The pain in Terjal's throat had grown more intense as a scab grew over the wound. Even now, as he clung to Aiya while they both rode upon her horse, she at the reins and he sitting behind, Terjal once again resisted the urge to clear his throat. For doing so not only unclogged his voice, but had the unfortunate effect of bringing the thin, salty taste of blood upon his tongue.

No matter how carefully he swallowed, no matter how shallowly he breathed, the pain continued to scratch its way up his esophagus, causing his eyes to water bitterly. But, at least, he thought gratefully, he did breathe.

Terjal's voice had grown more hoarse as the scab within his throat hardened. During a brief stop, Aiya had dribbled a small amount of healing powder down Terjal's throat, which offered little relief--for which he was also grateful. Even Shankal applied an improvised salve, administered with a thin reed, to the affected area--but the process itself caused more discomfort than it eased. Terjal had doubled over, gagging on both the salve and the inserted reed. With dismay, Terjal saw that his retching had brought up a fragment of scab in a clot of blood. Which only meant that a new scab would soon form, thus prolonging his agony a little longer. Terjal declared that there be no more attempts at treatment--that he would instead bear the pain out.

Now dusk was slowly sifting through the swamp's dark green canopy and lengthening the riders' shadows far down the path before them. Terjal saw Darman's horse canter backward toward Aiya's mount. The First Blade turned to Terjal, a last slant of wan sunshine winking upon his dented helm, "We should make camp now before we lose any more light."

Terjal nodded, croaking his reply, "You announce it to the others. I haven't the voice for it." Darman nodded once and urged his horse to turn around.

"This looks," Aiya said, "like as good a place as any to make camp. And that's not saying much for it."

Indeed, Terjal noted, the clearing had little to distinguish itself from the other clearings they'd passed, but a least this fragment of land looked dry enough.

###

"Look what Arjas found for us," Strandholt said, grinning, as he held the skinned carcass of a small animal in his hands and knelt before the cook fire. As he rammed a sharpened stick through the glistening meat, he added, "Arjas is preparing two more of these little beasts for dinner. No more corn mush and dried green things for me tonight."

Terjal, who'd been sitting away from the fire, now moved to settle beside Strandholt as the Blade held the spitted meat over the flames, watching as the Outsider turned the stick slowly. Soon the aroma of quickly charring meat began to curl within Terjal's nostrils and he felt his mouth fill with water. "Do you know what it was?"

Strandholt shook his head, keeping his gaze fastened upon the turning meat. "And I don't care--even if it's a large tailess rat, I'll eat it still. I'm an Outsider; we're not reared to be vegetarians. If I had to go another day without fresh meat, I swear that my blood would turn to water before long."

Aiya, perhaps drawn by the pungent cook--smell and suspicious of its origin, came to sit at Terjal's side. "Still," she offered, "it would be well to know what the creature had been. We don't know anything about the animals living here. I'd like to know that what I'm about to eat was birthed and grown in the normal way, and not conjured by our enemy."

"There is validity in that," Terjal said, nodding as he gazed longingly at the rapidly browning meat. Despite his yearning belly, he knew that Aiya was right--but how could he keep his men from eating the meat when they must want it so badly?

"Well," Strandholt drawled, "I'm willing to take the chance."

Soon the others had clustered about the fire, their eyes drawn to Strandholt's turning spit. Arjas joined them, holding a heavy leather pouch aloft, a thin trail of blood leaking from a small hole at its bottom. "Strandholt, I've finished dressing the other two."

"Good, I'm almost finished with this one. Sorry everyone, but I've got to take the first bite." Strandholt grinned wolfishly at the others.

"Well," Shankal spoke up. "You may have my share of it--aquamancers don't eat the flesh of mammals, after all. And even if these waters held fish--I wouldn't pass one morsel of them into my mouth lest they be enchanted. Aiya is right. We don't know if anything here was grown or conjured."

Darman favored the meat with his own dour expression. "I won't be having any of it myself."

Thrasher shrugged his shoulders. "If it's fresh meat you want, my falcons can fly away from the Grip and catch some pigeons for us. So far they've managed to find enough for themselves." The herdsman inclined his head at the remaining peregrines. The birds were perched upon a rock, the bulged crops beneath their curved beaks full as the mangled prey within was digested slowly.

Terjal sighed. He nearly felt the taste of the moist, roasting meat upon his own tongue. "I'm going to have to pass upon my share." But he took a savoring lungful of its sweet aroma just the same. What could that hurt?

Strandholt and Arjas exchanged quick looks. "What's the matter?" Arjas muttered. "Don't trust my judgment in finding food for us?"

"It's not you we don't trust," Terjal said quickly. "It's this swamp we shouldn't trust--especially after our encounter with the mastodon."

"I saw things," Darman interrupted, his voice dark, "on my last trip to this swamp which would make the both of you change your minds. Three of my men spotted a bush dotted with large, juicy berries. They'd become thirsty and didn't want plain old water anymore--the berries should taste like wine they said. So they each ate handfuls of the things." Darman paused, wincing briefly at the memory before continuing. "Well, whatever those berries had been--wherever they'd come from--the things had melted my men from the inside out. There was nothing we could do for them. They lay there, drowning in puddles of their own melted flesh. We had to smash their heads with truncheons to save them from prolonged agony." Then, leveling his gaze at both Strandholt and Arjas. "Take the chance if you want to, but don't badger the rest of us into following you." Pointing his finger at the spitted meat, "At least I won't be touching any of that."

Strandholt swallowed hard. He lifted the thoroughly browned meat from the fire and gave it a longing look. Then, his eyes trained upon the First Blade, dashed the meat, spit and all, into the flames. "Well, I reckon it's back to mush, dried greens and jerky again."

Arjas's eyes blazed at Strandholt's actions and he stood up, his hand still clutched around the throat of the pouch containing the other two carcasses. "You cowards! This is meat--only flesh! I'll save it all for myself, then--and you'll see that I won't melt from within--or out, for that matter!" And the Blade turned on his heel and limped away, his bad knee caving in slightly as he walked.

Strandholt sprang up to follow Arjas, but Terjal yanked him back down with a pull at the Blade's elbow. "Don't. Let him go; he'll probably think about it for awhile and change his mind soon enough."

"No, he won't."

"I believe," Terjal sighed, "that there is something within Arjas that goes beyond the pain of his bad knee. I expect someone may have gotten into his head."

Aiya nodded. "I've sensed the same thing. We'll have to watch him closely. If someone has bewitched him, though, Arjas might be safe from the meat if it's been tainted by sorcery. Whoever it is won't want his spy harmed."

Terjal watched Arjas in the distance stoking his own cookfire. He couldn't decide which was more disturbing: that Arjas's mind had been tampered with, or that the meat the Blade was about to eat was tampered with as well, and that Arjas would be safe from its effects--so that he could remain their enemy's spy.

###

While the others slept, Terjal, kept awake by the steaming heat of the swamp and the scratching discomfort within his throat, sat staring into the dying embers of the cookfire.

Arjas's abrupt changes in temperament drew only one conclusion in the conjurer's mind: the Blade's consciousness had been compromised somehow by the errant spellcaster they sought in this miserable place. As Aiya surmised, they would have to watch Arjas carefully--but not so carefully as to alert the spellcaster who controlled the Blade. He'll reveal his hand soon enough, Terjal thought as he glanced at Arjas's sleeping bulk in the darkness. The rogue conjurer will make a misstep once he has over--used his unwitting ally.

Terjal heard the muted crunch of boots upon soft earth behind him. He looked up to see Aiya standing above him. "I can't sleep either," she told him, smiling down at him.

Terjal patted the patch of soil beside him. "I guess we're both on watch by the happenstance of insomnia."

Aiya sat cross-legged beside Terjal, and began to poke a thin twig absently into the the still-warm embers. "I'm convinced that Arjas has been bewitched."

"He's strong. He can fight it off--the brief periods when he's himself proves it."

"But for how long?" Aiya said, turning to face Terjal squarely. "He's strong, yes, but he's also got a damaged knee distracting him as well."

"What are you suggesting?" Terjal asked, perhaps a little too harshly. "Should we keep him drugged and unconscious?"

Aiya shook her head. "No, of course not. But we will have to watch him closely--very closely--as I said before. If we're lucky, he might lead us to the spellcaster we seek. But this rogue conjurer is careful--he allows Arjas to be himself every now and then, just to throw us off. I'm certain of it."

Terjal's brow furrowed. "If Arjas's mind has been compromised, how was this spellcaster able to link into his consciousness? You cannot simply select a person at random, enter their mind and control their actions. You must have some sort of connection to the person whose mind you wish to control."

Aiya turned to Terjal and looked at him levelly as she added, "And that's the most troubling question: How can Arjas be connected to this spellcaster?"

"Deeply troubling, indeed. I'm loathe to admit this...but I never bothered to probe into the pasts of my Blades--I trusted Darman to do that for me."

Aiya turned a small, bitter smile toward the darkness. "Let us hope Arjas's only connection to this mystery spellcaster amounted to nothing more than that of a hired sword."

Terjal nodded wearily and massaged his throat, grimacing. Suddenly he felt Aiya's cool fingers lace through his own and he turned to her. She wore an expression of deep concern that seemed almost to stroke his heart into a brief, quick flutter. "Has there been any change for the better?" Aiya asked softly as she lightly traced her fingers across the area where she knew the wound to be.

"Well," Terjal said, resisting once again the urge to clear his throat, "I was able to swallow with less pain today, and I didn't taste any blood with my food. The pain itself is no longer as sharp--edged--it's more an irritation now. How does my voice sound to you?"

Aiya grinned. "Your voice still has the raw quality of an untuned instrument, but at least you no longer have the croak of a toad."

Terjal gazed at Aiya silently, admiring her. Were it not for the waiting, watching dangers surrounding them, this might have been a romantic place with its high moon a bright lantern in the dark sky above them--for they had reached a break in the canopy. The moon's light caught in the black river of Aiya's hair, in her large eyes, and limned the smooth oval plane of her jaw. Her beauty, he knew, was surely distracting him from pondering the identity of the one they pursued--yet, for now, he did not care. He'd had so few tender moments given him in his life that, for once, he decided such distractions he could easily afford.

Terjal brought his fingers up to touch the tip of Aiya's chin, held it still, and drew it closer to him so that he might brush his lips against hers. Her mouth was cool upon his own, making him forget briefly the oppressive humidity surrounding them.

A sudden rustling in the bushes and a low groan from one of the sleeping men drew the two conjurers apart. Terjal sighed sharply and turned away, pretending to seek the origin of the noises. Then, turning back to Aiya, he remarked, "You know, you've never told me how you came into the Duke's service."

Aiya smiled. "Ah, that! Well," pretending to dust off her breeches, "that's quite an...interesting...tale--and a rather lengthy one."

Terjal spread his hands out before himself in a grand gesture. "It would seem that we have the time. Go on."

"You were warned, then." Aiya began to absently wrap and unwrap a long slender leaf round a finger as she spoke. "When I left Cloudreach I couldn't see myself as another teacher of the conjurer's art, nor a practitioner of the art itself. I wanted to have a place in government, and sorcery was my only advantage in bartering my services. I'd heard of an opening as Adjutant to the Duke of Windemere and so I traveled to Windemere, unmindful of warnings that my trip would be in vain, yielding me nothing more than a sore bottom from the riding." Aiya shook her head, a smile of amusement stretching her lips as she cast her gaze heavenward. "Oh, the stories I'd heard about Vaukmond! 'He won't take you because you're not a warrior' seemed the most prevalent one. Thankfully, my gender was not an issue--it's well known that Vaukmond cares not of the sex of his warriors, so long as they can heft a blade easily in battle. Yes, I knew that my chances were not good, yet I felt I had to try anyway.

"Even as I arrived at Honor's Start, and announced my wish for the position of Adjutant, was I encouraged to seek another position within the court--one that entailed little contact with the Duke himself. But I insisted on Adjutant nevertheless. So, when presented to the quartermaster, I lied that I had been a warrior of sorts. Then he'd asked why he'd never heard of me on the battlefield--and surely my slight stature must have given rise to his suspicion. I told him that I'd been part of an elite attachment of assassins in Quitonne, and then added that I'd also been schooled in sorcery. For a moment I thought I'd made a rather bad slip of the tongue in mentioning sorcery, knowing how much the Duke loathes the Art. But the quartermaster merely grinned and admitted me immediately to the trials. Probably didn't believe my lies and wanted to see me thrashed.

"When Lord Vaukmond at last stood before me and asked the question given the others, I would not lie. I couldn't--not even to keep myself in the running. Besides, I reckoned that I was finished anyway--the other three seemed to have the brawn the Duke desired after all. So, I outlined in detail how I would have achieved success without losing so many guardsmen--and of course, I apologized profusely for disagreeing with His Grace's battle strategy, begging his forgiveness and all of that.

"I felt the others beaming their pleasure at my seeming recalcitrance with the Duke. It was enough for me to keep my gaze averted and aimed at my feet. I waited patiently--almost sorrowfully--for the angry oaths I knew were sure to come. But they did not. Instead, Lord Vaukmond put his hand upon my shoulder. 'You needn't fear a reprisal from me, young lady,' the Duke told me. 'I admire the courage it took to inform me of such folly. Because I am the Duke of Windemere does not assure that I am infallible as well. A good advisor worth his or her salt should not be frightened to disagree with the one in authority. I have found my Adjutant.' Then he looked sternly at the others--who were now pale as clouds--and bade them their leave. And there it is, the story, lengthy yet true."

Then turning to look at Terjal, her voice grown soft. "You know my history--yet I have no idea of yours."

Terjal trained his gaze upon the last flickering ember, watching its wan spark disappear into the darkness. Had he ever told anyone of his life before he had become the Headmaster of Cloudreach? Had anyone ever been interested enough to ask? "You are the first to show an interest in my past, I think." Then, favoring Aiya with a sidelong glance, added: "At what point should I begin my story?"

Aiya smiled, taking one of Terjal's hands in hers. "Why, at the very beginning, I suppose: your birth."

"My birth was, for my parents, a moment of both joy and sadness." Terjal's tone became more hushed as he continued: "You see, my mother had given my father only stillborns for as long as they were married. When my mother was about to give birth to me, she could not bear the thought of offering another dead child to the world. And so she decided to offer up her own life for mine." Terjal felt the thickness fill his throat, and he paused, afraid his voice might break.

"Your mother had magical ability?"

Terjal waited a heartbeat before replying. "She had a talent unbeknowst to my father--perhaps even to herself--and so she forfeited her own life-force and gave it to me. That is why I sometimes have fragments of memory--nothing ever tangible enough to grasp fully--and yet I know they are not my own. They are more tactile: remembered smells and sounds unknown to my own consciousness or history." Then, returning his gaze to look at Aiya squarely, added: "By rights, I should never have lived. And because of such a gift, I will never be able to thank my mother for my life."

"But if you say that you were given your mother's life-force, then she is not really gone."

"But," Terjal said, his voice choking a bit, despite his resolve, "I cannot speak to her, hold her, or touch her. Yes, I carry something of her with me--but it's not enough..." He let the words trail off. What more could he say? How could he explain the guilt that had gnawed at him ever since his father, Hurvin Rakmir, had explained why his only son had been raised motherless? He'd never admitted this guilt to his father, for he knew he would be offered the usual placating solace of a loving parent. Perhaps even Hurvin Rakmir felt guilt at having to tell his son of the truth, knowing full well how such information would be disturbing.

Aiya, perhaps reading Terjal's thoughts, grazed the back of her hand gently across his cheek. "We don't have to discuss this any longer. I'm sorry that my query has brought the pain back to you."

Terjal turned to Aiya, tenderly taking her hand in his own and kissing its palm. "It's not the question, but my own ramblings which are to blame." And then he drew her into a tight embrace, his face burrowing in the hollow between her neck and shoulder.

Suddenly the rustling sounds began again in the bushes surrounding them.

Terjal and Aiya broke quickly from their embrace, each scanning the crackling foliage. Terjal noted that Darman was now sitting up in the darkness; he saw the curve of the First Blade's arm as Darman moved to grip his crossbow.

The two conjurers scrambled quickly toward Darman. Soon the rest of the party had heard the noises and were slowly coming awake. "Darman," Terjal hissed a hoarse whisper, "are the sounds familiar to you?"

The First Blade nodded soberly. "Probably chinurra. The little buggers get eager when they spy potential prey."

"Chinurra?" Terjal's dark red eyebrows arched in surprise.

"Nasty little buggers they are: the chinurra. I've seen 'em in other swamps before, but the chinurra of the Grip are more...cunning. They like to wait until those they wish to attack are preoccupied, then they jump in and take advantage of the distraction."

"But," Terjal said as he eyed the frantically swaying brush, "why didn't we see any when we fought the mastodon? You must admit, that was quite a diversion."

Darman's chapped lips drew back in a wry smile. "Oh, these chinurra are smarter than your average chinurra. The buggers knew they'd get stomped in the process if they joined in the fray." Then, lowering his voice, added: "Now they've waited long enough--and probably added to their numbers to make it worthwhile to attack us now."

As if on cue, a lone chinurra sprang into the moonlight from its hiding place within the twisted brambles. It seemed almost to study them as it stood, barely two feet tall, with talon-clad claws menacing the air.

Terjal couldn't decide if the chinurra more resembled a lizard or a fish. The creature's skin, stretched tightly over its slight frame, was of iridescent grey-green scales which looked dry in some places, moist and glistening in others. The large hatchet shaped head grew seamlessly from a thick humped neck, pushing its posture slightly forward and forcing its knees into an inverted crouch. Serrated fins crested its head and coursed down the spine and along a thick, curved tail.

The lone chinurra loosed a shrill call and soon the brambles were chattering with other chinurra. Terjal saw scores of the small creatures leap from the foliage and completely surround the party. The land about them seemed carpeted with chinurra as the air filled with the creatures' high-pitched jabbering.

They were thoroughly surrounded. With no place to go but through the chinurra.

Terjal felt the others jostling behind him, no doubt grabbing up weapons. Quickly, he turned to look at Aiya. She stood beside him already in a spell pose, waiting. A grim determination set her features and she showed no fear at all. "Should we make the first move?" Terjal asked Darman quickly.

Darman shook his head, his teeth gritted in a tight grimace. "No, let 'em begin it for us. If we strike first, it'll help 'em to gauge our weaknesses. But once they jump, we'll jump."

The chinurra continued to chatter amongst themselves as a few within their ranks ventured forward, sniffing the air with the waving, coned nostrils atop their heads.

Soon the chattering reached a frenzied pitch.

The chinurra struck in a blur of movement.

Darman managed to kick a few chinurra with his blade-festooned boots, sending the first wave of slashed reptilian/amphibians back amongst their number. Even as he did this, he beheaded still more with his short sword. Strandholt, standing beside Aiya, dashed his poleax in one continuous movement back and forth, catching chinurra and casting them, bloodied, aside. Terjal heard Arjas grunt in pain as he swung his scimitar at the creatures. Terjal also heard the intermittent crack of Thrasher's flail as he struck at the creatures again and again.

Shankal had moved between Darman and Terjal. "There's a small pool of water nearby--I'll try to draw it nearer us. I can make a wall of it." But before the aquamancer could move his arms into a spell pose, a chinurra leapt at him. Darman turned and kicked the chinurra away, but not before the beast tore a small piece of flesh from Shankal's arm.

Ignoring the pain, Shankal pointed his bloodied arm at the shimmering pool of water. Soon the water was arching up, its whitening crest curling over several chinurra, clawing them under.

Terjal turned to Aiya once more. "The freezing spell!" he called out.

Aiya had already drawn ice-blue powder into her palm. She spun around once, hurling the powder at the submerged chinurra. Soon scores of the creatures were trapped beneath hardening ice, only the curve of their claws stuck uselessly through the surface. Terjal windmilled his arm and from it flew the spell fist he'd used against the mastodon. The gossamer fist slammed into the hardened chinurra-filled ice, shattering it completely. Shards of ice and fragments of chinurra flew through the air in a great starburst.

Even though many chinurra had perished, still more advanced. Terjal was amazed at their number. The creatures' master doesn't care about them, only that they cause us to drain spellpower. He'll surely waste as many as necessary to complete the task.

But before Terjal could ready another spell, the chinurra were upon him.

###

Terjal caught a chinurra as it leapt against him, his hands gripping the tough yet papery skin as the creature snapped its jaws mere inches away from his face. The chinurra's eyes seemed dull and lifeless: twin gelatinous black stones stuck into either side of its hatchet-shaped head. As the claws of the small beast slashed through Terjal's sleeves, the conjurer gripped the chinurra still harder, squeezing the life from its body. As he tossed the corpse away, another leapt up to take its place.

Terjal was unprepared for the next attack. The second chinurra spun around in mid-leap, its spurred tail lashing the air like a scythe and catching the conjurer's cheek. Terjal felt a thin, hot trail sizzle its way from cheekbone to jaw, then the warm tickle of blood upon his chin. Another pass of the thick tail struck Terjal's forehead; a sheet of blood pooled in his eyes, blinding him.

Terjal felt the tiny needles of chinurra teeth upon his legs and ankles as he tried to kick the creatures away. Without his sight, he was hobbled--he would be forced to hurl spells that might not strike their intended targets. Exactly as the rogue spellcaster had planned: wear his enemies down and ready them for the final blow. But, Terjal thought, he won't defeat me on this night.

With a trembling, blood-spattered hand he withdrew a single pouch from his belt. His hand still trembling with pain, he tossed the contents into his rapidly blinking eyes. Once his vision was clear enough, Terjal turned to Aiya, his eyelids still twitching, and called out, "The fog powder--have you any left?"

Terjal's mouth started at the sight of Aiya's wounds.

Gods, how much should this young woman endure? As if nearly being eviscerated by a giant maddened bear hadn't been enough. Aiya's throat was scored with cuts and slash marks, the blood coursing down her tunic and pooling along the edges of her belt. Yet she continued to fight the chinurra, almost oblivious to her injuries.

Aiya did not turn to look at Terjal as she methodically strangled a chinurra. "The blue pouch at my right hip. You'll have to get it for yourself...I'm...a little preoccupied."

Without wasting time for a reply, Terjal yanked the small pouch from Aiya's belt. He quickly emptied the bag's contents into his palm while kicking absently at the chinurra still swarming his ankles. "Shankal," Terjal called over his shoulder to the aquamancer. "You must raise some mist--and quickly!"

"I've already begun," Shankal returned, his arms waving like a willow bent by wind as he drew spray from a nearby pool of water.

Soon the air about them was filled with a fine drizzle. Even the advancing chinurra paused in mid-surge, their sharp-edged faces turned up, puzzled, to the moisture. Terjal threw the powder into the mist, watching as it mated with the moist vapor. Once the mist had clotted into a thick fog Terjal spread his arms outward, fingers splayed wide as he directed it. Soon the fog was moving away from the cornered questers, seeking instead the breathing cones of the chinurra.

The fog swept the chinurra closest them in a quick blur of grey. The small creatures fell back, writhing, their claws digging at the air uselessly as they suffocated. Soon more of their number began to succumb to the fate of their perished fellows.

When all the chinurra lay dead at their feet, Darman spoke. "We'd better find their lair and destroy it or the remaining buggers'll be nipping at our heels the rest of the way." With the toe of his boot he nudged several of the dead chinurra before kicking them distastefully away.

Terjal nodded, fingering the cuts on his forehead and along his cheek. The blood was already drying and clotting into a scab. "Not before we've attended to our wounds. Shankal, it appears you will be quite busy." Terjal felt a twinge of guilt at his earlier misgivings about Shankal, for the aquamancer had proven himself quite valuable. The healer's ministrations had healed Thrasher's broken leg nearly overnight--and cuts and deep gashes disappeared as quickly as Shankal's powders were applied to them.

Shankal, bearing only tiny nicks along his arms and the one small gash, grinned. "Ah, and it's a fortuitous turn that my own wounds are so minor." Then the aquamancer knelt down and scooped up some standing water to mix with his various potions. "I'll prepare a poultice that should knit all of you up quite nicely."

And from the looks of the others, Terjal thought, they were all in for a long spell of knitting.

###

Between Thrasher's falcons and Strandholt's tracking skill, the party managed to locate the chinurras' nest quickly.

Instead of the burrows Terjal had expected, the chinurra lair was made up of scores of small, elaborate huts. More like an organized village, he thought to himself. Turning to Darman he asked, "Is this arrangement typical of chinurra?"

Darman shook his head slowly. "Not when I last visited the Grip. We'd only managed to rout one lair--and it was nothing more than a collection of burrows in the ground."

"Well," Terjal said, his arms crossed upon his chest, "it would seem that someone has been counseling these creatures on how to improve their living quarters." Terjal frowned. "And where are the remaining chinurra--we can't have killed them all, surely? It would seem they'd be expecting our approach and assembled a 'greeting' party by now.

Darman returned Terjal's frown. "Either their 'mentor' has rounded the rest of 'em up, or we managed to take care of 'em all back there--"

Suddenly shouts rose in the distance.

As Terjal and Darman turned toward the exclamations they saw Aiya and the others motioning them toward a thicket surrounding a small clearing. Once Terjal and his First Blade met up with the others, the conjurer stopped abruptly in front of the thing that had drawn such attention.

In the middle of the clearing stood a statue, perhaps three times the size of an average chinurra Terjal guessed, fashioned of dried earth. It was not of a chinurra. The likeness was that of a man--and though the face seemed unlined, Terjal sensed it the likeness of an old, yet ageless, man. Once again turning to Darman, Terjal asked, "I dislike anointing you 'chinurra expert' with my questions--but is the creation of such a...monument...an ability the chinurra possess?"

"Well," Darman said pensively, "I've not witnessed such behavior. I never thought they were capable of revering anything in such a way. Didn't think they had the intelligence for it, frankly."

Aiya stepped to Terjal's side. "Their intelligence must have been enhanced by this man and they've become quite grateful for it. Does he look familiar to you?"

Terjal nodded absently as his gaze remained fastened upon the statue. "The likeness seems familiar...though I don't know precisely how or why. I sense an awareness--an extremely vague one--that must stretch beyond my birth." Rubbing his beard between the crook of his thumb and forefinger, Terjal pondered further. "It's as if a memory of him had somehow been imbedded in my mind--perhaps one designed to carry through generations. I remember my father speaking briefly about a rival of my great-grandfather, Jrrnyn Rakmir, when he served as Sorcerer in the Court of Tahlahnn. I was only a child at the time of the telling. Later I heard my great-grandfather berating my father for mentioning such things to his only son--that such knowledge was dangerous."

Aiya tilted her head slightly as she tapped a forefinger against her chin. "During my first year of service to the Duke, I remember hearing tales around Honor's Start about a sorcerer exiled many years ago from the Court of Tahlahnn. No one knew where he'd fled, nor would anyone even speak his name aloud. I searched in every annal, every scrap of parchment I could get my hands on--yet nothing, not a single word, had ever been written about him. I became convinced that the legend was nothing more than fiction."

Terjal stepped closer to the statue. The eyes seemed to bore into his own as if the man from which it was modeled lay within the dried mud. As he peered at the earthen icon, Terjal added, "Perhaps not fiction after all."

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