'From what I saw that day at Gettysburg, those weapons would have little impact on Nerak.' He went on with the tale. 'Sandcliff wasn't much of a palace, certainly not like Riverend, although the passages were charmed, so they were tricky to navigate if one didn't know the spells. It was just a simple stone-walled keep, the only adornment the colourful Pragan carpets and tapestries we used to keep out the cold; it was our culture that made Sandcliff such a wonderful place to live and work. Our mantras were risk-taking, creativity, service and scholarship, and as I said, Eldarn was a better world for our efforts.

'When Nerak destroyed all that, he opened the door for an era of worldwide mistrust, hatred, selfishness and discord.' He stopped again, this time looking at the Ronans. 'I am truly sorry you have all had to grow up in such a culture.

'As daylight faded on the evening of the slaughter, I knew Nerak would be in Lessek's chamber working to master the spells contained within the great stone table. He was driven to succeed from the start, and more passionate about his work than anyone in the Larion Senate. In the days preceding his fall, he had sequestered himself in Lessek's research chamber, poring over our founder's writings and experimenting with spells he had called from deep within the table's recesses. Nerak was coordinator of magic and medicine, so it was normal for him to keep the stone key in his possession. Although I shared my concern for his safety, there was little I could do to get him to turn it over to me. There were rumours that he was planning to dismantle the senate structure, to banish us all, once he finally mastered the magic that would give him enough power, but there was no proof.'

'When the attack came, I was in my chambers, working. The first thing I heard were great booming sounds coming from several floors below mine. I thought that one of my colleagues was experimenting with a spell to control the weather. Many Larions came from the south, and few appreciated snow. Winters in Gorsk are long and hard; by mid-season every Larion was working on a spell to bring an early spring. Those spells were always terribly noisy.' Steven and Garec exchanged a confused look.

Gilmour continued, 'When Heskar, one of the young scribes, burst into my room unannounced, I knew something had gone terribly wrong. He spoke so fast the only words I remember were "massacre of apprentices and servants on a lower floor of the palace". My first thought was that Sandcliff had been attacked by pirates or raiders, or maybe even an army from another nation. I would never have guessed just one man could be so great a threat. I raced downstairs to the narrow balcony above the room that served as both audience and dining chamber. I was running along the balcony to get to a stairway at the far corner of the room when I saw Nerak. Even at that distance I could see he had been taken over by something mighty, some vast destructive force.'

He shuddered. 'Although he was still visible, his body was beginning to disintegrate his flesh looked translucent in the torchlight. At the time I wasn't sure what was happening, but now I know the force that overpowered him along a seam in the Fold had no use for his physical being. It needed only his knowledge and his soul. It would use others as physical hosts, but Nerak's body was allowed to break apart, to fall away in pieces until only a shadow remained. By the end of the evening, Nerak had taken possession of several Larion Senators, each through a small wound he opened in their wrist or on the back of their hand. With each, evil's minion learned more about Eldarn's people and our weaknesses.

'I saw Nerak holding two Larion Senators by the throat, a woman from Falkan named Callena and a young Pragan man, Janel. Their names are engraved on my memory. They were screaming in abject terror, and both of them were looking at me as if I were their only hope for survival. I stopped then and implored him to set them free. He looked at me from across the balcony, then, without flinching, he snapped their necks. Just a quick turn of his wrists. I heard the bones break. He didn't take his eyes off me as he tossed their bodies over the ledge to the stone floor below.'

Brynne shifted uneasily on the log next to Steven, and Mika absent-mindedly scratched at the back of his wrists. 'Go on,' he said quietly.

'I doubled back and raced upstairs towards the stone tower. All the passageways in the castle were closed by spells to keep intruders from breaking in and stealing potentially devastating magic. As I ran, I shouted the spells out in front of me to clear the way of any enchanted obstacles. At the top of the spiral staircase leading to the tower's uppermost room, I found the door open, the spell already cast. I burst into Lessek's chamber, horribly afraid I would find only the corpses of Nerak's research team. Instead they were all there, poring over Lessek's table, desperately trying to find an antidote to Nerak's possession. Lessek's chamber wasn't used by anyone. The black granite table stood alone in the centre. The room was normally lit by torchlight, but that night the only illumination was the rainbow of colours that flashed and faded inside the spell table. I could see Lessek's Key in its place at least Nerak hadn't taken it with him when he went downstairs to begin killing off Larion Senators.

'Three members of my own team soon arrived and I ordered them to stand fast at the top of the stairs, ready to hurl every destructive magic they had down upon Nerak if he tried to reach Lessek's chamber. I will never forget their grim faces, the look of fear and determination as the door closed slowly on them. I cast a quick spell to reseal the chamber.

'I was their leader. I should have stood with them on the stairs and fought to the end against Nerak. Instead, I shut them out in the hall, protected only by their pitiful powers and what courage they could draw from one another. They were researchers, teachers, not magicians. I should have known they would be no match for the coming evil.'

'Why did you not stand and fight with them?' Sallax broke the silence, staring hard at Gilmour.

'I feared the worst,' Gilmour responded in flat tones. 'I knew Nerak's team could not interrupt their work to defend the spell table, or even to fetch any necessary scrolls from the library adjacent to the room. They were used to working with the spell table; I was not: but I could fetch spell scrolls, and I would be their last line of defence against the force I knew was coming for us. I called to Nerak's assistant, Pikan Tettarak, a skilled sorcerer herself, that I was available to run back and forth between the spell chamber and the scroll library. She nodded to say she understood and immediately turned back to the wall of blue and red energy that fought to escape the table into the room; instead it found her her there, channelling its power into a single defensive spell of enormous strength. Harnessing the magic of the table had been a lifelong undertaking for Lessek; it was an ongoing research endeavour for Nerak. there, channelling its power into a single defensive spell of enormous strength. Harnessing the magic of the table had been a lifelong undertaking for Lessek; it was an ongoing research endeavour for Nerak.

'Pikan looked as if she was being overwhelmed by the power of the table; if she had not been able to call upon the strength of Nerak's other team members, I am certain she would have been pulled into the bottomless morass of knowledge and magic within.

'For what felt like an aven I stood there, helpless. Pikan and her colleagues worked without pause to discover magic that would protect us from Nerak while freeing his soul from whatever entity held it prisoner. Then the crashing began at the chamber door. It started as spell noise in the stairwell, and I hoped that my team members were holding firm. Soon the sounds changed; I could tell these incantations were focused entirely on the outer doorway. I wondered why, if my team were already dead, Nerak didn't simply call out the spell that opened the chamber. I can only guess that in a dying breath, one of my brave martyrs changed the spell and committed suicide, dying before Nerak could take possession of his or her soul and learn the necessary magic.' Gilmour stopped. Steven could see he was trembling as he refilled his goblet and took a long swallow.

'Are you okay to go on?' Steven asked quietly.

'Oh yes,' Gilmour said, visibly pulling himself together. 'I know it happened so long ago, but for me, it will always feel like yesterday. It's not a story I have told very often. Maybe it's time that changed.

'I knew the passageway would soon fall to the demon's power, so I tried to get Pikan's attention, hoping to warn her that Nerak was about to breach our last defence. There was a broadsword leaning against the wall I don't know whose it was, but I picked it up and prepared to battle whatever burst into the room. I knew magic, of course I did, but nothing nearly as powerful as that hammering away at the chamber door. It shook the stone masonry of the tower itself and for a few moments I feared the palace would collapse and we would all tumble to our deaths.

'Everything seemed to move in slow motion. I realised I was about to die. I was not a brave man. I hoped to perhaps strike out with one fierce blow before my resolve disintegrated and I stood in mute horror awaiting death. No great wellspring of anger or defiance arose from inside my being and I knew the gods were giving me a few extra moments to contemplate how inadequately I had behaved when the end finally came.

'Then, as if from a distance, a lifetime away, I heard my name. I turned to find Pikan calling to me with great enthusiasm. She was such a beautiful woman ... she actually seemed to smile as I hurried across the room to her side. "I need the third Windscroll," she shouted above the din of so much magic moving in and around the room. "It's in the library near the top shelf behind Lessek's desk." Taking the broadsword, I ran as quickly as I could down the short flight of stairs separating the spell chamber from the scroll library. Lessek's desk stood near the far wall, and shelves upon shelves of parchment scrolls lined every inch of the chamber. Racing to the shelf behind Lessek's desk, I searched for the Windscrolls, powerful ancient spells compiled by Kantu and Nerak on their frequent journeys to Larion Isle, off the coast of Malakasia.

'But I never found them.

'Blue- and red-flecked energy preceded the blast down the stairs into the library and scrolls were blown from their shelves as a shockwave tore through the chamber and knocked me unconscious.

'When I woke, blood had run into my eyes and for several terrifying moments I could see the world only in shades of red. The only light came from our two moons, shining through the falling snow. I looked out of the window and watched as red snowflakes blanketed Gorsk. I wondered if anyone was left alive in all Eldarn. The silence was dreadful; I called out several times just to hear my voice in the darkness.

'When I felt steady enough, I made my way through the remains of the library, climbing over fallen shelves and through a sea of scattered parchment scrolls to the spell chamber beyond.

'Everyone was dead, their bodies broken. They lay strewn about the room as if deposited there by a Twinmoon hurricane. Only Pikan's body was missing. One of my team members lay on the stone floor near the door: a big young man named Harren Bonn, the son of a Falkan farmer. He had been claimed by Nerak just before the spell that sealed the door was broken. Seeing his limbs twisted at impossible angles, I tried to move him back against the wall, to leave him sitting in a more dignified position, but when I touched him, he was like jelly. I am not certain there was a bone left intact in his entire body.

'I was weeping helplessly now, and I left him there, shaded red in my bloodied vision. It will not matter if I live another thousand Twinmoons; Harren Bonn will always remain blood-red in my memory.' Gilmour's voice shook.

Garec moved to sit beside his mentor and friend. He put a comforting arm around the old man.

Gilmour smiled thanks at him. 'As I came down through the tower, I saw carnage everywhere. I had never really thought about that word before: it was just a word. Made flesh, it's simply indescribable, and I hope and pray you never have to experience it for yourselves. There were bodies of Larion Senators at every turn, many apparently unharmed except for an open wound on their wrists. I tried to comfort myself by saying over and over again, "They must be sleeping." Those who had put up a fight were torn to pieces. I spent an aven sorting through limbs, fingers and ears: I wanted every Larion to rest for eternity intact. The stone floor was coated in blood. Several times I found little more than a few pieces of a body someone I had known that morning, a scholar or an educator: a colleague, a person, a friend friend.

'When I reached the balcony above the grand hall, I finally saw Pikan. She was resting her elbows on the ledge, gazing down into the darkness below. She had been hideously injured from the blast; through the half-light I could see part of her face had been torn away, leaving strands of her lovely flaxen hair falling over an open wound that stretched from her ear down to her chin. Her robes had been torn off in the explosion; all she wore now was a pair of short breeches: little enough to stave off the season's chill.

'When she turned to face me, I knew my suspicions had been well-founded. "Well, hello, Fantus," Pikan's body called to me in Nerak's voice. "Do you care to join us in here?" She reached up and began fondling her breasts, squeezing and pressing them together as a man might in the throes of passion. "It's cosy with just us two, but we'll make room for you." The voice was Pikan's now, but I knew she was gone. Nerak must have taken her an instant before she died in the tower. Now he held her by a thread, dangling her a breath away from eternal rest.

'I wiped the blood from my eyes as Pikan made her way slowly towards me. My grip tightened on the broadsword. For a moment I thought I might stand and fight.' Gilmour stared through the firelight into the darkness above the Estrad River for a moment. 'But I didn't. Fear overcame me and I fled like a child. I dropped the sword at Pikan's feet and ran the length of the balcony at a full sprint. As I came to the far end of the room, I screamed a spell to open the windows and when they flew out on their hinges, I dived out into the night without a moment's hesitation. The last thing I heard before I struck the ground was Nerak, laughing like a demon through Pikan's broken body.

'I shattered my shoulder and ankle in the fall, but that was just flesh and bone. My spirit took longer to recover. I have never lifted a weapon again, but I have spent the past nine hundred and eighty Twinmoons studying magic, just like Nerak.

'He must have taken Lessek's Key and the far portal that very night. He made his way south to Rona, killed Prince Markon and a number of other members of King Remond's royal family. Then I'm guessing he travelled to Colorado, where he hid the only weapon that can destroy him in your bank, Steven.

'I have waited half my life for Lessek's Key. Now it is within our grasp, and I will use it to destroy the force that murdered my friends and brought death and terror to Eldarn.' Gilmour took up his pipe after his long narration and smiled at his friends before moving off to his bedroll near the river. No one else said a word. There was too much to take in.

THE RONAN PIEDMONT.

Next winter Steven woke to cramp, and the sound of the river rolling by. He rolled over and, without thinking, checked his watch. It wasn't there. It took a few seconds for him to remember giving it to Garec two days earlier. He could see Mark, already up and kneeling at the water's edge. 'What time is it?' Steven called without moving.

'I don't know.' Mark splashed cool water on his face. 'The time here has my internal clock running like a drunk Pamplona tourist. The sun is up, so I guess it must be daytime.'

'Insightful of you,' Steven grunted as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. He looked around: Brynne was dousing the vestiges of the evening's fire with a pan of river water. Everyone else was missing. He pulled a clean tunic over his head and asked, 'Where did they go?'

'Good morning, Steven.' Brynne waved, moving towards him. 'They've gone to check traffic along the Merchants' Highway. It's not far from here; they're concerned there may be soldiers moving north to search for us.'

'Terrific. I was hoping we'd have another day of fleeing for our lives. I'm just beginning to get skilled at it.' He crawled to his feet and went to join Mark by the river.

'Oh, by the way,' Brynne called after him, 'it's still about two avens before midday.'

'Did you hear that?' he asked Mark. 'It's about seven o'clock.'

'First period is just about to start.' Mark stood up and used his T-shirt to dry his face. 'I bet my substitute is making a mess of the Industrial Revolution right now.'

'Don't feel bad about it,' Steven teased. 'With any luck we'll have you home in time to teach your students about the Yalta Conference.'

'Grand.' Mark looked back towards the campsite. 'What's for breakfast?'

'I don't know,' Steven shook the excess water from his hands and stood beside his friend, 'but I can leave the two of you alone if you want to make your peace with Brynne.'

'I'm not sure she wants to,' Mark said, his face solemn. 'I think she's still angry that I tied her to a tree.'

'Wouldn't you be?'

'Good point,' he said as he slipped into his tunic and belted it around his waist. 'All right, here goes nothing.'

Steven watched as Mark wandered back to where Brynne was busying herself rolling blankets and packing supplies, then turned to the river. He reflected on Gilmour's fantastical tale of evil demons and homicidal magicians possessing Malakasian royalty. He didn't even like like fantasy literature: he liked logic, things that made sense, not the utterly impossible. And this fantasy literature: he liked logic, things that made sense, not the utterly impossible. And this was was impossible: here he was, standing by a river in a grove of trees so similar to dozens of rivers and groves he had visited over his lifetime, and yet he was in danger the sort of danger he could not even have imagined a week ago. impossible: here he was, standing by a river in a grove of trees so similar to dozens of rivers and groves he had visited over his lifetime, and yet he was in danger the sort of danger he could not even have imagined a week ago.

He was facing a journey he might not survive: that fact was beginning to sink in, to become less an external reality rearing up periodically to frighten him and more an inherent part of who he was. This This river was different. river was different. This This river was haunted by the terror awaiting them in Malakasia. river was haunted by the terror awaiting them in Malakasia.

Like the evening before, Steven began to feel a need to pack up and rush to Welstar Palace, to get there as quickly as he could. Kneeling once again, he took a long drink and splashed cold water over his head. 'We might not make it,' he repeated several times as the water ran across his down-turned face and dripped onto the smooth rocks below. Slowly, Steven began to get used to the idea.

Mark moved around Brynne's horse to help tie down her bedroll and saddlebags. 'I'm sorry I didn't trust you,' he said without warning, 'it's just that we weren't certain what was happening. We still aren't certain what's happening, but I know you want to help us.' He looked down at his feet before adding, 'I was afraid and I thought you might lead us into town to-'

'It's all right,' she interrupted, 'I was taking you to Greentree Tavern because I knew there would be soldiers around. I was hoping to lose you in the confusion.'

Mark laughed. 'So I was right.'

She smiled. ''Fraid so. I was planning an escape but I was glad Sallax didn't kill you at Riverend. I still am.'

'So am I. It would've really put a damper on our relationship if your brother had shot me full of arrows or run me through with his rapier. I'm not certain I would ever have been able to build up the courage to ask you out after that.'

'Out?'

'Yes, out, on a date,' he tried to clarify.

'A date, like today or yesterday?' She seemed confused.

'No, not that kind of date!' He searched for the right words in Ronan.

'Mark, I would very much like to help you, but I don't understand what you're saying,' she said.

Finally, he caught a glimpse of her smile. 'You're toying with me, aren't you? You know exactly what I mean.'

'I might be, but it's always fun to watch you stumble over yourself,' she said and reached across the saddle to give him a playful shove.

Grabbing her hand, he said sarcastically, 'Oh, sure, mock the foreigner, why don't you.'

'Well, you did tie me to a tree.'

'And your brother tried to kill me with an axe. I'd say that makes us even, wouldn't you?' He held her hand for as long as he dared, then released it to secure an errant leather strap to her saddle.

'Even?'

'Oh, don't start that again.' Mark moved to collect his bedroll while Brynne stored the last hickory trenchers in her saddlebag. With his back turned, the young teacher did not see her watching him from the fire-pit. Kneeling near the log Mark had dragged from the forest as an impromptu sofa, Brynne played with his watchband, turning it slowly around her wrist. Then, smirking, she started preparing the remaining horses for the day's journey.

When the Ronans returned from the forest, it was obvious Gilmour and Sallax were engaged in an argument.

'I understand why you want to raid them, Sallax,' Gilmour said calmly, 'but we cannot afford to bring attention to ourselves. Who knows how many Malakasians are already tracking us north?'

'That's exactly my point.' Sallax was determined. 'We have no choice but to flee. Why not hit that caravan before they reach port? You know it's nothing more than yet another group of merchants and landowners buying peace from Malagon's generals.'

'That's true,' Gilmour conceded, 'but our mission now is clear. The days of raiding caravans are behind us.'

'Forgive me if I'm not as confident in your mystical solution to this very real problem. Raiding has worked for us for many Twinmoons, Gilmour, and a fat cat is lumbering by out there just waiting for us to play with it.'

'Now that's not exactly accurate, Sallax,' Gilmour countered. 'They are very well protected. We might lose people, or be slowed by injuries. It is too risky.'

'One strike,' Sallax mused aloud. 'What if we hit them with one quick strike, bows from above and a slash-and-burn attack at a full gallop? Who knows what damage we might do?'

'That might work, Gilmour,' Garec said. 'Versen and I can inflict a good deal of damage from the heights above the road.'

Versen agreed. 'That's true. We could certainly open a hole in their defenders' ranks.'

Mark leaned towards Brynne and whispered, 'What are they talking about?'

Leaning back into him, ostensibly to keep her voice low, she answered, 'For Twinmoons now, we have been raiding Ronan merchant caravans riding north to the Falkan border to meet with Malagon's occupation generals. They push their workers near death, pay them next to nothing in wages and hoard enormous sums of money.'

'They buy the right to be rich in a dictatorship,' Mark said. 'It's nice to see nothing's really different here.'

Brynne put one hand on Mark's shoulder and spoke directly into his ear. 'So, we hit the caravans. We take silver and weapons to help fund the Resistance.'

'That's what you were hiding at Riverend Palace.' Mark turned towards her, their faces only inches apart. 'But with Riverend's fall-'

'Everything we worked for is lost, and worse, the Malakasians now know Estrad Village was the centre of the Resistance.' She looked worried and Mark's heart broke for her. 'Who knows what horrors they'll commit while combing the village for us? They'll use it as an excuse not that they need one and I don't like thinking about it.'

Gilmour dismounted and ran one hand across his balding pate. 'You want to hit them?'

Garec, Sallax and Versen nodded, while Mika, less confidently, added, 'Yes.'

'All right, we'll hit them.' He walked to the edge of the river where Steven was standing listening to the earnest debate. 'You should stand behind me, Steven,' Gilmour said. Cupping his hands over his mouth, the old Larion Senator emitted a shrill cry into the forest on the opposite shore. It was pitched very high, almost beyond the range of their hearing, and Steven was glad he had moved back. As Gilmour's call sounded, Brynne immediately covered her ears and Garec let out a cry of pain and pushed his hands firmly against his temples. Mark's equilibrium was thrown off balance and he sat heavily to avoid falling down.

Sallax shook the dizziness from his head and asked, 'What in a thousand Twinmoons of pestilence was that?'

The old man smiled and reached into his tunic for a pipe. He filled the small bowl and gripped it firmly between his teeth before answering, 'You said you wanted to hit them. We just made arrangements to hit them.'

Versen was confused. 'How? What did you do?'

'I called the grettans.' Gilmour exhaled a cloud of blue smoke that loitered around his head before dissipating. 'We ought to move along right away. Once they get here, I'm not certain I will be able to control them.' He pursed his lips and prepared to remount his horse.

Versen looked shocked. Mika wiped several beads of sweat from his forehead.

'Riverend,' Garec pointed accusingly. 'I saw you from the palace. You called those grettans in to attack the Malakasian horses.'

'Of course I did,' he answered, as if it had been obvious all along. 'I couldn't have you all taken prisoner or killed. We have a great deal of work to do and I need you.'

Garec pursued the issue further. 'Did you call them all the way down from Gorsk? What are they doing this far south? The rutting bastards almost had my hide for breakfast in the forbidden forest.'

'I think that was Malagon, or I suppose I should say Nerak. I would guess he sent those grettans down here to kill me-' he paused for a moment before adding, '-or perhaps each of you.'

Versen swallowed awkwardly. Mika looked as though he might fall from the saddle. Gilmour patted the youngest Ronan gently on the knee. 'Malagon doesn't realise I can communicate with these grettans as well.'