Murky twilight stretched across the sky above the Outsiders' encampment as Terjal's party approached the cluster of colorful tents battered by the chilled, fitful winds. Men and women, dressed heavily in quilted jackets, moved deftly between the tarps guiding children and small animals. Their sharp calls blended together like the sound of a river as it rushes over large rocks.

No one seemed to take notice of the visitors' arrival--save one. A young man, blond-haired and lanky, strode deliberately toward them. In his hand he carried a flickering torch, illuminating a face very much like Strandholt's.

Before the youth had a chance to greet his visitors formally, Terjal quickly dismounted and approached, locking his gaze upon the young man's face. Terjal bent his torso in a quick bow, right arm laid across his ribs, and said, "Well met, Wanderers of the World; where is Shel'han Nyjef?"

The youth responded by planting his left fist onto the open palm of his other. "Your arrival is a surprise, spellweaver," he said, a pleasant smile curving his mouth. "The Shel'han may still be visiting with Palnea--my mother. She," the smile lessened and the voice became grave, "has been wracked by more tremors." Then turning to Strandholt, who had just moved to Terjal's side, "It is good that you have come, my brother. Perhaps our mother will sense your presence and it will calm her."

Strandholt swallowed hard and looked down at his boots for a moment. Then, bringing his gaze back to his brother's face, he asked, "Kriston, how long has she been this way?"

"Since early this morning. If the condition would have lasted beyond this night, I would have sent for you. You know that."

"Yes, of course," Strandholt replied. Then in a sudden rush, "Have the treatments had any effect? Has her suffering been diminished any?"

Kriston reached out a hand to clutch his brother's shoulder. "You know Mother: she endures the...discomforts...as best she can; she's always been a strong woman." Then he looked furtively from side to side, as if embarrassed to ask the next question. "Did you bring the sovereigns for the treatment? The Gaderiad herb-gatherers have raised their prices due to the early frosts."

Strandholt grimaced slightly, his jaw working in silent anxiety for a moment. "The Gaderiad aren't known for altruism; no doubt this harsh weather is the perfect opportunity for them to fatten their coffers." Then, sighing, he added, "I've brought a whole year's pay with me." Forcing a tight smile, he added, "Now I'll travel faster with my saddlebags empty."

"Also," Aiya said as she joined the group, Darman and Arjas accompanying her, "fewer saddlebags will attract fewer bandits."

The sound of Aiya's feminine voice drew Kriston's gaze away from the two men. "And who is this?" he asked, sweeping an open palm in her direction as his eyes, violet-grey quartz, swept her form.

"I am Aiya Lindsmund," she answered calmly, ignoring Kriston's open attention, "Adjutant to the Duke of Windemere." She lifted her chin slightly, regarding the young man with wary loftiness. "And your name is...?"

"...Kriston, brother of Strandholt," he finished simply. Then, noticing the ornate belt around her waist, he stiffened a little. "I see that you are also a spellweaver. I did not realize the warrior--duke would have one in his court."

"Lord Vaukmond does loathe the use of magic," Terjal interrupted hurriedly, knowing of the Outsiders' innate disdain for the Duke. "As a last resort, he will call for its employ, even though he feels it's a sign that he's failed to solve problems by his own means. The Duke views consulting any conjurer a necessary evil."

"And so," Kriston turned back to Aiya, "is there much to keep a spellweaver busy in the warrior-duke's court?"

Aiya smiled patiently. "While it is true that my duties primarily consist of 'advising' His Grace on matters of sorcery, I am also his counselor in matters of battle strategy. As for having a sorcerer in his midst, he may dislike conjurers, but he likes to know where they are and what they can do. For this last, he has little choice."

Kriston laughed. "Well said, Miss Lindsmund. Now," he said, pointing to his mother's tent, "we can continue our discussion once we find the Shel'han."

Terjal nodded at Strandholt's brother, then turned to Darman and Arjas. "I want the horses and mules secured before they freeze." Frowning, he added, "It's strange, but it seems even colder than it was last night."

"Aye, much colder," Darman grunted as his breath, like that of the others, hung in the air as if a puff of cotton. "I don't see how the livestock can stand this weather. I hope they have a fire going in their stables."

"I'll just sleep with the horses," Arjas said, his mouth obscured by a cloud of breath, "if the guest tents aren't warm enough. That many beasts should give off enough heat, surely."

Darman loosed a quick snort and Terjal laughed. "Something tells me," the conjurer said, "that you're not joking this time, Arjas."

Arjas winked at his master and said, "We'll see to the horses and mules now." Just before the two Blades turned to go, Darman leaned toward Terjal and said in mock confidence, "I'll make sure that he doesn't set up his bedding with the beasts."

Terjal smiled in amusement, watching Darman and Arjas as they were lead, animals in tow, to the stables by a young boy.

Aiya and Strandholt had already begun to follow Kriston toward Palnea's tent. As he followed them, Terjal scanned the night-darkened terrain surrounding the camp and wondered if something were watching them now--something with unnatural eyes.

###

A young girl met them at the tent door. "Kallana," Kriston said, addressing her affectionately. "Is the Shel'han still with my mother?"

Kallana shook her head, her face blushing a little; it was obvious the girl had a crush on Strandholt's brother. "He was here--you just missed him. When Palnea's tremors ceased, he left for the main tent." Then hesitantly, her cheeks flushing once more, asked, "You do wish to visit your mother, still?"

"Of course," Kriston replied. "Strandholt is here; he hasn't seen his mother in a long time."

Kallana peered up at Strandholt, who stood at least five inches taller than his younger brother. "I--I'm sorry," the girl stammered, her large brown eyes blinking rapidly in embarrassment. "I did not...notice you. I've been so worried about Palnea that I..."

Strandholt stroked the girl's head gently. "You were a little twig when I last saw you; how you've grown!"

The girl smiled widely at Strandholt, blushing still. "If you are all very quiet," she said, laying her right index finger against her lips, "you may go in by yourselves."

"Thank you," Terjal said, smiling down at the young girl's delicate face. "We promise not to disturb her." He watched as Kallana stepped aside, her movements delicate and bird-like.

Palnea lay upon a large pallet, with brightly colored quilts covering her still form. Her long hair veiled the pillow beneath her head in a shimmering river of silver. One hand, curled in a loose fist, lay against her right cheek; her breathing came in tiny, ragged bursts from her partly open mouth.

Kriston breathed a quick sigh of relief, then turned to his brother. "This is the calmest she's been in hours. Perhaps she really does sense that you're here, my brother."

"I only hope," Strandholt said, a vein of worry running through his words, "that her condition doesn't worsen when I leave."

Terjal's brows drew together in frustration. "For all my magical expertise, I can't ease her suffering--or, better, to take away completely the affliction."

"But Kriston and I both appreciate that you once tried," Strandholt said softly, intently watching his mother's sleeping face. "You did try."

###

The Shel'han's tent was nearby, but the night's raw cold made it seem miles away instead, for the wind had become a frigid, cutting lash as it whipped each member of the group in their turn. Aiya began shivering uncontrollably, wrapping her arms around herself in a futile attempt at warmth. Terjal noticed her discomfort and drifted to her side. "You're not used to this kind of cold, are you?"

"No," she stammered through chattering teeth. "Honor's Start, even in the dead of winter, was much warmer than this." Then she hesitated. "How could it possibly get so cold, so fast?"

Terjal frowned thoughtfully, his lower lip twisting for a moment. "I don't know. It feels like winter, but its too early for this kind of cold--much too early. Lord Vaukmond may see famine staring him in the face if this keeps up--even without the creature destroying crops. Do you know if the Duke has enough provisions should the weather continue to worsen?"

"I think so--or," she said, sighing, "at the very least, I hope so. Honor's Start has emergency stores, but if this weather prevails I fear that in two months the populace will be starving and they'll be like wolves at the gates. Remember those bandits? It'll be more of the same."

"Assuming," Terjal added somberly, "they've any strength left."

###

As Terjal entered the main tent with the others, he felt a abrupt blast of warm air stroke at the exposed skin of his face, quickly melting away the chill. Unconsciously, he began to wriggle the toes within his boots for the sheer luxury of movement as the sudden warmth penetrated the leather.

They found Shel'han Nyjef, Rider of the Rim, lounging before a large fire blooming in the center of the main tent. He sat, in semi-sprawl with feet outstretched, upon a legless over-stuffed chair, appearing oblivious to the activity surrounding him as women set table for the evening meal.

The Shel'han's expression changed to surprise as the burst of cold wind from the opened flap made him glance upward at his unexpected guests. "Well, what have we here?" Nyjef said as he sprang to his feet and walked quickly around the fire to stand before his visitors. "What brings you here, Terjal Rakmir?"

"Many things, old friend," Terjal replied, despite the cheerful greeting his voice became grave. "Events have swept us into a horrible situation--and worse, I haven't any ideas as to who is responsible for it."

"Ah, you must be speaking of this early winter we're having." Before Terjal could respond, Nyjef took the conjurer by the elbow and made as if to lead him toward the long table running along a far wall of the tent. "We were just about to sup. I'm sure we can make room for yourself, Kriston, Strandholt and..."

"Aiya Lindsmund," Terjal finished. "She is an Adjutant to the Duke of Windemere."

The Shel'han leaned forward slightly as if to get a better look at Aiya; a single dark blond eyebrow lifted quizzically. "Ah, a member of Lord Vaukmond's court in our humble midst!" Nyjef said, sarcasm etching clearly each word. "Well then, only the best fare shall be served!" He punctuated this order with a single, ringing clap of his hands. Then, seeing in Aiya's reddening cheeks the response elicited by his veiled ridicule, added, "Do not take offense, dear lady--I assure you my barbs are aimed only at the warrior-duke himself. I am sure that you are a competent advisor and so I would not seek to insult you."

Terjal, turning to Aiya, explained, "The Shel'han loves to mock figures of authority--and the Duke of Windemere is no exception."

Aiya smiled tightly, seeming to recover with only a slight residue of pique showing in the stiffness of her posture. "Please do not change your fare on my account," she said with false joviality, glancing sideways at Terjal. "Actually, I prefer the simpler foods; the fancy stuff doesn't stir my appetite any better than the plain."

The Shel'han grinned widely, small square teeth suddenly appearing through the dark blond forest of his beard. "I expect you don't show that kind of humor around the Weapon Master."

"Oh, His Grace is fond of humor," Aiya said, the tight smile now a wry one, "so long as it is not directed at him."

The Shel'han threw back his head gave a hearty laugh. "I see that you have my own humor bested, Lady Adjutant."

Terjal marveled at Aiya's expertise in diplomacy, for Shel'han Nyjef was not an easy one to charm--especially by a member of Vaukmond's court. It mattered not to the Shel'han whether the Duke's agent be a bent old man, a smart-mouthed youth or a beautiful young woman, Nyjef dispensed his bile equally.

If only, Terjal thought wistfully, she would let me be proud of her.

###

Taking their places at the long, rough-hewn dining table, Terjal watched intently as steaming plates of food were brought in from the cooking area and laid in a fragrant line upon the table. He recognized some of the spices as he inhaled deeply the pervasive aroma.

Terjal felt his hunger, ignored briefly upon their arrival, now clutch at his belly like a spoiled and persistent child. His glance darted quickly at each of his companions and found them staring fixedly at the spoons ladling food onto their wooden plates. The riposte he and his party had shared on their journey, was at best, only adequate for sustaining life. Each morning Terjal and the others glowered over their breakfasts of corn mush, some of the kernels still whole and rock hard between their teeth. Both lunch and supper consisted only of several strips of jerky--Terjal wasn't sure if they were of beef or pork, the taste was so bland--more corn mush and a hard roll. If they wanted something green, they'd have to pick from the side of the road. Terjal wasn't that adventurous, nor that desperate and neither were his companions, save Strandholt. The brave Outsider once boiled a pot of dandelion leaves and ate them all in one sitting, with no ill effects.

Glancing about the table, Terjal noticed that the Shel'han's chief consort, sitting at Nyjef's right, had been staring warily at Aiya from the moment Terjal and the others had arrived. But now her face seemed more relaxed as Aiya sat beside Terjal; no doubt having overheard the introductions and realizing the Duke's Adjutant posed no threat to her status. She must be continually suspicious of every young and attractive woman who comes into her husband's view, Terjal thought with some amusement. And doubtless Nyjef must give her plenty reason to be on guard.

An abrupt gust of chilled air exhaled from the tent flap as Darman and Arjas entered, eyeing the food-laden table as they took their places quietly before the fire. "Good," Terjal said, standing and motioning a hand at his two Blades. "The remainder of my party has arrived. Of course," looking directly at the Shel'han, "you will permit my men to dine with us at table."

Nyjef's eyes narrowed for a moment as he studied the two men. Terjal wondered if the Shel'han was trying to gauge how much the two Blades would eat and how much he could provide. Or perhaps Nyjef did not appreciate ex-mercenaries, and who were not Outsiders, dining with his family.

As they sat before the fire, Darman's face was a mask of stony indifference, while Arjas wore an expression of amused patience, both waiting for approval.

"As you wish," Nyjef said perfunctorily as he kept his eye on the Blades. Then, turning to look Terjal in the eye, he added, "Now we must discuss more fully the reason for your visit. And," he inclined his head toward the repast, "please eat while the food is hot; courtly manners have no importance here."

Darman and Arjas wasted little time seating themselves at the end of the table and were busily launching their spoons into the piles of food and ladling the still-hot victuals onto the plates passed to them. Aiya and Strandholt, however, waited until the Shel'han and the other Outsiders dipped into the food before they began to eat.

Nyjef chuckled around a mouthful of coarse dark bread that he'd dipped in a cream sauce. "Strandholt," he said, pointing at the Blade with the leg of a small fowl. "I see that your service to the spellweaver has improved your manners. Or is it that you are not eager for your old cuisine?"

"More the former than the latter, Shel'han," Strandholt replied, tearing apart a small slab of thick, porous cheese and popping a piece into his mouth. "But as you can see from the other Blades, they find nothing wrong with Outsider food."

"Or perhaps," the Shel'han added, letting loose a bark of laughter, "it is their hunger which makes them so fond of it now."

Terjal laughed absently, too hungry to give Nyjef's quips his full attention, instead concentrating on the fragrant casserole he'd heaped onto his plate. Licking his spoon thoroughly in traditional Outsider fashion, Terjal surveyed the simple fare before him, wondering what to eat next. From the corner of his eye he caught Aiya watching him, her expression one of obvious aghast at what she must consider a marked lack of table manners. Terjal resolved to explain to her Outsider etiquette when he got the chance.

As he dipped his spoon again to his plate, Terjal turned to the Shel'han. "And now the reason for my visit," he said. "We are trying to locate the whereabouts of a...creature," a quick glance at Aiya, "--a malevolent beast that has been attacking farms throughout the region." Terjal watched as Nyjef's eyes widened briefly, the corners of the Shel'han's mouth tightening as he listened to Terjal. "It has been described by those fortunate few who have escaped its wrath as having white fur and large tusks. Worst of all, they say it breathes fire."

"We've heard the stories about such a beast," Nyjef replied, pushing another piece of dark bread into the puddle of sauce on his plate. "Thankfully, we have never been visited by it. We would not have believed it save that the news came from some wretched-looking travelers who looked as if they'd tangled with something very evil." Then, sweeping a hand at the bountiful repast spread upon the table, he added, "Do not think, spellweaver, that Outsiders eat so well each evening; the early winter cold has nearly emptied our extra food bins. But we must maintain our custom of feeding guests better than we would feed ourselves. What is leftover from this supper, will be saved for another day. You see, our main livestock herds have gone farther south to forage, farther than we've ever sent them. We keep only a few milking cows, a few pigs and small fowl with us--and we are having a difficult time even feeding them."

Terjal sighed inwardly. So much for my request for fresh mounts. "Well," Terjal pondered, "if you cannot provide information about the creature and your herds have moved on, might you have a tracking animal to spare?"

The Shel'han's eyes glittered like bright stones beneath a rushing stream. Terjal knew that Nyjef's keen mind was about to spring upon a lucrative deal, so he eased back in his chair and waited.

Barely hesitating, the Shel'han said, "Unfortunately, I do not have a bloodhound to offer you--which is the animal you would have preferred--but I may have something...better." Nyjef's gaze shifted to Kriston, who blinked once and nodded. Then, turning back to Terjal the Shel'han said, "You see, traveling with the main herd are several falcons; my main herdsman, Thrasher, uses them to keep track of the lead animals so that they don't wander off and get lost. I've been told," he leaned toward Terjal, a single brow arching conspiratorially, "that they are of top quality. I won them on a bet; I can part with a few of them as well as any other animals you may need...for a price."

"Of course," Terjal said warily, his eyes narrowing slightly. For Shel'han Nyjef, the 'price' did not always include only sovereigns. "Name your terms and I will see to it that the Duke meets them." Rubbing his eyelids slowly, Terjal added, "That is, when the quest is finished and we have been successful."

The Shel'han did not answer immediately. Instead he casually moved food upon his plate with a piece of bread glistening with sauce before popping the morsel into his mouth, his face smoothing into a thoughtful mien. "Better lands in which to roam, for one thing," he said simply as he swallowed the bread. "I trust your word, spellweaver Rakmir, but I wonder about the Weapon Master's. He's never liked having us around because we seldom have enough gold to pay his precious taxes--as if we could ever produce enough income to make it worth his while. And why should we bother to pay his taxes? Even when we have paid his levies fully, what has he done to earn them? Has he ever given us protection from bandits and marauders?"

Raising her chin slightly, Aiya answered, "Your peoples' nomadic habits make it difficult for us to find you. How can Lord Vaukmond protect people he cannot find?" Then, looking unwaveringly into the dark eyes of the Shel'han, added, "Besides, I can't recall ever hearing of an Outsider petition for protection; obviously it suits you to complain only when it is convenient to do so."

"And would we have gotten protection had we'd asked?" Nyjef countered, his face blooming scarlet as he took a quick swig of clover wine directly from a carafe beside his plate. "With all due respect, Adjutant Lindsmund, I have witnessed with my own eyes the destruction wrought upon the farmlands while scouting the Rim, and I have heard the stories of the displaced. It would seem that the Weapon Master has forsaken his people in order to reserve his armies for guarding Windemere and his precious Honor's Start. I ask you: what good did paying taxes do for those ravaged farmers after all?"

Gods, Aiya, Terjal thought to himself, cautiously watching both Aiya and the Shel'han. Don't raise his ire too high; we still have to deal with him. But he knew he had to trust her diplomatic acumen. Their relationship was already on precarious ground, and Terjal was afraid to do anything which might damage what little progress he'd made with her.

Aiya gripped the edge of the table and pushed her chair slightly away from it as if to stand, her back stiff as an iron rod. Her intent gaze still locked upon the Shel'han, she spoke in calm and measured tones. "But you did not witness the savaging of Lord Vaukmond's troops; it was obvious that they'd fought a futile battle with the beast. The Duke sent hundreds of his best guardsmen to fight the creature--only one managed to return to tell of the massacre before dying. Granted, His Grace has been lax," a quick glance at Terjal, "in enforcing law and order throughout the lands, for we ourselves were attacked by a band of displaced farmers two days ago. But know this," her level gaze tunneled into Nyjef's stubborn one, "once the beast is slain and we have brought to justice those responsible for it, I will see to it that you receive all that you ask."

The Shel'han leaned back in his chair and slowly rubbed his palms together in a scissoring motion beneath his bearded chin, his lips pursed as he considered Aiya's proposal. After a moment, he slapped the table with the flat of his palm and returned his gaze to Aiya's impassive face.

"Well, that settles that," Nyjef said, his tone once again as cheerful as it had been when he'd first greeted his guests. "I will accept your word, Miss Lindsmund; or at least, I suppose I've no other choice. I don't like the idea of a fire-breathing beast roaming around any better than you do. We have been lucky that the creature's path and ours have not crossed; but luck has a way of leaving just when you think you've got it sitting safely beside you. I'll provide your party with whatever I can muster--I'm afraid it won't be much, but it should get you to our grazing lands."

Aiya smiled warmly and dipped her head in a show of respect, her hands no longer gripping the table, but folded loosely before her. "We will be grateful for whatever you can furnish us, Shel'han Nyjef."

Fortunately the discussion had ended to both their advantages successfully, Terjal thought as he looked from Aiya's pleasantly smiling face to Nyjef's beaming one. He was also relieved to see that Aiya had at last begun to eat her untouched food with some enthusiasm. Aiya knows how useful she is as a negotiator, Terjal thought as he smiled at her, though she didn't see him do so. I only hope she feels as confident when the time comes for spell battle.

###

Terjal's vision began to cloud with fatigue and he felt his now--heavy lids curtaining downward by degrees. The soft chair he was sitting in further enticed him to sleep, though he tried hard to resist.

If I don't get some sleep soon, he thought wearily to himself, I'll be of no use to anyone in the morning. He and Aiya were now the sole guests of the Shel'han in his personal tent, partaking of the clover wine the Outsiders had bottled last spring. Terjal, not especially fond of liquor, imbibed somewhat reluctantly, for he did not wish to insult Nyjef. Not that Nyjef noticed the lack of enthusiasm for such drink, Terjal mused, so engrossed in his own boisterous jibes was the Shel'han.

Terjal watched from the corner of a narrowed eye as Aiya sipped wine from a pewter goblet with the delicate care of one who doesn't wish to finish too soon, lest the host pour more. Terjal felt behooved to do the same, for he watched cautiously as Nyjef's eyes darted from one guest to the other, obviously noting the progress of their sips. It would take another act of diplomacy for them to be granted their leave to retire to the guest tent.

In spite of himself Terjal yawned hugely behind his palm. Aiya heard the creak of his sighing and turned to the conjurer, a momentary look of concern creasing the space between her brows. And for a moment, seeing that open concern in her eyes, something very soft began to cushion round Terjal's heart, making him almost weak with it. It was all he could do to keep from reaching out and stroking her silken hair.

"Perhaps," Aiya began, her own voice blurred with exhaustion, "it time for us to retire; we'll be riding early tomorrow."

The Shel'han looked disappointed, but agreeable. "Yes, perhaps. I have kept you too long with my stories."

"We'd enjoy them better," Terjal murmured, "after a full night's rest."

Nyjef laughed. "You're a spellweaver--cast a spell to banish the sleepiness from your eyes!"

Terjal rubbed at his eyes gently and yawned again. "I'm too tired even for that."

###

Terjal sank wearily onto the pallet provided him and lay down upon the soft bedding in the musty dark of the guests' tent, listening. As tired as he was, his mind was still unsettled.

Terjal heard his Blades snoring and rustling upon their own bedding as they restlessly shifted position. He sensed Aiya's unease as she lay upon her pallet in a far corner of the tent. He could almost see her eyes staring into the darkness, her thoughts arranging themselves along the borders of sleep and ready for attack. His own unease had increased just by sleeping in the same room with her--hearing her breathing so near him.

Terjal felt a fresh army of thoughts ready to invade his own mind, but he dismissed them, irritated by the strength of their persistence. Tomorrow will be time enough, for right now I need rest. He shrugged deeper into the lumpy cushion, the blanket twisting round him in a tight, possessive embrace.

No sooner had he allowed his eyelids to shut, when he felt the moistness of breath upon his ear.

"I'm sorry to wake you," Aiya whispered, a note of worry in her voice, "but something has been bothering me--and it's not my brief debate with the Shel'han."

The combination of Aiya's warm breath tingling across his cheek, and the sound of her rich voice so close to his ear, made Terjal nearly dizzy with a sudden longing. Had sleep tugged him under more fully, he might have drawn her to him in a tight and intimate embrace. Thankfully, he was awake enough to keep from embarrassing himself in such a way.

Calming himself, Terjal sat up and squinted at Aiya's silhouette in the darkness of the tent. "Go ahead."

"Well," Aiya began, kneeling beside the conjurer, "it seems strange that the Outsiders haven't been directly attacked by the creature; they've only witnessed what the beast has wrought. This would seem to suggest that there is some kind of motive involved."

Terjal drew an open palm slowly across his face and yawned. "And the motive would be...?"

"Think of it," Aiya's voice sounded eager, "the Outsiders have no love for the Duke of Windemere, nor he for them. If this creature were created simply for random violence, don't you think that the Outsiders would have been attacked as the farmers have been? Obviously whoever is controlling the creature only intended its rampage to be directed at those connected to the Duke. Surely, the Outsiders have moved around enough to have encountered the beast, and yet they've managed to somehow escape its wrath at every turn."

"You're not implying some Outsider involvement with the creature?"

"Gods, no! I think that whoever created the beast has a major grudge against Lord Vaukmond. Because the Outsiders have little to do with the Duke, the beast's controllers have bypassed them completely in favor of ravaging the lands overseen by him. In fact, the ducaldoms of both the northern- and southern-most parts of Ryndorhn have reported no damage at all. In fact, the attacks fall short of Quitonne, a city which services all of Ryndorhn, not only Windemere." Then, pausing, she added, "This early winter is the only thing affecting a wider area."

Terjal considered Aiya's theory for a moment, his mind now sharp and clear despite his fatigue. "I have to admit, I'd been wondering the same thing; now you've corroborated my thoughts for me, vague as they were. At least this narrows the parameters a bit. I--"

Suddenly the tent flap smacked open to reveal two dark figures silhouetted against a triangle of moonlight. Terjal heard the hissing rasp of Arjas's scimitar as the Blade pulled the weapon from its sheath, then saw the lean curve of Darman's arm reach for his crossbow. "No!" Terjal called to his Blades, recognizing their visitors. "It's Strandholt and Kriston; put down your weapons." Thankfully, he heard the sound of the weapons returning to their scabbards.

The two brothers entered the chamber and stood before Terjal and Aiya, Strandholt speaking first in an urgent rush. "My mother is in the midst of a feverdream; she hasn't had one in a long time. You must come with us now."

Terjal looked at Aiya in the ashy murk of the tent, her face like dark carved marble in the dimness and he saw her eyes widen slightly in a mixture of surprise and worry.

A feverdream, Terjal mused. Perhaps Palnea is siphoning off some of the aural energy from the creature. This could be the clue we've been hoping for.

Silently, Terjal and Aiya followed the two Outsiders as they left the tent. Darman and Arjas watched them leave from heavy lidded eyes before returning to sleep.

###

Palnea lay rigid upon her swollen cushion of soft pillows, arms flung at her sides, palms opening and closing in a ceaseless palsy. Her closed eyes moved beneath quivering eyelids as perspiration gleamed upon her high forehead and traced tiny runnels onto the pillow supporting her head.

Kriston and Strandholt now stood at either side of her, their hands clenched and useless at their sides. "We can offer her no physical comfort," Strandholt said tensely. "A simple touch might lead to wrenching convulsions that could prove fatal. You see, any interruption by sensation can easily re-route the feverdream to the part of her brain that controls movement."

Aiya stood in reverent silence at the foot of the bed, a look of rapt anticipation glazing her face. Terjal also watched, his face impassive, as the bedridden woman writhed upon the pallet. We must keep our minds clear for her, he told himself.

Suddenly, Palnea's lips began to part as if she were about to accept a swallow of water, her neck arched upon the pillow. In a thin, cracked voice she began to recite a strange mantra. She's speaking in the Wanderer's ancient tongue, Terjal thought to himself, recognizing the tonal patterns: the guttural growls and chitinous clicks as the woman's recitation grew faster and louder. She seems to be repeating the same sentence over and over again, he thought to himself, his brow grooved in a frown. Turning to Strandholt and Kriston he asked, "Do either of you know what she's saying?"

Strandholt shook his head slowly, his eyes still on his mother's face. "I can recognize only a few words: 'redeemer' or 'remainder,' for one thing. I'm afraid that our mother never taught us the entire language of the Wanderers."

"Then we'll need a little help in translating her words," Terjal replied, reaching a hand into a tiny velvet bag hooked to his belt. From it he withdrew a slim silver instrument, half the size of his hand and aimed its two prongs at the supine woman.

"A tuning fork," Aiya murmured softly as she gazed at the instrument.

"It's something that comes in very handy when traveling," Terjal explained, his free hand weaving above the fork like a cobra. He began to whistle in gradually higher tones and as he whistled, Palnea's speech began to translate a word at a time.

"Seek..."

The whistling grew louder, more persistent.

"...out..."

Sweat broke upon Terjal's brow as his whistling reached a shrill pitch.

"...the Redeemer..."

Terjal paused to inhale deeply, then blew a note so mighty that the others winced.

Palnea's voice became a strong shout as she rendered the message in its entirety: "Seek out the Redeemer and your river of doubt will cease to flow!"

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