She thought about how quickly Lain had run the day before. He had wanted the others to follow then, and still he kept a pace that could match a horse. She then thought of the speed he had shown when he faced that woman in the field after Myranda had escaped. How long could he manage speed like that? As she thought, a growing feeling of hopelessness hung numbly in the back of her mind. Tears welled in her eyes and the cold air stung where they ran down her cheeks. Deep inside she wanted to stop. She wanted to turn around, find Desmeres, and accept his offer. She would be safe. Comfortable. Happy. She shook the thoughts away. There was a job to do. She wasn't doing it for herself. This was for everyone else, all of those who had lost their homes, their brothers, their sons . . . their fathers.

Myranda doubled her speed. The cold air stung her lungs with each huffing breath. Forward, find him. Find the others. End this. Her mind and body were turned so mechanically to the task that she didn't even notice as the sky grew rosy with the rising sun. She marched heedlessly across roads and through fields. In the distance a town grew near. Before long it was quite near enough for the residents to see the bizarre sight of a young woman in an ill fitting cloak encrusted with dirt marching, eyes earthward, through a snowy field. A memorable sight. A suspicious sight. Perhaps by luck, perhaps by fate, she escaped the notice of the townsfolk. Carried by legs that burned with fatigue, she finally reached the creature that had led her.

Myn was sniffing and licking at the ground, confusion and desperation on her face. Myranda could tell that she had lost the scent. Through some trick Lain had managed to wipe this last trace of his trail away. Myranda scanned the ground in the light of the morning sun as it filtered weakly through the heavy clouds. Downy white snow crusted with a layer of gla.s.sy ice, smooth and pristine, stretched out in all directions. Somehow there was not a single footprint to disturb it. Myranda's fists tightened. Her teeth clenched. Myn looked pleadingly to her.

"It is all right, Myn. You've done well. Now I must try," she said.

Slowly she lowered herself to the ground. Her legs seemed to protest, but she paid them no mind. Myn eagerly nestled herself in the warmth of Myranda's cloak as the young wizard pulled her mind together for a spell. It was one of the first she had learned in Entwell. She shut her eyes tight, casting her mind out and searching the essence of her surroundings. She had detected him like this when she was in The Belly of the Beast. She knew what to look for. Slowly her mind spread outward. The spirits of every person, every animal, every living thing around her gradually emerged from the darkness in her mind. She was first struck by how different those spirits seemed here than in Entwell. The flickering essences she felt here were to those of the hidden village as a candle is to the sun. The people of the world were weak, defeated. Their spirits were drained. Next she became aware of something she had never felt before. Scattered among the mild essences of the people of her world were presences that seemed wholly opposite. Whereas the other spirits seemed to radiate, albeit weakly, these others seemed like voids, drawing in the light and strength around them. The more her mind cast outward, the more she became aware of these blemishes on the landscape. They could only be the D'karon.

She focused further. Somewhere far away she saw a ma.s.s of bright, powerful souls. She looked to them. They clashed with similarly brilliant spirits, spirits that seemed no different. These were the men at the front line. The only spirited, truly alive members of her nation and they were one by one fading away, struck down. Elsewhere a cl.u.s.ter of the black spirits clashed with the light, nearmen clashing with men. She wondered if the Tresson soldiers knew that the men they battled were not men at all. Did they too vanish when struck down? She looked elsewhere. Suddenly she found something. There was an essence. It had the same intense quality to it as Lain's, but this was different than before. It was a measure stronger than the other spirits she had seen, stronger even than her own, and yet it seemed stunted, weakened greatly from what it could be. It was to the northeast, among the mountains on the coast. She focused more intently. She could almost feel its precise location.

Suddenly there was a wave of something, something unbelievably powerful. It came from the northwest. The intensity of it blotted out all else. It continued, growing more and more powerful until Myranda had to pull herself from her meditation or be overcome by it. There was no doubt in her mind what it was. Even her unfocused mind was vaguely aware of the pulsing, surging force. The shape shifter. Only she was capable of a force of such intensity and purity. And where she could be found, so too would be Lain, surely. She turned her eyes to the northwest. Even at this distance, violent winds could be seen shaking snow from trees. Then she turned to the northeast. Something was there. Something that may be very important.

"This way, Myn. We may not be able catch Lain by ourselves, but we may still prove Desmeres wrong," she said.

Myn cast a second glance, understanding and not pleased at the fact they would not be seeking Lain. Always faithful, though, the dragon stood, ready to move. Myranda looked at the sky. The clouds had the glow that seasoned northerners knew as midday. She hadn't slept or eaten yet. She should seek some kind of shelter and rest. With the aid of Myn and her staff, she struggled to her feet. Her mind lingered on the essence she felt. Rest could wait. She could eat as she walked. She would find whatever it was she had felt or die in the process. As she plodded off, pushing aside weariness and hunger, she was unaware of the minds that followed her.

In a dark hut, surrounded by books, Deacon strained his eyes at the last flickering images of Myranda. The minutes that had just pa.s.sed had brought with them something he had been hoping for since she had gone. Every day had been spent searching for her mind. The best of days offered a glimpse of her as she pushed herself to the limit to cast a spell. Today was different. Today she too had searched. She was not aware of it, but in those minutes that she cast her mind far and wide, her thoughts and his had met. He saw her, clear as crystal. He heard her. What she said, what she thought, what she felt. He knew where she was going, what she was trying to do, and what had happened. As the moment pa.s.sed and the connection was broken, he turned back to his tomes. The words were burned into his head. The path is changing. Go where it leads. He searched feverishly for the pieces he would need. No spell existed that would meet his needs. Not yet. He worked now with a renewed intensity, for just as he knew what she knew, he had learned something that she did not.

Elsewhere, a darker mind was similarly intrigued by the girl's foolish decision to cast her mind so visibly about. Epidime took care to conceal himself as he felt her mind shift to and fro. He had been busied by other things, but the girl who had managed to resist him was never far from his mind. He was a skilled observer of spirits and souls. When the time came, it would not take long for him to find her unless she learned to hide herself as he had, but her spiritual equivalent of an alarm bell chiming had quickly drawn his attention. Had the newly arisen shape shifter not suddenly presented herself as a far more enticing target, he may well have intercepted the girl and finished what he had started, but for now that could wait. Conquering the girl would be satisfying, but his purpose above all others was to learn, and the shape shifter offered a peerless opportunity for that. He had already learned that the one called Lain had joined forces with it, or at least fought beside it more than once. The pair was formidable. It was best, then, to make use of someone disposable and observe as he had before. When he had learned the latest target's allegiances, strengths, and weaknesses, he would return for Myranda. She would be simple to find. After all, he knew where she was going.

Far away, Lain sprinted due east. Desmeres had done his job admirably. The others had been delayed, and he had managed to put a considerable amount of distance behind him in that time. He knew better than to believe that he could easily put the shape shifter off of his trail, but he had been pursued by mystics before. Though they used different senses, they followed the same rules. There were ways to obscure these senses just as any other. His task was complicated by the fact that she was undetectable to him, however. When the being turned to wind or fire or any other elemental form her scent was absent, or at least indistinct. Worse still, when she did have a scent, he could not be certain what it was. These concerns were now the last in his mind, though. The being had grown close. Very close. She might be by his side at this moment if not for the arena that lie between them. He knew the place well. It was stocked with all manner of vicious beasts, and of late had been used to punish those the Alliance Army wished to make an example of. Long ago, the D'karon had turned their dark wizards to the task of creating ever more formidable beasts to fill the cages and face the condemned. Now the creatures that the combatants faced were twisted, crude, hideous parodies of nature, the results of those dark pursuits. The windy, swirling form of the shape shifter had only just become visible to Lain on the edge of the horizon when the arena pa.s.sed below her. Suddenly she turned the totality of her considerable might to the task of eliminating these creatures, drawing the attention of the full compliment of guards in the process. The maelstrom she brought about was every bit the intensity of the one a few days earlier in the field outside the fort, and would no doubt result in the same rush of soldiers to investigate. He had to make it out of the area before that happened.

For a moment the mighty being surveyed her work. The ground around her was littered with the broken remains of black blooded abominations. They varied in shape and size greatly, but some things were common to all. There was a roughness to them, a tainted simplicity. They were creations, attempts at duplicating nature. While they failed on most levels, she did briefly admire the almost mechanical efficiency that some displayed. She a.n.a.lyzed the primitive "blood" that stained her now stone hands. Briefly she considered shifting to the form of one of the smaller beasts. She had squandered much of her remaining strength in striking these D'karon creations down. Spending some time in a simpler form would aid her recovery. Her reflection on the subject was cut short by the arrival of a ma.s.s of armor clad soldiers. She swept her gaze across the ranks. Humans. They were doing the work of the D'karon. She would be justified in bringing them to the same fate as the beasts. Indeed, destroying the whole of the structure was quite within her right, but she decided against it. For now she would save her strength for travel. Her stone form gave way to wind, and she set quickly off in the direction Lain had been heading.

As she took to the sky, she marveled at her fellow warrior's uncanny ability to obscure his uniquely powerful spirit. There were beings half of a world away that she sensed more clearly than the divinely anointed creature she pursued. Even that infuriating human he seemed to show undue favor to was simpler to locate. It was, of course, a testament to his worth as a warrior. Perhaps, just as she watched over him until she was certain he was worthy of his place, so too was he testing her. Yes, that was most definitely the case. Once she located him, he would be satisfied and together they would wipe the scourge of D'karon from her land.

The shape shifter continued her search, but she had underestimated Lain's skill. In more than ten days of scouring the countryside, not once did she turn up the malthrope. All the while, Myranda trudged toward her own goal. She had no horse, and no way to get one, but it didn't matter. Over low mountain, icy field, and thick forest the human marched. She slept only when she had to and ate while on the move. Myn faithfully by her side, the girl pushed herself toward an indistinct point in the mountains to the east. She didn't know what she would find there, but she didn't care. With each step she grew more determined and more convinced that ahead lie something, anything, that could help her. That was all that mattered.

She now stood a short distance from the last town she would find before the mountains began in earnest. In truth the path was already steep and rocky, but beyond here she would have to climb. To this point Myranda had avoided the towns. Indeed, Grossmer's mining village had been the last semblance of a town that she had set foot in. She thought long and hard. Hunting had been difficult for Myn, and the bag she held had been stripped of provisions days ago. The mountains were nearly bare. Myn would be hard pressed to turn up enough food for one, let alone two, among the rocky cliffs that stood intimidatingly between herself and the target she sought. She would need to enter the town. The risk was small that she would be recognized. After all, only the Elites and Epidime knew what she looked like, and Epidime alone seemed to still be interested in her capture. Of course, there were still concerns.

Myranda looked down at Myn, who gazed pleasantly back. As well behaved as the little dragon was, she would not be able to join her in the town. It was a shame. The thought of a bed had appealed to her, but she would rather spend the night by Myn's side than in comfort. Not that it mattered. Regardless of what she needed, she hadn't a single coin to buy it with. She patted the little creature beside her on the neck.

"Well, another night out in the cold for the two of us . . . " Myranda began, before something she felt stopped her.

There was a dip in the scales of her neck, the place where the nearman had grabbed her. Her thoughts drifted back to Desmeres gathering up her discarded skin. He claimed it was valuable. She rummaged through her bag and found the trio of smooth red scales. As her stomach growled and she stared with concern at the rocky mountainside she would have to climb, she made her decision.

"Myn, meet me on the other side of the town. I will be there soon," Myranda said.

The little dragon quickly took to the air. Myranda had nearly forgotten the creature could fly. She shook her head as it flitted directly over the town. She should have told her not to be seen, but it was too late now. Myranda headed into the town, unsure of how much success she would have there. A frosted-over sign proclaimed this place to be Verneste. When she entered, she realized that, for a town, it was rather small. The streets were utterly deserted, the people indoors, away from the harsh and constant winds. No one had seen Myn fly by, at least. Squinting against the biting wind, Myranda attempted to determine what type of markets were lining the one and only street in town. Not until she sc.r.a.ped the icy snow from the fourth sign she encountered did she find something that might help her. In faded blue on ancient gray wood was painted a set of scales, an a.s.sayer or appraiser. They were common in places such as this. Miners were certainly the only regular visitors to this place, and the services of an a.s.sayer are quite essential to determining the worth of their mine. At the very least she could find the value of what she had to bargain with.

The heavy door swung closed behind her and, for the first time in too long, she enjoyed the heat of a fire and shelter from the wind. As she warmed herself by the low flames in the fireplace, she slowly took in her surroundings. There were scales of various sizes, ranging from a small one on a desk at the far side of the room to one large enough to weigh bags of grain. Cases with jars and pouches containing samples of various substances lined two walls, while a third case sloppily held an incomplete set of reference texts. There was no purveyor in sight, though beside the scale on the desk was a large chime with a small hammer tied to its base. When Myranda had warmed enough that she had stopped shivering uncontrollably, she gave the chime a ring.

After a second and third ring, heavy footsteps could be heard above, and soon a door was pushed open by a weary looking older gentleman. He wore furs that had yet to see a tailor, still in the shape they had been in when they left the skinner. His face was unshaven and weathered looking, with wiry gray hairs scattered among the black. Plodding over to the desk with a p.r.o.nounced limp, he slapped both hands down, cleared his throat loudly, and looked her in the eye.

"What have you got?" he asked.

Myranda dropped the three dragon scales on the counter. He glanced them over.

"Dragon scales. Haven't seen many of these in a while," he remarked, picking one up. "The dragon these came from was young, eh? Baby scales are hard to come by. Usually the hand that drops them on the table is missing a few fingers."

He smelled them.

"Fresh," he remarked.

He sc.r.a.ped at one with a fingernail. Satisfied at whatever it was he was trying to determine, he placed them on one end of the balance, placing small pieces of bra.s.s on the opposite side until he was satisfied here as well. After thumbing through the appropriate book, he scratched a few figures a sc.r.a.p of paper with a quill.

"An alchemist would give you forty silver for the lot. Good luck finding one. I will take them for fifteen, if you can afford the loss," he said.

"That will be fine," Myranda said, happy to get anything.

"I thought you might feel that way," he said with a grin that showed teeth at least as poorly kept as the rest of him.

As she picked the coins off of the table, she noticed a rather official doc.u.ment among the scattered papers there. It bore the seal reserved for statements from the king himself, and judging from the state of wear the other papers showed, it was quite new.

"What is that?" she asked.

"Eh? Oh. I was supposed to hang that outside, but I thought the king would be better served by a message that would last longer than the next stiff breeze," he said, handing the paper to her.

It was indeed an official announcement. As she deciphered the excessively elaborate wording of the doc.u.ment a slow realization dawned on her. The words proclaimed that, due to recent escalations on the battlefield, all large labor facilities would be hereby transferred in their entirety to emissaries of the throne to be owned and operated by the Alliance Army in order to a.s.sure strong and reliable supply lines. The owners, it claimed, would be rewarded handsomely with both gold and exemption from military service. Not only that, but recently dissolved mines, plantations and similar places would be re-formed and re-staffed to bolster supplies. It went on to list the harsh and numerous consequences that would result from the attempted sale to those unaffiliated with the Alliance Army.

It was madness to suppose that such actions were called for, or even worth consideration. The one thing that the army had in spades was military supplies. Virtually all of the iron in the world was pulled from northern mountains like this one. The one thing that was in truly short supply was leadership, and the administration of dozens of enormous enterprises would take all that the Army could spare and more. At first glance there seemed no justification, but Myranda quickly realized one.

Epidime had scoured her mind, and though he didn't manage to break her, he did claim that he had learned all that he needed. He must have learned what Lain's motivations were, that he spent every copper he earned to free those who were forced to work in the very places that were now forbidden to change hands. This was a blatant, heavy handed, desperate attempt to smoke Lain out . . . and it bore the official seal of the king. It was still not clear why the army was so interested in the Chosen. There was still the possibility that the military wanted their help, but from what she'd seen of those in command, the motives were likely far more sinister. The fact that a dispatch from the king himself was serving their interests chilled Myranda, as it meant that even he was not beyond their influence. Or worse, that he endorsed their methods.

She pocketed the coins, replaced the page, and tried her best to force the maddening thoughts from her head. With the transaction complete and silver jingling in her pocket, Myranda reluctantly returned to the frigid street. There was a surprisingly well stocked general market that replaced her ragged boots and provided her with a few days rations of salted meat. The addition of a canteen, a pair of gloves, a blanket, and a more appropriate bag left her with five silver left. There was no reason to save any, so she fetched a few things that she didn't so much need as desire. A small knife with a sheath was a shade more useful than the dagger Deacon had given her which, until now, had managed to do little more than perforate the bag. That too was fitted with a sheath that best fit it. She dropped the last of the money into the keeper's hand in exchange for a small bag of potatoes. Myn would be pleased. It had been a peculiar discovery back in Entwell that the little creature positively adored potatoes, and was even willing to tolerate visits from Deacon in exchange for one or two.

The dragon was fairly prancing with delight as Myranda tossed her one of the treasured treats. The new boots made the difficult task of scaling the icy slopes a fair amount easier, and the pack that hung on her shoulder freed her hands for the task as well. With the aid of her staff, she and the dragon were covering twice the ground that they had before. Periodically Myranda would stop to determine where the thing she sought could be found. It was drawing nearer. When the wind stopped whipping long enough for the blown snow to settle, a pa.s.s between two peaks could be seen ahead. She felt certain that what she was looking for, whatever it was, was on the other side. If the weather calmed at all, she just might make it through within the day.

Alas, weather is seldom obliging. The winds grew steadily as the hours pa.s.sed, and though it was difficult to differentiate fresh snow from blowing snow, by the time the light began to fail Myranda knew that she was in the midst of a steadily growing snowstorm. The nearest thing to shelter was a claustrophobic alcove beneath an over-crop that would at least keep the snow from their heads. There was nothing to burn for a fire, so once again body heat would have to suffice. They slept huddled together, Myranda's cloak and blanket wrapped around them both. Myn's snout was the only thing exposed, thanks to the over-sized garment. She could have pulled it inside, but her reason for leaving it out became clear when she huffed out the first of several bursts of flame over the course of the night. The heat that surged through her body afterward lingered in the warm folds of the cloak, likely the only thing that made the night survivable.

Elsewhere, the shape shifter dropped down to the ground and slowly shifted to her human form. Spending time in the form of wind was taxing, and she felt as though if she maintained the form for much longer she would be spent. Lain was near, she was certain of that. He had slipped into one of the human settlements, so it was just as well that she entered as one of them. She scanned around her. In this form her senses were as frustratingly limited as any other human's. Virtually no light was to be had, save the weak glow from windows, rendering the only moderately effective means of observing the world that humans had at their disposal, vision, even less adequate than usual. Wind whistled away her hearing, and all touch told her was how laughably fragile these things were. They were actually endangered by the cold. She shook her head, rid herself of the annoying sense, and began to alter one of the other senses into something that could reveal Lain to her. Unfortunately, without some sample of a creature to work off of, she was having limited success. Her mind, though, remained sharp, so long as she maintained a form that wasn't much more complex than the one she now occupied. She quieted her thoughts and felt for the essence that had allowed her to follow Lain this far. She felt him tantalizingly nearby, but something still closer drew her attention.

It was a spirit black, twisted, and parasitic. It was one of them, a D'karon, trying valiantly to escape notice. It failed. She turned her eyes to the source of the corrosive essence. Surrounded by four of the empty cloak creations was a scrawny, mild-looking human male with an out-of-place look of intelligence and confidence on his face. In his hand was a halberd identical to the one wielded by the remarkably powerful wizard she had faced when she first revealed herself. He smiled at her. As she surveyed her opponent, he surveyed her. She would have little trouble with this one. There was barely a trace of the energy that was present in the last halberd bearer.

"Attention, people of the fair city of Fleer. I represent the great General Epidime. What is to transpire is of interest only to the Alliance Army. Enter your homes and remain there until morning. Any individual who disobeys will be guilty of treason!" the young man announced.

At the sound of the last word, the handful of residents who remained on the streets scurried quickly inside. When all doors were shut, the man spoke again.

"I do so hate prying eyes while I work, and this promises to be a delightfully informative experience. That body you are using is quite familiar. I do believe those fingers clutched this staff quite recently. I must be sure to inform our men that she is no longer to be obeyed," he said.

"You will not live to speak those words," she said, shifting to her stone form.

"I am confident the message will be delivered. I see you have chosen the stone form rather than fire. Surely this has something to do with the staggering decrease in your strength since the last time you clashed with this weapon. Tell me, are you tired?" he asked.

She flashed into motion. With improbable reflexes, the weapon was raised to block, and with equally unlikely strength the blow was deflected.

"Oh yes, you are quite tired," he said.

The cloaks floated backward into the shadows as the shape shifter unleashed a barrage of increasingly powerful blows. Each was blocked, though the last brought what was certainly the crackle of bone from the man's right wrist. The man dropped the hand to his side and spun the halberd to speed with only the left. The shape shifter raised her hand, meeting the blade with her palm. With an ear splitting clang the metal came to a stop. Her other hand gripped the shaft and tore it easily from the fingers of the man. As soon as the metal left his skin the look of confidence and intellect was replaced with one of horror and pain. He cried out and cradled the shattered right hand.

"What . . . a-a-a-ah! What is this? What are you? What is going on?" cried the man in a meek, almost whiny sh.e.l.l of his former voice.

"You allowed yourself to be subverted by a D'karon. You are tainted. You must be punished," the shape shifter hissed, throwing down the weapon and delivering a bone-shattering back hand to the sniveling thing in front of her.

The man dropped lifelessly to the ground, his head turned sickeningly to the side. She turned to walk away, but stopped, her eyes drifting down to the halberd. The gem in the blade was still glowing faintly. She lifted her foot to grind it into the ground, but before she could bring her heel down, the weapon slid swiftly toward its former wielder. The right hand of the beaten man raised. The fingers crackled open and clutched the shaft of the weapon. The scrawny man lurched to his feet in a single motion as though an outside force had drawn him up by the shoulders. The shape shifter turned to the risen warrior. He twisted his head back into place and smiled.

"Humans have the inexcusable habit of deserting their vessel far before it has lost its usefulness. I am wiser than that. You, too, show wisdom. You were not afraid to do what had to be done. That is an admirable trait. A lesser warrior would have pitied the usurped victim," he said.

"Weakness in the face of the enemy must not be tolerated," she said, approaching him again.

"I agree. You and I see eye to eye on a number of important issues. Have you considered switching allegiances?" he asked.

She began to swipe at him with vicious attacks with her stone claws. He deftly deflected each, backing away as he did. The strikes were clashing so powerfully that the stone of her hands was beginning to fracture and break away. Finally the entirety of her left hand crumbled and she retreated to regroup. Her opponent did not relent. Swinging the long weapon and gaining momentum as he did, the man struck again and again with the blade of the halberd. Cracks began to widen on the shape shifter's form. Finally the man thrust the spiked tip of the weapon into her chest. The force easily split the stone and buried the blade, complete with the crystal it bore, halfway into the Chosen One's body. A pulse from the crystal shattered the weakened creature, and she was reduced to a pile of rubble on the ground.

"I wonder, can it be so easy? Somehow I doubt it," the arrogant man considered aloud.

One by one, the pieces of the shifter darkened to black and ignited. Before long hundreds of fist-sized flames had flickered to life. The fire rose into the air, swirling and reforming until the fiery form floated above her opponent, brilliant eyes blazing with fury. The crystal at the end of the staff took on a brilliant glow. As the Chosen swept in for attack after attack, the gem was swung with precision. Some manner of magic struck the insubstantial, flickering form as though it were solid. Finally the shifter hung momentarily still in the air before dividing into a half dozen intense b.a.l.l.s of flame and surrounding the enemy.

"Well now, aren't we clever," the man admitted.

The fireb.a.l.l.s closed in for attack, but an instant before the first made contact he drove his halberd into the ground and summoned a mystic shield. The fire clashed again and again with the shield to no avail. This was more power than he should have had. He too had been concealing his true strength. Finally they withdrew, merging again. For a moment she floated, considering her options. Slowly, she noticed a draw on her already waning strength. She turned to see that, behind her, the four cloaks had manifested charcoal black hands and were drawing off flame in long filaments, attracting it like iron filings to a magnet. Each of the four leeched away strength and gathered it into growing fireb.a.l.l.s of their own. The shape shifter tore through the air after them. Just the slightest touch would ignite them. Had she more strength she would be launching long tongues of flame after them, but she had barely enough to maintain her form. After dispatching only one of the cloth abominations she knew that she couldn't afford to squander any more strength in her fire form. She dropped back to the ground and shifted to stone once more.

"Stone again? Show me something new!" her opponent mockingly demanded.

The three remaining cloaks now let their stolen fire fly. The first splashed across her stone form. Swiftly she shifted to flame again, reclaiming the remaining two before returning to stone. The cloaks closed in, striking their phantom limbs against her rocky body. She dropped to one knee as lines were scored into her by the unnatural substance that composed the claws. In a burst of motion she lashed out, managing to grasp two of them and tear them to ribbons amid unholy, disembodied screeches. The third pulled to a safe distance. The shifter raised her steely gaze and locked eyes with her opponent, still protected by his shield.

"It is just as well you refuse to join our ranks. You would hardly be of any use to us," he taunted.

The stone eyes narrowed in anger. She thrust her hands into the icy, cobbled street. A rumble began to shake the town. Suddenly the ground beneath the man erupted with a spire of stone. He was sent hurtling into the air. Quickly she took to the air after him in the form of wind. With a mighty effort she managed to separate him from his weapon and hurl it into the distance. She then forced him with all of the speed she could muster to the ground far below. She lingered for a few moments until she was satisfied that this time the broken man would not arise. She then cast her eyes to the east. She had nothing left. She would be helpless in very short order. With no options left, she streaked through the sky. There was no time to find Lain. Until she could recover, she would have to make do with someone else.

Sleep had been fitful, made possible only due to sheer exhaustion. Now it was impossible. Something, something incredibly powerful, had shaken the mountain during the night. The sound, like a crack of thunder, pulled her from sleep. A series of low rumbles continued to reverberate throughout the mountainside and valley. Each grumbling roar grew nearer. This sound chilled Myranda more than the call of any beast. It was the sound of an avalanche, the mountain shrugging off its blanket of snow and ice. If the rumble reached her she would be buried without hope of escape. She slid out into the open and strained her eyes as white snow gave way to black night without so much as a glimmer of anything else. The only thing that penetrated the whistling wall of white and black was the thunderous roar. It was close enough to make the ground tremble. Tiny cascades of powdery snow began to form. There was no sense running. All she could do was hope. Gradually the roar subsided, moving down the mountainside. Myranda took a deep, relieved breath of the icy air.

Her ears, so recently turned to the terrifying rumble, now turned to something else. The wind seemed different. For most of the night it had been waxing and waning, but it had always surrounded her. Now the shriek of high wind seemed to be overwhelmingly from the west. She turned to the darkness, raising her staff and conjuring a light in the gem. It barely cut an arm's length further into the dense night. Suddenly a chaotic, swirling form burst from the darkness, knocking Myranda to the ground. It was the shape shifter, but something was wrong. She seemed looser, less defined. The slivers of light that served as eyes had a look of desperation. Fear. The windy form dropped to the ground, the whirling wind tightening as it did when she changed form, but just as quickly it loosened again.

"I do not have enough . . . I need something simple. Something small!" she cried.

Her eyes shot to Myranda's hands. She grasped them, pulling free one of her gloves. There was another burst of wind as the bulk of her form whisked away. What remained dropped to the ground, tightening and intensifying. Snow swirled into the mix. After a few moments the snow settled, revealing a curious sight. Beside the glove was a squirrel, presumably a duplicate of the one that gave its fur to line the gloves. The tiny creature looked up with as much dignity as such a small face could muster, and spoke.

"Congratulations, human. I have deemed you worthy to be a.s.signed a purpose," she said. She spoke with the same clear, powerful voice that she always did. The sound could not have been more out of place.

"What are you doing here? What happened? MYN NO!" she cried.

Her companion was moments from snapping up the little creature. She froze when Myranda spoke up. The newest form of the shape shifter turned slowly to the dragon, mouth still agape. She looked fearlessly into the cavernous maw.

"I would prefer that you dispose of the beast, but in the current state of things it may be of some use. Keep it in line and it may live," she said.

"What happened?" she asked the creature, stooping to pick it up.

"That is none of your concern. Suffice it to say that even my strength is not boundless. The greater portion of it has been stripped away by a number of confrontations and I shall require an amount of time to recover. Until that time you shall escort me, giving your life if you must, to keep me from harm," she said.

"I will do my best," she said, extending her hand.

Rather than allow herself to be picked up, the proud creature leapt to her arm and scurried to her shoulder.

"Your best is certain to be woefully inadequate. That is why you shall take me to Lain. He, and only he, is capable of providing protection, should it be truly required," she explained.

"You couldn't find Lain?" Myranda said.

"More pressing matters arose. Enough questions. You will find him. Forgo sleep, forgo meals. Until I am delivered to Lain, you shall not allow the pathetic weaknesses that plague your race to delay us. Is that understood?" the creature asked.

"I can't find Lain. I have something more important to find," she said.

"Human, you have been given your orders. Follow them," the creature said.

"I may have found another Chosen. Lain can take care of himself, and I can protect you. This needs to be done," she said.

"You will find nothing of use," the shifter said.

"You will never find anything if you don't look," she said. "And I intend to. If you do not wish to go with me, then you are welcome to continue your search for Lain alone."

The tiny creature on her shoulder gave a frustrated sigh.

"It was an act of the purest optimism to imagine that I might have coaxed a small minded mortal into acting in a rational and intelligent manner. No matter. I will recover just as quickly on an ill advised, dead end trek as on an intelligent one," she proclaimed. "Pursue your foolishness. In a day or two when I am myself again I shall leave you to your pointless errands."

With that the creature moved to the interior of Myranda's hood, curling about the back of her neck for maximum warmth, with her head facing casually forward.

"Proceed," she ordered.

Myranda had not intended to continue until morning, but now she couldn't bear to wait a moment longer. She was sure that she would find another Chosen, and now the infuriating shape shifter would be present to see it. She marched forward in angry silence, Myn dutifully in tow. The wind and cold were especially biting at night, and with nothing but the light from her staff, the progress was slow. It became slower still when she reached the near edge of the stretch of mountain ravaged by avalanche. The ground was uneven and broken, great pieces of rock-hard snow jutting at odd angles, as though the surface of the mountain had been shattered.

After a few hours, the lack of sleep and general exhaustion began to take its toll, and Myranda was having trouble keeping her mind sharp. In the past she would have begun talking aloud to herself or Myn. Now she had a companion, albeit a bothersome one, who might offer a reply. She should have known better. She should have known that any conversation with the shape shifter would end just as the last had, with angry silence, but the desire to hear something other than the relentless wind clouded her judgment.

"Do you have a name?" she asked.