Terjal, standing in the courtyard of their lodgings, shook his head ruefully at the sight of the two new mounts that Strandholt had managed to scrounge from the only stable still containing any livestock.

One mare and one gelding--both older than the two horses they replaced by a good three or four years, Terjal guessed. Both horses looked as if they hadn't done anything more strenuous than to pull a cart from one end of the city to the other. Terjal ran his hands up and down each horse's leg and was satisfied that their musculature was solid enough to at least see them through much of their journey.

Straightening up, Terjal found Strandholt watching him, an openly sheepish look upon the blond warrior's high-cheekboned face. It was obvious he took pride in his ability to appraise horseflesh; and the two beasts standing before them were anything but good examples of Strandholt's skill. "You should have seen what I had to choose from," the Blade said, his somber voice touched with only the barest humor. "Believe it or not, these two were the huskiest of the lot."

"Well," Terjal sighed, "they're not destriers, but riding them will definitely be preferable to marching through the snow on foot."

"The pasture lands aren't far away, these horses should last long enough; then we can get the destriers and falcons Shel'han Nyjef promised." Strandholt's face seemed to brighten at the prospect of locating some of his people again.

Terjal shook his head firmly. "We can't afford to do that now--the information I received from Graznod is too current to let slip by. Besides, we still don't know the exact location of the Outsiders' herd; we might spend precious days and nights trying to catch up with them. Meanwhile, the creature continues to have its way with the countryside."

"The merchant routes stretch well beyond Titan's Teeth," Strandholt said, straightening a little, his hands clasped loosely behind his back and his chin tilted slightly upward. "Can you really trust this Graznod the Redeemer?"

"I have to," Terjal answered, grimacing. "What other choice do I have?"

###

Aiya slowly stuffed provisions into the packs hanging on either side of a fidgety mule. The beast swung its head in protest, its hooves shuffling upon the dirt, whenever she tugged at the packs. Frowning, Aiya stepped away from the animal and looked it squarely in the eye. "Either you're anxious for us to be under way, or you're disappointed that we're not staying. Now make up your tiny mind and stand still!"

"That's it," Arjas encouraged. "Let the beasts know who's boss--can't let them get the upper hoof!" Aiya turned to see the Blade grinning widely at her.

Aiya felt a stinging heat flow into the skin of her cheeks, yet thankful that it was only Arjas, and not Terjal, standing behind watching her converse with a pack mule. "These mules have obviously never had a single lesson in discipline--or maybe they're just irritated with the severe journey we've put them through."

"Well," Arjas shrugged, "they're beasts of burden--I would think they've become accustomed to the harsh reality of their lot."

Aiya smiled in spite of herself; she couldn't help it--Arjas brought it out of her with his easy manner. "But when was the last time you put them through such an arduous trek? Their easy life at Cloudreach has made them fat and lazy, I think."

Arjas rubbed his darkly bristled jaw in brief contemplation. "You might be right; aside from a few forays to the nearest village each month to get provisions, these beasts really haven't seen as much road as we've just shown them." Then he strolled over to the mule closest to Aiya and took the animal's head between both palms and brought his brow to meet the beast's. "So, you heard the lady: Behave!" Arjas roared. The animal drew away from Arjas's hands with a jerking tug, as the head reared and tilted sideways staring harshly at the Blade, its eyes wide with warning. Arjas stepped backward and turned to Aiya, "It's a good thing I'm standing in front of the right end. I don't think I'd travel well with broken ribs."

Aiya began to chuckle lightly, her head down. Then she stopped, distracted by the sudden, somber thought of Sandor lying in infirmary, his mind in an oblivious slumber.

Try as she might, but Aiya couldn't prevent the deep sigh from sharply billowing her chest. How can I leave Sandor when I don't know whether or not he will ever regain consciousness? How can I know whether or not I was partner in sending him into this catatonia? The questions drifted like a thick fog through her mind, draping and smothering any other thoughts within its dark cloak.

Aiya saw by Arjas's uncharacteristically soft expression that he had just perceived at least some of her distraction; he had, after all, been witness to the bond she shared with the old legislator. Then her gaze darted briefly to where Terjal and Strandholt stood a few yards away, speaking.

The conjurer's expressions and gesticulations made him appear calm and confident; whether or not they indicated his true feelings was immaterial, for the presentation itself was the important thing. As she studied them, Aiya felt a twinge of envy cut into the fog of her unease over leaving Sandor. Even though Terjal has scant ideas about the creature's identity, Aiya thought to herself, he still seems so confident, so sure of himself. Deep down, he may not feel genuinely confident--but he projects confidence well. And though she felt her own measure of confidence, she still could not help but feel a student again in his presence. Curiously, Aiya felt no resentment toward Terjal, although, perhaps, it might have been her right to feel so.

Aiya's gaze returned abruptly back to Arjas as if breaking a spell cast over her. She was a little startled to find Arjas's own gaze still fixed upon her, his expression now grave with concern. It filled her with embarrassment that someone so coarse and battle-worn could soften his mien so easily--and for her sake! Why must they always assume that I need comforting? In spite of herself, she felt her brows drawn down in a smoldering scowl. As she did this, she watched as Arjas's own brows jumped and his eyes widened slightly, obviously startled by her brusque change in countenance. Now she felt a pang of regret.

"Your friend," Arjas inclined his head in the direction of the infirmary, "we'll have to leave him before he wakes up. Perhaps by then we'll have slain the creature and can return to look for his wife and son."

Aiya closed her eyes for a second, then opened them, her steady gaze squarely meeting the Blade's. "I understand--really, I do." Then she turned to tighten a loose strap with a sharp, firm tug. "I'd be lying if I said that it didn't bother me, though. But don't worry; I've served in the Duke's court long enough to know how to sort out priorities. It's just..." She paused, looking upward as her eyes began to thicken with a film of tears. "It's just that my emotions intrude upon those judgments from time to time--but thanks to my training, I'm always able to send them scurrying away." She blinked rapidly, hoping the tears wouldn't spill. Over the mule's back she still saw Terjal and Strandholt nodding at one another. "It wasn't so easy this time."

Arjas moved to stand directly behind her, though he made no move to turn her toward him. "I understand. Sandor was someone special to you."

"Yes." Still not turning around. "He was my mentor and tutor when I'd first arrived at Honor's Start; he was the only one who took the time to help me. All the others in the court were afraid of my conjuring abilities and would scarcely even speak to me. He was so strong and so solid then--now, he's become frail and brittle." Aiya felt the sharp pop of a sob bubbling deep in her throat. She brought her fingers up to furtively wipe at her eyes; it was no use hiding this sudden stir of emotion from Arjas. Still, she refused to bawl like a babe in front of him.

###

Terjal drew the cold, sharp air deeply into his lungs as he and his party passed through Quitonne's gates. Only a few wisps of mist clung to the walls of the city like forgotten cobwebs, anchored to the ground and glittering from the light of the uncloaked sun. Terjal noted the marked absence of the Vice-Mayor Turste and his entourage; nor were any other townspeople there to bid the questers a farewell. As the conjurer looked about, he saw only the crescent of a head here and there peering from the aegis of a wall or pillar.

It's no secret where we're off to, he thought wryly. News travels fast in Quitonne it seems.

But the weather was calm and the sky a clear sapphire blue; only a few narrow clouds rowed lazily across the sky. The cold, however, still clawed at their cheeks as their mounts bore them forward into the wildly chilled breeze. Terjal examined the deceptively placid skies. Calm though it may be now, winter awaits like an assassin's dagger ready to strike.

"So," Darman spoke, also squinting in the unusually bright sunshine. "We'll be following the merchant routes then?"

Terjal nodded. "I'm going to have to trust Graznod on this one. It does make sense: whoever is controlling the creature wants to disrupt Quitonne's trade without physically destroying the city itself." Terjal paused, also squinting--more from thought than from the sharpness of sunlight. "There are several small hamlets along the merchant trails: perfect grist for a direspawn's appetite."

Aiya rode behind Terjal with Arjas at her side, yet Terjal saw her face mirrored in his mind: calm and resolute, accepting her duty as if it were an unwieldy mantle. He knew that, before long, she would have to force from her mind concern for her ailing friend--allowing it to flood back only when the mission was finished. She couldn't have spent eight years in the service of the Duke of Windemere, Terjal thought to himself, without possessing this ability to suppress her feelings. Especially from those around her.

Terjal heard the quick pounding of a horse's hooves advancing toward him from behind. He glanced over his shoulder to see that it was Aiya who rode toward him, her face just as he'd imagined it: calm and resolute. Once she was beside him he waited for her to speak, for it was obvious she wanted to offer him some counsel or ask a question.

From the corner of his eye, as Aiya kept pace in silence beside him, Terjal noted that her dark eyebrows were drawn in a frown and he saw her neck muscles raise briefly as she swallowed hard. When at last she opened her mouth to speak, Terjal turned to look at her directly. "The weather could turn at any moment," Aiya said, still staring at the road before them. "With another wearying journey ahead of us, it might be prudent to cast a stamina spell over us all."

Terjal cocked his head to the side, as if considering the idea--yet rejecting it no sooner than the thought had entered his mind. Shaking his head finally he said, "Though I know we could all benefit from such a spell, I still cannot allow it. The spell casting alone would drain too much energy from us both--energy best saved for when we finally meet up with the direspawn."

Aiya nodded her head slowly, her bottom lip curling briefly beneath her teeth in contemplation. "That's assuming we meet up with the creature soon; if the weather chooses to pelt us heavily once again, we won't have any energy left with which to battle the creature--stamina spell or no stamina spell."

"You're right. However, if it is true that the beast has been pillaging the trade routes, then it shouldn't take us long to find the creature."

Aiya turned to face him directly, a gleam entering her eyes. "I hope the information the Redeemer gave you is good, then."

###

"The rotted beast has been here all right," Darman muttered as he and his mount threaded their way amid the debris of the first merchant caravan they'd encountered. Broken, charred wagons slumped wearily against the cold, white ground, their equally charred occupants draped over the sides like blackened laundry hung for drying. Whatever cargo they'd been carrying lay strewn about the snow, nothing more than unrecognizable pulp.

Terjal guessed that the attack had been fairly recent, for he still saw thin threads of smoke rising from some of the wagons' embers. He and his party had traveled no more than an hour and a half from Quitonne before they had come upon this destruction. In spite of the grisly tableau before him, Terjal felt a tiny pang of relief. Graznod didn't lie after all; at least, not about the attacks on the merchant trains. But I wonder how far his truths stretch? Terjal turned his mount around to face the others.

"It appears," he began, "that we should be upon the beast soon enough if we continue on this course. Strandholt, have you any ideas on just how soon that would be?"

The blond-haired Blade tilted his chin upward as if to sniff at the wind, his blue eyes squinting in concentration. "Probably an hour, at the least--for its size, it must move fast. If the creature were closer, we'd be smelling fresh smoke by now."

Arjas nudged his mount alongside Strandholt. "There should be a small farming village," he added, "roughly an hour from here. The beast might be there even as we speak."

"Well then," Terjal said as he glanced over his shoulder at the path they would soon take, "I guess we'd better hasten to this village, else we'll be speculating once again how long it will take to catch up with the beast."

###

Terjal smelled the thick, sickening stench of smoke rising in the distance as they approached the village. As the hamlet hovered into view, the horizon on which it sat seared by a dancing line of red blaze, Terjal saw that the destruction was already well underway. As the party got nearer, they heard frenzied shouts mingled with piercing screams.

Just as they reached the edge of the village, a heavy cloud of smoke blossomed over their heads as they ducked into it, riding forward despite the acrid scrape of it within their nostrils. Terjal felt long pins of stabbing pain stick into his lungs as he coughed dryly, the smoke clinging doggedly to the inside of his throat. His eyes clouded with a film of tears which quickly spilled over his now-swollen eyelids.

Terjal glanced at his companions and found them faring no better. Aiya coughed fitfully into a curled fist while the other gripped the reigns tightly, and she fought to keep her own swollen eyes open. The Blades coughed as well, but seeming only as a matter of course. They've ridden through plenty of smoke in their careers as warriors, Terjal reminded himself as he loosed another volley of racking coughs.

Soon the smoke cleared enough for Terjal and the others to witness the destruction as it was being wrought.

A massive bear-like creature stood several yards ahead of them, apparently giving the visitors no notice as it swung its huge paws at the few villagers rushing it. Like the brigands Terjal's party had encountered on their way to the Outsiders' encampment, these poor farmers clutched crude makeshift weapons, brandishing them almost fearlessly at the creature. Suddenly the beast opened its enormous maw and a wide ribbon of flame unfurled and licked the nearest man. The wounded man dropped his weapon--a rusted shovel--and clutched at his smoking face, a high wail rising into the air.

A heavy-set woman watching from behind a pillar screamed and ran toward the man, who'd dropped to his knees still grasping wildly at his face, calling out a name that Terjal could not understand. As she reached the fallen man, the woman hooked her arms beneath the farmer's armpits, her strong forearms crossed upon the man's chest, and dragged him away as his legs flexed in agony.

But the creature apparently had no intention of letting its fun be spoiled by an escape, for it turned its mammoth white head in the direction of the fleeing couple and released a spew of flame that seared them both so completely that they became fused together. Terjal saw, in the moment just before the blaze took them, the woman's face turned upward as her features were arranged in a look of horrified resignation at the fate about to befall them both.

"Darman, Arjas!" Terjal shouted over his shoulder. "Get those people still alive away from the beast in any way you can--Aiya, Strandholt and I will try to distract the creature. Don't worry about the men fighting the creature, just try to round up as many survivors as you both can. Once the three of us have the beast's attention focused on us, you can come back to pick up these men."

"Assuming," Arjas called back, "that there's anything left of them to pick up!" Then Arjas gave Darman a look and the two Blades spurred their mounts toward the outer perimeters of the hamlet.

Already townspeople had noted Terjal's party's presence and were peering out of the windows of the few remaining structures--and from behind anything else that might provide shelter. Before he spurred his own mount forward, Terjal heard Darman and Arjas shouting at the townspeople to follow them.

###

As the three of them, sans mounts, advanced toward the creature on foot in a moving triangle, with Aiya and Strandholt approaching from either side and Terjal standing directly in front of the beast, the conjurer noted with satisfaction that the creature had now placed its attention fully upon its new attackers. The plan worked: the surviving farmers were able to scramble away, tugging at their fellow fallen villagers and pulling them to safety.

Now the beast's attention was solely concentrated upon its new foes. How did I get myself into this? Terjal thought grimly, I just might be burnt to a crisp at the Duke of Windemere's behest. Terjal watched as the creature's mouth widened as if to release a breath of flame upon him. Raising his hands aloft, open palms facing the creature, Terjal yelled, "Shield!"

Suddenly a glittering diaphanous web spread quickly from Terjal's fingertips, netting the creature in winking translucence. Undeterred by the shield encasing it, the beast blew upon the shimmering cage and roared in anger as the fire licked at its own white fur. Terjal knew the shield would buckle soon, for he felt the heat seep through tiny rents forming within the glittering, makeshift armor.

Now he had little time to waste--Terjal had to see if he might get a glimpse beyond the dull, plum-colored eyes and find the creature's true controller. Even with a fire-breathing beast in front of him, the fact that he still was no nearer in discovering who had summoned the direspawn, still gnawed at him like a ravenous termite.

Mage sight was the only way. Terjal glanced quickly at Aiya; he saw her large eyes moving from where he stood and to the creature, and back again. He saw that she knew what he intended to do. "If the shield weakens too much," Terjal called to her, "then you must cast in my stead and strengthen it for me."

Aiya nodded and brought her own open palms to face the creature, ready.

Terjal filled his lungs then exhaled it slowly until he felt a slight giddiness flap like a butterfly's wing through his mind. Then he stared--boring his gaze directly into the torpid amethyst eyes, searching fast for whatever he might find. Something loomed within his view: a dark shape waving like a single twig in a heavy wind, trying to twist away from him. The conjurer tried to solidify the vision in his mind, but it kept slipping away and was gone as quickly as it had come.

But the black wave had left something. A residue of thought lingered in Terjal's mind as his eyes cleared--something he'd suspected, but had not fully articulated in his mind: for it was the beast who'd been causing the early winter all along! Whoever controlled the beast hadn't expected this consequence of the creature's powers and the revelation of it must have been gnawing at the controller as much as it had been Terjal.

In a heartbeat, Terjal saw how the beast's powers had been sponging what little warmth remained from the air around them. The conjurer saw also that not only was the beast destroying the lands with its fire and strength, but that it had the capability of freezing completely what was left of Ryndorhn if it kept on its current path.

Suddenly, from his left, he heard a wrenching gasp. Terjal turned to see Aiya curving her open palms before the creature, shaking her head in exasperation. "It's no use," she called to Terjal. "I don't know how it's doing this--but the creature is tearing through the shield with its mind. It's blocking my shield-spell somehow!"

"It's not the beast," Terjal answered, his gaze once again focused on the snarling beast before him. "The creature's controller has realized that he's got conjurers fighting his prize direspawn and he's compensating!"

Terjal slipped his hand quickly into a pouch at his waist; then stepping backward, he withdrew a handful of blue powder. Spinning around as if to hurl a sling, he released the powder which whirled itself into a sharp, rotating disk. The blue disk sliced through the fragmenting shield and directly into the creature's breast. The beast gave an irritated howl and wrenched the imbedded disk from its flesh before flinging it back at the conjurer. Terjal managed to dodge his own creation, reaching a hand behind him to pick it up once it hit the ground. As soon as he had the disk in his hand, he sent it spinning back toward its white, furry target.

Aiya had also drawn a handful of powder--a fine crystalline dust--from one of her own pouches. Holding the powder cupped within both hands, she blew on the twinkling pile, turning the flying crystals into long slim daggers. Like the blue disk, the crystal daggers stabbed through the torn shield to imbed themselves into the soft meat of the beast's neck. The creature loosed another angered roar as its paws slapped furiously at the wounds.

Strandholt who until now had stood watching, his poleax extended and ready for immediate battle, now saw his chance present itself.

In one fluid movement the Outsider pulled a claw from his belt and threw its clutching talons at the beast, before closing in with his poleax held high. The shield had completely collapsed on his side, so he slipped through it easily hearing only the tinny crackle as more of the shield gave way. With all his strength, Strandholt swung the poleax at the beast's furry hide, making a tugging contact with the flesh. Then, pulling his short hafted sword from its sheath, Strandholt plunged its wide blade into the nearest square of white furred flesh. Blood, warm and red, spurted at Strandholt's face blinding him for a moment, his weapon-clutched hands unable to wipe it away.

The beast, in a explosion of outrage, threw back its massive head and released a gout of flame at Strandholt, singeing the creature itself in the process as the fire struck a section of remaining spell shield. Strandholt fell onto the hard snow, rolling away and burying his face in its frozen whiteness to stem the heat crawling along his flesh.

Terjal heard the frenzied cries of the abandoned mounts behind him, knowing the horses would be rearing their forelegs in fright. But he couldn't worry about them now--he had to continue to hurl his arsenal of spells at the direspawn.

Terjal grabbed a pinch of golden pollen and rolled it quickly into a large quivering ball, tossing it high into the air. For a moment it lingered above the creature making slow, hesitant arcs over the beast's head. Terjal clapped his hands twice and the golden ball exploded, showering the creature in a fall of glittering net. As it settled upon the creature's head, Terjal balled his hands into fists, tightening them as if to strangle the beast. The direspawn clawed frantically at the conjured net, its sharp teeth finally gnashing it away completely.

Terjal retreated once more, expecting a gout of flame to breech what was left of the shield he put between himself and the beast. But the creature paused for a moment--as if to consider what it might do next to the conjurer. This is most certainly a direspawn--but who is looking through its eyes? Terjal stood ready to meet whatever fate the creature might mete out--but with his hands laid upon his remaining pouches. Pouches that were rapidly emptying, he realized with some dismay.

Terjal saw Aiya ready to hurl another volley of spells at the beast and he turned to her and shouted, "Wait!"

Aiya turned her face toward the conjurer, her eyebrows slanted upward in an expression of incredulity: an unasked question. But she obeyed, her hands also hovering over the pouches hanging from her own belt. "But we must weaken it more!" she shouted back nevertheless.

Terjal nodded almost absently, distracted by the touch of recognition he saw reflected in the plum-colored eyes of the beast. He stood transfixed, trying to delve into the creature's mind for a clue. If only I could get closer...close enough to touch it...

He barely saw a shape moving like dark liquid behind those eyes, staring back at him...

Terjal took a step forward, his palms raised before his face as if to calm the beast, a smile inching the corners of the conjurer's mouth upward. Come now: reveal yourself to me--if you're going to kill me, at least first tell me who you are!

But the beast tilted its large head to the side and grunted; Terjal smelled the rotten blast of its breath touch his face, but he didn't wince. Soon he was staring directly up at the creature's white length, so close he might touch its fur...

Terjal reached out his hands--

--and felt a wave of anger and envy unfurl itself and wrap around him, squeezing his mind like an orange, the juices of his thoughts leaking and spilling and dripping down his body into the snow? Into the air? Terjal threw back his head and loosed a scream like a mad laugh, his hands clamped to his temples. Still the emotions struck at him, now like cleavers cutting him away as if he were a side of beef to be trimmed. Cutting, chopping, cutting--

Through the pain and the roar of the creature's thoughts, Terjal heard Aiya call out, but couldn't understand what she was saying. Nor was he able to see her for the intensity of the emotions had struck him blind as well.

Soon Terjal lost consciousness--but not before the dark thing followed him there.

###

Aiya had watched the beast rear its head back as soon as Terjal had gotten close enough to touch it. She sensed what was coming. Against her better judgment she watched as Terjal sank his hands into the thick white fur. She kept her own hands near her powders, her fingertips grazing the pouches eagerly, anxiously.

Then she watched as Terjal's face began to contort and grimace in pain. As soon as he screamed, she knew she no longer had to obey him. But before she could hurl a spell at the beast, the creature blasted Terjal with its fiery breath, then arced a heavy claw at the conjurer. In horror, Aiya watched as small bits of flesh flew from openings in Terjal's robe as the beast rent the garment to ribbons.

Aiya pulled a smooth stone from a small bag draping her left hip and cupped it in her shaking hands, before breathing upon it. When the stone became warm enough, she pitched it at the beast. Before it reached the creature the stone burst into flame, still speeding toward its large white target. The stone struck the beast just beneath its left armpit, but the creature only beat at it in between swipes at Terjal.

Not missing a beat, Aiya raised her palms to chin level and called, "Shield upon Terjal!" She closed her eyes, summoning every last shred of conjuring strength within her, palms still facing out. When she opened her eyes, she saw that a thin sheath of power now glittered around the fallen conjurer.

And now the beast had turned in her direction, its eyes glimmering like cut purple stones, white light glancing off the shiny surface.

Palms still raised and shaking with her waning energy, she called again for the shield, eyes tightly shut. When she opened them, she watched as an even thinner sheath of translucence hung between her and the beast. It dissolved as quickly as it had formed.

Legs trembling and ready to buckle from extreme fatigue, Aiya was determined to muster a last tiny fragment of conjuring power. Bending down she scooped up two handfuls of snow and threw the hardened ice into the air. Tilting her head up Aiya blew at the flakes with what was left of her strength, watching the flakes swirl into a small, contained snowstorm. Aiya heard the beast roar in frustration as she vanished from its sight.

Aiya no longer saw Terjal's supine form in the conjured blizzard. Suddenly the lace work of snow melted in front of her as tongues of flame leapt toward her. Aiya smelled the sulfurous scent of burning hair. Her own hair! Like Strandholt, she dove into the snow to put out the fire eating its way to her scalp.

As Aiya rolled onto her back to get to her feet, she felt something clutch at both sides of her waist. She opened her mouth in a soundless scream as she felt the curved claws dig deeply into her flesh and sketch her torso with the tip of a talon. Dark blood rose quickly through the rips in her tunic and she felt as if the rest of her vitals would surely follow. But she had no time to dwell on the pain.

Gasping, she stretched a trembling hand toward the dagger strapped to her left leg, fingers fluttering to reach it. Before she grasped the hilt, Aiya felt a searing pain bite into her knee and travel down to her shin. She watched in horror as a curved talon furrowed through the meat of her leg, accompanied by the sharp sound of tearing fabric.

Aiya was beyond feeling pain--instead she focused on reaching the dagger. Her existence--and Terjal's--depended upon her grasping the hilt. The dagger grew in importance the more she stretched toward it; as she felt the wound in her leg yawn wider; as she felt the creature pin her down with its paw wedged upon her chest.

The whole world became a spinning dagger.

The dagger was getting closer; she saw its hilt turning in her direction. She closed her eyes. There is no pain, nor wounds, nor snow... Aiya chanted the mantra in her mind. The dagger must be in my hand; I can feel its smoothness against my palm. I can feel the blade poised against my foe...

She did feel the dagger now: whole, solid and in her hand.

Aiya had little strength left with which to plunge the dagger into the beast so she laid it, blade up, upon her chest--willing the creature to fall upon it, and she hoped the blade long enough to do harm. Crush me and I will pierce your black heart and your spilled blood shall heal me... She began to feel a bubble of laughter rumble deep in her throat. The pain was starting to drive her mad. Come now, dark beast of white fur--

Suddenly Aiya heard a roar come from the beast as the weight came off her chest. Then darkness swept over her and the mad bubble of laughter died in her throat.

###

Aiya awoke slowly, then abruptly.

Someone had taken hold of her shoulders and was now giving them a sound shaking. How long have I been unconscious? she thought as her eyelids flickered open to see Arjas's face above her, his dark green eyes wild. "We're not finished yet," the Blade shouted amid the angered roar of the beast, his head turning to look quickly over his shoulder. "Darman and Strandholt are busy with the creature right now--might alone won't hurt that thing. You must use more of your magic!"

Aiya's head felt as if it were being swung from a pendulum, but she struggled to sit upright. She felt the warm, tickling sensation of blood as it oozed slowly from the wound in her torso; she rested her flattened palm against it, watching the blood squeeze between her fingers. She saw Arjas's gaze travel to where her hand lay, as if noticing the injury for the first time. Aiya sucked in a large gout of air, and exhaled with her teeth gritted against the pain. "Help me up," she said, offering a crooked elbow to the Blade.

Arjas hoisted Aiya to her feet and she wound her arm around his neck for support. Together, they turned to face the beast. "The townspeople?" Aiya blurted, sparing words in haste.

"Darman and I herded them out to the hills--no one's left."

Terjal still lay in the snow, unmoving, his arms splayed at his sides in unconscious crucifixion. Darman and Strandholt continued to circle the beast in opposite directions, stabbing and slashing whenever they got close enough. The Blades' strength was wearing down quickly: several times Strandholt staggered in the snow, nearly falling to his knees. Aiya knew that if both Blades were to stop moving, the beast would blast them both to cinders.

"I must get closer to them," Aiya gasped, pain criss-crossing her belly as if fire ants were marching within; she drew a small pouch from her belt. As she shook its contents into her curved palm, she was dismayed to see that little was left of her stamina powder. "I must get more from Terjal's belt."

"Let me go for you--I know which pouch you want."

Aiya was too weak to protest. Funny how weakness makes one so trusting.

Aiya nodded at Arjas, her eyes wincing from the pain as the Blade released her from his grasp and she sank to her knees--pain exploding violently in her left leg. Bent slightly, her legs stretched out before her, Aiya watched as more blood spilled into the snow--and not just from the wound in her torso. She now saw her torn leg, shred breeches open to the cold from knee to boot. Peeling back the heavy fabric she saw how the split flesh curled over like pie crust, exposing the red filling of her muscles and tendons.

Arjas returned, dangling Terjal's harvested pouch from his fingers. Luckily it was the right one, Aiya saw. Taking it from him, she mixed the contents with the remains of her own and nodded once again at the Blade. Arjas lifted her to her feet once again, her injured leg nothing more than a single column of pain, and together they hobbled nearer the scene of battle. Arjas moved behind Aiya and held her upright--but she waved him aside. She winced as she lowered herself, and the injured leg, to the snow. At the Blade's questioning look, "I can't afford to waste your strength by having you prop me up."

Turning toward the battle, Aiya shouted into her cupped palms, "To those fighting the beast," then blew with all her strength at the pile of powder. A trail of scintillating brilliance snaked from her palms and into the frigid air, tumbling and zigzagging toward its targets. As soon as the sparkling light shrouded them, both Blades seemed to awaken with renewed vigor as their hacking strokes became stronger.

Aiya turned and blew the remaining patina of powder at Arjas. Not waiting for the stamina spell to take full hold, the Blade rushed into the fray to help his fellows. Aiya watched in horror as the beast swung a paw in time to strike Arjas before he could strike a blow of his own. She saw the Blade collapse upon the ground, his hands clasped to his right knee as he writhed in pain on the hard-packed snow.

Now the beast was looking squarely in her direction, its fur coruscated with slashes of streaming crimson, ignoring the circling Blades as if they were merely annoying, harmless insects.

Aiya knew what the beast had planned for her; she nearly saw the bellows within its belly afire, ready to incinerate her.

Aiya had only one pouch of powder left: one she'd never used before. She'd bought the powder long ago from a wizened mage who'd traveled to Windemere from mountains of Titan's Teeth, and who promised the powder would conjure into a strong fire shield. She'd laughed at him, but bought it nonetheless so that the sovereigns would put some food in his belly. Now she hoped to the gods that it really would work. If it does, and I survive, I will seek out the old man and house him at Honor's Start myself--and Lord Vaukmond be damned if he protests!

Quickly, she poured the mossy green powder into her palm, keeping her gaze locked upon the advancing beast. Then, in a motion like the turning hands of a clock, she swung her arms in a flat circle, scattering the dark powder in the air before her. To her relief it arranged itself into a wide rectangle between herself and the beast.

The creature loosed a thick stream of flame upon the shield, but the blaze bounced against the shield, licking the beast with its own fire. Aiya smelled the stench of burnt fur flood through the chilled air as the creature howled in pain and outrage. She watched as its head lashed from side to side, its paws swiping at its tusked face. The beast staggered backward in the snow, almost stumbling into Darman and Strandholt who still stood behind the creature.

"Wish to taste of your own flame again?" Aiya said, taunting the creature with her beckoning fingers. Still the shield remained before her, tracking her subtle movements and protecting her. Then, directing her shouts to the Blades just behind the creature: "Darman, Strandholt: bring Terjal and Arjas. You must all stay behind me!"

While the beast still bellowed its anguish, Aiya watched as Darman ran to where Terjal lay and slung the conjurer over a lean shoulder. Strandholt had already hooked Arjas under the armpits and was hauling the wincing Blade to where Aiya stood clutching her own still-bleeding waist.

Once the whole party was gathered behind her, Aiya looked squarely at the beast, whose cries of pain had subsided slightly. "Come now," she urged, a twisted smile of satisfaction upon her face. "One last time--maybe you'll get lucky."

As if taking her dare, the creature's cheeks ballooned as it readied a fresh gout of flame to blow upon its foes. The breath of fire struck the shield once again, the shield nearly buckling--yet still holding against the onslaught. Again, as last time, the blaze curled upon the shield and returned to its originator like a homing pigeon returning to its owner.

The direspawn threw back its massive head and released a howl so loud and piercing that it rippled the shield. The beast's singed fur smoking from belly to head, the creature suddenly went rigid, its paws flexing convulsively as the plum-colored eyes rolled from side to side as if trying to decide something. Suddenly its head jerked round as if pulled on a leash and the beast began to run away, the pounding of its huge feet making the ground tremble beneath Aiya and the others.

Aiya watched the white form recede into the bleached landscape before disappearing altogether. She closed her eyes and felt the dizziness return, swooping low and glancing off of her consciousness with tiny spots of brilliance.

Now she would rest. But not for long.

###

Reghar screamed.

He felt flame ride up his belly, his chest and his face. Frantically he beat at his face and body like a man engulfed in a swarm of bees. He'd been able to withstand the cuts inflicted upon the beast--but not this. Not fire! He felt the skin of his face bubbling and blistering as he clutched at his burning cheeks.

But his face still felt smooth.

Reghar swung around searching for a mirror to peer into; hoping to verify what his hands had discovered. Frantically he ran his hands over the surface of a cluttered table until his fingers grazed the smooth handle of an upturned mirror. Bringing the mirror to his face, Reghar saw--

--that his face was indeed smooth. Gratefully, he stroked his cheeks and wide chin with a trembling hand.

"What did you expect?" The voice of Grafter rocked the chamber. Reghar glanced up to see the old man's silhouette in the doorway. "Did you think that any damage to the creature would scar you as well?" Grafter's accompanying chuckle bounced into the room before the old man entered, the light of ensconced torches outlining, then making whole the man's form.

He makes a game of tormenting me, Reghar thought as he glared at Grafter the Ageless. "It was a reaction of instinct," Reghar answered, his tone defensive despite his earlier resolve not to sound so. Why was it so easy for Grafter to manipulate Reghar's emotions? Was the old man trying to spur his protégé into a sudden surge of mental violence? A part of Reghar didn't really want those questions answered.

Grafter now stood before his pupil, a mixture of amusement and disappointment slanting his eyebrows and drawing the corners of his mouth down. "Ah, instinct: the very emotion you must cut from your mind like an unwanted appendage. 'Instinct' will create walls behind which you will never vault over--only stare upward wondering how much higher they will become."

Reghar shook his head. "You are wrong, for instinct can be used in conjuring, I--"

Grafter cut off Reghar's speech with an elegant slice of his hand, interrupting. "Is this what you had learned from your Terjal Rakmir of Cloudreach? Can you not release his flawed teachings from your mind? Instincts, pah! This is what is told to those with no true, inherent conjuring abilities: if you weren't born a mage, not to worry--simply use your 'instincts' to pull magic from the very air around you." Grafter shook his head, pursing his lips disgustedly as if he'd tasted something rank. "The encouragement of using 'instinct' pollutes sorcery and," looking squarely at Reghar, "I'll have none of it."

Reghar returned the glare in kind, but remained silent. What more might he say? If he angered Grafter too often, the old mage might cast him from the Grip. But then, Reghar felt a smile tugging irresistibly at the corners of his mouth, who would be left to control the beast? The old man's powers have diluted over the years; his mage powers are waning. Still...

Grafter the Ageless continued to stare at Reghar as if he were either trying to peer through a cloudy window or see right through to the heart of his pupil's very soul.

Here's how instinct works to one's advantage, the Fang thought smugly. Instantly Reghar raised a mind shield, feeling the old man's thoughts prodding it like a foot nudging over a stone on the beach. Reghar held the mind shield rigid before Grafter as the old man continued to probe through it, almost cautiously--as if something within Reghar might leap out and rip at his throat.

Reghar watched small beads of perspiration form upon Grafter's forehead, the ashen eyebrows drawing so low over the old man's eyes that they seemed nearly shut. Reghar sensed the one word which had managed to slip through the unseen barrier: Yield. Reghar the Fang saw opportunity in that simple, yet powerful word. I'll turn the thought against you, Old Man.

Reghar's own eyebrows began to descend slowly over his amber eyes, making him look even more like a bird of prey. A thin spear of thought struck through Grafter's command, piercing the old mage's mind like an arrow driven to its mark. Grafter wheeled backward, his arms flailing for balance, as if cuffed by a fist. Only the closed door behind him spared the old mage the indignity of landing upon the tiled floor. Still, Grafter's face winced as the flat of his palms met the hard wood of the door.

"You aren't so powerful after all, are you?" Reghar advanced a menacing step forward, delighted in the look of open fear upon the old man's face. Yes, only an old man, once brimming with the strength of sorcery in his youth--but nearly emptied of it with the coming of decline. His immortality is diluting his powers with each advancing year.

Grafter's eyes remained wide beneath the loose skin above his eyelids, his impossibly smooth skin now seeming to sag and quiver. "Yes, it is true that my...powers...are not what they once were. But only I can control the Grip and all who inhabit it. If you do not believe me," a wink of light brushed against Grafter's eyes, "feel free to stroll about the grounds without my aegis. I guarantee that you will serve me still--though no longer with flesh stretched over your bones. I will have my minions strip you of every ounce of muscle and inch of skin. And so, without your clothing of flesh, you will forever hear the sounds of your own bleached bones clicking together whenever you should move."

For once, Grafter the Ageless's threats did not scare Reghar. Threats are the last recourse of the cornered and desperate, he thought as a slow grin split his wide face. He only hoped that he, the Fang, would never become so.

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