Dawn arrived clear and cool, the crisp air a persistent reminder of the upcoming winter. Tiny patches of snow had already begun to dapple the distant mountain tops, and every exposed surface from stone to mortar was covered in glassy frost. If it should rain this very moment, Terjal thought as his gaze arched the horizon, it will surely turn to snow; never has winter arrived so swiftly.

Standing in Cloudreach's main courtyard, Terjal watched as Darman and Arjas finished loading provisions onto a brace of horses. Satisfied with their progress, he joined Strandholt who'd been consulting a smaller version of the map that hung in the Great Hall.

"Are you certain this is the quickest route?" Terjal asked, standing beside the Blade, his finger tracing a line across the center of the map.

"Yes," Strandholt replied. "Outsiders may be nomads, and I may have been away from them for some time, but I know how they travel. This area," tapping a finger just above the traced line, "contains enough forage to support the cattle that must still be with them."

"What about the weather?"

"No problem there; it should be clear for at least the next few days."

Glancing up, Terjal noticed that Aiya stood apart and alone, for once seeming to have only her thoughts as company. Gazing at her, Terjal wondered of the myriad entreaties she must listen to daily as various visitors to Honor's Start clamored for Lord Vaukmond's favor. He wondered if she ever missed practicing the conjurer's Art, or if she really preferred immersing herself in the art of Court politics. Terjal craved wistfully that it be the former which was true.

Terjal's brief observation was interrupted by Darman's rough shout. "Everything's ready," the First Blade called as he yanked at the straps buckled round each horse's belly, making certain they were secure. Darman looked like a craggy cougar in his burnished hauberk, an unadorned helm fitted firmly upon his head.

Darman and Arjas left the horses to join Terjal and Strandholt, the plate mail Arjas wore over his chest making dull clinking sounds as he moved.

Terjal's gaze swept the lands beyond as he motioned with an expansive gesture. "We will move southeast until we reach the Outsiders' encampment. I want Arjas to escort Aiya at the rear; Strandholt will be with me and Darman will be in the middle with the supplies."

The Blades all nodded in agreement and moved to organize the marching order, efficiently snatching each horse's reins and pulling the animals into their designated places.

Terjal watched Aiya as she scanned the countryside, a distracted frown creasing her forehead. Now comfortably dressed in a heavy green tunic, tan breeches and boots, she seemed to sense his gaze. Suddenly Aiya turned in his direction, her shoulders twitching in obvious surprise to find her guess correct. When she regained her composure, Aiya strode towards Terjal, her lips smoothed back in slight smile of embarrassment.

"You'll ride beside Arjas, guarding our backs," Terjal told her when she stood before him, her arms loosely crossed upon her chest. "If you should have any questions, ask Arjas and he'll gladly explain, though it may appear as if he doesn't want to. Don't let it rankle you--he sometimes becomes a little too focused." Then, pausing, Terjal added quietly, "Not unlike myself."

"Agreed and understood," Aiya said in her slightly perfunctory Adjutant's voice, nodding. But in her green eyes Terjal saw a brief flicker of impish spirit. Aiya hesitated for the barest fraction of a second before adding soberly, "We don't seem to have enough supplies for a long journey. It looks as if we may run out of provisions before we locate spoor."

"I'm sorry, but I thought you'd heard," Terjal replied with upraised eyebrows. "We'll be visiting the Outsiders first; they're not far from Cloudreach. Our horses weren't meant for extended travel, so we'll need sturdier mounts. We'll also need a bloodhound or some other animal capable of tracking the creature. The Outsiders will be our best chance for better horses and for acquiring hounds. After that, following the creature's trail should not be a problem--until it realizes it is being tracked."

With a thoughtful tilt of her head, Aiya considered Terjal's plan. "Your point is well taken," she said, the slight smile reappearing. "This will be the first quest I've ever participated in. I've worked in the Duke's court for nearly eight years and in all that time he's never sent me on such a mission."

"Just consider this quest a continuation of your schooling: an elaborate 'field trip' if you will." Terjal noted the unease in Aiya's body movements: the crossing and uncrossing of her arms; the occasional shift in stance; but most disconcerting to Terjal, her evasive gaze that refused to meet squarely with his own for very long.

An uncomfortable silence filled the space between them. Terjal felt as if the air about them had suddenly grown heavier; he crossed his arms upon his chest, mirroring Aiya's attempt to appear casual. He watched as Aiya sighed tiredly, looking up at the sky as if searching for something. Taking her cue, Terjal turned round till he was directly beside her, and followed the direction of her gaze.

Terjal and Aiya both watched idly as tufts of clouds raced along the azure sky, oblivious to the awkward silence between their two observers.

###

Two days and two nights had bid farewell to the other as the party progressed steadily southeast in search of the Outsiders' camp.

At first the countryside appeared normal.

But on the second day the terrain changed. Dramatically.

Everywhere lay evidence of winter's early touch for the land had been marred by premature frosts, leaving the once lush grasses brown and lifeless with frostburn. Trees once resplendent with verdant leaves rejoicing in the sunlight of spring and summer, now thrust out bare and twisted branches from their trunks like beggars. The trees at this time should normally be bare, Terjal thought to himself, but the branches would not be so rotted--this should be at least a month or two away.

"It's midday," Terjal said as his hand swept the landscape, "yet it's cold enough to keep frost on the ground."

Strandholt adroitly dismounted and knelt, running a palm across the cold and hardened ground. "This isn't supposed to happen so early in the season," he said, glancing up at Terjal, the Blade's lips pressed together in concern. "Winter is still a full month away; yet with all this frost, I would expect the first to come in days."

"Do you have any idea of what's behind it?"

"No," said the Outsider, shaking his head. "But if the weather conforms to what I see here, winter will be very early and very harsh."

"Well," Terjal said, "let's see just how far this strange weather extends."

Strandholt remounted as Terjal motioned the rest of the party to continue their journey. The conjurer glanced over his shoulder at Aiya as she rode alongside Arjas. When their eyes met, she smiled. Terjal smiled back, grateful for such small favors.

###

A few miles from where they'd stopped, the scene became more grim.

A grove of what had once been healthy, fruit-laden peach trees stretched before them like shriveled wrists stuck in the earth as Terjal and the others approached slowly. They stared in disbelief at the darkened bark and skeletal branches hung with no more than a few leaves on each tree. Frost, frozen in mid-drip halfway to the ground, clung to the withered branches.

"Aiya," Terjal spoke, his voice distractedly quizzical, " shouldn't there still be autumn peaches ready for harvesting?" He hated reminding Aiya of her agrarian background, but neither he nor his Blades new of such things.

"Supposed to be," Aiya murmured, not seeming to take offense. She steered her horse to the nearest trunk and patted it in places, then peeled off a small strip of rotted bark. Examining the piece of bark, which resembled a small chunk of over-cooked roast, she shook her head. "An early cold spell hit these trees, maybe three or four days ago. They look winter ready now. In fact I'll be surprised if they survive until spring." Aiya tossed the bark to the ground then surveyed the landscape surrounding the grove.

"There it is," Darman called out, pointing at a grooved ribbon of earth traced into a small hill. "That trail should lead to the village which harvests the peaches and other crops."

Terjal snatched at the unspoken suggestion. "Let's visit them; perhaps they can tell us what happened. This far out, they may have seen something...unusual."

###

Darman was the first to speak once they'd reached the foot of the tiny hill. "The creature must've been here recently. See there?" His finger pointed at the thin trail of smoke fanning up into the sky.

"Yes...I do," Terjal replied grimly. A part of him didn't want to see what lay upon the other side of the hill. "I want everyone to spread out for a sweep of the village once we reach it. There may be survivors--be ready for anything."

###

No one in the band of travelers was prepared for the gruesome sight that greeted them upon cresting the slight rise as they trudged up the muddy trail. For several heartbeats everyone sat frozen upon their mounts; even the former warriors were shocked by what they saw before them.

Signs of struggle were everywhere.

Corpses lay strewn along the main road running directly through the village, many with weapons still clenched in their rigid fists. Few of the bodies were whole, for many were missing limbs and some bodies even torn in half. It was difficult to identify the age, or even the sex of a corpse, their bodies so charred. Only the smallest of the scorched bodies were recognizable as children, their twisted forms huddled together under the crumbling remains of their beds.

Not one structure was untouched by fire: a few buildings nothing more than a collection of burnt sticks like crooked, blackened teeth. Smoke spiraled from a few random embers. Soft crackling sounds were heard in the stillness as another dwelling began its slow collapse to the blackened earth. Impossibly, though evidence of fire was everywhere, so too was frost. Like a cruel joke it clung to every surface: bodies and structures, welding both to the soil.

"Well," Terjal sighed, breaking the ominous silence, "we must at least attempt to search for survivors--though I doubt we'll be successful. Since this village is a small one, and there might be the chance of the creature still lurking about, the four of us can split into pairs." Then, surveying the devastation, added, "Darman will join me in searching the northern end of the town, while Arjas and Aiya will scour the southern perimeter. Strandholt, I'll let you search for any sign of tracks; just be sure to look over your shoulder and keep your hand on your sword."

"Let's just hope," Strandholt said as he managed a grim smile, "that I don't turn around in time to find the thing breathing down my neck."

###

After having no success in locating survivors, Terjal called his party together in a semi-circle on the outskirts of the village. Strandholt was the first to speak. "If anyone managed to escape, they've probably headed for the hills by now."

"Were you able to establish a trail?" Terjal asked Strandholt.

Strandholt shook his head. "Between the fire's destruction and the frost, there's little to go by. If the creature left tracks, it knew to cover them up--and it did an excellent job at that."

"This makes our trip to the Outsiders camp even more urgent," Terjal said as he looked squarely at each member of his party. Then, turning back to Strandholt, "I just hope your people have a tracking animal to spare."

"This early winter won't help, surely," Strandholt replied, rubbing his gloved hands together. "I hate to say this, but with the cold coming so soon, we may not find any stock at all. The frost will have desiccated what little grazing fare is left and the sheep and horses won't outlast the snowstorms that are sure to come."

"Well," Terjal sighed, "our destination remains the same. Even if the Outsiders have moved their herds, we won't find them without visiting their main camp first. Such a stop won't be much of a delay and besides," looking at Strandholt directly, "you have other concerns to address with your people."

Strandholt pressed his lips together in a tight smile that barely hid the emotion behind it. The young Blade ducked his helmeted head in a quick, grateful nod before examining intently the rutted road. "I haven't heard anything lately about my mother's condition. If her sickness had grown worse, my people would have found a way to contact me." Then, turning his gaze back to Terjal, "But due to the urgency of this mission, I suggest we intercept the herds as they travel farther south. My people will have moved them to their usual grazing lands near Koklis..."

Terjal held up a hand to halt the Blade's rush of words. "You may be right," the conjurer said. "The logical thing would be to do as you say. But 'logic' doesn't have an ailing mother wasting away from a rare disease--a disease that doesn't even have a name, and worse, no cure."

"Plus, we need to know," Aiya interrupted, "if the Outsiders themselves have encountered the creature--and we won't know that until we locate them first."

Arjas broke the solemn moment with a quick laugh. "Well, so much for 'logic'; it's not going to win this discussion today."

They all joined in for a quick, uneasy chuckle. "Before we can leave," Terjal said, halting their uncomfortable laughter, "we'll have to see that the dead villagers get a proper burial."

"It'll slow us down some," Darman offered, his voice flat and practical.

"But it's the decent, civilized thing to do," Aiya interrupted. "I'm sure that Terjal and I can come up with a spell to quicken the task." Then she pointed toward the singed ribs of a barn just beyond the edge of the village. "On our search, Arjas and I found a pair of scorched plows which might still be sturdy enough for use."

Terjal nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, and with a binding spell, we should be able to reinforce each plow's structural integrity so that they'll last long enough to finish the burial."

"With plows, though," Strandholt added, "the graves won't be very deep."

"Not if we enlarge the share and moldboard on each plow," Aiya murmured thoughtfully. At the Blades' inquiring stares she added hastily, "My parents were wheat farmers in Upper Haslands."

"Then I'll let you handle that spell," Terjal said, no longer feeling guilty for depending upon Aiya's knowledge of farming. It was clear she that wished to help in any way she could. "In the meantime, summoning the plows, as well as the bodies, to the burial site will require a cross-spell by the both of us."

"I'm ready," Aiya answered calmly. Her face wore the determined expression of one who expects to be tested--and anticipates triumph.

###

The hard, frozen ground refused to make the grim burden of interring the corpses easy, the earth unyielding as metal. Terjal sprinkled additional strengthening powders along each share's rusting blade to keep them from breaking like rotted teeth upon the frigid soil. But as the wan sunlight of late afternoon began to blink between the scudding clouds overhead, the bodies eventually found their way into the broken loam.

The graves needn't have been too deep after all, for none of the corpses remained whole as they were lain within them. As Terjal and Aiya drew their upraised palms in the air, guiding the charred villagers to their final resting place, the bodies began to crumble like dry and darkened cake, showering the soil with their remains. The conjurers could do nothing more than cover the graves over with hard, frozen chunks of earth and issue a silent oath that they would find, and destroy, the creature who'd murdered the villagers so viciously.

###

They'd only been a few hours from the ravaged hamlet, seeing further evidence of winter's ruin along the way, when Terjal heard the muffled clapping sound of a horse's hooves approaching his side. He turned to see that Darman had broken ranks, steering his mount toward him.

"We're being watched," the First Blade said, his voice lowered. "Whoever's doing it has no skill. The others already know."

Terjal nodded once then slowly scanned the barren and dreary vista, eyebrows drawn together in concentration. After his first sweep he saw nothing. Then his gaze centered on a tumble of damp, rotting timber.

Something moved behind the logs.

Suddenly a mass of tattered, filthy clothing leapt from behind the logs, bearing crude weapons and shrieking. Terjal saw that the shredded rags covered a gaunt man, a look of wild desperation and rabid hunger on the man's face.

Eight others, including one on horseback, charged at them from different directions. The ragged bandits, their movements made clumsy by hunger and shock, brandished crude homemade spears and clubs. Three of the brigands swung swords, the blades chipped and spotted red with rust, in awkward circles above their heads.

The one man on horseback almost slid from his mount, one arm clinging tightly round the horse's neck and the other nearly slicing into the beast's right flank with the sword he held tightly in the other hand.

Terjal quickly surveyed the running group of shabby men and moved his horse out of their path. As he did so, a small round object whispered over his shoulder, just missing his cheek. Instinctively he ducked.

Darman drew his crossbow deftly from the holder strapped to his back, aimed and pressed the trigger in one quick, fluid movement. The heavy quarrel found its mark, piercing the left eye of a bandit and knocking the man, dead, to the ground.

Another robber madly thrust at the First Blade with a spear. Darman let his crossbow swing untended on its lanyard as he leaned backwards and, as the spear passed in front of his stomach, grabbed the crude weapon and continued its forward motion. The brigand, thrown off balance, fell against Darman's mount and, before the man could recover, was gutted with his own weapon. Blood and gore speckled the ground before the dead bandit collapsed upon it.

Terjal heard Darman call out, "Beware! Slinger on left!" But the conjurer had a more pressing problem approaching him at the moment. A bandit had evaded the swing of Strandholt's hook--laden poleax and was now charging Terjal with a spear set to impale the conjurer's horse. At the last moment Terjal yanked hard at the reins, steering the animal away from the sharp point. I can't spellcast on horseback with everyone so close, he thought with irritation. Too unpredictable.

Again the bandit thrust the spear at Terjal's mount, this time drawing blood. The animal whinnied in pain as the spear grazed its right shoulder. It reared as Terjal leapt from the saddle, landing on his feet. The bandit, rather than face iron shod hooves, retreated, ignoring his opponent.

Terjal saw his chance.

The conjurer pointed his right index finger at his foe and with his left hand, curled into a fist, punched toward the fleeing bandit.

The man screamed as an invisible force sent him tumbling. Terjal heard the brittle snap of bones as the bandit's body was crushed against the ground. Finally, the bandit stopped moving, now no more than a shapeless, dirty heap.

Pausing for a moment Terjal tossed another glance over his shoulder as Arjas, at the party's rear, confronted the mounted bandit. Arjas thrust at his opponent with a short sword, forcing the man to parry awkwardly with his own crude weapon. Arjas quickly finished him off with a slash of his scimitar, neatly cleaving the head from the bandit's body.

Terjal heard Aiya curse loudly behind him.

He turned round to see a bandit menacing her with a spear while she tried to fend him off with a dagger. Aiya's mount bucked and reared, nearly causing her to slide from the saddle as a miss-timed slash at her foe almost over-balanced her.

Again Aiya's horse reared up, its forelegs lifted high, seeking to strike the marauder with a hoof. The bandit sprang forward and impaled the animal's curved neck with his spear. Simultaneously, a round stone hit the beast just below its right eye. Aiya dismounted from her dying horse and landed nimbly on the ground, dagger still in hand.

Terjal's searching gaze found the slinger at the same time the bandit saw the conjurer. Their stares locked. He's going to get off another stone before I can do anything, Terjal thought frantically. Unless...

Terjal crouched, his arms waving and fingers wriggling as though casting another spell. The slinger's eyes grew wide with fear and the smooth whirling motion of the weapon suddenly became slow and jerky. With a grunt the bandit let go. As the stone was loosed from the sling, Terjal leapt behind his horse, feigning injury as he milled aimlessly in circles, the stone having sped harmlessly past, unseen by the slinger.

Now it's my turn, the conjurer thought as he suddenly broke into a run at the slinger. The bandit's hand fumbled at the pouch hanging at his waist, his face full of dismay when he realized that he had no time to launch another shot. Instead he picked up a club that lay at his feet and awaited Terjal's charge.

Less than ten feet from his foe, Terjal stopped and knelt swiftly onto the hard ground. With the fingers of his left hand spread out horizontally, he swept his right hand over them and barked out several harsh-sounding words.

Mist formed at the end of his spread fingers, then hardened into splinters of ice. With another command, the glinting pieces of solid water leapt from Terjal's outspread fingers and ripped into the slinger, leaving glacial death in its wake. Terjal quickly surveyed the bandit's half frozen, torn body and nodded at it with finality before turning back to the fight.

Terjal turned in time to see Strandholt dispatch a club-wielding bandit. The Blade forsook his mount, preferring instead to fight on foot. His poleax chopped through the bandit's club and buried itself in the chest of the surprised man. The bandit's companion swung his sword tiredly at Strandholt. The blond Outsider ducked under the blade and twirled his poleax at the bandit's legs, spilling the man to the ground. Reversing his grip on the weapon, Strandholt finished off his opponent by decapitating him with one hard blow.

Only two bandits remained standing.

One look at their slain comrades and the gore surrounding them was enough to send the men fleeing. Darman put a quarrel through the back of a bandit before the man ran half a dozen steps. Strandholt made a move to kill the last robber, until Terjal intervened.

"No!" the conjurer shouted. "Arjas, bring the last man to me alive."

In quick response to Terjal's order, the stocky warrior spurred his horse and, as he overtook the terror stricken man, brought the flat of his scimitar down on the bandit's head. The man groaned, spun once, and fell heavily to the ground. Arjas swung off his horse, checked to ensure the bandit was still alive and tossed him over the horse's back like a sack of grain.

"Look at their hands," Strandholt said from where he knelt beside a slain bandit. "This might explain much."

"Aye, it does," Darman agreed. "Only farmers get such roughened hands. The question is why did they attack us?"

"That's why I want a prisoner," Terjal said, examining the unconscious brigand's face after Arjas delivered him.

With Arjas helping, Terjal sat the bandit against a tree and delved into a pouch hanging at his belt. From it he extracted a white powder which he sprinkled across the man's face. Immediately the face grew serene, the pain and anguish replaced by calmness.

"Listen to me," Terjal spoke in a low voice. "You must hear only my voice and no other--not even the voice of your own mind. The world around you now has no definition, nothing to distract your attention away from my voice. You can no longer hear the sound of your own breathing." He studied the man's suddenly placid face for a moment, then continued: "I am Terjal Rakmir, Master of Cloudreach--you need not understand the meaning of my title, but you must follow any commands I give and you will answer all questions put to you." Pausing once more, he asked, "Do you hear and understand my requests?"

"Yes, I hear and understand you." The voice was monotone, lifeless.

"Why did you seek to attack us?"

For a moment the man's lips worked soundlessly as serenity was supplanted by remembered pain. His eyes remained closed, the lids wrinkling as the man squinted hard. When he finally found his voice, it sounded hoarse, as though scoured by sand. "W--we had no choice. Everything--everything's gone! Our crops, our livestock, our homes--nothing's left to us! We have nothing! Nothing at all! And all because of that--that thing!"

A coldness crawled slowly up Terjal's spine upon hearing the panic, fear and agony in that voice. It was one thing to witness the aftermath of destruction--but entirely another to experience the conflagration through an eyewitness's memory. "Can you describe the creature of which you speak?"

"It--it was a huge white bear. But--but," the man swallowed hard, eyes staring wildly past Terjal as if he were experiencing the terror anew, "it had tusks...or fangs...and shiny eyes, all black--no, they were purple! The dark purple of plums." The man began to breathe heavily, his chest caving deeply with each wrenching inhale and exhale.

Fear held the man in a tight vise, Terjal saw. "And the fire, oh the fire!" the man continued in strangled voice, "The creature quickly set alight everything which could not move from its path--men, women, children, our beasts. All our crops...only ashes now. Our homes...nothing but blackened sticks! Nothing now! And our livestock--the creature tore them apart with its claws and teeth, consuming them all in one swallow. When it left...it finally did leave...we had nothing but the clothes we wore that day and the few items we could salvage from our a-fired houses. And with winter so near...well...we had to do something to survive and banditry seemed the only choice left us. But only a few came our way and they were as battered as we. Your party looked healthy enough...we could not resist." Then the voice fell to a whimper, "You did my fellows a favor by slaying them I think..." Tears began to roll down the man's dirty cheeks, his mouth now a grimace of despair.

Terjal stared at the man, feeling anger mounting behind his eyes and choking within his throat. "Vaukmond didn't tell me everything!" he said, each word spoken slowly and deliberately. "He did not tell me the creature had reached this far, and that it had attacked more than one village. This changes matters."

"Terjal, perhaps you're forgetting something," Aiya spoke softly. The conjurer turned abruptly at the sound of her voice and she blanched slightly, no doubt seeing the clouds building in Terjal's blue gaze. "The farmlands here are more remote than most. Even at the best of times, a patrol passes by perhaps once a month. With all the turmoil the creature has been causing, how could the Duke know?" Then, adding impulsively, "You must not let your scorn for politics blind you to common logic."

For a moment Terjal felt a fleeting touch of indignation at Aiya's last statement. He paused for a moment, letting the pique drain from his mind--for he feared he might rush a hasty retort that he'd later regret. He had to admit that Aiya could not have given a truer indictment of his feelings in that regard. He'd deserved it, after all.

"You're right, absolutely right," Terjal replied, hoping the anger no longer showed in his eyes. "Perhaps I've sequestered myself at Cloudreach for so long that I no longer understand the lay of the land. But such a revelation still does not completely abdicate the Duke from responsibility to all of his peoples."

Aiya did not appear affected by his reproach of her employer, instead she listened to him with an intent, focused expression upon her face. Terjal felt a sudden wash of relief, for his former pupil had not, after all, turned into a blind loyalist, but a loyal free-thinker

Terjal continued, "What we just fought is not even a full community of farmers. Who knows how many others are roaming the countryside like starving wolves? Lord Vaukmond had better regain control in this region, for if these men had managed to escape the creature, then we must assume others have as well. Most likely the survivors will have turned to a life of banditry as these men had. We cannot afford to waste our energies on secondary problems." After a pause, he added, his voice serious, "We were fortunate today, but the next time...?"

Terjal let the implication hang in the air for several heartbeats before returning his attention to the unfortunate farmer. Terjal's gaze tunneled into the man's mud-colored eyes, making the farmer's eyelids snap wide open. "Think only of me," Terjal said gently, "and do not look away." Terjal drew his curled palms toward his chest in a rolling, coaxing motion. The farmer stiffened, then crumpled abruptly against the tree, relaxed.

Seeing all resistance gone, Terjal pulled forth the silver chain from his pouch and wrapped it round his head till a section of it sagged upon his forehead. "We have neither the time nor luxury to spare Arjas as a messenger to Honor's Start--so this one," pointing at the calmed farmer, "will bring a message to Lord Vaukmond. A quick mind delve should provide information needed to answer any of the Duke's questions." Terjal knelt and peered closely into the man's eyes. When mere inches separated their faces, Terjal began speaking silently--as if to himself: "Listen to me once more. This message I give you is meant only for the ears of Lord Vaukmond, Duke of Windemere. Do you understand my request, and are ready to receive the message?"

The transfixed farmer gave a slow nod, eyes still wide. "I understand and will receive the message, yes."

Terjal did not nod his head in kind, but began, "The message is: 'The creature of fire has caused greater destruction than previously thought. The bearer of this message is a farmer who saw his livelihood destroyed. As a result, he and several others attacked us. He is the only survivor. So far we have had no serious injuries, but cannot afford to have the quest interrupted by the lawless." Then, pausing, added, "Lord Vaukmond, you must maintain order. Terjal Rakmir of Cloudreach'." He paused once more, allowing the message to be fully absorbed by the entranced farmer. "If anyone should stop you, tell that person you are delivering a message to the Duke from a conjurer who will be very displeased if the message doesn't reach the correct ears."

"I will tell them such, yes."

Terjal reached into his pouch again and cast another small handful of white powder at the farmer's face. The man did not blink as the cloud of powder drifted to his face. A look of placid patience smoothed his features as he stared at the conjurer.

Terjal stood up, looking down at the farmer as he sat with his rigid back to the tree. "He should become lucid again in a few minutes." Then, turning to Arjas, "Set him upon one of our pack mules once he has regained his bearings."

Arjas nodded. "But how will he know the way to Windemere?"

Terjal smiled at the Blade. "I threaded the route to Windemere within my instructions: a feeling, for him, which will not be anything...tangible--only a sense that will direct him along the correct paths." Looking up at the sky, then back at Arjas, added, "We will make camp here since the afternoon sun is beginning to wane. We'll make our start in the morning, riding until the sky begins to darken."

Terjal trained his sharp blue gaze upon Aiya. "His Grace has the benefit of the doubt, for now. But one more foray like this one, and we may not be able to complete the mission."

Aiya began to speak, then closed her mouth, biting her lip. A simple, curt nod was the only reply she seemed to muster.

Terjal longed to explain that the harshness in his voice was not directed at her. Yet, he couldn't truly reconcile that such was entirely the truth--for hadn't Aiya enjoined a kind of cruelty upon himself these many years? True, her avoidance's of him, Terjal was optimistic, may not have been meanspirited, and that she hopefully had some good reason for it. He only hoped that he would eventually discover that reason, and that there'd be no more pain behind it.

Darman moved deftly to Terjal's side, not glancing at Aiya, and said, "Is the Outsiders' camp still our destination?"

"Yes," Terjal said. "Now more than ever--we're short one mount. We'll have to redistribute the supplies and that will surely impede our pace. But we're going to have to make the time; we have no choice. And now," he sighed, "we've another burial chore which will swallow more of our time. These men did not spend their entire lives robbing others, but for their untoward misfortune, they'd still be happily tilling the soil. These men deserve the same burial we gave the others in the village. For all we know, these men may have tended those very orchards we passed."

Darman swept an impassive, appraising eye at the bloody milieu surrounding them. "Better that we just cremate them; we're a long way from any farming equipment this time."

"As far as I'm concerned," Terjal replied quietly, a small touch of irritation in his voice, "any other bodies we encounter will be cremated." And that will surely be the easy part.

###

The fire didn't burn long.

Terjal's flame-spell seared the piled bodies to fine grey ash, the cold wind casting dusty powder out over the winter-barren lands. When the deed was finished, the party began the task of rearranging the supplies among the remaining pack mules. Luckily Terjal's horse had only a superficial wound. Terjal tamped a streak of healing powder into the shallow gash, pasting it in place with a bit of water. Within minutes, the wound had disappeared.

In a few hours twilight began to stain the sky, nightfall fast approaching. Aiya removed saddlebags from her dead mount and slung them upon the bandit's horse, as Terjal chanced a few furtive side glances in her direction. When she turned, unexpectedly, in his direction, Terjal pretended to inspect the contents of his own saddlebags. She said nothing to him, and he did not look up at her again until it was time to make camp.

###

The next morning the party resumed their journey southward.

Two days later they found the Outsiders' camp.

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