"I don't know if they'll follow or chase us," Ullden said a few minutes later. "I suspect they might." He grew quiet after that. Jetha had a lot of questions she wanted to ask him, but didn't think it would be a good time to pester him.

He kept them at a quick pace, alternating trotting with a slower gait. She knew there were names for each of a horse's gaits, but she didn't remember what they were.

"We'll travel as fast as we can in this light," Ullden explained. Clouds covered most of the sky, blanketing the world in darkness. There were some stars showing here and there, but no moon. She could see him as a figure more than anything else, and she could see that there was ground beneath them, but that was about it.

She found herself thinking back to one of the other tutors that had come and gone back home. The horsemanship teacher--she couldn't remember his name--had been there mostly for her brothers. She did manage to get some lessons, although not as much as they had. Mother had been reluctant about it, but father had insisted it couldn't hurt to broaden her education. Now she wondered if maybe then she was already being prepared for something. That had been three or four years ago.

That thinking also led her to notice that she wasn't riding side saddle like mother would insist on. For the pace they were setting, she was pretty sure sitting the horse like Ullden was was probably the safer method.

It wasn't long before she started yawning. The farther into the night they got the stronger the yawns came. "Stay awake," Ullden warned her, "we don't need you falling, and we can't afford to stop just yet. They won't be able to follow us until daybreak. We need to cover as much ground as possible before then. The more we can keep moving, the more likely we are to stay ahead of them."

"Do you think they'll chase us? What do you think's going on?" she asked fearfully.

"I'm not entirely sure what's going on either," he admitted, "but I think that Odinous is arrogant enough that he will give chase. And your tutor, Nordithet, seems too respectful to just turn him into a cinder. While I can respect that, it means that we've only bought time. There's also the Elar. Vera gave me the impression that there will be Elar coming after us at some point. She didn't say how soon, but I intend to be ready. It would be best if we can just stay one step ahead of them."

She swallowed the rest of her questions for a moment, thinking about the idea of Elar soldiers coming to kill her. She'd never even seen an Elar before, only heard tales that had each been so different in nature that she wasn't sure which to believe. Some had said the Elar were just like everyone else, just living solitary on their island. Others had depicted the Elar to be strange reptilian monsters. Since the war had began, the stories seemed to hover somewhere in the middle, and she'd heard something about them being half-breeds that looked mostly like men but had some of the reptilian qualities of the original inhabitants of their island. All she knew for sure was that if their soldiers were so capable as to take the land they had so far, she didn't want to meet any if she could avoid it. She did her best to blink the sleep out of her eyes, although she yawned again despite herself.

"Drink this, it will help." Ullden said, holding a small corked metal flask towards her.

"I really don't think alcohol is going to help keep me awake," Jetha said, giving the flask a leery look.

"It's not alcohol," Ullden said, edging his horse closer and pushing it at her. "It will help wake you up. It's made from bark and some tea leaves. Vera taught me how to make it years ago and I keep some for moments like this."

She took the flask from him and carefully uncorked it, trying to keep with the motion of the horse beneath her. She sniffed at it, but whatever was inside was masked by an minty scent. She smelled some herbs and and earthy aroma beneath it, but couldn't be sure what all it was. She took a breath and then gulped some down like she might do to medicine. It had a smooth, earthy taste, mixed with mint. There was a hint of bitterness at the edges of it, but was otherwise surprisingly good. She looked at the bottle in surprise.

"This actually isn't bad," she commented, going to take another, smaller, drink of it.

"Not too much or you'll be unable to sit still on the horse," Ullden said, gesturing for her to give it back. "Especially since you're not used to it."

She put the cork back in place and handed it over. "Thanks."

"Sure thing," he said. He popped the cork back off and took a drink of it himself before closing it up again and stuffing it into a pocket on his saddlebags.

From time to time throughout the night, whenever she started yawning again, flask got passed back to her. She kept taking small sips. Occasional thunder echoed from behind them, but the clouds were moving at an angle to them, so Ullden reassured her that she wouldn't get rained on.

They didn't talk much, and eventually she watched the sunrise.

"I'm not usually up quite this early in the morning," she said, feeling the need to explain. "The sun's usually actually up before I see it." She let the horse walk along while she took in the reds and golds striping the sky.

"I've seen a lot of sunrises and sunsets both," Ullden said. He had a strange expression that she didn't quite know how to read. She thought it looked a little sad.

They stopped at a little stream to rest and eat a little. Ullden hopped lightly down from his horse and then helped lower her gently to the ground. He splashed water from the stream on his face, and she followed his lead. He grabbed two canteens from his horse and handed her one. They filled them at the stream before sitting on the stream bank.

Neither of them spoke as they rested. The sun felt warm and reassuring on her face, and she leaned back on the soft ground to bask in it for just a moment.

"Don't do that," he warned her, "sleep'll be far too tempting." He stood up and offered her a hand up. She took it. Once she was standing he led her back to the horses. He took off and folded his cloak. She looked at the armor, which covered him from the neck down. There was even a hood of chain links.

"Isn't that heavy?" she asked.

"The armor? Yes, if I were just carrying it. But the weight's distributed, so it's not quite like carrying deadweight around." He tucked his cloak away on the horse and moved to help her back up into her saddle. "We have a lot more ground to cover in daylight. If they're coming after us, they're already moving," he said.

She took her gloves off and stuffed them into one of her packs before getting back up on the horse. Once she was in the saddle again, Ullden swung himself up into his. She noticed he seemed to have no trouble doing it, despite all the armor.

They urged the horses out onto the road again and headed off at a slightly faster trot again.

"How long until we can sleep?" she asked, after another yawn. The sunlight was helping her feel more like she ought to be awake, but it didn't seem to be convincing her body not to be tired. He pulled the flask out again and passed it over to her.

"We'll need to make it through today at least," he told her while she sipped. "Odinous doesn't strike me as someone who's been traveling around a lot in recent years, which means he'll need to stop for sleep tonight himself. We won't be able to sleep for long, however, if we want to keep our lead. There's no guarantee that he's not using magic to make his own progress faster than ours is. Or, he might be arrogant enough to not care if he kills his horse in his haste. He also might have brought others with him though, and they will need sleep too."

"Oh," she said, handing the flask back. She was unable to keep the disappointment out of her voice, having hoped he might say that they could have a quick nap sometime soon.

"I'm sorry," he said, giving her a sympathetic look. "I know this isn't exactly what you must be accustomed to. We'll be at the church in just a couple of days and then hopefully things will get better. If we get enough lead on Odinous, we can probably take a day's rest there before we move on, assuming the priest doesn't give us too much trouble about coming with us."

He took another sip off the flask himself before tucking it away again. By now, she knew which saddlebag pocket he kept it in. She wondered what other stuff he had in his packs. He had more gear on the back of his horse than she did, but then she wasn't sure what all was loaded onto her horse either. There was a roll of canvas that was probably a tent with bedding rolled into it, as well as a rolled up wool blanket and another bundle that she thought might be more food. She hadn't even had a chance to see what was in her own saddlebags. Her bags had been tied at the top, and she wondered if the horse minded having all that weight and her on top of it.

They rode in silence again for a while, her thoughts mulling over the traveling she'd done in the past. They had always been family trips, to parties or other events that mother had insisted they attend. Servants had accompanied them, and they handled the cooking, horses, and general camp setup. It occurred to her that she had no idea how to set up a tent. She'd been given some brief instruction on how to brush down her horse, and she thought the wool blanket might be to keep it warm at night too. She had been given some limited instruction in cooking, but it had been in a kitchen. She had no idea if cooking over a campfire would be different or not.

A sound echoed through the air. It reminded her of an owl's screech, but it sounded angrier. She shuddered at the sound of it.

"What was that?" she squeaked.

"Let's try not to find out," he suggested, "Come on!" He led his horse into a full run and hers followed. She grabbed on and leaned in close like she had when racing for the closing gate. The hoofbeats made a thundering sound on the grassy dirt.

The screech sounded again, louder this time. There was a part of it that sounded like ripping cloth. She clung to the bouncing horse, starting to worry that she'd fall off and get left behind.

Then she saw a shadow move across her path. She didn't see what it was, but it was a big shadow. She looked up but didn't see anything. Half the sky was clouds. The sun was shining brightly and she dared to look behind her, but there was no pursuit to be seen. Her heart pounded in her chest.

The screech came and she leaned in again to get away from the noise. The shadow passed again and she covered her head with her arms. There was a flurry of noises--a swoosh, flapping of wings, a grunt, and a thud. Suddenly Ullden was on the opposite side of her from his horse and was down on the ground. It looked as though he had tackled something.

It took her a moment to compose herself enough to look back and see what was happening. By then she saw Ullden with his sword out, squaring off against some black form taller than he was. The thing had arms too long for the rest of it, huge wings, and glowing yellow eyes. For an instant, those eyes locked on her. She turned and buried her face in the horse's neck.

She rode until she couldn't hear the creature's screeching anymore. Then she stopped, her heart pounding in her chest. She realized she didn't know what to do. She could only hope that Ullden would be able to defeat the thing, and would follow her down the road afterwards.

What if he doesn't? her mind raced across the possibilities. What if he does kill it, but is too wounded to follow? That thing was so much bigger than Ullden was. Will that armor be enough? A part of her wanted to retrace her steps and check, but the rest of her was too terrified to do more than just sit there on the horse, unable to move.

After a while, she turned the horse towards the way she had come, watching the road for signs of Ullden or the creature.

It felt like hours to Jetha, although the sun had hardly moved across the sky before she saw anything. She had been slowly edging the horse back towards the top of the hill she had gone over, wondering if the top of it wouldn't give her a better vantage point. She hadn't realized how much tension had been building up in her body until she saw Ullden, riding his horse, come over the top of the hill towards her. He was moving quickly, but not fast enough to be trying to outrun anything. She sagged against the horse in relief at the sight of him before urging her horse into a trot to go meet him.

"Are you alright, Jetha?" Ullden asked as soon as they were within speaking range. She saw that quite a bit of his armor was covered in a brownish substance, and that some of his armor appeared to be dented considerably. One piece of the plate armor that covered a shoulder was torn and part of the edge looked as if it was jammed inward. Blood trickled down that arm, and he was wincing at each step the horse took.

"Is it dead?" she asked first, just to be sure.

"Yes," he nodded. "It's dead. While I'm glad you ran, I'd rather you also stay within my sight next time. If there had been more than one of them, I couldn't have gotten to you in time."

"Next time?" her heart pounded again at the thought of another one of those creatures coming after them.

"In case there should be a next time," Ullden said. "Let's hope there won't be. Now, let's stop at that cluster of trees ahead and rest for a bit while I tend to this." He gestured at the wounded shoulder. "I have no way of knowing if that thing's blood was poisonous or not, so I should get it cleaned out quickly. I'll need your help with that."

His tone didn't leave room for question, and he moved his horse ahead, in the direction of the trees he'd indicated. As she moved her horse in behind him, she realized that the brownish stuff all over him must be the blood of the creature. She also realized from her position downwind of him, that it smelled horrible, like something that had died and been left rotting for weeks. She nearly gagged at the first hint of it, and quickly caught up to ride alongside him where she wouldn't need to smell as much of it.

The stand of trees stood atop a low hill. They moved a little inside trees, and Ullden explained that from that position they would still be able to look out of the trees while people not looking closely wouldn't be able to see them.

Ullden hopped off his horse less gracefully than he had been before. She climbed down off of hers, and they both tethered reins to branches. Ullden gathered up water skins and moved to a clear space to sit down.

He had her help him get parts of the armor off. The shoulder plate was strapped onto leather straps with buckles. The chain mail sleeve was also buckled onto the chest piece. It was slick with blood, and some of the links were torn. He showed her how to get the sleeve off.

At first the wound looked very bad. His whole arm seemed coated in blood. He assured her it was less severe than it looked, but that it would need a stitch or two.

The first step was washing it. He wet some rags and had her help wash the blood away. It was an agonizingly slow process. Water helped get the blood away from the majority of his arm, but near the wound itself was a matter of dabbing, which took a considerable amount of time.

Eventually it was cleaned enough that he held a cloth over it while verbally guiding her to additional supplies in one of his bags. She eventually found and handed him the specified bundle. He pulled the cloth away from the wound, and more blood seeped out of it.

"It isn't deep, but it does need help," he said. He indicated a pair of bent needles stuck through part of the bundle. "Have you ever stitched a wound before?" he asked.

"You're joking, right?" Jetha looked at him, with some alarm. She'd been able to keep the queasiness away while she was helping clean up the blood, but the idea of stitching the wound made her stomach churn. "I've stitched cloth," she told him, "but only because mother made me learn to embroider. I've never..."

"It's alright, Jetha," Ullden said, seeming unphased. "It shouldn't be that different, just pretend the skin is fabric you're stitching together just enough to keep it closed. Okay?"

"Oh Gods," she said, closing her eyes for a moment and doing her best to collect herself. Then she snatched up one of the needles. "Where's the thread?"

"Unroll the bundle carefully. You'll find the thread inside as well as a pouch of herbs we'll need to mix with water and pack over the wound before we wrap bandaging over it."

She unrolled the cloth carefully out onto the ground, seeing the pouch he mentioned as well as some other items, including a small spool of thick thread. She picked up the thread and pulled some off the spool before looking around for something to cut it with. She noticed one of his knives and pointed to it.

"May I borrow that?"

"Of course," he nodded.

She used the knife to cut the thread, and then knotted it the way her mother had shown her years ago. Then she moved over and gently pulled the cloth from the wound again. She watched as more blood oozed out of it, and her hand trembled badly as she tried to move the needle into place near one end of the gash.

Ullden pushed the wound closed and told her to go ahead. She held his arm with one hand and placed the needle against his skin. His arm was a little slippery where she was holding it. She tried not to think about why.

"Isn't it going to hurt?" She asked, desperately afraid to proceed.

"Yes, some, but it has to be done. I need your help on this."

"Alright," she said. Just push it through like cloth, she told herself. She tried several times, but her hand just wouldn't do it. When she finally managed to push on the needle it just pressed against his skin instead of piercing. She pulled it away.

"I don't think I can do this," she said.

"You can. You can manipulate energies I can't see or feel and make magic happen. There shouldn't have to be many things in life you can't do."

She tried one more time. She pushed at the needle a little harder, and the skin puckered under it. He told her to push harder, but she couldn't.

Eventually she dropped the needle and turned away. She went to hide her face in her hands and saw the blood on her left hand. She stuck that arm out to keep it from touching anything and cried into her right hand.

"Hey," Ullden said softly. "It's alright. We'll do it together. I'll push it through; you do the knotting. Can you do that?"

She managed to stop crying and nod. He picked up the needle and she looked away. She just couldn't watch. She heard him groan a little, but then he said it was time. She looked at the thread going in one side and out the other, and her stomach got a little queasy. "Now tie it off," he said, "and we'll do one more."

Tying it off was much easier to make herself do than the the thought of pushing the needle through his skin had been. She did her best to keep her hands steady while she knotted the thread and cut it off with the knife. Then she knotted the end of the thread and handed the needle back to him.

She tried to watch while he put the second stitch in, but ended up watching his face more than the process of sewing the wound closed. It obviously caused him some pain - both the wound and stitching it - but he had a strange calm about him that suggested to her he had done it all before. She suddenly found herself wondering how many times he had been wounded in the past.

She tied off the second stitch for him and then helped clean everything up and make the poultice to put over it. Then she wrapped the bandages around the shoulder and tied it under his arm like he instructed her.

"What was that creature that attacked us?" she asked, as she finished tidying things up afterwards. Ullden pulled a couple of tools out of his saddlebags and she stopped to watch as he bent the piece of armor back out and hammered at it a bit. Once it was back in a similar shaping to how it had been before the fight, he put the armor pieces back on, fitting them loosely over the bandages with the leather straps. With his arm wounded, he seemed to have more difficulty, and she hurried over to help him with the buckles.

"It was a Freygond," he told her. "One of several creatures that live halfway between our plane and the plane that demons normally live on. It can exist in both places, just not all at once."

"Are they common? Had you fought one before?" She suddenly found herself hoping that he was accustomed to fighting creatures like that and that it hadn't been sent specifically after them.

"Demons of any kind aren't exactly common, at least not for most folk," he explained. "They usually avoid populated areas. They like harsh wildernesses, rocky mountains--but they especially like abandoned places like ruins. This was the first time I'd seen a Freygond up close. I wouldn't expect to find one out here."

"Did your teacher ever happen to say anything about summoning demons?" he asked her.

"No, he didn't," she answered. "Summoning is one area he stayed away from. Most summoning takes a lengthy ritual. He said that the more complicated, the more chance of error, so he wanted me to wait on the longer, complicated stuff."

"Well, if summoning them takes time, then there's some good news to be had. Hopefully that means he had to choose between chasing us and summoning something to chase us. We may have more lead than we expected. Maybe enough to get to the church without any further troubles."

They continued riding through the day. It took a couple of hours for the yawns to return. When they did, the flask returned as well. They stopped a couple of times for light bits of food. The drink from the flask was losing its power to ward off yawning, and dinner she ate without really being aware of what it was.

She kept nodding off in her saddle, and Ullden threatened that he'd have to tie her in place if she couldn't stay awake. She didn't succeed in staying awake completely, but he didn't follow through on the threat.

Eventually they did stop for the night. They rolled out blankets, some of which were padding under them, and some of which were covers. Jetha fretted while he was setting up, expecting nightmares, but she was asleep nearly instantly once under her blanket.

Chapter 13 - Fortitude

Now she was numb. Not numb to the pain, for her body had more bruises, cuts, scrapes, burns and other wounds than any of the others who'd been taken prisoner. She was, however, numb to the hurt. When the new summoner had joined the Elar ranks, she'd learned. They had made her watch as the demon he had summoned tortured her horse to death. They had purposely not made use of it's flesh or bones either, as her tribe would have done upon a horse's death. They left it there, to rot on the open ground, with her bound nearby to see. As the stench began and the flies swarmed over the horse that had been with her since she was just a girl and it was just a pony, she realized what kind of monsters these Elar really were. The pain they caused her was just a game to them. They wanted to break her, as they broke their horses. To turn her into a dull, compliant creature who would not buck or complain. As they had done with the Morgule.

She did not let on that she could understand and speak the language of the tradesmen her tribe had met. Mostly the Elar spoke their own language, and the Morgule they had with them spoke it as well. A few of them knew the tradesmen's language, however, and tried to ask questions of her and the other prisoners. A few prisoners had replied, but it hadn't bought them anything. They weren't beaten any less for it. In fact, it seemed to get them beaten more.

There had been a couple from her own tribe in the beginning. One had been too wounded and died after only a couple of days. The other had only taken a few wounds from the battle, but began by trying to reason with them in the tradesman tongue. The commander had beaten him across the back of the skull on several occasions until it was eventually fatal. At least he'd stopped beating anyone in the head after that, and Kyla's own headaches had gotten better. But the clearing of her mind had only brought the sharpness of her physical pain into focus.

The Elar had kept moving, progressing across the grasslands even more quickly once the summoner had joined them. She'd always been dragged to somewhere in view of the battles, usually bound to a tree to keep her upright. She suspected they wanted her to see how easily they won. It seemed as if the demon that fought for the summoner could not take damage from any weapons the tribes had to use. The summoner himself never went into battle, but watched them carefully. Kyla wondered if the demon could get free of the summoner if he didn't, and would kill him as the fire elemental had so casually killed when she had shot the first summoner.

Now they headed further in, probably towards another camp and another battle where the Elar would kill or capture the warriors of yet another tribe. There were currently four other prisoners other than herself, all from different tribes. One had been trying to kill himself the night before, writhing against the ground trying to impale his lungs on his broken ribs. Pride had kept her from doing the same. She still found herself searching for ways to escape. The others seemed as numb as she.

She kept herself focused on revenge. It was all she had left to cling to. She especially wanted their commander dead. She had often daydreamed of getting free and slipping into his tent at night to cut his throat.

But she knew that the tent was guarded--not heavily, but at the moment even one guard would be difficult for her. She couldn't think of a distraction good enough to draw the guard away without an alarm being raised that would wake the commander. No, in her dreams it was always her that woke the commander.

Eventually they stopped at a large hill. The Elar set up their camp atop it. Near one edge they set up poles to tie the five prisoners to. They were in a line with her at one end. She could see the one next to her, but not the one who had been trying to kill himself before.

She looked out at the field ahead. It would be a battle field before long, she was sure. She imagined tonight there would be a scout from one of her people creeping through the grass like she had done what now seemed so long ago.

She wondered what that other scout would think--what she would have thought--at seeing the line of prisoners here. Maybe, she supposed, that was the point. Maybe it wasn't about them making her watch the battle. Maybe she was just on display as a war trophy. That thought didn't make it any easier to watch Elar soldiers moving forward into the field. She saw them setting up traps and obstacles in the grasses. She wondered how many of her people would die tomorrow, and she wondered just what she would have to do to avenge them.

She nodded off for a while, exhausted from the day's journey. She woke up when one of the Morgule came by to feed the prisoners. Usually it was a thick broth with most of the meat strained out of it, and tonight was no different. The Morgule themselves got the stew that the broth came from, and the meat that was cooked in it. The Elar usually dined on better fare, which the Morgule cooked for them. She didn't know the name of the Morgule who fed the prisoners, as they were never referred to by name. They hardly spoke, merely nodding and scurrying about to do the bidding of the Elar that gave them orders. She had heard they were sturdy folk, despite being shorter than Kyla's people, but a closer look had shown her that the sturdiness had been lost. Most of the Morgule still looked tough, but carried a frailness about them. They've been broken, she reminded herself, looking at the one who held the cup of warm broth to her lips so she could drink. He wouldn't meet her eyes, no matter how many times she had tried. Most of the Morgule looked at nothing but the task they were doing or the ground. A sadness weighed them down.

Not long after she'd been fed, she began to hear the drums. She counted the different tones, noting that there were nine tribes gathered. She couldn't remember a time when that many tribes had come together to fight a battle. Still, with the Elar demon here, her people didn't stand a chance. Nine tribes might be able to kill some of the Elar warriors, but it was the demon who did most of the damage. She wished she could respond to the drums and let them know to kill the summoner first. She'd wished it so many times before, but this time, she feared it would be a massacre. She suddenly found herself wondering how many of her people were even left. How close were they to being wiped out, as the Morgule had nearly been? She didn't want to think about that possibility. She kept praying for Aldanara to intervene and stop the Elar, but nothing seemed to change. She wondered what her people had done for Aldanara to leave them to such a fate.

Her hopes brightened a little at something she heard in the drum messages. Night battle, they sang. That hadn't been tried by the other tribes. Then she remembered the traps set by the Elar. There would be warning enough for a defense. The Elar had anticipated the range of the bows in their perimeter defense too. There would be no snipers, picking off Elar from the grasses unless they got lucky enough to avoid the traps. Again, Kyla found herself praying to the Goddess, to guide their footsteps away from the traps. Then she let herself sleep a short while more, so she would be awake when the darkness came and the tribes would strike.

The Elar didn't let her sleep much. Some of their soldiers came and taunted the prisoners. She didn't need to understand their words to understand the tone behind them. Revenge, she reminded herself. She would get even with them somehow. But first she would have to get free.

The last battle they had lingered for a day or so after the battle. This battle was going to be larger. She could only hope that they would linger longer after this one. As long as they were keeping her from sleeping, she worked at trying to get herself free.

She did now and then manage to nod off for short periods. Nightfall came quietly. She could hear the sounds of camp life behind her: the guttural talking, the crackling of campfires. There were the metal-on-metal sounds of weapons and armor being mended and tended.

She searched the grasses for signs of scouts. The grasses would be tall enough to conceal a careful person crouching. She didn't see any of the grasses moving other than with the soft breeze.

She tried to feel the grasses with her mind, much as she might try to follow an arrow with her mind. Finally her eyes saw something. At first it was just a glint. Then it was a pair of eyes glowing in the dark. For an instant she thought the eyes winked at her, and then they were gone. She went back to struggling against the ropes, but her fingers couldn't find any knots.

It didn't matter how many times she tugged against the ropes though. Every night the same Morgule who fed them came back to wash them down and check their ropes. Though he seemed resigned to the task, he took surprising care when he did it. The Elar weren't watching the prisoners just then, and she'd noticed that he seemed to know where the injuries on each prisoner were at, and tried to be gentler with the cloth in those areas.

Most of the cleaning involved cleaning off fresh scrapes and cuts, and washing down any clothing or skin that had been soiled by body waste throughout the day. He used warm, slightly scented water, and she always felt a little better after he was done. The flies tended to leave her alone for a while after that too.

After that, he checked over each of their ropes. The Elar were smart in having the Morgule tie the knots. The former seamen certainly knew how to secure a rope. This Morgule adjusted each knot with careful attention, pulling and shifting it and sometimes retying it completely. He got to her last and retied several of the ones that bound her that night. Then, to her surprise, he gave her arm a gentle squeeze before heading back to the Morgule section of camp with his cloth and empty bucket. She looked after him, but he gave no indication that he had done anything out of the ordinary. He looked at the ground before him as he trudged along, the bucket banging quietly against one leg and the cloth dripping a tiny trail of water from the opposite hand.

She shifted her arms behind her slightly and found that the Morgule had left the main knot that bound them just within reach of her fingers this time. While she could tell that the knots binding her feet to the pole were the same secure knots she was accustomed to, he'd left the one for her arms just a little loose. Not loose enough that any passing Elar might notice, but loose enough that she could tell it wouldn't take her long to get it undone.

She left it for a moment, her heart pounding. Did he leave the others like this too? Does he know that there's a night battle coming? She knew he had left the knot loose on purpose. She wondered if he too could understand the drumsong that had told her of the coming battle. Or perhaps he'd seen something in the grasses. Maybe he'd seen even more than she had seen.

She waited until the Elar began to retire to their tents before loosening the knots any further. She didn't see any movement from the other prisoners, and had a feeling she was the only one the Morgule had left untied. She knew she needed to wait until the attack before she got herself entirely free. She made the knots loose enough that she could barely slip her hands out through them, and then looked down at her feet to start untying the knots there in her mind so she'd be able to do it quicker when the time came. Something caught her eye, next to her right foot. In the wet grass, there was a smooth, sharpened black stone. While it wasn't large enough to use as a much of a viable weapon, it would be enough to cut the rope with. She suddenly found herself praying to Aldanara again, not for her own sake, but for the Morgule. She hoped that if the Elar won the battle anyway, they wouldn't kill him for her escape.

She tried to think out what she would need to do once free. She debated for a while whether she should free the other prisoners. They weren't in the condition to be able to achieve much if freed. The act of cutting them down would increase the chances of her being caught before she could do anything else. But free they could die fighting on their feet. They were her people; they deserved that.

She decided to free one and give him the sharp stone to free the others, and then she put the thought aside and moved on. During the battle, the commander would be surrounded by troops. She would have no chance of reaching him, let alone killing him.

She focused on the conjurer. He would remain in camp. He would be engrossed in the battle. Maybe he even had to focus on controlling the demon. She felt confident she could sneak up on him. That would be her mission now. Anything after that would be secondary.

Half of the sky was clouds. The moon was a few nights short of full, so when it shone it made good light. She looked at the field of gray grasses, their color bleached out by the cold moonlight. She saw no movement, and no glowing eyes looking back.

A cloud passed over the moon and she watched the shadow's approach. The shadow reached her and she heard the whistle of an arrow. There was a muffled grunt from somewhere in camp behind her and off to the right before two more arrows whistled towards the Elar. Horns sounded quickly, raising an alarm. It was starting.

As if in answer to the Elar alarm, drums and horns began sounding from further back within the tall grasses. Arrows began to fly in earnest now and some Elar fell before they could get their armor back on. Those on watch, already armored, took up defensive positions while the others worked to ready themselves. Meanwhile, the demon stepped forward towards the grasses.

Kyla slipped her hands from the ropes, making a note of the conjurer's location before bending over and snatching up the stone. She sawed quickly at the ropes binding her feet, finding the stone to be remarkably sharp for something so crude. She sprinted over to the next prisoner and slashed the ropes binding his hands. Then she handed him the stone to let him finish the job himself.

"Free the others," she told him, turning back towards the Elar camp. The conjurer had moved to a position just behind the line of armored Elar warriors, his eyes focused on the demon. The demon had moved in, avoiding the traps the Elar had set before and was already plucking archers out of the grass and tearing them apart. The archers had all turned their bows toward the demon and their arrows bounced uselessly off it. Behind them, Kyla saw the warriors charging forward, weapons drawn. She knew she needed to act quickly.

She'd had time to figure out how the Elar camp was organized. The archers were divided into two groups, each sleeping at opposite ends of the camp. Only about a quarter of each group had been at the ready when the attack began, which meant that the others might still have bows she could get her hands on before they were done donning their armor. In good weather, they often kept their bows at the ready, slung over the front pole of the tent with a full quiver of arrows. She made her way quickly towards the nearest group, relieved to see that some of the bows and quivers were still there. She kept herself toward the back of the tents at first, hoping that everyone would keep their attention on the battle ahead of them instead of looking towards her.

She stepped carefully in the small space between two of the tents and snatched up the bow and arrows from the tentpole, quickly slinging the strap of the quiver across her chest. She reached behind and drew the first arrow, readying it on the bow, when the owner of the bow stepped out of his tent, his armor on. He reached for his missing bow, and then saw her. She let the arrow fly, feeling it with her mind. She landed it squarely in his unarmored throat and he fell backwards, grasping for it, the look of surprise still on his face. She quickly backed up and sprinted for a vantage point on the conjurer.

She crept from tent to tent. The camp was bustling with activity. Soldiers grabbed armor and weapons and moved towards the battlefield. Some were clearly more asleep than others, because soldiers kept coming out of tents as she moved. It delayed her as she hid between tents when soldiers came out. Fortunately for her, they mostly hurried along, not looking around them much at all.

They've never had reason to suspect trouble within their own camp before, she concluded. She hoped that meant she'd have the element of surprise more completely on her side. She worked on circling around so that the conjurer would be between her and the other prisoners. Once the Elar realized the prisoners were loose, she hoped they wouldn't think right away to look in her direction.

Finally she got a vantagepoint on the conjurer. She was closer than she expected, almost close enough to throw something to him. If she called out loudly he would hear her and turn. He didn't appear to be doing anything. He was just standing completely still, not seeming to pay any attention to the soldiers occasionally running past.

She had an arrow nocked and ready, crouching low between two tents, when she hesitated. At this distance it would be easy to kill him instantly. She didn't know what the demon would do then. At the same time, honor normally dictated she call to get his attention and shoot him from the front. That seemed riskier, and success was more important to her than honor. She lowered her aim a little, and put the arrow through his abdomen about where one of his kidneys should be.

The conjurer fell to his knees and ended up on his side clutching the arrow. A soldier nearby saw him down clutching the arrow, and she saw him duck down behind a tent with the tent between him and the battlefield. He clearly hadn't seen the arrow or where it had come from.

The conjurer turned and his gaze met hers. His mouth moved but if he said anything she didn't hear it. She could only hope that he was calling the demon to his aid, away from the battlefield. Die, she mouthed, and put another arrow into his chest. He sagged back and stopped moving.

A deafening roar filled the air, and she quickly threw her hands up over her ears against it. Around her, she saw Elar stopping where they were to do the same. The roar died down after a moment, and Kyla realized the demon was laughing. She looked up to see that it had come back to the conjurer's side, and now it was looking directly at her. It's hideous face was split in a huge grin and it's dark eyes looked directly at her, filled with what she could only call evil. It took a slow, deliberate step towards her, still laughing.

She snatched up the bow from where it had dropped to the ground and she ran. At first, she ran towards the battlefield, towards her people and safety. As she ran, however, she realized that if the demon pursued her, there would be no safety there. She would only ensure that the demon would kill them all. She veered course, heading away from the battlefield. She did her best to ignore the wounds of her imprisonment and the sad shape of her clothes and boots, allowing the long grasses to further wound her skin. Her chest burned with the effort of running faster than she'd ever run before, and she felt as if the edges of broken ribs stabbed into her with every step. Still, Kyla ran.

She prayed as she went, begging Aldanara to spare the tribes behind her, even if it meant Kyla's own death. She prayed for swiftness, to keep her one step ahead of the demon. In the beginning, she could hear it's footsteps, giving chase, and imagined she felt it's hot breath on her back. After a while, however, she couldn't be sure it still chased her. Eventually, she risked a look behind her.

She wasn't sure how far she had run, but the demon was nowhere to be seen. Fearing it had turned back to the battle, she made her way back, but at a slightly more cautious pace. Though fear and need gave her energy to keep going, she knew it was only a matter of time before her body gave out on her.

When she finally returned to the battlefield, she was greeted with a more grisly scene than she had ever witnessed. It didn't take much to determine what had happened. The demon had turned on both sides, and utterly decimated them. Her people lay dead along with the Elar, some killed from the wounds of battle between them, others torn limb from limb by the demon. It looked as if it had feasted on some of them while it was at it, heads and limbs torn from bodies by jagged teeth. Bits of bone spat back out within lumps of foul-smelling, slightly-smoking saliva. The demon had used it's magic abilities too, and she saw corpses charred beyond recognition.

The demon seemed to be gone by then, so she checked both camps for survivors. There were none. Morgule and Elar bodies were strewn across the Elar camp, and even the children and elderly of the tribal camps had been killed. When she came to an altar of Aldanara, not unlike the one she had prayed at the morning she had gone into battle, she fell to her knees and wept, wondering what had been done to make the Goddess forsake them so. She laid down on the ground and cried there until there were no more tears left within her. For a while, she slept as well.

It was a horse that woke her. A single horse that seemed, somehow, to have survived the battle. Perhaps it had run when it's rider fell and only now had come back. It nuzzled at her hair until she looked up at it. She spoke softly to it as she gathered what supplies she would need for travel. She discarded the Elar bow and arrows for weapons of her own people, taking them from the fallen warriors of the field. She re-clothed herself in fresh clothes from the tents in the camps. She surveyed the camps and battlefield one last time, setting the scene in her mind and her heart in stone before riding off towards the lands beyond the grasses of her people. The Elar would go there next. Somehow she would warn them.

And somehow, Kyla promised herself, I will avenge my people.

Chapter 14 - The Quest

Rising through the priesthood was not what Marus had expected it to be. More responsibility just seemed to mean more paperwork and less involvement. He spent more time in this office than he did with people. It was the other priests that did the ministering, most of the services, and most of the counseling. Sometimes he got involved when there was a problem, and he officiated at some of the larger ceremonies, but he hadn't even performed a marriage in more than a year.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. "Come," he called, pushing the soup bowl to the side of his desk.

The door opened and Father Orrin entered. He was several years younger than Marus, and one of the more experienced of the priests. He was one of the ones involved with the congregation on a daily basis. He was the one doing what Marus had done four or five years ago.

"Father Marus, we're having a problem and were hoping you could help us."

"What sort of problem?"

"A girl. She arrived the day before yesterday. She is in a bad way, and we have been unsuccessful in healing her."

"Someone arrived two days ago and I didn't even know? I need to get out of this office more."

"We were hoping you might shed some wisdom on the nature of her problem," the younger priest continued.

"Let me see how I can help," Marus said, pushing his chair back to stand. Perhaps you do still listen, after all, he thought wryly.

He followed Orrin to the infirmary, and was led to one of the rooms beyond it, just a couple doors down and across from the room Alldeh was in. Marus cast a glance at Alldeh's door as he passed it. The man had been particularly unsettled the past few days, and Marus had found himself putting off his daily visits until later in the day as he left them feeling slightly out of sorts himself. There had been several instances in the time Alldeh had been there that suggestions had been made to try adding some herbs to the man's diet to soothe and even sedate him. While Marus had never allowed it before, the thought had been crossing his mind recently.

The room the girl was in had a sharp contrast to Alldeh's quarters, however. In here, it was clean. The walls were painted white and clean white linens dressed the bed and one window. One of the female acolytes was sitting at the edge of the bed, laying a fresh cloth across the girl's forehead. She stood up when Marus and Orrin entered, looking both exhausted and relieved. He recognized her from his visits here to see Alldeh, and addressed her by name.

"Hello Essa. I take it you've been watching over her for some time?" he asked.

"Yes, Father," she nodded. "The wound that eludes us is here." She turned and flipped back the covers over the girl's legs, and he saw that one was bandaged heavily. As if in response to the change in the blankets, the girl moaned.

"She's been unconscious since she arrived," Father Orrin said. "Some gypsies brought her in. They said her name was Niza and that she'd told them she'd traveled from Riverport. Apparently she took the wound sometime during her flight from the city."

"What kind of wound? Let me see it." Marus rolled up his sleeves to get them out of the way while Essa began to gently unwrap the leg. He wished he hadn't so recently eaten when he got sight of the dark, rotting flesh beneath.

"I'm surprised no one amputated," he muttered, stepping in for a closer look.

"We think it was an arrow or throwing knife that hit her," Orrin said. "There may have initially been some poison, although I doubt it. I think it just wasn't tended to in time or well enough and had the chance to get infected. It was already too late to amputate by the time the gypsies found her hiding in one of their wagons. She told them she thought the Elar were still after her, even this far out, but Kella, the gypsy woman who tried to tend to the wound, said her fever was bad enough that the girl probably thought it was true."

"What has the trouble been with healing her exactly?" Marus asked. "We've certainly healed worse injuries than this one."

"That's what's so strange, Father," Essa said. "Everyone that tries manages to heal her a little, enough to keep her alive, but then it...it's as if it... burns!"

Marus looked up at the acolyte with concern.

"Has she been checked for tatoos? Anything that might prevent us or suggest that she's the acolyte for another religion?" He thought of his own tatoo, on his chest that had been part of the ceremony to become an acolyte and later embellished as part of the one that made him a full priest. It was meant to help be in closer contact with the Gods themselves, as well as protect him from the smaller curses and spells that priests of other religions might try to cast upon him in times of conflict.

"Her skin is clear, Father. It makes no sense." Essa shook her head wearily.

"Some sort of curse or dark spell?" he suggested aloud, studying the girl's too-pale color.

"Nothing that we've seen sign of," Father Orrin replied with a frown.

"We've checked her pockets," Essa added, "and found no talismans or charms."

"Well, she looks like she won't make the rest of the day without some kind of intervention."

Father Marus stepped closer, kneeling at the bed side. He recited the usual chant and placed his hand on the girl's chest.

"Kielle, embrace this child in your healing arms so that she may resume the path placed before her by gods." He closed his eyes and focused. He felt with his mind life returning to the dead, rotting flesh. He felt the warmth flow through him into the girl.

Just as powerfully he felt that energy pulled into her. The warmth was sucked away leaving a burning cold feeling in his hands. He pulled them away and sat back hard on the floor.

"It was working," he said, confused. "Kielle wants the girl to heal and live, but there is some dark force preventing it." It hadn't felt like a curse pushing back against him. It was if the warmth was being pulled down through her somehow.

Almost by reflex, he leaned down and peered under the bed, a part of him almost expecting to find some dark priest hiding under there casting spells of some evil nature or other. He'd never felt anything quite like what had happened when he'd tried to heal the girl, so he found himself confounded on what exactly to think. Instead, all that was under the bed was a dirty, battered backpack. He reached in and gently pulled it out by one of the straps.

"Has this been checked as well?" he asked, looking back to Orrin and Essa.

"The gypsies said it belonged to her," Orrin replied, shaking his head. "If there were anything in there that was having this effect, it would have to be far more than a talisman. Based on the bag's condition, I thought it unlikely there would be anything in there that could do this."

"Considering the circumstances, I think we'd better rule out all possibilities before we start subjecting the girl to further attempts of magic. I think my attempt to heal her may have done more harm than good." The girl's breathing had gotten shallower, and now Marus was now worried she might not make it to dusk, much less the end of the day. He handed the bag over to Essa, who knelt down and began pulling out clothes and other items, spreading them onto the floor where they could all see them. His eyes paused on a set of lockpicks, and a few other items that suggested to him the girl had been on the run from more than just the Elar while in Riverport. He frowned at that, but returned to the problem of healing her first, making a mental note to make sure someone kept a watchful eye on her after they'd healed her.

Essa pulled out a tattered blanket that looked to be wrapped around an object. She unwrapped it gingerly and the three of them all gasped as the item came into view. It was some sort of scepter, probably religious in nature, based on the symbols engraved on it. He'd never seen it's equal. It was gold-plated, at the very least, although he suspected it was made entirely of gold, and encrusted with gems and crown-shaped formations of crystal at both ends. The crystals seemed to glow and suddenly the blanket around it burst into flame, setting Essa's robes alight along with them. The acolyte began screaming, but for some reason she didn't drop the scepter as she waved and spun frantically about the room.

Orrin seemed immobilized with shock, and Marus knew he needed to act quickly. He grabbed up the topmost blanket off of the girl on the bed and threw it over Essa to smother the flames before knocking the scepter out of her hand. It fell to the floor with a clatter, and rolled into a corner where it stopped when it hit the wall. The crystals had turned an angry shade of red.

Marus concerned himself first with Essa, beating out the last of the flames with another blanket off the bed before removing the first blanket from over her. Orrin moved in and began chanting right away, working a healing spell. Marus added his own prayers to it, attempting to add strength to the spell in case it should fail. Essa's arms were badly burned, and there were lighter burns on most of her upper torso and some of her face. Her hands were nearly burned away. Her eyes were wide with shock and pain and she shook violently in Marus' arms.

The healing prayer, however, seemed to work. Marus felt the scepter trying to pull the warmth from the spell, however, and they ended up moving to another room to try a second time before she was fully healed. The shock was still there though, and the two priests turned her over to one of the priestesses after a short explanation of what had happened. Essa was taken away to be bathed and soothed and bundled into fresh robes. Meanwhile, Orrin and Marus held a quick conference in the hallway.

"First we need to heal the girl," Marus said. "In order to do that, I suggest we move her away from the scepter, as we did with Essa. Then we'll need to confer with the Bishop on how to destroy the thing."

"I agree," Orrin nodded. "Do you have any ide -"

"RIGHT COMPONENT!" Alldeh's voice startled both priests, and Marus realized they'd been standing right next to the man's door while they talked. From inside, Alldeh sounded as if he was alternating between beating his fists against the door and throwing himself against it.

"HURRY!" Alldeh screamed from behind the door. "COVER IT QUICKLY! HE CAN SEE ME!"

"What is his problem now?" Orrin asked, shaking his head.

"I don't know," Marus admitted, rubbing his temple absently with one hand. "Why don't you move the girl and I'll try to calm him down. Put her in the end room and I'll meet you there. Oh, and once you've got her moved, lock the room she's in right now. We don't need anyone else touching that...thing."

He opened Alldeh's door and left Orrin in the hallway. What he saw in Alldeh's room took the breath from his chest. Nearly every inch of the walls was covered in crudely drawn pictures and symbols. Most of them looked like ones Alldeh had drawn before, but he had never been so thorough.

Without counting there were at least twenty images of the scepter now lying in the other room. There were images of eyes in many places as well. Most of the eyes had exes drawn through them. One eye image had four parallel lines through it.

"COVER IT!" Alldeh insisted again.

"Cover what, Alldeh?" Marus asked hollowly, overwhelmed by it all.

Suddenly Alldeh was calm. He just stood there, swaying side to side slightly. Marus guided the man over to his bed, and helped him to sit on the edge of it. "It'll all be alright," he assured the poor broken man.

"Hope so," Alldeh said without looking at him.

Alldeh began humming to himself, an off-key rendition of a lullaby that mothers had been singing to their children for longer than Marus had been alive. Once he was sure that Alldeh was going to remain calm for the moment, Marus studied some of the images in more detail. It was very clearly the same scepter that had just burned Essa. Marus' heart raced, as possibilities poured through his mind. He was starting to wonder what other things might be locked away in Alldeh's broken mind. He worried that maybe Alldeh had once served whatever god the scepter was a totem to. Alldeh did have some odd tatoos, though faded and seemingly mundane in nature. Marus had healed Alldeh on more than a few occasions, however, and had never felt the cold pull that he had experienced near the scepter. His gut instincts told him that Alldeh wasn't the enemy here, but that maybe he knew something. He found himself shaking his head and rubbing his temple again.

"We've moved the girl," Father Orrin broke into Marus' thoughts as he poked his head barely inside the door.

"Yes, I'm coming." Marus stood up and left Alldeh still sitting on the bed, humming. He saw one of the acolytes with the keys, about to lock the door to the room the scepter was in.

"Just a moment," he said, stopping the acolyte. He stepped inside and looked at the scepter, lying on the floor against the wall. It no longer glowed, and didn't look as dangerous just then. He moved across the room, grabbing up one of the remaining blankets off the bed and tossed it over the scepter, before moving any of the wooden furniture that seemed too close. The stone walls would keep the scepter from burning the infirmary down if it set the blanket on fire, Marus figured. He had a feeling that he'd just done what Alldeh had been asking, however. He also took the rest of the backpack and dumped it out onto the bed, leaving it there for further inspection later. At a cursory glance nothing else seemed out of the ordinary.

He stepped back outside the room and nodded to the acolyte, who locked the door and then headed back towards the main infirmary. Then Orrin led him down to the room where the girl had been moved. She was still unconscious, but moaned and writhed on the bed now. Another acolyte, a young man named Sirkin, had taken Essa's place. He dabbed a damp cloth against the girl's face and neck.

"Her fever has spiked," he said when they entered the room. "If the healing doesn't work now, we're going to lose her. She's much hotter than she ought to be."

Again Marus said the words. Warmth flowed into the girl. Her body glowed, shining with divine light. The rot retreated, reversing its spread, and new, healthy flesh replaced it. That continued until the only mark on her leg was the original wound. Then that closed up as well and the glow faded away.

The girl woke with a start, sitting right up. She looked at her legs, gasped, and fainted.

Orrin exhaled audibly as if he had been holding his breath. Marus could feel the tension draining out of the room, and supposed he could imagine someone holding their breath during such a healing without even realizing it.

The girl's breathing was deep and regular, so he saw no reason for him to stay just then. "Let her sleep," he said softly. "I'm sure she needs it. But come get me when she wakes. I'd like to hear her story."

Sirkin covered her up with a sheet and light blanket before they all stepped out into the hallway. Marus paused outside Alldeh's room. "I'm going to take a minute to look at what the poor man has drawn today," he let the others know. Sirkin nodded, and Orrin mentioned having other tasks to attend to.

Marus slipped into the room quietly, as he often did. Alldeh was curled up asleep on the floor in one corner of the room. Marus closed the door again careful not to wake him.

Father Marus cast a frown towards the locked door, wondering more about the scepter and how Alldeh could have drawn it without ever seeing it. Questions spun in his head as he made his way out of the infirmary and back towards the Bishop's office. He wasn't sure how he was going to explain all of it to the Bishop, but he knew that something had to be done about the scepter. He didn't think the Bishop was going to like the idea of some evil god's relic sitting in their church. Marus didn't like it himself. He expected the Bishop would have a way of destroying it.

He knocked gently on the Bishop's closed door, hoping he wasn't about to interrupt anything important. When the Bishop answered, Marus was relieved to find that there was no one already sitting in the office with him. Still, he winced as the door squeaked while he entered the room and closed it behind him.

"Ahh, Marus," the Bishop greeted him. "I've been expecting you." Bishop Doran pushed aside some papers he'd been looking at. His own pile was not unlike the one still waiting on Marus' desk. "Please, sit down."

Confused, Marus took one of the chairs seated across from the Bishop at the other side of the desk. He waited for the Bishop to speak first, wondering if someone had already told Doran of the scepter.

"I take it you've healed the girl?" the Bishop asked. To Marus, it sounded as if the Bishop already knew the answer. Marus found himself nodding slowly in response.

"Good," Doran nodded and smiled. There was a long pause, during which the Bishop seemed to be thinking. Marus was nearly about to speak up and mention the scepter when Doran finally spoke.

"I imagine you've found it difficult, these past years, with the Gods not communicating with you in any way other than allowing you their power for healing and other tasks." This time it was a statement, but Doran ended it as a question, cocking his head slightly as he looked across the desk. Marus found himself caught off guard by it, not sure what kind of reply the Bishop was looking for.

"I didn't know you knew," Marus managed to say.

The truth was that it had been difficult. The gods had often spoken with him in his early years in the priesthood. As the years went by, it became a little less frequent. And then nearly four years ago it had stopped completely. They still granted him power when he needed it, allowing him to serve them still, but it had seemed they no longer had anything to say to him.

He had spent a great deal of time over the years trying to understand what he might have done to disappoint them. He had tried to find a way to make it up to them, to absolve himself of the unknown sin.

"There isn't supposed to be much that happens here that I do not know of, Father Marus," the bishop said in his grandfatherly way. "When you were a child Ogrun came to you and answered a prayer personally, isn't that so?"

"Yes. When my mother was killed. It was an accident, but at the time I didn't see it that way. I prayed for the strength to take revenge. He told me that revenge was an act of weakness, not of strength. He told me that there was a path that would make a difference, and asked me to consider the priesthood. But that was a long time ago."

"Theran would say that sometimes, it is not the path we walk that matters," the bishop said, "but the path we leave behind us for others to follow."

"But now the gods have a path in mind for you, Father Marus. Forces and people are converging. A wizard is coming here. There is something she must do, which she cannot do by herself. That scepter the girl brough with her is part of it. You will go with them. They will need your guidance if they are to succeed. They must succeed."

"I... but..." Marus found himeself all but stuttering. "A wizard? You already know about the scepter? What?..." He found himself throwing up his hands in his confusion. "I don't understand."

"The Elar are coming, Marus," the Bishop said quietly. "But they, themselves are not the problem. It is the one that leads them that must be stopped. That scepter is a totem to him. A powerful one. And it can, somehow, be used to stop him. You have been chosen to help make this happen."

"I... how long have you known this was coming?" Marus felt as if he had been struck.

"The Gods have been warning me of this for some time now. How long is irrelavent. There were and still are many things that could change the course of events. They have seen the future, predicted what might be, but it is not written in stone. You and others are needed to go on this journey. The wizard who comes here, and the warrior who protects her. That girl who brought the scepter. They are a part of this. As is that poor man you've been watching over for so long. Alldeh. He must go on this journey with you as well."

"Alldeh?!" Marus sputtered, astonished. "He's not fit to let out into the rest of the infirmary, much less travel! And he's been worse as of late."

"Yet the Gods have made it clear to me that he is vital to this quest, Marus. Part of the reason you have been chosen for this is his trust for you."

Marus sighed, trying to piece it all together in his mind. He had a feeling that he needn't bother mentioning that Alldeh had drawn the scepter on the walls of his room. Quite a few things seemed suddenly less important at the moment.

"A wizard?" he final