"That forest is a quarter the size and has at least as many trees as this one. I would wager to say there aren't enough soldiers in the world to patrol something that dense well," she said.

"Then that is where I will go," she said. "I have Myn. She can hunt and start fires. I need no supplies to live. The forest is dense. If I stay alert, I know I can stay away from them."

"Are you certain you want to do this? These are Elites. They will not give up. They will find you," Caya warned.

"There can be no other way," she said.

"Very well, then. I will tend to the horse. Wolloff, give her anything she needs," Caya ordered.

"I have precious little for myself, you know," Wolloff said.

"Now is not the time for selfishness, Wolloff. You will be reimbursed when the Undermine gets back on its feet," she said.

"The Undermine has never been on its feet," he said. He turned his head and looked unhappily at Myranda. "Come, time is wasting."

He led Myranda through the door that had not opened since she had arrived. Unlike the other rooms, this one was meticulously clean. One side was much like a closet, hung with white robes like the one he wore. The other had numerous exquisite amulets and scepters. He carefully pulled a robe from the many and smoothed the wrinkles. He then selected a small, delicate locket. Finally he uncovered a small, sturdy chest that bore a lock, but no means to open it. He whispered a word or two and the works of the lock clicked open. Inside of the chest was a handful of gems far clearer and much larger than any to be found upstairs. A few more words and the locket unfolded like a flower blooming. He placed the gem inside. It clicked shut of its own accord.

"Put this on," he said, holding out the robe.

She slid her arms through and pulled it shut. He then draped the locket about her neck.

"There. I bestow upon you the white robe of the healer. You know all that you need to undo the work of all but the most monstrous of plights. This locket will aid your focus. You hold the distinction of being the only student I have ever had to reach this level in less than five months--you've done it in three. Congratulations, you've set the bar quite high," he said.

Caya returned, slamming the door.

"Wolloff, you are low on oats, barely enough for Wind Runner. Myranda, to the map. You need to plot out a course of action. This will be no normal chase. You need alternatives for every step of the way," she decreed.

Myranda joined her by the table. They proceeded to trace out the course. It would be more or less a straight ride from forest to forest. There was a scattering of towns that would have to be avoided. Caya spoke in an endless string of orders and dictation. She was clearly a strong leader and knew just how to get things done. It was difficult to believe that minutes ago she was near death. Her devotion was admirable.

"What of the beast?" Caya said.

"Pardon?" Myranda replied.

"The dragon. We've yet to enter her into the equations. The success of your escape depends upon a minimally encumbered mount. The creature could add enough weight to give the Elites a chance to close the gap when my horse begins to tire," Caya said.

"I have seen the beast run. She will keep up on her own," Wolloff said.

"Fine. But I want to make this absolutely clear. If she falls behind you will leave her. Sentiment is death on the battlefield," she said.

Myranda assured her that she would, but in her heart she knew she couldn't. She prayed that she would not have to make that decision.

Within the hour the freshly anointed healer was astride the horse and headed toward the Elite, Caya's voice still in her ears. She was to turn east with all of the speed that the steed could muster at the very instant she noticed even a hint of the plume atop the helmet of an Elite. Until then there was nothing to fill her time but a tense wait, and a few simple spells to restore her horse for the run. When she'd whispered the final spell, admiring the relative ease that new amulet provided, she turned to her companion. Myn sat on the ground beside her, still bearing the helmet in her teeth.

"Are you going to carry that with you for the entire trip? We will have to move very quickly. I hope you can keep up," she said, eager to break the silence.

As an answer, Myn's head shot up. She smelled the air and stood, dancing about anxiously. Myranda saw nothing, and heard only the tapping of icy rain on the needles of the trees. She climbed down from the horse and put her ear to the cold ground. Faintly, almost silently, she could hear--or, more accurately, feel--the steady beat of dozens of hooves. Myn scampered up a tree and trained her eyes on the south. Her keen sight must have caught something between the trees. Something she hated. The dragon leapt to the ground and streaked southward.

"Myn, no!" Myranda called out.

Her faithful friend skidded to a stop, and looked to her pleadingly, her eyes fairly begging to be allowed to do what her heart demanded of her, to get revenge on those that had taken something dear from her. Myranda looked her in the eyes.

"Myn, we cannot. Not now. Follow," she said.

Reluctantly the dragon returned to her side, clamping her jaws onto the helmet as a replacement target. Myranda watched the trees in the distance. Soon the sound of hooves was booming in her ears. She wanted to run, but she had to be sure that they followed her, and did not continue on to Wolloff's tower. A minute more. A second more. A heartbeat more. Now!

One horse and rider came into view. It was a woman, it seemed, though her height and grace, even in the split-second that Myranda had seen her, betrayed her to be an elf. Myranda spurred her horse to the east. Myn ran beside her. She could match the speed of the horse with little effort, though carrying the helmet and glancing back at her pursuers regularly gave the dragon some difficulty.

The wind tore by them with twice the bite it would have had if they were standing still, and the rain and snow saturated them in minutes, but those were the least of her worries. Myranda turned every few moments, remembering more of the words of Caya.

If you have a chance to escape, you may not know immediately. Those men are riding war horses, bred for strength. Wind Runner is a messenger horse, bred for endurance. It will seem that they are keeping pace with you, and they may well be, but the sprint will wear down their horses quickly. The gap between you should start to widen quickly and suddenly. If it doesn't, then you are done for.

Every few strides, Myranda judged the distance. Her heart pounded harder with each glance that didn't show any headway. Finally, just when her own steed seemed at the brink of collapse, the followers seemed to stop entirely. Their horses broke stride and faltered. Even with Wind Runner slowing considerably, the Elites were out of sight within minutes.

Some relief came to Myranda, but not much. She knew that now the soldiers had seen her. They had followed her trail this far on descriptions alone. If she did not take every advantage she had at her disposal to keep her distance, they would be upon her. And so she continued to spur on her horse. The animal was exhausted and had not had a proper rest in days, but it had to continue, or they would both be caught.

When Wind Runner had run for the better part of three hours, it became clear that, despite her spells, the creature needed to rest. There was no sense destroying the beast now, or she would be stranded, and Myranda was little more than a novice in the ways of magic. Her own strength would need to be conserved as well. The Elites must have fallen an hour or more behind by now; perhaps she could risk some rest. A small stream, surrounded by the very most persistent of weeds, presented itself as the logical place for the group to catch their breath. The horse and dragon gulped at the water. She stood, stretching her legs and trying to keep the rain and ice from her eyes. Myn managed to snatch up a rabbit that foolishly wandered near while Wind Runner ate the weeds most greedily. Myranda had no food of her own, but the constant fear had left her without an appetite. She could not take her eyes off of the western horizon.

Myn had just begun to gnaw upon her precious toy again when Myranda's eyes locked onto something that she could not identify. The sun had long ago set, making it difficult to make out anything more than shapes. In the distance, far off, there was what looked to be a faint, twinkling star . . . but it was on the ground. For a moment she stood in awe of the bizarre sight. She knew, though, that regardless of what it was that was growing nearer to her with each passing instant, with her luck it could not be anything but bad news. She looked to the horse, still weak from the run. Her eyes turned back to the odd sight. It was white with a dash of blue, a single point of light with a barely visible trail behind it. She was reminded of the crystal that Wolloff used. The same light would glimmer briefly in it when he would cast a spell.

"We have to leave now," she said.

She climbed to the back of the steed, with Myn wearily gathering up the helmet in her teeth. She gave the beast a kick, but the mare would not budge. It could not go on. The breaking point had been reached. Myranda turned an anxious eye to the west again. The light was closer, there was no question, but what was it? For once, fate conspired in her favor. A single, powerful bolt of lightning jumped silently from cloud to cloud, brilliantly illuminating the field for an instant. In the heartbeat that the truth was visible, the answer was burned into her eyes. The elf, the leader of the Elites, was riding toward her, a bare crystal held over her head, summoning an unnatural speed that pushed her horse forward at easily twice the rate that Myranda's own could ever hope to muster.

Myranda froze in terror at the sight. There was nothing she could do. Their leader would be upon her in no time. A monumental crack of thunder shook her from her stupor and frightened the horse into motion. Myn quickly bolted. Somehow despite the long run, the young dragon was still able to match the speed she'd managed before. Myranda clutched her pendant.

There was no choice now. The time for magic had come. Enhancements such as the one the Elites must be using were not included in her education, but spells of healing and recovery could bring a strength and energy to her mount greater than many days rest could provide.

She locked her mind into the purest state of calm that circumstances would permit and began to speak her spells. One to eliminate the weariness, another to ease the pain. After a handful more, Wind Runner was running as fast as she ever had, but Myranda was much the worse for wear. She nearly lacked the will to remain on the steed's back. Slowly, she turned to see how close the enemy had become. Not more than a hundred paces separated them now, and the gap was closing with each stride. Myranda closed her eyes and prayed. There was nothing more she could do. It was in the hands of fate now. Or perhaps not.

Myn turned to face the elf. Her teeth still clenched about the helm, she sprayed forth a stream of flame from her nostrils. The enemy horse panicked, and at the unnatural speed, could not maintain control. The pursuing horse and rider tumbled to the ground. Myn dropped the chewed helm and locked her eyes on the new prize. With one powerful bite, she clamped onto the elf's helmet and tore it from her head. The horse, mad with fear, galloped wildly away. Myranda called and the dragon hurried to catch up, a fresh trophy in her teeth and a dazed and angry soldier in her wake. The elf looked after the escaping pair, but was helpless to follow. Safety, at least for the moment, was theirs.

The night passed with Myranda slowly regaining enough strength to recast her spells. In time, even Myn could not keep up with the mystically-aided horse. She leapt onto Wind Runner's back, but it did not slow the beast as Caya had feared. To the contrary, the clutch of the dragon's claws urged the horse forward faster than any spur could.

By first light, the forest that should have been more than a day away was in sight. Such was the ability of a tireless steed. Of course, the toll that was spared the mount was taken on the rider. Myranda was barely awake, each stride threatening to knock her from the beast's back. As she fought for each moment of consciousness, she also wrestled with what she had seen. That soldier, the elf woman. Sometime, somewhere, she had seen her before. The image of her face burned in Myranda's mind. Something from long ago.

The dappled shadows cast from the branches passing overhead prompted Myranda to wrestle her eyes open again. They had arrived. Wind shook the clinging remnants of the night's rain from the trees. The horse, sensing that this was indeed their destination, had slowed to a trot, then to a walk. Myranda stopped the steed entirely. She didn't so much dismount the creature as fall from it.

From the looks of things, they had made it quite far into the woods before she had become aware of it. The weary girl pulled herself to her feet. She had to move away from the trail that they had made thus far, and, alas, abandon the horse. As long as it seemed that she had remained on the steed, the pursuers would follow the hoofprints. All that needed to be done was to move a fair distance without leaving tracks.

This was no simple task, though. The rain had muddied the ground. Tracks would be easy to find. She led the horse to a stream, the bed of which was composed of smooth stones. As it took a well-deserved drink, she stepped ankle-deep into the icy water. Myn looked with curiosity. It took a bit of coaxing for the dragon to join in the unpleasant but unfortunately necessary activity. After more than enough time to thoroughly numb her feet to the knees once again, she left the stream in an area too covered with pine needles to permit tracks to be left behind. A thick, full tree served as shelter as she collapsed on the driest patch of ground she could find. Myn fell on top of her and almost instantly dropped into a sleep of utter exhaustion.

Slowly, hazily, a dream came. It was like the stark, bleak field that had haunted her in nights gone by, but somehow different. She was lost, on her feet and wandering. Somewhere nearby, a faint, almost imperceptible light loomed. Stumbling and shuffling, she moved closer to this weak and quickly fading glow. A deep sense of desperation grew in her heart as the light slipped away from her. In this colorless field it seemed to be the last bastion of light against the overpowering dark. She had to find it, she had to touch it and know light once more before it was gone forever. It was near. So near.

When her eyes opened, the memory of the dream was gone, but the feelings she had felt lingered. There was something within reach that she had to find before it slipped away. She turned her eyes to some indistinct spot in the distance. Something was calling to her. Myn was still asleep, as hers was a more physical exhaustion. The girl sat and waited. Once again, a days-old hunger was burning at her, but she could not bring herself to wake her friend. The cold, wet day of rest had seized her muscles and joints with a terrible stiffness. She stood and tried to stretch it away.

It was night again and the woods were silent. The ever-present cloud cover and impenetrable canopy made it difficult to see more than a few paces in front of her, but she managed to spot something that made her smile. There was a cluster of arrowroot. It was very rare in this area. She pulled out her knife, one of the few things she'd had the presence of mind to bring with her, and dug them up. They wouldn't be enough to fill her, but at least they would take the edge off of her hunger.

As she chewed the roots, she remembered when she was a little girl and she would hunt for them any chance she could. It was a more peaceful time, and having a little slice of it at a time like this made it all the more disturbing to her that things had changed so much. In those days, the only things she had to worry about were her assignments and when her father would get home. Now she was freezing cold with no hope for shelter, digging for roots for sustenance instead of for fun, and constantly looking over her shoulder for a team of soldiers with specific orders to find her.

Myranda shook the thoughts from her head and dug the knife into the earth to pull out another root. When she did, she noticed something that the scarce light had hidden from her before. There was an impression in the ground--almost undetectable, but undeniable. It was a footprint. The rain had nearly washed it away, so it must have been left before the sleet and rain had started. From the shape, it could only be a boot print. Nearby there were a few more accompanied by hoofprints as well. They could have been left by anyone. Perhaps hunters or woodsmen who had moved through the area a few days earlier. Deep inside, though, Myranda knew that there was something sinister behind these prints.

While she pondered the worst, Myn stirred, padding over to Myranda and flopping down again, offering her head for the usual stroking while she gnawed at her new toy. This helm was different from the one she had left behind. It was more carefully detailed with gold, with a nose guard in the shape of a dragon's head. The dragon had focused her attentions on this piece in particular and managed to snap it off in short order. Before long Myn's hunger got the better of her and she trotted off to seek out a meal. Myranda called after her.

"Don't forget your old friend! I'm hungry, too!" she called, immediately scolding herself for making so much noise.

Before worry could rush back into her mind, Myranda busied herself with the preparation of the fire. She gathered the driest tinder and kindling she could manage, as well as a few thicker branches to feed the fire later. After clearing a place and laying out the wood properly, Myn had not yet returned. With nothing else to do, she picked up the dragon-head piece that had been left behind. Most of the details were intact. It had a gold-bronze color and, like the rest of the helm, was exquisite. There were even eyes carved of amber mounted in the head that were uncannily alike in hue to Myn's own eyes. The piece of armor must have cost a small fortune. One of the dragon's teeth had managed to punch a hole just below where the piece had broken from the rest of the helmet. Myranda pulled a thick thread from her uncle's old cloak, now rolled up as a keepsake in one of the new white robe's pockets, and pulled it through the hole. Instantly, she had a new pendant.

Myn marched proudly back a few minutes later. The dragon must have heeded Myranda's words, because with her she brought two freshly killed rabbits. The dragon lit the fire quickly before gulping her meal down. Myranda cooked her own meal as quickly as possible, and extinguished her fire before eating. The wet wood created copious amounts of smoke and she feared that she would be found if she let the telltale flames burn for too long. As she ate, Myranda felt the vague feeling of uneasiness return. She glanced to the south, then to the footprints. She couldn't explain it, but the tiny yearning, like an itch she could not scratch, soon consumed her. It pushed all other thoughts aside. Before long, she found herself manufacturing rationales for moving southward.

"We really ought to keep moving," she said aloud to Myn. "If we remain here, they are likely to find us soon. After all, we slept here. Days could have passed for all we know. The Elites could be just out of sight. South is as good a direction as any. What do you say?"

Myn's interest rested solely on the leftovers of Myranda's meal. Once she had snapped them up, she could care less what she did, so long as she did it with Myranda. As the creature happily munched, Myranda presented her with the pendant. Myn had earned it, after all. The string was tied about her neck tightly enough that it would not fall or become tangled. She seemed pleased, shaking her neck a bit to feel the weight of it before snatching up the rest of the helm and making it clear she was eager for whatever was next.

With that they were off. The routine of the next few days was a strenuous one. Sleep would come during the comparatively warm daylight hours. Upon waking, Myn would fetch food for Myranda and herself if she so desired. Then the remains of the fire would be eliminated or hidden and they would move at a brisk pace southward. The sheer density of the forest assured that, even if the Elites were to search nonstop, they would not stumble upon any evidence of Myranda or her dragon for days. Although once they found what they were searching for, they would easily be able to follow her, Myranda convinced herself that so long as she was careful and continued her southward trek, she could remain out of their reach.

One curse and blessing of their chosen direction was the fact that the wind was always at their backs. This was helpful in that it did not burn at their faces or make walking more difficult. Myn, however, was near madness from the scent of the Elites that was carried by the constant breeze. The little dragon's uneasiness became a gauge of how near the soldiers were. When her restlessness turned to defensiveness, it was time to quicken the pace. In this way, the soldiers were always kept at least out of sight. Though they were a constant threat, Myranda soon found that she had a more pressing concern.

The footprints that she had found before had only become more numerous, and slightly fresher. Whatever group had been here before, it had followed the same path. Had she been in her right mind, she might have changed direction to avoid trouble. Such a choice would not be made. The intuition that had led her this far had only become more insistent. Whatever was out there, she had to find it or be driven mad by doubt.

As if the uneasiness wasn't enough to addle her mind, the nights on the cold and often wet ground were affecting her health. The stiffness that came to her muscles during rest lingered longer each day, and her breathing was reduced to wheezing at times. She knew what it meant. At least once a year she began to feel this way. It generally signaled the beginning of a long illness.

Myranda smirked. Not this time. She knew the words that could cure her, but she had been warned not to cure an illness before it had become a burden. If a body was cured of disease too quickly, too often, it would weaken, and eventually cease to fight disease on its own, Wolloff had warned. Indeed, many a wizard, kept alive well past the time that nature had intended, had died for precisely this reason, he claimed. Myranda decided that once the wracking cough that invariably came appeared, she would cure it. That should give her natural defenses the practice they needed.

Perhaps five days of constant travel had passed. She had not traveled due south, or the Elites would have surely found her. Instead, she zigzagged along rocky ground and thatch, anything that could obscure her tracks. She was walking the bank of another pebble-bottomed stream when she noticed something in the distance. Myn noticed it as well, and rushed to chase after it. When the creature was flushed out into the open, Myranda caught a clear glimpse of it before it galloped away. It was a horse. A horse just like the one the Elites who pursued her were riding. The image had burned itself into her mind--there could be no doubt.

But how? How could one of their steeds have gotten past her without either of them noticing? And why did it have no rider? Perhaps it was the horse that had run away from the leader of the Elites when Myn had scared it during the rush to the Locke's Woods.

Her mind turned to the footprints and hoofprints. If there was an Elite horse here, then perhaps the Elites had been in this place, days before, leaving behind those traces. But how? They had to be behind her! Myn proved that! Unless they had split up, but then they could have confronted her days ago! None of this made sense! Myn trotted back, pleased that she had frightened away the assumed threat.

"Myn," Myranda whispered, "this is very important. How near are they? The bad ones."

Myn did not understand. Myranda took a series of sniffs to illustrate what she meant. The dragon imitated, but seemed no more disturbed by the scent than usual.

"Again! You need to be sure!" Myranda demanded as a change in the wind brought a blast from the south.

Myn caught a whiff of this new wind. Instantly, her eyes shot open. She turned to the south and took off like a bolt, sprinting across the ground like a creature possessed.

"Myn! No! Not now!" Myranda called out uselessly. She hurried after her friend, following the deep claw marks left by her sprint. This could not have happened at a worse time.

Minutes of running as fast as her legs could carry her had aggravated her ailing lungs severely. She stopped briefly to catch her breath, leaning against a tree. When she took her hand away, she felt something sticky. She looked to the culprit and found her hand reddened with blood. Fresh blood. She rushed on, determined to not to stop until she found her dragon and the thing that had stirred her so. There was danger afoot.

Myranda stumbled into a clearing. She could barely breathe. Her eyes scanned the surroundings. It was a gruesome sight. Soldiers, Elites, a dozen or more, were scattered about the ground. They had been slaughtered, armor pierced and torn. It was as though a wild animal had been let loose upon them. The sight brought painful memories of the battleground she had stumbled through when Myn had run last time, though now the injuries seemed somehow more savage. These were not the clean slices of a sword, but the horrid punctures and tears of a spear or a lance.

The bodies, like the blood she had stumbled upon earlier, were fresh. They had likely been killed just as the sun was setting earlier that day. At the opposite edge of the clearing was Myn. She was nosing a figure that was hunched against a tree. It was difficult to tell just what it was that she was looking at when she finally approached it, so covered was it in all manner of injuries. Perhaps it was some sort of monster. It had arms and legs like a man, and some shreds of clothing, but the numerous tears showed a horrid red fur. Myn was blocking the head, but from what Myranda could see, this creature was as dead as the soldiers that littered the area.

"Myn, get away from there! We need to leave this place--now!" Myranda ordered.

Myn looked up pleadingly. Slowly, the fallen creature weakly raised a hand and placed it on the neck of the dragon. It was alive! Myranda dropped to her knees and more closely inspected the stricken creature. As she did so, it managed to raise its head.

"L-Leo?" Myranda cried out, as the battered face of the malthrope she had met so many months ago stared vaguely back.

"Leo, what happened? Did the soldiers do this to you?"

The near-dead malthrope tried to focus on the hazy form in front of him. His free hand grasped painfully at a cruel-looking rusty spike, nearly as long as his arm and clearly the weapon that had taken the lives of the other soldiers.

"You? Myranda . . ." he said, before drifting into a weak, delirious laugh that ended in a series of coughs. "Irony . . ."

His head dropped back into unconsciousness. Myranda clutched her gem and surveyed his wounds. Many deep slashes striped his arms and chest. The fresh injuries were joined by recent scars, as well as every stage of healing in between. He must have been under constant attack for weeks, or longer. Aside from the lacerations, his legs appeared to have been broken and poorly healed. One eye was swollen shut, a crust of dried blood showing between the lids. An ear had been slit all the way through. In truth, there was not a part of his body that did not suffer from some malady or another. Even the long hair that he'd displayed when she first met him had been rendered a scraggly mess, as though it had been cut away with a dull blade. This, coupled with the scrawny, malnourished appearance of his muscles and the patches of blackened, almost charred fur, told the undeniable tale of torture.

Myranda set her mind carefully to the task of healing the most grievous of injuries first. After forcing him into a deep healing sleep, she spoke the words to close the wounds that still leaked blood. When they had been tended to, she relieved the smaller cuts and swelling. Each spell robbed her of more of her own strength, but the months of training had brought her enough stamina to perform the task at hand. By the time she had cast the last spell she could manage, Leo was far from healthy, but he was most assuredly out of danger. She leaned dizzily to the tree he was slumped against and slid to the ground. Myn, who had watched the whole spectacle with nothing short of angst-ridden worry, curled up between the girl and her patient.

"I may not be able to stay awake, Myn. I need you to be vigilant," Myranda said.

The dragon did not fully understand, but she scarcely needed to be told to protect her companion, perpetually in a defensive position whenever the slightest threat emerged. For Myranda, the world faded in and out for some time while her mind recovered. It was a strange near-sleep that she found to be quite unsettling. She was utterly helpless, not enough of her mind left to form a cogent thought. No less than three hours of such a state passed before she was shaken from her trance by the movement of Leo. He was painfully struggling to his feet. Myn, joyful to see him rise, managed to knock him back to the ground in her enthusiasm.

"Easy, little one," he said, as the elated beast rubbed her head on the weakened warrior.

"Sit, Leo. You shouldn't be awake. Not yet," she said, trying to shake the cobwebs from her head.

"I shouldn't be alive. Those wounds were dire. I should know. I have delivered more than a few myself," he said.

"I healed you," she said.

"Healed me? I don't seem to remember you speaking of such a talent when last we met," he said.

"There was no such talent to speak of at the time," she replied.

"And the remarkably affectionate dragon?" he asked.

"That's Myn. I found her a few months ago. As for the affectionate part, you are the first person she has ever been anything short of hostile toward," Myranda said, as Myn rapidly scampered from her lap to his and back again before running off toward where she had dropped her chewed-up helm to retrieve it.

"Well, I have a way with animals," he said, slowly scanning the battleground.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"My mind is not what it should be. I count twelve bodies. Am I correct?" he asked.

"I am not thinking very clearly either, but I believe so," she said.

He released a sigh and slumped against the tree.

"Finally . . . that is all of them. After all of this time, I don't have to look over my shoulder anymore," he said. He tried to raise his hand to his forehead, but winced in pain and let it fall again.