Chapter 1

	I relived those final moments in the capitol of Elendar.  My sword plunging into Brina’s belly to get to James and his own blade slashing mercilessly across half of Brina’s throat.  As much as I tried to stem their intrusion into my consciousness, I could not.  No matter how cold or hard hearted I tried to be, I had let Brina in to deeply to rid myself of her memory like a duck shaking water off of its back.
	Stumbling through the sewers, imagine my surprise to find the very same entrance I had used to enter the sewers when I confronted James was now sealed off by a combination cave in of mud and sewage.  Thus I was forced to escaped from Elendar into a great system of caverns beneath the mighty kingdom.  The things I heard and occasionally caught glimpses of in the eerie glow of the lichens and fungus caused me to squirm and shudder in ways I had forgotten since my earliest years.  If King Avercrombie knew how close monsters lay to his realm, I doubt he would sleep as lightly as he seemed to.  Hope seemed lost to me for I had run out of what meager ration of food I had managed to secure haphazardly on my flight from the palace.  My fate seemed to be no less cruel the Brina’s, and equal parts my own fault.
	Then, when I had nearly decided to charge the next fearsome dweller of the deep I happened across, I heard from far ahead the sound of water falling.  A great amount of it, no less.  Approaching carefully lest I disturb the lair of whatever creature secured such a pool, I was greeted by increasing light.  To my great surprise the distant thunder had become a veritable roar.  Rounding a bend in the passage I beheld a great cavern with a recessed wall on the far side.  Down this wall fell the great river that fed the noise that had drawn me there.  The light was so bright it hurt my eyes there, though surely it was quite feeble by normal standards and my eyes merely adjusted to the dark.  At the zenith of the falls a beam of sunlight plunged into the water, fragmenting and scattering across the cavern.
	The rainbow created by the mist and the light was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen.  For a moment my heart was lifted, and thoughts of my tragedy left me.  Then I noticed how difficult my path lay, for the wall was slick and several feet away from the hole in the ceiling of the chamber through which the water and light fell.  Nonetheless, already buoyed, my spirits refused to leave me again.  Falling back on my stubborn streak of pride, I pushed off at once.
	It took me hours and no small amount of pain and blood loss to make my way up the 40 foot ascension to the ceiling, and perhaps another hour there to secure a way to escape the dank and slimy caverns below.  I was blinded by the sunlight, even though it was nearly dusk by the time I emerged.  The waterfall continued on above me, falling off of a cliff and into the depths to go whence I knew not where.
	Around me was a small glade within a forest of mighty trees.  A deer far off looked at me with its ears flattened for a moment before it took off, running deeper into the great oak and beech trees.  Exhausted, I collapsed onto the ground and slept, unmindful of my safety.
	I dreamt then, and they were dreams of terrible things.  I saw a pale and seemingly bloodless James, grinning in death and surrounded by the splendor of rich vestments and gaudy decoration.  He sat upon a dark throne made of cruelly forged iron, and beside him sitting upon the floor dressed like a concubine was Brina.  Her skin was as I remembered it, though it seemed smoother and even more flawless.  Including her throat, for in my dreams it was healed.  James’ gaze was filled with hatred, while Brina’s was far more accusing.  Both possessed eyes that seemed to glow with an inner fire.
	I awoke then, covered in a cold sweat.  Breathing hard, I looked around quickly, wondering if somehow Brina and James had come back from the dead and were stalking me.  Instead I saw a host of animals.  Wolves, bears, deer, squirrels, rabbits, owls, hawks, sparrows, and countless other species were gathered about the clearing, all watching me.  I stood up slowly, making no threatening moves.  My stomach grumbled loudly as I glanced at all of the wild game around me, reminding me that I had not eaten for a couple of days.
	A man came out then from the trees, though I would have sworn he had not been there a moment before.  He walked through the animals without concern, his face unseen within the hooded cowls of the brown robe that cloaked him.  He came up to me and reached up to pull the hood back on his robe.  He had a rugged countenance, with a flowing brown beard and mustache.  His equally brown hair was long as well, though it seemed tended and not wild.  His eyes were the most entrancing part of him, for they were a dark blue and pierced me as they looked at me.  I felt lost for a moment as I met his gaze, then my inner self reared up and I forced myself to return his gaze with a strength bordering on belligerence.
	“You are not of this world,” He finally said to me.  His tone was not judging but still somehow decisive.
	“Who are you?” I asked, trying to steer the encounter my way instead of his.
	“Humans once called me Andryth.  The elves call me Quikwind.  Names matter little to me, call me what you wish.”
	“What is this place, Andryth?” I asked, wondering if perhaps things were finally beginning to go my way.
	“This is the Irewood, one of the few old forests that still remember in the lands this far north.  Only the Great Forest to the south has trees as old and with memories as sharp as those here.  I watch over these woods and protect them and all who live here from harm.” He turned away and began to walk away then, as though he had said enough.
	“Wait!” I called out, stepping after him.  “Can you tell me no more?”
	He continued to walk as he spoke.  “What more is there to know?  You are unnatural to this place, this world.  There is no place for you here.  You must leave.  Harm no thing under my care and you may leave as you wish.”
	The animals parted to allow us to pass, though they closed up ranks behind us and followed closely, as though they were an honor guard.
	“How do I get out of here then?” I asked, bristling at his calm surliness.
	“You will be guided.”
	I opened my mouth to say more but stopped in my tracks when I realized that he had just walked into the trunk of an oak tree.  Instead of bouncing off, as I or anyone else I know would do, he had literally walked into it, as though the tree had sucked him inside of it.  I turned about to look around, testing my eyes.  All of the animals that had been trailing us were gone as well.  I swooned for a moment, questioning my sanity and wondering if perhaps my hunger had caused me to imagine things.  Then I saw the tracks on the ground from all of the myriad creatures that had been behind me.  I felt a little bitter, though still miserably hungry and lost.
	“Where are you, oh promised guide?” I asked, my voice dripping with sarcasm and bitterness.  No answer was forthcoming.
	I glanced about then and guessed by the level of light that it was nearing dusk.  I set about then to arrange a camp for myself.  The temperature was pleasant but growing cooler.  In the dead of night I suspected that it would be downright chilly where I was, and with only my fur lined cloak to protect myself over my leathers, I did not look forward to it.  I had flint and steel with me though, so there was hope for a fire at least.  I carried no axe for the chopping of wood, and my sword and dagger, while finely tuned for hewing flesh, were of little use against wood.  Thus I set forth to gather fallen wood where it lay, thinking as I did so that perhaps this suited me better anyhow, as I was causing no harm to any of the trees here and thus not invoking the wrath of the druid, Andryth.
	As a small boon, in my wandering I found a patch of ripe blueberries on a rocky hillside as the last of the suns rays slipped beneath the top edges of the forest.  Feasting on them as though it was the finest meal I had eaten in days (it was), I began to feel a little better about my chances.  When the spark caught in the deadwood and I had a warm and merry blaze to keep myself company throughout the night, I resolved to push ahead for a better tomorrow, regardless of my past misfortunes.
	I had cared for Brina deeply.  More deeply then I should have.  The extent of that care I was uncertain of, however.  Was it a camaraderie or a partnership or more of a sisterly bond.  Or was it more still, that of a lover and mate?  The last thought frightened me, for I refused to accept the possibility of even wanting a mate, be it of any gender or race.  “Perhaps,” I mused quietly to myself that night, “I am better off with Brina dead, as much by my own hand as any.”
	I slept soon then, convinced that the forest was safe.  With the fire banked it kept me warm enough throughout the chilliest part of the night and was reduced to lukewarm embers by morning.  My greatest surprise came from my new companion.
	Standing over me stood a magnificent specimen of masculinity.  Heavily muscled and gleaming in the early morning dew, I came to discover his name was Darion in the time that followed.  Where his ridged and powerful looking stomach muscles ended fur began.  The fur was a dark gray in color, and began the half of his physique I had seldom studied much, for I was only slightly familiar with the riding and tending of horses.  He was a centaur, and apparently, my guide.
	Darion spoke little to me throughout the next two days, only when he felt he must.  Clearly he disliked me, though for what cause I had no idea.  Perhaps centaurs possessed the ability to see a persons past, or perhaps that was merely a thought given to me by my latent guilt.  Regardless, he shared his seemingly endless supply of nuts and berries that he carried in a pouch, and cool and clear water from a skin.  The only other things he carried were a curved dagger near his waste, a bow across his back, and a quiver of flight arrows for the bow.
	I thanked Darion when we reached the southern edge of the Irewood.  I had been on my best behavior, doing my best to respect both the forest and my guide.  Regardless he remained aloof.  I considered asking him for a final meal before I left, but thought better of it for he clearly wished to be elsewhere.
	I wandered south then, away from the forest and towards what I suspected was Elendar’s southern border.  Along the way my diet improved as I managed to snare a few rabbits and once even spirited away a farmers stray chicken.  It took me a few weeks since I was avoiding any of the villages and cities along the way, but I was finally successful at reaching the border.  However a great wall was in my way, patrolled by Elendarian guardsmen.
	Hoping I had reached the southern borders ere news of my transgressions, I walked boldly through the gate.  There I showed my SET badge to a sergeant and was offered all manner of courtesy.  I secured a horse and some spare equipment, including some iron rations and water, and was on the road again without resting that very day.  I found it both relieving and disconcerting that no word of James had reached the border keep as yet.
	I came finally through trial and mishap to a port town by the name of Peltarch.  It was one of the largest port towns south of Elendar for many leagues, and was a den of thievery and marketeering.  I got away from there as quickly as I could, but not before I stumbled across a bar fight scene started by a man named Thorrik.  I recognized him as a former sergeant of Elendar, then a SET agent.  Of course, few people outside of Elendar knew of the existence of SET.  To the scum of Peltarch, Thorrik was merely a thorn in their side.  By the time I left the city, I began to notice wanted posters with his picture and description on them, offering upwards of a kings ransom of 20,000 gold for his capture, alive or dead.  Seems he had made a mission out of his life to tweak the noses of Peltarch’s nobles every chance he had.
	Leaving Peltarch I made my way further to the south, where I heard of great ruins and a frontier type of living.  I figured there I had a chance to earn a new way of life and escape the rut of my old one.  Honest I might never be, but that did not mean I had to be a murderer and a thief.  Well, at least not without a good reason.
	I found what I sought in a small hamlet named Barovia.  Far to the south, on the hottest of days it reminded me of a morning or evening on Brina’s home world.  That of course set me to remembering more of Brina, so I tried not to think about that.  I still had dreams and nightmares about her and James as well.  Sometimes they seemed so real that I felt as though they were searching for me or chasing after me.  I suspected that it might be more then simply the work of a guilty conscience, but then thought better of it, for before I had never cared for anyone that I had killed, either directly or indirectly.
	It was after a few months in Barovia, after I had begun to become accepted by the locals, when I had an opportunity to prove myself.  Two boys had disappeared out hunting for food for their family while their father was busy tending the farm.  The townsfolk were organizing search parties for them, though I personally held little hope for their survival.  They had been missing for nearly two days by that time.
	I set out on my own, explaining how I worked best alone with nobody else foiling up any tracks or getting in the way.  This was accepted readily enough, for in Barovia I was just another trapper / furrier making her living as best she could.  Nobody asked about a persons background in Barovia, for it seemed nearly everyone had one.
	I got to the farm ahead of the rest of the townsfolk and tracked the boys out into the sparse woods nearby.  From there I encountered other tracks.  Tracks that I had trouble identifying, but finally decided they were humanoid, if a bit slurred and confused.  Other tracks appeared to be that of wolves.  I figured it to be a hunting party of men out with pet wolves, though I suppose orcs were more likely to accompany wolves the size of the ones the tracks indicated.
I followed immediately.  I knew in my gut the children were already slain, but until I found signs of their demise, I had to proceed.  The tracks led to the south, with the children’s signs disappearing altogether.  No doubt they were being carried.  In no time the forest was left behind and the dry wasteland of the salt flats lay ahead of me.  Tracking across a salt flat is all but impossible even for a trained and experienced ranger, let alone someone barely proficient in the skill.  Nonetheless, I felt I knew where they were bound, for directly ahead in the distance I could just barely make out the shadow of the ruins of a once mighty city.
Daylight was fading by now.  I had been on the chase for nearly five hours and had perhaps two left ere dusk.  A chill crept down my spine for some unknown reason, but I felt my duty to these people I had chosen to try and make my own.  I pushed forward then, thankful for the mountains to the west that would block the sunlight bearing down on me.  In hindsight, sunlight might have been more preferable to the darkness that overcame me nearly 15 minutes before I reached the ruins.
Once in the ruins there was dust and sand enough to allow me to find the tracks of the mysterious kidnappers again.  The tracks led me to the boys… by way of an ambush.  The ruins were quite large and resembled buildings the type of which I had seen once before.  They were similar to the ruined town of Guthmoor, on Acathia.  It seemed I would never escape my past, for the future kept striving to bring it back to me.  
It was thoroughly dark by then, with not even a faint bit of twilight from the sun in the west.  The moon was risen a third of the way, however, and it was waning from full two nights past.  Realizing that gave me the only warning I would have.  I made the connection finally.  A full moon two nights past, the same night the boys had disappeared.  Tracks of both men and wolves.  I was hunting were-beasts, though by now the hunter had become the hunted.
A musky animal smell wafted by my nose then, followed closely by the faint sound of claws scratching on stone.  I spun around and ducked low just in time to avoid the snapping jaws of a wolf as it sailed over me.  Well, partially over me, his hind quarters crashed into my shoulder and sent me stumbling to the side.
A growl from that direction had me skittering away, finally getting my sword and dirk in hand to defend myself.  A wolf approached from that direction then, walking slowly and crouched, ready to spring.  It snarled at me, spittle bubbling and drooling from it’s mouth.  I glanced around and saw a full five wolves surrounding me, each with a cruelly intelligent look in their eyes.
I have heard that chance favors the prepared mind.  I was not prepared and they were, so I was determined to even the field a bit.  I ran towards one, slashing out with my sword.  The wolf sprang away, giving me an opening in the circle of teeth surrounding me.  The other wolves yipped and came after me, but not in time to catch me before I leapt up to the top of a small dais where once a statue had apparently stood.  I had gained a four foot height advantage on them, not nearly enough to thwart them, but enough to boost my odds.
They circled around me, occasionally darting towards me then backing away when they found my blades ready and waiting.  A few times I was nearly taken by well timed attacks, but I always managed to fight them off.  Several wolves now sported wounds from my magical blades which seemed to cause them a surprising amount of pain.  The ones that were wounded regarded me warily, while the others simply approached me more carefully.
I killed them all, of course, otherwise I would not be able to tell this story.  It was slow and fraught with peril though, and only after I luckily dispatched the first one with a thrown dagger did the others come close enough to allow me to meet out my brand of justice.  Seeing one of their number down and me with only my shortsword, they all charged at me, nearly tripping over each other in their rush to get to me.  I unsheathed the dagger given to me by King Avercrombie and noticed it fairly thrummed with power in my hand.  It had not done that before, so I had no choice but to guess that it’s magic enabled increased power when wielded against shape changers.
With the wolves dead or dying, I noticed how their bodies seemed to shimmer and contort, some more then others.  When a few minutes had passed and I had caught my breath, all five of my slain enemies had partially reverted back to a humanoid form, some more then others.  It was a rather unsettling sight, and I moved on quickly, checking myself carefully for wounds.  I found only a few gouges from claws and one scrape and bruise from where I had landed on the dais a little less then gracefully.  I knew from my studies with the Ornithrym that lycanthropism, the magical disease that infects men and causes them to change into animals at night, is transferred both via genetics in a more true and powerful form and also through the bite of an infected creature.
My cloak had some tears in it as well, but I was ready to go on and fight another day.  Or at least another fight, since I was sure there were more of the werewolves around.  I gathered my tossed dagger and returned the gift dagger to its concealed sheath in the small of my back.
I trekked on, trying to make sense of the tracks of the creatures.  I followed them as best I could over the rubble of the ruins, ending up finally at what was a large building.  It reeked of the musky scent of an animals den.  I felt the dagger in the small of back radiating its magical energy as I got closer, warning me.  I approached it carefully and was allowed to continue breathing because of that caution.  The wolf defending the entrance of the lair missed me only by inches as I fell backwards.  It landed on my chest though, and its claws dug painfully into my left arm and right breast.  The wolves hind legs alternated tearing at my thighs and belly, raising welts under the tough leather armor that continued to protect me but risked a good shredding with each new assault.  The wolves jaws and fetid breath snapped in my face, trying to go for my throat.  Only my right arm grasping tightly about the wolves throat kept it from succeeding.
My sword and dagger had fallen somewhere nearby, making them unavailable to me.  My left arm, pinned to the ground just below the shoulder by the wolves paw, was mobile enough to slip behind my back and once again draw the dagger from the King.  I tried slashing at the wolf with it, but was unable to get enough leverage or distance with my arm to connect with the wolves furry torso.  A great lance of fiery pain entered my body then, one of the wolf’s hind legs had managed to hook just above my leather breeches and yank them down my leg part way, leaving four bloody furrows on my upper thigh.
I kicked upwards with my other leg, catching the wolf in the belly and genitals.  I was pleased to note that the same assault works on males regardless of race or whether they go on two or four legs.  The wolf yipped and backed off a bit, giving me enough of a chance to yank my arm out from under its paw and drive my dagger deep into its chest.  The wolf staggered away, whimpering softly as its lifeblood bubbled out the ragged hole in its chest.
I sat there, breathing heavily and straining to listen for any signs of additional pursuit.  I found my discarded weapons and regained my feet, yanking my torn and bloody pants back into proper place and favoring my wounded leg.  Inside the lair I found another wolf standing guard over what appeared to be a pile of fabric or clothing or something.  It was too dark in the building for me to be sure of what it was.
The wolf charged at me.  I ducked under its lunge and laid its side open with my sword.  It howled in pain and tried to scamper away.  I followed it mercilessly, hacking into its head as it snapped at me.  I turned towards whatever it was guarding as it lay quivering on the floor in death spasms.
It was indeed piles of clothing and equipment.  Pots, pans, a few boxes and sacks, all manner of mundane gear that people would use for whatever utilitarian living purpose could be imagined.  There was even some coins and weapons, the former I gathered up quickly while the latter I judged to be nothing out of the ordinary.
From there I studied the room more carefully.  In the back, hidden in the shadows, was a passage leading deeper into the strange ruined building.  I approached it slowly, ever mindful of the skill with which these creatures seemed able to hide themselves and launch a surprise attack with.
The passage went further then I needed to, for an open doorway on my right led into a room with some rubble piled off on my left side as I entered and some makeshift bedrolls scattered about the rest of it.  It was in there that I found the two boys from Barovia.  They were being cared for by a naked woman, not exactly the idea guardian.  She sniffed wildly as I approached them, and then stood up to face me.  She growled deep in her throat and bared her teeth at me.  I could tell that she was one of the werewolves by the animalistic behavior, if not the thrumming power radiating from the dagger nestled against my back.
When she rushed towards me I noticed her face beginning to elongate and her fingers turning into wicked looking claws.  She got in one swing with her fist / paw (which I slipped to the side of) before I retaliated, plunging my sword into her chest and driving my dagger into her mouth.  I yanked my weapons free and let her slide to the floor, her body contorting itself into her death pose.
The boys were sleeping, though fitfully.  They looked to be in fine shape, which surprised me greatly.  I figured them for dinner for the pack of werewolves.  I knelt next to them ready to wake them and have them follow me when I felt the dagger hum its warning.  I spun around quickly, prepared for another surprise attack.  Nothing was sneaking up on me though.
I turned back to the children, my stomach clenching.  I pulled the dagger out and held it close to the boy.  It glowed dimly in my hand and I could feel it vibrating with an inner wrath.  I cursed softly.  I held it near the other boy and achieved the same result.  I examined the children more closely then, checking for wounds.  Sure enough, on each of the calves was a mostly healed bite mark.  They were not there for a meal, but to increase the pack.
To the best of my knowledge, there is no cure once the disease has set.  Wolvesbane and other herbs are supposed to be able to fight it, but in that case, it was too late.  I studied both children, one roughly 12 years old and the other 9.  My hand quivered slightly as I clenched the dagger in fingers gone white.  I glanced around one more time then spat out a muffled curse at whatever Gods were making my life as difficult as they were.
I stood up once the deed was done, blood dripping off the dagger.  Turning towards the door I saw the first of the group of villagers that had reached the ruins staring in open mouthed shock at me.  Two more stood behind him and others were in the hallway trying to get a look.
I opened my mouth to explain, realizing what the scene might look like to them.  Any of my words were lost in the screaming that began.  Roars of outrage and challenge assailed me as the posse surged forward.  I was going to throw down my dagger and explain myself but I realized I would have no chance.  The father of the children was in the lead, his great sword drawn and a murderous fury in his eyes.
I turned and ran, heading towards the rubble strewn side of the room.  Above the fallen rubble was a small hole opening to another room.  I jumped up and caught it with my hand then pulled myself through.  Dropping into the next room, I found a window that led outside.  I was outside and slipping quietly away from the building before any of them saw me leave.  Then the inevitable happened.  One of the guards left outside the werewolves lair spotted me and called out, thinking that I was still a friend and not a foe.
What choice did I have?  I ran.  The ruins were dark, the moon behind a cloud at the time.  A faint wind had sprung up, just enough to add an extra bit of chill to the night.  Heat still radiated off of the ground, but the earth had nearly given up what it had absorbed during the day already.
I slipped between ruined buildings, taking the toughest courses possible and knowing that I could navigate them far easier then my pursuers.  This worked well for me until I came to a dead end.  What had once been a doorway into a building had fallen into such a state of disrepair that the open doorway was filled from within by fallen rubble.  I looked back behind me to see if I had time enough to slip back out and into another passage.  My hopes were dashed as I heard them began to round the corner.
I felt a strange peace come over me then.  I marveled at the lucid moment and realized that I had forgotten something very important.  My mind.
I was still uncertain of the scope or extent of my powers, but I did remember a couple of things that I had filched out of Keeden’s mind.  I calmed myself still further and gave thought to cloaking myself.  I realized the only way I could do it would be to contact the mind of each and every one of my pursuers and trick them into not seeing me.  Something I would be unable to do given the time, let alone the complexity of trying to deal with so many different minds at once.
About to give up again, a new thought entered my mind.  Ahead of me was a ruined wall of a building, some twenty feet up to a roof filled with holes.  On my right was a taller building, and to my left a nearly vertical wall of rubble.  I was a good climber and a strong girl, given my size, but with the pack of villagers on my heels, I would be unable to scale the wall fast enough as I was.
I concentrated then on making myself lighter.  I envisioned the same effect that the buffoon of an elven wizard had cast on us, making us both light as feathers.  I forced myself to believe that my body weighed no more then a few pebbles and felt myself growing lighter as I did so.  My time was limited, so I wasted no more time to further the effect.  As it was I probably had reduced my weight to less then one half of what I normally weigh.
I leapt up at the wall, sailing nearly halfway up it in a single bound!  I scrambled to find a purchase against it, as I had gone much higher then I expected too.  Another leap upwards took me to the roof, which was falling apart and lousy with holes where the weather had broken through it.  With my reduced weight it was easy to negotiate.  I ran lightly across it and was safely hidden from view by the time the villagers came upon the cul-de-sac.
“Where’d she go?” I heard one of the men asked, breathing heavily.
	“I know she came down here, how could she get away?  That rubble would fall apart with anyone climbing it!” Another one said.
	“Did you see the look in her eyes or the dagger in her hand?  It had the mark of the Dark One, I tell ya!” A third said, reaching for an explanation.  I scowled from my hiding spot.  My dagger had the Elendarian royal crest on its hilt!
	“Come Karum, ‘tis a fey night and all of us fools for sending a witch out where men should have gone!”
	Karum, the father of the kidnapped children nodded, unseen to me.  He glared about a bit more before he let his grief catch up to him and override his anger.  Head bowed, he stalked off to gather up the bodies of his children.  The others followed after him, and I remained hidden until I heard no more sound of their pursuit.  I got up then and found that my full weight had returned as I had long since stopped concentrating on the effect.
	My sadness over the boys fate was forgotten in the light of my discovery.  It was a shame about them, but the living go on living and the dead do not grow any deader.  I carefully made my way back down the wall and set out to explore the ruins further.  It seemed that life for me amongst my own people was forever doomed to failure.  Perhaps I was destined instead to live the life of a hermit.

Chapter 2

	Months had passed since last I bothered to ponder my situation.  Indeed, a morose black mood had gripped me.  I despaired of existing a solitary life with little in the way of joy.  Life had turned into a set of repetition for me, though in a paradoxal way, for I made certain I never did any of my daily routines the same way twice.
	I had set up a residence within a ruined hovel near the western edge of the ruins where I had dispatched the werewolves.  I had to liberate the building I chose for my lair from a group of spiders that individually were large enough to give me pause.  As a group they were deadly, for each was the size of a hound.  A little flint and steel applied to a torch provided a solution for me.  I had simply tossed the torch into the network of webs within the stone building and butchered the surviving spiders that rushed out to escape the flames.
	One had managed to bite me, however, and I lay in a swoon for nearly two days from the debilitating poison.  I recovered well enough, though I was parched at that point as my fever had burned throughout while my body fought the poison.  The spiders had been slain, at least, and I soon discovered that to a starving woman, roast spider can be a delicacy.
	I scouted the ruins daily, learning what I could of my surroundings and clearing out all signs of the spiders occupation.  The werewolf den was soon taken over by a new creatures, an apparently mated pair of reptilian beasts that walked on many legs.  The smaller was 12 feet long while the larger was closer to 16.  I stayed clear of them once I saw the larger one breath out a cloud of mist from its mouth to paralyze a giant rat that was searching for some refuse to feast on.  It moved faster then I would have thought possible, snapping the rat into its mouth and returning back to its lair to share the feast with its mate.
	That was another thing about the ruins… the rats.  Ranging from one to four feet long, there seemed no end of them.  I slew them whenever they came near me or my makeshift home, but they were forever waiting in the shadows wherever I went throughout the ruins, waiting for something to fall for them to feast on.  They seemed voracious.
	At times I thought that perhaps I was being watched.  Ever careful, I was nonetheless unable to find any signs of a pursuer.  I roughly mapped out in my mind as much of the ruins as I felt secure in exploring.  South of me was a graveyard where, I was certain, the dead still walked.  I avoided the place at night but heard enough noises carried by the dry wind to let me know that things were not as they should be there.  The other inhabitants of the ruins likewise avoided the ruins, from what I could tell.
	East, beyond the basilisks, lay the den of a mighty serpent.  It looked old, from the one glimpse I had gotten of its scarred and worn hide, but with that age came not infirmity but rather experience and an animal cunning easily the match for anything else I had seen.  Having not seen all of it, I could only guess at it’s size, but the section of it I saw as it crawled between buildings early one morning in search of food was half again as big around as my chest.  I guessed it to be over 40 feet long, perhaps more.
	Each inhabitant of the ruins claimed a small territory for themselves, and anything that entered into it was trespassing and dealt with most harshly.  I maintained this unwritten rule by fiercely defending my own little area, fighting back any rats or other creatures that sought to inhabit it.  My defenses gradually took over more and more of my time, allowing me less and less exploration.  I soon even had begun to stop working on searching my psychic talents.  As with any muscle, when it is unused it atrophies.  So too did my psionic powers languish, unused as long as they became.
	Seasons came and went.   Soon a year had passed, leaving me older but no wiser.  My equipment began to show signs of wear and I replaced it as best I was able.  Throughout the different times of the year the climate varied little.  I had learned ways of finding food and water by watching the other creatures in the ruins.  Life was far from fulfilling, but it was satisfactory.  I had been alone so long by then that I had begun to forget anything else.
I secluded myself in an environment that reminded me every day of Acathia as a way of further torturing myself.  In the absence of contact with people my memories and fantasies grew.  My mind played tricks on me, remembering my time with Brina differently.  Idealizing it, it became a time where she and I had lived in a utopian perfection, fulfilling one another’s every needs until the bastard James had changed all of that.
	Of course it was a lie, but it helped to preserve my sanity.  At other times I even wondered if perhaps I had been wrong and perhaps I had been the one most wronged by the willful manipulations of Brina and James.  My mind concocted all of these fascinations out of a strong sense of guilt and remorse.  Both were emotions that I was largely unused to.  I had never repented any of my actions or felt bad for anything I had done before, and now my emotions were catching up.
	A group of people invaded my domain one day, forcing me out of my self-imposed exile.  An adventuring group it seemed, though hardly suited towards adventuring in my expert opinion.  A gnome trailed behind, eyes glancing about suspiciously at the shadows of the ruins.  A pair of elves led the party, the male with a bow in one hand and the other absently stroking a holy symbol that hung on a chain from her neck.  A halfling walked in between them, huffing as his short legged stride was hurried to keep up with the elves.  The gnome was similarly short legged and hurried, but he seemed not to mind the pace.  It might have had something to do with his girth not being in sizeable proportion to his height, as the halflings was.  The final member of the party was a dwarf with a double bladed axe carried in his hands.  He seemed cheerful, for a dwarf, but he kept a wary eye on his surroundings.
	A part of me longed to go to them and talk, but the majority of my psyche, the part of me that had been in control for the past year, kept me hidden and suspicious.  I suppose I should have at least done something to warn them.  Of course, I did not.
	The elven tracker fell prey to a snare trap I had laid.  He was yanked up by his left foot and swung around to smash into a rock wall, which then promptly crumbled over atop of him, crushing him.  The others ran forward to help him, but they were too late.  This caused the elven priestess no small amount of grief, and my heart actually went out to her.  Then I grew angry at both myself and her for feeling such pity and sympathy.  I barred my feelings and turned away from where I lay watching them in a symbolic show of not caring what happened to them.  My curiosity got the best of me after a few minutes though, so I crept to a new position to watch them from.
	The halfling was the scout of the group, at least somewhat adept at discovering the traps and pitfalls I had set up around my demesne.  Not adept enough.  His foot came down on a patch of earth that I had a trigger string set up beneath.  He heard or felt the vibration of it being set off and stopped abruptly.  He looked up, the panic on his face his last expression as the scything blade swung horizontally across, severing his head.  I had not considered a demi-human as prey, so I had set the blade low enough to disembowel a man.  A quicker and cleaner death for the halfling, at any rate.
	The dwarf howled in rage at this.  Dwarves seemed to live for combat, whether on Halador or Malatoria.  This stealth was not his style, and his frustrations showed as he bellowed out a challenge to whoever was destroying his company.  His taunts ceased abruptly when he plunged into a 12 foot pit I had rigged with sharpened spikes treated with venom from the spiders.  The venom had long since dried and become useless, but a stake sharpened forever remains a stake sharpened.
	The elven priest and gnome wizard gathered close then, realizing that their time was drawing to a close.  Still I could have approached and led them safely through, but I had closed myself to them, and instead watched only out of the interest of one who has to reset and repair her traps once they had accomplished their tasks.
	The wizard managed to escape, through luck or coincidence I do not know.  The priestess was close behind him when she actually slipped on some loose rubble and managed to sprain her ankle on her own.  In upsetting the rubble she had managed to trigger another of my traps, causing more sharpened steaks to spring out of the rubble.  None of them harmed her, but she stumbled away from the rubble, frightened anew.
	And stumbled into a small grouping of snares I had set up.  Each foot was caught by opposing traps, triggering the release of the powerful wooden springs I had set up.  It had taken me days to set those traps, and included me cobbling together a rough rope and pulley system to enable me the leverage I needed to do so.  The end effect on her, with a rope pulling each foot in the opposite direction, was quite grisly.  It affected the previously stunned gnome in such a way that he was sent running away in fear.
	As I said, he escaped my traps.  He fared less well against my neighbors then he did me, however, but I was not to find that out for some time.
	I waited a while to see if their sounds or actions had roused any curiosity in the rest of the population of the ruins.  Though I had no direct knowledge, I had seen fleeting hints of deeper and darker denizens towards what had once been the cities center.  More intelligent creatures with an active will towards destruction and evil.
	After a few hours had passed I ventured out, examining each of the fallen adventurers.  I went through their belongings, acquiring many coins and trinkets, as well as a few new weapons that I would save away for a chance to use either personally or in a new trap I devised.  My greatest surprise came when I examined the priestess.  It had been at least 2 hours since her left leg had been torn from her body, yet she still lived.
	She had managed to incant a spell of healing through her pain, stemming the blood flow and extending her life.  For a while, at least.  The pain had caused her to black out shortly thereafter though, and now it appeared that she was passing in and out of consciousness as her blood continued to leak out onto the ground.
	I knelt above her, dagger in my hand yet unsure as to what I should do with it.  I nearly got up and left her when I sensed her awareness return.  I looked down and saw that her eyes were clouded with pain, but that she beheld me clearly enough.
	“Who are you?” She hissed, having trouble forming words through her agony.
	My hand clenched around the dagger held within it.  The words were as music to me, yet I feared them more clearly then I feared the dreams I had in which Brina and James hunted me.
“Are you Yamara Blackcloak?” she asked more clearly.
I nodded after another moment of indecision.  It seemed my fears would allow me that much communication at least.  If nothing else, at least she was unable to present any threat to me now, for she lay clearly on her deathbed.
“The King needs to see you,” she whispered, struggling to speak and remain awake.  “About James.  He wants you to return.  He knows the truth now.  James betrayed….”
Her voice trailed off into a silent moan of agony.  She passed out then, her fingers relaxing their rigid pose from where they clawed at the hard baked ground.  I remained rock steady above her but inside my mind and emotions where tumbling about like wheat in a tornado.
James betrayed?  Betrayed who?  Betrayed me, yes, most certainly.  Betrayed Brina?  Yes that as well.  Had he betrayed Elendar as well?  What truth did the king now?  Did he know how Brina had manipulated and toyed with me?  Did he – no, wait.  That’s not right, is it?  Did James lie to Brina and find a way to convince her that I was tired of her or that I wished to be rid of her?  Perhaps he told her the reason I sought assignments abroad was so that I could be away from her because she angered and annoyed me.  That James had surely been at the root of it was evident, no matter the means.  James was the one that tore Brina from me, he was the one that slew her in cold blooded murder before my very eyes.  Yes, that was what happened, I tried to defend her but he used her as a shield and pushed her on my blade.  Brina was innocent, caught up in what had happened and by James’ lies.
I started to rise when I felt the elf’s hand grab mine.  She had roused herself from the blackness that continued to try to claim her for its own.  I looked down at her and felt rage at her for bringing this to me, for ruining the relative peace I had found there.
“Please,” she whispered to me, tears leaking from her eyes.  I looked down, seeing that she was pulling my hand with the dagger in it towards her.  My expression softened then, for I knew what she was asking.  She was in agony and because of her spell it would be prolonged for hours more, perhaps even days.
I nodded and her hand fell from my dagger.  She passed out again then and I gently lifted her head up from the ground.  Re-awakening old skills that had been dormant too long, I faultlessly located the spot on her neck and slid the dagger home, killing her instantly.  I laid her back down and stood up, glancing at her one final time and noticing the holy symbol grasped firmly in her hand.  It was the symbol of Ban-Dayid, the God of healing.  I had just murdered a priestess of Ban-Dayid, how much worse could I get?
I got worse.  I reached down and grabbed up her holy symbol and slipped it into my pouch.  It felt heavy in my hand and very warm to the touch.  I knew it was not my imagination but rather a bit of prescience that told me the more I handled it, the more uncomfortable it might become to me.  I was truly on the road to damnation.
My only hopes were to take a few choice people with me.

Chapter 3

	My first step was simple.  I needed to know more.  A few obvious choices lay before me, but at least one of them had a low survival probability.  The best alternative was also the closest.  I had to find that gnome.
	Tracking him was easy, he had run away from my small realm in terror, after all.  And run right through the basilisks and the snakes domains.  The basilisks had been napping through the warmth of the afternoon sun, but the snake had been more alert.  What do you do when you are tracking the same thing that a 50 foot snake is after?
	I came up behind the snake and debated long and hard about the sudden turn of events.  The gnome still lived for the snake continued forward, following his tracks and his scent.  He had slowed down for a little while, some thirty feet perhaps, but then something had spooked him and he had taken flight again.  It was that which probably kept him alive.
	I was still carrying the spare weapons I had acquired from the group of adventurers.  One item, in particular, showed that it might have some promise for my situation.  A short spear, five feet long from shaft to head, had been one of the weapons the elven ranger had carried.  The head was broad and suited for both slashing and piercing.  Not familiar with the weapon, it nevertheless did not strike me as being suited for throwing, but rather for hand-to-hand combat.
	And so I used it thusly.  I crept through a ruined building the snake was next to and moved both quickly and silently.  I gained height via a set of crumbling stairs and looked out through what had once been a window, but was now a ruined and gaping hole.  It moved below me now, swiftly for its size but not nearly as swiftly as I knew it could move.  I took a few steadying breaths and prepared the spear in front of me.  Then I jumped.
	It can be argued many ways as to how my luck runs.  Some would insist it naught but bad luck, considering the turn of events time and again in my life that kept me running from one poor situation to the next.  Others might think it was good, as I still drew breath while many of those around me did not.  I did not believe in luck, myself.
	So then it had to be skill that allowed me to drive that spear through the middle of the snakes sinuous body and leave it firmly imbedded in the hard ground beneath.  That or maybe coincidence, which I did believe in.  Regardless of why or how it happened was the simple fact that it did happen.  The next thing to happen, as I rolled away and came back to my feet, was just as easily foreseeable.  The snake was understandably perturbed by this change of events.  Not only had its odds of having a gnome for dinner been reduced, but it had a giant toothpick sticking out of its back.
	The snake turned to survey the situation, hissing angrily.  It saw me and snapped forward, trying – and succeeding – to twist its body around ahead of where I had pinned it.  I jumped backwards and continued to backpedal furiously.  I knew that the odds of me striking a mortal blow to the creature a one in a million chance, but figured what the hell, I had seen more difficult tasks accomplished.
Fortunately, the spear held and the snake’s mobility was limited.  I went around the same building I had used to ambush the reptile then, and continued towards wherever the gnome had gone.  His frenzied flight had taken him further towards the center of the ruins, into areas where I had scarcely been before, if at all.  I kept my swords ready and slowed my pursuit to try and make certain that nothing got the drop on me.
I ground my teeth in frustration.  My caution might cost the gnome his life.  While his well being did not matter to me in the least, he did possess information that I sought.  Information that would be extremely difficult to get out of him if he were dead.
I managed to catch up to the gnome late that night.  He had a cold camp and kept a bleary eyed watch.  That did little to deter me, however.  He was hiding in the shadowy recesses underneath a pillar that had toppled centuries past, and stared out with his sleep dulled night vision.
What caught me off guard was the intense keening noise that erupted out of nowhere when I slipped up behind his hole.  I leapt atop the pillar and dove into his lair, clapping my hands onto him and pulling him to the ground as quickly as possible to prevent him from gaining any more advantage over me.  I knew instinctively what I had tripped in my stalking of him, some sort of magical alarm spell.
“Silence that racket, gnome, ere we are discovered!” I whispered harshly to him while my hands dug cruelly into his body.  He whimpered and struggled against me.  I let him get enough room to see that I was human and he opened his mouth to squawk out a magical command that silenced it.
I only hoped he had done it in time.  I had never been that deep into the ruins so I had no idea what lived there.
“Who are you?” He said, staring angrily at me.  It was an angry fear though, a look that I do not think I had ever seen before.
I had no reason to hide, the gnome was at my mercy, wizard or no.  “I am Yamara Blackcloak.”
His expression turned to one of surprise.  “We came to find you.  I mean, my friends and I.  But now I’m the only one left.”
He trailed off, becoming sorrowful.  I had no time or interest in his misery though.  “I know, I spoke with your priest ere she died.  She told me you sought me.”
“You saw her?” he asked, surprise in his tone.  Surprise and a bit of skepticism.  “Is what they said about you in Barovia true then?”
“Depends on what they say,” I muttered, growing tired of the conversation.  I glanced about and noted no movement, yet I felt as though something was coming.  “Come, we must away ere your cantrip summons up the creatures that guard this place.”
Some of the blood that had gone back into his face left it again at that.  He looked around nervously.  “What creatures?”
“Stay and find out, if you wish.”
He hurried after me, little legs pumping furiously to catch up to my long legged stride.  I detoured around the snakes lair and headed north and east, angling to get out of the ruins as quickly as possible.  They had served me well for a time, but now I felt that I must again rejoin the world of my peers, for better or ill.
	The gnome was silent throughout, keeping up with me without complaint.  I stopped and waited only once, when the morning sun began to clear the eastern horizon.  A small group of leathery winged creatures, humanoid but perhaps two feet tall at the most, were fighting with each other as they tumbled out of a ruined building.  The fight appeared not to serious to me, more a thing of play or of establishing rank.  One of them was wounded in the fight and tried to limp away from the skirmish.  Instead the others teamed up against him and in moments fell on him, sharp teeth and claws tearing him apart.  With their fast thus broken, they moved off into the ruins to the south of us, heading deeper in.
	I silenced any questions the gnome might have with a glare and moved off again, passing quickly through their territory.  It was only another hour or so from there until we left the monster riddled ruins and marched across the hard packed broken desert.
	I kept up a merciless pace throughout the day.  I was used to the heat and the struggle of the desert, my short companion was not.  Perhaps three hours before the sun set we reached the short grasses that marked the beginning of the end of the hard packed desert ground.  Another 30 minutes saw the grass up to my knees and the gnomes hips.  He was breathing hard and sweating profusely, but still he remained silent and determined.  I admired his willpower, if nothing else.
	I stopped finally when the grasses began to be dotted with stunted trees.  A small half-hearted copse of the diminutive trees provided a little shelter, enough for a small fire and perhaps a wind break.  Still silent, I set up a small camp, taking care first to dig a small hole in the ground and stake out the leather funnel I had devised out of rat hide long ago.  The hole in the bottom of it would drain the condensation from the dew at night into a waterskin, augmenting my water supply.  The gnome was thoroughly confused and amazed at my makeshift invention.  I admit, I was rather proud of it myself, having figured it out after several weeks spent trying to determine a way to get the meager water that formed at night into a container.
	Then I used my dagger to cut away some of the branches from the hardy little trees around us and between chips of wood and the dry grasses around us, I soon had a small fire going.  With that out of the way, I dug into one of my pouches and pulled out some dried meat and set to warming it up over the fire.  The gnome looked at it hungrily, alternating from watching the meat cook to watching me.
	“What do the villagers say?” I asked at last, pulling the first piece of meat off of the stick I roasted them on and nibbling on it.
	The gnome jumped in surprise at the sound of my voice.  He had become engrossed in the fire and the meat and had forgotten everything else for the moment.  I noticed that he carried three water skins, of which only one still seemed full and another was mostly gone.
	“Some say you slew a pack of werewolves, including two boys that were taken from the city,” He answered, testing his voice carefully first before speaking.  “Others say you are a werewolf yourself, and you slew the rest out of competition.  One man said you were something far worse.”
	I chuckled darkly at that.  I wondered then and there why I had ever bothered even trying to reform myself.  It seemed that evil was wound tightly with my fate, denying it did me little good.  Even when I tried to do good, those around me betrayed my actions.  “It may be that the last is true,” I said at length.
	He stared into the fire and pulled hi knees up to his robed chest.  “Did you kill my friends?” His voice was quiet, almost as though he was afraid to hear the answer.
	I stared hard at him, even though his eyes refused to meet mine.  “Yes.”
	He shuddered then, and I thought for a moment that he was going to cry.  He recovered quickly, but anger replaced his sorrow.  “Why?” He demanded, now staring me in the eyes.  “We sought you out to deliver a message and a pardon from the King himself!  You treat us with such harshness without hearing our business, what sort of evil are you?”
	“I am the worst sort of evil,” I said, wondering if he could ever understand my twisted meaning behind the words.  “I set those traps long ago, to defend my portion of the ruins.  Your friends and you wandered into them.  They slew your friends before I got to all but the priestess, and she was so near death she begged me to end her suffering after she told me of your mission.”
	He tried to glare at me longer but the intensity and coldness of my stare finally got to him.  He looked away and sniffled back the tears of the loss of his comrades.  “Did the others suffer?” He asked finally.
	I shook my head, though he did not look at me.  “No, death came quickly for all but the priestess, and for her it was as quick as I could make it.”
	He nodded and looked back at me.  “I thank you for that, at least.  They deserved better.”  He sighed and took a drink from his nearly empty skin.
	“One of the villagers, the father of the slain boys no less, defended you before the rest of the town.  He said that his boys had been bitten and were cursed, you gave them the only peace they could have ever known, and from the looks of the wounds, you did it quickly and with mercy while they slept.  He had nothing kind to say of you, mind you, but he at least thought you ought to be treated fairly.”
	I like to think I kept my surprise off my face.  That he, of all of them, would come to my defense was something I had never expected.  Perhaps I had judged them to soon.  Ah well, what was done was done, my life had moved on.
	“And what of you, gnome?  Would you run and hide from me or better yet, stick a knife in my throat while I sleep?”  He looked surprised at my question.  Appalled at the thought of murder even.  I was no judge of gnomes and their ages, but this one clearly was a young one to be so naïve as to the nature of the world.
	“I return to Elendar, with you I hope.  I still have a mission, though only one in my troop survives to accomplish it.  I must bring you back, if you will accompany me, or else report that you have chosen to move on,” He said with a trace of resignation in his voice.
	“What is your name?
	“Fizzulthorp Thunderwhistle, at your service.” Fizzulthorp stood up and bowed low to me, sweeping off his wide brimmed hat in the process.  I almost cracked a smile at the ludicrous site.
	“Well Fizzulthorp, this offer your King makes intrigues me.  I wish to learn more of it, so I think that I shall indeed return with you on the morrow.” He looked relieved at that.  I suspect he was glad that he would not have to be the only one to explain all of his dead companions now.
	“But know this,” I continued, my voice carrying a hint of danger to it, “if I am trifled with, misled, or betrayed, you shall be the first to fall and with every breath in my body I shall strive to make King Avercrombie pay with his own blood.”
	His eyes widened at my oath.  He nodded and leaned closer to the fire for warmth.  Words failed us for a few more minutes before he nervously asked, “Do you have any more of that, um… meat?”
	“Oh this?” I asked, handing him the piece I had just finished roasting.  I pulled out another strip and pierced it with my dagger to roast.
	He dug into it hungrily, pausing only after a few bites to taste it.  “What sort of meat is this?  It tastes odd.  Not bad, just odd.  Sort of greasy and a little tangy.”
	I smiled innocently and told him.  “Giant rat.”
	If you have never seen a gnome turn green, then you are missing out on a truly heart warming experience.  He managed to keep it down and even finish the piece I had given him, but his appetite had been taken out of him.
I let him keep the first watch then, and woke myself at midnight to relieve him.  He was staring off into the desert back towards the ruins with streaks of tears on his cheeks.  I silently tapped him on the shoulder and motioned towards the fire.  He shook himself out of his reverie and smiled weakly at me by way of thanks.  I nodded and took his spot with my back to the fire.  I too knew what it was like to have companions taken away.  Funny thing was, both my companion and his had been taken away by me.  Then again, maybe it was not funny at all.
That thought led me towards other, darker thoughts about James and how he had managed to twist Brina and me around so thoroughly.  I still did not know where her heart had lain in all of it, but I suspected more and more as time went by that I had doubly been played the fool.  I hoped King Avercrombie would be able to shed some light on things for me.  In a black mood I glanced again at Fizzulthorp.  I no longer felt sorry for him for his loss of his companions, but instead I pitied him his apparent deep reliance on them in the first place.

Chapter 4

	Fizzulthorp and I had planned to return to Elendar by way of the Great Forest, which I had bypassed on my way south since I had gone through Peltarch, which lay several days ride to the east of it.  Fizzulthorp insisted upon speaking with the elves of the Great Forest to inform them of his companions deaths.  I had no interest in it, but since it was a more direct route, I figured it would save me some time and get me the vengeance I sought a little bit faster.
	It seems that fate forever holds different plans for me then what I would have of it.  Nearly a week north from the desert we encountered one of the larger trade roads among the free cities of Malatoria.  It was heading to the west, and after hailing one of the drivers to inquire as to their destination, we learned it planned to stop at Morovia.  Morovia happened to be only three days ride from the Great Forest.  I had more then enough gold to buy horses for us when we reached there.
	That is how the gnome and I found ourselves in a fight later that night.  The wagons had set up camp and invited us to share one of their fires.  The food was a welcome change, for in spite of a year of a limited diet, I had not grown the least bit fond of rat.  Fizzulthorp had subsisted on foraged nuts, berries, and roots along the way, as well as a coney I had managed to bring down with a thrown dagger two days past.  What with sharing the fire and food, my short companion felt somewhat indebted to them.  I think that was what kept him around when the first troubles began.
	It began with an unnatural chill felt in the bones of even those already sleeping.  In mere moments a fey wind had sprung up and swept through the flat area beside the road we had set up.  The night had been warm, but now it raised the hair on our arms.  From the Cyprus trees on the southern edge of the road dark shapes emerged and moved across the road towards the caravan, seemingly in no hurry.  Their movements seemed disjointed and clumsy.
	As they neared the light from the fires it became apparent why.  It was like a half remembered nightmare from my childhood for me.  The dead walked against us.  Wearing rotting armor and wielding rusty weapons, they ranged from partially eaten away zombie corpses to the empty grinning skulls of animated skeletons.  More continued to emerge from the trees, coming towards us with deliberate purpose.
	Had it been my decision, I would have simply slipped away.  Matter of fact, I started to do so.  It was my knowledge of the gnome that stopped me.  I saw him readying himself for battle, setting his sling beside him and concentrating on bringing up his arsenal of spells.  I slipped up next to him and lightly put my hand on his shoulder.
	“Come, Fizzulthorp, let us away from this.  It is not ours to fight,” I said, judging how little time we had before the undead would contact the first of the shaken defenders.
	He looked at me with surprise in his eyes.  Then the look turned hard and he just looked away.  “Go if you will, Yamara.  I will run no longer.”
	I sighed and glanced around again quickly.  I turned and began walking towards the rising foothills to the north, but stopped before I had walked ten steps.  The gnome spoke of his terror laced rout form my traps in the ruins a few days ago.  He was fighting this battle for himself as much as for the merchants of the caravan.  He had nothing to gain by it save for his sense of self worth.  Indeed, by the look of the green caravan guards and the sheer number of undead still emerging from the tree line, it seemed a doomed cause.
	What Fizzulthorp had not counted on was his words hitting me.  I was running too.  I always ran.  I ran when Brina had been slain, though I felt it was no fault of mine.  I ran again in Barovia.  I was even running from my self-imposed exile in the ruins, for fear that much longer would make me begin to face things that I lay hidden and only barely remembered.  I ran whenever trouble loomed it seemed.  I suddenly felt ashamed.  That filled me with rage quick enough.  If I meant to exact vengeance on whatever was responsible for killing Brina, I needed to begin to stand up to things.  Stealth and avoidance had always been my way of life.  Now it was time for me to adopt the way of the warrior.
	I turned and walked back towards the road, passing a surprised Fizzulthorp and surprising him with my even and determined stride.  I held my short sword and dagger in hand, ready to do battle.  I met the lead skeleton before any of the undead had managed to even reach the caravan guards.  I left it behind me as a pile of bones with a shattered skull.
	The walking corpses turned towards me, converging on my position.  I took the fight to them though, refusing to let myself be overwhelmed.  Skeletons and zombies are poor adversaries, at best.  They have no mind, no skill, and little in the way of defense.  Still, they are untiring and unaffected by wounds save for the one that damages them so thoroughly that the magic that sustains their existence can no longer function.  That endurance coupled with the vast numbers against me seemed to spell my doom.
	Indeed it would have, had it not been for the merchant guards and Fizzulthorp.  He let loose some wailing gnomish battle cry, which sounded like the warble from a wounded badger to me, and put his sling to use, flinging rounded lead bullets at the undead.  Where his missiles hit, bones were broken but the horde seemed otherwise unaffected.  He threw down his sling then, realizing it availed him not, and focused instead on his magic.
	The guards charged out from their makeshift bulwarks.  The undead had focused on me so with them entertained thusly, several of them were felled before they began to turn their attention back to the small force of men that hacked into their flank.  Still, it seemed odd to me that the majority of the undead did not heed this new threat, but instead still lusted for my blood.
	Great flames erupted from the ground between me and the woods, roasting the living dead that walked through it with such heat that their putrid skin erupted and their bones burst.  The wall of flames roared on, long enough from one end to the other to keep further undead from harassing us.  The ones that had crossed the no-mans-land still outnumbered us by a trice, however.
	So it was that I continued to lay about with my short sword and dagger, hewing into bony limb after limb.  Chips of bones flew from my blades, and rotting flesh was cut asunder.  My leathers were in tatters from all the clawing and grasping fingers that came at me, and no limb or large portion of my flesh escaped unscathed from the scrapes and gouges.  Yet no weapon found purchase, for I kept them at bay.  I seriously doubted any of the rusted and falling apart armaments the undead used would be able to injure me in the first place though.
	With a cackle of homicidal glee, Fizzulthorp unleashed another spell.  This one sent great sheets of flames out from his diminutive hands, further baking anything unfortunate enough to be caught in its effect.  Undead fell and exploded under the heat, no longer a threat to anyone.  A few caught at the edges of it pushed on towards the short evoker, their bodies burning as they walked and their bones blackened.
	All of this I was only dimly aware of.  My blood throbbed in my ears and my face burned hot with my wrath.  I only barely avoided slaying a human guard that had gotten to close to me at one point.  But watched emotionlessly as bleached white fingers wrapped around his throat from behind and tore deep spurting wounds in it.  He fell at my feet, clutching at his throat and gasping for the breath that was his no longer.  I growled then, and destroyed the skeleton that had slain him with a fury I did not knew I possessed.  I did not care for the guard, but rather in the back of my mind I was reminded of a somewhat similar situation that had happened before.  The skeleton was destroyed and eternally lifeless long before my blades stopped hacking at it.  
I knew not what fate Fizzulthorp was involved in, and at the moment I did not care.  As the unholy mob surrounded me I grinned fiercely.  Suicidally.  I relished the challenge and the confrontation.  Perhaps at last it was a chance for me to find the answers to my questions.
	Such was not to be.  My fate was delayed for a while it seemed, for a small phalanx of four guards reached me then, and it seemed the worst of the undead horde had been destroyed.  A few remained, and those I sought out with a vengeance.  Finally I turned to survey the battle scene.  The wall of flames was dying down at last, and on the other side no skeleton nor zombie waited.  I did see the leader of the force sent against us though, if only for a brief moment.  He was tall and mounted upon a steed of pure black, with flaming hooves and fire for eyes.  The hellish horse snorted a jet of flames and stomped its fiery hoof on the ground in anger when I stared at it.
	Upon its back was a creature wrapped in a cloak of midnight, so dark was it.  Red baleful eyes stared out from beneath the hood, meeting my gaze with a hateful fury.  The demonic horse stomped once again then turned and was off, riding back into the Cyprus trees and away before any of us could do anything about it.  I thought to give chase but realized that, even had I a steed, my horse would be unable to keep up with the dread commander’s.
	One thing alone had I seen that gave me pause.  It was when the beast and its rider turned to leave, I had seen the hands of the rider as they pulled on the reigns.  The hands of the captain of the undead force were small.  Small and of a very dark color, though with the night so full about us, I could hazard no guess as to any more details.
	The remainder of the night was spent in tending the wounded and getting the wagons ready to move out as soon as dawn came.  No one seemed of a mood to sleep any longer, and all of us were anxious to be on our way.  All of us but me.  I spent what time I could scouting the direction our attackers had come from.  I was searching for signs or some clue as to what had evoked the attack.  For naught it seemed.
	We were underway without delay, and reached a small hamlet along the road a few hours past dawn, ere the sun reached its zenith.  The usual signs and sounds of life were mysteriously absent, however.  It became readily apparent that something was wrong.  Gravely wrong.
	A quick search started turning up answers.  Those answers, in turn, opened more questions.  The people were all missing, though by all appearances they had been slain in their homes or whatever place they had chosen to defend.  The signs of violence and bloodshed were unmistakable.  On a hunch, I wandered to the village’s graveyard and found that my guess was true.  Here was where some, if not all, of the undead that had besieged us had come from.
	“A powerful necromancer caused this,” I said after returning to where the nervous merchants and their guards were huddled.  “The graveyard is empty, the graves erupted from within.”
	A few of the more superstitious made signs of protection while others muttered quick prayers.  Fizzulthorp frowned mightily.  “What makes you suspect a necromancer?” He asked me.
	I blinked in surprise at him.  “Walking corpses.  Empty town.  People appear to have died violently before disappearing…  call it a hunch.”
	His frown deepened.
	“I like this place not,” One of the merchants said, a man named Berigund.  “Let us be away, with haste we can make Morovia by nightfall.”
	The other merchants grumbled agreement, though it strained them to push their wagons and horses as hard as they must.  Fizzulthorp motioned for me to follow him before saying, “Yamara and I must take our leave as well, we wish you a safe journey and good profits, friends.”
	Now it was my turn to frown.  For the gnome to take such liberties irritated me greatly.  I wondered if perhaps I would make a faster return to Standopolis on my own.  Longer legs make for longer strides, after all.
	For their part, the merchants expressed regret at our parting.  After all, without us to aid them, the attack would probably have been successful.  They wasted no time in leaving, in spite of trying to convince us to remain with them.  Barely rested, they pulled out again, setting a harsh pace.
	Alone with the gnome wizard, I felt it was time for me to confront him.  “What was that about?” I demanded.
	“I have reason to believe those undead attacked us, not the caravan,” He responded, watching fondly as the last of the wagons rolled out of view around a bend in the road.
	“And what reason is that?” My voice had dropped back into a colder tone.  My hands edged slowly towards my weapons.
	“I’m not able to say,” Fizzulthorp responded calmly.
	I wanted him dead at that point.  Clearly he knew more then he was telling me, and where my well being was involved, that was inexcusable.  My dagger was in my hand and hovering with its point fractions of an inch from his eye.  “You get one chance to try again.”
	“Is killing me going to make things any better for you?” He asked coldly.  He seemed unfazed by the threat to his mortality.
	“It will make me feel better.”
	“The King wants to speak with you,” He stated.  “James and Brina left Standopolis shortly after you were sent on your mission.  I don’t know why, but rumor has it that James was acting oddly.  Other rumors placed you as an agent of the Dark Lord’s.”
	I cursed.  It was neither quiet nor subtle.  Fizzulthorp, in spite of being in my company for several days now, flinched visibly at the extent of my vocabulary.  All in all, I did not like the way this was turning out.  I longed for my peaceful hut back in the ruins to the south surrounded by inhuman monsters.  Monsters and carnivorous animals seem such better company then people.  There are no animal politicians, after all.
	“I was told nothing, save that I am to convey the Kings sincere wishes that you return and that you need fear no harm or betrayal on Elendar’s part,” Fizzulthorp finally broke his eyes away from my steely gaze; they rested on the tip of the dagger poised a fingers breadth from his right eye.
	I favored him with one last scathing glance then sheathed my dirk.  Turning sharply, I walked away from him, heading to the east down the road after the wagons.
	“Where are you going?” Fizzulthorp called out to me, not moving but clearly bothered by my actions.
	“This way,” I responded.  In truth I was not entirely sure.  He had not explained why he had felt the need to separate us from the caravan.  I suspected he knew still more then he told me, and secrets of such nature make for poor companions.  I intended to find out if the undead truly were after me, and if they were, why?  Then, of course, I planned to deal with whoever wanted me dead, if that was indeed the case.  So I had a plan and a map to go about it, but my map had no names and no identifiable locations on it.
	Fizzulthorp had jogged after me to catch up.  I ignored him; I had more then enough of the runt.  He, apparently, had not had enough of me.  “Yamara wait, you must come to Elendar!  Please!”
	I stopped and whirled to face him.  I bent over and stared right in his face.  “Why must I go to Elendar, gnome?  Because your King says so?  He is no king of mine.  I choose to go where I wish.  And dissembling and untruthful gnomes shall have no partnership with me!”
	I had more on my mind to say to him, but words failed me when all of what he had said to me registered finally.  He prepared to defend himself but was likewise silent when he saw that I was suddenly uncertain.
	“What’s wrong, Yamara?” He asked at length after I turned and sat down on a rock beside the rode rather roughly.
	“James and Brina left Standopolis?” I breathed, unable to comprehend the words fully.
	“Aye,” He said, “I saw it with my own eyes.  They left late at night under cover of darkness.  James looked pale and not wholly well, Brina I did not see directly, but a woman was in the carriage with him.”
	I shook my head and closed my eyes.  “That’s not possible,” I whispered, my memories flooding back to me of the fateful night against my wishes.  Memories I was not ready to fully relive.  I shut my eyes harder and forced them out, growling loudly to distract myself.
	“I killed James!” I said, lunging to my feet and glaring at Fizzulthorp.  I wanted to kill him too, the lying gnome.  I needed to shut him up.  Needed to keep him from telling me anything else that I did not want to hear.
	“That would explain much,” Fizzulthorp muttered, flinching and backing up a step from me defensively.
	“It would, would it?” I countered angrily.  “What would it explain, gnome?”
	My caustic tone meant my questions were rhetoric in nature.  I advanced on Fizzulthorp in the hopes of closing the range between us so that I could dispatch of him before he could get any spells off at me.
	“It would explain why King Avercrombie wants you to return!” He said hastily.  “If you slew James and somehow he still lives yet has left without reason, there must be more at play here then we know.  The King needs to know what goes on, and why it is that James has abandoned his position and title.”
	“Because the murderous bastard betrayed Elendar,” I hissed.  “As he betrayed Brina and myself.”
	“What proof have you of this?” He asked, growing bolder since I had stopped advancing on him.  “If Brina was betrayed, why does she travel with him?”
	I closed my eyes and felt a great knot of tension, rage, and pain welling up within me.  I forced it down.  “Brina was slain in the same confrontation.  It was a wound that could not be healed.  The light had gone out of her eyes ere I left them lying on the floor of her chamber.”
	I opened my eyes to see Fizzulthorp looking at me with an expression on his face that I could not place.  It was part disbelief, part sympathy.  I think.  It was an odd expression, and I was in no condition to be evaluating it reliably.
	“Come back with me, Yamara, and this can be resolved.  You can be at peace,” He said consolingly after a moment while I battled my internal demons.
	“The only peace I will have will be with James’ head in my hand,” I spat out.  I turned then and started walking, my fury giving me strength.
	“Where will you go?” Fizzulthorp asked, at once racing to fall in step beside me.
	“Where has he gone?” I asked.
	“James?  I, uh… well, we’re not sure,” He admitted.
	“Then I go to Dagrazt’s realm.”
	Fizzulthorp’s breath hissed between his teeth.  He stopped abruptly and stared after me for a moment before he rushed forward to be at my side again.  “Why the dark one?  I figured this to be more of a Gneissian plot.”
	I pondered the possibilities of Fizzulthorp’s idea.  It had merit, I had to admit, for that would make my aborted mission to Gneiss that much more logical.  With allies and friends in Gneiss, he could dispose of me far easier then he could in Elendar.  One thing bothered me enough to disprove that option.
	“I would agree with you, were it not for the fact that I killed him.  Dead, totally.  Brina may have merely been hovering on death’s door, but James was beyond a doubt slain.”
	“Why does that make it impossible for Gneiss to be involved?” He asked, not understanding me.
	“The only way James could be up and about is if he were undead himself, and as much as I dislike Gneissians, they are not the type to negotiate with the dead.”
	“A powerful Gneissian priest could have resurrected them.”
	I laughed scornfully.  “Bring them back from the dead to life restored?  Ha!  A fanciful children’s tale.”
	“Yamara,” Fizzulthorp said in grave seriousness, “Gneissian priests have that power.  The Gods we know of grant their individual priests more varied powers then Cymbos gives his worshippers, but their high priests have more power then ours, and among them include to ability to restore life to the dead.  It is an exhausting and expensive ritual, but they can be done.”
	Once I accepted the possibility, it made sense to me that Fizzulthorp thought it possible that James had gone to Gneiss.  After all, in the sewers he had shown as pure a hatred of orcs attacking Standopolis as any I had seen.  Much more then his apparent dislike of Gneissian’s.  It seemed to neat to me though, and I found that it did not sit right with me.  I stopped and glanced about the countryside briefly.
	“No,” I finally said, staring off at the path ahead of us.  “James has switched over to the Dark One’s side.”
	“How do you know this?” He insisted.
	I glanced at him, the look of conviction in my features unmistakable.  “I dreamed it.”
	His mouth open, I left him standing on the rode as I continued west again.  Fizzulthorp remained standing silently, watching me go.  He shook his head and started north, heading towards Morovia and a horse, then stopped and looked at me again.  He cursed under his breath and hurried after me, falling silently in beside me as I continued my course.

Chapter 5

	The trip into Dagrazt’s dark realm, Mardurin, had taken Fizzulthorp and I many weeks.  We took a circuitous route to confuse any potential pursuit, as well as to allow us time to be more certain of what we were doing.  I had no doubts of my intended goal, but I needed information still.  Both Fizzulthorp and those I queried along the way provided the substance of that information for me.
	Dagrazt, more commonly known simply as the Dark One, was older then anyone could remember.  It was rumored that he had existed since the before the great wars had stripped Malatoria of great civilizations.  When the races had turned from science and learning to magic and religion, much as they had in ages so far past no written or oral record of them still existed.
	As a side note it had also explained the strange stars to me.  Apparently the power of the ancients had been so great that they had been able to create the brightly shining stars that rocketed across the night sky each night.  Hundreds or more of them in the course of a night, brighter and larger then the rest but still so small that they seemed distant stars racing across the sky.  They served no purpose such that I could see, but the ancients of Malatoria apparently used their powers of science at a whim for their own trivial amusements.
	Dagrazt had reportedly been a great one even among the ancients.  With the destruction the great wars rained down upon Malatoria many were slain and greater was the loss of knowledge.  Dagrazt had seen it coming and prepared himself for it.  A great amount of his learning had been saved and retained, hidden deep beneath the surface of Malatoria.  In addition to maintaining the old, his embraced the new way of life as well, rising quickly in power and solidifying himself.
	His powers and his following grew rapidly.  He enlisted the aid of the craven, the weak, and the power hungry.  Races once noble and respectable, or at least civilized, fell under his sway.  Promises of greatness proved to be the chains that bound them.  The sacrifice of freedom and autonomy came later.
	Warped and twisted by Dagrazt’s magic and his science, the minions became fey and more powerful.  Dagrazt’s promises became true, though in a way beyond any that they had dreamed possible.  The modern races of trolls, orcs, ogres, giants, and others had been created, forever sundered from their more enlightened ancestors.  It was interesting to me to learn of their creation in such a manner.  On the world of my birth the story of creation had been told differently, though the evil humanoids I described were indeed created by powers so great as to be considered by Gods by those who worshipped them.  This Dagrazt then, by that set of prerequisites, was qualified to be worshipped and considered a deity.
	It sent shudders down my spine.  To think that a man could become so powerful.  I was greatly relieved to learn from my repeated prying that the place I sought, the home of the latest powerful Baron of Mardurin, lay far from the capitol.  Far from Dagrazt.
	My gladness was tempered by the gut wrenching sense of emptiness I felt when I learned of the rumors surrounding this Baron’s consort.  The descriptions of both the Baron and his mistress were halting and brief, given their mysterious nature to those we encountered, but it seemed to me that more then just James had survived our final encounter.  It seemed that Brina had as well.  I could not understand the how or the why of her continuing service to him.  After what he had done to her - he had slain her and sundered us, after all – why did she continue to have relations with him?  Something nagged at the back of my mind but I paid it no heed.  I repeatedly decided that he must have some sort of magical coercion over her.
	Another point that Fizzulthorp continued to remind me as we progressed was that the creatures we interrogated were largely stupid and unreliable.  They were merely lackeys fit only to serve as fodder on a battlefield.  We had taken to capturing small bands of patrolling orcs, goblins, and the small wiry humans that seemed native to the lands bordering Mardurin on the east.  My greatest surprise lay ahead of me, yet it reminded me all to deeply of my past.
	“Why do you do this?” Fizzulthorp asked me as we sat around a small campfire one night.  In less then a week we stood to enter the border realms of Mardurin.  With the increasing proximity his anxiety had risen steadily.
	I looked at him for a long moment, studying my short companion.  We had gotten along well enough, though both of us felt certain that at no point would we ever call the other a friend.  This time though I knew he would not accept the same evasive techniques I had used all along to avoid his question.  Perhaps it was time for me to go on alone.
	“I need to kill James,” I said, staring belligerently at him.  I dared him to refute me.
	He dared.  “And I’m beardless dwarf!” He snorted.  “I have learned much of you in our time together, Yamara.  Enough to know more about you then you would have known.  Forget not that I am your elder by nearly 50 years.  We gnomes age slower then you humans.”
	I shrugged.  I had no intention of letting him bother me.  Or at least letting him know he bothered me.  “That means I am younger and faster, gnome.  And as you have seen, very capable.”
	He snorted.  “You behave as a child.  Listen to me for once, instead of hiding behind that adolescent swagger you cling to so preciously.”
	I bristled.  It was definitely time for me to part company with the pretentious wizard.
	“You don’t care about James,” he continued, ignoring my dark expression.  “You are after something else.  I have known you enough to know that a person like James, even having wronged you as you claim he has, does not get this sort of special attention from you.  You do not forgive.  You do not forget.  But neither are you foolish enough to cross hundreds of leagues merely for the sake of proving a point.”
	I stood up and turned, intent upon leaving.  The fool of a gnome knew nothing about me.  I whirled back on him then, speaking with barely controlled fury.  “What do you know of hate, runt?  What do you know of vengeance?  My mother was a whore killed by a patron.  It took me a decade to find him and kill him.”
	Fizzulthorp nodded, not breaking contact with my eyes.  “I am sorry for you, Yamara.  Sorry to see you touched so young by pain and hatred.  I see that you have known little else.  It saddens me.  I hope you can open yourself up to the joys that life can offer before your hatred gets you killed.  Or worse.”
	That condescending bastard gnome.  My hands were clenched and the color drained from my cheeks.  Pity?  I did not need his pity!  I was done with him.  I would have slain him then and there for his manner with me save that he had been the one to tell me about  James and, presumably, Brina’s continuing existence.  So I turned about yet again and took my first step towards Mardurin.
	What bothered me the most was that he was right.  I hated to admit it.  Hated it more then I hated him, at that moment.  Yet it was true.  I was, at best, a coward.  I was running from what he said.  Running from the truth.  I had done so before, justifying my actions to myself when the simple truth lay before me.  Nay, not truth, fact.  Truth varies by perspective.  Fact remains constant.
	“He took something from me.”  I turned around and looked back at him.  He seemed a little surprised.  Good.  I was too.
	“What?”  Fizzulthorp asked, recovering after only a moment of silence.  “What could possibly be worth the quest you give yourself?”
	“If you know me so well, mage, then you tell me,” I spat out at him.  I headed back to the fire and picked up the small pack I had bought a few weeks past to store some of the more common items I needed for traveling a long time in the wilderness.  In my rush a few moments past I had forgotten all about it.  Stupid and careless.  I needed to be much more careful.
	“Leaving?” Fizzulthorp asked again after I had put the pack on and slipped my cloak over it.  It made me look as though I had a hunched back.
	“Yes, I tire of your company,” I said, giving him a look that told him what I thought of him.
	“Very well,” he responded, not moving.  He was silent a moment before he continued.  “Here then is my final lesson to you about the Dark One’s realm.  It is a realm much like any other, such as Elendar.  He is the Lord supreme of it all, yet each area is run by a lesser Lord.  James is known to his vassals as Baron Palungol, for the barony of Palungol lies in the northern reaches of Mardurin.
	“Head west and north and you will reach it, barring discovery or capture by the hordes of orcs, trolls, ogres, giants and giant-kin, fallen humans, or scores of other evil minions of the Dark One.  The barony you will enter first is known as Emmerdwim.  It’s lord is Baron Ssythanduras, a powerful lizardman with skills at both sorcery and priestly magic.  Much of Emmerdwim is a swamp, with some drier areas housing settlements of various races.
	“They varied races serving the Dark One may live in relative peace, but know that there is no prosperity.  They constantly vie for power and hate each other only slightly less then they hate those not of their fate.  Your blond hair and height, though normal for a human, will mark you as different from the Havrin.  The Havrin are human as well, but as you have seen from those we have avoided or captured, they are smaller and darker of build and hair.”
	I nodded.  The gnome did indeed seem possessed of an unusual amount of knowledge.  Then again, he was a wizard.  They made a habit of knowing as much as possible.  On the world of my birth gnomes typically made poor wizards.  Usually those that pursued such a route became parlor magicians, thrilling people with minor illusions and works of divination.  Fizzulthorp was no such court jester.
	“My thanks then, gnome,” I said stiffly.  “Now go from here and return to Elendar.  Tell King Avercrombie that when my task is done, perhaps then I shall return to him.  Perhaps.”
	“I think I will wait nearby for word of your quest,” Fizzulthorp said, ignoring me.  I fought back the scowl and simply shrugged instead.  I had more important things ahead of me then worrying about the rebellious magician.

Chapter 6

	The countryside had gotten steadily more foreboding as Fizzulthorp and I had gone west.  Here a fey looking tree, there a dark cave with an aura of evil around it.  Now, three days since my parting from the gnome, I could tell that I journeyed towards a realm in which sunlight and pleasant thoughts had little sway.
	The undergrowth of the woods, jungles really, that I traveled through prevented me from taking anything but the most direct paths.  Even the runways of deer and smaller woodland creatures were absent, as well as the sounds from birds, squirrels and the like.  What the jungle did seem to have was snakes.  Spiders as well; the large and unpleasant sort.  Some as large as my hand, not counting their spread of their spindly legs.  The snakes had a variety of coloring and sizes, and I imagined virtually every one of them possessed poison lethal to young, blond, determined women.  Perhaps others as well, but I was more concerned with my own well being.
	I drew the hood up on my cloak, hiding my blond hair as best I could.  I regretted that I had not taken more time to prepare myself, for I had learned early in my training with the Ossulmere the art of disguise.  A properly prepared mixture would leave my hair darkened for days.  Alas that I had no such mixture nor time to experiment with the local roots and insects to make one like it.
	The trail I was taking joined with others to form a road.  Somewhat indistinct at first, it broadened soon enough.  I passed a few wagons heading either west or east, as well as people who journeyed both on foot and horse.  None paid me any attention, save to avoid running into me in the case of other walkers.  They were all likewise cloaked and concealed, minding their own business and wishing others to do the same.
	On my fourth and fifth day on my own I noticed that the land had been imperceptibly sloping upwards.  Now it did so more noticeably.  Then, midway through my fifth day the road peaked.  It leveled off briefly before plunging back down.  And plunge seemed the correct word, though its angle was not so acute as to cause undue trouble to mounts of draft animals.
	The descending road turned into a small rift or valley as the walls rose around it.  Gentle slopes turned into more pronounced rocky walls the further the road went.  Soon it became obvious that, though the canyon had been natural at one point, it had been widened by tools and manual labor.
	Near nightfall the fist leg of my journey was ended.  I entered the outskirts of a ramshackle town.  It was surrounded on all sides save one by towering cliffs.  That one side was equally menacing, however, for it contained a swamp so dark and filled with gloom, even ere the sun had set, that I could feel the vile nature of the things within it.
	I quickly found a tavern and ducked into it, hoping to secret myself away in a corner and pick up what information I could learn with the simple art of eavesdropping.  Many a thing that should go unsaid can be learned in such a manner, especially when alcohol loosens the tongue of those that know better.  Boastful pillow talk is another method of learning privied information, but I would resort to that in only the most desperate of cases, concerning the nature of the townsfolk.
	The inhabitants consisted of a varied mix of Havrin and lizardfolk, with a few other unsightly beings tossed in here and there such as orcs, trolls, and ogres.  Almost without exception every one of them seemed unwashed and exceptionally dirty.  In any other world, for any other person, it would have been a mother’s nightmare for her daughter to be in such a place.  Fortunately for me, I had no worries about my mother having any such qualms.
	The tavern itself was dimly lit.  Humanoid races had little need for light, their eyes having long ago adjusted for their nocturnal activities.  The humans within made no complaint though, they simply adjusted as well.  Besides, the gloom suited either their actions or their moods.
	I watched and listened quietly for several minutes from my table, with my back to a wall.  It was no corner table, but in a place such as that those were always the first to go.  Finally I caught noticed of a man sitting at a table who would glance at me from time to time.  A few others sat with him, exchanging words briefly, sometimes an item or a few coins as well.  Always the transactions were concealed and well hidden from a casual glance.  Mine was never casual.
After a break in the more or less steady stream of people paying him a visit, he looked at me for a relatively long moment before getting up from his table.  He approached me slowly, yet with no hesitation.  “You’re not from around here,” he said when he reached my table.
I stared at him blankly.  The cowl of my cloak his my features well enough that I knew my expression to be even less readable then it normally is.  Inside I cursed, and my right hand, which was under the table, flexed in anticipation of drawing the dagger I had concealed in a special sheath on the inside of my forearm.
“May I?” He inquired, his hand going to the back of a chair.  I nodded, wishing that I had been able to get a table closer to the door.  Instead all I had nearby as a means of egress was a shuttered window some six feet away.
After seating himself, he reached over slowly towards my face with his hand.  His hair was as dark and curly as that of all the other Havrin I had seen thus far, but his skin seemed lighter.  His features were not so sharp either.  A half-breed, I was certain.  No doubt his mother had been a poor helpless human captured by some raiding party and made a slave by his father.  Based on my suspicion, I did not know whether I should pity the woman or be disgusted at her inability to at the very least take her own life to escape her slavery.
Then again, was my own past really so different?  I sold myself into slavery with the Ornithrym, and simply bided my time and endured until events transpired to change my life.  I had not known of a better way.  Perhaps his mother was the same way.  Stupidity and pacifism are crimes against free will and human nature; a lack of education, however, is merely an absence of opportunity.
I watched his hand approach and I carefully measured my breathing to keep it even.  I was being tested, I suspected, though for what and how to properly pass the test was beyond me.  Finally the hand was within inches of my face and I was on the verge of slapping it away with the edge of a dagger.  Then he stopped.  He twisted his wrist a little and brought my attention to what he held in his hand.  My gaze had been settled on his eyes, staring into them and showing nothing.  Now I realized that I had been stupid and careless yet again.  He held between his fingers a small lock of my golden hair that had slipped out of my hood.  I waited for him to raise some alarm.  At any other time I would have already bolted, but his calm manner kept me foolishly seated, waiting.
“You should keep that out of site,” He said, smirking.  “Not to many people around here with hair that color.  Those that do usually come looking for something, but what finds them is rarely what they are looking for.”
I reached up and took my hair from his hand with my own, tucking it back into my hood and out of sight.  “What do you want?” I asked, hoping that my hammering heart did not betray me.  I was surrounded by enemies, clearly with my head in the lions maw.
“I want to know what a pretty thing like you is doing in an ugly place like this?” He countered.
I sneered and mutter, “Not so pretty.”
He shrugged and said with a wry grin.  “Look around you, consider the alternatives.”
I nearly chuckled at that.  This man, be he evil or not, had a sense of humor I could at least appreciate.  I had learned that it often a most telling factor about a person is their sense of humor.  It is the first and perhaps most important lock on the door to their soul.
“I wish to purchase passage to Emmerdwym,” I offered, having already suspected that this smuggler had many hidden agendas, but none so important as serving himself.
He glanced about then looked back at me.  He nodded and stood up.  “Follow me.”
I stayed seated.  I was no fool.  I had no reason to rush blindly into some trap.  For all I knew he was Dagrazt’s bosom buddy and therefore leading me into a trap.  Or perhaps James had left agents hidden along the way to ensnare me.
When he saw that I had no intention of following him he scowled.  “Dammit wench, this is no place for you to be speaking of such things.  Half the creatures in here are agents of one power or another, and the other half would simply turn you in hoping for a reward… after having satisfied themselves with you.”
“And what of you?” I asked suspiciously.
“I’m part of the first half,” he said after a short moment of thought.
Honesty in the face of irrefutable fact is no less worthy of suspicion then a lie.  Still, my options were limited and if I at least got out of the inn I would have a much better chance of escape, should things turn out as I feared they would.  I nodded and stood up to follow him.  My hand remained clenched and curled in, with the nearly invisible string around my finger that led back to the hidden sheath on my forearm stretched so taught that it was nearly at the breaking point.  When the string broke the dagger hidden with the sheath would slide into my palm with either the aid of gravity or a flick of my wrist.  My own invention that had saved me many a time back in my more dubious days.  And of course, I had one on each wrist.
The man led me out of the tavern and back into the town.  We passed through a few streets when he veered towards a dark alley filled with refuse.  I was reminded of my childhood before the coming of the Ornithrym at first.  I stopped and said, “No.  No allies.  I’ll not let myself be set up that easily.”
He turned and looked at me.  “This is no game you play, bitch!  My life is at stake merely for not turning you in, and your life is the least of your worries in a place such as this!”
I turned and walked away from him, scanning everything about me even quicker and more acutely then normal.  I expected soldiers to burst from every building at any moment, converging upon me.  I searched for a way out, but the closest avenue that resembled escape led towards the swamp.  Now that night had fallen, it took on an even more ominous look.
A hand grabbed my left elbow, pulling me to a stop.  I used the momentum to swing myself around, my dagger sliding into my right hand neatly.  Up and across my hand came, slice deeply into and through his throat.  I reversed the grip on my knife as soon as the cut was made, preparing to plunge into his chest if he needed further convincing.
He stumbled back a step, his breath exploding out in a surprised grunt.  Instead it merely burst out of the rent in his throat,, spattering blood all over me.  His hand went to his throat as his face took on a terrified expression.  Death was moments away for him, and it was unavoidable.
He reached into his shirt quickly, scrambling desperately for something.  I suspected he was up to no good and was determined to turn me in even at the last few moments of his life.  I stayed my thrust though, on a sudden twitch of instinct.  What if I had made a mistake in killing him?
His hand came out with the last thing I had expected to see.  It was a S.E.T. badge, like the one I still possessed.  He fiddled around with the clasp on the back of it, his fingers moving erratically as the blood that fed oxygen to his brain was no longer available.  He fell to his knees then, but managed to accomplish what he was trying to do.  I saw nothing out of the ordinary, but felt for the briefest moment a powerful tingling sensation caress my skin.  Then it was over.  He stayed there kneeling for a moment longer, with his head bent towards the ground.
Then he looked back up at me.  His eyes were filled with fury.  He stood up, his throat made whole once again, though scarred now, by some magic I did not know existed.  He looked around and opened his mouth to speak.  A strangled gasp came out, which led to a coughing fit.  He spat some blood on the ground a few times then regarded me again.  If anything, he looked even angrier.
“Do not try that again!” He said, his voice menacing and raw.  He grabbed my arm again and this time, I let him lead me.  We moved towards the swamp this time, which surprised me.  He still coughed and spat out blood occasionally on our short journey.  I kept my dagger at the ready, though I had it partially concealed in my hand by holding the hilt backwards, with the blade tucked up against my wrist.
We arrived at the edge of the swamp, where several small piers stood with skiffs, rafts, and canoes tied to them.  He moved down the row, towing me along none to gently, until he reached what I guessed to be his canoe.  He pushed me towards it and grunted.  I climbed into it and sat down at the far end, my superior dexterity allowing me to balance easily in the unsteady vessel.  He climbed in after me and untied it from the dock.  Taking up a paddle, he pushed off and began to row us out into the swamp.
My back was facing the front of the canoe at the moment, so I was spared the terrifying view of the vastness of the dark swamp that we were entering.  The haunting moss and vines hanging from the trees, as well as the sickly plants and weeds that grew out of the fey looking waters around us.  Here and there small islands existed, from whence most of the trees took root, but their shores looked more like quicksand then stable ground.
After several steady minutes of paddling my “guide” put his paddle inside the boat and regarded me.  His anger had abated only a little, from the look on his face.
“Who are you?” He asked at last, after obviously discarding several other less polite questions.
I wondered how many more times he could heal a mortal wound.  The fact that he had not turned me in to the powers-that-be had not been lost on me, however, and I wondered if perhaps my latent gut instinct to not finish him off earlier may have been right.
“I am looking for something someone took from me,” I answered.  It always pays to be careful.
“By the Gods!  Listen up, wench,” he spat out at me, “this is my world you are in now.  This swamp here?  Nobody knows it like I do!  Already we are so far removed from Harthag that without me to guide you back you would never find it.  And this swamp?  Things live in this swamp that are to be feared far more then anything back in Harthag.  Things that would delight in eating your flesh while you still lived.  If you want to live through this, then answer my questions!”
I glanced around, noting that as careful as I had been, he was right.  I had no idea how to get back to the small village we had just left.  Harthag, if I understood him correctly.  I nodded to him.  “Alright, you can call the shots for now.”
He snorted and looked out over the water for a moment.  Then he looked back at me.  “You are Yamara, aren’t you?”
I nodded again.  A chill went down my spine though.  If this man knew who I was, what other even more unpleasant surprises awaited me.
“I’ve been waiting for you for well over a year.  Earl James sent me word that you would be arriving with the cover story of trying to insinuate yourself into the Dark One’s armies.  According to him though, you were a traitor and that I should kill you as soon as I saw you.”
Suddenly, things began snapping into place.  James had not merely been trying to get me out of his hair so he could have his way with Brina, but he had been planning on making certain that I never returned.  But at the time he also needed to be sure I did not give away any Elendar’s secrets I knew under torture or willingly.
“Why didn’t you kill me then?” I asked, reaching for more understanding.
“You never showed up.  That meant that either you had been captured already or you had taken a different path,” he said.  He took up the paddle and began making smooth even strokes once again.  “Then I learned about Earl James’ disappearance.  Shortly thereafter came word of Baron Palungol’s sudden rise from obscurity into power.  I did some checking and the similarities between Earl James and Baron Palungol are to many to dismiss.”
“By the way, I am Evart,” he offered.
I nodded but said nothing.  I was busy piecing things together.
“What caused James to betray his King?” Evart asked.  “It makes no sense, there was never a man more in love with Elendar then he.  No man who’s loyalty was less questioned.  The circumstances involving you at the same time tell me you must know what could have caused this.”
“Love is a dangerous thing,” I responded, staring over the waters into the gloom.  I did not want to meet his gaze right then, for I was dealing with my own confused emotions.
He left me alone for a while, perhaps sensing my need for privacy. Finally I blinked and nodded to myself.  My resolve had been reestablished.  My will was hardened and my course dedicated once again.  “My… sister,” I began, stumbling over the words.  “James fell in love with her the moment he saw her, I think.  Yet we shared a special bond that would not permit him to possess her.  He tried again and again to send me out on suicidal missions, yet I returned always.  My sister became confused as he spent more time with her and I was gone more.  On the eve of the day I was to leave for Mardurin, I had finally determined what James’ plans were, and I went to her to plead with her to flee with me from Elendar.  Mardurin was the last place I wished to go.
“She was confused then, for James’ silvery words had poisoned her thinking much by then.  She hesitated and in that moment James burst into the room from a hidden passage he had been using all along to spy upon us.  James and I fought then, for he tried then and there to turn my sister against me.”
I paused, fighting back a lump in my throat as my mind raced ahead of my words, remembering the event for what must have been the thousandth time, if not more.  “I had him beat, and he knew it.  He was wounded and could not stop me.  He grabbed up my sister then, and held his knife to her throat.  He whispered sweet things into her ear and told me to leave.  Told me that she would be safe with him only if I were gone.
“She saw then the truth behind things, I think.  She and I struck out at him at the same time, but she was too slow in escaping.  His knife did its work on her, ruining forever her beautiful life.  I…” I had to pause, my voice was caught in my throat as I remembered holding Brina in my arms and seeing her eyes close.  After I finally admitted my love for her and watched myself lose her forever.
“I escaped from the palace then, and from Elendar in general.” I looked at him squarely, daring him to challenge me.  “No pursuit came, and that surprised me.  Not until a year later did news reach me that James had escaped.  An impossible task, given that I had slain him most surely.”
I laughed bitterly then.  “Slain him as surely as I had slain you, I suppose!”
Evart cracked a tight lipped smile.  “Nearly did, a fine swipe with that dagger, if ever I saw one.”
“How did you survive?” I asked, hoping to find out how many more uses that pin had.
“Every S.E.T. badge can be used in such a way once,” Evart explained, putting his paddle aside and taking out his badge to show it to me.  “There is a sequence of gems on the back of it that when pushed in such a sequence,” he showed me the sequence without really thinking about what he was doing, “causes the magic of the item to be released in a healing spell powerful enough to mend a single mortal wound.”
“Good thing I did not follow up on it then,” I muttered, thinking about how closely I had come to plunging my dagger into his breast after my initial slash.
“Aye!” he nodded, his hand going to the freshly pink scar on his throat.
I thought about my own S.E.T. badge hidden amongst my belongings and wondered if it too would do such a thing for me, should I need it.  When I was away from Evart I would have to examine it more carefully to try and determine if it were possible.  If it was, then it would be a great magical boon to have with me.
“This sister of yours,” he said, his tone cautious, “does she have hair the color of polished Dwarven gold and a beauty so great as to be terrifying?”
I had never thought of Brina that way, but I could see the resemblance.  Especially if she had fallen sway to James and his new Dark Lord.  I nodded and said, “Perhaps, though never before was her beauty anything but innocent and pure.”
“Then yes, Baron Palungol is most assuredly Duke James.  And his consort, Mistress Palungol, must be her.”
Something inside of me rejoiced.  Brina yet lived.  Impossible, but somehow it had happened.  Then that spark began to die as I realized how she now stood aligned.  She was openly James’ consort, and therefore, a servant of Dagrazt.  A wave of despair crashed over me, threatening to overwhelm me.
I closed my eyes and let my head sag.  All of my fears and nightmares from the past year crashed into and over me, like storm laden waves breaking upon a harbor wall.  I fought only to remember to keep my head above the proverbial water so that I could breathe.
I looked back up at long last.  No single tear had escaped, but the dam had been near to bursting.  My eyes were surely red in spite of it.  I thanked again the hood on my cloak for shadowing my face from Evart, though he now seemed genuine.  Looks tend to deceive, however.
What was not in the least bit deceptive was the spiny ridges moving silently through the water behind us.  My eyes widened as I realized it was not merely a submerged log we had avoided but instead the sinuous back of a carnivorous swamp dwelling creature.  Before I could open my mouth to warn Evart, the beast burst from the water.  It towered over our canoe by eight or nine feet, with the majority of its reptilian body hidden beneath the surface of the swamp.
My dagger, momentarily forgotten, was flying towards the things head.  It had opened its many fanged mouth and began a plunge that would result in Evart losing a good portion of his upper torso, had my dagger not pierced its meaty tongue and pinned it to the bottom of its jaw.  The fateful lunge aborted, it roared angrily and shook its head ferociously.  My dagger went flying out into the swamp, lost forever.
Evart had reacted by this time, and twisted about in his seat to see what threatened him.  He cursed and called out to me, “Aim for its eyes!”
Considering the look of its scaly hide, I had already decided to try something just like that.  Problem was, I did not want to lose any more of my daggers.  Sure, I had a lot of daggers, but where I was going it did not look like I would have much of a chance to replenish the ones I lost.  So, I stood up in the canoe and drew my shortsword.  That got the critter’s attention.
Evart cursed again and scrambled to get out his own weapon, a crude looking broadsword he had stashed in the bottom of the canoe.  The swamp thing lunged at me that time, its own blood dripping off its jaw.  I did not relish the thought of my blood mingling with it.  Evart acted at the best possible time, slamming his broadsword into the slightly less scaly hide of the creatures underside.  It distracted the creature enough that I was able to jump out of the canoe and hook one arm around one of the thick spines sticking out of the creatures back.
I swung myself up onto its back, wishing I had some climbing hooks in my boots to help me stay seated on the back of the giant snake-like thing.  Below me, I saw that my leap out of the canoe had sent Evart tumbling out of it, as well as capsizing it.  I hoped, for his sake, that the swamp was not too deep and that worse creatures did not dwell under the water.
The beast that I rode reared its head back, trying to throw me off of it.  I clung to it tightly, refusing to budge from its slimy skin.  Realizing it could not be rid of me that way, the overgrown snake plunged into the water, thrashing about and moving through it with a speed that terrified me.  I held my breath and clung to it tightly, ignoring the disgusting feel of the muck filled water all around me.  Soon enough my exertions to hold on were taking their toll.  I was running out of air and still the creature refused to surface.  I dared not open my eyes for fear of what the water had in it.
Remembering my sword, I clung to the spine in my left hand tightly and poked about blindly with my shortsword in my right hand.  Feeling a soft spot that doubled with a spasm beneath me, I plunged the sword in as deeply as I could.  It sank in with few obstructions, almost all the way to the hilt before I felt the tip of my sword grate off bone.  Beneath me, the snake spasmed anew, convulsing uncontrollably.  It began rolling as well, and I knew that one way or another my place was no longer with it.
I let go and swam desperately away from the dying creature, hoping that I was swimming towards the surface as well.  Instead, I crashed headfirst into a tree, stunning myself enough that I let the air burst out of my lungs.  I managed to keep from breathing in any water, but had a hard time remembering to surface.  Only through blind luck did I happen to nearly be at the surface already.  I felt up the tree and grabbed some of the roots, pulling myself up out of the water and only then letting myself breathe.
“Yamara!”
I heard Evart’s call only after breathing rapidly for several minutes and trying to recover from my ordeal.  I could not make him out in the dark, and instead I clung to the roots of the tree.
“Over here!” I called back, trying not to yell to loudly but hoping it was loud enough for him to find me.
Find me he did, after several more minutes.  He clung to the canoe and pushed it as he swam, but it remained upside down.  I chuckled at the sight of it and pushed off the tree, helping him steer it towards a muddy island nearby.  We managed to make our way through the muck surrounding the island and right the boat.  Rather then climbing back into it though, Evart climbed up one of the trees and came back down with several dead and broken off twigs and pieces of moss.
“A fire?  Out here?” I asked him, thinking it rather stupid to announce our presence.
“Aye, trust me, you’ll soon see why.”
I shrugged and let him build the fire.  It was a long time in coming, but soon enough it brightened up our makeshift campsite.  As soon as Evart was satisfied with the fire, he stood up straight and began to take his clothing off.
“Check me and I will check you,” he grunted, pulling a leech off of his chest.
I raised my eyebrows.  Modesty had never been a problem for me, but once again I thought it an odd place to risk being virtually defenseless, especially with the fire acting as a beacon to anyone looking for us.  Seeing the leeches that were on his well toned body convinced me otherwise, however.  Large and ugly, they covered his skin and sucked hungrily at him.  I shuddered at the thought of all of them on me.  In a matter of seconds I was standing in front of him, naked.
We went to work on each other quickly.  I plucked the leeches off of Evart where he could not reach them, including a couple that had secreted themselves in places he probably did not want me sticking my fingers.  That made two of us, as far as I was concerned.  I was not covered as badly as he was, though that still left me as an all-you-can-eat buffet for the bloodsuckers.  Evart returned the favor to me, freeing my back and legs and unmentionable areas.  Finished at last Evart opened his mouth to say something the made a face of pure revulsion.  His hand went up to his mouth and a few seconds later he was pulling a leach out that had managed to attach itself to the inside of his cheek.
“Gah! Damned things will go anywhere!  They especially love getting into whatever opening they can, blood flows better there.”
I nodded thoughtfully, it made sense.  Fortunately I had never had my mouth open under water so they could not get in there.  I noticed Evart glancing thoughtfully at my hips then, and I figured that in spite of recent events, he was behaving like a man again.  Then I realized he had a troubled expression on his face, as though he was having a hard time trying to figure out how to say something.
With a jolt of terror, I realized what it was he was trying to say.  The leeches tried to get into whatever opening they could.  Whatever available orifice.  The color drained from my face at the thought of a leech inside of me.  My hands flew to myself and I began a very thorough inspection, completely ignoring Evart standing less then four feet away from me looking on expertly.  Relieved, I found nothing.
I shook the chills off and regarded Evart again, who was now smirking.  I scowled at him and picked up my clothes, going through them to make sure no leeches remained trapped in them.
“I was right, you know,” He said, doing the same to his own clothing.
“What?” I asked, not paying him any attention now that I was once again donning my clothing.
“You are a pretty thing.”
I scowled at him anew and continued putting my wet clothing back on.  The cloak I hung on a branch to dry.  Evart did the same and soon we sat by the fire, letting ourselves dry before resuming our trek.
“Well, we can start over again,” he said after a shared moment of thoughtful silence.  “Now you’ve managed to kill me and save my life, so you’ve broke even.”
I chuckled.  He had a point.  “Where are we going?” I asked.
“I thought you needed to go to Emmerdwym?” He asked.
I thought about it.  Did I?  Was there any point to my quest anymore?  Was Brina lost to me forever, or was there still hope?  Did I still care enough to try to find out?  Ultimately I realized I had chosen my course already, I had to see it through.
“I stay my course,” I said to myself as much as Evart.  “If it is too late for Brina, then it is not too late for James.”
“Not to late?  For what?” Evart asked, surprised at my statement.
“Not to late to make sure he stays dead this time.”
He widened his eyes then nodded.  I did not really care what he thought, but I was pleased anyhow that he saw my goal and agreed.
Evart tossed a fresh log in the fire and said, “At first light, we leave for Emerdwym.”

Chapter 7

	I awoke to a nightmare of giving birth to a giant leech.  It left me with a cold shiver that would not leave me for several minutes.  I had taken the first watch to be certain that I had not bumped my head overly hard on the tree; Evart now looked over as I stretched away the last of the unpleasant dream and stood up.
	The swamp looked much as before, though with the faint light of an approaching Dawn it seemed less hospitable then ever.  What promised to be an overcast sky finished off the grim scenery.  As I glanced about our surroundings the prior night rushed through my head.  Or at least, my disclosure to Evart regarding Brina and James.  I expected to feel some trepidation or regret about telling him so much, but to my surprise, I found none of those emotions.  Instead I found more questions.
	“Tell me then, who now leads the Special Elendarian Task force?” I asked him.
	Evart stared at me for a long moment, clearly debating where his loyalties lie and whether or not he should divulge such information.  At the last he decided to be open.  “Duke James former right hand man, Baron Paul, now runs the Elendarian Intelligence Agency.”
	I looked at him with raised eyebrows.  “Does nobody stay dead in this world?” My tone was incredulous.  I was amazed at what he said.
	“What do you mean?” He asked me, clearly interested.
	“Brina, my sister, slew him months before I killed James.”
	“You are sure of this?”
	I nodded.  “I stood from me to you away from him when she snapped his neck.  Rifled through his belongings myself.  Not a pulse, not a breath.  As surely slain as a man can be without being entombed as well.”
	Evart cursed.  “Word must be returned to Elendar of these happenings.  And not through the network, you must return there!”
	I chuckled.  “In good time, Evart.  There are things that I must do first.”
	“If what you say is true and that you have slain these men before yet still they live, perhaps your quest is in vain.  Your goals might be better served to return and root out the source of evil there!”
	I began gathering up my things, my will more determined then ever.  “If you wish to put a stop to the source of evil in men, then you must first destroy their free will.”
	Evart fell silent, noting my determination.  Finally he sighed.  “Very well, let us be off then.”
	Camp was broken and our now dried equipment was repacked and stashed back aboard the canoe.  “Do you know how to paddle?” He asked me.  I just nodded.
	Then we were off, paddling through the swamp and heading towards the Emmerdwym.  Time and distance seemed to pass slowly, with the hidden sun slowly warming the fen around us, sweat began to run down our skin.
	“What was that creature I slew yesterday?” I asked him after a couple of hours of silence had passed between us.  Only the sound of the paddles dipping in the water and our breathing as we stroked through the thick waters had surrounded us.
	“A bogwyrm,” Evart responded without preamble.  “Some say them twisted cousins of dragons, though they boast no intelligence above that of a snakes cunning.”
	I nodded from the front of the canoe, my curiosity sated.  Silence again resumed between us, save for the occasional guidance from Evart as to which way I should paddle.  We remained that way for a few more hours, until the soon had passed its zenith.  No more sign of attack came to us, though I saw many predatory eyes regard us off in the distance.  Mostly snakes and crocodiles, though both larger then any I had seen before.
	We stopped early that day, with at least three hours of the half-light that constituted daytime in the eternal bog remaining.  Evart explained it away as us having made more progress then he had anticipated, and that to progress further at night was not wise.  So instead we set up a cold camp and went about checking and rechecking our equipment.
	“Do you think we are being watched?” I asked him while we quietly went over our gear.  I had felt no prying eyes, but I considered it highly likely that our presence had not only been noted, but actively sought out.
	Evart just shrugged.  “I know this swamp as well as any, I have seen no signs of pursuit.”
	“With James and Paul now working for Dagrazt, don’t you think it likely that your position here was long ago compromised?  My money says you live under intense scrutiny from one day to the next.”
	Evart scowled.  “Say not the Dark One’s name so close to his realm, you will draw his attention!”  Then after glaring at me for a moment he sighed and let out a mirthless chuckle.  “Perhaps.  Or perhaps I have switched sides as well?  Why stop with merely James?  Perhaps I am leading you into a trap?  Or perhaps you are one of the enemies followers after all, sent here with a story so unbelievable I would be forced to accept it, only to lead me to a trap that would deliver me unto the inquisitioners of the Dark One?”
	I shared his dark chuckle.  “Fair enough.  Though I think the last most unlikely, considering my cut.” Evart’s hand went to the new scar on his throat thoughtfully.  He shrugged his shoulders and grinned.
	“True.  That leaves it more likely that I am going to great lengths to deliver you to Baron and Mistress Palungol.”
	I scowled at the mention of Brina in such a way, though I must admit that all evidence clearly showed my reaction to be unfair.  “Moreso considering your racial heritage,” I pointed out.
	Evart sighed.  He stared off into the quickly approaching dusk long enough that I considered him to be avoiding my unspoken question.  At long last though, he spoke, catching me almost by surprise.
	“As a child my mother was part of a group of Gneissian’s on a holy pilgrimage.  Unbeknownst to them, a great battle had taken place to the south of them, at a gate in the great wall surrounding Gneiss north of Mardurin.  Back in the days before King Mordrim had led his people to take up the mountains west of the Barony of Tyusk.
	“The gate lay a smoking ruin, blasted apart by unholy magic and the combined might of ogre-kin.  Their purpose was a simple one, a raiding party to show the Gneissian’s they were not safe and that  their zealous disbelief served only to make them unprepared for the realities of the world.”
	Evart stopped, recalling the stories his mother had told him long ago.  “My mother was captured when this raiding party had overtaken the pilgrims.  She watched her own mother raped countless times by inhuman things before at long last her will to live was broken and her tortured body would support her no longer.  Still they used her, though she felt the pain never again.  Her father, a priest himself, refused to fight.  Instead he called upon the aid of Cymbos to protect them all.  The aid Cymbos gave him was far from enough.  The last my mother saw of her father was him trying to pull his own entrails from the mouths of the great wolves of Mardurin.”
	I admit, I was impressed.  It was the beginning of a good story, true or not.
	“So then your mother was raped, but managed to escape before she could be slain?”
	Evart shook his head.  “No, she was young and pure.  She was to be taken back to Mardurin for worse things.  On their triumphant return, the evil force was tracked and assaulted by a special unit of Gneissians trained to be not so blind in their beliefs as the common soldier.  They were outnumbered greatly, but they attacked by surprise and had routed the evil party.
	“The small company that laid claim to my mother fled south, hurrying over the mountains to reach the safe borders of their dark demesne.  Instead they chanced upon a small company of Elendarian’s.  A S.E.T. group, in fact.  Amongst their number was none other then Mordrim, ere he returned to his people, as well as the legendary elven heroine, Tarala Redmoon.  Gildor, the soon to be renowned Elendarian pathfinder led their troop.  Their final member is perhaps known to you now by the name of General Andres.”
	I was surprised.  Andres had not looked to be anything overly skilled or dangerous to me when I had seen him in the Elendarian palace.  Then again, he was old now, compared to back when he was in his prime.
	“Outnumbered more then 5 to 1, they nevertheless gave battle.  Tarala’s sorcery and archery began the furor, with Gildor’s keen eyes and bow the only weapon able to surpass the elven maiden.  By the time Mordrim and Andres reached my mothers captors their ranks had been decimated twice over.  Tarala and Gildor took up their swords and joined them, cutting a swath through their ranks.  In several minutes the battle was over and my mother rescued.”
	“Of all of them, it was Mordrim who took care of my mother the best.  They were returning from a great mission in which they had retrieved a ancient Dwarven artifact that Mordrim wielded with great pride.”
	“All well and good, but Gneissian’s do not resemble you hardly at all.  A good story though,” I said to him.
	“I’m not finished,” he rebuked me with a glare.  “My mother became an agent of Elendar, never again to have anything to do with Gneiss.  One of her missions, many years later, put her as a spy near Mardurin.  She was required to seduce an agent of the Dark One, and in the process of doing so, I was conceived.  I was born near this land, the son of a Havrin war leader.  Because of me it was many years before my mother could escape, for she refused to leave me behind.”
	“And that, essentially, is why I am part Havrin and able to blend in so well down here.  I know their ways because I lived as one of them for the beginning of my life.  I speak the languages down here, and were it not for my mother’s secret teachings to me, I would be your enemy.”
	“Perhaps you still are,” I said, smiling faintly to show that I was not accusing him so much as teasing him.  “Where is your mother now?”
	“Dead, of course.  In our escape from the tribe of Havrin my father was the chief of, she took a wound that became infected.  She languished for weeks, but we returned all the way to Elendar before at long last she succumbed to her wounds.  I was 13 years old.”  Evart looked at me, daring me to challenge him further.  I took him at face value for the moment, but let myself be swayed not at all towards giving him any of my trust.  After all, it was a good story.
	An uncomfortable silence descended between us, something I was very unaccustomed to.  Silence is normally very comfortable to me, even if I am around somebody else who does not find it so comforting.  It was a very odd feeling.
	Evart ended it abruptly by standing up and looking about us.  I remained seated, but glanced about suspiciously, wondering if he could have picked up on something that I missed.  Sensing nothing, I looked at him questioningly.
	“We have no food,” he reminded me.  When our canoe had been dumped during the fight with the bogwyrm all of our food had either fallen into the swamp or been thoroughly soaked and ruined by the brackish water.  Our skins of water remained safely sealed and nearly full, and I had some trail rations stored safely  away in my magical pouch, but those were for emergency purposes.  As yet, I did not feel as though we were in an emergency.  Nor did I want Evart to know any more about my belongings then necessary.
	I rose as well now, my stomach grumbling silently at the sudden realization that we had not eaten all day.  “What is safe to eat in this place?” I asked him, considering the nature of the foul waters surrounding us.
	“Stay here and get a small fire going, I will find something for us.”
	I watched him suspiciously as he went to the canoe and fished around in it until he found what he was looking for.  He pulled out a short bow and strung it with a string he had sealed away within a small bone tube.  He climbed into the canoe and paddled slowly away from our island next, with me staring at him all the while.  He gave a smile and a wave and then disappeared behind some trees.
	I scowled.  I was now stranded on a small muddy island with only a few trees for cover.  Not only that, but there was nothing stopping him from going and fetching whatever allies he may have nearby and coming back to capture or kill me.  I cursed in a most unladylike fashion and looked about my impromptu prison for something to use.
	Seeing nothing of immediate use, I scaled one of the moss covered trees and began gathering twigs and branches to make a fire.  While up there, I was so busy chastising myself for letting Evart slip away so easily that I did not notice my sudden companion.  Did not notice it until it was almost too late, that is.
	A giant snake, roughly 18 feet long if not more, coiled around my legs and knocked me off balance before I could escape from it.  I fell from the tree and hung there in mid air, suspended by the snake that held my legs wrapped tightly within its coils.  My shortsword was in my hand already, as I hung there upside down, but I knew that if I were to lash out I had nothing but a very unpleasant drop awaiting me.
	Glancing down I saw that I was at least over the swamp.  However, wonder of wonders, a pair of open jaws awaited me there as well, in the form of a small crocodile.  Small compared to some of the ones I had seen in the swamp, this one still looked to be easily 12 feet long.
	I looked back up and saw that my captor had wasted no time in positioning its head so that in a matter of a few moments it would be able to begin the unhealthy process of swallowing me whole.  Unhealthy for me, that is.  I considered the distance and decided that prolonging my life, even if only a matter of few seconds, was definitely in my best interests.
	I drew a throwing dagger from inside my shirt and sent it towards the croc below me, making it snap its mouth shut when the blade cut a gash across its snout.  Using the momentum the throw had given me, I bent my torso up towards the snake and lashed out with my shortsword, severing its head from its body in one swing.
	The snakes body spasmed around me, crushing my legs for a brief moment, then letting me slip free to fall.  Like a cat, I twisted about in mid air and got my feet below me as I plummeted toward the hurt and angry crocodile.  My feet landed on the croc’s back, with one sliding off instantly.  More importantly though, my sword, angled to absorb as much of the impact as possible, drove through the thick bone in the crocodile’s head.  The reptile thrashed around me, dying in great seizures.  I went under the surface of the water, stunned repeatedly by the convulsing crocodile.  Not to mention the pain in my left leg, from ankle to hip, that had managed to land more securely on the back of the croc while my right foot had slid free.
	I surfaced and swam toward the shore, gripping my shortsword tightly all the while.  I emerged from the water only to be splashed as the body of the snake slid free from the tree and came down behind me.  I glanced back and cursed.  If Evart found nothing to eat, I had just found two perfectly fine sources of meat.  However, that required another trip into the filth that served as water.
	Scowling, I stopped only long enough to take off my spare equipment and weapons, though they were already soaked through again, I did not want to run any further risk of losing anything.  I waded back in, my feet sinking in to the muck nearly to my knees with each step, and pulled first the body of the snake to shore, then on the next trip, I tugged the heavy crocodile onto the bank.  Lances of fiery pain shot up my leg with nearly every step, but in an environment as harsh as the one I was in, I had no room for weakness.
	Once I was finished retrieving what would soon be supper, I stripped down completely and began the unpleasant task of removing the nearly fist sized leeches that again covered my body.  I shuddered in renewed revulsion at the thought of where some of them might have gone, but was again pleased to find none of them in places where only a select few invited guests are allowed to enter.
	Now I had food.  My wood I intended to use to start a fire was still up in the trees, however.  What I had gathered before had fallen from my surprised hands into the swamp during my encounter with the snake.  Scowling anew at the situation, I strapped my sword belt around my naked hips and scaled the same tree, being a little more careful to watch out for native inhabitants.  I returned with enough kindling to start a fire, though already one seemed to be burning in my leg.  My ankle seemed the worst, and I presumed I had twisted it during my fall.
	Nonetheless, a girls work is never done.  I scaled the tree again, searching for larger branches that I could hack down with my sword.  By the end of my second trip I was determined to never climb another tree again.
	Evart returned as I was blowing a spark into a flame in the tinder.  He beached the canoe where we had when first approaching the small island, not seeing the results of my own hunting expedition on the opposite side of the atoll.  He whistled softly, some sort of bird hanging from his hand.
	“Now that’s as fine a way to be welcomed back as I can imagine!” He said, chuckling at my nudity.  I scowled at him and turned my back to him.
	“Did I get them all off?” I asked.
	He instantly knew what I meant.  Some of the leeches were still attached to my back, feasting happily away.  I knew they were there but did my best to not think about them as I had gone about my business.  Evart quickly pulled them off, then demanded that I let him inspect me more thoroughly to be certain I had gotten the rest.  Scowling unhappily, I let him do it even though I knew I had done as fine a job as could be done.  Turns out I had missed a smaller one on the back of my neck though, so I ended up sheepishly thanking him.
	“I was going to say this toratoo bird is not much, but it will let us keep our strength,” Evart said, noticing the 16 foot headless body of the snake laying nearby.  “But it appears I should have stayed here instead!  I’m sorry for not warning you about the tree pythons, though normally they go after much smaller prey like this toratoo bird.  This was a really big one though, one of the biggest I have ever seen!”
	I just nodded.  Of course it was, that was just how my luck ran.  “That’s nothing,” I offered, motioning with my head over towards the body of the crocodile.
	Evart looked and let out a whistle of appreciation.  “You ever meet anything you didn’t kill?” He said with a grin and a casual brush of his throat.  I smiled fiercely then looked over to my clothes drying on the branches I had stuck into the ground and formed a makeshift clothesline with.
	Evart went to work on the corpses, cutting away parts of the snake and then the croc for dinner.  I finished getting the fire going and then began working on hardening a branch to use as a spit.  In short order, we were roasting our swamp critter dinner.  Evart was doing everything he could to not stare at my nakedness.  For my part, I was doing nothing to conceal it either.  Noticing how awkward it seemed for him, I suddenly felt a little awkward myself.  I changed my position a few times, trying to obtain some small measure of modesty.  It was a strange feeling.
	Finally I gave up and tried to walk over to where my clothing was drying.  I nearly collapsed with my first step, my ankle not wanting to support me.  Evart was there in an instant, asking me what had happened.
	“Just twisted my ankle earlier is all.  It will be fine,” I insisted.  First rule of being successful in my profession is to never need help, and even when you do, never show that need or ask for it.
	He said a few colorful words that showed he did not believe me, and walked over to where the head of the snake sat on the ground.  He took out a dagger and began working on the head of the snake, cutting expertly into it.  In a few minutes he approached me again, holding a few sharpened splinters of wood that had some glistening liquid on the end of them.
	“Sit,” he demanded, motioning towards a spot of bare ground.  I frowned at him but did so.  His manner indicated he knew what he was doing.  Besides, my ankle had swollen up to nearly half again its normal size, I began to fear I might have broken it.
	He knelt next to where I sat and took my leg into his lap.  Gently he probed my ankle with his fingers, trying to determine as I was whether the damage was serious or not.  He grunted at last, a satisfied expression on his face.  “Just a sprain I think,” he said.
	“This will numb it and reduce the swelling.  If you keep off of it as much as possible it might even be mostly healed by tomorrow night.”
	“What is it?” I asked, wondering what he was planning.
	“Poison and blood from the snake mixed together.  In small amounts it aids in healing.  In larger amounts, it acts as a drug and sells for quite a price.” I felt the first prick then.  Then feeling washed away almost instantly though as the snake oil medicine began to affect my ankle.  When he was finished I had 6 splinters pin-cushioning my ankle, though none stuck into it deeply.  The relief was nearly instantaneous, though I knew better then to put any pressure on it.
	I nodded my thanks to him, uncertain of any proper way to show it.  Only my companions on Acathia would have treated me thusly.  I was uncertain as to how to behave towards Evart, the more time I spent with him, the more he seemed to be a decent sort of man.  The type of man that I felt quite certain that did not exist, especially in a place such as the one we were in.
	“Now put your clothes back on, wench,” He said, slapping me playfully on the thigh, “you’re making it hard for me to concentrate lying there like that!”
	I chuckled in spite of myself.  He was a man after all, that much was certain.  Evart helped me to my feet and then over to where my clothing was drying.  I could hardly get my breeches around my ankle, so I simply made do with my tunic for the time being.  It was mostly dried, so I had little cause for complaint.
	I took the first watch again, letting Evart get some sleep while I kept an eye out for any more indigenous life forms that felt the need to try and eat me.  Inside of a few hours the smell of the slain snake and crocodile drew the attention of other natives of the swamp.  They waited impatiently at the edge of the fire’s light, anxious for a chance to dart in and feast on my kills.  I counted mostly other crocodiles, but a few shapes seemed even more outlandish.  I just kept up my watch and occasionally tossed a burning branch out towards any the approached to closely.
	By the time my watch was over I was running low on firewood.  I woke Evart and showed him the situation.  He told me he had expected as much, and climbed up a tree to gather more wood for his watch.  It was a long time coming, considering our guests, but eventually I managed to catch a few hours of sleep ere the dawn came.
	With dawn I found our uninvited dinner guests gone.  Gone also were the leftover remains of our dinner.  When I showed my interest in it, Evart explained how the hungry denizens had grown more bold after I fell asleep and come forward enough to drag the meals back into the water with them.  I shuddered inside at the thought of all those teeth, but assumed that Evart had made certain we were in no unnecessary danger.
	I realized in short order that my leg was feeling much better as well.  The ankle seemed all but healed.  Only a little stiffness remained, which I stretched out of it as soon as I became aware of it.  My knee showed a few twinges of pain whenever I walked down a slope, but it was easy for me to deal with and in no way hindered my movement.
	Our days journey through the swamp brought us within site of others in makeshift skiffs, canoes, and boats.  In almost all cases some or all of the travelers within those boats were lizardmen.  Evart cautioned me to wear my hood early that morning to avoid any undue attention.  I wore it without complaint at first, in spite of the quickly growing heat of the day.  Then as I saw our new neighbors on the waterways, I silently praised his good advice.
	“Welcome to Emmerdwym,” he said in a voice pitched low so as to not carry over the fetid water.  Ahead of us I could just make out the burning lamps and torches along the docks of the port city of Sarph.
	“How big is it?” I asked, my voice equally toned for silence.
	“The barony is many leagues across, but to go where you need to go, we will provision ourselves here then head to the north and west, avoiding the more heavily populated areas.  We will see a change in scenery in perhaps ten days, and enter into Palungol in two weeks.”
	I frowned.  It was far longer then I wished to remain within the swamp.  

	To be continued…