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Childhood friends, Kieft and Rianne, who live in a backwater town are nearing the end of their apprenticeships. They are driven away by the self-appointed governors of justice, the warrior order of Expatritors. Meanwhile, the politicians of Brookholm scheme the downfall of the Expatritors, their actions catapulting everyone into a stunning conclusion.

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Stoneguard

By Ken Lim

"Fosten!"

Rianne's voice echoed around the forest of Shadowdeep. No reply, except for the faint calls of fellow townspeople who aided in the search. She swept her soaked hair back and tied it down. Perspiration and rain dripped from her brow and her vision blurred again. Catching a glimpse of the sun as it momentarily peeked from behind the clouds, she frowned as she estimated the time of day. Two hours until the sun set; both the Deep and the search would soon be abandoned. The downpour continued.

"Fosten! Where are you?"

Despite the warnings and admonishments of parents, the children of Tiadri often played games of tag beyond the fallow fields, uncomfortably close to the forest. Rianne remembered teasing others when she was Fosten's age, "Trolls in Shadowdeep eat boys like you everyday!" - and as they grew older, the teasing grew more crude and carnal.

Memories raced through her mind, guilt briefly overwhelming. If only the children did not goad each other into brash dares. Eating a raw toad was quite different to setting foot within the forest. Rianne grimaced - though years past her childhood, the gristly legends and stories of Shadowdeep remained.

Rianne carefully clambered over a fallen oak made slick with the rain. The canopy did little to soften the force of the storm and only deepened the gloom. Moss and lichen scraped onto Rianne's hand as she slid off the trunk. With muted disgust, she wiped away the slimy growths on creeping brush. No one in Tiadri willingly wandered around Shadowdeep but children like Fosten always perceived that aversion as a challenge.

The ground underfoot squelched as Rianne stepped into a narrow clearing. The aroma of freshly fallen rain intermingled with earthy tones apparent in the sodden dirt. She examined the trees and thick undergrowth, striving to recall the teachings of Tiadri's finest trapper, Listan, who had trapped beasts around Tiadri for over twenty springs. She had apprenticed to him upon turning fifteen although her true aspirations lay elsewhere; more than three springs later, they still did.

Rianne crouched, attempting to emulate the stature of a boy of nine. But the markings on the ground and broken twigs in the bushes meant nothing. She gave up deciphering the improbable clues and stood.

"Fosten!"

Again, no reply but from the weather. Voices in the distance carried to Rianne but she recognised the similar calls for the boy. Rianne folded her arms tightly, closing her cloak around saturated clothes, and trudged beyond the thin clearing. Her saexum crystal, resting in an anklet tucked safely in her boot, began to chafe against her damp raw skin. She called out periodically, growing colder as the storm's vigour remained relentless. The Deep's trees and shrubs seemed not to change, as if her wandering drew circles in the forest. One patch of woodland never felt distinct from another - only fading colours in the failing light. At times, Rianne scored her initial with a small dagger into tree trunks - more to reassure herself than to mark a way out of the Deep. Stories of the missing lurked.

A red streak on a hawthorn bush shook Rianne from her worries. For a moment, the brilliant scarlet felt disconcerting against the endless greens and browns of Shadowdeep. She approached the bush which swayed in the breeze under the sheltering branches of a giant oak. All concerns of the weather disappeared as Rianne reached forth with a finger to touch the thick red substance on the bush's leaves. Droplets of water spotted the back of her hand and chills rushed into her open cloak. She rubbed the red liquid between her forefinger and thumb - thick, almost like syrup. Yet the substance thinned, tracing the swirling lines in the skin of her fingertips. She considered the possibilities. Before the rain washed all away, Rianne touched her finger to her tongue.

Blood.

Rianne hastily wiped her hand on her wet cloak. Blood on a bush meant nothing - perhaps a wounded animal had passed through recently. Rianne crouched, again attempting to gain the perspective of a boy Fosten's stature. She peered at the grim surroundings; foreboding pines stretched towards the roiling clouds above, thick twisted oaks loomed in the greying afternoon. As distant lightning flashed haunting shadows across the ground, Rianne suppressed a rising panic. Stories of Shadowdeep were only stories, she reminded herself.

She shook away her morbid thoughts and moved to push the hawthorn bush aside. Thunder rumbled in her ears and, for a moment, the earth tilted. The awkward sensation passed as the thunderclap receded.

Blood stained the bush as if with wild brushstrokes. Rianne reached in blindly. Prickles and rough twigs scratched her hand. She felt a thick moisture, blood. The ground. A finger.

Rianne whipped her hand back with a gasp. "Fosten?"

She grabbed the bush in one hand and hacked away with her dagger in the other. As she cleared the obscuring leaves and twigs, a child's hand appeared. Speckles of blood and dirt sullied the digits. Dirty fingernails reminiscent of any child Fosten's age - but she recognised the little hand which cheekily pilfered boiled candies from the inn's common room counter. Rianne put a hand over her mouth as her stomach clenched. She did not have to cut away any more brush to see the dismembered arm nearby.

Suddenly, she felt her voice coarse. "I've..." Rianne croaked, "I've found..."

The wind whistled in response. A strand of hair flapped around Rianne's face as she strained to hear other searchers. She lifted her voice, "I've found him!"

No answer. Rianne took a calming breath and with an unconscious grimace, stepped towards the arm. Curiously blanched from the rain, bones poked out from the flesh and ragged skin flapped in the wind. She realised the hand and arm had not been severed with a weapon or a tool. They had been torn apart.

Rianne thankfully moved past the limb and reached a grove of pines just ahead. There, she saw what remained of Fosten's body lying next to a large boulder and instantly vomited her lunch in a white spray.

Rianne held her gaze away from the corpse, steadying herself against a tall pine. She cupped her hands, catching the heavy rain to clean her face and mouth while considering her next action. The body would need to be identified; she needed to be sure. Rianne almost groaned with the thought and felt her bowels clamp down. A fleeting thought passed through her mind. Warriors faced dead bodies all the time and the Expatritors surely faced worse. If she harboured any desire to become one, then so should she.

Rianne took another deep breath and approached the mangled corpse, gazing anywhere but at the body. The nearby boulder, half-submerged in the dirt, had probably rolled from the undulating terrain beyond in previous years. Strangely, the moss and fungi covering the boulder's surface appeared tinged with red. As Rianne drew closer, the surer she became of the blood which streaked down the boulder's side. Rianne reached the body and gritted her teeth for what she must do.

The earth lurched and Rianne fell. She found her hands deep in Fosten's open torso, mingled in the misplaced organs. The stench of what she could only liken to slaughtered lamb drove into Rianne's nostrils. She yelped and scrambled backwards. Again, the ground shook and a grumbling emanated from all directions. Pushing herself backwards, Rianne whipped her head from side to side, gauging her surroundings amidst the violent trembling. The bass rumbling bore through her body rather than engaging her ears. Nausea rose.

A sharp snap and fissures cracked open in the boulder. Rain sluiced into the crevices and the rock appeared to rise from the ground. Rianne gasped. The boulder unfolded with smooth motion, yet primal groans of the earth tore into Rianne's ears - so loud, her body trembled in pain. Dirt and loose moss dropped, discarded in the rainfall. The boulder straightened, now upright. Another thunderous crack and the lower half split into two. Legs.

Speechless, Rianne slipped on the boggy ground as she attempted to crawl away. Her hands, now slathered with mud, dug into the dirt, pulling her to safety. Any place but near the living rock. She glanced behind to find the boulder's thick sides separate from the main bulk. Arms.

Rianne grasped a low bush growing near the grove of pines and managed to stand despite the continuing tremors reverberating through the earth. She caught her breath and risked another glance at the boulder; it had not advanced from beyond Fosten's body despite its apparent awakening. As she watched the now-motionless rock, the rumbling in the ground ceased and the ensuing silence calmed her. Rianne breathed deeply, unsure of what just occurred. Under the grey clouds and cold rain, Rianne thought the rock a solid piece of granite. Unusual, since the nearest granite quarry lay far to the west in the foothills near Guithannan.

As she pondered its nature, a golden glow burst from the granite body. Rianne shielded her eyes as the glow waned to a soft light which illuminated the rock as a lantern from within. Then, a leg lifted. The granite creature stepped from its depression in the ground and lurched forward. With another step, a sickening squish and distinct crack of bones - Fosten's body crushed underfoot. The ground trembled.

Rianne's decision needed only a moment. She fled.

#

As the ground quivered for the second time, Kieft set the wheelbarrow down and searched the horizon for the source of the disturbance. Around him, the fields of his family's farm appeared calm while the forests of Shadowdeep, which surrounded Tiadri town, swallowed the last of the day's sunlight as always. In the distance, the local Expatritor motte and bailey poked from beyond the town's low profile and to the south, the Tiaquin River snaked by the edge of the southern forests. With a habitual flick, Kieft cleared the brim of his hood of water and guessed the tremor a figment of imagination. An oncoming headache faded along with his apprehension.

A light drizzle fell from the clouds where only minutes before a storm seethed. Dismissing the change in weather with a shrug, he grabbed the empty wheelbarrow and ambled back towards the barn.

As Kieft trundled along the hard-packed dirt between the barn and scraggly fields, his sister and brother dashed from the house behind the barn, one of their sheepdogs playfully trailing behind.

"What's going on?"

His younger sister, Calette, waved at Kieft. "They found him! Come on!"

Kieft dropped the wheelbarrow and jogged after his siblings. His brother, Renrick, waited for him as Calette ran ahead. Kieft asked, "How is he?"

"I don't know," Renrick replied. "Rianne just returned, babbling about something she saw in the Deep."

The brothers jogged down the dirt road which connected their family's land with the rest of Tiadri town. Puddles of water splashed onto the roadside grass - brown and yellow not from lack of rain but something else, Kieft guessed. Despite his lacklustre interest in farming, his family's existence depended on knowledge of the land. His parents, Goslon and Allena, instilled all they knew into their children. But Kieft always felt their reluctance towards his education, just as they were reluctant to teach his elder sister, Atheisia. And she left Tiadri, and home, long ago.

The town proper sprang into view as the pair jogged by several squat cottages. "Are Father and Mother there?" Kieft asked.

"Yes," Renrick said, "I'd say the whole town."

Abandoned carts and wagons lined the main road of Tiadri, their loads and pack animals forgotten. A throng of people crowded around Welland's inn and tavern despite the capricious weather and the brothers found themselves wading past townspeople clamouring for information. They lost each other in the jostling but Kieft snatched snippets of conversation amongst the gathering, words that wrenched his attention. `Creature'. `Dead'. `Coward'.

He caught a glimpse of Calette's dark hair and reached for her arm. She started for a moment, then recognised her brother.

"Why is everyone trying to get into Welland's inn? He hasn't got a new keg of Brookholm mead, has he?" Kieft joked.

Calette grinned. "Rianne's inside with her parents. Everyone thinks she's gone crazy."

"Why? What did she say?"

"I don't know," Calette shrugged, "But, Narana said that Rianne said that she saw a rock come to life." Kieft's eyebrows raised inadvertently. Calette continued, "I know - unbelievable, huh?"

The crowd bumped and shoved the siblings apart and Calette smiled as they were separated in the jostling. Kieft smiled back and then concentrated on staying upon his feet. As was his instinct in crowds, Kieft remained aware of his saexum crystal around his ankle. No one knew the origins of Naming a baby and binding them to rocks and gems, only that it was tradition; the people of Guithannan, nestled in the Stonepeak Ranges to the northwest, treated their saexum and ceremonies with an almost religious obsession.

Kieft gently wedged an arm between a man and a woman and edged sideways between them. "My apologies, Master Adaros." The merchant grunted in reply, his indignance obvious to Kieft as he pushed towards the inn's double doors. Calette's scant information did nothing to sate Kieft's curiosity, particularly if Rianne had told the truth about this rock-creature. Whatever occurred within Welland's inn, Kieft needed to know. He negotiated the sea of bodies with boyish sincerity and squeezed into the common room of Welland's inn.

Kieft found the atmosphere in the common room surprisingly sombre and free of the usual haze of smoke. The smell of sweet herbs and roasted pork coursed from the kitchen behind the bar. Although dry and warm, a pensive mood hung over the room. Hagbert, an Expatritor only slightly older than Rianne, paced a small circle in deep thought. Four other Expatritors stood at attention, also silent; their steel plate-armour glistened in the orange firelight. Rianne's parents comforted their daughter at a table near the fireplace. Rianne was older than Kieft by no more than a couple springs, but with her distress apparent, the difference seemed to matter little.

Others crowded the common room, only to hear of what occurred in Shadowdeep. Welland, the portly owner of the inn caught Kieft's eye. The balding man rolled his eyes and tapped the side of his head, indicating his opinion of Rianne's story. Behind the bar, Welland's wife Juline shot her husband a stern look.

As the reprimanded Welland moved to serve thirsty customers, Kieft and others in the common room heard a commotion growing outside. "Let them through! Let them through!" a voice bellowed.

Amid the racket, man and woman pushed their way into the inn. Kieft immediately bowed his head in respect for Gelwin and Lilla, Fosten's parents. For a moment, Kieft thought rain, not tears, dripped down their faces.

The common room suddenly burst into chatter as the young couple approached Rianne at the table. Kieft stretched onto his toes, peering over taller shoulders blocking his view.

"Rianne?" Lilla said.

"I'm so sorry." Rianne bit her lip and sniffed. She wiped away a solitary tear as her own mother, Annia, stroked her shoulder.

"Did you see my boy?" Gelwin asked. The buzz in the common room suddenly fell away. Kieft, along with the other newcomers, leaned forward and strained his hearing while those previously present waited with equal anticipation. The Expatritors adjusted their weapons, hiding their enthusiasm to hear the account again. Hagbert halted his pacing.

All Rianne said was, "Yes."

Again, the common room burst out in zealous gossip. Kieft barely heard Gelwin who nearly shouted over the hubbub. "Where is he? What happened?"

"I'm so sorry," Rianne said. As the prattle quietened, Gelwin and Lilla seated themselves opposite Rianne and her parents, Warenar and Annia. Lilla nodded for Rianne to continue.

"I saw some blood on a bush. I called out for help but no one heard me." Rianne's rough voice betrayed how many times she had already told the story. "When I pushed away the undergrowth, I saw his hand and further along I saw an arm."

Lilla's hand covered her mouth, as if to stifle a scream. Kieft felt his stomach rise in nausea. Gelwin only stared at Rianne blankly. She continued, "I continued past the arm to a grove of pines. Past the pines, I found Fosten in front of a huge rock." Lilla emitted a low whimper as the inevitable conclusion became clear. "He was dead," Rianne said.

"How do you know?" Gelwin asked. His mouth moved, but his face remained expressionless. "I mean, did you see his face?"

"His body was..." Rianne said, looking away from the young couple, "I was about to examine him, but then..."

Silence filled the common room.

"Then, what?" Lilla said.

Rianne hesitated. Kieft never knew his childhood friend to hesitate except in the most unusual situations. She took a deep breath and clutched at her elbows with either hand.

"The boulder behind Fosten. It... was alive. It transformed, and the ground shook like everything was about to explode. It stood up, like a person. I... I thought I was going to die."

Cacophony broke out. Rianne put a weary hand over her eyes while Gelwin and Lilla sat back, stunned. The entire town had felt the tremors earlier in the afternoon even as they searched for Fosten or continued day-to-day business. A long minute passed as the news of Fosten's death struck Gelwin and Lilla fully. But then Lilla said, "You're lying."

Rianne looked up, startled. "What?"

"If Fosten is dead, then just say so," Lilla said. She shook her head as Gelwin tried to comfort her. "If you were too afraid to look at my son's body, then admit it!"

"Lilla, I tried!" Rianne said.

"No! You think you're brave, just because you want to become an Expatritor? But you can't even look at my son's dead body!" Lilla yelled. Gelwin wrapped a placating arm around his wife's shoulders but she shook him away. The Expatritors shifted nervously and even Kieft, from the far side of the common room, felt Lilla's palpable rage as she pointed a finger at Rianne and said, "Did little brownies show you the way home? Did you see pixies dancing in the trees, singing pixie songs with tiny little pixie instruments?"

To Kieft's horror, a light titter rippled through the common room. Rianne opened her mouth in shock as the giggles continued unabated. After several tense moments, Hagbert the Expatritor slammed a gauntlet on the table.

"Enough!"

The Expatritor commanded respect, despite his youth. The common room fell silent. "This solves nothing." Hagbert engaged the eyes of all present. "Where is that Dhagaram? The one who came into town not long ago."

Gelwin, with Lilla in his arms, asked, "Aren't the Expatritors going to retrieve my son's body?"

Kieft noted Hagbert's minimal hesitation before he answered. "The Expatritors are busy dealing with the outlaws and bandits encamped near Brookholm's outlying settlements."

"But you are not," an anonymous voice called out.

Kieft smiled, one amongst many, as Hagbert clenched his teeth. "The outlaws are as disorganised as a pack of Zhandouran barbarians. It would be a waste of our time to shoot fish in a barrel as others are." To an Expatritor, he hissed, "Where is that Dhagaram?"

Hagbert's comrade shrugged.

"I am here, Expatritor."

All attention shifted to the staircase at the opposite end of the common room. A slim man descended the stairs with slow deliberation. He appeared youthful, perhaps twenty-five springs old, but his eyes shone with old wisdom. Kieft had seen Daerain, the Dhagaram, teaching Rianne and others aspects of combat and even mental exercises - although his lessons often cut into time the younger pupils usually spent learning arithmetic or letters.

Daerain wore simple clothes made of rough cloth - even the commonest of Tiadri owned finer pieces than the Dhagaram. But, Kieft recalled, worldly possessions never concerned true Dhagaram.

"Asleep at sunset, Daerain?" Hagbert said. His tone left no room for unimagined contempt. "You are either an early sleeper or a late riser."

Daerain halted a step from the bottom. "I am a listener, Expatritor. You learn much by simply listening."

"What did you learn, then?"

An enigmatic smile grew on Daerain's lips as he took the last step. Although the common room appeared full, a path opened before the Dhagaram, leading him towards Rianne. "I know little of this town. But in my time, I have learned the ways of its inhabitants. I knew Fosten to be a foolhardy spirit - but all boys his age are. I know Rianne as a sincere pupil and a brave individual. I know the Expatritors who safe-guard this town are comfortable."

"Answer my question, Dhagaram," Hagbert demanded. "What of Rianne's story?"

Daerain clasped his hands before his body and gazed at Rianne and her parents. His eyes shifted to Gelwin and Lilla. Finally, Daerain scrutinised Hagbert and his fellow Expatritors. Hagbert's resolve wilted in Daerain's calm stare.

"Shadowdeep is a vast forest that stretches from Brookholm to the Stonepeak Ranges. From the south to the northern borders with Eldaros. No one truly knows what secrets lie within a forest such as Shadowdeep. Many have ventured into the Deep and uncovered a part of those secrets. Few have returned." Daerain's gaze swept the room, challenging any question to his wisdom. "Rianne is one of those few."

Tension dispersed and awe filled the common room. Lilla visibly crumpled in Gelwin's arms. Kieft felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise in pride with Daerain's words. The Dhagaram effectively cleared any doubt as to Rianne's experience. A Dhagaram's wisdom had never been questioned, as far as Kieft could recall, but Daerain's wholehearted support of Rianne elevated her to the status of hero.

Hagbert leaned forward, clenched gauntlet on the table. "We still need the boy's body recovered, Dhagaram. It won't cremate itself."

Daerain chuckled and stepped forward, staring Hagbert down despite the difference in height. "The Expatritors could well have retrieved the boy in the time since Rianne returned."

Hagbert smiled scornfully. His posture straightened and his eyes bore into Daerain's. With metallic clanks, the four Expatritors around the table lined up in rigid formation beside Hagbert. He said, "By the command of the Expatritors of Tiadri town, settlement of Brookholm, you Daerain, Dhagaram lately of Tiadri, are charged with the duty of recovering Fosten, son of Gelwin and Lilla of Tiadri. Return him."

To his comrades, Hagbert ordered, "Mount up."

Daerain's countenance registered no emotion as Hagbert led the Expatritors through the tightly packed common room. Kieft watched the armoured men shoulder through the doorway and barge past the crowd. The Expatritors mounted their warhorses and rode away.

The conversational buzz returned as the crowd in and around Welland's establishment began to disperse. Gelwin and Lilla left the inn first but not before a sorrowful wordless exchange with Rianne. From behind the counter, Juline sighed, "Back to business, at last." Kieft smiled in sympathy.

Soon, the crowd thinned significantly, although many stayed to enjoy the warm fireplace and company of friends in Welland's common room - as well as gossip about the day's events. Daerain spoke quietly with Warenar and Annia, Rianne's parents. Reassuring their daughter's well-being, Kieft guessed. As Kieft watched, Rianne managed a smile and his spirits rose. He grinned back as Daerain nodded farewell to Rianne's parents.

The Dhagaram approached the counter and waved at Welland for a meal. Kieft ventured a greeting, "Hello, Daerain."

He acknowledged Kieft with a slight bow of his head. "Good evening, young man. Kieft, correct?"

Kieft smiled and nodded. "Yes. You remember."

"Of course," Daerain said, "You're a friend of Rianne's." Kieft nodded again. "What can I do for you?"

Kieft scratched his head, unsure of intruding upon the Dhagaram's problems. But Daerain waved for Kieft to continue. "What will you do, Daerain? What did Hagbert really mean?"

Daerain smiled dryly and tapped his fingers against one another. "Simply put, I must do what Rianne did. Search Shadowdeep for Fosten's body and try not to die." Kieft's eyes widened in surprise.

"But you said yourself that anyone would be lucky to get out of Shadowdeep alive. Granted, the searchers today probably did not venture more than a league into the forest but you're going in alone! And how are you supposed to find Fosten?"

"I will find Fosten. I have directions from Rianne. As for going in alone..."

Daerain's crooked smile revealed his meaning. Kieft said, "Oh, no. I have chores - cows to milk, animals to feed, fences to mend. It's hard enough for our family to harvest a decent yield without someone running off for a day. I can't."

"Or don't you want to?"

Kieft's face fell. A hint of doubt crept into his mind, a hint of adventure. "My father would never let me go, not even on Seventhday or during the Harvest Festival. And I'd never hear the end of it from my eldest brother, Russen. Last time I left a job unfinished, our pigs escaped through a gap in the fence and my sisters and I spent an entire afternoon chasing them around town."

Daerain nodded in acquiescence. "Very well. Although during meditation, Rianne often mentioned about your wish to explore the world and discover what remains undiscovered. I suppose she was wrong."

Kieft sighed and looked away from Daerain's unnerving gaze. As with other Dhagaram, Daerain possessed an extraordinary degree of skill in combat and seemingly endless physical strength, despite his slender appearance. And, as with other Dhagaram, Daerain maintained that his physical prowess stemmed directly from his mental training as a Dhagaram, follower of the historical legend, Dhagara. With all this, why did Daerain prod Kieft's conscience?

"I'm not afraid of Shadowdeep. But I have commitments to my family's farm."

"Very well, Kieft. I see you have made your decision."

Kieft struggled for an appropriate response justifying his decision. An unnamed doubt remained. Daerain watched Kieft rub his forehead red. "I'm not about to abandon my responsibility to my family." Daerain nodded, silent as Kieft forced aside his doubt. Or his doubt forced aside his conscience. "I think I would regret not going."

Welland placed a plate of sizzling roast and a mug of mead upon the counter before Daerain but the Dhagaram ignored his meal, concentrating on Kieft's decision. "What do you fear, Kieft?"

"What?"

"If you do not fear Shadowdeep, what do you fear?" Daerain reiterated.

Kieft sighed. "I don't know." The day's events had drained the energy from all of Tiadri's townspeople, including himself, although he had not participated in the search. "I don't want to disappoint my family."

Daerain persisted. "But?"

A short silence as Kieft felt his doubt return. He answered, "I don't want to become a farmer like my father, or my brother Russen." Kieft paused. He bowed his head, his face flushing. "I haven't really told anyone this, except for Rianne. She didn't tell you, did she?"

"Yes," Daerain smiled gently.

"Then you know."

"Yes, Kieft. I know of your aspirations." Daerain nodded, his eagerness apparent and his eyes glinting. "I have seen the Aeltag Sea and the czapti which prevent all ocean travel. I have travelled from Guithannan to the ice tundra of Thaella."

With an expectant tone, Kieft asked, "What about the Tanatri?"

Daerain only grinned again. A forlorn smile which told of years of fruitless searching for clues of something as legendary as the man known as Dhagara. "Not that I have seen. But as they say, `The sun shines even in Brookholm'. So, perhaps something does exist outside of tales or legend - a lost tome or ruins waiting for someone intrepid enough to find it." The Dhagaram rapped the counter twice, ending that thread of conversation. "I will venture into Shadowdeep tomorrow."

Kieft pursed his lips, then sighed in resignation as Daerain took a swig of mead. "All right. I'll go."

#

Treading carefully along an unmarked path, Daerain and Kieft warily eyed their stark surroundings. Although distant greenery flashed in their view upon occasion, desolate stumps and barren land stretched in all directions. Black earth kicked up with each footfall. Boots soon grew grimy and hopelessly stained.

"Are we heading in the right direction?" Kieft asked.

"Yes," Daerain said, nodding. "We should be." He gestured to the forest in general with a sweeping arm. "I had hoped Rianne's tracks would guide us but last night's rain wiped them out. There are, however, other ways to track."

Kieft opened his mouth to ask another question when heavy footfalls sounded from the south, behind the pair. Daerain motioned Kieft to stop and they turned around, searching their trail.

In the overcast light, Kieft faintly observed a figure running towards them. He grinned. With long brown hair and a comfortable stride, the young woman could be no one else but Rianne. As she approached and slowed to a walk, Daerain bowed from the neck. "Joining us?"

"Yes," Rianne said with a smile. She lightly punched Kieft in the arm. "I couldn't let Kieft have all the glory." Her face turned sober. "Besides, I'd rather not spend today in town."

"I thought you would have had enough of the Deep," Kieft said, "Especially after yesterday."

Rianne shrugged. "I guess not. Face my fears and all that."

Daerain nodded knowingly. He clapped his hands once. "Let's go!" He turned around without waiting for a response from Kieft or Rianne.

Together, the three hiked onwards.

Although abundant clouds hid the sun from view, the sickly light of morning strengthened as the day progressed. The Deep thickened as they ventured further into the forest, much further than Kieft felt comfortable. Undergrowth and brush occasionally tangled boots and the scattered calls of wildlife grew tumultuous. Much to their relief, the weather held although occasional gusts of wind blasted unseasonably frigid air across their cloaked bodies. Spring in Tiadri held little promise for the citizens besides the celebration of another year past and the coming Harvest Festival in the summer - always a joyous time, especially for Kieft's family.

Kieft trailed his childhood friend and her new mentor through rough terrain which precluded the use of a wagon or cart. Heavy undergrowth and snagging roots hindered Kieft, although Daerain and Rianne seemed untroubled by the difficult hike. More than once, he wished for an axe or scythe to cut away the irritating vegetation - although he knew for every vine cut down, three more would appear.

As Kieft estimated the coming noon, Rianne called for a rest atop a low knoll. Rotten logs crumbled apart beneath their touch but a few remained intact. Kieft sat and stretched out his legs. Although he worked in the fields almost everyday, Kieft lacked the intense physical strength Rianne and Daerain both possessed from years of training. He sighed, relishing the respite.

"Where's your sword?" Kieft asked Rianne.

Rianne swatted at a buzzing insect, frowning when her hand splattered with yellow ooze. "Aedwell is repairing it today."

"I hope we don't need it."

Rianne nodded in agreement. "Me too."

"If we find ourselves in a position where we need weapons, they will be useless," Daerain said.

"What do you mean?" Kieft asked.

"Simply that Shadowdeep is a place of danger. Safety is measured in relative degrees from not being dead."

Rianne lowered her eyes in thought. Kieft did not reply and only swallowed a mouthful of water from a skin. Daerain chuckled and leapt to his feet. "Come, let us not be so glum. Yesterday, half the town entered Shadowdeep and returned."

"They didn't see a rock-creature cause the earth to shake," Kieft said.

"True," Daerain replied. "Yet, Rianne did and she is with us now." Kieft and Rianne slid from their logs and stood. Daerain continued, "Nevertheless, we should return by nightfall. The Deep is not a pleasant forest after dark."

"You've travelled in Shadowdeep at night?" Kieft asked as Rianne took the lead.

"Yes," Daerain said. "At times."

"What town do you hail from originally?"

Daerain appeared lost in thought for a moment too long. Finally, he answered, "Guithannan."

"Guithannan!" Kieft said. The legendary citadel, built high in the Stonepeak Ranges to the northwest, conjured images of adventure and court intrigue in Kieft's abundant imagination. Common knowledge held that the structures and buildings of Guithannan were discovered fully intact generations ago and the new city was founded by Brookholm pioneers who needed only to inhabit the existing buildings. "What is it really like? How long did you live there?"

With a chuckle at Kieft's enthused questions, Daerain said, "I was born in Guithannan. My parents were scribes in the employ of Lord Martreas and his staff. It might sound outlandish and wondrous, being ruled by a Lord rather than the Circle of Seven, but it's just as hard growing crops on the foothills of the Stonepeak Ranges as it is out here. There are as many predators stealing animals and the weather is just as fickle." He paused as the three shouldered past low-hanging branches. "My parents died when I was a couple days shy of turning fifteen. A wandering Dhagaram took care of me for the next few days. I was then accepted into the cleaning staff of Lord Martreas and never saw him again."

"Is that why you became a Dhagaram?" Rianne asked.

"Yes," Daerain nodded. "I never even learned his name, generous as he was."

"Are all Dhagaram like him?" Kieft asked.

Daerain shrugged as if he did not care for other Dhagaram but Kieft suspected otherwise. Daerain said, "What other Dhagaram do is their business. All I can do is what I believe Dhagara would do in the same situation."

"Last summer, a man came through town, claiming to be a Dhagaram," Rianne explained. "He claimed he could make Welland slim and Adaros good-natured."

"What did the town do?"

"We humoured him at first," Rianne said. "But then, one morning he was no where to be found. And neither were Welland's or Adaros' coins." Kieft almost smiled, remembering that day. None of the townspeople could quite believe they had been duped, least of all Adaros, who took pride in reading people, especially when trading in cirrens of such high denominations as he did.

Daerain nodded in understanding. "There are a few travellers who claim to be Dhagaram, gain the trust of people and then use that trust against them." Daerain's lips curled into a mischievous smile. "Of course, that is not something Dhagara would have approved."

Kieft and Rianne chuckled in appreciation of Daerain's understatement. "Where did you learn about Dhagara?" Kieft asked.

"I spent most of my apprenticeship in Lord Martreas' cleaning staff reading books in the royal library or the university nearby. Mostly accounts of Dhagara and his way. I must have read the tome of his collected teachings hundreds of times and spent far too many hours practising techniques rather than mopping floors. When my apprenticeship was over, I left the cleaning staff and Guithannan." Daerain paused for a moment, cast his eyes upwards. "It's been close to ten springs since then..."

Kieft wiped a stray bead of sweat from his forehead. "I wish we had some kind of library. Between Master Welland and Trapper Listan, all we have in Tiadri are a couple books, scrolls and recipes."

"How long until your apprenticeship is complete, Kieft?" Daerain asked.

"Well, I guess that's for my father to decide. When the Harvest Festival comes round, it'll have been three springs."

"So, you'll be free to leave this summer."

"I suppose so," Kieft said. "My father might want me to stay longer."

"Have you ever considered living in Brookholm? Many of the ruling class have extensive libraries, especially those in the Circle."

Kieft nodded forlornly. "I'd like to go to Brookholm but I can't afford to. Rianne has been saving cirrens for more than two springs and still doesn't have enough to pay the Expatritors' fees. Besides, I'm only good for running a farm and they don't need that in a city."

"Perhaps," Daerain said with a crooked smile. "If Rianne wishes to join the Expatritors, she is more than able. And if you wish to do more than work on a farm, I would say the same for you."

"But it's not just ability," Kieft said, "it's circumstances as well. Rianne apprenticed to Listan because after the Circle moved our garrison to Argot, he was the closest we had to a weaponsmaster in Tiadri."

"He's right," Rianne interrupted as she shoved a wispy vine aside. "If the garrison hadn't been moved to Argot, I would have been able to apprentice to them, then apply to the Expatritors directly once my apprenticeship ended. But now, it's been more than a full turn of seasons since my apprenticeship to Listan ended and I still need more cirrens." She skittered down a steep descent littered with fallen leaves soon crushed in the muddy earth. Kieft and Daerain joined her as she continued, "Once I have enough, I can pay for the Expatritor training and then apply to join proper. Hopefully, I'll have enough from my odd jobs by summer's end."

Daerain sighed as they continued on a mild incline. Rianne peered over her shoulder with a curious eyebrow raised. "You don't approve?"

"My approval is inconsequential, Rianne."

Rianne grinned. "But I respect your opinion, Daerain. What is it?"

"I have never agreed with the Expatritor's so-called `training fees'," Daerain said with wistful eyes.

"How else would they be paid for their tuition?"

"With service. Other crafts include terms of service, either during or after apprenticeship, correct?" Kieft and Rianne nodded in reply. Rianne had assisted Listan with the process of trapping animals during her apprenticeship while Kieft's instruction on running a farm began long before he decided on a craft to study. "In Guithannan, I remember Lord Martreas once attempted to bring the Expatritors in line with apprenticeships of other crafts. They claimed not everyone could serve as an Expatritor to repay their debts and the apprentices could not serve while still training.

"Lord Martreas did not win - few thought he would. If the Expatritors are so powerful that the Lord and ruler of Guithannan could not prevail on such an issue, then I fear the time when those warriors lose control."

The three tramped on in silence.

Soon, the terrain levelled and trees grew sparse. Rich brown earth peeked from the shallow layer of detritus. A faint scent drifted in the air - Kieft could not place the sweet aroma. Rianne stopped in a narrow glade. She approached a tall pine and with a wandering finger traced a rough letter, carved into the trunk. "We're getting close."

Kieft and Daerain followed Rianne as she hurried away. Kieft's apprehension grew as the unidentified scent grew stronger and he rubbed his temple in anticipation of his recurring headache. Hints of stale meat wafted past. A gust of wind howled, leaves shook loose. The vegetation thickened as they progressed. Rianne stopped at a grove of pines with her arms crossed and eyes lowered. As Kieft and Daerain approached, she signalled with a flick of her head to continue.

With cautious steps, Kieft stepped past the pines and entered a clearing devoid of undergrowth but overshadowed by a thick canopy. The mysterious aroma turned to an aged stench. Daerain pinched his nose and pointed. Kieft nodded. A child-size skeletal figure with a crushed torso lay on the ground, the flesh and organs stripped away. A rapid scan of the area revealed only no large boulders or outcroppings.

Daerain produced a heavy canvas bag and knelt beside Fosten's remains. "Spirits guide you," he said simply.

Kieft and Rianne bowed their heads solemnly. Daerain gently placed Fosten's remains in the sack, bone by bone. When he finished, he tied the bag with a knot and stood.

"What of the saexum?" Kieft asked. Everyone was bound to a stone or rock on their Naming Day, soon after birth. Although most of Tiadri's residents could not afford precious gems like nobles or upper-class merchants, none dared to buck the tradition of the saexum - it was as true as the dignity of the Dhagaram, or the might of the Expatritors.

"He is dead," Daerain said softly. "The saexum would have crumbled to dust long ago." He scanned the ground and added, "I see no bracelet or leather strap. Probably taken by animals already."

Kieft nodded. "Then we are done." A twinkle of light caught his eye and Kieft leaned closer, studying the texture of the dirt next to ground where Fosten died. "Rianne," Kieft said, "Look at this." He stepped into the deep depression in the ground and the edge of the cavity rose to his chest.

"What is it?" Rianne asked.

"The sides of the hole are smooth. Shiny. Here, take a look." Rianne hopped into the depression. Immediately, she peered at the unusual reflective surfaces and hummed inquisitively. She ran a hand along the impossibly smooth earth, rapping a knuckle against it randomly. "It does not even crumble. What do you make of it, Daerain?"

The Dhagaram tapped a finger against his chin as he examined the sides of the hollow. He said, "It feels almost like marble. But I would hesitate to call it that. It could just as well be glass."

"Glass?" Kieft said. "Why would there be glass lining a hole in Shadowdeep?"

"This is the hollow the large boulder rested in, isn't it, Rianne?"

Rianne nodded.

"Then," Daerain continued, "I think we had best be away before -" He straightened slightly and scanned the forest around them. Kieft instinctively followed the Dhagaram's gaze but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

"What is it?"

"We are being watched," Daerain replied with a frown.

"Shadowdeep monsters?" Kieft asked, trying to keep his voice low.

Daerain shook his head slightly. "Something more mundane than that. Bandits, I think." He scooped up the canvas bag containing Fosten's scavenged bones and Rianne hauled Kieft from the glass-lined hollow in the ground. "We should leave now," Daerain added.

Kieft agreed wholeheartedly, as did Rianne, judging by the way her hand rested on her dagger.

As the three retreated from the site, Kieft asked, "What about the rock creature?"

"I do not know what it may be," Daerain said. "I'd imagine you could name every tale and legend, yet none of those would tell of living rock."

"Maybe it's a kind of troll?" Rianne suggested.

"Perhaps. But trolls are of flesh and blood, not -"

"You've seen a troll?" Kieft interrupted.

Daerain smiled. "Yes."

"What else?"

"What else have I seen or what else do I think that creature could be?"

Kieft grinned. "Both."

"Well." Daerain appeared to lose himself in thought. "Trolls appear like a man but do not change shape as Rianne described. Obviously, it is not a flying creature nor one of the Ahniki. And the creature is too big to be a brownie."

"Brownies!" Kieft remarked.

"Pixie, goblin, gnome - they all refer to the same creature," Daerain explained.

"Gnomes and the Ahniki are just stories," Rianne said.

"If no one else sees it again, so will be this rock creature," Daerain replied. "Just another story the three of us will tell over a mug of mead." Rianne nodded, acknowledging the Dhagaram's point.

Daerain glanced at the sky, although grey clouds hovered above, obscuring the sun. "If we hurry, we can return to town before nightfall."

They continued, tracing their trail back through Shadowdeep. The trek lasted well into the late afternoon, by which time the sickly aroma emanating from Fosten's bones dulled. Kieft longed for the smell of his mother's freshly baked bread or his sister's specialty of roasted beef, but he would settle for the stale reek of the inn's stables - anything apart from the dead flesh in their midst.

As the three hiked onwards, the Deep thinned. Soon, they emerged onto fields behind the Expatritor motte and bailey. Kieft secretly heaved a sigh of relief.

In the distance, outlined against the familiar town structures, a group of figures milled around the wooden palisades of the Expatritor compound. A horse and rider issued from the bailey and seemed to address the gathering.

"What is going on there?" Kieft wondered.

Rianne squinted. "I don't know, I can't see it clearly. That motte and bailey is casting a shadow over everything."

"Armed men," Daerain stated. "The Expatritor is speaking to a group of armed warriors."

Kieft cast a surprised glance at Rianne, who shrugged slightly. Daerain possessed exceptional vision to discern what occurred on the other side of the fallow pastures. With new wariness, they crossed the field.

As they drew near, Kieft recognised Expatritor Durevel upon the warhorse. He addressed a group of more than forty warriors equipped with a wide range of weapons and armour. Kieft did not have to look at Rianne to know her face lit up with professional anticipation. When Durevel appeared finished with his speech, a tall man stepped from the group and replied. The dark tone of the man's skin reminded Kieft of the rich loam of the family farm, while his bearing and stature rivalled even Aedwell the town blacksmith. Kieft found the man's shaven head strange, yet peculiarly fitting for a warrior. A mace hung from a thick leather belt and the man's armour consisted of only leather strips, in sharp contrast to the rest of the warriors who were decked in shiny metallics.

"A Zhandouran," Daerain said softly, so that only Kieft and Rianne heard. "Durevel would be wise to be respectful."

The Zhandouran, who would tower over most of Tiadri's residents, shoved a crumpled document in the general direction of Durevel. His throaty voice became clearer as Kieft and his companions stepped onto the dirt road.

"... my orders!"

Durevel peered at the ragged parchment. "It appears to bear the seal of... something."

"That is the seal of Commander Stirivon Fenetreu in Brookholm - Expatritor." The Zhandouran spoke with a strange accent, appearing to spit out Durevel's title.

Durevel grunted in annoyance. The Zhandouran appeared unintimidated by the mounted Expatritor, although Rianne tensed and Kieft suppressed an irrational urge to run. Durevel noted their presence. "You three. Begone, this does not concern you."

With an unperturbed stare, Daerain replied, "On the contrary, I believe it does."

The Expatritor's expression turned into a frown. "The Dhagaram." Daerain bowed slightly as the group of armed men parted, allowing him to approach. "Did you retrieve the boy?"

"Yes."

Durevel's eyebrows lifted slightly. Quickly, he said, "We did not expect you to return so soon."

"Or perhaps, not at all?" Daerain asked with a glint in his eye.

"Give me the boy's body," Durevel said, completely ignoring Daerain's barb. "We will return him to his parents."

"I would. But I believe Expatritor Hagbert ordered Daerain the Dhagaram to return the boy. So, unless the Expatritors hide a Dhagaram with my name in your compound..."

Durevel did not answer and Daerain did not appear to expect one. The Dhagaram turned to the tall Zhandouran. "May water be on your journey."

Daerain's greeting startled the Zhandouran but he recovered quickly, placed his palms together and responded, "And on yours." He added with a wry smile, "After this Expatritor welcome, I did not expect to be greeted in the Zhandouran manner."

Daerain nodded understandingly. "May I ask, what the problem is?"

"Certainly," the Zhandouran replied with his enunciating accent. "My name is Rielov, of the Skychaser tribe. I am Captain of these Brookholm Lances. We are to be posted here in Tiadri but this Expatritor refuses us entry to the bailey."

Durevel appeared content with Daerain's intervention, although a haughty tone crept into his voice. "For all I know, this Zhandouran leads a group of bandits."

"Bearing armour and weapons of such quality?" Daerain asked innocently.

"It is no great task to waylay a group of Brookholm Circle warriors and then steal their armour and documents." The group of warriors shifted restlessly at the insult. Durevel almost smirked.

"Expatritor," Daerain said, "If what you say is true, then the armour and weapons on these Brands and Lances would bear the marks of recent battle." Daerain gestured at the Brookholm warriors with an all-encompassing wave. "Even I can tell that any dents in these pieces are old. And the document Captain Rielov holds is clean, unmarked with blood - if a little creased."

Durevel clenched his jaw. A tense moment as Daerain held his gaze upon the Expatritor. Finally, Durevel spat, "Very well. Enter, then."

He wheeled his warhorse and cantered back into the Expatritor bailey.

Rielov turned to Daerain and bowed slightly. "My thanks, Dhagaram. May I know your name?"

"Of course, Captain. I am Daerain of Guithannan. These are Rianne and Kieft, of Tiadri."

Kieft and Rianne nodded politely. Neither had met a Zhandouran before, nor a person of his imposing stature. Kieft briefly wondered if the Zhandouran kept his saexum out of view, or perhaps on a discreet necklace beneath his armour. Could the Zhandouran have defeated the Expatritor if Daerain had not intervened?

Captain Rielov gestured at the canvas bag. "You have recovered a body?"

"Yes," Daerain said. "The boy was lost in Shadowdeep and it appears he was killed by some sort of creature."

"I have heard accounts of this Shadowdeep. The roads which cut through the forest seemed safe enough but no one in my company would divert from the road itself."

"Wise," Daerain said. "This is a small command, Captain."

"Yes." Rielov nodded with a resigned sigh. "Only two Lances. My other eight remain in Brookholm should the Circle of Seven require them."

Rianne spoke up. "Is this our new garrison?"

"Yes," Rielov answered. "The last garrison was moved to Argot town several springs past?" Rianne nodded and the Zhandouran continued, "While the Expatritor presence here has helped suppress banditry, I suspect the Circle does not want to leave the Expatritors full reign - in any region."

"Why not?" Daerain said.

An enigmatic smile crept across Rielov's face. "I do not ask. Nor do I wish to know." He motioned for his company to march into the largely empty Expatritor bailey.

Within, Aedwell's blacksmith and the Expatritor stables stood next to the old garrison barracks. Kieft imagined the rest of the open space converted into training grounds for both the Expatritors and the old Brookholm garrison. The Expatritors themselves quartered in the keep on the motte.

Rielov let his company march ahead while he continued their conversation.

"The Expatritors have protected everyone for as long as I can remember," Rianne said. "What you say sounds so..."

"Devious?" Rielov supplied. Rianne shrugged but her expression remained concerned. "The Expatritors are extraordinary warriors. I know this for a fact. But their current Saeculus holds a precarious position on the Circle."

"Doesn't the Saeculus always hold a position on the Circle of Seven?" Daerain asked.

"Yes," Rielov said. His voice lowered into a conspiratorial hush. "But Saeculus Karradros Osteyrus has been ordered by the Circle to lead the campaign across the Stonepeak Ranges. If the Expatritors do not mobilise, the Saeculus may be thrown off the Circle. The resulting battle between the Expatritors and the Circle's Brookholm army in the streets of the city would not be desirable."

"Where is the campaign directed?" Daerain asked. "Into the Arjezeh Desert?"

"Yes."

"Against whom? The Zhandoura?"

Rielov nodded. "Yes."

"That might explain their rather sharp behaviour lately," Daerain commented. "They must not be happy about that."

"No. But then, no one is."

"Why is that?" Kieft piped up.

"No one wants a war that could disrupt the Harvest Festival," Rielov said. "War slows regular businesses, stirs up old enmities and gets people killed. The Circle of Seven is not well-liked in Brookholm at the moment. But the Expatritors have stalled at every chance. A token vanguard has set up a perimeter at the edge of the Arjezeh, where it meets Shadowdeep - but nothing more."

"You must have mixed feelings," Daerain said.

The Zhandouran nodded. His small company entered the dilapidated barracks next to Aedwell's smithy and began settling in. He sighed thoughtfully. "That is the likely reason why my command was ordered here, rather than staying in Brookholm." Rielov smiled. "At least the job pays better than baby-sitting merchants."

"You were a guard?" Kieft asked.

"Yes, I used to guard inner-district homes and stores as well as occasional caravans to Guithannan. Why?"

"My sister was a guard but I'm not sure if she was guild. Her name is Atheisia. But we haven't heard from her in a while." Not that she could be blamed, Kieft added silently.

"The name sounds familiar. Maybe I heard her mentioned in Brookholm," Rielov said.

"We hope she's all right," Kieft said, "but I'm sure she can take care of herself. She apprenticed to the garrison before they were moved to Argot."

"Then I wouldn't worry," Rielov said with a reassuring smile. "A lot of guards are just strongarms with weapons. Anyone who apprenticed to the Brookholm army or Expatritors should be fine."

Kieft hoped the Zhandouran's words held true. Although the relationship between Atheisia and their father currently stood at a tense impasse, any news or just a simple letter would relieve their mother's worries.

"We had best be away and return the boy's body to his parents," Daerain said.

"Very well. But may I ask if the local inn has the capacity to feed my company? Our support staff will not arrive until tomorrow."

Kieft, Rianne and Daerain all nodded. "Welland and Juline make the best stew in town," Rianne said.

Rielov grinned. "I will be the judge of that." The three smiled with Rielov's infectious good nature. They bade the Zhandouran farewell and headed towards the bailey's open gate.

#

The return of Fosten's skeletal remains to his teary parents filled Kieft with an unnamed dread. Neither he nor Rianne had ever borne a body to the surviving relatives, let alone a little boy to his parents. As Gelwin welcomed the group into their cottage, Kieft suddenly realised how young Gelwin and Lilla were - no older than Russen and his wife Erdella. Fosten may well have been his niece Danna. Gelwin and Lilla's grief sprang into a tangible hollowness at the imagined loss of his own family. Kieft kept his musings to himself, however, and Daerain consoled the couple with the sincere compassion of a Dhagaram. But when the group left, Lilla's suspicious glances over Rianne did not escape Kieft and he wondered if the grieving mother still blamed Rianne for Fosten's unfortunate death.

Kieft trudged along the dirt road, alone in the oddly silent darkness. In the morning, Daerain would resume tutoring Rianne; Kieft sighed with the realisation that his chores would be all the greeting he would receive upon his return.

At the end of the road proper, the dirt track petered into a loose pebble and stone path overgrown with coarse grass; the edge of the family property. Already, the family house loomed ahead - a wooden double-storey construction which appeared impressive from a distance but in actuality contained only a few small rooms shared by Kieft's family.

With the daylight hours gone, the silent house did not surprise Kieft. The constricting darkness, which beckoned him home, suddenly overpowered his senses. He stumbled to his knees, palms digging into the earth. A swirling headache pulsed in Kieft's skull, intensifying heartbeat by heartbeat. Soon, the blood pounding through his head filled his hearing, blackened his vision. An unseen mallet buffeted from within. Kieft clenched his jaw, anticipating the moment his eyes would burst or his eardrums explode.

Delicate tingling passed from the earth through his fingers and up his arms, as if moving from a long-held position. Yet, he did not move. The prickling surged through his body, the headache banished and fears allayed.

Kieft dragged his feet up, stepped onto the porch but thought twice of opening the door. Instead, he sat on the highest step and massaged his forehead with both hands. The headache had been the worst in weeks. No one, not even Warenar, Rianne's father and town healer, had yet been able to help with the recurring pain.

Kieft yawned. A good night's sleep would probably be best. He stood and opened the front door. For a moment, he rested his head against the doorjamb and took a deep breath. Comforting familiarity returned. He blamed the day's intriguing events for his unusual fatigue, eager for rest.

Kieft trotted up the staircase, not bothering to wash. Floorboards squeaked with unnerving clarity as he treaded towards the cramped room he shared with Calette. He opened the door, thankfully without a sound, and slipped into his narrow bed.

"Kieft?" a low voice said.

"Calette? Still awake?"

"Oh, spirits, I thought it was a robber when you opened the door." Calette sighed and heavy rustling indicated she flopped back into her bed.

"Is Father angry?" Kieft asked.

"Yeah."

"How angry?"

"Well," Calette whispered, "He stayed in the fields all day and did all of my chores. So Narana and some other girls helped Juline with the cooking for the new garrison."

"All of your chores?"

"Yeah. He must have been furious. What happened in Shadowdeep, anyway?"

Calette's question did not immediately pierce Kieft's concern. Their father rarely became angry - his patience born from a life of farming - but on the occasions he spent the entire day working in the fields, everyone knew his fury virtually boundless. Kieft expected the morning meal would not be pleasant.

"Kieft?"

"Oh, right. We found Fosten."

"Was he all eaten up?"

"Calette!"

"What? Animals eat dead bodies, don't they?" Calette said.

"Yes," Kieft admitted. "We just found his skeleton. There were bits of meat and skin hanging from it."

"That's disgusting."

"You asked," Kieft said. He did not feel more forthcoming with details, tired as he was. Before Calette could interject another question, he rolled into a comfortable position and said, "Goodnight, Cal."

Across the room, his sister murmured a reply. And despite his worries, Kieft fell into a restful slumber.

#

Morning rolled sluggishly from the east. Greys imperceptibly lightened by each moment, colours bleeding into sight. Outside, roosters crowed; inside, daylight crept through the curtained window. As Kieft lay beneath his blankets, the wonder of dawn still awed him, although clouds more often than not obscured the newly risen sun.

Calette stirred with the yapping of their dogs in the yard. "I had the strangest dream," she said softly.

"Me too," Kieft said.

His sister curled her blankets under her chin and asked, "Do you remember it?"

"No, not really." Kieft shook his head. "It wasn't really anything I could see or hear. Just feelings."

"Same as mine."

Kieft glanced at his sister, unwilling to share the despair and irrational anger he had dreamed of. Her dear face frowned. "What do you think it means?" she asked, still drowsy.

"Nothing, just coincidence."

"Oh."

Convinced he would be unable to sleep any longer, Kieft threw back his blankets, ready for the day.

After washing, he headed into the kitchen at the rear of the house. Already, his family bustled - Andryn and his mother prepared the morning meal, Renrick hauled in a pail of fresh milk, Russen and his father stamped around the yard feeding the chickens and pigs. A twinge of guilt pinched Kieft's gut - while he and Calette just rose, their entire family had already begun the day's chores. No doubt, Russen's wife Erdella would soon return with fresh baked bread from Marel's bakery. Kieft moved to set the table for the morning meal; a gesture he could not help but feel trivial.

"You came home late, Kieft?" enquired his mother.

"Yes, mother."

"I hope that everything was fine?"

Kieft shrugged as he placed the last of the cutlery on the main table. "Nothing went wrong."

Andryn paused a moment from slicing fruit and flicked back a blonde lock, her light hair unique in their dark-haired family. "Did you see anything?" she asked.

"Not really," Kieft said. Although the peculiar hollow in the ground would normally justify a `something', his sister's question referred to only one thing. "I don't think Rianne was exaggerating, if that's what you're asking."

"I'm not saying she's a liar," Andryn protested.

Before Kieft retorted, their mother held up a hand. "Hush, now," Allena said, "Don't start arguing, at least not until you've all eaten."

Andryn and Kieft both meekly looked away and in unison said, "Yes, mother." Although shorter than either sibling and seeming so slight a heavy breeze might knock her over, their mother commanded automatic obedience. Andryn returned to slicing the feeble apples and pears; Kieft rummaged for plates and mugs as he mulled on yesterday's events.

Erdella soon returned with rolls and a couple loaves from Marel the baker. Russen and their father, Goslon, tramped into the kitchen just as Allena and Andryn finished preparing breakfast. As one, the extended family sat down to fresh bread, milk, cheese, fruit and juices. Allena served boiled and fried eggs with strips of bacon and prime cuts of lamb. All at the table recognised the savoury scents from meats Andryn had spiced and eagerly awaited their share.

The close-knit family ate, chatting about daily events and town gossip. As Kieft anticipated, the conversation turned to Shadowdeep. "So Kieft, how did yesterday fare?" their father asked.

Kieft shrugged non-committedly as all eyes turned to him. "It went fine. I'll finish the east fence on the cow paddock today."

"No need. It's done," Goslon said evenly. Kieft nodded, pushed his food around his plate.

Renrick tore a piece of bread from a loaf and dipped the ragged lump into his mug of milk. "Did you see it?"

"No," Kieft answered. "But Daerain thinks that whatever killed Fosten, twasn't wolves or anything like that."

Their father grunted with a full mouth. "That Dhagaram wouldn't know a wolf if it ripped the shoddy tunic off his back. We don't even know if he really is a Dhagaram."

Before Kieft could reply, Andryn said, "What do you mean, father?"

"You remember that other one last summer?" Goslon said. Everyone at the table nodded in remembrance. Kieft shook his head slightly in disagreement.

"That other one was not a Dhagaram."

"Well, I spoke with that new Captain Rielov last evening. He said to be wary. Maybe even test Daerain." His family hummed and buzzed in agreement. A tiny part of Kieft built with frustration.

"Don't you think spending the day in Shadowdeep is ordeal enough?" he asked his family in general.

Russen answered, "You didn't see anything, did you? I'd hardly call that an ordeal." Everyone chuckled and Kieft's frustration switched to anger.

"I didn't see you volunteering to help!" Kieft retorted.

"Hush now, Kieft," Allena said. "Your brother was only teasing."

Kieft felt the blood rush from his face and he turned his glare from Russen to his half-finished plate.

"Aw, now he's sulking," Russen said.

"Enough, Russen." Goslon held a berating finger at his eldest son, accompanied with a piercing stare.

"See what kind of a child you married, Erdella," Kieft pointed out. Calette, Renrick and Andryn giggled. With Atheisia absent, the five-spring gap between Andryn and Russen brought the younger siblings closer to each other than with their eldest brother. At the thought of Atheisia, a sudden shift in perception changed the way he considered his siblings, but it quickly faded. For a moment, his family had felt whole.

"How is Rianne?" his mother said in a transparent attempt to smooth the conversation.

"She's fine."

"Has she saved enough for Brookholm, yet?" Goslon asked.

"No," Kieft said, "But she says she's close." He slowly mopped his plate with a small piece of bread. The events of the previous day raced through his mind. "Actually..."

Allena rested her chin on folded hands. "What is it, Kieft?"

"Well," he began. "I was thinking. Rianne will be travelling to Brookholm and we've been there only for the markets and only for a day at most. But she's going to stay and live there and I was thinking that it would be such a fantastic experience..."

As he spoke, his family's faces fell into frowns of worry and concern, which did not surprise Kieft. "You want to go to Brookholm," Goslon said.

"I want to live there and explore. I want to read books. I want to see the ocean."

"But how will you support yourself?" Allena said anxiously.

"There's no Expatritor certification for farming," Goslon added.

"I can read, I can write," Kieft said. "I can find a job with the Circle of Seven as a scribe or somesuch."

Allena's eyes pleaded with Goslon. He said, "You think you can read or write as well as a Brookholmer?" Goslon shook his head. "I don't want you to get involved with the Circle of Seven."

"Why not?" Kieft asked.

"From what I gathered last evening when I spoke with Captain Rielov, I have my reservations about the Circle at the moment."

"What did he say? Was it about sending the Expatritors west?"

"That's right. If the Circle of Seven want something done, they should send the Brookholm army - that's what they are for. The Expatritors are busy enough guarding against bandits and whatnot, they can't fight a war as well."

Russen snorted. "Our Expatritors don't seem to do anything but drink Welland's ale and mead."

"The Expatritors keep peace. If the Circle wants to fight a war, they should do it themselves."

"I still want to go to Brookholm," Kieft said. His words halted his father's rant, sobering the table instantly. His brothers and sisters lowered their eyes as Kieft expectantly waited for a response.

"Where did this idea come from all of a sudden?" Goslon sighed. "It was that Dhagaram, Daerain, wasn't it!"

"It has nothing to do with Daerain."

"So, if that Dhagaram had never been here, you'd still want to move to Brookholm?"

"Yes," Kieft said with perfect honesty. "If Atheisia did it, then why can't I?"

Goslon leaned back, chair creaking, and crossed his arms. All around the table fell silent at the mention of the itinerant daughter. Calette and Andryn stared at their plates. Kieft held his father's gaze, almost defiant. His father said, "I can't stop you, can I? We need you on this farm, but if you want to go..."

Allena clutched at Kieft's arm, closing her eyes, stopping moisture running forth. His siblings, even Erdella, slumped in their chairs in resigned melancholy. Suddenly, the only home Kieft knew became just another house in Tiadri and his parents, mere people. Atheisia's decision to leave Tiadri ceased to be an impossibility, a fanciful dream, and coalesced into a likely reality.

The future rolled out before his mind's eye, an unlimited plain of experience awaiting discovery.

#

Low clouds filled the sky, threatening rain upon the gathered mourners at the town cemetery. Not that it would be inappropriate, Rianne considered. She craned her neck, searching for Kieft in the crowd; except for a black magpie perched upon the low picket fence encircling the cemetery no new arrivals were apparent.

As Daerain continued the ceremony, Gelwin stepped from the gathering bearing a clay urn. Early that morning, Aedwell the smith had cremated Fosten and placed the ashes in the hastily created urn. Gelwin now stood next to Daerain and a small headstone in the ground dedicated to Fosten.

The Dhagaram completed the eulogy and bowed his head. Rianne, along with the gathering, followed likewise as Gelwin poured the ashes onto the earth. A gust of wind threatened to disperse Fosten's ashes but Gelwin shielded them with his hunched form. Before the wind died, he sprinkled a handful of dirt over the ashes, binding his son's remains to the earth.

With the burial complete, the mourners dispersed, individually consoling Gelwin and Lilla before leaving. As the bereaved couple passed by Rianne, Lilla pointedly ignored her condolences. Gelwin silently motioned forgiveness for his wife's behaviour. Rianne nodded understandingly and the couple departed the cemetery.

Soon, only Daerain and Rianne remained. Daerain cupped his hands before his body in a solemn stance and said, "Today, I will teach avoidance."

Rianne turned with a quizzical expression. "We just attended a funeral, it's late afternoon and you expect us to continue as if nothing happened?"

"I expect nothing more than is acceptable," Daerain replied grimly. "Gather your peers, Rianne. The enemy will not attack only at your convenience. So one must always be ready, even at the most inconvenient of times."

With the tone of Daerain's voice, Rianne realised the lesson had already begun. Perhaps, she briefly thought, the lesson never ended. She sighed. "I'll see who can attend."

"Very well." Daerain seemed appeased. "I will wait at the inn."

A half-hour later, Rianne showed outside Welland and Juline's inn. Daerain remained expressionless. "The others?"

"They say it's getting late."

"Then that is their choice," Daerain said without judgemental tones. "We will train at the edge of the fields behind the Expatritor fortification." He set off with a brisk stride.

"Near Shadowdeep?"

"At the edge."

"Why so close?" Rianne asked. After the recent events, she had had enough of the Deep to last several springs and harboured no intention of returning so soon.

"Environment is everything," Daerain said in his lecturing tone. "If one cannot be perceived, then for all purposes, one does not exist."

"So if an enemy can't see you, you can't be attacked?"

Daerain hummed, indicating Rianne only partially understood his meaning. As they began hiking across the fields, he elaborated, "Perception consists of many things. Sight, sound, smell, taste, touch, your sense of balance, your judgement of time - all of these things, and many others, can be affected and can be deceived."

Mentor and student passed under the outer edges of Shadowdeep's woodlands and Rianne involuntarily shivered. Daerain continued without any visible signs of apprehension. "If these senses can be deceived, one must counter the deception by relying on other means. If you cannot see, then hear. If you cannot hear, then smell."

Despite her unease, Rianne still concentrated on the lesson. Daerain's logic led to only one conclusion. She asked, "What if you cannot hear or see or smell and you've been knocked over the head and lost all balance? What then?"

Daerain smiled. "Not so fast, Rianne." He stopped in a sparse clearing. "But we will come to that, eventually." He pointed to a sprawling oak. "First, climb that tree. Avoidance primarily involves physical removal from an area and secondarily concealment..."

#

Rianne snapped awake. A pre-dawn light infiltrated her room with a grey haze. Sore muscles in her shoulder and neck protested as she peered out the window. Night mist drifted by the road with lazy swirls. She slumped back in her bed, wondering why she awoke with such alacrity despite her fatigue. The previous evening's exercise had sent Rianne crawling, creeping, climbing and sneaking at the edge of Shadowdeep - all at the behest of Daerain's lessons in stealth and sensory deprivation. Rianne needed much more practice before she mastered Daerain's teachings, yet her skin prickled with an unidentified anticipation. The cold dawn had nothing to do with the goosebumps, Rianne convinced herself.

She slid onto the chill floorboards and pulled on comfortable woollens including the snug trousers many thought proper women should not wear. Her eyesight adjusted to the murky interior of the cottage. Almost as an afterthought, she grasped her shortsword by the sheath before stepping from the room.

Nothing stirred in the kitchen. Occasional bird-calls sounded from outside the cottage; all appeared quiet. Rianne shifted in the shadows and closed her eyes, feeling slightly foolish as she did so. But reassured by her privacy, she relaxed and let her senses wander as Daerain had taught.

Movement. Not from within the cottage but on the road. Crunching pebbles - she could imagine the scent of broken ground. No one in the town would be awake at such an early hour except for a patrol from the new Brookholm garrison. Rianne crept to a window facing the dirt road and surreptitiously peeled a curtain back. Already past, armed figures hurried towards the town centre, skulking unlike warriors of the garrison.

Bandits, her thoughts leapt. Before the consequences played out in her mind, Rianne rushed to unbar the front door. As she stepped outside, a wail arose from the town. Shrieks and screams drifted on the air and Rianne sprinted towards their source, her heart pounding - with fright or exhilaration, she did not know.

Rianne tore her sword loose and dropped the sheath on the road, soon forgotten. A scattered group of bandits fired buildings on the main street while engaging three Brands from the garrison. A scream from the inn - Juline and Welland had surely discovered intruders. A hollow rushing howl and a startling blaze erupted as a barn ignited. Flickering orange torches outlined reinforcements rushing from the barracks but the town needed help now.

With unexpected ease, Rianne slashed a bandit across the kidneys from behind. The newly repaired sword glided effortlessly across cloth and flesh, a smooth tear opening in both. The blood, which swiftly stained the bandit's tunic, appeared only as a dark patch of ink - the death uncomfortably anonymous. Rianne wondered for a moment if she withheld a sure killing blow to the neck by accident or by subconscious choice but as quickly she realised the issue did not matter. The bandit lay dead.

A tall axeman battling the Brands took a moment to yell and point at Rianne. Suddenly, she found three outlaws charging her with makeshift clubs and rusty swords raised. Instinctively, she darted to the side and leapt a low fence into the inn's stableyard. Rianne dared not look behind as she toppled empty kegs and crates in her wake. Her pursuers' stomping and cursing indicated they stayed close to her tail even as they scrambled in the near darkness.

Rianne halted in the yard. For a moment, she considered breaking into the kitchen but discarded the idea; although the unfamiliar hindrances of the interior would disadvantage the bandits, she shuddered to think of the damage in the aftermath. Another scream from the inn cut through the night. Focused only on Rianne, her pursuers lunged forth.

The first overextended his thrust and Rianne batted him aside without a second thought. She vaguely heard him crash head-first into the stables. The second and third, wielding heavy clubs, pulled up short and set into low defensive stances. With an obscured moon and the sun yet to rise, the bandits appeared only as silhouettes. They both tread sideways towards their fallen companion, unwilling to split up. The taller one shook his prone friend. "I think he's dead."

The other, her height but far stockier, swore. "We'll kill you for that, girl."

Rianne said nothing and feinted with a high slash. As he moved to defend, Rianne kicked at his knee and the bandit crumpled with a moan. "My kneecap!" His tall friend swiped at Rianne and she barely dodged with a desperate twist. The tall one pressed the attack, his overbearing strength driving the young woman towards the kitchen rear door.

The force of each stroke shook Rianne's grip of her shortsword, a reverberating shudder throughout her arms. Her sweaty palms threatened to slip from the hilt with the next parry. Or the next. Fatigue swept down her shoulders, a sheer effort merely to lift the sword. Her arms tightened, unwilling to respond, but necessity forced her tired limbs to comply. To defend. Soon, her retreat brought the kitchen's door to her back. The bandit raised his club for a crushing blow and Rianne dived to the side.

She rolled awkwardly - unlike Daerain's smooth tumbles - and ended up near the two fallen bandits. With a surprising impulse, she placed the edge of her sword against the throat of one of the two fallen bandits. The tall one cocked his head in bewilderment then, strangely, chuckled. "I don't think so, girl."

"Why -" Rianne cut her own answer short as heavy object crashed into her skull. A hand flashed from over her shoulder and crushed her wrist. The dead outlaw? Groggy, she involuntarily dropped her sword. The stocky bandit wriggled from Rianne's reach and picked up her weapon. The dull object struck the back of Rianne's head again and the world spun. For the first time in her life, she fought unconsciousness even as an arm snaked around her neck and began choking her.

Hot breath hissed into her ear, then a voice. "Make sure of your enemies, darling. Down doesn't always mean dead."

The tall bandit and the stocky one approached. The third swordsman she had assumed unconscious or dead, continued, "She's pretty, isn't she?"

"Hard to tell without light," the stocky one said. He crouched close to Rianne and ran a hand along her chin. She fought the temptation to grimace, refusing to show signs of weakness even though her breathing remained constricted.

"We should go somewhere where we won't be interrupted," the tall bandit said.

"Good idea," the first bandit said. "She looks like a delicious fuck." He emphasised his approval by giving Rianne's neck a squeeze. She stifled a choke.

The bandit stood her up. Though the darkness hid their faces, Rianne's hatred would remember their voices. "Touch me," she rasped, "and I promise that you will die."

The bandits laughed. "Everyone dies, girl," the stocky one said, "At least, we'll die knowing your taste."

Glass and wood smashed from the inn's second floor. A body flopped to the yard with a fleshy slap. Behind the shattered window, a figure regarded the proceedings in the yard. The witness receded.

Taking advantage of the lull, Rianne whipped her head back and her skull connected with teeth. The bandit's grip released and a muffled groan met her ears. She spun, driving her knuckles into his throat. The stocky bandit rose her own sword and slashed wildly. Rianne danced out of danger and into the reach of the tall one. He swung his club back and forth. Timing her attack, Rianne darted inside the arc of the swing and drilled a fist into the bandit's stomach and nose in quick succession. His breath huffed out uncontrollably and he dropped his club but before Rianne could finish him, the stocky bandit attacked from behind.

A searing line burnt across her back as she twisted to the side a moment too late. The bandit, delighted with his stroke, attacked again. Rianne jumped aside and snatched up the discarded club. She blocked her own sword but with the force of the blow, the blade became lodged in the club's haft.

The stocky bandit grunted. "Spirits!" He ripped the club from Rianne's grasp, sword and all, and tossed the weapons aside. Before Rianne could react, he leapt forward and pushed her to the ground.

The cut in the back flared up but she pushed the pain aside. Rianne gripped the bandit's wrists as his hands sought her neck. In terms of raw strength, the bandit would surely overpower her in minutes, if not seconds - every moment and every move counted.

Fetid breath puffed into her face and under his weight, she could not wriggle free. The stocky man ripped a hand free from her grasp, balled it into a fist and struck her cheek. Rianne's face snapped to the side and immediately, she knew an awful bruise flooded her skin. As the pain subsided, the man punched her cheek again and her vision blurred. Suddenly, dizziness crept through her skull and the ground seemed to lurch as if another tremor shook the town. Her strength waned. She felt the bandit's hands grope at her belt and trousers.

Instinctively, she kicked out with the last of her strength. Her knees connected - to what, she did not know - and the bandit screamed. "You bitch!"

He toppled backwards, clutching his groin and doubly injured knee but Rianne's wooziness kept her from following up. Vaguely, the figure of the stocky bandit rolled on the ground, swearing and cursing. She must have cracked something. Rianne shook her head in an effort to disperse the daze clouding her mind. She spotted her sword, still embedded in the haft of the club, lying across the yard and began crawling towards it.

She winced as the cut on her back twinged with the dirt mixed into the wound. As she made her way across the yard, her mind cleared and her injuries grew numb as if they became illusory, imaginary. The bandit continued bemoaning his fragile knee as she wrested her sword from the club. Rianne stood, weapon in hand, and finally able to take stock of the situation.

Harsh clashes of running battles across the town indicated the bandits' retreat. Buildings burned all around, casting a faint orange glow across the face of the fallen attackers. For the first time, Rianne examined their features and suppressed a growing doubt. In their eyes, she found only hunger and desperation - gaunt cheeks and matted hair stared back at her. Then her doubt vanished like a wisp of smoke as the stocky bandit's eyes slid across her body.

Rianne stormed forward. "I promised you." She raised her sword and the bandit's eyes widened as he realised her intent.

"Please, no..."

Rianne chopped swiftly, cutting away the bandit's words and throat in one motion. Blood spurt from the stocky bandit's neck and Rianne kicked him away, freeing her weapon. She let her sword by her side; maroon dripped along the blade, pooled at the tip and then fell to the ground.

"Rianne."

At Daerain's voice, she turned around. Her mentor stood at the kitchen door, horrified, yet morose. "What have you done?"

"I..." Rianne's voice caught with guilt. Shame.

"Have you remembered nothing I taught you?" Daerain asked. "Where is your respect for life? A man pleaded for his - unarmed - and you killed him? Are you or are you not my pupil?"

"I... I am your pupil," Rianne said with a bowed head.

Daerain regarded her with a critical gaze. On the street, Captain Rielov's commands indicated the successful defence of Tiadri town as the garrison warriors cheered.

"I do not think so," Daerain said simply. He turned on his heel and began walking away. Over his shoulder, he called out, "It would be best to clear the yard, for Juline's sake."

Rianne started after the Dhagaram. "Daerain, wait!"

Without stopping, Daerain said, "No, Rianne."

"I made a mistake, I admit it! Am I not allowed to make mistakes?"

Faster than she thought possible, Daerain spun around and addressed her. "You think killing a man a mere mistake?"

"No, I -"

"How can I teach you now? For all of your talent and for all of your natural understanding of combat, you ignore a fundamental principle in Dhagara's teachings, call it a mistake and expect everything to be forgiven? And to say nothing of Brookholmer laws!"

Anger flared in Rianne's chest. "These men tried to rape me and who knows what else?" she retorted. "You're supposed to be my friend, my mentor - how can you not understand?"

"I do understand," Daerain replied in a steady voice. "Both you and your friend, Kieft - you are ruled by your emotions, by what you want, rather than what you or others around you need. As for being your friend, you have only known me for a time counted in weeks."

Daerain turned away from Rianne again and began clambering over toppled casks and barrels.

"I need this, Daerain. I need guidance."

"Perhaps it is time to move on."

Rianne blinked her tearing eyes. All of a sudden, she felt her link to a future severed and her consciousness adrift upon a desolate sea. Her fingers loosened and her sword thudded to the packed earth. Daerain headed down the main road, disappearing from sight. The slightest touch brushed against Rianne's neck and without looking, she knew the sun had brought the dawn.

#

"They told me I'd find you here."

Rianne glanced up and smiled at Kieft. He held forth her sword's scabbard which he had found lying near her family's cottage.

"Thank you, Kieft," Rianne said. She sheathed her sword and strapped it around her waist. With a forlorn smile, she said, "I don't know how I'm going to get the blood stains from the ground or how I'm going to move these bodies by myself."

"Let me help you." Kieft scooped up a wooden pail and filled it with water from a nearby trough. As he lugged the pail to the stains, he grabbed a rake leaning against the fence. "Water will soften the packed dirt. Then, we can use this rake to churn up the blood-stained parts and use more water to wash it."

"Thank you again, Kieft."

He grinned back at his childhood friend. "I'll even help you move the bodies."

"You're so generous," Rianne said playfully.

As Kieft began raking the soiled earth, he asked, "What happened to your face?"

"Oh, this." Rianne ran her fingertips across her bruised cheek. "I'm fine. I'm more worried about the cut on my back."

"Is it bad?"

Rianne shook her head and resumed scrubbing the blood away. "I don't think it's serious."

"Do you want me to take a look?"

"No, it's fine."

With Rianne's indifference to her wounds, Kieft knew she had changed since the morning's skirmish. "Did you kill those people?"

"I did." Kieft felt no reaction, despite her candid admission. She continued, "Why do you ask? They're just bandits."

"Was it hard to kill them?"

Rianne sighed. "Two, I didn't really mean to kill. It was in the heat of battle and I just had to fight my way through as best I could. I knew what I was doing was lethal, but in something like this, I suppose you have to use everything you know. You stop caring." She ceased scrubbing the stable door for a moment. "It's not a play-fight and it's not just a brawl. Life and death."

"What about the third one?"

"That one, I meant to kill." Rianne resumed scrubbing the stables with renewed vigour. Kieft knew better than to press the issue when Rianne's tone turned abrupt and her attention turned elsewhere. Given time, she always returned with her unvoiced troubles. The pair continued cleaning.

Kieft set aside the rake and began loading the bodies into a small wheelbarrow. He absently noticed the powder spread around one of the bare feet of the bandits. His anklet appeared bare - the saexum must have crumbled soon after his death. As Kieft hefted the corpse, Rianne spoke up. "I want to go to Brookholm tomorrow."

Kieft's throat caught with surprise. All he managed to say was, "You do?"

Rianne nodded, grabbing a sack containing a dead bandit. "I can't wait much longer."

"But what about Daerain? What about money?"

She shrugged, dumping the heavy sack into the wheelbarrow. "Daerain said he can't teach me anything more. As for cirrens... come with me."

Kieft's heart leapt at her words. But as his dreams ignited once more, the spectre of his father's practicality dragged his spirits down again. "I have none."

"Don't worry about money. I can get a job guarding merchants like Atheisia did and you can get a job as a scribe. We can make more than enough for me to pay the Expatritors and for you to buy as many books as you want. And we can save more cirrens if we find a place to live together; I'm sure we can find a cheap inn or a room in someone's house to rent." With her impassioned thoughts of the future, Rianne's eyes lit up like Kieft had never seen before. He could not say for certain if her current troubles were related to these headlong decisions. She dragged the last body into the wheelbarrow on her own as Kieft struggled to digest her ideas.

"If we live together, will we have to get married?"

Rianne laughed a joyous laugh that Kieft had not heard for a long while - since before Daerain began mentoring her. She wrapped an arm around Kieft's waist and rested her forehead against his. Staring into his eyes, perhaps searching for something, she said, "We've slept in the same bed before without anything ever happening." Her face turned coy. "Unless something happened while I was asleep."

"I never -"

"Just joking, Kieft," Rianne chuckled. Her hand stroked his neck in short caresses. Then, she embraced Kieft tightly. Into his ear, she whispered, "You're my best friend."

Rianne stepped back from the hug, almost reluctantly - Kieft let their hands linger, wondering if this were a farewell embrace. Rianne smiled. "Help me get these bodies to the road." Kieft nodded and proceeded to clear the path towards the main street for the wheelbarrow.

Stepping onto the road, Kieft felt a light drizzle begin pattering on his nape and he wished he had brought his cloak. He and Rianne walked the wheelbarrow of dead bandits towards the edge of town where a mass-funeral pyre smoked fitfully near the Expatritor compound.

All around, townsfolk and garrison warriors swept away damaged property from the raid, carried dead bodies or rushed to help fight fires lit by the bandits who had done so to draw away resistance from their attack. On the side of the road, Kieft spotted Master Adaros close to tears and cradling his head in his hands.

"I'm ruined, I'm ruined!"

"Master Adaros?" Rianne inquired.

The merchant looked up and noted the grimy appearance of Kieft and Rianne. "They stole everything! Absolutely everything!"

"I'm sure you've got some cirrens hidden away," Kieft said.

Adaros moaned, "They stole everything from under the floorboards too! It's like last summer all over again."

"Everything will be fine, Master Adaros," Rianne consoled. The merchant only shook his head and pressed his palms over his eyes. Kieft and Rianne moved on, unable to offer any more comforting words.

An acrid odour became distinct as the two drew closer to the Expatritor compound. Outside the palisade of the bailey, a hesitant crowd tended to a smoky funeral pyre. Interspersed within the gathering, garrison warriors kept watch.

Captain Rielov broke from the crowd and greeted Kieft, "Good morning to you. And to you, Rianne, despite that ugly bruise on your cheek."

"Captain," they nodded in reply. Rianne waved at her cheek and added, "That's nothing."

Kieft noted bandages wrapped around the captain's arms as well as a minor limp. "How did we fare?"

"Fifteen of mine are wounded. None were killed. As for people in town, there are many injured. So far, three dead."

Concern flashed across Rianne's face. "Who were they?"

"I do not know their names," Rielov answered. "I believe they were related to the miller."

Kieft glanced at Rianne, who reciprocated. They both knew Terjin's cousins.

"What about the Expatritors?" Kieft asked, although he cared nothing for their welfare. To his surprise, Rielov spat on the ground. He jerked his chin towards the motte and bailey and with an acid unbecoming of his baritone voice said, "No one has seen aught of them. Even when the alarm was raised and even now, when the outlaws have retreated."

Rianne appeared taken aback by the revelation. "I don't understand. Why didn't they ride?"

The captain calmed himself, turning away from the Expatritor compound his garrison shared. "Bear in mind, I am Zhandouran, so I may be prejudiced against these Expatritors."

Before he could voice his question, Rianne asked, "Why do you hate the Expatritors?"

Rielov smiled. "I do not hate Expatritors. But Expatritors hate the Zhandoura for all of the defeats my people have inflicted upon them. You saw how they treated me. And you have doubtless heard their opinion on the Zhandoura. I need say no more when my warriors and I fought to defend this town we hardly know and the Expatritors have yet to make an appearance.

"I have heard from Goslon, Kieft's father, that you wish to become an Expatritor."

Rianne nodded silently, Kieft interpreting her reticence as continued perplexity to the apparent neglect by the Expatritors towards the town.

"You have an Expatritor in your family line?" Rielov inquired.

Again, Rianne nodded. "My grandfather was an Expatritor. My sword was rebuilt from his old longsword."

The Zhandouran almost beamed with approval. "An honourable pursuit. The Expatritors were built on that kind of principle." He shook his head slightly. "But it's times like these that I do not find it hard to scorn what they have become."

Quickly changing the topic to more immediate business, Rielov gestured at the wheelbarrow. "More casualties?"

Rianne shook her head. "They're bandits."

"Come with me, then." Rielov led the two through the townspeople who largely ignored them and instead watched the pyre. "This will bring the total to eight dead bandits. I will have to send word to my commander but I fear these men will remain unidentified."

A sudden pang spread across Kieft's gut. "Will you try to identify them?" he asked.

"We can," Rielov answered. "Our record-keepers in Brookholm, and even the Expatritors, will know what to do."

Satisfied with his response, Kieft let the matter drop, although his thoughts moved to dwell upon his sister and her whereabouts. He let out a soft sigh. Kieft could only wish her good health wherever she lived and fought.

Rielov led the wheelbarrow closer towards the pyre. Odd that the gathering of townspeople said little as they watched droplets of rain sizzle on the burning remains. Perhaps their mysterious silence indicated spent energy. They had just successfully defended their town but something more hung in the air.

"What is going on?" Kieft asked. "Why aren't these people helping Marel and Terjin with the fire?"

With a flick of his head, Rielov said, "We have a prisoner."

At his words, the crowd seemed to part. Near the pyre, a dishevelled man of indeterminate age knelt on the soggy field, his arms cocked up behind his head by the low wooden fence. Five garrison warriors stood guard around the dull-faced prisoner. Suddenly, the focus of the crowd's attention became obvious to Kieft and Rianne - they watched not the pyre or the rippling column of smoke but the captured bandit, broken in body and spirit.

"We originally captured three," Rielov explained. "One tried to escape. The townsfolk stopped him. But with that, they beat another to death. It was all we could do to stop them killing this one too."

"They killed them?" Kieft asked unbelievingly.

"Yes," Rielov said. "I've seen it before. Frustration pent up for weeks, maybe since the last bandit raid, and released with the appearance of the next possible scapegoat. Has it happened here before?"

"No," Kieft said. Such savagery did not feel characteristic of anyone in town. "Rianne?" She shook her head, no.

Rielov furrowed his brow with a grunt; he seemed at a loss to explain.

The gates to the bailey creaked open and all heads turned to see ten mounted Expatritors ride forth. Despite the overcast skies, their finely cast armour glistened and their horses' coats shone. With weapons close at hand, the Expatritors tightened into double-file and pressed towards the pyre and the prisoner. The warriors reserved haughty stares for their Brookholm garrison counterparts and Kieft watched Rielov's jaw clench with a restrained fire. For the moment, he understood the Zhandouran's apprehension.

"Nice to see you make an appearance," Rielov said with a sardonic edge.

The lead Expatritor pressed forward and removed his helm.

"Zhandouran," Hagbert said, pointing to the imprisoned bandit, "Who is this man?"

Rielov eyed Hagbert's young features, then the indiscernible features of the Expatritor's comrades. "He was captured this morning."

"I see." Hagbert waved several Expatritors forward, led by Durevel. They surged towards the prisoner and the garrison warriors glanced at their captain for orders. Rielov shook his head and the warriors backed away from the captured bandit.

"What is going on?" Kieft asked. More tension hung in the exchange than the usual interaction between the Expatritors and the garrison warriors.

"If the Expatritors want the bandit, I won't fight over him," Rielov replied.

Before Kieft could ask Rielov to elaborate, Hagbert snapped, "String him up!" The Expatritors dismounted and hauled the bandit to his feet. A thick rope was thrown over the palisade and Durevel knotted the end into a hasty noose. He slipped the loop around the bandit's neck and finally, the bandit's eyes widened in realisation. He shouted, "No, wait!"

"They're going to kill him!" Rianne said. "Do something!"

Rielov nodded in agreement, although Kieft detected hesitancy. "Stop," the Zhandouran Captain said. The Expatritors automatically obeyed his authoritative tone. "You cannot simply kill him. At the very least he is entitled to a trial in Brookholm. Imprison him until then."

Hagbert shot Rielov a harsh glare. "He is an outlaw."

"And you are an Expatritor!" Rielov replied. "Where is the honour in killing that man?"

"What do you know of honour, Zhandouran?" Hagbert said. He pushed his horse closer to the captain and the sharp tang of oiled steel filled Kieft's nose. Instinctively, he took a step back with Rianne, leaving Captain Rielov to face the mounted Expatritor alone. But again, Rielov appeared unperturbed. Hagbert repeated, "What do you know of honour?"

"More than one of your kind would think," Rielov said.

"My kind?" Hagbert asked rhetorically. "My kind dispenses justice. What greater honour could there be?"

Rielov said nothing, only returning Hagbert's arrogant stare. Kieft sensed that Rielov had thought better of a harsh reply. Hagbert grunted in self-satisfaction and wheeled his warhorse to face the prisoner.

"What is your name?" Hagbert demanded.

"Jasef," the prisoner replied. "Please, we are hungry."

Hagbert seemed to restrain himself from spitting on the bandit as he said, "Find a job."

"How can we when we are wanted?" Jasef pleaded.

"Then," Hagbert said, "perhaps you should not have become wanted in the first place."

The Expatritor waved his hand and his comrades backed away from the bandit.

"Kill him!" a voice screeched from the rear of the crowd.

Kieft craned his neck past Rianne. Despite the multitude of shoulders and heads in the way, he glimpsed Lilla brandishing a broom. She yelled again, "Kill him!" Kieft met Rianne's eyes, as equally shocked as his own.

"That woman has the right idea," Hagbert said. Jasef shook his head wildly, words escaping him. Rielov turned away as Hagbert nodded at a comrade.

Kieft heard a horse neigh and a rider urging the animal forward from behind the palisade. With a rasping hiss, the rope snaked over the top of the fortifications. The townspeople watched as the noose jerked the bandit from the ground. He began gurgling. His hands clutched at the impossibly taut rope. His face bulged red. His feet twitched against the wood, drumming an irregular beat. The Expatritors watched without emotion.

Kieft and Rianne looked away as the last of the bandit ceased moving. Rielov waved his warriors back even as the Expatritors' eyes stayed on the dead outlaw. Finally, Hagbert wheeled his horse around and addressed the gathering. "Let it be known. In Tiadri, the sentence for banditry is hanging!"

Hagbert punched the air with a gauntlet and his fellow Expatritors heeled their horses towards the compound gates. A garrison warrior cut the bandit loose and the body crumpled to the ground, sitting with his back to the palisade in an eerie display of still death. The Expatritors ignored several garrison warriors who began hauling the body to the pyre.

"Wait!" a voice called out.

Gelwin pushed past the crowd and Hagbert halted his companions. "What is it?" the Expatritor asked.

The recently bereaved father appeared short of breath as if he had run across town. Between puffs, he said, "Warenar and Annia... are dead."

A cold shard of despair sliced into Kieft's heart and as the crowd reacted, Rianne stumbled, her knees giving way. Kieft caught her and she clutched onto him for all her strength. Her face appeared blank and her eyes focussed elsewhere. All she could manage was, "No. The door." Whatever Kieft felt at the moment could not compare to what Rianne suffered but kept inside.

"What door?" Kieft asked into her ear. Rianne only buried her face in his shoulder.

From upon his warhorse, Hagbert examined Gelwin. The Expatritor's apparent display of concern surprised Kieft; Expatritors cared for few outside their circle. Hagbert asked, "Did you see the bodies?"

"Yes, Expatritor Hagbert," Gelwin answered. "Their front door was undamaged and wide open. Since the bandits had just been fought off, I checked to see if everything was fine. That's when I found them inside."

With Gelwin's words, the atmosphere deadened to heavy despondency. Sorrow weighed down the morning's successes. Lilla's shrieking voice cut through, "She is with them! She is with the bandits!"

A murmur ran through the gathering, whether in agreement or denial of Lilla's words, Kieft could not tell. Rielov shouted, "Quiet, woman! You are mad!"

"Why would the door to their cottage be open?" Lilla yelled with uncharacteristic venom.

"Why would she kill bandits?" Rielov replied with equal rage.

"So, you admit she is one of them?"

"Do not twist my words," Rielov said. "For all we know, you killed her parents."

Across the gathering, raised voices sounded in agreement with Rielov but an equal number cast more accusations against other townspeople. The Expatritors appeared content to wait out the speculations. Rianne lifted her head, her eyes red. Without a word, Kieft knew she simply wanted to leave. He caught Captain Rielov's eye and the Zhandouran immediately understood. Amid the growing clamour, Rielov herded Kieft and Rianne between vehement shouts and denials.

Just as Kieft thought their withdrawal assured, Lilla screamed, "You killed my son and you brought the bandits to us!"

Rielov shook his head at Kieft and the young man bit back his harsh, foul reply. He thought he could sympathise with Lilla's loss but could not fathom why she accused Rianne of such unbelievable crimes. With a peculiar sense of deja vu, Kieft recalled his dreams, or more aptly nightmares, of recent weeks. Although no images, sounds or smells were present in his dreams, the emotions conveyed ran deeply, grasping his mind and dragging his consciousness into forgotten hate, unwanted loneliness. Every morning, he brushed away the anguish of perhaps imaginary experiences. Yet, reconnecting with the waking world and dismissing his dreams occasionally became difficult. The dreams sometimes resurfaced but never before had he intended such bitter words inspired from those nightmares. If the dreams afflicted others besides Kieft and his sister, then perhaps such caustic attitudes were just as widespread. Lucky that Rielov stopped him from saying something he would be sure to regret.

"Show us the rock creature!" Lilla shoved aside townspeople, even Gelwin, in her effort to confront Rianne face-to-face. As the woman approached, a garrison warrior bristled in his thick leather armour, effectively blocking her path. But to Kieft's surprise, the gathering hushed into an awful silence. Without a single word, the townspeople voiced their opinions.

Lilla continued, "Daerain said that he mentors you no more. Now, why is that?"

Kieft looked quizzically at Rianne. She nodded, confirming Lilla's news. Answering Kieft's unspoken question, Rianne said, "Daerain won't teach me because I killed a bandit, rather than granting mercy."

As the gathering heard her admission, even Rielov became uneasy with the growing restlessness with the townspeople. A buzz arose, the chatter and gossip linking Rianne's apparent mercilessness with Fosten's death and the murder of her parents.

Hagbert nudged his horse towards Rianne and the babble subsided. Kieft had no space to retreat from the Expatritor's intimidating presence but at least Captain Rielov's firm stance reassured him.

"I have no choice but to place you under arrest, Rianne," Hagbert said. The gathering erupted with chatter. Continuing with a raised voice, Hagbert said, "You will be held in the Expatritor keep while we conduct an investigation into the death of your parents." He leaned in towards Rianne while Kieft's stomach lurched with dread. "With Lilla out here to whip up the town, it might just be for your own good."

As the Expatritors led Rianne past the bailey's gates, Rielov placed a comforting hand on Kieft's shoulder. The crowd began to break up, some heading into town to help clear out debris, others to help extinguish the various fires.

"It will be fine, Kieft," Rielov said.

"No, you don't understand," Kieft replied. Despair flooded his thoughts and his non-existent breakfast threatened to resurface. "No one goes into their keep unless they are an Expatritor or a prisoner. And not one prisoner who has been taken has come back out."

"But Rianne is innocent, isn't she?" Rielov asked.

"Of course."

"Then we will see her again, I promise."

Kieft met Rielov's eyes. The tall Zhandouran's sincerity emanated with determination that was likely born from not only his heritage but intense training as a Brookholm army captain. His unspoken intent, should Rianne become missing, sent a chill sweeping across Kieft's nape.

#

Rianne awoke in her prison, although tapestries adorned the walls, a bear-skin rug lay on the hardwood floor and fine linen sheets covered her feather-down bed. The room measured as large as her parents' entire cottage, with the sleeping area walled off with moveable, carved wooden partitions and the private washroom housed in an adjoining room.

But as luxurious as the apartment appeared, the double oak doors remained locked and the guards outside vigilant. Panes of glass sealed tiny window recesses on the west wall and even if Rianne managed to squeeze through, the drop to the ground would be lethal.

With a sigh, Rianne sat up and immediately winced as her back twinged. Her gaze fell upon an unfinished plate of bread, cheese and fruit - reminiscent of the simple meals her parents always prepared. Rianne's gut tightened and tears welled in her eyes. Since becoming imprisoned, she had not heard news other than bare facts told to her by Hagbert. No one had visited her, or had been allowed to. She had not been allowed outside, let alone see her home. Her imagination ran riot over the events which might have surrounded what was now her property. She could only hope her friends protected her interests.

Rianne stood and walked towards one of two elegantly crafted wardrobes. Upon first being imprisoned, she found the decor unsettling - what if a visiting official required quarters? At that moment, Rianne realised for perhaps the first time in her life, that no officials ever visited Tiadri. None of the Brookholm Circle of Seven, none of the Expatritor superiors and none of the Guithannan royal family. At that time, Rianne finally consigned herself to the fact that, despite being a town under the wing of Brookholm, Tiadri was ruled by the fifteen local Expatritors. They collected taxes, mediated disputes and administered justice - all without apparent supervision or accountability. Until Captain Rielov arrived.

Rianne opened the wardrobe, revealing her full array of clothing. Hagbert had brought her belongings from the cottage yesterday with a bizarre tenderness which did not become him. His attitude stunned Rianne, but when she asked about her shortsword, he only chuckled as if she told an amusing anecdote. As always, Hagbert remained an oddity - older than Rianne's circle of friends, younger than Russen's and still unmarried, like many Expatritors. For a while, Rianne always thought she would marry someone like Hagbert but with the years came the acceptance she did not want an Expatritor by her side - she wanted to be one herself.

As she finished changing into her woollens, a knock sounded at the door. "Yes?" she called out.

The lock turned over and the double doors swung open. Hagbert strode in, carrying another plate of food and drink. "Good morning, Rianne," he said.

Rianne only nodded in reply. Unarmoured and dressed in simple clothing, he appeared out of place and awkward, although he still bore a sword and dagger. Hagbert placed the plate on a table and retrieved the unfinished plate from the evening before.

"I trust you slept well?" he asked.

"Only as well as a captive might," Rianne replied, sitting in a high-backed chair.

Hagbert ignored the bait without any trace of guile. He hefted the unfinished plate. "Not hungry?"

"No."

The Expatritor sighed but Rianne could not read why; his training disguised all emotions. Hagbert picked at the hunk of stale bread and Rianne patiently waited. Finally, he said, "Aren't you at all grateful?"

Rianne fought down a surge of resentment at Hagbert's apparent lack of empathy. "Grateful for what? Keeping me from my parents' funeral? Keeping me from my home?"

"It's for your own protection," Hagbert said with the same laconic disinterest.

"I don't need your protection!"

Crossing her arms and legs, Rianne turned away. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hagbert's eyebrows furrow - the first indication of anything besides general apathy towards her well-being. "Just let me go," she said.

Hagbert stood. "We haven't completed our investigation. We can't let you go just yet." He began walking towards the door. As if a thought just occurred to him, he added, "That Dhagaram fellow left town last night."

Guilt she thought buried with self-righteousness resurfaced with the mention of Daerain. Although she began wondering why Daerain left Tiadri, Rianne hardly considered her own failure as a pupil a possible reason. Surely, Daerain had taught many others who also did not meet his expectations - did he leave those others as he abandoned her? She considered his extensive travels, afraid that she had deduced her former mentor's own shortcomings. Hagbert closed and locked the door, leaving Rianne with her uncertainty.

#

The next morning, Hagbert again brought a fresh plate of food and a jug of water. But he did not speak, only plunked the crockery on the table and gathered up the old. Hagbert eyed her warily before leaving. As soon as the door locked, Rianne began eating. She had eaten only minimally the past two days as a token form of resistance. What small satisfaction she gained when Hagbert retrieved virtually untouched plates of food did not outweigh the fact she required her full strength if she intended to escape.

Rianne ate her fill, saving the rest for later in the day. She began exercises learnt from Daerain which were the same exercises the legendary Dhagara once taught and practised when he was alive - at least Daerain had said so. The routines combined combat techniques with strength and agility drills which required no weapons, only a small clearing. As Rianne immersed herself in the routines, her mind focussed on the tasks and her worries melted away. For the time being, her captors did not matter, her parents' memory faded, her aspirations dissipated and she could pretend, if only for the briefest moment, she practised with the supervision of an understanding Dhagaram.

She slept well that night, despite herself. In the morning, Hagbert brought food but lingered, as if he either had something to say or waited for Rianne to speak first.

Rianne asked, "Why didn't the Expatritors defend the town?"

"The garrison fought so well," Hagbert answered. "We didn't want to ruin their rhythm."

Rianne watched Hagbert carefully as she said, "You've known me long enough to know you can't lie to me, Hagbert."

He crossed his arms and headed towards the door. "Eat your food."

The Expatritor left, locking the door behind him. And again, Rianne exercised her fears into oblivion. When the obscured sun slipped under the horizon, she finished her food, washed and changed into a nightdress. Without candles or a lantern, evening brought only the opportunity to sleep. Rianne curled beneath the blankets and drifted.

#

The door slammed shut and Rianne startled awake. The light trickling through the narrow windows indicated mid-morning; surprising, for she rarely overslept. Heavy footsteps echoed through Rianne's morning daze and she cast a bleary gaze towards their source.

Hagbert, dressed in fine riding gear, marched directly to the bed. In a flash, a gloved hand gripped Rianne's throat and forced her back onto the dishevelled sheets. Her mind sparked, memories of the past several days flooding back.

Rianne grimaced. Hagbert's grip merely held her down but as he leaned forward, the rare morning brightness glinted from a polished hilt. Instinct took over. Rianne snatched Hagbert's dagger from the sheath and slashed his forearm.

Blood spurted from the deep wound and Hagbert fell back with a pained grunt. Rianne flipped off the bed and onto her feet, wiping the Expatritor's blood from her face. Hagbert also stood and eyed Rianne with a hatred she had never seen before. The Expatritor growled and charged.

Using lessons from Daerain, Rianne dodged and sliced Hagbert across his other arm. He tumbled onto the bed and Rianne followed, reversing her grip on the dagger. She struck Hagbert on the back of the skull and the Expatritor's eyes visibly wilted as he fought off the inevitable blackout.

"You can't get away," he mumbled. "All the guards... you'll be wanted from here to Guithannan."

Lifting the hilt for another blow, Rianne said, "You can't keep me here."

Hagbert's eyes drooped and his words became slurred, almost inaudible. "Where can you go?"

Finally, he fell unconscious. Rianne rapped his head once more for good measure then removed his longsword and well-worn baldric. She dressed hurriedly and strapped the sword across her back rather than by her side.

Rianne put her ear to the doors but heard nothing. With the doors locked, the possibility of escaping through the front was moot. And as far as she knew, only two other options remained.

She picked up the high-backed chairs and jammed the doorknobs for added security. Then, Rianne dumped Hagbert off the bed and stripped the sheets and blankets from the mattress. Using the dagger to cut the linen and cloth, Rianne soon made long strips and tied them together, forming a makeshift rope.

Peering through one of the two the narrow recesses, Rianne immediately knew the rope would not reach the seventy or more feet to the ground below. The windows alone were placed fifty feet from the keep's ground level and the steep motte, upon which the keep was constructed, extended the drop to a lethal height.

Grasping the dagger by the hilt, Rianne smashed the window with the pommel. Glass shattered and fell to the ground. Without checking whether any guards would investigate the sound of breaking glass, Rianne tied one end of her sheet-rope to a bedpost and hurled the other through the recess. Judging the size of the window off the cuff, Rianne unstrapped Hagbert's baldric and threw the weapons outside.

Rianne proceeded through the recess, feet-first. Glad she wore trousers rather than dresses or skirts, Rianne wiggled her hips through. Immediately, her body slipped uncontrollably and Rianne let out a surprised yelp. With a grunt, Rianne's shoulders wedged into the recess and left her arms dangling over her head. Fighting the pain spreading across her upper ribs, Rianne dragged herself back into the keep and then slid out one arm at a time.

Finally, Rianne clambered onto the sheets and the glory of morning struck her. Never before had she seen the surrounding fields, or Shadowdeep for that matter, bathed in sunlight, let alone from such a great height. The Tiaquin River sparkled to the south and although she faced west and missed the warm touch of the sun on her face, she could imagine the rejuvenating caress. Grass played in the gentle breeze, refreshing after being trapped for three days. She took in a deep breath, savouring the ghostly scents of Marel's bakery and Listan's smoked-meat shed, the distant bleating of roaming sheep in the fallow fields.

A sharp crash from the room jolted Rianne from her musings and she glanced over her shoulder as the doors shuddered with another battering from her Expatritor guards. Rianne loosened her grip on the cloth and slid down, knot to knot, rubbing her hands raw and slamming her back against the stone walls.

As she descended, she gauged the final drop despite her giddiness of such a height. The palisade stood close to the motte; she spied Hagbert's weapons lying in the grass beyond, and figured the distance would not be impossible to clear.

Rianne reached the end of the sheet-rope. Metallic groans sounded from above; the guards had breached the double doors. Their alarmed shouts grew louder and in her mind's eye, she imagined their swords cutting away her rope and only means of escape.

With a deep breath and a silent prayer to her parents, Rianne launched herself from the keep's wall. Momentarily, her body floated in space.

She fell. Air rushed past her face, pushing her hair back and plunging into her open-mouthed amazement. The absolute freedom birds felt, of ties severed with the ground, the ability to soar above the landscape which stretched in a view she would probably never see again.

The mottled patches of green and grey of Shadowdeep quickly sank and the hints of roads and rivers disappeared. Rianne's attention turned to the ground. Swelling in her vision, the palisade.

Her legs caught and in a fraction of a thought, she panicked. In the next moment, she feared what the sharp crack and wrench in her knees would mean. She twisted as the palisade altered her trajectory and she landed awkwardly on her side, arms splayed out haphazardly. Rianne tumbled uncontrollably down the side of the motte. The ground levelled and she rolled several more times, leaving a patchy trail of blood in the swaying grass. Finally, her body came to rest.

Staring into the rare blue sky, Rianne said, "So, this is what it's like to be dead." Or thought she did. Her voice barely carried to her own ears as an immense throbbing droned in deafening monotony, wiping all other sounds from hearing. But she breathed deeply, twinging at unexpected pains and realised the throbbing she heard was her heartbeat.

Gingerly, Rianne began to move and immediately shards of agony shot through her legs, hips and arms. She whimpered with the effort of lifting her head and the sight of a horribly twisted right leg rewarded her persistence. Rianne felt despair creep into her thoughts, even as she waited for the pain to dull. But far-off calls to arms spurred her into action; she knew subconsciously that with such injuries the unbearable pangs would not subside.

Trembling uncontrollably, Rianne dragged herself towards the longsword and dagger lying in their sheaths, tantalisingly beyond her reach. With every movement, fires seemed to lick at her broken leg. Tears of exhaustion welled in her eyes. Darkness beckoned more invitingly than the possibility of escape; giving in would be so easy. But, Rianne strove forward and ignored the multicoloured sparks which flickered across her vision.

She grabbed the sword and hoisted her shattered body on her good leg, using the longsword as an ungainly crutch. Thoughts of home, of friends and family and childhood flashed with disturbing clarity. She did not want those memories to end on this field.

With shouts and thunderous hooves pounding closer, Rianne hobbled towards the only thing which would keep her safe. The only thing the Expatritors feared. The only thing she feared.

The clawing canopy welcomed her.

Shadowdeep.

#

Rianne awoke to the strangely familiar sounds of good-natured banter and the preparation of the morning meal. Lush vegetation and undergrowth seemed an unlikely location to awake upon; the Deep's usual stark landscape grew into jungle confusion only near the streams found within the heart of the forest. Rianne's last memory consisted of collapsing beside a dead tree stump poking from equally dead ground.

A ragged blanket covered her prone form and as she shifted onto her back, bandages pressed against her various wounds. She stifled a groan as her leg flared but quickly settled into a dull ache. She heard the chatter quieten and footsteps approach. Rianne dared not move in case her broken leg screamed again.

"You're awake. Want something to eat?" A face looked down at her. His unusually pale hair hung in dirty locks and unsettling pale blue eyes beamed cheerfully.

"Yes. Please," Rianne answered sincerely. With the mention of food, her hunger suddenly arose and she had no idea how long she had been unconscious. The man waved at someone out of Rianne's vision and an older woman brought a steaming bowl of what smelled like stew.

"Can you manage to sit up, girl?" the woman asked. She appeared slightly younger than Rianne's own parents and her mannerisms were reminiscient of Juline's motherly pampering of all the townspeople.

"Yes, I think so. I have a name, too," Rianne said.

The man chuckled. He appeared to be far younger than the woman, perhaps only a spring or two older than Rianne. He said, "We all have names. Unfortunately, you've been asleep for the past day, so we haven't had the opportunity to introduce ourselves."

Rianne could not help but smile at his dry comment. As she cautiously sat up, wary of her hips and leg, she said, "My name is Rianne."

The man bowed his head in reply. "I am Delfrasian. Pleased to make your acquaintance." He gestured to the woman, who smiled warmly. "This is Autreya. She has been taking care of you since we found you."

"Thank you."

Autreya nodded in acknowledgment and began spoon-feeding Rianne. Under any other circumstances, Rianne would have resisted such coddling out of sheer embarrassment but her weariness overrode any concern; simply sitting upright sapped her strength unlike any Dhagaram exercise could.

"How is my leg?" Rianne asked.

Delfrasian glanced at Autreya, who nodded solemnly. He replied, "It's fairly mangled. Autreya cleaned the cut on your back and some other wounds but there's not much she can do about your leg."

"What do you mean?" Once again, despair settled in Rianne's gut and she feared the answer.

"It will heal," Autreya said, pausing to stir the stew in the bowl. "But you'll have a limp for the rest of your life."

"A limp?" Rianne said. "Take me to a healer who can set the bones!"

Delfrasian looked away and said, "We can't."

"What do you mean you can't?" Rianne demanded. "Or is it that you won't? What do you want?"

"Please, calm down, Rianne," Autreya said. She offered a spoonful of stew but Rianne knocked the bowl and spoon from Autreya's hands. The stew splashed to the ground and Autreya stood up, shock and fear written in her face. Rianne glared back as the stress of the past several days culminated into rage.

"Where's my sword and dagger?"

Delfrasian backed away a single step and said, "It's probably not best for you to have any weapons around at the moment."

"Answer me!"

"We have them," Delfrasian answered, somewhat carefully.

"Give them back to me!"

Autreya tread around Rianne, tapped Delfrasian on the arm and said, "Maybe we should leave her be for the moment."

Rianne snapped, "Good, I don't want your damnable help or your damnable stew, anyway."

A voice from the centre of the encampment called out, "With an attitude like that, it's a wonder Autreya would want to help you at all."

Rianne tried to see who spoke but her shoulders and neck twinged with an acute tug. Autreya ventured, "Your arm was dislocated at the shoulder."

Rianne took a deep breath. These people held her at their mercy and Rianne done little to win their sympathy. She let her frustration dissipate and called upon a relaxation meditation to calm down, although their response to take her to a healer still puzzled her.

"I'm sorry," Rianne said with unabashed sincerity. "I didn't mean to lose my temper. I do appreciate what you've done for me."

Delfrasian and Autreya appeared pleased with Rianne's apology. "Do you want more of our damnable stew?" Autreya asked innocently.

Rianne smiled and shook her head. "No, thanks. But I would still like to know why you can't take me to a healer."

Autreya retreated to the side and Delfrasian sat, folding his legs underneath him. "We can't take you to a healer because that would mean entering a town," he explained. "Almost all the towns around Brookholm, and probably Guithannan, have Expatritor garrisons. We would be captured and hanged faster than a sparrow flitting from the path."

"You're... wanted?"

"Yes," Delfrasian nodded, "and by judging the construction of your sword, dagger and the baldric, would it be incorrect to say the same of you?"

"I've done nothing wrong!"

For some reason, Delfrasian grinned widely. He said, "Neither have any of us. But that doesn't change the fact that the Expatritors think we have."

Indignant, Rianne insisted, "I am not an outlaw!"

"Is that so?" Delfrasian said. "If you were in perfect health, would you walk back into whichever town you're from? Guessing from where we found you, Tiadri?"

Rianne hesitated. The truth that Hagbert and his comrades still controlled Tiadri, despite Rielov's presence, reminded her of the ease they took prisoners - the ease they hanged outlaws. Returning to the town inhabited by the same Expatritor she escaped from would be risky; Rielov could do only so much to protect her and she did not want to implicate Kieft into her troubles.

Delfrasian must have watched her face fall as Rianne realised her predicament. He said, "Why don't you tell us what happened?"

Rianne raised an eyebrow inquiringly. Delfrasian elaborated, "You're stuck with us, we might as well share stories."

The man had a point, Rianne admitted. "All right, then." She began to talk about Tiadri, her friendship with Kieft and their plans for Brookholm. She did not mention any names specifically - distrust still lurked. As she spoke, Delfrasian's companions moved from the encampment and seated themselves around Rianne, listening to her tale. She spoke about Daerain and Fosten and his parents. She thought it wiser to omit the peculiar rock-creature, but included the Expatritors' demand of Daerain to retrieve Fosten's body. While she told the strangers about her recent life, Rianne felt an exhilaration of freedom never felt before, even though no names were mentioned, only events. Speaking about her fears lifted a black weight from her conscience, although she knew her circumstances would not change simply because she shared her pain.

Continuing with the raid on Tiadri and subsequent events, a question formed in Rianne's mind. She finished, watching the sympathetic reactions in the faces surrounding her. Before she could ask her question, a man said, "I lost my brother in that raid."

Rianne's skin crawled. "You are the bandits who attacked Tiadri?"

Delfrasian quickly said, "No, no! We are not like them."

"Like who?"

Delfrasian shook his head, almost to himself. Regret plastered across his face. Running a nervous hand through his flaxen hair, he said, "There are a few groups, like us, roaming Shadowdeep. In the last week, we have been desperate for food and so were others." He put a hand to his forehead; his companions appeared equally distressed. "We were only supposed to steal some bread, fruit and some vegetables. But when we got into town, they got wild."

"The other outlaws?" Rianne asked.

Her skepticism must have shown, despite herself. Delfrasian replied defensively, "Yes! The other group. By the time we stole what we needed, they had fired a barn and were fighting the garrison."

Rianne examined their tired faces, desperate for so long that their eyes no longer showed any sign of hunger or greed. She said, "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"Look at us!" Delfrasian implored. "Do you think we want another mouth to feed? One that can't walk, let alone help defend our tiny camp?"

"You just have to trust us," Autreya said. "Do you trust us?"

"I don't know you," Rianne answered with simple honesty. "You're all wanted."

Delfrasian leaned closer, smiling grimly. "So are you."

His words bored through her mental defenses, purely set to distrust strangers and criminals. Her resolve crumbled and she could not stop the anguish of her ruined aspirations showing on her face. Delfrasian gently took her hand and said, "It's not so bad."

Rianne looked away. "Please, I'd rather be alone for a while."

Delfrasian nodded understandingly and motioned to the rest of the group. They stood and continued on their daily business while Rianne let her thoughts wander. Strangely, a bizarre thrill ran through her spine when she thought of a life outside of convention, outside of the Expatritors. At the very least, these outlaws seemed willing to help her unconditionally.

At mid-morning, the sun slipped behind low clouds and the usual drab shades returned to Shadowdeep. Autreya approached, carrying several lengths of roughly carved wood. She said, "Styock has fashioned a brace for your leg and some crutches."

Rianne nodded and pulled back the blanket from her legs. Silently thankful her trousers concealed her shattered leg, Rianne allowed Autreya to attach the brace. Rianne winced as pangs shot through her hips when Autreya tightened the straps.

"You'll have to stay in the brace for a while and you won't be able to use the crutches for a week or so until your leg heals over some," Autreya said.

"That's fine," Rianne said with a forced smile. She pushed the pain from her mind, although her leg hurt just as it had upon breaking.

"Are you in pain?" Autreya asked.

Rianne only nodded.

"I wish I knew which plants would help with it," Autreya said.

"You've done enough," Rianne said.

"I'll talk to Azdiem. He might know of some in this area."

"All right," Rianne conceded and Autreya wandered away.

In an effort to distract herself from her leg's torment, Rianne glanced around the camp. Several makeshift shelters, built of branches, mud and leaves, encircled a shallow firepit. The narrow clearing extended only several body-lengths and Rianne realised she lay at the edge of the camp - their distrust understandable, since their own safety depended on caution.

An outlaw working on the shelters noticed her examining the encampment and he nodded at her. He appeared ordinary, even plain - unlike Delfrasian's unusual paleness. He said, "Are you hungry?"

"No," Rianne said, "Just trying not to get lost."

He smiled. Next to the low shelters, he seemed tall and as he moved towards her, his gangly limbs accentuated his height. "I know it's not much. But it's been home for a while now." The man extended a hand. "I'm Thuristen. Sorry to hear about your parents."

Rianne winced mentally; at the moment she did not want to be reminded of her parents' death - or for that matter, anything of her life in Tiadri. She shook his hand and said, "I'm Rianne. Thanks." Changing the subject, she asked, "How long have you been here?"

Thuristen scratched his head. "Oh, we've been at this particular spot for roughly one season."

"You were here during winter?" Rianne asked incredulously. The storms of the winter just past were some of the fiercest she could remember. Goslon - Kieft's father - had lost more livestock than any other year due to freezing nights and storm-ridden days.

Thuristen sat, curling his lanky limbs together. "It wasn't easy but many of the trees here, near the river, are evergreens, so the winds weren't as furious as they might've been further east, near the coast."

"This place doesn't seem like Shadowdeep," Rianne said. The growth appeared too lush. The glimpses beyond the clearing held no foreboding. And Rianne felt safe, a notion she thought would never have been possible.

"Shadowdeep is a big forest," Thuristen said. "I know that the Deep around Tiadri and Argot can be unnerving, but that's just because of the contrasts between the areas that appear like this -", he gestured to their surroundings, " - and the areas that are dead. But don't misunderstand me, Shadowdeep is still dangerous, it doesn't matter if we're here or camped next to a den of wolves." Thuristen paused, lost in thought. He continued, "Did they tell you stories about Shadowdeep when you were a child?"

Rianne nodded. Thuristen's eyes wandered over the surrounding trees and bushes, as if searching for answers. He said, "I too was told stories about Shadowdeep. And I still don't know whether they are truth or fiction. But I'd have to say that until proven otherwise, err on the side of caution. Stay near the fire at night and during the day, don't wander alone."

"How much have you seen of Shadowdeep?" Rianne asked. Daerain had not spoken much about the forest, besides hinting at the dangers which lurked within; nothing specific, only generalities that the bedtime stories also hinted at. Now that Rianne relied on the Deep for food and protection, she wished her former mentor had taught her more.

Thuristen shrugged. For a moment, his youthful face betrayed the life he had led thus far and he appeared older than the mid-twenty springs Rianne had guessed upon greeting him. He said, "Once, Delfrasian and I trekked north for as long as we could manage, simply to see what lay out there. That was last summer. We must have travelled a hundred leagues or more - well past the borders into Eldaros - and all throughout the journey, the Deep appeared as it does here."

"Did you see anything strange?" Rianne asked carefully.

"No, not really," Thuristen said, shaking his head. "Other than the fact the Deep never seemed to end. But, I might add, we never travelled at night."

"What about east or west? South?"

"We can't base ourselves further east," Thuristen answered, "since that would bring us too close to Brookholm and the patrols - both Expatritor and Brookholm army. We'd like to live near the coast but it's far too exposed. As for the west, there's nothing out there except for the small town of Junction where the Lohate and Tiaquin rivers meet. Any further west will bring us into Guithannan's territory and I'd expect the Expatritors there are as unforgiving as they are here.

"And to the south -", he shook his head, "- there's more forest and more mountains."

"Ever thought of crossing the mountains? Or seeing what's further west than Guithannan?" Rianne asked.

"Have you?" Thuristen answered.

Rianne nodded. "Occasionally. Not as often as some people I know."

"Well," Thuristen said, "I'll tell you. Thaella to the south - nothing much to travel for unless you like the cold. Probably more forest, just as it is to the north. And to the west, past Guithannan, over the Stonepeak Ranges? The desert. I've never even been to Guithannan but as far as I know, if you're not Zhandouran you can forget about crossing the desert."

"You make it sound like we're trapped," Rianne said.

Thuristen shrugged apologetically. "Maybe we are. Maybe exploration is not for people like us. At least, not in this life."

Autreya returned with several leaves of varying shapes and sizes in hand. She gave them to Rianne and said, "Here, chew on one of each of these. Azdiem says they will help dull the pain."

"Thank you," Rianne said. She picked out a leaf of each three kinds and popped them into her mouth. Immediately, their bitterness spread across her tongue and she almost spat them out.

"Do they taste bad?" Autreya asked as Thuristen smiled at Rianne's frown.

"Yes, very," Rianne answered. Yet, the acuteness of her pain began receding and she breathed more freely. "What are they?"

Autreya sat beside Thuristen and said, "They're the leaves of oak, deepshade and apple. Is it working?"

Rianne nodded, finally able to relax without pangs emanating from her hip. "Can I ask you something?"

Autreya and Thuristen both nodded. "Of course."

"How did you come to be outlaws?"

Thuristen motioned for Autreya to begin. Rianne turned her attention to the older woman as she spoke. "My family was killed in a fire. My husband and children were trapped inside our cottage in the southern sector of Brookholm. I moved to Solassa to stay with my sister but the Expatritors from Brookholm had always suspected I killed my husband and children. So, they followed me to Solassa. It wasn't even a day before I had to leave, and that's when I met Delfrasian and Thuristen."

"How long have you...?"

Autreya calculated mentally for a moment. "For more than a full turn of seasons."

Rianne could barely imagine living in the wilds for more than a week - but she realised her new companions did so out of necessity, not choice.

"And you, Thuristen?"

The tall young man grinned, his face tinged with both regret and pride. "Six springs."

Rianne glanced incredulously to Autreya, who nodded. Thuristen continued, "I was a thief. Six springs ago, I was caught by a gemstone merchant from Guithannan, who was in Brookholm for the Harvest Festival. I managed to escape, but that merchant and his Expatritor friends keep a wanted poster of my face plastered in the inner district of Brookholm all year round. He said he'd rip my fingers from my hand if he ever saw me again, so I've tended to stay out of the inner district."

"You've gone back there?" Rianne asked.

Thuristen nodded. "Yes, many times. We might have to avoid the surrounding towns but in Brookholm, especially in the outer boroughs, our clothes and unique odour attracts no attention. We could probably stay for several days within the city proper without any Expatritor interference but we've never risked it."

"How do you manage that?"

Thuristen leaned in conspiratorially. "Do you remember our short, dark-haired friends, about your age, they look like brother and sister?" Rianne nodded. She remembered the two when the camp gathered around earlier. Thuristen continued, "Their names are Akruor and Taleatha; they're actually cousins. They grew up in Brookholm as orphans and got to know several important people on the street."

"I see," Rianne said. In Tiadri, Kieft's parents and her own made clear points about the street gangs and crime which plagued the northern sectors of Brookholm. She decided to say nothing of what Thuristen implied. "So, you've been able to get into Brookholm?"

"Yes," Thuristen said. "It's such a big city; as long as we go in ones or twos, the Expatritors who guard the west gates don't get suspicious. The north gates are hardly ever manned; we'd never try the southern entrances. All said, it's easiest in the days leading up to the Harvest Festival."

"Will you be going back to Brookholm soon, then?"

Thuristen looked at Autreya who shrugged in response. Autreya said, "It depends on what Delfrasian thinks."

"Is he in charge?"

"I'm sure he wouldn't say that of himself," Autreya replied. "He's a good leader and smart, even though he's barely older than the cousins, or you, for that matter. Azdiem - you'll meet him later - used to be a Lance in the Brookholm army. He and Del make a good team."

"That is so true," Thuristen said. He pursed his lips for a moment, continuing, "Before he and the cousins left to hunt, Del said something about your weapons."

Rianne's mouth curled into a tiny smile. "Yes, he said I shouldn't have them near me."

"No, no, it wasn't that."

Autreya interrupted, "Azdiem said something about it too. When he told me about those leaves, he said that your weapons and baldric were of Expatritor construction."

"That's right," Rianne said.

"Well," Autreya continued, "you know how Expatritors feel about their equipment. In particular, their swords."

"You think they will be after it?"

"Azdiem is sure."

Thuristen added, "Delfrasian wants us to patrol. That's something we've never done before. If we're discovered, we're all dead. Who knows, we might have to smuggle you into Brookholm to keep you safe."

With the mention of smuggling and patrols, Rianne became overwhelmed with obligation towards these near-strangers - such efforts for a young woman who could not walk. A bloom of suspicion began to grow but Rianne hid her thoughts with sincere gratitude. "You've all done so much for me already," Rianne said. "Why?"

Autreya and Thuristen silently consulted one another. They shrugged, disregarding whatever might have stopped them. Autreya said, "We've all been having these dreams. Not the exact same dream but the same kind of dream - no visions or sounds, just feelings. Delfrasian has had a recurring dream of `someone drowning in the flesh of earth'. His words, exactly. And that's how he always described it, although he never saw this `flesh of earth' or who this person was.

"That is, until we found you."

"Me?" Rianne asked.

"That's right," Autreya said. "You. He said something clicked, something between you and that dream."

Rianne stared at her broken leg and mulled over what she had been told. She had never put much stock into prophecies and dreams - they were best left to minstrel's tales and bedtime stories. 'Drowning in the flesh of earth' sounded like the exact words of a travelling soothsayer - or a con-artist.

Thuristen quietly excused himself and returned to mending the primitive shelters while Autreya began preparing the midday meal. Yet, what Delfrasian had apparently said felt comforting, as if his words reassured Rianne not only of her worth outside Tiadri but her future; she never believed fate or destiny controlled her actions, bringing her to a predetermined place and time in her life. The earlier anticipation returned - but, she silently qualified, such a life outside convention would present a constant struggle. Her anticipation fell away.

#

The blade whistled through the air and stopped dead, a hair's breadth from Kieft's skull.

"Kieft! Pay attention!" Rielov snapped and the young man's eyes returned to the present.

Kieft frowned and rubbed his forehead. "I'm sorry. I was just thinking of Rianne."

Rielov lowered his weapon and nodded understandingly. He said, "Take a short break. Gather yourself." Kieft sheathed his practice sword and handed the scabbard to Rielov. Kieft followed the Zhandouran captain to the barracks and they sat on the benches set against the walls of the quarters.

Kieft wiped the sweat from his arms and face and cast his eyes to the grey skies. Since Rianne's arrest, he had unofficially reapprenticed to the garrison, much to the dismay of his mother. His father's reaction had been more difficult to gauge but Kieft guessed memories of Atheisia remained unmentioned for good reason.

Rielov had said his progress with weapons impressed many of the army Brands and Lances, while his physical conditioning advanced with just as much promise. Kieft only wished Rianne could be training alongside him. She would have appreciated the finer points of warfare, comparing them to Daerain's teachings of Dhagara. Kieft had spent little time learning from Daerain, due to chores and duties around the farm, but he suspected similarities between the Dhagaram and the Zhandouran ran through both their philosophies of life and combat. Rianne would have known for certain. Perhaps at this moment she stared at the same grey skies, wishing for the chance.

"Do you think of her often?" Rielov asked, reclining against the barracks wall.

"Yes," Kieft said. "Probably too often."

"Understandable. You were friends for a long time, correct?"

Kieft nodded with a nostalgic smile. "For as long as I can remember."

"I have friends like that. I had to leave them though, to become a guard."

Kieft glanced at the captain. The Zhandouran rarely spoke of his life before working in Brookholm and Kieft never thought it polite to intrude without a conversational opening. "Why did you leave?"

"Many reasons," Rielov said. He crossed a leather boot across his opposite knee and continued, "I think you and I are not dissimilar because my first wish was to see the world. My second was to see what my people struggled against and why."

"What do you mean `struggled against'?" Kieft asked.

"You know of the Expatritors' feelings of the Zhandoura?" Rielov asked. Kieft nodded. The captain continued, "This is not something which arose recently but something which has always been, for as long as the Skychaser tribe and others can remember. The story is long but suffice to say, the Expatritors' coming campaign into the Arjezeh desert is not new - although, the Circle of Seven's involvement is."

"My father says that the Circle should have sent the Brookholm army."

"Yes, the Circle's decision is strange - yet, I find the Saeculus' reactions stranger still."

Kieft said, "The Expatritors aren't happy to attack your people?"

"They always have been gleeful to do so in the past but it was always on their own terms," Rielov answered. "The Expatritors bristle at being told what to do. Is this why they are stalling? I do not know."

Kieft sat silent for a moment, relishing the respite and letting his mind wander. He asked, "If the Circle of Seven had sent the Brookholm army instead of the Expatritors to the desert, would you have fought?"

Rielov glanced at Kieft and grinned. "You have a devious mind, Kieft." The Zhandouran ran a palm across his shaved head and sighed. "No, I would have resigned my post if such a situation arose. My commitment to the Circle is great but I will not kill my own people."

"Are there many Zhandourans in the army? Do they all have commands?" Kieft asked.

"As far as I know, I am the only Zhandouran captain in the Brookholm army but I know of several Zhandouran Lances. I cannot vouch for Lord Martreas' force in Guithannan but I know more of my people work as private guards than as soldiers."

Kieft rested his head against the barracks wall. "There are no Zhandouran Expatritors are there?"

Rielov chuckled and shook his head. "No. That would be the end of the world, I am sure."

"For the Zhandourans or the Expatritors?" Kieft asked with a spritely smile.

"For both," Rielov answered. "Besides, the Expatritors know nothing which the Zhandourans do not already."

"So, if you were to fight Hagbert or Durevel?"

"Even if I were to fight both at the same time, I would live and they would die," Rielov said without a trace of pride or exaggeration. Kieft inadvertently raised an eyebrow and Rielov smiled. The Zhandouran added, "Dhagaram are not the only ones who learn of Dhagara."

The defiance Captain Rielov always displayed when the Expatritors appeared on their horses became clear. Such confidence stemmed from his certainty the Expatritors were no better than any other person - a fundamental principle of Dhagara which even Kieft knew. On the other hand, Kieft wondered where the Expatritors' contempt of Zhandourans stemmed from.

"I wish for once that I could resist the urge to run from the Expatritors every time they appear on their horses," Kieft said.

"Yes," Rielov said, "they find enjoyment in intimidating others."

Kieft sighed. "I wish I could just walk up to their keep and demand to see Rianne."

"What is stopping you?" Rielov asked.

"I don't know," Kieft said. His hands already shook at the mention of confronting the Expatritors. "I'm scared."

Rielov suddenly stood. "Follow me."

"Where?" Kieft asked.

The Zhandouran hauled the young man off the bench and onto his feet. "Let us ask at the keep." Kieft stuttered reluctance but Rielov cut him off, "I am as concerned as you are. We must ask as a matter of honour."

Kieft stumbled forward and the captain steadied his pupil by the arm. They began marching towards the inner gates which led to the motte and keep constructed within. Rielov handed one of the practice swords to Kieft and motioned to strap the baldric on. The captain said, "I do not see why you fear these Expatritors."

The inner gates stood open and as the pair passed through, Kieft answered, "I think I fear what they could do if I angered them. They took Rianne and we had no power to stop them."

"Has it always been like that?" Rielov asked. "The only Expatritors I know of in the Arjezeh desert are dead ones."

The pair halted before the keep's oaken portal which remained closed. Kieft adjusted his baldric and answered, "As far as I know. Ever since I was a child, my father always said to stay clear of the Expatritors and let them do their job."

A breeze picked up and Rielov squinted as he said, almost recited, "If it has always been, then perhaps it may not always be." Even as Kieft frowned with the Zhandouran's underlying meaning, the captain rapped on the keep's gate. Hollow echoes resounded through the oak and Kieft began panicking; no townsperson had ever seen inside the Expatritor keep before, let alone demanded answers about a prisoner.

The two waited patiently while nothing seemed to stir within the keep or atop the battlements. The tickling in Kieft's gut subsided as several magpies flew overhead. "Maybe we should go," he suggested but Rielov merely held up a hand and stayed put.

Faintly through the gate, Kieft heard footsteps approach. They ceased abruptly. The spyhole slid open and a pair of suspicious eyes peered out. "Who goes there?"

Rielov gently nudged Kieft and the young man blurted, "I want to see Rianne." Immediately, Kieft winced at his tone and the eyes narrowed in response.

The spyhole slammed shut. Kieft cast a questioning glance at Rielov but the Zhandouran shrugged, apparently at a loss.

The wicket swung open with a screech. Durevel stepped outside and the door closed behind him. The Expatritor did not bother to greet Rielov, ignoring the Zhandouran as though the captain's stature impressed no one. "Rianne is with us no longer, boy," Durevel said.

Kieft frowned at being called a `boy' - not more than five springs separated them - and rested a hand on the hilt of his practice sword as he asked, "Where is she?"

Durevel seemed not to notice the weapon at Kieft's side nor his aggressive stance. The Expatritor said, "Gone!"

"Tell me where!" Kieft demanded.

"Or what?" Durevel responded. "You'll poke me in the eye with that walking-stick?"

Kieft's right hand quivered in mid-air. Sweat poured from his left, gripping the hilt of his sword in white-knuckled anticipation. Durevel, wearing only tunics yet still bearing his longsword, stood slightly taller and appeared almost disinterested; his hands hung freely by his side as if nothing were untoward. Their eyes locked.

Rielov laid a gentle hand on Kieft's shoulder and Kieft backed away, relaxing from his stance. His gut fluttered in relief; his instincts had urged him to run but concentrating on the sword and the anticipation of combat kept him from doing so - even though Durevel would have killed him before his practice sword left the sheath.

Captain Rielov stepped forward and looked down upon Durevel as if the Expatritor's ability to speak amused the Zhandouran no end. "Do not test my patience, Expatritor. Tell me where Rianne is and answer directly."

Durevel casually cast his eyes from Kieft to Rielov and said, "We released the girl and she left town. It is not my fault she didn't inform her little boyfriend but considering last week, who could blame her?"

"Expatritor Hagbert and five others riding from town had nothing to do with her?"

"Expatritor business, Zhandouran," Durevel said smoothly.

Without a word, Rielov turned away from Durevel and motioned for Kieft to follow. As the two headed down the motte, Kieft heard Durevel snort to himself and return to the keep's shelter. Although Rielov stayed silent while they reentered the bailey, the Zhandouran's frustration showed in his usually stoic expression.

"I'm sorry, Kieft."

"What for?" Kieft asked. Rielov had supported Kieft when others gave up, especially concerning Rianne in the past week. His parents had gently implied Rianne would be executed or sent to Brookholm to be imprisoned for her parents' death and although Goslon and Allena cared for Rianne as their own daughter, their attitude towards the Expatritors remained as it always did - let them do their job.

The Zhandouran rested his hands against his hips and shook his head, almost to himself. "I am afraid we have lost Rianne."

"If she has left Tiadri, then I think I know where she has gone," Kieft said.

"Where?"

"Brookholm," Kieft answered. "On the morning of the raid, after the bandits were driven away, she said she wanted us to leave for Brookholm the next day."

Rielov appeared thoughtful but a sliver of doubt crept in his voice. "Do you believe that is where she has gone?" Kieft nodded but while he acted with confidence, the fact Rianne did not speak with him marred an otherwise clear certainty. Rielov asked, "Will you go then?"

"I will," Kieft replied.

"And your parents? Your family?"

Kieft's heart sank into hollowness as he thought of the effect on his family. "It won't be completely unexpected. I've said that I wanted to move to Brookholm before - now I have a good reason other than my own."

Rielov grunted in agreement. "Very well. Come with me." Kieft followed Rielov towards Aedwell's smithy but they merely waved and nodded at the town's grizzly blacksmith and entered an adjacent structure.

Before Kieft's eyes adjusted to the gloom, Rielov asked, "Give me your practice sword." Kieft unbuckled the baldric and handed the weapon to the captain. Gradually, Kieft's vision adjusted to the murk of the room and his eyes widened in amazement.

"What is this place?"

Rielov carefully placed the practice sword on a wooden rack alongside other weapons and replied, "This is our armoury."

All manner of weaponry and armour adorned the walls and racks which crammed the single-room structure. Much of the equipment shone with exotic design Kieft could only guess as Guithannian in origin. "Rianne would have loved to have seen this."

"I can guess," Rielov said with a regretful smile.

"What is this?" Kieft asked, pointing at a metallic contraption with fierce spikes.

"Glorified steel knuckles," the Zhandouran replied. "A popular weapon in arena combat."

"Arena combat?"

Rielov nodded, moving through the room, admiring and critically examining the equipment all at once. "In the arena, all warriors are equal. Expatritors are so enamoured of formations, etiquette and conduct, none would survive the arena."

"Don't the Zhandoura have rules of combat?"

"Yes," Rielov replied. "If an enemy bears a weapon against you, your family or friends, then you may kill your enemy."

Kieft smiled despite the Zhandouran's blunt description of warfare. "So, where are these pieces from?"

"From Aedwell's hammer," Rielov replied. Kieft raised an eyebrow inquiringly and the captain elaborated, "They are Zhandouran in design but Aedwell was happy to modify what equipment we had or in some cases, create new pieces for the garrison." Rielov hefted a spiked tower shield and continued, "When I said the Expatritors knew nothing the Zhandoura did not already know, I meant it."

Rielov pointed at a finely wrought chain, no thicker than Kieft's little finger, draped across a mace rack. At several intervals on each end of the chain, narrow blades hung, glittering in the sickly afternoon light. "Would you believe a Zhandouran wielding that chain would be able to defeat three fully-armoured Expatritors?"

"It's a weapon?" Kieft said incredulously. He had seen street-side entertainers in Brookholm's market district perform amazing rope tricks but using a rope or chain as a weapon simply seemed impossible.

"There is a plant in the Arjezeh desert called the thornbrush. The stems extend outward from its centre like a spider's web and the thorns which grow on the stems are as sharp as any dagger. Animals are cut by the thorns and the blood which falls upon the stems flow along narrow channels towards the centre of the plant, feeding it. If the animal is not careful, the many thorns may cut an animal further and cause it to bleed to death. A careful Zhandouran can sever a stem and use it as a weapon or remove the thorns for other purposes.

"Like the thornbrush, the weapon inflicts wounds which may be small and inconsequential on their own -"

"But they all combine," Kieft finished.

"That is correct," Rielov said. "Remember in a fight, you are still but a novice, so be like the thornbrush and let your enemy wound and tire themselves. And when they are weakened, pounce."

Kieft bowed from the neck, grateful for the advice, and said, "I will."

"I want to give you something before you leave," Rielov said. He moved through the room, searching.

"I hope it's not the thornbrush chain," Kieft said with a wide smile. Rielov grinned in reply and selected a wooden implement. As he brought the weapon to Kieft, light reflected from sections of the sword-like shape. "What is it?" The `blade' of the weapon curved in a slight crescent and from the slim shape, Kieft assumed the weapon kept only one edge.

"It is a sword of white oak," Rielov explained. "It has metal reinforcement at the tip and the edges and a metal guard and pommel. But it is carved from a single piece of Shadowdeep white oak - you'll find it a fraction of the weight of even a shortsword."

"The edge isn't live," Kieft pointed out.

"True," Rielov said. "It may be just a club disguised as a sword, but -," he flourished the sword with a whirl, "- you'll find it just as effective. Try to catch blades on the metal and parry, don't block."

Kieft's breath caught as Rielov laid the oak sword across the young man's outstretched hands. "Thank you, Captain Rielov." Then, with a strange impulse, Kieft set aside the sword, placed his palms together before his body and bowed deeply, just as Daerain had upon first meeting the Zhandouran.

Rielov put his hands on Kieft's shoulders and appeared teary-eyed, although Kieft knew the Zhandouran would rather die than admit he became emotional about his apprentice leaving. In his outlandish accent and authoritative baritone, Rielov said, "Good luck, Kieft."

Kieft left the garrison and walked through the town, wondering when he would return. He waved at fellow residents as they rode by on wagons, weary from the day in the fields. The sounds of children counting out loud drifted across the street and the aromas of Juline's evening tavern meal wafted from the inn. Homesick pangs ached in Kieft's stomach and he hurried through the town centre. The buildings and faces he saw, the voices he heard, the mixed odours of farm animals and damp dirt all seemed to implore him to stay. The daily rituals of Tiadri's citizens at the end of the day continued and Kieft soon found himself running towards the family farm.

He jogged past the low front fence and entered the house. Without stopping, he climbed the staircase to the room he shared with Calette and began packing his meagre belongings into a canvas bag. As he expected, the bag filled only half-way; he tied off the end and slung the sack over his shoulder. Kieft slipped a small knife into his boot and took a final look at his room. He wedged his oak sword across the sack and headed downstairs.

In the kitchen, Kieft found his mother preparing the evening meal and his sister Andryn washing clothes on the back porch. He stood in the doorway for a moment, unsure of what to say. The rhythmic chopping of his mother's knife and the swish of water soothed Kieft's nerves. Droplets of water sprayed onto the dry floorboards as Andryn scrubbed grimy wool and cloth. Kieft smiled as the occasional soapsud hit Andryn in the eye and she grimaced, but continued washing nevertheless.

Kieft took a single step into the kitchen and his mother immediately glanced up at his footfall. "Kieft!" Then, his mother saw the sack, the oak sword and Kieft's solemn expression.

"Mother," Kieft began, but then did not finish as his mother's face fell to shock. At the sound of the exchange, Andryn stepped into the kitchen, arms covered in soapy water.

"Kieft," she said with a bemused expression. "Where do you think you're going?"

Kieft took a deep breath and pushed aside his misgivings about leaving his home and family. "I have to go to Brookholm."

Finally, their mother spoke, "To Brookholm? Why?"

"I have to find Rianne," Kieft replied. Andryn visibly sighed as if she dismissed Kieft's statement as yet another of her little siblings' grand plans that never materialised. Kieft ignored his sister; their mother's face stayed furrowed.

"You're going now?" she asked.

"Yes, mother," Kieft said.

Allena wiped her hands on her apron and simply stared at Kieft. He alternately glanced at the floor and at his mother's face. Not for the first time, he clearly saw the wrinkles around his mother's eyes which were born of worry for Atheisia. All the while, Andryn stayed silent. He could never guess what his mother thought at any given moment, but whether or not she approved, Kieft intended to leave.

Allena said, "Be careful."

"Mother!" Andryn protested as their mother stepped forward to embrace Kieft.

"What is it, Andryn?"

"You're letting him go?"

Their mother sighed and then smiled wistfully. "Andryn, if I didn't let him go, Kieft would still leave. At least this way, he has my blessing." She hugged Kieft and planted several kisses on his cheek and forehead.

"If he is allowed to go, why can't I?" Andryn almost pleaded.

Kieft replied, "Because you don't want to." Andryn looked away and said nothing more. Almost all the women in Tiadri of a similar age were married; Andryn, even with her blonde hair in a dark-haired family, still waited.

"Say goodbye to your brother, Andryn," their mother said and Andryn reluctantly hugged Kieft. But when she pulled away, Kieft noticed her eyes filled with moisture. He pinched her cheek and grinned - a long-running joke from the days Andryn first tried make-up - and his sister smiled. She turned away and wiped her eyes dry.

"Do you need cirrens?" Allena asked.

"No," Kieft said.

"Are you leaving now?"

"Yes."

"You'd best hurry."

"What about father?" Kieft asked. "And Calette and -"

"Don't worry, I will tell them." His mother bustled him towards the front door and shoved a loaf of bread and several fruits into Kieft's hands. "Go; you still have a couple hours of daylight left. Find her."

Kieft stepped outside and onto the meadering path of the front yard; one of their sheepdogs nuzzled his hand. He slowed and scratched her behind the ears.

"Be a good girl, Cassi." Kieft looked over his shoulder and waved at his sister and mother. He turned onto the road and his home disappeared from sight.

#

Rianne shifted closer to the fire and wrapped her tattered cloak tighter. Dusk brought back the memory of searching the Deep for Fosten. Shadows played across the clearing, cast from both the flickering orange glow and the fading sun which gradually disappeared under the treeline.

Styock leaned forward and stirred the concoction bubbling in the pot. The firelight accentuated his lined face as he tended to the stew. Although his culinary skills left much to be desired, Autreya had left with Delfrasian, Thuristen and the cousins on a scouting expedition and of those who remained only Styock dared to try his hand at cooking.

Rianne sighed. She would never be used to living like this but looking at the faces around her - Azdiem, his friends Grith and Vasef - the others apparently had made the best of their situation. Azdiem, a former Lance of the Brookholm army, kept watch on the camp and immediate surrounds. Grith and Vasef, two of the older outlaws and also former soldiers, eagerly awaited Styock's impromptu brew despite the older man's previous admission of ignorance in the culinary arts.

"Is it ready?" Grith asked Styock.

"Not unless you like crunchy greens."

"Oh." Grith sat back and scratched his armpit. Like everyone else, dirt stained his clothes and skin. His hair rose in thick wild mats. Rianne had only been able to wash with the assistance of Autreya; her wounds were cleaned more often than she was. The slightest twinge of envy rose when Grith said, "I'm going to take a quick bath. Call me when it's ready."

He meandered from the clearing, towards the stream nearby. Soon, raucous off-key singing floated through the camp as Styock checked the pot again.

"Damn it," Azdiem muttered. "He'll give us away." He started towards the stream but Vasef stopped him.

"Leave him be," Vasef said. "Anyone close enough to suffer his talentless voice will be close enough to see the fire in any case." Azdiem grunted and returned to his post. Vasef added, "Besides, who would be wandering the Deep at this time?"

Rianne barely discerned the words of Grith's rendition. "What is it he's singing?"

"The tale of the Dry Keg," Styock said, smiling. "I remember my first drink at a tavern, back in Brookholm. Everyone was singing the Dry Keg and I drank so much ale, the next morning I wasn't hungover, I was still drunk."

Vasef and Azdiem chuckled. Rianne smiled as she remembered sneaking her first mug of ale with Kieft but the memories of home resurfaced with sorrow. For days, she had buried her old life with the stories of her new companions. Feeling sorry for everyone else seemed easier than reminding herself she could never return to Tiadri.

"Did you have lessons the next day?" she asked.

Styock shook his head, grinning. "No. It was the first day of my apprenticeship to a stonemason. He was not as impressed as my friends were."

"I thought you were a carpenter," Azdiem said.

"Yes," Styock explained, "The stonemason died, the old sod, so I found a new trade. I was a lot better with wood than with stone. But I did enjoy working with granite and marble and even Brookholmer sandstone. Constructing buildings meant I could work with both." He grew silent and stirred the stew. Rianne had learned earlier that the home of a wealthy merchant had collapsed and Styock, as the head builder, had received most of the blame. Rather than face imprisonment, Styock fled Brookholm and left his eldest children to support the family. Due to the group's furtive visits to Brookholm, Styock was able to keep in contact with his wife and children - which was more than others could say of their families who were either dead or had moved on.

Grith's voice continued drifting in the evening and the group retreated to their own thoughts. Styock began serving the stew in their battered wooden bowls and Azdiem headed towards the stream to retrieve Grith. As Rianne, Vasef and Styock began eating, Delfrasian and Thuristen appeared.

"Hush," Thuristen called over his shoulder. "You three make more noise than a gaggle of children!"

Rianne greeted the two and they immediately helped themselves to the stew. Autreya and the cousins - Akruor and Taleatha - emerged from the woods just as Azdiem and Grith returned. Autreya peered into the pot with a critical gaze before serving more portions for the latecomers.

"Next time, we leave the cousins behind," Thuristen said to Delfrasian. Taleatha giggled and nudged Akruor, who promptly spilt a bowl of stew into the fire with a wet hiss. As the flames threatened to extinguish, Thuristen swore and the cousins erupted into gales of laughter.

Taleatha pulled an indignant Thuristen to her side while Azdiem revived the fire. Taleatha wrapped an arm around Thuristen and Autreya chatted with Styock about his attempt at cooking. Azdiem settled back with a bowl, one amongst the group and asked, "Well?"

"Thuristen fell face-first into boar droppings," Delfrasian said. Taleatha and Akruor laughed again and even Autreya muffled her chuckles with a mouthful of stew.

The flaxen-haired man placed his bowl on the ground and continued in a sombre tone, "They are still out there. But it seems they're treading on the same ground as before."

"Expatritors?" Rianne asked. Delfrasian and Thuristen had first spied the warriors conducting searches of smaller settlements and even the edges of Shadowdeep several days before. Eventually, they learned from townspeople that the Expatritors searched for someone matching Rianne's description who bore Expatritor weapons.

Delfrasian nodded. "They seem to have hired some help. But even six Expatritors on their own would decimate us if they ever found this camp."

"Are they closing in?" Styock asked.

"They still stay out of Shadowdeep, for the most part," Delfrasian said. "But I've seen them ride in during the day. At night, they retreat."

"We have to move, don't we?" Azdiem said and Delfrasian slowly nodded. Rianne read the expressions of the group as Delfrasian confirmed Azdiem's fears.

She said, "I can walk."

Thuristen pushed away his empty bowl and said, "We would never suggest leaving one of our own behind, Rianne."

"But she will move slower than the rest of us," Grith pointed out. "Especially over the kind of terrain this deep into the forest."

"We'll deal with that when we come to it," Delfrasian said. "First, we have to decide our heading."

The group began discussing various options and Rianne became overwhelmed with the details of towns she had barely heard of before, and several she had not. Between them, the group knew of all the outlying settlements of Brookholm, including many of the cottages and cabins secluded from even the outlying towns. They even spoke about Tiadri but Rianne bluntly stated that any settlement between Tiadri and Brookholm would crawl with Expatritors who would recognise her instantly. Akruor and Thuristen toyed with ideas of circumnavigating those towns through the Deep but serious discussion concentrated on westerly movements and the level of Expatritor presence.

Delfrasian and Azdiem bandied several names about and the others spouted everything they knew of each settlement. Eventually, they chose Eltarin, a town several days travel to the west - compensating for Rianne's injuries. From what Thuristen said, Eltarin's remoteness from both Brookholm and other outlying towns meant that few Expatritors were garrisonned locally.

Delfrasian warned the group, "When we need to head into the town centre, be careful. Few Expatritors means lawlessness."

Styock smiled wryly at Azdiem who shrugged. Delfrasian jerked his chin at the former soldier. "No brawling." Azdiem nodded. Delfrasian shot a glance at Thuristen and added, "No gambling." Thuristen face fell in mock disappointment.

Delfrasian met the eyes of his friends and when he looked at Rianne, she thought she saw regret in his gaze. But then his eyes moved to Autreya. "Let's get an early start tomorrow," he said and everyone murmured their agreement. The group rolled out their ragged blankets while Thuristen took the first watch.

Rianne lay back and her leg twinged. She shifted until she could relax without sharp pains. Thuristen banked the fire and Rianne closed her eyes to the warmth.

#

Delfrasian held up a fist and Rianne sighed with relief. With the help of Akruor, she sat on a mossy rock. Thuristen soon joined the three and took a swig from a waterskin. Azdiem led the first group ahead of Rianne and the three who, in essence, protected her. The others had probably reached Eltarin already; two more long days of hobbling through gullies and skittering down embankments still loomed ahead of Rianne.

Delfrasian led their group, alternately scouting for the easiest path and watching for possible attacks. Thuristen and Akruor took turns in assisting Rianne and guarding the rear, although the lanky self-professed thief admitted his best offence was most often a hasty departure. Akruor delighted in bearing Rianne's stolen longsword and dagger while the Brookholmer, in the meantime, gave his worn mace to Thuristen.

Wiping sweat away, Rianne asked Delfrasian, "What is it?"

He peered into the woodlands before answering, "It's nothing, I think." He looked into the sky, past the lush canopy. "We have about six more hours. Let's go."

Rianne glanced up but saw only grey clouds beyond the trees. How Delfrasian judged the time she did not know, but his estimate felt accurate. She hoisted herself onto her feet and the group set off.

Delfrasian took the lead again and soon his clothes melded into the vegetation beyond, leaving only a bobbing head of white-blond hair weaving between the greens and browns. Thuristen stayed by Rianne's side, holding aside branches and kicking sticks from her path. Behind them, Akruor skulked, watching their trail and masking their passing as well as he could. Rianne hobbled onwards, ignoring the ache in her shoulders and the flaring pain in her broken leg whenever it brushed against her right crutch.

The group marched through a narrow rift - a cleft in the ground as if a gargantuan axe had split the earth. Wispy roots poked from the crusted ground which rose up on both sides. Above them, plants grew as normal and a crack of light filtered through. They emerged from the rift and Rianne glanced over her shoulder. A massive hill met her sight, although she could not fathom why it remained parted down the middle. Neither Akruor nor Thuristen seemed perturbed by the peculiarity; Rianne guessed they had seen stranger in the bizarre forest.

After a brief rest they continued, occasionally crossing odd clearings devoid of all but waist-high grass. As Delfrasian led them through the third such clearing, Thuristen spotted a large hive hanging from a beech, barely out of reach. He waved Akruor and Rianne ahead.

"What is he planning?" Rianne asked Akruor.

"He's probably goin' to rile them up," Akruor answered with his thick Brookholm commoner accent. Rianne sometimes had trouble understanding Akruor and Taleatha's north Brookholm accent. Rianne had only ever visited the market district in the west of Brookholm where citizens spoke in neutral accents similar to the townships.

"Why?"

"Well," Akruor explained, "he'll throw rocks at it - from a distance, mind you. And then he'll run like a mad boar. If there's anyone followin' us, the wasps will attack them and maybe we'll hear 'em when they start screaming."

"From wasps?" Rianne asked incredulously.

Akruor nodded. "These wasps are as big as your finger. And their stings kind of hurt, especially when they're long enough to go right through your arm and out the other side."

Rianne widened her eyes in amazement. Akruor voiced her very thoughts, "As far as I know, the old children's tales about Shadowdeep aren't that far from the truth."

The pair continued, following Delfrasian, and soon they heard Thuristen sprinting back. A silly grin spread across his face as he took up the rearguard.

The afternoon light began fading and Delfrasian led them towards the nearest creek - a surprisingly swift, deep stream with both steep and shallow banks. Reeds and water-lillies grew in the shallows and various rocks formed backwaters and rapids along the stream's course. Eventually, the light became too dim to navigate by, blocked by the Deep's vegetation.

Delfrasian headed from the stream and halted a short stone's throw away. Thuristen unpacked a half loaf of bread and several fruits which were picked during the day's journey. He distributed the meagre offerings between the four, leaving only the barest portions for the next day, and they sat on the cold ground to eat.

"No fire," Delfrasian said and everyone nodded. Yet another cold night, but the risk of discovery by pursuers outweighed their own comfort or protection from wild beasts. He added, "Do we need to clean your wounds, Rianne?"

"Yes," Rianne answered.

Autreya had always tended to her wounds but she had gone ahead with Azdiem; Delfrasian read Rianne's apprehension well. He said, "If it can wait until tomorrow when Autreya can clean them..."

"No, it's okay," Rianne said. "It's just my back and leg. Nothing to get excited about."

Delfrasian smiled and helped her up. He said to Thuristen, "Set up a basic perimeter. You can take first watch, I'll take second and Akruor the last." The tall man nodded and disappeared into the woods. Akruor rolled out his blankets and lay down while Delfrasian led Rianne to the stream.

Rianne lowered herself onto a log by the water and set her crutches by her side. The last of the day's sun sparkled on the stream's surface and Rianne took a deep breath, the smell of wet earth and running water all pervasive. If only she could stay and watch the sun play off the water every day - but she knew such a fancy impossible for as long as Hagbert pursued her. Delfrasian crouched next to her and asked, "What first?"

"My back." Rianne peeled the tunic from her body, exposing her shoulders and thin bodice. Cold evening air brushed across her skin, raising goosebumps as she hunched forward. Delfrasian gasped softly.

"What is it?"

"How did you receive this cut?" he asked.

"When the bandits attacked Tiadri."

"No, I mean, was it a sword?"

"Yes," Rianne answered. "My own sword. Is it bleeding?"

"Not anymore," Delfrasian said.

Rianne continued, "You'll have to undo the bodice's back to remove the bandage."

Delfrasian said nothing but Rianne felt his light fingers untie the knot and loosen the bodice's string. Her back finally relaxed and her wound eased after an entire day covered in cloth. Delfrasian removed the bandage and Rianne shivered as another light breeze swept across her naked back.

"I won't be a moment," Delfrasian said. He stepped into the stream and began washing the bloody bandage. He squeezed the cloth dry and used it to clean the cut on her back. Delfrasian returned to the stream to wash the cloth again. Rianne watched him with a tiny smile growing on her lips. In some ways, Delfrasian's attention to detail reminded her of Kieft.

Delfrasian placed the cloth across the cut and retied the bodice, effectively keeping the bandage from moving until the next day. He washed and cleaned Rianne's leg with the same tenderness. More than once, Rianne stifled utterances of agony as her leg shifted awkwardly. She wished her leg to be healed and done with - limp or not. But finally, the wounds were cleansed and Delfrasian reattached the brace and tightened the straps according to Rianne's satisfaction.

He began heading back to the cold camp but stopped when Rianne did not move. She said, "You go on." Delfrasian hesitated, then nodded. As he left, Rianne sighed. She watched the stars gradually appear overhead, twinkling in the inky blue. Crickets and frogs began calling in earnest while birds settled for the night. With the sound of flowing water at her feet, she could imagine Kieft sitting by her side, pitching stones at trees growing on the opposite bank. He would hit them with a thunk and cheer for himself. Then, she would push him into the water, laughing.

Rianne blinked slowly and her mind's image faded. She grabbed her crutches, stood, and limped back to camp.

#

"Wake up!"

Rianne snapped awake to a rough hand yanking her to her feet. In the pitch darkness, she barely recognised Thuristen shoving the crutches into her hands. Off to the side, Delfrasian hissed, "Into the water and stay there."

"What's going on?" Rianne asked as Thuristen herded her towards the stream.

"Expatritors. Pre-dawn attack," he answered.

Rianne took a hesitant step into the water. "Won't the wood warp?"

"Styock makes things to last," Thuristen said, "I'm sure he treated the wood." He led Rianne to a clump of reeds and added quietly, "If he didn't, we're dogmeat."

Rianne followed Thuristen's lead and lay stomach-down in the water, leaving only their heads bobbing between the reeds. Thuristen scraped a handful of mud from the bank and smeared the earth across his face. He motioned for Rianne to do the same and said, "No matter what happens, we stay quiet."

"What if Akruor and Delfrasian need help?"

Thuristen said nothing and simply put a finger across his lips. He parted the reeds slightly, clearing a view of their camp. Rianne frowned to herself, more concerned about Thuristen's reticence than the other two's safety. She turned her attention to the camp and saw Delfrasian scamper up an oak with such incredible grace that she could not be sure if he climbed or floated to the higher branches. And when he became still, Rianne could not distinguish him from the bark.

Akruor crouched behind thick bushes, hidden from casual view. He clutched Hagbert's longsword with two hands. The night remained dark and no light reflected from the blade as they waited for the attack.

Rianne heard the chatter and swearing long before their pursuers came into view. From the murky woods, four men appeared, bearing clubs of varying sizes.

"I definitely think it was about here!" one said.

"What do you know, you goat-brained fool," said another. Their accents sounded familiar; Rianne felt certain the men hailed from outside Brookholm.

"Quiet, quiet!" The two bickering men fell silent and their leader said, "Search the area and then move on."

With sullen obedience, the three subordinates began wandering around, poking bushes and peering into the darkness. Rianne held her breath as one neared Akruor. Another passed underneath Delfrasian without a glance skyward. The men continued searching and Rianne relaxed. Beside her, she felt Thuristen sigh.

Suddenly, boots squelched into the mud, barely a body-length before Rianne and Thuristen. Rianne dared to shift her gaze up and she instantly recognised the bearing of an Expatritor in a full suit of splint-mail. A longsword hung from the Expatritor's belt. He adjusted his leather gauntlets and yelled, "Anything?"

"Nothing yet, Expatritor."

The Expatritor grunted. He muttered to himself, "Damned forest." He turned away from the stream to observe the proceedings but Rianne stayed as still as she could manage. She knew the slightest movement would cause a telltale ripple in the water and despite the reeds' cover, the Expatritor would surely hear the disturbance. Thuristen remained so motionless he seemed not to breathe.

A thud sounded across the short clearing and the Expatritor started forward, drawing his sword. "What goes on?"

"They're here! They're here!"

The sky began to brighten perceptibly but the forest remained shrouded in gloom. Rianne and Thuristen both lifted their heads and saw the Expatritor rush forward. Delfrasian and Akruor fought back-to-back against the four commoners. Delfrasian's makeshift staff whirled dangerously against the strongarms but Akruor appeared outmatched against two others. They seemed unaware of the new threat.

Rianne rose from the water and yelled, "An Expatritor!"

The warrior halted for a moment and glanced over his shoulder. Rianne backed away as the Expatritor turned and stalked towards the stream. Thuristen suddenly rose from the reeds and the Expatritor stopped for a moment. Then, with a growl the warrior charged.

Thuristen pulled Rianne backwards and she screamed as her leg twisted under her. But she soon found herself in deep water, Thuristen dragging the two of them to the opposite bank. He said, "I'm sorry about your leg."

"If we live, I'll forgive you," Rianne replied.

The Expatritor stepped into the stream but as the water lapped around his thighs, he seemed to reconsider. Thuristen pulled Rianne onto the opposite bank, panting. He collapsed onto his back. Rianne stared back at the Expatritor, his form unfamiliar; the gloom and his helm concealed his features. Behind the warrior, Delfrasian and Akruor approached the stream, their enemies defeated or driven away, Rianne could not tell.

The Expatritor whirled about and flung a dagger directly at Akruor. With impossible speed, Delfrasian's arms flashed and his rough-cut staff smacked the dagger from the air. The blade thudded into a nearby tree, quivering. Rianne's mouth opened in shock and she nudged Thuristen. The lanky thief still lay on his back, recovering his composure and he waved away Rianne's elbow.

"Let me take him," Akruor said, his voice faint over the rushing water. Delfrasian shook his head and gently pushed Akruor back. Akruor backed away and watched his friend advance towards the Expatritor, who still seemed as astonished as Rianne. The warrior stepped from the water and brought his sword up.

A mighty swing cut nothing but air. As Delfrasian weaved from side to side, the Expatritor's weapon continued swiping only empty space. Although the notion sounded ridiculous, Rianne swore that Delfrasian moved before the Expatritor even twitched an arm. With every attack, the outlaw simply disappeared from the path of the sword. Even stranger, metallic clanks sounded from the Expatritor and ocassionally, his head jerked to the side as if Delfrasian struck his chin. While Delfrasian's arms moved before his body in a defensive manner, Rianne never saw his staff lash out. The pre-dawn haze coupled with the swim in the stream must have confused her eyes.

Yet, the Expatritor grunted painfully. Then, a crunch and the Expatritor's chin whipped backwards. Delfrasian followed with a boot to the groin and the Expatritor doubled over, spitting thick red globules. A gauntlet still held his weapon before him. What could only be blood trickled onto the muddy banks of the stream. Akruor stepped forward and lifted Hagbert's sword. The Expatritor raised his eyes in defiance.

"No!" Rianne yelled. The Brookholmer hesitated. Delfrasian discarded the bloodied staff and glanced from Rianne to the defeated Expatritor, indecisive. "Don't kill him. Don't give them more reason to hate us."

As the two outlaws reconsidered, Rianne said to Thuristen, "Can you help me back, please?" Thuristen groaned.

Delfrasian ordered the Expatritor to his knees and to surrender his weapon. Akruor pried the longsword from the Expatritor's outstretched hand as Rianne limped onto the banks, followed by an exhausted Thuristen.

"If we can't kill them, what do you suggest we do?" Delfrasian asked Rianne.

"How many are there?"

Akruor answered, "This one and two others. I checked the other two and they're dead."

"We can't murder three people," Rianne said.

"They tried to kill us," Delfrasian returned. "Given another chance, they'll be sure to try again."

"Listen to him, girl," the Expatritor said. All eyes turned to the warrior. Delfrasian pulled the helm from the Expatritor's head and Rianne recognised him as one of Tiadri's. He added, "I'll not hesitate to cut your throat, Rianne. Your parents were good people and didn't deserve to die."

Bile rose in Rianne's throat. She took a threatening step forward. "Who are you to speak of my parents?" Akruor stood with weapon at the ready. But the Expatritor said nothing, remaining teeth grinding in response.

Rianne shook her head at Akruor. "Let them live with the shame. Bested by outlaws."

They nodded. Delfrasian said, "Strip them and tie them together."

Akruor and Thuristen shoved the Expatritor between them, roughly removing his pieces of armour, boots and undergarments. In the meantime, Delfrasian tended to the hired thugs. Just as he began stripping the second of the strongarms, he said to Rianne, "Look at this."

Rianne hobbled towards Delfrasian and despite the pre-dawn gloom, a glimmer of gold caught her eye. She drew closer and soon realised one of the two strongarms bore an ornate gold chain and medallion. Jewels encrusted the outer rim of the medallion while upon the centre an intricate engraving of a hawk adorned what appeared to be a piece of solid gold.

"How do you suppose a commoner like this owns something like that?" Delfrasian said casually.

"What's going on?" Akruor called out. Rianne waved him over. The Expatritor lay trussed up in strips of his own undergarments. Thuristen and Akruor lugged the scavenged armour and weapons across the clearing.

"Do you think it is his?" Rianne asked. "Do you think it could be his saexum?"

"No," Delfrasian said flatly. He knelt down and removed the chain and medallion from the half-naked prisoner.

"That is mine!" the man protested.

"It is mine now," Delfrasian said, handing the exquisite piece of jewellery to Rianne. As Rianne admired the medallion's gems and delicate engravings, the hireling leapt to his feet. Delfrasian's arm snapped out with a blur and the prisoner fell backwards, clutching his throat.

Rianne's attention shifted to Delfrasian, medallion forgotten, as he motioned to Thuristen and Akruor to tie up the commoners. No one she had ever known moved so fast, no Expatritor, no garrison warrior, nor any Dhagaram. But Delfrasian appeared as if nothing untoward had transpired; Thuristen and Akruor also continued their business as normal, tearing strips of cloth from their prisoners' clothing. Soon, their pursuers lay on the ground, hands and feet bound. Akruor and Thuristen distributed the Expatritor's armour between them. Delfrasian checked the area one last time, then motioned for the group to move. He strapped the Expatritor's longsword across his back.

The skies to the east had brightened considerably in the intervening time but clouds obscured the sun's full glory. Their enemies' frustration clearly showed on their faces. Rianne turned away from their glares. The group marched onward.

Occasional glimpses of the sun boosted Rianne's spirits even as her shoulders and arms began aching again. Few words were spoken and Rianne felt the silent urgency in Delfrasian's steps. The other Expatritors would surely find their comrade within the day and continue the pursuit with renewed vigour. She did not know if Delfrasian and his companions had ever confronted an Expatritor before, let alone stolen from one; the morning's events ensured their status as outlaws. Rianne would probably never be able to return to Tiadri in peace.

The Deep's vegetation still hindered movement through the forest. Although Delfrasian bypassed most of the treacherous inclines, some remained unavoidable and Rianne's heart fluttered every time she hobbled along descents that threatened to break apart and slide under her feet at any moment.

Finally, the terrain smoothed and the undergrowth thinned. Thuristen mentioned that they now travelled through a section of the Deep that had once been cleared by the nearby town of Argot.

"We tried that in Tiadri," Rianne said.

"Did it stay cleared?" Thuristen asked.

"The roads did but only because of the traffic," Rianne replied. "The fields stay cleared but those left fallow were sometimes overgrown."

Delfrasian forged further ahead in the relatively thin woodlands. Rianne asked quietly, "Did you see Delfrasian this morning? The way he fought?"

Thuristen nodded to himself. He said nothing for a moment, only broke a dry twig from a low-hanging branch and twirled it between his fingers like she had seen some people in Brookholm make a coin dance between their knuckles. He said slowly, as if he chose his words carefully, "Delfrasian can do things like that. He can grab things from the air; it doesn't matter how hard they are thrown."

"How?" Rianne asked.

"I don't know," Thuristen shrugged. "I think we've all just come to accept it. He doesn't talk about it and we don't ask."

"Why not? It seems like something we would all like to know about." Of all in their group, only Delfrasian remained reticent about his past. Everyone else had been forthcoming; Rianne felt as if she knew them for longer than she actually did.

Thuristen kicked a pile of leaves from their path. "I would love to know, but until he wants us to know... Maybe he himself doesn't know, maybe he's not human."

"Not human?" Rianne said incredulously and Thuristen chuckled.

"Well then, maybe he is a Dhagaram or a Tanatri," he said.

"Tanatri are just children's tales!"

"Then what about the tale of Dhagara and the Tanatri?" Thuristen asked.

"What tale is that?" Rianne said. She had never heard of any tale recounting a meeting between Dhagara and a Tanatri. Not even Daerain had spoken of anything such as that and Rianne had learnt more from Daerain than all the other Dhagaram she had previously met put together.

"I suppose it's more well-known in Guithannan where the Zhandoura are more common," Thuristen said.

"Why is that?" Rianne asked.

Thuristen answered, "It's a tale the Zhandoura tell. They follow Dhagara's way, you know." Rianne shook her head, indicating she did not. Thuristen shrugged, continuing, "They have many tales about Dhagara but their favourite is the meeting with the Tanatri."

"How does it go?"

Thuristen seemed to gather himself, recalling the details. "It was supposed to have taken place many years ago when Shadowdeep did not cover so much land and the structures of Guithannan had just been discovered by exploring Brookholmers. Dhagara was travelling along a road, far from any settlements when he met another man travelling west, towards Guithannan.

"They stopped, greeted each other and began talking about idle topics. Eventually, they came to ask each other their professions and Dhagara said he was merely a seeker of truth. The man said he was also a seeker of truth. Then, they asked each other what kinds of truth they sought. Dhagara said he sought the truth of human nature. The man said he sought the truth of nature itself. He said that Dhagara wasted his time learning about humans and that to learn about nature, he would in turn learn about humans anyway.

"Dhagara argued that all things are reflected in human nature, because humans are a part of it. Therefore to learn about humans is to learn about nature as well. He also said that to learn about nature was too broad a topic and that a single person could never do so.

"The man became angry at Dhagara's words and Dhagara could feel energy being drawn from the earth and the trees and even himself. He realised the man was a Tanatri and even though the Tanatri were sworn to protect the land, he had insulted this one and indirectly, all Tanatri and their way."

"So, they fought?"

Thuristen nodded. "They did."

"Just like only men would," Rianne said glibly.

Thuristen smiled widely and continued, "The Zhandoura say that the Tanatri spat fire and hurled beams of light, but Dhagara dodged the fire and even though he was blinded by the Tanatri's light, he didn't need his eyes to know where to move, such was his awareness of nature, of the Tanatri's intent. Eventually, Dhagara struck down the Tanatri by throwing a simple rock. And being victorious, Dhagara moved on. The rest of the Tanatri could not live with the shame that someone without their powers had defeated one of their own. So, they disbanded, destroyed their places of learning and that is why there are no Tanatri today."

Rianne pondered the tale and wondered why she had never heard of it before. She said, "Do you think it's true?"

"Dhagara was a real person, wasn't he?"

Rianne crinkled her lips and thought for a moment. "Well, probably. There are books about him and there are Dhagaram today who follow his way and believe he once lived. As for Tanatri," she shrugged, "- there aren't any wandering about and I don't think there are any books about becoming one."

"How do you know?"

Rianne smiled despite homesickness gripping her stomach. She responded, "I know someone. If anyone would know of anything like that, he would."

Thuristen fell silent. His newly-acquired Expatritor boots kicked away more errant debris. Rianne continued hobbling through the sprawling forest.

#

Kieft crested the hill and halted at the rise. The overcast sky had threatened rain all morning; he tugged his cloak closer while he examined the road ahead. Shadowdeep encroached upon the packed-dirt road, as it did along the entire length of the Guithannan-Brookholm highway. But even with the close-growing trees, he saw the overturned cart and the three people struggling to set it upright. On the horizon, the spires and towers of Brookholm stood proudly in a curious blue haze. Kieft tightened the strap of his bag around his oak sword and continued onwards.

His view sank back to the ground as the road followed the descent of the terrain. Kieft took a swallow from a waterskin - even though the weather remained chilly, he grew thirsty from hiking. The journey had been uneventful so far, having only met an Expatritor road patrol the previous day. When Kieft emerged from the other side of the shallow hollow, the three people with the cart turned to greet him.

Of the two men, the older balding man said, "Good day to you, traveller."

The younger man smiled and the woman, also about the age of the younger man, curtsied. Judging by their thick wool and cloth garments, Kieft guessed they were townspeople from the next town over. He replied, "Good day to you too."

The older man said, "My name is Pilchen. These are my son and my daughter, Huller and Myne."

Kieft greeted them again, by name. "My name is Kieft." Myne smiled at Kieft as she curtsied a second time. He could not help but smile back.

To Pilchen, he said, "You seem to be in a bit of trouble with the cart."

"Yes, a bit," Pilchen said, rubbing his head. "Could we - could we impose on you, Master Kieft?"

"Help you with the cart?" Kieft said preemptively.

"Oh, yes, thank you," Pilchen said, bowing profusely. His son took Kieft's bag and weapon, laying them next to the bulky packages Kieft assumed to be the cart's cargo. Myne smiled and led Kieft by the hand to the front of the cart where the three had constructed a rough lever from two thick branches.

"Thank you," Myne whispered in Kieft's ear. She wandered to the other end of the cart with a sway in her walk. Pilchen directed Kieft's attention back to the branches.

He said, "I'll count to three and you and I will pull on this branch. At the same time, Huller and Myne will try to push the cart over."

Kieft nodded and Pilchen counted to three. Kieft and Pilchen heaved on the branch and the cart groaned but did not move. "Again," Pilchen said.

Pilchen counted to three and this time, Kieft hung all of his weight on the branch. The wood creaked and the cart lifted from the ground for a moment. But it did not topple.

Kieft huffed. Why the cart refused to tip confused him. He and his sisters managed to right carts with half the effort. He said, "Are you sure the cart isn't snagged on something?"

Pilchen shrugged. "We never checked. You think it might be?"

"It might be," Kieft said. "Let's clear the area."

Bushes grew close to the road, almost entangling the cart. Pilchen and Huller thrashed the vegetation back while Kieft examined the cart from all angles. As he lowered himself to the dirt, Myne gasped at something behind him.

"No one move!" a raspy voice ordered.

Kieft rose to his feet just as Pilchen and Huller were herded onto the road by two grimy men Kieft could only assume were bandits. Their clothes were ripped and haphazardly patched and while their rudimentary club and spear appeared roughly constructed, Kieft did not doubt their effectiveness.

The bandit with a heavy beard motioned with his spear for the captives to move back. Kieft grudgingly complied with a longing glance at his oak sword behind the cart. The other bandit began rifling through the cargo and Kieft felt Pilchen's hand rest on his shoulder.

Suddenly, arms hauled Kieft backwards and flashes of cloth and hair filled his vision. Huller pinned Kieft's legs together as Myne stuffed a gag into Kieft's mouth. As one, they threw him to the ground, chuckling at his muffled yells. The two bandits appeared with a length of rope and Pilchen motioned to Myne. Huller held Kieft still as their companions bound him. At the edge of Kieft's vision, Pilchen and Myne righted the cart with a minimum of effort. He swore at his own gullibility.

But even as he squirmed on the dirt road and his face screwed with rage, despair flooded his gut. The bandits tossed the cargo and Kieft's belongings into the cart.

"Myne, fetch the horses," Pilchen said. "Huller, Derolt - help me with the lad." The three pulled Kieft onto the cart and threw a rough blanket over him. Before long, the bandits hitched the horses to the cart and began moving. Kieft's nose itched from the homespun wool of the blanket and he sneezed. Without warning, a fist slammed into his cheek and then gripped his throat through the cloth. In the distance, he heard a commanding voice but could not hear the words. The blood pounded in his head and his breath became laboured.

"What do we do?" Myne said. Her quivered slightly - Kieft could not tell why.

"Stay calm," an unfamiliar voice answered. It belonged to one of the other bandits. "It's only a routine patrol."

Kieft tried to relax but a voice sounded close to his ear. "Don't you try to escape. Don't you even move. I'll break a rib for every time you do."

The cart continued moving forward at a leisurely pace. Then, it came to a stop.

"Who goes there?" Kieft could not identify the voice but the imperious tone was unmistakably that of an Expatritor.

He thrashed and screamed as loudly as his gag allowed.

Immediately, shouting ensued and something crashed into Kieft's skull. He fell limp and all of his senses blurred. A horse whinneyed. Dull thuds and metallic clangs oozed into Kieft's hearing. Echoes of pained grunts. Silence.

All Kieft heard was the sound of his own breathing. Wood creaked beside him on the cart.

"Take the body and horse off the road," Pilchen ordered. "Strip him, bring what you can carry and slaughter the horse. Its Expatritor looks will attract too much attention." Pilchen's orders were carried out swiftly and the stolen Expatritor gear and supplies dumped over Kieft's legs. He grunted as the weight pinned him down. The cart began moving once again.

Kieft closed his eyes and forced his rising panic down. He still lived and had that much to be thankful for. But, as far as he could tell, the bandits drove the cart west. Brookholm lay to the east. With every moment, the bandits carried him away from Brookholm. And away from Rianne.

#

"Wait here," Delfrasian said. Akruor nodded and motioned for Rianne and Thuristen to stay hidden within the tangling foliage. Delfrasian crept onwards and his bobbing white hair disappeared from sight. No one had any doubt about his ability to remain hidden, even in bright daylight. Fortunately, afternoons quickly sank into overcast greys most days - today was no exception - even though the summer months drew close.

Rianne sighed and leaned on her crutches. She vaguely longed for the mix of apple, oak and deepshade leaves which dulled pain - but another part of her had grown accustomed to the relentless agony. She clenched her jaw as yet another shard ran up her thigh, even though she had not moved. It passed quickly.

"Rianne?" Thuristen asked, laying a hand on her shoulder.

Rianne waved away his concern. "I'm fine."

Akruor smiled tightly. "Eltarin isn't far. We're almost there." Rianne nodded wordlessly. Akruor continued, "We might be able to find someone to help you."

"Will we be safe?" Rianne said softly.

Akruor glanced at Thuristen. They both shrugged as if some things were better left unsaid. "P'rhaps," Akruor answered.

The two remained silent as they waited for Delfrasian's return. Rianne supposed their reticence indicated they had other worries and it was probably true. She only hoped their decision to flee to the furthest outlying town of Brookholm would prove to be a wise one.

An hour passed - although the clouds overhead blocked their view of the passage of the sun through the sky. Delfrasian reappeared, jogging through the vegetation. Akruor and Thuristen rose from their tense crouches and Delfrasian hunched over for a moment, catching his breath. "Well?" Thuristen asked.

"Almost everything is as it was last time we were here," Delfrasian said.

"Almost?" Akruor inquired.

Delfrasian nodded and frowned slightly. "The Expatritor quarters appear unused. From what I saw, it might have been destroyed in a fire."

Rianne raised a surprised eyebrow. "Expatritors don't ever leave their buildings in disrepair." Akruor and Thuristen nodded in agreement and Delfrasian shrugged again.

"Perhaps the Expatritors have finally let Eltarin run its course," Delfrasian said.

"I can't imagine a town without an Expatritor garrison," Rianne countered.

Akruor chuckled softly. "Aye, it would be a first for us all."

Delfrasian smiled and motioned for them to follow him. "Let's continue. We should reach there by mid afternoon."

The group began the final trek through the Deep with the steady rhythm that had accompanied their journey throughout the past several days. Rianne felt her steps lighten as if she could feel the end of her ordeal in the wilds of Shadowdeep drawing closer. Eltarin, even as lawless as her new companions implied, would at least provide a bed, hot food and some degree of security with the lack of Expatritors. A thought struck her. "What about the armour and weapons?"

"I've been thinking the same," Delfrasian said, "I don't think there'll be any trouble. If the Expatritors have left Eltarin on its own, then there will not be anyone to object. If Eltarin has forcefully removed Expatritors from the town - as unlikely as that sounds - I doubt anyone will mistake us for replacements."

"With the Expatritor armour and weapons, we might even garner some sorta respect," Akruor added. Delfrasian murmured in agreement.

"Or we might attract the wrong kind of attention," Thuristen said.

"Just stay calm," Delfrasian said. "Don't make too much eye contact and we should be fine."

"You make it sound like Eltarin is full of animals," Rianne commented.

Delfrasian glanced over his shoulder and smiled. "We'll blend right in."

#

At first, Rianne instinctively reacted against the stench of animal and human waste which had been trodden into the muddy road by countless feet. But she hid her shock behind a blank façade; Akruor, Thuristen and Delfrasian showed no visible emotion, only a determination to purpose. As they strode through the town in a loose formation around Rianne's tight hobbles, their piercing gazes warded off even the most curious of glances. Yet, even the most innocent of faces could not hide the apparent hardship of living in a lawless town. Gaunt cheeks hinted at food shortages. Tattered clothing indicated the lack of skilled tailors while weapons borne prominently on the hips of passersby gleamed even under the overcast sky. They ignored the beggars - young and old - on the street, offering every imaginable service in return for food or cirrens.

Rianne and her companions continued onto the main thoroughfare paved with rough cobblestones and lined with the surviving businesses of Eltarin. On the side of the road, figures huddled together for warmth. Others stood proud, watching all that occurred with a weapon by their side and wary eyes. Delfrasian led them past a blacksmith and armoury, towards what appeared to resemble a tavern and inn. With a flash of insight, the social hierarchy of Eltarin became apparent to Rianne. Those with strength and power ruled over those who did not. While the innkeeper might not be an able warrior, his business provided a required service which, in turn, gave him power. Others with physical strength and the weapons to complement gained power through direct means. And Rianne guessed that some who merely appeared threatening - who bore pieces of armour and fierce tattoos - achieved much the same. The lack of Expatritorial order had created a haven for those who could only find status and respect in ways which were frowned upon everywhere else. Rianne furrowed her brow. A part of her despised humans who could descend to such lows but the part of her which revelled in combat, the part which drove her bloodlust, the part which Daerain said all people must control - that part swelled in anticipation.

Delfrasian pushed open the doors to the Forest Stay Inn and held them aside for Rianne. She paused for a moment, glancing at the end of Eltarin's main street. Beyond the centre of town, upon a hillock, lay the charred ruins of a small Expatritor barracks and lookout. The black timbers poked from the mud like a claw reaching for the clouds, pawing for escape. The Expatritors were truly gone from Eltarin.

The group entered the common room of the inn and immediately, the smoky haze brought her comfort. Although the air held a slight staleness, the unmistakable warmth of an open fire coupled with the free chatter of the patrons all reminded her of home. A quick scan of the common room revealed the lawless nature of the crowd, with weapons and various designs of gauntlets laid across tables; but even in their raucous laughs and banter, Rianne could hear genuine cheer. It seemed no one brought grievances within the walls of the Forest Stay.

Delfrasian headed directly to the bar and the bald barkeep polishing shotglasses while simultaneously keeping a wary eye on his clientele. Thuristen and Akruor led Rianne to an unoccupied table in the corner of the common room and sat down, keeping a low profile. They watched Delfrasian approach the barkeep - his stark white hair clearly marked him within the crowd - but as he shouldered between two burly men, a shouted sounded from across the room.

"Delfrasian!"

Rianne, Thuristen and Akruor shifted in their chairs to find the source of the greeting. Rianne did not recognise the stranger or any of his companions but judging by the way Thuristen and Akruor reacted, they knew him well enough. Delfrasian spotted the stranger and he also frowned but then resumed his conversation with the barkeep.

"Who is that man?" Rianne asked.

Thuristen screwed his face into a sneer. "He is one of the outlaws we were with at Tiadri." Rianne unconsciously tightened her hands into fists as Thuristen continued, "His name is Winster. The others with him must have also escaped from Tiadri."

Akruor laid a gentle hand on Rianne's forearm. He shook his head slightly and Rianne understood that now was neither the time nor the place to avenge Farmer Terjin's cousins, the massive amounts of damage the fires had caused or her parents. She took a deep calming breath and let her hands open. A vagrant thought crossed her mind as the lines of her palms stared back at her - she longed to hold a weapon in her hands and to feel its weight as she moved with it.

The other bandits sat in a loose circle near the fire. The one called Winster appeared as ragged as some of the miserable residents of Eltarin who could not afford food or lodging for the night but Rianne knew that appearances counted for very little. Delfrasian bore only the plain longsword stolen from the Expatritor in the Deep yet emanated an aura of intimidation as intense as the fiercest-looking residents of Eltarin. Rianne guessed his white hair accentuated his piercing eyes which had warded away much curiosity upon their entrance - the same harsh gaze which could soften and bring cheer to his comrades, despite their existence as outlaws.

Delfrasian's exchange with the barkeep seemed complete; he thanked him and began heading towards their table. Akruor nudged Thuristen and drew his attention to Winster with a subtle movement of his chin. The bandit wended his way across the common room, clearly aiming to intercept Delfrasian before he reached the table. Delfrasian did not seem taken by surprise as Winster tapped his elbow. Akruor and Thuristen let their hands drift to their respective weapons and Rianne mentally checked the Expatritor hunting knife strapped to her left leg.

Winster either ignored or did not notice the exquisite Expatritor sword hanging from the equally crafted Expatritor baldric on Delfrasian's waist. The bandit said cheerfully, "Delfrasian. Why don't you join us for a drink?"

"Another time, Winster," Delfrasian replied tightly.

"I insist, Delfrasian," Winster said. "There's more than enough for everyone." He motioned towards the table around which his companions sat and, just as he proclaimed, more food and drink than Rianne had seen since her flight from Tiadri adorned the tabletop. Her stomach grumbled, as did Thuristen and Akruor's - but they had only a few cirrens to be saved for a true emergency; food could be hunted in the Deep or bartered for in town.

"Let us celebrate fallen comrades, those lost in Tiadri like Vasef's brother, Jasef."

Delfrasian glared at Winster and repeated, "Another time." He pushed past the bandit and waved for Rianne, Akruor and Thuristen to meet him at the exit.

Winster chuckled to himself and said loudly, "I'm sure there won't be many people interested in your Expatritor weaponry, Delfrasian." The majority of the common room did not seem to notice Winster's words but a few patrons craned their necks towards them.

With the aid of Akruor and Thuristen, Rianne hobbled towards the worn doors where Delfrasian waited, ignoring Winster's vague threat. The four left the tavern, Delfrasian leading them down the sullen street. They walked in silence; the others' emotions were checked, although Rianne's face screwed in a wordless mounting rage. Delfrasian turned off the main road, onto a dirt track which ran towards the outskirts of Eltarin. Finally, Akruor broke the uneasy silence, "Did the barkeep tell you where they are?"

Delfrasian said evenly, "Yes. They're gambling." Thuristen let out a low chuckle which even Delfrasian acknowledged with a curl of his lips, despite his earlier instructions to keep a low profile.

Scattered along the narrow road were individual cottages, barns and the occasional stables and wells. Most appeared deserted but some were inhabited by the remaining citizens of Eltarin; Rianne could feel eyes peeking out from grimy windows. The road crested a hillock and in the hollow, an animated crowd gathered next to a sparse copse. Delfrasian and Thuristen hurried forward but something caught Rianne's eye. She glanced off the road and saw, just a short distance away, a fenced area behind a dilapidated barn. Akruor, seeing Rianne hesitate, returned to her side. He followed her gaze and said, "Let's go, Rianne."

"What is that, behind the barn?"

"It's the stockades," Akruor replied. Rianne squinted. She saw movement behind the wooden cages. People.

"Are they criminals?" she asked.

Akruor shrugged. "Some of 'em. Most probably aren't."

"What will happen to them?"

"Probably sold off," Akruor answered blandly.

Rianne felt a surge of righteousness build, similar to the moment she was told of the bandit Winster's involvement in the attack on Tiadri. "Let's take a closer look."

She felt Akruor's hand grip her shoulder tightly. He shook his head vigourously.

"I know what you're feeling," he said, accent thick. "But this is Eltarin. There aren't no Expatritors to stop this kind of thing happenin'. And the same could happen to us if we anger the wrong people."

Rianne knew Akruor's words were true but that did not allay the frustration which rapidly displaced the hunger for justice. If it were not for her injured leg, she swore silently, she would have taken her chances against anyone with only her Expatritor hunting knife.

Akruor wrinkled his mouth in sympathy with Rianne's chagrin. He said, "Another time." Rianne nodded, turned away from the barn and reluctantly followed him down the hillock, towards the cheering crowd.

As they neared the gathering, Rianne became more perplexed; there did not seem to be any gambling of the sort she knew of taking place. Yet, Akruor's expression grew more amused with every footstep. Soon, the two reached the outer edge of the crowd which comprised of young and old, armed and unarmed, and judging by the cut or tattered clothing, the rich and the destitute of Eltarin. Shouts and curses of the spectators filled the air and the reek of stale sweat and dried blood took Rianne by surprise. She followed Akruor around the edge of the gathering as he sought an opening in the mass of bodies. Finally, he found a shoulder to peek over and motioned for Rianne to join him. She caught her breath at the sight which greeted her eyes.

Azdiem, the former Brookholm soldier, fought Vasef within a crude ring of stained rope which hung at waist height. They wielded shortswords with furious pace and energy, the clangs of the metal drowned out by the clamorous crowd. Neither seemed willing to give quarter nor relent in their ferocity.

Rianne caught Akruor's eye with a questioning expression. Barely audible over the din, he said, "Wait."

She turned her attention back to the duel. Vasef seemed to have Azdiem on the defensive, driving him towards the rope around which the spectators gathered. The crowd sensed imminent defeat and urged the combatants with even greater fervour. Azdiem slipped in the mud and everyone held their breath as Vasef moved forward for the final blow. With unexpected speed, Azdiem's legs flicked out and tripped Vasef in midstride; his weapon flew from his grasp as he fell over. Just as quickly, Azdiem rolled and slammed his own sword downwards. Rianne unconsciously clenched her teeth for the crunch of bone but the only sound which met her ears was the sludge of Azdiem's weapon burying in the mud. Half the spectators breathed a sigh of disappointment, the others, a sigh of relief. The edge of the sword lay but a hairsbreadth from Vasef's exposed neck.

Azdiem stood and raised his arms skyward to everyone's applause. As he spun around, his eyes passed over Rianne and Akruor but his face did not register any recognition. At his feet, Vasef scrambled out of the ring to the jeers of those few who noticed his exit.

A scrawny man entered the ring, clapping his hands in appreciation of Azdiem's performance. He handed a small pouch to Azdiem who accepted it with a nod. Rianne poked Akruor, "Who is that?"

"He is Igant, the host," Akruor answered.

"Of what?"

"Of this," Akruor said with a gaze which encompassed the roped area and the spectators.

Igant put up his hands and the crowd silenced immediately. Azdiem pocketed the pouch and folded his hands behind his back, as if he were a soldier in formation. Igant said, "A marvellous duel fought by our longtime competitor, Azdiem of Brookholm. Was it not?" The crowd cheered in response and he continued, "Who here would make his next challenge on the champion?" Everyone broke into excited chatter, pointing out potential fighters in their midst, counting cirrens to be wagered on possible outcomes.

A voice cut through hubbub, "I take issue with Azdiem!"

Igant put up his hands again for silence and said loudly, "Come forward and state your business!"

All eyes turned towards the source of the voice. Rianne grunted to herself as the man pushed through the crowd - Winster. She glanced at Akruor who returned a worried grimace.

Winster entered the ring. Next to Azdiem, he appeared to be absolutely no contest against the hardened soldier. He said to Igant, "This man has stolen from me and I challenge him!" The crowd stayed silent, unsure to take Winster seriously. The man continued, "It is apparent I am not a worthy combatant for Azdiem, so I propose to name a representative, a champion."

At these words, the crowd exploded into activity. Igant called for silence again and once calm returned, he said, "Name your champion."

Winster wasted no time or effort. He pointed directly at Rianne. "Her."

Rianne felt her knees go weak, but whether from anticipation of combat or embarrassment of being singled out within a crowd, she did not know. She found herself hobbling into the ring, knowing that she would probably have to fight despite her broken leg. At the sight of her, the crowd jeered Winster, who hurled vile insults in return. Rianne looked at Azdiem and he flicked an eyelid in a subtle wink. Suddenly, she felt far more confident than she must have appeared.

The crowd settled and Azdiem said, "I will not fight a cripple." By the response of the onlookers, his words were well-supported. Azdiem continued, "But if this contest is to be decided, then I must be able to choose my champion. More - I will not only return to Master Winster what he perceives was stolen but include the cirrens just won previously, if he will match such a value with his own coin."

Igant turned to Winster as the crowd silently listened. Igant said, "Do you accept the terms of the challenge?"

Winster said through clenched teeth, "Yes." Evidently, he had hoped Azdiem would be the one to aggravate Rianne's injuries.

"Will you match Azdiem's thirty-five cirrens as the prize for this duel?"

Again, Winster answered, "Yes."

"Show," Igant said. Winster turned to his companions, the same ones who accompanied him at the Forest Stay common room and together they produced enough cirrens to satisfy Igant. An armed man, Rianne guessed was one of Igant's guards, took the cirrens from both Azdiem and Winster and placed them into pouch underneath his leather vest.

Igant turned to Azdiem and said, "Now, name your champion."

Azdiem appeared to ponder for a moment, but then said, "I wish a sidebet." Igant nodded for him to continue. "I will bet that this cripple will win."

At this, the crowd broke into uproar again - some in derision, others in surprise. Igant ignored the crowd and said, "Then this wager would make the other redundant?"

"No," Azdiem replied. "The other still stands. This wager will be separate." He walked to the ropes where Rianne saw Delfrasian hold forth a sword in its scabbard. She did not need a closer look to realise he handed over the Expatritor sword from the skirmish in Shadowdeep.

Azdiem held the Expatritor sword in the air and everyone hushed in silence. Rianne could hear vague whispers pass around her through the crowd; those present still remembered events which must have taken place recently. The sword's value was almost incalculable to the right people but despite its practical plainness, in itself was a weapon more finely wrought than anyone present would probably ever lay eyes upon. Azdiem handed the sword to Igant, who took it almost reverently with both hands.

Winster snorted, "He knows I have nothing of comparable worth!"

"Then consider it a sign of good faith," Azdiem replied. "If the cripple wins, then I keep the sword and the cirrens but I will return what you believe was stolen. If my champion wins, you take the sword and cirrens, but I keep the other. Deal?"

Winster glared at Azdiem for a moment. After a silent moment, he said, "Deal."

Igant said to Azdiem, "Name your champion." Azdiem pointed at one of Winster's companions.

"Derolt."

The spectators erupted into a frenzy of betting amongst one another while Azdiem, Winster and Igant retreated behind the ropes. Neither Azdiem nor Delfrasian showed any sign of recognition towards Rianne or Akruor. Nor could she see others of their group in the crowd.

Derolt, the man named as Azdiem's representative, hesitated before stepping over the rope. Winster whispered to him furiously; obvious to Rianne that he ordered his friend to win at every cost. The prize of the sword alone would outweigh any other part of the peculiar bargain struck by Azdiem and Winster, which Rianne could only assume was part of a running rivalry.

Finally, Winster let Derolt step into the roped area. One of Igant's guards searched him for hidden weapons and then handed over a chipped shortsword. The guard approached Rianne, presumably to search her as well but she shot him a piercing stare which gave him pause. Forgoing the frisk - a wise decision, Rianne thought - he handed the second shortsword to her and backed away, a slightly sheepish expression across his face.

Images and thoughts raced through Rianne's mind as her left hand clasped the hilt of the battered sword. Advice and lessons came unbidden - she wished she could wield with her right hand but it held the crutch and kept her balance. The other crutch lay on the ground. In the mud, somewhere behind her. Extremely limited mobility - what Daerain would have called challenging. Her hand clenched and tightened around the hilt, feeling the weight of the unfamiliar sword. Her arms already began to ache. From what, she wondered. In anticipation of a duel which would require her to rely completely on swordwork. She could be knocked down and incapacitated by pain from her broken leg. She could be disarmed and left defenseless. She could not move. Footwork would play no part at all.

A calm descended over her - a blanket of tranquility which unified her thoughts and filtered out the worries and doubts. Like a floodgate opening, she realised her training with Daerain had taken over. All the lessons, all the drills fluttered in and out from consciousness but gradually became as one moulded form in her mind. As a whole, not as individual parts, it would guide her actions. She needed only to trust them.

The crowd's tumult did not cease and Igant yelled, "Begin!"

Derolt strode forward confidently, sword hanging by his side. Rianne had seen the look in his face before; what possible danger could a crippled girl pose, albeit one with a weapon in her hand. When he reached an arm's-length from Rianne, Derolt raised his weapon and swung at her head. Rianne batted it away easily but withheld the counterattack. She wanted to examine this Derolt a little further before revealing the extent of her own abilities.

The easy parry caused Derolt to furrow his brow; evidently, he had not expected to be thwarted so effortlessly. But he regained his composure immediately and Rianne faced a series of blows rained with brute strength and little finesse. Once or twice, he took a step closer to Rianne than she felt comfortable - her disadvantage lay in her immobility, so she had to keep Derolt from rushing or tripping her - and she warned him away with the tip of her sword rather than pressing a counterattack.

Soon, Rianne's left arm, unused to wielding weapons on its own, grew weary. But Derolt had also become cautious as Rianne's skill became evident. He backed away and the crowd's vocal intensity increased. They shouted for blood, for anyone's blood. Derolt eyed off Rianne, feinting with his whole body, left and right as if he would flank her. She breathed in controlled measures, hiding her longing to huff madly for air, and sized him up in return. Rianne decided to end the fight - her strength would only wane while Derolt would remain fresh. He was merely a brutish swordsman, of that much she was sure - the end would be quick.

The bandit, urged on by the spectators, moved forward again. Rianne kept her attention enveloped in the mindset which seemed to control her actions. She moved without thought, with instinct forged by teachings of not only Daerain but also Listan the trapper. She sensed Derolt's attack and parried, twisting his sword to the side. With a flick of her wrist, her blade cut him on his exposed flank. Red seeped from the wound. Derolt grunted and swiped with a furious backhand. Rianne smoothly brought her sword around and nudged Derolt's blade from its intended target, her head. With another flick, Rianne cut Derolt on his other flank and his shirt soon stained with his blood.

Derolt backed away, clutching his sides. The crowd began to chant an unintelligible series of words; Rianne's concentration centred on her opponent. She watched him stumble and scream at their audience. She wondered vaguely if she had won. But Igant and his guards had not moved. The fight would go on.

Rianne adjusted her stance and raised her sword, pointing the tip at Derolt. He had finally stopped shouting, an inexplicable calm overtook him as he simply stood and stared at Rianne. In his eyes, she could not see any recognisable emotion, not even fear or resignation. He lifted his sword and charged with a high-pitched shriek.

Acting before thinking, Rianne pushed forward off her crutch, diving into a sword thrust. She held her breath as the blade pierced Derolt's body but she closed her eyes as she landed in the mud. Her broken leg screamed agony. The subtle vibrations along the sword told her she had gutted Derolt from chest to groin. The final grind was that of the blade sliding along Derolt's pelvic bone. His body flopped over the top of her, a warm stench soaking her clothes.

"Get him off me!" Rianne shouted. Her voice sounded a little too coarse and far too shaky. "Get him off me!"

She felt Derolt's corpse hauled off her back and looked up to find Akruor holding her crutches and grinning widely. He helped her stand; once her crutches supported her body, Rianne slightly more at ease even though Derolt's blood stained her tunic, causing it to cling to her back. The spectators continued to chant and clap rhythmically. From the corner of her vision, she saw Azdiem and Delfrasian collect their winnings from the guard and discreetly retreat from view. Rianne said to Akruor, "Let's go."

Akruor nodded and began to clear a path through the mass of bodies when Igant yelled, "Wait!"

Rianne halted. She and Akruor turned. The host held forth a small pouch and said, "You don't want to leave without your earnings for participating do you?"

"I suppose not, "Rianne answered with a forced smile. She felt uncomfortable taking money for killing a person but in the back of her mind she knew that Winster and Derolt would have had no such qualms over her own dead body.

Igant put the cloth pouch in her hand. "Twelve cirrens for a job well done. Come back anytime, you hear?"

Rianne nodded uncommittedly and followed Akruor back to the road, the crowd's cacophony fading. Akruor ambled alongside Rianne at a leisurely pace, allowing those heading back to the main street room to pass by or giving newcomers polite nods as they wended towards the duelling area.

After a silence, Akruor asked, "How is your leg?"

Rianne just shook her head to herself, feeling her chest constrict. She wiped her forehead, smearing semi-dried mud from her cheek on the back of her wrist, suddenly nauseated. Akruor led her off the dirt road and amid waist-high grass said, "Have you ever killed a person before?"

"Yes," Rianne said. Memories of the raid on Tiadri and the battle behind the inn surged back. The weight of Derolt's body falling on her back did not only aggravate her injuries but pulled up unbidden emotions of the recent past. The almost-meditative state which warded superfluous thoughts away now faded, leaving reality exposed. "I killed in real combat, not like this."

"A fight is a fight," Akruor replied.

Rianne shook her head. "Dhagara would have never done anything like this, killing for money."

The short Brookholmer shrugged, as if to say he knew nothing of Dhagara's way. Rianne continued, "I just want to go home."

"I know exactly how you feel," Akruor said.

He put a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. Rianne smiled weakly, "I feel sick."

Akruor returned her smile. His eyes twinkled with memories as he said, "When Taleatha and I go to Brookholm, sometimes we go back to the street where our families lived. We were cousins and all, but it wasn't 'til the Expatritors drove us away that we became friends. At night, we sit opposite the houses, watchin' them, rememberin' the times when everything was peaceful and our families and friends were still alive. People have taken over our homes, stolen them - but the worst is that these people don't know they've stolen from us, let alone that we exist. They probably thought those empty houses were there to be claimed by anyone.

"I suppose things change all the time but what I want most isn't our homes - I want our lives back to normal. I miss everyone so much."

Rianne met Akruor's eyes for a wordless moment. She finally understood that Akruor and Taleatha's story was typical of their group - even her own lost its significance in the light of others. A shout broke them from their collective reveries. "Akruor!"

"It's Delfrasian," Rianne said, turning away and rubbing her face. "I don't want him to see me weak like this."

"I'll take care of it," Akruor said. He patted her shoulder and waded through the grass towards the road. Rianne heard him greet Delfrasian, Azdiem and Grith.

"Is she okay?" Delfrasian asked.

"Aye," Akruor answered. "Just that her leg is playing up again."

"No wonder, she took a bit of a fall," Azdiem grunted.

"But she won," Grith responded. "That's most important."

Azdiem and Grith continued to debate the finer points of the duel, drowning out Delfrasian's hushed conversation with Akruor, which probably would not have carried to Rianne in any case. Finally, she heard Akruor say farewell and the crunch of grass as he returned. He said, "They've rented a room at the Forest Stay, which should be safe enough."

Rianne nodded, glad to be fully composed again. She looked around, surprised to see the stockades and the human chattel in full view. Just as she and Akruor began walking, a flash of familiar dark hair caught her eye. The shape of the body and the form as it sat on the ground struck a chord of uplifting familiarity. Akruor, seeing her hesitate, urged her towards the road. They left the grass and continued onwards. But with every step, Rianne became surer of whom she had seen in the slaveyards.

She had seen Kieft.

#

Upon entering the room, Rianne and Akruor interrupted a fervent exchange between Thuristen and Azdiem. Thuristen bit back his words and visibly calmed when he saw the new arrivals. Rianne cast a quick glance around the cramped quarters, apparently the single largest room the Forest Stay could offer, and was surprised to find Vasef sitting calmly next to Delfrasian, eating a hot stew. Autreya and Grith mended clothing under the glare of a battered oil lamp while Styock and Taleatha polished the group's Expatritor equipment.

Everyone jumped to their feet, greeting Rianne and Akruor with interspersed congratulations for Rianne's victory. She modestly waved away their appreciative words, concealing her own misgivings and twinges of guilt for the time being. Delfrasian offered them food from the hot platter and they quickly filled a bowl and set about eating; Rianne settled on a pallet, realising she had eaten little else that day. The group returned to their chores as a gale blew past the inn. Outside, evening had fallen - unlucky for those who had no choice but to spend the night in the chill.

"Rianne, how is your leg?" Delfrasian asked.

"It's been better," Rianne said with a smirk. The room chuckled, obviously sympathising with the virtually boundless pain she felt after diving into the mud earlier.

Autreya said, "When you're ready, I'll help you change the dressing on your wounds."

Rianne nodded with a mouth full of bread and stew. Akruor said, "Rianne wants to know when the next market will be."

Styock said, "Word from downstairs is that it will be in the morning."

"Will they be selling from the stockades?" Akruor asked.

"I hear so," Styock answered. "In the morning. Why do you ask?"

Rianne scooped a second helping of stew from the pot in the middle of the room. "I want to see it."

"You're not going to make any trouble, are you?" Delfrasian asked.

"No," Rianne said innocently.

Azdiem said, "That was an extraordinary display earlier. Where did you learn to handle a weapon like that?"

"Mostly from the master trapper when I was apprenticed to him," Rianne answered after gulping her food. "But I learnt much from one or two Dhagaram who passed through the town over the years."

Azdiem nodded, fully understanding that Dhagaram could be among the most proficient soldiers if they chose to. He said, "We could earn a lot of money here." Thuristen's face darkened but Azdiem continued, "Vasef and I wouldn't have to fake our fights any longer."

"No, you'd just dupe people out of their cirrens by risking the life of a crippled girl," Thuristen said sardonically. "That would make it all right."

"She's probably the best swordsman - I mean, woman - I've ever seen," Azdiem replied.

"You can't ask Rianne to do something like that!" Thuristen retorted.

"Who are you to speak for her?" Azdiem returned. "She's a big girl and can make these decisions for herself."

Seeing that Rianne had hardly made an effort to respond to Azdiem's initial comment, Thuristen turned to her, "Rianne?"

She sighed and set aside her now-empty bowl. "I'm sorry." She looked at Azdiem, conveying what she hoped was sincerity with the appropriate amount of respect. "It doesn't feel right - using what I learned from a Dhagaram to kill for money. All of them would have called it a degradation of Dhagara's teachings."

"What is wrong with using what you know?" Azdiem said. "I was trained by Expatritors in my apprenticeship. Was I wrong to use what I learned from them when I became a soldier for the Brookholm army?"

"You can't seriously compare what you do here with what you are expected to do as a soldier?" Rianne said.

"What is the difference?" Azdiem replied. "It's all fighting and killing for money."

Before Rianne could answer, Delfrasian interrupted, "Azdiem has one thing right, Rianne. We need cirrens, it pretty much doesn't matter how we get it, as long as we are at ease."

"You would kill for money?" Rianne asked.

"No," Delfrasian said quietly. "Vasef, Grith and Azdiem have more than enough experience to pull off fake arguments and fights and the rest of us can make enough money betting with the ignorant in Eltarin. Igant knows we do this but because we tell him who will `win', he turns a blind eye and takes wagers himself. Incidents, such as today with Winster, do not occur often. Rianne, you know as well as anyone, that when someone is trying to kill you, you must defend yourself.

"We must do what we must to survive."

A core of truth echoed in Delfrasian's words but what Rianne knew of Dhagara's way spoke louder. Daerain had always said that Dhagara's way did not consist only of methods of fighting but essentially held a way of thinking and a way of life. Rianne stood and said, "I am going to clean up. I will not fight for money again."

She opened the door and walked out, Autreya trailing her to the washrooms. When they returned, Styock, Vasef and Akruor had already turned in - each of them snoring on the straw pallets in the corner beneath the window. The others spoke in muted tones amongst themselves. Rianne and Autreya joined the conversation but soon, weariness overtook each of them and they retired to bed. Delfrasian appointed Azdiem to the first watch; although they quartered in the town's second largest inn, it changed nothing about their sentry arrangements. But, Rianne mused before she fell into a slumber, the pallets were infinitely more comfortable than the forest floor of Shadowdeep.

Rianne awoke. The oil lamp still glowed orange, tinting the timber walls. Outside, the storm winds had ceased, replaced by a gentle drizzle, almost a falling fog. She shifted, curling her body under the roughly-spun blanket and saw Delfrasian sitting by the low table and lamp.

He curled his lips in a half-hearted smile. Rianne sat up and said, "Your watch?"

Delfrasian nodded. "For another hour or so."

Rianne wrapped her blanket around her shoulders. "So, what do you do for fun when it's your watch?"

"Sometimes I mend our gear," Delfrasian said, "sometimes I look at the stars. But that's a lot more difficult than it sounds when you're indoors."

Rianne smiled and Delfrasian continued, "I'm not sure why we have watches when we're in Shadowdeep. There's no one there to bother us and animals stay away from the fire."

"Is it really as dangerous as we were told as children?"

Delfrasian shrugged. "To be honest with you, we have mostly stayed on the fringes of the forest - perhaps no more than a day's hike from the closest road or town."

"What about the time you and Thuristen travelled north?" Rianne pressed.

"Ah, yes,' Delfrasian said with a nostalgic expression. "That was during a time when he and I were weary of our lives here. We had tried to make a living in every town from here to Brookholm but the Expatritors would not leave us be. So we headed north, through the forest. We figured there would be opportunities for us in Eldaros."

"Were there?"

Delfrasian shook his head. "After a season's worth of travelling and living in the forest, we built a small cairn at our last camp site and turned back so we could reach Brookholm before the winter."

"But you must have crossed into Eldaros by then?" Rianne said. "Perhaps even reached Denosto territory."

"I don't know what to tell you," Delfrasian replied. "There was nothing. But the more I think of it, the more I realise that Shadowdeep might have played with our sense of direction."

"What about the creatures?" Rianne asked.

Delfrasian smiled enigmatically. "That's when we learnt that fire would protect us. Creatures in Shadowdeep fear fire, especially at night."

"And during the day?"

"We stayed on the move and never lingered in an area longer than necessary." Delfrasian leaned against the low table and sighed. "Once, a pack of wolves trailed us for three days. That was the most exhausting time of my entire life. Eventually, we were saved by something - or more correctly, the wolves were killed by it."

"What was it?" Rianne asked, leaning forward.

"Thuristen and I ran into a clearing, not much bigger than this room. We leaned against a boulder embedded in the dirt, catching our breath. The wolves were not far behind. The rock started to move."

Rianne's breath caught. Delfrasian seemed not to notice and continued, "I'll be the first to admit we screamed like children. But the rock just unfolded, the ground shook terribly and finally, the rock stood up like a man - it had arms and legs and eyes. Glowing eyes.

"I swear that it stared at me with those eyes, as if it could see my thoughts. It said something but all I heard was a rumbling. Actually, I felt it thump through my chest. It began walking to where Thuristen and I had run from. We heard it fighting the wolves, slaughtering them. We fled before it returned."

Rianne nodded wordlessly, thinking back to her own experiences. She had not told anyone in the group about what happened during the search for Fosten. Since Delfrasian had been forthcoming, perhaps it was time for her to do the same. He must have mistaken her mulling for polite reticence. With a wry smile, Delfrasian said, "You don't believe me."

Shaking her head, Rianne said, "I believe you. Something like that happened to someone I knew back home. Almost exactly as you said."

Delfrasian nodded thanks. He said, "I wish things were different, everyone here does. But I've seen things in Shadowdeep which no one would ever believe. I guess I can be thankful of that."

"How did you get into this mess?" Rianne asked. "I mean, you know why I am here, rather than at home being a law-abiding citizen. But why are you?"

Delfrasian's eyes flickered in the lamp's light. His expression darkened and for a moment, Rianne feared she had offended him somehow. He said, "Like everyone, I did something which angered the Expatritors." He paused, brow furrowing. "For all of their shiny armour and massive warhorses, they are simply thugs."

"Did you kill one?" Rianne asked softly.

Delfrasian shook his head. "Let's not speak of this now. Get some sleep - it is still several hours before dawn."

Rianne said nothing for a moment, then nodded. "As long as you promise we speak of this later?" She flashed him a quick smile to allay her sombre tone.

"I promise," Delfrasian said.

"Goodnight, then."

She lay back as Delfrasian bade her goodnight. As Thuristen said, Delfrasian appeared to be a private person, despite the way he led the group. Rianne wondered about his past, even until Grith took the last watch. Finally, she returned to slumber.

In the morning, Rianne prepared for the day with a renewed enthusiasm that came only from a rest on a decent bed and a filling, if not completely wholesome breakfast of fried meats, eggs and bread. The group gathered on the road - Akruor and Thuristen also appeared to have regained a liveliness which had waned in the past couple days - just outside the Forest Stay carrying all of their possessions. Akruor, Azdiem and Thuristen bore their Expatritor equipment; although they complained that the ill-fitting pieces of armour chafed, they were more useful worn than carried in a sack.

Soon, Delfrasian and Vasef emerged from the Stay and joined them.

"Well?" Azdiem said.

"Word is that Expatritors are being withdrawn from towns," Delfrasian answered.

"And being sent where?"

"Some are being sent to Brookholm. Others are heading west."

Taleatha looked puzzled. "Why would they be sent back to Brookholm? The city would be positively overflowing."

"The ones coming west are the ones I'm worried about," Azdiem said. "If they pass through Eltarin, there might be trouble."

"What about the slaves?" Rianne asked abruptly.

Her question broke Delfrasian's contemplations and he said, "Yes, let's hurry. It starts two hours after dawn."

Akruor and Taleatha led the group through Eltarin, towards the dirt track which led past the barn and stockades. Glancing at the sky, Azdiem said, "It might have already begun."

The group reached the barn. Taleatha pushed open the side-door and Rianne found a sizeable crowd of Eltarin's residents already in attendance. One wall of the barn had been hacked away to provide convenient access to the stockades and a raised platform had been constructed in its place. Azdiem led them to a relatively quiet area near the back of the gathering. Rianne noted the faint pungency of cow dung was overrun by the more powerful and consistent stench of human waste. The thin layer of straw underfoot did little to hide the blood and excrement.

A young blonde girl, no older than fifteen springs, was herded on the platform by two guards. Before the slave-trader - a burly man himself - could announce her, yelling amongst the crowd began as they made bids. Rianne mentally recoiled as men and women alike screamed for their offers to be heard.

"Where do the slaves come from?" Rianne said.

Azdiem answered, "Some are kidnapped from raids or ambushed on The Highway to Brookholm. Others are residents of Eltarin - which is why it's a good idea to stay on the pleasant side of the important people in town. Otherwise, one day you might wake up in the pens."

"Good thing we had a watch last night."

"We always do in Eltarin," Delfrasian said.

The furious bidding continued. The girl seemed dazed, unable to comprehend what occurred. Her eyes darted from side to side, tears continued to pour from her eyes but she no longer appeared to care. Autreya grimaced and said, "I can't watch this."

Delfrasian nodded and motioned to Akruor and Vasef to escort her outside; no lone woman would be safe in the vicinity of the stockades. The three left, discreetly glad to leave the spectacle. The highest bid had reached fifty-three cirrens and the host - Delfrasian said his name was Juko - scanned the barn for further offers.

"Fifty-three going for this young thing! Fifty-three!" He fondled the girl's breasts as he implored the bidders.

Rianne asked, "Who takes the money?"

"Juko does," Azdiem answered. "He buys the slaves from whoever is selling and makes his profit at auctions like this."

"What's to stop someone from starting their own auction?"

Azdiem shrugged. Styock said, "I think Juko gets rid of any competition fairly quickly. In return for protection and certain deeds, he provides free slaves for some of the more powerful thugs in Eltarin so you'd need to have your own army to keep yourself alive, let alone your slaves."

"Then," Rianne continued, "what is to stop someone from killing Juko and stopping this altogether?"

Delfrasian smiled wryly, perhaps expecting such a comment from her. He said, "Three springs ago, Juko killed the former owner and took over the whole business. If someone killed Juko, I have no doubt that another would take his place."

"What about the Expatritors? Didn't they do anything?"

They all chuckled, not at Rianne's expense, but at the futility of seeking the justice they all wanted. Taleatha said, "The Expatritors of Eltarin were one of the finest patrons of this market."

Suddenly, Rianne felt sick. Her stomach lurched with the revelation the institution she had admired most of her life could be no more than the basest thugs who roamed the streets of Eltarin. Even in recent days when she consciously knew that the Expatritors pursued her for vengeance and law's sake, she kept the hope alive that her innocence would be proven and her life restored to normal, albeit without her parents. The non-participation in the defense of Tiadri and the individual arrogance of the Expatritors had failed to tarnish her vision of them. Their apparent affiliation with slavery changed everything. Her lifelong dream to study at their Caelestus, then to join them proper, now seemed a waste of time. A childish waste of time. Engrossed in her thoughts, Rianne did not notice a corpulent middle-aged man step onto the platform area and claim the crying teen to a courteous applause.

The next struggling slave was brought on the platform, not without some effort by the guards. They threw the filthy young man to the wooden boards and slammed the butts of their weapons into his back until he settled, or fell unconscious. Juko raised an eyebrow at the treatment of his property but said nothing. To the crowd he bellowed, "A young man, strong, fit. Probably good-looking underneath that dirt. Where shall we start the bidding? Five cirrens!"

None in the crowd took up the offer, either hesitant to buy a bleeding man or waiting for more desirable meat. The slave raised his head, slowly got to all-fours and spat some blood. Rianne gasped and pushed forward. Delfrasian blurted, "What is it?"

Rianne yelled, "Five cirrens!"

Kieft jerked his head towards her voice and their eyes locked. A light sprang into his eyes, such as when they had talked about what lay across the Aeltag Sea or how high the walls of Guithannan towered. Kieft rose to his feet, wary of aggravating his wounds. Juko ackowledged Rianne's bid and earnestly began fishing for further offers in the crowd.

"Who is that?" Delfrasian asked.

Rianne turned to him with a bright smile overriding any concern she felt for his safety. "That is Kieft, my friend I told you about. I don't know why he's here but we have to get him out."

Delfrasian looked to Kieft, then at Rianne. He ran a nervous hand through his white hair, probably weighing what they could afford to spend on a slave against Rianne's plea. He glanced at the others. Styock and Azdiem nodded imperceptibly. Delfrasian said, "Very well. Consider him free."

Spurred on by Rianne's initial enthusiastic bid, other women began bidding for what might be a worthwhile slave beneath the grime and blood. Soon, the competition levelled out at twenty-one cirrens. Juko implored the crowd to consider the fine specimen on offer - Kieft alternately glared at him and looked at Rianne for reassurance - but none wished to better the last offer made by a man and woman garbed in plain clothes.

Delfrasian raised his hand and said, "Twenty-two." Kieft gave Rianne a bewildered look but she motioned that Delfrasian had bid for her, at which her childhood friend visibly calmed.

"Twenty-three!"

Rianne craned her neck at the new bid made by a woman who had not previously made any offer. Thuristen groaned; judging by their expressions, the others shared his consternation. "What is wrong?" Rianne asked.

"Look," Delfrasian said. Next to the woman stood several other men and women armed with various crude weapons. Among them stood Winster, watching the proceedings with a teethy grin.

"Those idiots," Azdiem muttered. "Myne is bidding just to spite us."

Delfrasian grunted and shouted, "Twenty-four!" The woman, Myne, immediately made a bid for twenty-five.

Rianne grasped Delfrasian's elbow. "We can't let them take Kieft. Please."

"Want me to kill them?" Azdiem asked jocularly.

"Not quite," Delfrasian said. He thought for a moment, even as Juko looked to him for a bid. He said to Azdiem, "Stop them from bidding. Grith, go with him and make sure you don't get yourselves killed."

Azdiem winked and said to Rianne, "Don't worry." He and Grith casually wandered towards Winster and his companions while Delfrasian made the next counter-bid.

Before Myne could make another offer, Azdiem and Grith spat viscous blobs on Winster and his friends. They turned in disgust and advanced on Azdiem and Grith with menacing intent. The former soldiers retreated slowly, making sure the bandits followed them. As they edged out of the barn, they fled with Winster and several other bandits in tow. Only Myne and another man remained. Unrattled by the display, Myne said, "Thirty cirrens!"

The crowd broke into a hushed chatter at the jump in value. Rumbling thunder sounded outside. Rianne asked Delfrasian, "We have enough, don't we?"

Delfrasian nodded. Thuristen leaned forward and said in a low voice, "Ask Juko to demand a proof. If Winster told Myne to merely spite us, I doubt she actually has the cirrens to back her offers."

"Good idea," Delfrasian said. In a louder voice to Juko, he continued, "We demand a show of bidding in good faith." He held up a fistful of cirrens. "Here are our cirrens, where are hers?"

All eyes turned to Myne who calmly plucked a pouch from a leather thong around her neck. She extracted a similar fistful of cirrens and held it up for all to see. Thuristen said, "Oh."

"We can afford to outbid her," Delfrasian said softly, "but I'm not so sure it would be wise to spend so much so soon after we earnt it."

"We must save him," Rianne insisted.

"There are other ways," Thuristen said significantly.

"We can't do that," Styock said, "Not even to them."

Rianne looked questioningly at Delfrasian and Thuristen. Styock answered her wordless query, "We can make a deal with Juko - Myne and Pilchen for your friend."

"Except that we'd have to capture them ourselves," Delfrasian qualified.

"It'd be easier now that Azdiem and Grith have drawn the others away," Thuristen said. "Taleatha can take Myne easily. You, Styock and I can take Pilchen, I'm sure."

"You do realise what will happen to them," Styock said. "What will be done to them."

Delfrasian thought for a moment. He said, "Thuristen, stay with Rianne. As soon as the deal is done, head to the Forest Stay. I'll find Azdiem and Grith - don't wait long. You have to get away before Winster and his comrades realise what has happened."

"Where do we go?" Rianne asked.

"Shadowdeep," Delfrasian answered. "Winster will be after us so staying in town will be too dangerous."

"All right," Thuristen said.

"Very well," Styock said, although his misgivings showed.

Taleatha nodded. Rianne unstrapped the Expatritor knife from her leg and handed it to the Brookholmer. Taleatha drew it from the sheath, serrated edge glinting in the dim light. She gripped the hilt with expert ease.

Delfrasian said, "Let's do it. Stay safe."

Rianne backed towards a sidedoor as Delfrasian, Styock and Taleatha calmly walked across the length of the barn. Juko motioned to Thuristen for a bid and he put up a hand, stalling for time. He joined Rianne at the sidedoor, eyes darting across the barn for signs of trouble.

Soon, a shriek cut across the auction, followed by meaty thumps. Without a doubt, Rianne thought, the sounds of Delfrasian and Styock subduing the man Pilchen. Yet, strangely the crowd did not bat an eyelid at what transpired. A nervous chill ran down Rianne's spine at the thought.

Delfrasian's voice drifted in the air, punctuated by yelps presumably of Myne. Bodies in the intervening space blocked Rianne's line of sight. "What's happening?" she asked.

Thuristen said, "I think Taleatha is having too much fun. She's got a knife to Myne's throat. Delfrasian's bargaining with her." He squinted. "Pilchen is out cold."

Suddenly, Delfrasian leapt on the platform and shoved a handful of cirrens into Juko's surprised hands. Taleatha and Styock scurried back as Delfrasian dragged Kieft off the presentation stage, towards them. "Go! Go!"

Rianne hesitated, the desire to wait for Kieft balanced against Delfrasian's urgency. She glanced across the barn; Myne and Pilchen staggered out the main doors, apparently to betray the deal struck between Delfrasian and Juko - his guards stalked after the new acquisitions. Thuristen nudged her shoulder and jogged outside, followed by Taleatha and Styock. Rianne turned away and joined the others outside; Akruor, Vasef and Autreya waved at them from the road.

They regrouped by the side of the narrow dirt track. Kieft fell into Rianne's arms. He said, "What happened to your leg?"

"I had a fall," Rianne answered with a smile. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him on the mouth, ignoring the mud and tang of blood. She felt him reciprocate with a weak smile.

"I thought I'd never see you," Kieft said.

Rianne hugged him tightly. "I don't know why you're here but I'm glad you are." She felt a tapping on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Thuristen said, "but we have to move."

Rianne looked around; Delfrasian and Vasef had already gone. "Where have they -"

"They've gone to find Azdiem and Grith," Styock answered.

"We must hide in Shadowdeep until they return," Thuristen said, beginning to move.

Akruor put his arm around Kieft. "Let me help you."

"Thanks," Kieft said with a pained frown.

They marched across the neglected fields, bypassing the town altogether. Thuristen stayed at the rear with Rianne and Taleatha, watching for signs of pursuit. Soon, they entered the canopy of Shadowdeep and what little light that shone through the clouds faded as the trees seemed to suck the luminence from the air itself.

Styock led the group towards their usual campsite when they needed to stay near Eltarin. Rianne drew close to Kieft, who limped awkwardly with the assistance of Akruor. She said, "How did you get here?"

"I was waylaid on my way to Brookholm," Kieft answered.

"Brookholm?"

"Yes," he said. "Expatritor Durevel said you had left their custody. Since no one knew where you had gone, I guessed you had gone to Brookholm."

Rianne swore. "Damn the Expatritors."

"They lied, didn't they?" Kieft said.

"They wouldn't let me leave. I had to jump from the bailey after I knocked out Hagbert - that's why my leg is broken. These people saved me." Rianne continued with a summary of what occurred until that morning. Kieft did not seem surprised but the pain which must have wracked his body probably distracted him more than once during her story.

"Well," Kieft said, "I wanted to find you so I suppose I should be happy."

"What happened to everything you were carrying?" Rianne asked.

Kieft shook his head. "The people who kidnapped me took it all. Even the oak sword Captain Rielov gave me before I left. Barely a day out from Tiadri and I lose everything - I'm so bloody useless!"

"Don't worry about it," Rianne said. "There was probably nothing you could have done. Have some fruit."

"Thanks," Kieft said with a sigh. He accepted an apple from Taleatha and rapidly devoured it.

They continued through the wild terrain at a pace Rianne could keep up with. "What about you?" Kieft said. "After this is over, why don't we go home?"

Rianne's heart sank with his words. "I don't think I can."

"Why not?" Kieft said with a mixed tone of alarm and disappointment.

"The Expatritors. They are after me. They are after all of us."

"They're not after me," Kieft said. "Come with me - everyone knows you're innocent."

Rianne shook her head and felt her throat choke up. "The Expatritors would kill me on sight."

"But why?" Kieft implored.

At this, Thuristen spoke up from the rear of the group. "On our way here, there was a skirmish against an Expatritor and four commoners. We killed two of the commoners and tied up the Expatritor and the others. The Expatritor knew Rianne, so we're certain she would not be welcome in your town."

"You have to go, Kieft," Rianne said, head bowed so he would not see her tears. "You have to go before the Expatritors come after you too."

"But Rianne, I just found you!"

"You can't risk ruining your life for my sake, Kieft," Rianne said. She raised her head, still hobbling along vigorously. Kieft saw the anguish in her eyes and perhaps realised the pain his leaving would cause, even though it would be necessary. The others - Styock, Taleatha, Akruor, Autreya and Thuristen - remained respectfully silent of the two's exchange.

"I guess you have no interest in the amnesty," Kieft ventured.

"What amnesty is this?" Rianne asked.

"Some people in the slave pens spoke about an amnesty for outlaws," Kieft explained. "They would be pardoned if they joined the Expatritor forces as auxiliaries."

Rianne grunted. "I don't believe them."

"Why not?"

"Nowadays, I find anything the Expatritors say hard to believe," she answered.

Akruor said, "It could be a trick."

"Yes," Rianne agreed. "Draw the outlaws and outcasts to a central place and slaughter them. Or perhaps send them on a suicide mission against the Zhandoura."

"You think the Expatritors would do something like that?" Kieft asked.

Rianne nodded, as did the others.

"I thought you admired the Expatritors," Kieft said, slightly puzzled.

"Not any longer," Rianne said.

Kieft fell silent. They continued - Taleatha cleared the path for Rianne's crutches while Akruor aided Kieft through difficult ascents and over the occasional fallen tree which Rianne had to circumnavigate. After a short while, Styock called over his shoulder, "We're almost there."

Rough crashes and shouts sounded from behind the group. They turned as one, Thuristen scanning the forest for the source of the disturbances. Delfrasian appeared, sprinting through the vegetation and waving his arms madly. "Run! They're here!"

Rianne whirled around as he sprinted by. Everyone began to scatter; Styock and Autreya had already fled, Grith and Vasef were nowhere to be seen. "Kieft!"

He raised his hands in puzzlement. Delfrasian halted and turned around, "No! Rianne, the Expatritors are after you! Anyone found with you will be killed!"

Suddenly, she felt herself scooped up and her leg jarred painfully. Azdiem continued loping without missing a stride. Kieft started after her but Taleatha held him back. Azdiem slowed as he approached Delfrasian. The young man bellowed to Kieft, "The best thing you can do is to lead the Expatritors away from our trail. Distract them, tell them you were our prisoner, anything to get them away from Rianne!"

Azdiem broke into a run and over his shoulder, Rianne saw Taleatha and Akruor gently pulling Kieft in the opposite direction. His downcast face etched in her mind as the former soldier carried her through the forest. Eventually, the intervening trees obscured her line of sight; Kieft vanished and once again, Rianne felt only as she had the last time she was taken away from him.

#

Rianne disappeared into the foliage. Kieft felt another tug on his arm and he angrily shook it away. Taleatha said, "Please, Kieft. We must run!"

"Why should I care?" he replied to the young Brookholmer woman.

"If we don't run, they'll kill us," Akruor said. Seeing no response on Kieft's face, he continued. "Let's go Taleatha. Everyone else has fled, we must as well."

The two Brookholmers jogged away from Kieft, towards the east. Although he still reeled from being rescued from the slave blocks and then losing Rianne again, the importance of saving his own life broke the stupor. "Wait!"

The cousins halted and turned. It seemed they were already reluctant to abandon him, even though they knew him only as a friend of Rianne. Kieft continued, "There's no need to run."

"What do you mean?" Taleatha asked.

"We can pretend to be former captives. That way, we can distract some of them by asking for an escort back to the town, give them fake directions and all without running our guts out."

Akruor raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "It's worth a try."

"Let's just hope none of these Expatritors are from Brookholm," Taleatha warned as they rejoined Kieft in the clearing. Akruor discarded his Expatritor sword in the brush and wrapped the baldric around their wrists.

Before long, the careless thrashing of mounted soldiers reached them and the Expatritors appeared. Immediately, Akruor cried out, "Help us! Please, help us!"

The group of four Expatritors stayed their horses and the one in the lead motioned for the others to unbind the apparent prisoners. Akruor continued, "I've almost got it undone. Just a little help."

The Expatritors approached. Kieft could not make out any features behind their helms, let alone any expressions. His apprehension grew. Yet, the Expatritors loosened their baldric and Kieft and the cousins stood. The lead Expatritor said, "Your captors, they were bandits?"

"Yes, Expatritor," Akruor answered dutifully. "Do you pursue them? I hope you catch them and flay them alive for what they did to us."

The Expatritor grunted and said, "We will dispense justice to them as accorded by law. Tell me, was there a young lass with shoulder-length brown hair among your captors?"

Akruor, Taleatha and Kieft nodded earnestly.

"Now, tell me which way they fled and make their capture all the more expedient."

Delfrasian and Azdiem had taken Rianne to the northwest, more or less in the direction of Guithannan. Akruor pointed directly to the east, unfortunately in the direction others of their group had fled. "That way, Expatritor," Akruor said.

During the exchange, one of the dismounted Expatritors had wandered around the area. He spotted the sword and returned to the group with the weapon in his gauntlets. "One of ours," he said.

"Any markings?" the lead Expatritor asked.

"No, the initials have been scratched away."

"Murderers and thieves, eh?"

Akruor looked pleadingly at the lead Expatritor, even though he seemed to seeth beneath his armour. Kieft briefly wondered if the Brookholmer had ever deceived someone so skilfully before, then guessed that he probably had as he was an outlaw. Akruor said, "Expatritor, we fear for our safety in the Deep. Could we prevail upon you to provide us with protection, lest our captors return?"

The lead Expatritor nodded. He said, pointing to the two dismounted Expatritors, "You two, stay with them until Expatritor Valedros Luneiadon arrives. Once he does, hand them over to him and rejoin me in pursuit of the miscreants."

The two Expatritors bowed from the neck while the other two rode towards the east, away from Rianne. Akruor and Kieft sat on the ground as their guards mounted their warhorses. Taleatha asked, "So, could you spare us some food?"

#

Branches whipped the side of Rianne's head as Azdiem untiringly dashed through the forest, leaping over logs and sliding down embankments with complete disregard for his own safety. Delfrasian followed them, occasionally stopping to check for pursuit. Although he had so far found no sign, Rianne knew it only meant their pursuers had not yet caught up with them.

"Do we know where we're going?" Rianne asked Azdiem.

He managed to shrug, even though he carried her in his arms. "I don't think I have ever been in this part of the Deep before. Perhaps Del, but not me."

Azdiem reached a steep descent littered with dead branches and brown leaves. He hesitated. Rianne glanced to the side and shook her head. She said, "It's too steep. We have to find another way around."

Puffing for air, Azdiem shook his head in return. "No time." He launched himself down the hill.

Rianne yelped and clenched her eyes shut. She felt Azdiem's feet hit the ground and begin to slide down the incline. She peeked out an eye; trees and low vines flashed past. Azdiem skiied down the hill on the surface of fallen leaves and loose dirt. With a morbid wonder, Rianne guessed that Azdiem's luck, or skill, could not hold forever. Faintly, she heard Delfrasian's voice echo but she could not make out the words. Had they slid so far in such a short space of time?

Just as she had guessed, Azdiem tripped on an exposed root. He stumbled, expletives erupting from his mouth. His legs cycled frantically, unable to keep up with the rest of his body. Finally, he fell forward and Rianne flew from his arms. She braced herself for the inevitable agonising impact.

Rianne hit the water and screamed as her legs smashed together. The stream did not seem to reduce the force of her landing but as she felt her legs twisting with the flow of the stream, she supposed landing on a log or the forest floor would have been far more painful. Yet, she could not imagine anything worse than what ran through her legs and hips at that moment.

She grimaced, biting back the urge to scream again. Azdiem flopped onto the bank, heaving for air. Ignoring his own apparent injuries, he called out, "Rianne? Are you okay?"

"I think so," Rianne answered. "My leg..."

"I'm so sorry," Azdiem said, crawling towards her.

"It's okay. Everything will be okay."

Azdiem hauled Rianne from the water and she suppressed a string of curses which came unbidden to her throat. Instead, she said, "Damn it! Damn it all!"

"I know exactly what you mean," Azdiem said, lying back on the ground. He still puffed, exhausted from the run, and seemed content to rest for the moment. No one sane would follow them down that hill.

Rianne closed her eyes, shutting out the ensuing despair. They had come so close to restarting a life in Eltarin, only to have everything ruined again. She had come so close to Kieft, only to be separated again. She cursed her crippled leg, the part of her which epitomised their frailty and vulnerability for as long as she relied on the protection of others.

"Why do you lie here?"

Rianne and Azdiem instantly sat up, reaching for weapons lost in their hasty departure. They searched for the source of the high-pitched voice. Rianne's breath caught when her eyes lay upon two figures sitting on a mossy log behind them. Azdiem gazed at the tiny man and woman in open-mouthed wonder; Rianne did not find it surprising, her own awe was difficult to manage. The two figures were no taller than ankle-height, small enough to sit in the palm of her hand.

The woman spoke again. "The Expatritors are coming."

#

Akruor and Taleatha chatted with the Expatritors, handling their weapons and patting their horses as if they were best friends. Kieft could only watch them and smile pleasantly whenever it felt appropriate. The mounted warriors still made him nervous. He hoped they did not misinterpret his fidgeting.

The sound of approaching horsemen from the direction of Eltarin did not seem to bother Akruor, Taleatha or the Expatritors who continued chatting with them about nothing in particular. They appeared charmed by Taleatha's interest in weapons and were happy to allow Akruor to examine their daggers after he professed a knowledge of metallurgy; Kieft was certain Akruor bandied about words like metallurgy without actually knowing a thing about it.

A group of three Expatritors came into view, led by one with intricate trimmings on his breastplate, gauntlets and scabbards. He removed his helmet and their guardian Expatritors bowed as well as they could in their saddles. "Valedros. These three were captives of the outlaws."

The one called Valedros, who had removed his helm, wore a shock of thick dark hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. He appeared no older than mid-twenty springs and without his concealing helm, Kieft thought, seemed no more menacing than his own brother Russen. His musings were cut short as Valedros stared directly at Kieft. A flicker of recognition was not lost on Akruor and Taleatha. They slowly backed away, weapons still in hand.

"What do you think you're doing?" Valedros asked of the Expatritors. "Allowing prisoners to handle your weapons?"

"Expatritor? They were captives. We rescued them."

"You idiot," Valedros said. "That one -" he pointed at Kieft, "- is Kieft, a friend of the lass on the wanted poster. Or were you too busy staring at the portrait of the girl to notice the others on the sheet?"

The Expatritors slowly glanced from Valedros to Kieft, then to Akruor and Taleatha who suddenly did not seem so innocent with their weapons borne before them with confidence. Valedros muttered, "Idiots." He and the others drew their swords.

Akruor and Taleatha yelled, "Run!"

Kieft fled without a second thought. The Expatritor warhorses whinneyed and stomped the ground, then gave chase. The dense brush hindered the horses and their swearing drifted through Kieft's own harsh breathing. He heard more yelling fade in the distance. The vegetation flew by and his legs began to ache. Stride after stride, his body grew weary and his heartbeat thumped in his ears. Or did the thumping belong to the pursuing horsemen?

He ran without a sense of direction until fatigue sapped the strength from his legs, not that it mattered in the uniform surrounds of Shadowdeep. Kieft dared to slow, attempting to gain a perspective on the cloudy sky. For a moment, he thought of the Brookholmers and how they fared. At the very least, they might have been able to tell direction within the forest. Kieft mentally shrugged and continued in a light jog which he felt he could maintain.

The Deep began to thin and Kieft swore. He must have been heading more south than east and his surmising proved true as he stepped onto the fallow fields behind Eltarin. In the distance, the metallic clangs of battle sounded, mixed with vague shouts and screams. He jogged towards a dilapidated stone wall and climbed it. He stared at the town and it seemed the citizens fought against a regiment of Expatritors. Kieft wished them luck, divided between their survival against his own enemy and the disregard he felt for his former captors.

He heard a horse neigh. A lone Expatritor emerged from the Deep and charged towards Kieft; he jumped from the wall and sprinted across the field. The waist-high grass slowed his progress; he heard the Expatritor closing in.

Kieft scrambled over the next stone wall and as he clambered over the side, he caught a glimpse of the Expatritor and horse, only a stride behind. Kieft ducked and the warhorse leapt over the wall, spraying clods of dirt over him. The horse landed gracefully and Kieft backed himself into the stone barrier. The Expatritor wheeled his horse around and removed his helm.

The Expatritor - the one called Valedros - said, "You'll only get tired if you run. Come with me and I will guarantee your safety."

"I find your words hard to believe," Kieft said abruptly.

"Why?" the Expatritor asked. "I am an Expatritor. I am bound by honour to my words."

"Not all Expatritors are," Kieft replied.

"Perhaps like the ones who preside over Tiadri?"

Kieft hesitated, uncertain what his meaning could be. The Expatritor took his silence for agreement.

"I have seen many of these Expatritors who have stayed in outlying towns for these years," he said. "But I am of Brookholm and the code of the Expatritors, as well as my personal honour, have found their behaviour wanting. They have been reprimanded and transferred to other... duties."

"What do you want with me?" Kieft asked, still wondering what `other duties' represented and whether the Expatritor truly referred to Hagbert, Durevel and the others of Tiadri.

Valedros glanced around, as if expecting to be overheard in the empty fields. He said, "I seek your friend, the lass, Rianne. You are her friend and you can help me."

"What do the Expatritors want with her?"

"The Expatritors want her dead," Valedros said. "I, however, need her alive."

An unintelligible shout sounded from the forest. Kieft glanced over his shoulder and saw Akruor and Taleatha riding on a single horse, brandishing their weapons in the air. Valedros swore.

"Get out of here, Kieft!" Akruor yelled.

#

Neither Rianne or Azdiem said a word. The tiny woman and man alighted from the log and walked towards them. As far as Rianne could see, they were human although a fraction of the size, and wore tailored cloth and furs just as anyone would. Rianne found her voice. "Who are you?"

The woman smiled. "I am Ceryn." She motioned to the man, who nodded solemnly. "This is Tome."

She spoke in a curious accent, a mixture between that of inner-circle Brookholm and Zhandouran. "I don't mean to be rude," Rianne said, "but what are you?"

Ceryn smiled again. Tome looked slightly amused, despite his dour expression. He said, "You know us by many names."

Ceryn continued, "Gnomes, brownies, pixies, goblins."

Tome said, "But we prefer to be known by our names, as I'm sure you would too."

"I am Rianne of Tiadri," she said, taking the hint.

"I am Azdiem of Brookholm," the former soldier said. Tome bowed from the neck to both of them.

"We know," Ceryn said.

"How?" Rianne asked.

The tiny woman shrugged. "The land speaks and we listen. But in your case, your loud brash voices carry across the forest like a brazen horn. It is hard not to hear you, especially when you swear."

Rianne winced. "I'm sorry. But my -"

Ceryn held up a hand. "We know about your leg. It is plain to see. And feel." She closed her eyes, as if lost in thought. "Your pain radiates around the Deep like the sun radiates warmth on the land. We can help you."

Azdiem knelt up and put his palms out. "Just stop there. How can we trust you? For all we know, you will drug us, then kill us. And no one would ever find us this deep in the forest."

The tiny people glanced at one another and shrugged. Tome said in a calm voice, "Why don't you ask your friend?"

"Who?"

Tome pointed over Azdiem's shoulder. "That one."

Rianne twisted her neck and saw Delfrasian splash into the water a short distance downstream. He looked around, caught sight of them and approached. But as he drew near, he saw Ceryn and Tome. His expression faltered, then flickered between puzzlement and relief.

Ceryn said, "Hello, Delfrasian."

#

Kieft stumbled and slammed into the forest floor. Wet earth filled his nostrils. With the sounds of the pursuing Expatritor on horseback approaching, Kieft heaved himself to his feet and struggled onwards. Despite Akruor and Taleatha's distraction, the Expatritor had been able to disengage from them long enough to find Kieft escaping to the south.

The thunder of hooves closed on Kieft. He limped forward, sighting a clearing ahead. But capture felt imminent and inevitable. He could not possibly match the speed and endurance of a horse and he muttered curses at himself for believing he could.

Hooves pounded towards him and he turned. The flat of a sword crashed into the side of his skull. Kieft flopped to the ground, blood covering his eyes. All of a sudden, his mind seemed to freeze. He could not remember his name. He did not know why he lay facedown in a forest. He did not know why his head hurt.

His senses returned and he pushed himself to his hands and knees. To the side, he heard the crackling of leaves. Someone approached on foot. Kieft dug his fingers into the earth, finding strange solace in the dampness.

A cold tingling passed from Kieft's fingertips, up his arms and into his neck, head and body. The dull ache in his legs washed away with the peculiar sensation. The wound on his skull no longer burned. The daze of being struck faded away. Kieft stood, eyeing the Expatritor with new confidence. He felt the throbbing onset of another headache but it did not matter with this new strength.

"Please, come with me peacefully," the Expatritor said. "I can help."

"Who are you?" Kieft asked, ignoring the request.

The Expatritor removed his helm again, revealing his dark features. He said, "I am Expatritor Valedros Luneiadon."

"Good," Kieft said. "I am -"

"I know who you are, Kieft," Valedros interrupted. "You must come with me or you will die."

Kieft began backing away, towards the thinning trees. "That sounds like a tough decision."

"Wait! You do not understand."

Kieft had heard enough. The Expatritor seemed reluctant to kill him; he had better take advantage while the kind-heartedness lasted. He ran.

"No! Kieft, wait!" the Expatritor shouted.

The clearing resolved itself quickly with Kieft's new-found energy. He gasped. The Tiaquin River, wider and deeper than he had ever seen around Tiadri town, cut across the Deep with deceptive calm. A tree hung over the edge of the overhanging cliff. Behind Kieft, the Expatritor advanced, arms outstretched.

Kieft leapt into the river. Upon impact, water engulfed his mouth and lungs and he sank beneath the surface. But then, the incredible strength of the undercurrents pulled Kieft downstream. He kicked and waved his arms, desperate to reach air, ignoring the searing in his chest.

Finally, he broke the water's surface, gulping air and coughing up liquid at the same time. He twisted around, treading water and content to let the river take him where it would. A glint of metal in the distance marked the spot where he had jumped and where the Expatritor stood and watched him drift away.

#

"Del?" Azdiem said. "What's going on?"

Delfrasian put up a calming hand and knelt beside Azdiem and Rianne. She had never seen either man appear so confused and delighted at the same time. Delfrasian nodded to Ceryn and Tome. "I am glad you are here," he said.

Ceryn smiled and nodded. "Many things have changed. But I see, some have not."

Delfrasian smiled wryly. He turned to Rianne and Azdiem and said, "When I told you about Thuristen and I travelling north, I did not mention the forest-folk we met on the trek." He appeared contrite. "The reason we turned back was not because we did not want to freeze to death. It was because we were already dying. In truth, we were lost - Ceryn and Tome found us, nursed us back to some semblance of health and helped us reach Brookholm where Akruor and Taleatha took care of us during the winter. The cairn we built was originally intended as my grave - that is how certain we were of dying out there."

Rianne found nothing to say to Delfrasian. Such an experience lay outside anything she could imagine, even after her old life had been wrenched away from her. Azdiem, however, muttered, "Spirits."

"Why didn't you tell us before?" Rianne asked.

Delfrasian shook his head. "Thuristen and I were sworn to secrecy."

"Forest-folk are not quite ready to make ourselves known to the rest of the world," Ceryn explained. "Afterall, your kind have a hard time believing in the myths of Shadowdeep. I'd warrant, a walking talking person that isn't human would cause something of a stir."

"I think I'm ready to believe in the existence of anything," Azdiem said.

"Even the Ahniki?"

"Myths!" Azdiem said abruptly.

"So are we!" Ceryn replied.

Azdiem frowned with her words. Delfrasian still appeared downcast. Ceryn sprang onto Delfrasian's shoulder in a single leap, the incredible equivalent of Rianne hopping to the top of a motte's keep. The tiny woman grinned. "Let's not dwell on the past, my friend. You're alive now and that's all that matters."

"What are you two doing here, then?" Delfrasian asked. Ceryn slid down his arm and gracefully landed on the bank of the stream. Her expression grew as solemn as Tome's, who had hardly moved.

"The Expatritors hunt you. As you are our friend, the village appointed us to protect you. Failing that, to take you where no Expatritor will find you."

"Where would that be?" Rianne asked, almost afraid of the answer.

Ceryn grinned while Tome watched wordlessly. The forestwoman said, "To the Zhandoura. To the Arjezeh desert."

#

Valedros clenched his gauntleted fists. He resisted the urge to swear - it was unbecoming of an Expatritor, let alone the son of ruling-class Brookholmers - but instead allowed a hearty, "Spirits!" The lad soon disappeared from sight; no one in the order would be able to track his trail now. He turned on his heel and marched back to his mount. What still puzzled him was the fact Kieft recovered so quickly from the blow to the head. Valedros had seen men and beasts fall unconscious after being struck by less, yet the young man seemed wholly unaffected. Perhaps there was more to him than Valedros believed.

He had not lied to Kieft; Valedros simply did not fear for the safety of Kieft as much as Rianne. The Expatritors sought her above all of their prey, even above the worst murderers and rapists of Brookholm. As he mounted his warhorse and rode north towards The Highway, he regretted his decision to leave the majority of the task to these outlying Expatritors. If those he had met in Tiadri and Argot were representative of what Expatritors outside Brookholm had become, he expected no good news when he would soon reunite with them on the road. On the other hand, if Rianne were captured and he were not present to save her from her fate in Brookholm, it could prove to be more disastrous than what Valedros believed she was capable of - destroying the entire order of Expatritors.

He emerged from the forests south of Eltarin and rode up to a group of Expatritors gathered on the road leading through the neglected fields. These were among the few remaining who had not either been sent to the edge of the Arjezeh desert beyond Guithannan or recalled to the Caelestus in Brookholm, the stronghold of the Expatritors. Unfortunately, these were also the Expatritors deemed unworthy of service on the field or of garrisoning the Brookholm Caelestus. In the days since he gathered them from the towns between here and Brookholm, Valedros expected nothing magnificent from them and so far, they had not disappointed.

"What news?" he said without ceremony.

The Expatritors saluted and one reported, "We have been unable to capture any bandits as yet, Expatritor Luneiadon. Our horses are too big to give chase within the forest."

"Very well," Valedros said, turning away.

The Expatritor continued, "We have sent a group of four on foot after the girl. They have not returned yet, so I assume they are still on her trail."

"Good," Valedros said. "Send a report to me as soon as you have news."

"To where?"

Valedros sighed. "I am returning to Brookholm. Send the report to my quarters at the Caelestus."

"Yes, Expatritor!"

Leaving the group of the Expatritor's most incompetent members behind, Valedros rode away.

The next morning, he arrived at an Expatritor outpost and transferred to a fresh mount. Such outposts were established in the more turbulent years when the Zhandoura were a consistent and dangerous threat to Guithannan and, to a lesser extent, Brookholm. Nowadays, the outposts were manned by Expatritor auxiliaries and served only to refresh travelling Expatritors and provide simple but sturdy accommodation. There, he also received confirmation of a missing Expatritor highway patrol - the stripped bodies of the horse and rider had been found in the forest within a day's march of Tiadri. Events moved swiftly, Valedros reminded himself, especially when they moved behind his back.

He pushed the horse harder than he intended, although he dreaded returning to Brookholm and the command of the Expatritor Charge, Ferrenus Raudolian - or, as many Expatritors and civilians alike whispered, Ferrenus the Ferret. But his duties to the Expatritors were outweighed by the promise of eating a homecooked meal at his uncle's home in Brookholm. Aunt Verena could outcook the best the Expatritor barracks had to offer. And perhaps Valedros could lie low for several days; he had a feeling his mother had matters of great importance to discuss with the Circle of Seven and the fallout over those issues would be reason enough to take a holiday, of sorts.

His horse enveloped the leagues in the late afternoon; Shadowdeep's clutch over the road loosened in the vicinity of Brookholm and Valedros rode forth with old foreboding melting away. Shadowdeep always made him nervous; although he was trained to survive in the wild, the horrors his childhood imagination had conjured stayed with him even after all these years. He removed his helm, allowing the wind to rustle his hair and savouring the freedom of breathing without the hunk of metal on his head.

The forest gave way to crops of largely wheat and corn, ready to be harvested in time for the Festival. Valedros rode past the occasional fruit orchard and herds of livestock roaming fallow fields. The road wended past scattered farmhouses and workers tending to their chores. But as he cast his eyes around, the farmers continued working, oblivious to his passing. Whenever he caught the eye of one, invariably the man or woman would avert their gaze downwards and scurry away to perform their duties. Eventually, Valedros gave up on being friendly towards the villagers, despondent that such a simple thing seemed impossible.

Soon, the towers which dominated the inner district of Brookholm rose up over the landscape, accentuating the city's position by the Aeltag Sea. Brookholm's walls were barely visible through the masses of buildings built in the surrounding boroughs, with many structures built against the wall itself. The Expatritors had once banned any structure from touching the defensive walls but Brookholm had not seen a Zhandouran invasion in living memory and that law had since been relaxed.

Valedros pushed his mount into the borough and suddenly all activity ceased as he rode through the cobblestone street. Children, with another day of lessons finished, stopped playing as they caught sight of the powerfully built Expatritor horse and they did not resume until Valedros passed from sight. Dogs and cats seemed to slink away from his path. Chatter and banter on the street between neighbours and shopkeepers halted, as if such idle talk offended the ears of the Expatritor. The flutes and fiddles of streetside buskers fell silent. But perhaps most worryingly for Valedros were the guards of the Brookholm Circle army - the sentries posted at regular intervals stared back at him with not the usual boredom, but defiance. Although the commoners' behaviour from the fields was usual, albeit unwarranted towards Valedros, the reception of the commoners here spoke of something more troublesome brewing. Perhaps the people resented the increased Expatritor presence in Brookholm. Or perhaps his mother had said something rash.

He endured the silence of the citizens until he finally passed through the walls of Brookholm and entered the city proper. Valedros nodded amicably to the Circle guards manning the gate; they nonchalantly waved him on. The western district of Brookholm traditionally held the centre of commerce for the city, with a general market open everyday and a massive monthly market where citizens from the outlying towns would bring produce to trade and sell. As far as Valedros knew, the residents of such towns treated these events as grand adventures. The residents of the Brookholm boroughs and western sector treated such events as painfully difficult to organise. The Expatritors often left the safety and peace-keeping to the Circle army; Brands were well-suited to such menial tasks.

Several streets over, where the Tiaquin River meandered through the city, the Columns of Tiaquin poked from the surrounding roofs; the dilapidated monoliths, built on either side of the river, had lost all historical significance long ago and had since become swallowed by the sprawling homes and businesses. The road which led to the inner district of Brookholm, keeping its name as The Highway, cut a direct path across the commercial area and doubled as a convenient shopping boulevard for the city's social elite. As The Highway neared the wall which separated the inner district from all others, it widened into a two-lane thoroughfare, divided by a nature strip of fine grass, pines, firs and even the occasional mighty oak. Smooth paving of the sort only seen within the inner sector covered the surface of The Highway and the storefronts sported elegant façades which were most probably designed and built by professional artisans, as rare as they were; they were perhaps even Audonians.

Valedros chuckled to himself even as ruling-class patrons wandered between the overpriced tailors and jewellers. As his mother often said, so long as they were happy.

The guardhouse of the second wall resolved into clear sight and Valedros felt his journey coming to a close. The inner wall of Brookholm stood upon an ancient raised ring of earth which elevated the structure and its defensive towers high above all other buildings in the surrounding area. The only rival to the wall in greatness was the Expatritor Caelestus which hunkered on the northwestern edge of the inner district and thus the distasteful northern sector of Brookholm. Valedros urged his horse up the incline and upon reaching the gate, nodded to the guards on duty. They appeared more amiable than most others and nodded respectfully in return. Valedros continued onwards.

Instead of taking the Valley Avenue to the north and towards the Caelestus, Valedros stayed on The Highway, which ran directly to the Circle of Seven buildings constructed on a hill overlooking all directions for a day's travel on horseback. The rear of the hill formed a craggy cliff which adjoined directly to the Aeltag Ocean, endlessly buffeting the rocks and spraying water which never quite reached halfway up the cliff's face. Incessant rumours within the Expatritorial ranks wondered when they would take over the Circle's highly desirable location - peacefully or by force, it never seemed to matter. Thankfully for Valedros' and his mother's sake, the rumours remained only as rumours as the Circle's command over the army would discourage any attempted conquest of their grounds.

The Highway led directly up the hill. The inner district houses - or more correctly, Valedros thought, minor palaces - stood in rough concentric semicircles around the hill in a terraced manner which reminded him of the terraced fields around Guithannan. The thought of visiting Guithannan flashed through his mind and his heart fluttered at the mere notion of seeing Keilaine, Lord Martreas' youngest daughter, again. Just as quickly, he dismissed the thought, not embarrassed by his unbecoming feelings for a noblewoman but knowing that the events that led to his recall to Brookholm meant that he should not hold such flights of fancy.

Pairs of Circle army Brands paced the streets, lighting oil street-lamps, refilling them when necessary. Valedros knew he drew close to the top of the hill and close to the Circle buildings when he began passing men and women still hurrying on foot completing errands throughout the city. Ruling-class citizens walked the streets in their finery, sometimes whispering to one another behind closed hands, other times speaking brashly to be heard by all. The matters of the Circle of Seven rarely stopped when the sun dipped below the horizon. At least here, an Expatritor was not ignored, but Valedros stayed wary - who knew what politicking an innocent word could disguise.

Finally, Valedros entered the Circle grounds proper through a nondescript gatehouse set in the ornate iron fence which delineated Circle property from the rest of the city. As soon as Valedros passed the guards, a stablehand took the reins of his mount and led him towards the stables only a short distance from the gate. Within the stable, Valedros tossed a tenth-cirren to the boy and said, "See that my gear is taken to my quarters at the Caelestus."

The boy managed to bow quickly while unfastening the saddle, "Yes, Expatritor."

Valedros left his armour on, as uncomfortable as it was. He preferred an Expatritor apprentice to handle his weapons and armour rather than a Circle stablehand. Leaving the boy to tend to the horse, Valedros stepped outside, still fiercely armed.

The groundskeepers of the Circle kept the lawn and hedges neatly trimmed, the paths swept clear of leaves and the interspersed trees without a twig out of place. At the end of the lawns, set close against the cliff, stood a squat stone building of undefinable architecture - the building which housed the Circle of Seven council. Valedros walked slowly towards the Council, with its peculiar columns, unreasonably large stone bricks and flat roof. He ignored the other palatial structures, once residences of the rich, now administrative buildings and residences of the bureaucracy of Brookholm, the support staff of the Circle-Members and resident guards. Valedros responded politely to the occasional greeting, not bothering to read meaning into their words. He only sought his mother, hoping his anxiety about Circle and Expatritor relations unfounded. Any disruption in his search for Rianne could be unpropitious.

Valedros trotted up the stairs of the squat council building and the reverberant halls welcomed him into its cool depths. He stopped a muttering clerk who almost erupted into a self-righteous outburst but then held her tongue when she realised who interrupted her thoughts.

"Have you seen Circle-Member Ellaidra?" Valedros asked.

"No, Expatritor," the clerk said. "I believe the Circle is still in council."

"Until when?"

She shrugged. "Their discussions may continue late tonight. The Zhandoura."

"I see," Valedros said, allowing the clerk to continue on her way but she stood before him, as if expecting something more.

"You don't remember me?" she said.

Valedros raised an eyebrow and studied her vaguely familiar face. "Enanna?"

The clerk smiled, hiding disappointment. Valedros added, "It has been a while. And you've cut your hair."

"Oh, Valedros," Enanna chided, "it has only been since last autumn."

Valedros shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry, I've had many things to worry about."

"I know." Enanna slowly crossed her arms. "I know I'm not anything like Lady Keilaine, but..." She looked away, then met Valedros' eyes. "You didn't even say goodbye."

Valedros nodded silently. As if sensing his uncertainty, Enanna said, "I have to go and deliver these papers for your mother."

She left, footsteps pouring scorn in her wake.

Valedros continued walking through the main corridor, not stopping to admire the carvings of animals and plants made directly into the stone walls. Seeing Enanna again had rattled his usual poise but he soon regained a stoic demeanour, although one which only masked turbulent thoughts and a confused heart.

His armour's metallic echoes overshadowed the soft steps of the Circle staff and Valedros, slightly self-conscious, turned to a side hall. He would probably have to wait in his mother's offices until the session concluded to speak with her, rather than interrupting their deliberations. The last time he unwisely barged into the Council, his mother banned him from the Circle Hill for four weeks.

Valedros made his way through the labyrinthine back-corridors of the Council which were, for the most part, untravelled and laid with furs or carpet. As he caught sight of his mother's offices, a squeal of delight sounded behind him.

"Valedros!"

Cathlanie, the young orphan taken in by one of the Circle scribes, charged him just as he turned around. Just as she realised steel armour encased his entire body, she skidded on a rug and fell on her bottom. Valedros crouched and helped her to her feet. "Good evening, Cathlanie."

For all of her seven springs, the girl had lived with Avarola the scribe but as her foster-mother worked many hours for the Circle, Cathlanie stayed many hours within the Council, becoming everyone's surrogate daughter. Yet, Cathlanie's outbursts and occasional bizarre demeanour estranged some of the staff. Nevertheless, Valedros' and the Expatritor's search for Rianne originated with a string of words Cathlanie once uttered - evidence that the cruel nickname of Crazy Cathlanie was not entirely justified.

"Where have you been?" she asked.

"I have been away on a mission," Valedros said with a gentle smile.

"Did you kill anyone?"

"Only bad people."

Cathlanie put her hands behind her back and said spritely, "So, are you glad to be home again?"

Valedros nodded. "Of course."

"Aren't you going to give me a kiss hello?"

"All right," Valedros said.

All of a sudden, Cathlanie grabbed Valedros' ears with unbecoming force for a child and pulled his face onto hers. Her lips mashed onto his. Valedros tried to pull back but Cathlanie's hands stayed firm on his ears and he wondered if she would tear them from his head if he jerked back. His musings cut short when he felt her tongue worm between his lips and slide along his teeth. Valedros mentally swore and shoved Cathlanie away, ears be damned. She flew backwards a couple feet and plonked on her bottom again.

For a tense moment, she stared back at Valedros, eyes like a wolf watching prey, bright, almost on fire. Then, Cathlanie appeared to realise what she had done and cried out, "I'm so sorry. I don't know what's happening!"

Before Valedros thought of a response, she ran away, disappearing into the endless halls. He shook his head to himself; Cathlanie had become more erratic than ever in the past couple weeks. Valedros sighed and got to his feet, pondering the meaning behind her behaviour.

#

"Ready?" Ceryn asked Rianne. The forestwoman sat on her shoulder, boundless good nature bubbling directly into Rianne's ear.

She shrugged in response. "I suppose."

"Now, concentrate," Ceryn said intensely. "Keep your eyes on the destination. Visualise making the step. And step there."

Rianne nodded, fluttering in her stomach growing. She leaned forward on her crutches, digging them into the bank of the stream. Her shoulders ached. Her leg pulsed. Rianne ignored the pain and stared at the bend in the stream a field's length away. Concentrating on making the step there, rather than here, a tingling tickled her shoulder where Ceryn sat, her own anticipation showing in her bated breath.

Her foot rose and Rianne pushed on her crutches. The earth lurched backwards and panic filled her. She heard Ceryn say, "Step! Visualise!"

Doing as the forestwoman said, Rianne followed through on her step even though she felt her body falling backwards. She closed her eyes and visualised the step taking her to the bend in the stream. Just on the edge of the water. She could almost smell the earth being broken by her boot.

The earth tipped forward. All of her senses screamed to protect herself from falling onto her face. To drop the crutches and take the fall as Daerain had taught her. Rianne dared to open her eyes and all of the trees, the water, the earth and even the sky seemed to have tilted at an impossible angle. She felt her stomach rise to her throat.

Suddenly, equilibrium restored itself. Her good foot and crutches planted solidly in the ground. Rianne looked around. She stood at the bend and far behind her, Delfrasian, Azdiem and Tome waved. She heard Azdiem swear in amazement more than once.

"Well done," Ceryn said.

"So, that's how Delfrasian and Thuristen did it?" Rianne asked. "That's how they returned to Brookholm so easily."

"Yes, but their first steps were not so ambitious. The further you step, the more difficult it is."

"You mean with the ground moving like that?"

Ceryn nodded. "With more experience, such as what all forestfolk possess, it is easier to ignore what your senses tell you and to just move forward."

"Ignore my senses," Rianne muttered to herself. Aloud, she asked, "What about you?"

"Tome and I will be fine," Ceryn assured Rianne. "By the end of the day, completely exhausted, but fine." She motioned to the others and Rianne watched them. Tome sat on Azdiem's shoulder and spoke to him, probably last-minute instructions before the former soldier made his first attempt.

Azdiem nodded in acknowledgement and Tome settled. The soldier closed his eyes and lifted a leg forward. The two melted into the air. Rianne gasped. A flurry of colours slid across space. And Azdiem and Tome faded into view only several feet away. Only a short gust of wind and a low humming betrayed their arrival. The Brookholmer turned around and upon seeing the distance he had covered could only gape in awe. Eventually, he managed some words. "How many times can you do that in a day?"

Ceryn shrugged nonchalantly. "As many times as we need."

"Incredible," Azdiem said. "With a power like this, it almost doesn't matter about Rianne's leg."

"We must put distance between us and the Expatritors first of all," Tome said. "When we are safe, we will tend to Rianne's injuries."

"What about Delfrasian?" Azdiem said.

Rianne and the forestfolk cast their eyes around. Delfrasian had disappeared. "Where is he?"

Azdiem frowned. "Don't tell me he can do it on his own."

Ceryn shook her head. "We would be able to feel it emanate from his body, if he were able to travel like that."

"Delfrasian?" Rianne called out. No response sounded from the forest.

"Wait here," Ceryn said. Before anyone acknowledged her, she melted from view and hues streaked across their vision, disappearing through the forest.

Tome said nothing, only folded his legs beneath him and clasped his hands together. Azdiem followed his lead, relaxing against a log. Rianne asked the forestman, "What did Ceryn mean, being able to feel it emanate from Delfrasian?"

"We are a people who do not know from whence we came." Tome raised his eyes, meeting hers. "Do you know where your people come from?"

"Yes," Rianne said. Silently, she struggled to recall lessons of history. "My people are from Brookholm."

"And where did the Brookholmers come from?"

Rianne said nothing for a moment. Azdiem grinned and shrugged. She eventually said, "I don't know. I guess Brookholmers were always there."

"Do you know the origins of the Expatritors?"

Rianne positively knew the answer to this question, having spent half a lifetime aspiring to join them. "The Expatritors were formed many years ago in Brookholm to protect its people. Their formation marked the first year of our calendar, which means, at eight-hundred and seventy-four springs old, the Expatritors are the oldest organisation in existence apart from Brookholm city itself."

"Is that what they tell you?" Tome said sardonically.

"It is what we are taught in school," Rianne said defensively.

"And who founds these schools?" Tome pressed.

Again, Rianne was at a loss. "I don't know. Mine was founded long before I was born."

Tome nodded slowly, knowingly. "Yes. That is true. That is also the point - how can one know oneself without knowing the past, the truth?

"To answer your question, Rianne, the forestfolk must know our past - just as you must know yours - in order to learn of the truth. We don't know how we travel, or heal, or feel pain, sadness and happiness. Only that we do."

Puzzlement rose with Tome's words; even Azdiem leaned forward. Rianne said, "What truth must I learn?"

"Not you," Tome said, "you! You, Azdiem, Delfrasian, Thuristen, all of you."

"All of us? We, as a people?"

"Yes," Tome said.

"From where?" Azdiem chimed in.

"From many places," Tome answered. "Perhaps from the Zhandoura, perhaps from the Expatritors. But you must remember that in the telling the teller always colours the truth. Even as the Tiaquin runs from the Stonepeak Ranges to the Aeltag Sea, the silt and dirt and leaves and branches are all dragged in the flow."

Rianne absorbed the forestman's words which hinted at something she had always felt, a void which she had tried to fill with a yearning to join the Expatritors. Expatritors had always seemed to know something others did not, especially in the way they administered justice as if no one else could. At least the matters Tome raised distracted from their predicament.

Tome stood. He said, "She returns."

A tall shimmering flitted across the stream and suddenly Delfrasian, Thuristen and Ceryn coalesced and tumbled into the water. Delfrasian dragged Thuristen up. Blood soaked from wounds across the lanky man's arms and chest and he seemed barely conscious. Red swirled by their feet.

Ceryn doubled over, heaving for air. "We have to leave now. Four Expatritors are just around that bend."

"I'll take Azdiem and Thuristen since they're bigger," Tome said. "Can you manage Delfrasian and Rianne?"

"I think so," Ceryn said between breaths. "Give me a minute."

Azdiem bristled. "Delfrasian and I can fight them."

"No," Delfrasian said. "We are weaponless, have people to defend and are outnumbered."

Thuristen raised his head. His eyes were swollen shut and blood dribbled from his nose. "Leave me. Get out of here while you can."

"We're not leaving anyone behind," Delfrasian said.

Tome closed his eyes. "They are coming. They are hungry for blood."

Ceryn leapt onto Delfrasian's shoulder. She said, "We must go through the forest. If we stay on the stream, the Expatritors will simply follow it."

"Right," Azdiem said, catching onto her logic. "And we can travel through the forest since our trail disappears."

"We must hurry," Tome said. He jumped onto Azdiem's shoulder. The former soldier took the wounded Thuristen from Delfrasian and propped him over his opposite shoulder.

Rianne put a hand on Delfrasian's arm. Behind them, shouts sounded and the excited splashes meant the Expatritors had caught sight of the outlaws. Ceryn and Tome nodded to each other as Azdiem and Delfrasian raised a leg forward. Rianne squeezed her eyes shut. The earth tilted sickeningly again.

Delfrasian led Azdiem through the forest, every step taking the group further into Shadowdeep with only snapshot images of their surroundings remaining in Rianne's memory. They would emerge into a grassy clearing, lurch and reappear immersed by trees. Delfrasian's steps varied from short distances which rocked Rianne only slightly to massive leaps which pushed the world almost upside-down. More than once, Rianne felt sure she would vomit and wondered off-hand if capture by the Expatritors would be so bad.

The group halted on the side of a small hill. Stone ruins clung to the incline; if Rianne squinted, the crumbling remains might have formed the walls of a fortress. The usual undergrowth of the Deep around the townships was non-existent; only a thin layer of leaves covered the hard ground. Trees had also thinned but they grew to massive thicknesses which Rianne had rarely seen before; a log visible on the descent below them would have risen more than twice her height even though it lay on its side. Birdcalls she did not recognise echoed in the distance.

"What is this place?" Rianne asked.

Ceryn replied, "These are the ruins of a Zhandouran settlement."

"This far east? Where are we?"

"We near the foothills of the Stonepeak Ranges," Ceryn replied.

Rianne missed a breath, her throat momentarily choked. Delfrasian smiled as she said, "We've travelled more than half the distance to Guithannan in less than half a day!"

Ceryn shrugged. "That would be about right."

"I always wanted to see the world but I never thought I'd see it this way," Rianne said. She leaned against a mossy stone block which had fallen from the wall. At least they had lost the Expatritors, although Rianne thought no one would have been able to say in which direction they fled, let alone catch them. As they waited, perhaps even Tome had lost their trail.

A sense of security fell over Rianne. Though she missed her home and her friends from Tiadri, perhaps she could make a new life elsewhere. Her new companions, especially Ceryn and Tome, seemed willing to provide alternatives for her - something which the Expatritors, in their concrete ways, were unable to do. Their concept of justice seemed to consist only of being rid of problems, instead of solving them. Suddenly, anger swept over her but she stopped short of silently swearing revenge. It was not Dhagara's way.

Azdiem, Thuristen and Tome shimmered into view. The former soldier let Thuristen lie down. Delfrasian said, "How is he?"

"We should stop and tend to him," Azdiem said. "We've lost all pursuit."

Delfrasian turned to Ceryn, who sat crosslegged on the ground. She nodded. "I could do with a rest."

"Good," Delfrasian said. "We can use the rest of the day to set up camp." He produced a knife, their only weapon or tool and set about clearing the area with the help of Azdiem. Tome said something about food and disappeared into the forest. Ceryn motioned to Rianne and she followed the forestwoman to Thuristen's side.

"Help me remove his clothes," Ceryn said to Rianne.

Thuristen smiled weakly as Rianne sat him up. "Now you get revenge for me pulling you into the water that time."

Rianne returned his smile and said, "Try to relax." She slipped Thuristen's bloodied shirt over his head, revealing the extent of his injuries. Delfrasian and Azdiem paused a moment from building a shelter within the ruins of the fortress. Azdiem swore when he caught sight of Thuristen's battered body.

Rianne shifted her weight to compensate for her injured leg. She winced in sympathy for Thuristen. She said to Ceryn, "We need some water."

Delfrasian tossed her a waterskin. "That's all we have." Rianne moistened a clean corner of Thuristen's shirt with their meagre supply of water and began cleaning his wounds. Soon, it became apparent that most of his injuries were internal but Rianne did what she could, bandaging the worst of the cuts with strips of cloth from his sleeves.

By the time she finished, Delfrasian and Azdiem had completed constructing a rudimentary hut against the decayed stone walls and they moved Thuristen beneath the stick and leaf mud roof. Ceryn took the waterskin to hunt for more water. Azdiem wandered off in search of firewood.

Rianne sat on the ground, stretching her legs as best as she could. Delfrasian asked her, "What about you?"

"I'm fine," Rianne said. "The cut on my back is healing. Nothing much I can do about my leg."

"There's plenty we can do for your leg," Tome said dragging a body behind him.

Delfrasian leaped up to help the forestman with the worm-like mass. Rianne said, "What in spirits is that?"

Tome replied, "A skeryanc." Delfrasian pulled the skeryanc into their site. The bulk of the body, the size of a large dog, appeared as a fleshy sack with smooth skin like a plucked chicken. A tubule protruded from one end of the body where long thin hairs also sprouted. Hairy segmented legs grew from underneath the body. Delfrasian rolled it over gently. The body flopped onto its side, legs pointing towards Rianne, and she started back - not from the appearance of the six legs but the gaping maw which split the underside lengthwise, end to end. Razor teeth lined the jaws of the skeryanc in neat rows. A putrid rotting wafted towards Rianne and she screwed up her nose.

"They're killers," Tome said. "They roam the Deep, far from any settlements, but they will feed on anything that moves. They pounce and grip their prey with those legs. Then, the mouth feeds."

"How did you kill it?" Rianne asked.

"See how they have no eyes?" Tome said, pointing to the tubule and thin hairs. "They can smell and feel, but cannot see. Any forestfolk can drop from above and grab onto the breathing tube." Tome demonstrated, miming a strangling. "Skeryanc can use it to lurk underwater but on ground, it is a weakness. If you or Delfrasian grabbed onto the tube, a skeryanc would just twist around and bite you. But forestfolk are small and can hold onto it even if it rolls around." Tome again mimed his feat.

Rianne asked Delfrasian. "Have you seen one of these before?"

He nodded. "We have, right, Thuristen?"

"Yes," the injured man's weak voice sounded. "Save me a leg."

Delfrasian chuckled while Rianne wondered what he meant. Tome hopped onto the skeryanc's body, holding Delfrasian's knife like a massive sword. Realisation hit her.

"We're going to eat it?"

"Yes," Delfrasian said.

Before Rianne had time to ponder what a skeryanc tasted like, a yell resonated through the trees.

"Azdiem!" Delfrasian exclaimed. He sprinted in the direction of the cries. Tome hopped onto Rianne's shoulder and said, "Let's go."

With gingerly care, Rianne stood and visualised stepping next to a tree a short distance away. The ground tipped back and forth, the landscape shifting forward. She was there. Tome pointed towards Delfrasian's white hair flashing between the trees. Rianne stepped towards him.

When they emerged, Rianne immediately saw Azdiem struggling to break free of a net at the base of a sprawling oak. Tome muttered, "An ildrich." He leaped off her shoulder, towards Delfrasian, who rushed forward.

Rianne hobbled up the sharp inclines, using exposed roots and embedded rocks for support. Delfrasian set about cutting the net away when a peculiar rattling sounded from above. They all looked up and from the branches of the oak, a spider the size of a grown man lowered itself on a thread which resembled the netting which Azdiem lay trapped in.

"Don't bother with that! Take it all away with him," Tome shouted. "I will mind the ildrich." He leaped up, above the ildrich, landed on its rear and then he leaped again, disappearing in the foliage.

Delfrasian cut the net, which was glued to the tree and pulled Azdiem, web and all, away from the oak. The ildrich hissed as it watched its intended prey escape. Leaves and brush caught on the web surrounding Azdiem but Delfrasian ignored it. Finally, he reached Rianne and said, "It's too dangerous here. Let's get to level ground."

"What about Tome?" Rianne said.

"He knows what he's doing."

Delfrasian bundled Azdiem over his shoulder and led the way down the side of the hill. Rianne glanced back over her shoulder; the ildrich had disappeared, presumably into the branches of the oak. Tome was nowhere to be seen.

They halted a short distance away and Delfrasian set about freeing Azdiem from the remaining strands of sticky netting.

"Thanks, Del," Azdiem said. "You saved me, yet again."

Delfrasian only nodded with a relieved smile. Rianne guessed that none of the outlaws kept count of the number of times they had faced death but had been saved by each other. They were true comrades who did not need to.

Peeling a strand of web from his cheek, Azdiem said, "You could really learn to hate a place like this."

Delfrasian raised an eyebrow, underscoring Azdiem's understatement. "Let's get back to camp."

They returned to their site, collecting some wood along their path. Upon their return, they found Ceryn gutting and cleaning the skeryanc and a full waterskin hanging from a branch near the ruins. Rianne settled on the far side of Ceryn while Delfrasian and Azdiem left to collect more firewood.

Ceryn carefully laid body parts on arranged leaves on the ground. She set aside the brain, liver, kidneys and various other organs. The intestines, bones and skin she discarded. She said, "A shame about the stomach and skin. But we don't have time to cure them." The legs, she skinned and extracted the tendons. She left the flesh on the spindly bones and put them aside with the organs.

"Can you build a fire?" Ceryn asked Rianne.

"Sure," she answered and began preparations in the shallow firepit which Delfrasian had dug earlier next to the shelter.

As Ceryn began cleaning the tendons of the skeryanc, Tome walked into the campsite covered in brown mucous. He sat next to Ceryn and breathed deeply.

"What happened to you?" Rianne asked.

"I broke open the ildrich's eggs to distract it," Tome said. "I'm soaked in ildrich juice."

"You want to clean yourself off?" Ceryn said without taking her eyes from her work.

"Water?"

Ceryn pointed to the south. "That way. No more than a league." Tome shimmered out of sight.

Rianne began rubbing the end of a thick stick against a wider piece of timber. She had placed crushed dry leaves at the end of the fireplow which would soon become hot enough to light the larger pieces of tinder in the firepit. As she worked the plow, she asked Ceryn, "What will you use the tendons for?"

"Skeryanc tendons are especially good for bows and crossbows," Ceryn said.

"Oh," was all Rianne said. She had not seen much archery equipment in Tiadri; Listan owned only a single crossbow and the Expatritors seemed not to use bows at all. Not that they had needed to, she thought. On the other hand, all of the townspeople had used slings, especially in youth.

Rianne let her memories of home fade, directing her attention to the smouldering leaves on the fireplow. Delfrasian and Azdiem returned with several armloads of firewood and placed them by the shelter. Rianne leaned into the firepit, placing the smoking leaves next to the larger tinder. She patiently blew on the leaves and the tinder ignited. The carefully constructed woodpile in the firepit caught fire, each piece of wood lit from a smaller one until the largest began burning.

"Good work," Delfrasian said.

"The benefits of an apprenticeship," Rianne said lightly.

Ceryn directed Delfrasian in the cooking of the skeryanc and despite Rianne's misgivings, she had to admit that the scents of the strange beast on the fire made her mouth water in anticipation. Tome returned as Delfrasian tossed the legs of the skeryanc across the fire. The forestman carried various leaves, berries and grasses in a makeshift sling across his back. He ignored the fire and set the bundle on the ground next to Rianne. He said to her, "Now, to your leg."

"What is all of this for?" Rianne asked.

"A poultice for you and Thuristen," Tome said.

"What good could a poultice be for a broken bone?"

Tome said, "I guarantee that by this time tomorrow, we will be using your crutches for firewood."

Rianne glanced around the camp as Tome began sorting through the herbs. A slight smile danced across Delfrasian's lips. Azdiem seemed to know nothing. Ceryn's concentration centred entirely on the skeryanc.

Tome hopped around the camp and collected the knife and waterskin. "May I?" he asked, pointing to one of Azdiem's sleeves. The former soldier nodded and the forestman tore a wide strip of cloth away. Tome returned to Rianne and said to her, "Do you trust me?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Rianne saw Delfrasian nod surreptitiously. She answered, "Yes."

"Good," Tome said. "This will hurt you a lot more than it will hurt me."

The forestman unbound the brace on Rianne's leg. The strips of her woollen trousers fell away. Tome took the knife and cut Rianne's leg across her broken bone. She stifled a cry and resisted the instinct to swipe Tome in the head. Blood welled up immediately and Tome placed the strip of cloth across the open wound. Rianne clenched her fists with the pain.

Tome quickly placed a mix of the leaves, fruit and grass on the cloth and folded it up. He motioned to Rianne to hold the cloth to her leg and she placed a gentle hand against it, wary to agonise the broken bone. Tome put his forearm against the blade of the knife. He sliced his flesh open and his blood flowed out. He pushed his wound against the cloth, binding his blood with the herbs of the poultice.

"Now, tie the poultice to your leg," Tome said. "We'll take a look at it in the morning."

Rianne wrapped the strips of her trouser leg around the herbs as Tome began the same treatment for Thuristen. Azdiem left the fire to aid the forestman and Rianne wondered what else the forestfolk's knowledge held.

"Why your blood?" she asked Tome.

"Power," Tome said from the shelter. "Blood is a part of us and shares some of the power which lets us travel great distances, jump great heights or lift full waterskins twice our size over our heads."

Delfrasian handed a roasted skeryanc leg to Rianne while Tome and Azdiem treated Thuristen's injuries. Rianne bit into the surprisingly fleshy limb, hunger overriding any concerns for taste. The stringy meat felt strange on her tongue but at the same time juicy and tender with a taste reminiscent of fish.

They devoured the rest of the skeryanc; only Tome and Ceryn stomached the fist-sized brain - Delfrasian's adventurous mouthful was immediately spat onto the fire, to the laughter of Azdiem and Rianne.

The mood turned sombre when night fell. Wordlessly in agreement about the unfamiliar forest, they huddled next to the shelter, hiding within the ruins.

"We don't have enough wood to last the night," Azdiem said.

"Tome and I will keep watch," Ceryn said reassuringly. "All of you need to rest."

"What about you two?" Rianne asked. "Don't you need sleep?"

"Not as much," Ceryn said.

"You and Thuristen will need more rest," Tome said. "The poultice will be draining."

Rianne nodded. But before she wriggled herself beneath the shelter, she asked Tome, "Why did you do this for us?"

The forestman said nothing for a moment. His gaze on the woodlands betrayed nothing. "You're not special, Rianne. Everyone has their own tragedies, their own worries." Tome motioned to Delfrasian. "Why did Delfrasian and Azdiem decide to help you, instead of leaving you to die? I would say the inherent goodness in them, despite their lot in life. The same way they helped Thuristen or your other companions, Autreya, Grith, Akruor."

"Or maybe for revenge," Azdiem said with a grim smile. He elaborated when the others cast an inquiring glance. "The more enemies of the Expatritors who escape, the more who will live to fight another day."

Tome turned back to Rianne with a smile. "Whether or not you decide to fight in Azdiem's personal army of vengeance, the nature of a person can be determined by their actions towards strangers, when actions are anonymous. I'd like to think we are all good people."

Rianne nodded, the obvious exception to Tome's statement louder than any words uttered. She bade the group goodnight, safer for the moment. But wary of the future.

#

Uncle Dunlead removed the empty dishes and bowls from the table and Valedros thanked him and Aunt Verena for the splendid meal. Eilli, his cousin and his uncle's eldest daughter, walked into the kitchen, followed by his mother, Ellaidra. Tinges of grey touched her hair - tied in a bun - but they added an aura of stately authority which few could ignore.

Valedros stood, somewhat disappointed his mother had found him so easily - she still wore the gown of the Circle over her clothes. Dunlead and his wife Verena turned around from washing the bowls and greeted Ellaidra as warmly as they could with arms dripping soapsuds.

"Ellaidra. So good to see you," Aunt Verena said, kissing the Circle Speaker on the cheek. Dunlead dried his hands on a washcloth and hugged Valedros' mother.

"Good evening, sister," Dunlead said. "Something to eat?"

Ellaidra shook her head. "No, thanks. I've just come to see my son."

"Hello, mother," Valedros said, kissing her cheek.

"It was somewhat worrying to first hear of your gear reaching the Expatritor Caelestus without its owner, then to hear that you left the Circle Council without leaving a message for your mother," Ellaidra said. To Dunlead, she asked, "May I borrow your sitting room for a few minutes?"

"Of course," Dunlead said. He pulled Eilli to the sink and the chore of washing the rest of the cutlery, then led Valedros and Ellaidra out of the kitchen to the front portion of the townhouse. They passed the narrow staircase which led to the bedrooms on the second and third floors and entered the sitting room which itself opened onto a balcony overlooking the street. The road curved to the north and adjoined The Highway as it cut through the inner sector of Brookholm.

Dunlead closed the balcony doors, knowing that any communication between Valedros and Ellaidra would probably concern the Circle of Seven and the Expatritors. Given recent events, their discussion would be highly sensitive. He said, "A glass of wine, perhaps?"

"Yes," Ellaidra said, sitting in a leather armchair. "That would be lovely."

"Valedros?" Dunlead asked.

"No, thanks, uncle," he responded. Valedros preferred his full faculties for what he presumed was not a social call on the part of his mother. Dunlead left the sitting room, closing the door behind him.

Valedros sat on a divan, part of the set which adorned the room. Paintings by artists he should have known hung on the walls and several rugs of Shadowdeep bears lay on the hardwood floor. The sitting room emanated lush embellishments which Valedros felt did not become his uncle and aunt. The room, however, suited his mother perfectly.

"How are you, Valedros?"

"Well enough, mum," he responded. "How are things on the Circle?"

"As they always are," Ellaidra said. "They never end. Did your mission to the west go well?"

Valedros shook his head. "No." He changed the subject. "And uncle Karradros?"

"Your uncle is a stubborn man," Ellaidra said. "Combine that with Expatritor training and we have the greatest mule-head for a Saeculus in anyone's memory."

Valedros chuckled despite himself. Uncle Karradros, the brother of Dunlead and his mother, held a reputation for getting his own way and his position on the Circle and Saeculus of the Expatritors meant that he usually did. He said, "Do you want me to talk to him about something?"

Ellaidra shook her head. "No, Valedros. I want to talk to you of something else entirely."

Valedros leaned forward on the divan as his mother composed her thoughts. She continued, "Ever since your father died, I have had very little to draw strength from. I have you and Dunlead and the others but no one from your father's side of the family."

Valedros nodded. His father, Albien Luneiadon, was an only child, as were Valedros' paternal grandparents. Ellaidra continued, "One of the greatest regrets about being elected Circle Speaker was losing a brother. The Saeculus of the Expatritors has always been traditionally at odds against the rest of the Circle, especially the Brookholm army Charge. But I never thought things would end up like this."

"I know matters are twisted and jumbled," Valedros said, "but they'll work themselves out, won't they?"

With a regretful curl of her lips, Ellaidra lifted her shoulders in a graceful shrug. "I do not know this time, Valedros. Matters may have gotten out of hand."

"Out of hand?"

"Perhaps that is not the best choice of words," Ellaidra qualified. "Matters are bigger than any one person. Or any one group of people, even the Circle of Seven, even bigger than the Expatritors."

The door opened and Dunlead entered with a tray laden with a decanter and two crystal goblets. He laid the tray on the knee-high centre table and poured a glass of red wine for Ellaidra.

"My thanks, brother," she said.

As Dunlead politely left the room again, his mother continued, "There is more behind the movements of the Expatritors than what you or I may believe. And I need you to find out for me."

Valedros swallowed nervously. "You want me to spy?"

Ellaidra put up a placating hand. She sipped the wine and placed the goblet on the table. "Hear me out, Valedros."

"Very well," he responded, stomach still fluttering with what his mother had suggested.

"On my way here, I overheard a conversation between a father and two sons - from the southern sector, labourers - and the father was trying to explain to his youngest why he was not allowed to apprentice to the Expatritors. The father said to his son that Expatritors only took the right kind of cirrens. In particular, not theirs."

"The Expatritors allow only those with Expatritors in their family line to apprentice," Valedros said.

"Yes," Ellaidra said. "But that is not what the father told his sons. Do you not find that strange, that a father would tell his sons something about the Expatritors that is clearly not true? What does that tell you, Valedros?"

"That not everyone likes the Expatritors, I would guess."

Ellaidra nodded earnestly. "And what have the Expatritors done to deserve such dislike?"

Valedros sat silently for a moment. He could think of many things, especially from his recent trip to the outlying Brookholm townships. Yet, surely the Expatritors of Brookholm did not warrant the same judgement he had pronounced upon the Expatritors of Tiadri, Argot and other towns.

"Valedros, things are not well with the Expatritors. That is plain to see. You might not ever tell me what truly occurred in Guithannan but that fact that the Charge Minor died mysteriously speaks more than any words.

"Perhaps there was a time when the Expatritors safeguarded the citizens of Brookholm and Guithannan but now they are the rulers in all but name. The Circle struggles to keep ahead of the Expatritors within Brookholm - a task not made easy by the Saeculus' permanent seat within the Circle. We can outvote your uncle on many issues but there are others upon which Falloney, Sardenyi or Malius may disagree with me. Even my old tutor Mirian may side with Karradros, eventually."

"What will you do?" Valedros asked, his mother's words speaking what he himself kept unsaid since the Expatritors accepted him after his expensive apprenticeship.

"It is not a matter of what I and Charge Bollardon will do. It is a matter of what we have done." Ellaidra leaned back in the armchair. "We must follow through to the end.

"The army and I have not agreed on many things during my time on the Circle. But Curnailet and Commander Fenetreu guarantee their loyalty to this cause. We have never been closer allies."

Valedros bowed his head. He rubbed his forehead. The things his mother had said already warranted action on his part for the Expatritors. He rather would not face the turmoil in his conscience at the moment. "I think you're asking the wrong person for help. The Zhandoura would gladly take up your cause."

"I know they would," Ellaidra said.

"How?"

"Captain Rielov told me so himself," his mother answered. "Of all the people who know of the Expatritors and the decay they have led Brookholm into, the Zhandoura know best. They have watched us for generations from the outside."

"The declaration of war against the Zhandoura was a ruse?" Valedros said unbelievingly.

"No," Ellaidra said. "It was no ruse. We will be at war against the Zhandoura. But not a single Brookholm soldier will fight. Only Expatritors."

"Mother! I might have been sent to fight," Valedros protested.

"Perhaps, but the son of Albien and Ellaidra was not taught to follow the orders of a fool, was he?"

"Would that fool be Uncle Karradros or you, I wonder?" Valedros said with an ambiguous smile.

His mother smiled in return, acknowledging Valedros' remark. She continued, "I cannot risk battles between the Brookholm army and the Expatritors within the city. The people are already jittery with the troop movements coinciding with the upcoming Harvest Festival.

"The Zhandoura are the only people who threaten the Expatritors. You know, of all people, that the attitude of the Expatritors towards the Zhandoura is only a reflection of their fear. How many campaigns have the Expatritors led into the Arjezeh?"

Valedros thought for a moment. "Twenty, from memory."

"And how many deemed successful?"

"All of them," Valedros said. "If you ask an Expatritor."

Ellaidra chuckled. "Common wisdom says none were fruitful." Valedros nodded. "Yet, in 221 when the Zhandoura made their one and only incursion from the Arjezeh desert, they took Guithannan, swept past Junction and took all of the towns on both sides of the Tiaquin. Had not the combined Dhagaram of Brookholm convinced them to turn back, Brookholm would surely have fallen within the week.

"The Zhandoura fought and conquered but did not destroy, rape or pillage. They killed only Expatritors and razed only their fortresses. All else remained untouched. Some even claim the Zhandoura redistributed the fruits of their conquests to the townspeople they displaced and inconvenienced. Could you say the same of the Expatritors if the situation were reversed?"

Valedros slowly shook his head.

"Even in times of peace, we fear them, as if we live in a time of war," Ellaidra said. "That should not be so. We have endured for years. I do not want my people to endure any longer."

She leaned forward and placed a warm hand on Valedros'. He gripped his mother's fingers, the very same which had caressed him to sleep as a child.

"I want my son back. I do not want to lose another Luneaidon."

Valedros closed his eyes. Years of training with the Expatritors screamed at him to leave and report the intentions of the Circle Speaker to Charge Ferrenus. His loyalties splintered - uncle, mother, Expatritors and honour drifted apart from a whole he had thought capable of maintaining. And the only facet he could imagine living with for the rest of his life, wherever such a life led, was the respect and the love for his mother. The Expatritors were empty, though he could not yet admit it himself.

Valedros bowed his head and his mother kissed his hair. "Do you remember why you joined the Expatritors?"

He chuckled to himself. "When I was a boy, I wanted nothing more than to fight bandits, rescue the innocent damsel and uphold law and virtue."

"When your father died, I thought you would turn away from the Expatritors," his mother murmured. "But it only strengthened your desires."

"What do you wish of me, mother?"

Ellaidra lifted his face, bringing him eye to eye with her. "You must stay with the Expatritors for now but I will draw up papers so you may sit in on Circle sessions. Not that you need permission from the Expatritors, correct?"

"I do as I wish," Valedros confirmed.

Ellaidra stood, bringing Valedros to his feet. He towered over her but he felt like the tiniest drop in the Aeltag Sea next to the Speaker of the Circle of Seven. Ellaidra hugged him. She said, "You must find allies within your ranks. You cannot survive long without them."

"I know," Valedros said.

Heading towards the door, Ellaidra said, "I must go and continue preparations. Bid farewell to your uncle and aunt for me."

Valedros nodded. Before they left the room, he added, "Mother, I must tell you something."

"What is it?"

"It is about my mission to the towns west of Brookholm," Valedros said. "I did not go to capture outlaws. I went because of Cathlanie."

Ellaidra's expression turned doubtful. "Cathlanie? What do you mean?"

Shrugging apologetically, Valedros said, "She said something to me. About the death of the Expatritors."

"I would not worry about what Cathlanie says. She says many things which do not make sense."

"But many things that do!" Valedros replied. He referred to countless occasions when the girl spouted names and dates of Expatritorial campaigns against the Zhandoura, arcane methods of tempering Expatritor steel, occurrences at public bars in the north sector of Brookholm, mathematical equations which stunned the scholars of the university.

"What did she say this time?" Ellaidra asked.

"That a daughter of Expatritors would destroy them."

"That could refer to anyone," Ellaidra said. "Even me."

"She said the name of the daughter was `Rianne'," Valedros added.

"You didn't find any `Rianne', did you?"

Valedros answered, "There was a Rianne from Tiadri who went missing."

"So, she might be dead."

"A friend of hers also went missing," Valedros said. "Their trail led to Eltarin. They were still alive when they escaped."

"We should be grateful, then. Time will tell if Cathlanie spoke truly."

"Whether or not it's true, they're still in danger. I think the Expatritors know about her too."

"You think the Expatritors heard Cathlanie's mutterings?" Ellaidra asked.

"Yes," Valedros said. "I do not know how."

His mother sighed, seemingly tired. "This Rianne, put it down to another life taken by them," she said and Valedros cast his eyes downwards. "I need you here, Valedros. If the Expatritors kill this woman, then destroying the Expatritors will be left to us."

After a moment, Valedros conceded, "Yes, mother." He walked her outside the townhouse to the street where a Circle carriage waited. He pecked his mother goodnight and watched her ride away.

As he took the steps back into the townhouse, he turned at the sound of thunder crawling across the sky. Clouds blanketed the city, seemingly thickest over the Caelestus. It would be a cold night.

#

Kieft stumbled over a root and caught himself against the trunk of an elm. He breathed deeply, exhaustion pushed over the limit by simply saving himself from a fall. He wiped sweat beading on his forehead, only to smear dirt across his face. Having eaten little - only what meagre fruits he could find - and taking shelter under the canopies of the trees in the Deep, Kieft felt drained from head to toe. Perhaps this was what it felt like to die, he thought randomly. Kieft pushed himself away from the tree and put one foot in front of the other. Concentrating step by step, he continued onwards through the thinning forest.

Though all pursuit by the Expatritors seemed to have broken off, Kieft had not felt secure in his escape since emerging from the Tiaquin, soaked, cold and carrying nothing but the rags and saexum anklet his Eltarin captors left him with. Nothing resembled the hopeful journey to Brookholm since being kidnapped on the road. He sighed. The brief reunion with Rianne felt more like a final goodbye. With the mobilisation of the Expatritors and the coming campaign against the Zhandoura, he wondered if he would ever see her again.

He pushed past a clump of low-hanging branches and squinted against the sudden brightness as he left the cover of the forest. A short distance away, a dirt road ambled across the clearing and down to his right. Smoke rose from the chimneys of a town; he did not recognise it. Kieft heard voices and he immediately thought of food and shelter. But the tones of the voices sounded familiar - they were loud, angry, frustrated. Exactly the same emotions the Expatritors stirred in Tiadri and Eltarin. Kieft took a hesitant step backwards but before he could disappear into Shadowdeep, a group of residents from the town crested the rise and spotted him. A shout went up.

For a moment, Kieft thought it strange these people carried lit torches in mid-afternoon. They approached and his addled mind quickly realised they were not just a group of people but a mob. Kieft did not fear them as he might have feared an Expatritor but even the hint of a promise of food made him brave.

"Ho, there!" a bearded man said. Kieft raised a friendly hand in response. As they drew closer, several of the townspeople began muttering to each other.

The bearded man said, "I am Alastian. Seen you a man of wide girth, bearded and bearing rucksacks on straps over his shoulders?"

"No," Kieft said simply. He hoped his tone did not offend the townspeople but what new-found energy he gained upon seeing the evidence of a town he lost in apprehension to this mob. The whispers amongst the crowd heightened.

Kieft asked, "What do you want of this man? What is his name?"

Alastian replied, "The man is Sedwin. He is a conjurer and liar!"

Something stirred within Kieft. He had seen such behaviour before. "And what proof do you have?"

Alastian bristled at being questioned but something stayed his outburst. He said, "Ask Emar the miller. He lies ill, bleeding from his eyes and ears. It is not a natural sickness!"

"But why Sedwin?"

"He is the only one who deals in the black arts. Devilry and magic!"

Alastian's words and presumptuousness riled up emotions Kieft thought he had left in Tiadri. "Begone with you! You do not know of what you speak!"

The crowd startled as one. Kieft briefly thought he must have looked a fool; a young man, filthy and clothed in little else but tattered rags, commanding a mob to disperse upon only his word. He mustered his courage and tried to project the uncompromising authority Captain Rielov seemed to be able to emanate at will. He bellowed, "Begone!"

Mutterings in the crowd rose up to loud chatter and the townspeople, one by one, backed away and headed towards the township. They scattered, until only Alastian and a handful of others remained, nervously facing Kieft. After a few moments, they too trudged away.

Kieft breathed deeply. In their wake, he had caught several words of the townspeople but could not be sure of their meaning.

"Thank you." A rotund man appeared from across the road. He matched the description Alastian gave of the man Sedwin.

"You're welcome. Master Sedwin, correct?"

The man nodded. He towered over Kieft and breathed heavily although he walked only a few steps across the dirt road. His middle age and enormous bulk did not bode well for Sedwin's health but Kieft had other worries on his mind than the well-being of a stranger.

Sedwin said, "Well, I suppose I owe you a meal at the very least." He motioned for Kieft to follow him back across the road and into the forest. "I am glad I let the path to my cottage become overgrown, otherwise those fools would have burned it down." He chuckled wryly. "A lifetime's work destroyed in minutes.

"What is your name, traveller?"

Kieft stopped his immediate reply, remembering the Expatritor who seemed to recognise him. "My name is Renrick," he lied. Kieft silently winced to himself - he should have thought of a better name than that of one of his brothers.

They passed back into the forest, walking along a non-existent path. Kieft asked, "What town is this? Why are they so angry?"

"This is Solassa, Master Renrick. And the people are angry because they fear what they do not know. And they do not know what sickness runs through the town." He shook his head slightly. "Neither do I. The coming Harvest Festival will be a grim one."

"They think you're the one who is responsible," Kieft said.

"I have done nothing but try to help," Sedwin replied. "When my remedies finally fail - for I cannot cure the sickness - they blame me for what I could only fend off temporarily."

"Why should I believe you?" Kieft asked.

Sedwin shrugged without missing a stride. "Believe me. Believe me not. I care nothing for your opinion."

Kieft stopped in his tracks, surprised by the man's frank statement. He hurried after Sedwin as the trees threatened to swallow his trail.

Soon, a squat log house appeared in the distance. A neat stack of firewood lay by the front door under the generous eaves and a woodaxe rested against a severed trunk which served as a splitting board. The cabin itself seemed to blend into the forest; Kieft knew the building stood there only because Sedwin headed directly towards it. No path led their way and the immediate area around the cabin appeared as cluttered and overgrown as the wilds of the Deep.

Sedwin withdrew a large key from one of his bags and unlocked the front door of the cabin. He opened it and paused for a moment, as if surveying the contents of the cabin. Judging it. He said, "Come in."

A great jumble of scrolls, parchments, tomes and unfinished plates of food met Kieft's eyes as he crossed the threshold. In the opposite corner, behind a bench strewn with animal skins and papers, sat an unmade bed. The bench, appearing as a rough divan, faced its twin before a fireplace set in the wall of the cabin. Sedwin grunted and crouched in front of the fireplace to rekindle the coals.

Kieft cast his eyes around the rest of the cabin. The kitchen consisted of only a tabletop and a sink. A partition separated the rest of the cabin from the washroom. But everywhere he looked, papers and scrolls lay on the floor, on chairs, on tables, on every available surface. He peeked at some closest to him but could not decipher the letters - those with drawings were alien and depicted nothing he recognised.

"Ah, there," Sedwin murmured as the fireplace sprang alight. An orange glow filled the cabin, easily drowning the greys filtering through the square windows.

"What do you do here?" Kieft asked as Sedwin placed an iron grate before the fireplace.

"I collect and study tales, mostly," Sedwin said. "I spend some time studying the healing arts, so that I might help Solassa." He frowned and made a sound between a grunt and a chuckle. "You saw how my help is well-regarded."

"What kind of tales do you collect?" Kieft asked.

Sedwin headed towards the kitchen and puttered about. He replied, "Many are of Shadowdeep and the creatures which reside within. Some I would regard as legends or myths about history - nothing that I would consider to be the absolute truth."

Kieft's spirits rose. He said eagerly, "Have you encountered any tales of the Tanatri?"

"Several, but none which I would put any stock into," Sedwin said."

"Oh," Kieft sighed. He waited, catching another peek at some scrolls.

"Can you read, Renrick?" Sedwin asked over his shoulder.

"Yes," Kieft replied. "But these letters look different."

"They are Zhandouran," Sedwin said. "Some stories lose their meaning in the translation. Therefore it is best to read it in the original language."

"You can read Zhandouran?"

"My knowledge is only academic. I have never met any of the Zhandoura. What I know of their language is merely what I have been able to glean from short visits to Guithannian libraries."

Sedwin approached Kieft with a bag full of bread, fruit, cheese and dried meats. He thrust the bag into Kieft's hands and said, "There you go. Off with you now."

"I thought..."

Kieft's puzzlement must have showed on his face. He had secretly hoped to arrange some accomodation but Sedwin clearly did not share his sentiment.

"You thought what?" Sedwin said. "I am busy, be off with you. I am sure you can find a place to sleep in Solassa. They think you are a Dhagaram."

"I'm a what?"

"A Dhagaram. Why else did they obey your command on the road?" Sedwin said. "I can tell you it was not for your delightful odour."

Kieft clutched the bag tightly. "I am not a Dhagaram."

"Let me tell you something," Sedwin said, opening the door to the cabin, "the people in Solassa mistook you for a Dhagaram. Argue with them for all you like but nothing will change their opinion of you now. They would say that denying being a Dhagaram only proves that you are a true follower."

"But I am not!" Kieft said.

"Yes, that's the way." Sedwin gently pushed Kieft outside. "I am busy finding a cure for the sickness in Solassa. You must excuse me."

"But I need a place to sleep," Kieft said.

The cabin door began to close. Sedwin said, "As I said before, I am sure you can find a place in Solassa. They are very accomodating towards Dhagaram."

"But -" The door closed on Kieft's words. "- I know nothing of Dhagaram and their way."

Kieft turned around, the uncertainty of the slavepens returning with greater force. He consoled himself with the fact of his own freedom, even if he did not know where and when he would find his next meal and shelter. For a brief moment, he thought of returning to Tiadri, sure that his parents would welcome him home but then he reminded himself of Andryn, Calette and Renrick who were stuck on the family farm indefinitely. There would be no joy in returning to that. Or the Expatritors who pursued him.

With the afternoon fading, Kieft began walking in the direction he hoped would lead him onto the road.

"Lad! Wait a moment!"

Kieft turned at the sound of Sedwin's voice. The corpulent man trudged out of the cabin. He said, "Renrick, I will be busy finding a cure. But it would be amiss of me, as a scholar, to not find the source of the sickness in the first place."

"You would like me to help you?" Kieft asked.

Sedwin sighed, glancing upwards. "My wife always called me a dreamer, that I would rather bury myself in tales and myths than the real world. I suspect that you and I are alike in that respect. So, I will teach you what I know, including how to pretend being a Dhagaram, if you wish."

"I would," Kieft said, smiling.

"You will need a place to stay, so you can sleep in front of the fireplace. That is the only space I have."

"That is more than enough for me." He felt a weight lift from his mind, a bulk of worry crumble away.

Sedwin motioned back to the cabin with a nod of his head. Kieft followed him as the man said, "You can use your status as a Dhagaram within Solassa to ask questions and be intrusive. Anything to find out about this sickness."

Kieft nodded and Sedwin continued, "The sooner the source of the sickness is uncovered, the sooner Alastian and his friends will cease harrassing me. But enough of that, let us eat now and worry about Solassa later."

#

Rianne awoke to a gloomy morning but something felt out of place. She sat up, recognising their camp within the ruins of the Zhandouran fortification. Delfrasian, Azdiem, Thuristen and Ceryn lay sleeping. Tome stood on the highest of the crumbling walls, looking outwards. Rianne stood and the forestman turned at the sound of her rustling.

Suddenly, Rianne realised what was amiss and Tome smiled. For the first time in many mornings, Rianne had not woken up with pain shearing through her leg and hips. Rianne unbound the braces on her leg, letting the wood clatter to the ground. She lifted the poultice and rubbed her thigh; merely a dull ache throbbed deep in the flesh.

"Feeling better?" Tome asked knowingly.

"Yes," Rianne replied with a smile. "Thank you."

Tome nodded solemnly. "Mind your leg for a day or two but you and Thuristen will be fine."

The rest of the group stirred and soon awoke. Their amazement at the recovery of Thuristen and Rianne seemed to please Ceryn, who glanced at Tome with silent praise. They ate a breakfast of the remains of the skeryanc and gathered fruits with renewed strength and speed. Before long, they were ready for another day of travelling.

Again, Ceryn grouped with Delfrasian and Rianne while Tome, Thuristen and Azdiem travelled together. Even without her injuries, the tilt of travelling still disconcerted Rianne. She guessed she would never truly become accustomed to it, only as much as one might become accustomed to the world rolling back and forth like an impossibly giant swing.

Delfrasian led them towards the Stonepeak Ranges, through the foothills where Shadowdeep thinned, its grip on the land broken by the mountains which ran from north to south as far as Rianne could see. At every interval of the journey, the mountains grew closer and behind them the foothills rose above the rest of the land in a majestic sweep. Shadowdeep carpeted almost all that Rianne laid eyes upon. The hint of the Tiaquin River to the south as well as the highway between Guithannan and Brookholm were all that broke the monotonous green. But Rianne knew that below them lay towns and fields engulfed by the forest and the forest itself consisted of varying landscapes which rarely resembled one another from league to league.

They continued onwards and still the hills rose higher, lifting into the Ranges. As they shimmered back into the world, Rianne felt the chill growing more and more like the winter past. The weather of the mountains knew nothing of the imminent summer of the land below.

The air gradually thinned and their breath fogged before them. Another step forward and Delfrasian and Rianne sank into snow.

"Quick!" Ceryn said. "Onto that rock." She pointed at an outcropping, clearly visible in the crisp mountain air even though it lay a quarter of a league away. Delfrasian stepped, the mountains shot upwards then settled, and they appeared on the rocky outcropping which the snow had not quite fully covered.

Rianne removed her well-worn boots. The snow had not penetrated the layers of leather but her feet, as well as her ears and fingers, were becoming uncomfortably frigid. She shivered.

"We can't stay up here long," she said.

Delfrasian nodded. He wore little more than Rianne; neither had had the presence of mind to have brought a cloak or blanket when they fled from the Expatritors outside Eltarin. Ceryn seemed unaffected by the chill. She said, "We should go no higher. The cold and winds of the Stonepeaks will kill us."

"Can we pass through?" Rianne asked.

Ceryn nodded. "Yes. There is a pass to the north. But we must go quickly, before the weather deteriorates."

Delfrasian rubbed warmth into his feet, his boots not nearly as sturdy as Rianne's. He said, "What about Tome, Thuristen and Azdiem?"

"Tome knows of the pass," Ceryn replied. "Let us go, soon."

Delfrasian and Rianne donned their footwear and Ceryn jumped onto Delfrasian's shoulder. "Try to stay off the snow. I would rather you not lose your toes to frostbite; even Tome cannot grow a new foot for you."

They continued, every interval marked by sinking into untouched snow or by taking temporary refuge on rocks and boulders. As they journeyed to the northwest, keeping low, the mountains rose up around them, blocking what little sunlight that seeped through the cloud cover. The craggy mountainsides supported the barest amount of life, although Rianne would not have known where to look. More than once, they reappeared on the edge of cliffs which overlooked abysses that stretched into darkness. And more often than Rianne liked, they sank into snow that reached far above their heads. Thoughts of suffocating flashed through Rianne's mind, only to be dashed by losing her sense of balance and appearing a short distance away, heaving and panting for air. Rianne could never stay angry with Delfrasian's sheepish looks of embarrassment at misjudging distances and neither did Ceryn, although she was responsible for saving them time and again.

Eventually in mid-afternoon, Ceryn announced that they had reached the pass - an undistinguished stretch of trail covered by a thin layer of snow and ice. Rianne walked the short distance before the pass descended into unclimbable terrain. More snow-laden mountaintops met her gaze for uncountable leagues in all directions. But beyond the Stonepeak Ranges she saw no green, only the hint of earthy tones tinted by blue.

Delfrasian and Ceryn joined her.

"I have never been this far from home," Rianne said. "I would never have thought to see what lay on the other side of the Stonepeak Ranges."

"Nor I," Delfrasian added. "I had always thought of Guithannan as the outpost of civilisation."

"It is, in many ways," Ceryn said. "But there is more to this land than Brookholm or Guithannan. There is such a place that is not strangled by Shadowdeep or the czapti of the Aeltag Sea. Beyond the grip of the Expatritors."

"The Arjezeh desert," Rianne breathed.

Ceryn nodded. "I myself have been no further. I suspect that few know what lies on the other side of the Arjezeh, even the Zhandoura." She tapped Delfrasian. "Let's go."

Rianne held onto Delfrasian's elbow as he stepped forward. The western side of the Stonepeak Ranges had not seen as much snow as the eastern, although the air remained as chilly. Their journey was hampered only by landing on icy ground, slippery to the touch. But upon breaking the snowline, their descent rapidly gained pace and by late afternoon, they reached a grassy precipice overlooking plains. For the first time they could recall off-hand, the blazing sun shone onto their faces, unhindered by clouds or distant storms.

Delfrasian inhaled suddenly and motioned for Rianne to crouch. In response to her puzzled look, he said in a low voice, "To the southwest."

Rianne shielded her eyes against the glare of the afternoon sun and peered into the plains below. She searched the slightly hazy land systematically until she spotted the encampment. Momentary glitters of metal confirmed Delfrasian's wariness.

"Expatritors?" Rianne asked.

"I think so," Delfrasian said. "It's difficult to judge the distance, being so high up, but they're no more than a league or two away."

"What do you suppose such a small group of Expatritors is doing out here alone?" Ceryn asked.

Delfrasian shrugged. A low hum sounded behind them and they turned to greet Thuristen, Azdiem and Tome. Delfrasian pointed out the Expatritors to Azdiem and the former soldier grunted, staring at the encampment. Finally, he said, "It's too small to be an advance party, too large to be a mistake."

"Weren't the Expatritors being sent to the Arjezeh to fight?" Rianne asked.

"Yes," Azdiem said, nodding in agreement. "But that group down there is hardly a vanguard. I would imagine the main force would be stationed much closer to the Arjezeh, close to a source of water and easily accessible by carts and wagons."

"How far is it to such a place?" Rianne asked Ceryn.

The forestwoman shrugged and looked to Tome. He said, "The edge of the desert, before it becomes too inhospitable to any but the Zhandoura, is perhaps ten, fifteen leagues west of here. I would guess that the main force would be far to the south, directly west of Guithannan. Perhaps the question to ask is why this group is so far north."

"They might be guarding against a pincer movement," Rianne suggested.

"Maybe," Azdiem said, unconvinced. "But a force of no more than ten Zhandoura could take that camp. Or five at night."

"We will not have a problem passing without being noticed, will we?" Delfrasian asked Tome and Ceryn.

The forestfolk nodded. "It is not a worry," Ceryn said.

Delfrasian stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Perhaps we should take advantage of this opportunity."

Azdiem glanced at his young friend. His gaunt, unshaven face turned into a knowing grin. "It would be most unfortunate if we did not."

Rianne looked from the former soldier to the white-haired outlaw. His youthful complexion contrasted Azdiem's world-weary countenance. But at that moment, similar thoughts ran through both minds.

"What do you think, Rianne?" Delfrasian asked her.

"It's a little risky," she replied. Silently, the anticipation of yet another encounter with Expatritors both frightened her and thrilled her at the same time.

Azdiem responded, motioning to Tome and Ceryn, "We have a minor advantage." To Thuristen, he said, "What do you think?"

The lanky Brookholmer grinned and said, "Any chance for gain at the expense of Expatritors is fine by me."

Azdiem and Delfrasian looked to Rianne expectantly; Tome and Ceryn did not appear fussed. Rianne had to admit that extra waterskins, food and weapons would be useful, particularly if they were of Expatritor quality.

"All right," she said.

With the decision made, Delfrasian led the group towards the Expatritor camp by more conventional means. Tome and Ceryn needed to conserve their energy for the raid and they rested on his and Azdiem's shoulders. As they trekked into the plains, Rianne's mind began racing at the prospect of fighting, having had no opportunity to practise any techniques or movement. The short skirmish in Eltarin counted for nothing.

In the late afternoon, they reached level ground and stayed low as few trees grew in the intervening distance. The grass, however, rose to waist-height, swaying in the intermittent breeze. Delfrasian motioned to a crop of trees and they hurried towards it in hunched stances. Once they reached the cover, he said, "We will move forward after nightfall. I didn't see any patrols on our way down, Azdiem?"

Azdiem shook his head. "It is a curious camp. They spar but build no fortifications. They hunt food but do not patrol."

"Who will take Ceryn and Tome?" Thuristen asked.

The forestfolk shrugged. Ceryn said, "It will be awkward for us to take two each. We must either send only two or someone must go without us."

Delfrasian said, "Rianne is Dhagaram-trained. And I can stay hidden at night. You and Tome should take Thuristen and Azdiem each, then."

Rianne felt reassured by Delfrasian's confidence in her abilities. But her leg still ached, still weak from disuse. Delfrasian, seeing her consternation, said, "What is it, Rianne?"

"My leg," she said.

"She can take my place," Thuristen said. "My chest still feels tight and my sides throb when I twist."

"You won't be safe on your own, Thuristen," Delfrasian said.

"I'll stay here in the trees," Thuristen countered. "I'd be no good in a fight, in any case."

"We don't plan to end up fighting our way out."

"But if it does happen, I'm not sure I'd be able to concentrate on the stepping."

Delfrasian turned to Ceryn and Tome. "Whom would you rather take?"

"Well," Tome said, "if fighting did break out, I'd prefer to be with someone with a chance of surviving. Given that Rianne is trained by Dhagaram, as you say, then the choice is clear."

Delfrasian appeared to want to say something more but relented. "Very well. Let's get some rest."

They waited for nightfall under the cover of the elms. All of them, including the forestfolk, watched the sun set over the flat horizon in its fiery glory without uttering a word. Rianne had never seen such a spectacle and judging by the expressions on the faces of her comrades, neither had they. Eventually, the afterglow of the setting sun vanished from the western skies and the stars swelled in brightness, though Rianne knew that was not possible - only that it appeared so because of the clear skies that would be considered unusual on the other side of the Stonepeak Ranges. Briefly, she regretted not knowing the stars overhead but they were rarely visible in Tiadri.

While they waited for fuller darkness, Tome and Ceryn spoke about their lives in Shadowdeep and the communities of forestfolk who dwelt in the depths of the forest, far from any settlements of Brookholm or Guithannan. Apart from the secrecy and isolation maintained by the forestfolk, their stories uncomfortably reminded Rianne of her home and she struggled not to tear up with now-old memories.

Delfrasian stood. "We should be off." Thuristen waved farewell to them and he proceeded to climb a tree, staying out of plain sight. Ceryn jumped onto Rianne's shoulder while Tome rode on Azdiem's. Delfrasian led them towards the Expatritor camp which was marked by several fires, flickering light reflecting from the surrounding vegetation and tent canvas.

A breeze flowed from the west, dry and carrying a dusty scent that felt reminiscent of long journeys on the road. Rianne shook her musings away and resumed concentrating on jogging through the grasses, each step scrunching loudly. They closed within clear sight of the camp and slowed to a walk. Delfrasian silently motioned to Azdiem and Rianne to take the camp by the flanks and she nodded in response.

Rianne skulked in the grass, easily staying hidden yet keeping a watchful eye on the camp as she continued south. Ceryn breathed evenly into her ear, not daring to say a word lest the sound carry in the air.

Rianne halted, resting for a moment. She whispered, "Do you feel anything?"

"No," Ceryn said. "Only sleepiness. Little else."

Rianne nodded and began her advance on the encampment. She kept her head below the tallest of the grasses, each step taken in meticulous care. But as she drew closer, it became apparent the camp kept no sentries on the outer limits - a lazy practice consistent with the lack of patrols, Rianne thought.

She advanced more rapidly and saw no guards on the ground or in the trees. As she moved, Rianne counted seven large tents, enough to hold three or four Expatritors each - although with the usual Expatritor penchant for luxury, they probably quartered two at the most. Their horses were stabled at the south end of the camp while campfires burned low in the central area. Voices in muted conversation sounded from several tents and although Rianne dared not to look closely, she guessed that several Expatritors still puttered about the fires, drinking and chatting.

Rianne carefully moved towards the closest tent, unlit from within and crouched beside the fabric. Inside she heard unfettered snores and the occasional rustling of cloth but nothing else. Rianne pushed her fingers beneath the cloth of the tent and pushed the wall as high as she dared. She peeked inside.

The snores emanated from a sleeping man to one side of the tent. Armour and weapons were neatly stacked at his feet, near the entrance. A second set of blankets remained unoccupied although a second set of carefully stored gear rested at the opposite end.

Rianne released the tent fabric gently and felt along the outside for the iron pegs which held the tent-walls down. She found one to her right and began pulling it from the dirt. The peg, half as long as her forearm, emerged from the ground without much effort and she tucked it into her left hand. She raised the side of the tent, now far higher without the tent peg holding the section down, and slid beneath the cloth.

As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, the sleeping warrior stirred for a moment and Rianne held her breath, still only halfway inside the tent. The Expatritor's breathing fell back to an even rhythm and Rianne pulled her legs into the tent, letting the wall gently flop back to the ground. She placed the tent peg down, looked around and immediately spotted the weapons. Ceryn silently pointed at something lying on the ground - a waterskin. Rianne nodded, picked up the skin and slipped its strap over her shoulder.

She reached for the Expatritor's longsword - a weapon she would have to wield with both hands but a fine piece of craftsmanship in any case. The hilt felt cool and rough; Rianne guessed it had not seen use for several days, unlike the smooth grip of an oft-used weapon. She tied the sheath over her back using the baldric and then reached for the two daggers beside the set of plate armour. Unlike the armour, the daggers were unadorned but functional. Rianne strapped them around her waist. As she reached for a pair of leather gauntlets, good-natured shouts sounded from outside the tent and drunken footsteps approached the entrance.

Rianne froze for a second; the plain tent held no places to hide and once the front flaps were opened, firelight would illuminate every inch of the interior. Ceryn said, "The blankets." The forestwoman hopped from Rianne's shoulder and scurried behind a stack of armour.

Suppressing a curse, Rianne dove into the empty blankets and pulled the woollens over her head. She drew a dagger. The footsteps stumbled towards the tent and she heard the entrance flaps being shoved aside. The gloom of the tent temporarily brightened, even from under the blanket, but then rapidly descended into darkness again. The Expatritor sang snippets of song under his breath as he struggled with clothing.

Rianne leapt up, dagger in hand. The Expatritor only looked at her with slack-jawed amazement, split between the wonder of a woman appearing from his blankets and the fact an intruder had infiltrated the camp. Rianne stabbed him in the throat before he could raise a cry. Blood streamed down her arm, soaking her sleeve and Rianne pulled out the dagger with a sickly grind. The blade had run past the man's spine. Ignoring the blood, Rianne pulled the Expatritor to his bedding as he died. His companion hardly stirred in the commotion. Rianne tried not to think of the dead man's staring eyes in the dark. She wiped her hands and forearms with the wool blankets and grabbed the leather gauntlets, tucking them into the baldric.

Ceryn reappeared and jumped onto Rianne's shoulder. She said softly, "Did you kill him?"

Rianne nodded without saying anything. Even after years of learning how to kill humans and animals alike, she was not yet used to doing so. But her pulse raced. She felt no regrets.

Rianne slid under the back wall of the tent and restored the peg. Upon leaving the dead Expatritor, she hoped that the dark blankets would disguise the blood and the dead body on cursory views. She wondered if she should have also killed the sleeping Expatritor, lest he raise an alarm. No, there was no immediate need.

The sound of heavy trickling caused Rianne to drop into a crouch. Only several paces away, an Expatritor relieved himself against a tree. With his back to her and immersed in mutterings, he had not yet noticed Rianne. She slowly drew her second dagger from its sheath, wary of the hiss of metal. The Expatritor completed his business and turned around. For a moment, it seemed he stared directly at Rianne but the orange glow on his face hinted that the glare of the campfires rendered him blind to everything else, especially the shadowed rear of the tents.

The Expatritor wandered back to the camp. Rianne waited until she felt satisfied the area had cleared before she skulked to the corner of the tent and peered around the side.

In the centre of the camp, two smaller fires burned around a larger central firepit that appeared to serve as a cooking fire. A large tent opened nearly onto the firepit. Rianne counted seven Expatritors carousing around the fires. The occasional boisterous laugh went up with the clanking of tankards. Ceryn pointed to the tent next to the firepit and said, "I would guess that that tent holds most of their supplies."

"You'd probably be right," Rianne replied. "We're on the wrong side of the camp." Ceryn nodded in agreement and Rianne began moving around the perimeter of the tents towards the northern end.

She encountered no other Expatritors and reached the tents which Delfrasian must have passed by earlier. Rianne moved past them towards the central tent and saw that the back wall had been sliced open. She glanced to either side, as the final few steps would expose her to anyone who happened to poke their heads from their sleeping tent, then hurried into the impromptu rear entrance.

Inside, she found Delfrasian crouching behind a barrel of dried meats; the Expatritor he hid from turned his attention from a keg of ale to Rianne.

"Spirits!" he said.

Rianne flung a dagger at the Expatritor and it caught him in the shoulder. The Expatritor yelled and Rianne could hear his companions stirring outside. Delfrasian emerged, laden with sacks of food and said, "Let's go."

He led the way out of the back of the tent and as the Expatritors discovered their injured comrade, Rianne grabbed Delfrasian's hand and stepped forward. She kept her eyes open while the world tilted, all the more exhilarating at night, and concentrated on keeping her foot moving forward.

They appeared half a league away, landing awkwardly as Rianne had visualised a spot above the grass, rather than the ground. Despite crumpling to their knees, Delfrasian looked at Rianne and grinned. She returned his smile, elated with the successful raid.

In the night air, Delfrasian's eyes glinted. He glanced at her arm, still slathered with the Expatritor's blood. "Are you all right?"

Rianne's smile faded as she nodded, tall grass intermingling with her hair. "None of it's mine." She felt she should have explained what happened, how the death of the Expatritor was necessary for her escape from the tent. But Delfrasian looked away. He stood, throwing a look at Ceryn.

"Let us be away."

Ceryn hummed in agreement as Rianne clambered to her feet. They heaved their stolen supplies over their shoulders and lumbered onwards.

The pair regrouped with Thuristen and Azdiem, who had escaped with a cache of weapons, clothing and blankets. As an afterthought, he had also set the Expatritors' horses loose. After putting more distance between themselves and the Expatritors, they settled for the night, resting for the journey into the Arjezeh desert.

#

The sound of his boots on the tiles of the Brookholm army administrative centre comforted Valedros. In many ways, the scurrying messengers and army Brands reminded Valedros of the buzzing activity of the Caelestus although the buildings could not be more different. While the Brookholm army buildings were functional yet elegant - as all structures within the Circle of Seven grounds were - the design of the Expatritor Caelestus, built from stone and rock, harkened from a time of war.

He turned down a corridor which led to Curnailet Bollardon's offices, the Charge of the Brookholm army. Valedros had been told by his mother's staff that Ellaidra had left for a meeting with the Charge; only Valedros knew the significance of such a meeting.

He reached the doors to the war room, a large conference area from which battles were planned and wars were won. Valedros knocked and waited patiently for the doors to open.

Several tense moments later, Enanna opened the door a crack and frowned when she saw Valedros. He could not decipher the meaning behind her expression - was it the fact he was an Expatritor or was she displeased with him for an entirely different reason?

"Who is it?" a voice asked from within.

"It is Valedros," Enanna answered.

"Let him in," said a voice which Valedros recognised as his mother's.

Enanna motioned to Valedros and he stepped in the one room which no Expatritor had had the privilege or the right to see. Maps of Brookholm, Guithannan and the larger towns hung on the walls. A tactical layout of the Brookholm-Guithannan area, as well as the known sectors of Shadowdeep, the Arjezeh desert and the northern nations, occupied the front wall. A large conference table sat in the centre of the room, strewn with documents and messages. The windows remained open; expensive laced curtains allowed light in while preventing spying from the outside.

Before Valedros had the chance to examine what the Brookholm army knew of Shadowdeep, which at first glance appeared far more extensive than Expatritorial records, his mother introduced him to those in the room.

A Zhandouran stood and bowed from the neck. His mother said, "This is Captain Rielov of the Skychasers. He has been commissioned in the Brookholm army for more than a spring now." Motioning to Valedros, she continued, "This is my son, Valedros. He is an Expatritor."

The Zhandouran nodded again and said in a pleasant-sounding baritone, "You make a great sacrifice Expatritor Luneiadon."

"I know," Valedros responded.

His mother indicated the other two older men. "I believe you know each other."

"Yes," Valedros said. He leaned forward to shake the hand of Charge Curnailet Bollardon, who wore the gown of a Circle-Member only as a former soldier might.

"Finally, we meet as friends," Curnailet said.

"Indeed," Valedros said. He then shook hands with the other man, Commander Stirivon Fenetreu - a man of thinner build and wearing a simple tunic and hose with a dagger tucked into a slim belt.

"I am glad you are here," Stirivon said meaningfully. Valedros nodded agreeably.

They reseated themselves and their respective assistants retreated to the corners of the war room. "Shall we continue?" Ellaidra asked.

She straightened several papers in front of her and continued without waiting for a response from the others. "As Captain Rielov stated before, the Zhandoura who already reside in Brookholm will fight for us."

"There are not enough of them to be able to form even a Lance," Stirivon said.

"Agreed," Ellaidra said, "but they are all as competent as Captain Rielov and will be worthy of commissions in the Brookholm army, should we need to form more companies."

Charge Bollardon leaned forward. "Will your Zhandouran brethren be willing to fight under the Brookholm flag? To be loyal to us?"

"Yes," Captain Rielov said. "The Zhandoura do not fear the Expatritors. We will fight them and remain under your command."

"I only ask because the Zhandoura are loyal to only the Zhandoura," Curnailet said.

"We are," Rielov answered. "But you fight against an enemy the Zhandoura have never known peace with. We are united in that."

Ellaidra turned to Valedros and said, "Anything to add?"

He shook his head. What little he knew of the Zhandoura came from the decidedly biased view of the Expatritors and he knew little more about intricacies of the Brookholm army. His mind still reeled at the switch from field Expatritor to backroom politics; he felt far out of his depth.

"Very well," Ellaidra said. "Rielov, can you send another message for us?"

"Yes, of course, Speaker."

"Say that all goes well and that if they choose to attack Expatritors near the Arjezeh desert, they may do so."

"I will do it," Rielov said scribbling a note of reminder. He added with a wry smile, "Although, do not be surprised if my comrades have already attacked the vanguard, such is Zhandouran enthusiasm."

"No harm done there," Curnailet said with a chuckle.

"What of the Expatritors in Guithannan?" Stirivon asked. "Valedros?"

Valedros thought for a moment. The contingent of Expatritors which permanently resided in the mountain-city operated autonomously from the command of the Saeculus and Charge in Brookholm. While they were ultimately answerable to his uncle, Saeculus Osteyrus, he nor Charge Raudolian had found any cause to question the decisions made in Guithannan by the Charge Minor. Which did not bode well for his mother and her allies.

"Guithannan is well under the control of Lord Martreas," Valedros said. "But there are two hundred Expatritors stationed within the city, some within the palace itself."

"Always?" Stirivon pressed.

Valedros nodded grimly. "At the very moment the command from Charge Raudolian is received, the Expatritors can mobilise and take the palace within minutes. It is something they take pride in. It is something they have tried before."

"I have never heard of that," Curnailet said.

"It is not spoken of outside the Expatritors, for obvious reasons," Valedros said.

Curnailet turned to Stirivon. "We'll have to deal with it." Stirivon nodded and motioned to a page. He gave the page several orders to be relayed to Brookholm army captains, who would complete the tasks as they saw fit. To the room, Stirivon said, "We should send a pigeon to Lord Martreas and request, at the very least, his vigilance."

"Agreed," Ellaidra said, taking a note.

Curnailet motioned to Valedros. "What other operations do the Expatritors have planned for emergencies?"

Valedros stroked his neatly trimmed beard and said, "There are no such plans for Brookholm, other than holing up in the Caelestus. They would never consider storming the Circle Hill."

"Best that they do not!" Curnailet said venomously.

"There were once plans to hire shipwrights and sneak-attack Circle Hill from the cliffs."

"Ships?" Ellaidra said. "Not a person in Brookholm would know how to build one."

Judging by the expressions on Curnailet and Stirivon's faces, they did not appear to share Ellaidra's conviction. Stirivon said, "There are individuals, mostly from the north sector - pier-fishermen and whatnot - who know something of the old frigates."

"If we know how to build ships, then we can reopen the docks," Ellaidra said.

At this, Captain Rielov shifted in his seat. Ellaidra turned to him inquiringly. The Zhandouran said, "We cannot travel the oceans, Speaker - no one can."

"Why?" Ellaidra asked.

Rielov leaned forward. He said, "The czapti."

"They are just tales told to frighten children!" Ellaidra said. "For years, we should have been sailing, discovering the coast. We -"

Curnailet interrupted the Circle Speaker. "Captain Rielov speaks truly, Ellaidra." She raised her eyebrows, a sign Valedros knew to mean a silent doubtful question of either Curnailet's opinion or his familiar usage of the Circle-Speaker's name. The Brookholm Army Charge continued, "We have sent crews on the Aeltag Sea. Granted, on nothing more than large dinghies, but they have never returned. Either they found something which caused such dereliction of duty they have effectively deserted or they were killed. We knew of the czapti and of the many previous failures."

"I have not been aware of any such excursions," Ellaidra said.

"They took place outside of Brookholm," Curnailet said. "Secret missions, as it were."

"Pslans for Expatritor vessels were also abandoned," Valedros said. "The only thing Expatritors fear more than Shadowdeep is drifting on an ocean. In effect, a boundless hostile territory."

Ellaidra sighed with a hint of a mournful tone. Like Valedros and many others, she must have felt the stifling Shadowdeep which threatened at every spring to overgrow hard-won land; the rumours of farmers missing in the forest did little to comfort Valedros' mother. At the hint of discovering lands beyond the ocean, Ellaidra must have felt the same elation Valedros did when he first learned of Expatritor attempts to build ships. He knew what it felt like to have such hopes dashed so quickly.

The discussions turned to more mundane matters of army supplies and logistical calculations in times of a city-wide conflict, particularly when pitted against Expatritor supply lines. Valedros indicated the self-contained Caelestus, built over two separate sources of water, holds of food enough to feed full occupancy for a month and the expertise to repair and construct equipment for a full garrison of four-hundred Expatritors. He spoke of training schedules, troop formations, tactics and other details of the Expatritor combat regimen which had never been available to anyone outside the order, let alone their rivals, the Brookholm army and Zhandoura.

At noon, Curnailet called for a break. "You have given us much to think on, Valedros."

"We should resume tomorrow," Ellaidra said. "I'm sure we have other duties to attend to." Seeing agreement amongst those gathered, she pecked Valedros on the cheek, said farewell to the others and left the war room.

Valedros said goodbye to Charge Bollardon and Commander Fenetreu.

"You must stay safe, Valedros," Curnailet said.

Valedros nodded as Stirivon said, "Be careful. What you do will be remembered by all, for better or for worse. Let us pray the Expatritors do not find out until too late."

Bowing respectfully, Valedros thanked them for their support and left. As he exited, Captain Rielov also took his leave and joined Valedros in the corridor. They began walking towards the exit of the army headquarters.

The Zhandouran said, "Valedros, the Speaker Ellaidra told me of your exploits west of here."

Valedros raised an eyebrow. He had not expected his ulterior motives to be known by anyone else besides his mother.

Rielov said reassuringly, "Ellaidra told me such in confidence. Do not worry. She told me only because she knew I had been stationed in Tiadri until recently."

At this, Valedros' spirits rose. "Then you know of Rianne and her friend?"

Rielov nodded slowly. "I knew them briefly. Rianne had been training with an itinerant Dhagaram. Her friend Kieft had only weeks until his apprenticeship to the family's farm concluded."

"What else did you learn of them?" Valedros asked.

"They were both raised well; good manners and a good attitude. Rianne would have made a fine Expatritor and I am sure Kieft would have excelled at whatever profession he chose.

"Ellaidra said that you seek them still."

"Yes," Valedros said. "I believe they are in danger. I gathered that they had escaped from persecution of local Expatritors but now I think the Saeculus hunts them too."

Rielov nodded, taking in the information. He appeared pensive for a moment and said, "Do you intend to continue searching for them?"

"Yes."

"I do not believe you will be successful," Captain Rielov said. "I do not believe anyone will be successful. They are more resourceful than anyone - apart from the Dhagaram or their allies - would give them credit for."

"I hope you are correct, Captain," Valedros said.

The pair emerged from the building into a grey late morning. "Farewell," Valedros said to Rielov.

"Farewell," Rielov responded with a slight bow. Valedros headed towards the stables as the Zhandouran walked directly for the Circle Hill gates.

On his way to the Expatritor Caelestus, Valedros' thoughts dwelled on the young pair from Tiadri and Rielov's insistence that they would not be caught. He could not be sure whether or not matters would be improved with the two in safe custody of the Brookholm Circle or freely roaming the land. But the decision was not his to make - he had other duties to attend to.

"Valedros!"

He swivelled and saw Enanna struggling to reach him through the throng of traffic. He dismounted as she wended between carts and mules and inner-district Brookholmers searching for a midday meal. She closed in with a wry smile and strands of hair sticking to her forehead. "You have a habit of leaving before I have the chance to speak with you."

"It's not intentional, I promise," Valedros replied.

Enanna grinned, then turned sombre. "I just want to apologise for being rude the other day. I'm sure a more sociable welcome home would have been more appropriate."

"You don't have anything to apologise for, Enna," Valedros said. He brushed the errant hairs from her glistening face.

"Where are you going now?" Enanna asked.

"The Caelestus," Valedros said. He glanced around casually, in reality scanning for eavesdroppers.

Enanna's smile fell but she nodded, understanding the need for discretion in public. "Be careful. I might only guess what would happen to people who displease the Saeculus." She leaned forward quickly and lightly kissed his lips.

"I must go," Valedros said and Enanna waved farewell as he left.

Valedros reached the Caelestus, passing over the drawbridge which spanned a fetid chasm and through the gatehouse which doubled as a slaughtering floor in a time of conflict; arrowslits and murderholes in the ceiling allowed defenders to safely attack invaders who managed to cross the moat and open the first portcullis. A second gate barred entrance to the outer ring of the Caelestus, while a third protected the massive central keep. The smooth stonework of the Caelestus - reminiscient of the graceful architecture common in Guithannan - hinted at skills and knowledge long lost to the Expatritors as well as the people of Brookholm. As Valedros rode his horse towards the extensive stables, a profound regret swept over him - ironic that the Expatritors' greatest fortress design, the Caelestus, be impossible to recreate in what would be the largest single campaign in living memory for both the Brookholm army and the Expatritors.

Turning his attention to a warm bath and hot food, Valedros left his horse with the stablehands and walked towards the central keep, which housed a hundred Expatritors, including the Saeculus and Charge, as well as serving as the centre of logistics. Less fortunate Expatritors quartered in barracks built against the west wall near the training grounds and armoury - although no fewer than a quarter of the resident Expatritors were always active, either serving as guards or training.

Valedros nodded to the guards of the keep and they waved him on without ceremony. He made directly for the narrow servant stairwell, often used by Expatritors in times of discreet entrances and exits. Unlike the rest of the Caelestus, the servant stairwells were uneven with years of constant use and haphazard repairs. They were adorned with neither tapestries nor display weapons and armour, unlike the halls of the keep and surrounding structures.

He emerged on the third level of the keep and fumbled through his pockets for his room key. Valedros found his door, unlocked it and breathed a sigh of relief when he entered the familiar surroundings. As with all Expatritors, his attitude as well as regulations led him to keep his quarters in a state of spartan functionality. Being the nephew of the Saeculus meant nothing. And Valedros had always preferred it that way.

Before he had a chance to relax on his cot, a polite knock sounded from his door. He opened it and a page bowed. The lad said, "Expatritor Luneiadon?"

"Yes," Valedros said.

"Saeculus Osteyrus and Charge Raudolian would speak with you in the Saeculus' office."

"Very well," Valedros said, closing the door. The page put out a hand on the doorknob.

The boy said, "The Saeculus sent me to fetch you now, Expatritor."

Valedros looked at the boy's innocent face, suppressing the urge to glare down the lad's insistence. He nodded and grabbed a cloak before joining the boy outside. He closed the door and motioned for the page to lead the way.

The boy took the direct route, down the main stairwell whose walls were adorned with the portraits of previous Saeculii, across the balcony of the central hall, to the Saeculus' office on the second level of the keep.

The page opened the door to Karradros' office and Valedros entered, the door closing behind him. His uncle sat behind a large desk of oak while Charge Ferrenus Raudolian sat on an ornate armchair set to the side of the room. A couple maps hung on the wall behind Ferrenus while the opposite window opened over the Caelestus' training grounds. A few documents lay on Karradros' desk, the majority of the office laden with military memorabilia.

His uncle waved Valedros to a seat and said, "No formalities here, my nephew. Would you like a drink?"

Valedros nodded as he sat in a chair. Ferrenus poured a tall glass of juice from a decanter and passed it to Valedros who thanked him gracefully.

"So," Karradros said, leaning back in his seat, "I hear you have had a busy morning. Care to tell me about it?"

Valedros sipped the juice, an elaborate mixture of fruits which stung his tongue yet tasted sweet at the same time. He said, "I have been elected to liase with the offices of my mother and Charge Curnailet Bollardon."

"I see," Karradros said. "Funny that neither I nor Ferrenus were notified of such an arrangement personally, particularly on a matter of great importance."

"I am sure the paperwork is being processed as we speak," Valedros said evenly. "I, however, did not know the matter was of such importance that I should contact you directly concerning it."

Ferrenus leaned forward and said, "Why would you not consider it of great importance, Expatritor Luneiadon? You know of the rivalry between us and the Brookholm army. Anyone elected to sit in on their deliberations would be highly privileged indeed."

"Forgive me for not bringing the matter directly to you, then," Valedros said. "I will endeavour not to make the same mistake again."

Karradros waved away his apology. "That is not why we asked you here, Valedros. What is done is done. Now, we must take advantage of what has been given to us."

Valedros nodded agreeably. "What do you propose, Saeculus?"

"Please," Karradros said with a smile, "no need for formalities, as I said before."

"Very well, then, uncle," Valedros corrected himself.

Karradros continued, "You can help us gain the advantage over the army and their plans. You are fully attendant during their conferences, are you not?"

"I am."

"And they hold nothing back, do they?"

"I believe they do not," Valedros said. "My mother has given them assurances of my loyalty."

At this, Ferrenus and Karradros smiled cunningly, showing their teeth like animals who have smelt prey. Ferrenus said, "Your loyalty to the Expatritors is unwavering is it not, Valedros?"

"My pledges do not mean nothing," Valedros said without hesitating. His insides began twisting.

"Excellent," Ferrenus said.

Karradros continued, "It is no secret amongst the populace that the Brookholm Circle's declaration of war will test the Expatritors. Your mother - my very own sister - managed to scrape together the votes required for the Expatritors to take the vanguard. I know what she plans and I do not approve."

"What does she plan, uncle?" Valedros asked innocently.

"She will send our forces piecemeal into the Arjezeh and stand idly by while we are slaughtered by the Zhandoura. Mayhap, she will send the Brookholm army into our flanks and rear, preventing escape."

Ferrenus chimed in. "She plans the destruction of the Expatritors."

"But I am an Expatritor," Valedros said. He felt the need to put up a token resistance, lest his uncle and Ferrenus become suspicious of his apparent blind faith. "If I were caught in that region, I would certainly be killed."

"That may be why your mother made you into a liaison," Karradros said. "You would be safe running errands in Brookholm."

Valedros nodded in what he hoped appeared a thoughtful contemplation of the matter. He took another sip of his drink. He said, "How sure are you of this plan?"

"We are certain to a degree," Ferrenus said. "We received word that a watch party on our forces' northern flank on the edge of the Arjezeh was raided and stripped of supplies. The attackers slipped in and disappeared without a trace. That, to me, could only be the work of the Zhandoura."

"Filthy barbarians," Karradros spat with a grimace.

"What do you want me to do?" Valedros asked eagerly.

His uncle clenched a fist. "Very simply, we want you to relay any and all information to us."

"All?"

"Yes," Karradros said. "It is of vital importance that we gather all information. Even the slightest word can make the difference. Do you understand?"

"Of course," Valedros responded.

His uncle leaned forward and his stare bored into Valedros. For a moment, it seemed a blue flicker shone in his eyes but that must have been a reflection from the window. "Swear your loyalty to us, Valedros."

The sun broke out from clouds, although from the corner of his eye Valedros saw nothing but overcast skies through the glass. He said, "I swear my loyalty to the Expatritors."

"On your father's memory?" Karradros asked.

Despite his misgivings, Valedros felt the irrational urge to prove himself to his uncle and said, "On my father's memory."

Karradros leaned back in his chair and smiled. The bright patch on the floor faded. Valedros glanced out the window and the sun, which had just shone for the briefest moment, slipped behind clouds again. Dreary morning returned.

Ferrenus stood and Valedros, taking the hint, thanked the Charge and Karradros for their hospitality. Valedros excused himself and upon leaving, still felt his uncle judging him. Once in the corridors, Valedros's hands started to shake. He looked around him and although his surroundings were familiar, he could not rid himself of the feeling he stood in the territory of a hated enemy.

#

Kieft lifted the woodaxe for another blow and brought it down with measured force. The timber split into two but Kieft felt no satisfaction; his hands ached and his arms groaned from wielding the axe the entire day. Seated on a log by the door of the cabin, Sedwin continued reading aloud from a book. In the last fifteen minutes, Kieft's attention had wandered; he had no idea what the rotund scholar spoke of.

Sedwin had instructed Kieft to chop wood or draw water from the well for the last two days while he read out excerpts of Dhagara's tome which Sedwin had bought from a merchant many years before. Kieft knew that many copies of Dhagara's tales existed - with the most popular compilations peddled by merchants from Brookholm to Guithannan - but very few contained his exhaustive life story, critical examination of his contemplations and fighting techniques as well as the common tales. In Tiadri, Daerain had spoken of such a tome which resided in the royal library of Guithannan. It seemed Sedwin, an unkempt overweight recluse living outside Solassa, also owned a copy.

"What do you think of that, Renrick?" Sedwin asked Kieft.

Kieft tried to appear thoughtful, biting his lower lip and glancing to the side as if formulating a studied response. Finally, he said, "I don't know. I didn't hear most of what you said for the last few minutes."

Sedwin only grunted to himself, not exactly angry but clearly not pleased. "I read a portion of the tome dealing with Dhagara's decision to teach others only if they studied his way as a whole, rather than parts of a whole."

"What if someone only wanted to learn how to fight?" Kieft asked, setting the axe down.

"That is exactly what Dhagara intended to counter," Sedwin said. "He wrote that teaching someone how to fight is like arming an animal with weapons it does not understand. He would teach others only as far as their understanding of his way of life took them."

"Were there any who learnt everything he knew?"

Sedwin shook his head. "It appears there were none. Or perhaps none which Dhagara wrote of." He got to his feet with some effort and said, "Quickly, now. What are the two principles and four subsequent tenets of Dhagara's way?"

Kieft responded, "Leaving others to be and knowing oneself. They lead to respect for others, using techniques for defense of life and property, self-control and moderation in all things."

"In all things?" Sedwin asked doubtfully.

"In all things," Kieft said, "even training in Dhagara's way."

Sedwin nodded approvingly. "Excellent." He began stacking the split wood next to the cabin.

"Am I ready?" Kieft asked.

"I think you're as ready as one could be," Sedwin replied. "Of course, I would prefer you knew far more, including how to fight. But you're not going to war. I suppose your theoretical knowledge will hold."

They finished stacking the wood and Sedwin prepared a simple evening meal. The scholar read silently late into the night while Kieft slept fitfully. The anticipation of the next day kept him awake with nervous energy.

In the morning, Sedwin sent him on his way. "Remember not to take the same route back here and be sure you are not followed. It would be best to keep our association secret; no need for someone's preconceived notions of me affecting you."

Kieft nodded. "I will do my best."

"I would wish you luck but I do not believe in it," Sedwin said.

Kieft smiled and said, "Thanks." He waved to Sedwin and headed towards Solassa town. He did not fear the forest; it simply seemed that if Sedwin had found the Deep in this area safe enough to live in, then Kieft had no reason to feel endangered.

He emerged onto the road and for a moment, the sun appeared from behind the clouds and morning mist. With a twitter of birds, the sun disappeared and plunged Kieft into a familiar drab gloom. He inadvertently let out a sigh then ambled onto the road towards the town.

A short time later, Kieft passed the first of many farms outside Solassa. Judging by their size and number, Kieft guessed Solassa no larger than Tiadri; at least the experience would be not as overwhelming as his short visits to the Brookholm markets.

Kieft walked for what he thought a quarter of a league before he reached the township proper. Many of the outlying cottages stood quiet, their occupants most likely working in the fields or attending to matters in the centre of town. Several elderly residents watched Kieft walk by with tired eyes. Mothers caring for infants glanced at his passing with varying levels of suspicion, consistent apprehension.

The road fed directly to the main road of Solassa, buzzing with the activity of early morning - children scampering to their lessons, merchants opening stores, residents chatting of recent events. Kieft's throat caught when the scent of freshly baked bread reached him. A wave of homesickness nearly overcame his senses but he took a deep breath and calmed himself. He spotted a poster plastered on the wall of the inn.

Weaving between carts and people, Kieft drew closer. On the poster, were written the words, "Wanted for banditry, these criminals." Various descriptions and rough sketches followed, including one which matched Rianne and another which might have matched his own - although it might have described almost any young man. Above the words, the insignia of the Expatritors marked the poster as an official document.

Kieft tore it down.

"Ho, there!"

Kieft turned around and saw the local man Alastian approaching angrily. He instantly recognised Kieft and all indignation dropped from Alastian's face. "Oh, it is you."

Several passersby, attention drawn by Alastian's initial shout, had stopped and now whispered to each other. Kieft stood as confidently as he could manage, remembering what influence he could wield as long as others believed him to be a Dhagaram. Alastian said, "Only Expatritors can remove their own wanted posters."

"The laws I follow transcend those of the Expatritors," Kieft said calmly. The muted chatter amongst the spectators grew.

"My name is Alastian."

"I remember you," Kieft said. He let the silence draw out; a technique which Sedwin said was used by either the self-confident or oratorically foolish. Kieft hoped he achieved the desired effect.

Finally, Alastian said, "May I know your name, Dhagaram?"

"I am Renrick," Kieft said, pleased that Sedwin had been correct about the township's assumptions.

A middle-aged woman in the crowd, hair tied in a tight bun, said, "Have you come to help us?"

"The sickness which Sedwin has unleashed upon us," Alastian said venomously.

Kieft shot him his harshest glare and much to his surprise, Alastian - perhaps fifteen years his elder - managed to appear sheepish after the outburst. He amended, "The sickness which plagues us."

Kieft looked around him, expectant faces, almost wishful of the impossible. He almost felt compelled to blurt out the truth but he remembered the slave pens. He had no reason to believe the Expatritors would be more accomodating of accomplices of known outlaws than the outlaws themselves. He said, "Show me what sickness this is and I will do what I can."

Alastian beckoned to him. "Come with me, I will show you."

Kieft followed the man while an interested group of onlookers trailed behind. As Alastian led Kieft through Solassa, another wave of homesickness swept over him but he hid his panic with a judgemental expression, as if he did not approve of the children arriving late for lessons or the high prices of the local cobbler.

Alastian turned from the main road and pointed to a cottage with an extensive garden. "That is the house of our healer, Mistress Ridwynn. But she spends most of her time in the infirmary with the sick."

The side-road appeared to peter out into a trail leading only to the outlying farms. Alastian headed off the track towards a large tent pitched in the middle of one of the fields. Around the infirmary, a constant stream of activity belied the grim situation inside. Young teenagers scurried to and from the town proper carrying pails of water, armloads of wood, food - as if they were building their own town in the outskirts of Solassa. Kieft understood, with his limited experience of illnesses, that the healer and her assistants needed supplies for not only the sick but themselves as they stayed day and night to attend to their patients.

The arrival of Kieft, Alastian and onlookers from Solassa did nothing to interrupt the flow of people and their duties. With a solemn face, Alastian entered the makeshift hospital and Kieft followed.

As his eyes adjusted to the shade, Kieft immediately picked the scent of death in the air. Alastian did not seem bothered by the odour but instead surveyed the interior as if the sickness spoke for itself. Kieft took a step towards the closest cot with an unconscious man lying upon it, swathed in red bandages.

"That is Emar," Alastian said. "His sons and nephews work the mill now."

The bandages on the miller glistened. Even as he breathed, blood trickled from between his eyelids and dripped onto the cot. The red splotch became lost in the other maroon stains.

"The sickness makes him bleed," Alastian continued. "Even as he sweats, he sweats blood. His tears are blood. The wax in his ears is tinged with blood."

"For how long has this been?" Kieft asked as calmly as he could, disguising the horror of so many afflicted with such an illness.

An older woman approached and said, "For only weeks. I am Ridwynn."

Kieft bowed respectfully and said, "I am Renrick." The healer, wearing a stained apron and covered in blood to her elbows, curtsied politely. Flecks of blood marred her grey hair, tied in a bun.

"Renrick is a Dhagaram," Alastian explained.

At this, Ridwynn raised an eyebrow and said, "It is fortuitous for a Dhagaram to visit at such a time. Perhaps you may help us?"

Kieft dipped his chin gracefully. "I will do what I can, though I would be of no use here. I would rather find the source of this sickness."

"Ah, yes," Ridwynn said approvingly. "Destroy the source - that would be most welcome. But I must be the first to tell you that we have tried and failed, so far."

"Fresh eyes and a fresh mind may bring a different perspective," Kieft said.

Before the healer could reply, a teenaged assistant yelled, "Mistress!"

Ridwynn rushed to a cot at the far end of the infirmary; Kieft, Alastian and the onlookers who had not yet volunteered for chores followed. Alastian said, "I fear you will see what that hermit Sedwin has done to us."

Kieft saved his glare for Alastian and instead turned his attention to the thrashing woman Ridwynn and her apprentices desperately tried to subdue.

The woman's arms and legs flailed about, soaked bandages shaking loose. Ridwynn and the teenagers grabbed at her only to slide on the slick blood oozing from her skin. The woman's face screwed into a snarl, red squirting from her eyes, pouring from her nose and mouth. The struggled continued for an interminable minute or two. Kieft felt the spray of warm scarlet stain his cheeks.

Suddenly, she fell limp. Ridwynn watched her become still, dead. Kieft could see blood still pushing through the townswoman's skin, like thousands of miniscule pinpricks. Ridwynn closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead with the only clean spot on her arm. She muttered, "Will it never end?" To Kieft, she asked, "Renrick, can you send her on her way?"

"Of course," Kieft replied. He stepped closer to the body and hovered a hand above the dead woman's head. Quickly thinking of funerals held in Tiadri, he said, "May you find peace in death, the peace which was robbed from you in your last moments alive. May transgressions against you be forgotten and those you held against others laid to rest. Spirits guide you."

Those watching bowed their heads and softly echoed his words, something which must have occurred more frequently in the past several weeks than any Solassan had thought possible. Ridwynn nodded thanks to Kieft and her apprentices began clearing the cot.

He asked the healer, "Won't we fall ill as well, being so close to the sick?"

"No," Ridwynn said. "The sickness passes to a person some other way, not by contact with infected blood or air."

Alastian said, "My wife Carelina thought to have all the sick isolated lest we all catch the disease. But Ridwynn continued treating those who were ill and did not. 'Tis still best to keep these horrors away from the town proper."

"Do any who come into contact with the sickness fall ill?" Kieft asked.

Alastian shrugged, leaving the answer to the healer. Ridwynn said, "Some do, some do not. This is why I think the sickness is caught some other way, not by mere contact." Kieft knew what Alastian thought `some other way' would be and pointedly ignored his knowing grunts.

"Have you a place to stay, Dhagaram Renrick?" Ridwynn asked Kieft.

"Not as yet," he replied.

"Should you not find somewhere, you can board in my cottage," Ridwynn said. "Duty commands I spend all of my time here, caring for these people. I have not been home in days."

"I'm sure that won't be necessary," Kieft said politely.

Ridwynn shrugged. Alastian said, "Renrick will be sure to find a room at the inn. Speaking of which..." He led Kieft outside as they bade farewell to the healer.

"Be well," Ridwynn said and turned her attention back to her patients.

On the path back to Solassa town, Kieft asked, "Will a room at the inn be expensive? I have no cirrens with which to pay."

"Dourand will give you food and lodgings for nothing," Alastian said. "He has the greatest respect for Dhagaram."

"That is good to hear," Kieft said, another worry lifted from him. Finding the source of such a grave illness, however, filled him with dread. He feared to think what pain other townspeople would go through until he discovered the origin. He mentally corrected himself - if he discovered the origin.

When Alastian opened the door to the inn and tavern, they found a small congregation already gossiping in the common room. As the group realised Alastian and Kieft had entered, the chatter quietened and all eyes turned to examine the new arrival.

Kieft raised a hand in greeting and said, "Good morning to you all."

Alastian said loudly, "This is Renrick. He is a Dhagaram."

The common room burst into animated discussion at confirmation of their suspicions. Alastian led Kieft to the bar where a man of middle-age nodded in greeting.

"Dourand, have you a room for Renrick?" Alastian asked.

"Aye," the inn-keeper replied. "And meals. T'would be my pleasure." He fished under the counter for a moment then produced a key which he handed to Kieft. "Your room would be up the stairs, second on the left."

"My thanks and gratitude," Kieft said with a bow of the head.

"Not at all," Dourand replied.

"A drink, then," Alastian said proudly.

"Aye," Dourand said. "But you are no Dhagaram, Master Alastian, so show me your cirrens." Alastian's face fell in mock disappointment.

As Kieft began eating a hearty breakfast prepared by Dourand's wife, Alastian meandered to the group and joined in their discussions. Kieft caught only a little of their conversation, which unsurprisingly seemed to centre on the strange sickness and what a Dhagaram could do for them.

A plainly dressed man, perhaps in his fiftieth spring, sat beside Kieft and ordered an ale from Dourand. As the innkeeper poured a mug, the man said to Kieft, "Welcome to Solassa."

"Thank you," Kieft replied. "I am Renrick."

"A pleasure. I am Vespes."

Kieft wiped the crumbs on his tunic and shook hands with the well-spoken man. Vespes held himself with confidence and by the way Dourand treated him, Kieft guessed Vespes to be a respected member of the town.

"You have come to help us?" Vespes said, his words more of a statement than a question.

Kieft nodded. "I felt drawn here and have since witnessed a woman die from the bleeding sickness. I feel I must help."

"Yes," Vespes said, as if he could understand Kieft's professed empathy for Solassa. "Duty is indeed a powerful motivator. Tell me, from where do you hail?"

"I am of Brookholm," Kieft replied. He had not anticipated being asked of his background and hoped vague answers would appear consistent with the rest of his assumed identity. At least he knew something of Brookholm.

"Ah," Vespes said. Dourand placed a mug of ale on the counter and left to attend to the other patrons. Vespes took a swig of his drink and then said, "I am also of Brookholm. But not as of late."

"Have you lived here long?" Kieft inquired.

"Yes, for many years," Vespes said. "The only thing which outstrips duty are orders."

"Orders?"

"Yes."

"From whom?" Kieft asked.

"From my superiors," Vespes said with a bemused smile on his face. "I am an Expatritor."

All of Kieft's gut and throat tightened in that instant but he hid his reactions with what he hoped to be a pleasant smile, one which would convey the delight of such an unexpected surprise. Yet, his mind raced with all the possibilities of escape. He did not panic, partly because Vespes did not appear to recognise him but mostly because Sedwin had prepared him for such an encounter. As the rotund scholar instructed him, Kieft did all he could to calm himself in the manner of one Dhagaram-trained. Breathe in, breathe out. Visualise something peaceful. A blue sky? The Tiaquin River?

"You do not look like an Expatritor," Kieft said. "You are without armour or weapons. It is very strange."

"When one is sent away for beliefs and thoughts, one loses the desire to bear arms."

"What beliefs?"

Vespes stroked his chin and cast his eyes upward. He said, "Things such as honesty, integrity, honour. Belief in these things will cause one to be sent away, to a place such as this." Vespes looked at Kieft, directly into his eyes. "There is a fell power at work in Solassa. Perhaps as fearsome as the corruption of the Expatritors."

His interest piqued, Kieft asked, "What proof do you have of this?"

"Nothing but my own eyes and ears," Vespes said. He gripped his mug with both hands, appearing to steel himself for something. He continued in a low voice so that the rest of the common room could not hear his words. "The people blame the hermit Sedwin for this plague. Though the man has suffered in years gone, it makes no sense for him to spread a sickness through the town when any issue he would settle would be one with the Expatritors."

"What happened to him?" Kieft asked.

"This Sedwin is a healer and over the years has created concoctions which have had effects I would not speak of had I not seen them for myself. So quickly do some here in town forget such kindness." Vespes shook his head, almost to himself. "But the people who feared Sedwin for his abilities were not people like Alastian - they were the Expatritors. It happened twenty springs ago, when I had just been newly stationed here - Sedwin had gone to visit Guithannan and left his wife alone in Solassa. Jenarina stayed at this very inn, occasionally returning to the cottage for fresh parchment or inks. On one such trip, a group of Expatritors raided the cottage, murdered her and burned everything to the ground. I daren't think of what they did to her before she died.

"They had the gall to blame the attack on bandits."

"You know all of this?" Kieft said.

"I could do nothing then, being the new arrival. And I can do nothing now."

"The Expatritors who did this, are they still here?"

"No," Vespes said. "They have long been transferred to more luxurious garrisons. Or retired with a lifetime's worth of cirrens as a gift from behalf of the Saeculus for their service to the Expatritors." He paused for a moment giving Kieft an opportunity to reevaluate Sedwin, considering the revelation about his wife.

Vespes continued. "Not long ago, Expatritor Luneiadon rode through. By what means, I know not, but he ordered some to the west and others to return to the Caelestus in Brookholm. But such transfers must bore you, Dhagaram."

"Only a little," Kieft said. "How many Expatritors are left, then?"

"Only I and two others."

Kieft slowly nodded. "You have given me much to think on, Expatritor Vespes."

Vespes stood and said, "I hope you make sense of it. Luck to you." The Expatritor retreated to a corner of the common room, ale in hand.

As Kieft finished his meal, thoughts weighed down in Sedwin's past, a woman politely tapped his shoulder. She smiled and said, "Morning to you, Dhagaram."

"And to you," Kieft said. "You are?"

"My name is Carelina," she said. "My husband showed you the infirmary this morning."

"Your husband is Alastian."

"Yes," Carelina said. "Do not mind his manners about Sedwin, he only fears what he does not know."

"And what of Dhagaram?" Kieft asked.

Carelina grinned. "He respects what he knows and also fears at the same time."

"I see," Kieft said, returning the smile. "What may I do for you?"

"I must ask you to say nothing of this to my husband. He knows that I care for Sedwin and feel that he is innocent; I fear Alastian's anger towards him stems from a deeply-buried belief in himself that Sedwin is not responsible."

"That would be possible."

"Then know that Sedwin's aid has been invaluable, ever since I have known him - though he grew more reclusive after his wife died."

"You mean, after she was murdered," Kieft said questioningly.

"Murdered?" Carelina said with a surprised face. "She died when Sedwin's cottage was accidentally set alight by a spilled lantern."

"Oh," Kieft said. The figure in the corner, Expatritor Vespes, huddled closer to his drink.

"Wherever would you get the idea she was murdered?" Carelina asked with a bemused smile. She continued, "Ridwynn would probably not say so in the presence of Alastian but she knows of Sedwin's contributions to this cause, as well as many others, and is grateful."

"I will remember," Kieft promised.

"Good," Carelina said, seemingly satisfied. She returned to the others and their conversations and Kieft cupped his hands in thought, food and drink forgotten along with fears of pursuit. He rubbed his unshaven jaw, feeling more secure with his face obscured by his thickening beard, and considered his next move.

#

Unaccustomed to the incredible heat and glare of the sun, present even in early morning, Rianne, Delfrasian, Azdiem and Thuristen trudged through the wasteland, heads bowed and silent, saving breath for exertion. Rianne had always imagined the Arjezeh desert a sandy vista of majestic dunes and valleys, accentuated with the occasional oasis. Despite having never heard the Arjezeh described by someone who had actually seen it, she was still surprised by the true harsh nature of the desert.

Beneath their feet, pebbles and rocks littered the ground. Some were sharp enough to slice through flesh, others were oddly shaped, rolling and twisting their ankles haphazardly. The stark land shifted between gentle undulations and sudden fissures; canyons and gullies cut through the earth, their faces rough in the dry air. During the day, the group contended against the heat, the gusts of sand and grit. At night, the cold trapped them together. They found little vegetation with which to create a fire and few animals to hunt - those that did fled from sight faster than even Delfrasian could react.

They had agreed to travel by more conventional means, as their survival depended on meeting the Zhandoura - they would not last long in the Arjezeh without local hospitality. Ceryn remained confident while Tome rarely spoke. Since passing through the Stonepeak Ranges, he had withdrawn into a brooding shell. At times, Ceryn worried for him, but Rianne privately considered the change understandable - she found herself missing home more and more as the threat of pursuit dwindled.

On their fourth night in the Arjezeh, their supplies grew thin and they agreed to halve rations. No one spoke of the course of action should their supplies become exhausted and they settled in for another frigid night. As she fell asleep, Rianne randomly thought of the old proverb, "The sun shines even in Brookholm." She mentally added, "And in the desert, where it will kill you."

In the morning, Rianne opened her eyes to the bright morning. As they adjusted to the glare, she suddenly realised the blade of a polearm hovered just above her throat. A quick glance around the camp and she saw five Zhandouran men and women surrounding them. Perhaps another twenty of their comrades milled about a short distance away. Most were dressed in billowy cloth which flapped in the breeze while others wore a bare minimum; baldrics, haversacks and waterskins strapped over their nearly-naked bodies. Of different heights and sizes, all the Zhandoura were finely built.

The man who held the bladed polearm barked an order and jerked the weapon upwards. Rianne shook her head and said, "I don't understand."

The Zhandouran repeated himself and backed away, as if to give her space. The others began to stir and as they awoke, the Zhandoura brought their weapons to bear. Ceryn and Tome emerged and all of the Zhandoura startled back. Upon seeing their apparent captors, Ceryn looked pleased.

"What do we do?" Delfrasian asked the forestwoman. The Zhandouran who spoke previously repeated his command.

Tome said, "He wants us to stand up slowly."

Rianne, Delfrasian, Thuristen and Azdiem got to their feet, letting their blankets slide to the ground. As the cloth revealed their weapons and armour, the faces of all the Zhandoura became enraged. The apparent leader who bore the fierce polearm uttered a word which Rianne understood fully. "Expatritors!"

At this, the other Zhandoura approached with weapons drawn and soon the array of blades, knives and crushing devices pointed in their direction.

"No, no! Wait!" Ceryn shouted. She continued speaking in what Rianne assumed to be the Zhandouran language - strangely familiar, as if the meaning of the words tickled her brain, teasing her for not knowing it in the first place. She glanced at her companions; Delfrasian and Thuristen held their hands before them, empty and open while Azdiem seemed to resist the urge to rip out a sword and bat away the weapons pointed at him.

"What do we do?" Rianne said to Delfrasian. He shrugged nervously.

One of the tall female Zhandoura stepped forward, looking in Rianne's direction with great curiosity. She wore a loose cloak and hood over a tunic and short hose which seemed more fitting of a Brookholmer or Guithannanian rather than a Zhandouran. Rianne examined her more closely and realised this particular woman's skintone did not match the dark Zhandouran skin - although covered in dirt and grime, as were her clothes. She lowered her sword and pulled back her hood, revealing a shock of short dark hair and equally dark eyes.

"Rianne?"

She knew why the woman appeared so familiar.

"Atheisia!"

Kieft's eldest sister rushed forward and embraced Rianne. "Oh, spirits!" Atheisia said.

Rianne felt her eyes tear up as thoughts of home, and especially of family, crossed her mind. Atheisia pulled back, tears also in her eyes and smiled. Rianne managed to curl her lips in response, despite her emotions getting the better of her composure. Atheisia turned to the rest of the Zhandoura and spoke, hopefully to convince them to take them in.

Azdiem asked Rianne, "Who is that?"

"She is Atheisia," Rianne answered. "She is from Tiadri."

"What is she doing out here?" Delfrasian asked.

Rianne shrugged. "I don't know. She used to be a guard in Brookholm." She turned to Ceryn and Tome and asked, "What is going on?"

Atheisia seemed to have gotten into a heated discussion with one of the men, who appeared to hold a position of authority. Tome said, translating, "Atheisia told them about your friendship and asked for hospitality on your behalf. The leader of this patrol - I think his name is Goraj - has said that you may be spies for the Expatritors. Atheisia said something about Ceryn and I and the trust the Zhandoura hold for the forestfolk. Goraj is not convinced. Atheisia has asked for others to speak up."

Kieft's sister turned to the other Zhandoura who had remained silent during the exchange. A man stepped forward and said, "I will speak the eastern common language for the benefit of our guests - for that is how we should treat them, as our guests. What forestman and woman would aid the cause of the Expatritors? They must be in dire need to have fled so far from their homes." He raised his arms rhetorically. "Who are we to deny the needs of the enemies of our enemies? Remember whence we ourselves came!"

Mutterings among the Zhandourans rose but Goraj said something else. Tome translated, "Nothing new is said by the Skychaser. Why do these intruders bear Expatritor weapons and armour?"

Eyes turned to Rianne and her companions. She said to Atheisia, "Tell them we raided a small Expatritor encampment - four or five days east of here."

Atheisia translated and the rumblings continued. Ceryn said, "It isn't going well." Atheisia also seemed to think so and by her expression, despaired. She blurted out something else.

The Zhandoura appeared surprised by Atheisia's words and Tome and Ceryn were perplexed. Rianne asked, "What is going on?"

Ceryn said, "Your friend staked her reputation and honour on her word. Should she be proven wrong, the Zhandoura would disown her and consider her an enemy for the rest of her life. I don't know what arrangement Atheisia reached with them prior to this but only one of the Zhandoura can make a pledge like this."

Goraj muttered several words and walked away. The Zhandoura backed away and Atheisia turned to Rianne with a wide grin. "I think it will be all right. We have a lot to talk about."

Rianne nodded, a smile coming to her. She motioned to her companions. "Atheisia, this is Delfrasian, Thuristen and Azdiem. The forestfolk are Tome and Ceryn." They each greeted Atheisia warmly, although Kieft's sister did not seem comfortable speaking with Ceryn and Tome.

"The Zhandoura tell many tales about brownies and pixies," Atheisia said. "I have never met one until now."

"I know what you mean," Azdiem said and Rianne nodded in agreement.

The Zhandoura who defended Atheisia's opinion approached and bowed. Rianne returned the bow and said, "May water be on your journey."

The man appeared surprised but responded with a bow of his own. "An iye."

"This is Zehru of the Skychasers," Atheisia said. She introduced Rianne and the others. Zehru, also garbed in a light cloak and armed with a curved sword, said, "Do not worry about Goraj. He is leader of this Starock patrol; Atheisia, the other Skerektia and I are merely `guests'."

"Are the Zhandoura patrolling for Expatritors?" Delfrasian asked.

Zehru nodded. "Yes, but we also hunt trolls." Ceryn and Tome's eyes lit up in anticipation. "But we most likely will not encounter any."

Goraj called to the Zhandoura and the group began moving north. Atheisia beckoned to Rianne. "Come, we must move."

Thuristen and Azdiem quickly packed their meagre possessions, they and Delfrasian hauling most of the ill-fitting armour in large sacks formerly filled with food. They tagged onto the rear of the patrol with Atheisia and Zehru's companions.

"Where are we headed?" Azdiem asked.

"There is a Starock waypoint north of here," Zehru said. "From there, we will take you to the Skychaser settlement. Goraj wants nothing to do with you."

"What are these Starock, Skychaser?"

Zehru and his Zhandoura comrades chuckled as they strode. Rianne noticed they wore finely-constructed sandals, thick-soled to protect against the difficult terrain but closely fitting so as to form a second skin on their feet.

"Starock and Skychaser are two of the tribes of the Zhandoura, easterner," Zehru said. "The Starocks are the largest single tribe - only all the other tribes put together would equal their numbers."

"Do they rule the Zhandoura?" Delfrasian asked.

At this, Zehru laughed and even Atheisia grinned good-naturedly. "No," the Zhandouran answered. "The Zhandoura are not governed such as eastern cities are. Each tribe is left to its own elders and its Rahij. Rarely do the Zhandoura gather together for rarely is it required."

"What tribes are there?" Thuristen asked.

"There are six," Zehru said. "Although the Sundancers are sometimes not counted for many of their number have become Sundancers by way of training or marriage. The Sundancers are our lorekeepers, advisers - they do not often concern themselves in petty tribal disputes.

"There is Valehome. They are fair warriors but perhaps their tales and legends distract them from purpose too often. Even in the construction of waypoints or tailoring of clothes, they dream.

"The Meadowind tribe are well-respected, though they care little for the Expatritors. Not in the same way the Starock tribe cares little, Meadowind truly cares not. They would rather live well than care about what happens in the east, which is not such an undesirable view of life.

"Of the other tribes are the Skychaser, Starock and Raindreamers. I would not speak of the Raindreamers, only that to put Ilav of Raindreamer and Ciertof of Starock together is to incite a war."

"I had no idea of the divisions within the Zhandoura," Azdiem said.

Atheisia said, "They aren't so much as divisions as extended families. Besides, there are many Zhandoura who know little difference between the Expatritors and common people."

Azdiem, Delfrasian and Thuristen continued to ply questions to Zehru about the Zhandoura and Rianne took the opportunity to talk with Atheisia.

"How did you come to be here, Atheisia?" Rianne asked.

"It's not such an interesting story," Atheisia said. "During my time as a guard, I met several Zhandoura who had travelled east to seek their fortunes. After several months of seeing the Expatritors treating the Zhandoura as they did, I was convinced to leave for the Arjezeh. Guarding in Brookholm is owned by the Expatritors, did you know?" Rianne shook her head. Atheisia continued, "To gain any sort of reputation, private guards must apply for Expatritor certification, just as many other trades must. A percentage of a guard's earnings is given to the Expatritors for the following year and guards must reapply for a new certificate every spring, which costs another fifty cirrens."

"That is outrageous," Rianne said.

"Indeed. At the very least, there are no Expatritors in the Arjezeh." Shaking her head slightly, Atheisia added, "That might not be true for very long, however."

"Was the Zhandouran language difficult to learn?" Rianne asked.

Atheisia shook her head. "No. You might not know it but Brookholmer and Guithannanian stem from Zhandouran." She tapped Rianne's head. "You already understand Zhandouran, as do your friends. It won't be long until you figure it all out."

"I'm not a kid anymore, Atheisia. You can't fool me."

Atheisia grinned. She obviously remembered the many times Rianne, Kieft and his younger siblings were sent on phantom errands around Tiadri at the behest of the elder sister. "I know I can't fool you any longer. But believe me." Her mood turned sombre and she aked, "What brings you to the Arjezeh with these people and forestfolk, no less? How is everyone?"

Rianne looked at her feet step over the jagged rocks and dry dirt as she trudged onwards. Dust kicked up momentarily, only carried when a hot gust of wind blew past. The pain of the separation from Kieft still hurt; she did not know if she could bear retelling the events which led her to this point, especially her parents' death in the raid. Yet, Rianne knew she owed Atheisia the truth as she had not seen Tiadri or her family in more than five springs.

Atheisia seemed to sense the apprehension in Rianne and she put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Rianne? What's wrong? What happened at home?"

Rianne stopped and Atheisia also halted. They let the others continue northwards. Rianne saw Delfrasian start to turn back but Ceryn said something and he rejoined the main group. The stones and pebbles which lay strewn on the ground pressed into the soles of Rianne's feet, even through her boots, and she shifted her weight uncomfortably.

Rianne told her of what transpired in recent weeks, Atheisia listening intently and without interrupting. By the end of Rianne's account, Atheisia hugged her, both close to tears.

"I don't know what to do," Rianne said.

"Nor do I," Atheisia said, "but you will be safe here. I promise."

Rianne nodded and wiped her tears away. Atheisia led the way back to the Zhandouran patrol and Rianne's thoughts quickly shifted from home to Atheisia's incredible endurance. When they rejoined the group, she seemed hardly winded while Rianne wheezed like an old woman. But Rianne knew that her thoughts on physical exertions only distracted her from more unpleasant memories.

By midday, the overbearing heat felt almost too much for Rianne to handle. Atheisia recommended wearing their cloaks loosely over their heads and despite the doubts of the easterners they did as she said. To their surprise, Rianne, Delfrasian, Azdiem and Thuristen all agreed they felt cooler even with the extra layer. Not long after, winds from the northwest strengthened and Rianne's cloak billowed, flapping madly.

At the head of the procession, Goraj turned and yelled several words in Zhandouran. All began jogging as Atheisia translated, "A rock storm. We must hurry to the waypoint."

Responding to Rianne's inquisitive look, Zehru explained, "Winds in the Arjezeh can be powerful - sometimes powerful enough to lift even the pebbles and shale from the ground. We should not be caught in such."

Wind howled in Rianne's ears and they began running merely to catch up with the Starock Zhandoura. Atheisia urged them on even as they slipped and stumbled on the rough ground and loose stones. The Skychasers and Sundancers led by Zehru forged ahead of the easterners but kept a reasonable pace they could maintain.

Rianne glanced to the side, seeing Thuristen noticeably becoming fatigued. She herself felt the ache in both her legs although her recently healed thigh had never felt stronger. The sudden urge to stop swept over her and she realised her feet and ankles could not keep up such a high pace on inhospitable terrain even if the rest of her body could. Atheisia did not appear bothered by the jagged rocks and sudden pitfalls which caused the rest of them to stumble and occasionally fall.

Rianne fought to regain her breath even as they ran onwards. She glanced up at the next crest where the Zhandoura had clambered up only moments before. It seemed an impossible distance away. Without warning, a gigantic curtain of sand burst over the crest and engulfed them in swirls of blinding grit and earth. Rianne opened her mouth to yell for her companions but it instantly filled with dirt and she spat dry globules in a vain effort to clear it. She pulled the hood of her cloak low, yet the sand swarmed over her face, forcing her to squint in the brown whirlwind.

Rianne felt a sharp sting in her arm and judging by the intensity of the pain she realised a rock had just struck her. She reached with a finger and felt blood. Another rock struck her leg and this time she yelled in pain. A hand grabbed her arm and dragged her forward.

"Hurry!" Atheisia shouted over the wind. Rianne barely heard her, words snatched from the air by the storm. Atheisia moved at a fast pace dragging Rianne after her. With head bowed and her vision filled only with sand and the ground immediately before her feet, Rianne stumbled along, fearing that the next step would be the one to roll her ankle or slip off a cliff.

"Where are the others?" Rianne screamed.

"I don't know!"

"We can't leave them out here!"

Atheisia dragged Rianne onwards, despite her resistance and yelled, "The waypoint is not far! Once the storm passes we will search for them!"

"They might die without our help!" Rianne responded.

"And so might we if we stay out here longer than we must!"

Rianne felt Atheisia descend an incline and soon found herself following down a steep embankment. The wind abated within the deep gully; dust and sand still blew through the air but without the violence as above. The ground still bit into her feet. Atheisia led the way towards cracks in a cliff-face a short distance away and as they approached, Rianne realised a cave entrance had been dug into the earth. Two Zhandoura stood guard, hidden from casual sight, and they allowed the two entry to the waypoint.

Atheisia put a hand on Rianne's shoulder and said, "Sometimes we must make sacrifices for the greater purpose. We might have died trying to save the others."

"We might not have," Rianne said.

"You don't know that," Atheisia said. She looked past Rianne and pointed at something deep within the cave. "Look."

Rianne turned and saw Delfrasian, Azdiem and Thuristen talking with several Skychaser Zhandoura. Upon the shoulders of Thuristen and Azdiem, Ceryn and Tome raised a hand in greeting.

"Had we stayed out there..." Atheisia said. Rianne nodded - the situations might have been reversed. Atheisia led her inside, saying, "Let's rest for now."

They joined with the Skychaser Zhandoura and Rianne's friends, heading deeper within the earth. Several torches illuminated the roughly-hewn rock at regular intervals; the ground had been worn smooth by the many feet and sandals which traversed its surface over years of use.

Suddenly, they emerged into daylight, much to Rianne's surprise. Judging by the expressions on her companion's faces, they were equally astonished but by as much as what met their eyes as the sudden brightness. On all sides rose the vertical walls of the narrow canyon, reaching heights rivaling the towers of Brookholm or perhaps even the massive fortifications on the outer walls of Guithannan which Daerain had sometimes spoke of. Embedded within the cliff-faces were windows sheltered by simple canvas frames; evidently quarters for the Zhandoura who stayed at the waypoint. High above them, at the surface, Rianne made out the shape of several sentries patrolling the canyon's opening even as the rock storm blasted past. On the ground directly before them lay numerous canvas shelters and tents cramming all available space. Zhandoura bustled throughout the peculiar community, haggling over various goods, chatting, drinking, polishing weapons, all oblivious to the whistling wind - the only impact the rock storm had within the canyon.

Zehru, accompanied by two women and a man, approached them with smiles. "You made it through the storm." Atheisia greeted the two women like old friends and they proceeded to greet the easterners.

"These are Katalin and Katiana," Zehru said, motioning to his companions. "They are my Skychaser sisters, although they apprenticed long with the Sundancers."

"Enchanted," Azdiem said with a graceful bow. Rianne grinned to herself as Delfrasian and Thuristen, with a previously unseen grace, introduced themselves in turn.

The other man said in heavily accented Brookholmer, "I am Drasernos of the Sundancers. We will show you quarters where you may take rest."

As Atheisia moved to thank the lorekeeper, a shout rose and a surge of Zhandoura pushed towards them. Goraj of the Starock Zhandoura led at the head of the movement, followed by equally well-built men and women. Several, dressed in robes as Drasernos did, followed while onlookers were dragged in the flow of people by mere curiosity.

Goraj said something to an older man and immediately Drasernos replied, "Speak so we may all understand you, Goraj."

The young Starock grimaced and replied sharply. Several of Drasernos' kin answered while the older Starock placated Goraj. The young Zhandouran said in broken Brookholmer, "Fine! I will speak this mongrel tongue." He pointed to Rianne and her companions. "There they are, Father. We picked them up south of here, near the outer patrol ring."

The elder Starock, head shaven as most Zhandoura men were, wore the same garb as others except for a necklace of coloured stones which, it seemed, none else did. As far as Rianne could tell, however, the necklace was not the man's saexum - it was for something else entirely. He said, "So, you are the easterners. I am Ciertof, Rahij of the Starocks and master of this waypoint. Tell me why we should not kill you and feed you to our dogs."

Atheisia stepped forward and said, "How dare you speak so rudely to your guests! They are your allies!"

A woman pushed from Ciertof's side, equally as tall as Atheisia and wearing clothes far more revealing. If it were not for her threatening stance, Rianne would be sure that Delfrasian, Azdiem and Thuristen would have been distracted. "Do not speak so rudely to the Starock Rahij, Atheisia."

"Stand back, Karviasha," Zehru said. "You know, as well as anyone, of Atheisia's worthiness to the Zhandoura."

The Starock woman, Karviasha, snickered but withdrew. Atheisia took a step back and allowed Zehru to continue, "The easterners are accompanied by the forestfolk, Ciertof."

"I have eyes, Zehru," Ciertof said. "But their presence is diminished by the easterner's bearing of Expatritor arms." The Starock leader appeared pained to utter the word `Expatritor'.

"We are not Expatritors," Rianne said.

"We raided an encampment east of here," Delfrasian said. He and Azdiem pulled their bags forward and spilled out the stolen Expatritor plate armour, gauntlets, helms and other assorted items they could not wear for the heat and weight. As the pieces tumbled to the ground, a collective gasp sounded through the canyon; even Atheisia had not known of the extent of their exploits.

"We don't want it," Delfrasian said. "We don't need it."

A young woman - Rianne guessed her to be a Sundancer by her robes - whispered to Goraj. The young Starock said something to his father who frowned. Several Zhandoura took up the Expatritor armour and passed it through the canyon.

"You speak truly?" Ciertof asked the young Sundancer.

"Yes," she replied.

"If Catharina's information is correct," Ciertof said to the easterners and their Skychaser benefactors, "then we may extend our hospitality for now."

"You are wise, Ciertof," Zehru said.

"Do not test me, Skychaser," the Rahij replied. "Should the easterners be found as spies, I will not hesitate to order their deaths."

"I assure you they are not," Atheisia said. "I have sworn my honour before and I will do so again."

Ciertof stared at her. "Consider yourself sworn, then." To Zehru, he said, "The easterners may stay until recovered. But take them to Skychaser lands soon. I will not have them under my protection for long."

The Skychasers bowed respectfully as Ciertof and his entourage returned to their everyday business. The Zhandoura dispersed and the matter seemed resolved. Catharina, the young Sundancer woman, stayed behind. Drasernos said, "You would be careful with them, Catharina."

"You worry too much, Drasernos," she replied with a smile. "Starocks are harmless. And they are strong."

"That is what your grandmother fears," Drasernos said.

"No," Catharina said, "she fears you will be slain in battle. You are a Sundancer, my brother, not a warrior."

Drasernos grunted, encapsulating his non-existent fears of death. His kin shrugged her shoulders and waved goodbye as she followed the Starocks.

"Come, I will show you the rooms," Drasernos said, motioning for the easterners and Skychasers to follow. He led them into an opening in the cliff, a well-lit corridor which bore directly into the earth.

"Are all Zhandouran towns like this?" Rianne asked in general.

Zehru answered, "No, this is a waypoint not a settlement, although ones such as this may quickly become one."

"Waypoints were originally built to protect roaming groups against incursions by the Expatritors in the early days," Drasernos said. "Most come and go as required but some stay and have made the waypoint their home. They see to the stocking of provisions and the gathering of water. This particular waypoint was founded by Starocks after a small stream was discovered. That is perhaps the only reason it has become so large but the Starocks will not allow it to become anything other than a waypoint, despite the source of water."

"Is there much water in the Arjezeh?" Azdiem asked.

"If you know where to look," Zehru said with a smile. "Animals know and they mostly come out at night. It is a sight to behold the desert become alive at twilight."

Despite walking deep within the earth, the hall was bright. Rianne searched for the source of light but found only empty shafts in the ceiling which shone onto them. As they began ascending a flight of stairs which reached far above them, Atheisia noticed her examining the holes and said, "The Valehome tribe thought of it."

"Of what?" Rianne asked.

"Drilling through the ceiling and lining the tunnels with mirrors," Atheisia said. "There is the occasional pile of dust and sand to sweep, like today, but I'd rather that than become choked with smoking torches."

Rianne nodded in silent appreciation of the Zhandoura, the stairs were smooth and well-spaced while the walls and frequent arches were decorated with intricate carvings, shadows accentuated by the overhead lighting.

"What are true Zhandouran settlements like?" Delfrasian asked.

"They are large," Zehru said, "perhaps as large as one of your towns around Brookholm. But most do not stay for long, even our leaders - for example, Ciertof, who has not seen the Starock home in more than ten seasons. Most of us roam the Arjezeh, following water or staying at waypoints when designated as patrol."

"What about family?" Thuristen asked.

"When I am with Skychasers, I am never without family," Zehru said. "Perhaps when one's children are young or when one's wife will soon give birth, Zhandoura retreat to home, otherwise there is no reason why family cannot follow - especially when we travel in such large groups, we are much a settlement which simply moves as we wish."

"There are not many so-called towns," Drasernos continued. "Perhaps one or two for each of the tribes, bar the Sundancers." He said something else in Zhandouran, hushed.

As Katiana and Katalin showed Azdiem, Delfrasian and Thuristen to separate quarters, Rianne asked Atheisia what Drasernos had said under his breath. Kieft's sister answered, "Something about Catharina and Goraj."

"Is Catharina his sister?" Rianne asked.

"No, they are cousins but the Zhandoura hold kin closely," Atheisia said, "There are many who disapprove of Catharina's close involvement with the Starocks, particularly with Goraj."

"Those two?" Rianne said incredulously.

"Let's not start gossipping like girls at home," Atheisia said with a nostalgic smile. "But, yes. No one knows of the implications since Goraj, being the son of Ciertof, will most likely be the next Rahij of the Starocks and Catharina, granddaughter of Kailesti the Rahij of the Sundancers, may also become their next leader. Should they wed..."

Atheisia left her own conclusions unsaid as Drasernos showed Rianne, Atheisia and the Skychasers to their quarters. The tiny room, separated from the stairwell by two modest curtains of cloth and bead, reminded Rianne of a cell. Although a firm wide mattress lay at one side of the room, it occupied much of the space and Rianne realised that the Zhandoura only slept here, spending their leisure time in the company of friends. She dropped her haversack on the cot and peeked out the window, shaded by a sheet of canvas. Below on the narrow canyon floor, Zhandoura continued in their business. She poked her head outside and Delfrasian waved at her from his window on her left.

"Are you hungry?" he said.

Rianne grinned and waved back. "Yes!"

She pulled back inside the room and found Delfrasian, Azdiem and Thuristen with Ceryn and Tome waiting in the corridor, ready to explore the waypoint and find a filling meal. With her new friends by her side, Rianne could almost forget about Tiadri and enjoy what the Zhandouran waypoint had to offer.

"Let's go."

#

Valedros raised a hand in greeting to the two Expatritors waiting outside the gates to the Circle grounds. On a clear day, he would have only seen their silhouettes against the morning sun but unsurprisingly the sky remained grey. They were encased in armour while he wore only plain clothes and a dagger under his belt; he had carefully stored his gear at Uncle Dunlead's home, knowing that any prolonged stay at the Caelestus would be risky. As Valedros neared the gatehouse of the Circle grounds, Decelain and Caslian removed their helms in respect for their comrade.

Decelain Faumont, an old friend from their time in Expatritor apprenticeship, appeared as he always did - immaculate in scaled armour and hair perfectly groomed despite having worn a helm since rising. Caslian Avynus, an unlikely Expatritor of northern district origins, wore several choice pieces of plate over his chest and arms. Both were heavily armed, as recent dictates from the Saeculus had ordered.

"What goes on, Valedros?" Caslian asked, resting a gauntleted hand on a finned mace. "No one has allowed us entry to the Circle."

"It is most peculiar," Decelain added.

Valedros said, "And a good morning to you, too."

Decelain smiled and said, "Forgive me, my friend. Good morning."

"It's too early in the morning for pleasantries, Valedros," Caslian said with a sardonic snort.

Valedros chuckled and headed to the gatehouse. The guards, Brookholm army Brands, only glanced at Valedros but examined the other two Expatritors more closely. One said, "Are they with you?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?" the Brand asked pointedly. His companion stared at the Expatritor insignia faintly engraved on Decelain and Caslian's breastpieces.

Valedros nodded and after a moment, the guards waved them on. As Valedros led the way towards the gardens behind the Council, Caslian said, "Since when have Expatritors been barred from Circle grounds?"

"Not long," Valedros said. "You will see why."

He walked onwards, his comrades following on either side. Though he was sure they had seen Circle grounds before, both Decelain and Caslian showed renewed appreciation in the cultivated gardens shared by all the Circle buildings. Circle business continued to be conducted by staff and ruling-class citizens meandering along the paths but there were more than a few simply relaxing for the moment. They passed through and Valedros could feel curious eyes watching them continue by the Council building to the garden which overlooked the surging waves of the Aeltag Sea.

"From now on, there will be no need to wear your armour," Valedros said.

"Why is that?" Decelain asked.

"There is no need to announce that we are Expatritors."

His friends did not answer; they probably already guessed the unusual situation which would soon present itself. Caslian, without his typical commentary, swept a cloak over himself and Decelain followed suit. Valedros nodded as they continued on the overgrown path.

A bush to the side of the path rustled and Valedros halted them; his companions' hands went straight to their weapons beneath their cloaks. Valedros listened for a moment; Cathlanie burst out with a gleeful yell. She hugged Valedros' leg but Decelain and Caslian did not release their weapons or relent in their suspicious stares.

"Did I scare you?" she asked.

"Yes, you almost made me jump," Valedros said. He surreptitiously waved at his friends to relax.

"Where are you going?" Cathlanie asked.

"We're going to a meeting," Valedros answered. "A very boring, dull meeting."

"Can I come?"

"No, it would probably be best if you did not."

"Oh, Valedros," Decelain said, "what could it hurt?"

"It would be more interesting than learning about numbers," Cathlanie said.

After a moment's thought, Valedros said against his better judgement, "You can tag along but you must be quiet and you must not disturb anyone."

Cathlanie grinned and grabbed onto Valedros' hand with surprising strength. She did not seem at all self-conscious of the awkward way they had last parted but, Valedros thought, she was a remarkable child. At the very least, not ordinary.

The path disintegrated into a dirt trail as they rounded the back of the Council building. Thick shrubs and bushes obscured their view of the ocean but finally, Valedros emerged onto a neat lawn which extended along the cliff's edge on either side. Beyond the low wooden railing, the Aeltag Sea roared, crashing against the rocks far below. Several stone benches had been moved from their usual resting places and placed in a rough semicircle. The invitees of the meeting had already arrived with what Valedros assumed would be their most trusted assistants. The more people who knew of his mother and Charge Bollardon's plans, the greater the risk would be to all of them. Valedros shook his head to himself, dispelling his own misgivings.

Decelain and Caslian followed him towards the meeting, moving to minimise the clanging of their armour beneath their cloaks. Valedros whispered to Cathlanie, "Stay here and try to be quiet." She nodded and sat on the grass, picking clovers before long.

Valedros' mother had simply asked him to attend so that he would not fall behind in matters. He, Decelain and Caslian stopped several strides behind the stone benches, spreading out like guards; they noticed Brands and Lances of the Brookholm army keeping watch at the edge of earshot of the low conversations. Of the new faces were the contingents of the two merchants who sat on the Circle of Seven - Falloney and Malius. Both had reached the upper echelons of Brookholm's citizenry through shrewd business and the occasional backroom dealing; they would both be familiar with what would follow although rumours abounded of Malius Villeton's involvement in such things in even everyday dealings. But while Falloney had fed well on his successes, evident by his growing girth, Malius had grown wiry as if the stresses of becoming successful had drained rather than rejuvenated him, as it had Falloney.

Ellaidra stood in the middle of the semicircle, Charge Bollardon and Commander Stirivon Fenetreu to one side and the merchant Circle-Members and their closest associates occupying the other benches. They appeared to be listening to Ellaidra speaking about the Expatritors; Valedros took a step closer.

"What of Aquetian?" Malius asked. "If we support your actions, he may undo everything. If not by vote then by the actions by his constituents."

"I admit Sardenyi Aquetian is not accounted for at the moment," Ellaidra said, "but he is an inner-sector fop. I know him and I know how to deal with him."

Malius appeared content with Ellaidra's response and leaned back. Falloney said, "All it takes is one word from him and his followers will boycott our stores, our businesses!"

"Would you let something like cirrens come between you and honour?" Curnailet asked.

"Of course not!" Falloney said, indignant. "But I would be a worthless ally should my businesses become failures."

"If you are worried about cirrens, then I will guarantee that your stores will not lose business," Ellaidra said.

"How?" Falloney said. "How can you guarantee that?"

Elladria motioned to one of her staff who waited a short distance away. "Enanna, take a message." The young woman scurried across with a quill and sheet of parchment. Ellaidra said, "Send a message to our friends and supporters to make a priority of conducting business with the constituents of Master Falloney's." To Falloney, Ellaidra added, "If you would be so kind to provide a list?"

"Of... of course," Falloney stammered, taken aback by the Circle Speaker's decisive approach. He nodded at his assistant beside him, who proceeded to confer with Enanna to one side.

"Your turn, Falloney," Ellaidra said.

The merchant put up his hands in resignation. "I will pledge my vote, Ellaidra. You have it."

Valedros' mother did not seem convinced - he could not see Falloney's face in full but Valedros guessed the merchant left something else unsaid.

"What is it you want, Falloney?" Ellaidra said.

"It is not what I want, it is about Expatritor certification," the rotund merchant responded. "I do not want to see my cirrens funding my enemies. The guilds are sick of it, the traders are sick of it, the workers will soon revolt over it."

"And you, Malius?" Ellaidra asked.

He shrugged, thin shoulders lifting his finely woven clothes sharply. "Expatritor certification is something I have learned to live with - an expenditure of business. It certainly weeds out the inferior traders and craftsmen."

"You would say that, you scoundrel," Falloney snorted.

Malius cast a lingering look at Falloney with a single raised eyebrow and said, "We are often allies, Falloney, but hold your tongue lest you speak something you would regret."

"Surely you do not wish your cirrens to fund the ones we seek to remove from power?" Falloney asked.

Again, Malius shrugged. "Whether or not Ellaidra plans succeed, I have my doubts as to the total abolition of the Expatritors. Remove the Saeculus from power - possible. Remove the Expatritors wholesale - I don't think so."

He stood and his two assistants also moved to leave. He added, "I have business to attend to, so you must excuse me." As he began walking away, he sniffed the ocean air, "Aren't Circle gardens wonderful?"

"Malius," Ellaidra said imperiously, "We have revealed our plans to you. I must have your response."

Malius turned, his gaze sliding across Valedros, Decelain and Caslian without recognition, and said, "I will vote rightfully. I swear that this meeting will remain within my confidence - just as many others have. But I cannot guarantee that my vote will coincide with yours, Ellaidra."

Valedros' mother nodded slowly, at the same time, bidding him farewell. The merchant bowed to the Brookholm army representatives and Falloney. He left the garden in silence.

Charge Bollardon pursed his lips, tired eyes glancing at the Circle Speaker. Ellaidra said, "What is it, Curnailet?"

"Malius, Sardenyi and Mirian are enough to give your brother the support to overturn our votes," the Charge said. "If we could get to either Sardenyi or Mirian..."

"I know," Ellaidra said. Her face did not show any worry, only a determined countenance which Valedros knew merely disguised it. She sat on the bench vacated by Malius and stared out to sea. "We must deal with Sardenyi. Nothing I know can convince scholars like Mirian to change their minds - the university has its own motives, its own logic of doing things."

"Tell me, Ellaidra," Falloney said, "what are your plans after forcing greater Expatritor commitment westwards?"

Ellaidra cast a quick glance at Curnailet and Stirivon and they nodded. She said, "Simply that the Expatritors will be deployed near the desert. The -"

Cathlanie laughed loudly and everyone turned in surprise. Valedros caught the annoyed eyes of his mother as he stepped towards the child to admonish her. Cathlanie said, "You can't be rid of Expatritor certification!"

"Who is that child?" Falloney asked Ellaidra.

"It does not matter," Ellaidra said. "Valedros, take her away."

"When the Expatritors ruled in all but name, they demanded tribute in the guise of licenses," Cathlanie said. "For trade, for crafts, for business. They controlled businesses in return for cirrens."

Valedros moved to scoop her up but she leaped on him with a tight embrace. He could see by her expression she had again slipped into one of those moods. He strode from the garden, Falloney waddling after them, back onto the winding path. Cathlanie continued, "The certification became a mark of excellence and many would pay to become worthy. But it has once again become a tool for their own purposes and the people are again unhappy to pay."

"What are you talking about, Cathlanie?" Valedros asked. He set her down on the path as Falloney, Decelain and Caslian approached.

"What do you mean?" she said with a fire in her eyes. "The certification raises revenue. Expatritors give it to whomever they wish so long as they pay - the quality of their work matters not. Without certification, there would be little other income."

"Where did you learn about this, little girl?" Decelain asked.

Cathlanie stared at him, then her face crumbled into sadness. "I don't know. I don't know!"

"But -" Falloney's words were cut short by Valedros' shake of his head.

Cathlanie rubbed away a single tear and said, "I have to go learn numbers." She dashed away, disappearing from sight.

"That was weird," Caslian said abruptly.

Decelain nodded in agreement as Valedros thought. He said, "What if the merchants did stop paying the Expatritors? Without the cirrens to fund them, surely the order would collapse under its own corruption?" Falloney's eyes lit up at the mere suggestion.

"Perhaps not, Valedros," Decelain said. "Think of the outlying towns - the Expatritors there would simply be ordered to return greater taxes. Or perhaps a show of force would cow any resistance."

"You underestimate the determination of my allies," Falloney said.

"Decelain is right," Caslian said.

"Why, thank you," Decelain said airily.

"Quiet, you fool," Caslian responded. "As much as we would love to see the order gone, we know that it cannot be done by simply refusing to pay certification fees. Their coffers are deep enough to ride out any slump while they acquire new sources of revenue. Less friendly ones, I'd wager."

Falloney slumped, his portly body sagging in yet another apparent defeat. "I should return to the meeting with Ellaidra."

The Circle-Member walked back to the garden and once he disappeared from view, Decelain turned to Valedros with a wide smile. "So, this is what you're about."

Valedros nodded, glancing from Decelain and Caslian with a slight smile across his lips.

"I know that look," Decelain said.

"Yes," Caslian said, returning a knowing smile. "It is the same look as the one last summer, when we raided the bandit camp outside Argot."

Valedros asked his companions, "So, you are with me on this."

Both Decelain and Caslian nodded. Decelain said, "Of course, old friend."

"You know I would not turn this down," Caslian added.

"It will be risky," Valedros said. "We might not live to see the end."

"We three know best why the Expatritors should be destroyed," Caslian said. "Even if it means death."

"Well," Decelain said. "I do not intend to die. My honour and my word are with you, Valedros."

"My honour and my word," Caslian echoed.

Valedros grasped their shoulders in brotherhood as he accepted their pledges. After a silent moment, he said, "If you betray my mother, I will kill you."

Caslian answered blandly, "Oh, stop it, you're scaring me."

#

Kieft halted and peered at the forest behind him. He heard nothing except for the birds chirping and saw nothing which indicated pursuit. Satisfied that no one followed, he continued towards Sedwin's cabin, the incline made treacherous by morning dew covering fallen leaves and twigs. He placed foot after foot, supporting himself against stunted trees at various intervals when the detritus slipped from beneath him.

Soon, the cabin came into view and the ground levelled. Kieft approached the door but before he even raised a hand to knock, it opened and Sedwin greeted him.

"Come in, come in," the portly man said with rapid gesticulations. Sedwin had not shaved or, by the odour emanating from his body, bathed since Kieft had last seen him. Ink stained his hands and he moved as if he had not strayed a yard from his scrolls.

"Close the door, Renrick," Sedwin said. "Don't let the heat out, it's unseasonably cold."

Kieft shut the door behind him as Sedwin returned to the fireplace, the floor littered with paper, scrolls and writing paraphernalia. "What is it you're working on?" Kieft asked.

"Ah," Sedwin said. He lifted a sheaf of paper from the floor. "I was sorting through the texts of Dhagara and came across an unusual tale, one that I had not heard of since I first transcribed it. In fact, I had forgotten about it."

Kieft sat in front of the fireplace, careful not to disturb the documents, which were undoubtedly sorted into arcane orders which only Sedwin could decipher. "Is it one that I should know? In case someone in Solassa asks?"

Sedwin shrugged, frowning. "I am not sure. I've spent some time trying to find other references to it but I have found nothing yet."

"You don't think it's real?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not," Sedwin said uncommitedly. "Do you wish to hear it?"

Kieft nodded. "Please."

The scholar shuffled through the papers until he found one written in Brookholmer. "This is the best translation I could make from the original Zhandouran." He began reading. "Long ago in our history, the man Dhagara met another on the road from Brookholm to Guithannan. While Dhagara travelled west, this man travelled east. They talked and the conversation turned to their professions. Dhagara said that he was a seeker of truth and the other man said that he too sought truth.

"The man asked Dhagara what truth he sought and Dhagara answered that he sought the truth of the nature humankind. Dhagara asked the same of the man and he said that he sought the truth of all things. Dhagara laughed and said that such a pursuit to be pointless and ultimately, impossible. The man asked Dhagara why he laughed and why he thought such a pursuit impossible and Dhagara responded that no one could live for such a time to learn the truth of all things. The man then asked Dhagara why the truth of human nature would be a noble pursuit and Dhagara said that the nature of all things is reflected in man, woman and child. At this, the man laughed and Dhagara became enraged for the man laughed as insultingly as Dhagara had.

"So they fought and Dhagara found that the man was a Tanatri. The Tanatri lifted Dhagara high into the air with invisible hands and for all his prowess, Dhagara could do nothing. The Tanatri walked away and only released Dhagara once he had gone from sight. In retaliation for such humiliation, Dhagara and his followers attacked and burned the centres of Tanatri learning, leaving nothing of their presence in the world - no texts, no buildings, only memories. And that is why none exist now."

"The Tanatri," Kieft breathed.

Sedwin chuckled, placing the papers carefully on the floor. "So, I see you are as enamoured of the Tanatri as I once was."

Kieft, hearing Sedwin's words, shook himself from his reverie; it had been long since he had last heard or read of a new story involving the mythical order of the Tanatri. "I just..."

"I understand," Sedwin said, standing up. He stepped to a table where a plate of bread, cheese and meat sat. "Tales about the Tanatri can be enjoyable to read. But they are just that - stories."

"But Dhagara was real; why would there exist a story of him and a Tanatri?"

Sedwin offered the food to Kieft who took a small portion from the plate. Sedwin said, "There are many instances of people who invented stories to fit their own ends. Think of the theatres in Brookholm or songs that are played by buskers in taverns everywhere - they are works of fiction. The trouble comes in separating the truth from the fiction, or in the case of this story, whether there is any truth at all."

"You don't think Tanatri were real?" Kieft asked.

Sedwin shook his head, slowly, as if he regretted admitting it to another. "No, merely a foil for Dhagara and his teachings."

Kieft sighed. The food seemed to lose its lustre, becoming lumps in his mouth.

"Do not be so disheartened, Renrick," Sedwin said. "There are things as wondrous in reality as there are in fiction."

"It's not the same," Kieft said with a weak smile. "Are there other stories?"

"There are many," Sedwin said.

"Are there ones which I would not have heard?"

"There may be a few."

"Can you tell me one?" Kieft asked.

"Well," Sedwin said, scratching his head, "there is one that is not so much a story as an account. It is about the Tanatri methods of learning - how the skill was taught to others. But it is a work of fiction; I cannot recall the exact details. They mostly worked apprentices to exhaustion as the skill to use the Tanatrum became easier in certain states of mind."

"Like meditation?"

Sedwin sat on a chair and shrugged. "I would suppose so. The Tanatri preferred emptying of the mind through physical means - exhaustion, pain -, rather than the mental as Dhagara's way has been taught."

"Are there any details of what happened next?" Kieft said.

"No," Sedwin replied and he shrugged regretfully as he saw Kieft's downcast response. "Try not to think about it. Tell me about Solassa."

Kieft put his aspirations aside, turning his attention to immediate matters. "I spoke with some of the townspeople," he said.

"Who?"

Kieft counted on his fingers. "Alastian, his wife Carelina, the healer Ridwynn, Expatritor Vespes, the inn-keeper, several farmers, tailors, the smith..."

"Did you say Alastian?" Sedwin asked.

"Yes, why?"

"Be wary of that one," Sedwin said. "Carelina is a good woman but Alastian is something else altogther."

"I gathered that," Kieft replied.

"Did you see the sickness?"

Kieft nodded.

"Did you see someone die?" Sedwin pressed.

"Yes."

"Tell me of it."

"What? Why?" Kieft asked.

Sedwin leaned forward. "I have not seen a death occur from this disease; Ridwynn allowed me to view several of the stricken but I could not stay long. I must know more."

Kieft grimaced, recalling the gruesome scene at the infirmary. Slowly, he began talking about the people he saw lying in their cots and then he described the woman who finally succumbed. Sedwin nodded, grabbing a quill and used parchment to write notes. As Kieft's account ended, Sedwin nodded, mulling over the details.

"Is that all?" he asked.

"Yes," Kieft answered. "It's all I can remember. Do you know what it could be?"

Sedwin nodded slowly. "I have narrowed the search to poisonous plants; I am sure it is no animal venom. Throughout history are scattered many tales of use of poison in assassinations of people from the highest in Brookholm and Guithannian politics to the lowest commoner. This information will help greatly."

"I don't see how these people in Solassa would fall sick," Kieft said.

"If Ridwynn is correct, I would guess that the poison, whatever it is, must be ingested." At Kieft's blank look, Sedwin added, "The poison must be eaten. Such effects are severe and I doubt any other method would produce such results."

"Eaten?" Kieft said. "That would mean the poison is in the food. Or in the water."

"Yes," Sedwin said. "That is the obvious conclusion."

"I have eaten their food," Kieft said. "I might fall sick."

"Perhaps," Sedwin said. "But there are many there who have not. There must be a common thread between all those who have fallen sick and those who have not. You must find it."

Kieft nodded, accepting the task. He said, "But I would feel better if I ate here, rather than there."

Sedwin smiled. "No. You must continue as you do as to not raise suspicions. But more importantly - where do you believe I obtain my food from?"

"From Solassa?"

"Yes," Sedwin said with a nod. "We must both hope nothing befalls us before we find the cause." Changing topic, he continued, "You have the trust of the people?"

"Yes, I do," Kieft said. "What you said about them was right."

"Good," Sedwin said. "You will most likely have to take advantage of that trust. Continue to ask questions."

"I will," Kieft said confidently although nagging doubts tugged at his mind. He feared what would happen if anyone in Solassa found him to be fraudulent - he knew exactly how the people of Tiadri felt when the false Dhagaram tricked the town. A headache threatened to resurface.

Sedwin handed more bread to Kieft. "Eat up. Then, be off with you. There is much to do."

#

Relaxed in the shade of the canvas sheets, despite dreaming imageless nightmares the evening before, Rianne leaned back against a fur pelt and watched the game of dice continue. Azdiem, Delfrasian and Thuristen played with the Zhandoura using various pebbles as mock-money while Ceryn and Tome were plied with questions about the lands east of the Stonepeak Ranges. Rianne had not seen much of Atheisia in the past day or two; she most probably had duties to attend to as most of the Skychasers had scarcely made an appearance outside their quarters.

Most of the Starock Zhandoura were cool towards the easterners, although respectful when either Ceryn or Tome were present. The other Starocks simply ignored them. Azdiem, Delfrasian and Thuristen, however, managed to befriend Zhandoura of other tribes who also boarded at the waypoint - particularly the Sundancers, who were more than willing to teach the easterners the language of the Zhandoura. Azdiem and Delfrasian proved to be the most adept pupils while Thuristen and Rianne barely kept the pace. She found learning a new language challenging, exercising parts of her mind which had lain dormant since leaving Tiadri.

Meadowind Zhandoura occupied much of their free time teaching the easterners games - as they did now -, drinking the waypoint's distilled spirits or chatting. They had yet to meet any Raindreamer or Valehome Zhandoura; their new Meadowind friends told them that both tribes spent little time in waypoints and by the tone in their voices, Rianne guessed they did so for vastly different reasons.

As Delfrasian readied the dice for another throw, Zhandoura began scrambling for weapons all around them. Atheisia appeared next to the table, accompanied by Zehru, other Skychasers and Drasernos. They bore weapons, sheathed or relaxed by their side, but looked as if they would pounce on anyone who threatened them. Ceryn and Tome disappeared into Delfrasian's haversack.

"What is going on?" Rianne asked.

Atheisia put a finger across her lips, signalling silence. Zhandoura around the waypoint had fallen quiet, all standing proudly. Delfrasian and Azdiem shuffled nervously while Thuristen craned his neck over the mass of people. At some unseen signal, like a wave of deference sweeping from the waypoint entrance to the rear of the canyon, the Zhandoura bowed from the waist. Rianne wondered why they bowed then Zhandoura who obscured her view a moment before respectfully bent forward and she caught sight of the retinue entering the waypoint.

Atheisia motioned for the easterners to bow as everyone else did and Rianne obeyed, although she did not know why.

"Who are they?" she whispered.

Zehru shook his head, muttering, "Shh!"

The wait felt interminable as Rianne heard the new arrivals approach at a stately pace. Their footsteps grew louder, closer and suddenly they stopped.

A female voice, mature and clear as a finely crafted bell, said, "Who are these people among the Zhandoura?"

"They are the easterners, Dianya," replied a gruff voice which sounded like Ciertof's. "Stand straight, so Dianya may see your faces."

Atheisia and Zehru motioned for the group to rise and before them stood the Zhandouran retinue which consisted of several men and women of various ages, three of whom wore stone necklaces similar to Ciertof's. The Starock Rahij accompanied them with Goraj, Catharina and several Starock Zhandoura in tow.

Upon seeing the retinue, Zehru, Atheisia, Drasernos and the Skychasers bowed again.

"Once is enough, Zehru," an older woman said; judging by her voice, the same who had spoken before. She wore a necklace, as did another woman, clearly her senior, and a man who appeared little older than Goraj or Zehru.

"I will be the judge of that, Mother Dianya," Zehru said with a smirk.

The woman, Dianya, chuckled. The older woman coughed harshly but quickly regained her composure. She said to Drasernos, "I see you still consort with Skerektia."

"As Catharina does with Jaelaga," Drasernos replied.

"That she does," the older woman said, peering at the young Sundancer standing next to Goraj.

Dianya cast her gaze from Zhandoura to Atheisia to Rianne and her friends. The man who also bore a necklace asked, "Do they understand our language?"

A Meadowind Zhandoura, Vikolai, answered, "Somewhat, Mirilos. We have been teaching them. They are quick to learn."

"It is their birthright," Dianya said, much to the chagrin of Ciertof and the Starocks. "Atheisia, who are these people, your fellow easterners?"

In turn, Atheisia introduced Rianne and her companions. She finished by adding, "Rianne is a friend from my home. I vouch for her honour. You also have to promise of the forestfolk who brought them here."

"Forestfolk?" Dianya asked incredulously. The other new arrivals appeared as amused.

Ciertof said, "Forestfolk did accompany them, Dianya. I do not know where they are now."

Ceryn appeared, scrambling from Delfrasian's bag onto the table, dragging Tome out by the hand. The new Zhandouran arrivals gasped, several taking an inadvertent step backwards.

After a moment, Mirilos the Meadowind Rahij, said, "So, it is true."

The older woman, Rahij of the Sundancer Zhandoura, said, "It appears so. This changes many things." Ceryn and Tome bowed. The forestwoman grinned while Tome's sad expression did not change. The old woman continued, "It would be prudent for the easterners and the forestfolk to attend our meeting, Ciertof. See that they are well-informed."

Ciertof nodded in acknowledgement, the distrust of Rianne and her companions clear in his eyes.

Drasernos asked, "Will the meeting decide the easterners' fate, Mother Kailesti?"

"No," she replied, "we did not come this far south for the sake of easterners we knew nothing of during our journey. There are great matters afoot and these easterners, if they are the allies they proclaim to be, will be of immense help."

Drasernos bowed. "Yes, Mother Kailesti."

Ciertof guided the retinue onwards, saying, "Come, I will show you to quarters."

The new arrivals walked off, bidding everyone farewell and disappearing into a corridor in the side of the cliff. The Zhandourans in the waypoint visibly relaxed, putting weapons away and returning to their daily business or leisure.

"I assume they were Zhandoura of importance?" Delfrasian asked in Zhandouran.

"Oh, yes," Zehru said. "Mother Dianya is the Rahij of the Skerektia. Kailesti, the oldest of them, is the Rahij of the Seridansia. And Mirilos, the youngest, heads the Valnyosa."

Zehru spoke the tribal names in Zhandouran, rather than the translated terms used in Brookholmer which Rianne had become familiar with.

"So, Dianya is your mother?" Thuristen asked.

Zehru chuckled. "No, it is merely a term of respect for the female Rahij of one's own tribe."

"When will this meeting be?" Rianne asked.

"Soon," Drasernos said. "Four Rahija in one waypoint is an occurrence not to be taken lightly."

"He is right," Zehru said. "Something brews."

For the rest of the day, they tried to relax by playing games of chance and talking of insubstantial topics. Several times, Zhandoura came by to bid Zehru and the others farewell before they left for patrol or to continue their journeys. Occasionally, one or two of their Skychaser companions would leave and return with drinks. Rianne longed to practise combat techniques but the limited space in the waypoint meant that no one had the opportunity, let alone a stranger from the east. When evening approached, Zehru and Katalin brought food, enough to sate their hunger but not enough to feel completely satisfied. Rianne guessed that supplies in the waypoint were strictly controlled for the benefit of all.

Soon after their meal, Catharina found them and after a pleasant greeting, she said, "Come. They will start soon."

They rose and followed the Sundancer to the far end of the canyon where an area had been cleared for the meeting. Under flickering torchlight, the four tribal leaders sat on simple wooden chairs, backs against the cliff, facing the surrounding Zhandoura. Catharina brought the easterners and their Zhandouran companions to the fore of the attendees, in plain view of Dianya, Kailesti, Mirilos and Ciertof. She bowed to the gathered Rahija and backed away.

Chatter in the gathering continued for several minutes, gradually dying away as it became clear the leaders waited for silence. Rianne said nothing, nerves filling her gut with wild fluttering. Atheisia, seeing the consternation on her face, put a reassuring hand on Rianne's shoulder and the comforting touch calmed her slightly. Delfrasian, Azdiem and Thuristen caught her gaze, worry showing in their faces. Ceryn and Tome clambered onto Delfrasian and Thuristen's shoulders, the forestwoman whispering words of optimism.

When the talk ceased, Kailesti, long grey hair loose around her robed shoulders, spoke, "Have we all who need be here?"

"I believe so," Mirilos said, casting his youthful eyes across them.

"Very well," Kailesti said. "The first matter of contention is -"

"The easterners," Ciertof said, interrupting the senior leader.

"Yes, the newcomers," Kailesti said, a glint coming into her eye at the interruption. "Are there any who would add to what Atheisia said earlier?"

Vikolai, the Meadowind Zhandoura who befriended Rianne and her companions, raised a hand. Kailesti nodded for him to speak. "I doubt there are any besides Atheisia who could speak on their behalf," he said. "But I have spent time with them, drank and broken bread with them. My heart tells me they are true to their word."

"And my heart tells me they will bring us nothing but misery!" replied a man in the crowd.

"Silence, Kostrild!" Ciertof chided and Kostrild, a massive Starock brute, held his tongue.

Ciertof motioned to Vikolai to continue. The Meadowind Zhandoura said, "I say they should stay and be subject to our laws as if they were our own. We see in Atheisia honour - why not in others?"

Various sounds of approval sounded from the crowd at Vikolai's words and Kailesti nodded slowly. The Sundancer leader said, "I have heard objections from our Jaelaga brethren and of course, Kostrild." The crowd tittered. "I find the probability of their being spies for the Expatritors unlikely."

"They are easterners," Kostrild said. "They willingly live under the Expatritors - they cannot be trusted, surely!"

"They do not any longer," Katiana answered. "In fact, they are outlaws. Surely the enemy of our enemy, if not our ally, is not our enemy."

"You would be mistaken, Skerekti," Karviasha said.

"May I speak?" Delfrasian said, raising a hand. Kailesti nodded, motioning for him to continue. Delfrasian said, "Why do you resent the Expatritors? It has been years since their last campaign and there are Zhandoura in Brookholm who have found work and co-exist peacefully with them."

Several Starocks laughed. Karviasha said, "If you speak of those such as Rielov or Vanajn, they are more fools than Zhandouran."

"Do not insult me, Jaelag," a woman said. Rianne looked at her, a striking resemblance between her and Captain Rielov.

"We do not, Rielava," Kostrild said. "Perhaps we insult all Zhandoura by calling your brother our own."

"Enough," Mirilos said, an unbecoming frown crossing his face. "I grow weary of bickering between Jaelaga and Skerektia, more so than Jaelaga and Virinarga.

"Delfrasian, we do not resent the Expatritors for anything they have done - Dhagara has taught us better. But we do resent them for what they may do. We are here, not to discuss the fate of you easterners but to discuss the Expatritors who gather at the edge of the Arjezeh."

"We do not know why," Rianne said.

A Sundancer woman, elderly though not quite as old as Kailesti, said, "We know why, easterner. What to do, is the question."

"Elsenno has it right," Mirilos said. A Starock raised his hand and Mirilos said, "You may speak, Vlantaner."

"I question the truth in the words of the easterners," Vlantaner said. "Yet, have we forgotten the words of the forestfolk? I am Jaelag but he is a fool who ignores the people of the forest."

"We have not forgotten the forestfolk," Dianya said. "It holds much weight with us but the decision must be made with the way of Dhagara foremost in mind."

"The way teaches us to be respectful of others, should their opinions or beliefs coincide with ours or not," Kailesti said. "The way also teaches us to protect life and property. Therefore, we must believe, particularly on the word of Atheisia and the forestfolk, that the easterners are persecuted by the Expatritors. We must then protect them - whether we accord them the status we have given to Atheisia is another matter to be dealt with on a personal level. This is our judgement."

Relief flooded across Rianne, as it did Delfrasian, Thuristen and Azdiem judging by their faces Ceryn grinned as if she knew the decision was never in doubt; even Tome managed a smile. Atheisia hugged Rianne as the surrounding Zhandoura erupted into chatter. Rianne's sense of security did not live long as Dianya put up a hand, a wordless request for silence. Talking subsided once again.

"We have received word from `those such as Rielov'," Dianya said, casting a withering stare at the Starock, Karviasha.

"In short, for those who care not for the details," Ciertof said, "we go to war."

Only a shocked silence met the Starock leader's words. Rianne looked to the stunned Zhandoura - the full meaning of the statement had not yet penetrated. Delfrasian and Thuristen appeared puzzled, as did Ceryn and Tome. Azdiem, on the other hand, wet his lips and nodded at Rianne - his opportunity for vengeance apparently risen.

As none ventured a word, Rianne said, "You go to war against the Expatritors?"

"Yes," said all four Rahija in unison.

Suddenly, the Zhandoura cheered, delighted shouts and yells enveloped the waypoint from end to end. Weapons were drawn, brandished in the air with hollered warcries. Atheisia screamed her defiance against the Expatritors with the loudest of the Zhandoura. Amid the impromptu celebration, Rianne took several steps forward and said to the leaders, "Do you expect us to fight for you?" Delfrasian, Azdiem, Thuristen and the forestfolk joined her so they could hear the response.

Dianya put up a calming hand and said, "We only expect you to do what you must."

"I will fight!" Azdiem said. "Give me armour and I will use their weapons against them." He gripped the pommel of his stolen Expatritor longsword.

"Dhagara's way teaches us to be tolerant and to be peaceful," Rianne said. "How can you war?"

"There are issues beyond our control, easterner," Ciertof said. "Your amateurish grasp of Dhagara's way would not comprehend."

"We have simply been given clearance to raid forward positions," Dianya explained. "We do not truly go to war until the Savadoura and Virinarga have been consulted. We will do so later but for now, the Circle of Seven in Brookholm requests our help and we shall give it."

"You have been in contact with the Circle of Seven?" Rianne said.

"Yes," Kailesti said. She cleared her throat, for a moment appearing as any other woman of advanced age. Returning to her dignified posture, she continued, "For some time now. Their leader has long planned against the Expatritors. Now her plan moves."

"Should you not wish to fight, we understand," Dianya said. "But if you follow Dhagara's way, your skill would be missed."

The hunger for action itched Rianne despite entrained and instinctive misgivings. The revelation of the Circle of Seven's involvement, however, allayed any objections stemming from her interpretation of Dhagara's teachings - the mere mention of Brookholm invoked forgotten