"Seek out the Redeemer," Terjal repeated slowly and thoughtfully, "and your river of doubt will cease to flow." Then he paused, his mouth twisting in a grimace as the implications of what he'd heard settled in his mind. Palnea had given a name Terjal hadn't ever expected to hear--nor wanted to.

Aiya, her smooth brow creased in a net of worry, asked simply, "Who is the Redeemer?" The slight timbre in Aiya's voice told Terjal that she didn't like the sound of the man's name, either.

"He's someone I've had dealings with in Quitonne," Terjal replied, scratching the underside of his chin meditatively. "This new revelation changes our plans slightly. At first light tomorrow morning we will leave for Quitonne; the city lies only slightly farther south from the Outsiders' grazing lands. Once business is concluded in Quitonne, we can press on toward the herd lands to obtain the animals we'll need." Then, turning to Strandholt's brother, Terjal added, "Kriston, inform the Shel'han of our new destination. We will be traveling very light, for speed is important. Whatever supplies we have left, you may have."

Kriston smiled. "As you wish, spellweaver. I'll see to it that your party carries the barest minimum of supplies."

Terjal nodded at the Outsider, then looked at Aiya's composed face. "How is the Duke regarded in Quitonne?"

"In the past," Aiya began, "His Grace and Quitonne have had a very good relationship, but with the arrival of the...anomalies...well, I just don't know. We have had reports that Quitonne has fallen under siege of the creature--but such is only word-of-mouth and the sources should not be trusted. You see, there are those in Quitonne who so dislike the Duke's popularity as a stern but fair leader. Such enemies of His Grace would see an advantage to contriving such lies, then accusing the Duke's forces of doing an inadequate job in fighting off the beast. Such would contribute to ill feelings toward Lord Vaukmond by the citizens Quitonne. However," she raised a slender forefinger in the air, "I do have a good friend who still lives in Quitonne; he should be able to advise me accurately of the merchant city's mood--and protocol."

Terjal bobbed his head in concordance. "Good," he said to Aiya before fastening his gaze once more upon Kriston. "Will your mother be all right?"

"Usually," Kriston replied, "after a feverdream she sleeps very deeply: the slumber of the dead, some call it. But then, she has never been gripped by feverdream while so sick before. Only time will tell if the experience has caused any permanent harm."

Terjal favored the Outsider with a smile of grim sympathy. "I dislike having to say this, but my party cannot afford to wait for your mother to recover. The weather is worsening as we speak and if it continues on its present course, heavier snows will soon arrive. Though what we need now," Terjal gazed at the peaceful Palnea, "is sleep--and lots of it, now more than ever."

###

Sunlight sliced bright blades through the open spaces lining the tent flaps, bringing with it a gust of harsh cold. Terjal had risen first, rousing Aiya and the others from their deepened slumbers by gently pushing at their shoulders.

Leaving the guest tent, they breathed gingerly the frozen air which thickened like cold soup in their lungs. Terjal looked round at the new snow that had fallen during the night; he'd heard it gently tapping the tent's roof as if hundreds of small birds were striking it with tiny beaks. There wasn't much snow, only small clusters of it like crumbled goat cheese scattered in random patches throughout the camp. And to think, Terjal thought, only a few days ago, the snows were confined to the distant mountain tops.

Darman moved to the conjurer's side, his lean arms crossed upon his chest. "So we're going to Quitonne," Darman said as he scanned the overcast skies. "It's going to be close; heavy snow's not far off."

"My thinking as well," Terjal replied, his own eyes trained skyward. "Prepare for a full march, day and night--no stopping till we reach Quitonne. We'll need provisions for..." Terjal paused, gazing at the other members of his party, "five days, at the most. Give everything else to the Outsiders; it'll at least serve as some small compensation for their hospitality."

Aiya, who'd just emerged from the tent again with some bread and cheese for their breakfasts, frowned deeply as she caught the end of Terjal's comment. "That's not giving us much margin should we run into trouble."

"I understand," Terjal said, his firm voice obviating any further dissent. "But feverdreams originating from an Outsider always have merit and so it must work to our advantage to proceed to Quitonne as quickly as possible."

They heard the crunch of footsteps as Shel'han Nyjef and Kriston approached the small group. "I'm sorry to see you leave so soon, spellweaver," Nyjef said, a tiny note of genuine disappointment in his deep voice. "I would like to have talked with you over breakfast, but I realize how the urgency of the message in the feverdream has changed your plans."

"Yes," Terjal lamented genuinely. "I too would have enjoyed the combination of a hearty breakfast and conversation--but it appears we must eat on the run instead." Pausing, Terjal added, "You may want to send a messenger to your herdsmen informing them that we will be coming--but not immediately. We'll be needing the falcons and whatever destriers they can spare once we arrive."

"Destriers?" the Shel'han's eyebrows lifted quizzically. "You must be planning a long, hard ride over Titan's Teeth. Lucky for you, our mares have produced quite a few well-muscled foals over the last two years."

"We don't really know where we're going--yet," Terjal replied. "But we must be prepared for anything."

"Well, spellweaver, you may have whatever animals we can spare," Nyjef said, a corner of his mouth drawing upward in a sly smile. "So long as our terms our met, of course." Then, resting his right arm across his ribs, hand in a fist, he added, "Travel well and fast, Spellweaver Terjal Rakmir, and good luck."

"And may fortune favor your travels as well," Terjal returned, bowing quickly. "Thank you for your generous hospitality...in spite of the circumstances."

The Shel'han responded with the same quick dip of his head and bend of the waist, before strolling off to the main tent. Kriston remained behind to say good-bye to his brother.

Strandholt gripped his younger brother's shoulders and shook them gently and affectionately. "Once again you must be the one to look after our mother, Kriston," the Blade sighed, worry coursing through his voice. "I have provided enough sovereigns to last until my next visit, despite the Gaderiad's unreasonable demands."

Kriston grinned widely at his brother's serious face. "I know the spellweaver will be able to defeat the creature, and so I expect to see you once again. And with the winter cold banished, we will both be able to take joy in seeing the Gaderiad forced to reduce their prices for the herbs."

"That's a promise I intend to keep, my brother," Strandholt said, his voice solemn.

###

They were now an hour away from the Outsider camp, heading farthest south towards the Peninsula of Shands, enclosed by the dark blue water of the Sea of Sovereigns. On the peninsula's northernmost edge, the merchant city of Quitonne perched, its filigreed towers and spires stabbing the sky as the city surveyed the comings and goings of all of Ryndorhn's imports and exports.

No goods could enter or leave the port city unless thoroughly scrutinized by the meticulous Overseers of Wares, themselves successful merchants. Quitonne was Lord Vaukmond's most lucrative source of revenue, so it was probable that the Duke had sent his forces there first after the first hint of trouble in the region. After all, Terjal thought with bitter sarcasm, the citizenry of a wealthy seaport deserve protection before the common farmers. The irony is that, if attacked, each would likely have fared equal fates.

Nudging his mount, Terjal steered the beast alongside Aiya and glanced quickly at her. Hearing the additional hoof beats at her side made Aiya turn her head in his direction. What she favored him with couldn't have been called a smile, rather a forced imitation of one: the corners of her mouth merely stretching upward in a thin line. Terjal felt his heart fall a little at Aiya's uninspired smile. Terjal felt, at that moment, like a hopeful, hapless schoolboy. Had he really expected more from her, so soon?

Terjal's party marched for nearly the full of a day before flickering lightning bursts began to marble the sky. Thick sheets of rain poured from the swollen clouds, hissing like grease on a griddle as it struck the rough grey stones lining the road, before hardening into biting pellets of hail. The party sprang for cover like shards from dropped pottery, but there was little to shield them from the stinging, blinding onslaught.

Terjal tried to open his eyes against the coruscating shower of hail as it sliced into his face, blood trickling into the folds of his eyelids from tiny nicks on his forehead made by the hail.

Something hard bumped against the left flank of Terjal's mount and would have dislodged him if he hadn't tightened his legs firmly around each side of the horse's belly. He heard the needling shred of a shout a few feet from his ear and he swiveled his head haltingly in that direction.

Terjal glimpsed only intermittently Arjas's shouting face through the slanting white mesh of hail. The conjurer tried hard to concentrate on the fragmented movement of the Blade's lips, for the wind tore all sound away.

Fighting the pressing wind, Terjal arced his right arm above his head as if throwing a net toward the shouting Arjas, then brought his other arm around as if to snatch at the end of the imaginary web. As he tugged hard with his left hand, he brought the right hand to meet it, continuing to pull now with both hands. Scraps of sound began to bounce against the unseen walls of the conjured net until the words slid into Terjal's ears, whole and coherent.

"--a rock face near here!" Arjas shouted. "It should be only about ten yards slightly to the northeast of this position. Follow me!"

Terjal nodded, then slung his invisible web toward the others. "Follow Arjas!" he cried out as loudly as he could. To his relief he watched as the others quickly steered their mounts behind Arjas.

Aiya stopped for a moment and reached her hands out as if to catch at the unseen net, drawing it to her. "I can strengthen the web so that we will at least see where we're going," she called out, as her hand skimmed toward a small pouch at her side and drew a handful of iridescent powder from it. Aiya cast the sparkling dust high over the web, making it visible in a glittering lattice that shielded the others from some of the blizzard's onslaught.

Suddenly, through open spaces appearing in the sheet of hail, Terjal saw in the distance a wedge of earth. It protruded from the ground like a bear with its maw half open, seeming stable enough. He spurred his protesting horse toward it as he watched Arjas make a mad dash for the earthen shelter, the others in quick pursuit.

Once they'd reached the tapering slab of land, Terjal realized it was still insufficient protection against the storm, for the hail sluiced with relentless force through the quickly dissolving net canopied over them. He knew he had to think fast or they'd be sliced to shreds by the sharp, frigid pellets.

As he looked up, Terjal noticed a cowlick of grass and soil curving downward from the escarpment's peak. Weaving his fingers together, he raised his hands toward the point of the crag and called out, "Plait together soil and grass-blade; strong enough for shelter, and firmly made."

Terjal continued to intertwine his fingers in a smooth rolling motion, and began to hum deeply. In response, the soaked earth began to heave upward in a muddy wave before the sodden party. Soon earth and grass began to swirl into a single, wide braid vaulting over the shivering group like a crude awning. Only a slight trickle of water seeped through a few sections of the earthen rampart as Terjal and the others huddled beneath it.

As the tip of the makeshift canopy melded with the ground, Terjal began to feel himself sinking with it. Alarmed, he looked down to see his mount's legs folding onto the frozen earth, the horse's curved neck lolling to the side as its body collapsed heavily to the ground. Terjal slid from the saddle before his left leg could become pinned beneath his fallen steed. Ignoring the hail pelting his back, he knelt before the horse and searched for its pulse. Not a quiver beneath his palm.

Darman shook his head. "The cold was too much for a still-healing horse; the additional poultice applied by the Outsiders didn't have enough time to work."

Terjal stared at the dead animal as he threaded his fingers through the silken forelock. "Nor did my healing spell earlier--yet the wound appeared healed..." then his voice breaking, "I raised her from a foal..." Suddenly he began to shake his head as if to clear the emotion escaping from the well within him. Terjal knew more horses were yet to perish before they would see this mission finished. Yet he'd rarely, in his thirty-four years, witnessed such dying. Then, turning to Darman, "I'll have to ride to Quitonne on one of the mules--the weather is too foul to double up upon one mount, lest another collapse as mine did."

Darman grunted. "We'll have to discard more of the supplies; I'll make sure that we keep only food and blankets--the utensils and some of the pans can be tossed."

Arjas grinned at Terjal. "Besides," the young Blade said, "I'd rather eat with my fingers than watch you walk the rest of the way to Quitonne."

###

They'd stayed underneath the earthen canopy for three hours, just long enough to watch the blizzard lessen into a light flurry of soft snow.

As the group emerged from their shelter cautiously, horses' hooves crunching into the hard, snow-packed earth, they found terrain nearly devoid of color. The still-darkened sky hung above them, its greyness etching sharply into the white horizon. Only a faint cone of amber light drifted down from the blur of sun as it hid shyly behind the swollen clouds.

Darman squinted into the ivory muck spread before him. "Snow already. Except for the woven grass," pointing at the makeshift canopy, "there's barely anything left to feed the animals with. We aren't carrying enough grain to see the animals through to Quitonne, either."

Terjal turned to Arjas. "You're familiar with this region; do you know of any pockets of vegetation that might have withstood the snows?"

"Well," the Blade said as he settled his wide chin on the heel of his palm, elbow resting upon the pommel of his saddle, "it depends on how recently it's been snowing like this. Before the blizzard started, I noticed large groups of tracks. The way the hooves were driven so deeply into the earth, and in a straight path, suggests that some animals were successful in finding forage."

"Then we'll have to hope they left behind enough grasses," Terjal replied, "to feed our own animals."

Terjal pulled a tiny moist ball of golden pollen from the smallest bag dangling from his belt. Carefully he rolled in a circle the spongy globe within the cradle of his palm using the flat of his other palm. Soon the ball grew larger until it was nearly twice the size of Terjal's hand. As he hefted the now quivering golden sphere with both hands, he glanced at Arjas. "You'll have to tell me where to throw this--and quickly."

Arjas was already grazing the frigid air with the sweep of an up-turned palm. "Over there," motioning in a northeasterly direction, "you should find the freshest grass; it's usually the youngest patch of grass this time of year--when in a normal season, that is. Even though the current weather pattern isn't normal, it's still the best place to start."

With only a swift nod of his head, Terjal slid from the mule and ran in the direction Arjas had indicated, flinging the pulsing globe with all the strength he could muster. He fixed his unwavering eyes upon the golden ball as it arced in the cold air.

For a long moment the world around him went black as Terjal focused his mind exclusively on the soaring sphere of amber.

As the globe fell to its target and split upon the snow-packed ground, Terjal felt a tugging snap within his skull as the mind-spell broke. He watched as the ball flattened and spread a shimmering pool of amber which bled long golden fingers deeply into the quickly melting snow.

Suddenly, blades of still-green grass began to bend upward towards the wan sunlight as their cold, white prison fell away.

"Quickly," Terjal called to the others. "Bring the animals to feed before the vegetation begins to wither; whatever they can't eat, we'll pluck from the ground and haul with us."

###

There hadn't been much left of the thin blades of grass to save after the animals had filled their aching bellies with it. Afterwards, Terjal insisted that they continue the forced march to the merchant city, with not a single stop in store for the trail-weary party. "I just hope," the conjurer said, his voice grave, "that we don't lose any more animals before we've reached the gates of Quitonne."

But that hope was quelled as Aiya's mount soon fell from beneath her, its limbs stiffening and sinking into the frozen slush. "We can't afford to discard any more provisions," she told Terjal as she watched Darman and the other Blades strip the bags from her dead horse.

"If we're close enough," Terjal replied, "we might be able to dump nearly everything; if we don't get more distance between now and the next blizzard, then we might as well start digging holes in the snow."

"Do you think Arjas might be able to gauge how close we are to Quitonne?" Aiya's voice sounded shy as her mouth formed the Blade's name; then her face turned slightly pale as she watched Terjal's expression turn to one of surprise. "I mean...he's from Quitonne, isn't he?"

A wide smile began to crease Terjal's mouth upward. Good old Arjas; he could coax a chuckle from a stone and a smile from a tree. "You're right: he is a native of Quitonne and though it's been several years since he's last visited the city, I'd be willing to wager all of Cloudreach that he could find it blindfolded."

Hearing the mention of his name, Arjas strode toward the two conjurers. Turning to Aiya, a good-natured grin curved upon his face, he spoke, "Your steed awaits; unfortunately its a pack-mule--but sturdy enough to carry you through another snowstorm."

Aiya seemed to resist favoring the Blade with a full smile in Terjal's presence, the corners of her mouth quivering with the attempt to suppress it. Terjal watched Arjas's gaze shift quickly toward him and back to Aiya, the heavy black eyebrows darting upward as he did so. The conjurer replied with a surreptitious roll of the eyes heavenward, taking care to shield this gesture from Aiya, who appeared to take no notice of the silent chaff--or perhaps, Terjal surmised, preferred instead to conceal her observation.

Aiya cleared her throat, looking warily at the pale landscape. "So...Arjas, do you think we can make it to Quitonne in one continuous march?"

"Good question," Terjal added simply; then wished he hadn't said it quite that way. 'Good question?' Lord of the Beyond, she's not in my class anymore!

Arjas grinned knowingly at the two conjurers, inclining his dark head southward. "I can already smell salt on the air; we're definitely close enough for a continuous march. If we leave right now, we won't even have to ride in the dark."

"Well then," Terjal said as he grabbed the reigns of his mule, "if we're going to spend any more time talking, we'd better do it on the road."

This time, Terjal noted as he turned his gaze to Aiya, the smile on her face looked genuine. Or...at least he hoped it was--and meant for him, this time.

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