worry," she added, her smile wide, fleeting. "Your praise won't ruin me."

"If my praise does go to your head," Terjal said as he reflected her quick smile, "rest assured, my harshness will return." Then, seriousness shading his voice, added, "This quest won't be an easy one, so I want the best and most skilled people at my side when we finally meet this creature. Now," resisting again an urge to touch Aiya's arm, a shoulder, "get some sleep and I'll see you in the morning."

Aiya turned to look at him briefly, then cast her eyes downward. "It is obvious you are more in need of sleep than I."

Terjal merely nodded, for he suddenly felt that to utter another word might rob him of the energy to reach his solar. Aiya's sudden concern touched his heart, too, setting it to flutter for a moment, but he kept his face averted so that she might not glimpse the emotion there.

And so the two conjurers left the hall, letting darkness and silence seep in and fill Cloudreach's Great Hall once again.

^TOP OF PAGE